what a(n extended) weekend!

Andrew in Wonderland
Sunday afternoon after updating my journal I let another hotel guest use the computer. He’s American. He wants to bike to a field with a windmill and get stoned. I say that’s great but have no advice for him on where to get a joint, a field, or a windmill. I go upstairs and take the longest shower ever and tell Jack, Juan, and Lindsay that I’m going to walk around Amsterdam and to call me when they get up. Amsterdam has trams running up and down the streets which make me think of modernized streetcars (ala NOLA). Amsterdam = New Orleans x Venice / Vegas. I have chicken and mushrooms for lunch and wash it all down with water. I buy the water from an Indian woman, who’s of course beautiful, and she tells me I’m cute and that she’d invite me home for lunch (curry!) if her parents weren’t home and super-conservative. She wants to hang out Monday but when she gets off work I’ll have left. I almost ask for her number until I remember roaming charges make each minute of phone time a Euro. I leave. I think I’m seeing things, but I’m not. Amsterdam is just full of crazy people. Harmless. Crazy. People. I walk around and look for a t-shirt but can’t find one I like enough. I go into a record store which reminds me of High Fidelity but can’t find anything I want there either. I go to an Indonesian restaurant. (Food-wise supposedly Indonesian:Amsterdam Indian:London.) It’s closed. I go into the bar next door and order a plate of chicken satay with fries and a salad. And a Pilsener to drink. It’s getting late in the afternoon, so the place is empty except for the bartender and me. She seems busy doing things so I don’t talk to her that much, but eventually she asks me how many languages I speak. Why? She tells me I greeted her in Italian, ordered my meal in Spanish, and am now speaking English. I tell her English, and that I was probably confused by what the other customers (who left) were speaking. When she knows I’m in culinary school, I help her translate the menu for the day to write on the chalkboard. “No, au gratin is the same in every language.” We talk about tourists since she lives in Amsterdam and I live in DC/New Orleans/Firenze. She recommends a spot to hang with locals tonight. I say goodbye and leave. I go into a hookah bar (funnily “Lost in Amsterdam”) and get a jenever oude (old gin). I feel tired. I order a coffee. The bartender tells me I’m cute and the coffee is on the house because I “look like [you] need it.” Two girls at the bar befriend me. We hang out on a side street for a while. I walk around some more. I see a bar called “Bourbon Street” and a street called “Bourbonstraat.” I decide I need to find my friends. But either because of the roaming or the networks or the country codes, I can’t call anyone. Which means they can’t call me. Eventually Juan texts, I text back, and we meet up.

“meet me at the train station and text me back when you get this so I know you do. Find me before I fly away?”

Party Hard
Sunday evening I tell them all about my day. Juan is the most interested and seems a bit jealous. I wish he had gone with me that morning. We go to a square where people are starting to gather. The queen is coming to her nearby palace. We get tired of waiting for her, so we leave. Juan buys fries. We stop at another bar for more beer and some wine. We sit at a table outside by the canal and then smoke. We go back to the hookah bar I was at earlier. Fresh mint tea (amazing) and orange tobacco. Juan and I are hungry so we get “nasi rames” (a six-dish plate) at the Indonesian restaurant that was closed earlier. It’s a late dinner. Jack and Lindsay go back to the hotel. Juan and I get some cake, eat it, and then walk around some more, drink a couple of rum and cokes, and call it a night. On the way home, we walk through the red light district and see a bunch of drunken men dressed as Oompa-Loompas ogling one of the ladies of Der Wallen (“The Walls.”)

Lady: “Hey you, I like you. Come here!”
Young Oompa Loompah: “Me?”
Lady: “Yes, be my victim, be Morticia’s victim!”
Old Oompa Loompah: “You’re a wanker.”
Morticia: “You’re a league of wankers, The League of Muppet Wankers!”

Chillin' like a Villain
Monday morning we check out of our hotel at the last minute. We go to the station and buy tickets. We go to a coffeehouse and get cappuccinos and teas and smoke. Juan and I are hungry, and Jack and Lindsay are not. They go for a walk. We go to an Argentinean steakhouse and get steaks, chips, red wine, and bread with garlic butter. We walk around some more and go to the train station.

We’re not meant to leave?
Monday afternoon due to late trains, stalled trains, track changes, and other things, we are delayed two hours and switch trains like five times. When we get off in Brussels we debate which stop is the right one. (Lindsay and I took a different one than Juan and Jack did on the way here.) We hop off at the last minute. I am an idiot. (I am also an idiot who is sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and sober with a lot of leftover alcohol in his system.) I leave my backpack on the train. Everything. This is so unlike me. But I do. My wallet, phone, camera, keys, tickets, and PASSPORT. Gone. In less than a minute we formulate a plan. Jack is staying with me. Juan and Lindsay are going ahead to the airport. (Like me, Jack isn’t in college so his grades don’t matter.) Juan and Lindsay hop on a train. Jack and I hop on another one to follow ours. The train with my backpack – thank God – makes its last stop at the next station. Our new train arrives there five minutes after our old train. We decide to go straight to Lost & Found. I tell the gentleman there, and he asks me what’s in my backpack. He goes away for a few seconds and comes back with my backpack. Five minutes. I LOVE BELGIUM. If it was Italy, I’m sure they would’ve said, “oh, check back in a week.” The whole ordeal takes about ten minutes. But apparently they’re a crucial ten minutes because we miss our flight by ten minutes. I feel bad but not entirely because in our 130 minutes of delay, I was responsible for 10. And I even wanted to leave earlier than we did.

A Happy Accident

So Monday night we got stuck at the airport. The check-in booths and ticket booths were closed. The gentleman at the information desk told us the next flight to Pisa was at 6:40 in the evening on Tuesday. Backtracking to the train stations to check out train schedules would’ve been stupid because we could’ve gotten stuck there and trains would’ve taken over a day to get home when the alternative was relaxing where we were and taking a one-and-a-half-hour flight. The gentleman told us we are welcome to stay at the airport for 20 hours or whatever it was, but that if we wanted he had information on nearby hotels. He called the two nearest ones for shuttles because a five-minute taxi ride would cost us 20 Euro. “And that’s ridiculous,” he said. Very kind of him. The hotel shuttle services didn’t answer, so he called a third one, which was a bit further away. He said it’s a nice hotel with free shuttle service and showed us a brochure which looks like a boutique hotel and reads like a bed & breakfast. He told the driver to meet us by a red mailbox outside the airport to avoid the bus and taxi traffic. Then the information guy walked us out to the stop and waited with us to make sure we get the right car. (How awesome is that? This country rules so hard.)

