vive la liv

Metamorphosis

2012-01-31T10:41:00.001+01:00

Read the Signs

2012-01-05T17:06:00.014+01:00

For those select members of the Italian public who are not necessarily capable of relying on their inherent good sense, there are visual aids. Here are some of my favorites from the past two weeks:

This one below I found by mistake as I was looking through my photos from our last trip to the mountains. Notice the sign behind Giulio's head:

a close up:

And finally, what is perhaps my favorite sign of all: "Vietato Fumare". You know, it's really quite rare to see a 'no smoking' sign in Italy. In fact, this is the only 'no smoking' sign I've ever seen in Italy. Anyway I'm glad they nailed this useful suggestion to the wall, particularly given the fact that we're IN THE GYM. bene.

Buon Anno

2012-01-01T21:09:00.006+01:00

This is the second new year I've celebrated in Italy. Last year Giulio and I went to a house party followed by a discoteca where I ingenuously spent the evening wishing everyone "a happy new anus" (see "buon ano nuovo"). This year, Giulio and I spent the new year here:

BUT, being the sad, old-souled bastards we are, we opted to spend the evening at home, actively avoiding the crowds, and accompanied by none other than our effervescent French friend:

oh yea, AND these:

Kinder is the shit-tastic chocolate readily located at the front of every grocery store, next to the cassa. For the holiday season, Kinder gets all kinds of festive by featuring their hollow-holiday-egg-enclosed "SORPRESA".

BEHOLD

Being the greedy and impatient bitch I am, I opened mine first by brutishly smashing it against the table.

(at this point, I was still vaguely excited and curious)

though, it didn't take long to understand that this was not in fact the new Lego set I had hoped for, but a piece of red and green plastic TRASH accompanying a merda of a mural that was apparently best appreciated when observed through the rose colored lens. How appropriately figurative.

unfortunately all that appeared was this disappointing, G-rated cartoon of two- dimensional sea life.

Giulio's turn (at delicacy).

his surprise immediately resembled pulled-pork to me, which naturally spun me into a jealous rage.

alas, he and I both had to face disappointment again by the anticlimax that was this dysfunctional turd of inedible entertainment. In its defense, at least it was a little festive.

We rang in the new year with our ears stuffed with cotton and the cabin shutters tightly sealed, though it was not a perfect ploy against the drunks or uncivilized children and their sparklers of peril. But we survived, and we sincerely hope you did too.

Wishing you the best for 2012,

Liv

Boxing Day?

2011-12-27T11:35:00.019+01:00

Well, it's the day after the day after Christmas, which I guess makes today Tae Bo day, or whatever.

I'm officially on winter break which, in medical school lingo, means I have a respiratory physiology exam the day after I get back from "vacation" and a cumulative morphology exam testing everything I've learned since October within the month. You say happy holidays, I say fuck you.

Giulio and I decided to indulge in spite of ourselves by going skiing/snowboarding for three days. The snow was not perfect but we had heaps of fun drinking vin brule, bombardini, and thick ass hot chocolates. We ate hot dogs and french fries whenever we felt like it and finished each day with a glass of Gewurztraminer- so delicious it left sugar crystals in the bottom of the glass.

Unfortunately we have since returned from our giro and now the cruel, cruel reality has set in- Giulio is back at work (for free) and I have drank six coffees, eaten three bowls of cereal, and managed to successfully avoid opening my histology textbook. I was so afraid of finding myself incapable of absorbing academic material that I opted instead to spend the morning doing something that makes me feel truly confident in my repertoire of skills:

and by "skills" I don't actually mean doing laundry, just watching it.

Anyway, I guess it's about time for me to go pluck my unibrow. I'll leave you with a cheery holiday photo and a video of me shredding the slopes in the Italian Alps this past weekend. Buone feste a tutti. X

a big bear hug from yours truly

Seasons Greetings

2011-12-19T15:33:00.000+01:00

PEACE & JOY

From our cold, black hearts to yours.

Love,

G & Liv

My Latest Obsession

2011-11-27T15:37:00.005+01:00

I've finally sorted out my Nikon D60- it had a broken piece of plastic attaching the lens to the body which cost me $62.00 to fix- two dollars in parts and sixty in labor (and like, thirty in gas money because the shop was in an insanely rural part of town). When I finally unraveled it from its protective bubble wrap, I realized that the eyepiece had gone blurry; I tried with all my might to fix it using only my intrinsic skills, but eventually surrendered and read the manual which is something I fundamentally hate. Anyway, after a simple shift of the diopter, everything has been resolved and I can now resume iPhone-free image sharing. And so, I present you my flavor of the week: POCKET COFFEE.

Giving Thanks

2011-11-25T14:21:00.021+01:00

Yesterday we learned about this thing called nephroptosis which causes the kidney to sag in the body due to a disappearance of visceral fat. It can be caused by diseases like pregnancy and anorexia. This year I'm thankful for having neither of the two and for generally being hefty enough to maintain my organs at their proper height.

Liv:1, Gravity:0.

Last night I went out for a somewhat shitty "gourmet" thanksgiving meal with an assortment (culturally speaking) of folks (figuratively speaking) from my university. The food was overpriced and overly aesthetic-centered. I wanted me some straight up ugly Betty Crocker shit- stuffing, gravy, turkey and mashed sweet potatoes with those heinous little marshmallow thingies on top. Instead, Giulio and I walked away with an 85 euro bill and an uncomfortably high sobriety level. On this note, I am also unthankful for the fact that we didn't receive these two days off from lessons- my mind just can't reconcile why the school recognizes Jewish holidays (for instance) but not America's obesity-centered holidays. According to me, all represented cultures should, in fact, be represented in an International MD program. But whatever, I protested by skipping classes today anyway. Actually, I'm not so much indulging my activism as I am simply nauseated. Plus, I'm playing catch-up. I've got an exam every week until Christmas and my weekday binge drinking is forcing me into a somber detox-demanding mood.

I'm searching for a hobby outside of drinking and studying. Life as a med student is manic and it's essential to indulge in activities to keep oneself sane, balanced, mentally charged (meanwhile periodically decompressed). Me, well I'm still trying to access that. I don't have my piano or guitar, but I do download the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on iTunes which I feel really helps keep things light. Sometimes Giulio and I play chess too, but it took me about 30 games to finally beat him and I've refused to play since experiencing that sweet taste of victory. I suppose I have also been feeling the runners itch lately but I'm not sure whether this is a matter of hygiene or in fact my curiosity to know whether I could outrun a voracious Triceratops should the occasion arise. The Milan marathon is in April; I've been flirting with the idea, but my knee still hurts from that one year I moronically ran four marathons with a training regimen that consisted of driving my car to work.

i digress.

My big news and big thanks is that based on my previous coursework, I was able to skip the first year of medical school. This is really huge because it saved my sugar-mother on the order of, like, $25,000 and more importantly, put me one year closer to an early retirement. I freak out a little each day that I spend a shamefully hedonistic amount of time fantasizing about going skiing, wearing ugly sweaters, and drinking eggnog. I also think a lot about how I would really love to be a writer or a teacher. This past year I've noticed an immense shift in my attitude toward "success"- either my priorities are changing, or my definition of success is changing (see- becoming a professional eggnog drinker). it's strange. I don't care so much about perfect grades, I care more about things like gardening. I miss my family and my dearest friends. No, I actually crave them. I wonder sometimes if I'm really cut-out for this med student business. Sometimes I sense myself as a phony, but at this point I'm going to keep faking it until I (hopefully) make it. Besides, being a doctor/failed writer is perhaps one small fraction more acceptable than being a /failed writer.

my biggest thanks to you, who i love
(dreaming of ugly sweaters and eggnog...)

The Smoking Goat

2011-11-10T23:00:00.021+01:00

After a five-month hiatus from work and school and generally all things intellectual, I have finally matriculated into medical school. I had a mini panic attack the first week when I realized 1.) that I didn’t even know what year it was, and 2.) that I had forgotten how to write with a pen; but by week three I had sufficiently brushed the cobwebs off my synapses and by week four was already contemplating that I could be verging burnout. Although I haven't yet found medical school too insulting to my inaccurate self-perceptions of being super smart, the amount of information needed to be learned IS dense and immense. Anyway, while I am at most times remarkably good at complaining, on this occasion I really can’t say much but good things about my colleagues, professors, and program as a whole. It's been a while that I liked so many people in one place, and while I won’t traverse so far as to say that I’m happy, I am presently abstaining from prescription anti-depressants.

Instead of complaining, I decided to relay five randomly-chosen observations taken from the past month.

1. Tardiness: Ok, basically, there like, isn't such a thing. If my lesson for instance, is slotted to commence at 9am, I have learned that this actually means any time after 9:15. There is even an official “academic grace period” whose decree it is to officialize that fifteen minutes late isn’t actually late. This fact also applies to the coffee breaks we predictably receive every 45-50 minutes- a "five" minute break is on the order of ten to fifteen minutes, while a "ten" minute break on the order of 15-35, and so on. Admittedly, my learning benefits tremendously from these brief pauses in information upload.

2. Burn & Sediment: During aforementioned breaks, one typically frequents an on-campus café for a barista-made potation, OR indulges in the (very delicious/awesome/fantastic) cappuccino vending machine. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I am absolutely fucking fascinated by this thing. Even after one month of indulging twice daily in said technological miracle, I still find myself crouched down to the ground, attempting to peer into the machine's insides as if I were a pervert underneath the bleachers at a high school football game. Anyway, #16 is my favorite- cappuccino con cacao.

3. Lunch Breaks: Ok this is crazy but, PEOPLE ACTUALLY TAKE THEM! And if somebody notices you working through your lunch break while mindlessly munching your panini, well, my friend, I'm sorry to say that you have just committed social suicide.

4. Physical Well Being: Health professionals (easily spotted by their white coats and rubber shoes) shamelessly stand outside the hospital inhaling their cancer sticks and exhaling the smoke into the atmosphere of the very patients they just advised to quit. oops.

5. Emotional Well Being: According to a rumor I heard, the on-campus ZOO was installed as a way to catalyze tranquility for (non-smoking?) patients. There are monkeys, goats, parrots, lambs and copious other creatures that call the concrete jungle immediately outside my classroom, "home". They screech and sing most of the day, everyday. Sometimes they are so loud that when I play back my recorded notes, the only thing audible is the animal (as was the reason the lecture was unintelligible in the first place.)

But anyway, this is medical school in Italy, and I love it.

The New Digs

2011-10-06T17:21:00.012+02:00

When I transplanted life as I knew it to Italy, I moved into the apartment Giulio has called home for the past six years. Though its great potential struck me immediately (supreme location, high ceilings, big rooms, lots of light), according to my research, the apartment had not been cleaned since the cradle of civilization. And by "not been cleaned" I mean that the photos released of Osama Bin Laden's postmortem bedroom looked strikingly similar to ours. So, I unleashed my tyrannical OCD mania on Giulio and after a period of hysterical crying, trashing, cleaning, and shopping, we finally arrived at an aesthetic state worthy of hosting many a dinner party. Presently, there's even a loaf of homemade rosemary olive bread in the oven.

living room before

living room after

our bedroom before

our bedroom after

La Dolce Visa

2011-10-06T15:43:00.008+02:00

I fell in love and moved to Italy. Glamorous? YES.
Always unicorns and rainbows? Definitely not.

This piece details the process you must undergo to obtain a study visa in Italy. I have purposefully left out the manic episodes I suffered doing things the wrong way, and opted to focus on how YOU should do it should you find yourself at the beginning of this onerous journey. Gather as much information from blogs or any other resource you can. Talk to people who have already gone through the process if you can. And keep in mind that every Italian Consulate has it's own unique set of required documents, deadlines, etc, and so you must take responsibility to get in touch with the consulate of your jurisdiction to find out precisely what is expected of you. The experience herein reflects my escapade with the San Francisco Consulate.

Before you can apply for a study visa, you need to have a legalized translation of your degrees. This is called a Dichiarazione di Valore and as I discovered, it is a separate process from the visa. Do not email the visa office asking questions about the dichiarzione di valore, (you idiot). Instead, email the consulate's "legal department" and request a PDF of their requirements for obtaining the DV.

