Gelati

Somehow, during my last visit a couple weeks ago, I managed to spend two nights in Rome without tasting gelato, and despite giving Gabe a hard time ever since, he did not allow Katherine or me to have Gelato outside of Italy. My first taste of Italian Gelato came our first night in Pisa from a small place called De Coltelli (www.decoltelli.it). The gelato was delicious, creamy, rich, naturally colored, and perfect on a warm evening. I still remember starting with pistachio and chocolate, and then going immediately back for strawberry and peach. I am someone with an ever-present sweet tooth and a constant craving for diary (despite being a bit lactose intolerant). Therefore, ice cream and gelato always seem like the perfect snack. In the “The Docle Vita Diaries”, Cathy Rogers and Jason Gibb describe Italian gelato.

“Why is ice cream so much nicer in Italy? I mean, isn’t it just milk and then stuff that you can get anywhere like nuts and chocolate? Is it, like the coffee, something to do with having fancy machines that just do the job better? Or is there something they’re hiding? Because you go into one of those awful British or American places and the ice cream is just horrid by comparison – vulgar, crude, not even tasting of what it’s mean to. The Italians aren’t averse to the odd horrid flavour – a bright blue one named after the Smurfs that tastes of nothing on earth, at least nothing this side of Belgium– but at least it seems they’re choosing to do it, rather than doing it because they don’t know better.”

Gelato from Pisa

As an American talking gelato, I feel obliged to at least briefly discuss some of the differences between gelato, ice cream, and sorbet. I will start with good ice cream, and by good ice cream, I mean the kind that doesn’t use condensed or powdered milk. Good ice cream is made with fresh cream, eggs, and natural flavors. Ice cream is also overrun, which means that air is whipped into it, and the more overrun an ice cream, the softer and lighter it will be. Some ice creams even have extra air added to it; however, these ice creams would no longer fit under my category of “good” ice cream. Gelato, on the other hand, holds a minimal amount of air, and this accounts for its high density. As far as differences in recipes go, gelato will usually include more egg yolks and milk, and a little less cream. The fat content of gelato, because of the reduction in cream, is less than that of ice cream; however, because it is less overrun, it still maintains that very rich and creamy taste. Finally, sorbets are just fruit, sugar, maybe some lemon juice, and water, the amount of which can control the intensity of the sorbet.

Gabe is taking me on a gelato tour of the best spots in Rome in between visiting his favorite churches, plazas, and vistas around the city. We have already begun this journey, and will continue it when we return to Rome before traveling to Sicilia. I will rate, rank, and record this avventura del gelato upon its completion.

“Italian ice creams tastes so good it almost manages to convince you that it’s good for you.” -Rogers and Gibb

Back in Rome

I feel I just left Rome the other day, but in fact, I have been bicycling in France and WWOOFing in Tuscany since I was last in Rome. That said, time that flies is the best type of time, and the last two weeks have been more than memorable. We separate from Katherine at the Cecina train station as she heads to the Pisa airport to return to London and we train back south. As we sit on the train, we feel the temperature continue to rise for each latitude line we cross, and by the time we are in Rome, the heat is intense.

Roman Street

While in Rome, we are staying with Sam, one of Gabe’s very good friends he made while living here over the last year. Similar to Gabe, Sam also lives next door to the Pope. The first night we are back, the two of them have a kitchen reunion and they whip up some delicious pasta with home-made sauce. I learn what real al dente means — there is actually a thin layer of white, uncooked pasta in the center of the noodle. The trick is taking the pasta off before it is done because it will continue to cook in the sauce before it is served. The meal is delicious and we top it off with a small glass of grappa that Gabe and I brought back with us from our time on the farm.

Italian Home Cooking

One down side of being on the go all the time is that having home-cooked meals become the exception rather than the rule. My time in Rome staying at Gabe’s apartment, however, fit into this exception very nicely. The first night began with a T-bone steak covered in pistaccio brandy cream sauce. The next morning followed up with a both delicious and attractive omelette completed with gianciale (a special kind of bacon). And finally, for the second dinner Gabe whipped up some amatriciana (fancy pasta) and his roommate Nikki made a great polenta pizza with goat cheese and veggies.

Andiamo a Roma

After a bus ride form the Airport to Piazza Cavour in the center of Rome, I meet up with my good friend Gabe. We were both classmates at university and will be starting school together in just a couple months. But before that, we will be traveling together first bicycling through the Loire, then farming in Northern Italy, and later jumping from Amsterdam to Prague to Budapest, finally ending up touring around Sicilia.

Gabe has been living in Rome for the last year working half the time in an Italian kitchen and the other half of the time organizing elaborate Italian events and holidays. When he picks me up, he is carrying several bottles of wine that a client gifted him as a thank you. He calls up Sam, his good friend in Rome who picks up some delicious steaks and meets us at Gabe’s apartment. Both Sam and Gabe demonstrate their cooking skills as we savor the rich, full-bodied reds that complement the steaks perfectly. Rome starts as food, wine, and friends.

In the spaces between picking up some food, eating and catching up on each other’s lives, Gabe points out some of his neighbors, including the Pope. We walk through the Vatican, which happens to be the view from his apartment window, and I start to soak up the immense amount of history packed into a relatively small space. After dinner, we celebrate one of Gabe’s friend’s birthdays in the middle of the Circus Maximus, where I imagine Ben Hur racing around us. We follow this with a visit to the pub affectionately known as Mafia Bar, a hole in the wall karaoke place full of Italians that stays open well into the morning. We leave to the sun rising in the distance, pop into a bakery for fresh morning pastries, and head to sleep.

Veiw from Gabe's window
View from Gabe's window