The Miss Cupcake

 Arriving in Paris met me by utter shock. As I slowly ascended from the subway station, my eyes began to wander to the beautiful Parisian apartment buildings, the charming cafes, and the elegant clothing shops.

I immediately knew that I would leave my heart here.

We wandered toward the Notre Dame sector and were greeted by what appeared to be an open air market for animals.

Like a Sam’s Club for furry friends.

There were Chinchillas.

And overly fluffy faceless bunnies

And an assortment of multicolored birds

And bright yellow chirping birds

The market was also strewn with Christmas trees, plants, and garden supplies.

Our walk led us to the foot of a French Christmas market. It was at this point that I realized that while Germany is most known for Christmas markets, Europe in it’s entirety boasts of many.

The market was small but it’s minor details were worth noting, like these wooden reindeer.

The artisan shops at the Christmas market boasted of French cheese stands, homemade jewelry, and this homemade nougat, a mere 4 feet high, packed full of fruit and nuts.

I was chomping at the bit for a bit of French fare, so after searching out several cafes, Colleen, Susan and I located this precious tea room and restaurant.

The menu,which was translated very poorly into English, was rather entertaining to read (especially this master copy with all of the typo notes spread across the paper). It made my roommates and I realize how much that we had developed a case of “bad English,” finding ourselves speaking as simply as possible help our Italian peers understand us a bit better.

So if you hear me say something like, “the steam exits from the dough,” it’s normal.

I promise.

But enough about Italy, we were in Paris! And by golly, we would celebrate with copious amounts of bread.

And luckily, we were able to read in the provided menu that this restaurant kneads their own bread with their own mitts.

What does that even mean?

Susan ordered a cup of “Christmas” tea, which had a nice hint of caramel.

The restaurant was decorated with hand-panted graphics, book shelves, and lots of classy French people.

We were not among those people.

We were extremely thrilled with our restaurant choice as we began to smell our entrees from a distance.

The chicken and vegetable quiche was probably one of my better decisions…in life.

It was perfectly moist and tender with a delicious egg flavor that was far from overwhelming  It paired perfectly with a small green salad served with their house dressing (which, my friends, was NOT olive oil).

This beef was braised in a succulent broth and served with gnocchi and vegetables. The beef fell apart when pierced and paired ironically well with the gnocchi.

This lovely little find was just the start to a beautiful journey through the streets of this glorious city.

Are you planning a trip to Paris and want to enjoy local fair and tea among well-dressed Parisians?

La Fourmi Ailee, Salon de the Address: 8 , rue du Fouarre 5th Paris

After we had nourished ourselves, we made our way to the absolutely stunning Notre Dame Cathedral.

The Gothic architecture fascinated me.

And then I found myself looking around,

I looked up, behind my shoulder, in front of my friends, under the seats.

I was determined.

Where in the Wyoming does the Hunchback of Notre Dame live?

I mean, is not that why this place is popular?

Unfortunately, I was unable to enjoy an encounter with the humped fellow, but I was blessed to view beautiful stained glass and soft glowing candles.

An extremely large handmade (by an Italian) Nativity set was displayed on one side of the church.

The decorative detail presented in Notre Dame was absolutely beautiful.

Even the poles were elaborately decorated.

And then there was a saint without a head.

I guess it’s a thing here…maybe.

And then we joined a riot, because we thought it would be entertaining.

We could gather that it had something to do with homosexuality.

But, for the life of us, we weren’t really sure which side they were fighting for.

We maneuvered our way over to Shakespeare and Company, an English bookstore which opened in the early 1900s. The store has 13 beds and has supposedly slept over 40,000 people over the years. Customers have included the likes of the “Lost Generation writers,” such as Ernest Hemingway.

The uniqueness and welcoming feel of the bookstore draws people to visit.

Upstairs, along with a piano, is a section of antique books that customers are welcome to sit down and enjoy.

And since Susan and I finally realized that we were in Paris, we thought that it would be only appropriate to read Madeline aloud, like we were 5.

And it was magical.

But something that may have been more heart twisting was viewing three children head first into their books.

I gazed at this sweet little girl as she enjoyed the colors and words inside of the book she had chosen to read.

And outside the upstairs window, we found an airplane and a plastic horse.

I like these people already.

And upstairs we didn’t just find a piano, a childrens corner, and books. We found comfort and peace, like we were exactly where we needed to be in the world. And Susan and I sat their in a daze of blessings, enjoying the piano music as it slowly faded away.

And then I saw a sign for cupcakes.

And I was like, woah.

Well, and then, we thought that it was necessary to ride a carousel.

So, well, we did.

And the whole time, Colleen may or may not have been consuming a baguette.

By herself.

She got really into it.

And Susan was enjoying the brisk air as she let her hair blow in the wind.

And Colleen…

well, she was still working on that loaf.

And then we realized, oh crap, 1/3 of a half-eaten baguette will NOT be enough for our dinner.

So we bought 2 more.

And Susan was proud.

This is her, “look at me, I have two baguettes” face.

And of course, Colleen made sure to test the baguette waters for us.

She’s such a giver.

But rather than test, she just decided to snack.

Until I snatched it from her and gave her a firm slap in the face.

But of course, I didn’t use my hand.

I used the baguette.

Which then immediately became a toy.

And a sword.

And then Colleen devised a brilliant way to conserve her 1/2 eaten French bread loaf.

And we enjoyed a fabulously simple dinner with fresh breads, crisp greens, Creamy cheese, luscious butter, French wine, and great friends.

But what we didn’t enjoy much of that evening was baguettes.

As we were trucking our luggage into the timeshare that evening, our baguettes side off the carrier and onto a part of unknown road material, never to be found again.

Let me just tell you, someone was not very happy

In fact, it because a meltdown.

We all wailed.

The next day, we wore black.

But before we had lost our bread in the abyss of night time, we had a death match.

Baguette version.

Everyone wins when you are playing with bread.

Ciao for now!

