Caprese
A beautiful selection of small and colorful tomatoes at the market today got me hungering for Caprese, a salad with mozzarella, basil, and a fore mentioned tomatoes. After the season ends here, I typically abstain from any fresh tomatoes until right about now, when the vine-ripened tomatoes develop some tomato flavor. For the Caprese, ya got to have fresh basil, which I do in the garden. The final element is fresh mozzarella balls. A tub of Fromaggio (cheese in Italian) fresh mozzarella balls were prominently displayed in the cheese case. I couldn't resist.
The first time I ate Caprese was in Manarola, a tiny fishing village on the Italian Riviera sitting at a street side cafe with the warm June sun on my back, the Ligurian Sea in the foreground. Heavenly. My traveling companion was my daughter, who as a child ate everything I put in front of her, but who now at age 18 ate only the white food group: pasta, white bread, white cheese - you get the drift. However, she tried the salad and found it acceptable. She ate much Caprese henceforth. While I'm feasting on wild boar with polenta in Orvieto, she's having pasta with white cheese sauce or Caprese. The white food group did not extend to desserts, of which we partook daily. Really, not eat chocolate? Now that's crazy.
Later we stayed at an Agri-tourist facility in Paestum, (right about at the ankle in the boot that is Italy,) where they raised Capri Water Buffalo (more like a cow than an American buffalo) and made the cheese. This was like a B&B except they served breakfast and dinner (prepared by a renowned chef.) We stayed in a turret that resembles Old Mother Hubbard's Shoe except ours was a pigeon cote, which while quaint, played havoc with my allergies. Fabulous dinners served family style on the terrace were four-courses and closed with iced shots of heavenly lemoncello. Those dinners were the cause of the one huge argument between Ty and I on this 4-week trip. We hired a taxi to take us to catch the train to Pompeii and Tyler was fretting that we wouldn't get back to Paestum in time for dinner. Quite a row. We made it though! And Ty got her Caprese. I got my lemoncello. I needed that.
The first time I ate Caprese was in Manarola, a tiny fishing village on the Italian Riviera sitting at a street side cafe with the warm June sun on my back, the Ligurian Sea in the foreground. Heavenly. My traveling companion was my daughter, who as a child ate everything I put in front of her, but who now at age 18 ate only the white food group: pasta, white bread, white cheese - you get the drift. However, she tried the salad and found it acceptable. She ate much Caprese henceforth. While I'm feasting on wild boar with polenta in Orvieto, she's having pasta with white cheese sauce or Caprese. The white food group did not extend to desserts, of which we partook daily. Really, not eat chocolate? Now that's crazy.
Later we stayed at an Agri-tourist facility in Paestum, (right about at the ankle in the boot that is Italy,) where they raised Capri Water Buffalo (more like a cow than an American buffalo) and made the cheese. This was like a B&B except they served breakfast and dinner (prepared by a renowned chef.) We stayed in a turret that resembles Old Mother Hubbard's Shoe except ours was a pigeon cote, which while quaint, played havoc with my allergies. Fabulous dinners served family style on the terrace were four-courses and closed with iced shots of heavenly lemoncello. Those dinners were the cause of the one huge argument between Ty and I on this 4-week trip. We hired a taxi to take us to catch the train to Pompeii and Tyler was fretting that we wouldn't get back to Paestum in time for dinner. Quite a row. We made it though! And Ty got her Caprese. I got my lemoncello. I needed that.
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