The yearly “I really didn’t use a filter on this” Lake Tahoe photo. (Really, cross my heart.)
So I made the journey home from Italy back to California/Nevada for three weeks of holiday break. But the funniest thing is that I can’t seem to shake Italia! Or perhaps not shake, that sounds rather violent, but I seem to be more like casually bumping into reminders of my gastronomic adventures thus far.
Take, for example, this.
How is this even possible?! After managing to successfully avoid buying one of the darn things despite their prominence in every single last store window in Bra throughout December, here they are at Whole Foods. I laughed out loud and proceeded to fill up my basket with hummus and almond butter and Siggi’s yogurt and other things I yearned to be reunited with stateside.
There is no photo evidence of this encounter but I promise it’s true. At the annual Harris family Christmas Eve dinner at Lone Eagle Grille, I spotted bagna cauda on the menu, AKA the fishy garlicky sauce that even a vampire might raise an eyebrow at. But it was atop a Caesar salad, so that seemed more manageable than the fondue method from my day of salami making at the farm.
Yesterday I was indoctrinated into the “secret pasta sauce” tradition passed down by my grandmother to my mother and now to me. This hand-me-down has been attempted several times but I never quite had the cooking attention span to take it all in. But now I can make all of the pasta shapes that my heart desires that much more delicious (not that the butter and sage combo isn’t).
I haven’t had any pizza since I’ve been home, I think I need a little bit of a rest from that. And quite honestly I think you do too.