On the way to the hotel, we found out from the driver that all the restaurants in the area were already closed, which sucked because we were starving. At the hotel, he took us inside and got behind the counter. (It was a small but pleasant place, and at this point I realized he was either manager or, more likely, the owner.) He booked our room and gave us two keycards. At this point I caved and just asked him if he had any bread and jam and water we could have. And he said of course he would give us food and to follow him. He took us to the dining room and told us to take whatever we want. “Don’t be shy. You’re young men, and you’re hungry. Take more.” We took our loot back to our room, and I comment to Jack that it looked like an indoor picnic or something out of a fairy tale. They were taken into the castle and fed eggs, cheese, waffles, and fruits? The fruit selection was impressive because we just got a quick sampling and had apples, oranges, bananas, and lychees. The owner knocks at the door. He has brought us warm towels and cold beers. We thanked him again and talked a little bit. He asked where we were from and we tell him The U.S.A. He smiled, and I thought it was a rueful “I hate you guys” smile, but it wasn’t. He thought we were German (Wangelin) and Spanish or Latino (Marin) and not American. He asked where in The States, and we told him Chicago and DC. He’d never been to DC, but he loved Chicago. On the way out, he told us he’d been to The States 17 times, and assures us he liked it and liked Americans. I tried not to creep him out when I told him how highly I thought of Belgium and Belgians. And then I told him good night and thank you very much in French. I’ll never forget his answer:

“Good night. You are welcome. I will never forget what Americans did for Belgium during the war.”

I was genuinely touched by this, as was Jack. It’s one thing to hear a patriotic American like Giuseppe talking about how great The U.S. is, but it’s a completely different thing to hear a foreigner (a European even!) talking positively about The U.S. And he treated us so well. We felt like we were staying at an uncle’s or a family friend’s. Like his guests and not his customers. Anyway, we watched TV – cable TV with a remote control and over 30 channels and everything – and eventually fell asleep. At some point around 3AM, Juan texted to let us know he was back in Italy, and we were glad we got stuck in Belgium.

Vacation extended... by force

Tuesday morning when we woke up, Marc (his name, we learned) had a buffet breakfast prepared for us in the dining room. The same fruits were out, but I noticed in the morning sunlight that aside from the apples, oranges, bananas, and lychees, there were also: Sliced honeydew (which I don’t usually like but was very good), strawberries, grapes, peaches, apricots, figs, dates, quinces, and various dried fruits. And that’s just the fruit table.

There were also hardboiled eggs, waffles, three cereals, four cheeses (one made by monks), five breads/pastries, every kind of jam you can imagine, a homemade grapefruit jam, milk marmalade, Nutella, peanut butter, other nut spreads, different milks and yogurts, (orange, mango, guava) juices, every kind of Twinings tea, assorted selections of hot chocolates, coffees, candies, and chocolates.

I’d never been so excited to eat breakfast. And I love breakfast.

After breakfast, Marc gave us a map and annotated it. Good and non-overpriced beers here, the best chocolates here, the most beautiful buildings there, etc. He drove us to the airport and told us to call if we had any problems. While checking out, I snuck a peek at the guest book and apparently everyone (like me) had nothing but praises to sing. If you’re ever in Brussels, consider staying here. You won’t regret it.

HOTEL SOUTH
206 Chaussee de Gilly
b 6043 Charleroi Ransart
Tel +32 (0)71 256565
Fax +32 (0)71 256560
info@charleroi-hotelsouth.be
http://www.charloioi-hotelsouth.be

The ticket lady told us there was only one seat left, so we booked it for Jack and I was first on the waiting list. She said it shouldn’t be a problem for me to get on the flight but to check back later, and that the next flight was Wednesday morning. We decided to spend the afternoon wandering around Brussels with Marc’s map. All the sign and map names were in both French and Dutch. We walked around the Grand Place / Grote Markt, stopped by the famous Manneken Pis (peeing little boy fountain) and got Guldenberg (au fut) beer and Herve Doux and Bouquet des Moines cheeses at the nearby bar Marc had recommended, we stopped by the store of Pierre Marcolini who we were told was the best maker of Belgian chocolates, we bought a small dark chocolate mouse cake with orange cream and praline shards, we ate that in a small park and walked around the Koninklijk Paleis / Palais Royal and then made our way back to the airport. At the airport, the ticket counter said the flight was delayed ten minutes they needed ten more minutes to let me know whether I could board or not. At this point, I would’ve been happy to go back to Hotel South and chill out with Marc and his wife and son. But I do get to board. And Jack and I finally return to Italy, a few hundred Euro poorer but completely convinced it was all worth it. It was. That was one of the best and craziest (extended!) weekends of my life.

The Great Escape
No pictures yet. But soon I’ll put up my greatest album ever. The Europe Album: Barcelona Spain, Friesing Germany, London England, Amsterdam Netherlands, and Brussels Belgium.

live from Amsterdam...

Friday morning. I decide I want to walk leisurely to the bus stop with Helen and Lindsay rather than run to the train station to meet Juan and Jack. "See you at the airport, man."No. No such thing. Our bus gets delayed somewhere between half an hour to an hour. (There was a lane closed on the highway. Apparently Italians don't know how to merge. This makes sense because they don't know how to form lines either. They just crowd.) The girls and I miss our check-in by five minutes. We have rebook our flight. We're stuck. But we're still in Italy, and we're stuck in Pisa. We buy a pizza - pizza at Pisa! - and go sit on the grass around The Leaning Tower. We ordered Napoli Pizza to be adventurous, but it's anchovies and capers. It's surprisingly good. We get gelato while heading back to the airport. We fly away.

