All Trussed Up

This Thanksgiving I gained a whole new appreciation for the bird of the hour. While this was not my first Thanksgiving away from home, it was the only where I wasn’t cooking. Not preparing a single item left me feeling like a trussed turkey, hands helplessly tied.

Thanksgiving is MY holiday! Even when I was little, my Mom would let me skip school on Wednesday just so I could help her in the kitchen as she made her famous pecan pie, mountains of sides and gorgeous turkey. I adore Thanksgiving because you get to A) cook a feast using delicious autumn ingredients, B) share the meal with those you love most and finally C) it officially kicks off the Christmas season.

The 2011 Rippinger spread for Thanksgiving

And so I’ll admit, I was a little sulky coming home from class and seeing my Señora bustling about in the kitchen. I would have hopped right in with her, but the liability issues of the university prohibit students from cooking in the homes. Lord knows I could cause a lot of damage if put near a stove and given a knife…

Walking away from a huffing-and-puffing Señora, I had a change of heart. I can’t even imagine the pressure of cooking Thanksgiving for seven American girls. We all were looking for a slice of home, and that is a tremendously tall order to fill.

Sitting down for dinner, the spread didn’t look or smell like an American meal. There was no sage-laced stuffing, no bright bowl of cranberries and definitely no green bean casserole.

Our meal began with an eclectic array of tapas that included pate, two potato dishes (one with an aioli and the other with a tomato sauce), pickles and olives. I know mayonnaise and potatoes sounds more like the 4th of July , but the pickles actually hit the spot!

Then the turkey made its debut.

It definitely was not a Better Homes & Gardens moment. On our plates we had a turkey breast roulade with gravy and mashed sweet potatoes. Interesting is probably the best word I can use to describe the turkey, which was stuffed with some kind of meat and other “goodies.” Playing culinary detective, I definitely found figs and raisins but those didn’t compare to the bite that revealed a quail egg. Who knew, Thanksgiving could be an Easter egg hunt too?!

Not a great photo, but you get the idea. 

We ended the meal with a delicious chocolate torte, and all of us felt just as full as in America. Even though it was nowhere near the classic interpretation of the holiday, my Spanish Thanksgiving left me feeling very blessed. Sure it was a bit of a weird meal, but my Señora could have easily coped-out and done a paella. Instead she took on the challenge of turkey, and even though it was a unique rendition, it was filled with love (and eggs…)

Running with a Pilgrims, Indians and America theme, we decided to do some arts and crafts before dinner.

I couldn’t possibly feel sorry for myself when I have so many things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. I have my loving family, supportive friends and the ample opportunities that have come to fruition in this incredible year. I don’t know if I will ever spend another Thanksgiving in Madrid, but the experience is one I will remember forever.

An Old Soul

A few summers ago a close family friend called me an “old soul.” At the time I thought she was just calling me out for my mature habits (eating oatmeal for breakfast, a love for early rounds of golf in the summer and an appreciation for a smooth single malt scotch…okay, maybe I am an old fart!). Regardless, I wasn’t really sure what to make of the comment.

While backpacking through Northern Italy with friends this weekend the “old soul” reference echoed in my head, but I think I finally found a sufficient interpretation. I’m not an old man, but rather, a Tuscan.

Besides rolling off the tongue much better, this term encapsulates all the things I loved about the food I experienced, beginning with a beautiful pesto in the coastal city of Genoa.

Ducking into a restaurant to find shelter from hounding winds and spitting rain, we were relieved to indulge in our first bite of Italy. I ordered the pasta alla Genovese, having learned on the flight from Rick Steves' guidebook that Genoa was in fact the birthplace of pesto.

Dear old Rick could not have made a better suggestion.

The el dente linguini twirled into a tight coil on my fork with flecks of verdant basil clinging to each strand. There was certainly nothing flashy about the dish, but that's what made it so extraordinary - just a few well-respected ingredients together in a classic combination.  

Oh, delicious pesto! 

Besides being known for pesto, Genoa is also famous for focaccia - a flat-oven Italian bread that's a perfect canvas to highlight olive oil from the region. Focaccia alla Genovese is uncomplicated, but the end result is a soft bread well seasoned with salt, dried basil and a healthy drizzle of olive oil.

By far the favorite afternoon snack of the trip.

After a quick stop in Pisa for a photo op with the Leaning Tower, we made it to Florence in time to visit a gelateria before it closed for the night. After much debating and a few samples, walnut and caramel were the final cuts for my cone and neither disappointed. The first scoop had all the depth I love from toasted walnuts and was complemented by the decadence of the caramel. Licking away while sitting in front of the illuminated Duomo was a phenomenal welcome to Florence.

Gorgeous gelato

Besides delicious gelato, Florence also provided an incredible breakfast and lunch. In the morning we started our day off at the Mercato Centrale, where amongst the vendors we found a man serving up tripe sandwiches. Okay, so I know not everyone gets excited about eating a cow’s stomach lining for breakfast, but I swear if you were blindfolded you'd think it was the most succulent shaved rib-eye! It was moist, tender and topped with a spicy pepper sauce that provided a vibrant pop of flavor.

The newest breakfast of champions, tripe. 

Lunch was a little less bizarre, but equally satisfying. Numerous of our friends told us that we couldn’t leave Florence without a trip to Gusta’s for their wood-oven pizza.

Pizza de Napoli

I love a good pizza so I feel obligated to admit that this wasn’t the best pie of my life (that still goes to Regina Pizzeria in Boston or Good Pie in STL), but I have certainly never eaten a more aesthetically pleasing lunch. Leaning on the wall overlooking the Arno River, we picnicked with our pizza and a bottle of wine. No dining room in Florence could have matched the beautiful scene laid out before us.

The most perfect picnic.

So there you have it, I’m an old soul who adores simplicity, authenticity and balance. If those characteristics are good enough to be the foundation of the Tuscan cuisine I tasted, they’re a good enough description for me.