The truth is, sangria was a recipe that landed on my blog a few years ago. I make it often, as it adds a festive punch (ah, love the puns) to any meal. AND since I am in Italy, it is an appropriate twist on a weekday table wine.

Besides tasting lovely, it is a great way to stretch one’s budget. Seriously. I buy relatively inexpensive, fruity table wine, then add the remainder of the ingredients (sample pictured above). See the recipe, below. But I want to emphasize this: you can play around with the ingredients. I often take my initial sangria recipe and then substitute like crazy. I aim for the same proportions of wine, make sure to add brandy, have been known to throw in a little triple sec and although I like to add a fresh orange, orange juice works just fine. As for the cassis soda, that isn’t always easy to find. Good substitutes are berry, raspberry or blackberry soda (I usually steer clear of pomegranate and traditional cherry, b/c they have a bit of a medicinal quality; blueberry can be overwhelming). I have also just put in berry juice and a splash of club soda.

SANGRIA
1 bottle of Beaujolais (or other fruity, inexpensive red wine)
1 bottle sparkling cassis soda
1-2 oranges
1 tiny bottle brandy (2 oz)
Small bag of berries: blackberry, currant, cranberry, raspberry (frozen works)
Optional: 2-3 plums, bunch black grapes.

To assemble: pour wine, soda, juice of one orange, 1 orange sliced into thin rounds, brandy and berries in large glass flask or decanter. Optional: add 1-2 T sugar to taste, stir to blend. Can be made 1-2 hours in advance; serve at room temperature.

AND making sangria suits my new collection. I have been peeking at the gorgeous Tuscan glazed pottery; there are beautifully painted pieces in tourist shops in almost any city. Cities and regions have their own pottery, their unique design. In the first few weeks here, I browsed. I kept wondering which motifs I would be most drawn to: roosters or olives, red poppies, paisley prints, Florentine symbols, lemons? Would I like the blues or yellows, or stick to reds and greens? Would I gravitate toward ornate or appreciate the simplicity of these vast array of designs? And all that being said, would I really want a set of plates and bowls and mugs, or just a few choice serving pieces? Perhaps a spoon to hold spoons on the stove or a clock? I kept tucking ideas and options into my mind… and then when we were playing ‘tourists’ in Sienna, it struck me: sangria.

So I decided (okay, it was this particular sangria pitcher that sold me on the idea), instead of buying vases or clocks or even tiny little bowls, my pottery purchases from Tuscany would be a humble collection of sangria pitchers. And by humble I mean a small gathering on a small shelf; in the end I hope to go home with 3-4 pitchers that I purchase in tiny towns across Tuscany. They will serve as a mental bookmark to our travels… as in, ‘oh, I remember when I bought this.’

I love sangria, and it makes people feel special. Just for you: a wine that put on its party dress. It is an unexpected treat—and I love inserting the unexpected into dinner parties. If ever I throw a party, I can make a few batches of sangria in advance and have them at the ready (in all my new special sangria pitchers, of course).

I found a few other interesting sangria recipes around the web:

• list of sangria recipes
• Food Network: 6 sangria recipes
• read this little gem through, it poses a pirate-worthy sangria
• peach sangria from Epicurious

Ciao! It has been awhile, I know.

I confess, I have been blogging more on our family blog (www.familyfrolics.com) than I have here. Mostly because my chatter has been more about travel—from our year abroad—than about food. Most of my posts on this blog function as a means to provide you stellar recipes and simple techniques, tips for taking command of your kitchen experience and excerpts on my means to tempt my boys’ palates. But since I was cycling across Holland/Belgium/France this summer, my kitchen was more or less the rear basket of my bike. And my ‘cooking’ was no more than assembling garlic butter, fresh bread and local cheese.

Not that I didn’t soak up food—I did, and loved [almost] every bite—but snagging pastries or snacks at a nearby grocer/baker/festival was more about soaking up the moment than about what would be useful to your/my kitchen. That and quite often… … … internet connections were sparse.

Excuses front and center, I know.