The “farewell from Florence” festivities continued as Friday rolled around. It would not be a day reserved to reflect, but rather to be filled with lots of people, trying to make as many last minute memories as possible.

I made my way through the Mercato Centrale, where I first fell in love with local food and what it means for life and for the economy. It is a place where you are able to know where your food comes from and build meaningful relationships with the sellers. I gazed at the fresh pasta stand, which had been rolling out fresh fettuccini and forming gnocchi. I picked up fresh almonds from my favorite nut stand and I had a long conversation about cheese with a gentleman whose family had been running the stand for generations.

Oh how I would miss the beautiful wholeness and simplicity of the Italian way of life. I would miss my dried fruit lady who always made sure to put “a little extra” in my bag and encouraged me to try to new fruits. I would strangely miss the obnoxious leather salesman who thought that the best way to sell something to someone was to mistake them as a supermodel. I would miss that market that represented so much more than it actually had for sale.

I went home to complete my packing and when I arrived, the unforgettable memories started bombarding my thoughts.

• Like the time I climbed the Duomo at night and gazed at the world below.
• Like the day I asked everyone to say horrible things to me in order to help me NOT miss them as much.
• Like the day that Jessica and I stood in front of the Greek Acropolis and stood there with our mouths wide open.
• Like the day that Colleen consumed more salt than what is recommended for 17 normal days.
• Like the first time we drove up to Agriturismo San Leo.
• Like the day I learned how to make pizza.
• Like the time that I burnt granola because I didn’t  remember to convert Fahrenheit to Celsius.

And after all of these experiences, prior aspirations, planning, and money, my study abroad experience has come to fruition. I am left with those memories, which will make me smile on April 14^th when I’m at the office doing taxes until 3am. I’m left with the special personal moments of self-triumph. I’m left with lots of LOVE. I’m left with a completely different outlook on life. And the only place I really knew how to properly celebrate all of this memorable magic with was my Italian momma, Laura.

We had too much wine, too much incredible company, and an overwhelming amount of that love that I keep gushing about. And the food was (of course) brilliant. It was true Italian home cooking at its finest.

The antipasto was polenta with grilled salsicce and cheese. The texture, flavor, and spice of this dish was addicting and delicious.

The “primi” (first course) was an egg-noodle pasta with fresh parsley, white wine, olive oil, and a mushroom medly. Laura let us use a bit of her truffle oil to seal the deal with the flavor.

And I, miss Lauren Elsasser, went back for seconds. It was d to the licious.

Our entree was an Italian meatball that was seasoned perfectly and had visible bread chunks inside.

Yes.

And if perfection wasn’t pleased with itself yet, it was accompanied by a deliciously dressed green salad.

And for dessert, was the traditional American Red Velvet cake, laced with Philadelphia frosting. We had ordered this from Fedora in advance so that we could enjoy it with Laura and Paul!

I slowly enjoyed every forkful to make sure that I was able to fully appreciate the soul of the food, and its significance to my journey here.

Another beautiful part of my last evening was the fact that I was able to share it with the two most incredible friends in the world plus two of the most welcoming people in the universe. And, I was finally able to meet Nel, Jessica’s long awaited boyfriend!

Saying goodbye for the last time, we thought, would be best done on a Florentine ice skating rink, at 12am, where we would all make fools of ourselves. There, we wore skates that were either way too big or extremely tight, listened to Italian pop music, and fell more than we skated.

It wasn’t always a graceful sight.

Knowing that this would be the last time that I saw Jessica for a long period of time, I dreaded the final separation. However, the inevitable goodbye quickly crept up and there was no way to prolong it. We slowly released ourselves from an overly long hug, and I attempted to slowly back away and convince myself that I would see her soon. It was one of the most difficult goodbyes that I have ever experienced. How do I leave someone that I have become so close to in 4 months?; someone that I’ve shared my heart with, experiences with, and a kitchen prison with.

And although the sadness involved in separation from many new friends was difficult, there was an added ray of happiness that surrounded the entire situation. This was not a goodbye forever, this was an incredible opportunity to become a global citizen, reaching and reuniting with friends from all over the world.

But after leaving Jessica, the goodbyes and “see you laters” seemed to continue as if they would never end. They left me sleepless, exhausted, and completely unprepared for the airport situation that was about to befall me.

Colleen, Susan, and I soberly drove away from Florence with a small taxi packed with 11 suitcases. Our time in Florence was officially complete. We were everything but prepared for the flight experience to Paris, a supposed “leap” to relaxation.

Our suitcases were ALL overweight. But due to our stress level, finals, and overall exhaustion, we were just ready to pay overage fees. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Frantically pacing, dealing with horrible Vueling employees, and articles of clothing and books from the past 4 months just thrown on the airport floor, were what befell us in those next several hours before our flight. We were desperate and tired. We were forced to throw away memories, gifts, and tangible representations of our 4-month journey. It was NOT an ideal way to leave.

In fact, it ended with Colleen and Susan paying a combined $1000 for extra baggage in addition to buckets of tears, almost missing the flight, and somehow strangely acquiring a sense of accomplishment.

Although Vueling customer service and policy kind of sucks, overcoming a dreadful situation on your own doesn’t  For three young women, we were challenged with lugging heavy luggage, pleading, communicating, and using our common sense. It was encouraging. We are women and we can do important stuff too.

Once we arrived in Paris, we were sweating, tired, AND hungry.

And. It was raining.

And. We had a crap load of stuff.

And we were unable to find proper matching feet covers, so some of us resorted to this type of outfit. This style is all the rage in Laous.

But you know what?

We found baguettes.

 We made due with a mini market dinner and enjoyed a French meal with some old fashioned table talk.

Now, before I go back to the USA, it’s time to forget the bad, cherish the good, and enjoy a new city.

Bonjour, de Paris!

Note to Self: Either learn to pack much lighter or start working out so I can lift 5 suitcases up stairs, through the woods, and too grandmothers house. Cause it NOT BE a pretty sight (or pleasant for anyone involved).

