Fail: No Swedish Dip This Year

This lake was freezing, but it does not count.

I really, really hate to admit this, as it truly shows how slack my moral fiber has become after so many plush months of living in Europe, but this Thanksgiving I did not plunge into a cold body of water, as I have done for the past nine Thanksgivings of my life.

To back up, The Swedish Dip started when I was a junior in highschool, a formidable year for me when I also founded the Swedish Culture Club and succesfully completed a personal challenge to wear shorts to school for a whole year. That Thanksgiving, I decided to give the Holiday a festive, Scandinavian twist by completing what I called a "Swedish Dip": I built up significant body heat by running several miles and jumped in our swimming pool, which usually measures about fifty degrees fareinheit that time of year.

The Swedish Dip was so popular with me that I did it again next Thanksgiving. And the Thanksgiving after that. And after that, and so on. The tradition has carried on for nine years. I get warm, sometimes by playing soccer, riding bikes with my Dad, or just shooting hoops in our backyard, then I plunge in the pool, take a warm shower, and have a nap. It really makes for a great day.

But this year, I am living in Northern Italy where they do not know about Thanksgiving or The Swedish Dip. Being in a program with a dozen or so other Americans, we of course organized our own Thanksgiving dinners, but the day did not feel the same. We had to go to class, businesses were open as usual, and no one played touch football or watched an oversized, inflated Charlie Brown navigate the streets of New York. At dinner, we could not even confirm that we had eaten turkey. The bird had been purchased already cut into pieces by the butcher and tasted suspiciously of goose.

Because the day itself did not feel like a proper Thanksgiving, I did not feel the impetus to find a freezing body of water and jump into it (although I considered my options: the river close to our campus, irrigation ditches, sneaking into the outdoor pool which is closed for the winter, or skipping class to ride my bike to the nearest lake).

And again, because the day did not feel like Thanksgiving, I felt no sense of regret for ditching such a proud and storied tradition.

But later that night, once we had eaten plates of what we hoped was turkey, stuffing, potatoes, creamed corn, brussel sprouts, truffled mac n cheese, and cardoons stewed in tomato sauce (made by an Italian) and once we went around the table and shared what we were thankful for, I felt a sharp pang of regret. Now it was Thanksgiving, and it actually felt like Thanksgiving, and I had to find some cold water and throw myself into it. I got up from the table and tried to spot a nearby fountain from the balcony. They dont have fountains in our town, but if they did, no doubt I would have jumped in.

Instead, I resigned to failure. The Swedish Dip did not happen this year, and I had to give up my dream of a flawless consecutive record of dips. My only consolation will be planning the next Swedish Dip, an important dip, the 10th dip in history, a dip that will require custom t-shirt(s), and a dip that will occur in the right place: my own home, with some of my family watching (I can usually get one or two to come outside), and my little sister taking pictures.

Until then, I hang my head, and admit that Europe has made me a little bit of a sissy.

Bad Things I've Eaten: Five Course Lunches

As students of food, we have to be critical of our eating experiences, especially on our study trips. Even during the bus trips, stopping at Autogrill for coffee and pee-breaks can provide insight into Italian food culture (Personally, I love watching Italians standing around small counters and high tables to sip espresso and eat sandwiches at these rest stops. They take refreshment with a jauntiness and gusto you just dont find at a McDonalds along i-5 in the stinking middle of California).

Every time we eat provides an opportunity to think critically about food and culture. Our recent trip to Umbria provided an intense array of these opportunities, and I come away with these criticisms:

Almost everyday of the trip, our class sat down to a four or five course lunch. Sometimes we did lunch and dinner, which meant four to five courses, twice in one day, and as many as ten plates of food (sometimes more) within six or seven hours.

These meals displayed the wealth of Umbrian cuisine and the warmth of our hosts hospitality. But truly, this hospitality needs enlightenment. These big meals need tweaking.

Bold Tuscan Cigars provide mild relief for an uncomfortably full stomach.

When eating multiple courses, one has to trust that the chef has orchestrated the courses in such a way that one dish leads to the next, flavors intensify or increase in depth and complexity as the meal goes on, and most importantly, the diner has to trust that the chef has considered how much a human being can comfortably eat in one sitting.

In Umbria, we were shown no such consideration.

Instead, when served a plate, we were also given a dare. This bowl of lentils, drizzled with bright green, "new" olive oil tastes delicious: nutty, earthy lentils spiked with peppery, grassy, fragrant oil. But, the same bowl of lentils could be your undoing if you eat the whole thing. There could be pasta, meat or fish, more vegetables, and dessert to come. Go ahead, eat all the lentils. "I dare you," says the chef.