The first thing I did was obtain an apostille for my high school and college diplomas and transcripts. To do this, you must contact your secretary of state in the state that issued the diploma to determine their exact requirements. For me it meant a California apostille for high school as well as a Washington apostille for university. These states differed slightly. For Washington I had to include the following:

original sealed transcript from my University and original diploma as is (neither notarized)
a check for $15 per document ($30 total) made payable to the secretary of state
a cover letter including the name of the school and country requesting the documents, my contact information, and information on where the documents should be mailed after they are apostilled
a pre-paid Fed Ex air bill so they could return the documents to me.

For California, I had to get a notarized COPY of my high school diploma and a notarized official transcript. Furthermore, the consulate required a notary public to witness the REGISTRAR's signature on both the (opened) official transcript and the diploma (which means your school either needs to have a notary public on site, or you need to call a traveling notary public to come to the school). Written on the official high school transcript, it must say:

" I __________________, Registrar, certify that these are official high school transcripts from ______________ school/university."
On the COPY of the diploma it must say:
"I __________________, Registrar, certify that this is a copy of (your name) _ diploma from _______________ school/university."

Below each sworn statement the registrar must sign his name in the presence of the notary and a Jurat form must be stapled to each document separately. After this, you can send the notarized documents to the secretary of state's notary department. Include a cover letter (with the same information required for the WA letter above), a check in the amount of $20 per document, and a FedEx prepaid return envelope/air bill for them to return your documents.

The apostille should take roughly two weeks to arrive back in your hands.

While you're waiting for your apostilles to return, you must complete a typed translation of all your coursework. In my case, this meant a translation of (only) my university transcripts, formatted in the precise way as the original transcript, and a translation of both my high school and college diplomas. The translation needs to be accurate but it does not need to be done by a professional, nor notarized. And please make sure the translation is in Italian, (you idiot).

Once your apostilles return and your translations have been completed, you are ready to apply for your dichiarazione di valore. Send the apostilled packets exactly as they were received (with the fucking staple right through your college diploma) along with the translation of your diplomas/transcripts. I was also asked to include a cover letter, two 2x2 passport photos, three additional official university transcripts, a completed "Domanda di Preiscrizione" (FORM A, which I found and printed from the Consulate website) and a prepaid return airbill (through USPS because according to the consulate, the other couriers are unreliable). Keep in mind that some consulates may only accept applications for DV's for schools within their jurisdiction. This means that if you went to a high school and college in different states, you may have to send them to different consulates (and it sucks to be you). CALL THEM if you're unsure. Once they're sent, wait 4-6 weeks, but keep in touch from time to time so they don't forget about you.

So now you have received your dichiarazione di valore. Breathe because you just completed the hardest part! Now you're ready to apply for the visa. Keep in mind that you MUST do this in person. I had to fly back early and cut off five weeks of my travels in Europe just to show up at the bloody consulate in person. Also be aware of deadlines and their hours of operation for visas. Some consulates require appointments, some only take walk-ins. If your consulate does not require an appointment, prepare to get there one hour early so you can get to the front of the line. Either way, make sure you have everything ready- you only want to do this once, trust me. Bring the following with you:

1. Completed application form with a passport photo (2x2 inches) glued to the front. You can download this online.

2. Passport or official travel document (original and copy) valid for at least three months beyond the validity date of the visa requested. The passport must have a blank page available for the visa to be affixed.

3. Driver's License or State ID (original and copy) proving residence in that particular consular jurisdiction.

4. Alien Registration Card (original and copy) if you are a non-US citizen.

5. Letter of acceptance from the university, in Italian (original plus one copy). The letter (on official letterhead, signed and sealed by an official representative) must include the following:

name of the student
complete name and address of the school in Italy
the exact period of study including day/month/year and weekly hours
a statement that tuition, room and board, and health insurance will be covered, or that the university will help the student arrange these things

6. Affidavit of health insurance coverage (download from consulate website), signed and notarized

7. Proof of Funds. If you are self sufficient you must request a letter from your bank (on official letterhead, signed by a bank official) that states the exact balance of your account. You must be able to demonstrate that you have a minimum of $900.00/month for the extent of your visa (up to one year) in your account. If you are financially dependent, then you must provide an affidavit of support (downloadable form) signed by your sugar mama and notarized, as well as an original, signed letter from the bank stipulating the exact balance (and it must be recently dated).

8. Proof of adequate lodging for the entirety of your stay. This could be in the form of a lease or a signed and notarized letter from a family member with whom you will stay, or hotel reservation, etc.

9. Proof of roundtrip flight reservations. (I only had to show my reservation for the way there, but some consulates may be different).

Once you leave, your visa will arrive probably two days before your intended date of departure, making for a particularly sweaty week up until your departure. But you will get it and life will be GOOD!

Additional Information

I was not allowed to apply fewer than 30 days or more than 90 days prior to my departure to Italy.

You must go through the consulate office appropriate to your jurisdiction. Not every state has a visa office which means your consulate office sees residents not only of your state, but of your specific city/county.

Be overly nice to any employee you interact with by phone, email, or in person. They are, as I have witnessed, understaffed so make sure they remember you by your kindness and not your inclination to act as an asshole. Keep in mind that although they are terribly inefficient, they DO have something that you need and that they can find any reason to deny you of this thing (or pull some strings in your favor).

Take advantage of emailing and calling and if you have someone who can speak on your behalf in Italian, it will make a difference on how fast you can get things done.

In boca al lupo!

Parmigiana di Melanzane

2011-08-14T18:09:00.009+02:00

What You Need

for the sauce

a bunch of chopped, homegrown tomatoes (or two large cans of diced tomatoes if you're desperate)
two small cans of tomato paste
five (or more!) cloves of chopped garlic
two chopped onions (i used shallots because it's what i had)
1/4 cup sugar
a few teaspoons of dried crushed red pepper
two tablespoons italian seasoning or oregano
two tablespoons dried basil (or fresh leaves if you prefer)
a few teaspoons of salt/pepper to taste
olive oil

for the eggplant

one big ass eggplant, cut into 1/2 inch slices
3 eggs
a few tablespoons of water
1 cup breadcrumbs seasoned with italian seasoning or dried oregano
3 tablespoons grated parmesan
three logs of shredded low-moisture mozzarella (or two packs from TJ's)
olive oil

preparation

saute a few tablespoons of olive oil, onion, and garlic on medium heat for 5 minutes. Add remaining ingredients (for the sauce) and cook on medium for as long as possible. the longer the better. while it is cooking, prepare the eggplant. whisk eggs and water together with a fork. Combine breadcrumbs with parmesan. Dip each eggplant slice in the egg mixture and then in the breadcrumb mixture. Cook eggplant in batches in a large skillet over medium heat, roughly four minutes per side in olive oil. Remove from pan and layer eggplant, mozzarella, and sauce. Bake for 35 minutes at 375 degrees. Sprinkle with remainder of mozzarella and a few tablespoons of grated parmesan and bake for ten more minutes or until the cheese turns slightly brown. Buon appetito!

for the sauce

before stacking

forgot to snap a photo of the final presentation, so, here's this

Gli Fiori

2011-08-07T15:28:00.011+02:00

"The customer is always right"- an indoctrinated attitude held by most Americans and an old adage perhaps completely foreign to most Italians. Recently, I experienced a hybridization of these dogmas.

Giulio just had a birthday which gave me another opportunity to consider how grateful I am that he is alive by commodifying my gratitude with something purchasable. Unfortunately we were forced to spend the day on separate hemispheres so I was limited to what I could send (Italian customs are notoriously greedy).

I opted for flowers and ordered them through an American company that commissions local Italian florists. I decided on a bouquet of wild orchids as they happen to be my favorite flower and are also of sentimental value to Giulio and I. To indulge a little extra in highlighting my affection, the package was also meant to include a "box of goodies" and a bouquet of balloons.

The afternoon of Giulio's birthday, he called to thank me for the roses. "ROSES? what!?" Giulio is the first to know that roses happen to be, like, my least favorite flower (next to carnations). He himself even mentioned that he didn't realize they were from me until he opened the card because I would never send him roses (except maybe as a punishment). Trying not to sound confused and frustrated, I asked Giulio about the balloons and he naturally replied by saying "what balloons?" In my imagined glimpse of the imminent future, I likened myself to a violently angry parent publicly ruining his child's birthday by being overly fanatic at Chuck E. Cheese's; trying to remain calm, I inquired into his "box of goodies", at which point he dangled a cheap plastic bag of conspicuously shitty candies in front of the skype video cam. I was horrified, so I wrote a letter. (a precautionary note- as it is my preferred intention to story-tell rather than be a consumer critic, I have changed the signature names of the flower company.)

Dear Sir or Madam,

I recently ordered flowers to be delivered to my boyfriend in Milan today. I have had several positive experiences with you company on previous occasions and so, have remained a loyal customer.

Today I was surprised to see that what my boyfriend received was not at all what I ordered. I paid for a bouquet of exotic orchids and Giulio instead received 8 pink roses. This was the first assault as he and I both know how much I have always disliked this particular flower. Secondly, the "box of goodies" that was to be delivered with the flowers was offensively cheap and reminded me of something that would be used to stuff a pinata. Thirdly, I spent fifteen extra dollars for this package to include a bouquet of balloons and he did not receive even one single deflated or inflated balloon.

I would like to continue my relationship with your company and so am asking you kindly to please remedy this issue in the way you best see fit.

Regards,

Liv

This is what I received in return:

Dear Liv

Thank you for sending us a picture of the flowers and chocolates delivered to Giulio.
We have forwarded the picture to the outlet and will keep you updated once we hear back from them.

Warm Regards,

Flora

The following day, this arrived:

According to Giulio, the above card (mirror imaged as taken by the camera on his laptop) was a "hardly intelligible, hand written piece of toilet paper with: 'we apologize and we hope that you like the bouquet this time', as to suggest that I was, in fact, acting spoiled."

So, as you might expect, I wrote another letter:

Dear Flora,

Thank you for your efforts following through with this matter.

Attached are more pictures of what I suppose to be a reflection of your commissioned florist trying to ameliorate. Yesterday they sent a new bouquet, balloons, and an apology letter- something that should theoretically elicit my gratitude. Unfortunately, the replacement bouquet was still not orchids, rather gerbera daisies saturated with baby's breath (another flower I happen to dislike), three miniature inflated balloons and three non-inflated balloons (a far cry from the usual helium ones to which I am accustomed and are featured on your website), and an apology letter addressed to "Guido" instead of Giulio that sassily read "we hope you enjoy the bouquet this time".

I would very much like to keep relying on your company which is why I am once again requesting your attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

Liv

After several days, I received their final attempt to remedy:

Dear Liv,

We are extremely sorry as the flower arrangement delivered to Giulio was substituted, the box of goodies was offensive and the balloons were not delivered. The redelivery was also not upto your expectations. While we cannot make up for the lost moment, we have issued you a partial refund of 50% on this order. Credit will reflect in your account within 3 - 4 business days. In addition to this, we are also offering you a discount of $10 for your next order with us. This discount is valid till 3rd of September 2011. We are committed to you as a valued patron, and we hope that taking these immediate corrective steps will regain your confidence in us.

Warm Regards,

Flora

I ended it there as I could understand that this was as far as I would get with them. Through this, I have arrived at the conclusion that in the space where Italy meets America, the customer is always 50% right, 50% of the time.

Al Pont de Ferr

2011-07-08T11:42:00.033+02:00

Giulio and I stepped out for dinner in the Navigli area of Milan last night. Heeding the advice of a trusted friend, we entered the unassuming Al Pont de Ferre, delicately situated on the canal's bank. Given what we had been told about the aesthetic and gustatory quality of the food, we were both surprised by the unpretentious decor- it struck me as a typical Italian osteria where one could acquire a traditionally tasty bowl of spaghetti, no more; I assure you the ambience was the only thing standard about this place.

First surprise- a mandatory glass of champagne on the house. I loved this touch, made me feel far more important than I am.