We landed in Florence mid-August. It was steaming hot, and we sought out pools and plodded through numerous apartments to pick one for the coming year; all in all, my kitchen focus was not its usual self. I was distracted by my boys’ soccer tryouts (2 a days at the beginning), where obtaining Gatorade and cranking the air conditioning was key. Although food was not front and center, all was not lost as I was busy memorizing the city. Each walk or ride, every foray into Florence I was scoping grocers and markets, pollerias and salumerias. I noted where to find bakers, eye-balled restaurants and cafes and sipped espresso while standing at numerous bars. I was doing my kind of homework!

Beginning of September, we landed in an apartment and promptly became consumed with obtaining Italian paperwork for our residence. (Unfortunately for us, the laws became more stringent during our summer cycle). We stood in countless lines, researched stuff online, talked to numerous public officials and submitted thick files of paper. The end result? Not enough t’s were crossed or i’s were dotted: we had to fly home to obtain further permissions from the Italian consulate in America. So for the first 3 weeks of October, we were back in the Pacific Northwest. Add on a week of being sick and jet-lagged and you have me somewhere around… today!

How about that for excuses?

But lets talk about my kitchen in Italy. I love the apartment we picked because it is in the center of the city, near the Arno River. Of course I poo-pooed any apartments where the kitchen was closet-sized. One place was quite lovely but the kitchen had no oven and just a stand-alone burner. Now granted, I can make that work. Not too many years back we renovated our house soup-to-nuts and it took us a few weeks to remodel the kitchen. My temporary ‘kitchen’ was a microwave-on-a chair in a bedroom, a bathtub (for running water and washing dishes) and a fridge in the basement (which I could access only by going outside, around the house and yep: down a ladder).

But that was then, and this is now.

I wanted a kitchen I could stretch in. And by that I do literally mean ’stretch out my arms’ and fit in the said space, and I also do inherently mean ’stretch myself as a cook.’ You may recall: I went to cooking school last year. I started April 2008 and ended April 2009. We left on our cycling trip May 2009. Which means I cooked and cooked and cooked at school, graduated, then hopped on a bike sans kitchen for 4 months. No cooking. I will say by the end, I was craving a kitchen: to walk into my own special place of cooking and stretch. To practice what I had learned at school, to commit it to memory, to work on my knife skills and my cooking smarts. To create and play and wonder.

And now I have one, and am back stretching and prancing in my kitchen, with knowledge of where to go to buy wild boar, delish prosciutto and good Parmesan. I love the kitchen I have—with plenty of counter space and the dining table nearby. It has gas burners and a small fridge; every morning we percolate espresso on the stove top. I don’t have a good knife, but I am making it work. What I find most interesting, though, is how little I use recipes. And how I am cooking increasingly by instinct: by look, feel, taste and method. It is what I had hoped to gain from cooking school, and I am thrilled to see it stayed with me. (It isn’t to say I don’t use recipes: I most certainly do. And I need to write new ones down if I aim to share them with you!).

A few final thoughts before we move onto food:

1. Much like when we were in graduate school, my Italian cooking experience will be budget-forward. (We had planned this trip on a monthly budget; the flight home for four was unexpected and pricey).

2. One of my goals is to teach myself to proficiently make from scratch: focaccia, pasta and pizza. I haven’t spent a lot of time learning the nuances of yeast breads, but am determined to learn.

3. Beyond recipes, I will also share things like what I am learning about Italian meats (aka Tuscan salami is considered more mild and sweet than Genoa salami), wines, my favorite chocolates, food culture (little cookies for dessert), worthy cafes and outdoor markets… and my growing appreciation for seasonal foods.

I am excited to have my kitchen bursting again: with produce, and enthusiasm, new ideas and noteworthy recipes. Now that some of the circumstantial dust has settled, I can again turn my attention to cooking, to enjoying Tuscany with all its foodie goodness and once again talk of tomatoes.

When I was a young mom, I used to have band aid wrappers and pacifiers, one tiny sock or a random sippy straw in my pocket. Today, in the midst of our travels, my pockets have antibacterial hand-wipes, a pile of change—a combination of pounds and euros—and leftover ticket stubs from Billy Elliot (a brilliant performance on a London stage). Last week my pocket had gum wrappers and a London tube pass, a random coffee receipt, and a set of keys for whatever-was-our-current abode. It is a funny way to make a quick assessment of what is going on in your life at that moment in time.

