I PASS the Test !! Time to Eat a Few of my Favorite Things.

Man, I am sooooo good to myself that I'm about to pass myself! Okay, are you ready? Here it goes!

I PASS!!! Woohoo!! And so does my friend Toni! You GO Girl! I'm still waiting on the rest of you to take the test. That is, if you want to. :)


So, why am I passing myself on my own test? Because spending an entire weekend writing essays and creating tests pretty much shoved the information completely into each cell of my brain! I could probably be interviewed on The History Channel right now on Careme and Escoffier. Does this mean I'll forget? Hmmm, let me see. That's a big probably. Maybe not immediately, but next year, when I'm fiddling with 100 ways to skin an artichoke, I won't know Careme from a hole in a gourd. As with most educational courses, it will be interesting to see what bits my mind will hang onto. Nevertheless, I am the student AND the teacher and I pass myself! (I promise I will video my future failures to prove that I'm honest.)

So, after cramming in everything from Friday to Monday, I'm effing exhausted. I decided to relax and in thinking of my retail therapy mood, all that came to mind was hot Italian meat. I don't know if it was the rainy day and my body wanted some salt but I headed to mini-Italy (aka Italian Croce Market) on Rt 70 in Cherry Hill. Plus, I've been thinking about Tarallis too, ever since my Italian friend introduced me to them last year. They are hard bread sticks made out of a white wine batter with fennel seeds tossed in. The flavor is delicious and it is a fairly low cal snack. I'm sure they would be delicious with a hummus or some sort of peppery cream dip. But I like them plain for now.

Being from the Midwest, I'm often surprised at how cliche' New Jersey can be sometimes. This market was just like a set from a movie. I wondered around the little place, scratching my head and looking in awe at the cured meats in the case, the fresh cheeses, plastic bags of freshly made pasta with prices handwritten on the bag with a sharpie. It was so Italian Grandpa in there that I really felt like I stepped out of America and into Little Italy. The shop had clearly been around for a while. Italian flags were hanging on the walls, the Italian channel was on in the kitchen area and the owner/manager was speaking Italian over the phone. I have found a dedicated and true Italian market which is run by someone who really is Italian. I say this because you'd be surprised how many pizzerias here are run by Latinos (not that there's anything wrong with that) but it just doesn't seem to me that Italian food is their thing; I would think chayotes, chipotles and cactus would be their thing. So, it's nice to go into a place that is a little more authentic from ceiling to floor. An enchanted little market it is, with nestled corners to explore and discover fresh baked lace cookies, biscotti, nougats, ladyfingers, and cinnamon cannoli shells; and another corner with large brown bags full of  round and oval loaves of fresh baked bread. Tiny toasted sesame seeds, cornmeal and crumbs were scattered in around the area as a testament of patrons paying a visit and grabbing their daily share.

I eyeballed the ginormous tubes of cured meats in the case and put in my order for Pancetta and Sweet Soppressatta. While I was standing and waiting, I noticed a board ad for the Trump Taj Mahal featuring some Italian Opera Singers that will be performing soon. Another patron walked in and the owner clearly knew him. Their conversation began with a friendly and familiar tone. As the owner portioned out the first aluminum container of some sort of hot pasta meal, he said "What else ya having today boss? You alright with lunch? What about dinner?" The exchange was just like a scene from one of a multitude of movies shot in New York City. I sometimes don't feel like I've lived here for 15 years. I get the little country girl giggles and feel like I'm in the movies. I'm a little more used to some good ol' boys catching catfish with their bare hands, frying it and serving it up with baked beans on a paper plate and handing me a big plastic cup filled all the way up with freshly brewed and sweetened iced tea. And then exclaiming "Boy I tell you whut! That's some good eatin right there!" Which, of course, I totally agree. There is something extra familiar and comfortable about the foods, language and people of your childhood and as long as I live in New Jersey, it will always feel a little bit exotic and glamorous in some way. "Wow! Just like in the movies!" As my dorkish self will sometimes say.

I do try to embrace regional cuisine and realize that it's good where it is for a reason. I learned my lesson when I tried to make stuffed shells for my relatives in Oklahoma. I was so anxious to share with them a recipe I had perfected. But I didn't think about the fact that ricotta cheese factories are not around the corner out there and I was hard pressed to find a container of ricotta larger than 8 oz or for less than $6 for said small container. By the same token, I gave up on trying to find a decent blackberry cobbler in New Jersey. As a child, I used to fill 5 gallon buckets full of blackberries that grew wild in my grandmother's front yard. But if I go to a New Jersey store to get fresh blackberries, it's $6 for a handful. It just irks the hell out of me since I remember those 5 gallon buckets of free berries and my grandma churning out 10 cobblers for everyone to take home with a bounty leftover and waiting to made into jams. What's worse is that I remember how soft, ripe and sweet those blackberries were. It's pretty hard to reconcile spending $6 for handful of hard, sour, under-ripe blackberries here. Therefore, I have come to accept that it is tradition, culture and environment that makes the food from its place of origin more prolific and flavorful. This why my current favorites are of the the cured meats, eggplant, zucchini, soft cheese and crusty winter bread families. My body has been cold, the air has been damp from snow and rain. Crusty bread with oily, chewy, salty Italian meat just goes. When I go back home to visit my family for 4th of July, the wide grassy fields, lakes, hot sun, endless horizons and dry air will no doubt have me craving a juicy hot and authentically smoked bbq beef brisket with crust, slathered in my favorite succulent sweet Head Country barbecue sauce; cool crunchy coleslaw on the side and blackberry cobbler with home-made ice cream for dessert. I can't wait. 

Back to studying now. But just thought I'd share a few of my (regional) favorite things. :)