We had been sufficiently prepped for this restaurant being an experimental and gastronomic sensation, so when a BAG of water arrived at our table, we grinned childishly at each other, reveling in the unconventionality. Eager to pour, Giulio picked up the bag and aimed it toward my glass. I stopped him, insisting that I first capture this still life with a photo. As I was doing so, the waiter appeared with the bottle of Prosecco we had ordered, and poured me a small glass to taste.

this is not your water, waiter

I sip and smell, agree that I like it (see, it's the best Prosecco I've ever had), he smiles, then places our bottle into the bag of chilled water. Prosecco stays fresh and we successfully avoid a faux pas. Waiter leaves, Giulio and I look at each other with bulging eyes, then erupt into laughter.

prosecco in the bag

We order fix prixe- he from the seven course menu, I from the five course menu. I won't reveal all the private sensorial delights of our experience, but I will say that the food is impeccably presented, explosively delicious, and that the ambience is impressively modest - so much that by the end of our twelfth course and third hour of dining, we were relaxed enough to drink from the water bag anyway... as Giulio brilliantly puts it- poor table manners are acceptable so long as you know they're poor. Buon appetito.

candied red onion with goat cheese

beef filet and foie-gras with plum

fish, foie gras & citrus mosaic

homemade pea-shaped pasta filled with peas

pan fried fillet with parsley pesto

rabbit kidneys with scallops and Castelmagno cheese

winter chocolate tree with almond mousse & pistacchio

seasonal changes by way of dessert

grappa and licorice liqueur, on the house

Al Pont de Ferr
osteria con cucina
55 - Ripa di Porta Ticinese -55
Milano
tel. +39 02.89406277
dalle 12.30 alle 14.15
dalle 20.00 alle 01.00

Phone Home

2011-07-06T12:09:00.013+02:00

I realize that what I am about to say will target me for (accurately) being judged a spoiled and self-righteous hag -BUT- I'm going to make this public service announcement anyway: obtaining a mobile phone in Italy has been the most onerous thing I've ever had to do in my life. EVER.

There, I said it. And you know what? I feel better. This process has been so inimical that not even my ~~closet~~ alcoholism could ameliorate my strife- I've been forced to the pen for catharsis. In the event you're sadistic or planning your own transcontinental mass movement, read on for bureaucratic escapade #237: Getting a mobile phone in Italy.

I moved to Milan on May 21 with a delicious American iphone, gluttonously thinking I could just pop in a new sim card and be on my way toward interpersonal relationship heaven. wrong.

Giules and I began investigating mobile phone contracts within the first few days of my arrival, both online and via several pilgrimages down the sweaty streets of Corso Buenos Aires. After some pontification, we determined Tre to categorically be the most affordable, and so, made our move. This meant entering the shop, taking a number, and waiting one and a half hours behind a gaggle of salty plebeians desperately salivating for a new touch screen something or other to boost their dirty egos.

In our moment of glory, we were summoned to the helpdesk- a place of inefficiency explained. The blonde, overly tanned clerk was obviously on some sort of sedative or ecstasy or adult libation or cocktail of all the aforementioned such that she could not articulate a cohesive sentence without laughing in a manner that expelled rapid puffs of air through her sinuses (while she compulsively glanced over her left shoulder to see if her silver-chain-adorned male counterpart was watching her have *so* much fun). To her credit, she was still savvy enough to replace my sim card with that of the Italian order, after which she cocked her head to the left, made a pouty face, and defeatedly announced: "non funziona". In her final effort to please, she suggested we unlock the phone at home and reinstall the new sim ourselves; so we exited- graced with a dichotomy of hope and failure.

The following day we studied hard. We watched youtube video after youtube video detailing the steps necessary to infiltrate the apple jungle, and after nearly twenty four hours of geeking-out (including the enlisted help from select friends and family), the barricades were finally brought down. I nervously opened the sim gate, replaced the AT&T sim with an Italian card, and (prematurely) bounced in my chair as I realized I was no longer receiving the "invalid sim" message. In my excitement, I immediately tried to place a call.

CALL FAILED.

tried to send a text.

FAIL.

Tried mucking around with general settings, switching airplane mode on and off, powering the phone on and off, reconnecting to itunes, banging my head on the table, etc.

FAIL.

Begrudgingly took phone back to Tre. Explained situation. Paid dude 10 euros to take it along with my computer to his house to "properly" hack into it (yes this business practice is considered kosher here). Returned the following morning to him saying he had FAILED. Dude recommends I try a sim from a different mobile phone provider. Giulio and I walk down road, try Wind. FAIL. Return once again to Tre, are instructed to contact an Apple distributor/repair store. Meanwhile, flustered, we acquire a temporary pay-as-you-go phone so I can "handle" Florence alone. I exit the city. I return to the city. Post Florence, we learn from Apple distributor/repair store that currently, there is no hacking software available to enable an American iPhone 4 to function in Italy.

grande.

Our options at this point were laid out for us: 1) wait in vain for proper hacking software to be designed/released, or 2) sign a new contract and choose from a new phone (200 euro for iphone or zero euro for a samsung smartphone). We deliberate for a few days and eventually decide to bite the bullet and pay the extra soldi for the iphone (and eventually try to sell the American one).

Excited to be getting somewhere, we head back to Tre and eagerly fill out all obligatory contractual paperwork. Giulio must sign on my behalf as I have not yet obtained my codice fiscale (see impending gripey post). We reach what is meant to be the terminal end of the process- payment. Giulio pulls out his credit card and the clerk shakes his head, arms crossed. This particular card is apparently not acceptable. FAIL. Our emotions plummet, then soar as I recall having ordered a credit card with Giulio's name linked to my account. They run the card.

FAIL.

Salesman gets on phone with Tre customer service. Twenty minutes pass before we are informed that American credit cards are not acceptable for cell phone contracts in Italy. FAIL. We inquire into our options and are suggested to get a new credit card OR sign up using direct withdrawal from a bank account.

The next day we drive to the countryside to visit Giulio's parents and stop by the local Tre to enroll for automatic withdrawal. Pleased to have so brilliantly navigated traffic such that we could arrive minutes prior to closing, we take one step inside the shop when Giulio looks at me and says: "I don't know my bank routing number." FAIL.

The next morning, we drive into town and Giulio stops by his bank to collect the appropriate information. We arrive at Tre again, happy that this procedure is imminently over. We complete all appropriate paperwork again and when the clerk asks how we will pay, we say direct withdrawal. He says "ok" and we sigh, relieved to be one step closer. He then looks at Giulio and says "che lavoro fai?" (what do you do for work?) and Giulio stares back at him blankly, as if he were anticipating the consequential destruction brought by his imminent answer. "Niente, sono studente."

"Mi dispiace" and a head shaking sideways to signify "NO" is all I can understand. We exit. Apparently one is only entitled to automatic withdrawal IF he has a verifiable income. FAIL.

We walk back to the bank. Giulio orders a credit card. We are told we must wait one week.

Credit card arrives. It's been five weeks since we initiated the process. We take a deep breath and enter Tre. Paperwork is already on file, completed. We nervously hand over Giulio's sparkly new card to the cashier.

APPROVATO.

Finally, after more than fifteen failed attempts, I am now the proud owner of a white italian iphone and corresponding number. call me.

white is the new black

The things I like, the things I gripe

2011-06-27T16:39:00.031+02:00

drink up, you're in Italy.

It's been five weeks that I've been living in Italy now- substantial enough a period to have established some opinions about my new home. It's time to pass some unabashed judgement.

Likes

1. Um, hi. I live in Italy. I get to say "ciao bella", like, fifty times a day without people thinking I'm scummy.

2. The museum-like quality of everything from grocery store facades to the women with their dresses, and their shoes, and silky hair, and flawlessly tanned skin, and accidentally perfect physiques.

3. Public transportation. Whether bus, subway, tram, or walking, everything is quickly, easily, and cheaply accessible.

4.14 euro for a brazilian bikini wax.

5. Social standard for being diagnosed an alcoholic is much higher. Out with the misfitry.

6. Summer aperitivos. Buy one drink and get free food all night.

7.The bidet, period.

8.That everything, unequivocally closes in August because Italians are so rigid about their vacations.

9. Tall ceilings and COOKIES for breakfast are standard.

10. Huge dinners with friends are not reserved for special occasions, they're a matter of convention.

Gripes

1. Ciao, I'm in Italy. And if you want to join me for the long term, just know that it takes molto bureaucracy and molti headaches to do what I'm doing. AND, things here get done at everyone's convenience except yours. Better go have yourself another drink, because that's what everyone else is doing.

2. The museum-like quality of everything including the women and their dresses and their flawless everything makes a girl feel like an unworthy, rotten potato.

3. Should you happen to step foot into a vehicle, prepare to be made very afraid.

4. 68 euro for a mani/pedi and 4.25 for a box of quinoa. Thats $96 & $6, respectively.

5. It's decidedly poor form to order a cappuccino (which I ADORE) after lunch. Back in with the misfitry.

6. Summer aperitivos: one drink, ten euro. That's $14.20

7. Single-ply toilet paper and occasional hole-in-the-ground makes checking your hydration level a nearly impossible task.

8. That everything, unequivocally closes in August because Italians are so rigid about their vacations.

9. Tiny kitchens, mosquitos, screenless windows, and zero oatmeal on supermarket shelves are standard.

10. I'm at the dinner table, but where the fuck are all my friends?

tall ceilings, screenless windows. machete.

The amazing and wonderful bidet, my only friend in 5 weeks.

Mostrami la tua Mucca

2011-06-20T20:38:00.012+02:00

Lets talk about cows. Lets talk about how I just drank a latte (beware: latte is Italian for milk so you will be judged a moron if you ask for one in a bar and expect to receive a coffee; better just make the switch to cappuccino). Lets talk about how the milk came straight from the teet of a cow in the backyard. I mean, no antibiotics, no pasteurization, no hormones- just free range, grass-fed goodness, freshly aspirated this very morning. Though most westerners I know have developed a societally influenced aversion to this idea, I can testify that this was far and away the most deliciously creamy, sweet, and pure liquid heaven (next to any alcoholic beverage, that is) I have ever tasted. and GUESS WHAT? I'm still alive.

I was made privy to this cow phenomenon when Giulio nonchalantly mentioned last week that the 500 cows in the backyard had been a part of the family for five or six generations. I was nonplussed. As a young person raised and educated in a major metropolitan area, I've seldom (read: NEVER) had the opportunity to investigate the origins of my refrigerator milk carton contents. So, I set off for a little journalism.

I learned that these cows are held to strict milking standards- negating the need for hormones that are often used to promote milk production at biologically harmful frequencies so that maniacal farmers can sell sell sell. These cows are given ample space to stomp around and indulge their curiosity, and they actually strike me as happy and silly. Their living quarters are craftily designed in a way that resembles an aqueductal poo river, essentially carrying the caca to a nearby poo dispensary that eventually converts it into reusable energy. Seriously. Said poo-train not only supports sustainability, but maximizes environmental hygiene to eliminate the need for antibiotics. The best part is that the milk distributed from here isn't even labeled as "organic" - "untampered with" is an implicit property of quality. Once again, superiority bears no catchy slogan claiming to be so, it just speaks for itself.

Should you ever have the opportunity to stare a happy cow in the eyes, I highly recommend it. I was enchanted.

Fettuccine with Prosciutto and Asparagus

2011-06-20T10:55:00.002+02:00

What you need:

a few cups of asparagus, stems removed and cut into thirds

one onion chopped

one small head of garlic, minced

prosciutto, chopped

olive oil

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

fettuccine

chile pepper

black pepper

salt

parmesan

grown in the backyard and naturally organic

What to do with it

While pasta is cooking (in salted water), heat the olive oil in a large pan and add onions and garlic. When the pasta is halfway cooked, throw the asparagus into the pot.

Cook for two minutes, then add prosciutto and cook for two more minutes. Turn off heat.

Add balsamic vinegar, red pepper, black pepper, and 1/2 cup pasta water to the pan. Drain the aldente pasta/asparagus and add to pan. Sprinkle with a generous dose of fresh parmesan and enjoy!

ha finito!

Country Playin'

2011-06-19T15:15:00.007+02:00

and this, this is how we play.

music by Soggy Bottom Boys

when life hands you a gun...

... make lemonade.