Perhaps you resist, nibble at the lentils, soak up the precious olive oil with a crust of bread, and manage to stay strong through course one. Then comes the pasta, one of the best pastas you have ever tried or can at least remember. Rigatoni: cooked to a perfect, toothsome al dente with homemade pork sausage, fresh cheese, and black pepper. Again, the chef says "I dare you." This could be the best pasta you ever eat in your life. Surely, you are dying to finish the whole bowl, gather up the remaining sauce with a piece of bread, throw down your napkin, and leave Italy a changed man, but you still have no clue what comes after the pasta.

After the pasta, there is meat, or fish, or pork, served with roasted potatoes, mashed potatoes, vegetables. After this, they mock us with dessert and offer us coffee, like offering a cigarette to a man walking out to face the firing squad. Why even bother with the coffee? As if any us stand a chance of doing anything remotely productive with the rest of the day.


I hate to complain about being served so much amazing food, but the experience provides important lessons to chefs, hosts, restauranteurs, or anyone who has to plan a meal for other people: first, the chef has to think not only as a cook, but as a eater. Too many chefs think, "I could cook that, then cook that, and cook that...", but never ask, "Could I eat that? and then that? and then that?" I doubt any of these chefs could have finished all of their meals. Second, these long, multi-course meals aim to show off the skills of the chef and the delicous products of the region, but by serving so much, in the end, no one dish or ingredient ever has the chance to truly shine. Even if the chef serves the best roasted pork any one has ever tried, it will not taste good if the guests are already stuffed with beans and pasta.

Quite simply, less is more. The more these cooks served us, the less we could truly appreciate. End of criticism.

Good Things I've Eaten: Luca Parigi (my roommate) vs. Michelin Starred Piemontese Chef (Davide Palluda)

I came to Italy to learn more about Italian food and to eat lots and lots of it. Until now, I can still maintain that I've learned the most about Italian food by having an Italian roommate (A very passionate, opinionated, food-obsessed Tuscan). Luca, my roommate, has taught me all kinds of crucial tips, like using rosemary to season squash, how to make perfect bruschetta, or to add course salt by the handful to the pasta cooking water, and then to add a few tablespoons of the salty, glutinous cooking water to the pasta when it comes time to serve it.

And as a student of Food Culture and Communication, I've gone on trips all over Italy: we've been to the North and the South, the seaside, wine country, and the mountains. We've eaten from street vendors and in fancy restaurants. Still, most of the best meals I've had this year have been cooked in my own apartment, with Luca at the helm, giving his guidance, his palate, and the final word on when enough salt is enough, when the pasta is properly cooked, and if the risotto needs more butter.

So, in this entry of Good Things I've Eaten, I stack one of Luca's best meals against the best Italian restaurant food I've tried.

1.Luca's Peposo We have an answer to the cold, gray Piemontese winter: braised meat. On a crisp, gray Saturday this October we brought home a piece of tough braising meat the size of a two-month old baby and Luca knew exactly what to do. We stopped at the spice store for some black peppercorns, Luca donned his apron, sharpened his cleaver and went to work.
After three glorious hours of waiting, smelling the meat braise away in red wine and crushed whole peppercorns, and watching every window in the apartment steam over, Luca finally declared the meat was done.
Then we served up bowls of warm polenta and Luca's Peposo. The meat was tender and the sauce silky and unctuous with all the gelatin released by the broken down connective tissue. And the copious crushed and whole black peppercorns that give the dish its name, lent a clean, bright spicy note to cut through the richness of the stew.
This was real Italian food. Truly satisfying, simple, prepared with care, and specific to a region and tradition. I got dinner and a tasty, concise lesson on Italian food culture that night.

2. The "Sorpresa" Tasting Menu, Risorante all"Enoteca I've only eaten a few fancy tasting menus in my life, but sometimes the sheer number of dainty plates can water down the experience, as memorable flavors and presentations get lost in the relentless onslaught of perfect, beautiful, delicious food.
I can remember every dish served at all'Enoteca.
And two plates stick out. First: cod steamed with fresh herbs and served with tomatoes, eggplant, and zucchini. And second: fresh pasta stuffed with creamy raschera cheese, served with shaved white truffles and butter.
These two dishes are bold in their simplicity. In this first, the chef elevated humble ingredients by cooking and seasoning each element to absolute perfection. The tomato tasted exactly how a tomato should taste, he teased out every potential for flavor in the small wedge of eggplant, and every other vegetable reached its full potential as they worked together with the flaky, dense fish to create five or six very different but cohesive bites (the plates are small here). In the second dish, the chef took on the challenge of one of the world's most precious ingredients, and he nailed it. He respected the quality of his white truffles by giving them a simple backdrop of pasta stuffed with mild cheese. The pasta had a pleasant chewiness, the cheese inside had just enough bite to not be boring, and the truffles and butter that took on their flavor were given free reign over the dish. After this course, I could truly say that I had eaten white truffles from Alba.

