Clam Chowder

Why is it that once you leave home you start to want to make everything you ate there. Except here people eat my food after I make it.

Today I decided to make clam chowder for cena (dinner, or supper for my family). I may have included a little bit of whole goats milk, used purple onions instead of white ones, had no actual cooking times in my recipe, used a coffee mug for a measuring cup... oh and fresh clams (this adds a lot of extra work).


However, it still tasted amazing.

Branding

While living in the country where you were born, sometimes the brands you choose and the reasons you choose them become subconscious. You pick what you've always seen at home, or what your friends have, or what commercials you've seen. When you stroll into a grocery store for some snacks you pretty much recognize all the brands you see on the shelf - because you've been there many times before.

What happens when you move to a new country, with new brands, and new powerplayers for the products you buy everyday.

Example # 1 - Shampoo

Before I left I stocked up on shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. My favourite kind - Herbal Essences. The stuff that leaves my hair silky smooth all the time. I wanted to make sure that I wasn't left in the dust once I arrived to my new home in Tuscany. Although they do have the brand here, (comon its P & G) its not everywhere you can buy shampoo. When you think about the reasons why we stick to one brand, or the reason why I felt I needed to bring three months worth to Italy, it makes those marketing classes seem a lot more valuable. When I had one suitcase to bring, I chose to fill it with products I knew and trusted, rather than pack something else and buy what was *available* in my new country.

Example #2 - Cookies

I had the great opportunity to go to Roma with Jared and his parents in November. We stopped on the Autostrada for some gas, snacks, and a caffè. While we stared at the wall of cookies and wafers the a couple of main brands stand out.

Kinder is everywhere here, with so many products that I haven't seen before. However, my past experiences with Kinder have always been Suprises, and they tend to be fun, but somewhat unhealthy options. The other main brand here is Mulino Bianco, a company that has been around here since 1971. Its products are simply branded and represent healthy breakfast, caffè, and anytime snacks. This brand is present in many houses here in Italy and I chose the Cuor di Mela for the trip.

Eample #3 - Facial Wash

Italians consumer more olive oil in a week than I think I did in a year at home. I am also working in a commercial kitchen on occasion that cooks with a lot of splashy oil. Long story short, I didn't have my Clean & Clear with me (The one thing I should have brought). So, one day in Firenze, we stopped into a specialty store (I think every store in Italy, maybe Europe is specialty. Cheese, meat, pharmacies, they are all separate stores and most locally owned.) to buy some facial wash. I searched the entire store for my tried and true product - to no avail. I was shown various other European products that I'm sure would have done the job. But guess which product I went home with. An eight or nine Euro squeeze bottle of Garnier. And I love it. Even though every bottle in that store was written in only Italian, I relied on past experiences, brand identity, and a colourful container to make my choice. Exactly as the textbooks said I would.


These examples made me ponder about the stimulii that entice people to buy one brand over another. Numerous business articles have been written about this subject, and my specialization happens to be in finance, not marketing. However, I think as I stay longer here I'm beginning to realize what topics interest me more than others. Below is an excerpt of a Harvard Business Review Article on Brand Identity.

*In the June 2009 issue of McKinsey Quarterly, my colleague David Court and three coauthors introduced a more nuanced view of how consumers engage with brands: the “consumer decision journey” (CDJ). They developed their model from a study of the purchase decisions of nearly 20,000 consumers across five industries—automobiles, skin care, insurance, consumer electronics, and mobile telecom—and three continents. Their research revealed that far from systematically narrowing their choices, today’s consumers take a much more iterative and less reductive journey of four stages: consider, evaluate, buy, and enjoy, advocate, bond.*

When we get into our daily habits at home this process is often quick, subconscious, and without too much thought - especially for low cost items that are not complicated. But throw yourself into a new culture of brands and traditions and you regret shaking your head saying *but this is all common sense!* It might be common sense, but it still takes strategic thinking for the company to put all the marketing steps together in syncrony.

