by Jen Lin-Liu
Craig knew how obsessed I was with Italian ice cream. Backpacking through Europe in my mid-twenties, I’d subsisted on a diet of gelato, often eating four or five cups of it every day. But on our last night in Rome the year before, an unfortunate thing happened. At a gelateria in Trastevere, I ordered a scoop that turned out to be the worst I’d ever tasted, and I desperately needed another ice cream to undo the taste that lingered in my mouth. But it was late, and all the gelato shops we came across were closed. There would be no time for the dessert the next day, either—we were leaving in the morning, very early. My levelheaded husband tried to put it in perspective—“It’s just a scoop of ice cream, we’ll get you one somewhere else, promise . . . maybe there will be a gelato shop at the airport”—to which I responded with hysterics and accusations that he didn’t understand me and the seriousness with which I approached food, my livelihood. I reluctantly got into a taxi with him to return to our bed-and-breakfast. En route, I saw a glimmer of hope: a gelato shop with the lights still on. We had the taxi stop then and there, only to be greeted by an employee who said they were closing. I begged him to let me in for one last, redeeming scoop. He relented, and our trip ended with a delicious cup of frosty hazelnut creaminess. My husband breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted.
On this trip, I’d indulged in the occasional cup of gelato, but there was so much else to enjoy that it had become a side note. Plus, when I learned how the dessert was made, it lost some of its allure. It had become perhaps the most mechanized dish in Italian cuisine—gelato makers bought expensive machines and poured in custard, premade in some shops, made from scratch in others. The machine decided how long to churn the ice cream for the right consistency. Even so, gelato was infinitely better than most ice creams in the world, thanks to the inclusion of egg yolks in its smooth, cream-based varieties and fresh seasonal fruit in others. The standard flavors, pistachio and hazelnut, were more appealing than vanilla and chocolate. And this was one aspect of Italian cuisine that had bucked tradition: recent innovations included chocolate and chili; ricotta, fig, and caramel; and amaretto and pine nut.
Craig had asked me to reserve a few hours on our last afternoon for him, and we began our tour at the Pantheon, the most beautiful building in all of Rome, which had endured for two millennia. After we admired it and Raphael’s tomb inside, my husband led me down a string of narrow alleys to an institution called Giolitti, where Pope John Paul II used to send his driver when an ice cream craving struck. Inside, swarms of locals and tourists piled around a long counter, in a line that had no apparent beginning or end, shouting their orders to gruff attendants. When we finally emerged from the ruckus, with a huge cone in my hand like a victory torch, I understood what the commotion was about: the creamy scoops of hazelnut and pine nut were as smooth as cake frosting, and a nut allergy sufferer might have wanted to think twice about even getting close to the ice cream, so bold were the flavors. We paused at a classic Roman café called Tazza d’Oro for shots of espresso. My American-coffee-loving husband even downed one. We then strolled on to another shop called San Crispino for a scoop of their trademark honey gelato, which we ate on the steps of the Trevi Fountain. There were more shops on the list, but my time in Italy had taught me to stop before I regretted it—restraint was indeed necessary, given that we had a dinner reservation.
I’d canceled our booking at La Pergola. I’d come to realize that my husband and Andrea were right. The more I thought about it, it seemed wrong to end our trip at a three-star Michelin restaurant, however nice it would be. And we hadn’t packed the right shoes anyway. Instead, with the help of local friends, I’d chosen a little trattoria in southern Rome called Il Ristoro degli Angeli, which served traditional Italian dishes with twists thought up by its chef, a fifty-something-year-old woman with dyed green hair named Elisabetta who, coincidentally, had been a journalist before starting the restaurant.
Craig and I sat outside, at a table fashioned out of a wooden barrel, and uncorked a bottle of Sangiovese from Tuscany. We started out with delicious focaccia topped with thin wisps of lardo that spoke to Italy’s love of pork fat, an obsession the country shared with China. A decadent plate of Italian cheeses came with honey and preserves that reminded me of distant Central Asia and Turkey. We had the classic Roman pasta preparation of cacio e pepe, spaghetti with pecorino cheese and black pepper. After Craig dug in, though, he frowned. “There’s too much pepper in this,” he said.
