Zucchini Flower & Prosecco Risotto - una ricetta d'estate

Last Sunday, on the way home from Philly, I stopped and visited my Nonna and Nonno in North Jersey. During the usual many-phone-calls-per-week, they had been going on and on about their garden and all the goodies that were ready to harvest. "I zucchini sono pronti, abbiamo i fiori, l'arugula, il basilico, ecc." So after half an hour of watching my Nonno talk to himself in the garden and putter around in his standard mesh-shorts-dress-socks-sandals get up, I had bags of veggies ready to take back to the city. With two bags full of those bright golden blossoms, I knew had to come up with something besides the usual fried flowers for time and my stomach's sake. See a previous post for that recipe, which is super super tasty and one of my favorite seasonal treats.

This recipe is another fun way to use those colorful delicious blossoms, and the fizzy magic of the Prosecco really makes the flavor sparkle. Super summery and light, full of unique flavor and ideal with some greens, radishes, and cucumber on the side. Plus more Prosecco! Always, more Prosecco.

Ingredients:
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 white onion, chopped
1/2 cup fresh parsley, chopped
1 quart vegetable broth
10-15 fresh zucchini flowers, stems trimmed off
1 1/2 cups Arborio rice
2 tablespoons Earth Balance butter
2 tablespoons Toffutti vegan cream cheese (optional)
1 cup Prosecco, room temperature
Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Risotto party:
In a small saucepan on a back burner, heat the veggie broth and keep at low heat to ensure it stays warm. Heating the broth is crucial, the grains get funky if you pour in room-temperature broth.

In a larger pot, sautee the chopped onion in delicious Sicilian Olive Oil (if possible) on low, until golden. Then throw in the garlic and Arborio rice. Stir with a wooden spoon to ensure all grains are coated in oil and that neither grains nor garlic are burning. Just keep stirring, just keep stirring, stirring, stirring, stirring, stirring. (Think Dory in Finding Nemo). Once the rice becomes a bit translucent, pour in the prosecco, then the warm/hot broth cup by cup. Constantly stir to keep from anything sticking to the bottom of the pot.

As you add in the broth, be sure to add the butter, parsley, salt and pepper to taste. Once the broth is near gone and the grains have absorbed most of it, add in the cream cheese if you desire. Towards the very very end throw in the zucchini flowers and another big splash of prosecco so the sparkle is on the tip of your tongue. I prefer the zucchini flowers whole, and adding them when almost done ensures they don't get overcooked but still tender and tasty.

Stir stir stir, let sit for few minutes, and top with another sprinkle of fresh parsley.

 Leftover tip:
I always love risotto the day after it is cooked. The flavors have all had more time to flourish and become even more delectable. Plus it's sticky and easy to make into risotto cakes or arancine. I made the leftovers from this recipe into cakes by forming into patties, coating in glutenfree breadcrumbs, and lightly frying in a bit of organic vegetable oil.

Che buona!!

Nonno's garden bounty

La cena. 

Everything is more delicious when it's breaded and fried, duh. 

Can you even handle it? I can't. This is basically the most scrumptious thing ever. 

Grazie, Nonna e Nonno!

I Got It From My Mamma

I recently realized I've without-a-doubt been experiencing that thing you always hear about growing up but don't believe you will actually do because you - you are different. You know, that whole "turning into your parents" thing.

Despite my best efforts, I'm absolutely more and more like my parents every day.  I guess I've always been, because how could I not be reflective of where I came from, but in my youth I was so sure I was rebelling. That I could never be like that. Obviously, I'm different from my parents in many ways, as I've had my own unique experiences and developed my specific perspective and belief system. But still, especially now that I'm more of an "adult" than ever, I see so many parallels to my parents that I can't help but smile and laugh to myself.

