02
FSU ENGLISH DEPARTMENT
EDITING, WRITING, AND MEDIA IN ITALY FSU INTERNATIONAL PROGRAMS
Editor-in-Chief Rachel Zak
FLOR
ISSUE 2 | JUNE 2022
Editorial Team Penelope Abreu-Castillo Julia Caterson Kendall Cooper Molly DeKraai Kenny Dryslewski Emma Gannon Sarah Moloney Keely Myers Tia Nicholson Amanda Sandiford Travis Zittrauer
EWM in Italy Program Directors Perry Howell Judith Pascoe
FSU Florence Program Director Frank Nero
Pho to b y
Am and a Sa ndif ord
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O L R F
Table of Contents
Photo by Rachel Zak
4 Editor's Note 6 EWM's Florence Mini-Guide 8 Still Life and Restaurant Reviews 26 Travel Narratives and Food Expert Profiles 42 On The Streets
04
EDITOR'S NOTE For Flor's second issue, we began to experiment with things outside of our comfort zone. With only two weeks left in our program, tillo u-Cas Abre e p nelo by Pe Photo
we
were
hesitant
to
change
absolutely everything about the
magazine, but I feel that it accurately resembles our own growth since we've been here. We are not the same people we were when we got here, just as this edition is not the same as its predecessor.
With the six weeks coming to a close, I fear admitting I am just now becoming acclimated to my temporary home. I can finally walk down the street without the assistance of a GPS. I nod to local store owners who have come to recognize me as a "regular." I feel comfortable in a routine consisting of the same cafés, the same faces, and the same beautiful environment. Photo by Ra chel Z ak
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I will, however, admit without fear that I am devastated to be leaving so abruptly after finally feeling that I got the hang of things here. It is a bittersweet feeling. I do miss the comfort of my own bed (and the water pressure of my shower) but leaving such a wonderful place brings on a great sadness. This magazine has been an amazing tool in helping the editorial team and me grow as writers, editors, and overall students. Having never done something like this before, I have experienced a steep learning curve, but I am proud of what we were able to accomplish in a short period of time. Although I am dreading leaving, the sadness it causes is one that I will treasure. I will be forever grateful to have experienced something meaningful enough to provoke such a feeling upon leaving.
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Our Guide to Florence
Museo degli Innocenti
Sarah
Once an orphanage and hospital, this museum sheds light on the children, mothers, and staff who called it their home. The building was designed by Brunelleschi in the early 15th century and contains art by other famous figures. Also, check out the terrace café which offers spectacular views of the city!
Piazzale Michelangelo The hike to Piazzale Michelangelo is well worth it. The space, which is located at the top of a large hill in Oltrarno, has an unforgettable view of Florence, great food, and stunning gardens.
Kendall
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Our Guide to Florence Red Garter Red Garter is one place I would recommend to anyone traveling in Florence. Half steakhouse, half karaoke bar, it's the perfect night out for everyone. I've tried my hand at dozens of karaoke songs, but my favorite so far has been "What Makes You Beautiful."
Rache l
Ditta Artigianale Ditta Artigianale is a coffee shop with a location close to campus. They have one of the best iced lattes I’ve tried so far!
Tia
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THE BEST CAPPUCCINO IN FLORENCE by Kendall Cooper
There is something of a science to restaurant reviews. In the same way that each test in an experiment requires repetition to ensure
accuracy,
an
authentic
restaurant
review, I firmly believe, requires eating at a restaurant at least three times. On my first morning in Florence, I visited I Ghibellini,
which
interconnected
is
places
the
name to
eat
of —
two a
Photo by Kendall Cooper
ristorante/pizzeria and a café. I have not yet visited the ristorante portion, but the café has
On my first jet-lagged morning in Florence, I
become my favorite breakfast spot in Florence
stumbled upon the unassuming gem by mere
over the past three weeks, and dare I say, it has
chance. I was looking for somewhere with
the best cappuccinos in the whole city. Located
breakfast food and coffee near my apartment
in the Piazza di San Pier Maggiore, it’s just a
on Via San Egidio, and I Ghibellini just happened to be the first promising place I saw. The outside of the building is a pale yellow/ beige color like most of the buildings in Florence, and there is a sign that reads “I Ghibellini” and “Breakfast Café and Delicious Food” in a red, antique font. When I walked in, I was greeted with a
Photo by Kendall Cooper
warm “ciao” from a middle-aged man, whom I
stone's throw from the iconic Duomo. The café
now know works the morning shift every day,,
is on the street corner of Borgo Delgi Albizi and Via Matteo Palmieri, and the ristorante is directly to its left. When inside the café, you can’t see into the ristorante, but the two seem to be
usually by himself. New to Italy, I quickly learned that you have to be assertive when ordering from a counter. I stood next to the glass
display
case
of
various
croissants,
connected by a shared kitchen. I Ghibellini
sandwiches, and pizzas that separates the
translates to “the Ghibellines,” which was the
customer from the staff until I finally gathered
name of a political faction that supported the
the courage to order a cappuccino and a
Holy Roman Emperor during the 12th and 13th
chocolate croissant. Since I was a confused
centuries. However, I think the café's s name
American, I tried to pay as soon as I received
could possibly refer to the street Via Ghibellina,
my food; however, the man working demanded
which is relatively close in proximity.
that I pay after I finished eating.
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He gave me both items in white porcelain dishes, and the cup featured the café’s logo and the Florence fleur de lis, both in red. The café has mostly outdoor seating, but I chose to sit inside on one of the wooden bar stools that face the window so that I could attempt to read the daily Italian newspaper left on the skinny, rectangular wooden table.
The chocolate croissant I ordered was also fantastic. It had a soft and flaky texture that left no question of its freshness. It had a chocolate, Nutella-esque filling that was perfectly distributed, which gave it a consistent croissantto-filling ratio. The pastry was also garnished with crunchy toffee bits. After that fateful day, I went back to I Ghibellini the following two days, and I still go at least a few times a week. By the third time in a row, the man started brewing espresso as soon as he saw me walking in the café, asking me “cappuccino?”
almost
as
a
courteous
afterthought. My breakfast costs only €3 in total,, which I consider to be a steal. I Ghibellini’s consistency is the main draw for me. Every time I have ordered a cappuccino, it’s been that perfect temperature. No matter what flavor of croissant I get, it’s always tasty and fresh. For those seeking a reasonably priced, stellar breakfast in Florence, I’ll only recommend I Ghibellini.
Photo by Kendall Cooper
What
followed
was
a
semi-spiritual
experience. I originally ordered a cappuccino because I figured, when in Italy, I guess. But I truly think I fell in love with Italy when I tasted that cappuccino. It was the perfect temperature; I didn’t have to let it cool at all. And despite my hatred for coffee without flavored syrup, I began to understand why Italians don’t use it. The espresso was strong, but not overly so, and the drink was perfected with a haphazard yet pleasing design created by the steamed milk.
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THE STILL LIFE OF AN ITALIAN SANDWICH by Travis Zittrauer
Once made, a Panetteria e Stuzzicheria De
While many flock to Italy for its famed focaccia,
Neri sandwich spends its somewhat brief life
popular at hot spots like All’Antico Viniaio just
looking out on the city street, anxiously awaiting
down the street, the Panetteria uses the Tuscan
its hungry host. The sandwich, stacked upon
schiacciate instead. The thin and chewy bread
many others, serves as its own form of
still possesses the remnants of the flour used in
advertising. Rather than showing tourists and
its preparation, scattered and stretched across
locals alike a sun-bleached photo of a sandwich
its flat, rectangular surface. Once finished with
they could eat, the sandwich itself screams,
their sandwich, a patron should expect, like I do
Hey! I am right here! The only thing separating
on every occasion when I eat this sandwich, to
a customer from their sandwich is the pane
have traces of this flour haphazardly wiped off on their pants, a subconscious move that a simple pat-down should correct. Next, of course, is the sandwich’s main event: its prosciutto. Everything—from the pork to the spices to the curing process itself—finds its home
in
Tuscany.
