Carbonara and Winks - Part One

We are going back to Rome today.   I am having an overwhelming feeling that it is time to tell you my carbonara story. 

I am a wicked (New England heritage poking out) carbonara snob.   It is really the most simplistic of dishes, but so many tend to screw it up.   I suppose it is because it is so simple that everyone wants to put their own spin on it.   I get the whole creative thing.   I do.  It is definitely fun to play around in the kitchen.   But seriously, don’t mess with my carbonara.

I am only going to say this once.  Please do not add cream to (my) carbonara.

Rome made me this way.   It actually happened a couple of visits ago.    My dad took me to one of his favorite restaurants.   He recommended the carbonara on the basis that he had eaten it on several recent  (in a row) return visits.   Of course, I got annoyed with him for never trying anything new.    But, I give it a go.    Rather have something recommended than be disappointed.  I have a serious issue with paying for bad food.   Story for another day.

The carbonara was quite simply the best thing I ever had.    Whoa.   That’s serious.    I don’t know if it was because I was in Rome and it was a gorgeous fall night and we were sitting outside beneath the stars, surrounded by candlelight, flowing fountains and clinking glasses.     Actually as I write this, I will acknowledge that the atmosphere was pretty awesome and I’m sure it helped shape my memory.  

Perfect al dente noodles and a light glaze of eggy cheesy subtle yumminess.   Emphasis on subtle.  Coated with a very generous dusting of black pepper.   Heaven.

Deeply imbedded in my memory, I decided that I would learn to make carbonara at home.   Can’t be hard.   Well, it is hard.   To get it right.   Not even just right, perfect.  So I gave up and decided I wouldn’t have it again until I returned to Rome.   How silly of me.    At the time, I had no idea I’d be returning to Italy for a proposal from my boyfriend and then an extended personal “enrichment” stay.    But something in my intuition told me I’d be back.  

Flash forward two years.    John brings me on a surprise trip to Rome.     I bring him to my little carbonara slice of heaven on night one.   John proposes.   Hmmmmm…. A connection?    I’ll share the details of the proposal at a later time when it won’t derail my story.

I return to Rome one month later.   Proceed to eat carbonara at every single place I go to.    Well, except for the ones that only had pizza.     Some of it was good.   Some of it was very (very) bad.   Nothing was perfect.  I acknowledge that I must learn to make it again and challenge myself to another attempt.     When in Rome…

I decide to follow in the footsteps of my mother and buy myself a real Italian cookbook.    In English, but from Italy.    When we traveled together, she always reminded me, especially when I was being particularly cheap, that it is really nice when you buy something on your travels and then return home and incorporate it into your daily life.   Then, every time you use ‘it’ you are reminded of your trip.   A cookbook is a perfect way to do this.     

I half attempted a couple of recipes based on ingredients I had on hand at the time.    Everything was good, but all looked the same.   I figured that carbonara, in its simple whiteness would help break that pattern.    It was time.   

Here’s the recipe I made.     Honestly, it still wasn’t perfection and the addition of white wine and butter made it less authentic than I wanted.   But it was in the cookbook.   And that simply meant that I had no choice.  I was going to make the carbonara, imperfect recipe and all.     And it was way better than many of the versions I had out in Rome if that helps.    Take my viewpoint on the recipe with a grain of salt.   I am not definitely not an expert on the topic, merely an obsessed consumer.

Without further adieu, carbonara.   The actual recipe plus my color commentary.   

Oh one other piece of advice, please don’t use bacon.   Do try and find pancetta or even guanciale.    It makes all the difference. 

From “Pasta, every way for every day” by Eric Treuille & Anna Del Conte

Carbonara, Serves 4

3 egg yolks

8 tbsp freshly grated parmesan

2 tbsp oil

2 garlic cloves, peeled and halved

7 oz unsmoked pancetta

4 tbsp white wine

1 lb dried pasta

 ½ oz butter

salt, black pepper

additional freshly grated parmesan to serve

Mix egg yolks and parmesan in a bowl until combined.   (Yes, it will look a little strange.   And italian egg yolks are way yellow-er than those we have at home.   Makes for a very yellow mixture.)

