Well, I'm kind of back in Los Angeles now, and besides some recent articles I've written and other musings, everything I've written about Rome is all here in this blog. So thanks for readin' and maybe some time I'll try this whole blog thing again.
Ciao Ciao,
Kimberly
Monday, June 7, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
A Writing Assignment - Wine Tasting For Beginners
Living in Italy has taught me one thing about wine: people drink a lot of it. They know what they like, what it goes with, and how much it should cost. As far as I’m concerned, there are two types of wine: red and white. At restaurants I let my friends pick for me, and I either like it, or I don’t. However, this method is not without its flaws. What do I pick at the grocery store? When a friend comes to visit? Does red or white pair better with a romantic comedy on a Friday night in?
I decided to face this problem head on and organize a wine tasting. Two of my friends are taking a wine tasting class and it was high time to put them to the test, while trying to learn some pointers along the way. The date was set, three wines were bought, and I was given official Wine and Spirit Education Trust Tasting Notepaper to get me started.
The first wine, a Chianti, looked delicious when poured into a glass. The first thing I learned is one way to sound particularly snooty was to judge a wine’s color. Was this red purple, ruby, garnet, or tawny? Was it clear or dull, its intensity pale, medium, or deep? I took a stab at it: “Jolly Rancher grape purple!” Their reply was quick, “No, it’s ruby. Chiantis are famous for being ruby.” Oh.
How about the aroma? (To sound like an expert, say “the nose”) A long sniff and I immediately identified my first smell, “grapes, lots of grapes.” Unfortunately for my untrained nose, this was the only thing that I could think of, and brought me stern glares from across the table.
My companions had better luck with the sniffing then I did. Black fruit, leather, earth, butter (factoid: this means it was aged in an oak barrel), raspberries, currents, mushrooms, and green peppers. All this from a glass of wine? You better believe it. I soon realized you can pretty much name some known wine scents and would usually be right. The power of suggestion is very strong here and if anyone says you’re wrong, just point out that what you eat can greatly change the taste and smell.
After the nose had been analyzed I was finally allowed to move onto the taste. Instead of gulping my glass, I was instructed to take small sips which I then chew for no more than three seconds, to taste the optimum amount of pure flavors in the wine. After all the subtle sniffing, my first taste hit me like a foot on a grape. The wine was amazingly bitter, so much so that my tongue started to feel like the fabled leather they had smelled earlier.
Here’s something to impress with at your next party: tannin and acidity are often confused, but there is a big difference. Tannin leaves your mouth dry and can be a good thing. Acidity makes you salivate and is a bad thing. I learned to remember this by asking myself a simple question: would I like being dropped into a vat of acid? Of course not, because acidity is the bad one.
There is also the question of the body. Now, stop thinking about curvy bottles because this means the thickness. Think about milk when judging: does it have the consistency of skim milk, whole milk, or something in between? I said two percent which they translated into snob worthy term: “medium minus.”
The longer finish a wine has, the better the quality. Unfortunately for my taste buds, this one lasted forever, but at least I wasn’t drinking slop. Food pairing? Dark red meat or a very strong cheese, anything to lessen the bitterness of my glass.
Many notes, an hour, and two wines later and I said this, “I’m getting some pineapple, maybe mixed with some floral hints.” It was then that I realized I was becoming one of them. Wine has a lot more to it than its color. The way it’s grown, the stress the vine is put under, even the trace it leaves on the glass can tell you a lot about how it will taste. I learned a lot that night, and while I now feel a little more confident about selecting a bottle of my own, I think the most valuable thing I learned is this: with a few vocabulary words, the ability to improvise some fragrances, and a willingness to lie through wine stained teeth, anyone can make a sophisticated splash at a party, even if you did just show up for the booze.
I decided to face this problem head on and organize a wine tasting. Two of my friends are taking a wine tasting class and it was high time to put them to the test, while trying to learn some pointers along the way. The date was set, three wines were bought, and I was given official Wine and Spirit Education Trust Tasting Notepaper to get me started.
