From fun-filled Food TV themed games to learning the basics of regional Italian cuisine, Sharon's Traveled Table offers interactive cooking classes for foodies of all skill levels in groups of 8 to 24 students. The classes are hosted in conjunction with area resorts and wineries and are well suited as corporate team-building activities as well as for get-togethers with friends.

All new in 2017 will be our first Culinary Adventures in Umbria, June 4-12! This 8-day all-inclusive land package includes 3 hands-on cooking classes, several winery & culinary excursions, visits to Orvieto and Spoleto, daily meals at our favorite local ristoranti, hotel accommodations and all ground transportation.

For inquiries contact: SharonsTraveledTable@gmail.com
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I'd dreamed about it for 4 years. Hoping, praying, auditioning, sending pictures and bios, skyping with casting directors. It wasn't the lure of being on TV that captured me so much as the lure of competing in this kind of realm. The idea of working with world class chefs, the opportunity to learn from them, for them to taste and offer critique on my food, that's what compelled me to submit and resubmit and, hope. 

Then while competing at the World Food Championships last November, and well-timed too to sooth wounds from my by-a-margin loss there, I got the call. I made it! They wanted me. ME!! My knees literally buckled. I squealed in delight. And then I talked my husband's ear off about it for the next two weeks because he was the only one I was allowed to tell. They picked ME to be on Food Network!! And, not for a 1-episode battle. They picked me to be on All-Star Academy! If I'm good enough, I might get 8 full weeks with the pros!

The turnaround time was short. Two weeks from "you made it" to my red-eye flight leaving for NYC. As I walked into the hallowed halls of the Food Network's studios, I felt a wave of emotion so palpable, so completely all-encompassing, it was as if I had won the PowerBall (or jumped out of an airplane!) I was awestruck. I was there. This home cook, who would have loved to follow her dream of becoming a certified Chef, was standing there inside the very pinnacle of cookery, the Food Network.

Ah! The test kitchen! I catch a glimpse as we walk by. How many incredible recipes have been created in that kitchen by the Chefs and FN stars whose photos adorn the hallway walls of the network. To be there, knowing that they too at some point had walked these hallways just as I was now was at once inspiring and, slightly terrifying. But that twinge of fear was only momentary and soon gave way to giddy euphoria. 

Like my fellow competitors I am here for one reason, to win. To take the title and the $50,000 prize. But I am also here to learn, to work under these Chef idols and to take my personal skills to a new level. What an opportunity! 

People like me have dreams like this. We don't always share them openly because quite frankly the odds are not in favor of them ever coming true. But this time! This time, my dream is being realized... and with every ounce of who I am and who I want to be I am going to do my best to keep it alive!

I am a very fierce competitor. I am here to win. I am a contestant on All-Star Academy!


*Stay tuned for more All-Star Academy stories coming soon.

Napa is incredibly beautiful. As I enjoy my almost-every-day 5 miler, I am continually reminded of that fact. Mountains to every side, vines sprawling as far as the eye can see, there is no place on Earth quite as picture perfect. And though the brief period after harvest offers a certain brand of spectacular — when grape leaves are smothered in golden amber hues and dotted with bursts of crimson and fuchsia —It seems not to matter what time of year, Napa is truly, magnificently, beautiful. 

Today, Napa lives in brilliant yellow. It may sound strange to pinpoint mid winter as a staggeringly beautiful time of year here, but it is true none the less. There are much needed rainy days and many cold nights that bridge December to February. The morning hours flow too quickly. By late afternoon it is already growing dark. And there are no leaves on the vines. But in amidst the harshness of the wet-chill, there are middays flooded with warm sunshine. Day after day, where the sun’s rays cover the entire Valley as the warm embrace of mother nature.

I used to think the people there might not be so friendly. For no other reason than we were told by the man who sold us the villa that “they not like straniere (foreigners) very much.” I’d driven several times up the winding, twisting curves into the mountain town to the lookout point that provides a singularly spectacular view of the villa from above, and bore the clearly inquisitive glares of the residents as we passed by. But I’d never invested any effort into meeting the people of Montefranco, until this trip, and the experience opened my eyes to see a community filled with pride in its cultural traditions; totally unapologetic that you might not “get them” without stopping to look a little deeper.

