My favorite summer sandwich

If you consider the fact that I had the very same sandwich for lunch three days in a row this week, it might be safe to say I'm in love with it.

I've always had an affinity for the more pungent food flavors. I like espresso in my ice cream, the most bitter dark chocolate I can find, olives, pickled things, cured meats, hard cheese, red wine, balsamic vinegar, and mushrooms... to name a few. I think that's why this sandwich calls to me. It has many of the strong tastes I like, but in perfect balance with one another. 

See, it starts with the smooth, moist, crusty-but-soft ciabatta bread. A drizzle of balsamic vinegarette on the top half makes things interesting. Then, we have layers of delicious salami and provolone cheese – a classic pairing. With a piece of sweet butter lettuce for crunch, the bottom half of the bread is smeared with a succulent olive tapenade – an unexpected but joyful addition. 

That A.G. Ferrari really knows a thing or two about food. If one of these delightful Italian shops resides near you, I highly recommend taking a gander at the sandwich menu sometime.

This is what has satisfied my hunger 'round the one-o-clock hour most days this week. I can't make any promises, but you may just catch me with another one on Monday.

Elliott and I are off to Sonoma County this weekend, where cell phone service is scarce, dirt is in abundance, and good times with friends are plenty. I hope to return, detoxed and tired, with a story or two and a recipe. 

For now, my favorite sandwich of summer.

Fresh Summer Pasta

Italians approach food and wine from a perspective of self expression. Food, for example, is simple, elegant, nutritious, and timed – you have your antipasto, followed by pasta, a meat course, salad, and cheese or dessert and espresso. The meal in itself is an expression of the chef, the garden, the soil, the climate, and the season.

Wine is the same. In Tuscany, we took a wine tour with a wonderful woman named Francesca. She was so knowledgeable and passionate about wine, spewing wisdom so fast I couldn't write it all down. One of the first things she told us was, "When you drink Italian wine, you are tasting an expression of the place it came from." The health of the soil, the amount of rain that year, storms, diseases, bugs... It can all be tasted in the quality and flavor of the wine. And for that reason, Italians favor less oak in their wine. To overpower the essence of the fruit with heavy oak would be a shame, we were told. When you hold a sip of wine in your mouth and swish it all around, you taste every single note of fruit, spice, and chocolate. Too much oak would overshadow the delicate flavors.

At the table, we were met with several courses of the most carefully – but simply – prepared food. And never without wine. "In our life," Francesca told us, "food doesn't make sense without wine, and wine doesn't make sense without food."

They each make the other better, and neither can express itself fully without the other. 

One thing that really struck me was the quality of the pasta. In America, we're used to a little bit of pasta with a ton of thick sauce. In Italy, so much care and work goes into making the pasta with the finest ingredients, that it would be a shame to overpower it with bold, heavy sauce. Every dish was mostly pasta with a bit of extra flavor – garlic, fresh vegetables, a light bolognese, perhaps some cheese. 

It reminded me of a dish that, when I was first learning to cook, I would make for myself at least once every week. I would visit the Italian market in town and buy some fresh, unique pasta – whole grain farro was my favorite. Then, I'd search the refrigerator for any spare seasonal vegetables, do a quick chop, add lots of garlic, olives, and spices, toss through the pasta, and (with a garnish of cheese) dinner was served. It was so simple and delicious and easy, I wondered why more people didn't do it. 

We didn't have much in the refrigerator the other night, but we had some pasta, an onion, and a few jars in the pantry. Keeping in mind the culinary traditions I learned in Italy, combined with the flavors I love, I had a meal for three prepared in 10 minutes flat. Tailored to whatever you happen to have on hand, this is one of the best weeknight meals I could possibly imagine.

Fresh Summer Pasta :: Serves 4
1 package spaghetti
sea salt
olive oil
1 large yellow onion, halved and sliced thin
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 cup roasted red peppers, julienned
1/4 cup pitted kalamata olives, halved
1/4 cup marinated artichokes, chopped
1 16-ounce can diced tomatoes, drained
1 Tbsp. dried oregano
a few shakes of red pepper flakes
black pepper
1 cup fresh basil, julienned
handful of fresh parsley, roughly chopped
feta cheese and pine nuts, for garnish

1. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook until al dente. Drain in a colander and set aside.
2. Meanwhile, in a large nonstick skillet, warm a few tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and garlic, sprinkle with salt, and cook until starting to brown, about 5 minutes. Add peppers, olives, artichokes, tomatoes, oregano, red pepper flakes, and black pepper, and cook until warmed through, about 3 minutes. 
3. Add pasta and fresh herbs to the skillet. Toss through to evenly distribute, warm the pasta, and coat with sauce. Add a bit more olive oil if needed. Divide among plates, garnish with pine nuts and crumbled feta cheese, and serve. 

