I Don't Want to Stay at Your House

This essay is intended to address why I will never, if I can help it, utilize AirBnB again, anywhere.* If you are a host and want to leap to the defense of the ones I write about here, just don't bother. You can't share in my experience as a customer. If you have been a happy client with AirBnb for a long time, that's great. For YOU. But for me, this entity has tried and failed to prove its worth three times. In baseball, you have to give up the bat after three failures. For me, AirBnb has struck out. 

I am aware that because the world has decided it is done with a pandemic - whether or not it really is - that same world has decided that vacation time is back with a vengeance. The consequences of these decisions are wreaking havoc in world heritage site-drenched locations like Rome, because humanity lost its collective sanity during its deprivation and no one can behave like a decent, law-abiding global citizen anymore. What's more, in countries where official assistance for small business owners was scarce to nonexistent (like Italy), those who can now attempt to make up for their revenue losses have jacked their prices to unholy highs. 

Enter the person who has a job to do in a city she doesn't live in full-time anymore. AirBnB seems to work for lots of people, I reasoned, so I will take that tactic too. 

For my late Spring teaching stint, I found what I needed - not too much space, good access to transport, a kitchen of some kind, and air conditioning. 

Except that once I arrived, I realized that there was no air conditioning. 

Enter my dispute with the host and AirBnb. Customer service wanted photographs of the problem. What on earth am I going to photograph when I am reporting something that is MISSING? I go round and round with those people until I start to get this other kind of theme, which is: if you're not happy with what you got, find something else. What did AirBnb provide in the way of service to help me find something else, in Rome, with my criteria? They provided a link to a map with about three wildly overpriced addresses that in no way met my criteria. When I asked if I could get more refined help, I was laughed at - literally! - and told in the most pedantic tone possible that I was supposed to find my lodging myself. 

They then pushed the limit by stating that they were informing my host that I was leaving the premises in search of another. Only I hadn't given anyone permission to do that. I had never stated I was leaving. I had only ever stated that I had nowhere else to go. 

When I took to Twitter to complain about AirBnb leaving me literally homeless, I managed to get some traction that involved a partial refund and coupon code for a future stay. 

The host got a finger-wagging for not having been accurate in their representation of their apartment. 'We take that very seriously,' AirBnb said. 

This didn't feel particularly serious. 

Next up, I book another apartment in Rome for my Fall teaching assignment. I carefully triple-check the AC issue. I am assured that it exists. 

I ask about whether there is a lift in the building since I have luggage and I am traveling alone to an apartment on the 2nd floor. I am informed that a lift exists, but I cannot use it. "When we got the place, we didn't get a key for the elevator, so we don't have one." 

That's the extent of customer service, I think, as I watch residents in the building take the elevator I cannot use. 

Until about a month ago, Rome was still plenty hot, so I didn't think too much about a tepid shower, until I realized that tepid turned cold after 4 minutes. That's all the hot water there was. I notified the host. A lot of back and forth. The host informed me that other clients in recent weeks had mentioned issues with the water (and its lousy pressure, which is an anomaly in Rome...usually it is fierce!), but they had all just chalked it up to August and how everyone in Rome is gone from the city then (except for tourists, who are the primary AirBnb customers). Now we are all competing for water again, was a rationale. 

No, I'm not making this up. 

That was my first sign that I was in trouble. An admission that at least one previous customer had complained, but no one really did anything about it. 

Or did other previous clients take 2 minute showers? I'll never know. 

I was told to turn on all the faucets at once, which would somehow magically prompt more hot water. Of course, this didn't do the trick. 

Weeks went by. I got explanations about how all of Italy is looking to replace its boilers too, because of the energy crisis caused by a Russian megalomaniac. Thus, supply chains are in deep trouble. Can't get an appointment for months. 

But just before I had to leave for the term break, a miracle. A technician would be coming to visit the apartment. I was lead to believe that the installation might happen that day. The host's daughter was going to be present for this blessed event. 

Except that the technician arrived 20 minutes earlier than the daughter. He came to poke around, look at things. Took a measurement. He left before the daughter even appeared. 

That was it. 

The ball started to slowly roll, though. I was told that while I would be gone, the installation would happen. I was scheduled to be gone for two weeks, so this seemed like plenty of time. Realize that this water heater is approximately the size of a large microwave. 

Except that the installation was only partially completed by the time I returned. They'd forgotten a part. There had to be another visit. And after that, oh, another part had been forgotten. That necessitated another visit. Each time, the technician arrived later than the appointed time. On the day of his most recent visit, he was THREE HOURS LATE. 

This visit wasn't even originally scheduled. The day before, he came for two hours, smiled and left with the assurance that he would return in two days. But he left his job incomplete, as I was without hot water again. I reported this. And then I was asked to wait for him to return the next day, as neither the host nor the daughter could be present. I waited three hours to watch a guy do all kinds of things that didn't seem to be related to the hot water absence, honestly. Caulking a pipe? 

If you know me, then you know I'd already blown my stack with the host well before this. And all I got was a 'if you need to go, then we understand,' in addition to lots of manipulative talk about how all they ever tried to do was make their clients happy, and that they are usually very successful. 

