Sometimes it seems such a huge effort (and wildly costly too,) to make the decision to go (or not to go) to a conference (or even a party.) And then, when you get there, you have such a good time you forget how tired you are on the long journey home.

When I first moved to Kingston, NY from Manhattan, I was shocked when new friends told me they hadn’t been to the city for years.

Here we have the option to drive, take Amtrak or the Metro North train, or a bus. All are within easy access and relatively inexpensive.  The train ride is particularly wondrous as the route follows the Hudson all the way to midtown.

All the options involve pretty much a five-hour round trip though and the time element is the main deterrent — or was the main deterrent until I was the last person on earth to realize the journey translates into two movies!

Now I have realigned my thinking, I will be doing a whole lot more traveling!

Alan Richman’s Fork It Over: The Intrepid Adventures of a Professional Eater chronicles his brilliant career as a wonderfully witty restaurant critic. He says,  “Everybody thinks that what I do for a living is the gastronomic counterpart of test-driving a Mercedes sports coupe or helping Las Vegas chorus girls get dressed.  Actually, the job is part analysis (“Is it good?”), part self-analysis (“Am I the only one who’ll like it?”) and part gluttony (“Good or not, I ate it all”). Unlike Gael Greene, he doesn’t dwell on extraneous matters i.e. S.E.X. He also leaves some ruminations to John Lanchester who, in The Debt to Pleasure reveals his philosophy about more or less everything from the erotica of distaste to the psychology of the menu.

Restaurant critics learn to live in an atmosphere where their presence — if detected — is met with “groveling, and cringing fear and more than occasionally, hostile loathing. But being liked is not part of the job. Honesty is.”  Sometimes honesty though can be quite brutal. Critic A.A. Gill writing in Vanity Fair magazine described an item on the menu f a restaurant that, for decency’s sake shall be nameless: He likened the fish and foie gras dumplings to “fish, liver-filled condoms” and called them “vile, with a savor that lingered like a lovelorn drunk and tasted as if your mouth had been used as the swab bin in an animal hospital.”

That’s telling it like it is, by Jove!

The first qualification for a restaurant critic is to have a stomach of iron.

The second is to be able to write as brilliantly as Alan Richman, Gael Greene, John Lanchester and A.A. Gill.

To get started, start your own restaurant reviewing blog (though you’ll have to pay for your own meals.) Or become one of the thundering herd that contributes to Yelp of other online site that specializes in carping.

I recently met an enchanting woman named Gina Stipo at the IACP (International Association of Culinary Professionals) Conference. She told me of her culinary adventure and the evolution of her career. Her story began with a trip to Italy. Well, let me ask Gina to tell you her story in her own words:

“About 10 years ago, I was driving down a two lane road through some of the most beautiful scenery in Tuscany. It was a road I knew well for I’d driven it every day over the past two years. It led from the small rural town where I live to the medieval city of Siena. Looking at the golden rays of the setting sun pouring over the green fields of winter wheat, I shook my head in disbelief, exclaiming out loud, “Holy Cow!! I’m actually living my dream.”

I live and work in Tuscany, teaching cooking classes, leading culinary and wine tours and sharing what I’ve learned about regional Italian cuisine with visitors from all over the world.

If I had gone to the library to consult a book on “How to Live and Work in Italy,” I’d still be sitting there, frozen under the avalanche of information on work permits and visas requirements. But I followed a path and, like Alice, fell down a hole into Wonderland.

My passion for good food, prepared with loving care and shared in a convivial setting, was instilled at an early age. I grew up in an Italian-American family on the east coast. We also lived in Verona, Italy for four years. I went to college; I worked in corporate America. The excellent salary I made went towards traveling, throwing dinner parties, eating in top restaurants and drinking fine wines. But it wasn’t enough.

When I was 36, I received a small inheritance from an aunt–enough to pursue a dream and change my life. I wasn’t in a serious relationship and I didn’t have kids. “If not now, when?,” I wondered.

I quit my job, sold my house, put my stuff in storage and took off to Italy for six months. After attending cooking school in Bologna, I traveled around Italy, watching the seasons change. I was blown away by the elegant simplicity of the food and how the dishes changed as the months went by. The cuisine of northern and central Italy was unlike anything I’d experienced in my southern Italian family upbringing.

I was fortunate enough to spend the last two months of my sojourn on a rural estate, Spannocchia, where I worked in the kitchen in exchange for room and board. Situated deep in the wooded hills south of Siena, it was my first exposure to Tuscan cuisine.

I loved the simplicity of the dishes: the strong flavors of rosemary and sage, the reliance on what was growing in the garden in the late fall, the celebration of harvest, wine, and new olive oil. I worked with their Tuscan cook to formulate her recipes in English.

When I returned to America, I started culinary school at the Institute of Culinary Education (ICE) in New York. An internship with Odette Fada at San Domenico restaurant continued my education in regional Italian cuisine. I worked in restaurants, making $8 an hour. It was a pittance of what I’d made in my corporate job, but I was so much more fulfilled.

In the spring of 2000, I returned to Spannocchia for a visit. The owners, who by now were my friends, asked me to stay for the season. I jumped at the chance, planning to return to the “real world” at the end of the year.

Immersing myself in Tuscan culture and traditions, eager to learn as much as possible, I yearned to share my experiences with people who shared my passion. The visitors to the estate were the perfect foil. At the end of the year, rather than move back to the U.S., I stayed and found my own apartment in town.

Never before had anything felt so right. I learned that when you encounter road blocks, you don’t beat your head and work harder to overcome them; you look for the road that is wide open and sunny, and walk down it.

In 2001, I built a website, choosing the name, Ecco La Cucina, which means “here’s the kitchen.”

Gina Stipo, Ecco La Cucina

I applied for and received a visa and went through the bureaucratic nightmare of filing every year to renew my permit to stay. I am now a permanent resident.

What began as simple classes teaching pasta has grown into culinary workshops on Tuscan cuisine; week-long culinary tours throughout Italy; market visits and winery tours. My sister has become my partner in the U.S., and we make a great team.

By showing up, working hard, developing relationships and giving people value for their vacation dollars, I’ve built a solid reputation and a strong business. Life in a foreign country wasn’t always easy, but what I’ve learned is immeasurable.”

I keep saying to you, dear reader, ICDT–I Can Do That! If Gina can do it, so can you! But you must create your own adventure, your own path.

If you would like to know more about Gina, perhaps attend her next week-long Tuscany classes and culinary tours in June, you can visit her website and plan your trip now!