How am I expected to just get up and leave? It feels like it was just last week that I stuffed two suitcases full of sparkly shoes and puffy dresses, left my room a wreck, and wore my winter sweater because it wouldn’t fit in my luggage.

I don’t understand how I can be packing when I just unpacked. I unpacked all of my dreams, hopes, aspirations, and my personality onto Florence. And as I reflect on the several months that I have been unpacking here, I am utterly stunned at how well the experience has complimented me.

I never realized that I would learn as much as I did, both in baking and in life.

But mostly, I had no idea that I would learn this much about myself.

• I’ve learned to enjoy the simple things that mean more than anything.
• I’ve learned to appreciate the kitchen table surrounded with those who I love.
• I’ve learned that I hate cleaning dishes.
• I’ve learned that waking up at 5:30am and walking across Florence really isn’t as bad as it sounds.
• I’ve learned how to have patience in certain situations.
• I’ve learned that I’m absolutely thrilled to start my accounting/investing career with my family.
• I’ve learned that my family is the most important thing in the world to me.
• I’ve learned how to make a family in another country.
• I’ve learned that the language you speak is not as important as your personality (because actions speak louder than words).
• I’ve learned that listening is a gift that can mean the world to someone in a time of need.
• I’ve learned that there are other people in this world like me. And although I understand that my obsession with food is a bit concerning, at least there are fellow food-stricken individuals.
• I’ve learned that having an Australian friend makes you 100% cooler.
• I’ve learned that alone time is refreshing and self-rewarding.
• I’ve learned how to appreciate wine (and subsequently drink alot of it).
• I’ve learned about the real Italy in a small agriturismo outside of Florence.
• I’ve learned that olive oil is a whole nourishing food and is used generously as part of a ridiculously healthy diet
• I’ve learned how to overcome my fear of fat and eat to pleasure myself.
• I’ve learned that enjoying life isn’t where you are, who you are with, or what you are doing, it’s your attitude.
• I’ve learned that everything tastes better here.
• I’ve learned how to have an entire conversation at the cash register in Italian.
• I’ve learned how to carry a  50 lb. suitcase up 5 flights of stairs without the help of Jared.
• I learned that chef outfit hides all of the extra weight that you have gained (And makes you feel like it’s ok to gain more).
• I’ve learned that age is what you make of it. Growing old doesn’t need to mean you have to grow up.
• I’ve learned that you become like the people who spend most of your time with, and I have surrounded myself with amazing people.
• I’ve learned that I say “All’s you have to do” all the time, thanks to the insight from my non-Pennsylvania friends.
• I’ve learned that Spain has these freaking amazing animal cookies that are consistently burnt and violently addicting.
• I’ve learned that Florence is absolutely beautiful at night.
• I’ve learned to let go financially and splurge on precious gifts that I will pass down for generations.
• I’ve learned that something doesn’t have to be expensive for it to be unforgettable.
• I’ve learned like there is nothing like the hospitality of an Italian momma.
• I’ve learned that I have a passion for gift-giving.
• I’ve learned that my life goal is to live for the glory of God, make random acts of kindness a normalcy, listen to people, and cook.
• I’ve learned how to appreciate the wonder and excitement of Jared Smith, when one of his life goals became a reality.
• I’ve learned that I really have way to much stuff.
• I’ve learned that despite the fact that I have way to much stuff, all of the chocolate will stay.
• I’ve learned that dancing in public transportation is quite liberating.
• I’ve learned that despite what I’m wearing or what I’m doing, my personality should never be compressed into a stereotypical view of what’s “cool.” I am who I am and that will never change.
• I’ve learned that I can’t imagine having children and watching them leave for three months. However, I’ve also learned that I will let them go if they experience, learn, and grow as much as I have in my time here.
• I’ve learned that my dad needs me. He cries when I’m not there. Don’t let his mustache and bouts of anger confuse you. He’s such a softy and I want to hug him right now.
• I’ve learned why my mother loves me so much, because nothing matters as much as those who you love.
• I’ve learned that the best friends are made when you aren’t necessarily looking in the “right place.”
• I’ve learned that I’m not done here.
• I’ve learned that my passion is food and family and that will most certainly never change.
• I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned how to be me.

But other than learning about myself, I’ve learned a ridiculous amount of golden information about the art of baking and pastry. Coming into this program, I had no idea that I would be able acquire such difficult techniques and intricate skill. And at the same time, I was let loose, encouraged to explore my inner creative side and given responsibility which truly stretched my capabilities.

In my time at Fedora, I was trusted to be creative with cupcakes, such as these apple cinnamon streusel cupcakes.

And these white chocolate blueberry cupcakes.

And these chocolate dipped orange cupcakes.

And you know what else I’ve learned?

Going back to real finals is going to suck.

Not that these finals aren’t mentally taxing, because they most definitely are.

But at Susquehanna, you don’t get to eat your finals after you hand them in (Like this pizza I made for my final in bread class…

which was topped with a simple sauce (made from tomatoes, olive oil, salt, pepper, and oregano), fresh mozzarella cheese, basil, and Parmesan,

then baked in a stone oven until it was perfectly pizza-like.

Then strategically tasted and looked over my by professors (who, because of my perfect score, must have happened to like it).

If you are interested in making your own Italian pizza, refer to my prior post Here. Note: I prepared the dough, but used the “Napoleon” method. That is, I made the dough, let it set for a bit, and made it directly. No waiting needed.

But then, after our written final, our dough kneading, and our perfect placement of toppings, we were able to eat it.

We ate our final exam.

And that exam tasted real good.

As the week continued on, we trekked on as well. Our next final was an assignment to create your own cake, which left Colleen and I in every position to Pinterest our lives away. We were inspired by a hot chocolate cake that we viewed on the web and decided to play with the components to create a stockpile of irresistible flavor.

We started with a silky fudge frosting,

that Jessica may have “sampled” for us.

We baked a chocolate fudge brownie cake and made a homemade marshmallow cream to fill.

We iced the sandwich cakes with the cocoa fudge frosting.

And then we realized that we were working with marshmallow cream.