The World (and what I've been up to)

I always thought that, arriving on another continent, I would feel more of a shift. A definite, tangible feeling of there we were, and here we are now. A difference; an enlightenment. In my twenty-two years I’ve seen a fair bit of the western hemisphere, crossing cultural borders and speaking a different language. But never more than two time zones away from home, the transition has always been fairly simple to manage. Three hours ahead or three hours behind, I always felt grounded, and knew where and when I was in relation to where I came from. 

Landing on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean for the first time was strange… Very strange. Stepping off the plane in Rome, if you’d told me we were still in California I think I’d have believed you. I felt weirdly at ease; but at the very same time, for the first time ever in my travels, I felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath me and I couldn’t feel the ground. Totto, it may feel like it, but we're definitely not in Kansas anymore. For my entire first day in Italy I searched for something to hold onto, some footing to grasp and anchor myself down in a different time and place. I had absolutely no idea where and when I was. There was the shift I had expected – and oh, was it so much more dramatic than I could have anticipated. 

But all it took was a visit to one of the oldest cafes in Europe itself, Caffe Greco. After dropping bags in the room upstairs, I made my way into the 250-year-old cafe, then stopped. There was a different process to coffee drinking here, and I took a minute to observe other patrons. It went a little something like this: Browse the pristine pastry case on the left; order an espresso and pay; take your receipt over to the bar on the right; watch the cute tuxedo-clad barista make you the most perfect shot; eat your prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich standing up, chase it with your espresso, leave a nice tip, and be on your way. 

Okay, I’ve got this.

I did exactly as others had done before me, savoring every last bite of my delicious sandwich and teeny sip of the perfect espresso. I couldn’t help but beam with excitement, happiness, and pride. My dad and brother walked in and I explained the process to them, and from that moment on I had my footing. I was there. Italy was my oyster.

This might sound silly to those of you who are experienced jet-setters. But for me, Italy was a serious enlightenment. Before this trip, traveling to Europe seemed so daunting; long plane rides, different currency, language barriers, culture shock. There were plenty of reasons to keep putting it off. And yet, every time I did put it off, I felt an aching sense of nostalgia for a place I’d never seen. I didn’t know how that was possible until I finally found myself walking the cobblestone streets of Rome, tasting wine in Tuscany, sitting on the beach in Amalfi. Some innate, gut-wrenching heartstring had been pulling me to Italy for as long as I can remember. Chalk it up to my Italian heritage, my love for food and wine, the scenery, the history, whatever – I recently learned that when you follow your heart, you’re never far from home. 

Brunch at Bambino's

This unbelievably beautiful Saturday was followed by an equally splendid Sunday. Always always eager to eat, Lindsay, Virginia and I walked to Cole Valley and found ourselves at Bambino's around 11:30 am. Our experience can be summarized in one word: Divine!

I ordered a low-fat chai latte which came to me in the form of a low-fat latte. But no matter... it was still lovely to look at.

Instead of bread, we were presented with freshly-baked mini currant and lemon scones. I'm tough to please when it comes to scones... they can often be very dry and chalky, in which case I don't enjoy them. But these were some of the freshest, cutest, most-perfectly-moist scones I've ever had. And how unique! Props to Mr. Bambino.

When our meals arrived, mine looked a little something like this:

Smoked salmon, goat cheese, and green onion omelet with a side of greens. I was full about 3/4 of the way through, but I just had to finish it. It was so good! I also hadn't eaten much of anything until then, so it was in my best interest to eat the whole thing. (There's always some way to justify licking your plate clean!)

So peeps, the votes are in, and all are in favor of Bambino's! We fully enjoyed our experience and lingered to chat after our meal. The staff was super friendly, helpful, and looked happy to be there. Visually rustic Italian, the interior is accented with warm colors and soft natural light. Best of all, it was not crowded in the least. The low conversation floating over us from nearby tables and the clinking of plates in the kitchen just added to the authentic feel. We will absolutely be returning!

Bambinos

945 Cole Street

San Francisco