Montefranco evolved in its construction over several centuries… built, as with many of Umbria’s mountain villages, as a town within a defensive fortress surrounding its Castello Bufone, sometime in the 11th century. And, as with virtually all the mountain fortress towns speckled throughout southern Umbria, its past tells of power shifts for its control. This particular town however, was able to maintain most of its history as a “free zone.” Its name, which is said to have been coined by refugees of our own Arrone rejecting a rival’s control in 1228, translates roughly to free-zone. “Franca,” free-zone and “monte.,” mountain.

The view looking upward to the town from the villa is quintessential, the stuff that postcards are made of. In the early hours of sunrise, as the light of the new day makes its crescendo over the mountain behind us, the sun-warmed tones of the villages cream and pink stucco and terra cotta tiles and wood are cast against ever awakening shades of bright blue. At night there is the soft glow of lights along the ridge, illuminating Montefranco’s enchanting character against a star filled indigo sky.

It has a chiesa that is nothing short of stunning, with its formidable exterior juxtaposed against ridged mountain peaks. It has tiny, winding alleyways… not streets; those only encircle the town, the center remaining solely “walkable.” There are planters hanging under almost every window ledge, spilling over with bright red geraniums and purple and white petunias. Montefranco is quite simply, picture perfect. 

This visit we ventured deeper than we had prior. Deeper, meaning that we decided to stop for some cold beers at a bar near the edge of town; it was hot and we were thirsty. There were some locals seated out front and as we passed them to order from the counter I offered up a few Italian greetings. “Buon giorno,” good day and “permesso?” is it okay, as we grabbed an open table. I went inside to order “Che caldo, no?” It’s hot, isn’t it? I said to the girl behind the counter and ordered our drinks. To our surprise, this simple effort unleashed broad smiles and chatter amid everyone and an all-out conversation ensued among our group of four, the locals, the bartender, the bartender’s sister, everyone! Questions, a flurry of translations (because none of them spoke English,) more questions, introductions and laughter. 

Wasn’t this Montefranco? Aren’t we “stranieri?” Yes and, not anymore. The kindness of these people who didn’t know us when we walked up, but who ended up hugging us as we left, was eye opening. Who knew the key to being “welcome” was as easy as acting like there was no reason not to be.

Before we left we were told of the town’s Festival di San Bernardino, a step backward in time to medieval Umbria, that we simply could not miss as it was happening the next weeked. The townspeople, in stunning period costumes, reenact the music, food and arts of the age, and people from all over the region come to enjoy it. So too would we.

Arriving at 7:30 pm to ensure a parking space for the 8 pm event start, we walked leisurely around Montefranco before the crowds gathered. It was an entirely different take on this town we had looked upwards to for the past 8 years; we hadn’t a clue as to how beautiful it was. Narrow, stone alleyways wound their way in and around the center of town with gas torches to light the way. 

There were elaborate coat of arms flags made of velvet hanging from those flower filled window boxes and people of all ages dressed in period apparel. There were musicians playing, an artist painting and a man working with copper, tucked into candle lit doorways as we strolled past; each doorway marked with a wooden sign describing the reenactment happening inside.  And a woman perched on a stone steps weaving harvest baskets from olive wood twigs. I stopped to buy one for my daughter in law and struck up a conversation. She spoked excellent English, a rarity in these parts, and laughed out loud as she told us about learning to make the baskets from an 80-year old man with enormous strong hands, and no teeth!

Montefranco’s communal areas are not as much “piazzas” as they are levels, an upper mezzanine level, where the tamburini drum teams would perform later that night and nearby a make shift taverna serving polenta and wine. And there was a lower level near the chiesa where most of the other food stalls were placed and from where smells of freshly roasted porchetta and sausages being grilled wafted their way up through alleys and into our noses. 

We followed the smells down to the lower level where now there were crowds of people gathered, munching on hot sausages and fried bread caked with powered sugar. We weren’t hungry but as usual, we were a bit thirsty, so we gulped down a few glasses of vino rosso and people watched. Then made our way back up to the mezzanine to witness five drum teams from the region, some decked in chainmail, some in high leather boots, some sporting hats with a giant golden feather. They played in turn, their march to battle; their faces serious and controlled, with obvious understanding of the importance in their role. 