And marshmallow cream likes to stay in motion…which meant our cakes would take on a new dimension, that new dimension being a lack of straightness.

So rather than fretting (which we did enough of), we tempered some chocolate, covered the entire base, and garnished it with a  golden spoon and homemade marshmallows.

And you know what?

It tasted like heaven.

We found the inspiration for this dessert here, and used the marshmallow cream recipe from here.

And Simone thought it was pretty darn good.

And Colleen and Jessica decided to avoid the production of unwanted waste.

They thought it was…ok.

And after Colleen’s 14th spoonful of icing, we dared her to eat it off a chocolate spoon.

She laughed at us, took a spoon, and dressed it up with a 1/4 cup of frosting.

And then, Colleen did this.

And she stayed there for quite a while.

#TimeforanIntervention

Our finals continued on with Cookies and Petit Fours, where we were all given the same recipe (Biscotti) and told to produce one sample for the chef to try.

We rolled the dough into logs, brushed them with egg yolks, topped with sugar, and baked.

Once golden, we took the logs out of the oven, cut them into biscotti pieces, and placed them back into the oven to toast.

And Jessica and I, being the kind-hearted individuals that we are, decided to help avoid extra product production by eating the extras.

And eating the extras by the LOG.

And kids, I wish I kidding.

And then I crashed at the same time that Colleen decided she liked “playing” with knives.

And while I was in my sugar coma, Colleen experimented with her blade.

I woke up just in time to avoid the large blood wound that seemed to have been in my future. I perked up, grabbed my biscotti, and off I went to be judged.

Simone:Well Lauren, it’s not cooked in the middle.

Lauren: No one’s is, there are too many in the oven.

Simone: Other than that..it’s great. I give you a 7.

Lauren: ….out of 7?

Simone: no.

Crap.

Cantuccini Di Prato (Biscotti)

• 500 grams flour (120 gluten count if available)
• 300 grams granulated sugar
• 100 grams butter, softened
• 3 eggs
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 2.5 grams salt
• 7.5 grams baking power
• 200 grams almonds with skin

Directions:

1. Combine all ingredients (Expect baking powder and almonds) in a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon. Once combined well, add baking powder, combine. Next, add almonds.
2. Combine the dough into 4 even sections. Roll into a long long, as shown above. (About 2.5 inches in diameter). Place on parchment lined baking sheets.
3. Brush with egg yolks and finish with brown or white sugar.
4. Bake for 12-14 minutes in a 420* Fahrenheit oven or until golden brown in color.
5. Take logs out of the oven and cut at an angle to produce the biscotti. You should be able to get about 15 pieces from each loaf. Discard the ends by consuming them
6. Place on baking sheet, cut side down and toast for an additional 3-5 minutes.
7. Flip sides and bake 3-5 minutes more.
8. Let cool. Drizzle with chocolate and package for a great gift!

These cookies can be stored for several months in a sealed bag or air-tight container!

Our last final, Italian Classical Cakes and Tarts, was dedicated to a simple cake from Napoli called the Pastiera. Made traditionally at Easter time, the shortbread lined cake is filled with a mixture of sugar, ricotta, candied orange, and eggs. It has a perfectly light and creamy consistency and has a burst of freshness because of the citrus.

And to our delight, it came out absolutely perfectly.

Which meant only one thing.

We must eat it.

We must eat it all.

Pastiera

For the Short Pastry Crust:

• 200 grams flour
• 100 grams butter
• 80 grams sugar
• 1 egg
• 3/4 tsp. vanilla extract

For the Filling:

• 250 grams ricotta cheese
• 225 grams powdered sugar
• 125 grams cooked whisked grain
• 2 eggs
• 65 grams candied orange
• 1 gram salt (omit if using canned cooked grain)
• 4 grams grated orange zest
• cinnamon, if desired

Directions:

1. To prepare the short pastry, cream the butter and sugar in an electric mixer. Slowly add the eggs. Lastly, add the flour and vanilla until combined. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1-2 hours before use.
2. Boil slowly the gran, soaked before in cold water for 24 hours, for 3-4 hours. Drain and leave to cool. (This can be omitted if using a canned cooked grain. Just boil with a bit of milk to take away the acidity, then drain).
3. Squeeze and dry the ricotta cheese and combine it with the powdered sugar. Add the eggs, one at a time. Add the candied orange, salt, and cinnamon. Roll out the pastry  and place in the mold or cake tin by covering the bottom of the mold and up the sides about 1/2 inch.
4. Pour in the filling about half way up the cake mold.
5. Cut out long strips of the remaining pastry and arrange them on top of the filling in a criss-cross manner.
6. Bake at 375* Fahrenheit for about 45-50 minutes.
7. Let cool. Remove from mold, and ENJOY!

And rather than crashing after eating our cake, we just acted like children.

Which, strangely enough, isn’t that uncommon.

We all took a moment to capture the whole group with two of our Chefs: Illaria Fusi and Simone De Castro.

And to be perfectly honest, it’s this group of 11 people that have truly changed my life. Each one came with a different passion and purpose, but each one WORKED to get here. Everyone had a story, and some were extremely inspirational.

Like Natasha and Alex, who quit their marketing jobs to learn how to make Italian pastry in hopes of opening up a bakery in Dubai.

Or Lital, from Israel  who realized her passion for pastry and has made every possible effort to continue her education at Apicuis another semester.

Or Colleen, one of my new best friends, who will graduate from Penn State this year as a junior and then move on to the prestigious Culinary Institute of American in California.

Or Jessica Barton, who quit an accounting job, left a family, and a boyfriend, to explore her passion in hopes of a new sense of self.

Or Erick Dole from Iowa, one of the most kindhearted individuals I have ever met in my life, who realized that culinary wasn’t his “jam” and switched to baking and mastering the art of everything.

I had no idea that everyone, coming from completely different family situations, different aspirations  different paths, and different futures would actually be following the same dream as mine.

We all left something that was safe to explore something that may not be.

