Polpette al latte - veal meatballs (made with rolled oats) in milk sauce

 

 

We spent the week end with good friends in the country. We grilled, ate, drank and the kids all had the best time. We even got creative with what the local supermaket had to offer and made these. We were dreading the drive back in heavy traffic and pouring rain on Sunday evening, but it was actually fine. And although the kids didn't fall into a deep sleep as we had hoped, it turned out to be quite entertaining.

 

Snap shots from the back seat

  

Son (3 yrs): " Jesus died before me".

Daughter (7 yrs): "That's obvious ".  (Uh, yeah! That was a couple of thousand years ago).

                           "You aren't dead yet". (um, ooookaaaay...)

 

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S: "Is there meat inside of us?"

 

                                                                ***

 

D: " What is your team?"

S (with great enthusiasm): "Goal!!!"*

D: "No!! What team do you support?!"

S: "..."

S: " What is a team?"

 

* He calls soccer or anything soccer related "goal". As in: "I played goal today in pre K". Or "Can you get me my goal ball?". Or "I want to wear my goal shoes" or "Are these goal pants Mommy?" referring to sneakers and sweat pants.
 

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D: " Moooommy, can you put songs on? I want the Rumple Stiltskin CD"

S: "Nooo! I want Bruce Stiltskin".

 

No, we don't have the Shrek soundtrack in the car. That would be Robbie Williams and Bruce Springsteen. As said by my Italian children.

 

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Turning Tables was blasting on the speaker.

S (wagging his finger at Adele): "Non si grida - screaming is a no-no!"

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This next one is from yesterday during story time on the couch, not Sunday in the car, but I couldn't resist.

S: "Mommy, this isn't The Three Little Pigs... look! One, three, four, five, six, eight.

  

Spezzatino con piselli

 

 

I live in Italy and as I have already told you more than once, Thursday will be just another day -office, taking children to a birthday party, dinner, getting ready for another school/work day on Friday - so I have plenty more time on my hands right now than most fellow Americans.

 

Granted, we will be eating turkey meat for dinner and cranberries will make an appearance in some form on our table, but I am not standing in my kitchen cursing right now like so many of you probably are. Or maybe not since you are sitting here reading my blog, in which case, what are you doing here??? Get moving, Thanksgiving is the day after tomorrow!

 

We may not celebrate Thanksgiving as much as we would like to for all the reasons above, but it still is a time of the year to stop and think about what I have and say thanks.
 

 

 

I am thankful I am not a turkey.

 

Ok. Just joking.

 

But not entirely.

 

I am thankful I have first world problems to worry about, like will the buttercream frosting for the birthday cake I am baking this week end turn out ok or not.

 

I am thankful for the circle of life. Two days ago I found out that the place my grandmother just left in this world will be filled by a brand new soul: a person I love dearly just told me, in these exact words, that she is baking a second turkey this Thanksgiving, due in April. Making a turkey is not always as easy as it looks and she is some of the best mom material out there, so I couldn't be happier. It makes loss easier when you realize that those who have lived a full life must leave room to others who are still waiting to get their first, incredibly sweet taste.

 

For more things that really count when you are giving thanks, go here and here.

 

 

 

Here is something you might feel like making now if you are not American, or next week when you are all turkeyed out if you are.

 

This dish is a classic Italian recipe, the kind grandmas were making long before we were born. It is traditionally made with veal, the less noble cuts, and it is great to eat as a main course accompanied by mashed potatoes, rice or polenta.

For Monet

One of the things that surprised me the most when I started blogging was becoming part of a community. The blogosphere may be a virtual place, but everything about the support, the friendship and the comraderie that thrives in the foodie blogging community is real. I have seen virtual babyshowers held for expecting moms that live on the other side of the world. I have gotten teary over pictures of children and laughed until my stomach hurt over stories about them. I have felt emotional reading posts about mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, friends and partners. We spend time with these people pretty much every day, we often read their innermost thoughts. Time passes and we become friends, without really even noticing it.

The story that touched me the most since I entered this world was Monet's. She is a young, inspired and inspirational young woman who has been through a lot of hardship in the past years. A few months ago she lost some close members of her family in a tragic accident and through her words we have been experiencing her pain, her bereavement, her rediscovery of the small joys of life, things that make her smile.

