My First Meal of the Millenium

I was 19 years old when I touched down in Italy, marking my first time on European soil. I had left Salt Lake City on December 29, 1999, and arrived in Milan on the 30th. I met Madison Sowell, my mission president (essentially the captain of 150 young salespeople), on the 30th. I remember having an amazing salad at his home that was very simple, just arugula with olive oil and salt.

I was in this foreign country as a volunteer, sharing Mormonism with the Catholics for two full years. I was given a random city on the morning of the 31st and then boarded a train to be delivered to a senior companion, a missionary who had been in Italy longer than me and spoke the language better.

I was assigned to a city called Varese, right below the Swiss border. My companion was Anziano Jacobsen. "Anziano" means elder in Italian, and we all called ourselves "elders," despite being teenagers. This was just something we got used to explaining in Italian to all the actual anziani you met in the streets. It was a great icebreaker.

Anziano Jacobsen was from North Pole, Alaska, where his dad was also the mayor of the city. You can imagine how many times he had to explain that one to people. I loved his warmth towards me. He was my "babo," which means "daddy," because I was "born" into the mission with him as my first companion.

I remember lookingout the small window of our tiny apartment as the New Year, New Decade, New Century, New Millennium happened. I know everyone reading this remembers exactly where they were if they were born in the '80s or early '90s. Few people get to live through a new Millennium.

In the morning, a family that was part of the local branch of the church invited us to their New Year’s celebratory lunch. I was beyond excited to try authentic food made in the home of Italians. We arrived at their home, and all the language I thought I had learned during two months of training was basically useless. I didn’t understand a damn word anyone was saying.

The lunch came out, and it was a massive pot of Tortellini in Brodo, pictured here:

My companion proceeded to tell me that this was it for lunch. I was surprised by the simplicity of the meal once again. I helped myself to a bowl. It affected me profoundly. It was perfect. I realized right then that I was going to get through two years of struggling with language, homesickness, and rejection from everyone. I was in a country that produced flavors I had never tasted before. I had three bowls of soup; it was nostalgic in a way I can't explain. It became my Ratatouille for the next two years. I would prepare this meal again and again.

The next part of this story is where I was pranked. The entire Italian family and my companion knew that Americans come not knowing that there are basically 10 courses on New Year’s Day in Italian tradition. I had filled my stomach with soup, and in an attempt not to be rude, I had to play Tetris with my stomach while consuming more dishes of meats, cheeses, pastas, fruits, vegetables, and tiramisu (made with a coffee replacement because Mormons somehow convince Italians to give up coffee when they convert).

24 years later, I am attempting to recreate this dish from scratch for my friends. My wife and I were invited to a monthly wine club where the local chefs and sommeliers cook for each other and pair wines. Being part of this group has reignited my desire to learn about the culinary arts and to cook from scratch. I have spent hours shopping and preparing these tortellini with my friend Amy and lots of help from Natalie. I will serve them with a broth made from scratch tonight to 16 foodies. It will be decioslous because the story and love I have for this dish. Also, Wonka taught me this in the new film:

“The secret is, it’s not the chocolate that matters. It’s the people you share it with.”

I am going to Italy to live at the end of May and most of June. I have a new desire to stay in one place with my small family and cook each day. This calls to me.

Ci Vediamo in Italia?

SP