Green Apple

Foodie's Paradise in Parma

Too bad I'm not a rapper.  There's a lot to rap about here in the foodie's paradise.  I am in Parma, Italia--  home of Proscuitto di Parma and Parmigiano Reggiano, worshipping at the altar of food and ham.  Did I forget to mention the truffles?  

I've been on a culinary tour of Parma (and surrounding areas) and have taken cooking classes at Academia Barilla.  (This trip was organized by Sur la Table, a retailer of fine cookingware online and in their U.S. retail stores.)

Just so you can see that this has been serious business...here I am in a chef's hat and apron.  I have just made fresh pasta and now I am squeezing the ricotta and swiss chard filling onto the pasta.  This is one of my toughest assignments ever!  I will be trying this at home.  I had always been intimidated by making homemade pasta, but now having been taught by the Italian masters, I'm feeling very confident!  (Better not jinx, myself.)

A very memorable day was a day we spent in the country side at the foothills of the Apennines hunting for truffles.  You do this with a trained dog who can smell them.  Our dog's name was Leah and our truffle master was Franchesco.

The lovely Leah found 12 truffles.  The truffles are sold at the local market for about $200 a pound.  Of course, we were there for the easy part -- all the worrisome work of making the conditions right for the truffles had already been done.

So, if you are wondering about the marketing connections here.  There have been many.  Branding has been a central theme every day.  The Academia Barilla was established for the sole purpose of building a cultural brand around Italian cooking and culture -- particularly the regional dishes and food and cheese of Parma.  Their goal is to educate the consumer so the consumer knows real Proscuitto di Parma versus a copy cat from Canada and of course real Parmigiana.  (As you can imagine, the shaky Kraft container from our childhoods is a mortal sin here.  Dio Mio!)

Sur La Table is a retailer in the U.S. that is building its brand by creating communities around food culture.  So, while they sell cooking ware, they now do culinary tours like the one here in Parma.  Very smart marketing.

And, here with my client, Cheetah Learning, we have even made a connection between cooking and project management.  I will post that article when it is distributed by Cheetah.  Chief Cheetah, Michelle LaBrosse, has done some great blogging about this trip.

Personally, this trip had some bittersweet memories for me.  When I was in Italy studying as a student over 20 years ago, I became close with a woman named Jennifer Weck.  We explored Italy together and especially Roma with our very good friend, Stefano Rossi.  He was our personal guide who taught us about Italy in the way only a true Roman can.  Jennifer died of colon cancer last year.  So, as I tasted the gelati and walked down the cobblestone streets, I could hear our laughter and remembering us as young college women -- the whole world ahead of us-- and Roma was magical for us.  So, Jennifer, rest in peace.  Ciao bella.  You will never be forgotten.  And Steffanismo, thank you for the gift of your friendship.  It stays with me still.  Mille Grazie.

Paying Taxes in a Small Town

Not sure if anyone ever has anything good to say about paying taxes, so I thought I'd talk about something I like about paying my property taxes in Vermont.  Like many of us, I often spend the majority of my day in front of my computer, inhaling email, instant messages, twitter messages, Linked In updates, Facebook updates, voicemail...and trying to get my work done while filtering through all the information coming at me.  By the end of day, I often suffer from info-tique.  So, there's something gratifying about unplugging, jumping in Ollie, my Subaru, and driving to the Town Office in Newfane, VT to pay my taxes.  I love the fact that there is a sign right on route 30 in orange reminding me that taxes are due, and then when I get inside there is a plain cardboard box holding the checks of my fellow citizens.  As I walk in, a kind woman comes from the back of the room and says:  "Hello, I didn't hear you come in."  She smiles.  I walk back out into the Vermont summer day and I can feel all those email fly away, the technology disappears for a minute and I am grateful that some things in my life are still this simple.

Georgia on My Mind

Now, when I hear the song Georgia, I will think of Georgia O'Keeffe. Her soulmate and husband, Alfred Stielglitz, captured his love of her in his images, but the words of the Gorrell/Carmichael classic popularized by Ray Charles, capture the longing of not just a place, but also of a person.

Georgia, Georgia, a song of you
Comes as sweet and clean
As moonlight through the pines

Other arms reach out to me
Other eyes smile tenderly

Still in peaceful dreams I see
The roads leads back to you

Georgia, Georgia, no peace I find
Just and old sweet song
Keeps Georgia on my mind

Words/Music by Gorrell/Carmichael

The O'Keeffe Museum is a small, but intimate collection of her work. I enjoyed the photographs of her taken both by Stieglitz and Tony Vaccaro. Both photographers capture the wisdom in her eyes and her direct, natural beauty. Seeing images of her with her paintings gives you a brief glimpse of one of the most important women in American art. The message of her art, taking the time to notice beauty, to actually see a flower in all its glory, is more relevant than ever today, as we rush and struggle to create balance in our lives.

So, after you've gone through gallery, make a point to go to the The O'Keeffe Cafe next door. There is an excellent wine list with premium wines offered by the glass. Relax and take in a glass of wine and remember O'Keeffe's wise words:

"Making your unknown known is the important thing."

