So Long, Sweet Farm!

The best thing about my last day working at Sweet Farm (which followed a late night during the course of which a puppy who shall remain nameless peed on two different comforters, so that I ended up sleeping in warm clothing and socks under a sheet) is that I am expected to spend most of it sitting down. Jodie, our new baker, whom I have been training for the last week or so, is making everything in order to convince Manager Patty that she can. Fine by me. Patty asked me to just watch her and not say anything. Well...okay. I'll see if I can manage that. Jodie's doing fine, by the way, for those of you who were concerned for the future of the Sweet Farm weekday-afternoon-all-day-Sunday shift. In fact, she's brushing milk on top of the cheddar scones before popping them in the oven as I type this...

Things that Mystify Me and Make Me Merry in Mitalian, Part I

These are things I think are true. Given my beginner level, I may actually be wrong, but as far as I can tell, here are some strange and interesting* facts about the Italian language:

1. The words for "why" and "because" are the same: perchè. They are close in Spanish (por qué and porque), but not identical.
*UPDATE* This just got extra fascinating, because Rosetta Stone tells me that both "why" and "because" are perché, with what Frenchies call an accent aigu. But BabelFish, my translator of choice, tells me that "because" is perché, but "why" is perchè (accent grave). This is going to require further research.

2. There is only one word for "they": loro. Whether you're talking about men, women, or both, it's loro. Nice.

3. The formal, singular form of "you" is the same as the word for "she": lei. I am accustomed to these words' taking the same form of a verb, as Usted, él, and ella do in Spanish. I think what is most surprising to me is that it isn't the word for "he" that doubles with another meaning. In French and Spanish, when you are referring to a group of men and women--even one man and 100 women--you use the same word for "they" that you use for a group of men only (ils and ellos, respectively). I have had to explain to my French and Spanish classes that sometimes language is sexist and unfair. True, that coed room full of kids would still be bambini in Italian, just as if they were all boys, but I am nonetheless impressed and a little confused at a language that appears less male-words-dominated than some of its Romance brethren (and sistren).


*by which I mean interesting to me, the dorky linguaphile who's learning it

Il Progresso (not the canned soup)

Buon giorno. Io sono seduta nell soggiorno. Porto una maglietta nera e bianca e dei jeans, ma non delle scarpe. Io ho i capelli castani. Il mio gatto, Hemingway, è grigio e bianco. Lui beve acqua in una ciotola. Noi viviamo a Brooklyn, una città negli Stati Uniti. Io lavoro di pomeriggio e di sera, ma non di mattina. Oggi è mercoledì. La tavola nell soggiorno è marrone. Io ho sete.

Hello. I am sitting in the living room. I am wearing a black and white tee shirt (I still lack the vocabulary to say "a black and off-white tank top"; forgive me) and jeans, but no shoes. I have brown hair. My cat, Hemingway, is grey and white (again, don't know how to say "and currently biting my arm"). He is drinking water in a bowl (the in isn't quite right). We live in Brooklyn, a city in the United States. I work in the afternoon and in the evening, but not in the morning. Today is Wednesday. The table in the living room is brown. I am thirsty.

I can actually say a lot more, like: "How old are you? I am 17." (Tu quanti anni hai? Io ho diciassette anni.) I haven't learned numbers above 20 yet, but I would guess that my age is something like ventinove; I'll keep you posted. Also things like "We eat breakfast outside." (Noi facciamo colazione fuori.) Maybe in the next update, I'll write a little story, rather than just sticking to what I know how to say about myself. Let's hear it for Rosetta Stone.