Friday night we arrive at the airport in Belgium. We walk around Brussels for a while because we have a few hours until our train to Amsterdam. We grab dinner at a Mediterranean place. The staff is really nice. They keep the place open late for us. They point us toward a nearby bar when we ask for the check. We don't make it to the bar. We see a sketchy looking door that says Africa Music Club. We can't help but investigate. It's a bar. Our waitress is beautiful, but we think she'll be creeped out if we take a picture of her. We drink several bottles of Jupiter. Alliteration. Belgian beer brewed and bottled in Belgium. We play gin rummy. Eventually one of the black guys convinces us to dance despite being tired. He says something about not knowing whether we'll be alive tomorrow, so we should live tonight as much as possible. It sounds like my favorite James Dean motto. And he says it in French. So we all dance. The playlist is awesome. It's everything with a good beat and a good melody: American hip-hop, Latin music, reggae, and even some African music. Some of the people there are crazy good at dancing. One hilarious guy walks up to me and starts copying movements. It's like watching a mirror. Then he has me try some of his. Eventually like four guys crowd around Helen. They're not pushy like Italians or bump-and-grind like Americans, but she gets tired of it and we head to the station at four in the morning. We bump into the same security guard who told us when our train was a few hours ago. He thinks we've been lost in the station all night. He's really nice and helpful. All the Belgians are awesome. They have a great sense of design, fashion, and are friendly. They also all speak at least four languages. It's a great country. I'm going back. We get on a train at six.

We pass out on the train for three hours and wake up in Amsterdam around nine on Saturday morning. Juan and Jack are waiting for us at the train platform. They haven't slept. We didn't have a place to stay for that night anyway. Outside the station, Helen's friend Nikita meets up with us. She's also from Zimbabwe. It's her birthday. We all start walking. I blaze a trail to the first coffeehouse I see. Coffee and cake. Breakfast of champions. We walk around Amsterdam. It's amazing. Somewhere between Venice and New Orleans. There are canals, but they aren't annoying like Venice. It's easy to get around. There are bike paths everywhere. There's lots of Green like New Orleans' Garden District and small roads like in the quarter. It actually looks a lot like the quarter except without as many bars but just as many neon signs. Indonesian food is to to here as Indian food is to London. There are also lots of Argentine restaurants, inexplicably. We go to Vondelpark and walk the path. We buy hot dogs (with crazy toppings like sauerkraut, curry ketchup, onions, fried something, and sriracha hot sauce). They're good. We almost fall asleep. We get up and go to The Van Gogh Museum. It's amazing. Juan decides to sleep outside instead. Jack, Lindsay, and I join him. They fall asleep. I'm still hungry. I find a stand that sells Belgian waffles, chocolate, and soft-serve vanilla ice cream. I have them top a waffle with melted chocolate and ice cream for me. It's amazing. I wake Jack up. He loves it. He goes to sleep again. I get hungry again, for real food this time, and go get a "big boy burger."" In my stupor I call it a Monster Burger. The lady laughs, and she makes it monstrous by putting extra cheese and extra bacon on it. We regroup outside the museum. We finally go to our hotel and pass out.

When we wake up, we've overslept the alarms we set for dinner. All of us. Light is shining through the curtains. It's 8:15. Jack doesn't believe that it's still Saturday night: "Fuck you. It's morning. Where's Prima?" Eventually he's convinced and we all go to dinner at an Indian restaurant. We all eat too much, but we're in Amsterdam, and it's Kit's birthday, and we're well-rested and well-fed so we go to a coffeehouse after. It's named Ben, so I miss Ben. Cake and coffee. Breakfast Dessert of champions. We walk around The Red Light District. We enter a few sex stores. I'm jaded to both, but some of the others look like they're in awe. We go to another coffeehouse. After sitting in there for ten minutes, we realize it's a gay coffeehouse. But we don't care. They're all having fun. And so are we. When we leave from that, we decided to put Helen to bed since she's got an early flight. We go back to the hotel, hug and double-kiss her goodbye, and pass out.

It's Sunday now. Sunday morning. (A lie, Sunday morning just ended because it's past noon.) I wake up, and soon after Nikita comes to say goodbye. I hug her goodbye in my underwear and lie down again. Jack says bye. She doesn't bother waking up Juan, but I think she said goodbye to Lindsay. She leaves. I can't fall asleep again. I get dressed and go downstairs. The computers in the lounge are taken. I buy a bottle of Aquarius (like Gatorade, but the official sports drink of The Olympics). I go upstairs and take a vitamin. Still can't sleep. I come back downstairs. The computers are still taken. A girl is sitting nearby on the couches. We make friends. Her name is Joan or Joann or Joanna. She's from Seattle. She offers me some of her muffin. I happily accept - because I did sleep late enough to miss breakfast - and we drink tea from her thermos. She tells me to friend her on facebook when I get online, but I forget her last name and am not even sure of her first one. The idiots who have been talking loudly about Facebook Applications and Myspace and typing with only two fingers finally get off the computer. (I am glad they are not American because everyone has been glaring at them.) I get online. I am online. I am in Amsterdam. I am in Amsterdam. I AM STERDAM.

blue Monday

Probably more like gray Monday given the rainy weather. Pretty chill day. Food styling we made a veal liver pate on fig crostini that could be served in a variety of ways. Either blended with cream and gelatin like a terrine or blended with butter to a more foie-gras-ish consistency. My mom would have probably loved the former and my dad the latter. Lisa, Jack, and I made it as an appetizer-size serving and also as an amuse-bouche. We ultimately decided that since it was so tasty and rich, it was better as a single bite amuse-bouche.

Graphic design was centered around making promotional material for the restaurant we dined at last week. I drafted a modernized (in looks, not in dishes) menu, the pdf of which is at school. I'll upload it later if I remember.

After that, it was rainy and I was tired and didn't want to be sick. So rather than go to aperitivo with Marissa and Helen (tempting as that was), I went home and crashed. I woke up to my roommates, Jack, and Juan hanging out in the apartment. We just drank some wine and chilled. Around midnight, they went home and I was wide awake. So I borrowed one of Henk's Italian films, I Cento Passi, which was quite good.

And now it's Monday, April 15th.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM! I LOVE YOU.

Otherwise, today has been a continuation of chill. But tonight, it's on like Donkey Kong. At midnight, I will be 23 years old. And I want to have had just enough wine maybe not to remember.

new best week ever?

