This lively, stylized dragon is a signature mark on the classic Raffaellesco pattern used on many Deruta majolica pieces. Pictured here is a plate from my personal collection.

Who am I to judge those who obsess over the dining chairs of an obscure designer, or those deranged fans of discontinued lipstick shades, hunting down the last remaining world supply with cold-sweat fervor? Not I. I will readily own up to my own unique brand of fascination: Italian majolica (pronounced “maYOLica”, and sometimes spelled maiolica). Majolica is pottery painted in a protected Renaissance tradition in the town of Deruta, in the region of Umbria. For those cooking-lesson villa renters out there, and fans of “Under the Tuscan Sun,” you may know Umbria as the region just southeast of Tuscany.

But Deruta pottery is so much more than some hand-painted flourishes scrawled on a fruit bowl. Deruta pottery comes in a variety of historic designs, which I will point out shortly. But aside from the rich tradition surrounding Deruta wares, I make the audacious claim that a Deruta dinner plate changed my life.

A dinner plate?

Yes – and from an early age, too. As a child, I used to play at the home of our family friends where I discovered an untapped passion. This couple has led tours to Italy for many years, particularly based around the Renaissance capital of Florence. In their home, I grew up gazing at the large, glamorous photos of them standing proudly in front of medieval architecture, and with wind-blown smiles atop city panoramas. Dressed in stylish gear, gelato in hand, they posed on gondolas and beside clock towers. I loved being in their home, surrounded by volumes of glossy art books, and the cozy luxury of rugs and artwork in every cranny.

But perhaps most of all, it was their elegant, stylish dinner parties (viewed from my vantage point at the “kids’ table”) that intrigued me the most. This is where I witnessed their never-ending parade of Deruta pottery: ceramic candlesticks whose colorful designs glowed amid the din of group laughter; platters sturdy enough to hold plump piles of veal piccata and hearty helpings of pesto linguine, and yet charming and poised enough to grace a table fit for Company.

Damn the kids’ table, I thought, as I gazed at my hot dogs n’ beans.

It was during one of these entertaining affairs that I first saw it: Raffaellesco, the pattern of my dreams.

Lively, stylized dragons with tapering tails in rich shades of golden maize, accented with cobalt, brown and teal. More ornamentation than a Bach fugue, but it all worked cleanly against the crisp, white background. This is truly the spirit of the Renaissance, captured perfectly! I remember thinking, as I reached the flashpoint of my lifelong love of the Italian Renaissance.

The Raffaellesco pattern offers an experience both visually and energetically. It is regal and stately, yet fun and dynamic – a satisfying combination for those with modern formal tastes.

In this detail from an authentic Deruta plate, you can see the brushstrokes indicating true, hand-painted workmanship.

The name Raffaellesco is attributed to the Renaissance artist Raphael, who was thought to have painted a benevolent sea god meant to protect seafaring merchants on their journeys. The design stuck, as it is one of Deruta’s most famed and popular designs. Other classic Deruta designs include the colorful Ricco Deruta, considered the oldest and most traditional pattern in the Deruta tradition; Orvieto, a nod to rustic living with its cheerful, green roosters;  Siena, an elegant, black-bordered collection featuring medieval-style flora and fauna; and the lively Arrabesco pattern, featuring birds and freeform decorations that evoke a more contemporary sensibility.

The town of Deruta takes its pottery traditions very seriously. The city houses what is widely considered the world’s foremost authority for the teaching of the Deruta majolica technique, the International School of Ceramic Art “Romero Ranieri.” All authentically created, local majolica pieces contain a special “Deruta” signature on their underside, usually hand-painted rather than stamped. The producers must follow strict design guidelines if they are to label their majolica pieces in the classic series.  This handiwork does not come cheap, and even within the regulated producers, there is a spectrum of quality and refinement. For the real deal, expect to pay at least $100 for a dinner plate (yes, one dinner plate).