So this somehow meant that I was the problem? Perhaps not really, but it felt that way. 

I realized that I was stuck, yet again. And why go the route of appealing to AirBnb, yet again? My last experience was terrible. I can't describe the huge energy drain that it entailed. 

For the last four weeks, I had hot water, but the tech visits were not over. Oh no. Someone had to come and bless the installation for the purpose of insurance, too. (This actually never happened in the time I was there, so I was just left with the potential of another visit happening). 

But wait. There's more. 

Italy declares a date every year for citizens to be allowed to turn on their heat. A combination of temperate weather and high fuel costs prompted a delayed date: November 21. 

It began to get chilly in the apartment. 

Does the radiator here work? 

Why, no. It does not. I have hot water in the shower, but no hot water inside the radiator. I inquire with the host. There is a thermostat programmed to kickstart the heat in the radiator once the ambient temp reaches 19C, she says. I take a photo of the thermostat, which has as a part of its digital display one telling word: 

"OFF" 

"Who turned it off?" the host asks, after she sees my photo. 

As if I would know. 

The host was in the hospital - a place she had been to more than once during my time at her AirBnb, a place where she had 'terrible cell reception,' she said - at that point, and so there was no movement on the radiator heat. I asked about what to do with the key when I left. I never received an answer. 

BUT WAIT - THERE'S MORE.

I have a third incident to report. My term break in the UK. I went to London, which is notoriously expensive to stay in. My plan to attend a workshop and stay in an AirBnb was going to be great, I thought, because for once, in a city where a lot of Airbnbs are stays in places where the host is actually also living, my host would be off to work in international finance. I would have the place to myself. 

A lot of her verbiage about her place seemed to be ultra-concerned about taking care of the flooring. Guests were ABSOLUTELY PROHIBITED FROM WEARING SHOES ANYWHERE IN THE APARTMENT. Slippers would be provided, she said.

Except that the slippers she provided were pre-worn. Because I have hard-to-fit problem feet, I had already planned ahead and purchased what I needed before traveling, so I was therefore extremely glad I had had that foresight...because the idea that I would be expected to wear terry cloth slippers (you know, the kind hotels might provide) that someone else had worn was disgusting. 

And speaking of disgusting, this host was the type of person who could clear away some clutter but not be bothered with attention to cracks and crevices. Nor could her cleaner, it seemed. I reached up to switch on the light in the hood above the stove and was completely grossed out at what I touched. Ditto for the underneath surface of the small refrigerator door edge. The spaces underneath the temperature controls for her stove were caked with grease and yuck. 

Her toilet seat sat askance on the toilet. There was no righting it so that you didn't have to place your posterior half on the bowl. She had leather sofas with stuff draped all over them to 'protect them,' but she could be bothered to fix her toilet seat. And while I could stream things on my laptop in the evenings, I found it really odd and off-putting that while there was a place for a television in the living room, there was no television. I presumed it had been moved into the locked bedroom that was hers. 

But the real kicker came after I left the place. The host transferred keys and access to the building and apartment via one of those locking devices that real estate agents use. Shaped like a large padlock with a container for a key and a building fob inside. She gives the code, and you unlock the whole thing to get in. And when you leave, you put it all back in place, attaching the device to a railing outside the apartment building. 

I did precisely as I was instructed. 

I went on to the Isle of Man for the last leg of my trip. 

First, I received one text from the host reporting that the cleaner found everything in fine condition. I held my tongue, even though I was sorely tempted to state that I left the stove cleaner than I found it.  

And I then began receiving these alarmed texts from her: what did you do? What did you change the code to? I have used that code with over 400 guests, and now it doesn't work? WHAT DID YOU DO? My next guests had to wait three hours for my cleaner to come and she couldn't unlock the device either! 

I did nothing, I calmly replied. I followed instructions. I don't even know how I would change the code if I wanted to. 

Unfortunately, she replied, you must have accidentally changed it. 

I said nothing. 

A day later, I receive a notice from Airbnb's resolution center, indicating that the host was pressing me for a reimbursement for her expenses related to this accident. I was expected to give her the equivalent of the cost of the device, the key and the fob. Nevermind that all of those items were still attached to the railing outside her building. Nevermind that over 400 other people also knew that code. Nevermind that this kind of thing is the cost of doing (not very well thought out) business. 

I was given 24 hours to reply to this request. By this point, I was hot with a fever, ill with a sore throat, lying in bed and wondering how this person thought they could possibly get away with this. I was also mystified at how a business that works largely with people who are...um, traveling?...thought it could get away with giving a customer just 24 hours to respond to allegations like these.

I wrote my reply, denying responsibility, and pointing out that to expect me to replace equipment that might just break because THINGS BREAK was pure folly. And also, she hadn't lost any of the items she was asking me to pay for. They were right there, under her nose. It would have made more sense to request reimbursement for a locksmith. But she didn't do that, and I still would have refused. 

I removed my method of payment from my AirBnb account and waited. 

First, they sent a message stating that I had failed to respond and that they would review my case without further input from me.  

I reached out to customer service (because there was no way to get to the people who issued that previously described message) and said, hey, I did SO respond. Here are screenshots. 