(you've only got one shot)

Homemade Passport Photos

2011-06-19T10:40:00.001+02:00

The countryside is great for all things homemade, up to and including passport photos.

neutral face, white background, no shadows

Rigatoni with Olives & Anchovies

2011-06-17T22:29:00.009+02:00

Per the request of a friend, I present you (Giulio's) rigatoni with black olives and anchovies. This is my favorite Italian dish to date.

What you need to serve two VERY greedy people

one onion or a few shallots; chopped

a few cloves of garlic; whole, minced, or a combination of the two

fresh tomatoes (see below); chopped, or one can.

10-15 black olives; pitted OR pre-sliced (prettier but not as delicious)

8 anchovies; rinsed and sliced in half

1/4 cup cream or 1/2 cup whole milk

olive oil; enough to bathe in

salt, pepper, and parmesan to taste

pasta; preferably rigatoni or penne

What to Do

While the salted water is boiling, cook the onions and garlic on medium heat for a few minutes. Add the pasta to the water. Add the anchovies and swim them around in the hot oil for a few minutes, then add tomatoes. Continue stirring for a few more minutes then add olives and 1/2 cup of pasta water. Continuing with your tenacious stirring, add milk one minute before the pasta is drained (al dente, people). Add pasta to pan and cook for an additional minute. Add salt and pepper to taste, then garnish with parmesan.

keep the heat on medium

add this many tomatoes from the garden

or a can if you don't have enough, cheater

de-pit and chop yourself for better flavor

cook for several minutes before adding milk

immediately after draining, add pasta

season with salt and pepper and parmesan

devour it like a good country boy

Country Livin'

2011-06-16T19:17:00.026+02:00

I grew up in a suburban area of California known as Scripps Ranch. Scripps, as we Scrippies call it for short, has an audaciously misleading maxim written in pretentious and cursive script under the town's welcome sign- Country Living. Ok. Lets get real for a minute. Everyone who inhabits these parts should know perfectly well that the only thing country about it are the "bird cages" situated within the complexes of the local business parks, where peacocks have supposedly been stored by rebel farmers for decades. And the reality is, that said cages are much better known for being the secret locale for awkward, pimply, bored, upper-middle class teenagers to smoke pot without their parents' belligerent disapproval.

I believe that the things/places/people truly adherent to their respective mission statements need not literally spell out their mottos in bolded, cursive, or neon letters. I will never buy a vehicle from "Honest Joes Used Cars" just the same as I will never consider a person self-described as "smart" any intelligent. While Scripps Ranch may have originally been designated a getaway for a minority of city dwellers, it is now a mass of concrete, cookie-cutter slabs of stucco, crafted one on top of the other to form a relaxing escape for more than 32,000 people. This country lifestyle also boasts enormous chain grocery stores, nail salons, gas stations, fast food joints, and in general, the same conveniences of a city, but under the misrepresentation of a private country retreat.

The juxtaposition to my current residence was made particularly stark today as I went foraging in the backyard/Italian countryside for my lunch. This is real country living- identified not by the sign claiming to be so, but by the inescapable smell of cow dung, the itch in my eyes, and the fact that like, maybe ten people live within five miles of here. Oh yes, and the FLIES! The flies that fly slower than the Italian Postal Service- definitely indolent enough to catch in one's hand, providing a country boy the proud yet false impression that he is in fact agile.

So, this is what I spent my afternoon doing while Giulio was inside studying the legality of abortions. I guess he's one step closer to becoming a doctor and I'm one step closer to riding a bull and lassoing in the sunset.

ain't no country living in this metropolis

must lose lbs. to enter garden

welcome to the ivy league, peacocks

empty basket full of hope and promise

backyard foliage

discovery numero uno- an unripened pear & mini alligator

peach fuzz unlike my rabid mustache

apricot acting like an ass

conventional crowd predictably ostracizing the weird ugly

the savaged one is always most compelling

zucchini feigning apricot

expansion

imminent preeminent walnut

romaine

(assaulted by nature in exchange for this photo)

mini eggplant makes me want to explode with babies

digression

almost ready for the ball

plum, the only one

randomly placed & most insanely massive non GMO zucchini EVER

tipping the scale

magnolias on the way in

the end. now show me your fruit basket.

Ligurian Style Spaghetti with Pesto

2011-06-16T15:57:00.003+02:00

What you Need

Handful of Green beans (from the garden)

Two Potatoes (from the garden), chopped

1/2 Package of Spaghetti

Pesto Sauce (homemade with basil from the garden)

What to Do

Boil water, add salt.

Add pasta, potato, and green beans. Cook to al dente.

Drain, add pesto.

Season with freshly ground back pepper, salt, and parmesan (from the cows behind the garden)

use a fun knife

don't chop the potatoes too small or they will overcook

homegrown

the Percolator nearly ruined my life

2011-06-15T09:49:00.008+02:00

When it comes to my romantic relationship, I am unequivocally the dumb one- so much that I live in perpetual fear of the day that Giulio realizes I tricked him into dating me. Last December, and once again this month, my lacking faculties were nearly abruptly and tragically exposed.

Enter: The Percolator.

I am a coffee drinker but not a coffee snob, and like any good Starbucks patron, I happily drink what's handed to me. I've also handled an espresso machine, a french press, and at a time when I used to get dressed in the mornings (due to my employed status) I would even take the liberty of preparing the Mr. Coffee pot at work, thereby caffeinating my entire building. I never had any complaints.

When I visited Giulio and met his parents in Italy for the first time, I was unexpectedly introduced to a significant, though never before mentioned member of the family: The Coffee Percolator. I had no warning and therefore no preparation to reconcile my ignorance on the issue- imagine going in for a job interview and having no clue what your prospective employer does for a living.

And then, my fear came to fruition: Vuoi fare il caffè? I panicked, alarm bells sounded. Merda! What do I do? There's no way to fake making a post-dinner espresso for a table of Italians. After quick deliberation, I decided to do the only thing I could- laugh awkwardly, then feign amnesia. Time passed, and with a cocktail of nonchalance and apologetic gaze, I was eventually able to casually observe how it was done by a trained professional. Saved.

I moved to Italy three weeks ago and after the first week, experienced another close call when the black handle of our trusted yet abused percolator detached. Considering my unemployed status, I took an outing to the local supermarket and purchased a shiny, new espresso maker. It was brilliant and I was excited to devirginize it immediately. Giulio kindly reminded me that I had to craft one batch of disposal espresso before consuming the first cup. Not wanting to waste a ration of the good stuff, I rummaged through the cabinet to find something old and oxidized, and was pleased to find a tin of stuff that smelled like shit. So I loaded up the percolator, placed it on the stove, then stepped out of the kitchen (pending the size of the device, it usually takes 7-10 minutes to brew).

Two minutes later I reemerged to the kitchen to find the machine rattling, hissing, frothing, and generally appearing as though it were vomitting black tar. What the hell did I put in there? I investigated the coffee tin which was naturally written exclusively in Italian, opened up my computer, and frantically typed in all the bolded words I could make out into google translate. Apparently I had filled the diddy with instant chicory. bad move. (though as a mini digression, I'm alarmed that we even had it in our cabinet in the first place.)

Primarily concerned with exposing my vapid self to Giulio, I threw the pot in the sink, rinsed it, scrubbed it, sprayed down the stove (covered in black goo) and refilled the percolator with real espresso, just in time for Giulio to walk in to the first legitimate batch being brewed. He smiled at me and rubbed my back as if to suggest he was proud of my domestic aptitude. And then we drank.

Fire in Firenze

2011-06-13T12:20:00.159+02:00

I've just returned from a 3 day mini-stay (or, gita) in Florence where I visited an old friend from college, ogled at old, beautiful things that were admittedly far beyond my ability to appreciate, and inhaled busloads of gelato (one of which cost me an offensive 5 euro). Three days is enough to grab hold of Firenze's facade, but not nearly sufficient to indulge in its interior and underground art. For those looking to become totally submerged by David's bits and bobs, I recommend 5 days. If you're an art historian and or fanatic, then I just suggest moving there.

Getting there from Milan:

I bought my train ticket in advance through Trenitalia which even boasts a clickable GB flag allowing for the near flawless cyber conversion to ahem, british english. I was surprised to learn that there are in fact over one dozen trains to Florence every day- roughly 30 euro each way for the pitifully slow (3-3.5 hour) steerage vessel or 50 euro for the lightening fast, swarovski encrusted, 2 hour magic bullet. In light of aforementioned abusive gelato habit, I opted to save the 20 euro and go for the scenic route. Purchasing and using my billete through Trenitalia was easy as pie- if you opt to have your ticket emailed to you, you can simply write down your confirmation code on the back of your palm and wave it at the clerk when he stares at you (tapping his foot, waiting for your travel documents while you stare back at him blankly wondering who the hell he is and what the hell he just barked at you in 4speed Italian, until finally realizing he's with them.) I've learned that Italian bureaucracy is approached the same way as Italian lifestyle- leisurely. I was never questioned for ignoring the explicit instructions to print the confirmation email and on the way home, I flashed a smile along with my iphone (articulating a typed, though miniscule confirmation code), which was more than acceptable documentation of my entitlement to be there.

Navigating Florence

GET A MAP. Know which way the river runs (East/West). Use the location of the sun and the location of the river to orient yourself, this is not a joke! Florence is small but convoluted and you'll do yourself a favor if you heed this advice. Stay far away from any gelateria on the river bank as they are commercial, crap, and insultingly expensive. Most of the tourist traps are on the north side as this is where resides the famous Duomo and Giotto's Campanile, but there are some very lovely shops as you traverse south of l'Arno. For the ladies: be advised that although I was never harassed or made uncomfortable, the men were much more brazen with their gazes than what I'm used to in Milan... I've heard this is an exponential trend the further south one roams but have yet to test this hypothesis myself.

The Jersey Shore

This disgusting, MTV reality program that glorifies much of what is wrong with America happens to be filming in Florence at the moment. YES I saw the camera crews, and YES I scurried off in the opposite direction.

The Sites

I stayed out of all museums and all conventional "must-sees" with the exception of Giotto's Campanile which came highly recommended to me by the locals. It's adjacent to the Duomo, 417 steps to the top (clearly articulating that there is "NO LIFT"), and in my opinion, is far better a final visual than its counterpart as you get to see the Duomo from this angle and without having to wait in a queue).

Ponte Vecchio- Firenze's oldest standing bridge

the false impression that i'm not engulfed by tourists

l'Arno- your compass

local Tuscan produce

supreme view from Giotto's Campanile

Never too hurried to stop for a cappuccino

Stuffed Peppers

2011-06-13T11:23:00.002+02:00

This recipe has a gorgeous presentation, is totally simple, and can be varied by grain and/or meat to suit one's palette.

1. Heat oven to 400F.

2. Slice bell peppers, removing membranes and seeds. Leave the stems on for presentation.

3. The filling can include whatever you like. We happened to have leftover vegetarian couscous with peas from the freezer but you can use jasmine rice, brown rice, or quinoa. I wanted to add some meat to the filling so I cooked a package of ground turkey with a little salt and pepper and one onion, then mixed it with the couscous once it had cooled.

4. Add one jar of tomato sauce. Mine was red wine and parmesan flavor.

5. Add another 1/2 cup shaved parmesan to the filling and homogenize.

6. Spoon into bell peppers.

7. Cover with foil and bake for 45 minutes

8. Sprinkle tops of pepper with extra parmesan and place back in oven, uncovered for 3 minutes.

Voila!

Linguine with Goat Cheese and Zucchini

2011-06-01T09:23:00.001+02:00

Ingredients

12 ounces (3/4 of the box) linguine
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 pound zucchini, sliced into thin half-moons
Kosher salt and pepper
1 clove garlic, chopped
5 ounces fresh goat cheese, crumbled
2 teaspoons grated lemon zest

Preparation

Cook the pasta according to the package directions. Reserve 1 cup of the cooking water, drain the pasta, and return it to the pot.

Heat the oil in a medium skillet over medium-high heat. Add the zucchini, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and cook, stirring, until the zucchini is tender and any liquid has evaporated, about 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 minute more. Add all but 2 tablespoons of the cheese to the pasta. Add the reserved pasta water, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Stir until creamy.