Oh Random Me

I've been tagged by another blogger, a fellow sister of Best Year Yet, fine dining, great wine and general shared silliness which alternates with the great depth that only emerges after you've consumed a bottle of wine -- each. How can you refuse that? Besides this is kind of the new way of passing notes and finding out what's in our heads. I loved it as a kid, so it makes even more sense to me in my new kid world of 41. Regression is an art form.

8 Random Things About Me

1. I talk in my sleep and even give PowerPoint presentations. I move my finger like I'm hitting the space bar and moving to the next slide, and I mumble crazy, overused business jargon -- the kind that makes me cringe. What is my brain doing? Purging all the PowerPoints I've written, so I won't have to spend time in Purgatory?

2. My first concert was Men at Work with INXS opening. I went to the Montreal Forum with my Catholic Youth Organization which was called PICCLE -- Peace In Christ Christians Loving Each (other.) The O was silent. Confession: I came up with the name. I don't often admit this since companies hire me to come up with names...and now that I'm in regression at 41, who knows what names (and concerts) are ahead of me.

3. I grew up on a dairy farm and made the mistake of naming a cow after myself at age 6. Carey Cow died tragically while giving birth to a bull. I watched it happen in the barn and was never the same. I still hear the groans of Carey Cow during her fatal delivery. The bull survived beautifully. This birth influenced my early feminist writings ages 7-11.

4. I almost drowned in Lake Eden (Vermont) when I was five. I fell off a dock that I wasn't supposed to be on and I hadn't started my swimming lessons yet, so all I could do was dogpaddle. I was so afraid when I realized how far over my head I was that all I could do was look at the bubbles of air floating up -- just like Meredith on Grey's Anatomy. My mother (an excellent swimmer) dove in wearing a floral dress and panty hose and pulled me out. I'll never forget how strong she felt as she pulled me to the surface and swam like an Olympian back to the dock.

5. I didn't go to headstart or kindergarten because I couldn't bear to leave my Mother.

6. I chose a college that required a plane ride because I was ready to leave my Mother.

7. Nothing tastes as beautiful as an avocado with lemon and salt.

8. Sienna, Italy is one of my favorite places on the planet. It's one of those places where you feel the ghosts as you walk on the cobblestones. I also feel that way about Tribeca at 3am -- sometimes those ghosts are bent over heaving. I smile empathetically.

My sister Cathy (on the left) and I sitting on hay in our barn in Eden, VT in 1971.

Pre-Fourth Pangs

It's June 26th, but still my mind is thinking about the 4th. I just want to grill, sit outside with my glass of wine and soak in the summer. Watch the fireworks light up the sky and dream. On the 4th, I don't think about the birth of the country, as much as the dream of the country. The dream that the founding fathers didn't really agree on. George Washington and Hamilton saw a more federalist point of view that still clung to the ideas of the monarchy, while Jefferson had the dream of democracy in his heart and he only wanted the country to move forward and let aristocratic notions go. A revolutionary idea then, and now. We still have our dreams, but most of them have brackets around them. They are dreams that {we want without sacrifice.} We wave the flag, but are we waving for the "right" to drive SUVs and {guzzle more than our share of the gas?} Are waving the flag for liberty -- the freedom to {buy the cheapest merchandise at Walmart} no matter the long-term cost? Or maybe as Kris Kristofferson wrote: "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."

Starbuckin'

In the same way that we "google," we also "starbuck." For me, "starbucking" is the act of going into a Starbuck's between meetings to check email, work or simply to kill time. There's a lot to contemplate about life while you are in a Starbucks. Blind dates. Have seen a number of blind dates while starbuckin. First, you see the person who gets there first, tries not to look nervous, while continually watching the door, and then there is that look of fear: how am I going to recognize this person. What if their online photo is really old or even downright fraudulent? Are you...are you? Nervous smiles. Can I get you...no I'm fine. (Read: I drank four vente lattes while waiting for you.) Then, there's the frantic search for a bathroom -- this particularly applies in NYC. Frantic tourists and roadsters in need of a decent restroom think they've found their nirvana only to discover there's a line 10 people deep at the restroom. Is this the line for coffee or for the bathroom? Lots of confused looks. I think it's the line for the bathroom. After this brave statement, others depart for the coffee line. Then, there's the self-important, young buck entrepreneur. Talking loudly on his cellphone, acting like he's cutting a major deal when really he's just working on his NYU class project for young entrepreneurs of America. How about the "Like" girl? She's also talking loudly on her cell and using the words: "like" and "ohmigod" as every other word. She is having a trauma that has to do with either a boyfriend or a Prada handbag. Another favorite is the surly customer. I asked for a triple half-caf, soy latte!!! What would our forefathers think if they wandered into a Starbucks today? Would they think that we were mad or just having a belated reaction to the Tea Party? I see another Starbuckin' veteran: the intense iPodding dude. Plugged into his iPod, working on the laptop, and completely oblivious to everything around him. So, who I am. I'm the half-biz woman/half-ipod gurl, furrowing my brow as I go through my email -- hoping for no fire drills that I can't handle before the next meeting. I'm wondering if I dare give up my table to go to the restroom -- most often, I decide not to. Then, I'm also searching furtively for an outlet as my laptop battery gets low. I'm half-way between feeling mobile and hopeful and feeling stressed about the email that I'm about to read. I see pieces of New York flow in and out of the door, catch fragments of conversations between co-workers and then pause and remember the time before starbucks, wifi and being so plugged in. I think that's why we need spas and relaxation so much: to compensate for all the time we now spend plugged in. Okay, time to stop starbuckin' and walk to my meeting. Onward ye caffeinated and connected souls.

