We currently have Mark's sister and her husband staying with us for a few days. They live in the Portland, Oregon area and have never been to Salt Lake City around Christmastime. So we decided they must see the lights on Temple Square.
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| Mark on right with his sister Deb and her husband Neil |
After partaking of some Petit Basque cheese (see yesterday's post), we put on parkas, scarfs, gloves, etc., and headed for downtown Salt Lake City. If you're ever in Salt Lake over the holidays, the best time to see the lights are *after* Christmas. Then, the crowds are much smaller and there is a far lesser chance of getting run over by armies of strollers.
When I was married to my former wife, we always made a point of taking the kids downtown in December in order to see the Christmas lights. Here I am in 2006 with part of our brood. You can see I know whereof I speak when it comes to "armies of strollers."
After a while, it got a little boring to go down and see the same thing every year. Yet we did it. But the highlight became not the lights but going to the Lion House Pantry afterward for pie, carrot cake and other goodies.
That being said, the lights looked a bit different this year, and it's always more interesting taking someone who has never been there before. It was a beautiful evening.
Now moving on the Strozzapreti. After seeing the lights, we went out for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants in Salt Lake, the Oasis Cafe. This is actually where Mark and I met in August 2011. "I parked behind the building," I later wrote, "then came in the back door and walked down the stairs. I could see a tall, lean, blonde-haired man at the base of the stairs, and as I approached, he turned around, looked at me, and a huge smile spread across his face. From that very moment, I was smitten … I was afraid he might say goodbye after I told him I had ten children, but he stayed … and he’s been staying at my side ever since."
Getting back to the other night, I decided to have a dish that I had never heard of before made with a pasta called Strozzapreti. The server explained that, translated, the name of the pasta means "priest choker." I was intrigued and decided to try it. The Oasis Cafe calls the dish "Mushroom Strozzapreti," and it features (besides the pasta) caramelized shallots, brussels sprouts, fresh thyme and parmesan. It was tasty, satisfying and perfect for a cold winter night.
When I got home, I did some research on Strozzapreti. Wikipedia says that there are three legends that explain the name of the past:
"One is that gluttonous priests were so enthralled by the savory pasta that they ate too quickly and choked themselves, sometimes to death. Another explanation involves the "azdora" ("housewife" in the Romagna's dialect), who "chokes" the dough strips to make the strozzapreti: '... in that particular moment you would presume that the azdora would express such a rage (perhaps triggered by the misery and difficulties of her life) to be able to strangle a priest!' Another legend goes that wives would customarily make the pasta for churchmen as partial payment for land rents (In Romagna, the Catholic Church had extensive land properties rented to farmers), and their husbands would be angered enough by the venal priests eating their wives' food to wish the priests would choke as they stuffed their mouth with it. The name surely reflects the diffuse anticlericalism of the people of Romagna and Tuscany."
The pasta is apparently typical of the Emilia-Romagna, Tuscany, Marche and Umbria regions of Italy. My attention grew when I read that it is found in Umbria because that is where Mark and I planning on going on a cycling tour next September.
There are loads and loads of recipes on the Internet for Strozzapreti. I will look forward to trying some of them.
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