And customer service replied that the host had not asked for any reimbursement of any kind. 

I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. 

I replied to customer service that the host had indeed asked for reimbursement and that is why I had reached out to them.

The next day, I received a message indicating that the host's request had been closed. Some faction of all of those Airbnb gremlins I've dealt with actually agreed with me. Another faction is of course still puzzling over what I'm talking about. 

And here is why: 

The organization is too big to handle its own business effectively.  

And even in its overly large scale, AirBnb provides almost no way to speak with a human being when you need to. Should you happen to get one, that person will be halfway around the world and pre-programmed with all kinds of pseudo-polite but mostly useless things to say. 

AirBnb is also quite unregulated. Hosts are expected to be truthful in their representations of their homes, but you rarely get what you see in the photos. Cleaning fees probably conform to some kind of company scale, but they are wholly and totally overboard in amounts. I've seen some of these cleaners. I am not convinced that they are pocketing all or even most of that cleaning fee. 

Who is checking to see if the cleaners are even adequate? Who reviews policies like the issue of used house slippers to paying guests? Who is looking at other sanitation practices? Who is going around a property with a checklist on a clipboard to see if there IS air conditioning or wifi? 

Who is reviewing these written descriptions of properties, with their phrases like 'only 42 steps' (which is actually 4 flights in my case, enough to have even left the trim little Italian plumber breathless) to the door, or "15 minutes to the city center' (after a 20 minute walk to the subway station)?

Who in this company is equipped to assist a traveler to a foreign country with transfers and other property bookings if the situation is not what the customer thought they were signing up for? Who can force a host to abide by the little expectations, like consistently available hot water? What host might offer to put their customer up in other lodging while repairs have to be made?

No one. 

NO ONE. 

And the whole idea that you can really stick it to someone in a review is garbage, frankly. How fun is it to reflect on the crummy experience you had, that you paid for, and have any real satisfaction? Furthermore, I'm betting that there are incentives in place that we ordinary folks don't know about, in which hosts who get that bad review can wipe it clean from the public eye through some kind of mechanism...which might just amount to cash. They have it in surplus from those inflated cleaning fees. 

And please, in the name of all that is holy, please do not inform me that I didn't do enough foot-stomping and demanding, as a customer. Americans in particular still maintain their infallible rightness as customers in this world, and I can call on a few colleagues who will back me up on this: the intractability of many places and people, with insufficient supply chains and unreliable workers and service personnel, is REAL. No amount of foot-stomping and demanding will gain you a single inch of progress. Just save your energy (and if you know me, then you know that I never advocate giving up...until now). 

Instead, you can instead ponder this shot of what I think is black mold in the bathroom of the second Roman Airbnb with no heat and only recently available hot water. It was so faint when I arrived...but when I left? Blatant. I suspect that the water lines to the bidet and toilet are leaching (maybe its condensation?) into the plaster walls. I also think that the cleaner was, up to a point, probably doing her level best to try to wipe away the evidence of that black mold between short-term guests. But my longterm stay, combined with the eventual introduction of truly hot water in a space with no fan...and voila. 

That upper respiratory infection I contracted in the Isle of Man in October had progressed to a cough and I still have it, four days before Christmas . While the CDC argues that black mold is actually not quite the toxic nightmare that we've been led by popular culture to believe, I don't think that it's completely innocuous either. 

detail on right

It has been a long, long time since I explored the offerings on VRBO, and because I'm not planning to completely swear off vacation rentals I will certainly consider that angle. But AirBnb? With its crummy, pseudo-customer service - so crummy that I just documented things that went wrong in a long message thread with the host, in this case, lest I find myself fighting to claw back another unauthorized 'your client is leaving the property' message so I wouldn't be homeless? With the negligent oversight of hosts' claims about their lodgings' amenities, so I can risk being in another un-air-conditioned studio apartment in June with a case of Covid? 

No thanks. 

*there is only one exception, and that is in my hometown. There ARE some decent AirBnB hosts, I am confident. The likelihood of finding them more often than not is, as far as I can tell, not great. At all. 

POST-SCRIPT: after the black mold, no heat and lack of hot water for the better part of my last AirBnB stay, the kindly host wrote to say that she was exploring a partial refund through AirBnb 'because they have to have insurance for this kind of thing' (not sure what she's thinking, but ok, I'll play along), and short of that, she would be glad to refund me directly. 

This was three weeks ago. 

POST-POST-SCRIPT: It took until late in January, but I actually received a partial refund from Airbnb AND the host of the moldy cold-water-only apartment. This was after the host sent a paltry amount for a refund (7%???) and I took that up the chain. I little barking from the host (asserting that I was responsible for the mold growth in the bathroom?!? I have witnessed this special refusal to own responsibility in residents of this city before, and while I know about it, that doesn't mean I have to accept it) and a few painless customer service communications later, my total refund amount came to 20%, which I found to be satisfactory. All this to say: while the ultimate outcome was the best of all of the sordid problems I've had with Airbnb, it was still a kind of trial I'd like to not repeat. I put up with a lot, and I shouldn't have. Life is short. So onward and upward...to reliable sources like Booking.com and VRBO. 