We took it all in. The town, its people, their traditions, and our new understanding of Montefranco. 

From My 2014 Umbria Adventure

We arrive early in May to good weather, 
(fa bel tempo) but the grounds of the villa have not yet seen their annual rebirth into spectacular color. It has been a cold and wet spring and everything is behind in growth. The petunias, which by now should be cascading over the many stone planters on the upper and lower terraces with blossoms of purple and red and white, have yet to even be planted. The cherry trees have past their glorious blossoming, but their fruits are still small and pale and nowhere near ripe. The grapevines on the arbor are only a third the size they have already reached at home in Napa Valley. 

The statue of “the lady” on the upper terrace giardino is still safe and watching over the grounds… the lady whose picture found on the internet 8 years ago, beckoned her siren’s song to my best friend for us to cross 5000 miles to come meet her and then, captivated our hearts with such immediate intensity that we were bewitched into conjuring a plan to buy the villa within the first day of our seeing it. 

Later in our trip we will surround her with bright colored annuals and a beautiful new yellow rose bush planted in memory of my best friend's step son, but upon our arrival she stands quietly patient... awaiting the coming days of warm sunshine and the rebirth of the gardens that lay below her loving glance.

There is the edifice of the medieval mountain village of Montefranco, providing its singularly magnificent view, rising nearly 500 feet directly west and above us. I never tire of the view of Montefranco. Its chiesa (church) steeple and bell tower rises from the right just as it has for hundreds of years. Looking leftward along the ridge you can see homes of stone, cream and pink and coral painted stucco, and terracotta rooftops reaching ever higher, one seemingly stacked atop the other, as they gently recede backward toward the center of the town.  

I am in Umbria, my adopted second home, and I have 5 weeks this visit to live and cook and write.

We take cappuccino each morning on the upper terrace, with a breakfast of pan toasted bread topped with blackberry jam and a thin slice of Umbrian prosciutto; sometimes with, sometimes without, a shaving of regionally made Pecorino cheese or fresh ricotta. My Italian friends to the north must forgive me, but I prefer the less salty and sweeter Umbrian prosciutto to that of the more famous Parma and as well, the softer and nuttier taste of Pecorino (pecora = sheep) to the cow’s milk Parmigiano Reggiano. 

Our breakfast often also includes a little glass of a good Montefalco rosso, from the area 35 kilometers north along the Strada del Sagrantino; producers of my favorite Umbrian grape varietal, the lush and grand Sagrantino. We call this morning ritual our “colazione corretto,” (corrected breakfast,) and for us it is just that.

Our extended Italian family, not by blood but buy purchase of the villa, come to greet us almost daily. They are kind people. Dino is in his mid 80’s and cared for the villa for the entire 30 years it was owned by his sister and her husband. He came with the house so to speak. These days his son Angelo does much of the hard gardening and work, but Dino still comes by to clip and shape and tend to the many flowering and fruit trees that live here.

Dino walks the grounds with me, as we do every time I come here, pointing out what is forageable-- beyond the easily recognized fruits and herbs-- and reminding me how to say the names of all the pianti (plants) and alberi (trees) in Italian. La mandorla (pronounced man-door-la,) the almond tree, is filled with ripening nuts. He pulls one off the tree and bites into the bright green outer casing, then repeats with another. “Non matura,” they are not ready. How will we know when they are ready? “Quando caduti,” (when they’ve fallen,) he motions toward the grass below.

He reaches up into one of the prugna, of which there are six trees in three varietals laden with  fruit, and pulls off one of the ruby colored, quarter sized gems. His face contorts as he bites into it. “Non matura.” He spits out the bitter pulp. These are still far too young and so will not likely make my table during our stay. They are a mid to late summer fruit. 

We walk, piano piano (slowly, slowly,) under the ciliegia (cherry tree) and its hundreds of soon to be ripe fruit, toward the herb garden and survey the hardy rosamarina, salvia, mente and marjorama… these perennials can be counted on for my dishes in all seasons except winter. I used them the first night here for a quick herb and tomato pasta. 