Centuries of Tradition

This is the old way of pressing olives for their oil. The olives are harvested in late October to early December. Good olive oil should be used within a year and new olive oil from Tuscany is green in colour and tastes quite spicy. The room where the olives are pressed is quite warm in order to get the maximum extraction. Each farmer's olives are labelled in order to keep the batches separate, you want to taste your own olive oil for that nostalgic, grew it yourself feeling, and for the reputation of your brand.

Rain, Rain, Don't go Away

This is Tuscany in the fall. You can see the umbrellas at Mac Dario, you can't see the hills of Tuscany through the fog, but the rainbows are quite common.

Cavalli

It's Italy.

The saying I've been toting around for about two months now.

Italy has a way of making things happen, Canada has a way of planning things before they happen. At the moment I am in Italy. So here in December I find myself now casually working at Dario Cecchini's famous butcher shop and spending my frequent days off cleaning the apartment, going for walks around Tuscany, and today going to work for my horseback ride. As the other stagista's flew back to America I found myself the only native English speaker left. (Yes, Lorenzo, Riccardo, and Yadava all speak English)

I strolled over to Riccardo's parent's house to find a pair of rubber boots to wear in the rich soil while brushing down my favourate animals. Cavalli!

It seems that throughout my life I've managed to keep in touch with these animals having never actually owned one of my own. I worked at a horse farm when I was younger to have the experience of smelling the sweet hay and molasis, touching the horses' soft nuzzly noses, and sometimes, when I am lucky to jump on the back of one and go for a ride.

Riccardo casually asked me one day in the butcher shop - what would make your time here in Italy the most memorable. I spit out, I love horses. And it so happens that a father of a friend owns a couple, is just retired, and needs a little extra help feeding and brushing the graceful beasts on occasion. And so, this afternoon I will get back in touch with the soil, some rubber boots, a farm situation, and of course, Horses!

Mi Dispiace

So I haven't really been keeping this up! Every day I come up with a title for the day, but never seem to actually sit down and write about it. So I'll start with the *stew story*.

Everyone at Macelleria Cecchini takes turns making staff lunch, so one slow, rainy, and bone chillingly cold Sunday at Mac Dario I decided to make Stew. This stew has been made in various places including a mountainside in BC and at home in the farm kitchen in Stratford. This stew is a favourite of Sunday's lunch, especially in the winter. Well stew and Dutch soup, but I don't have the spices to make that here.

I started out with some water, potatoes, celery, carrots, red onion, an old tomato, Cecchini beef, alloro, some chiodi di Garofano, Oregano, and a mix of spices I found in the *lunchtime spice drawer* in the kitchen of Mac Dario. I added in some flour to thicken in near to the end of the long boil. Seems stewy enough right? Apparently stew doesn't really exist like this in Italy. (Maybe in Tuscany but only if there is bread mixed in with it) Anyways, I explained to Riccardo what stew was and how nostalgic is it to me. One of those things you make on bone chilling, cold, rainy Sundays. It turned out to be a total sucess except for one problem...

Dante, the famous Maestro Magical spooned some into a bowl, poured olive oil and sprinkled profumo del Chianti all over it. Essentially ruining the entire dish, after which he said under his breath in a totally contented way *Mi piace la zuppa!* and *Questa zuppa è buona!*

Angelo, a plumber who works at Macelleria Cecchini on weekends pulled out a bowl and filled it with the steamy substance. He also murmured how much he loves zuppa.

Later on that day, Dario returned from Belgium with his wife Kim. Extremely hungry, he eyed my stew and I asked him *Dario ne vuoi un po?* He said *Siiiiiii* and took another steamy bowl of my stew downstairs to fulfill his hunger. About an hour later I ran downstairs to grab something and while passing Dario he exclaimed in his loud and pronounced style *Grazie per la zuppa Heidi, questa è buona!*

After hearing that Kim meandered upstairs to the kitchen to also grab some stew. Now, Kim is originally American, and so I assumed maybe she would recognize my stew as what it was, stew.

But alas, all day my stew was labelled as Zuppa - and each time it was stereotyped into soup I exclaimed to Riccardo, *It's not Soup, its STEW!!!* I suppose I should just enjoy the fact that it was edible and I didn't burn anything while attempting to make my stew.

