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.