Recently, after a two year investigation, the Italian police uncovered a Deruta fraud ring. According to a March 10, 2010 article published at ThatsArte.com’s blog by Tiziana, “last February…Italian police charged the owners of three companies located in Assisi and Deruta with fraud and other administrative crimes. They manufactured fake Raffaellesco and Ricco Deruta pottery that was then partly sold to bus loads of unaware tourists visiting Assisi, partly exported to Europe, Japan and to the US at competitive prices.” The police seized over 2000 pieces that bore the coveted “Handpainted in Deruta” signature but which were actually decal transfer work.

The dramatic world of art fraud is far-reaching, I’m afraid. I have encountered several knock-offs in some of my own local home furnishing stores. It is easy to spot these knock-offs if you look closely. You will be able to see a tiny “dot matrix” printing texture instead of a smooth series of brushstrokes. To this, they will often hand-paint the rim of the plate which may add more of an authentic look to the unsuspecting eye. Sure, these are priced quite inexpensively, but like first-class air travel, once you’ve experienced the real deal, it’s hard to go back.

This hand-signed mark on the underside of a Deruta majolica piece indicates authenticity.

Not surprisingly, I ended up spending a blissful semester in Florence during my college days. I was thrilled when I found an affordable Deruta (or was I duped into buying “Deruta style”?) vendor stand in one of the piazzas. I bought a small Raffaellesco plate, but it then broke in transit back to the States. Since then, I have thirsted for more Deruta to ease that early disappointment. But a funny thing happens with these types of pursuits. Suddenly, one piece is no longer enough. The most insidious part of a “Deruta-ddiction” is that these beautiful pieces are also functional. The rationalizations can get out of hand. I mean, who couldn’t use a mezzaluna (crescent-shaped) cookie dish around the house, or a hand-painted biscotti jar to catch someone’s hands in?

Come on, you know you want a rooster-shaped pitcher.

To purchase Italian majolica in the U.S., visit the website of Biordi in San Francisco, California. There are many other purveyors of Italian majolica in the U.S., but Biordi carries some of the finest examples of majolica from Deruta and other regions. Their inventory spans from classic to more contemporary styles, and many items beyond tableware. You can even commission your own designs through them.

© Gilat Ben-Dor, 2010. All rights reserved.

Velvety jewel: A tall glass of fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice at Cafe Neto in Tel Aviv's Dizengoff Center.

I am quite a pomegranate aficionado: an admirer of their whimsical shape, their seductive ruby seeds, and the rich symbolism they hold, from fertility to happiness. In the United States, POM and other brands compete on the market to offer concentrated pomegranate juice, but during a recent trip to Israel, nothing beat the fresh squeezed varieties being offered in stands and cafés. If you know what pomegranate seeds are like — fairly dry to the touch with a delicate glaze encasing each seed — you could appreciate how many pomegranates it would take to concoct a big, tall glass of straight, anti-oxidant-rich, tart and tasty juice. And the color? Worthy of artistic inspiration. In Israel, they were certainly fond of their juice bars, but the crowning glory was the wide availability of this crowned, ancient fruit.

Beyond drinking pomegranate juice straight (or in cocktails), sprinkling the tangy seeds on a salad, or making a reduction of its juice to sauce meat with, what are other ways to incorporate pomegranates into cooking? Feel free to add your comments. I am convinced this will not be the last of a posting on pomegranates.

© Gilat Ben-Dor, 2010.

Pomegranates do grow on trees. The grove seen here is a common sight near the village of Lachish in Israel.

Katherine McLin (right, on a 1734 violin) and Kimberly Marshall (on pipe organ) mesmerize the audience at Arizona State University

There is something about a pipe organ. Something beautiful, something haunting (ok, I’ll say it – something even a bit creepy and foreboding). But something powerful, nevertheless. And the dreamlike sequence featuring Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, in Disney’s Fantasia, certainly put organs back on the map when that film came out.

And violins…don’t get me started! Done right, the sound of a violin can (and has) literally moved me to tears. Or gotten me so pumped up for life that I wanted to jump up and go conquer something. The movie alone, The Red Violin, has spoken volumes of the timeless power of this poignant and emotionally-charged instrument. Even non-musicians have heard of the great Stradivarius and his priceless violins.