American Tourists

As you may know, Dario receives many visitors from other lands. Some close, some far - mostly, in my opinion from the United States.

These Americans are a curious bunch. My favourite kind of American tourist is the type who gasp with a huge sigh of relief when after offering them wine in Italian I switch over to my perfect English. *Oh, wow!* they say, *you speak such good english!* I usually thank them and inform them that I am not Italian, (even though I totally look the part right?) and I happen to be from Canada. This comment about Canada brings up many different paths of conversation. Yesterday I was greatly amused by the comment made by some tourists from Seattle. It went something like this.

Couple from Seattle: *Did you grow up in the United States?*
Me: *No, actually I am Canadian*
Couple from Seattle: *Close enough*

Now as much as this comment doesn't mean much to most Americans, to us Canadians this is the epicentre of the American mentality. What exactly do they mean by, 'close enough', so I am almost as good as an American? Or does Canada just merge into the U.S. and not matter at all?

Being the token Canadian at Macelleria Cecchini has been fantastically amusing to me so far. I think I should start a feed of funny tourist quotes - because they never seem to end...

November

Today is a holiday in Italy. The Italian people go to visit their dead relatives graves and lay flowers to remember them. Last night we saw a few trick-or-treaters, but the procession of masks and costumes was quite thin. Today is a rainy and yucky day all around and the pasticceria across the street is closing for a while so there will be no bamboloni's for breakfast in the morning. (Giant sugar covered donuts that have an amazing cream sauce inside.)

Considering this holiday, in good taste, Dario decided that we should only host an Officina della Bistecca instead of the usual Mac Dario. (O.D.B. is basically a set menu for 50 euros a person including practically unlimited steak - Costato, Panzanese, and Fiorentina, wine, grappa, bread, white beans, baked potatoes, baked onions, coffee, and cake) We had two guests from America come and work for their aprons, for at least four hours. Its very interesting to me to see people in the kitchen who don't really know how to peel carrots.

Most Americans who come ask to buy the aprons that we wear and are astounded to hear that they are not for sale. (Doesn't everything have a pricetag?) These two boys however were very dedicated. They came for lunch a year ago and were given an apron. By who, I am not sure, considering its basically against Dario law to do that - but these boys returned a year later to earn the aprons they were given a year earlier. A few weeks ago a couple men from Michigan came into the shop and worked for their aprons. One of the men had a son who works in Denver as a chef, and wanted to give his boy a gift.

Everyone has a story who comes to visit the shop. When I work in the machelleria pouring wine and greeting guests I get to hear many different perspectives. Some are girls trips of three or four mid 40's women having a blast, foodie travellers and writers, families from Holland on vacation, many people from Switzerland, and a few Brazilians - all arriving in the tiny town of Panzano to experience the personality of Dario and taste the cuts of meat he has to offer.

Connections to Home

So I finally figured out how to make sure you know where your food comes from.

Keep the cuts of meat as lively as possible. The other day I was cleaning about 20 or so tongues in a giant stainless steel sink when I thought about all those big, thick, sticky tongues that lick me every day when I milk the cows. I actually had to sit down afterwards and I'm pretty sure that I looked white in the face. Some of the tongues had cute little black spots on them, others were ripped slightly where the butcher's knife knicked the tip a little bit. My job was to clean the blood and excess skin off of them so that they could soak in a salt type base for 3 days and then in water and wine for 15 days after that. I suppose this makes the meat tender enough to eat.

I've never experienced sorrowful feelings for butchered animals but these tongues hit me in a strange way - almost the same feeling as when we perform sugery on a twisted stomach. All I could see was Anne's poor tongue sitting in a pool of blood in the bottom of a sink. As Jared mentioned, *when your parent's say all cows go to a good place, well they meant a strange shop where people are throwing tongues around and pretending to slap them in eachother's faces to freak them out.* It makes me question what *respecting the whole animal* means exactly. Is is using the animal to its fullest, without wasting any of it - or is it supposed to mean that we shouldn't throw meat around in a joking way?

