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The Weekly Newsletter |
Menus and Stories for April 17 - 22, 2006
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| Still leaning |
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Thought I'd give you a bit of a visit to the Italy I know.� Our "Delicious Expedition" to Tuscany came to a glorious end at the Leaning Tower last week.� Eight guests ate and sipped their way through the little towns and big cities of the area with me and my travel partner Monroe.
It's a lovely place.� Very green these days, and sweetly kind too. It was time for Olive Tree pruning, garden tilling, artichoke eating. � The people there greeted us with smiles, pleasure, and friendship.� In the midst of the hustle that consumes much of our lives, this was a welcome change.
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Imola at work |
This is our mother away from home.� Imola comes to our house, brings an assistant and a� trunk full of groceries, and makes a lunch for us - and with us.� We were there for the beginning of� the artichoke season this year, so we made sure to have them at leat once a day.� Imola's were in the Roman style, washed, brined, de-choked (though in the spring this is not much of a concern) and stuffed with chopped up stems, which are just as tender at the heart.� Steamed, then, and served as their own course, we sighed and smiled.
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| Hand made pasta |
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Imola (EE - mo - la) starts with a pile of flour on a board.� She makes a well, fills it with eggs, a few glasses of water, some salt and a bit of olive oil and then, with just a fork, she whips it into a mass which, in a few minutes becomes a round of dough.�
"We'll let it rest now," she instructs, leading us back into the kitchen to a class on two sauces for the day's meal.
A half hour later the dough sits, rested and ready for us to roll into these long strands.� We roll as if we're making snakes.� Gradually, very gradually the pile of dough becomes "pici" - our lunch.� We laugh, roll, add to the bowl of the done ones.
"Do you need some help?" Imola whispers to me after a good long time.
"Yes, please," I reply.
Moments later, magically, the dough has all been turned into strands.�
"How'd we do that?" we wonder.
Imola just smiles.
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Dinners to go |
Dinners, as you know, come with a freshly-made green salad, salad dressing of the day, and made-right-here bread of the day. We take reservations until noon or so. Please order by phone (252-1500), by FAX (252-02002) or stop in to speak to one of us in person.
Here is the menu for this week:
Monday April 17 Cornmeal-crusted Chicken with Monterrey Jack 9.75
Tuesday April 18 Spring Chicken and Mushroom Crepes (or vegetarian) 9.75
Wednesday April 19 BBQ Ribs and Sweet Potato Salad 10.50
Thursday April 20 Pork Scaloppini with Grilled Polenta 10.50
Friday April 21 Lemon Tuna Filet au Poivre 12.50
By the way, every time you order a dinner to go you are eligible to enter our drawing. Just drop a card in our drawing jar (a business card works or fill out one of the cards that we have right here) and, at the end of the month, we'll pull one card which will be good for two free dinners-to-go. Inaugurated a few months ago, our first winner was delighted! Maybe you'll win next month.
Order a lot? Enter a lot!
Good luck!!
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Our website |
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| Casseroles |
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We make a special casserole each week on Wednesday. Please give us a call by the end of the day on Tuesday and we�ll fix yours for you. Come by between 4:30 and 6:00. Get a half (for 4 appetites) or a full sized pan (for 9 or so.)
Wednesday, April 19
Beef Stew with Roasted Vidalia Onions
Full 37.50
Half 18.75
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Cantucci |
In Tuscany a favorite dessert is "Cantucci con Vin Santo."
The cantucci, little biscotti-like cookies, are served with a very sweet wine that is made from white grapes that have been dried in an airy attic for a few months after the fall harvest.� The sugars concentrate and, when it is time to make the wine, the result is a thick and very sweet flavor.
Here are Imola's hands rolling out her cantucci.� She included whole almonds, lemon zest, flour, a little olive oil ("of course," she says) some eggs, and not much else.� Oh, she also added a leavening agent called "bread of the angels."� That's a lot nicer than "baking powder", now isn't it?
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| In my favorite town |
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Sitting on my favorite wall, overlooking my favorite town, waiting for our guests in the sun of a Tuscan day.� Life is grand at times like this.� Later I strolled down the hill, ending up in the Piazza.� An older gentleman sat next to the fish truck.� With a background of "Let me have four of those baby octopus" and "I'll take two pounds of the shrimp" we chatted about George Bush and Silvio Berlusconi and Italian movie stars (who inhabit that town in large numbers) and the Italian language and where I'd studied and why I was there and where else I had visited. Then, finding out where we were staying, he told me tales of his parents and of a cave that is right under our villa and about cows and farmers and old things.�
Across the piazza I could see my group gathering for lunch.�
"Buona giornata," I said. (Have a nice day.)