I've gotten many qualities that some may find rather unsavory from my mom, but I am quite proud of. I'm a North-Jersey-Sicilian-Princess, and I wouldn't have it any other way. My mom taught me so much that is absolutely intrinsic to who I am today - about coordinating outfits with such astute attention to detail that you'd think we had an actual team of judges grading us based on color coordination and styles. She skilled me in how to decorate a home, again in an eye-pleasing color-coordinated manner, with holiday-specific decorations, decorative bathroom towels you'd never dare to actually dry your hands upon, the allure of matching placemats and cloth napkins that you'd never dare to actually eat upon, and so much more. My mom showed me the simply joys of late-night cereal snacks, how important daily moisturizing is, and that overpacking just means you are prepared for any situation that may arise.

She taught me to fight, unwavering, for those you love and what's right, even if it means being stubborn and hard-headed. She taught me how make that charm glow bright and hot, how to connect with others with a big open heart and nothing holding you back, and how to enchant others with your spell so they love you forever or at least carry your heavy things and grill your food in the summer.

One of the favorite things I've learned from my mom is our childlike enthusiasm, overt appreciation of seemingly insignificant things, and blatant refusal to be jaded. If there is one thing my mom and I are not, it's subtle. And my pride in our lack of subtly, in our refusal to be anything but true to ourselves, burns like a summer bonfire flame.

We are both aware of the hardship in this world, in our families, in our experiences. We both have dark sides and can easily get lost in the gray bleak clouds. Even so, I see that my mom has always blazed ahead, unabashedly appreciating all the beauty and joys of this world no matter how small. As a kid I couldn't appreciate the loudly-yelled commands to "look at the ducks! look at them swimming in the poooond!" or to try this delicious snack at the Italian festival or to look at the tiny baby pumpkins at the pumpkin patch or to come see the sunset at the beach. I thought it was just more bossing, more obligatory annoying un-cool shit my mom was trying to force me to do.

Now I see myself doing the same thing every day. I point out the delicate filigree and ornate exteriors of the buildings in this city with awe. I exclaim when I see just about any animal doing anything. I run over and smell the flowers in the planters in my neighborhood or comment on their saturated colors. I'm always "ooh-ing" and "ahhh-ing" and getting distracted by all the tiny little details, by the clouds, the color of the sky, the glittering of the river, of anything I can find that sustains and inspires me to keep moving forward.

This to me is the ultimate survival plan. To appreciate the beauty in this very difficult and hard world. People often perceive any expression of emotion and appreciation as vulnerability and therefore weak. To be constantly open about enjoying things makes us as women seem ditzy, unintelligent, silly, etc. - lots of the negatives associated with femininity. But I know it is actually being brave, being unabashedly myself.

I thank my mom for instilling this in me, and that it adds another sparkling facet to my femme identity.

Me and Mamma at our joint 30/50 Birthday Party!

Femme-inisms at thirty-one

So, I turned thirty-one and had a beautiful celebratory three-week Gemini-birthday-extravaganza. Delicious Sicilian dinner (in a lemon-print dress), beach weekend with new friends in P-town, new tattoos, a pre-birthday work celebration that included glitter, balloons, cake, champagne, etc. I felt loved, appreciated, brave, free, and of course, all the other less-than-savory feelings that come with getting older.

I studied my body, wondering if it's getting softer, if my face has noticeable lines that don't disappear with my expressions, if my aging is becoming visible. Aging will be visible, no matter what, so that's something I'm obviously just going to have to accept and let go of and laugh off with grace. (Easier said that done). I rode the anxiety-rollercoaster, with the plummets and loop-de-loops of what the fuck my career is, do I want to have kids, is the world going to be an actual dystopia in my lifetime, etc. 

I am feeling a lot of things this year that are new to me. For starters, I feel like I worked through most of my young adult life to be honest about who I am, shake off shame for what comes naturally to me, but also of course always be self-aware and work to be the best version of me. This has meant embracing my femme-princess-high-maintenance ways. I manage to do this with enough self-awareness that people find it charming, and seem to appreciate my lack of subtlety, my harsh-at-times honesty. I just achieved this openness and pride the last few years. I know I am a princess, relish in it even, but I also strive to be doting, loving, nurturing, empathetic, thoughtful, etc - so that I'm not just taking but embracing and giving as well. For complicated reasons I'm still sorting out, I feel like a switch went off during this birthday and I actually feel embarrassed for being this way. Like I'm too old, it's not cute, and it's just fucking selfish. 

