Pasta-making and Pecorino Tasting

Just like any other summer classes, my study abroad program has homework

assignments. Study abroad isn't all adventure and glamour. We had a

required pasta-making activity and the next day we had a food tasting. Although they were still assignments, these two activities gave me the souvenir of Italian culture that I could take home and implement in my own life. Thankfully that's easy to pack.

The Pasta Process

Taught by our chef, Fabio, 12 other students and I learned the entire process. We watched him run through it quickly and with ease one time before he sent us to our stations with this key pasta-making mantra: it doesn't matter what it looks like, it matters what it tastes like. Half way through what I thought would a breeze, I was grateful for his dismissal of appearance.

1) The flour

The first step is to flour...everywhere and on everything. Flour not only makes up the dough, but it also acts as the pacifist of pasta making, it goes everywhere trying to stop the friction and sticky situations. But, in life and pasta sticky situations still happen, even if you fluff and powder everything up. The general rule is 100 grams of flour for one egg. Pour the flour into a neat pile on your board and create a circular hole in the middle to crack your egg into.

2) The egg and oil

It should look like an egg volcano once the egg is cracked into the hole. With a fork, whisk the egg while slowly adding in the flour. It's ok if your egg volcano turns into to a Mt. Vesuvius featuring scrambled lava. Add whatever flour you need as you mix. The heat from your hands or an extra large egg, among other things, can cause your dough to be too wet and stick to the board. Add in oil and salt and mix until you have a well-mixed and absorbed dough.

3) Working it

Once your dough is ready, you can move to everyone's favorite part: the rolling. There's something satisfyingly authentic about rolling your own dough. The sense of accomplishment from rolling out dough you made from scratch almost defiantly proves your competency in the kitchen to no one in particular other than the cutting boards and utensils. Once your dough is near translucent when held up to a window letting in the setting Tuscan sun (for those of us lucky enough to bask in these magical rays), its ready to be cut, stuffed, or twisted to make whatever kind of pasta you want. Knowing the basic of how to make pasta open a world of pastabilities (sorry) and you can now bring a little bit of Italy to your table.

Oil, Cheese and Everything Else, Please

Tasting food is something I have realized is highly overlooked in the United States. It's sinful to eat for the purpose of just tasting and a "guilty pleasure" to eat things that taste good. America's illegalization of the enjoyment of food is it's entirely own topic. The Italian appreciation of food and tasting as an art is one of the most eye-opening philosophies I have learned in my time here. It's easy to see how cooking can be an art form. But, opposite from the idea of wolfing down food for energy or eating bland blended foods for nutritional value (ironically these lack the nutrients you really need and focus on tricking your body into ignoring natural hunger signals), Italian food tasting is also an intricate process of coming in tune with all your senses and thinking about what you use to nourish your body.

Olive Oil

Italian olive oil is valued much more than just what you grease the pan with before cooking meat. We started the tasting by warming the oil to release all the scents and flavors. They gave us a sheet to describe the look, scent, smell, taste and feel of the oil. I'll save you the list of fluffy adjective I used to describe oil. Putting that much thought into a single sip of oil made me instantly regret every time I'd ever downed a burger without a second thought or mindlessly slurped down my coffee. They gave us classic Tuscan bread to soak up the oil, which made drinking straight, velvety olive oil more approachable.

Cheese

I understand the warm, comforting feeling people describe when they find a group they really fit into or a place where they feel completely accepted. My longstanding love affair with bread and cheese has found its final resting place in the markets and dining halls of Italy. I didn't realize as a child that there could be a better cheese than the bagged Kraft sauce paired with decadent al dente boxed elbow noodles. However, the four cheeses we tried, Ricotta, cow's milk, Pecorino and aged Pecorino, swayed my old prejudice. Again I could go into detail about the creamy whey of the Ricotta that was disappointingly bland, the rubbery texture that revealed a strong savory flavor of the cow's milk cheese or the biting after taste of the aged Pecorino that lingered in your mouth daring other flavors to overpower it, but I'll leave my cheese day dreaming out of it.

Honey

They honey was drizzled over cheese chunks to give them a dreamy gleam and a gold tinted color. When paired with the cheese, the sweet honey provided strong contrast between the sharp and spicy aged-pecorino. On its own, hints of the bee's last dinner pierced through the sweet goo. Notes of flowers, bark, trees, and spice punctuate the thick sweet honey dripping off the blocks of cheese.