I had another taste—he was right. “Hey, your taste buds are better than mine!”
“That’s the first time you’ve said that,” he replied.
I asked Craig if the trip had changed his perspective on food: was he more interested in it than when we’d begun? He shrugged. “I’m not sure. You know me, I’m not a foodie.”
“But wait a second . . . before this trip, you would never have thought you’d enjoy slices of pure pork fat. Or passed up an Americano for an espresso. Or gone out for gelato,” I said. It occurred to me that he hadn’t complained even once about the length of a meal. And to my utter delight, after the journey, my husband began cooking for me on occasion, making spectactular blowout meals that I’d never expected. When he cooked, he put his all into it, reducing honey-orange glaze on the stove for roast duck, stuffing pork chops with ricotta before grilling and topping them with a delicious marinara sauce, a recipe I had to steal.
“I’m not a foodie,” Craig repeated. “But I like food. Who doesn’t like food? Now, if I could get you to spend as much time hiking as we spend eating, that would be progress.”
But the real question was: How had I changed? Had the journey altered my views on marriage? And, just like my husband, I didn’t know. But I knew I wanted to stop moving, and I didn’t want to take another seven-thousand-mile journey anytime soon. And I was okay with the word “wife.” The many versions of them I’d encountered on the journey had broadened my notion of what the label meant. Each of these wives, in circumstances different from my own, had had to find her own balance, and different from me as they were, I could relate to them all. The word “wife” bonded me not just to my husband but also to a network of women from China to Italy—and beyond. I was grateful that my husband had accompanied me for so much of my adventure. We’d managed to maintain a good degree of togetherness after all these months, in large part because of him. And we weren’t so different as I once thought—that, I realized, was simply a matter of perspective. Despite our contrasting interests and opinions, we had plenty of commonalities, like East and West, that made us more similar than we were different.
Funny enough, though it was the end of our journey, we didn’t feel the need to talk about the future that evening, or in the days that followed. That night, Craig and I just wanted to enjoy a meal, the way that Romans did every night. The travel had settled us. And, as it turned out, things would become clear in a matter of weeks. I would discover, rather unexpectedly, that I was pregnant and soon after, Craig would pass the Foreign Service exam, which began a new chapter in our lives.
But at that moment, lingering over dinner in a casual restaurant in southern Rome, we were okay with the uncertainties. And the possibilities. Just as we finished eating, the owner, Elisabetta, came out to say hello and introduced her husband, who ran the restaurant with her. While the couple chatted about the ins and outs of operating their trattoria, I thought, maybe that could be us someday. That could be our dream and ambition, if—just as I’d done with the noodle mystery—we just let it be.
ORECCHIETTE
Serves 6
2 cups semolina flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1⅓ cups water
In a medium bowl, combine the semolina flour and the all-purpose flour. Follow the directions for mixing and kneading the dough in the recipe for Chef Zhang’s Hand-Rolled Noodles, although this dough will be slightly firmer. Cover the dough with a damp cloth or wrap in plastic and set aside for 30 minutes.
Tr
ansfer the dough to a clean, lightly floured surface and knead for 3 to 5 minutes, then cover it with a damp cloth or wrap it in plastic and let sit for at least 30 minutes.
Dust the work surface with flour. Break off a quarter of the dough to work with, leaving the rest under the damp cloth. Knead the dough for a couple of minutes and shape it into a long rope about ¼ inch thick, then cut the rope into ¼-inch pieces. Working with a butter knife and one bit of dough at a time, run the butter knife over the dough, pushing the blunt, curved part of the blade into the center of the dough and pulling the dough against the work surface so that the dough curls around the knife into a concave round. (For a demonstration of this process, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEy4DiN6lL4.) Repeat with the rest of the dough, inverting the orecchiette so that they are bowl-side up and sprinkling them lightly with flour. Allow the orecchiette to dry for 2 hours before cooking.
ORECCHIETTE CON LE CIME DI RAPA (ORECCHIETTE WITH TURNIP TOPS)
Serves 6
1 pound turnip tops (or substitute broccoli rabe or Chinese broccoli), washed, trimmed, and cut into bite-sized pieces
1 recipe Orecchiette or 1 pound packaged dried orecchiette
½ cup coarse bread crumbs
½ cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
½ onion, minced
6 flat anchovies, minced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the turnip tops (or broccoli rabe or Chinese broccoli) and the fresh orecchiette and cook for 3 to 4 minutes. (If using dry pasta, boil until nearly done before adding the greens.) Reserve 1 or 2 cups of the cooking liquid, then drain the pasta and vegetables in a colander.
