I know, it’s been quite a while. Yes, I’ve been baking. No, I haven’t been writing the blog. I suppose both those statements are obvious and perhaps superfluous. But I’m here now, so I might as well get on with it. I could start by making excuses about why I haven’t bothered sharing my baking exploits with you lately. (Oh my! It was 2024. How time flies.) I won’t though because if you have ever read my other blog (and, really, I’m not asking you to do that) you will know that I try my hardest not to make excuses. For anything, really. And I’m not about to start now. What I will tell you is that for the past month (I know, doesn’t really explain a multi-year hiatus) I have been traveling. To Italy. And where better to learn something new in the kitchen than Italy? Or so I thought.
First, back to that other blog I write (honestly, I’m not asking you to read it) so I can talk a little about what it is like when the shallow gal travels. Consider this a crossover episode. I’m sure at some point I’ll write more about my travels (in that other blog) but for the purposes of moving this story along let me tell you a little about our time in Italy. It was good. We walked…a lot. Saw…a lot. Ate…quite a bit. And overall had a pretty good time. The thing is, when we travel I do quite a bit of planning about getting there but not quite as much about being there. That doesn’t mean we skip all the “majors”. We make our way through umpteen galleries, museums, cathedrals, basilicas (which mostly look a lot like cathedrals) and Duomos, which again, look surprisingly like cathedrals. But it does mean that there are times, although not too many, where we’re not sure what we want to do next. And so we do what the millions (or did it just seem like millions) of other travellers do and head to the internet where ideas are a dime a dozen. They just cost a lot more. And that’s where I found it.
Now let me say at the outset my discovery was not a slam dunk for all of us involved. And since there were only two of us on this journey, I suppose it would be fair to say it was 50/50. Nonetheless, when I saw the “Learn to make Pasta and Tiramisu” evening advertised on a very reputable tourist site, I figured “What the heck”? ” I like to bake, and pasta, while not exactly “baking”, involves flour, so this event checked all the boxes, as they say.
And the reviews!
“Outstanding!” (Ok, could be subjective)
“Highlight of my trip” (Really? Did it rain the whole time?)
“Met people from all over the world” (Where else would people be from?)
Doubts aside, those clearly enthusiastic past participants and the “Likely to sell out” warning at the top of the screen, were enough to light a fire under this gal and before you could say “Cosa c’è per cena?” I had hit the “add to cart” button and sent my Euros on their way. For better or worse, I was in. Actually, we were in, much to someone’s chagrin. Because “someone” was not at all sure this was a very good idea.
“We’ve been eating pasta and tiramisu for three weeks and now you want to learn how to make it? Can’t you find a course on steak, or chicken or anything else?”
Well you know. When in Rome…
Upon arrival at the designated location which, I suppose unsurprisingly, turned out to be a restaurant, we were met by a most enthusiastic young woman who welcomed us with open arms and a glass of Prosecco. So far, so good. We walked into a room filled with people who I am sure were from “all over the world” although I can’t verify that for you. We did meet the lovely people at our table (a couple and their son) who were from Texas which, as I understand, is still part of the world. Perhaps just not the one we knew. Fortunately, all the men in this group had apparently been roped into this little adventure meaning we had much in common and a place to start a conversation.
Mine: “So what brought you here?”
Hers: “She did.”
Hers: “What brought you here?”
Mine: “She did.”
It was a start.
After some instructions about following instructions from our now very enthusiastic, very fast talking, English speaking host with a heavy Italian accent (keep this in mind, it matters) we all moved into the kitchen to begin our introduction to Italian cuisine.
We start with the tiramisu. Sitting in front of us are two little ladyfingers and a small cup of coffee.
Wait a minute.
These cookies are out of a box.
Even me, who is not a baker, knows that a homemade dessert needs to be homemade.
What’s with the boxed cookies?
For the first time I feel a slight twinge of skepticism and the probability of an “I told you so” in my future. With the coffee poured over the cookies we move on to the filling which becomes a bit of a blur as the very excited, fast talking host starts talking even faster and somehow her English and Italian begin to merge into one much less understandable language. Suffice to say all of us, ostensibly from all over the world, take turns mixing the mascarpone cheese with a bunch of other stuff in one big bowl. At some point it’s my turn to take charge of the hand mixer (which fortunately I am quite proficient with) to make sure there are no lumps left in our communal concoction and now I begin to feel the weight of the group on my shoulders. Filling done. Parts assembled. A stark realisation there’ll be no baking involved. The tiramisu heads for the cooler to reemerge for our dessert. We move on to the pasta and I’m thinking here’s where things are going to shine.
But now I find myself staring, somewhat incredulously, at the one egg and one small bowl of flour on my little kitchen stand. I’m told to put the flour on the plate, make a well in the middle, and crack the egg into the well. Knead it together to make the dough. Oh. Come. On. There has to be more to it than that. I paid to be here. To learn something. What I learned is that in order to make this stuff at home, I now need to spend another 150 bucks to buy a pasta machine. A pasta machine that I have no place for in my kitchen. Who knew! All you need to do to make pasta is mix flour and an egg, squeeze it through a vice and boil it. That’s it! At that point my husband’s words echoed faintly in the distance as it occurred to me that I had just paid a whole lot of Euros to make my own dinner at a restaurant in Italy.
So a word of advice. If you decide to pay for pasta and tiramisu in Italy, you might just as well have someone else make it for you. Trust me.
To save you the airfare, not to mention the cost of dinner, I’ve included a couple of recipes. Prego!
I Am Not A Baker 