Hot, Hot, Hot

I was on fire at Amy's tonight. In fact, I'd say I got as close as I ever have there to literally bursting into flame, since I burned a knuckle on the outside of one of the ovens...But figuratively, also, I feel as though I am finally finding my groove. I unloaded a whole bunch of bread from the deck ovens, using one of those long-handled wooden paddles you might have seen at pizzerias and a technique one of my baker buddies refers to as "fulcroming." Yeah, okay, so I dropped a few loaves, but I'm learning and improving bigtime and it makes me feel like I might see some arm muscles one of these days, if I don't throw out my back first. Navel to spine, my Pilates teacher would say. My scoring is getting a lot better, too, and I feel all-around less confused and less like I'm following the grownups around. If they want me to do something, they tell me. The situation was helped a great deal last week, when I discovered that one of the guys I'm assisting is from French-speaking Africa. To have two people calling out to tell me what to do in a language that is supposedly my own, but that is so heavily accented as to be difficult for me to understand, is tremendously frustrating. The French has helped, not only in giving us something in common, but also in making some instructions easier for me to understand. I also like that I am actually making things easier for the people I'm working with. Now, I am trusted to complete tasks on my own, like scoring tray upon tray of rolls (I want to say they're challah rolls, but I'm not 100% sure), which involves a series of long strokes across several of them at a time, and then a second pass of strokes perpendicular to the first. They come out looking somewhat like these guys over here on the right, except that they're softer on the inside than those look and don't have the grain action on top. I think I'm ready not to dread going in to Amy's on Tuesday evenings. I've always known that's it's good for me to be working there, like eating my vegetables and exercising are good for me. But it's getting to feel more mine, and that's a gratifying step.

Mr. Wright

Just wanted to say a quick hooray! for a certain Tony Wright, who bakes with me at Sweet Farm (he makes all the really pretty, professional-looking stuff), because one of his wedding cake designs is being photographed for Brides magazine! So exciting! Here's hoping that it gets published and that, regardless, he'll send me a picture of it and/or him to put up here instead of this cover shot I stole from brides.com. Yay for Tony!

Eleven Days' Notice: Parting Is Such Sweet [Farm] Sorrow

Scene: Wednesday October 17, shortly after 2pm, a goodies bakery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Me: I have some news. I'm going to school to learn to bake bread.
Manager Patty: Wow, great!
M: So I'll be here this week and next week, but not after that. I might be able to come occasionally on Sundays, but not every week.
MP: Okay. (Pause.) You'll have to teach someone how to make the cinnamon buns before you leave.
M: Okay.
MP leaves the kitchen and comes back a few minutes later with a schedule for the upcoming week.
MP: So you're here next week and the week after that?
M: No, October 28 is my last day.
MP: Okay.

And this, my friends, is the benefit of jobs that don't offer any. Truth be told, school starts on November 12, but orientation is on the 7th and I wanted to have a few days to frolic before classes start.

Confession

It's time I came clean: I dropped out of my Italian class. Learning a new language with a dozen other people once a week for 90 minutes left this former language teacher deeply unsatisfied. It's just not enough, and I didn't want to be the yappy, attention-seeking Chihuahua-person I would become if I wanted to get all my questions answered. So I called Parliamo Italiano and cancelled for a 75% refund and decided to finally give the Rosetta Stone course of study a try. I signed up for six months of the online version, which includes all three levels and costs substantially less than ordering the CDs. I'm pretty darn hooked. It teaches using only the target language, and includes a pair of headphones with built-in microphone, so that you can speak the language and be evaluated by the little Italian dude inside. I want to be constantly progressing, and this allows me to study as much or as little as I want. I've never learned a language without a lot of English interspersed, which leaves me guessing at some of the rules, but I'm confident they will eventually come naturally. I'm also interested in checking out the Hebrew course, but am trying to stick to just one at a time.

...Orzo I Thought.

I've developed a bit of a thing for orzo. A couple weeks ago, I had a mediterranean orzo salad from Balducci's on 14th and 8th in Manhattan. Tomatoes, olives, cheese, and other tasty bits. Since then, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Well, I hadn't been able to, until I decided to put together a play-at-home version. I looked at a few recipes and then bought all the ingredients I thought I needed, only to find I was short a couple. Fine, then, I strike out on my own. Grape tomatoes, Kalamata olives, crumbled feta, olive oil, chopped garlic sautéed in more olive oil, salt, pepper. Oh, and orzo. Mega, mega yum.

