Arrivederci

The porcini were great. And in the morning, I’m cleaning and on my way. Arreviderci casa Giovanna. It’s hot and now humid, too. Driving across Italy, I’m hoping for cooler weather at the coast but I am to be disappointed.

The little beach town of Marina di Cecina is absolutely bustling. I can’t believe it. Good thing I’ve already booked my room. The beaches are packed – everyone sits under an umbrella carefully spaced – and so are the streets. At dinner, I’m turned away from the two restaurants recommended by Michelin so i decide to have pizza in the hotel restaurant, and even there I have to wait for a table. But it’s great people watching and a nice way to spend a last night in Italy.

Tomorrow – NIce. It’s further than I thought so I’ll get an early start.

Ecco la cucina

When the long week without company or plans stretched in front of me on Sunday, I thought: “why don’t I try to find a cooking class to take during the week? I’ll bet there are one-day classes somewhere in Tuscany or Umbria.” And sure enough, I found one just south of Siena (not too far away – Tuscany’s a big state) that I could take on Thursday.

Gina Stipo is an ex-pat who quit her day job some years ago to follow her love – cooking. She took training, worked the “chairs” and now has a nice cooking school that seems to keep a roof over her head and doesn’t require her to work restaurant hours. Check it out: www.ecoolacucina.com This class was conducted in a 13th century flour mill turned into kitchen and bunkhouse for the owner’s guests.

On arrival I met the other three students – a recently engaged couple and the mother-in-law to be from Toronto. All delightful, we soon developed any easy comaradarie that, under Gina’s tutelage, produced a wonderful “pranzo” of battered and fried sage leaves and zucchini flowers, goat cheese-stuffed zucchini flowers; we-made pasta with a simple tomato-basil sauce; herb-rubbed and roasted rabbit with romano beans steamed with tarragon (Siena is about the only place in Italy that uses tarragon, per Gina) and an apricot crostata – a short pastry crust with apricot jam, apricots and a lattice top. Gina served nice Tuscan wines generously.

It was really good and I learned a lot. Often I hesitate to take classes because they’re too “dumbed down.” While Gina could have skipped the discussion of what rosemary and sage were (after all, we’ve all listened to Simon and Garfunkle), there was plenty for this high-opinion-of-himself cook to learn.

Suitably inspired, I decided to try a different route home from which I’d come because it would take me past the wonderful produce market in Monterchi that Stan and I had visited the week before. I’d decided that I wasn’t up to driving back over the hill to Cortona for the wine tasting dinner (45 min. each way). So tonight, it’s a simple (?) supper of saute’d porcinis, a salad, the remains of a spinach-onion fritatta I made earlier and “fragiolini di bosco” with biscotti. These tiny strawberries are sold in the States as “fraise du bois” which is simply the same thing in French. They are fabulous – very sweet and slightly crunchy because the seed-flesh ratio is high. if you see any at Berkeley Bowl or wherever, buy them.

I think it’s time to “faccio la doccia” — doesn’t that sound nicer than “I take a shower”? And get cooking.

Another day at the “ufficio”

This is the end of week 4.  Hardly seems possible.  And I’m back at my “office” near the Perugia train station.  Seems this is the only place I can find where there’s reliable wi-fi access.  

Deruta proved to be quite interesting.  Shops lined the streets with the familiar-looking Deruta pottery items. But on closer inspection, I discovered quite a difference in the various styles and and qualities. There were large outlets where the items appeared mass produced and small one and two artist shops were the actual hand-painting was going on.  Off the main road I entered such an shop and was soon have as much of a conversation as my limited Italian would allow.  I was talking to the artist and could see his workbench in the back where he and his wife practiced their art.  I found some wonderful little items that should make it home safely.

 

Solitude is quietude.   There’s much to be said for lazing under a tree, particularly when it’s too hot to do much moving about.  Long walks have to be completed in the early a.m. because it warms quickly.  That pretty much was yesterday but in the evening I ventured out to Citta’ di Costello, the largest town (38,000) in this part of Umbria.  It’s an old, walled  city so driving amounts to mostly a circumnavigation.  You park to walk around.

I had a reservation at Il Postale, a one-star that Joan said was so-so.  Others had raved, so I went and enjoyed the best meal of the trip.  The food was creative, well-prepared and well-served “a fuori.”  Of course there were English-speaking people there, but I’d made my reservation in Italian and the staff spoke to me in Italian.  (OK, they gave me both an English menu and an Italian one.  I like that because I know a lot of the food words in Italian and the translations are often inaccurate.)  It was a very nice way to end the day.

Today, I think I’ll go back to look for the clothing I want to buy.  If I find something that needs altering, they can have it ready by Friday.  Tomorrow — a cooking class near Siena.