Dino points toward another plant against the fence of our neighbor’s property… I know it as dandelion, but Dino calls it cicorino and suggests the most tender of its young leaves can be used in salad. I’ve cooked with dandelion greens before and am happy to hear he feel this weed is a plant worthy of respect and recognition.

We examine the mele (apple) trees and la pera (pear,) they are much healthier than on my last visit; they have Angelo to thank for his constant care and their return to health. 

The enormous fichi (fig) tree along the driveway is filled with what I believe are Adriatic figs… with large, dark green exteriors that open to a bright red interior. Still “non matura,” their centers are but now only a pale green and have another 2 months to go before they can be devoured. Sadly, we will miss them on this adventure.

Dino leaves for home, but not before our ritual goodbye. A long, warm hug of friendship and mutual respect. Like Umbria, I have adopted Dino as a deeply cherished part of my life.

From my 2014 Umbrian Adventure...


I have often wondered about fava, having eaten them a handful of times in restaurants, though never having experimented with them at home. But I had seen those long, leggy hulls, some reaching a full forearm’s length, scraggly arranged in baskets at farmers’ markets, and often thought to myself I should learn what taste and texture they hold. They are, after all, an Italian staple, and I am, if nothing else, a devotee of all things born of my Italian heritage. 

When an enormous basket full of fava arrived at my door during our late spring holiday in Umbria, I saw both a cooking challenge and learning opportunity in front of me.

Our neighbor Tommaso, whose farm on the valley floor provides a serene foreground for the spectacular view of the ancient mountain town of Montefranco which looms majestically above us to the west, had sent the fava as a gift in “grado” (gratitude) for my invitation to a small festa we planned for the following Sunday. The fava overflowed the basket’s sides and formed a tall mound of bright green. They were heavy and they were many and they were sticking out in all directions.

I opened one of the long hulls and felt instinctually that in this freshly-picked-yesterday state the beans found inside should be treated more like a fresh pea than a dried bean. They were a little firmer and thicker in their outer coating so I decided to blanch them and see what happened as I went along.

The largest of the villa’s pasta pots was filled with water and brought to a boil. Next a generous handful of sea salt was added and then in went the beans. I tested at 2 minutes, at 5 minutes, at 6 minutes. At just near to 8 minutes I saw a little of their color start to fade so I swooped in with a strainer, retrieved the blanched beans and plunged them immediately into a bath of ice water. They were now a little paler green in color on their outside, but inside… a brilliant, bright green and just tender, not mushy in any way. 

Note: These were first of the season fava and their outer coatings were very tender and far less thick than I encountered later in the season. I used them for the Crostini Spread recipe below and did not remove the outer coatings. But the rule of thumb for most fava is to remove that paler coating and use just the inner, brighter bean. Harvesting fava still later in the season, you'll note that the now very large beans will take on a potato-lentil texture and lose much of their brilliant green. These will make a great substitute for mashed potatoes on their own mixed with olive oil and sea salt and, are also a good choice for the fava soup recipe below.

The slightly tedious, yet somehow calming, effort to remove the paler outer shells of the blanched fava reveals their inner bright green gems. I poured them into a mixing bowl and drenched them (about 5 pounds worth of hulled beans) in a fantastically fruity "fruttato" cold pressed olive oil, seasoned them with an entire head of crushed garlic cloves, 12 in all, and added a good bit, maybe 2 tablespoons, of flaked sea salt. They were magnificent right then and there and could have made for a tasty snack, handfuls at a time, but my inner chef was championing the need to marinate them, at least for a few hours, to allow the salt and garlic as well as the thick, fruity oil to penetrate.

What follows are a few recipes I created “on the fly” as cooks like to say… pairing the simplest of ingredients with these incredible beans; God’s gift of a great harvest and the generosity of our new friend.

Crostini Spread: 
2 cups marinated Fava Beans (as prepared above)
¼ cup EVOO; unfiltered fruttato preferred 
+ additional EVOO for brushing the crostini before toasting
French or Italian bread baguette, sliced on the bias
½ cup shredded Pecorino Romano cheese as garnish
Note: reserve one whole bean for each crostini as garnish

To make the fava spread, simply combine the marinated fava with the additional olive oil in a food processor. Blend into a smooth and spreadable consistency. If too thick, add a tablespoon of water (or use a squeeze of lemon for added brightness.) Taste for seasoning, adding salt and pepper to your taste but be careful not to over salt as the shredded Romano garnish will impart a good degree of saltiness; set aside in refrigerator until assembly.