The first wine, a Chianti, looked delicious when poured into a glass. The first thing I learned is one way to sound particularly snooty was to judge a wine’s color. Was this red purple, ruby, garnet, or tawny? Was it clear or dull, its intensity pale, medium, or deep? I took a stab at it: “Jolly Rancher grape purple!” Their reply was quick, “No, it’s ruby. Chiantis are famous for being ruby.” Oh.
How about the aroma? (To sound like an expert, say “the nose”) A long sniff and I immediately identified my first smell, “grapes, lots of grapes.” Unfortunately for my untrained nose, this was the only thing that I could think of, and brought me stern glares from across the table.
My companions had better luck with the sniffing then I did. Black fruit, leather, earth, butter (factoid: this means it was aged in an oak barrel), raspberries, currents, mushrooms, and green peppers. All this from a glass of wine? You better believe it. I soon realized you can pretty much name some known wine scents and would usually be right. The power of suggestion is very strong here and if anyone says you’re wrong, just point out that what you eat can greatly change the taste and smell.
After the nose had been analyzed I was finally allowed to move onto the taste. Instead of gulping my glass, I was instructed to take small sips which I then chew for no more than three seconds, to taste the optimum amount of pure flavors in the wine. After all the subtle sniffing, my first taste hit me like a foot on a grape. The wine was amazingly bitter, so much so that my tongue started to feel like the fabled leather they had smelled earlier.
Here’s something to impress with at your next party: tannin and acidity are often confused, but there is a big difference. Tannin leaves your mouth dry and can be a good thing. Acidity makes you salivate and is a bad thing. I learned to remember this by asking myself a simple question: would I like being dropped into a vat of acid? Of course not, because acidity is the bad one.
There is also the question of the body. Now, stop thinking about curvy bottles because this means the thickness. Think about milk when judging: does it have the consistency of skim milk, whole milk, or something in between? I said two percent which they translated into snob worthy term: “medium minus.”
The longer finish a wine has, the better the quality. Unfortunately for my taste buds, this one lasted forever, but at least I wasn’t drinking slop. Food pairing? Dark red meat or a very strong cheese, anything to lessen the bitterness of my glass.
Many notes, an hour, and two wines later and I said this, “I’m getting some pineapple, maybe mixed with some floral hints.” It was then that I realized I was becoming one of them. Wine has a lot more to it than its color. The way it’s grown, the stress the vine is put under, even the trace it leaves on the glass can tell you a lot about how it will taste. I learned a lot that night, and while I now feel a little more confident about selecting a bottle of my own, I think the most valuable thing I learned is this: with a few vocabulary words, the ability to improvise some fragrances, and a willingness to lie through wine stained teeth, anyone can make a sophisticated splash at a party, even if you did just show up for the booze.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The American - In Italia
I've gotten published in a magazine!
For a writing assignment on voice, we chose an author to parody and apply their style to our own Roma experience. I chose Salinger's style in The Catcher in the Rye and it got published by The American!
As of writing this entry, it can be found on the front page of their website, but here is a direct link:
http://www.theamericanmag.com/article.php?article=2372
For a writing assignment on voice, we chose an author to parody and apply their style to our own Roma experience. I chose Salinger's style in The Catcher in the Rye and it got published by The American!
As of writing this entry, it can be found on the front page of their website, but here is a direct link:
http://www.theamericanmag.com/article.php?article=2372
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
"Parlare Inglese?"
A peculiar thing happened today: a sassy old lady marched up to my friend Allie and I and confidentially said in the most American Italian I’ve ever heard, “parlare inglese?”
I was completely taken aback. Usually I am stopped on the street to be asked for directions, by other Italians, but this was the first time an American had stopped me. I felt like somehow she could’ve used some sort of American sense and known I was a fellow citizen. I had to stop myself from blurting out “of course!”