PS: I solved the picture upload mystery. Look for others in the posts.

Un oggi non nella macchina

A day not in the car.  Think about it.  When was the last day you spent when you never left where you were?  Maybe that’s not so novel for some, but it sure is for me.  

I dropped Stan off at the station on Saturday and proceeded up the hill to my “ufficio” – office – the cafe where the wi-fi’s strong and free.  After a couple of hours there, I headed back to Joan’s with a stop for provisions along the way.  Everything was uneventful – I even successfully recharged my Italian cell phone and asked for charcoal in the store.   It was so warm, though, I didn’t cook – just hung around the kitchen and chatted on the phone a bit.

Sunday dawned bright and clear so i took a long walk up the road, stumbling on this huge agriturismo, tidy and manicured that someone had dropped in the middle of nowhere.  On return, I tackled cutting the grass.  Lawnmowers have changed since I last stood behind one, but I figured it out and an hour and a half later had the “yard” mowed.  That was about it.  A shady spot beckoned under a tree and that’s where I parked until moving inside for dinner.  Not very exciting as I read about it now but a very unusual day.  Solitude can be interesting when you’re not used to it.

Today I’m back on the road to Deruta for some retail therapy.

Gubbio

 

On Friday, Stan and I decide that a long hike before our big dinner at Il Falconiere is in order.  So we drive east to Gubbio where one of our guide books (“Walking and Eating in Tuscany and Umbria”) promises a nice 2-4 hour hour hike above the town.  We find everything with no trouble and soon find the funivia (finicula) which leads to top of the hill above the town and is the start of the hike.  The Funivia turns out to be a modified ski lift with little cages instead of chairs  in which two people stand.  After a visit to the ever-present church and a false start in the wrong direction, we set off.  The trail a gravel road is delightful with magnificent vistas of country houses nestled in the hills.  The guide book is four years old so some landmarks are different but after about 2 hours we find the junction for the second portion and elect the option to walk down back into town.  It’s a great hike and my calves are tight from the long downhill.

Back “home” in time to rest and our dinner adventure at Il Falconiere.  Stan and I pull out our best clothes including sport coats, put the top down on the car and enjoy a nice 45 minute drive to the restaurant.  It’s dining “al fuori” and most pleasant.  We decide to try fish and one of the egg dishes as a preface to the main course.  The eggs have no salt whatsoever and seem too reminiscent of steam-table but perk up with some salt. My spada (a local swordfish) is perfect with a touch of pesto on a grilled radicchio.  I have an interesting duck breast with a rich sauce – a hint of bacon – roast peppers and sauce-cooked potatoes.  Stan has pigeon again and declares it just as good as the night before.  The petit-fours were so good the day before that we simply skip dessert and enjoy them again.  Having been judicious with the wine, I find the drive home fun. Stan fails to make good on his promise to stay awake.

Cortona

We deposit Sheri at the airport Wednesday a.m. and head back to Perugia.  This time we find the tourist office and the market is still open.  After a quick lunch outside on the main piazza.  Without luck finding an unlocked wi-fi spot, we head back to the train station, find the cafe where I’d found the wi-fi and pound the internet until our computers lose their charge.  Back in at Joan’s we dine at the place she’d recommended, Il Granario, in nearby Cozalaro.  Its charming with well-executed pasta and pizza dishes.

On Thursday, Stan and I decide to take the back road over the hill to Cortona, a short 34 km away in Tuscany.  After a pleasant, windy drive along a ridge we descend to Cortona and BAM!  There are cars everywhere and they’re all American tourists.  Cortona is a very nice, bustling town but without significant features to distinguish it from most of the other hill towns of equal size in Tuscany and Umbria.  But Tuscany’s not Umbria.  Americans know Tuscany, so it’s swarming.  We find the nice enoteca that Joan has recommended and chat with the owner (in English).  He’s pouring 4 wines, which we taste, buying 2.  Perhaps I’ll return next week for the winemaker’s dinner he gives me an invitation for.

Then we begin our search for Il Falconiere, another Joan recommendation, for lunch.  It’s just down the hill at the end of several twists and turns but when we finally pull in the lot, we see it’s fabulous.  By then I noticed from the directional signs that it was a Relais et Chateau property, so I was expecting something special.  The grounds are manicured, tasteful art and artifacts are everywhere and we are shown to a table in the lovely dining room by a waiter with an eyebrow raised at our T-shirt and shorts attire.  But the food is amazing.  I have a fettucine with a rabbit ragout that full of flavor and Stan has a roast pigeon that he declares the best every (this from a guy who once sent be to a pigeon restaurant in Hong Kong).  It’s so good we make a reservation of dinner the following night, Stan promising that he will stay awake on the drive home to keep me company.