Cooking for 1 in a 2 Room Airbnb: Devilish Edition

I'll be the umpteenth person to tell you that Italian food is definitely not all pizza and pasta. There are plenty of foraged greens on the table. There is also a hearty number of types of beans. 

It all started for me when The Spouse and I were having a warm, aromatic lentil soup in the tiny town of Montepulciano on a rainy October weekend. He turned to me and said: if we incorporated more of this type of thing into our diet, I wouldn't be mad about it. 

And since lentils are really plentiful here - green, brown and even black (my favorite) - I dove right in. 

This recipe can be easily located online for free. I first found it on New York Times Cooking (which is worth the money). It is perfect for a stove-top-only kitchen like the one I'm working in. 

Lenticche Diavola, the Italians would say. Lentils Diavola, so sayeth New York Times. 

Lentils of the Devil! 

(have I mentioned how cheap this dish is? go price a bag of dried lentils!)

And since everyone in social media has gotten on the mis-en-place bandwagon, here is mine above, and also below. 

Dried lentils, chopped garlic and onion, a sliced red chili pepper, a tube of tomato paste and last, the star of this spiced dish. Italian grocery stores are not great vendors of spices, but in the Testaccio neighborhood, I am happy to report that the Emporium of Spices is willing to sell me just enough smoked paprika. Have some white or black pepper on hand? Consider it useful too. 

Below are my additions: chopped new potatoes and some pre-cooked polpette (meatballs( made of turkey and chicken). 

OF COURSE, lentils are an excellent source of protein, and so if you want to make this vegetarian, by all means do that. 

I like the way Italians do meatballs. Even the pre-cooked ones. (and by the way, you'll never find meatballs in the company of pasta here...meatballs are served in a sauce, but never with pasta)

First up, saute the onions (or shallots would totally work) in some olive oil, and squidge about a 1/4 cup of the tomato paste in there.

Throw in the sliced chili (the original recipe called for jalapenos...and they work well too...I'm just hard-pressed to get those here) and garlic and let everything soften and sizzle.

Turn on your overhead stove vent/fan. 

Or just cough a lot. Your call. 

A very generous amount of smoked paprika (probably two tablespoons?). Also, half of that generous amount of white pepper.

Toss in your dried lentils (generally, any you find in your supermarket will work, except for the red...they become mushy very quickly) and pour in enough water to cover by about 1.5 inches. 

Simmer. Casually watch this pot, as you don't want the lentils to dry out. Add more water if it is all absorbed and your lentils are not yet al dente.

While I am casually watching my bean pot, I am sauteeing the potatoes in a very thin layer of a neutral oil like sunflower. When they are sufficiently browned and soft, I throw in the pre-cooked meatballs and heat them through...I try to get them a little more browned than they were straight out of the package. 

I had some parsley that got chopped and thrown in, too. Italian flat leaf parsley has a definite taste that, once you happily find it enhancing several dishes, you don't want to do without. 

But you CAN do without it, I swear.

The time your lentils will take to be al dente depends on a variety of factors, like the strength of your stove eye (gas or electric?...and whoa, look out for Italian gas stoves because there are not the same kinds of controls placed on the flame output here), the type of water (hard? soft?) in which you are cooking your beans, etc. The recipe forecasts as much as 40 minutes. My lentils have never taken quite that long. But I'm not going by the clock so much as I'm withdrawing a lentil or two into a separate bowl and seeing how it reacts to the back of a spoon. Does it resist smashing a lot? Not done yet. 

NOTE: many bean cooking recipes warn against the addition of salt until the beans are cooked, because salt inhibits the proper softening of the legumes.

So it's a good idea to hold out until the stuff is fairly ready, taste and then salt. 

The lentils have released so much of their starchiness into the melange of things in there that it's a proper sauce. A spicy sauce. 

If you want some condiments to enhance this further, I recommend sour cream or grated cheese. The healthy fat of a sliced avocado is a nice accompaniment. You could go crazy and fry a couple of eggs for a less healthy but still yummy fat that helps cut the heat of the paprika and pepper. 

Or you could just put all of this together and enjoy it. 

It reheats very easily, and only gets a little spicier as it sits for a day or two. 

See? You can eat Italian and never get near a noodle or piece of bread. 

 

Cooking for 1 in a 2 room Airbnb - Angry Pasta Edition

As you might expect, there is a lot of pasta cooking here in this location. Of course, that's happening all over Rome as well as Italy at large, but in this wee kitchen with no oven, I have some limitations that necessitate stovetop work. 

So in keeping with this series of posts, I'm making do. 

I got a little excited about tomatoes while shopping here. And because I'm across the street from the health food store, I immediately got some farro spaghetti. Farro is an ancient grain that more or less fed Imperial Rome. It is often now cooked with beans in a soup or just by itself as a side of healthy grains. It could be used in a cold salad. I feel a little less bloated when I consume farro pasta. It tastes no different than ordinary pasta, to me. It doesn't fall apart into a million pieces when cooked, the way that other alternative pastas (made with rice, lentils, etc...Italy has become quite creative in the goal of enabling her large gluten-intolerant population to still enjoy a bowl of pasta, and I admire her for it) tend to do. I shipped as much as I was allowed to put in one box with our household goods, back in May. I'll be putting it into my suitcase for the trip home in November, too. 