Before
reaching
the
sandwich, the prosciutto crudo toscano hangs a mere foot from where the artists craft their next sandwich, making walking around the small Panetteria difficult for taller guests. Colors of meat, fat, and spices blend together in swirls and fine grain while sliced. On every occasion, the Panetteria slices the meat thinly, almost Photo by Travis Zittrauer
glass between them. While panini shops across the city cleverly employ similar tactics, none entices me more than my local Panetteria e Stuzzicheria. The sandwich that catches both my eye and
translucently, but stacks it in abundance. It tastes salty and earthy, and above all, fresh. The sandwich’s cheese completes the trifecta of main ingredients. Called pecorino, meaning “little sheep,” it is creamy white in color but semisharp in taste. It pairs well with the prosciutto
my tastebuds is simply titled Firenze. Some
and blends with its fattier hues. Its firmness
would consider this a simple sandwich--nothing
allows the teeth to sink through with satisfying
exciting and nothing out of anyone’s comfort
ease. Take the cheese’s muted white color,
zone--but in its simplicity lies its beauty. It sits
paired with the crispy green arugula and juicy
delicately atop its peers, high and mighty. The
red tomato slices, and you have yourself the
first thing one notices about the Firenze (or any
colors of the Italian flag properly sandwiched (to
sandwich, for that matter), is its bread.
use a fitting verb) between two slices of
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schiacciate. This, like the best margarita pizza,
The taste and the scent are distinctly salty
is certainly an intentional choice and one that
and nearly alkaline as it infiltrates every bite
only enhances the visual experience of one who
of the Firenze. The panetteria spreads it
chooses to eat the Firenze.
liberally across a full slice of bread, so that every bite contains consistent amounts of this
Finally, the most important element to a
Italian delicacy. All these parts combine to
good Italian sandwich is rarely seen until the
create this simple but extravagantly-flavored
first bite, yet a keen nose can detect it here
sandwich, waiting for the next hungry tourist
before you even walk through the door: the truffle spread, or crema di tartufo.
to wander in and get a bite of Firenze.
Photo by Travis Zittrauer
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ITALY EATING EXPERIENCE by Molly DeKraai When I first got to Florence, I noticed how
I was half-expecting to have yet another
easy it is to get overwhelmed by all of the
anti-climatic bowl of too-chewy gnocchi or a
restaurant options. Nearly everyone associates
less
Italy (especially Tuscany) with delicious cuisine,
than stellar margherita pizza, but this was not
and, even now, three weeks into my stay here, I
the case. After being welcomed into a cozy, one-
continue to worry if the three weeks I have left
room restaurant that was reminiscent of a
is enough time to squeeze in all of the places
quaint cottage, we were seated by a server who
and foods I’ve been told I MUST try. My first
would later become our friend. She introduced
night here, my roommates and I floated over
herself as Adina and handed us our menus.
the River Arno and consumed food seemingly developed with one purpose — to trap tourists. On welcome night, we were “welcomed” with steak that underwhelmed and risotto that left much to the imagination (sorry, Frank). All of this caused me to wonder when I would be truly “wowed” by a meal. After what felt like my own personal failure, the time finally came on my fourth night here. A magical bowl of carbonara is what cured my anxieties about Photo by Molly DeKraai
Italian cuisine.
After making the assessment that this place
My apartment is nestled in a small neighborhood on the south side of the River Arno. At first, it was easy to envy the students who lived on the side of the study center, close to many restaurants that are well known and accept our meal vouchers. But, I quickly realized my area is where beautiful Florentine culture and cuisine thrives. I live near Santo Spirito Square, an area rife with young locals and amazing restaurants. On a warm and dewy evening, a group of girls from my apartment
got
together
for
dinner.
After
reading through the meal voucher list and discussing our options with each other, we began the leisurely walk to Trattoria Boboli.
seemed trustworthy, I decided I wanted to try a true Italian dish I had never eaten before. After debating between the house special and the carbonara, I went with the latter, only after being promised I could try a bite of it from my friend’s plate. Carbonara was always slightly out of reach — not terribly foreign, but not something I could access often. I knew it was made of long noodles, a sauce of egg yolk, and some sort of meat, but I didn’t know what beauty was held in the simplicity of this dish. Not to be dramatic, but my choice of carbonara that night was quite possibly in the top ten of best decisions I have ever made.
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My masterpiece was brought to the table after I had a slice of the most decadent bruschetta I’ve ever had. Perfectly toasted- not too crunchy, but not so soft that the toppings slid off. The pasta was unassuming, but looked golden juxtaposed with the dark blue bowl in which it sat. The portion was tiny compared to a bowl of pasta in an American restaurant, adding to its modesty. The first bite of this pasta proved to me I chose correctly. The noodles spoke to me, telling me, “You did not steer yourself wrong!” Carbonara’s taste is so unique — savory, but not too salty. Flavorful, but not overwhelming. Unadorned, but not boring. The richness of the sauce cut by the savory pork was pure bliss. The pecorino cheese scattered on the top made for the perfect cheesy flavor, something I don’t usually gravitate towards, but it was just perfect in this scenario. After each bite, I sipped the most gorgeous Aperol Spritz I had received since being in Italy, and rejoiced that Trattoria Boboli just so happened to be where we chose to go that fateful night.
Photo by Molly DeKraai
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ESPRESSO STILL LIFE by Kenneth Dryslewsk Espresso is seldom seen before it is smelled.
atmosphere that the drink offers. Even the
The grinding of the coffee beans sends out the
busiest Italians will not instantly down the drink
faint hint of wet, rich earth. Once the steaming
while standing at the bar. For at least a minute,
hot water is mixed, that familiar smell is
they will stand, soaking in the smell and heat,
released, coating the entire store and the street
the company of others at different points in their
outside in its roasted fragrance, the heat of the
experience, and everyone’s anticipation. There
drink being enjoyed first through the nose.
might be some who are only doing this because the coffee would burn their mouths if it is gulped down too quickly, but that is simply how the silent law is enforced. The temperature is why it is sought out, and how it creates a pause in our busy days as we pay respect to a powerful and delicious drink. Once the temperature reaches a safe degree, but with the coffee still calmly steaming, it is then you can begin sipping. The anticipation from the smell and steam is finally internalized, with you being able to feel the bitter but rich taste traveling through your body, leaving behind its
Photo by Kendall Cooper
Espresso is served in small, porcelain cups that have a circumference of a quarter and are about as tall as one. Along with the cup, there is a small plate and a spoon. These light, cool objects contrast with the dark coloring and heat of the espresso. This heat causes there to be another component to the entire dish, the steam rising from the cup. Onlookers can physically see the aura emitting from the drink, the inviting wisps of warm vapor dressing the customer’s face in a new, relaxing warmth. When ordered, the coffee sets forth an unspoken rule that you must sit and enjoy the miniature
trail of warmth and comfort. The following sips do what you might think is impossible; they send that same warmth out again and again,, but on these subsequent trips, it feels like it is reaching farther and farther into your body. On my last sips, my fingertips symbolize perfectly what the experience provided, warmed by the drink on the outside and in. Left behind, the cup, spoon, and plate serve as a reminder of the espresso, no longer as contrasts. As the heat fades away, the smell lingers
as
it
still
slowly
soaks
into
the
background. This aftermath is a dream quietly fading by, and as it concludes, your mind is invited to resume its command of your body.
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BOBOLI TRATTORIA by Daly Mann
When I first moved to Florence at eighteen about three and a half years ago, I was placed in the Via Romana residence which is only a few steps from the entrance to the famous Boboli Gardens. However, a few extra steps away from the Gardens is a little place that is a less famous: Trattoria Boboli.
restaurant. At this restaurant, they serve typical Tuscan and general Italian fare, such as soft bread with homemade balsamic, Florentine Caprese
Salad
with
but I could not put my finger on it. The spice was delicate and dancing: it did not have an overpowering fire that would cause me to start screaming and crying, nor was the spice so intense that it was the only thing I could taste on my tongue. It was just a light sizzle that also had
Trattoria Boboli is a small and intimate
Steak,
seemed similar to something I had had before,
Burrata,
and
Carbonara pasta. Over my first few months in Florence, I probably ate at this restaurant once or twice a week. The cozy atmosphere, delicious food, and friendly staff kept me coming back time and time again. The one meal I would always order was the Spaghetti Arrabiata.