But how could this be? I worked so hard to figure out who I am in my heart of hearts, experienced a moment of brazen glory only to feel this plummet again? I see people all around me entering the wholly-selfless-seeming stage of New Parenthood, and am feeling shame that I am still focusing time and energy on myself - my desires, my needs, my fears, my passions, my issues. But all we have is ourselves and the people we love - and I work every day to love myself and show the people (and animals) who matter that I love them, too. 

At work, I feel like the sexism inherent in the environment I'm in ends up valuing traditionally-attractive women, but in really superficial ways that are intensely demeaning. I realize I have social capital when I wear cute dresses, heels, makeup, etc. However that capital is that I am objectified, valued as an object in the male gaze, and not for any of the complexity actually within me. To make it all the more frustrating, wearing those things brings me the truest sense of joy and is when I feel like my most authentic self. Glitter, meticulously curated outfits expressing a specific concept, heels that clack loudly as I walk - these things are ME. I honestly don't even have any other way to describe it. They are me, just me, as I am, truly. 

This birthday, the onslaught of aging-woman thoughts came crashing in - will people enjoy working with me to this extent as I get older? Will my loud outfits and glittery makeup seem desperate, pathetic even, as I age? Will be my light-hearded child-like enthusiasm be read as unintelligent and sad as I advance? 

In reality, these are things I struggle with daily, even at this stage of relative youth. I am fully aware that my gender presentation, my whimsical manner, my enthusiasm, the positivity I try to radiate, is all seen as childish, naive, superficial, and potentially unprofessional. 

None of this is new, I know. I am far from the first and sadly not the last feminist person to feel the rage of this world, bordered by impossible patriarchal demands and standards. Even so, it doesn't make the pain and frustration any less. 

Femininity and "feminine" gender expressions are not frivolous, are not excessive, are not unnatural, are not superficial, not selfish. But we are taught to see femininity and anything resembling a feminine gender expression this way. The femme-inism I feel most passionate about combats this constant derision, this chipping away at our sense of selves, our self-worth. 

I feel embarrassment just thinking about how my wrinkles will envelope the jet-black cat-eye-makeup that's decorated my lids for the past 15 years. I feel silly playing water-pistol-race games at the boardwalk, easily beating the other players, who are all under the age of ten. I recoil from expressing the wonder or appreciation I feel for simple things - cherry blossom trees, a sparkling lake, brightly colored hot air balloons, fireworks. But all of this, this appreciation of the beauty I see, is my own self-care plan. The reality is this world is ugly, horrible, and dying. If I don't find joy in these things, what's the point of going on at all?

We should not have to make excuses for our exuberance, our enthusiasm, though it may seem like a selfish focus on ourselves. We should not have to dull our light, because the majority of society willingly participates in all the obligatory shit that darkens their brightness. 

Even though I felt shame for my femininity and femme gender expression throughout my youth, the difference is that now I feel scared. What could once be written off as capricious youth will be seen negatively in a deeper more hurtful way as I age. I know I shouldn't care so much of what others think, but we live this immensely public lives (social media, haaaaay) and the reality is we interact with people all day every day. 

I have mostly pulled out of these insecurities, but know they will ebb and flow and create new waves that may overpower me as I just keep aging. But even writing this - baring this on the stupid internet - is vulnerable. I yearn for the day humanity begins recognizing vulnerability as the bravest most courageous state - it is raw honesty, it is an invitation to see our truths, and also requires our own armor in handling what the world will throw our way. 

Gemini Season Begins

It's Gemini season, the very best time of the year! I turn 31 years old in about two weeks. Yikes.

I've been a bit paralyzed around writing lately. I'm having all the thoughts and feelings, as always, but finding it difficult to articulate.

Being Gemini season, I'm going to embrace the contradicting feelings I have and work to find that balance, that reality, that peace and calm.

New York City is at once so freeing, filled with endless opportunity and weird shit just waiting there, and at the same time is intensely inhibiting. People are quick to judge, always with one eye looking for the next best thing. Space is limited, constricted. As a woman in this patriarchal society, I am expected to take up as little space as possible. As a considerate human in this jam-packed city, I try to be respectful of others and not take up too much space. But my limbs are getting creaks and cracks and just want to be stretched out and wild and free. Finding peace and the chance to be feral is a challenge in this city.