During the long months of Covid lockdowns in 2020 and 2021, I taught myself as much as possible about really making a pasta dish the way that a local restaurant would - with simple but star ingredients, resourcefulness and restraint, salt and the magic of pasta water. These things, combined with a good knife, a cutting board, a pot for boiling water, a pan for assembling the dish, and a pair of tongs...and a lot of things are possible. This approach has served me well in an extended stay hotel this summer, and this little rental for my Fall teaching gig. 

And now I am done with the sometimes infuriating 'lead-up to the actual cooking part' that bloggers are fond of. At least you did not have to scroll past 10 ads and several paragraphs to get here. 

I have kindly refrained from just taking basil from my neighbors' little pots outside their doors. Don't think I wasn't tempted. Instead, I wound up with more than I needed from the farmers' market. 

Gratuitous extra virgin olive oil photo. Nothing fancy, but probably cheaper than in the states, because this will double for eliminating that nasty squeak on a hinge, soaked in a cotton ball and placed inside your ear if you are prone to ear infections from showers (hi, nice to meet you)...or essentially any other type of lubricant you might need. Nope. Not kidding. Ask an Italian physician. Or a Greek one too, probably. 

If I could put my whole head inside the bag and just breathe in...I'd suffocate in a cloud of wonderful oregano. 

I approached this pasta all'arriabbiata (all-ARR-ah-bee-AH'-tah) literally, angry pasta, which should be spicy) with the basics: cherry tomatoes, a tube of tomato paste, garlic, chili flakes, salt, olive oil, one pat of butter, grated parmigiana (aged for 40 months, which yields an almost crunchy, crystallized flavor bomb) and that farro spaghetti. Yes, you do see fresh basil in that photo above, but here's a secret: just buy some fresh (i.e., refrigerated) or jarred pesto...that will do fine for a dish like this. 

As Samin Nosrat (author of Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat) says repeatedly: put enough salt in your cooking water so that it is like the ocean. Because - I think - the Italian cook has both fine and coarse grain sea salt in the kitchen (and why not, when you have this many miles of coastline on a peninsula?), toss in the coarse grain for salting the water. 

Color me lazy, but after working with the 5 or 6 cloves of garlic (chopped, after being peeled, after being nuked for 10 seconds to loosen the papery covering), I did nothing to my fresh tomatoes. No slicing, no seeding...just whole. I put them in the hot pan with olive oil and covered it so that the skins would char and split. About 2/3 of the way through, I squeezed a quarter cup's worth of tomato paste into the middle. Helped along with the trusty wooden spoon, the fresh tomatoes are gently macerated with a heaping spoonful of chili flakes and some Calabrian oregano.  Chopped basil (or your heaping tablespoon of pesto) goes in too. The tomato paste carmelizes a bit. Into the mix goes the chopped garlic...late stage, because you do not want to burn it. 

Since I'm working with some high heat and things are drying out, I ladle some of the hot pasta water into the sauce, stir my pasta (which I have not broken in order to get it into the pot...no Italian food laws were broken in the making of this dish...well, probably) and...

Argh! There are no tongs here. Mental note to self: bring tongs for next Airbnb gig. 

I reserve another ladle-full of pasta water. 

I drain the pasta in one of those flimsy mesh strainers. I place one pat of butter in the sauce, and then pop my drained pasta into the tomato sauce. 

I should insert here that adding oil to your drained pasta so it doesn't stick to itself is a bad idea. It negates your pasta's ability to allow the sauce to cling. Also, no cold water on the cooked pasta. Why would you do that? 

Act fast. Drain for a bit (it's ok if a little water is still in there), and then put it into the sauce. Toss liberally, but not like a crazy person. Add a little of that reserved pasta water if things aren't liquid enough for your liking. Drizzle the mixture with olive oil if you like that added flavor (I do! I do!).  

Now, there are just straight-up butter tomato sauce recipes for pasta. And they're good. But I have arrived at a phase in my life when I need a lot of garlic and chili in my deserted island tomato & spaghetti dishes. So, angry pasta soothed with one pat of butter, it is. 

Miraculously, there is a box grater in this kitchen. So I grate some 40 month-old parmigiana. I'm not bothered by large pieces versus little bits. I think I like the large pieces better.

Italian food rule #1: it is a cardinal sin to drown your pasta. This is the sauce-to-pasta ratio that you learn to prefer while you're here, so if you go home anywhere else in the world and create a bowl full of sauce with a few buried pasta noodles in it, that's between you and your culinary gods. 

Note: I am not above getting heavy with the cheese. That's between me and my culinary gods. 

This photo is a study of the good pasta surface, you might notice. Tiny, tiny bits of sauce are clinging to that roughened surface of the noodles. 

Point being: this why the pasta does not require drowning.

But that's it, readers. Be happy while eating your angry pasta. 

Cooking for 1 in a 2-Room Airbnb- A Salad Edition

All hail the salad. 