I’m really sorry that these weeks are flying by and I’m behind on updates.

Saturday ended in a nice and relaxed way. Giuseppe prepared veal cutlets and pesto pasta for dinner. I convinced him to go out with the girls and me since he was sitting on the couch with a book open on his lap staring into space. Do not confuse that with actual studying for midterms. He said he would “only have one drink.” Famous last words. We played Kings with the girls and Liane’s visiting friend before heading out to a few bars. Fun and chill night.

Palm Sunday was fantastic and even more relaxed. I got up early, went to mass, and then went back to bed. When I got up again, Henk and I went to lunch at a self-service restaurant both cheap and delicious. We walked around the city for a while and met up with Juan on the bridge north of Ponte Vecchio to drink some yerba mate. Using Henk’s tripod and Juan’s camera, I self-timed the picture of the three of us in the previous post. After that, we went to the Irish-pub-owned-by-Japanese-people to catch the second half of the Fiorentina/Genoa game and get some pre-St.-Paddy’s-Day beer. Henk and I stopped by Grom on the way home for some gelato. I went upstairs to borrow a book from The Girls Next Floor that ‘Seppe and I had befriended the other night, and they invited me to go to dinner with them and meet some of their friends. Dinner at Rubaconte. Gelateria Dei Neri after. I read half of Next by Michael Crichton, which I borrowed from the aforementioned girls upstairs.

Monday one of my teachers took us to the restaurant in the five star hotel by our house. Sadly it wasn’t an eating visit, just a viewing. He recently resigned as their executive chef. It’s a beautiful hotel. Rooms range from 700 to 3000 Euro a night. And they boast the biggest hotel suite in all of Europe. (I can’t remember the metric measurements.)

After that we took our midterm for food styling, and I handed in my portfolio for graphic design. I went to aperitivo with Sergio, my one Italian friend, Liane, her friend Robyn, and Giuseppe. We went bar hopping for St. Patrick’s Day but never actually made it to an Irish pub. Is it ridiculous that my drunkest Italian night was for an Irish holiday? Well, just goes to show that what an Irish bartender said when my friends and I pub-crawled in Ireland a few years ago: “Once you’re drunk in Ireland, you’re honorary Irish for life. Salinte!”

Tuesday was my day off. I spent it running errands. “You know what would make dinner better? Wine.” So my friends and I went to aperitivo. After that, we watched L’Auberge Espagnole. I had bought a copy since I told so many people about it. It was a fun experiment because the film is mostly in French, but the only subtitles were Italian. “You know what would make the film better? Wine.” So we bought a few bottles on the walk back to my apartment. After the movie, we wanted to go out but nothing too crazy. We decided to go sit on the bridge. “You know what would make the bridge better? Wine.” [I’m really not kidding about people saying these things all night.] Unfortunately we couldn’t find any wine en route to the bridge, so we just brought beer instead.
Marissa, Helen, Henrique, Juan, and I also formed a new clique. We realized while sitting on the bridge that we have quite the international mix. We’re the new Planeteers. Juan is North America/wind, Henrique is South America/fire, Marissa is Europe/heart, Helen is Africa/earth, and yours truly is Asia/water. Yeah, we’re cool.

Wednesday I had my Food Writing and Italian midterms. They were both pretty straightforward and, I thought, easy. That night, Marissa and Helen brought me to an aperitivo across the river at a bar where they hate Americans. “Speak only Spanish or Italian tonight. They will serve us faster.” I don’t mind that they hate Americans because certain college students aren’t good ambassadors. Plus I love being in bar with mostly Italians. It feels more genuine.

We were still hungry when aperitivo ended, so a bunch of us – Yes, a lot of our friends showed up. – got panini and pizze from Pan Pergo a stone’s throw away. Then we decided to go to Jack and Juan’s house to figure out the rest of the night. Marissa, Prima, Ross, and I decided to sing the entire walk, probably to the annoyance of the rest of the group. Here’s a copy of our quartet’s set list:

• In the Jungle
• Hakuna Matata
• Love Today
• New York, New York
• It’s All Coming Back To Me Now
• Total Eclipse of the Heart

Quite eclectic.

We ended up spending most of the night at Jack and Juan’s. Marissa and I reenacted our favorite Disaronno commercial. And then the game of touch cup started. And that was the beginning of the end. We ran out of wine and then probably out of rum. By then, everyone seemed appropriately “pinted” (Helen’s Zimbabwean slang). In the course of all this, we took over fifty photos, which I’ll upload eventually. A few of us left and went to a few bars, but that didn’t last very long.

Thursday AKA yesterday I had my Food & Society midterm. All the essay questions could be answered in one sentence, if not one word. We made arancini (fried rice balls, as in balls made of rice and then deep-fried, not balls made of fried rice). We shot a few more recipes and then turned in our portfolios for Food Photography. Check my facebook “what’d ya eat?” album if you want to see those glossy pictures. I had a chill night: Napping, getting online at a bar, catching up with David, hitting the sack again.

Today is Good Friday, and I've been running the errands I’ve put off all week. Laundry, cleaning, travel arrangements for spring break, etc.

Is it still a Lenten sacrifice if you love what you’re eating? For lunch I made a tuna salad out of yellowtail/yellowfin (AKA hamachi), cannelini bean, red onion, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, and freshly ground black and cayenne peppers. An original Andrew creation: “Insalate di tonno all’ Andrea.”

Tonight is a little going-away dinner for Prima, and then who knows what will happen the rest of the weekend. I leave for London and more importantly Chad on (Easter) Sunday, so I can’t promise another update anytime soon. I’ll try though. Buona Pascua!

worth a few thousand words

Here's a few pictures from last week, super-sized to make up for the delay.

Wednesday with Marissa - We love red backgrounds.

Thursday with Giuseppe - We love turning 21.

Friday with Ross - We love piggyback rides.

Saturday with Mindy - We love purple.

Sunday with Henk and Jack - We love bridge graffiti.

Florence still rules, thanks.

Tuesday I noticed in pictures that my hair was getting shaggy, so I stopped by the haircutting place on my street. I told them to “leave it as long as possible but clean it up” since I didn’t want it short until spring on the 20th. But they cut it all off.