Heat oil in a large frying pan.   Add garlic and cook over medium high heat until golden, 2 minutes.   Remove garlic and discard.   (Note - I skipped this last step.   I like garlic.)

Add pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp, 5 minutes.    Add wine and simmer until just evaporated, 2 minutes.   Remove from heat.

Meanwhile, cook pasta in a large pot of boiling, salted water, until firm to the bite.   

Drain, reserving ½ cup pasta water.   (I was drinking wine while cooking and totally missed this step.  I didn't actually need it, but if I did, I do know the pasta water is important as it is starchy.   I guess the moral of this story is, pay attention and don't drink too much wine.)

Add drained pasta to the hot pancetta and toss well to coat.  (I tossed so well that I had some pancetta escapees as noted in the picture below.)

Remove from the heat.   Add egg mixture and butter and toss again to coat, adding reserved water as needed.   Add salt and pepper to taste.   

Serve immediately with additional parmesan.   (See top picture above!   That was my dinner.   Seriously, it was pretty good.   Just not perfect!)

You may be asking yourself at this point, "How on earth does carbonara relate to winking?"   Swing by later for Part Two…

Sharing Happy

It is Sunday.   It is a beautiful day.   And I am happy.

Given these three factors, I am going to take a little travel break and share with you the most exciting news and try and spread a little happiness around.   The fabulous Kelli G from one of my favorite little spots of sunshine, bug miscellany, totally made my day by awarding me with my very first blog award… 

With this honor, I get to share with you 10 things that make me happy.   If you’ve been following along, you already know some basics… travel, photography, cooking and design are some of my favorites.   But it is time to go a little deeper.  Tough to narrow it down, so I will take a little variation on the theme and present you with the top 10 Summer things that make me happy just thinking about them.  Enjoy!

Gardenias

Memory of a Gardenia, by sintwister

  

Soon after I first met John, he asked me what my favorite flower was.    Without hesitation, I answered the Gardenia.    He told me he had a little surprise for me and brought me out to his deck which he had surrounded with gardenia bushes.  They happened to be in full bloom at the time.   There is nothing that makes me happier than the scent of gardenia.    When I first moved to the south, I’d go for walks in the neighborhood and be overwhelmed with this beautiful new (to me) scent.    Didn’t take me long to figure out what it was and I’ve been in love ever since.  

Gelato

When in Rome by artsyville

Ok, so I suppose ice cream works here as well.   But given my recent return from Italy, I’d like to think that I can still find amazing gelato on every street corner.   Is it possible to survive on an all gelato diet?   Hmmmm… I wonder.

Water

Original Contemporary Modern Art Seascape Ocean Beach Painting by chrismaestrifineart

Summer in North Carolina equals hot.   Very hot and very humid.  I dream of being by the water.   Any kind.   Ocean, lake, pool, sprinkler.   Tall glasses of water filled to the top with ice cubes.   Ahhhh.... cool water.   Water makes me happy. 

Fireflies

 Firefly night by yoote

Mid Summer.   Evening.    Air is still.   Nothing moves.   The humidity traps everything.    Except the little fireflies that dance through the night, sharing little droplets of light wherever they go.    My favorite time of year.

Musical Picnics

Still Life Art Print of An Evening Picnic by joesartshop

One thing I love about the south is the abundance of outdoor music on summer weekends.   We always have a ton of things to choose from.   I love making like a European and throwing together a lovely simple little picnic in our gorgeous basket, finding a soft spot on the grass, laying out our spread, drinking a little wine and hanging out under the stars listening to someone do what they love.   

Farmer’s Market

Summer at the Market by JulieDavisPhoto

Following the theme above, some of the best picnics are sourced from the local farmer’s market.    I realize this is a strong sentiment, but having just returned from Europe, I had to make a trip to the local grocery store.   I actually got really angry when I saw the quality of produce in comparison to what I’ve been selecting from over the past two months.     I vowed that I will try and make it to the farmer’s market as often as I can.    Life it too short to eat crappy produce and there is just no excuse for not supporting our local farmers.  

