Are you still stuck at home… not traveling? To help ease the pain, we present a different kind of travel writing — fictional accounts of great travels with great — and real — food experiences. The author — Zoe Messinger — has done everything from running food trucks in Milan and Amsterdam, to cooking in two award winning restaurants in Los Angeles, and performing stand-up comedy. And, like us, she still believes there’s magic around a dining table, even if you can’t get there right now. Here with the second in a series of her flash fiction vignettes about some of the best off the beaten path restaurants from around the world — each a love affair with food, a journey of finding yourself through what you eat, and perhaps the best part — each paired with a recipe inspired by the meal. While you’re stuck at home, you can now escape to Paris, The Amalfi Coast, Hong Kong, Spain, Sweden, and Los Angeles. And, in case you’re wondering, Zoe is currently stuck in Pennsylvania, eating her way through the fridge. Zoe’s second “report” takes us to the Amalfi Coast.
Sgroppinos
The Amalfi Coast is exactly how you think it’ll be. Lapis lazuli blue surrounds candy-colored structures, boats and bliss. We were starved as we awaited our leisurely lunch—the theme of our overindulgent vacation. We always left wanting more. We were insatiable, on our own conquest to find the best meal in Southern Italy.
Our table at Conca del Sogno sat amongst the rocks at the cliffs edge, overlooking a white sand beach lined with orange and blue umbrellas, shimmering with women in bikinis. The only way here was on a small fishing boat, then up the rocks by buoyed ropes. We arrived barefoot, brined and blistered.
Mom, in her white cat-eyed glasses and large-brimmed sun hat, investigated the menu like the journalist she once was. She was struggling, since she didn’t speak a word of Italian. Dad was captivated by the women, well-titted, ethereal—typical. His eyes followed the “activity,” while his salt and pepper curls blew in the wind. I’m on the cliff’s edge, in a one-piece with my hair tied up in a bandana—they’re down there, in the sand—topless, content to be ogled.
M lit a cigarillo.
“Want a puff?” he asked me, his white linen shirt unbuttoned at the top, just a few curly q’s popping out. Smoke lined the salty air. He was in his own cloud, on his own island, his own dream valley.
“Sure,” I said. I took a puff and passed it ‘round.
“Cosa vorresti mangiare?” our server sputtered as he arrived at our table, his little Italian mustache peaking at the corners. All we heard was “mangia.” My stomach gurgled. Mom was trying to fill up on liquorice breath mints, little Amarelli, hoping to avoid another carbo-coma. A creamy green zucchini spaghetti passed by our table, leaving a trail of parmesan snow, an edible Monet. It was Conca del Sogno’s signature dish—Spaghetti alla Nerano. We all started salivating.
“Cosavorrestimangiare?” Chef Boyardee interrupted my drool.
“Spaghetti!” I shouted at him, pointing as it floated by – “vini!” – “pesce!” – “mussles!” – “fritti!” – “lobster!” – “legumi!” – “dolci!” – “amari!” – “frizzante!” – “still!” – I don’t know what came over me, besides the vast hunger for some food, some booze, some excitement, something to feed my attention for a moment, to feed my appetite for a life I felt conflicted by. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be noticed, an oyster without a pearl.
The rocks were full now, food moving with the wind, waves of travelers coming and going. We were all in a daze—the cigar, the crisp air, the charm—cosavorrestimangiare—cosavorrestimangiare—cosavorrestimangiare.
Music began to blast at the table next door, Booty Swing by Parov Stellar. Boyardee climbed on a chair, crafting Sgroppinos, spraying the naked ladies who lunched, his crisp cotton shirt drenched in Prosecco. Shaved ice, grated lemon, a never-ending stream of vodka, champagne shooting through the air—this was the off the menu special, and every single table ordered it, drinking it or wearing it. I drank it all in, the Monet now a menacing movie, the women dripping in crochet’d cover-ups as the men clapped and cheered, snapping photographs at the cliff’s edge.
Conca del Sogno | Via Amerigo Vespucci, 25, 80061 Massa Lubrense NA, Italy | +39 081 808 1036 | A hidden gem
Open daily for lunch and dinner.
Spaghetti alla Nerano & Sgroppino
Invented in the Italian village of Nerano, on the Sorrento peninsula
Serves 4
INGREDIENTS
400 grams spaghetti
1500 grams zucchini (small to medium)
200 grams finely grated Provolone del Monaco “caciocavallo” (or any mildly aged provolone)
1 knob unsalted butter
Olive oil
Basil
Salt & pepper to taste
*I like using a simple digital scale (always)
RECIPE
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Cut zucchini in thin slices (~ 2mm). I use a mandolin for quick, even slicing.
Coat a large sauté pan with olive oil on medium heat, enough to lightly fry. Sauté zucchini slices. Make sure heat isn’t too high—you want the sweetness to come out before getting lightly golden brown and fried.
When the pot of salted water is boiling cook pasta (~ 10 min). You want it al dente. Test along way if needed. Strain and save the pasta water.
Puree half of the sauteed zucchini with ½ cup pasta water in small blender. Keep increasing pasta water amount to match the thickness you desire. You may end up using almost a full cup.
On low heat, in the same large sauté pan you cooked zucchini add pasta, zucchini puree, grated cheese, knob of butter and delicately mix just until it all comes together into a creamy sauce. Weave in the zucchini slices.
Plate, salt & pepper (I like Maldon for finishing and fresh ground pepper). Garnish with hand torn basil.
Allora, spaghetti is served!
Sgroppino
Originally from Veneto region of Italy — the home of Prosecco
Serves 4
INGREDIENTS
2 ounces vodka
A few scoops lemon sorbet (to taste & texture)
Chilled Prosecco
4 lemon twists
RECIPE
Whisk the vodka and sorbet together in a bowl until the texture is uniform and slushy-like.
Add enough sparkling wine to fill the flutes about three-quarters full.
Divide the sorbet mixture between the four flutes. Run a lemon peel around the rim of each flute, twist it over the top, then drop it into the flute.
Serve immediately. Saluti!