I
was sad to realize upon my return to Boboli this semester that they had removed it from the menu. I think, on my next visit there, I will pester them about why they did this, and ask politely if there is any way for them to still make it for me. The Spaghetti Arrabiata was unlike any pasta I had had before. Thin spaghetti noodles drizzled with tomato sauce would come from Boboli's bustling kitchen, steam still floating gently off the dish when it was escorted slowly to my restaurant table. The first thing to note about Spaghetti Arrabiata, when placing it on
a kind of sweet and savory tomato-ish peppery flavor. I came to find out that this spice was from dried red chili peppers cooked in olive oil. Of course, I had tasted this before! Back at home, I would put red pepper flakes (which contain dried red chili peppers) on EVERYTHING!!! This was why it was one of my favorites. My new go-to at Boboli, however, is the cacio e pepe pasta. The only way I can describe this pasta is gourmet mac and cheese made and kissed by Gordon Ramsey himself. Thick pici noodles (which stretch to the width of your pinky finger) are doused with thick gooey Pecorino Romano (a hard Italian cheese made from sheep’s milk) and then sprinkled with black pepper. Of course, a generous amount of butter is whisked in as well, which only donates to this goopy concoction. The Cacio e Pepe, , Spaghetti Arrabiata, and the food in general contribute to the cozy, comforting atmosphere of Boboli Trattoria. However, the best part of the restaurant, and the part that is often missed, is the secret garden seating area at the back of the restaurant. If you go there, you must ask the
your tongue, is that it is spicy. As an avid
waitress if you can sit outside and she will
consumer of spicy food, this was a pleasant
shepherd you to the back of the restaurant,
surprise when I ordered it for the first time (the
down a narrow hallway and up some stairs, to
description was all in Italian, so the first time I
a tiny garden terrace where you can sit and
had it, I had no idea what I was getting). It was
enjoy your meal among the company of roses.
also a pleasant surprise when the spice
This is what makes Boboli Trattoria truly unique, and it is why I chose Boboli as my restaurant to review!
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A RELIGION BUILT BY BANANAS by Emma Gannon
You take the first delectable bite and with it
You held it in your arms like the proud
comes a feeling of perpetual bliss, complete
mother of a beautiful newborn child and
and total contentment. With every bite, the
presented it to the cashier, playing the role of a
experience
more
wise man in a nativity scene. You would have
omnipotent, verging on religious salvation. This
paid in blood for the beautiful banana, but sixty
is the happiest you have ever been. This is you
cents per pound also seemed like a reasonable
eating a banana.
price.
becomes
more
and
You got into your car and stared at the banana, admiring its beauty. It was almost too pristine to be consumable. It wasn’t a fruit; it was a work of art that could have just as easily been on the table at Da Vinci’s Last Supper, rather than linked to Publix produce code 4011. You were so overwhelmed by its elegance that you spent five minutes holding it, being careful to admire every centimeter of its surface. It was slightly malleable in your hands, the stem bending as you touched it. After admiring it sufficiently, you began to Photo by Keely Myers
perform the intricacies of opening it. Peeling a banana is a calculated process; each step must
When you saw it on the shelf at the
be carefully executed. You pulled the top of the
supermarket, you knew this banana was
peel down until you heard the always satisfying
predestined to become a part of your life. Its
pop as the stem splits open, revealing the
peel was perfectly yellowed, practically begging
slightly mushy, faded yellow insides you had
you to buy it. And buy it you would. Its yellow
been
was a sunflower on a dewy summer morning,
Immediately after the crack came the wafting of
the sunshine after a period of rain. There was a
the blissful banana smell, one reminiscent of
small brown spot near the stem, which made
your favorite candle.
dreaming
about.
And
the
smell!
you love it even more. You wanted so desperately to know where it had been, the
After sitting in the scent, praying your car
trauma it had survived to live on with this
would smell like it even after you ate it, you
bruise. You wanted to make sure it was
decided it was finally time to begin your
worshiped the way it should have been its
pilgrimage. You took the first bite, the banana
whole life.
practically melting in your mouth.
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You chewed it once, and already it was soft
It only took two minutes, but you finally made
enough to consume. You let the bite settle in
it to the last bite, each preceding one having
your mouth for just another moment. You
been better than the one before it. You took the
needed to fully appreciate its delectability. You
last bite, transcending beyond a level of human
finished that bite and took the second. Though
understanding, approaching self-actualization.
at first you would have thought nothing could
You finished the banana, but there is something
compete with that first bite, the second one may
wrong. You needed another one! You sprinted
have been better. The third was even better
back into the supermarket and bought as many
than the second. And that fourth! You couldn’t believe it. You found yourself wanting to devour
bananas as you could afford.
the banana to get to the last bite, which you thought would have to be heaven-adjacent (if not heaven itself). But no! You had to slow down and do your best to enjoy every single bite.
yers Keely M y b to o Ph
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ANTICO NOE REVIEW by Keely Myers
Hidden inside a tunnel between a busy road
Assorted meats caught my eye. One whiff
and a bustling square you can find four
was enough to entice my tastebuds. I was
restaurants: an Irish-influenced Pub where you
intimidated my first time there with all the
can discover noisy college kids, a kebab shop
choices. I raised my number high and started
that knows the correct way to incorporate fries
on my sandwich journey. Every ingredient was
into food, a Latin bar that smells divine, and
on display: the flakey bread, freshly-pulled
Antico Noe. You may think I’m going to rave
cheese, and a variety of green veggies and
about Noe’s luscious dinner menu, but I’ve
intriguing sauces. I watched the vendor work as
never eaten there for dinner. Right next door is
they plucked out some of the dense bread and
an intimate space that can only fit three people,
created a hole so all my goodies could fit inside
a
assorted
with no spillage. The roasted chicken was taken
ingredients, walls enveloped in an array of
from the counter, as a whole, and sliced up for
mementos of old uniforms, and snapshots of
my consumption. The delicate nature of how
celebrity customers like Samuel L. Jackson. It
they piece every ingredient together is true
immediately establishes its reputation. Antico
mastery. Just when I was prepared to be
Noe has a personal sandwich shop open in
handed the delectable sandwich, they walked
tandem with the restaurant during the day, and
away towards the back, holding my sandwich
has a list of various sandwiches for you to pick
hostage. I was preparing to hop over the
and choose from. Even if you can’t find anything
counter and follow, but that's when I witnessed
you like from the menu listed outside, you can
the star of the show, the ace in the hole, the
create your own concoction.
panini press.
countertop
overlaid
with
They placed my food down and slowly squished my sandwich in the machine. The sizzling set my ears on fire before my nose was greeted by the aroma of seasoned chicken and ripe red bell peppers. My eyes witnessed the juices flowing from the crevices of the bread, drenching it in all its flavor. The cook’s hand hovered over the sandwich, feeling out the time it had left, making sure all the cheese melted and every inch of the bread was a nice, even golden brown tan, instead of its original pasty white. I was handed my food fresh off the press in a small slip of wax paper and napkin, which Photo by Keely Myers
invited me to dig in. The warmth from the sandwich radiated through my entire body. I rummaged through my bag, scouring for a five-
19
euro meal voucher to pay the vendor. I waltzed two feet before my stomach’s protests won and I dove straight into the sandwich. The crunch from the toasted bread was the shell to the spicy and savory inside. The sauce melted into the bread and allowed me to savor it with every bite I took. The chicken and mozzarella were the base of light flavors that counteracted the bursting peppers that were marinated and grilled to perfection. The seconds dwindled and soon the entire sandwich was devoured and digesting nicely in my stomach. I wasn’t prepared for the wave of sadness that struck me once I finished my food. I didn’t stop thinking about the sandwich for the rest of the day. I hear and see all these reviews about a monstrous sandwich shop that has two locations and lines out both doors, but that shop isn’t my scene because I prefer the road less traveled. I have found my diamond in the rough sandwich shop that always makes my meals with the utmost care and dedication. I don’t need any other sandwich, nor will I take my business elsewhere. Antico Noe has stolen my heart and my money.