"E Lei" he said. (You too.)
"Gracie tanti.� Ciao.� Alla prossima volta," I said.� (Thanks so much.� Bye.� See you next time.)
We waved.� He winked.� Nice.
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The dolphin fountain |
Siena is divided up into 17 neighborhoods.� Each neighborhood has its own colors, its own name, its own mascot.� And each neighborhood has a fountain.�
I'm not much for museums when I only have a short time in a place.� Or, shall I say, I prefer the museums of the streets.� I collect snips of conversation, glimpses of life, wisps of cooking, hints of how others do things.
In Siena, after orienting our guests, I wander around, poking into corners off the main streets.� I'm trying to get to all the neighborhoods.� Trying to find my way around by looking for the fountains, the totems, the symbols of these places.� Here's one from this last trip.� I also found the eagle, the unicorn, and the wolf.�
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| A Note From Laurey |
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April 15, 2006
Hiya,
It feels good to be at my desk on this lovely spring Saturday. I like traveling � love it actually � but I am always happy to come home, to settle in, to unpack my bag, do my laundry, organize my mail, and slow down.
Italy, the Italy we visit, is now quite familiar to me. Monroe and I have taken about 8 groups there by now. I am no longer stunned by the big picture, though it is fun to hear the gasps as we crest the hill that shelters our villa. The view over the Orcia valley is amazing � a Unesco World Heritage site, to be precise � guaranteed to be saved from now on. We sit with morning coffee and watch the sheep grazing. Over the week we can see a change in the colors on the fields. This time of year the wheat is growing inches a day and a faint wisp of green turns into a thick pasture in front of our eyes.
One night, wakened by a snort outside the window, I slipped out to see if I could find the wild boar. Do wild boars attack? I wondered. Hoping not, I padded out to the front yard and did my own gasping at the night�s spectacle � a sky crammed full with stars. I�d only seen such a display one other time in my life and that was up at a high altitude on a mountain climbing trip years ago. It was all I could do to keep from waking up all the guests. �Come look!� I�d have said. �Stars! Amazing! Come!!�
Instead I padded back inside, slipped back into bed, back to sleep.
We always introduce our guests to the cheese of the area on these trips. Pecorino is the thing. Made with sheep�s milk from that very valley, the taste of the earth is strong, reminding us, with every taste, that this is a special thing. Take it away and the taste fades. In that area they serve the cheese with a pear and a drizzle of a sweet syrup. Usually we�ve had it served with chestnut honey � a dark, almost bitter taste. This time we had a red onion marmalade one time. Once a balsamic vinegar reduction was the accompaniment. And once the chef served reduced pear syrup. Each, subtly or dramatically different was, for me, a thrill. Our guests caught on slowly, becoming discerning tasters as the week progressed.
And I sunk into the language too. This, for me, is the best part. Relaxing, letting my brain remember the words, letting my ears hear new ways of saying things, picking up new expressions.
On a visit to our friend who makes copper pots and hand-beaten vessels I translated for our group. Cesare regaled us with stories, quips, teases to the girls on the trip, incantations to their mothers. Finally, at the end of our visit, our fifth to him, I think, he turned to me and said, �And YOU � You must be keeping yourself in a refrigerator! You never change a bit!�
That, for sure, made us all laugh. Maybe next time you�ll come with us.
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Maybe, if I push lightly |
Everyone, it seems, wants to take their picture with this remarkable building.� Tourists line up, waving their arms in the air, hugging, motioning, getting their friends to take pictures of them.� How many of these pictures must there be?
As our guests explored the interiors of the cathedral I roamed around taking pictures of people taking pictures of their friends pretending to hold up the tower.� In the afternoon's sunshine masses of people posed for each other.� I scampered around, snapping and chortling.� Finally, unable to resist, I got one of our guests to take a picture of me doing the same thing.� Over her should I watched as a photographer took a picture of her taking a picture of me.� Thus completing the cycle.
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Contact
Info: |
Laurey's "Gourmet Comfort Food"
Eat In - Take Out - Catering
67 Biltmore Avenue Asheville, NC 28801
828-252-1500
Hours:
Monday - Friday 8:00 - 6:00 pm
Saturday 8:00 - 4:00 pm
"Don't Postpone Joy!"(tm)
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