The shenanigans that go on at Dario Cecchini's shop are hilarious, lets just say there are many uses for the meat that is butchered there.

Mac Dario

Here's a picture of me making burgers for Mac Dario. The rediculousness of this kitchen makes my abs hurt from laughing every day. Riccardo decided that when I speak English really fast I basically sound like a mixture between a dog and a T-Rex.

Chapter 2: Antica Macelleria Cecchini

You may be wondering why I haven't posted basically anything since arriving in Tuscany. Apparently I came at a very busy time. Here's the lowdown on what I've done so far.

1. Participated in a rediculously intense wine parade in Inpruneta - months of work goes into building floats and practicing the dances. Every night there is a family style dinner served at each team's "camp out." (there are four teams that compete for the best performance, one for each main street in the city.) Community is a huge deal in Tuscany and this was proven to me from the moment I arrived.

2. Ate a huge Tuscan family dinner and felt sick for two days after. They never stop feeding you here, I don't know how everyone is not overweight.

3. Went running. By the second day of feeling like I was about to die, I figured running would be the best option. Lets just say there are no flat roads in Tuscany.

4. Slept through Dario's wedding. Having been exhausted by the festivities of the previous week I passed out in the apartment across from the Macelleria where the stagista's (including myself) stay. One thing about staying a long time in one place is that you eventually burn out, unlike on vacation where you sleep when you return home.

5. Helped with a catering for a super rich Swiss man who owns lots of antique cars. He decided to do a tour through Tuscany so he invited all his friends to drive his cars and brought them to Dario's. We served them their meat in an ancient castle in Panzano which Dario owns. He basically owns the entire town.

6. Went to Pisa. Well if you call it an official trip. Riccardo needed to pick up a friend at the airport at 1:30 in the morning, so I tagged along to keep him awake for the drive. I took a picture of a picture of the leaning tower because Riccardo refused to take me to see the real tower at 1 in the morning.

7. Participated in a huge butcher festival. Once every five or six years there is a butcher festival outside of the Macelleria. Butchers from all over Italy and a few from Australia came to participate. I ate Kangaroo for the first time. I learned that Italians love noise. If there is something that makes noise they will encourage everyone to participate.

8. Became a Fiorentina fan - and am attempting to learn the soccer songs in Italian, but its pretty slow going right now.

Its interesting to see how business is run in Italy. Its very cash focused, but somehow the accounting system is fairly intense. I imagined that it would be lax and confusing, but it seems to be in working order. Dario manages his business very closely. Every meat mixture is seasoned by him in order to keep the recipes both a secret and consistent. The employees will grind and mix the meat, but when its seasoning time the entire bowl goes out into the butcher shop where Dario ensures that everything is done to perfection. Its very interesting to come into this atmosphere with a business degree and see the differences between cultures and the hierarchy of importance in this country vs. Canada.

The End of Amsterdam

Haven't had the chance to post some older blog posts - so here is one for your enjoyment.


I did it. I asked a local where some good Nasi is, and then proceeded to find the Indonesian restaurant that she described. Only to find it closed. My dream of becoming a fantastic world traveller was smooshed before had begun. Katie and I walked around most of Amsterdam after our Heineken tour in a bit of a daze until we found ourselves… well… back at the Heineken experience. Amsterdam has a funny way of doing that to visitors. We stopped back in and found our informative host and asked to find us another possibility. Katie and I made a brief pit stop at the exhibits only to find our host was missing. Depressed and hungry we tottered on to find something acceptable to eat – no more cardboard oatmeal from home.

I suppose I should explain some of my goals for Amsterdam.
1. Eat snert
2. Eat Nasi Gorgen
3. See the Anne Frank Huis
4. Van Gogh, Van Gogh, Van Gogh – but only to see Starry Night
5. Walk through local areas where the true feeling of Amsterdam can actually be felt.
6. See the smallest house in the world.

I did 4 of 6. It’s a pass. Starry night was on tour somewhere else in the world, and the fact that its not wintertime crushed my ability to divulge into Snert.