Having lived in Italy for a couple months now I’ve realized how much I really like being American. It really is so much a part of my identity and the delight I got from being mistaken for an Italian has faded to sadness, like an important part of my is being ignored. The disappointment (and sometimes disgust) I see on their faces, once I tell them (in Italian) that I’m American, is annoying.
This lady was one of the things I loved about America: old enough to be my grandma and the pluck and humor to keep her smiling in a country that looks down on her as a tourist more often than not. Just by looking at her you knew she would be fun to talk to with a sharp wit that’s always surprise great to discover within a sweet old lady. So when she asked me if I spoke English, it made me want to declare with pride “Yes! Yes I do!” and help her in every way humanly possible.
Unfortunately she wanted to locate a hotel, something I ignore regularly since I live in an apartment. We talked to her, trying to find some kind of hint that would point us in the right direction. Now it became more about the pride of living in Italy. I’m not a tourist! And yet I couldn’t give directions to a fellow American. So what am I?
I was completely taken aback. Usually I am stopped on the street to be asked for directions, by other Italians, but this was the first time an American had stopped me. I felt like somehow she could’ve used some sort of American sense and known I was a fellow citizen. I had to stop myself from blurting out “of course!”
Having lived in Italy for a couple months now I’ve realized how much I really like being American. It really is so much a part of my identity and the delight I got from being mistaken for an Italian has faded to sadness, like an important part of my is being ignored. The disappointment (and sometimes disgust) I see on their faces, once I tell them (in Italian) that I’m American, is annoying.
This lady was one of the things I loved about America: old enough to be my grandma and the pluck and humor to keep her smiling in a country that looks down on her as a tourist more often than not. Just by looking at her you knew she would be fun to talk to with a sharp wit that’s always surprise great to discover within a sweet old lady. So when she asked me if I spoke English, it made me want to declare with pride “Yes! Yes I do!” and help her in every way humanly possible.
Unfortunately she wanted to locate a hotel, something I ignore regularly since I live in an apartment. We talked to her, trying to find some kind of hint that would point us in the right direction. Now it became more about the pride of living in Italy. I’m not a tourist! And yet I couldn’t give directions to a fellow American. So what am I?
Kabab
Italians don’t eat a lot of meat. Italy is known for pasta and while many do contain meat, it’s mostly for flavor purposes and to screw with vegetarians. You can always opt for the second course, which is purely meat, but while it may be so delicious you could cry, there is only enough for a few tantalizing bites of heaven.
But there is a way to get your meat fix in Italy: doner kebabs. For about four euro you will get a burrito-type meal typically filled with two types of cabbage, lettuce, tomatoes, a white dairy herb sauce, and tons of delicious salty lamb, cut right off of a large rack of meat slowly turning on a spit. Other variations include adding a spicy red sauce, dried peppers, and anything else lying around the kitchen, served also on plates or in a panino.
These savory wraps can be found down small side streets and in lots of cafeterias in many piazzas, such as Piazza Barberini, where I sometimes go in between classes. It’s one of the few things you can order in Italy that will actually leave you satisfyingly full and I absolutely love them.
But there is a way to get your meat fix in Italy: doner kebabs. For about four euro you will get a burrito-type meal typically filled with two types of cabbage, lettuce, tomatoes, a white dairy herb sauce, and tons of delicious salty lamb, cut right off of a large rack of meat slowly turning on a spit. Other variations include adding a spicy red sauce, dried peppers, and anything else lying around the kitchen, served also on plates or in a panino.
These savory wraps can be found down small side streets and in lots of cafeterias in many piazzas, such as Piazza Barberini, where I sometimes go in between classes. It’s one of the few things you can order in Italy that will actually leave you satisfyingly full and I absolutely love them.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Cheap Wine
Italian wine, ah yes, Italian wine. Whole sections in tiny markets are dedicated to the stuff and for prices that put toothpaste and shampoo to shame. The first thing I learned about Rome is the prices. Sure I was warned about that Rome was an expensive city, but I’m from Los Angeles, expensive is what I’m used to! Unfortunately when people say expensive, they mean it. Six euro for Herbal Essence? Damn.
