Life abroad is more than an emotional rollercoaster- really it's more of a pendulum. Every roller coaster, no matter how many hills or plunges or loop-the-loops, eventually comes to a stop on level ground. Here, my mood seems to oscillate by the hour, swinging back and forth with no sign of finding equilibrium. I don't know of another time in my life when I've felt so incredibly blessed and utterly miserable in such rapid succession. It's exhausting, all these ups and downs, but i have faith that they will level out with time.
Moving on from the emotional update, let me fill you in on the past few days in la citta eterna. Our first week in Rome, a few of my roommates went out one night and met a few Italian men who invited them over for some 3 am "funny pasta." They turned out to be funny, sweet, of completely unclear sexual orientation, and more than happy to be our hosts for some authentic Roman experiences. Last night Carlo, probably the most sexually confusing of the lot, invited us to his apartment for a "mozarella di buffala tasting party." After an hour's griping about how late the Italians eat, we made it out to his apartment around 10:20. Like the vast majority of Italians under 35, Carlo lives in his parent's apartment, enjoying the bachelor life while they spend most of their time traveling or in their country house. A true anomaly in Europe, the apartment had air conditioning, which as far as I'm concerned, would have made the trip worthwhile even if the evening's menu had consisted of coors light and cheetos. Of course, since our dear Carlo is a sommelier (in his free time, when he's not practicing with his painfully scene-tastic band) and self-described hedonist, we were far from underfed.
As we sat on the couch, enjoying beers and admiring knick knacks, Carlo set the table (tablecloth and all) and proceeded to bring out two enormous bowls, filled with huge, creamy white orbs of cheese, half submerged in milky water. Smaller bowls of sliced hot peppers and a jar of hot pepper, porcini, and andouille pesto were brought to the table, followed by wine glasses and several bottles of red. By now it was around 12, and we were still waiting for our friend Federico to get off his shift at the gelato shop and join us for "dinner." Carlo kept bustling around the kitchen and living room, but after a few minutes of waiting for some other food to appear, I asked in timid Italian- "but... are we just eating cheese?" Carlo affected horror. "Ma certo! You have to taste the mozarella! It is the best I have ever eaten! If you are hungry after, I can make you some funny pasta."
In the end, once Federico arrived (12:30, 1 am?) there were slices of bread to slather with pesto and top with cheese, but only after each of us had eaten the better part of two fist sized balls of mozarella each. I have to say, it truly was incredible cheese. Combined with the peppers, which were so spicy my lips and tongue were numb for most of the evening, the sensory effect was like fire and silk. My favorite was the smoke mozarella, slightly firmer with a carmel colored outer rind that tastes subtly like a wood-burning campfire. After many glasses of wine, we were driven to our doorstep around 3:30 am, and fell into bed, full to bursting, to squeeze in a good 4 hours of sleep (in my case) before heading out for the next day's exploration.
Next on my to do list: Federico's gelato shop, where supposedly there are 18 flavors of chocolate alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment