Roam Archives - Page 4 of 6 - Itch.world
A three-minute escape to Italy.
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Brexit at a London grocery store

My return to Italy is postponed by a few days so I find myself in the dairy section of the Waitrose in Crouch End, London. I am not at peace with the world, to put it mildly. I’ve had a traumatic day, am feeling very shaky after having an allergic reaction to something I ate the day before, and I have exactly 16 minutes to shop for dinner before I need to be on a conference call with clients.

I am bending over looking on the bottom shelf to find lactose-free cheese, feeling dizzy, when a tiny, elderly woman, very elegantly dressed and with perfect makeup, approaches me and asks if I know the difference between evaporated and condensed milk. I tell her that I really don’t but would guess that condensed has more sugar.

She goes on to say that her only living family member is her son who now lives in Singapore and that he has been calling her almost every day demanding that she stocks up on supplies for Brexit. She says that during the war she remembers her mother hoarding condensed or evaporated milk, but she can’t remember which.

There is nothing else in her small basket. She’s looks blankly around at the packed shelves, clearly overwhelmed. Then she asks me if she needs to be this worried. I stammer that it probably doesn’t hurt because things are so unpredictable.

Then I tell her I have to go and turn to the register with a huge lump in my throat cursing myself for not being up to the challenge, untimely conference calls, and Brexit.

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The new man in my life

He may be a bit old for me, but everyone says he has the perfect body. He’s the mysterious, quiet type and never leaves my side. John doesn’t wholeheartedly embrace this new relationship but tries to understand my passion. My new love’s name is Apollo and he comes from around 90 BC.

I’ve been on an eight-year quest to find the perfect ring made with an antique coin. Nearly every window of any jeweler I’ve passed by for years has been scanned for “my ring” and always come up short. This quest hasn’t stopped with me—friends and family have also been on the lookout and will occasionally send a text photo asking “Could this be it?”

John, meanwhile, has been all sang froid and thought he had the perfect hand to play. We live on nine acres of land that is listed as archaeologically significant for possible Etruscan and Roman artifacts. Whenever I whined about wanting this kind of ring he’d tell me to go out in the yard and find the coin myself. Unfortunately all of our restoration, trenching for putting power lines underground, and gardening has turned up nothing more significant than broken bits of recent crockery.

So I meet my lovely niece, Christine Sarkis, in Rome as she started her Italian vacation. She’s a travel editor and had recently done a story about unusual stores in Rome, including a small store noted for its jewelry created from coins, called Serra. Mysteriously we found time in our crowded morning to go to the shop. And I met Apollo.

Alessandro Serra, the third-generation of the family to have the shop, became fascinated by Roman history, and through it, by coins, which helped to make the abstract tangible. The coins find their way into our modern world mainly as a result of having been buried for safety, particularly at the fall of the Roman Empire. When troves of a few hundred coins are found they find their way to experts who verify them, and then sell at auction (with the guarantee of taking them back if found to be inauthentic.) Alessandro started buying at auction and assembled an interesting collection from which he makes jewelry. Part of the reason that Roman coins are relatively plentiful is that the empire was so widespread, and controlled by soldiers, all of whom needed to be paid every month. Silver coinage was a way to do that and made its way to all corners of Europe.

In addition to being built Apollo is also the god of sun, light, music, truth, healing, knowledge, and the arts, all things I like. And archery, which I don’t know much about but am open to. On the back of the coin is Minerva in her chariot pulled by four horses. In Rome she was best known for arts, trade, and strategy.

I find meaning wearing something that was created by another human so long ago. That was carried around in so many pockets and traded for countless glasses of wine, meals, horses, bread, and God knows what else by people who were so different, yet exactly the same, as me. I was hiking recently on an Etruscan trail (next week’s Itch) that was stunning. I realized that it was more beautiful to me because the natural beauty had been shaped by humans living thousands of years ago. (Somehow more compelling than our more recent interventions. I wonder if a Target parking lot will every give a future generation a rush.)