I was therefore delighted to discover a concert created just for the sake of pairing these two musical titans of sound. Arizona State University’s Herberger College of the Arts sponsors an impressive array of concerts – choral, jazz, orchestral, band, percussion, guitar…you name it, they have an in-house ensemble or a guest performance of it. In this case, I attended an afternoon concert yesterday at Organ Hall called Beauty and Bravura, featuring the violin – a 1734 Sanctus Seraphin violin, in fact – and the organ, a beautiful rendition built in the 1990s in the classic Baroque style.

Since musical instruments do not play themselves (barring those saloon pianos), the credit goes to the two stunning virtuosos who performed: Katherine McLin on the violin and Kimberly Marshall on the organ. Each woman has had an illustrious international musical career, impressive academic affiliations, and a cadre of classical recordings.

As I left the concert hall, I had the following thought: What if Bach had gotten caught up in his daily grind? What if he started dabbling with a few variations on a theme – maybe 5 or 6 max, instead of the 64 variations in his signature Passacaglia – but then life got in the way? There they’d be:  unfinished manuscripts on his desk, gathering dust and coffee stains…What would his legacy have been? What would we have from him today? If we are serious about our own legacies, and realizing our gifts and potentials in this lifetime, let’s take our dreams seriously – turn them into goals (dreams with timeframes) and let’s get to the business of giving of ourselves to the world in the form of a legacy.

Detail of the pipe organ featured in the "Beauty and Bravura" concert at Arizona State University. The organ was built in 1991, but retains a classic Baroque flavor.

For the serious aficionados, here is a look at yesterday’s Beauty and Bravura program, along with commentary from yours truly:

Adagio and Fugue for the Violin and Organ, Op. 150, no. 6

Joseph Rheinberger (1839-1901)

This lively opening piece featured both McLin and Marshall, playing violin and organ side by side. Although a much later successor of Bach, composer Rheinberger included several distinctive riffs reminiscent of Bach’s signature swirly flourishes.

Partita No. 2 in D minor for Violin, BWV 1004

Ciaccona

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)

This was by far McLin’s showcase piece, both for her crisp expertise as a violinist, and for the piece itself. Prior to playing it, she explained to the audience that the Ciaccona was thought to have been Bach’s dedication to his wife when he learned of her death. The Ciaccona is nearly 15 minutes long – longer than the preceding four parts combined – and with McLin’s expert mastery of its haunting, lyrical components, the audience was transfixed. There was is eerie beauty to this piece that is almost surreal.

Sonata Representiva for Violin and Continuo

Heinrich Ignaz Biber (1644-1704)

Allegro

The Nightingale

The Cuckoo

The Frog

Adagio

Allegro: The Hen/The Rooster

Presto

Adagio: The Quail

The Cat

Mussquetir Mars

Allamande

Here, we heard a light-hearted contrast to the gravitas of the Ciaccona preceding it. Biber, who precedes Bach, created a rather amusing sonata centered on vignettes with particular animal themes. During The Hen/The Rooster segment, there was even a somewhat country-western flair at times, which was ironic since Biber was born in 1644. Perhaps it is now that the cowboy spirit lives on.

The other interesting feature of this piece was that Marshall did not play the organ, but instead, played an early musical instrument called the continuo. Prior to playing, she opened two ornate panels to let the sound travel better, and I was able to see, from my second-row seat, that the inside of the two panels was elaborately painted with flowers and ribbons. No plain packaging back then!

Here, the side panel of the continuo is visible, with hand-painted floral and trompe l'oeil detailing.

Passacaglia in C Minor for Organ, BWV 582

J.S. Bach

Ahhh…back to Bach. Call me a purist, or simply a Baroque fanatic, but I always come back to J.S. Bach and his tremendous capacity for combining mathematical order with music to create works that are far from robotic – but are in fact, sublime and complex while conveying passionate melodies. In fact, this passacaglia, played exclusively on the organ by Marshall, contained a total of 64 variations on a single, four-bar theme. This is not just a case of “well-someone-had-some-time-on-their-hands-snicker-snicker” – this is the mark of true genius!