Serve the pasta topped with the zucchini, lemon zest, and the remaining cheese.
recipe from Cooking Light

Rigatoni with Zucchini & Saffron and Asparagus with Balsamic, Garlic, & Tomato Reduction

2011-05-31T10:12:00.000+02:00

Church Bells

2011-05-30T10:10:00.003+02:00

This weekend Giulio and I attended his cousin's wedding in his hometown. Everything was perfect. We began the day with a morning run on narrow roads through the country. The traditional Catholic ceremony began around 11am and was followed by a beautiful lunch in the house next door to Giulio's parents' home. The food was incredible and everything was perfectly arranged. After dining for nearly 5 hours, we returned home for a siesta in effort to prepare ourselves for the country-themed red lipstick/mustache party (opting to penetrate social standards with a decided role-reversal). We spent the night drinking, eating, dancing, and even bobbing for apples- it was a beautiful affair and a sensational party.

The following morning, Giulio and I enjoyed breakfast outside, after which I excused myself to the restroom for 5 minutes, to find him upon my return, standing against the courtyard doors with a massive gun aimed at the passing pigeons.

Sausage, Tomato, and Arugula Fettuccine

2011-05-30T08:53:00.000+02:00

1 9-ounce package fettuccine or linguine
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
6 ounces Italian turkey sausage (i actually doubled this)
2 teaspoons minced garlic (though I love garlic and would have double to tripled this)
1 pint cherry tomatoes
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
3 cups baby arugula leaves
parmesan to your heart's desire
Preparation

1. Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting salt and fat. Drain in a colander over a bowl, reserving 2/3 cup cooking liquid.
2. While pasta cooks, heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook for 3-5 minutes, until "glassy". Remove casings from sausage. Break sausage into bite-sized pieces and add to pan; cook 3 minutes or until browned, stirring frequently to crumble. Add garlic; cook 30 seconds, stirring constantly. Add tomatoes and pepper; cover and cook 2 minutes. Mash tomatoes with the back of a wooden spoon to break them up. Cover pan; reduce heat to low, and cook 3 minutes. Remove pan from heat. Add pasta, reserved 2/3 cup cooking liquid, and arugula; toss well. Sprinkle with pecorino Romano.

Mozzarella Burgers

2011-05-26T14:26:00.000+02:00

Mozzarella Burgers- buon appetito!

This recipe is quick and easy but presents rather impressively. I even managed to woo Giulio's bestie Tommaso who is well known for being the preeminent chef (and economist) of his peers.

Start with a large tomato (preferably heirloom and ripe) and cut it in half. Place the halves on top of a foil-lined pan and drizzle with olive oil and a tiny bit of balsamic vinegar. Slice a few garlic cloves and put them on top, then sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Bake at 425 for roughly 15 minutes.

Immediately place a few slices of mozzarella in between two halves. Garnish with basil and let it melt in your mouth!

Pasta with Anchovy-Walnut Sauce

2011-05-26T11:46:00.000+02:00

YIELD: 4 servings (serving size: 2 cups)
TOTAL: 20-30 MINUTES

courtesy of Cooking Light

Ingredients

8 ounces spaghetti
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 cups prechopped onion
1/2 cup sliced red bell pepper
6 canned anchovy fillets in oil, drained and rinsed
4 large garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 cup fat-free, lower-sodium chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper (or more per your preference)
1/2 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/2 cup chopped walnuts, toasted
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Preparation
- 1. Cook pasta al dente with salt. Drain in a colander over a bowl, reserving 1/2 cup cooking liquid.
- 2. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion; sauté 5 minutes or until lightly browned. Add bell pepper, anchovies, and garlic; cook 1 minute, stirring frequently to break anchovies into small pieces. Add broth and crushed red pepper; cook 3 minutes or until most of liquid evaporates. Add pasta, reserved 1/2 cup cooking liquid, parsley, and remaining ingredients to pan; toss to combine.
(This got a thumbs up from my overly critical Italian roommates.)

Sono Arrivata

2011-05-24T12:28:00.000+02:00

It's Tuesday and I've officially been a Milanese expat for 40 hours.

As the sliding glass doors at the Malpensa airport slid open, I immediately caught Giulio's eye and ran to him. We rushed to the least crowded area of the airport and enjoyed a stereotypically long and romantic embrace- bags went flying and we went spinning, our hearts recklessly beating.

I had been so locked onto Giulio that I didn't even notice the huge (HUGE) sign he had posted over the guardrail: "WE DID IT". It's a special phrase we use with each other whenever he/I/we kick serious ass. Once we made it (slowly, feeble-knee'd) to the car, the romance continued. Giulio had brought me a bouquet of magnolias and roses from his parent's garden- paying a careful homage to my olfactory bulb. He then presented me with a small brown box and gently asked me to open it, revealing my very own set of shiny news keys to our apartment. Also on the dashboard lay a white paper bag which I quickly unrolled to find a collection of beautiful handmade sweets and pastries. Smells.

We drove into the city, smiling uncontrollably as if we were abusing a cocktail of illicit drugs. Opting to first unload my suitcases and then head out for a bite, I walked into our bedroom (our!!) to find a beautiful arrangement of orchids as well as a stack of pedantically wrapped gift boxes embossed with hand-painted hearts. (another beautiful dress, perfect to wear to the San Raffaele University party on Wednesday night). Melt.

I quickly changed and then Giulio grabbed my hand, whisking me out of our place and into Non Solo Lesso- (the same place he took me for lunch the first time I came to Milan, thus confirming it as my favorite restaurant in the city). We polished off a bottle of Prosecco, shared a plate of pasta medditerreano and mixed vegetables (cotti e crudi), as well as a table of small plates including cheese rolled in prosciutto, rabbit, lard, and pork (tartare?). The wait staff knows Giulio and remembered me from our last rendezvous, once again presenting themselves as overly kind, complimentary, and generous with us.

The following morning, Giulio and I went to the bar across the street for a typical Italian breakfast- cornetto e cappuccino. It was heavenly sitting in the warm sun, staring into my love's big brown eyes, and enjoying such palatable perfection. We lingered for a while over breakfast and then Giulio scurried off for his day of work at the hospital.

our breakfast nook

the balcony in our apartment looking over the park

I returned home, opting to study Italian for several hours before letting the jetlag get the best of me. Mid-afternoon I went for a long walk through the city, attempting to get lost and orient my internal compass. Milan is bustling, filled with beautiful people and beautiful shops. Every cafe, restaurant, and gelateria is absolutely enticing; my senses are aglow.

il duomo

the city center

In the early evening, Giulio returned home with a single, long-stemmed calla lily, hugged and kissed me sweetly, and then took me out for an apertivo (negroni spagliato) at a posh bar down the road. Afterward, we stopped by the supermarket to pick up fresh tomatoes, onions, linguine, anchovies, parmesan, and a bottle of red wine which Giulio effortlessly whipped up into the most delicious meal EVER. We passed out almost immediately.

breakfast in bed

(And as if this dream couldn't already get any better, this is what I woke up to this morning- coffee and his hand-made torta di rose).

Everything is in it's right place...

Bella Italia!

The Changes Occurred

2011-05-18T06:47:00.000+02:00

On May 24, 2008 I began this blog as a way to document my adventures teaching in Seoul. It seems that after three years, I'm back where I started.

proof that sorcery does actually exist

This Saturday I am moving to Italy. The transition was inspired by love (I bought my one-way ticket last December), but it worked out beautifully that earlier this month I was accepted to medical school in Milan.

I find it quite amusing that people are curious about what goes into one's suitcase during a transition abroad. My answer is consistently simple and perhaps slightly blasé: "nothing". I'm actually eager to leave my stuff as I reckon the accumulation of nostalgia-based knick knacks solemnly unhealthy. Still, I am somewhat disappointed to be leaving behind so many great pairs of shoes that could very well assume their own suitcase.

Two summer trips back to California are in store- one for some gnarly bureaucracy/visa administration, and another for Vince and Elyse's Wedding. For this reason, I intend to immigrate slowly, gradually expanding my closet with an additional 1/10 of my clothing collection upon each return to Italy.

School starts in October and the summer is brimming with calendered activities, so stay eager as I stay posted.

Arrivaderci!

bin Laden is dead, FOX News fails again, Chelsea Handler is genius.

2011-05-08T22:02:00.000+02:00

he doesn't send flowers...

2011-05-07T03:56:00.000+02:00

... he sends dresses

at last, i'm going to be a doctor

2011-05-05T20:03:00.000+02:00

Although this is in fact the abridged version, I couldn't totally marginalize the sequence of events that have occurred during the past eight months by divulging only the basics of where and when I will be matriculating to medical school.

The lab that I joined in February of 2010 grew very quickly between the months of April and August. We acquired two scientists, two postdocs, and a last-year medical student from Italy, named Giulio, who came for a three month stint to complete his thesis requirement for graduation. Though I vehemently disliked him for the first month of his stay, once I realized he was actually rather impressive, I (we) also realized very quickly that we wanted to spend our lives together. He returned to University in Italy at the end of October and we considered the best ways to make it work- either him pursuing residency here or me applying to medical school abroad. Merging our lives was the true priority.

There are three international (english taught) MD programs in Milan. The first is Giulio's school- the prestigious and private Vita Salute San Raffaele, the second, Milan State/Humanitas (public and also highly esteemed), and the third, University of Pavia (my current boss' alma mater). Entry to these schools is based only on the results of the entrance exam- the top 20 or 30 get in, and the rest go home. There is only one opportunity each year to sit for the exam.

I decided in December that I was going to move to Italy no matter what. Probabilistically, it would be easier for Giulio and I to pursue our lives hand in hand if he aimed for a residency in Milan and I aimed for an adjacent university. I felt a sense of serenity and confidence making this decision- knowing that I would eventually find a way to get into medical school, but that I would never again meet someone so perfect for me as Giulio. So, I took what some might consider a gamble, and bought a one-way ticket for Milan for the spring of 2011.

I have spent the past three months studying (after work and on the weekends) for the entrance exam for San Raffaele- the school Giulio will be receiving his MD from this summer. It was my first choice for many reasons ranging from its reputation, to its curriculum, and to its full integration of USMLEs into the program, thus allowing for the unparalleled option to eventually attend a US or European residency.

Last week I flew to New York City to take the exam. I was terrified, but well prepared. On Tuesday the results were posted, highlighting my name in bright yellow on the number 7 position of the ranking. I'm still in a euphoric haze and in need of ironing out some serious bureaucracy, but I do know that I will be matriculating in early October, and that as the glitterous haze begins to settle, I can see that everything has fallen perfectly into its right place.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me in any way, big or small, along the way. It's been quite a challenging and bitter journey at times, but the juxtaposition with this hard fought battle highlights the sweet taste of earned victory.

Blimey! it's Borecole!

2011-04-10T16:21:00.002+02:00

This is a palette pleasing way to eat kale.

Ingredients
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small onion, diced (I used a red one)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard (don't subsitute with honey mustard, the flavor won't be the same)
1/2 tbsp honey
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1.5 cups chicken broth
4 cups torn, rinsed, and thoroughly dried kale
1/4 dried cranberries (i used raisins and it was great)
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 sliced almonds

Directions:
Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Stir in the onion and garlic; cook and stir until the onion softens, about 5 minutes. Stir in the mustard, honey, vinegar, and chicken stock, and bring to a boil over high heat. Stir in the kale, cover, and cook 5 minutes until wilted.

Stir in the dried cranberries and continue boiling, uncovered, until the liquid had reduced and the cranberries have softened, about 15 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle with sliced almonds before serving. (I ate it over a piece of baked chicken)

Enjoy!

Business Casual

2011-03-22T03:23:00.000+01:00

the first meeting: 3.6.11

The Final Countdown

2011-03-17T01:02:00.001+01:00

Zucchinilicious

2011-02-21T21:18:00.000+01:00

I am a carbohydrate fanatic. Given that carbohydrates are merely longer versions of glucose molecules (the 6 carbon sensation that our cells can most easily convert into usable energy-ATP), it makes sense that humans would develop an appetite for breads, pasta, and rice.

Fundamentally, I do not agree with low-carbohydrate fad-diets. Still, I admit that when I'm trying to slim down, cutting down on them helps tremendously for two reasons: 1) they cause the body to maintain water/bloat and 2) more importantly, once I start with carbs, I can't stop. It's really more an issue of wanting to eat the entire loaf of delicious warm, crunchy bread when it's on the table, or craving a second and third helping of spaghetti once I've had one bite.