Continuing the story, we chatted and padded through the street of Amsterdam in hopes of finding our way to the smallest house in the world before it got too dark. Katie pointed out – “hey, there’s an Indonesian place.” It happened to be the exact restaurant that had been suggested to us by the employee at the Heineken Experience! And it was open! It was our first experience with the European style of taking a break in the afternoon. We sauntered in, took inventory of the situation, and approved that this would be authentic Indonesian cuisine. And that it was. Sorry mom but this kicked the crap out of your Nasi, although I think some of the spices may have been similar (clearly – as it’s the same dish!)

We ate and drank wine – after deciding it would be cheaper than water anyways and filled our tummies with this lekker food. Continuing on that evening we did find the smallest house in the world, which Mariete gladly helped me find the address for, and looking like complete idiots composed yoga poses in front of the door – which is basically the width of the house. A young Asian man was walking down the street as our shenanigans continued, pulled out his keys, and proceeded to enter into the house! After a few minutes we spotted him staring at us confusingly from one of the upper windows. Therefore, we actually saw the man who lives in the smallest house in the world too! We are practically superstars.

Last night Katie and I watched some more HIMYM episodes and then passed out. Until we were rudely awakened by… well I should give you some background on our hostel. It consists of 10 beds on the fourth floor in the fourth room. There is Katie and I, a girl from China, four girls who were travelling together and five middle aged ladies rattling of in Italian. These women were clearly on some sort of girls excursion. They sat in their pyjamas on each other’s beds chatting, laughing, and calling home ending their conversations with ciao! Ci-ci-ci-ciao-ciao-ciao. They reminded me of some other ladies I know who seem to plan an excursion once a year to rough it.

So anyways – 3 am hit this morning to the loudest screaming of bloody murder my ears have ever witnessed. I was awoken from my dream that I had missed my plane to Florence, and actually thought there was some sort of gunman in the room. The terrified version of Italian is not that pleasant and the uncontrollable laughter from the woman’s four friends did not assist my heartbeat desparately attempting to slow down. I checked my little alarm clock to see what time it was. It said, 12:30. The batteries hadn’t been connected and my alarm wouldn’t have gone off to wake me for my flight. I reset it, double checked it, and turned over and said “shhhhh per favoure!”

I am sitting on an airplane heading to my second destination on time, with little to no sleep under my belt. But I did wake up this morning to catch my train to Schipol and then my flight to Firenze. Thanks crazy Italian ladies snoring, mumbling, screaming, and laughing throughout the entire night!

Toscana

Well. I have arrived in Tuscany just in time for the festival in Riccardo's town. Last night the whole community came together to build a giant float for the parade and ate a huge meal, family style. Today Riccardo and I will be cleaning his apartment where I will be moving into in November once the renovations are finished. Went running this morning... too many hills.

All for today as there is much to do. Ciao!

Finally Food

Some of my posts have been lacking on a certain subject that happens to be a major part of my dedication to blogging. Food.

Let me just say that cream cheese in North America should not have the word "cream" in it - for there is clearly not enough. Yesterday I went to Bagels & Beans (Yes, unfortunately a chain here in Amsterdam - But it was my first day!) I had a multigrain bagel with CREAM cheese, avocado, tomato, greens, and pepper. Truely fantastic. Makes me want to take it all home and teach North Americans how to eat! The secret is... eat what you want and then bike everywhere. There you go. Put down your diet books and your gym memberships - its really not that hard.

Unless you eat frites with mayonaise every day - because that is also fantastic! Today I think I will try the curry sauce.

I met with a good friend who has been living here for the last two years. It really is a beautiful place to live - there are many gorgeous parks! We went to a local pub, where the main demographic was the regulars. (Key for all you potential travellers - find people who live in each city to go out with!)

Katie joined me last night after landing in Schipol from the UK and we got take out stir fry (still the first day - I promise, no more chain restaurants!) and walked lesiurly through the red light district at around 10pm - slurping up our noodles and checking out the loosest part of the city - where there is also the oldest and biggest church in Amsterdam I think? Then it was back to our hostel with a 6 pack of Heineken to watch some "How I met your mother" on her iPod.