Answering these questions are a bit like that; consequently, I thought it would be interesting to answer them. And of course since some of the questions involved food, naturally I hit ‘publish’ so here they are:

Three names I go by:
1. Janelle
2. mom (quite possibly my favorite name to go by)
3. Aunt Janelle

Three Jobs I have had in my life:
1. cleaning a dentist office (age 14)
2. berry cannery line worker (high school age 17)
3. VP marketing at a food company (MBA post grad… age not required)

Three places I have lived:
1. Seattle, Washington (college)
2. Alexandria, Virginia (just married, having babies)
3. Florence, Italy (well… I WILL be living there in just a few days!)

Three Favorite Drinks (ehem… how to choose?)
1. red wine
2. coffee
3. toss up: sidecar, gin & tonic, vodka martini or a brilliant margarita without the overly sugary mixers (stick to just-squeezed lime juice, coarse salt on the rim, cointreau, Hornitos tequila, a little simple syrup if required… or Trader Joes actually has a non-fructose corn syrup margarita mix—a splash smooths out the whole drink… no, I am NOT high maintenance. I just know how to make good drinks… ask anyone.) My latest [lemon-drop] victims: Chris and Natasha in Windsor, England. BTW guys, thank you for the brilliant time in England. You were easily the highlight of our time in England; we look forward to seeing you in Florence!)

Three TV shows I watch:
1. Top Chef (and a round or two of The Next Food Network Star)
2. Serie A and Premier Football (aka Italian and English soccer leagues)
3. Tour de France (we watched it religiously this summer).

Three places I have been:
The three places I have been is almost impossible to answer, since we have been cycling through Europe this summer.
1. The Louvre in Paris (July 2009)
2. Orcas Island (San Juan Islands off coast of Washington State)
3. The London Underground (August 2009)

Three of my favorite foods:
1. Fennel
2. Tomatoes
3. Cheese (that might be cheating… since there are so many varieties…)

Three MORE of my favorite foods (yep, I added this, such a cheater):
1. chocolate
2. nuts: especially hazelnuts, walnuts, cashews, pecans…
3. bacon. My family would disown me if I didn’t own up to it. We all LOVE bacon. (if you haven’t already, watch Jim Gaffigan’s King Baby; he is a comedian and has a stretch of humor on bacon, it is hilarious…)

I could list 10 more of my favorite foods quite easily, but will resist. Okay, just one more: arugula. It appeared quite frequently on menus and plates and baguettes during our cycling trip this summer. It boasted many names—arugula, rocket, roquette, rucola–depending on which country was delivering the salad. And I tend to love foods that have a boast of versatility. Arugula [for example] lands easily on top of pizzas, snuggles into a baguette with prosciutto or roasted vegetables, dances around a plate with only shaved Parmesan and olive oil and its lightly bitter edge stands up to cream sauces and rich risottos… what food do you love?

Or perhaps I should I ask: what’s in your pocket?

… and soon I will add England to that list, oh, and Italy! But in the meantime, we as a family have noticed specific differences in our breakfasts across these 3 countries.

I told my boys the other day “I love the second B.” The what? The second B in ‘Bed & Breakfast.’ Beds? That is another story, some are comfortable, some not so much. Some places I stay awake because of a late night coffee, others have the most glorious pillows… but that is content for another [non-food] blog (aka the ‘family blog’ about our cycling/living abroad year www.familyfrolics.com). But the breakfast comments? That belongs here, on my talking—and now traveling—tomato site.

And all the bed and breakfast, and vreinden op de fiets (approximate translation is ‘friends on cycles’ and is primarily a Netherlands notion, where people in cities all over rent out rooms in their homes—to cyclists—plus breakfast, for a really great deal). In a few cases we also were offered dinner for a nominal fee, and gladly scooped up the opportunity. Anyway, all the bed and breakfasts, homes and even some small-time hotels offered breakfasts. And after 6 weeks in the Netherlands, 2 weeks in Belgium and 1 week into France, we have had our share of breakfasts.