When all this happened two of her blogging friends, Liz and Kate, decided to do something that would let Monet know that many of her followers were thinking of her, there for her, close to her. Since we are all united by the love of food and creating it, they thought it would be nice to create a book of comforting recipes. They asked each of us to send one from our blog that warms our souls and that brings us comfort. They then worked hard and long to put them all together and send her the book.

Monet has asked that we all share our recipes today.

I am honored to share my recipe, to be a part of this community. To Monet and her family, but mostly to Pam and to Jeremy.

Click on the link below for the full recipe and post.

Ossobuco with risotto alla Milanese

Lemon & anchovy pork (or veal) meatballs

What a perfect Sunday.

We got up after a good night's sleep, had a nice breakfast and went to visit the new Museo del Novecento, which was inaugurated a few months ago right in the central Piazza Duomo of Milan. Since Milan was appointed to host the Expo 2015, there has been a feeling of change, renovation and excitement in the air. The city, whose skyline is currently crane-infested like a miniature Berlin, is undergoing a long-needed makeover.

In this mindframe, the museum offered free entrance to its collections of Twentieth Century Italian art for two months, but we of course waited until the second-to-last day (and last Sunday and right in the midst of Fashion week may I add) to try to go. This is the first real attempt we have made to go to an art museum since our second child was born.

With one it worked fabulously: it was cute, people smiled and nudged each other, admiring the oh-so-perfect parents teaching their daughter to appreciate the arts and different cultures at a very young age. With two, not so much. There is a lot of crying, whining and snotty noses. The older child wants to sit in the stroller, the younger one wants out. Both want to be carried, jealousy ensues. Four hands touching and grabbing suddenly seem five times as many as two hands to control. And siblings have the tendency to egg each other on when bored or tired (remember sis?). Suddenly you are the pariah, the family that should keep those noisy, spoiled kids at home. Crowded museums and restaurants, the magic combination of many a relaxed week end as a couple, are now a recipe for disaster. Especially in a city where even being intellectual is a fashion, where your average museum dwellers are uber trendy couples, the we-do-not-want-children-especially-after-seeing-you-today kind.

Anyway, back to my story. We thought we would take advantage of our early mornings to get to the museum before the crowds. Who stands in piazza Duomo on a cold, grey Sunday morning before 10:00am? Everybody, apparently. When we got there, the line was so long it went all the way around the building and through the piazza, at least a 2 to 3 hour wait. Thank goodness a friend had told me strollers had precedence because it was one of the few times (including boarding planes) that I was happy to have a stroller to lug around. Surely enough, in a country where very little is tailored towards families and children, in we zipped under the astonished looks of the throngs of people standing behind the ropes.

The doorman warned us it would be crowded upstairs and it was, but it worked out well anyway. We spent a little over an hour walking through the building, just enough time to check out the architecture and some of the paintings. To discuss colours, materials and subjects with our daughter. To have her loudly point out every intimate detail of each and every painting or sculpture. As the tour continued, the childrens' interest and attention ebbed so we were glad to reach the large area on top where they could run around a little amidst the Fontana sculptures and the large windows overlooking the piazza. After this I started handing out hidden breadsticks and announced to my husband we had just enough time to escape, give or take five minutes if we let the kids push the buttons in the elevator. We succeeded and went for a nice lunch at the Panino Giusto right next door and then home just before the rain hit.

In the afternoon, as my little boy slept and dreamt of Boccioni and Pelizza da Volpedo and my daughter and husband drew at the kitchen table, I made these meatballs (or rather patties since I made them a little larger than usual). They are adapted from a Nigel Slater recipe I found on the blog 'Too Many Chefs' years ago. Every bite just melts in your mouth, with a nice citrusy punch and savory touch from the anchovies. They have become a favorite at our house. Why not make them a favorite at yours?

Vitello tonnato, summer pot luck and other digressions

Remember how a few weeks ago I mentioned in one of my posts that tuna salad is not a staple summer dish here? In Italy, whose Mediterranean waters are renown for tuna fishing? Come on, I kept thinking, there has to be a summer dish with tuna in it...

That got me thinking about summer recipes in general and how they often differ from country to country. The concept of eating foods according to the seasons has never disappeared here (it is obvious why prosciutto&melon/figs and tomato & mozzarella are eaten in the summer). But a close Brazilian friend of mine and I are amused that there are some dishes Italians only eat certain times of the year, and God forbid you order them, make them or serve them at any other time!