Photo by Daly Mann
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CAPERS: BUDDING OUT by Sarah Moloney
A flower bud, bright green with a purple tip
Sicilians grow their capers in rich volcanic
and of only seven millimeters in size. Typically
soil. Based on the texture and flavor, these
pickled in a salty brine, the buds are preserved
capeers are said to be the best in the world.
and sold in tall, narrow glass jars. There they
Meanwhile, on islands like Pantelleria and
float in vinegar, turning a more muted, darker
Salina, capers are cured solely in sea salt
green over time. White spots appear on their
rather than in the usual vinegar. Because of this,
surface, crystallized rutin becoming visible to
these
the eye. It is a wonder how something so tiny
reminding those who eat them of their flower
can pack so much flavor. Because while capers
bud origins.
capers
retain
a
more
floral
note,
may seem like an insignificant ingredient, they can make or break a dish. Capers come from a caper bush, a perennial plant found in the Mediterranean and parts of Asia. They originated in the dry regions of west and central Asia thousands of years ago. Humans have recorded their presence for just as long, as the flower buds are mentioned in the epic of Gilgamesh and in Pliny’s Natural History. The entire bush is edible as the immature fruit of the plant can be pickled and marketed as caper berries, while the leaves can be boiled and used in salads or fish dishes. Capers come in six different sizes, but the most popular are the French nonpareils, the smallest type
of
bud.
The
ancient
Greeks
also
documented the medicinal uses of the plant.
Photo by Sarah Moloney
Those white spots of rutin act as good sources of antioxidants, promoting wound healing and reducing inflammation.
But how does one serve these pickled flower buds? Paired with similar flavors, like briny fish or cured olives, capers can deepen the tang and
Americans tend to use capers sparingly,
provide extra crunch. A lox bagel is a popular
reaching for them only as a condiment. But in
brunch choice. Select a style of bagel, smooth
other cultures, capers are a main ingredient
some cream cheese on it, and top it with
found in a variety of dishes. Around the
smoked salmon, red onion, and capers. Each
Mediterranean, one can find capers in the
bite delivers an explosion of tastes while also
cuisines of Italy, Cyprus, Greece, and Malta.
acting as a filling way to start the day.
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Paired with complimentary flavors, like buttery sauce or sour lemons, capers can add a salty zing that brings the dish to new heights. Traditionally made in Italy with veal but adapted by Italian-American immigrants to be made with chicken, piccata simply describes a meat dish paired with a sauce of lemon juice, butter, and capers. Sliced thin, the meat is covered in flour and browned in a pan, giving it a slight crunch. That crunch is enhanced by the capers, while the sauce adds a silky-smooth texture to allow it all to melt in one’s mouth. Paired with contrasting flavors, like savory tomatoes, capers can offer a pungent edge. Kapunata is a Maltese stew filled with a variety of vegetables. Made of a tomato base, kapunata includes eggplant, olives, peppers, garlic, onion, and capers. It can be served hot, cold, or room temperature, so it is perfect for every season. A traditional pizza from Naples also makes use of this contrasting flavor combo, pairing its tomato sauce and mozzarella with anchovies and capers. Though
they
may
be
small,
don’t
underestimate those little pickled flower buds. Steeped in brine and in history, capers are essential to countless cultures’ recipes and can add a little something extra to any cuisine. Photo by Amanda Sandiford
22
THE ULTIMATE HIDDEN TREASURE by Penelope Abreu-Castillo
I had my eye on one restaurant for the
I immediately grabbed my wallet and
entirety of my first week in Florence; however,
headed downstairs to try the Katsudon. I walked
they always appeared to be closed. I was
the full minute from my living room to the
walking back home to my apartment the first
restaurant and finally saw the “siamo aperti :)”
time I noticed their picture menu to the left of
sign on their glass door for the first time. I took
their glass door, and one particular image
about five steps up to their counter and ordered
caught my eye: Katsudon. I decided at that
a Katsudon to go. I tried to pay with a card, but
moment that I needed that dish in my life.
the woman who took my order was having an
Unfortunately, their door contained a “siamo
issue with the card reader, so I offered to pay
chiusi :(” sign. Now, I don’t know how to read
with cash instead. I paid, got my receipt, and the
Italian, but judging by the dark room and the
woman got to work on my food. I sat down on
sad face on the sign, I knew my chances of
the right side table and waited for my food to
getting Katsudon at that very moment were
come out. After about ten minutes, the same
low.
woman came back out to give me my food in the same bright green bag my roommates had
Since the restaurant was a few doors down from my apartment, I passed by it every single
come home with earlier. I thanked her and headed back to my apartment.
day every time I went anywhere and every time I came back home. The restaurant was closed every single time I passed it. One fateful evening, one of my roommates walked in holding a bright green bag, announcing that the Japanese restaurant, Komugi, was finally open.
Photo by Penelope Abreu-Castillo
It was finally here: the long-awaited taste test. I sat down at the dining table in my living room, taking out the black plastic container from the bag. The clear top lid made a pop noise when I pulled Photo by Penelope Abreu-Castillo
it
off.
I
pulled
apart
the
chopsticks that came with the meal and
wooden
23
began to poke around at the steamy, crispy,
I’ve gotten food from Komugi about twice a
fried, and sliced pieces of pork, the egg, the
week since the first time I tried it. I have yet to
caramelized onions, and the sticky rice. Using
eat inside the restaurant, but I hope to the next
my chopsticks, I picked out a little bit of
time I get food from there. Komugi is casual,
everything from my bowl and took my first bite
small, and intimate, and it shows. Everyone I’ve
of the Katsudon. It was nothing like anything I’d
interacted with inside the restaurant has been
tasted before. The crunchiness of the pork
so sweet and they’ve even been remembering
combined with the softer foods makes for a
me and my order. I cannot recommend this
great texture. The saltiness from the pork and
restaurant enough.
eggs, the sweet taste from the onion, and the middle ground coming from the rice made for
Komugi is located on Via Sant’ Egidio next to
the perfect balance between salty and savory.
a few residences and a couple of other small
I’m not the fastest nor the most efficient eater
businesses. The restaurant is a bit sunken in— if
with chopsticks, but the food was gone from my
you were walking down the street, you wouldn’t
bowl within a few minutes.
notice it unless you were closely analyzing your surroundings. Komugi is the ultimate hidden treasure.
Photo by Penelope Abreu-Castillo
24
Our New Adventures While in Florence, we've had the opportunity to broaden our horizons by traveling to other cities and countries.
ngary u H , t es Budap
Gugge nheim in Ven Museum ice
The Gra nd Can Venice al in
in s g n i build nice t n e a Vibr urano, V B
Harr y S shop tyles pop in Lo ndon up
Rome Colosseum in
25
m s fro w e i v a tal Coas La Spezi
Happy Pr (from ide Month!! Venice )!
Sightseein g in Lond on
e inqu C m fro re s w Vie Ter
Julia & buildin the beautif gs of Buranoul
ti at Orn t a c t s i Cutesti Garden Dipin lorence F
Decorat ive are exctiny doors iting
Travis & in the Cithis fiancée y of Love
26
A PROFILE OF EMIKO DAVIES by Emma Gannon No one does Italian food quite like AustralianJapanese
Emiko
Davies.