I found this simple solution to spaghetti madness in a Cooking Light magazine several years ago. I have recently revisited it and was pleasantly surprised by the delicious flavor, density (and consequent satiety), and modest preparation required.

What you need (serves 1):
3 organic zucchinis
1/2-1 cup tomato sauce (you can make your own, or I suggest Trader Joe's Rustico Pomodoro)
Parmesan Cheese
Pepper

veggie peeler or mandolin

1. Peel the zucchini in long strips, as if you were peeling off the outer layer on a carrot. Try to make the strips as long as possible without peeling your finger! Once you approach the inner seeded region of the zucchini, stop peeling (you can save this inner portion to make vegetable ratatouille or something else).

2. On high heat, spray some olive oil, or very lightly drizzle the pan (if you use too much oil, the zucchini will get soggy). Throw the zucchini in, add some freshly ground pepper, and let cook for a few minutes, stirring frequently. Do not overcook the zucchini, particularly if you prefer your pasta al dente.

3. Remove from pan and place on plate. Add tomato sauce. You could also add grilled chicken or shrimp on top, or use a meat-based sauce if you want some extra protein.

4. Sprinkle on the parmesan, and voila!

i'm far away

2011-01-21T04:31:00.000+01:00

Close I've Come by Ben Lee

More Ben Lee music on iLike

Italia

2011-01-16T04:45:00.000+01:00

I'm home again.

Soon I'll be saying this upon a recent arrival in Milan. For now, aspetta.

you bring me to sobriety the way you intoxicate me

2010-12-17T01:52:00.000+01:00

i awoke this morning in a blanket of apathy. It's a new face of apathy however, because when I wake (earlier and earlier) it's sans alarm and with utmost enthusiasm. i'm brimming with unharnessed energy. i do not feel confined to my bed, rather compelled, totally moved to seize my days, to explore, travel, eat, sex, love, learn. i desire play. This Apathy i feel is not because nothing compels me, it's because the world compels me.. (but)my world awakens to morning glory on the other side of the atlantic.

weight.

wait.

...but you know, I hate dreamers and for now, this is what I sense myself. Wasting my days in a state of hope and fantasy rather than in action, paralleled and entangled action.

waiting, eager, &ready for these dreams of mine to come to fruition.

maythey,theymay.may.yay.
wait. weight.

Support for the United States National Women's Rowing Team

2010-12-07T21:04:00.000+01:00

One of my closest gal-pals 2008 Olympian and 2012 hopeful, Megan Kalmoe speaks to how you can support the United States Women's National Rowing Team bring home more hardware at the London Olympics.

Vaffanculo

2010-12-06T06:57:00.000+01:00

I have spent the past few months unexpectedly falling in love.

Hand picked by the illuminated leader who oversees the goings-ons in our lab, G came to the US in August as part of his thesis requirement for graduating from medical school (in Milan). Not love at first sight, I reckoned him arrogant while he unabashedly regarded me a puttana (probably true, though in my defense, I was only behaving in response to my initial foul impressions of him). The more time we spent working together however, the more I came privy to his captivating cleverness and quiet humility. I began to find him unequivocally, albeit unconventionally, graceful.

Our romance evolved slowly and organically, as late nights of planning experiments led to post-work chow. He made me laugh. A lot. I realized that I laughed more in 3 nights lingering over meals with him than I had in the past three years. His dark approach to making light of the imprudence of humanity, softened me.

G manages to perfectly puppeteer the delicate balance between scary cynicism and moronic manifestations of happiness. He takes my breath away every day and I predictably swoon admiring the way his Armani jacket sits over his shoulders, or the way he habitually twirls his mop of perfectly coiled tendrils while deep in thought. He cooks (amazingly well), he shares (emotional sentiments to family heirlooms), he cares (in principle and in practice). His gaze melts me. He doesn’t fancy himself passionate, but I reckon he is. Never before a romantic, he now proudly boasts the essence of romance in a way that renders me the envy of other women.

Each word that leaves his parted lips is always prudently arranged (and never for the sake of hearing his own voice). I have never smiled so much, and I have certainly never laughed so much. He listens and pays attention. He makes me cry. He’s complex, interesting, mysterious, cool, and still hotly affectionate. He calls me “stella” and I am certain he is the only one who could totally destroy me; I revel sensing myself amidst the most thrilling risk of my life.

older, wiser

2010-08-31T08:51:00.001+02:00

thinking

letting

my hair

The Joys of Coaching Masters

2010-08-28T20:57:00.001+02:00

My Best Birthday Present

2010-08-25T14:46:00.001+02:00

thanks Kalmoe , this made my year!

sigh no more

2010-08-18T04:09:00.000+02:00

Serve God love me and mend
This is not the end
Lived unbruised we are friends
And I'm sorry
I'm sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore
My heart was never pure
And you know me
And you know me

And man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design,
An alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be

love notes to nobody

2010-08-14T08:09:00.000+02:00

It is with a strangely mixed emotion I write you, cross-legged and nestled comfortably in the embrace of my living room leather sofa. I wonder where you are and what you are doing. playing? sleeping? dreaming? in any case, I imagine it to be lovely.

Hearing from you this evening was unexpected and exciting, though it also amplified the internal struggle which seems to have plagued me since you've been away; a conflict fueled by you, but also bearing implicitly broad, philosophical undertones.

As I explained prior to your departure, I'm at a place in life where I am committed to existing mindfully- keeping focused on the here and the now rather than on past events or future possibilities. This sentiment, however zen, comes still with certain frustrations, primarily rooted in trying to define the parameters of the term "now". Does it imply this year? this month? this day? this second? Is it defined by statics or by dynamics? is it possible to achieve a state where mindfulness and hope harmoniously coexist? how do ambitious or goal-orientated people fit in to this model?

Over the past three weeks, your infrequent though powerful gestures, have sufficed to ground me at times I was straddling the fence of my own vulnerability- one leg over the side favoring my "physical" here&now, the other, favoring the happiness I could potentially assume (were I, for instance, to pursue something which is (at least momentarily) outside of my physical moment.)how can i be happy if i'm more often looking forward to you than I am appreciating your being beside me, and will this inhibit or support me growing independently alongside you?

Your absence has forced me to practice patience, selflessness, and delay of gratification- all areas I admittedly need work. Still, I acknowledge that robust crops require not only patience, but water and rich soil for their most fruitful harvest.

Hopeful and dessicated,
me

so many flavors of delicious

2010-08-10T06:55:00.001+02:00

Choices

2010-08-02T07:19:00.001+02:00

"It's a book that says the same thing almost all the books in the world say. It describes people's inability to choose their own Personal Legends. And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world's greatest lie."

"What's the world's greatest lie?" the boy asked, completely surprised.

"It's this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie."

-excerpt from The Alchemist

Oh the Irony

2010-07-25T06:00:00.000+02:00

Photo courtesy of: berlin-life.com

18 people were trampled to death at the Love Parade in Germany yesterday.

Understanding Surrender

2010-07-25T05:57:00.000+02:00

The chief difference between me and others is that I have plenty of time — not only because I am without a multitude of responsibilities and without daily tasks, which demand attention: But also because I am basically without ambition. Neither the present nor the future has claims on me.

-E. Hoffer

photos taken on the job

2010-07-17T06:27:00.000+02:00

immunology is challenging, elusive, exciting, and strange, just as are the people who enjoy pursuit of its mystique.

shhhh... not while i'm pipetting

our alter egos

Vive America!

2010-07-05T19:21:00.000+02:00

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shops and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you


-ee cummings

soil

2010-06-27T10:32:00.000+02:00

the sound that is heard when attention made paid is not

A cry of the feral cat in heat rather

the howls of humans coalesced
over spilled milk
stinks

Dearest Liv,

2010-06-19T07:29:00.000+02:00

Above my desk hangs a cork board that boasts a few of my favorite things:

1. Two business cards. One from a German art buyer who I befriended in Nicaragua, another from a prominent medical coroner who (I met while shadowing a cardiologist) represents San Diego county. They were equally welcoming and inviting; the German art buyer, Roswitha, invited me to spend Oktoberfest with her in her Berlin home, and Othon, the medical examiner, invited me to watch one of his autopsies "whenever I'd like". I have yet to do either, but I plan to both.

2. A napkin from a bar in Nicaragua. On one side is Diane's contact information. She lives in Leon where she helps run a nonprofit organization that provides aid for Nicaraguan farmers suffering renal insufficiency. On the back side, is Oscar's email- a self-proclaimed famous poet who I also met in Nicaragua and who gave me, along with his email, a signed copy of his published book of poems (which, as a matter of fact, is excellent!) On the front cover, he also wrote me a page long personal note in endearingly poor english.

3. A photo of Roberto, Annella (Elyse's niece), Milla, and I at GasWorks park, overlooking Lake Union and downtown Seattle. Happy times when the whole gang was together and in the place I love most.

4. Two torn pages from the notebook where I feverishly scribbled ways I could improve my graduate school application... as transcribed directly from the prophecy of the Dean at my top choice medical school.

5. A polaroid photo of Marah and me in a limousine as we make a champagne toast in celebration of her birthday. Moments before this photo was snapped, we were standing outside our hotel in Portland, feeling defeated in our failed attempts to hail a cab. After what seemed like ages (but was likely only 5 minutes), a stretch limousine approached and we giggled about how "finally our chariot had arrived". To our surprise, the driver hopped out, opened the door for his customer to exist, then turned to us with a perky smile and asked where we were trying to go. What followed was free champagne and a 45 minute scenic detour through the Oregon wine country en route to our final destination.

6. My ID and building access cards to the fantastic institute where I work doing autoimmune disease research.

7. A small, dried "bouquet" of purple and gold flowers (thoughtfully chosen Husky colors), given to me by a tall, strong, and handsome young man (with science degrees from Stanford and Cambridge, and a World Championship rowing title to boot) on our first date. He ought not be confused with the one-armed-man previously discussed.

8. Last but not least, a printed email response from one of my most insightful voices of reason. Ted is a longtime family friend who I have called my uncle from as far back as I can remember. Though there are a variety of colorful and complimentary adjectives I could use to describe such a fantastic human creation, I would best credit his character by simply sharing with you the letter he sent me several years ago...

...in response to an expressed fear that my "life" might fall "victim" to my own academic pursuits, these words below now comprise the essence of my daily prayer...

Dearest Liv,

It is one thing to stay "focused on the academic path" and quite another for it to be integrated in who and what you are - it is not an external process! (that is to say, only you would know).

That having been said it is extremely satisfying and gratifying to consider oneself an adjunct to the great body of human knowledge - when all other things fall away, life is the study of one's own mind. As the pre-eminent psychologist of our times, the two things are, for you, the same. One does not distract oneself from "life" by becoming more educated - one instead equips oneself to understand it more keenly, to experience it more thoroughly and, by god, to defeat stupid people in stupid arguments.

For you, I think, to become less thoughtful, less brilliant, less inward would be a step in the wrong direction...in terms of "Academics" and "Life experience" you need not weigh one against the other; you are both, and should proceed forward as if you and they were one, which indeed they are.

Teddy

Today's Headlines: Local News, Still Crappy

2010-06-11T21:26:00.000+02:00

But who doesn't appreciate a good story?

what do you mean "why medicine?" ?

2010-05-31T22:05:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow is the first day to submit primary applications for the 2011 medical school application cycle. In observation of this occasion, today's feature is both inspired and brought to you by round two.

It's cold and rainy and I'm happy- unmissable signs that I write you from Seattle where my mind, body, and spirit are delighting in the much needed break from Southern California. Playtime has been highly self-regulated however, as I'm here in effort to isolate myself from the "real" life distractions that make conquering the MCAT a la carte, an unrealistic endeavor. And though I recognize it to be a full-time gig, I also find that I am made more efficient by taking the time once every so often to keep mindful of the ultimate motive behind my mental exhaustion - the prospect of becoming a physician.

But why?! !