In a small frying pan, toast the bread crumbs in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil over medium-low heat for 3 to 4 minutes, until golden. Remove from the heat and set aside.
Place the garlic, the onion, and the rest of the olive oil in a large frying pan and sauté over medium heat for about 4 to 5 minutes, until the garlic and onion are just beginning to color. Add the anchovies and stir for a minute or two. Add the drained greens and pasta and toss, adding a little bit of pasta water. Season to taste with salt and black pepper and serve immediately, topped with the bread crumbs.
RAGÙ (BOLOGNESE PASTA SAUCE)
Makes enough for 2 pounds pasta, or 8 servings
¼ cup sunflower oil
1 large carrot, finely diced
1 medium onion, minced
3 ribs celery, leaves discarded, finely diced
3 pounds ground beef (30 percent fat)
¾ cup tomato paste
½ cup tomato sauce
1 tablespoon salt
1 cup water
Make the soffritto: Heat the sunflower oil in a large, heavy pot over medium heat. Add the carrots, onions, and celery and sauté for 10 to 12 minutes, until the vegetables soften.
Add the beef and sauté over medium heat for 10 to 15 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook for 20 minutes, allowing the flavors to meld. Add the tomato paste. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes more, stirring occasionally. Add the tomato sauce and salt and simmer an additional 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the water, stir, and let the sauce simmer for an hour before serving.
LASAGNA BOLOGNESE
Serves 8
FOR THE DOUGH:
8 cups flour
6 extra-large eggs
1 cup (about 7 ounces) spinach, boiled until tender and chopped, then squeezed in a colander to remove all excess moisture
FOR THE BÉCHAMEL SAUCE:
1 cup (2 sticks) butter
1 quart milk
1½ cups flour
1 recipe Ragù
1 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
Make the dough: Heap the flour on a large, clean, sturdy, dry surface and make a well in the center. Break the eggs into the center of the well. Add the spinach. Beat the eggs and spinach into the flour with a fork, then continue mixing with your hands until all the flour has been incorporated. Transfer the dough to a clean, lightly floured surface and knead with your hands or a stand mixer for 3 to 5 minutes, until the dough is soft, pliable, and smooth. If it feels a little dry, knead in a few drops of water. Cover the dough with a damp cloth or wrap it in plastic and let it sit for at least 30 minutes.
Make the béchamel sauce: Melt the butter in a medium saucepan. Add the milk and bring just to the point of boiling. Reduce the heat to low and slowly whisk in the flour, stirring constantly, until the sauce is thick and pasty. Remove from the heat and use immediately.
Follow the instructions for rolling out the dough in Chef Zhang’s Hand-Rolled Noodles/Andrea’s Pasta, cutting the dough into 3-inch strips and then cutting the strips to fit the width of the pan in which you’ll be baking the lasagna.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add the noodles. Boil for 1 minute, then drain the noodles and plunge them into a basin or pot of cold water for a minute to arrest the cooking process. Drain thoroughly.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
Spread a thin layer of béchamel sauce in the baking pan. Add a layer of lasagna noodles, then a layer of ragù, then a layer of béchamel, then a layer of the grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. Repeat the layering, starting with the lasagna noodles and ending with the Parmigiano-Reggiano.
Bake the lasagna for 30 minutes, until it is bubbling. Allow it to cool for a few minutes before cutting it into squares and serving.
CHEESE TORTELLINI WITH SAGE-BUTTER SAUCE
Serves 4
FOR THE DOUGH:
2½ cups all-purpose flour
3 eggs
FOR THE FILLING:
½ pound ricotta cheese
½ cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1 tablespoon minced fresh parsley
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 egg
FOR THE SAUCE:
¼ cup water
12 fresh sage leaves
4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter
½ cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano for serving
Follow the directions for kneading and rolling out the dough in Chef Zhang’s Hand-Rolled Noodles/Andrea’s Pasta. Cut the sheets of dough into 1-inch squares.