Despite
the
paradoxical nature of her heritage and the food that launched her into food-world stardom, Davies has been mostly well-received by the industry and its consumers. Well enough, in fact, to have already published five successful cookbooks. We had the pleasure of speaking with Davies during class, where she told us the details of her remarkable (and at no point predictable) life story and taught us how to cook a 123-year-old pie recipe. Davies’ rise to the top of the food world has not been linear, however. Growing up, she split time between Australia and China and traveled with her family frequently. It was during these childhood travels that Davies developed a passion for international cuisine and an interest in the variations in food culture distinct to certain countries. Despite this passion for food, she never considered making a career out of it. Instead, she attended the Rhode Island School of Design, where she studied another of her passions: book restoration.
found her way to Florence, where she began her career as a book restorer. However, such a specific field didn’t offer a living wage for newcomers, so Davies was forced to search out better compensation in another field. She took a job as a receptionist and was miserable. In order to maintain some semblance of joy in her life, Davies returned back to her original passion – food – and started a blog.
audience
embarking on the
because
However, as time went on, Davies grew increasingly more invested in her blog and began
making
connections
with
other
individuals in the blogging field. She started to gain a substantial following, and very soon after was regularly writing a column for the cooking website Food 52. Over the course of about four years, Davies had contributed over 200 recipes, an impressive amount given that she did all the writing, editing, and photography required to put the recipes in (digital) print herself. The column was so successful that it helped to jump--start her career as a cookbook writer, Florentine: the True Cuisine of Florence, an ode to Florentine food, and has continued with five others, one of which is forthcoming. When she visited us, she noted that the content of her latest cookbook, which has not yet been publicly announced, is entirely comprised of Japanese recipes. Unfortunately, the road to this book’s publication has been much rockier than those of her Italian food cookbooks, exemplifying the underlying racism present in
Originally, she didn’t care about trying to an
endeavor for her own personal satisfaction.
which began with the 2016 publication of
Following her time in Rhode Island, Davies
attract
Photo by Judith Pascoe
she
was
both the food world and the publication world. Even when telling us this, however,
27
Davies’ demeanor remained positive. In fact,
Also contributing to her success is her
she noted that this setback only inspired her to
ability to mirror the evanescent trends of the
work harder to get the book published, even
internet. Her blog began at the dawn of the
when
This
social media age, and as technology shifted and
industriousness, along with her writing style
virtual content began to be consumed on a
and her social media savvy, has been essential
more micro-scale, the moment of the blog came
to Davies’ success.
to a close. Davies was not discouraged,
the
odds
were
against
her.
however; she simply hopped on the Instagram Much of Davies’ success in the Italian food
bandwagon and built a following on the site,
world (despite her non-Italian ancestry) can be
while maintaining her blog as a database.
attributed to her writing voice, as well as her
Previously, she was posting content on the app
social media savvy. Davies takes a personal
every day, though has since begun to post only
approach to her food writing. She told us that
when she wants to. Today, she has almost
she writes as if she were trying to explain her
80,000 followers on her page, where she posts
recipes over the phone to a friend, and this
recipes, life updates, and photos of her children
sentiment is very much apparent in her
enjoying her recipes. Most recently, Davies
writing. Instead of portraying herself as an
started publishing a bi-weekly newsletter (paid
authoritative food expert inherently superior to
subscribers receive weekly content), through
novice chefs, she makes it seem as if she and
which she sends recipes to the people who
the cooks following her recipes are of equal
most want access to her writing.
importance (even though she certainly is the expert). Without the readers even noticing, they
Despite her relative fame, Davies has tried to
are more inclined to be receptive to her recipes
remain authentic. She never monetized her
because of this voice. This was made especially
original blog (even though she was forced to
clear to us during Davies’ visit to our class,
work a miserable job to make ends meet) in
where she taught us amateur chefs to cook a
order to keep it accessible and devoid of
pie with the grace of a ballet instructor. I can
distractions. She continues to speak to her fan-
proudly say that because of Davies, I was able
base as equals and accurately portrays her
to bake my first pie without burning the kitchen
friendly and relatable personality in her writing.
down (and it tasted delicious).
This genuine authenticity is likely what has allowed her to reach the level of fame she has,, and her understanding of the internet will enable her to continue to experience success for years to come. We are very thankful for the opportunity to have talked with and learned from Ms. Davies and wish her the best of luck moving forward.
Photo by Judith Pascoe
28
WHEN IN ROME by Amanda Sandiford
I’ve loved every single day of Italy so far —
Unfortunately, Italian restaurants and
whether it be swimming in Monterosso, taking
trattorias usually close in the window between
a gondola ride in Venice, or just eating gelato
lunch and dinner, leaving us with few options.
and going to class in Florence. But my favorite
With some searching, we likely could have
day has been my day trip to Rome. We had
found an open restaurant that served classic
originally wanted to book a hotel or Airbnb for
Roman dishes, like cacio e pepe or carbonara,
a night and spend two days in Rome, but the
but instead of searching for a restaurant, we
rising hotel prices threw a wrench in our plans.
simply went to the McDonald’s across the street
Instead of giving up, we decided to just cram
from the train station. The ordering process
everything into one day. The only downside?
was exactly the same as at a McDonald’s in the
Our train to Rome left at 5:45 in the morning.
United States —the only difference being slight variations in the menu. One item featured on the
The 5:45 train turned out to not be as hellish
Italian
menu
is
Panzerroti
pomodoro
e
as I had originally pictured. We arrived in
mozzarella, which looks like some form of a Hot
Rome around 8, and immediately set off to look
Pocket. There are McFlurry flavor options
at the Trevi Fountain and find some breakfast.
besides the traditional Oreo, such as Smarties
After taking lots of pictures with the famous
(the European M&M), KitKat, Snickers, and Baci
fountain and grabbing some croissants and
Perugina — an Italian chocolate and nut truffle.
coffee, it was time for the Pantheon — my
Another stark difference was the difference in
personal favorite part of the trip. The rest of the
dipping sauces. Much to my dismay, Italian
day was filled with sightseeing and lots and lots
McDonald’s don’t offer ranch dip.
of walking. We saw almost all the major attractions in Rome — St. Peter’s Basilica, the
I wasn’t very adventurous with my order,
Colosseum, and the Roman Forum — and we
selecting a Happy Meal and Oreo McFlurry, but
spent some time shopping at the souvenir
instead of the Happy Meal coming with a
stands (the two cat magnets I purchased might
package of apple slices, it came with an Italian
be the best purchase I’ve made while in Italy)..
delicacy: a block of Parmigiano Reggiano
Once we had seen all the sights and worn our
cheese. I’ll admit it was a little bit strange to pair
feet half to death walking all around Rome, we
Parmesan cheese with chicken nuggets and
were ready to stop for a quick dinner and hop
fries, but when in Rome. It might be odd to say
on the train back to Florence.
my favorite food memory while in Italy is the two hours spent in the Rome McDonald’s across
It was then that we realized we still had two
from the train station, but those two hours were
more hours until the train arrived. All of us
oddly fun. My three roommates and I all got to
were
walking
know each other better as we scarfed down the
collectively
various nuggets, fries, and burgers we’d all
nearly
thoroughly 30,000
exhausted
steps,
and
from we
decided that rather than find some unseen sight to see, we would just overstay our welcome at whichever restaurant we picked for dinner.
ordered.
29
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH by Travis Zittrauer
If the Fountain of Youth exists, I know with absolute certainty that its location lies across from the Santa Maria Novella Train Station in Florence, Italy. Any adventurer in search of this fabled source of immortality ought to begin their journey, like Audrey and I did, by missing a train from La Spezia. The empty train platform at La Spezia Centrale taunts our empty stomachs. The next train—the
only
one
scheduled
to
Photo by Rachel Zak
head
anywhere remotely towards Florence for the
La Spezia Centrale, leaving us in the dust, most
rest of the night—leaves for Pisa in forty
likely without any food as well. So, we remain
minutes. Bingo! We map out train itineraries,
stuck
calculating
croissants and basil-topped margarita.
arrivals
and
departures,
in
place,
dreaming
of
crème-filled
discovering that a train bound for Santa Maria Novella departs from Pisa Centrale just minutes
Unceremoniously, the train rounds its
following our arrival. Our movements from
corner. We board, find our seats in an empty
train to train must be precise and speedy.
car, and resign ourselves to the realization that we will not be boarding our next train in Pisa.
