Roam Archives - Page 6 of 6

Roam Archives - Page 6 of 6 - Itch.world

A three-minute escape to Italy.

Tuscany, travel, medieval village, Italy, festivals, celebrations, customs, cooking, recipes, living in Italy, moving to Italy, visiting, visit, restaurants, language

archive,paged,category,category-roam,category-38,paged-6,category-paged-6,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,select-theme-ver-4.4.1,paspartu_enabled,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-7.9,vc_responsive

November 8, 2018 In Roam By Nancy

Discovering Genga (and a big womb)

I am never sure what we will discover next. Like when we bought a house that we thought was from the 1700s, and then figured out, during restoration, that it was originally a defensive tower, probably built in the 1300s.

We were curious to discover more about the house. Somehow one thing led to another, and on just-another-Sunday we ended up a road trip to a part of Italy we didn’t get know, called La Marche. The whole adventure was kicked off when older villagers who told us that, when they were kids, they were the last of many generations of kids who called our house “La Genga”, meaning “a fortified home in the unsafe wilds outside of a walled village.”

John delved deeper into the history of the house, and the word “genga.” His research yielded information about a nearby wilderness in La Marche, with a village called Genga. So we went.

La Marche has some rougher, more primal topography than Tuscany. Our destination was midway through an impressive, deep canyon, riddled with caves (like 40 kilometers of them), called the Frasassi Caves. At the mouth of the largest cave, Pope Leo XII (who came from Genga), built a church in 1828, known as the Tempio del Valadier. But the story of the cave is much older. A sign along the trail up to the church tells of the site’s original purpose as a Roman temple dedicated to women and maternity.

After a 700-meter walk straight uphill, when we arrived at the mouth of the cave, I could see why both the Christian and the pagan would have existed (and battled it out) here. This cave is, unmistakably, like walking through a birth canal into a womb.

I have always wanted, in moments when I’ve needed psychic self-care the most, to embrace that “I am made of stardust, I can create life” vibe but have always found the thought hollow. But standing in this dark, round, circular chamber I felt it. Through time. And especially as a woman. And I can see why the Romans would have come here, and why the Pope would have needed to slap a tall, domed Christian church (albeit beautiful) right at the exit.

And before the Romans, deeper into the caves, why someone, roughly 20,000 years ago, carved a Venus statue from a stalactite.

There’s another shrine at the site—the Sanctuary of Santa Maria infra Saxa was carved into the stone face of the cliff to honor the Madonna in 1029.

It is gorgeous. And seats about four.

The ground between the church at the entrance of the cave and the “womb” at the end is extraordinary. Every spare rock had been picked up and placed into a series of small cairns, which constantly change and evolve as rocks fall and new visitors come. The result was this pristine scene, and somehow these cairns don’t seem as self-indulgent as they sometimes can.

October 20, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

Marrone chestnuts of Caprese Michelangelo

The village of Caprese Michelangelo is famous for two things: Michelangelo’s birthplace, and some of the finest chestnuts in the world. Not two terrible things to be known by, in my book. And the chestnut fame is not a recent thing—the Romans, and before them, the Etruscans (after which Tuscany is named), both loved these nuts from Caprese Michelangelo.

In Italy there is a DOC appellation (Denominazione di Origine Controllata, like the French DOC) and these Caprese chestnuts (a particular, fussy subset of chestnuts, called marrone, from grafted trees) have earned this rating.

Harvesting chestnuts involves going into the forest and picking up the spiky pods, with chestnuts inside. The very prickly pods often break open upon impact, making the task easier. (Love that the pods are called “ricci” the same word as for hedgehogs, and curly hair.) Attention is needed to differentiate between the sweeter and more valuable chestnuts from grafted trees, and wild chestnuts, which are used for chestnut flour.

Chestnut forests are glorious, primeval things. Huge, old trees grow in just the right elevation on the sides of mountains. Locals often lease a plot of forest so they can gather chestnuts, and these plots are closely guarded (though not as closely guarded as where truffles and porcini mushrooms are found. Tuscan life has its dark sides, like the poisoned meatballs left as a trap for dogs with truffle and mushroom hunters who go into another’s territory.)