Capriccio for Violin and Organ

Naji Hakim (b. 1955)

McLin and Marshall concluded the program with this vivacious number by modern-day composer Naji Hakim. There were a variety of elements to it, and a mixture of tempos. While my personal favorites reside in the Baroque era, I applaud the duo for the variety of their program, and for showcasing the wide range of abilities of themselves as performers, the ingenuity of the composers, and of their exemplary instruments.

Time to dust off the ol’ hobbies and see which ones we want to take to the next level.

© Gilat Ben-Dor, 2010. All rights reserved.

The black keyboard of the continuo played by Kimberly Marshall at Arizona State University

Ever wanted to explore Peru’s legendary Inca Trail, at an elevation of 13,000 feet…with gourmet food and wine being cooked for you along the way? Of course you do! Firestone Wines is pairing up with Zephyr Adventures to send a small group, including a paid food and wine blogger, on an exotic Inca Trail hike in Peru. This lucky winner, dubbed the Firestone Wines Discoveries Pathfinder and chosen through a special contest, will receive an all-expense-paid trip, including airfare to Peru, between April 17-25, 2010, plus a $1,000 stipend. Click here for contest rules.

But wait – there’s more! There is also another winner spot for the chosen chef on the trail. See details about the Chef Challenge here.

Peru is you, baby!

Do lobsters feel pain or fear as we boil them live? Do we really want to know?

Musing about hapless crustaceans that are sacrificed daily for the sake of a good bite is probably not the most uplifting way to pass the time. However, I was thinking about a recent visit to one of those restaurants—the kind of place where you point to your desired lobster in a tank, he looks at you (I swear), and half an hour later, you pretend it is a completely different lobster that is served to you. This experience brings to mind a culinary conundrum. Do lobsters have feelings when they are dropped, live, into a pot of boiling water? Do they know what is happening to them?

This scene was played out a bit too comically in the recent, double-bio film, Julie & Julia. The character of food blogger Julie Powell cringed a little while trying to throw a few defenseless lobsters into a boiling pot, got her husband to help her, and that was it. Ha ha, next scene.

This lobster guilt delves much deeper into our culinary consciousness. I, for one, absolutely love lobster. So am I mean to send one to its death each time I order it in a live-tank restaurant? (Or, heck, shall I resist ordering it in general, since it was once alive somewhere?)

And I love foie gras, as well, but should I stop eating it because of some unsavory or downright cruel practices used in artificially fattening the birds’ livers? Should we shun veal because of the idea that baby calves should not be pent-up, awaiting our next piccata? What about poor, helpless snails that were just minding their own business before becoming a garlicky plate of escargot?

Of course, who’s to say that these dilemmas should be reserved for only the more exotic creatures, or for the more publicized animal-treatment scandals? Do we know that pigs, cows, and chickens do not feel pain, or cannot sense their impending doom at some point in the slaughter houses?

This is not about endangerment of species, like in the case of shark fin soup, or even whether our food is prepared safely, like the nouveau urging to avoid chicken from dirty, overcrowded poultry farms.

Incredibly, perhaps, but I continue to enjoy my meat, seafood, and poultry; and yes, I did watch the documentary Food, Inc. The solution here is not to simply buy “organic” or “grass fed”—that may solve our health concerns and fight Big Business in the process– but the question I am asking is, do animals feel pain and fear, particularly relating to their slaughter for the purpose of our next meal? And if so, is it or is it not the way of the world – similar to Mother Nature’s world of predator and prey?

If we were to apply a perfect argument, we could not draw the line about guilt over some meats but not all meats. If we did categorize these meats with our conscience in mind, would we break them down into staple meats and nice-to-have/shame-on-you meats? And which animals deserve to be assigned into either predicament?

© Gilat Ben-Dor. All rights reserved.

ZPizza's Napoli thin-crust pizza is ideal for roasted-garlic lovers.

Twenty minutes early to a nearby appointment, and in the mood for a culinary somethin’-somethin’, I spotted ZPizza at the corner of Tatum and Thunderbird in Phoenix. Actually, I had passed by it many times before but today seemed like a day to experiment. I am quite selective with my pizza, preferring the back-East, New York pizzas with classic sauce tinged with a just-right balance of garlic, oregano, salt, and spice.