Brush a little olive oil across each baguette slice and lightly toast… under the broiler or in a pan on top of the stove. Top each slice with a tablespoon of the fava spread and garnish with a single whole fava and a pinch of the shredded Romano cheese. Arrange the crostini on a platter for serving; serve immediately.

Note: This spread can easily be used as a substitute for hummus and served as a dip with batons of fresh carrots and celery, as well as broccoli or cauliflower florets or even fresh red and yellow bell pepper slices. I also do a smooth and creamy variation on this spread by adding a little mascarpone cheese to the processor and increasing the blending time. This version is amazing with either a dollop of truffle tartufatto (minced truffle in olive oil) on top or, a few strands of thinly sliced lemon peel and shavings of pecorino.

Fava Zuppa con Tartufo:
Serves 4
1 lb freshly hulled Fava Beans
1 small sweet Yellow Onion, peel removed and cut into quarters
3 small cloves of Garlic 
2 cups Chicken Stock
½ cup Mascarpone Cheese
½ cup grated Pecorino Romano Cheese, plus additional as desired at service
4 large slices of French or Italian Bread, sliced on bias
50 grams Salsa Tartufatta (minced summer truffles, available at many fine grocers)
Good quality EVOO, Fruttato preferred
Sea Salt & Cracked Pepper to taste
Large pot of boiling water with 1 tbls Sea Salt for blanching

Add the fava, onion and 2 of the garlic cloves to the pot of salted boiling water. Blanch the beans for 15-20 minutes. Drain and allow the beans to cool.

In a food processor, combine the blanched beans, onion and garlic in batches, adding some of the chicken stock as you go (you may also use a blender.) Repeat until all of the beans and stock have been incorporated.

Pour the smooth bean puree along with the cheeses into a saucepan and warm over medium low heat. Test for salt and pepper to your taste. 

Meanwhile, toast the baguette slices until golden brown on both sides and then scrape the remaining garlic clove across each slice. Top each toast slice with ¼ of the minced truffle (or simply forgo the truffle condiment and use shredded Pecorino Romano cheese.) Serve the toast along side the warmed soup and offer guests a fresh grating of the Pecorino Romano as well as a drizzle of good olive oil on top.

Sometimes food adventures just find me. That was the case on Maui, when a morning walk along the beach offered a chance encounter with two kama`aina (natives) who were hand harvesting fresh seaweed for dinner.

As we walked by them I slowed a bit to catch a more detailed glimpse of their foraging. The wahine (women) seemed to be pulling apart the pieces of brownish green seaweed. One, seated on a wooden bench, worked meticulously to separate the strands which had little beads of brighter green amid stringy pieces that resembled thick brown threads. The other woman, seated next to a blanket spread across the sand, was laying out the "choice" clumps into assorted gathers of light and dark. 

I stopped. I had to know how they would prepare this harvest. It was something completely new and something I might never stumble upon again. 

After introducing myself I explained that as an avid cook I felt absolutely compelled to understand what exactly they had planned for this seaweed. The lady on the bench smiled broadly and chuckled. She told us how they separate the limu (seaweed) into two types, the brighter green with beads and the stringier brown stems. They use both, but the green is the seaweed of choice, she said, which they drop into boiling water to blanch and then toss with salt and fresh chopped tomatoes. The stringy brown seaweed I then recognized as something I'd already eaten several times in variations of poke, a Hawaiian fish tartare usually made with sushi grade tuna or salmon. 

I half wanted to park myself and help harvest, maybe even take some clumps back to our condo to try my hand at some seaweed deliciousness, but more Maui adventures awaited. The wahine were gracious to allow some pictures and I left feeling as though I'd just encountered a once in a foodie's lifetime experience.

A similar authentic fresh seaweed recipe can be found on Edible Communities: http://www.ediblecommunities.com/hawaiianislands/spring-2010/lomi-tomato-salad-with-limu.htm

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