That’s cool. I can deal. Plus my friends’ reactions are varied but generally positive. And entertaining. “You look good/younger/Asian/Italian.”

When I got home, Giuseppe immediately brought up dinner. His idea, like always, was Chinese food from the place down the street. Works for me.

Later that night, after power naps and some iTuning, we went to our favorite “cultural assocation” to meet up with Juan and Henk to play some pool and be there for Marissa’s debut as Iceland’s Next Top Bartender. Naturally, Helen and Prima were there too. Joe and Liz showed up for a bit. As did Jack. Prima seems keen on adding another “roommates team” to our league, but her apartment doesn’t have enough players. Our apartment’s foosball record against Jack and Juan is now 4:3.


Cesare was playing acoustic guitar that night. What a great artist. His repertoire of covers is eclectic, but everything sounded great. He had most of us singing and/or dancing along.

Wednesday I slept in until grabbing lunch with Henk at Nerbone, a trattoria in the Mercato Centrale. Salsicce e fagiolo. (Sausage and beans, a classic pairing.) Delicious.

Food writing was devoted to the process of laying out pages in a cookbook. We had a guest lecturer, a photography and graphic design professor. The president/founder of the school stopped by for another impromptu visit for an update on our semester project.

Italian was distracting. The soundtrack for the day was ‘70s and ‘80s disco hip-hop. Oh, and the lesson plan was occupations and three and four digit numbers.

Lisa and I invited her friend Caroline and my roommates to join us in our dinner at Pizzaiuolo where she and I finally got something we’d been discussing for the past month: DEEP-FRIED CALZONES.

My roommates and I went from there to the “cultural association” to meet up with the same crowd from the night before, sans Liz and Joe. The cologne Henk bought in Paris last weekend pretty much elicited the reaction Axe commercials pretend Axe has. The girls flocked to him like moths to a flame. Prima was on him all night. For serious.

Thursday our cooking class got the best recipe so far. It’s famous worldwide but originates from the region known as Emiglia Romana. LASAGNE. I cannot describe how good it was. We made everything from scratch using fresh, authentic ingredients. And it was just a basic lasagne too. Freshly made pasta, Padana Grana cheese, Bechamel sauce, and a beef, pork, and porcini mushroom ragu.

The teacher from next door stopped in. (I thought to yell at us for being loud in our excitement, but that wasn’t the reason.) She proposed a joint session next week. So our “Food & Society” class and her “Wine Exploration” class are pretty much going to merge into the best class EVER next week. Eating, drinking, socializing, and exploring. What’s not to love?

Food photography. Our on-location assignments around the city were cancelled due to inclement weather, so we spent the afternoon cropping and selecting pictures for our portfolios. It was nice to not have to walk around in the cold, but it wasn’t nice to not have the option to eat/drink all afternoon. I snapped this on the way home:

That night, Jack and my friends’ dreams were realized. We, the two culinary students, made dinner together. Dinner for twelve. And it gets better. Our friend Eddie volunteered his expertise, pantry, and knife set to help us out. So the group got three culinary students working for the price of two. Or rather for the price of free since Jack and I bought all the food that Eddie didn’t bring in his goodie bag. When I got to Jack’s apartment (after a month of supposed-to-go-ness), we planned the menu and then went to his neighborhood supermarket to get everything. Oh, and their apartment is amazing. If it had a single bedroom option, I would totally try to live there next semester.

Cooking dinner was quite fun and entertaining. While Jack and I went food shopping, Eddie started whipping egg whites and preparing antipasti and contorni.

By night’s end, Jack came to the conclusion that, had we a professional kitchen and professional equipment, we could open a restaurant. Eddie seriously had to MacGyver a lot of kitchen stuff. He burned a broken tray (like a car radiator) so we could bake in it. Turned a garlic bag into a makeshift cheesecloth. Et cetera. We almost had to find a wire hanger and turn that into a whisk. Luckily by the time the girls got there, we had cleaned the place up.


Although we lacked tools, there was no lack of friendly help. Juan, Giuseppe, and Anton were all ready and willing to beat, chop, and slice-and-dice (respectively) anything we asked them. And we had Daft Punk blasting on the iPod, which I think is excellent cooking music.

We started cooking around 8:00, served dinner around 10, and finished around 1. It was a true Italian style meal: Late, relaxed, and with lots of wine.

Our final menu was:

• Tortilla chips and guacamole
• Minestrone
• Pan-fried garlic crostini
• Artichoke and rosemary risotto
• Pepper/lemon/basil-marinated beef rolled with prosciutto
• Tiramisu

Juan had brought some Yerba Mate from Argentina, which is an excellent tea about as strong as coffee. So that was a nice way to wash everything down.

I thought I was just impressed that we made everything and nothing went wrong. (Especially since we made minestrone and tiramisu in less than half the time you’re supposed to.) But according to all our eaters, everything went really, really well. And now we’re painted into a corner we’ll probably have to do several repeat performances.

And yeah, it was a really fun night. Easily the best night I’ve had in Florence even though we didn’t go out. Good food. Good drinks. Good music. Good company. Good times.

Henk and I stopped into our neighborhood Latin bar for a little dancing and caipirinhas before bedtime. Those were nice night caps.

Friday Yesterday morning at noon Henk and I got up and went to the “eat-all-you-can” Japanese restaurant for lunch. Mmm. After an afternoon of digesting and my mandatory weekly Lost episode, we went to aperitivo at another bar. Which will probably become my favorite aperitivo bar. The place is nice, the food spicy (probably to encourage drinking, but it doesn’t phase me), the liquor quality, the drinks strong and well-mixed, and the bartenders amazing. By amazing, I mean they have the kind of flair you see on The Food Network or Travel Channel.

We went to the cultural association to play foosball and pool. Marissa was working again. Liz and Anna met up with us, and we introduced them to the friends we’d made at pool, Paule and Adam. A few rounds later, the l’auberge Italienne crowd (Liz, Anna, Henk, and I) went off to a Russian bar for gyros and beer both good and cheap.

