Brain food
Sharri Whiting De Masi reports.
| More 'Front Burner' articles in this issue |
| Birthday bash |
| Bonbons in Brittany |
| The insider's Paris |
| Nonna knows best |
| Gemütlich and gourmet |
Rome—Like an isolated summer cottage in the Maine woods, the American Academy in Rome long operated with the old Yankee idea that food is, well, just fuel. Winning the Rome Prize, prestigious as it was, did not include inspiration from the kitchen. So, for decades, while the reputation of the academy for haute intellect and über culture continued to rise, the voices from within were mumbling, "What do you think the mystery meat will be tonight?" or "I mean, I love Italy, but do we really have to have pasta at every meal?"
Finally, almost 100 years after its founding, the academy opened its mind, heart, and pocketbook to a different way of eating, with the Rome Sustainable Food Project. Joining the growing sustainable food movement, which includes such vanguard projects as Rome City Schools and the Chez Panisse Foundation's Edible Schoolyard, the academy has committed to using organic seasonal produce, naturally produced meat and dairy products, and fruits, herbs, and vegetables grown on the academy property or specially selected local farms, along with traditional Italian breads and pastas. Everything possible is composted and recycled. The result? Ken Ueno, professor at the University of Massachusetts, wrote in his blog while at the academy, "fresh, tasty, simply genius."
Executive chef Mona Talbott, a former colleague of Alice Waters, whose ideas crystallized the concept, arrived in Rome in August 2006 to prepare for the launch of the Food Project at the academy in early 2007.
Her first challenge? Learning patience. From the perspective of a culture with several thousand years of history, what's the hurry? Hai pazienza, they say, have patience. If you do, things will come to pass; if you don't, it will still take the same amount of time. Va bene.
It took months to set up the recycling and compost program that's a core part of the project. Week after week, Talbott waited for the city to deliver the garbage receptacles for street disposal of trash for recycling (which are already in most neighborhoods in Rome). One morning, just after the January 6 Epiphany holiday, called Befana Day in Italy, when all good children get presents, she walked outside, and there were the containers waiting on the curb. The good witch, Befana, had left Talbott just what she wanted.
Outside, where there had been only formal gardens before, there are now lively patches of herbs, lettuces, and vegetables. The old pear, apricot, walnut, fig, and olive trees are bearing fruit that is snapped up as soon as it's ripe and either served fresh or made into jams or preserves. Grape vines run along the walls, their leaves used for stuffed grape leaves and other dishes. There are bottles of nocino and lauriano (liqueurs made from walnuts and bay leaves) fermenting in the closet. Next year, where there is now a ramshackle cottage used for ripening tomatoes, there will be an outdoor eating area, with working kitchen, pizza oven, and dining tables under the trees.
The Rome Sustainable Food Project is a participatory adventure for the community at the American Academy. Rather than working on their own in the kitchen shelling beans, the staff bring baskets out onto the arched terrace, where fellows and volunteers (including visiting writers) are encouraged to talk and shell, like our grandmothers used to do. At table, where the conversation was always much better than the food, there is now an enthusiasm for the delicious, natural, eco-responsibly grown and prepared menu that has elevated the art of the kitchen to the level of art, architecture, history, and literature. (Perhaps a Rome Prize for food?)
Talbott's favorite example of the success of the program was the day a Fellow at the academy picked up a carefully chosen peach and bit into it, juices running down her chin. "The taste of this peach takes me back to my childhood," she said. That single moment, when Talbott sees you bite into the best peach of your life—juicy, full of real flavor, the color of sunrise—is the moment when she knows all the work has been worth it.