Sunshine on my shoulders

60 degrees feels like heaven after the storms we had in April. I took a walk this morning, and it felt so good to feel the sun on my face and to be free of boots, hats and gloves. There is a magic about summer, the Beach Boys running through your blood, and as soon as you smell coconut suntan lotion, it's hard to stay on the ground. You hear the waves on the surf. Smell the salt. You want to run away from the computer and be a kid again. Growing up in two lake towns in Northern Vermont, summer always makes me wistful. I can feel the sand between my toes, see my wet bathing suit flapping on the clothesline, and remember hurrying through chores so my sister and I could get to the beach. It didn't matter that the water was cold or even if it was just 70 out. You were at the beach where things happened. Secrets. Ice cream. Boys from out of town. (This became even more important as we progressed into our teens.) No matter our age, summer still calls to us. It romances us. Reminds us that we still need to play, smell the dew on the grass and hear the frogs sing as the last light leaves the sky. So, don't let this summer pass you by without a few romantic dates with this enchanting season. For the top of the To Do list: Make a date with summer.

My Beating Heart

As of my weigh in last Saturday, I am 13.7 pounds down and even though it's snowing in Vermont right now, I'm ready for Spring! Before this snow, we were in the midst of our infamous Mud Season, which was making my walks look like a Gretchen Wilson video. In the spirit of Gretchen aka "Redneck Woman," I was determined not to let a little mud keep me from getting my heart rate up. I went to the local sporting goods store and bought my first heart rate monitor. Okay, it's true, nothing like a gadget to give your routine a little more zing. I love watching the heart beat and knowing when I'm in the zone. I also like using the words "in the zone" because it makes me feel like the athlete I've never been. I was the person who played sports for the social aspect of it and always prayed that it would never be just me and any ball when it was a critical moment. This is probably why I like walking. It's me, the road, the sound of my heartbeat and all the cool numbers once I get back home. The Polar heart rate monitor summarizes how long my walk was, and how many minutes I was in my target zone and also calories burned. It can also do a thousand other things like make my breakfast, but I haven't read that far in the manual yet. Stay tuned.

10 Pounds Down

Okay, 10.6 to be precise. Today marked my first complete month of Weight Watchers. Was I giddy when I got off those scales? You bet. But, more than the pounds, I felt really good about the behavior changes that I'm making. This past week, I had guests, I made sugar on snow and I went on a sleigh ride that culminated with chocolate fondue. That could have been a disaster for me, but instead, I allowed myself to taste and have fun, and I focused on controling my portions. I think a mistake I've made in the past, is that I've been so strict and punitive, that I lose weight, but then I gain it back. This time, I'm trying to remove the punitive attitude and let myself eat foods I love...and instead really manage how much I'm eating. I'm in this for the long haul. I am also exercising more, but I'm still at the beginning of that behavior change. Taking it one challenge at a time! This weekend, I'm going to a wine tasting in D.C. so I'll need to plan for that and save some points for the vino. Salute!

The Joy and Agony of a Single Pound

Okay, this is what drives me crazy about losing weight. It's when a single pound bothers you, frustrates you and makes you want to assume the fetal position and cry like a two-year old having a tantrum in the grocery store. After my great start losing 4.8 lbs, I return to the scale a week and a day later...and there it is glaring up at me...a pound gained. The receptionist looks at me hopefully. "Don't worry, " she says. "This often happens after a first week when you lose more than two pounds. It's your body adjusting." Makes sense. I smile weakly. I want to cry. I want to get back in my Subaru and drive home now. I don't want to hear any platitudes and happy thoughts about motivation. I want to be rewarded for all the cheese I did not eat and my snowshoeing adventure -- surely that burned a calorie or too. And the snow shoveling. What about the snow shoveling. So, now begins my mental obsession with Why the Pound? Was I wearing heavier clothing? No, not really. Was it the fact that I wasn't at the morning meeting and weighed in at night? Yes, that could be it! Was it the wine I had over the weekend...that I didn't really focus on counting? Please don't let it be the wine. I haven't heard a word the leader has said. I've been having my own meeting in my head. This is what I don't want to do: be obsessed by every weigh in. I want to brush it off as no big deal, and just focus on the new week, the new page...all that stuff about enjoying the journey. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. I have to learn to relax. Let the Type A out and let the Buddha in. Buddha, please come in here and take over the controls. I need to infuse some zen into this pronto.