Saturday This morning I went to the hospital for my appointment with the orthopedic doctor re: my knee. It’s been a month since the injury. There is no damage to the ACL, but there may be minor damage to one edge of the meniscus. We decided the best course of action would be to get an MRI (and any resulting arthroscopic surgery) back in the states. The surgery isn’t urgent and wouldn’t require a recovery period of longer than two weeks. But two weeks of not walking and then a week on crutches would do some serious damage to my semester, academic and extracurricular.

But hey, all that aside, I have a clean bill of health! Party on.

Liz, Liane, Anna, Henk, and I went to a late lunch at I Ghibellini before they went off to the Uffizi. I decided to go to the bar and post all this. And then I’m going to rest up because tonight most of the gang is returning from Rome and we’re all supposed to go out on the town.

And now we’re caught up back to the present. But surely not for long.

too much randomness

Yesterday was laidback until about dinnertime. I forgot to mention this phone call I made to Prima on Thursday night.

“Hello.”
“Mi princesa, it’s Andrew!
“Hey!!! What’s up?”
“Not much, Jack and I are just hanging out and figured we’d call to see how you were doing since we haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Who?”
“Jack and I.”
“Who you with???”
“Jack.”
“Who’s Jack?!”
"Jack!"
"Jack???"
“Um, Mr. Blondie?”
“MR. BLONDIE!!! TELL HIM I SAY HI!”

So this led to a plan for last night night which evolved from dinner-out to drinks-at-a-bar to aperitivo to ultimately pizza-and-poker-at-Prima’s. Jack, whose real name Prima apparently doesn’t know and whose hair isn’t even blonde, and I went over there with Liz and one of her friends. Prima, Helen, and Juan were there waiting for us and Marissa eventually got home from her job interview with the owner of Loch Ness.

The pizza wasn’t amazing but the sriracha Jack carries in his backpack(?) helped it along. It was the only delivery number we had available. Good thing we had booze.

Apparently Liz and I cannot be friends in terms of pop culture. She hated Brokeback Mountain but loved Troy? AND she hates Billy Joel but loves Hilary Duff??? Since my mind was warped by this and I wasn't interested in the discussion of Troy (i.e. Brad Pitt's ass and pits), I went upstairs to the terrace to watch the others play poker and eventually subbed in for Prima. I had brought cards but not chips, so we used beans for currency. [Insert offensive Mexican joke here.]

Eventually Marissa, Helen, Jack, Juan, and I went to Angie’s Pub to get more drinks. Aneet and Jess met up with us there. Prima stayed home, and Liz went home to do crunches while listening to the Lizzie McGuire soundtrack because she’s lame. (I love Liz. Really. I tease because I love.)

You know in Peter Pan how you need a happy thought to fly? Apparently Marissa was badly in need of one last night, so after striking out twice I was able to offer a successful one: Brazilian booty. As in, the kind we’ll see tonight when we go to Maracana. Apparently Marissa is also a fan of those firm, healthy cheeks and “just wants to bite them.” I’m not making any of this up, by the way. I’m not that creative.

Eventually I walked Aneet and Jess to get gelato so Aneet could satisfy that third of her gelato-diet coke-Nutella food pyramid. (“Oh my God, you guys. I went up a whole size from a double zero to a ZERO!”) And then I went with them to Twice to do a little dancing. Aneet batted her eyes at the bouncers who let us in through the smoking lounge door rather than make us wait thirty minutes in line to get through the front door.

I left a little earlier than them and on my way home ran into the others at Salamanca, but we didn’t stay long at all and went home. Helen called me “smug boy” since I live six seconds away and was smirking as they planned their routes home.

party on

On Tuesday night, since Henk didn’t want to walk because he was sick and I didn’t want to cook again, we went to dinner at the trattoria next door, which was awesome, again. We got a platter of grilled meats and vegetables. The waitress, same one from the last two times, gave us complimentary aperitifs and digestifs this time. God, I love that place.

Wednesday was the usual: Food writing and Beginning Italian. My food writing class went out to dinner (since the day’s lesson was “restaurant reviewing”) at Buca Dell’ Orafo, which is right next to the famous Ponte Vecchio. I don't know if I've mentioned but I'm the only guy in that class. It's like swimming lessons in a pool of estrogen. The rose seller outside the restaurant glared at me because I didn't buy a single flower for "my fourteen dates." We had a seven-course family-style dinner. Chef Giordano, a character in his own right, kept plate after plate coming as well as bottle after bottle of red wine. Clearly I was sitting at the right end of the table since we cleaned all those plates. This was especially true of Sara, Samantha, and me.

"Pass that down here. We'll finish it."

Then I met up with some friends for the grand opening of Twenty One, a new venue owned by a promoter we’re acquainted with. It’s supposedly “the twilight zone between a bar and a club.” It was pretty fun. Every class I have here was well-represented by drinking, dancing people having a great time. The party was by invitation only, and I hadn't gotten mine from a friend because I was late due to aforementioned dinner. There were tons of people outside on phones calling others panicking or frantically searching pockets and purses for cards. I felt pretty lucky as I was walking to the front door and Fabio (the promoter, now club owner) shook my hand and waved me in. Of the people who regularly appear in my writing, only Jack, Giuseppe, Henk, and Anton (who part-times as a promoter) were there. The music was great. I didn't need any drinks since I was extremely drunk full from dinner.

A few hours later, I went to a Russian bar to meet up with Henk, Joe, and Juan and then we went to Twice to meet up with Anthony and his friends. Some drunk American girls followed us around and kept trying - inexplicably - to dance or to talk about sports stats.

The next morning I got great news. Guess who's not getting deported from Italy! I got a letter back from the government legalizing my stay in this country. Tight.

My food/culture/society class made two nearly-vegetarian dishes today. They were both filling and delicious. I thought of my parents because they would have loved them.

peperoni alla venezia (yellow bells sauteed with eggplant, tomato, garlic, wine, and of course, olive oil) and "risi e pisi" (pea risotto with parmesan and pancetta)

For my photography class, we were split up into groups and assigned different culinary aspects of the city to photograph ON-LOCATION. So we had to walk around the city and take pictures of various things. My group was assigned specific pastry, bakery, and chocolate stores. (The group that had first pick took gelato. Bitches.) But we had lots of fun and still stopped at Dei Neri for gelato anyway.