All in all a wonderful first day in Amsterdam!

Ch 1 - Points of Interest

This blogging business is complicated when there's not much time to write things down.

So here is a brief synopsis, with more detail to come later hopefully!

1. Made it to Amsterdam - safe flight, red wine, some sleep

2. Train from Schipol to Wadinxveen - mispronounced Gouda to the info lady, should've started actually speaking Dutch earlier like mom said. Met a lady from Australia, and a cute guy told me I look "very athletic" and I told him I'm not staying in Gouda - sorry, no date for you.

3. Mariete and Angret are probably the nicest people on the earth! Curious, intelligent, funny, and very knowledgeable about pretty much everything. I had a wonderful visit with them learning about my history, culture, and enjoying many cups of koffe!

4. Train to Amsterdam was decent. Like public transit everywhere (this is where I mastered the art of looking like "I know where I'm going" the blonde hair emphasises my ability to fit in, so my look may have to be adjusted when I reach Italy

5. Went to Anne Frank! Stayed as long as I wanted and had a lovely cup of koffe while reading my latest historical free download on my kindle about Amsterdam.

6. Now I shall get outside and see the Van Gogh museum - I mean the Faan CHHHHouCh (emphasising the throaty sound).

P.S. It actually has not rained once since I've been here (+) BUT Mariete's chickens didn't lay any eggs during my visit (-) I think I scared them?

Prepared for Takeoff

So I’m in the airport! All of the goodbyes are over and the hellos will begin in a few short hours. I had a wonderful evening out last night with some wonderful friends. Probably the last classical French food I will have for a while, as I am going to the land of crusty bread, gouda, and milk initially and moving on to red wine, buffalo mozzarella, and steak tartar. Ok, so it’s not so bad where I’m headed. I’m not complaining! But it was great to see some key people before jetting out to the airport this sunny Friday afternoon.

I am armed with my netbook and my Kindle, which, as I have found out is quite possibly the coolest book reader ever. I was waiting in line to check my orange bandana adorned luggage whilst reading Eat, Pray, Love and low and behold – the cute guy behind me also pulls out a Kindle! Of course he was copying my fantastic taste, but he didn’t quite get it right… unfortunately he had a red cover and a white Kindle. Mine is a classy cobalt Kindle with a black cover – clearly the better choice!

I was unimpressed with KLM’s service as so far their check-in ladies are not the most personable. We’ll see how my first impressions pan out once I get boarded.

Loops & Corkscrews

Whirrrrr, thump thump thump, creeeeeak, tap, tap, tap, snap, snap, snap, buzzzzzzz “please keep your hands and legs inside the vehicle at all times!” whirrrrrrrr, click, click, click, click, click ..... click.... click ...creak... TICK! -----------

And so here I am, on the precipice of the roller coaster. Everyone has gotten you very excited for the ride, discussed different experiences, emphasizing the best parts and leaving out the negative details. I stood in line for my turn, sat in the front car and strapped myself in – the seatbelt double checked by experienced personnel. And the ride starts. It goes up the first hill being assisted by the chain which is latched on by a small, yet sturdy hook. The view is beautiful! As I climb higher the anticipation becomes greater and greater. Maple trees begin to look like small rows of vineyards, mighty rivers like the canals of Amsterdam, cows begin to remind one of olives – a vehicle for something of greater worth. At some point, however, the climb begins to slow, and more attention is paid to that little chain holding you onto the track, onto safety. As the car begins to roll over the highest point it slows, seeming to allow the rest of the car to make it over the top before it begins. Who knows what loop-d-loops or corkscrews may come my way.

So here I am. Two days before my departure. At the top of the roller coaster – I am strapped in. The excitement is huge, but so is the lump in my throat as I know once that chain lets go my stomach will be so high in my throat I may not be able to breath for a moment or two. That first drop is always the biggest, and that’s when the adrenalin takes over.

Heat.

A portion of a review by Diane Leach of the book Heat by Bill Buford.