Consorting with the Mouse

Just back from a long weekend at the Epcot International Food and Wine Festival at Walt Disney World. A few tips, if I may:

1. If you are averse to crowds--and who isn't averse to crowds?--avoid holiday weekends at Disney World.

2. If you are thinking of checking out the EIFWF, make event reservations as far in advance as possible by calling 407-WDW-FEST. This goes double if you're attending over the aforementioned holiday weekend.

3. Consider renting a car. Even if you are staying at one of the Disney resorts, those shuttle buses can take ages to arrive and get you to where you're going. If you are a Disney resort guest, showing your hotel parking pass gets you free parking at the parks. Some of the events take place at the various resorts' restaurants, and the only way to get between most of them without first taking a bus to one of the parks is to take a cab whose meter clicks another $.25 every 1/8 mile. The dollars add up quickly.

4. Pawn some of your most valuable possessions before you leave so that you can afford admission to the parks. Did you know that a one-day, one-park adult ticket costs $71 plus tax? It's enough to make you want to never leave home. Yes, the savings mount the more days you're going to be spending there, but that's little solace when you only have a long weekend.

I should tell you, though, that just as Nick and I were signing the papers to mortgage our first-born child in order to each get a one-day ParkHopper pass, the cast-member behind the window (Claire from St. Louis, MO, bless her) informed us that each day, they are supposed to conduct at least one transaction that comes under the heading "from the heart," and proceeded to give us $240 worth of admission for free. No kidding. It was the most unexpectedly nice thing anyone has done for me in a very, very long time. So Disney's not all soulless corporation...just most of it.

And with that, we skipped off to Epcot and proceeded to have what was certainly the most enjoyable (and cheapest, thanks to Claire!) evening of the weekend. We strolled around the International Marketplace, which consisted of a bajillion little stands around the World Showcase, featuring foods from various countries. This is a fun way to stretch out a meal at Epcot even when it's not festival time and it's only the usual dozen or so countries around the lagoon, but this setup was made for sampling. If I can remember it all, here's what we had:

• Morocco: bastilla, sangria (is that really Moroccan?), iced mint tea
• China: pork potstickers
• India: samosas
  
• Poland: kielbasa with pierogies (they used the plural, although only the singular was on the plate), raspberry wine
• Turkey: meze (which included cucumber and tomato salad, olives, and eggplant puree), spicy beef ravioli with yogurt sauce, pistachio baklava
• France: escargot
• Ireland: cold potato leek soup, potato pancake with bacon, garlic, and herb butter
  
• Spain: papas (potatoes) con chorizo
• Germany: Beck's Oktoberfest, apple strudel
• Mexico: mango margarita
• Argentina: spicy beef empanada
• United States: lobster roll, barbecued pork ribs
• Dominican Republic: mofongo

Such fun! We spent less per person than we do on most decent dinners we have here in New York, and you can't go anywhere else and get that kind of variety, much of it at a very high level of quality. The kicker was that the food was definitely better than it had been the night before at the reserve-ahead Party for the Senses, which cost more and required that you pay for admission to Epcot. The Party was a good time, though. We both enjoy small foods--who doesn't?--and our ticket also got us priority seating to see The Original Family Stone, who played a short concert as part of the Eat to the Beat Concert Series. I think we'd go back to the festival in the future, making note of our own suggestions above.

Come si dice...tutto?

Buongiorno, mi chiamo Jessica. Sono una studentessa americana di italiano (d'italiano?). Sono una moglie e una madre di cani. Non sono una ragazza; sono una donna. Il mio nome si scrive così: J-E-S-S-I-C-A. Il mio cognome non è Gorevic; questo è il cognome di il (d'il?) mio marito.

Hello, my name is Jessica. I am an American student of Italian. I am a wife and a mother of dogs. I am not a girl; I am a woman (hear me roar!). My name is spelled like this: ___ (you got that part, I assume). My last name is not Gorevic; that is my my husband's last name.