This chestnut is known to be one of the oldest in the forest, over 1,000 years old.

I am a person who appreciates eating, and a good fire, so I love that chestnut plots tend to have small huts, often quite ramshackle, with just enough room for gallons of olive oil, some cooking gear, and much red wine. Chestnut gathering often ends with a big bonfire in the middle of the woods over which a variety of meat and vegetables are roasted, and bread is toasted, all accompanied by wine and olive oil. Often it’s all served at a long table with tree stump as chairs. The Italians haven’t elevated the “picnic” to a fine art form, like the French, but they shine when cooking meat outside over fire, the act of which is called “ciccia.” This word also means “fat or meat” and is sometimes an abbreviation for “salsiccia”, or sausage. But most often you hear it used as an endearment.

Moving here, one of the things I was most surprised by is how grindingly poor the area was for centuries. The first house we rented had a big attic that had racks custom-built for storing chestnuts, sometimes the only food source for the winter. These racks are quite common in old farmhouses.

Chestnuts are also ground into flour, which is made into a local delicacy, castagnaccio. I believe that this is the worst dessert ever invented, containing only chestnut flour, olive oil, rosemary, pine nuts, and raisins. Apparently after about 10 years of steady exposure you can acquire a taste for it. I have been fooled twice by the look of them into thinking I was biting into a brownie. Nope.

In case you have never roasted your own, over an open fire or not, they are easy and delicious. Choose chestnuts that are firm, and heavy. If they’re light, they’ve dried out and will be bad. Cut the shell horizontally, almost all the way across one side slightly into the inner nut, to give it room to expand when heated…otherwise they explode. (A serrated knife works well for this.) Then cook in a preheated oven at 200°C/400°F for 15-20 minutes. If over a fire, there are some cheap metal pans with holes in the bottom for this. Just roast over hot embers. It’s OK if they char a bit. Peel and enjoy.

October 13, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

Caramelized red onion jam

I find it really hard to find a restaurant I like in Florence. Most are completely geared towards tourists who will only come once, with food, prices, and service to ensure that the one visit expectation will be fulfilled. I’ve found a couple of places that are exceptions: Il Santo Bevitore restaurant, and its two spin-offs, the little wine bar next door, Il Santino, and a bread shop, S.forno. They are across the river from the Duomo in my favorite neighborhood which is filled with actual Florentines, and small shops and restaurants.

The restaurant is lovely, but the wine bar, Il Santino, has stolen my heart. It’s tiny, a gorgeous mix of ancient walls, an antique bar, and more modern design elements. It has an atmosphere that’s both warm and hip. The staff has been a delight every time I’ve been there, and even sold me bulk cheeses when I’ve been stuck before a party.

I recently went with friends for a glass of wine and some snacks and alongside the great selection of cheeses was a little jar of nearly-black goop. We started eating it with everything, kept asking for more, and then asked for the recipe. It’s a great mix of savory and sweet, with a little extra kick from cinnamon. My friend made it the next day and it turned out wonderfully. It’s super easy too.

Caramelized Red Onion jam:

6 red onions

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

dash of olive oil to coat the pan

Slice the red onions, then saute with a little oil, over medium-low heat for about 30 minutes or longer—until completely they are soft and caramelized. Add sugar and cinnamon, then put into a food mill and process until it reaches a smooth consistency. Taste and add more sugar and/or cinnamon as desired.

Great served at room temperature with cheese and bread. Also fantastic with cheese and bread are the preserved figs.

September 29, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

I love the Castle of Love

I avoided going to Castello di Ama for years. Friends would say “It’s the most amazing winery with this incredible contemporary art collection.” Instantly all the warning bells in my head would go off. This particular collection of words was a microcosm of why I left California. The last thing I wanted to find in my beloved, genuine, unpredictable, slightly-disheveled Italy was a pretentious, wrapped-with-bow-for-the-tourists, cold, and anonymous winery/contemporary art extravaganza.

But eventually, we took the plunge and went for lunch. And I was shocked out of all my preconceptions. It felt like coming to someone’s home.