"..Time passes -- weeks -- and Buford must return to New York, where he convinces his wife, Jessica, that another extended trip to Italy is necessary, this time so he can work with Tuscan butcher Dario Cecchini. Jessica is understandably hesitant but finally caves, leaving me wondering about the wives of celebrity cooks. Anthony Bourdain jet-sets all over the place. Where's his wife, Nancy? At home in New York, watching American Idol? Standing in the shadows of Bourdain's camera crew? And what of Mario Batali's wife? I'm amazed the guy had time to marry, much less sire children.

(Similarities?)

But back to Italy.

Dario Cecchini is insane. Dante-quoting, screaming, and swearing, this is a fellow who doesn't care what you want. Never mind your pocketful of lira: you get what he has, and only if your approach suits him. He will think nothing of tossing you out. He is not interested in profit. Only meat. At dinner with his wife and Buford at a local restaurant, Cecchini throws an amazing scene, pouring a cruet of balsamic vinegar onto the floor, shouting, insulting the proprietor, throwing the menu not once, but several times. The seed of his rage? Insufficiently "Tuscan" food.

Fortunately, Dario's staff is less intimidating. The Maestro, an older butcher, offers a quiet foil to Dario's histrionics. Before a cow or pig he is an artist, expert with a knife. And Buford, incredibly, takes the reader through the Maestro's every slice, detailing animal muscle cuts, consulting sources, arriving at the amazing-but-true realization that butchery is a defiantly local art."

Ideas & Opportunities

A well respected professor of mine taught our class about the difference between ideas and opportunities. There are lots of ideas – few are opportunities. The dream to live in Tuscany would be considered an idea to me, whereas developing the connections in order to set up a stage with one of the most famous butchers in the world is an opportunity. Few people receive opportunities like the one I will experience, and even fewer in my position would take the chance. The risk involved in living in another country, working a job completely unrelated to their degree, and not getting paid while there is quite high. Some argue that what I am about to embark on is not an opportunity at all, merely an escape from real life and a delay of the inevitable.

The day I booked my flight was both thrilling and ominous. I have no idea what type of work I will be completing during my time in Panzano, in Chianti, near Florence – only that it is both a butcher shop and restaurant. I have no idea what the living quarters will be like, or who I may meet while there. My decision was made with little to no solid information – with the “little” information being what day to show up in Florence. This decision reminds me of a concept Carly Fiorina developed during her time as CEO of HP - “Perfect Enough”. If perfect information is available, you’re already lagging in your business. If I knew all the information about my trip, I would have already missed the opportunity. Once a decision is made, turn the page, don’t look back, and get excited.

One Foot in Each Pond.

Is it our business? Does food have rights? Should it be exploited? How have so many corporations and small business made money off of one simple ingredient – food. The shift from a good centric industry composition to a service industry – how has that affected the business of food? What is the strategic positioning of foods and how do they create industries?

Having grown up on a dairy farm in Southwestern Ontario, been involved in both the rural and urban community, and recently graduated business school at Wilfrid Laurier University – I wonder how synergies between food and people and business happen. Where did it start? The industrial revolution in Britain when the masses moved to urban areas, leaving cottage industry behind? When women began in the workplace during World War II, leaving home made meals a thing of the past? Or was it when industry began to capitalize on niche markets – creating a mindset that intricate, expensive food is better and more legitimate than simple meals.

Most students in my program are either continuing on with their studies in order to receive their CA’s, others said adios to classes and joined the ranks in Toronto, Vancouver, or New York. They received swanky office jobs that pay to pave their way to comfort. I however, don’t feel quite ready yet to give up the feel of soil between my fingers – but yet am also not ready to milk cows every 12 hours for the rest of my known life. So here I am. Graduated school – stuck in the middle with my feet dipped in both ponds. And so I begin my quest.

Why not go to Italy, Tuscany perhaps? I’ll work for a famous butcher whose methods predate the fashions of food that have come about recently, whose passion for authentic creations creates its own competitive advantage, a resource that no one else can copy. Dario Cecchini’s business strategy trumps many business owners’ attempts to create sustainable business – a hard thing to do in the food industry.