The union workers of Italy's national rail
Maybe it is delayed, too, I say, half-optimistically.
service had other plans for our trip. Amid a
Audrey smiles, and we both look out the
nationwide strike for higher wages, the train
window and watch the faint lights of distant
does not arrive at its predetermined time;
villages pass us by.
leaving us two Americans confused and hungry, standing stranded in a small foreign
The welcome committee in Pisa consists of
town, just trying our best to get home to our
sunken-eyed train workers waiting to close up
slightly larger and slightly more familiar
shop,
foreign town. The anxiety of deciding whether to
confused as us, and, most notably, no train. Yet,
venture outside the train station to find a decent
the
meal sets in. Ten minutes pass. Twenty
incredibly small print: Firenze SMN – 1:12. Wait,
minutes. Do we make a run for the nearest
that’s us! In the place where we would find
pasticceria? Pizzeria? Are they even open? At
which platform the train will arrive, it says
this hour? Of course not! But what if they are?
simply Piaz. Well, that is not helpful at all. We
No, the second we leave the station, the Pisa-
approach our newfound traveling friends and
bound train will barrel its way through
ask, what the hell does Piaz mean?
two
young
illuminated
travelers
departure
seemingly
board
says
as in
30
Oh! That means you have to take a bus! You get
sweating plastic cup of a McDonald's to-go meal.
on at the plaza outside! Audrey and I look at each other with an expression that can best be
Our order is straightforward. One double
described as well, this might as well happen.
cheeseburger, two orders of McNuggets, two
With two hours to kill, we wander the barren
medium fries, and, of course, two large Sprites.
Pisan streets, littered with the wrappers of
The aromas of that oh-so-familiar fast food
sandwiches and burgers, almost taunting us as
establishment satisfy us for the time being; but
the wind blows them past our feet. Despite our
this meal demands a proper setting. With our
growing hunger, we see the tower, we take our
feast in hand, we begin our final trek to the
pictures, we soak in the quiet city streets,
quintessential
Florentine
vista.
We
plop
ourselves down on a damp curb, lay down our The empty town suddenly comes alive as
napkins properly, place straws in cups, and
travelers, speaking all kinds of languages,
take our first sips of ice cold Sprite looking up
congregate around a charter bus parked
at Santa Maria del Fiore, the Duomo.
outside Pisa Centrale. Taking our seats, we sway back and forth through the Tuscan
In an instant, all the tension built up from
countryside. At last, it seems a decent meal is
hours of travel leaves both our shoulders,
almost in sight. Yet, the sinking feeling sets in,
collapsing in on each other as the carbonated
the same feeling experienced in Pisa. Will
nectar
anything actually be open? I try my hardest to
exhaustion, the stress, the hunger, seems
recollect which ristorantes or osterias may
nothing more than a distant memory. I inhale
keep their doors open for weary late-night
half the drink in one long sip.
travels
through
our
bodies.
The
travelers, but none come to mind. As all the apostles, the Virgin Mary, and God We arrive in Florence a few minutes past
himself look down upon us from their alcoves
2:30am, dumped outside the train station at
atop the Duomo’s façade, we devour the rest of
which we were meant to arrive hours before.
the meal. Each fry, each nugget (which I should
The bus drives away and a golden light shines
note, is made of real chicken in Italy), and each
upon us in the distance, beckoning us, calling
bite seems more delicious than the one before;
us with the sweet angelic hum of its fluorescent
perfectly
sign. McDonald's. Its window advertisement,
inconceivably warm.
salted,
precisely
crunchy,
and
enticing us with its bold, blocky, white letters, says: OPEN 24 HOURS. I could cry. During my
We sit. It could have been thirty minutes, it
time in Florence, I have tasted some of the finest
could have been two hours, but we sit there,
foods the world has to offer. Cured meats,
admiring the intricate details of the cathedral’s
freshly-made pasta, and dishes that can only be
green and white granite exterior, watching the
properly enjoyed in the smoke-filled back
small groups of college students wander their
rooms of a famiglia’s trattoria. I cherish these
way through the center of town. As we
meals, but at this moment, the only thing I can
exchange nuggets, a young couple, the man
think of is the grease-stained paper bag and the
31
pedaling a bike and the woman sitting side-
cloaks, the other wearing a red cape and a
saddle on the back, ride past us. A few minutes
crown, approach the Duomo. They look up,
later, the man rides past on his own, looking
bow, and keep walking. It could have been a
quietly content with the night he must have had,
group of guys goofing off, or possibly a late-
possibly having stolen a kiss as he dropped his
night meeting of an ancient secret society.
partner off at her flat. By the time our Sprites
Strange, sure, but at that point we did not even
echo with the saddening sound of an empty
question it. Instead, we raised a toast with our
cup, a group of three men, two wearing white
ketchup-coated fries.
l Zak y Rache Photo b
32
AM I HUNGARIAN? by Daly Mann I have had many amazing travel experiences with food while studying in Italy. However, I had a very memorable one while visiting
Budapest,
Hungary
with
my
roommates a few weekends ago. After a turbulent plane experience on the esteemed RyanAir, we landed late in Budapest on a lively Friday night and our first mission was to secure
some
traditional
Hungarian
food,
although we had no idea what that even entailed. We sat down outside at a cute little restaurant, which was adorned with fairy lights and filled with chatting Hungarian locals. However, when the waiter brought us our
Photo by Daly Mann
menus, our hearts dropped upon flicking them open to the first page . . .the options seemed to
vinegar with white onions and sugar. The title of
be mostly pizza and pasta. Now I am not one to
this dish was Chicken Paprikash: a meal made
be
or
by heating pork lard in a heavy pot and adding
spaghetti, but after spending the last few weeks
Hungarian bell peppers, onions, and paprika
in Italy, I wanted something new and, dare I say,
(one of the most famous food items in Hungary
fun and fresh. Luckily there were a few
since it is the best place for it to grow), garlic,
Hungarian options and we asked our waiter to
and finally the chicken.
dismayed
by
a
Margherita
pizza
give us the most traditional Hungarian dish on the menu. She nodded politely and ran back
Upon my first sniff of the aroma floating up to
into the kitchen to let the chefs know what we
my nostrils from the thick brown sauce, I
wanted.
immediately had a thought: “I’ve smelt this before.” Then, upon tasting the wonderful
The next thing I knew she was placing a
concoction, I came to the conclusion that I had
small bowl of what looked like two chicken
eaten this exact meal before in my life, complete
drumsticks, drenched in a thick brown sauce
with the pickle salad and all. I could vividly
with a dollop of sour cream melting into the top.
remember hand-making spaetzle in the kitchen
Next to the chicken drumsticks was a portion of
with my great aunt, and her keeping in her
what I recognized as spaetzle, which is an egg
fridge a jar of cucumbers in vinegar with sugar.
noodle my great aunt used to hand-make with
The meal was something I felt I had tasted a
me. On the side, I got pickle salad, which was
thousand times in my childhood, which was
composed of thinly-sliced cucumbers in
interesting because all of my friends who
33
ordered the traditional dish said that they had
like Chicken Paprikash! My mother went on to
never tasted anything like this before.
explain that she knows we have German and Irish heritage, but no one in my family has had
I immediately texted my mom and asked,
a DNA test! So, since this dish appears to be
“Are we Hungarian? I just ate my first
traditionally Hungarian and had been passed
traditional meal in Hungary and it tastes exactly
down through my family, it leaves me to
like something you make and it even had
question whether some percentage of my
Urna’s (my great aunt's) spaetzle on the side!”
eritage is Hungarian. This dish has inspired me
She replied that she did not know, however, the
to get a 23andMe DNA test when I return to the
unnamed dish that she made was passed on to
States!
her by older relatives, and was made exactly
Photo by Daly Mann
34
THE DEVASTATING BUNNY’S REUNION by Keely Myers When I inform my friends that my favorite
bacon, golden toast, and the holy grail of it all:
breakfast spot is a sports bar called Bunny’s,
home fries. When we first spotted the small,
they are a bit perplexed. Bunny’s is a bar that
crispy cubes of potatoes we had no idea what
was popular in my dad’s college years and still
they were, so, like any normal kid, we asked our
is for his generation. It is filled with football
parents and my dad coined the name "bunny
fanatics and their fanboy children; the floor is
fries,” which is our household name for these
always covered in stale popcorn from their
fries to this day.
machine
and
the
sticky
beer
that
tipsy
customers spill when the Vikings score a
I have never inhaled a meal faster than the
touchdown. Each wall has a big flat screen or
first time I had this breakfast. I had to slow down
multiple tiny televisions tuned into any sports
and make tiny sandwiches with the bunny fries,
competition, even fishing, for your viewing
eggs, and bacon so that my parents could catch
pleasure. The only day that it was open to my
up with me. The joy that filled my body every
eight-year-old self and my six-year-old sister
time I ate the “55” at Bunny’s over the next five
was on Sunday. That is the only day that
years is a core memory of my childhood. We
Bunny’s
traversed
would go any chance we had, and we forced
through the front doors and faltered: the stereo
our relatives in the area to meet up there so we
blasted eighties classics, vinegar mixed with
could have Bunny’s Breakfast on Sundays. It
stale ale wafted through the air, and a giant
was the hardest place to lose when we moved
wooden bunny plastered with a psychotic grin
from Minnesota to Florida. We had to say
blocked our path with a sign stating "Please
goodbye to our childhood favorite sports bar.
served
breakfast.