If I said to my boys, take this quiz, they would answer accordingly:

1. tea or coffee? Netherlands, Belgium
2. tea, coffee or hot chocolate (chocolait)? France
3. yogurt? Netherlands, Belgium
4. variety of breads/rolls? Netherlands
5. croissants? France, Belgium
6. Baguettes? France, Belgium
7. Spreadable cheese products? France, Belgium
8. meat and cheese? Netherlands
9. cheese no meat? Belgium
10. jam? Netherlands, Belgium, France
11. nutella? Netherlands, Belgium
12. chocolate sprinkles? Netherlands
13. only bread and jam? France
14. fruit? Netherlands
15. marmalade? Netherlands
16. rhubarb compote? Netherlands, Belgium
17. strawberry jam? Netherlands, Belgium, France
18. raspberry jam? France
19. blackberry jam? Netherlands
20. cherry preserves? Belgium, France
21. apricot jam? Netherlands, Belgium, France
22. bread with raisins (see photo)? Netherlands
23. whip cream (seen on cappuccinos and waffles—see photo below)? Belgium

A recap:

Netherlands: the full spread, a bread basket piled HIGH with 3, 4 or even 5 varieties of bread, rolls, etc. Tea or coffee, sometimes juice. Kids often offered tea. Condiments include honey, jam, butter, chocolate sprinkles, nutella and peanut butter. Also meat (usually 2 varieties) and slices of cheese. Occasionally yogurt. Occasionally fruit. Occasionally granola.

Belgium: no meat. But bread with butter, jam, nutella, honey or sliced and/or spreadable cheese. Often a variety of breads (including brown/grain). Coffee or tea. Occasionally yogurt.

France: Coffee, tea or hot chocolate. Orange juice. Croissants and french baguettes. Jam—usually 2 or more varieties to choose from. Butter. No meat, no cheese, no chocolate spread.

And not that we had them in our typical abodes, but if you frequent restaurants for breakfast in these said countries, the Netherlands has the corner on pancakes, Belgium claims waffles and France holds the title for crepes. But in the home/hotel/bed & breakfast environs—these were not typically offered.

I wonder why. Perhaps because food finds its way onto tables due to people’s effort. It doesn’t just appear but is made quickly or carefully, after an honest day of work, in a smattering of culinary traditions. Who am I to judge? If the casserole tastes awful to me, perhaps another considers it a family favorite?

So my caveat or disclaimer—or whatever fanciful word fits—in putting food down, is simply that it is my opinion. When I don’t like food, I simply don’t like food. In fact sometimes I think it is deplorable: a waste of a good bite. Some of that comes from my own food traditions and favorites… in fact much of it rests with my history of food. What I grew up with, flavor profiles and spices that I am accustomed to, curiosities that have turned out for the better.

I envy those who grew up with fiery peppers and laugh in the face of habaneros; I wonder too, if the pastures of Indian curries or rich Thai dishes might sometimes be greener than our [family's] habitual Mediterranean fare. I guffaw at those who enjoy the texture of pates, eagerly consume blood-letting beef steaks and slurp down raw herring—whole. I wish I were so inclined brave.

But alas all I have is my palate, experiences, adventures and creativity when it comes to cooking and eating food. And therein lies my opinions. Yours will be yours. We all have our own food stories, our own culinary trail. I don’t eat dog and never will, but I thoroughly enjoy lamb. I don’t like the texture of clams, but small mussels in a red curry sauce? Sign me up. And I know just the restaurant… and so it goes.

And on this summer of cycling across the Netherlands [et al], our food experiences are growing. For example, the Dutch slurp down their herring and suckle salt-infused black licorice candies that made my own little family spit… right into the trash can. But the Dutch love it; they grew up with it and it is normal and enjoyable to them. I grew up with deviled eggs, coffee, zucchini: all good examples of you either love it or you hate it (I like all three!).

And here I am, cycling through various food traditions and cultures, trying new food off grocery shelves and in restaurants (our family is cycling for 3 months, read about it on family frolics). My culinary trail just became that much more interesting. Yet even here, I gravitate toward what is familiar (yep I order chicken before I order eel). Perhaps that is what sets me apart from Anthony Bourdain? (That and much, much more). But I keep him in mind, his adventurous palate, his willingness to see what is usual and great and fiery and… gross in other cultures. And he loves it. I, on the other hand, tread much more lightly.

While In Holland, frits and croquettes are abundant (I tried both). Frits are fries, and most commonly served with mayonnaise, though you have the option of a peanut sauce as well. In fact, mayonnaise comes with everything; it is served with a baguette at the beginning of the meal, along a skewer of chicken, with potatoes and fries. It is served with croquettes and calamari, and as a side to tostis (sandwiches).

