My father taught me to cook. His father was a chef and his mother owned Italian delicatessens, one on the shore in Cleveland, Ohio, and the other on the Adriatic coast in the tiny town of San Salvo, Italy. I spent many childhood afternoons mixing meatballs with my tiny hands and making homemade pasta with my grandmother, drying the long strands of fettuccine across chairs and on hangers throughout our tablecloth protected houses. We are a traveling family. All of us have spent time living in several states, and have all experienced la vita italiana for significant, but serendipitously short stints. My father ran away to Italy when he was sixteen, only returning to take his driving test. My grandmother and grandfather, while both born and raised in Italy, raised their children in Ohio, but returned to the Italian coast after their three sons had grown and my grandfather could fulfill his dream to retire in his homeland. My grandmother returned when my grandfather died. My story is perhaps more romantic. After spending two months touring Italy as a thirteen year old, I was determined to live there. Finally, my junior year of college, I did just that. While certainly dedicating ample time to studying the language, literature and religion of Italy, I must admit I exerted equal effort studying the food...and wine.
If you travel to Italy and do not gain ten pounds you have done it wrong.
With my inherited interest in food colliding with my whirlwind adventure through Europe - Italy, Paris, Ireland, England, Switzerland and Spain - and the blessing that was my Italian host mother Anna, I was a hooked. I had been cooking for survival in high school and college. Dinners when my parents were busy became snacks for parties and pot-lucks.... which turned into re-creating restaurant dishes in my dorm room kitchen. After Europe, my experimentation became exploration into the world of food writing. I wanted to know more, so I did what any good English major would do. I studied. I voraciously read Food & Wine, perused cookbooks, found the food section in every major newspaper...and then there's the Food Network. Alton Brown is a genius. Giada speaks my language. Mario Batali is my mentor. I began to download Top Chef episodes to my iPod, and learned not only the names of the pillars in the culinary world, but about up and coming chefs who are doing something worth talking about. At this point, I was in Chicago. No one worth their weight in salt can dispute the force of Chicago cuisine any longer. Luckily, I had friends willing to drop some dough discovering what the fuss was all about with me (you know who you are!).
I am a professor, so it is in my nature to transmit knowledge, whether about the innuendo in 18th century drama, or the miracles of San Marzano tomatoes. It is not the need to educate that drives me, but rather the desire to share. It occurred to me that I was cooking, tasting,reading, talking, and e-mailing about food on a daily basis....so I am streamlining my recipes and discoveries here for you; my friends and family. I will share tips on products, stores and restaurants, whether the best bites or the worst foibles. This is the "scoop" on food.
Special thanks goes to my Mom, who always has and always will call me her Scoop, Rob, who has probably consumed more of my mistakes than anyone else, yet still continues to love me. A thanks to DJ, who ended up footing my Whole Foods bill in Chicago, but got some darn good food out of the deal, and is the best friend a girl could ask for, and my Chicago girls - Meaghan Mac, Milligan (x2), Jenni Minx, Shelly Belly, Nicole and all the Ultimo girls past and present. Of course, above all, my father and grandmother. You are my inspiration and guidance. I love you all.
Santa Catarina Mushrooms