Henk and I grabbed dinner at the oil shoppe before he left for the train station to go to Paris. Then I took a long nap and got up when Jack and our friend Eddie came over. Somehow we were all hungry again - they'd gotten food on the way over - and went to "The House of Sizzle" to get one of their dozen burger selections. Mine was a BLT Burger. I'm pretty sure the bacon was actually pancetta but no complaints. That and the fries helped satisfy the American craving.

After that, we went to Salamanca and met up with a bunch of girls who I now know live on the same street as me. Eventually Juan, a bunch of other girls we know, Ross, Nick, Giuseppe, John, and more girls (in that order) showed up.

I love Salamanca because it's a Spanish tapas restaurant by day / Latin bar at night. And half the bar is a regular bar and other half is like a nightclub complete with green laser lights. After several pitchers of sangria, some of the girls, Juan, Ross, and I went to the dance floor to cut it loose and for a while even get up on the tables. Great times.

Okay, with all these new names, it's getting confusing again. Here's the second edition of the Andrew's-regular-friends-in-Italy cheat sheet, broken down by apartment:

l'auberge Italienne - gents: Giuseppe, Henk, myself
l'auberge Italienne - ladies: Liz, Aneet, Anna
the Girls Next Block: Mindy, Liane, Alison, Jess, Primavera
Donne interNazionale: Primavera, Marissa, Helen
across the Arno: Jack, Juan, Anton
designer district: Ross, John, Joe, Nick

long but eventful!

Saturday night started off great and didn’t end as well. After the delivery guy dropped off the booze (yeah, seriously) that Jack had ordered from the liquor store owner we’ve buddied up with, Giuseppe and I decided to go to aperitivo (happy hour with snacks) at the bar rather than sit around while waiting for the others to gather. A few rounds of rum and some tasty snacks later, I went over to the apartment of The Girls Next Block to have dinner. Mindy, who is queen of all things vegetable although not a vegetarian, cooked some and tortellini.

We came back to my apartment for cocktails, shots, and cake. And somehow the pre-game became the big game. And we lost. Badly. Some of us were team players but a few rookies handicapped us.

Happy birthday, Jessi shot!

Sunday, regardless of what they did for the weekend, pretty much everyone was recuperating. Spent the afternoon at my bar unsurprisingly. Grabbed dinner from the Cinese place down the block with Giuseppe, Henk, and Juan. Then we had a high-stakes game of poker and met up with Jack at Loch Ness. Pool. Mojitos. Foosball games. (Ghibellina 4 / San Freddiano 2.) Bloody Marys. Jack has been added to the ranks of Stephanie, Laura, and Ben as an official Andrew smoking buddy.

Our apartment is open 24 hours/never sleeps, loves hot moms, and has Brazilian soul.

Monday I thought would be busy, but it was surprisingly relaxed. My friend Jeremy, who also went to Tulane and lived in Butler freshman year (6th floor) had told me he would be in Florence for a few hours. I thought he meant the afternoon, but he called in the morning, so I got to see him before class. We just got coffee, pondered if it was too early for beer, and caught up on each other’s life. He teaches English in Tunisia now and is at the end of a month of vacation traveling. It was surreal to meet up at The Duomo with someone I associate with New Orleans, but it was amazing to talk with someone else who understands and misses that lifestyle. I walked with him to Santa Maria Novella since he wanted to check it out before catching a train to Bologna at the station next door.

the weary traveler

I was photo-finish just-barely in time for my Food Styling class. We had another chef as a substitute teacher today but used our actual teacher’s recipe.

Filet of sole wrapped around steamed mussels and topped with caviar, chives, and shrimp foam; served with a mussel shell stuffed with sole roe and diced zucchini flowers.

Delicious, which is not at all surprising. Our sub came up with the stuffed shell idea on-the-spot. Very cool.

After class Jack and I did a lot of walking. We went to get our new textbooks, made a stop at the chef apparel store, hung out at my apartment for a while, went to the bar, went to a sportswear store, and then went to dinner at the apartment of The Girls Next Block. After I hung out with them for a little while, including a gelato walk with Mindy and a balcony chat with Liane. When I got home, I just sat on the couch and watched Henk paint. It looked like he was starting a mural on our wall in his own blood, but it was cool. After I took the following picture, I noticed how much of our apartment is accented in red. From random papers and books scattered to our beer and wine bottles to the floor and pretty much the entire kitchen.

It looks like he's painting the wall with blood, but that's okay.

Tuesday morning I got up and went straight to our neighborhood market. It’s overwhelming at first, but after a stroll through you can figure out easily what and where you want to buy. Grocery shopping was never this fun. I came back here, cleaned the kitchen and did the basic prep work. Cutting the spinach off the roots, seasoning the meat, checking my frozen veal stock (from the osso bucco a million years ago), folding garlic and butter together, and making rosemary olive oil.

fresh produce at the market

I showed Liz where the gym was, so she could get her membership. We both opted for a quick workout even though it would mean an extra shower each. After said shower back here, I started cooking. Liz couldn’t come to lunch because she had class, but I happily fed my roommates, Jack, Mindy, and Aneet. I sautéed the spinach with olive oil, garlic, onion, veal stock, and lemon zest. And I pan-seared the steak (marinated in sea salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, garlic, and green onion) in the rosemary oil and garlic butter. Everyone seemed to enjoy it.

bistecca all'Andrea (as in, "Italian for Andrew") over sauteed spinach

After lunch, people dispersed. The girls went back to their apartments. Giuseppe went to the computer lab, Henk took a nap, and Jack hung out for a while then went home. Now I’m at the bar, drinking a macchiato and trying to decide whether to stay for aperitivo.

By the way, I drink coffee now, but only one small shot a day unless it’s morning cappuccino. It’s so much better here than America... excluding of course any gifts from Tara or Alison when they worked at Café Luna.

back to action

Sunday afternoon I spent at the café/bar, as usual. I went over to Liz’s for one of our tea sessions and ended up staying for Anna’s dinner. Fusilli with marinara sauce doctored with garlic, onions, and mushrooms and a nice salad. Liz, Alison, Henk, and I eventually went on a gelato run to Dei Neri for dessert. When we got back, Liane, Anna, Henk, and I were joined by Jack and Juan to go out. We’re now officially members of a cultural association. I was surprised by the foosball and pool tables, but it’s otherwise pretty sophisticated. A laidback but nice atmosphere. And it was comfortably crowded. You could move easily and wouldn’t have to wait for the bartender more than a minute. Liane and I nursed our bruises with some doses from the “pharmacy.” Henk and I faced off against Jack and Juan in foosball for the honor of our apartments. Then Henk and Liane played pool against the Italians who had previously been playing the neverending pool game. (Needless to say, Henk and Liane won.)