       On the drive back, we head to Arezzo and then over toward Citta’ di Costello and back to Umbria.  Along the way we find the Joan-promised mushroom and vegetable stand in Montechi where for 20 euro we get sacks of porcini, chanterelle, fruit, veggies and a black summer truffle.  The evening meal is simply mushrooms and vegetables so fresh you can still taste the earthiness.

Stan and Sheri arrive

Stan is scheduled to arrive Sunday at 8:30 but he calls to say he took the wrong train in Padua, delaying his arrival until 10:30.  It means we’ll have trouble finding a place to eat.  I find the station in the dark without difficulty, to my surprise.  Italian streets are very well marked for the most part with signs to the major places but with one very annoying feature.  There almost always seems to be a gap in the signs where you risk missing a critical turn.  To my delight there is a spot with very good, free, wi-fi.

He’s on time and we search for a place.  The one at which we stop is closing but the bartender directs us to another, complete with a hand-drawn map.  It’s an enoteca (wine bar) serving Italian tapas.  We have a simple, pleasant meal washed down with a local red.

Monday, Sheri, a good pal  who’s the wife of a client, arrives for a couple of days on her way to England and a date with the swells at Ascot.  She’s a character and we three have a nice day exploring Perugia, disappointed only in that we are too late for the market.  That evening we decide to eat out, but the first restaurant is closed and on our way to another, we’re delayed for 20 minutes by a religious procession moving slowly down the highway, accompanied by flashing police cars.  The pizza we finally locate isn’t as good as Joan promised but the cook has passed away in the last year and the new one isn’t up to speed yet.

Tuesday, we journey to Assisi, home to our patron saint, San Francesco.  There are churches everywhere.  Tourists are evident but not in great numbers.  Sheri and I have an extended and pleasant lunch while Stan studies the Giotto frescos in the Chiesa San Francesco.  Gitotto, Stan relates, was the first artist to use prospective and movement in his works.  The church is amazing, with upper and lower floors, soaring arches and, on the lower floor, St. Francis’s tomb.  

Once back home we, cook an elaborate meal, including eggplant involtini and  2 fresh branzini (local white fish) baked under a salted meringue.  We finish the evening by watching Gladiator in English with Italian subtitles (for me, the Italian student – next Italian with Italian subtitles).  

 

 

Back to Umbria

 

Wow, not having regular internet access means the posts pile up.  Of course, you have to write them first.  

Thursday, June 12 is a rainy one in Sardegna.  It’s a day I need to do some legal work so while Dale and Paulette head out to see a grotto, I remain in town.

Later, after they pick up Francesco, we drive to his home town Bosa.  It’s a little further south on the coast from Albergo with a picturesque harbor and bluff overlooking wonderful bays and coves.  Francesco treats us to his personal favorites. Later we drop in on his parents, who graciously entertain us for dinner, apologizing all the while about the inadequacy of the meal.  (Francesco gave them no notice that we were coming.) They are charming and I mumble through some Italian conversation with help from Dale and Francesco.

On Friday, we take care of business, enjoy some beach time near Sassari and head for the debarkation point of ferry back to the mainland., Olbia.  Olbia is a very nice town, somewhat smaller than Sassari. After circling for a while, we find our hotel in the “centro storico” — the old town.  A little walk brings us to the main street where all the bars have arranged outdoor flat screen TVs to watch the  Italians in the European cup.  No one is happy when the game ends in a draw.  For dinner, we try Gallura, a MIchelin 1-star.  I had made the reservation in Italian so when we were seated in the room “a destra” we soon discovered that we were in the Italian room.  No American tourists, save us, were present and no one was speaking English.  Dale and I got us through the particularly tough task of letting them know that he was a vegetarian.  The restaurant featured seafood exclusively.  It was wonderful, easily the best meal I’d had to date.  The antipasti were elaborate creations of shell fish and other creatures, but the secondi was a classic Italian dish, a filet taken off the bone while we watched, and served unadorned on the plate.

Saturday I was up early and down to the harbor for my 8:00 departure.  The ticket checker noticed my Italian name and told me in Italian that the boat was late.  Five hours later, after the hundred-plus cars waited in the parking area, we departed.  I had arranged to have lunch on the way back with one of my teachers who was vacationing with her extended family in a beach town just up the coast,  Marina di Cecina.  Clearly I wasn’t going to make it.  The ride itself was uneventful.  Large Italian ferries are like cruise ships with multiple lounges, restaurants and even a floor show during the 4 1/2 hour journey.  But by the time I got to Piombino, it was a little too late to undertake the 3 – 4 hour drive to San Pietro a Monte, so I switched lunch to dinner and booked a room in Marina di Cecina.  It was a cute town yet undiscovered by American tourists.  The next day I awoke refreshed and had a nice drive back to Joan’s.