No really. I am a big fan.

I'm even bigger fan of having salads in the privacy of my own home. They are admittedly messy to eat, but also, I am not wild about restaurants' ideas about salad ingredient proportions. Those menu items are big money-makers, right? Especially when the salad is principally leafy greens with some other items scattered on top. There's very little food cost involved. 

I was raised to be a big fan of salads. In my family, the salad is a complex thing, with a lot of ingredients, and a better level of proportion among those ingredients. 

It is perfectly acceptable to throw in proteins and carbs, but you begin with ingredients from the garden in the back yard. 

This is why I am a tomato snob of the first order. 

The fresher the better. The colder the better. Variety is key. 

So, in hotter weather, I'm like many people in that I don't want to heat up the kitchen if I can help it. I will resort to salads for lots of meals. I don't mind the work of slicing and dicing, so long as I don't have to sweat while I'm doing it. 

Another factor involved in salad making is that you're probably going to have to repeat ingredients because you're only feeding one salad lover at a time. I can accept this. I can embrace the repetition. 

I've already constructed this salad twice in the last week, and the next avocado I've purchased is calling from the countertop for me to make more iterations. 

What's in here? . 

Baby spinach, small tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, celery, red onion, avocado, olives and grated parmigiano cheese, and for dressing, I've diluted some refrigerated pesto with more olive oil. A splash of vinegar (too much interferes with my breathing while eating...something about the fumes) only, and yes.

For accompaniment, I have taken to nuking arancini or suppli. 

This little sphere of love is a cheesy, pancetta-filled delight.

These are a popular Roman street snack that has been enhanced in variety by a number of Roman providers. Carnaroli rice is partially cooked and rolled into a sausage or ball shape with a number of other ingredients (traditionally just a little mozzarella surprise in the middle, but tomato sauce is often mixed with the rice), then liberally dusted with breadcrumbs and fried. It is perfect street food in that it can be carried in a paper sack, eaten at room temperature or briefly heated in an oven or a microwave. 

I am a dedicated maker of humble tuna salads, too. 

At home, I would chop red onion and celery to accompany some tuna (packed in extra virgin olive oil - best for flavor), enhanced by mayonnaise, dill relish and a liberal sprinkling of Old Bay. 

Currently, I am missing dill relish (it's pretty difficult to find dill anything here, and no, I don't know what the source of the Italian aversion to dill is, exactly, but I'm betting that it's because dill is strong) and Old Bay, a uniquely American spice blend. 

But I've found this: 

Tuna packed with Calabrian hot pepper flakes? Why yes, thank you.

In place of the pickle relish, I chop up and toss in capers. Some Italian saltine crackers and chopped tomatoes on the side, and LUNCH. 

A little sprinkling of white pepper was a good finishing touch. 

This next salad became a pandemic lockdown staple, and all I can imagine as an American substitute will include regular tofu and pesto...

But it just won't be the same as this version, born here in Rome. 

My Airbnb is directly across the street from a NaturaSi...what we might call a healthfood store, but it's more like a WholeFoods on a small scale. I'll be referencing this place again when we talk further about pasta, but for this entry, let's talk tofu. NaturaSi carries a few flavored (basil, olive, roasted red pepper, and also smoked) firm tofus which are perfect for this recipe...it was adapted from a Moosewood cookbook.

Ultra healthy. Ultra vegetarian. Really tasty. 

I need cherry tomatoes, a block of the basil-flavored tofu, a block of feta, toasted almonds, chopped basil (already in the bowl) and extra virgin olive oil. 

Ordinarily, I would use a food processor for chopping the almonds first. Then, a secondary mixture would happen with broken-up tofu and feta. Best to chop the tomatoes by hand (tomato skins here are tougher than they are in America, and I want them to have some integrity in this salad instead of being pulverized). 

Of course, everything is chopped by hand in this kitchen. 

Glad this is just for one person. 

Drizzle with olive oil - however much you desire, but this version got about a half cup - and stir. The feta breaks up in the stirring and helps the flavors to comingle.

I don't know if this even looks appetizing to you...the mixture would appear more homogenous if the pieces were better blended together (via short pulses, if you're considering doing this) courtesy of a processor, but the outcome...the flavor...is exactly the same. 

I could have this with the Italian saltines, a piade (Italian flat bread), focaccia, on top of leafy greens...all options are possible.

This last salad is one I bought, but still worth highlighting as an option for those who are cooking for one:

a poke bowl

Given that plenty of places are working this angle with a huge variety of ingredients, the poke bowl genre, if you will, seems to involve a carb, a protein, some vegetables, and a condiment or two, usually served cold, but sometimes having a variety of warm and cold things in the same vessel.

An interesting place to get burgers here (stay with me - I'm getting to a related point about poke bowls) is called Fonzees. That business has spawned a spin-off called Oriental Fonzee, with Mediterranean dishes, located in the Roman Jewish Ghetto. They offer a poke bowl that I love, with chicken and couscous, among other things. 

So while we all know what a poke bowl is supposed to be, its time in the spotlight has kicked off an array of derivations.

Enter this Italian poke bowl, which actually is more Asian or Hawaiian than Italian, but...whatever.