Sunshine

Summer Sunshine Fine Art Print by BillyCurrie 

This is easy.   Sunshine equals happy.    Throw in a little bright blue Carolina cloudless sky and I am guaranteed a good day. 

Planning a Wedding           

 Then There Was You Print by CathyNichols

Okay, I admit fully that this one is overwhelming me at the moment, but when I think past the project that lies ahead of me to the end result, I can’t help but be happy.    Can’t we just skip to the good part?

Grilled Pizza

 Lunch in Capitola by santacruzart

My latest obsession.  I found out John had a bread machine lurking in his pantry.    I seriously have never met a man that has his very own bread machine.    In all honesty, I’m pretty sure he has rarely used it, but I certainly can.  I secretly wonder if this is another version of a chic magnet… you know, like those adorable little puppies that guys walk around with in the park.     But whatever, it works.     I learned to make pizza dough.   And then I learned to make it on the grill.  And it is the most fabulous thing ever.   It is our new summer obsession. 

Early Summer Mornings

Morning Glory Fine Art Print by sarathesun

I wake up every morning with the realization that the day is fully mine.  I remember how lucky and blessed I am to have the ability to pursue what I love.    There is nothing that makes me happier.

Thanks for following along with me and hopefully I was able to spread a little sunshine your way!   Take some time on this beautiful Sunday to think about what makes you happy.   I’d love to hear some of your favorites here!     Let’s inspire each other!

And because happiness is contagious, I’m sharing this lovely award with several blogs that have recently brought a little smile to my face for one reason or another.   Just accept your award, share ten things that bring you happiness and pass it along!

Please make sure to check them out, visit the wonderful kelli g and stop by the artists shops that brought us today's visuals. 

Slow Lane Notes

Lisa Roy Handbags

Fanny Manny and Co

French Mademoiselle

Serendipity

Wishing everyone a Happy Sunday and a fantastic ending to your weekend!

Secret Garden

My favorite place in Paris.

Yes, I know.   For any of you that have been following me around lately, you’ve probably noticed that I have quite a few favorite places.   And that’s very true.   I suppose that’s one of the main reasons we travel, to discover all of those favorite little things out there that make our hearts sing. 

I first visited the Musee Rodin in April 2008 with my now fiance, John.   Our inaugural vacation together.    It was a tough first six months for us.   I lost my mom in September the prior year to breast cancer.   John and I had only met two months prior.    I figure if we can survive that kind of turmoil in our first year together, things will be good.   In any event, it was time for the two of us to get away.    And there’s nothing like Paris in the springtime.    Only I think we were right on the ‘verge’ of springtime.  Doesn’t matter… there’s still nothing like Paris and it was a very memorable first vacation together.

I have very fond recollections of our visit to the Musee Rodin.     We visited many places on this trip, some of which I wanted to return to this time around and others that I decided will stay in my memory.     I definitely wanted to return to this museum.

Not for the sculpture or even so much for the museum, which are both fantastic, but for the gardens.    I love the city.   Would be tremendously happy living in an urban  environment, but only provided I can get my fill of ‘green’ days.     You’ve noticed on this trip, I try and space out city activity with green activity to give my mind a little rest and refresher.

 

For just one euro, one can buy access to the gardens surrounding the museum.      Honestly, it is worth so much more.    This is probably one of the most peaceful and tranquil places I have ever been.    Everything is perfectly manicured and yet very natural.   The gardens flow around the outside, dotted with brilliant sculpture.  I love a good sculpture garden.    Something about the air and setting makes everything all the more amazing. 

There are pockets of true garden areas, filled with blooming roses at the time of my visit, small forested spots, lawns dotted with chairs for sitting and reading, a reflective pond in perfect visual alignment with the museum.     Paths for wandering, flowers for smelling, clean air for breathing.    Beautiful, calm and very very peaceful.

I absolutely love that there were so many people here that clearly paid one euro to take a nap.    You know it is good if you are willing to pay to take a nap.