My coin was widely used in 90BC and was similar to a nickle today. It’s called a denarius, from which many of the current words for money, like dinero, comes. It was the backbone of Roman coinage throughout the empire from about 200 BC to the middle of the  3rd century AD.

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Pinocchio at the Relais & Châteaux resort

Several years ago I guessed that Il Borro, the restored hamlet owned by the Ferragamo family and part of the Relais & Chateaux group of luxury hotels, might be a really nice place during my then 93-year old mother’s heart valve replacement. I returned to California for her procedure and in the preliminary meeting, when the team of surgeons and cardiologists learned that I lived in Tuscany, everything stopped while they told me in great detail about their various family vacations in this far-away paradise called Il Borro. Excuse me, but don’t you have work to do, like on my mother?

Now that I live about 45-minutes away I’ve visited a couple of times to eat and wander around but somehow had missed the whole point of the place. It’s not the ancient hamlet, perched on a rock outcropping, which has been restored to within an inch of its life, or the infinity pool, or the spa treatments, or winery, or olive groves, but the most interesting thing is a tucked-away collection of animatronic Pinocchios created by the parish priest who lived there years before it was purchased by the Ferragamos. Father Pasquale Mencattini first built a mechanized nativity scene in the 1950s, followed by small tableaus of traditional Tuscany—this one is in a tavern.

But I think his masterpieces are the Pinocchio scenes.

Built within TV sets they are stashed in a small cellar. The general public can see them, you just have to ask reception.

While writing this I also discovered that The Adventures of Pinocchio, written by the Italian Carlo Collodi, was first published as a serialized story in a newspaper of children’s stories in 1881 and became instantly popular. The collected stories were put into book form in 1883 and it’s reputed to be the most translated book in the world, after the Bible, and is one of the best-selling books of all time.

But back to Il Borro. Would I suggest staying there? I am a complete sucker for any Relais & Chateaux experience, but I’d have to say no. Not if you want to actually visit Italy. The resort is all about the curated and imagined Italian experience as opposed to the real one—the hamlet even comes complete with a collection of artisans at work—but give me a coffee at a not-too-clean bar filled with cinghiale hunters any day.

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Mona Lisa’s bridge

I sometimes drive over the Buriano Bridge, just outside of Arezzo. It’s a seven-arched, one-lane wonder built in 1277 spanning the Arno. If that isn’t cool enough, the bridge is the one off the Mona Lisa’s shoulder, at least according to Carlo Starnazzi, a University of Florence paleontologist, who published a paper with his research in 1995.

The landscape was widely thought to be Leonardo da Vinci’s fictional creation, but Starnazzi argues that Leonardo had mapped this area extensively when he hired by Cesare Borgia to study how the river might be diverted by water works to starve nearby cities during a siege. On the map he created he’d drawn the Buriano bridge. (A little side note, Borgia was the inspiration for Machiavelli’s The Prince. If the assignment paid well, and used his engineering skills, da Vinci was up for the job, no matter how nasty the employer …)

Starnazzi even found a vantage point—a now abandoned castle—which in Leonardo’s time would have aligned with the geographical features exactly the way they appear in the painting. And Leonardo was a native of Tuscany and knew the area well.

There’s a bit of competition for claiming bits of Italian geography as the inspiration for what’s behind the Mona Lisa. Several other theories place the background in the Italian Alps, in Bobbio, located south of Piacenza, and in Montefeltro in the Marche.

But I am going to believe it it the Buriano Bridge as I pass over it not infrequently and the “evidence” seems pretty good to me. There’s also a sign making the bridge put up by the village … so it must be true. (The bridge is very near Il Borro resort, home of the Pinocchio collection.)

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Three years after the earthquakes

I was in need of a little exploration so I decided to head out to see Norcia and Castelluccio, two villages high on Mouni Sibillini hit hard by the Italian earthquakes of August (6.2 magnitude) and October (6.5), 2016.

Norcia is still charming, although the signs of devastation are everywhere. It was part of the Papal States and after a large earthquake in 1859 the church imposed a strict building code that limited housing structures to under three stories, and thanks to that most of the houses survived. The larger buildings, like the 13th-century basilica of St. Benedict, were completely destroyed. The facade is the only thing left standing. The basilica is on top of an earlier structure, and is believed to be where St. Benedict and his twin sister were born in 480. The basilica is in the process of restoration, although when I was there I only saw two men working and a crane lifting a wheelbarrow over the rubble that was the inside of the church.

The same side of the church, before the quakes:

Norcia is also the homeland of the norcini, or traveling butchers, who were in charge of the family spezzatura (cutting up of the pig) that John and I were lucky enough to go to. The area is renowned for its salumi, prosciutto, and other various prepared pig parts.The town still has its share of stores selling norcineria, although many are outside the town gate and in temporary structures.

Hanging around town are signs protesting the slowness of aid from the earthquake. This one, in the main square with the ruined church behind, says “Three governments and three commissions, only promises.”

After a coffee in Norcia I drove deeper into the mountains to the tiny village of Castelluccio, home to “nearly” 150 people. Sixty percent of it was leveled in the earthquake, the town was evacuated, and all road access closed off for over a year. The road is open again, as is the village, with a few shops and restaurants largely operating from temporary buildings. Not all villages have recovered as well—on the way I spotted this road leading to other small villages, still closed. The words “infinite shame” are written on the do not enter sign.

The valley that Castelluccio is in is one of the most beautiful, and unusual, places I’ve ever seen. It’s an immense valley, located high in the mountains, with a very flat and wide bottom. There’s only one road running through. If you zoom into the main image above you can see Castelluccio on a small hill to the left of the valley—a glorious site for a town. It’s famous in the spring for flowers blooming on the plain, which I’d just missed, but the hay had just been rolled into bales and the valley was stunning. It is also where some of the most famous lentils in the world come from—as loved by foodies as their more famous cousins the de Puy lentils from France. I hope you can see how beautiful this place is, especially with the hay bales. If you are viewing on a phone. Perhaps zoom in?

My restaurant radar was thrown off by all the identical temporary buildings, but I followed my nose all the way up the hill to the last restaurant, where all the workmen were headed, always my best clue to local food. I had the best handmade pasta with cinghiale sauce that I’ve had yet in Italy, where sauces with wild boar are common. (You can see some of the destruction to the left of the temporary building.)

But the best part was that I was seated at a table next to two brown robe-clad monks. The last thing I was expecting was for them to turn out to be American. One is the Prior of the Benedictine Monastery in Norcia. I started a fascinating conversation with them—about why most of the monks in this community are American, what it is like to build a new monastery with such a weight of history to live up to, the earthquake and its aftermath, making beer, and creating the #1 hit album on Billboard’s classical chart. All ahead in the next Itch.

And if you find yourself in Castelluccio, I’d highly recommend the Agriturismo Monte Veletta for lunch.

 

 

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Six boys disappear into a cave…

In 1979 six Italian boys who had formed a speleology group were out practicing their rappelling skills on a rock face on the steep side of the village of Narni. The oldest, Roberto Nini, mistakenly crashes into a cabbage patch on a terrace below. At first the farmer,Ernani Proietti, is angry, but Roberto tells the old farmer about the group’s passion for finding and mapping caves and other underground chambers.

Ernani shows them a hole into the cliff face in the back of the stable where he kept his livestock and tells them to see what was there. Just like the moment in the wardrobe in C.S. Lewis’s fictional Narnia (inspired by Narni) in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe that moment forever changed the lives of the boys and the town.

Above the farmer’s plot was the abandoned San Dominico monastic complex dating from 1303 (which was built on top of a 6th-century Paleochristian church.)  The monks left in 1860, the monastery was falling to ruin, and then it was bombed in WWII. In 1979 the rubble from the bombing still cascaded down the cliff and formed the back of Ernani’s garden and shed. What Ernani didn’t know, and the boys discovered, was that the bombing had uncovered access to several underground chambers which had been walled up several centuries before. And Roberto Nini was to spend the next 40 years of his life investigating the mysteries inside.

The boys enter the pitch black cavern. The first thing that their light illuminates is a pair of eyes looking back at them. They belonged to a fresco of an angel in what had been a church from the 1300s. On all the walls are beautiful frescoes.

The church had been badly damaged by water. The boys started working to clear it out and started a volunteer group that has restored it and gives tours, called Narni Underground, or Narni Sotterranea. Some of the tours are led by Roberto Nini himself. Over time the boys kept discovering more chambers, including an intact Roman cistern next door to the church.

The third and fourth chambers held the most startling thing they discovered—an interrogation chamber from one of the main courts of the Papal Inquisition of the 16th and 17th centuries, and a prisoner’s cell. Centuries before the church had walled the rooms off and denied that there had ever been an active seat of the inquisition in Narni, but Roberto went to work.

He discovered that the Church had ordered most documents about the inquisition to be destroyed in 1809. While in storage in a warehouse waiting for the paper mill one box was stolen and ended up in a monastery in Dublin. When Roberto found out about this he went to Dublin and found the papers that referenced the trials in Narni. This led him to be admitted to the Vatican Library where he found additional documentation. One record told the story of a Giuseppe Andrea Lombardini who was put on trial in 1759. When the prisoner cell was discovered they found on the wall a large inscription “IO GIUSEPPE ANTREA LOBARTINI CAPORALE – FUI CARGERATO”, meaning, “I Giuseppe Andrea Lombardini was incarcerated”. The entire cell is richly decorated with masonic symbols and markers of time spent in the cell.

The visit was great, but what I loved most was the story of the people behind the site. The volunteer giving the tour was exceptionally engaged, enthusiastic, and passionate—it was like the first time she’d shared the stories. It is amazing to me that somehow these boys had managed to rally the community, form a volunteer organization, find funds and talent for restoration, and do the level of research that they had, all over the course of decades. Interesting to see how saying “yes” to going into an unexplored cave changed so many people’s lives.

(Thanks to Underground Narni for the beautiful photos.)

 

 

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I just got back from Narnia

With time to kill at a horseshow in Umbria I decided to explore the nearby hilltown of Narni, which the Romans called Narnia.

First of all, let’s address the name thing. Yes, it is the inspiration for C.S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia, although it is unlikely he ever visited the Italian town. According to Lewis’s biographer and former personal secretary, Walter Hooper, Lewis read about Narnia in Roman history where it is mentioned by Tacitus, Livy, and Pliny the Elder. He had a Latin atlas in which he’d underlined the name “Narnia”. Lewis told Hooper that the name in the atlas had indeed inspired his fictional Narnia. This atlas was later given to the town.

To make things even more interesting, one of Narni’s local saints was named Lucy Brocadelli  (1476-1544), who had religious visions starting at the age of five. She wanted to join the Dominicans but was married off as a young teen to a Count from Milan. She convinced her husband to let her live in celibacy. They lived together quite happily despite her propensity for giving away their belongs to the poor and wearing a hair shirt. The husband’s limits were reached, however, after she stayed out all night and came back the next morning with two men—who she claimed were John the Baptist and Saint Dominic. Her husband locked her up for Lent and when she went to church on Easter she ran away and joined the Dominicans. The Count was so angry he burned down a nearby Dominican property. She became a prioress, and received the stigmata (one of the few women to do so). Her benefactor, the Duke of Ferrara, started a new religious community for her but the Duke had the unfortunate habit of bringing his dinner guests by the convent after the meal and asking Lucy to make the stigmata bleed and go into ecstasy. After he died the others in the convent didn’t take well to this attention and locked her in a cell for forty years. After she died her body was discovered several years later to be “uncorrupted” and she was beatified in 1710. Her body is now in the cathedral of Narni. I cannot report on how corrupted, or not, it now is. She is thought to be the inspiration for Lewis’s character, Lucy Pevensie. (I swear on St. Lucy that this is actually the abbreviated version of the story. Please forgive my long digression—I’m still not sure it’s right to take you through this whole Lucy story, but I couldn’t resist.)

But there’s more Narnia in Narni—there’s an ancient, pre-Roman stone table that is outside of town. Local historians believe it was used for animal, and perhaps even human, sacrifice, which is not a surprise given the climatic scene in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Amazingly, there is hardly any reference to C.S. Lewis’s creations in Narni. (Unlike Dubrovnik and its dozen or more stores selling Game of Thrones junk.) It’s an enchanting little hilltop town perched between two valleys—a more gentle slope to the front of the town and a dramatic drop-off to the back. It has been inhabited since Paleolithic and Neolithic times and first named by the Osco-Umbrians as Nequinum in 600 BC.

It is my favorite kind of Italian town. Not too big and not too small. Gorgeous, almost unknown, very, very few tourists, friendly, enough of a critical mass of locals that it feels like it has a vital life of its own apart from visitors. You can visit a church from almost any century you choose, starting around the year 1000, all within the tiny center.

Here are a few of the different ones.

S. Maria Impensole from the 1200s.

S. Francesco from the 1200s with amazingly frescoed pillars.

For visual punctuation you’ve got the basic hulking fortress towering over the town and an abandoned Benedictine monastery perched on the backside of the town on a mid-ground range of hills.

I found out that it is close to the geographic center of Italy. I was almost fooled by the sign in the piazza in town, in several languages, saying that it marked the center of Italy, but dug a little deeper and realized that the actual point was a 10-minute drive up a dirt road to a parking lot and then a 30-minute hike through an enchanting woods, which would have done old C.S. proud. Didn’t see another person. Paralleling the hike there are openings into an underground channel, which turned out to be part of a Roman aqueduct system and still completely intact.

So here’s the for real geographical center of Italy.

Nearby happens to be a bridge from the 1st century, Ponte Cardona.

There was so much to do in tiny Narni that I returned for a second day to visit the underground Byzantine church, Roman cistern, and a Tribunal of the Inquisition, with adjacent prisoner cell, all discovered by chance in 1979. That’s for next week’s Itch.

Oh, I also went apartment hunting for you. Here you go.

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Empire in a hamlet: Brunello Cucinelli

I keep hearing interesting things about the cashmere designer and “humanistic capitalist” Brunello Cucinelli, most recently that he hosted Jeff Bezos, Reid Hoffman, and other, as the Italian press headlined, “Big della Silicon Valley” in the hamlet which is the headquarters of his 500 million euro brand. The subject was “…our respect, safeguard and promotion of what has always been seen as the deepest treasure of people, the highest evidence of the original nobility of man, the utmost expression of freedom and moral supremacy: the soul.” Equally curious and skeptical (whenever billionaires start making plans for the human soul), I wanted to learn more.

The Cucinelli lore is that Brunello grew up deep in the Umbrian countryside, near Perugia, in a house without electricity or running water. After the family moved to the urban north of Italy so that his father could work in a cement factory the family happiness plummeted, and Brunello saw his father return from work often humiliated and morally defeated. After dropping out of engineering school to study philosophy on his own he pledged to create work for people that provided moral and economic dignity. “I have listened to the wise and moving words of Saint Francis, Saint Benedict, Kant, Marcus Aurelius, Socrates, Seneca, and I have realised that economic value is nothing without the human component and that the former cannot survive without the latter.” In 1978 he started out with a $500 loan and dyed some cashmere sweaters a range of bright colors (previously cashmere was available mostly in neutrals). They were a huge success.

The company grew from there and in 1982 he married his highschool sweetheart, Federica, and they moved to the hamlet where she grew up, Solomeo. In 1985 they made the town the headquarters of the growing business and purchased the ruins of a 14th-century castle to refurbish. As the company continued to grow they invested more and more into the community and the workers, paying 20% more than the average wage, ending the work day at 5:30 and discouraging working online after that time, and closing everything for a 90 minute, highly-subsidized lunch. Pretty interesting considering fashion is one of the most competitive and “always-on” industries around. “People need their rest,” Cucinelli says. “If I make you overwork, I have stolen your soul.”

Cucinelli has restored the hamlet, including the church and the theater, and founded the Solomeo School of Arts and Crafts (inspired by William Morris and John Ruskin) to teach and celebrate fine craftsmanship. Recently they cleared away some ugly industrial buildings at the foot of the hill and built a light-filled new factory, youth center, sports grounds, and parks. It’s a great model that he can do good and it only adds more value to his brand.

photo from brunellocucinelli.com

I heard that at one point he wanted to increase the size of his business substantially and looked at what it would take to expand while controlling quality of product (and life)—how to resource more cashmere, where to get it dyed, how to find enough craftsmen to hire and train to make the garments, where to build more factories—and decided that instead of scaling volume he would raise prices significantly, which has been successful because of the huge popularity of the brand.

I went to Solomeo for the morning and my feelings were mixed. I was so excited to see how he’d restored the village, but I found the restoration to be a bit cold and not preserving the organic serendipity that makes old buildings so human and interesting. I showed Donella and John some photos over lunch and Donella said “It looks like it’s a new ‘Tuscan village’ gated community in China.” Hmmm. It’s fair enough that the company dominates the hamlet—it does employ 1,600 locals—but I wasn’t expecting it to feel quite so antiseptic. However it is wonderful to save a tiny hamlet that would probably otherwise be largely in ruin.

photo from brunellocucinelli.com

On the other hand the clothes are incredible. I loved everything in the store but find it hard to imagine paying $3,000 for a simple cashmere sweater, over $8,000 for a coat, or $9,000 shearling jacket, even if I could.

I want to love everything he is doing—I’ve often wondered how to help foster thriving businesses without wrecking everything good about Italy—but there is something holding me back from being 100% a fan girl. Maybe it’s that what I love most about Italy is the inherent messiness, directness, lack of branding and facade. Along with the sad realization that those traits don’t usually drive success and growth. Wondering if there are ways for villages to prosper, kids to have career options, family businesses to thrive while not killing what makes people happier, more present, and more “real” than I’ve seen anywhere else. It was fascinating to see one model for a solution.

(top image from corcianonline.it)

 

 

 

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Three intriguing things about Lebanon

Part two about our quick trip to Lebanon. The lure was to see a post-war, thriving country in the middle east with fabulous food and welcoming, cosmopolitan people. We found all of that, but I’m still thinking about some of the more nuanced and interesting things that surfaced. Next week, Itch returns to Italian subjects.

Arab or not?

After a civil war as divisive and destructive as Lebanon’s one expects to see the scars, which are inescapable, with many buildings still in ruins or riddled with pockmarks from gunfire. I wasn’t expecting to encounter, in an equally pervasive form, some of the beliefs about being Lebanese that fed the conflict.

Several of the Lebanese we ran into as tourists (our sampling was Christian) self-identified as Phoenicians, the Mediterranean civilization of maritime traders that flourished from 1500 BC to 300 BC. I got the first hint that there was a powerful, self-defining narrative from the advertising that ran on the Lebanese airline, Middle Eastern Airlines, while we flew to Beirut. Many of the ads were for banks, and all had a similar flavor: “You are a mover and shaker out in the world building businesses, trade, and making things happen. You need a bank to keep up with you no matter what port you are in or how much you are making.” Our tour guide at Byblos, one of the oldest continually inhabited places on earth and a thriving Phoenician port town, made the point, more than once, that the Lebanese are not Arabs, but Phoenicians, which explained their distinct look and more secular worldview. Which was NOT ARAB. This was an opinion echoed by several people we encountered during our short stay.

The Phoenician self-identification was used all through the 20th century as a shorthand for Lebanese nationalism, started by the Maronite Christians in the 1920s to differentiate themselves from the Arabs. I can see why it is attractive to be descended from the Phoenicians, creators of the alphabet, the zero in math, open-sea navigation, the color purple, and global trade, but I wondered if it was true.

The Wellcome Trust Sanger Institute in England published research in 2017 showing that the modern Lebanese actually have inherited 93% of their genes from the Canaanites, who evolved into the Phoenicians, and lived in today’s Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Israel. The irony is that these genes appear equally among Lebanon’s population (as well as beyond the borders) crossing today’s religious, political, and cultural differences.

As Claude Doumet-Serhal, director of the archeological excavation which found the Canaanite remains from which the DNA study was based said, “When Lebanon started in 1929 the Christians said, ‘We are Phoenician.’ The Muslims didn’t accept that and they said, ‘No, we are Arab.'” But what was uncovered is that “We all belong to the same people,” she said. “We have always had a difficult past … but we have a shared heritage we have to preserve.”

Al Falamanki

I went to a monologue by Spalding Gray in which he talked about finding those “perfect moments” in life, which can never be planned or anticipated. The last night we were in Beirut we came across this restaurant, Al Falamanki which gave me my perfect moment for the trip.

Opened in the 1960s the restaurant is open 24 hours a day and features live music, backgammon boards, and at least one hookah per person. There’s a large open courtyard at the center of it all and when we were there it was bustling and we were the only tourists. The guys from the photo at the top played a long game of backgammon, each with a hookah at hand, at the table behind us. Next to them were two couples on dates, and next to them a table of single women out for a night on the town.

 

We tried hard to find places to catch a glimpse of what modern Beirut is like, but this place did it for me. I’ve rarely seen such an at-ease and relaxed group of people having fun, and suddenly I understood what people love about Beirut.

Baalbek

In the infamous Bekaa Valley near the Syrian border lies Baalbek. I’ve seen a lot of Roman ruins around the Mediterranean and in France and England, but this site is extraordinary in scale and condition. It has been continually occupied for 8-9,000 years and has traces of buildings by the Phoenicians, Egyptians, Assyrians, and Greeks before the Romans built what is largely visible today. The temples often flowed from one god to another as the civilizations changed, often with the same focus. The temple to Jupiter is thought to be built on the earlier Greek temple to the sun god Helios. The other huge temple in the complex is dedicated to Bacchus.

If you ever have the chance, go.

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Suddenly a kitchen in Beirut felt a lot like Italy

To add another layer of adventure to our trip to Beirut we cooked with a family in their home, found through a service called Traveling Spoon. It turned out to be one of the best things we did on the trip.

In the outskirts of Beirut we arrived at an unassuming apartment building. Tania, our hostess, welcomed us and showed us into the living room where we met her mom, Joelle, and her brother. We all chatted for about an hour—I was starting to wonder whether I had forgotten to check the “cooking class” box on the form—when Tania asked us what we wanted to make and presented us with an array of choices. We decided on a range of things and then set to work in the small kitchen.

Learning to make a bunch of Lebanese classics was a blast, but what really make the evening for us was the warmth and wit of the family, with Tania and her mom ruthlessly teasing each other, her father, Boutros, arriving from working in his very large garden further outside of town and pouring rounds of homemade arak (an anise-based liquor), and various family members and friends coming and going.

In the middle of cooking the phone rings and Tania’s two-year-old niece had managed to video call her grandmother without her family’s knowledge. All cooking stopped while everyone chatted with the two year old. When Tania’s brother realized what had happened and came on the screen, looking slightly disheveled, Tania tells him he looks like a terrorist. At this point Sebastian delivers his highest compliment—that the whole thing—the frenzied, attentive cooking, the warm and funny family, even the apartment and kitchen, are exactly like what he loves about Italy.

