My high school didn't offer Italian language classes. My best friend and I got approval from the principal to take Italian at U of M, which we did for a while, and then eventually with a tutor.

Yogitalian wasn't your usual language class. My Italian tutor wasn't comfortable getting paid for teaching the language (due to some unrealistic rules from school that I was totally willing to smudge) so we negotiated that we'd pay her for teaching yoga. An hour of Italian, an hour of yoga. Pretty awesome way to spend time in between water polo practice and homework, I must admit.

The other sweet part of the deal was that our tutor was an excellent cook and moonlighted as a caterer. She had learned traditional Italian recipes when she lived abroad and she was happy to share her dishes with us. The only catch? She's vegan.

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My method for poaching eggs, for all the good people at Once Over Coffee Bar on S.First St. in Austin.

Just in case my exuberant hand gestures and imaginary saute’ pan left you all with questions this afternoon, here is a recap of how to poach an egg my way. There are many methods to this seemingly simple egg preparation yet I find that most leave the water cloudy and the egg whites like a spider web.

Rob, who owns my favorite cafe’ with his lovely wife Janèe, mentioned the tornado-swirl method but conceded that it only works once in a while. If you’ve never tried this nifty-named process, the infamous tornado-swirl method is basically when you stir a simmering pot of water with a utensil in order to create a vortex in hopes that the egg will stay together rather than spreading out into a giant globby mess. Maybe you’ve perfected this crazy mode but it generally fails me and apparently Rob too.

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In the back of the house, you are likely to see an array of tattoos that either explain the culinary tradition which the cook appreciates, favorite type of produce or their affinity for Star Wars. While these designs offer information about a cooks personality, the most telling tale of skill, trade and situational history is found in their less intentional marks.

Personally, I have nicked myself with my chef's knife once so far. It was such a unglamorous way to go about cutting yourself that I am hesitant to share.

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Curious what I’ve been up to lately?  Check out Austin’s Meals on Wheels and More website for weekly installments of my blog series.  Get a behind-the-scenes look into the organization and find out how you can get involved.

http://www.mealsonwheelsandmore.org/blog

Spotting the latest food fad is much like discovering fashion trends. You probably make fun of the girl with the shoulder pads but then eventually you're wearing them too. If you're lucky, you'll pick up on it fast, adapt the new trend before it becomes passe' and hopefully it will stick around long enough to make that 50 bucks, you threw down for shoulder pads, money well spent. Just as acid-wash jeans suckered onto legs during the 80's and 90's, some food ideas are very much a product of pop culture and are exclusive to a decade. Basically, if Zack Morris and the gang ate organic edamame and sustainable sashimi at “The Max” we all might have jumped on that food trend sooner.

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Ok, ok, it may seem as though if pizza were a horse, I’d be riding it hard—but that’s what this piece is about; me riding pizza and you reading about it… so let me ride away. In Houston I’ve been going to Brother’s Pizzeria on I10 and Highway 6 for a good slice or two. One day this summer I decided to venture across Houston for the best New York-style pizza (or at least the most resembling) and came across a few noteworthy places. I haven’t even come close to sampling every pizza joint in Houston but through word-of-mouth and Internet reviews/critique there were a few places I needed to try...

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Here are the basics of pizza history in a nutshell. The first pizzeria in America was opened in the early 1900’s by a pizzaiolo from Naples— so thank you to Mr. Lombardi and your ‘cheese pies.’ Long story short, that one Lombardi dude eventually trained other Italian dudes in the New York City region and, badda-bing badda-boom, pizza joints began to sprout throughout the metropolitan area and thereafter created a network of emblematic ‘fathers.’ 

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Please enjoy the first part of Sean's three part series on pizza!

I owe it to the city of New York.  While growing up in the metropolitan area, the place essentially surrounded me with its astringent but yet charming food culture and in my opinion…the best in the continental culinary world. But among the Michelin star decorated restaurants, James Beard awards, celebrity chefs, the grand spectrum of cultural diversity and fusion, Little Italy, China Town, cheesecakes, N.Y. strips, and hot dogs—it is the delight of a good pizza that simply satisfies me.

As a kid, a freshly baked and buttered poppy-seed bagel in the morning from the corner (Westerleigh) deli as well as an actual BLT, a genuine Italian ice, and most notably, a local PIZZA would definitely hit the spot. Nowadays, the simple comfort foods, offered vastly in the Empire State, seem to be limited here in Houston and San Antonio. There are only a few places in these towns that offer what I elect as authentic. Even then, usually falling a bit short. Don’t get me wrong; I adore Houston (and I guess San Antonio too) so I'm going to cut the criticism and give out some tips for surviving their pizza scenes. There are in fact a few notable joints that do satisfy those spontaneous cravings. 

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Little 10 year old Caroline didn't like Paris. After seeing Italy for the first time, Paris seemed lackluster and dirty. I really did not give the city a fair chance back then though (homesick and prepubescent) and I can now say that it is one of my favorite places in the world.

My parents, my grandparents and I hopped aboard a train from Germany to France and began our Parisian adventure shortly after the wedding festivities. In addition to my patient and loving parents, my grandma and I share the same gene for cuisine and hospitality so I had the perfect companions for the week ahead. French wine, French cheese, French bread...

Another confession about little Caroline. As an advocate for fresh ingredients these days, it is taking me quite a bit of self control not to delete the following admission:

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Post green bean revelation, it was time for the second round of cake for the evening.  The wedding cake itself was elegant and simple but the ceremony behind the cutting was quite a show.  Two waiters brought out the cake on a tray much in the way Ancient Egyptians would carry the Pharoah.  The true spectacle of the cake were the candles. Actually, they were more flares than candles and practically toasted off the eyebrows of the two chariot carriers. 

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Culinary school was a very effective medium for time management training. Multitasking and timing the elements of a dish are both tough tasks. By the time I landed in my protein class, I was more comfortable handling a few pans at a time and coordinating two composed plates at the same time. The final exam for this class involved drawing the names of two dishes from my chef instructor's hat and making them for him without a recipe. Lucky for me, I picked two of my favorite dishes from that particular class: Beef Bourguignon and Dijon Encrusted Rack of Lamb. Please enjoy my take on the lamb dish I presented that night (and also got 20/20 on...).

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The top three most difficult things for me to learn at culinary school were efficiently fileting flatfish, fabricating a chicken with speed and accuracy, and not being squeamish when butchering a rabbit.

To give you a little more insight, the day we butchered a rabbit in Garde-Manger went a little like this:

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About one month into culinary school, it finally hit me that I was there. The first few weeks of my certification program at Le Cordon Bleu seemed like a Summer-camp experience of sorts: quick friendships, class camaraderie, and the excitement of being in a new environment—all of this easily lending itself to inner narratives about dreams and“the future.” Once the getting-to-know-you conversations, awkward salutations and course on proper sanitation were through, culinary school started to show its true self.

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