If I had a restaurant...

This is what it would be like.

My latest contribution to The American Magazine is a glimpse into a fantasy world in which I am the cook and owner of a small neighborhood restaurant in Rome.

illustration by Suzanne Dunaway

My heavy blue canvas apron has a white torchon tucked at my waist, it is wet. I have just finished cleaning the kitchen after dinner service, and my bones ache a little. The metal surfaces shine and the air is redolent of duck ragout and brown butter.

When it rains in Rome, people come into the restaurant mainly seeking shelter. Aficionados growl at these walk-ins who unknowingly steal their customary tables. Take Signor Roberto, for example. He comes in, like clockwork, every evening at 7:30 p.m...

Continue Reading → Notes from da Lola as appeared on The American Magazine in Italia

In defense of my vice: eating

How did I start? Survival. 

It all started with me sucking formula from a graded bottle. I then matured to stuffing handfuls of seafood risotto in my 2 year-old mouth, and now that I have grown into a skilled eater, I have reaped numerous satisfactions in the kitchen and generated a bad relationship with my scale. It reads oddly high numbers, especially after gastronomic epiphanies and wine tasting classes. I am a slave to my palate.

As an enthusiast gourmand and proud glutton, I will never quit the exaggerated abuse of food, whatever the midriff consequences. 

My addiction to the delectable governs me. 

I pledge my loyalty to the oyster and the tagliatella. 

I worship the simple tuber and the sophisticated truffle. 

I pay obeisance to the heirloom tomato, the noble garlic and complex extra virgin olive oil. 

I am one with the calamari and the bufala. 

My deep-burrowing Italian roots intertwine with the origins of my past-life Aztec adoration for chocolate. 

Unhindered, I stand by my vice, feeding its craving and honoring it exuberantly three times a day.

Happy St. Paddy's Day!