Una Opera del Amore

Today, every minute has been occupied.
I woke up, ate breakfast, got ready, then headed to the store.
You see, it's one of my best friend's birthday's, and it was her request a few weeks ago that I make her a carrot cake. I have a recipe for one in my Italian cookbook, so of COURSE I wanted to show my love for her by this simple gesture.
My friend is Olivia, an interior design major from Kentucky. She's humble, compassionate, funny, has CRAZY stories that you would never respect (including her tendency to faint at inopportune times), and is the perfect balance of everything rolled into one.
I went to my favorite grocery store, Sapori & Tintori, and bought the ingredients...it's funny how many small things you have to collect! Eggs, unsalted butter, vanilla extract, lemon zest, flour type O, baking soda, nutmeg, a POUND of carrots, toasted almond, ...
Notice the ingredient baking soda. How does one say baking soda in Italian? Beats me! I had to ask for help from the sweet baker, and she told me that Italians use something that is more like a cube, but there is also a powder if I could find one. "It's on street two," she answered in English. "Oh, si! Grazie."
Street two.....I couldn't find it on aisle two, either. Sigh. I found a packet of something, brought it to her, and asked, "E corretto?"
"No, no, no! That's spices!" She laughed and shook her head. Good thing I double-checked! The butcher standing next to her said, "Oh, a Spice Girl!" I cracked up and said, "Oh no, not quite." He then escorted me to the baking soda. Whoop! In my possession.
I headed home and began to peel and grate the carrots before class. I read the recipe. "Line the pan with parchment paper...". Dang. Parchment paper. I didn't have time to pick it up, so I waited until after my Italian class.
I came home and went immediately to preparing the cake. I tried to put everything on one side of the counter so as to not to block my roommates from using the kitchen. Well, ingredients went EVERYWHERE.
I grated almost a pound of carrots. My hands were orange. And my arms? A little more sculpted, if I do say so myself.
I kept bringing the mixing bowl down to Leyla. "Does this look right?" "When should I add he eggs?" She kindly, patiently assisted me on every detail.
The recipe gave enough batter to make two cakes, and we only have ONE small toaster oven. Hmm...I guess I'll just shove them BOTH in there! This was not the best idea I've ever had. One was smashed by the oven door, the other browned faster because it was in the back. Ohhhh well. The end product was cooked well, and even though they looked a little deformed, they tasted just right! Leyla suggested we layer the cakes and ice them (this also solves the problem of their deformities!). Off to the store to buy confectioner's sugar and cream cheese to make icing!
Jess came with me this time, and she is the icing master. You've never seen such delicate finesse with an icing knife. Of course, maybe except from Katie Gamble. I kept wondering what I could learn from watching Katie perfectly bake her wonderfully round, delicious cakes. Yay for my next chef roomie!
Turns out that Italian supermarkets don't normally sell powdered sugar. So, we grabbed something off the shelf of the cake section...turns out it's pretty much regular sugar and fake cream. Well, it went into the cream cheese, we melted some butter, whipped it all together, and VOILA! Next, iced the layers of the cake. At 7:24, we realized we were supposed to meet everyone for Olivia's birthday dinner at 7:30! I handed the knife to Jess and let her quickly touch up the cake. We flipped another pie tin over the top and ran out the door.
Dinner was fabulous. We went to a mexican restaurant called Tijuana (TJ, if you love the OC as much as I once did...) and ate NACHOS! Delizioso. There was a cover-charge for eating the cake in the restaurant, so we passed. Seriously, Florence? SERIOUSLY?! Can't a person celebrate their birthday? Instead of charging us, why don't you give us a discount because it's the girl's big day? Yeah. Thank you.
Anyway, we headed to our favorite pub, sang to Olivia, and cut the cake. A man came by with roses and sweet Leyla bought one for Olivia. The man tried to short change her, but she stood her ground and made sure he indeed gave her the correct change. After chatting for a while, we gave hugs and promised to meet tomorrow night at aperitivo at Ganzo. I'm really going to miss that in the States. It's our cheap, delicious excuse for having a guaranteed hang out with friends. Maybe I'll start one up at the Hardin house when I get back.
Today, I had one of those "it's hitting me" moments. I was walking back from the grocery store, listening to Broken Social Scene's "All To All" (which is one of my favorite songs ever), and stopped before I walked up to my little door. I'm leaving this soon. When I'm older, I'll tell my children about my time here, but I'll never LIVE here again. I started to tear up, but I decided to just enjoy the end of the walk to my apartment.
I love this place. Living here has finally felt like really living here. I adore my roommates and really feel like I know them. I've gotten to the point where I can genuinely say I will look back and miss laughing, singing, cooking with them.
All this to say that I'm going to soak everything up. I love this transitory place in life, and my duty is to keep finding its treasures while I have time here.
I hope you all look at where you are in the same way. You'll only be in this phase of your life in the present, so take it in for what it can be. And if you're complacent, change that.
Bedtime now, I guess. Goodnight my dears.