We left comfort for passion. And because of this binding agent, we became inseparable, flocking to one another amongst large groups of others. We found ourselves inadvertently in route to the kitchen at all events and in all situations. We all realized the power of food and it’s amazing qualities that bring masses of people into harmony. Food doesn’t just fuel, it brings people together. And because of food, I have met some of the most incredible people I will ever meet in my life.

And the chefs who gave us the opportunity of togetherness were indescribably phenomenal.

Chef Simone has such a passion for his career. He often made sure that we knew how passionate he was about his work and how much he loved sharing it with us. He gave us prized family recipes and had such a joy while doing it. He trusted us, but taught us. He encouraged us, but reprimanded us. His soft heart, loving personality, and incredible drive for pastry made our experience 1949392% better. We didn’t learn a trade, we were taught a passion.

Chef Illaria Fusi took time to explain every detail to us. We learned about the history of certain cakes, why they were consumed, and what they mean for Italy and for the world. She was always there to help us, to make cute little jokes, and to compliment us when we really produced something excellent. She had a phenomenal way of giving us advice.

And with everything that I’ve baked, cooked, and eaten in the pastry lab since the midterm break, I have had a few standouts.

1. Cassata
2. Chef Illaria’s Marmalades
3. Tiramisu
4. Pineapple Tarts
5. Hot Chocolate Cake
6. Chickpea Flour cookies
7. Opera Cupcakes
8. Stromboli Bread
9. Madelines
10. Olive Oil and Rosemary Biscuits
11. Souffle
12. Decorated Bread
13. Pastiera
14. Assorted Plum Cakes
15. Fried Panzerotti
16. The best bread I have ever consumed (Focaccia)
17. Vegan Corn Cake with Orange Glaze
18. Cheese and Honey Seadas
19. Devil’s Food Coffee Infused Cupcakes
20. PIZZA

But something else slowly worked it’s way into my heart as well, the Panettone. When asked what my favorite Italian dessert was on my final exam, I wrote this:

I would have to say the Panettone. I wouldn’t even necessarily say that the taste is why it’s my favorite, because sometimes that’s really not important. It’s my favorite dessert because of what it represents, even for me as a foreigner. I know that when I see a Panetonne, that I’m with some type of family. I’m celebrating something and I’m enjoying something big with others. The Panettone, an enriched Christmas bread made with candied orange and raisans, is a labor of love, taking 1-2 days to prepare. It represents tradition, it represents love, and it represents family.

And so, to properly celebrate the love that my roommates and my classmates have shared, we decided that a Panettone, a party, and some wine was something that was necessary before departing.

We invited several friends over and enjoyed a lovely apertivo; laughing and reflecting on this unbelievable time together.

I put together a simple raw salad made with peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, chickpeas, feta cheese, olive oil, salt and pepper.

With the extra “product” from Colleen and I’s hot chocolate cake, I made several cake ball truffles.

Which truly delighted the crowd!

Bianca made her famous hard boiled eggs with sweet and sour sauce (something she had tried at an apertivo during her time here in Italy).

They are seriously delicious.

We had a traditional dish of pecorino, pears, and honey.

And a lovely bruschetta.

To compliment the Panettone, nothing other than Moscato d’ Asti was in order.

Erick delighted the crowd by revealing this beautiful pistachio raspberry cake that he picked up at a friend of Simone’s chocolate shop.

And we giggled, smiled, and cherished the time we had together.

We toasted to our adventures.

And then we got all dressed up and went to an actual party, given for students of Palazzi.

But, as said before, we immediately flocked to the kitchen. As music, dancing, and alcohol was being offered to hundreds of people in the large ball-room, we had found our hearts back in the small kitchen area.

It was there were all of the memories from this journey started to flow back into vivid memory.

Like the master students, Olivia and Brett, who I worked with in Ganzo plating desserts for one week.

And I remembered how crazy Lital was and how I can’t imagine life without her contagious smile and positive personality.

I realized through all of this reflecting that leaving these people and this place will not be easy. Actually, it’s extremely bitter.

But, like this gelato cone that I had from DeNeri last night, leaving is also sweet.

It’s a chance to reunited with my home, bringing a newness and sense of re-birth to what I had previously taken for granted. It’s a wonderful opportunity to have connections all of the world, having many possibilities to travel. It’s not just sweet because pastry chef’s make sweet things.

Things are sweet because WE made them.

Incredible people, incredible country, incredible life.

As I packed my culinary jacket away in my suitcase last evening, I told myself that I would never wash it again.

The sweet sweet smell of sugar is the only way to describe my journey.

(And the extra 12lbs. of mass on my body)

Ciao…but not for long.

Thank you, oh Lord, for your innumerable blessings. Thank you for the opportunity to embark on a life changing journey, one of which would alter my view of the world and encourage me to encourage others.

Sometimes when you live in a foreign country for an extended period of time, your appreciation for certain “homey” things gets the best of you.

For me, the thing that encompassed “home”was the fluffy buttermilk pancake with maple syrup.

Both of which are NOT Italian.

So rather than pout about it, we decided to turn it into an opportunity. Laura, Jessica’s host mom, invited Colleen and I over for an American pancake party. I’m not sure if I had ever been more excited to consume liquid sugar on top of carbs smothered with a slab of fat.

Laura was so excited to learn the process of our fluffy pancakes. She had received a beautiful bottle of Canadian syrup from one of her other hostees and she offered it to us as if it was gold.

And it was gold.

Colleen led the way, assuring us that she had the most incredible pancake recipe in the known 72 states.

Woah.

Although the statement was quite a tall order to live up to, we were excited and trusted her whole-heartily.

We even whole-heartily ”snuck” a few supplies out of the bakery in order for us to effectively produce the recipe.

And due to the lack of buttermilk in the Italian dairy industry, we made our own! 1 squeeze of lemon went into a bit of milk and it was left to “curdle.”

The dry ingredients were weighed and set aside.

Butter was melted and honey was incorporated inside.

Next, the mixture was whisked for several minutes and then let to rest.