We
seat yourself." I was certain my dad had gone insane. Gripping my sister tightly, I shuffled
The first time we traveled back up to
over to an empty table, squeezing in between
Minnesota for vacation, we had "Bunny's" on the
burly men, dodging elbows and beer, and
top of our lists of things to do. We had to wait
snatching a bag of popcorn for the road.
the entire week for Sunday to roll around. It had been a year since my last “55,” and I couldn’t
Once sitting down, I immediately wanted to
hold back my anticipation. When the day finally
go home, but decided to at least give it a shot
came, we arrived thirty minutes before the
after I was given the biggest root beer I had
doors opened to ensure our seating. Once
ever seen. My choice in a meal at that moment
inside, we saw that Bunny's was exactly as it
has gone down in history as one of the top ten
always had been. It still had the same popcorn
best decisions I have ever made. My sister and I
floors, the same enthusiastic fans screaming
both ordered the “55” which consisted of
and drinking before noon, the same menu, and
scrambled eggs and bacon, which was enough
the same “55” meal right there waiting for me to
for us, but, once we received our plates, we
come home.
realized it was so much more than that. The "55" was piled high with fluffy eggs, greasy
35
I ordered it without a second thought,
We got up the courage to ask the staff about
drooling as I imagined my meal making its way
the fries, and that’s when they had to break the
over to me until it finally arrived.
news to us that the old chef was no longer working at Bunny's and the new one changed
Right in front of me, I saw my plump eggs
the potato recipe to roasted potatoes instead of
scrambled to perfection, my crispy bacon, and
our bunny fries. This devastating news was my
the already-buttered toast, but there was
first heartbreak. I cried on the way home,
something
devastated at the loss of my bunny fries.
wrong.
Scouring
the
table,
rummaging around my plate, triple-checking the menu, I realized that my favorite thing, my holy grail, my childhood favorite bunny fries were gone. Instead, there were these big chunks of slimy purple potatoes that took up too much space and contaminated the rest of my delicious meal. I whipped over to look at my sister's plate — we still always got the same thing — to see if mine was just a fluke, praying that they didn’t get rid of their special fries, but I
It has been six years of hunting and scouring every breakfast restaurant's menu to see if they have home fries that can replace the bunny fry hole in my family's hearts, but we have had no such luck. I will continue the quest until I do find my next bunny fry breakfast spot, but until that day comes, I will boycott breakfasts resembling the “55” in commemoration.
was faced with the same purple dreamwreckers with her meal as well.
Myers y Keely Photo b
36
ORDERING BLINDFOLDED by Kenneth Dryslewski I am going to admit an embarrassing fact about myself.
is a thrill in eating something with no idea what
I frequently pretend that I am
to expect, more so when it would be something I
reading a menu in a language that I have no
would normally not consider tasty. Today, I
knowledge of. In Florence so far, I have been to
ordered a sandwich in this blindfolded fashion,
cafes, bakeries, pizzerias, gelaterias, super
and
markets, and even a butcher's, and at each one,
tomatoes. In English, I would not have ordered
I sat there with a dumb look on my face trying
it. It is one of my favorite sandwiches in
to discern anything on the menu. I am proud to
Florence.
it
had
mushroom
sauce
and
dried
say I have deduced that salmino is salami and funghi are mushrooms, meaning that I am at a two-word-per-week rate of comprehension.
I cannot recommend enough that you try this. There is nothing like loving a meal only to find out that the main ingredients were detested
The day after we were given our meal
by your American palate. The challenge is in
vouchers, I went to La Prosciutteria, observed
finding out what every little detail was in the
the menu quietly for a minute, admitted defeat,
food, deciphering its Italian, Florentine, and
and pointed at something on the wall. I had
particular chef’'s influences.
ordered a sampler platter. As I was walking back to my apartment, I was silently chiding myself for my reckless ordering.
If you can brave the daunting task the next time you enter a restaurant, just blindly pick something in a category that seems appetizing
The platter was delicious, and I had a
at the time. Look at their pastas, mouth some of
wonderful time combining all the various meats
the words, remember you cannot read this
and cheeses alongside the salad and sauces
language, smile at the waiter and order what
(with the exception of something that might
your finger is closest to. Restaurants are
have been fermented).
businesses, and as long as you pay, they will not mind your lack of finesse. Your next favorite
I have been to far more places than just La
dish is hidden among all those menus and
Prosciutteria while here. What I experienced is
stores, along with the intense desire to learn the
what I could only dream of when I was back
language.
home: trying food without reprehension. I admit I feel timid when I point at a menu and butcher the beautiful Italian, but it is a sacrifice I gladly make to enjoy the wonderful cuisine here. If you have allergies, reading this will only make you jealous. Since I am privileged in not being allergic to any food (that I am aware of), there is no risk in taking this adventure. There
Photo by Kenneth Dryslewski
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TRATTORIE: THE LIFEBLOOD OF ITALY by Kendall Cooper
Before coming to Italy, I had never heard of
Italy is a highly regional place. Each dialect
a trattoria, but the little restaurants have
of Italian is so different that someone from
secured a special place in my heart . . .and my
Venice might not be able to fully understand
stomach. Trattorie serve as a middle ground
someone from Naples. Italian food also carries
between ristorantie, which tend to be more
that same energy. However, Italy has not been
upscale, and osterie, which serve simple food
immune to the effects of the Information Age
and
family-owned,
and globalization, so you can find many
trattorie are sprinkled across Florence like
regionally-specific dishes outside of their native
stars in the night sky, and they embody
area. So, the food served at trattorie is not as
everything I love about Italy.
regional as it once was, but that has not affected
wine.
Almost
entirely
the quality. An example of this is the delicious My first trattoria experience was on my first
eggplant parmesan I was able to order in
night in Florence. Fresh off the plane from
Florence despite its Sicilian origins. If a dish is
Florida and severely jet-lagged, a couple of my
not native to the region in which it is prepared,
roommates
it is still created with care and cultural
and
I
dragged
ourselves
to
Trattoria L’Oriuolo. The one-room restaurant
reverence.
was bathed in warm light even though the sun had long been set, and I felt right at home
Italian trattorie dining feels like eating a meal
despite having never been farther from it.
crafted by your family member who loves
There were fabric tablecloths, but they were no
to cook. Trattorie often serve their family’s
indication of pomp. With the help of a few
version of well-known, often regional, dishes,
cognates and Google Translate, I was able to
and they are an extension of good old-fashioned
identify a familiar favorite on the menu:
home cooking. But, the experience is so much
eggplant parmesan.
more than just the food. Trattorie represent the lifeblood of Italian culture, at least from my
I order eggplant parmesan at every Italian
American perspective. Trattorie are living
restaurant I visit in the States, so I was over the
museums in a way. Places like the Uffizi and
moon about my opportunity to have the real
various Accademias house and preserve
thing. Upon my dish’s arrival, I immediately
Italian culture in an important, but stagnant
noticed that the eggplant had not been breaded
way. However, trattorie actively preserve Italian
and pan fried like it is at home, and it didn’t
culture while simultaneously creating it. The
come with pasta. However, it did come with lots
gradual diffusion of regionally-specific dishes
of fresh, gooey mozzarella cheese and a light
outside of their native areas is a prime example
tomato-based sauce. The meal was delicious. It
of this phenomena.
was lighter than its Americanized counterpart, yet I still felt full afterwards. I left the trattoria
As in many cultures, food occupies an
with the sense that I had just been let in on a
important space in Italian culture, and as the
family secret, and I believe that is the key to all
country continues to modernize, its trattorie are
trattorie’s success.
a reminder of the past and a reflection of progress.