We learned to make the Lebanese salads tabbouleh and fattoush, stuffed grape leaves (warak enab), hummus, baba ganoush, stuffed zucchini, and two potato dishes, among other things, but my favorite was chicken served over rice. It was different than anything else I’ve had and incorporated some new-to-me ways of using spices and techniques, all very easy. We made it last night, with Tania’s help answering last minute questions over WhatsApp while on the exercise bike at the gym, and I think I have the recipe nailed.

Tania’s Lebanese Chicken—Rez 3a djej—and the “3” is not a typo:

In a large pan heat some olive oil and saute an onion, three cloves of chopped garlic, a large bay leaf, two cinnamon sticks, and about 5 each of whole peppercorns, allspice pods, and cardamom seeds. Brown slowly, until the onions are really soft. Put in a whole cut up chicken and brown well. Add water until the chicken is just covered, put a lid on the pot, and cook over low heat until the chicken is completely done. (Tania used a pressure cooker to speed this up.) We had largely dark meat and this took about 30-45 minutes on the stove. Remove the chicken to cool and retain the liquid the chicken was cooked in.

For the rice saute a mix of nuts (we used cashews, peeled almonds, and pistachios) with a good amount of oil and butter. After the nuts are toasted drain them in a sieve and retain the cooking oil and butter in a large saucepan. Use the nut infused oil as the base to brown two onions, and ground beef (about 1/2 pound). Measure the amount of long-grained rice you want to use—you will later add twice the amount of liquid—and rinse the rice well to get it to absorb some water. Add the uncooked rice to the mixture which is browning along with salt and ground pepper to toast the rice slightly. Add cooking liquid from the chicken twice the quantity of uncooked rice, cover and cook on low heat until rice is soft.

Remove the chicken from the bones and shred.

To serve place the rice in a large bowl and layer over the chicken pieces. Add the nuts on top to garnish.

Other Lebanese cooking hints from our evening:

— Tania’s mom makes a pepper spice mix that is used frequently. It’s a ratio of 2:1 allspice pods to peppercorns, plus a cinnamon stick, ground fine in a spice grinder.

— The secret to making great tabbouleh is getting the size of all the vegetables (parsley, onion, tomato, mint) very, very small. It’s particularly hard with the parsley, so Tania rolled it into very tight bunches and julienned with a knife into the thinnest possible strips. Don’t cut the parsley more than once as you don’t want to mush it. When everything is cut add a good splash of lemon juice, olive oil, the pepper mix, and salt. (Watching I was amazed at how generous the amounts were of these last three things.) Add some uncooked bulgur wheat for texture.

Fattoush includes cucumber, lettuce, tomato, onion, green pepper, and radish, and is dressed with sumac, pomegranate molasses, mint, salt, and pepper. Make sure that all the vegetables are cut distinctively larger than for tabbouleh so that there is a real differentiation.  Add bitesize torn pieces of thin toasted pita at the end to blend with everything else and soak up the juices.

Hummus is simple. Soak the chickpeas overnight, then boil them until soft. Leave in a little cooking liquid when they are pureed in a food processor. Add tahini, a big splash of lemon juice, and salt. To serve place in a shallow bowl and make a channel to pour over olive oil. For a nice decoration take a fork and dip into powdered hot pepper to leave an imprint on the edges.

— The trick for baba ganoush is in how the eggplants are cooked. Tania’s family roasts them directly over the gas flame on the stovetop, turning frequently, until charred on the outside and totally soft inside. It takes about 15 minutes, and they pierce the skin of the eggplant in several places before cooking so that it doesn’t explode. When mushy let cool, then peel under cold water. Puree the insides with tahini, lemon juice, and salt. This method of cooking the eggplants gives the whole dish a really nice smoky flavor.

— The Lebanese use sugar water frequently, particularly poured over desserts. Tania makes her own with 2:1 ratio of sugar to water heated to melt the sugar, then adding a good splash of lemon juice, orange blossom water, and some rose water.

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