I got more than a little excited at the prospect of being able to play this assemblage game the same way you might do it at a number of fast food places in America. You pick and choose what you want in your bowl as it is being made in front of you.

What makes this sushi-grade salmon, cucumber, avocado, carrot shavings, sesame seeds, pickled ginger and teriyaki sauce combo Italian, in any way?

The presence of black rice and olives. 

Italian black rice is a challenge to cook, in my experience...it takes a very long time to make it tender. I wanted to experience how tender this vendor makes their rice, so I would know if my previous versions were cooked enough. 

It's a chewy rice, high in fiber, lower in gluten, and nutty in flavor. 

Mixed with some longer grain brown rice as well as all of the other goodies, I could think of nothing healthier in my poke bowl. 

Take the time, make the salad, stay cool in these last days of summer temperatures.

Cooking for 1 in a 2-Room Roman Airbnb

So far, I'm 0 for 2 in the Roman Airbnb scenario. 

In the last (and first) case, I booked a space that was perfectly adequate for my needs and had all the things I'd filtered for in my search: a place to cook, no shared conveniences (like a bathroom), a bed, air conditioning, proximity to where I'm working, and affordable. 

But when I arrived to get the key, I realized that there was no air conditioning. The host acted as if I had imagined it. Airbnb's site said otherwise. The host got an additional fan for me, so I had two. Every day I worked in 90-something degree heat, and came back to a studio apartment that was, admittedly, shielded from the hot sun at all times of day...With two fans after a cold shower, I could more or less handle the heat. Even when I contracted Covid. 

(and you know me: I fought like a tiger with Airbnb on the misrepresentation, secured a partial refund and a discount coupon. But let me say this: if you want progress in the area of customer service, take it up in the Twittersphere. That might work when nothing else seems to)

The kitchenette of that place was actually pretty optimal: a decent size fridge (with a freezer) for a European appliance, a small stove/oven, dishware, etc. 

I was also able to bring a few valuable tools and ingredients with me from our Rome apartment, since we were being packed up and moved. 

So I cooked and ate well, all things considered. 

This present Airbnb situation also has plusses and minuses. 

AC is present (believe me: I asked the host to be very sure). Also, a separate kitchen. Hot water refuses to reach the shower, however. In the September temperatures, this is not completely terrible, but it will become completely terrible if the host does not resolve it very soon. Airbnb has already had to engineer a refund and a discount code for the last disaster. I am sincerely hoping that I will not have to put up the same stupid fight again. (update: host reports that a part is ordered for the water heater...but supply chain disruptions abound, so who knows when it will get here? As a friend recently said to me: 100 years from now, we will still be blaming Covid for everything)

But in the meantime, I'm here in this place...this mostly quiet place, with mostly friendly neighbors, and a small swath of purveyors of the good things: the raw materials for cooking. 

So I am going to take you on this little ride. I will be cooking for one, in a 2 room Airbnb that has no oven, a dorm-sized fridge (the cubic type, so I also have no freezer) and an oddball set of pots and pans that have no properly fitting lids. 

I'm not going to get all fancy about this. This is, after all, still cooking for 1. I won't promise that I won't generate some leftovers sometimes. I'm used to cooking for 2 AND making leftovers of the good dishes. 

First up. A meal made of some gifted ingredients: porcini mushrooms and homemade fettucini.

This the most compact four burner cooktop I've ever seen...and the hood is additionally wee. But it all works. 

The porcinis from Umbria sauteeing in a little salt and olive oil. Salt draws out some of the moisture in the shrooms. Don't waste your EVOO on sauteeing, because that's not what its really for...use regular olive oil or some kind of flavorless vegetable-based oil.

Before they are ready, but they have begun to brown and have given up most of their moisture, I have also tossed in two chopped cloves of garlic. 

Don't hate me because I love garlic. 

Just ignore the garlic if you don't love garlic.

Happy to have found a box grater in the cabinet. Grated some 30 month old parmiggiano. About 1/3 cup.

The handmade fettucini needs only a little time to boil in heavily salted water (it should be so salted that it tastes like seawater). Also floating in there are a few slices of the mushroom stems, because I want the pasta to have some mushroomy flavor too. Note: with handmade pastas, you have to look out for boil-over. Keep an eye on the boil.

That's a lousy shot of a fetuccini noodle on the edge of a wooden spoon, backgrounded by dishes in the sink. I'm checking the noodle to see if it's al dente (with a firm center that is not yet mushy). It actually should be a little more chewy than al dente, because I'm going to put it into the pan with the sauteed mushrooms and it will cook a bit further. 

Sure, I drained the noodles. But before I did that, I ladled some pasta water and those cooked stem pieces into the saute pan with the cooked mushrooms. 

And with that water in there, I add some of the grated cheese. I want a salty/creamy sauce for my pasta, without using cream. This is the essential basis of cacio e pepe (cheese and pepper pasta), which also uses no cream. 

Everything cooks and further comes together, for just a couple of minutes.

ONE pat of butter in the watery sauce, which is starting to cohere. 

Sorry...there must be fat somewhere.