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ORANGE FANTA IS LIFE CHANGING by Penelope Abreu-Castillo
My first trip to Europe in June of 2015 was
day). The liquid passing through my lips,
truly unforgettable. My family trip was no
dancing on my tastebuds, then sliding down my
typical
throat was a magic elixir that cured me of my
immediate-family
trip.
There
were
twelve of us—my aunt, uncle, two cousins, great
picky-eating tendencies.
aunt, mom, dad, brother, a family friend, her daughter, and her mother, and me—and we
From that point forward, I ordered an
had a combined total of fifteen pieces of luggage
Orange Fanta at every restaurant we went to,
of varying sizes. It was incredibly difficult to
no matter the country or city. I was also much
transport ourselves to the local airport, let
more adventurous with my food orders. For the
alone travel to places around Europe.
first time in my life, I ventured away from foods I was sure I liked—basic things like ham and
Against all odds, we made it to Barcelona,
cheese sandwiches, pizza, hamburgers, chicken
Spain. We took multiple taxis from the airport
tenders, fries, etc. I was trying new things like
to get to the apartment we were going to be
crepes, sandwiches with meats and cheeses I
staying in for the next few days. After nearly ten
couldn’t pronounce, pasta in various styles and
hours of travel, we were understandably all
sauces, etc. While I didn’t entirely love every
starving by the time we got ourselves settled
food item I tried, the Orange Fanta I got with
into our rooms. The twelve of us walked over to
each meal tasted absolutely amazing every
a nearby restaurant. It was here that I
time.
discovered that food in Europe tasted a million times better than it did in the United States.
A few years later, in July of 2017, I returned
For a drink, I ordered an Orange Fanta. I was expecting the carbonized, bright orange drink typically served in America, so I was quite confused when I was given a glass full of a bright yellow liquid that didn’t appear to be carbonized. My twelve-year-old self was very hesitant about trying this strange new thing, but I’m so glad I did. I took one sip from a Margarita-style glass and my world changed. The
orange
soda
tasted
like
a
slightly
carbonized version of orange juice, with more sugar. As an avid orange juice fan, I thought this soda was the best thing I’d discovered since hamburgers
(coincidentally,
I
ordered
hamburger as my meal at that restaurant that
a
to Europe. This time, it was just my immediate family, and we traveled to London, England, and Paris, France. All I could think about the whole nine-hour trip to London was finally being about to taste the sweet, tangy European Orange Fanta for the first time in a little over two years. I fulfilled my wish after my family and I had settled into our hotel. My brother and I walked over to a KFC near the hotel we were staying at while my parents went out on a little date to a restaurant. We ordered from the menu, an unfamiliar selection of items meeting our eyes, nothing extremely foreign, just not what an American would expect from a KFC menu, and brought it back to the hotel. We sat on the floor across from each other, eating rice and chicken
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straight from the cardboard takeaway boxes,
soda. I was so excited to share my love for
Orange Fantas patiently waiting beside us,
Orange Fanta with my friends. Unfortunately, I
clashing voices coming from our phones as we
was not super successful with getting other
watched YouTube videos. I felt pure bliss at that
people to fall in love with the soda. Apparently,
moment, so much so that I still clearly
not everyone loves orange juice or orange soda
remember that moment five years later.
in the way I do.
My latest trips to Europe— December 2019 with my high school band to London, England, and May 2022 with Florida State University’s International Programs in Florence, Italy—gave me the opportunity to share my love of European Orange Fanta with other people. I was no longer in Europe with a group of
While I wasn’t as successful as I hoped I would be in getting people to love Orange Fanta, I hope each and every one of my classmates from both high school and college got to find something that changed them in the way Orange Fanta changed me.
people of whom the overwhelming majority were my family who had already tried the
Castillo Abreuenelope P y b to Pho
40
MERCIER ORCHARDS by Tia Nicholson
Nestled between the Chattahoochee National
The market was equipped with canned goods of
Forest and Long Creek/Fall Branch waterfalls
all kinds, whether that be jellies, jams, fruit
sits the antique town of Blue Ridge, Georgia.
preserves, pickled vegetables, fruit syrups, hot
Blue Ridge is a mountain town filled with
sauces, peppery vinegar, barbecue sauces,
remarkable scenery and quaint little shops.
salsas, or many other items. There were dry
Just a few hours outside of Atlanta, Blue Ridge
mixes for biscuits and cakes, sodas, seasoning
provides a peaceful oasis for visitors from all
mixes, and various apple ciders. The bakery
walks of life. While the area is known for its
displayed
great outdoors and snow-peaked mountain
pastries and baked goods. My eyes—and my
tops, it is also home to a picturesque orchard.
stomach—immediately gravitated to the various
Mercier Orchards, a 300-acre orchard started
hand pies, such as apple, cherry, caramel, and
in 1943, with a wide variety of pick-your-own
cream. Still warm, the outsides were crispy and
fruits.
sweet, topped with a glaze, while the insides
hundreds
of
delightful,
aromatic
were delightfully gooey. I still dream about these As I visited a friend’s cabin during the winter
pies. They tasted like happiness, snuggling by a
season of 2020, I received recommendations
cozy fire, and a warm hug—all wrapped into
from many locals on “must-visit” places in the
one. While the apple pie was the most popular,
area. Mercier Orchards was at the top of the
given that the fruit is frequently in-season at the
list. Once I arrived at the orchard, it was clear
orchard, I fell madly in love with the caramel
that people flock from all over to witness it.
and cream pies. In fact, so much so that I had to
Splayed out across rolling hills, this (primarily)
return back to the orchard the next day to stock
apple orchard is a sight to behold. While the
up on them before leaving Blue Ridge.
outside was quite tranquil, the inside of the establishment was the exact opposite. Packed
As I walked around the market, I was
with people, the chaos of the place was a true
immediately drawn to the Mercier Orchards'
indicator of its popularity. As I visited on a
signature apple cider. Many people crowded
Sunday, many people wore their church attire,
around the baskets of it. The apple cider came
having stopped by to grab a few essentials
in many different shapes and sizes, figuratively
after their time of worship. Others appeared to
speaking. Dainty little glass bottles were filled
have walked in either as tourists or regulars.
with the chilled, plain cider or perhaps the
After having a moment to take in my surroundings, I set off into the combination bakery, store, café, winery, and market. It was an overwhelming experience, to say the least.
cinnamon-flavored kind. For those with an immense love for the cider, you could also buy a glass gallon jug. Being a fan of the Martinelli brand, I opted for the pre-chilled bottle of plain apple cider, hoping it would be similar.
41
Once I checked out and stepped outside, I
Once my trip came to an end, I bid farewell to
popped the top off the bottle and took a sip. I
the vast, rolling hills of Mercier Orchards. While
was pleasantly surprised by the crisp, cool
I have not returned to Blue Ridge since, I plan to
flavor. In fact, I was so impressed that my first
visit it very soon. When I do, I know that a trip to
thought was: “This is so much better than
Mercier Orchards will be at the top of my
Martinelli’s.”
bucket list. The crisp and creamy pies paired perfectly with the apple cider, offering me a perfect meal for any time of day, as well as a delectable souvenir for loved ones.
Pho to p rov ide d
by Can va
On The Streets Graffiti is a popular style of self expression that has grown and morphed into its own genre of art. The purpose of graffiti is to allow self expression, provide emotional support, and invoke emotion from the world around us. Graffiti is an art for the public. It isn't tied down to any rules, and therefore you are free to interpret this art how you see fit. As a class, we saw graffiti around Florence as a window into the city's thoughts and feelings. The graffiti could be a message of endearment or a political statement demanding to be heard. We, as foreigners, use graffiti as a message board that provides glimpses of Italian thought and feeling.
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y Gang l a t I n i The EWM 6/2/22
FSU INTERNATIONAL PROGRAMS Phone: 850.644.3272 Email: IP-Info@fsu.edu
Instagram: @EWM.in.Italy