Luckily wine is cheap as dirt here. Whether it’s pride or value, I don’t care. I never really drank wine in America, but here it’s everywhere, and is occasionally cheaper than water when shared with others in a restaurant, plus tastes better, so bottoms up!
There is a wine class offered at my school, and while I chose other classed over it, I plan on working together with its students in the near future to write my food piece for Travel Writing. To prepare, I decided to buy a bottle of wine beforehand. Something that is the bottom of the barrel, so I would be able to have something to compare with when it actually comes time for the wine tasting this week. This task interestingly proved difficult as everything sounded fancy to me, an uneducated student of wine. I thus reverted to the thrift store at the metro stop on Re de Roma. Incidentally, this store has amazing deals on everything from eggs to laundry detergent, being the only place I’ve found decently priced peanuts (don’t even get me started on other variations of nuts). I did succeed in finding cheap wine, simply called “Rosso”, clever. Incidentally, I am also a little over tipsy having quickly downed three fourths of a bottle.
Lesson learned: cheap wine tastes cheap. In Italy, if you go to a thrift store, you will find thrift wine. This particular variety, described as “fresco e leggero” tastes like the $8 wine I tasted near my 21st birthday: not very good. However, this wine didn’t cost $8, if it did then it would be good, instead it cost a little over one euro, the same price as these tortilla chips I am eating right now, interestingly labeled “tortilla chip - naturale”, which are also interestingly almost gone now.
Wine analysis: At 10.5% alcohol this wine is good if you’re interested in alcohol, as the taste is sure to convince you to gulp it. The color is red, a normal red to my eyes. I detect aromas of leather and old grapes. It’s “legs” are hard to analyze, which is probably a bad sign. Tannin? I have no clue. It is very bitter though and goes very well with chocolate, which makes me forget about the wine. Hopefully I’ll learned more from my upcoming wine tasting.
Something to take away from this: don’t drink wine alone while writing an essay. You will find it helps, at first, but then leads to distraction. Also, there is no one to tell you to share with, and one sips always leads to another after a certain point of “tasting”.
Luckily wine is cheap as dirt here. Whether it’s pride or value, I don’t care. I never really drank wine in America, but here it’s everywhere, and is occasionally cheaper than water when shared with others in a restaurant, plus tastes better, so bottoms up!
There is a wine class offered at my school, and while I chose other classed over it, I plan on working together with its students in the near future to write my food piece for Travel Writing. To prepare, I decided to buy a bottle of wine beforehand. Something that is the bottom of the barrel, so I would be able to have something to compare with when it actually comes time for the wine tasting this week. This task interestingly proved difficult as everything sounded fancy to me, an uneducated student of wine. I thus reverted to the thrift store at the metro stop on Re de Roma. Incidentally, this store has amazing deals on everything from eggs to laundry detergent, being the only place I’ve found decently priced peanuts (don’t even get me started on other variations of nuts). I did succeed in finding cheap wine, simply called “Rosso”, clever. Incidentally, I am also a little over tipsy having quickly downed three fourths of a bottle.
Lesson learned: cheap wine tastes cheap. In Italy, if you go to a thrift store, you will find thrift wine. This particular variety, described as “fresco e leggero” tastes like the $8 wine I tasted near my 21st birthday: not very good. However, this wine didn’t cost $8, if it did then it would be good, instead it cost a little over one euro, the same price as these tortilla chips I am eating right now, interestingly labeled “tortilla chip - naturale”, which are also interestingly almost gone now.