 

Francesco

Francesco is a first-level civil judge in Sassari, the largest city (about 120,000) on the west coast of Sardegna.  His family is from the nearby town of Bosa, on the coast about 40 miles away.  They have been here for generations.

 

Slight of build and balding, he is totally delightful with enough energy for five people.  Judges in Italy don’t have to put in 40-hour weeks as do our judges.  Francesco works about 3-4 days a week from 9 until 1 or so hearing civil cases.  He occasionally “rides circuit” to nearby Alghero.  He doesn’t make much money but he has plenty of time to devote to his true passions, travel and women.  And he has plenty of time to be our enthusiastic tour guide.  

 

The day we arrive he cooks us a pleasant, typical Italian dinner – pasta, meat (usually pork in these parts), salad and fruit (cherries from his family estate).  On Tuesday, we rent a bigger car so we all can go touring, first south to see the most famous nuraghe in these parts, Nuraghe Santu Antine.  (www.nuraghesantuantine.it)   These bronze age structures date from the 16th century B.C.  It’s a triangular bastion, about 60 feet high when it stood fully.  The top was razed sometime during the Roman takeover during about 1 BC to 4 AD.  It is circular in shape, with many interior, concentric rooms and a high parapet which would have made for a very difficult assault for aggressors.  Not one for antiquities, I am fascinated.

 

Later we drive to the end of the peninsula by Porto Torres (much Spanish influence is evident) for some beach time. First we have lunch in the pretty seaside town of Stintino.   Off the beach, a few hundred meters away is an island that once housed a penal colony.  Franceso never stops talking.  He is eager to speak English so Dale and I get limited Italian practice.  His accent is strong but he has good command and a large vocabulary.  After we drive back, we enjoy a nice dinner at our hotel, well prepared and very reasonably priced.

 

 

Wednesday we spend visiting Alghero, another nice waterfront town.  Francesco joins us for lunch after completing his jurist duties.  I’m itching to go sailing but can’t drum up much enthusiasm in the face of what would have been difficult logistics.  That evening, we decide that I should cook for us at Francesco’s.  Shopping at his nearby supermercato is interesting but I’m put off by the fact that all the vegetables come pre-packages.  

 

Cooking is quite the challenge.  First the water is off due to some utility work.  Francesco has an oven, but the sticker’s still on the door, suggesting lack of use, and when we try it, it promptly blows the circuit breaker.  Francesco’s townhouse is about 1000 sq. ft. and has but 10 amp service.  He usually cooks in his toaster oven.  This means my eggplant involtini are out.  Instead I make a lasagne-like dish using the same ingredients, only to discover the pan doesn’t fit in the little oven.  In the end it all comes together on the stovetop with contorni of roasted cauliflower and mixed salad.  By now I’ve figured out what fits in the little oven so the clafoutis made with his family’s cherries fits.  

Sardegna

 

We arrived quite bleary-eyed at 0500 but were treated to a spectacular sunrise as we took the long way, through Costa Smerelda, to our final destination, an agriturismo near Sassari on the west coast.  The Costa Smerelda is the playground of the rich with giant houses and fancy resorts dotting the coast and countryside.   The little towns displayed something I hadn’t seen in Italy before – urban planning.  Everything fit together, manicured and uniformly signed.  It looked like Scottsdale with a coastline. 

 

After winding through some very scenic roads for about 2 and 1/2 hours, we arrived in the general locale of our agriturismo.  An agriturismo is a farm that boards guests.  Sort of like a B&B with a barn and garden.  I first experienced one in Pulgia in ‘06 on the recommendation of several people.  

 

But my expectations based on the Puglia experience were soon dashed when we pulled up to a modern, but half-finished line of bungalows in what truly seemed like the middle of nowhere.  Ours was in an old casa that had seen better days, smelling musty with sagging beds.  Paulette, Dale and I looked at each other, no one wanting to be the first to say that it was bad.  After a few anxious moments, we assuaged Dale’s feelings (he’d made the arrangements), called his friend Francesco who was expecting us in Sassari and left.

 

  When we got to Sassari and found Francesco, we knew we’d made the correct choice. D&P had met  Francesco, a 40-something civil judge, when he traveled to Seattle last year.  We spent the afternoon touring the old town of Sassari including a most interesting church that was the base for a centuries-old Sardinian religious society, sort of like the Knights of Columbus. 

 

By 5 we were pretty tired, but Francesco steered us to a new hotel, beautifully done, that could accommodate us.  (Hotel Vittorio Emanuelle)  It was within walking distance of Francesco’s.  It even had internet.  It was a decided improvement over the agriturismo.