Our pancake batter had a significant amount of trouble thickening due to the different properties of Italian whole-wheat flour.

To combat this crepe producing manner, we added a bit more flour to the dough and watched as they immediately began to puff up.

And after the flip of a spatula, I knew I was in for a treat. They were perfect American pancakes, in an Italian home.

Perfect.

We stockpiled them high and dug in!

Whole Wheat and Honey Buttermilk Pancakes 

Recipe By: SomethingEdible.com

Servings: Makes 12 five-inch hotcakes.

 

Ingredients:

 

Dry Stuff

• 1 sifted cup all-purpose flour
• 1 sifted cup whole white wheat flour
• 2 tsp. baking powder
• 1 tsp. baking soda

Wet Stuff

• 2 TBS. butter Melted.
• 2 TBS. honey
• 2 eggs Large.
• 1 tsp. Kosher salt
• 1 cup buttermilk
• ½ cup milk
• ¼ cup additional milk (use as necessary to thin it to a desired consistency).

 

Instructions:

1. In a two-quart mixing bowl whisk together the all-purpose flour, whole white wheat flour, baking powder, and baking soda.
2. Melt the butter and add to a one quart mixing bowl. While the butter’s still warm, whisk in the honey, and then the two eggs. Once integrated, whisk in the salt, then slowly pour in the buttermilk and the first ½ cup of [regular] milk, all the while continuing to whisk until integrated and the surface begins to get a little foamy.
3. Preheat a nonstick electric griddle to 375F. When temperature is achieved, spritz with non-stick spray then immediately (and carefully) wipe the griddle’s surface with a clean paper towel.
4. When it’s time to cook, slowly pour the contents of the wet into the larger bowl containing the dry ingredients. Whisk until integrated (but don’t sweat it if there are a few tiny lumps).
5. Let the batter rest for a minute or two.
6. Add the reserve milk by the tablespoon to the mix until the desired consistency is reached. As the batter sits and starch molecules hydrate, you may have to add a little more milk to loosen things up. Spoon enough batter onto the griddle to create a five-inch disc (about a scant quarter cup). This batter usually isn’t real runny, so you may have to shape it a bit as you lay it out on the griddle. Cook on the first side for two minutes or until bubbles in the center of the pancake begin to pop. Flip with a plastic turner and cook for another two minutes or until the center is set. Serve immediately or stockpile in a warm oven so everyone can eat at once.

 

I sliced up a bit of banana, squeezed a bit of lemon juice, and topped the cake with butter and syrup…and…

These pancakes were BY FAR the best I’ve ever eaten…like ever.

And trust me, I’ve been around the pancake block.

I hate to say it, but this was one of the most memorable meals in Italy thus far.

That may or may not be because of the pancakes (although it didn’t hurt). The memorable quality arrived from the hospitality of Jessica’s host mom, the incredible conversation, and the beautiful morning light.
And, it may have also come from these incredible baked apples that Laura prepared for us.

I didn’t end my time at Laura’s with just one meal and a breakfast, oh no, I continued (and will continue for 1 last time) to visit, enjoy, and embrace an Italian way of life. And after hearing the words, “Lasagna” and “Here,” it didn’t take much prodding. Laura prepared a fantastic lasagna with a crunchy top, meat sauce, bechemel sauce, and lasagna noodles.

For dessert we were served a traditional Tiramisu, which warmed my heart.

We were joined by a sweet woman who fell in love with Italy while she was a student many years ago.

Judy was so enamored by Italy that she just never went home. She’s a lovely lady and quite an inspirational character.

And Laura and Paul, they are absolutely fantastic hosts. In fact, when I’m in their presence  I don’t really feel as if I am a guest, I just feel as if I’m a close relative.

They are astounding people who are honest, ridiculously funny, and now…are my Italian parents (Even though Paul is from New York).

And after our first group picture, we realized that Laura appeared to be a bit shorter than desired. So, we took a slightly different pose, all squatting to be level with Laura.

I love my adopted Italian family.

Oh and those pancakes.

Yes.

Make them now, or regret your life without them forever.

It’s up to you.

Ciao for now!

I had been traveling around Europe for almost 4 months and I was yet to find that “place.” You know, that place where you never want to leave, somewhere that is unexplainable and unfathomable: a place where you want to be stranded forever.

I hadn’t found this place, until I arrived in Interlaken, Switzerland.

It’s magic.

Described as a “picture perfect” destination, Interlaken boasts of beautiful snow-capped mountains, perfectly situated churches, and hints of color in the architecture.

The small town feel ate straight into my heart and immediately sparked a connection between Interlaken and myself.

And another reason I loved this place?

The company.

This was easily the most fantastic trip I have taken in Europe BECAUSE I was able to share it with some of my favorite people in the whole world: Jared, Colleen, and Jessica.

Reunited and it feels so good!

After a bus ride in ridiculously tight quarters and a stream of continuous snot rockets from the  boy behind me, we arrived in Switzerland. We started with a roam around the city, having fun with the currency, scoping out the bakeries, and drooling over gingerbread.

In addition to our sugar-induced dreams, we decided to beat the rush and rent our ski material before we embarked on any new journeys the first day we arrived. While waiting, we danced.

People watched us.

We really didn’t care.

We posed too.

And once we realized that the line to the store was getting rather hefty, we booked it over and rented some skis.

Because well, we were going skiing.

In the Swiss Alps.

A slight education on the cost structure of Interlaken helped us to take note against the ridiculously high cost of living. We had arranged several meals and ingredients before we arrived so that we could save a bit of money; and instead, spend that money on chocolate.

What we didn’t realize is that these small and simple family meals that we prepared in the hostel kitchen would be ridiculously memorable in terms of flavor AND company.  We were able to function as a  small family unit: eating together, cooking together, and cleaning together. It was something that no restaurant experience could even begin to mimic.

And because our meals were incredibly delicious, it would only be proper of me to show you how to make them yourself.

