Wednesday, April 30, 2008

All or Nothing

During my monthly visit to the laundromat last week, I was struck by a sudden hankering for Indo fried rice from the Indonesian restaurant in the strip mall there.  A peek in my wallet showed only $4.  Dinner was going to be more than $4, and this place only took cash.  So I continued walking down to the quickiemart next door.

Two $2 scratch tickets later, I was $50 richer.

The fried rice wasn't even that good.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

I Learned Something Today

So for most of March, I was coughing from my yearly bout with post nasal drip.  In fact, I coughed so much, I strained my left rib muscles to the point where I couldn’t cough or breath deeply without it hurting.  A lot.

Anyways, I was
reading something yesterday...



And somewhere in there it claimed that it’s almost impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.  There were several things on this list that I *could* do, so I thought this was kinda BS too.

Naturally, as I was about to sneeze today, I remembered this littlefactoid, and went for it.

I learned something today:  Do not try to prove a stupid internet article wrong by sneezing with your eyes open with a strained rib muscle.  Ooouch.

p.s.  The stupid internet article was wrong.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

A Taste of Italy

So I was chatting with my co-workers today, and one of them mentioned gelato, which got me thinking...

Didn’t I read something in the LA Times about a gelato place that was supposed to be really good?  Wasn’t it in Altadena?  Being the type of food geek who emails himself whenever he comes across a nice food article, a quick search through gmail for "gelato" came up with one email, sent by me to me, exactly 1 year ago.  In it was one simple link.

http://www.bulgarinigelato.com/index.html

There it is.  Altadena.  Only 10 minutes away from home.  I’ll just swing over on the way back from work.

The gelato store is located in the corner of a little courtyard hidden in the back of a strip mall anchored by Rite-Aid.  When you walk in, you’re greeted by one simple freezer filled with tantalizing flavors of gelato and sorbetta.  After several minutes of indecision, I settled on 1 small scoop each of zabaglione (egg custard cream and Marsala wine), hazelnut, and pistachio.

Now I’ve had a lot of gelato and ice cream in my life, including Fosselmans, the LA gold standard for ice cream... this place ranks right up there.  While Fosselmans knocks you out with good ’ol fashioned rich, creamy, delicious butterfat, Bulgarini seduces you with ethereal, yet intense flavors that can only come from primo ingredients.  The gelato had this strange quality of tasting creamy without being creamy.  It was very good.  :)

As I was savoring my gelato, I walked around, reading the newspaper articles that were prominently featured throughout the store.  I found out that the owner actually imports pistachio nuts from Italy in order to get the best flavors.  Ironically, many Italian gelato places import cheaper California pistachios to save money.  He must be doing something right, because the pistachio gelato was a winner.  You’ve gotta try it.

After finishing my 3 scoops, I walked back to my car, knowing that forever more, I will not be able to drive home after an Echo Mountain or Inspiration Point hike without stopping by Bulgarini!  On the way back down Lake Avenue, my mind must have still been in Italian mode because I remembered another something I read once a long time ago.  Wasn’t there supposed to be an Italian market or something on Lake?  There it was!  Roma Market.  In I go.

My first reaction?  Wow!  My senses were overwhelmed with all sorts of imported Italian food stuffs.  Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a little deli counter with a bunch of meats and cheeses.  I purposely veered away from that corner of the store, saving it for last.  I knew if I went there first, I would be a goner!

As I walked through the store, I saw all sorts of vegetables, Italian wines, pastries, candies... literally anything you would ever need to make any Italian dish.  Big packages of lady fingers and small tubs of mascarpone cheese.  Visions of homemade Tiramisu danced in my head.  Bottles of fine olive oil and balsamic vineger.  Fresh loaves of olive oil bread.  Bottles and cans of sardines and anchovies.  Vacuum sealed bags of meatballs.  Bags of homemade ravioli.  Pastas of every shape and color.  I could go on and on.

But let’s talk about the star of the store.  The deli counter, and the very opinonated old Italian gentleman/proprietor who mans it.  He’s a bit of the soup nazi type, if you know what I mean - but he means well.

Stand at the counter long enough, and look at anything even for a second, and Rosario will cut you a piece to try.  I asked whether or not what he was shaving for one of the customers a few minutes ago was prosciutto (those of you who know me, know that I have a soft spot for this stuff), and he replied by shaving me a paper thin slice of translucent hammy heaven.  

"Yes.  Prosciutto.  Not salty, no fat, like the store!", as he handed me the slice, which went directly into my mouth.  

I was sold.

"A quarter pound of that please!"

As he began slicing more wafers of goodness, I started looking at the cheeses, thinking to myself, you know what goes well with prosciutto?  Provolone.

Rosario must have read my mind, because the next thing he asked was,

"Do you want to try some cheese?"

Any remaining resistance left me as I heard myself say,

"Ya.  I was thinking about some provolone?"

What he said next caused a paradigm shift in my cheesy world.

"What kind of provolone?  I have mmanny different types.  You want to try the best?  Here, you try.  It is aged 10 years."

You guys have seen provolone right?  Round slices?  Pasty off-white in color?  A light smell?  That was the extent of my familiarity with provolone.

Rosario pulls out a big ’ol half wheel of cheese.  Thump!  Carefully unwraps it.  It’s the color of custard.  He cuts me a small chunk to try.  It was unlike any provolone I ever had.  Nutty.  Ever so slightly crumbly consistancy.  Dissolved in your mouth.

One look at me tasting that cheese, and our deli-nazi began cutting me a big slice.  Who am I to argue?

As I was ringing up my purchases, Rosario called out from behind the deli counter.

"You know what you’re missing?  Some of that bread!"

I looked at the olive oil bread.  That loaf was HUGE.  I told him that I simply can’t eat that much.  The lady picked three small rolls of some other type of bread instead.  Looked about right to me.

1/4 pound of prosciutto
1/3 pound of provolone
3 small loaves of bread

$10.  I’m gonna have a nice lunch tomorrow.  :)