After all that, we wanted an early morning snack, so we got kebabs from a place nearby. It’s cheaper than the place downstairs from my apartment, which is good. But it’s definitely not next door, which is not so good. Then we all parted ways and crashed.

By the way, this was all after midnight, so my Monday-I-start-real-life-again rule still applied.

As far as actual Monday, I got up and made breakfast (standing!) for the first time in a while. Then I went to the Apicius offices and Mailboxes, Etc to pick up assorted paperwork that had accumulated over the past week. Then it was back to class. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to go to class... even including the first week.

Today’s theme in food styling class was salad. Just like everything else so far, it was taken to a whole new level than the simple chop-it-and-mix-it. Jack and I worked together and, using our chef's recipes, remade two classics, Caesar and Nicoise.

caesar salad with a bibb/butter, watercress, and arugula lettuces, croutons, anchovies, tomato concasse, balsamic reduction, and grated parmesan and grated egg yolk

salade nicoise with seared tuna, mozarella, a trio of lettuces, two kinds of olives, two kinds of caviar, smoked salt and orange zest

I actually got to try the chef's salad (no pun intended). I wanted to see if his plating technique - he had a certain order he wanted the flavors to proceed - worked its magic. And it did. Of course it tasted delicious. That part I'd never doubt.

After that it was on to Graphic Design. We had to play with textures and make a series of six. I just used a bunch of images from my camera. It's funny how so many parts of a picture can be ignored, but if you look at the texture of a background object and crop to it, it can becomes something new and independent.

During the break from class, I made my mandatory stop at the bar and threw back a shot of espresso to keep me going. Got online for a little bit and chatted with Ben. (Get well soon.) Now just this update and off to dinner and a club with some of the girls.

introducing... everyone

So I was supposed to show Aneet, one of the girls downstairs, the café I go to this morning. I woke up well past noon and was worried she’d been waiting for me. I called and accidentally woke her up. Anyway, I let her sleep in some more and just went to the café to get breakfast and cappuccino and post the last update. I also joined the neighborhood gym which may be closer to my apartment than Reily was to Aron.

On the way back into the apartment, I ran into Liz, one of her roommates, and decided to go with her to look for an outlet converter. We recruited Aneet, ‘Seppe, and Henrique –all of us had different things to look for – and had a successful and speedy hunt. Even with the brief window-shopping stops the girls made. On the way back, we ran into two of Aneet’s friends from Stonybrook/FUA, John and Ross. So we took them, the girls’ other roommate Anna, and the other girls, who live a few blocks away, to the café. (I know all these people suddenly are confusing, but bear with me.) The lady there seemed amused that I brought so many friends who wanted hot drinks and internet. Sadly not everyone was able to connect, but everyone got a chance to check on someone’s computer.

When we got home, Iron Chef Italian made vermicellini with marinara sauce for everyone. Iron Chef Brazilian made a lettuce, red cabbage, and tomato salad from scratch – not bagged – and I just played sous chef to ‘Seppe. We also had sliced bread, olive oil and vinegar for the salad, and of course salt, pepper, and grated Parmesan. And of course a selection of wine: House red and juice-box white (that the girls had left last night). We finally got to make use of our dining table and all those extra chairs. Worked out ridiculously well for a first meal. The three girls from downstairs, Jack, and Juan all came to dinner. We had a great time. I hope to repeat many more meals like this although other people are welcome to host/cook if they’d like. Everyone helped clean up though. I’m amazed at how genuinely nice everyone is my new friends are.

first meal in our apartment

After dinner we went to the other girls’ apartment: Liane, Jess, Mindy, and Alison. Giuseppe “no offense, guys” wanted to move into their spare room, but their final roommate, Primavera, showed up. She’s from Mexico and now replaces Jack as the baby of the group. (They’re only babies in age, not in maturity.)

We hung out at their apartment for half an hour, which is easily the homiest of all the ones I’ve seen so far. Clearly someone sublets. No student apartment is that nice. I still prefer ours, but I am jealous of their kitchen how well-equipped it is. We bummed around awhile and finally left when Alison began proving herself the mom of the group. Think I’ll-make-the-decision-if-no-one-else-will of Meredith minus the we’re-going-soon-but-not-really of Lizzie. Don’t get me wrong, she’s chill.

Almost all of us went to get gelato and then half of us went to meet Anton at the “American” bar. Jess, Mindy, myself, and the three Latins (Primavera/Mexico, Juan/Argentina, Henk/Brazil) went. Chad would be so proud. Having people there to practice my Spanish and Portuguese with somehow made the place more acceptable to me. And those welcome-to-Florenza Cuervo shots Prima and I did certainly helped.

Eventually the girls and I left to go back to first-floor L’Auberge Italienne (ours is third-floor) to hang out with those residents – Liz, Aneet, and Anna for those of you keeping track. Jack and ‘Seppe were both there. John had shown up too. He and Liz were in the kitchen eating rather fragrant and envy-inspiring “kebaps.” We just spent the rest of the night hanging out. I don’t know when we passed getting-to-know but not we’re all hanging out like we’ve always lived here.

So, a mini-guide to help for future entries:

L’Auberge Italienne 3rd floor: ‘Seppe (SUNY Stonybrook), Henk (Brazil), & myself
L’Auberge Italienne 1st floor: Liz, Aneet, & Anna (all SUNY)
Girls Next Block: Liane, Alison, Mindy (all SUNY), Jess (Chicago), & Prima (Mexico)
Guys Across River: Jack (Chicago), Juan (Argentina), & Anton (SUNY)
Guys In Designer Store Area: John & Ross (both SUNY)

In conclusion, there’s a lot of SUNY (10), although they didn’t all know each other before here, a smattering of Latino (3), a little Chicago (2), and I.