Wine analysis: At 10.5% alcohol this wine is good if you’re interested in alcohol, as the taste is sure to convince you to gulp it. The color is red, a normal red to my eyes. I detect aromas of leather and old grapes. It’s “legs” are hard to analyze, which is probably a bad sign. Tannin? I have no clue. It is very bitter though and goes very well with chocolate, which makes me forget about the wine. Hopefully I’ll learned more from my upcoming wine tasting.
Something to take away from this: don’t drink wine alone while writing an essay. You will find it helps, at first, but then leads to distraction. Also, there is no one to tell you to share with, and one sips always leads to another after a certain point of “tasting”.
Stares
Don’t dance up stairs because you will fall. Especially don’t dance to yourself on the subway, skip past tired Italians heading for the escalators, and decide to take the stairs instead, because you will fall. And you won’t just fall, you will make a fairly impressive skip up and down a step and then trip your toe on said step and hurtle toward the ground, moved even faster by the momentum required for such a stunt. You will then be left with a stinging left palm and a right hand covered in who knows what. So don’t do this. Unless you don’t mind, of which I learned recently that I don’t.
Italians love to stare at each other all day and all night. On the metro, in a trattoria, at bus stops. They never stop ogling everyone around them. And they don’t just stare, they judge. They judged me when I mouthed the words to the song in my head. They judged me when I skipped past them, offending them by my inexhaustible energy. And they got great satisfaction when I finally met my end at the top of the stairs.
Interestingly though, I didn’t mind. I have just spent the last week thinking about Italy and Italians, and you know what? I don’t care! It used to bother me, I’d be stared into standing bored in the metro, waiting for my stop like the rest. There are rules to behavior, and if you break one, you offend everyone around you. For example, one of my teachers talked about her Italian boyfriend (she happens to be American) and how he came home one night deeply offended by a student of his. This student approached him after class one day to discuss something, asking for an extension on a paper or whatever, and he was wearing a hat. A hat! Indoors! Now I know it’s good manners to remove headwear when inside, my school banned hats on heads in classrooms, but to be offended by it? She emphasized that he didn’t just think this kid was ignorant of manners, but that he was personally offended by his headwear. So I think I’m safe in assuming that those penetrating glares directed at me are intended to be penetrating glares.
But today I did not give them that victory over me. Yes, I fell, and yes, I noticed very satisfied grins directed at my pain, but I was smiling too. Looking around me I noticed smiles quickly revert back to disapproving frowns once they saw my grin. I got up without a second down and continued dancing, skipping all the way to the second flight and out the door.
Italians love to stare at each other all day and all night. On the metro, in a trattoria, at bus stops. They never stop ogling everyone around them. And they don’t just stare, they judge. They judged me when I mouthed the words to the song in my head. They judged me when I skipped past them, offending them by my inexhaustible energy. And they got great satisfaction when I finally met my end at the top of the stairs.
Interestingly though, I didn’t mind. I have just spent the last week thinking about Italy and Italians, and you know what? I don’t care! It used to bother me, I’d be stared into standing bored in the metro, waiting for my stop like the rest. There are rules to behavior, and if you break one, you offend everyone around you. For example, one of my teachers talked about her Italian boyfriend (she happens to be American) and how he came home one night deeply offended by a student of his. This student approached him after class one day to discuss something, asking for an extension on a paper or whatever, and he was wearing a hat. A hat! Indoors! Now I know it’s good manners to remove headwear when inside, my school banned hats on heads in classrooms, but to be offended by it? She emphasized that he didn’t just think this kid was ignorant of manners, but that he was personally offended by his headwear. So I think I’m safe in assuming that those penetrating glares directed at me are intended to be penetrating glares.
But today I did not give them that victory over me. Yes, I fell, and yes, I noticed very satisfied grins directed at my pain, but I was smiling too. Looking around me I noticed smiles quickly revert back to disapproving frowns once they saw my grin. I got up without a second down and continued dancing, skipping all the way to the second flight and out the door.
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