Connections and relationships feel bittersweet - supportive/sustaining and disheartening all at once. I'm still buzzing with the excitement and possibility of new connections, but also feel burnt by the unavoidable high-school-cafeteria-politics that seem inescapable even this far into adulthood. I'm trying not to let chest-tightening anxiety of large social events come back, and making sure I stay present in this time and place and leave the baggage of the past behind.

Feminist and queer communities are inspiring and devastating. There's so much passion and general radical badass-ness in these magical little niches away from the mainstream that feed me, push me. Bravery, courage, strength, care, is being exhibited by each of us. But then I see so much that we should be ashamed of. Mistreatment of others, replication of hegemonic hierarchies, lack of empathy or perspective, insecurity, and just not enough self-awareness.

But with all of that comes the reality, which is always nuanced and complicated and shifting, never static. What can we can we do but work on being flexible, ready to jump into it, able to bust through the twist that inevitably comes.

30 to 31 has been huge. So much is so different and I'm beyond grateful that I've had another year of experiences, things that made me learn (whether I wanted to or not), things that set my heart ablaze. I don't have any clear answers, still. But I know loving and being brave and feeling and connecting are the most important things, so I'm just going to keep it at that.

Gratitude

Lately I've been trying to focus on gratitude and honoring where I'm at in the current moment. Rather than feeling frustrated that everything I want isn't just magically coming to fruition right freaking now, I find its more constructive for my own personal health (emotional, mental) to just be present. For me, part of being present means to have gratitude for the things in my life that sustain me, inspire me, heal me, move me forward, etc.

In a city like New York, it's too easy to get impatient.  Everyone is busting their asses constantly (often just to scrape by), while we all hold these big dreams in our hearts, and want desperately to get there, like, NOW. But that kind of myopic entitlement is dangerous, as it fosters a self-absorption that obscures the larger forces at play. We can't afford to be so clueless, to lose empathy towards others and their own struggles, to lose that sense of self-awareness that helps us become more thoughtful people whose lives are full of different kinds of love.

We left Philly just over two years ago, and this time of year also marks two years from when we embarked on our two-and-a-half-month adventure through Europe. My partner and I have been in NYC for about a year and three months now.

Just in the past two months or so, I'm finally feeling like I'm getting more of what I want out of living in NYC. It's been a great experience the whole time we've been here, no doubt. It's opened up my world in every way, given me space to heal and let go to a lot of what I held onto for way too long, etc. However building a new life in a new city just takes time and work. (duh)

After nine years in Philly, nine years of being part of very close-knit communities, I've been hesitant to do the same in NYC. While community is vital in so many ways, it can also be stifling and paralyzing. I've been working on building friendships with people I feel genuine connection to and piecing together my own network of fellow fighters and lovers and creators.

This nice sense of comfort and NYC-savvy is finally settling in. I no longer feel like the clueless new kid (well not all the time anyway). I'm participating in awesome and inspiring events like queer art auctions and cabarets and the ballet and bar bingo and author events and brunch potlucks and all that. I'm surrounded by creativity and passion and people who are trying so fucking hard not to be too scared to make the art they truly want to make. I'm forming bonds with people that set my heart and my brain ablaze and challenge me and push me in the most crucial ways. 

I feel grateful for being in this time and place, and that the possibilities for what's next are wide open.

Anguilla/Ocean magic

When I was young, being near the ocean would make me think of infinity, oblivion. How everything is so temporary and fleeting yet never-ending and cyclical. 

When I look out into the sea, I can almost see the curves of the earth, and try in my very tiny-insignificant-human way to comprehend the meaning of existence. Or that this is no meaning but we continue on with our existence anyway. And that it's always complicated, a beautiful struggle.

Being here, somewhere I have never expected to be and very likely won't ever be again, brings up similar feelings. The main difference is I now have a few decades of life experience to feel less afraid, more accepting, and more appreciative of every moment of this experience.

