My intern dinner

and notes from the following weekend

Sunday, June 25th

Friends! Happy Sunday. 

I’m writing to you from the Chiostro del Bramante, a Renaissance building beside Santa Maria della Pace, one of my favorite churches in Rome. Designed by Donato Bramante, Chiosto del Bramante translates to “Bramante’s Cloister.” Its construction began in 1500 as an addition to the church’s complex, and it still stands today and serves as a multipurpose public space. On the second floor, there’s a cafeteria with free wifi and lots of open-air tables, one of which I’m occupying now. My back is pressed against cold stone, and I’m sipping cold coffee. It’s hot here.

Back at the Academy, I’ve packed up all of my chunky sweaters and thick socks; they don’t serve me now, even when night falls. This past week, the weather in Rome turned a corner and decided to be hot and humid — devilishly so. It doesn’t feel so different from the peak of summer in New York City, but the heat arrives earlier here, and with a vengeance. Even with the windows flung open and a fan going, the kitchen is hot and sticky, and we are slicked with sweat by the end of our shifts. The soups at lunch are gazpachos, bright and zippy, and we’re avoiding turning the piastra (grill) on at all costs. We’re serving juicy tomatoes and peaches, swooshes of yogurt, and herby grain salads, and sneaking spoonfuls of leftover gelato from the freezer between tasks. It’s the only way!

On Thursday, the hottest day we’ve had thus far, I had my intern dinner, the culmination of every RSFP intern’s time at the Academy. We each get to lead a shift and design a dinner menu, and we can include anything our hearts desire (within reason, of course). It’s a darling, generous tradition, and I embraced the opportunity to the best of my ability.

 I wasn’t due in the kitchen until 12:30 pm on Thursday, but I wanted to beat the heat to roll out the tart crust for dessert, so I went down at 8 am or so. It was a good idea, but the heat had already arrived, and although I’d taken every precaution I could think of, I felt the butter melting into puddles as I rolled. Note to self: don’t attempt a flaky, buttery crust on a hot day unless you really want to be humbled. Nevertheless, I persisted! The resulting crust was just okay, but the ingredients we served it with were so spectacularly good that I was able to let it go. In the stand mixer, I whipped ground almonds with butter, eggs, lemon zest, sugar, and salt until light, airy, and spreadable. Almond frangipane. Later on, before serving the tart, I added macerated sliced apricots and tangy homemade creme fraiche. The crust wasn’t perfect, but I was still proud of the final result. Almonds and apricots really are a match made in heaven, and creme fraiche is one of the best things in the world, full stop.

 As I was half-awake rolling out the dough, Gabri (the barista) scared me by insisting that 83 people were signed up for dinner. I gasped, then realized he was kidding when I saw the beginning of a laugh in his eyes. I marched to the computer myself, and saw that there were only 50 people signed up at that point. HOWEVER, by the end of the sign-up time, there were indeed 83 people signed up. Gabri’s a fortune teller everyone! I was expecting an absolute maximum of 60 people, and had thus only made enough fregola to serve that amount comfortably, so, while flattered, my chest tightened when I saw the final number.

 No matter how you make it, fregola takes a long ass time. I wanted each fregola to be shaped like a tiny orb or pebble, and the only method I found that worked was by pinching off a speck of dough and rolling it between my fingertips, one by one. As soon as I began the process, I knew I’d be unable to complete it by myself, so I took to Instagram and recruited help from the community. It was a hasty, desperate act, but it ended up connecting me to the Academy, as people became invested in my fregola adventure. A whole assortment of folks rolled fregola with me, and it made the experience a true team effort that transcended the boundary between fellows and staff. 

Even with all the help, I’d still only accumulated enough fregola for 60 people, so I made a game plan with my coworkers. Fausto and Marie devoted their afternoons to fregola-making, and Giorgia took a detour on her way to work to pick up artisanal store-bought fregola just in case we had to use it (which we didn’t, in the end!). I’d fortuitously soaked more chickpeas than we needed for the vegetarian version of the dish the night before, so I braised them all and added them to the version with clams, too. Thanks to the kitchen team, my panic was brief, and all was more than okay.

The final result of the fregola dish exceeded my expectations. It looked joyful with its reds and yellows, and tasted joyful, too — vibrant, briny, and ever so slightly floral from the saffron. I asked Giorgia to make her famous high-hydration focaccia to soak up every last drop of golden broth, and she came through. We scattered olives and rosemary on top of the bubbly dough and served it in big, spongy hunks. The starter, a green bean-tomato salad, was delightful, too: bright, basil-forward, and glossy with olive oil. And so all in all, I was very happy with the meal.

Every RSFP intern has to give a little speech at their dinner, so at the end of mine, I went out and spoke for a few minutes. It felt strange to address everyone formally, but it was also nice to have the opportunity to express my full self, not just my cook self. I love to be a cook, but I don’t like to be thought of as a machine. Before an audience of world-class scholars and artists and authors, I sought to describe myself appropriately: as not just a cook but also a writer and illustrator and singer and student and all that I am. Although it pulls me in different directions and can sometimes feel dizzying, I love the fact that I have so many creative interests. Life can’t get boring when there’s art to make and things to learn, and there’s always art to make and things to learn.

Monday, June 26th

I’m wrapping up this Dish from the courtyard of the Academy, which is just beginning to brighten and buzz. I wanted to tell you about the rest of my Sunday. It felt challenging to be alone on Saturday, for many reasons, but after a fat sleep and a strong coffee I took Sunday by storm. After writing at the Chiostro del Bramante, I took myself out for one last lunch at Al Pompiere, which I discovered is closing for the entire month of July for renovations. I ordered what I always order: a fried zucchini flower stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, a plate of carbonara (their version is somehow so light??), and the crispy, garlicky endive.

In the afternoon, I lounged by the pool at a hotel around the corner from the Academy. The day pass is far too expensive for it to become a habit (sigh), but it was such a treat to lower my body temperature and relax. When I got home, I baked an easy lemon-yogurt cake with apricots to bring to a BBQ hosted by fellows. I stayed at the BBQ for a while, then went home and fell asleep early. 

Sometimes I find it SO HARD to have days to myself, and sometimes I think it’s the best thing.

More next week! Xo,

Phoebe