I do not recall the flowers being in bloom to this extent during my visit here with John.    Gorgeously tended roses in all shades, carefully protecting the sculpture they surround.   Everything in wonderful harmony.    I can envision this location being used for a magnificent grand party.     Women in big hats and flowing dresses.   Music in the air.    Magical starlit evenings filled with festivities.    Lots of secret garden spots to grab a hidden kiss.   Very romantic.  

If I lived in Paris I would come to visit at least once a week.   It would be my very own secret garden to hide away in.   Somewhere to stop and smell the roses.   I hope I’ve encouraged you to find some time on your next visit to Paris to visit and if you’ve been before, to visit again!

Trust me, it is even better the second time around. 

The French Macaron

Adding yet another macaron post to the growing plethora of on line content dedicated to this gorgeous French treat.    I admit, prior to this visit to Paris, my only exposure was to the sticky coconut macaroon we eat in the United States.     I knew of the French version but had never tried it.   Until now.

It is kind of impossible to be in Paris and not be hit with the macaron everywhere you turn.     I read a lot of French blogs and every single one at some point has something dedicated to the macaron.     They are everywhere.

And so I decided that I too should find out what all the fuss was about.     They certainly have one thing going for them from the start.   They are beautiful.   In an airy, French, pastel-ly way.     If there is any treat that embodies the essence of Paris, this is it.    Very feminine. 

If I am going to do something, I am going to do it right.   I went straight for the top.     It wasn’t hard to figure out who the favorites were so I quickly narrowed it down to the famed Laduree and Pierre Herme.    I knew my first experience would need to be from one of these guys.    No skimping on this one. 

My decision process went something like this.   On one of my daily walks, I ran right into one of the Lauderee shops.   There was literally a line almost down the street.   I don’t like lines.    Pierre Herme  won my vote.

After some additional research, I learned that Pierre Herme is equally as crazy if you hit it at peak times.   Wanting to avoid this, I plotted my visit to align with my post Shakespeare and Company trip,  a rainy afternoon and a Wednesday.   Odds were in my favor.  

Besides the line thing, there were a couple of other details that caught my attention.   First, the pictures of the shop were absolutely gorgeous, described as a little jewel box.   Then, they have the most amazing brochure ever on their site.   How can you resist this?     And last, but certainly not least, Pierre Herme is often described as an innovative pastry genius, someone not afraid to take a little risk and stray from the norm to create beautifully unique and wonderful items.  Sold. 

The whole experience was idyllic.  I actually felt a little special standing in front of the counter contemplating my selections.   My planning was perfect.   Me and another woman.    We basically had the place to ourselves.    Although I wanted one of everything, I knew that I needed to proceed with plan.   Three small macarons.   Rose.   Pistachio.   Salted Caramel.   I knew these would be the three before I stepped foot inside.  

The transaction was perfect.    Very kind and professional.    I watched as they selected each of the three from the case and very daintily arranged them within a clear bag which was subsequently perfectly folded and labeled and handed carefully over to me.  I felt like I had won a prize.

I was pretty knowledgeable heading into this experience.  I knew all of the risks associated with purchasing macarons and attempting to save them for later.    They were to be my evening dessert.    These things are so delicate that I read story after story containing cautions on how to handle and transport to ensure they arrive safely at destination.

Having been forewarned, I figured I had it under control.    I walked through the streets of Paris at a slow pace, gingerly carrying my sweet little clear bag by the top so as to not disturb the contents.    I protected my little macarons from the heat of my hands and tried to shield the package from the elements when a little breeze would crop up.  I had this down.  There was no way any of these would suffer even a scratch.   For the three or so miles walking back to my flat, these macarons were my little babies.  I would protect them with my life.

And I did.   For the first two and a half miles or so.

What I hadn’t factored in or understood was that no amount of coddling would prevent these from eventual harm.   Macarons by their nature are sweet airy little delicate beings and at some point they will start to meltdown.    My perfectly beautiful treats did just that.   They actually started to melt a little.   Once this happened, the cracks started appearing.    My only hope at this point was that they would still taste good.

I made it back to my apartment and threw my darling babies in the refrigerator hoping that a chill would help firm them up and bring them back to the original state.   It helped.   A little.