Colleen’s dish for the first evening consisted of a thick-cut Tuscan pasta named pici. The sauce began  with sauteed garlic and tomatoes that had been cooked in olive oil for 1-2 minutes. Next, Taleggio cheese was melted into the pan and fresh basil was then incorporated into the dish. It was finished with salt and pepper.

I decided to bring along the Barilla pizza kit that had been sitting in my food cabinet since the beginning of the semester. Despite the lack of an oven, our failed attempted at cooking the pizza on the stove, and an extremely ”browned” (burnt) base, we enjoyed it thoroughly.

We finally gave up and chucked the pizza in the microwave.

We picked up an extremely tasty loaf of pretzel pull-apart bread from a local bakery.

And we were fed and ready for some serious Swiss action.

So, we decided to go sledding.

In the night.

With no actual lights.

So we bundled up, took a long car ride up an extremely icy hill, and put on our glow-sticks to ensure our “safety.”

A “gondola” was necessary to reach the top of the hill where we would begin our trek. After being in Venice several weeks before, this gondola thing really confused me.

Eight by eight we were ushered to the top of the mountain, which was surrounded by a warm glow coming from candle-lit lanterns.

It was magical. By far one of the most romantic places I have ever experienced.

I peaked my head into the small cabin that was situated on top of the hill. I was able to witness local Germans enjoying a beautifully relaxing dinner, rustic decorations, and delicious aromas.

And so we were off, zipping through the forest, almost flying off of a cliff to a terribly painful death.

It is impossible to recount the number of times I simply stared in wonder at what I was passing, who I was experiencing it with, and how immaculate God’s snowy creations were.

“Wow God, wow,” I uttered multiple times as I lost complete focus from the task at hand.

Which, consequently, led to a  significant amount of wipe-outs.

After we had completed the trail, we remained in a state of mental shock.This caused each one of us to act in a different manner.

Colleen was so effected that she was unable to look up.

I couldn’t look down.

Jared couldn’t put his sled down.

And Jessica, well, she could put her sled up OR down.

So she just kept moving it.

Being on top of a mountain at night gave us the opportunity to experience a certain stillness and silence that is often missed when participating in winter sports. At night everything slows down and remains calm and peaceful. There is no hustle and bustle, just nature and its simple beauty.

Our guide told us to stop our sleds during one of our rests and he ushered the group through 3 foot deep snow to show us the starts of a frozen waterfall.

And, yes, I saw that frozen waterfall and then kissed my handsome man.

And realized, that may have been the most romantic moment of my life.

It wasn’t the kiss.

It wasn’t the waterfall.

It wasn’t what we were wearing.

It was the magic of the Swiss Alps.

And after this magic, we were served beer and cheese.

Every man’s dream.

This was my first step into the world of beer and I must say, it didn’t make me want to vomit (Which in my book was a good sign). It did, however, make me realize that I would much rather eat my bread than drink it in the form of a fermented yeast product. Plus, putting salt and olive oil on beer just inst the same.

We were fed a touristy group meal which still gave us a nice idea of a traditional Swiss fondue dinner.

Anxiously awaiting to inform my friends of my speculative analysis of the cheese, I uttered, “It tastes alot like Swiss cheese.”

And then….then I felt like a fool.

Which is quite common….so it didn’t really matter.

The moral of the fondue story:

The fondue…tasted alot like Swiss cheese.

Plus you got to dip it in a vat of dairy.

Which dipping anything in dairy is fun.

We traveled back to our hostel in a small bus, tucked ourselves into bed, and reflected on the unbelievable day we had partaken in.

We rose early in the morning on day two and walked 1/2 mile to the train station to catch the 9:10 train.

Which we missed.

Mainly because of my inability to carry large objects.

So, rather than pouting about our unfortunate situation, we went across the street and started our chocolate buying frenzy: Chocolate Chip Cookie Chocolate and White Chocolate Mousse Chocolate.

If I can give you any indication into how good these were or into how serious the Swiss are about their chocolate, let me tell you this.

I spent 120 Euros on chocolate.

In two days.

After I had my precious chocolate, we made the train.

And I thought my eyes had deceived me.

The train, similar to polar express, seemed to be on its way to the next snow-capped village to pick up children to go to the North Pole. Immediately after, we would spent a bit of time underground inside of a tunnel and would then be spit out onto the valley of a mountain side.

And after our immaculate transportation situation, we decided to make use of our ski gear and actually go skiing,

In the Alps.

In the Freaking Alps.

And one of my most memorable parts of the trip was seeing Jared’s expressions change as the weekend progressed. He started as an anxious child awaiting Santa on Christmas morning and ended as though he had lived his entire life and could die a happy man.

His joy brought me joy.

And after celebrating joy with him, I slept.

Colleen and Jared went off to be crazy in the slopes as Jessica and I decided that staying on the beginners slope would be a good idea. Our first run, being completely in denial of the complexity of the “bunny hill” ended in two ridiculously epic falls courtesy of Jessica and I.

One beginner run and I realized that I was weak. I sat out and enjoyed the beautiful snowfall as I waited for the others to get hurt.

I trudged up the side of the ski slope to find myself a place to sit and gaze at the surroundings. Luckily, I saw this precious little restaurant and a sign that read, “Hier 1st Kein Picknickplatz Danke.” Which, being ignorant of the German language, I translated too. “Here is the first place the Calvin Klein had a picnic. Thank you.”

Because of my skeptical thoughts onto the availability of Calvin Klein products in Switzerland, I took a break from exercising my translation skills, and ate lunch instead.

Colleen ordered a fantastic dish that consisted of toasted bread, ham, Swiss cheese, red wine, and a whole lot of Swiss loving.

I ordered a paprika spiced goulash soup, accompanied by a soft whole wheat bread. This goulash, to my ignorance, did not mimic the “PA” version of goulash at all (macaroni and beef in a red sauce).

Although not what I expected, it surely warmed me up and cleared my sinuses.

And although I was sore, had a lack of sleep, had worked in Fedora, and felt like one more run down the mountain may be a sure-fire path to my death…

I did it.