In kitchen stadium, I think Davide Palluda would beat Luca Parigi. Invite the Michein starred chef into our apartment to cook us dinner, he wouldn't stand a chance. We eat pretty well over here.

Good Things I Have Eaten Entry #3: American Hops

On the first week of class after summer break, we did two days of beer class. With lectures in the mornings and tastings in the afternoons, we summed up a whole world of beer in twelve hours of class.

I learned a lot about the brewing process and the different styles and traditions of beer making.

I had always thought that I love all beer rather equally, but actually, I learned that I don't love beer itself, I love the hops in beer. Monks in the middle ages discovered that hops (bitter, green, cone-shaped flowers) help preserve beer and provide a pleasant bitterness and balance to the final product.

English and American styles of beer tend to go heavy on the hops, but not all hops are created equal. Different varieties of hops have decidedly different aromas and lend very different flavors to the beers. English hops tend to be spicy and reminiscent of Indian food, and English Ales, although interesting, in general don't taste that good (especially when served warm and flat, pumped by hand from a cask).

I can proudly say that American Hops are the best. Cascade is the hardest working American hop, and it gives the distinctive, crisp, citrus aroma to great American Pale Ales like Sierra Nevada. In two days of beer tasting, Sierra Nevada tasted the best. Full flavored, refreshingly bitter, satisfying but not cloying like the syrupy, bready Belgian beers, S.N. completely stole the show, all thanks to the mighty American Hops that go into it.

Some get turned off by the robust, piny bitterness of American Pale Ale, but these are not only my favorite beers, but my favorite beverages in the world. I like them more than any wine, cocktail, soda, coffee, or tea that I drink. I am truly a converted hop head.

An American Hop Head.

Working Back Through My Travels: Lisbon

Oh boy was I impressed by Lisbon. Never has a place without surfing made such a strong and immediate impression on me. The city feels small but bustling. There are tons of cool, old cultural sights. Awesome old buildings, a big church that was built in the 1300's, a Moorish quarter you can only enter with a tour guide because the narrow pedestrian streets criss-cross in such a tight, overlapping maze that anyone but a local would get lost (and locals still get lost there). They have a bridge that looks just like the golden-gate bridge. They have awesome weather and deep blue sky. The old part of town, just above the city center, is packed with restaurants, record shops, and cocktail bars. A seven-euro cab ride takes you from the airport to downtown. The food is good, especially the baked goods (like slightly sweet Portuguese cheese tarts).

Lisbon is one of those rare places, where after just a short time, you feel like, "Wow, I really want to live here. This place is cool." The city just has a really good vibe and energy, and along with the rest of Portugal, it doesn't get enough credit.

So I'll say it here: Lisbon is f***ng awesome.

Good Things I've Eaten: Entry #2 (French Edition)

Our class just spent the last week in France on a study trip. Although it is easy to make fun of their silly accents, high taxes, penchant for clothing with horizontal blue stripes, rampant cigarette smoking, and funny hats, their food has to be taken seriously. Below I've listed only the best and most memorable food and wine experiences of the week:



1. Bresse Chicken, Montrevel-en-Bresse When the farmer took us to the pastures where he raises these chickens, I think we all felt a slight pang of jealousy for their lifestyle. Each bird has fifteen square meters of verdant pasture to himself. They spend their lifetime frolicking on the carpet of green, native grasses, eating locally grown corn, milk, and insects. They hang out, they look for worms, they exercise, and they soak up the warm sun and fresh air of the French countryside. Towards the end, they spend a week in a warm, dark room to relax and fatten up for their big day.
For lunch, the farmer served the chicken simply roasted, with only a touch of salt and pepper and the roasting juices as a sauce. These birds have a clean, satisfying flavor that is hard to describe. They taste how a chicken is supposed to taste, and every morsel carries this essential, pure chicken flavor. This, the simplest meal of the trip, easily reigns as the most memorable and satisfying.



2. Perfect Salads One thing France definitely has on Italy is its salads. While French food seems to lean heavily towards butter, animal proteins, and duck fat, they offer fresh, crisp salads as a counterpoint. Fresh lettuces, maybe tomatoes or carrots, and the bright, tangy Dijon mustard vinaigrette and nothing more. Simple, refreshing, satisfying, the salads in France are done right.