Croquettes are just gross—and nothing to write home about. I am sorry, but to me and my kiddos: nastiness. And they are on almost every Dutch menu we encountered. I don’t even know how to describe them, but will try. They are breaded, deep-fried balls (or sometimes in the shape of a mozzarella stick), filled with some scary mash of potatoes, white sauce and pulverized meat. Gooey grossness. Not even the mayo redeemed them. (In photo, they are the trio of fried spheres, front and center).

That isn’t to say the Netherlands is devoid of good food; we have had some great food while cycling the last six weeks. My son Caleb is in love with Hagelslag (aka chocolate sprinkles with a purpose) and Oude Gouda (old Gouda cheese). And I had one of the best salads of my life in Maastricht… but that is another post for another day.

No it isn’t a misspelling; bol is actually a Dutch word, a description of a certain kind of treat.

I have seen apple bol, chocolate bol and the boys ate hazelnut bols (pictured). An apple bol is [generally speaking] a whole apple, cored and filled with brown sugar/cinnamon/butter and wrapped in puff pastry and baked. The hazelnut bol was about the size of an apple; the outside was a coating of chocolate and the inside seemingly crystallized sugar… meringue? with a hazelnut whip cream inside. We later enjoyed chocolate bols at a family’s home in Weert, and sure enough, they are pastry filled with slagroom (whip cream) covered in just-hardened chocolate.

With my limited experience (ehem, I need to try more), Bol or Bollen seem to have in common the sphere and size of this particular treat. They are approximately the size of an apple, though bols are filled with whip cream and remind me of eclairs; bollen are more reminiscent of donuts and filled with wuith sweetened fruit, almond paste, or something similar to a pie filling. Bollen are baked and/or quickly fried, sometimes rolled in sugar, and apparently served just warmed… either way they are both sweet sweet sweet and I am quite impressed with the country-wide sweet tooth.

We ran across a tiny carnival while cycling from Den Bosch to Nuenun (Netherlands). They had a stand FULL of bollen and you would have thought I won the lottery. Almost tripping over family members, I bee-lined it to the stand. No doubt the stand-workers thought I was crazy as I giggled and scrambled to open my wallet. I will take two: a Rum Bollen and an Almond Bollen (admittedly that is in English). They had pineapple bollen and raisin bollen as well. They were served warm with powdered sugar sprinkled on this donut-like dough, and were filled with raisins and rum or almond paste [etc.], and we inhaled them and cared not that we dusted our chins, bellies and bikes with powdered sugar.

For more on our family’s cycling trip across Holland (and tomorrow we enter Belgium!), find updates/stories and mishaps at www.familyfrolics.com.

But Holland also has good beer and spirits; they invented gin after all. Though here, gin and tonics are considered antiquated, they are into mixed drinks, beer and vodka. Though my drink of choice tends to be red wine, I am in the land of beer, and consider it my duty to indulge.

Holland’s cafes showcase their loyalties with outdoor signage—you will see what beer they serve before you even know the name of the cafe. Signs jetting out from outside walls, in piazzas and along canals are primarily Amstel, Grolsch or Heineken. Oh, and the occasional Illy (great Italian coffee). The signs are great markers for finding a quick outdoor table or place to relax while the boys kick around the soccer ball on a nearby cobblestone street.

The signage promotes their main beer, but many are offered. Consequently, I have tried Leffe Blond, Wieckse Witt, and Palm (amber). And Hoegarden and Wieckse have Rose beer that is a little too easy to drink. But my new favorite is a Belgian beer: Duval. Full yet smooth, meaty yet polite. If your store stocks the single bottles of Belgian beers, pick one up and try it. It will be money well spent (ehem, it is a lot less expensive for me to drink it while here, than it is for you to buy it there. No doubt a bank-breaker when I return home and long for my favorite Belgium beer(s)).

For more about my family’s [current] adventures in Holland, Belgium, France, England, Italy… visit www.familyfrolics.com

We made a point of eating Dutch Pancakes at a nearby cafe in Amsterdam. They were essentially crepes, sometimes plain and often with thinly sliced ham or cheese or apples baked right into the batter. Frequently, they come with a topping be it raspberry or cream, honey, powdered sugar or chocolate. Shockingly, maple syrup is not always on the list.