And I’m so thankful that I did. Just at the moment of our second (and my final) run, the Swiss alps appeared clear in the background. The astonishing views caused me to, yet again, crash.

It became a problem.

And so, I decided to take my vision impairing fogged up sunglasses and give up.

But the problem wasn’t that I gave up.

The problem was that I was on the middle of the ski slope.

Only as the mountain below began to slowly creep out of the foggy covering did I garner enough strength to rise to my feet and finish the beginner’s slope of death.

And finishing meant taking my skis off and walking to the top of the next hill.

On the ski slope.

But you know what, I was on the Swiss Alps.

I crashed on the Swiss Alps.

I kissed Jared Smith on the Swiss Alps.

I ate goulash on the Swiss Alps.

We paid 12 Francs for a 3 Franc locker because we kept locking ourselves out (on the Swiss Alps).

I fell on the middle of the slop and stayed there (on the Swiss Alps)

I failed the beginner run (on the Swiss Alps).

And you know what…Jared was able to fulfill his dream.

And it didn’t involve me attempted to fall down black diamonds.

I had enough trouble getting off the ski lift.

Colleen to Jared: “Who are those idiots that caused the entire lift to start moving?”

Those idiots?

That was me and Jessica.

Words can’t describe the fresh powder, the extremely epic falls, and the feeling of crisp Swiss air hitting your face as you whisk your skis down the side of an extremely famous mountain.

I guess the word would be….magic.

Or gingerbread. Because we rewarded ourselves with marzipan FILLED gingerbread.

After returning, we enjoyed an evening walk around Interlaken, gazing at beautifully lit trees,

The lanterns hanging in the branches,

And the icicles on street lights that were formed naturally.

We walked by old restaurants,

and attempted to take in the beautiful scenery.

The overwhelmingness of it’s beauty was astounding.

And it was at that moment in which we all felt that we needed chocolate.

And we needed chocolate right then.

Our first stop was a precious chocolatier named Schuh.

We continued to mosey our way through the town when we were met by hundreds of Christmas market stalls, selling cheeses, ornaments, chocolates, and decorations.

There were even an assortment of “interesting” wooden armed, tinsel haired angels.

And Colleen and Jessica enjoyed a light and refreshing fruit snack.

It just happened to be covered in chocolate.

And, one of the highlights of the entire trip was seeing these sheep.

I told Jared that I wanted one.

He said he would ask if we could have one. But, I don’t think he ever did.

There was even an entire stand devoted to Swiss gingerbread.

And after our unfathomably incredible day, we returned to the hostel to prepare another family meal.

I prepared the main dish this evening which consisted of 4 scrambled eggs mixed with 1 can of green beans, 1 can of peas, 1 can of drained chickpeas, and 2 cups of cooked farro. After all of this is combined in a large pot, a drizzle of olive oil, a season of salt and pepper, and several spoons of pesto is added in. It’s an incredibly easy meal which provides an INSANE amount of nutrients and energy!

We also prepared fresh burschetta on garlic rubbed toast with tomatoes, olive oil, salt, pepper, and mini mozzarella chunks.

Colleen grilled up some delicious Swiss chicken and our meal was complete.

We sipped wine, told funny stories, made fun of each other’s downfalls as if we were related, and giggled as we witnessed Colleen’s failure to involve herself in the conversation.

Some boy…

Sheesh.

I mean, he must have been important, she fore-went the possible consumption of bread to talk with him.

After a period of rest for 49 minutes, we all realized that we were bored. So, we did what any other normal human being in a new city would do: we found the playground. We made snow-angels, we went down the slide, we swung on swings, and we teeter tautered until Jared cherry bombed me.

We all felt like children.

And it was amazing.

Our last morning in Interlaken was spent in transit, making sure that our eyes saw all that was possible to see.

This kitty was really cute.

So I took a picture.

We made our way to the East side of Interlaken (which literally means city between lakes) where a large lake was said to have been located.

We trekked through icy snow-covered paths, climbed to the top of the bridge, and…

we were with Micheala on this one, we just weren’t impressed.

We were just…shocked.

I had never imagined something so beautiful and pristine in my life. Even as I was skiing, I thought that the surroundings were a virtual reality, or that I was stuck inside of an extremely intricate snow globe with adequate oxygen supply for survival.

And then the serious shopping began. The typical Swiss chocolate and watches stereotype was really a perfect description of their specialty products. And the Swiss Chocolate Chalet that we bumped into,

well that was a disaster waiting to happen.

I went into the store 3 times.

Each time I bought more.

In fact, we bought so much chocolate there that he offered to take a picture of us with a massive amount of truffles.

I thought about fake sneezing on them in hopes that he would hand them over to me.

He just continued to let us sample every single thing in the store.

And so… we bought…every single thing in the store.

And then went to Co-op grocery store and bought more.

And this picture…sadly… that’s just some of it.

I’ll be fine, I promise.

I will recover. I will get over this addiction.

Or, I’ll just turn to another one of my obsessions: bread.

The highlight of our last family meal was the beautifully crunchy cereal bread that we purchased (along with our chocolate) at a local grocery-store bakery.

We also prepared gnocchi with tomato sauce, pesto, and pecorino.

And Colleen made her famous gnocchi with pesto cream sauce (made by heating pesto sauce, adding a small amount of cream, small mozzarella cubes, basil leaves, salt and pepper).

And as we pondered our entire trip, we all agreed that we had just taken part in one of the most memorable trips of our lives. We were surrounded with incredible people, were able to sit around the table to enjoy phenomenal meals, we had the opportunity to ski in the Swiss Alps, and we were able to act like children (yet still feel accepted).

Success.

Interlaken, Switzerland, I will come back for you, I promise.

Leave yourself just as you are.

Thank you God for blessing me with the gift of sight. Without my eyes, I would have not been able to view the incomprehensible beauty that surrounded us in Interlaken. Thank you Lord for the gifts that go un-mentioned, for those that we don’t think about because they are accepted as universally common. Thank you Lord, your blessings are unfathomable and innumerable.

Ciao for now!