Can I Handle the Heat?

Tuesday night was my second at Amy's Bread in Chelsea Market. Once upon a long-ago spring, when I worked an overnight shift there as a sort of audition for future employment, I spent most of my bread-contact time (that is, when I wasn't helping to pack loaves for delivery to the 200+ restaurants and markets Amy's supplies) in the shaping room, which I loved. Even in those few hours, I learned a lot and got considerably better at what I was doing, thanks to the willingness of the other employees to advise me. By the time I left, I was a far better ciabattista and baguetter than I had been upon my arrival--skills I've probably totally lost at this point. But the evening shift is oven time: scoring loaves and loading and unloading the deck oven. It is h-o-t in there; I learned my lesson after my first shift in t-shirt and jeans and came this time in tank and shorts, and replacing my sneakers with the beguiling socks-and-Crocs combo for maximum air circulation around the ol' tootsies (speaking of which, my baker bud Tony, who works with me at Sweet Farm but is also talking with the Colette Peters about working for her, told me about some new Crocs just for us food-service kids; I may have to invest).

The thing about scoring is that I think it's really cool, but I'm not all that good at it yet. If I were a real pro, I'd probably get an actual lame instead of the makeshift razor-blade-with-wooden-coffee-stirrer-stuck-through that I've been using. On the subject, does anyone know whether this tool is actually lame or lamé--that is, pronounced /lam/ or /ləmei/ (my ESL teacher trainers would be so proud...and if, by the way, you ever have need to use the phonemic alphabet and don't--as I don't--have it on your computer keyboard, just visit this site)? The guys at Amy's say "lahm," but in my online travels, I've seen lamé several times. Ant any rate, when I score, I often catch the dough on the blade, probably due to a combination of the angle at which I am holding it and the fact that I'm not moving it decisively enough. The first guy I assisted was good-humored and understanding of my mostly undeveloped scoring talents, but he was out this Tuesday, and so I spend some of the evening working with my manager. I admitted that I wasn't all that great at scoring and he said: "Well, it has to be good. Because the mixer came in at 5 am, and if you're not scoring properly, then all his work is basically ruined." Awesome. Welcome aboard.

Tuesday

Yesterday at work was brownies (haven't been able to find the recipe online) and scones. The scone recipe is from the CIA and is super simple: 1 lb 14 oz all-purpose flour, 3 1/2 T baking powder, 1 1/2 tsp salt, 7 oz. sugar, 10 oz fruit/chocolate chips/whatever you want inside (dried or unthawed frozen fruit is easier to deal with than fresh, so as to avoid the smoosh factor), 1 quart heavy cream. Mix it all together and form dough into two 8-inch circles. Cut each into 10 wedges of equal size. Put scones on a sheet pan lined with parchment, brush tops with milk, and bake at 375 for 20 minutes. I made half a recipe of chocolate chip and half of blueberry yesterday, which will probably take longer to sell out than they will be edible.

Finally signed up for my Italian class yesterday morning. So wherever we end up living, I will be there with at least a rudimentary supply of Italian at my disposal. Nick is reading Julia Child's My Life in France, which I audio-booked several months ago, and is thinking that maybe Paris wouldn't be such a bad place to live. Understatement, obviously. There was even talk of my foregoing bread school at the FCI and studying in Paris instead, although I haven't found a bread-only school there in the course of my preliminary research. There is, however, a gastronomy program through Le Cordon Bleu that looks really interesting. Oh, and it's in Adelaide, Australia.

Rabbit, Rabbit

Sunday at work was cinnamon buns and apple upside-down biscuit cake, which I was making for the first time and was very tasty. I'm very into upside-down cakes right now; I love the surprise of turning them out of the pan and seeing how the top looks. And people seem to like them. I'm starting to research and try out Thanksgiving recipes; upside-down-ness may make an appearance. In the Thanksgiving-possibilities vein, I tried out a recipe for pumpkin bread pudding with caramel sauce tonight. I think it turned out well. Now I need some tasters to corroborate my findings...