Snowflakes in Southern California

Jeff and I go to the gym early every morning. Since it’s still dark out when we leave, it’s been pretty chilly lately. This morning when I turned the key in the ignition, the dashboard starting flashing. It also began to beep—a subtle bing, like the musical “fasten your seatbelt” bing that you hear on airplanes. “Great,” I sighed, “something else is broken.” Jeff, never one to presume the worst, leaned over, looked intently at the dashboard, and said matter-of-factly, “Nothing’s broken.” “It’s not?” “No. It’s just a snowflake,” he said. “What’s just a snowflake?” I asked. “On the dashboard. Look at the temperature,” he said. It read 39 degrees. And there it was—a cute little snowflake. Apparently Volkswagen was thoughtful enough to alert its drivers when it’s cold outside. Having driven the car only in Southern California, we had never seen it before. If this keeps up, I’m gonna have to ask my mom to let me borrow some of those gloves and scarves I gave to her when we moved here.

Speaking of my mom, when I was growing up, I don’t think I went a week during the winter without eating a hot, delicious bowl of her escarole and beans. It was a classic Friday night quick dinner typically served with crusty Italian bread. No matter how often I ate it, I never, ever tired of it. It’s one of the dishes that Jeff and I crave when we’re feeling blue for home or feeling chilled, like we do today. When you eat it, it makes you feel warm and comfortable.

I have absolutely no proof that Progresso cannelini beans will make this dish taste better, but my mom used them, so I use them, and so should you. They really are extra creamy and tasty. Plus, I like the picture of the can. I usually make a big batch of this; it’s one of the few foods I love as a leftover.

Mom's Italian Escarole and Bean Soup
Print recipe only here.

2 Tbsp olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced
1 large head of escarole, chopped (about 10-12 cups)
1 15-ounce can of cannelini beans (rinsed)
1 15-ounce can of crushed tomatoes (or more if you’d like it soupier)
Lots of crushed red pepper flakes
Salt, to taste
Lots of good grated Reggiano Parmigiano cheese (preferably from Dad)

Heat oil in a large skillet. Add garlic and sauté 1-2 minutes. Add chopped escarole, and toss occasionally, about 4-5 minutes, until it wilts. Add beans, crushed tomatoes, red pepper flakes, and salt. Heat through for 2-3 minutes more. Remove from heat; (this will help the escarole stay bright green).

Top with grated cheese before serving.

Is Reggiano Parmigiano Dangerous?

It’s freezing this morning. Well, actually it’s 48 degrees. But to a Californian, that’s “freezing.” I have lived in Southern California with my husband Jeff for 3 ½ years. We were both born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island. In fact, we recently flew back from there, and on the 6 hr. flight home, I got the idea for this blog.

Growing up Italian in Rhode Island, much of my life has been about food. Even this trip home was about eating. Jeff and I had not been home for Christmas Eve in years. If you’re Italian, then this is a big deal. Such a big deal that we actually had two Christmas Eves—one with Jeff’s family, one with mine. The hilarious stories and fantastic recipes from those two nights alone could fill weeks of this blog.

Even the flight back to California was about food. I am compulsive about a lot of things, as you will learn. Traveling is one of them. Jeff and I managed to fit a week’s worth of clothing in just two carry-on bags. The problem is when you’re Italian, your parents won’t let you leave empty-handed. In our case, this meant a third suitcase full of food also made the flight back.

As we wound our way through Providence’s airport security, in our socks, the TSA guy scanning my luggage, bellowed, “Bag check!” I thought to myself, this can’t be; my ears grew red and hot. Anthony, a big “chooch” (my mother’s word for a not too bright guy—think Baccala from The Sopranos) grabbed my perfectly packed bag, threw it down, and proceeded to ransack it. With beefy hands squeezed into diminutive vinyl gloves, he pulled out what appeared to be a 10 pound aluminum brick. Jeff looked at me and said, “This isn’t good.” Anthony tossed the aluminum object from hand to hand, sniffed it, looked at us, and without missing a beat, said, “Reggiano Parmigiano?” “From my father,” I replied. “Nice,” he said. “Merry Christmas. Hava’ nice trip.” And we were on our way.

This blog will be about my family in RI, my life with my husband in Southern California, and my cooking and recipes. I hope you will love reading it as much as I will love writing it.