Never Baked Cookies Like This Before

it began with cuddles and sniffles. we woke at some time that felt like morning, and went across the street to one of those cafe/pastry shops, where all the old men go, who aren't used to the young ones - "ragazze". Drank cappucinos, thought of papa as one of those old men (no offense, daddy), hat brim, he would have fit right in. With a list of things to do, with a list of food to buy, we went to the long long outdoor market. Kinda Ghana, kinda Reading Terminal, all old ladies with their wrinkly angers. Between the hanging sausages, the dangling roosters, and the sliced half of a swordfish, strung from its beak, we wandered and at a few free pastries! slinging our own groceries. Went on a wild goose chase for brown sugar - no, not cane sugar - BROWN sugar. No luck. Back to the house to make chocolate chip cookies in the fashion of sarah and ruth.

How do we go about describing the whole measurement issue? A few gringas searching the net for a cup to metric system conversion (which happens to change depending on what your measuring, and isn't actually correct math within itself). BUT. We digress. We mixed up everything we had, as best we could, grumbling over the lack of brown sugar, singing the temptations. No NPR. So we have a bowl of white sugar chocolate chip cookie dough (Very grainy). At this point, deciding it was the best that we could do, we attemt to light the gas stove. After a couple attempts, and gas in the air (opened the windows, turned on fans), and ashamed google searches, we decided that this couldn't happen here. With tails between our legs, we moved the party to Carlos' house.

When we arrive, bowl of cookie dough and extra cooking supplies in hand (in arms), we encounter a collection of construction workers. Buh? Something is said in Italian about getting into Carlos' house - we decide to wait for Mama, who arrives shortly. Unbeknowest to us, they were there to turn off the gas for the day, as they worked on the building's system. Wonderful day to choose. But! In the meantime, Carlos found us brown sugar at some packed store (ceiling to floor). When we return, Mama Carlos has an idea. We'll bake the cookies in a friend's oven. OK. We think this is odd, but if she feels its ok, alright! We dollap the cookies into two small baking pans (barely a dent in our mound o' dough), and decide to take care of the rest later. Following Carlos out the door with two pans of unbaked cookies, we are led to a friend's oven, yes, a friends house? Not exactly. We find ourselves in the back of an Italian pizzeria where our cookies are going to be baked by Antonio - the expert pizza maker - alongside a slice to go. We tell him ten minutes, the cookies are fried in about three. But not bad or unedible, they are gulfed down eventually. We chat up about Philadelphia, "grazie" profusely, and wander out c"ontent. We are back minutes later (to our suprise) with the rest of the bowl and a much bigger pan- provided by, ours truly, Antonio. We stayed there for another 20 minutes or so, dalloping cookies ("Dolci Americani") and chatting with various employees between mouthfuls pizza. Walking down the street afterwards, with a pan of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, handing them out to strangers (who asked cautiously, "we can eat these?").

Moving on. Chilled at Carlos' for a bit. Went to watch Trine swim. And then wandered off into the darkening Roma. Piazza after piazza, statues, winding little cobblestone streets that lose people. Glimmering candles from warm windows. Actual stars in an actually dark sky. Roma is beautiful at night. We meet up with Monica, Tim, and Chris, and hang out for a while. Then take a nice stroll home, across the river and through the tunnel, to the apartment we go!

NIGHTSLEEEEEEEP.
much love, e pace,
sarahruth