Which reminds me. We ran into a kindly Dutch gentleman when we were renting a small canal boat. He had visited the U.S.A. and had much to say [with a large dose of disdain] about American pancakes: all thick and drenched in syrup. He was appalled and could hardly stomach 2 bites.

And while the Dutch very-large crepes were magnificent, we were perhaps even more enthralled with the mini-me’s that appear at festivals. Little carts shoot up with a sign saying ‘Poffertjes’ which means ‘come running.’ Not really, but that is our response. It too, means Dutch pancakes but little ones, of the bite-sized variety. And you buy them with toppings like butter plus powdered sugar (pictured here, barely in time, before we inhaled them), liquor such as rum or cointreau, or whip cream (slagroom in Dutch) and strawberries.

No doubt we will have to try each variety; we are here after all, and it is our duty.

For more stories and tales, food tips and travel hiccups visit my other blog, family frolics.

I had a few lovely cookbooks that I kept stacked on my kitchen counter, with great intention to inhale and absorb them from cover to cover. But in the end—the day before the movers came—they went into a box marked ‘cookbooks.’ I am still sad that there are beautiful photos and fantastic recipes tucked away in library fashion, beyond my half-a-globe-away reach.

I did manage to sneak a hearty peek at the book on knives. I had seen it on store shelves, but put it out of my mind, figuring I didn’t want to read about the history of knives. But was so glad when the offer came to me to review it, because it forced me to take a closer look. It is so much more than a historical account of the evolution and use of knives. (Which, by the way, really is fascinating).

The book informs the reader re: knife care, proper sharpening and honing, various ways to hold knives and clean them, and progresses through all sorts of knife cuts. It shows pictures of cutting vegetables like carrots and onions, sifts through the quagmire of how-to slice mangoes and avocados, and shows you step by step how to butterfly a chicken.

I love this because one of the reasons I went to culinary school was to learn about cuts. I learned how to fabricate a chicken, julienne vegetables, flute mushrooms, and how to finely dice an onion without sacrificing my fingers. It offers a play by play that I spent big bucks on; but you can take the lessons from this book and learn just as easily. My chef at school used to say: practice. Know the proper cuts, go buy a bag of onions or a bag of potatoes and practice.

And the book convincingly emphasizes that knives are a tool we use so frequently, why wouldn’t we want to know how to hold it, use it, wield it and come to love it?

So yes, I do recommend this book. It may appear to be a book of the coffee table genre, but in fact you can use it as a resource and tool that will offer much more than a historical account of the culinarian’s most common tool. You will learn a thing or two, and upping your knife skills, in my opinion, ups your good sense and good feeling in the kitchen. And I am all for that!

We (family of four) packed up our lives and [when you read this] are cycling across the Netherlands, parts of Belgium, a smidgen of Germany and into Paris. We made the big decision to go for a year abroad, to check out of our American lives to interject a year of adventure with our two [junior high] sons.

After a summer of cycling, a visit to London, and a week-long soccer camp, we will fly to Florence, Italy, and take up residence for the school year. Officially I will have an ex-pat blog! Notes from me to you will be parlo di pomodori (aka ‘talk of tomatoes’).

My blogging may be a little inconsistent for the next two months, because I will be writing in multiple venues. First and foremost, we have launched a family blog to capture our adventures. You are welcome to stop by or follow our frenzy at www.familyfrolics.com. And [hopefully] along the way there will be chunks of time that I can spend working on a book. Something I have always meant to do.

And much like this blog, culinary school, and our trip abroad, writing a book falls under my ever-widening umbrella that reads “things I want to do in my life” AND “seize the day” AND “I only have one chance at this life and want to make it count.”

Much of our trip is about capturing moments, stalling time and soaking up our rapidly growing boys (ages 12, 13). In that vein let me leave you this quote to ponder (passed along from someone wise):

“The days are long but the years are short.”

Stay tuned, talk of tomatoes will include tales from the road and will turn even juicier when we land in Florence come end of August. In the meantime, feel free to stop by our already bursting family blog: Family Frolics. As for now, I hope you are enjoying your summer, that it is filled with fabulous food and cooking, friends and sun on your faces. More soon…