The personal comments section of the primary medical school application begs this very question, and it too, was the first of those asked during the first (and only) interview I was granted last autumn. Those who have had the misfortune to experience me during a time of emotional crisis, can attest to the value I place on self-actualization and introspection. Even so, I can't help but feel a bit less than dubious toward the suggestion that I am equipped with the adequate insight to faithfully explicate such a personal inquiry, mediating naivete and flippancy, AND within the confines of a character limit. You see, pursuing an acceptance to medical school has come to dominate my existence so profoundly, that posing the question "why medicine?" might as well request that I elucidate the meaning of life - and from the mouth of a twenty five year old, an attempt to answer would at best come across cliched, at worst, arrogant, and in any case, foolish. Following my pattern of self-defeating behavior however, I will opt to elaborate.

Shopping malls terrify me and consumer culture annoys me. In fact, I find the prospect of debt so burdensome that I would rather live, still, with my mother and escaped from the immurement of financial crisis, than with exercised stronghold over my social integrity. As a young adult, I lament the economic consequences of these sentiments not having been shared by more, but as a former seventeen year-old and imminent undergraduate, boom times and a cultivated bank account once sufficed to distract me from the irony that was my high school summer-job.

Nearly a decade ago, I worked to improve the lives of women by selling shoes at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. While I cannot say enough good things about the company itself, I am unabashed to express my then hatred for this job - perpetuated less by the irremovable scent of foot on my hands, than by the dissonance engendered sensing myself contrived. Not easily defeated, I craftily learned to reconcile this imbalance by refusing to "sell" and instead, casting a diffident line into the pool that surrounded the Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins – shoes so great, they sold themselves.

I can draw parallels between my experience (not)selling shoes, and the esteem with which I regard medicine. Articulating the allure of a career in the medical field is about as redundant as highlighting the aesthetic benefits of a two thousand-dollar-pair-of-heels to a shoeaholic with a recent inheritance... be it shoes or a prospective career, I'd be hard convinced that advertising does anything but belie value where quality is implicit and necessity inherent.

But really, why medicine?

In an instant, I can bullet such career perks as intellectual challenge, livable income, job flexibility, and the cross-cultural perception of doctors as noble and necessary; but the weight of medicine's appeal resides in my faith that it couples more meaning than anything I can yet comprehend. It will only be once my brain has reached the terminal end of the convoluted road that leads to its very own heart, that I will be able to respond: "this is why medicine"... and so then, will it also be revealed the meaning of my life.

Sarx

2010-05-11T06:50:00.000+02:00

The Greek root sarx refers to "flesh as it has been cut from the body" and is the underlying sentiment of sarcasm. Admittedly, I have been chastised for indulging in this kind of cheap humor at the expense of another, though I still tend to view sarcasm unequivocally acceptable when directed at oneself. Self deprecation my friends, is the lesson of the day.

So as not to alarm anyone, (and by anyone, I mean my Mom or Dad who are the only ones still feverishly checking this blog even after six months of my writers block) let me preface the following by making clear the purpose of this entry as comedic relief. I possess neither intent to carve additional slits into my body nor be launched from any tall balconies; and besides, prescription drugs suffice to numb the pain at least for the time being.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes yes. I have been thinking, and it's become my belief that were there a formal committee dedicated to inducting worthy candidates into its privileged caste, I'd by now be maintaining a prominent leadership position in the Loser Hall of Fame. I'm not quite sure when I transitioned from bad-ass, to bad, to ass, but insidious (dis)evolution aside, this is me now: nearly 26 years old and fallen from grace.

I scribble these pages from the same bedroom once flanked with Backstreet Boys pinups, glow in the dark stars, and high school dance photos; in the same pink stucco suburban cookie-cutter home I grew old; and so, with the same mother who has never ceased to lose sleep over the frequency with which I remember(forget) to take my vitamins. We have had at least three sets of next-door neighbors come and go, but alas, I remain the same-nearly 26 and still living at home. That said, I had recently felt a kernel of hope in anticipation of the (morally debasing shroud that cloaks my happiness letting-up) springtime finale of my 2.5 year stint at the local community college, though this was soon thereafter negated by the realization that in spite of my 6.5 years as an undergraduate, I am still one semester deficient of English Composition by most academic institutions' standards. Anyway, I too have been putting my other skills to test outside of the classroom by working as the Manager of a local rowing club; this is my self-affirming way of saying that people rely on me for things like maintaining a sufficient supply of Simple Green and MRSA-grade disinfecting wipes. And don't you be fooled by those advocates of mine who chalk all this up to being a "temporary means to an end". While my return to university (ahem, uhhh, community college) WAS only meant to be two years, it will be at minimum three and a half years given my having been rejected from every single graduate program to which I applied (except of course the two whose committees were too appalled by my application to formulate any response). In either case, neither 2 nor 3.5 years is temporary by any standard, and especially not when it comprises 1/5th of life as you know/remember it. Ok, ok, things aren't really THAT bad. On the bright side, at least I've only gained 10 pounds since high school and have been able to strike some relative success in the dating scene. In fact, about eight months ago I went out on a single date with a handsome fella who I met on the internet; though I reckon I may have been too jaded to make for good company because in spite of our four hour rendezvous, I failed to notice that his left limb had been missing from the elbow onward (and yes, it had been MIA for the entirety of our date). Suffice it to say he never called again, nor did I.

Thank the heavens above for Mom, Dad, my therapist, and of course, Kate Bush & Peter Gabriel, for affording me the zest to keep truckin'... and with that my friends, I leave you with this little gem courtesy of the 1980's. Now off to wash down my Cymbalta with a tall glass of pre-bedtime self-affirmations.

Watch this one too

2009-12-27T23:45:00.001+01:00

For you, the day after Christmas

2009-12-26T12:03:00.001+01:00

Success in Suchitoto

2009-11-25T18:04:00.000+01:00

Traditional Ensemble

What remains of the original OR, bombed during the civil war

My roommate Grace, a local medical student, and I

My exam room

Lessons in Identifying Pre-Cancerous Lesions

Pink

We had some time for leisure on Monday

With the mayor of Suchitoto

After several meetings with the mayor, our delegation was made able to open on Tuesday, only one day after originally planned. Unfortunately many roads were still blocked and we were inaccessible for many. Still, over the course of those four days, we examined nearly 500 women for pre cancerous lesions, and treated those who presented with suspect cell differentiation.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday in the modestly sized clinic room as a translator for an Italian doctor (who currently resides in New York City) and an El Salvadoran practitioner. Dr. D was nothing short of brilliant- his knowledge and patience showed no bounds as he obligingly indulged my intellectual curiosity. On Thursday however, he returned to New York, leaving me alone with the local health provider who surprisingly relied heavily on my insight when making diagnostic and treatment decisions. I had had a brief lecture-style training in identifying lesions, but it was my experience with Dr. D that best prepared me to take on this responsibility. I was humbled by everything I witnessed this week.

Devastation in El Salvador

2009-11-09T18:22:00.000+01:00

I am writing from Suchitoto, a small town in the north east region of El Salvador. I am here as part of Basic Health International's clinical delegation; our mission is to screen and treat El Salvdoran women for pre-cancerous lesions and educate local health care professionals about identifying these lesions using VIA (visual inspection with acetic acid). Previous delegations have screened and treated up to 900 women in five days.

Unfortunately, our mission has been put to an indefinite halt as the country has just been declared to be in a national state of emergency. Residual effects of Hurricane Ida have devastated many regions of El Salvador causing massive flooding, mudslides, and deaths. Although Suchitoto has not been affected, the devastation was evident as we drove from San Salvador to our present location yesterday afternoon.

Last night we had dinner with the mayor who shed further light on the current situation. Currently, our delegation leaders are meeting with the minister of health and hospital officials to determine if we will be able to continue our mission, and if so, to what capacity. The two primary concerns are first, that women will not be able to reach our clinic as many roads have been blocked by debris, and second, that health care professionals across the country have been summoned to area hospitals and thus can not receive the training in VIA and cryotherapy. Although education is a major component of this mission, screening and treating women is of utmost priority which means we will still carry out our commitment to these women, providing we are not requested to help out with the current situation. Our group has offered to government officials that we suspend our mission in effort to help with the effects of the flood in any way that we can- this will be decided within the next few hours.

I have been moved by the little time I have spent here. The clinicians I have interacted with are incredible. El Salvadorans are lovely, and the children here are remarkably confident with their cheek to cheek grins when acknowledging our presence.

As I learn more about Basic Health, I am increasingly humbled to be affiliated with such an accomplished non profit organization. Basic Health is the first and only to successfully enter a country and 1. implement its lobbied suggestions for methods of standard practice (as it pertains to women's health) , 2. see that said changes become standards of medical school education, and 3. provide follow-up healthcare to our patients of which includes research to determine the effectiveness of these methods.

I recognize the safety concerns that comprise many central american countries. El Salvador is meant to be particularly marked by crimes which reflect that stark contrast between the wealthy and the poor- kidnappings are particularly prevalent. Extra precautions to protect the group have been made and we have two armed body guards with us at all times.

I'm just sayin...

2009-09-15T09:21:00.001+02:00

Not that I'm particularly keen on admitting a lack of self control, but organic broccoli florets taste WAY better dipped in barbeque sauce, as do most things.

Vegan Cleanse Starts Today!

2009-09-11T17:59:00.000+02:00

In effort to give myself an uber dose of cancer fighting antioxidants, HDL improving fats, low density lipoprotein blasting fiber, and tons of vitamins, I am starting a two week vegan cleanse today. Plenty of research has pointed to the benefits of mono and polyunsaturated fats (found in such foods as nuts, avocado, and olive oil) in increasing the amount of high density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol. This type of cholesterol is the good kind that helps scavenge for the heart disease causing low density lipoproteins- important in a society where heart disease is the number 1 killer of men and women. Fiber, found in vegetables, legumes, and whole grains also helps lower LDL cholesterol, as does it flush the body of waste that builds up in the colon. Studies have also shown that humans and animals who eat low calorie diets (on average 1700 calories/day as opposed to 2000 calories per day) live longer, healthier lives.

This meal plan is aimed at preventing insulin resistance (no added sugars or artificial sugars are allowed), as well as lowering ldl cholesterol while improving hdl cholesterol, and lowering inflammation in the body, and improving the effectiveness of immune system cells by minimizing the work done by the digestive system.

Often times, our depression or sense of well being has much to do with the food we are putting in our bodies. Feed yourself right! I will keep you updated as to how I'm feeling over the next two weeks. For now, here is my meal plan.

Breakfast

Option 1: PB/Banana Shake

1c. organic light organic vanilla soymilk

2 tbsp. organic peanut butter

1 banana

2 tbsp flax seed

ice cubes

Throw all into blender and enjoy!

Option 2: Oatmeal with Nuts and Fruit

1/2c. oatmeal

14 walnut halves

1/4 blueberries

1/2 banana

Lunch: Mixed Green and Bean Salad

3 c. mixed greens

1/2 cup soybeans

1/2 cup cuban style black beans (in olive oil)

12 grape tomatoes

1/2 avocado

2 tbsp balsamic vinegar

Dinner: Tofu Stir Fry

In a pan, fry 1 block Trader Joes Extra Firm Tofu in 1.5 tbsp olive oil

In a wok, stir fry Trader Joes Fresh Stir Fry Vegetables in 1.5 tbsp olive oil

Season to taste with salt, pepper, curry powder, cumin, red pepper flakes, soy sauce, turmeric

Dessert/Snacks

Organic blueberries and strawberries

Organic grapes

1 Sweet Potato

Hummus with Broccoli

Red wine (1-2 glasses max)

Unlimited green tea and black tea (with soymilk)

Nutrition Facts:

Calories: 1500-1750

Fat: 58 grams

Protein: 63 grams

Carbohydrates: 175 grams

Boston, here we come

2009-09-06T20:41:00.000+02:00

http://parts.mit.edu/igem07/images/1/1b/BU_charles_river.jpg

We have recently been notified that one of our bids to compete at the Head of the Charles Regatta in Boston has been accepted! With twenty ZLAC Masters interested in a spot for the traveling squad, the competition will be healthy and fierce as only four oarswomen will be selected to compete in the accepted bid for the Senior Masters 4 (50+). This will be my first time traveling to Boston with ZLAC, and I am thrilled to put forward an entry as the team overall has made impressive strides in technique and fitness. We'll be leaving on Thursday, October 15th, returning on Sunday, October 18th, and competing that Saturday morning at 9:45am.