For the rest of the day, my thoughts wandered back to the pastel macarons that I had waiting for me.      Eventually, I just gave in, poured myself a glass of perfectly chilled rose, carefully unwrapped my un-perfect macarons and dug in.   I started with the rose and I have to tell you that once I started, it was like a little religious experience.   It was that good.   Sweet, light, airy, full of essence.    Ahhhhhh… each one was perfect in its own way.   

On a side note, the wine was a very nice complement to the macaron.   In a less celebratory time, I probably would have gone with tea.    I digress...

It didn’t matter that they suffered a little on the outside, they were still beautiful on the inside.   And really, that’s the most important thing anyway.     I feel badly that the pictures here do not capture their real beauty, but hey, I was kind of in a rush!

And now I knew.   I knew what all the fuss was about.  I was hooked.  

Like everyone else who has indulged and fallen for these beauties, I know this won’t be my last ode to the macaron.    Yes, I too, will attempt to learn how to make these.   The thought of it makes me all a little nervous…. But hey, you only live once, what’s the worst that can happen?    They turn out horrible, you feed them to the fiancé and you start all over again.     There are worse things in life.

For anyone that may be planning their first tasting experience, consider yourself forewarned on the transportation issue.    Oh, and I highly recommend Pierre Herme.    Fabulous. 

PS – Once I tried these, I began to see macarons everywhere.  Literally everywhere.   I swear one afternoon I breezed past a McDonald’s and out of the corner of my eye I caught a display of pastel macarons in the window.  I don’t know if this was real or my imagination… but I thought to myself... only in Paris!

Angels in Disguise

In honor of the deliciously dreary rain that seems to have followed me from Paris to my home in Raleigh, I decided today would be the perfect day to share with you one of my most loved rainy day activities. 

Since laying on the couch watching a marathon day of backlogged movie selections doesn’t provide much in the way of visual content, I will give you my second best.   Which is actually really much better anyway.

Who doesn’t love settling down with a good book, or even just a decent book, somewhere cozy on a drizzly grey day?    And I mean an old fashioned book, with pages and a little weight in your hands, not the kindle kind.   Although I have to say, the kindle is great for travel.   So convenient and better yet, lightweight.

Since I had an afternoon to kill in Paris and I needed a break from museum going, I meandered over to Shakespeare and Company.    A visit to this literary shrine was on my list already, but got a bump up due to this fabulous post by fellow blogger Ponder and Stitch.   The pictures looked, well, really inviting.    Can’t you just imagine curling up here for awhile?

Shakespeare and Company was founded by an American, Sylvia Beach in 1917.    It quickly became a haven for fellow Americans in Paris.   Writers and other artsy types would hang here.   You may be familiar with some of the names.   James Joyce, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, T.S. Eliot, the list goes on.    They were all embraced and welcomed here.    Shakespeare and Company actually published the first version of Joyce’s Ulysses when no one else would.    And get this, the shop was so welcoming, that they provided and continue to provide a temporary home for penniless writers who may need a place to stay for a bit while they are working on getting discovered.     There is an actual bed and lots of cozy little corners inside where you can envision someone curled up.   I know from experience that books are a little like pillows.   Somewhere to rest your head for awhile. 

The one rule for someone staying is that you must read one book a day.   What a great rule. 

I crossed the Seine and headed with great anticipation to the site.    Tucked away on the street surrounded by typical Parisian cafes, even the outside is super inviting.   Piles of old books, colorful benches and chairs scattered, old signs and an open door.   Given the weather when I arrived, there were quite a few people inside mulling around.    This place is jam packed with books, floor to ceiling and everywhere in between.   The bottom floor houses new books for sale.  Up the back stair, lives a lending library where you can find the cozy corners and lots of places to sit and absorb.     Even an old fashioned type writer.   

And my favorite thing of all, a sign above the door saying “Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.”   Think about that.   Fabulous isn’t it?   You just never know.

A perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon in Paris.     I hope that they stick around forever and weather the storm that is the larger bookseller corporations.     So much character, history, warmth.   One more example of why Paris is such a romantically wonderful city.   Small personal surprises around every corner.     Stay tuned for later when I share how I decided to spend the rest of this delicious afternoon!