Just a minute or two more before tossing in the pasta, stirring very gently...more like folding...so as to not break up those delicate noodles. 

And once its tossed sufficiently, pour it onto a plate. Sprinkle on the rest of the cheese.

And eat.

You may not find this to be a heavily sauced pasta dish, if you tried it. Americans tend to drown their pastas. But the Italian point of view about this is that mushrooms are pungent enough without much help. Some rather pungent cheese is included, and that's all you really need. 

Stage 1 on a food journey in a small Italian apartment kitchen, which has plenty of limitations. 

Making do.

Or making the most of what can be done.

 

Roman Re-Entry

 

That's right, friends: I'm back. 

For a Fall term of teaching, that is. I'm staying in a different AirBnB (this one has AC, I'm thrilled to report, but no oven and for the first 5 days and counting, no hot water to speak of...no wait, I must be brutally honest. 4 minutes of hot water. Then it runs cold again). 

Re-entry into Rome is muggy and swampy and in glaring sun, almost too bright to take. There is the threat of thunderstorms, but generally, the threat expires with no action. So the barometric headache just lingers. 

Re-entry into Rome is a test of acquired but rusting language skills. So far, I've had to struggle to recall the word for 'bill' (for my sit-down lunch), but otherwise, I have surprised myself. And the bonus: my ear for listening and understanding is still pretty good. 

Simone is missing his unicorn. 

He will return to the store after finding it.

For all the information, call this number.

Re-entry into Rome is far more quiet than I expected, but I am in a different neighborhood, with a higher rate of Italian language-only, working class residents. I might hear English spoken on the street, but there is still a drastic reduction in tourists. Conversely, I cannot find a place to toss my recycling. Regular trash and 'organici' (compost), yes. Recycling, no. 

This is a main square in the neighborhood, highly populated on weekends by children with soccer balls and scooters, senior citizens killing time together, and political speeches. The fountain in the center is a more modern one, by Roman standards, meant to evoke the history of the neighborhood - Testaccio - which was built upon an ancient trash heap of pottery shards, the remains of broken oil and wine vessels. 

A better close-up of that fountain.

Re-entry into Rome means being ready to unload your groceries on the conveyor belt and scurrying to their collection at the end to bag them yourself while simultaneously, mentally translating that spoken Italian euro sum AND getting as much exact change as you can out of your wallet (because the cashier is going to ask you for it anyway, so you might as well get ahead). Now that I've seen what American baggers can do to my fragile groceries, I'm happy to do the bagging myself, but no, I don't like that pressure of doing so much at once, either. 

Re-entry into Rome means sore feet, stair climbing and wistfully looking at elevators you are not allowed to use...and accepting that the explanation you were given for the prohibition against elevator usage is nonsensical, and thus, more or less Italian. 

There it is. One of two elevators that you need a key to use, and the AirBnb host says she didn't obtain one because she was 'not around' when the elevators were installed. 

That's the best explanation I got. 

I asked if I could use one of them to just get my bags up to the second floor. 

She said she asked on my behalf. And the answer was 'no.' It is at once infuriating and Italian, this kind of thing. 

Re-entry into Rome means still wearing a face mask on public transit. Well, for about 60% of the riders. The rest are fine with risking Covid transmission and/or a fine. At present, the case rate is relatively low, but we shall see what the season brings. Italy is just now rolling out the second booster for people over the age of 60. 

Re-entry into Rome means food adventures. Within reason, I am here for it.

Is this not a sunny, bright kind of lunch? Risotto made with purple cabbage, a dollop of soft cheese and a sprinkling of pistachios, sliced oranges and fennel, and a sweet slice of cantaloupe draped in prosciutto. You need to go off the beaten path for lunches like this (translation: go outside the city center), which don't offer the standard tourist-driven array of pastas and sandwiches. But what a reward when you do it. And with the exchange rate being so favorable right now, I can easily tell you the cost: $12.

Once I found a small bottle of chili oil as well as ground chili flakes, I ordered a takeaway quattro formaggi (four cheeses) pizza...and it was fabulous. 

I also ordered puntarelle...the sliced, curling stalks of chicory, quickly sauteed in olive oil, anchovy and lemon. The point was to absolve some guilt over that pizza. 

But it's really, really good. 

Re-entry into Rome means a new group of students, who are also here for it. It is nice to see the energy and enthusiasm again. May it continue through the term. 

Here we are - all 18 of us - at the Villa Giulia, Etruscan Museum of Art.

Sweating, naturally. 

Re-entry into Rome also means renewing friendships. Here is my friends' view of the sunset from their terrace.  

And here is the harvest moon from their terrace.

And here is what they just 'whipped up' for dinner:

(and if you two are reading this, don't worry: the pasta comes in another entry)

Re-entry in September is tough because the calendar says autumn, but the temperatures do not. Even Italians are, I think, based on my casual observation in the last couple of years, overlooking their usual annual puffy coat day, which was September 15. 

It will be 84F on this September 15. 

We'll see what this one brings. After all, re-entry into Rome has already included seeing jackets and scarves on early mornings. 

Re-entry is a rhythm I'm still seeking out...I think I have time to find it.