Liv_'ing in the shadow

2009-08-21T19:49:00.000+02:00

The birthday was successful in turning me 25.

I received many lovely facebook messages, a few emails, some text messages, and a handful of phone calls. In considering those who took the few minutes to give me a jingle, I realized (not for the first time) what an incredible network surrounds me.

Sean

We went to high school together, met his freshman year and my sophomore year after he almost killed himself by taking his parent's car for a late night joyride. We continued our friendship throughout college, and when he called me from South Africa, I agreed to meet him Costa Rica for the last leg of his world surfing tour (funded by his bro Adam Brody). When he picked me up at the airport, he had a stick for a cane and stitches in his foot after suffering a bad surfing accident that day. His twin brother, Matt is a mad scientist, completing his PhD in toxicology at Madison. Sean has created his own successful photography company and writes for several big surfing companies.

Laine

We met in South Korea while teaching for the Princeton Review. She had just completed her Masters at Columbia University. She wooed me with her endless supply of knowledge (particularly as it pertained to foreign affairs), and today she continues to impart both hard facts and practical wisdom upon me. Laine just returned from Tunisia where she studied French for the summer. She is now back in New York City where she is completing a PhD in International Relations at NYU. Her boyfriend Wissam has been working for the United Nations and is the executive director of the New York office of the Council on American-Islamic Relations.

Marah

Rang me from her home state of Montana where she is taking a well-deserved summer hiatus from her double Masters degree program in Nutrition and Psychology. She is becoming a rapid expert in alternative medicine and writes for her own health blog. Marah and I met in 2002 while rowing for the University of Washington. Aside from her incredible cooking, flyfishing, snowshoeing, skiing, running, pole vaulting, and rowing skills, Marah is perhaps the kindest, most selfless human being I have ever known. She was (not surprisingly) voted by her teammates at UW as Most Inspirational. Her boyfriend Max is also a rower- a Canadian who has won several national championships, a world championship, and has been training with the Canadian Olympic Team.

Milla

We met in high school through my best friend Elyse. I was immediately attracted to her vivacity, her rapid tempo, and her quick wits. Getting to know her better, I realized the parallels between us. Her multi-national background and exposure to people and places continues to fuel her curiosity the way it does mine. She is impeccably bright. She speaks French, Spanish, Hebrew, Finnish, and English. She studied exercise biology at UC Davis, and is embarking upon a Masters in Public Health in the Netherlands this Sunday. She and her twin sister are applying to medical school. Milla is a salsa dancing queen. Whether we are philosophizing or playing piano duets, our combined energy is explosive.

Megan

Megan and I also met in college while rowing for UW. Though of an apparent opposite likeness, we lived together for three years before she relocated to Princeton to train with the national team. Yesterday she rang me from Poland where she is competing in the Rowing World Championships this week. Most recently, Megan won the Henley Royal Regatta in England, and then the World Cup in Lucerne, becoming the first United States female rower to ever medal, let alone win a sculling event at a world competition. Last year she placed 5th at the Olympic Games in Beijing, and in 2005 she won the U23 World Championship in the Women's 4+. She studied Latin and English at UW and is a blogger for Row Coach Media, a tutor for Princeton University, a baker, and full time athlete.

Elyse

Elyse has evolved from best friend status to "sister" status. She and I became close in the eighth grade while watching Teletubbies after rowing practice. We did preposterous things together like camp out on the beach, and drag eachother up and down the sand on a blanket. When I proposed we dye her long blonde hair black, she conceded without hesitation. Some of my favorite memories together are of her driving her old skool pale yellow Mercedes around town. The bouncy seats and aeroplane propeller vents where only part of its charm. Elyse drove that car like a bat out of hell. The sound of her peeling out around corners, combined with the chug chug chug of the diesel engine, appropriately dubbed her Cruella before the Benz's dying days. In its final months she would crawl under the wagon and beat the undercarriage with a hammer in effort to coax it to start. She was a riot, and always handled these endeavors with such grace. Elyse has since settled down and become an organized and sensible young woman with a reliable vehicle. She currently works in the Research Department at Rady Children's Hospital, though will be relocating to Los Angles this month to begin her MPH program at UCLA. She is a fabulous cook and fabulous hostess. Vince, her boyfriend of five years, recently proposed marriage in Italy. They make a wonderful pair.

Mom

Hungarian born, mom immigrated to the US after completing her training in Chemical Engineering in Budapest. She was the only member of her family to leave the country. Mom completed her PhD in Gene Therapy where she was able to stimulate muscle cells to make insulin in type I diabetic mice. She is a pilates fanatic and in the kind of physical shape that makes any twentysomething envious. She is an avid hiker and outdoorswoman and most recently hiked the Inca Trail. She was also the regional ping pong champion of Hungary and possesses an incredible internal language translation system in her brains.

Dad

Born in Egypt and raised in England by Irish parents, Dad was also the only of his family to emigrate. With his PhD in immunology (ask him anything about the dogfish), Dad has written several books and published over 100 peer reviewed academic journals. He is a samurai in training and will be competing for his Iaido Black Belt in Japan on his 60th birthday this year. Dad has also been competing in the Monte Carlo Historic Rally for the past several years, and does not plan retire this hobby until he wins his class (which he certainly will). People like him are destined for success all around.

Joanna

Joanna was my first friend when I moved from San Francisco to San Diego at age 5. She, also of a multi-cultural upbringing, enjoys dancing in Greece until twilight- some day she and I will return to Corfu together as professionals or as partygoers as I can enjoy her company in any capacity. After Jo graduated from UCSD, she began pharmacy school at UCSF- the number one program in the country. Though she is insanely modest (particularly given her level of intellect and beauty) she can be viciously and hilariously opinionated when in the right company (me). She is full of surprises.

Now, old enough to be your mother.

2009-08-20T16:43:00.000+02:00

My first order of business in turning another year older was to follow suit with last year's extraordinary desserts. Last night Jason took me out for drinks and food at North Park's Linkery. Yes, they do lots of meat, but they also had incredible vegetarian and vegan options, and are very proud of their part in the sustainable food movement. We ate chilled zucchini soup, fire gingered green beans, and a link of their famous chicken tarragon sausage with beer bread and hot mustard. Everything was fresh and delicious. For dessert, we had no choice but to indulge in the most unhealthy and outrageous item on the menu - three scoops of homemade "lardo" ice cream in between two homemade chocolate hazelnut cookies, topped with a strip of candied bacon, and decorated with some swirly caramel and a nectarine for good measure. That was me, doing my part in the ObeseAmericaMovevement, but still, an insane combo of flavors and textures. I'll have the masseuse rub all that junk out of me today. Doesn't it work like that?

Today, now officially a quarter century old, I have plans to indulge in a few girly activities in effort to preserve my fleeting youth. A mani/pedi, facial, and deep tissue massage are in order. I will also do my usual volunteering at the clinic and coaching at ZLAC, then off for a little salsa dancing at Cafe Sevilla downtown! Tomorrow Adrianne is taking me out for more secret birthday shenanigans, and on Sunday night it's 39 steps at the La Jolla Playhouse with mom. Good week!

This time last year I was celebrating the day in Seoul, making a promise that from every birthday forward I would do at least one thing I had never done before. I'm not sure what that will be today, though if I find myself desperate, I will return to the Linkery and eat chicken feet.

-Year 24 at a glance-

Celebrated at the Suwon Garden in Seoul after completing a summer of teaching biology, reading, and writing
Experienced a challenging breakup, felt feeling, embraced emotion
Took over the Head Coach and BH Manager position at ZLAC
Completed postbac coursework in chemistry and biology
Ran three marathons
Had my bicycle stolen
Wiped the dust of my guitar, practiced a few times
Began writing my book
Took the MCAT (and received scores- might have the pleasure of taking it again in year 25)
Applied to medical school(s)
Published a paper in Hepatology
Visited New Orleans and Bayou, saw alligator, ran my first coaching clinic
Raced the Monte Shelton Northwest Rally with dad and drove the car my father once said he'd be buried in
Raised roughly $1000 for cervical cancer research

-Year 25 Plans and Goals-

Rock Physics and Organic Chemistry
Take team to Head of the Charles Regatta in Boston, win SW Regionals
Learn French
Make time for yoga or meditation once/week
Travel to El Salvador in November as part of BHI clinical team
Spend winter holiday with family in Hungary
Visit Milla in Netherlands, snowboard in Alps
Finish a book (reading one, that is)
Run an international marathon

Vive la liv, vive la vida...

Big Hats & Beignet's & Times I Go "weeeeeeee!"

2009-08-17T00:44:00.000+02:00

Life has settled for a fleeting beat, providing me opportunity and inspiration to reflect upon recent adventures.

On July 17 I took the MCAT. The profound ebullience that followed revealed just how unbalanced and unglued I had become in the preceding months. I have since been in a much healthier and happier place, realizing I am not the permanently coarsened, cynical, and judgmental person I thought I had become! And although San Diego is still not my favorite of all places, I have learned to concentrate my attention on those simplicities I do enjoy, especially late morning swims in the ocean after a long run up the coast.

So here's the 411 on my most recent goings-ons

Opening Day at the Del Mar Fairgrounds followed by 12th Night at the Old Globe's Shakespeare Festival

5 minutes shy of winning the hat contest

ZLAC Masters Team Sleepover

evidence it was a good night: seven seat returns with a new piercing, coxswain acquires a pair of fresh skivvies, and coach ends up backseat in a police car

Our 1892 counterpart frowing down on such debauchery

One week coaching clinic on the Bayou

"don't mind the alligators nor seasnakes, rather, the humidity"

Catholic Mass with my host family

Bourbon Street, New Orleans

:"closed":

:"move":

One week in Seattle/Oregon racing in the Monte Shelton Northwest Rally with dad

Never thought I'd live the day I'd be pedalmetal and he'd be passenger side shouting "go faster"

With the rally sponsorship of our friends and family, Dad and I were able to raise about $1000 to support Basic Health International , a non profit organization that collaborates with in-country partners to increase training, research and education in neglected areas of womens’ public health in Central and South America. So cool that we were able to combine our hobby with a charitable cause.

I recently returned to San Diego and am savoring my last week of playtime before school resumes on the 24th. No new updates on medical school other than that my MCAT scores will be released next week, at which point my completed secondary applications will begin review by admissions committees.

I suppose I'll be 25 on Thursday, though I'm skeptical it will actually happen.

The Desire For Substitutes

2009-06-18T05:46:00.000+02:00

"The burning conviction that we have a holy duty toward others is often a way of attaching our drowning selves to a passing raft. What looks like giving a hand is often a holding on for dear life. Take away our holy duties and you leave our lives puny and meaningless. There is no doubt that in exchanging a self-centered for a selfless life we gain enormously in self-esteem. The vanity of the selfless, even those who practice utmost humility, is boundless."

-Eric Hoffer

My Book Will Kill Me

2009-05-25T21:38:00.000+02:00

I have returned to the blogosphere after entering a more forgiving academic schedule and experiencing a sequence of notably inspiring events.

I am pleased to officially present my embarkation of a project I have long considered- the authorship of my first book! As it stands, this work of non-fiction will include twenty six chapters of over-the-line and sardonic analysis of personal, social, environmental, and political issues. I have yet to set a time goal for prospective publication.

A few things are certain: cynics and aficionados of dark humor will laugh, moderates will wince, overly sensitive creatures will cry, and I will fall victim to retaliation and social alienation.

In Case You're Wondering....

2009-04-23T06:12:00.001+02:00

yes, I'm still alive. I have been a bad daughter/friend/blogger/consumer since having created for myself a (free-time black hole) continual state of solitary confinement in preparation for the imminent MCAT. I consider it moderately daunting that the fate of my career will be determined on June 18, though take solace knowing that every day in the present was at one time the fate of my life. It will always be a non-finite process (that is until I die of global warming related injuries).

Anyhow, marathon training, pleasure reading, love, friendships, relaxing, cooking, sanity, hygiene, etc have taken a back seat to lipids and tangential velocities and gauche conformations. Exasperation coupled with exhilaration and a touch of desperation are the sweet spices of my life. What are yours?