Make the filling: Mix the cheeses together with the parsley, garlic, and egg.
Follow the instructions for wrapping dumplings as in the recipe for Manti.
Make the sauce: Place the water and sage leaves, torn into pieces, in a large frying pan and place over medium heat. Reduce to low heat and simmer the leaves for 3 to 4 minutes, then add the butter and allow it to melt. Keep warm.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the tortellini and boil for 3 to 4 minutes, then drain well and toss with the sage-butter sauce. Garnish with the cheese and serve immediately.
Variation: Tortellini in Brodo (Meat Tortellini in Broth)
Instead of the cheese filling, stuff the tortellini with a mixture of ½ pound cooked minced pork, 3 eggs, 1 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, 2 tablespoons minced prosciutto crudo, 2 tablespoons minced mortadella, and ¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg. Boil the tortellini for 3 to 4 minutes in good, homemade chicken stock and serve in soup bowls, with the stock and accompanied with additional grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.
acknowledgments
One of the unexpected surprises, and an idea that’s at the heart of this book, was the incredible support and assistance I received from friends and strangers far and wide.
In China, I’d like to thank Bai Jianbo; Isabel and her Tibetan friends; Nur, Malika, and their family; and Mahmood. Across the border in Kyrgyzstan, I am indebted to Gulzat Baialieva and her family for inviting me into their home and for Gulzat’s painstaking research. In Uzbekistan, I received warm hospitality from Marina Tsoy, the Mashhura School, Fara, Murad an
d Shaista. Aziza and Kutbiya of the Antica B&B nursed me back to health. Lola and Anastasia translated for me. Russell Zanca furthered my understanding of Central Asian noodles. Kennon Lee connected me with valuable friends in Turkmenistan.
In Iran, Ingo and Almut Koll and Fairy Behnam were gracious hosts. I’d like to thank Tina in Mashhad and the many friends I met in Yazd, Ishfahan, and Tehran. I also benefited from the help of Iranians abroad, including Fariborz, Hamid and Missy Yazdahpanah, Babak Behnam, Najmieh Batmanglij, and Abdi Sami. I was saddened to learn of Abdi’s recent passing.
I cannot thank Selin Rozanes of Turkish Flavours enough for all the time and effort she has put into my project. Also in Istanbul, Batur Durmay, his staff at Asitane, Bengi Kayhan, and Ayse and Ipek of Giritli gave me a sense of home. Filiz Hosukoglu thoroughly guided me through Gaziantep. Asli Mutlu and Betül-Arif Obdan at Yarbasan Holiday Homes near Bodrum generously hosted me. Aylin Öney Tan, Tangör Tan, Afyer Tuczu Unsal, and Nevin Halıcı always responded promptly and eloquently to my many questions about Turkish cuisine. A thank-you goes out to Ayse Adanali and Levent Ulucer for initial ideas and translation.
In the southern heel of Italy, Daniela Mandriota, her fiancé, Sandro Gentile, and their families—especially Nonna—provided me with endless meals and laughs. San Domenico restaurant in Monopoli allowed me into their kitchen. I’d also like to thank Martina Milelli and Daniel Alberman in Salento. Marina De Martino of No-Stress Itineraries guided me through the streets of Naples and her kitchen. In Emilia-Romagna, the list of people to thank is long: Paolo Canto, Siriana Tanfoglio, and Margherita Benvenuti of the Tourism Board; the sfogline Nadia Pelliconi, Luisa Seppi, and Valeria Vitali; and elswhere in Emilia-Romagna, Roberta Tedeschi, Fabrizio Zivieri, Patrizia Vecchi, Maria Luisa Soncini, Giovanni Tedeschi, and Roberto Farina. In Rome, I am indebted to Federica Bianchi, Stephan Faris, Kathy Beamis, Giuseppe Cerroni, Giovanna De Mattia and Adolfo Bigini, and the family of Alessandro Campitelli. Sarah Ting-Ting Hou, Cara McAvoy, Paolo Longo, Allesandro Spiga, and Alessia Pirolo helped with contacts across Italy. And most important, in Italy, Andrea Consoli gave me inspiration for the journey.