But since ZPizza does not tout itself as a New York-style anything, I put my expectations aside and asked what today’s slices were. Aside from the cheese and pepperoni standards offered, it was the Napoli that compelled me. A crispy, thin crust holds a rich, robust, almost creamy (though not cream-based) roasted garlic sauce, melted mozzarella and tomato slices which have been seared with texture from a generous sprinkling of parmesan. This flavorful grouping is accented by thick strips of fresh basil, baked into an irresistible fragrance. Yes, I was surprised. And yes, I was impressed. This was garlic with a purpose; basil with strength; and tomatoes –fresh, which I usually do not care for on a pizza – which held their own with their salty parmesan coating.

I did not realize that ZPizza uses 100% certified organic tomato sauce and 100% certified organic wheat dough, which is crafted daily and fire-baked on hot bricks. (The definition of “100% certified organic” these days could warrant its own article, but I did touch upon the benefits of organic bread just the other day). Kudos for helping us rationalize that devouring cheesy pizza is now healthy, if not fully for the body then at least for sustaining a hip local business.

ZPizza dishes up its pizza with a heart, through its ZCares program. At the time of this writing, ZPizza’s website touts that its 2009 goal is to “give away $4,000 worth of pizza per store in support of community fundraisers.” ZPizza proclaims it opened its first store in Laguna Beach, California in 1986, and has locations nationwide. This is one pizza restaurant that takes its community as seriously as its food.

But let’s get back to some of the great pizza flavors offered – after all, who does not enjoy vicarious exposure to new and delicious pizza combinations?

Artichoke hearts make a surprisingly frequent appearance on more than one pizza, including the Provence (organic tomato sauce, homemade roasted garlic sauce, mozzarella, artichoke hearts, capers, tomatoes and fresh basil). The Casablanca also comes with that signature garlic sauce, mozzarella and artichoke hearts, but also includes rich ricotta, mushrooms, and parmesan.

The cleverly named ZBQ pizza has a BBQ sauce base with mozzarella, BBQ chicken, roasted peppers, red onions, tomatoes, cilantro and – for some starch with your starch – sweet corn. Most of the pizzas are priced around $10 for a small 10” pie, $17 for a medium 14”, and $21 for a large 18” extravaganza.

Another pizza category that ZPizza offers is the Rustica pizza ($8.95), which is a free-form, individual pizza, topped here in out-of-the-box combinations. Perhaps the most unusual is the Chicken Curry and Yam Rustica, which includes an exotic mix of mozzarella, curry chicken, yams, mango chutney, raisins and cilantro.

ZPizza also offers a variety of salads like Pear and Gorgonzola ($6.50/$8.50), two types of pasta ($7.50), and a wide range of sandwiches, including a Yuppie Veggie Sandwich ($5.95) and a Pollo Latino Sandwich, with marinated lime chicken breast, salsa and avocado ($6.25).

If you are gluten-sensitive, ask for the gluten-free crust (where available). And if you are reading my mind, you are now selecting the perfect Chianti to pair with the roasted garlic Napoli you will be picking up to go.

For locations and more information, visit ZPizza.com

© Gilat Ben-Dor. All rights reserved.

Ancient artifacts are displayed amid the sleek modernity of Israel's Lod Airport.

Israel’s Lod International Airport, just outside of Tel Aviv, boasts a light, airy and spacious interior, and my favorite touch: actual ancient artifacts displayed throughout the walkway area. It is always fascinating to see the old and the new merged together – going much further back than the Louvre’s “old/new” addition of the glass structure, and even older than the Medieval buildings of Florence being used as gelato bars.

Being juxtaposed with truly ancient artifacts can, at once, make us feel like we, too, are just ‘passing through,’ dwarfing our own existence. At the same time, there is something continual and relevant about this coexistence, reminding us that there are still many things that stand the test of time, of history, and of cultural preservation. Our spirit and energy guarantee that we are not nearly as flimsy as our fleeting, physical lives would have us believe. And that is uplifting.

© Gilat Ben-Dor. All rights reserved.

A special energy exists in a land that is so ancient, its decor is comprised of local archaeological finds.