There is a large beer festival in Rome this weekend (EurHop) with a great selection of beers for sampling from around the world. I went last night. Noteworthy beers I tried included a creative smoked sour beer, Brett Peat Daydream, by the Italian brewery Birrificio del Ducato, a powerful and meaty smoked beer, the Affumicator by the Bavarian brewery Gänstaller Bräuand, and a delicate floral beer made in the lambic-style with elderflower which was vaguely reminiscent of tea, the Sourflowers Blend 01 Sambuco by Stradaregina in Lombardy.
But while one visit to the beer festival in a weekend was sufficient for me, my boyfriend headed back again today to continue his beer “studies”. In preparation, he requested pancakes. As I recently came back from Vermont with a suitcase heavy with maple syrup, it seemed an excellent idea and since we’re in Italy, fluffy ricotta pancakes it had to be.
Browsing through the photos I took this summer in Rome, one thing is clear, I’ve been drinking a lot of beer. This is unusual for me. But my boyfriend has become a bit obsessed with beer in recent years and has been dutifully “studying” as he says. I’m not complaining. It’s been delicious and I’ve “learned” a lot. Here is a list of some of my favorite places to help my boyfriend “research” Italian craft beers in Rome.
I awoke in the dark in Rome to feel the bed rocking lightly from top to bottom. It lasted longer than seemed natural. An open door swung gently. I knew it was an earthquake, but it seemed mild and eventually I rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning, while groping about in the dark for my running shoes, I decided to quickly google it on my phone to see if I had dreamt it entirely. I looked up the word for earthquake in Italian as I assumed that I would be reading a local newspaper. Terremoto. No need. As we all sadly know now, the earthquake was very real and it was anything but gentle.
Less than 6 months ago, my boyfriend and I visited the Amatrice and Norcia area and basked in its mountainous beauty. It is a magical place. I took almost 400 pictures that weekend that have mysteriously disappeared from my photo library. I’m devastated, but my dark visual hole is of course nothing compared to the real devastation this powerful earthquake wrought on these ancient, mountain towns.
Overwhelmed by heat and life and sun and all that is Rome in August, my boyfriend and I hopped a plane last weekend and fled to Germany where a mini Bavarian road trip seemed in tall order. Stepping off the plane into the fresh and heavily forested air that surrounds Munich, I immediately reached for a long sleeve shirt and questioned my decision to wear sandals, but not my decision to jump ship for a refreshing weekend up north.
Our quest? Beer. And sausages. And pretzels. My boyfriend has become quite the beer connoisseur and I’m learning a lot by tagging along. In Franconia in Bavaria, I fell for the smoked beer he introduced me to, known as rauchbier in German where rauch means smoky. Rauchbier is an old-style beer which gets its smokiness from drying malt over burning beech wood. Beer was often originally made this way, but as technology evolved, the smoking was done away with, as was the distinctive smoky flavor. Fortunately, they kept burning beech to make beer in the Franconian city of Bamberg in Bavaria, perfecting a modern version and creating a local classic still produced by several breweries.
I’m always trying to learn more about Italian food and how to prepare it and have found myself turning to a few key cookbooks in recent years, often beginning research in one of my favorite Italian cookbooks, Le Ricotta Regionali Italiane by Anna Gosetti della Salda. Published in the 1960s and available only in Italian, this comprehensive cookbook conveniently divides recipes by region and is very well indexed, something I don’t think can be said about a great deal of cookbooks.
Of course, whether talking about ingredients, preparations or culinary history, there is never one right answer in Italian cooking. I therefore always rely on several sources and have found myself often relying on a favorite Italian pasta cookbook adapted for a non-Italian audience, Sauces & Shapes: Pasta the Italian Way which was written by an Italian food historian, Oretta Zanini de Vita and a food writer who moved to Rome from the States several decades ago, Maureen B. Fant. As a cookbook, it is well-written and practical for any level cook, providing just about everything one needs to know to begin to make and serve traditional Italian pasta, from where to source ingredients to the culinary history behind a dish to proper pasta etiquette. The crafty and amusing writing also holds its own outside of the kitchen too.
What happens when a burgeoning craft beer movement finds itself situated smack-dab in the middle of wine land? Yep, grapes are going to inevitably end up in the beer. The Italian Grape Ale or IGA pictured below is produced by one of my favorite brewers, LoverBeer in Piedmont in northern Italy and is made with crushed and de-stemmed Barbera grapes and aged in wood. Like Lambic beers, the process relies on spontaneous fermentation and no yeast is added. While it is quite strong at 8% alcohol, it is also fresh and fruity, and it does taste a bit like wine.
This Sicilian eggplant pasta sauce hails from the city of Catania which sits on the east coast of Sicily at the foot of the active volcano Mount Etna. Although the pasta’s name is often attributed to the opera Norma written by the famous Catanese composer, Vincenzo Bellini, the name is alleged by many to have actually been based on a famous playwright’s proclamation upon first tasting the pasta dish that it was a marvel, using the Catanese word norma for marvel.
Eggplant season comes but once a year and conveniently arrives along with tomatoes. Parmigiana di melanzane or eggplant parmesan in English is a classic summertime dish that takes full advantage of this well-timed culinary tryst and which is a staple in several Italian locales, including Naples and Sicily. In some versions it is made with slices of hard boiled eggs and in one Sicilian version, an indulgent layer of chocolate. The rumor is that it’s name comes not from the Parmigiano cheese sprinkled amongst the royal purple rounds of eggplant, but rather from the act of layering itself. Palmigiana is apparently a Sicilian word for shutter and the name is believed by many to have come from the way the many layers of this dish resemble the shutters on a window.
If just four short years ago you had asked what I thought about the prospect of living in Italy, I would have considered it a wonderful idea, while also conceding that I had never considered it. Well almost never. I do hold one distinct memory of my very first trip to Europe as a young 20 year-old bound for Oxford University. Italy itself overwhelmed me and as my brother and I parted ways with Venice and headed north by train, I caught a glimpse of a young dark haired couple embracing over a green suitcase outside a station. For an instant, I saw love and Italy and fairy tales all wound up in this one symbolic gesture, but reality quickly and chaotically intruded—I was actually quite physically ill at the time—and we raced away across the border to Switzerland. I wouldn’t return for 15 years.
The tomato is of course not indigenous to Italy. Native to the Peruvian Andes, cultivated in Mexico and ever so slowly introduced into European culinary traditions before succeeding to its rightful Italian throne, the tomato was by no means an overnight success. Nevertheless, once the Italian culinary tradition got a hold of the “golden apple” or pomodoro as the tomato is known in Italian, they owned it.
Like the tomato, beer has also made a gradual entrance into Italian food and drink culture. The Roman Empire was not without it and considering how well it goes with pizza, its been around and appreciated for quite some time. However, the strong experimental beer movement Italy is becoming famous for had a late start in the mid-1990s. In a landscape laden with grape vines, its not difficult to speculate as to why.