Spaghetti con cavolfiore - a traditional Sicilian dish made vegan!

I love Sicilian food. I love food from other regions of Italy, don't get me wrong. But I love Sicilian food the most. It's in my blood, it's in my bones, it's sunk deep into my flesh like the tattoos that others can see, but realer and more profound.

Sicilian cooking is simpler and features ingredients bursting with bright warm sunshine, ingredients that are accessible to even the most rural people on the island. Sicilian cooking may be simple, but it is fuller in flavor and overlaps with Arab and Spanish and northern Italian cuisine. The use of raisins, saffron, pine nuts, seafood, etc. make it distinctive.

Sicilian cooking is the cooking of my childhood, my family, the comfort my Nonna brought me as a kid. She knew I was sensitive and always had my back, ready to scream someone's head off in Sicilian dialect if they were say, my Nonno giving me a hard time for not finishing my dinner or my mom giving me a hard time for all the other things.

The spaghetti and cauliflower dish I made the other night is not a dish my Nonna makes, but a dish my cousin (her nephew), who lives in Italy with our other family on that side, makes. He owns his own restaurant and cares about food and Sicliy and family more than anything else. I checked with him before Ketch and I made this dish to make sure we were going about it the best way.

Ingredients:

1 pound gluten-free spaghetti or standard (gluten) bucatini
1 head of cauliflower (organic if possible)
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 small/medium onion, minced
2 big pinches saffron (15-20 threads?)
1 cup+ chopped fresh parsley (organic if possible)
golden raisins (organic if possible)
pine nuts
breadcrumbs (gluten free or standard)
fresh ground sea salt
fresh ground black pepper
extra virgin olive oil
pot of tomato sauce (homemade or jar - use something really nice and organic if it's from a jar)
  ** I'll follow up in the future with my homemade sauce recipe, I promise.

In one large pot, boil water, sea salt, 4-6 saffron threads, and 1 pound pasta. Follow cooking instructions (they differ for standard and gluten-free).

In another sauce pan, heat your (preferably homemade) tomato sauce on the lowest setting to keep warm but not boil or burn.

On the side, chop cauliflower very small OR grate with a grater to be even smaller. Set aside. Chop or mince fresh parsley and set aside as well.

In a cast iron skillet or sautéing pan, drizzle a swirl of high quality flavorful olive oil and start on simmering those chopped onions on low heat. Once translucent, add the minced garlic and stir (with a wooden spoon, nonna-style). After 3 or so minutes, add in the cauliflower and stir until evenly coated in olive oil.

Add in a cup or two of tomato sauce and saffron, allowing the cauliflower to soften in the sauce and the saffron to release it's flavors. (Alternately, sometimes I put the saffron in a small bowl of hot water, let it steep til a bright sunshine-y yellow, and then pour on the cauliflower before adding the tomato sauce).

Toss in the beautiful bright green parsley and golden raisins. The liquid will cause the raisins to plumpen and get extra juicy. It feels like they are leaking sweet sunshine into your mouth. Be sure to save a handful of parsley to throw on at the end! It makes everything look fancy and mega-delicious. Grind in the salt and pepper to taste.

Add more tomato sauce if needed. This isn't a sauce-heavy dish; it should be just enough to coat all the ingredients and keep them from being dry. It should not dominate the dish - think less sauce than spaghetti and meatballs.

While this is simmering, spread the pine nuts out on a half a baking sheet and the breadcrumbs on the other half. Toast at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes until toasty and slightly browned.

Once the cauliflower is soft and everything is all simmered together, toss with pasta. Add more sauce if desired. Scoop onto plates and sprinkle on toasty breadcrumbs and pine nuts, and top with the chopped parsley.

Ketch made us blood-orange and gin cocktails that were exceptional. We also had a spinach salad with roasted carrots, beets, and onions and a side dish of fresh fennel and parsley. All my favorite flavors in one place, with my little family in our sweet little NYC apartment. It was perhaps the best meal we've ever made, with every flavor complementing each other and making us ready for our next adventure abroad. Ketch has never been to Sicily, and I haven't been there in ten years. When we finally go, I'm pretty sure our brains with burst with joy.