3. Chablis Terroir: the term gets thrown around quite a lot nowadays and the concept of "terroir" seems mysterious and complex like most fancy French words. But when it comes to wine, terroir means one thing: soil-driven. In Chablis, we tasted at two different wineries with slightly different approaches, but each house had the same goal. They want their wines to showcase the unique, mineral-rich soils of the region. The first winery produces single vineyard/appelation, unoaked Chablis. Crisp, clean, mouthwatering, although they use the same varietal (all Chablis is Chardonnay), these wines are a far cry from the California Chardonnay I'm used to. The second winery (actually a large co-op of growers with a centralized wine-making operation) uses some oak in their Chablis, only because they feel the oak helps bring out the minerality by softening the green, fruity flavors. Again, these wines were, crisp, clean, and delicious. The man leading the tasting couldn't emphasize enough the importance of minerality. Chablis should taste like the minerals in the soil. After tasting more than ten Chablis, I think we got his point.

4. Steak Tartare, Brassiere George, Lyon The restaurant was big (Huge actually. I'd guess 500 seats), bustling, old-school, and very, very French. The lighting was retro. The waiters wore bow ties and black vests. The menu was big and full of classic French food: all the best dishes that got exported to bistro menus in the United States, served in one place and done right. Escargot, Steak Frittes, Cassoulet, etc... My decision was easy. I had to have the Steak Tartare, which they still prepare tableside. The waiter brings the freshly chopped meat, an egg yolk, tobasco, mustard, capers, onions, and salt and pepper, asks you how spicy you want it, and then mixes it all up and plates it right on the spot, with an air of cool, professional indifference. The tartare was seasoned perfectly and served with fries and salad. I couldn't have been happier.

Working Back Through my Travels: London

I have to write at least something about all the great places I've visited in the last two months. Things have been too busy recently, always one thing to the next, and I am afraid if I don't stop and look back at these great experiences, they will get lost in the blur. The amazing moments won't add up to anything if i don't write them down.

On the way back to California for my sister's wedding, I stopped in London. I spent a weekend with my best friend since Kindergarten. He has been living there for over two years now. I had been to London before, but Aaron showed me a completely different side of the city. Here are some of the highlights of the weekend:

1. Saturday morning, Borough Market Jamie Oliver popularized this market, which used to have a grittier, working class feel to it. Now it may be a little touristy or geared towards yuppies, but there's no arguing with the products on offer. Amazing fresh baked goods, cheeses, wines, beers, juices, oysters, sandwiches made from melted Raclette cheese, huge wooden tubs of pestos and olives. Almost anything you could want. Aaron and I grabbed coffee and then walked around. The products were arranged so beautifully and had such vibrant colors that just walking through the place, taking it all in, was a truly satisfying experience. We didn't even need to buy anything.




2. Rock and Roll Dance Party, Saturday Night Aaron described this pub as "The Happiest Bar in London". We had a group of about eight, and we were some of the happiest pub-goers in London that night. They play 60's and 70's rock music, geared towards dancing. Air guitar, leg kicks, faux-vocals, arm swings, more air guitar, anything goes when you're dancing to rock and roll. We didn't dare leave until all our clothes were sweated-through and the DJ stopped playing music.

3. Flea Markets, Sunday Morning We went to two different flea markets, each with a slightly different feel to it, and each with a huge diversity of goods for sale. Cool old sweaters, jackets, coats, scarves, glasses. New merchandise, old merchandise, cameras, records, fridge magnets, bags, ties, suits, almost everything. The second market had a food section, where vendors sold fresh ethnic food. Spanish, Indian, Japanese, Mexican, Chinese, Thai, and it all looked good. More importantly, people were really gathering in all these places. Diverse cross sections of the city came to purchase goods, to eat, to walk around, to see or be seen. It was impressive to see.



4. Coffee at "Look Mum, No Hands" This bicycle-themed coffee shop eptimizes "cool". They have vintage bikes in the interior, good coffee, microbrews, and barristas with awesome mustaches. This is just a fun place to hang out, read the paper, or do work on your laptop. If I lived in London, I would want to be a regular there. I might even develop a crush on one of the employees and after a few months finally arrive at the perfect moment to ask her out for a drink. It's that kind of a place.




5. Pimm's Cup, Saturday Afternoon Aaron arranged a celebration for both of our birthdays (we were both born at the end of August). He gathered a group of friends and co-workers to meet at a pub with a beautiful garden in the back. Starting the drinking at two in the afternoon can be rough, but the Brits have developed a solution: Pimm's Cup. They serve the refreshing ,herbal spirit called "Pimms" with seven-up, fresh strawberries, oranges, cucumbers, and mint. Truly, it's lovely beverage, and sharing a few pitchers of the stuff with friends is a lovely way to spend an afternoon.