Beautiful views, gorgeous old buildings, and damn good food and wine are all a given in Italy, but this experience had something more—a true warmth and grace—largely due to the staff who all seem passionately attached to this place. Our waiter, Federico, whom I’ve gotten to know over about the dozen times I’ve now visited, has that magical balance of heart, knowledge, and self-respect that is the hallmark of staff in a three-star restaurant in Paris. But here, everything happens in Italian, which is even more delightful. The food is inspired Tuscan classics, and the wine pairings spot on.

I am working on the recipe for their carrot-zucchini souffle and will post when I manage to make it as well at home as I’ve had at Ama. (I got the recipe from them, but it’s for 40 so takes a little adaptation.)

Ama is not really a castle, but rather a small hamlet which dates to the 1100s. The cluster of buildings was divided between two wealthy families, which resulted in two manor houses and two churches. In the 1970s, four Roman families decided to buy the hamlet and restore the vineyards. The current owner, Lorenza Sebasti (daughter of one of the Roman families), and her winemaker husband, Marco Pallanti, have had Ama since 1982, and oversaw one of the greatest upsets in wine history.

According to Decanter Magazine “Ama had a ‘Judgement of Paris’ moment on 8 February 1992 when the L’Apparita 1987 vintage beat Pétrus 1988, Le Pin and 16 other world-class Merlot wines at a tasting hosted by the Académie du Vin in Switzerland, with a jury comprised of renowned winemaking consultant Michel Rolland.” (And sometimes bottles of L’Apparita are open and available for tasting.)

The contemporary art is equally inspired. Ama has had an artist-in-residence program with artists such as Louise Bourgeois, Anish Kapoor, Hiroshi Sugimoto, and Daniel Buren creating site-specific works. I love how Nedko Solakov’s doodles play with everything from power outlets to small cracks in the wall in one large room. Jenny Holzer was having lunch when we were there —she’s the next artist to add to the collection.

There are also villas for overnight stays on the property. I’ve had a chance to peek into some of the suites. Sigh. Hopefully at some point.

If you visit, Siena is only 25 kilometers away, and also nearby is the wonderful Terme San Giovanni.

September 13, 2018 In Roam By Nancy

Was ‘The English Patient’ born here?

One of my all-time favorite books is Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient. So I was thrilled to hear that the book was just awarded the Golden Man Booker Prize, recognizing it as the best work of fiction awarded the Man Booker Prize in the last 50 years.

I knew that the Italian part of the book was set largely in these parts. A major scene in the book takes place in front of the Piero Della Francesca frescoes in the Basilica of St. Francis in Arezzo—and throughout there are mentions of Monterchi, Anghiari, and other area villages.

This region is rich in war history, in large part because the front was stalled for months around here during the Italian campaign that lasted from 1943 to 1945. Locals still tell stories about the resistance, close escapes, tragedies, and recent finds of land mines and bullets.

There’s a rumor that this plaque—which stands next to one of my favorite restaurants in Monterchi—was one of Ondaatje’s inspirations for the book, inspiration that resulted in the incredible character, Kip.

The plaque commemorates three war deaths of The Central India Horse 4th Division—two men with Sikh names and one with an English name. Ditto Ram and St. John Graham Young both received the George Cross—the second highest decoration possible in England—for helping other soldiers out of a minefield they’d all stumbled into on a nearby farm. This assistance occurred after both had stepped directly on land mines and before they died minutes later. Almost 50,000 Sikh troops (mostly men between ages 19 and 22) fought in Italy.

Every year, the plaque is freshly decorated with a wreath of paper red poppies, a British tradition to honor those who fought, and died, in war.

August 4, 2018 In Roam By Nancy

Hot water

An odd corner of Tuscan life is “taking the waters.” Italy is studded with terme, (natural hot springs), all along its length wherever underground water chambers meet volcanic activity. And in Tuscany, terme are particularly abundant. These springs can be undeveloped, rough swimming holes or elaborate resorts, and everything in between. A few that I’ve been to even have a kind of Italian-Wes-Anderson mid-century-modern vibe with all the strangeness that you’d expect with that particular combination.

One day a friend took my husband John, our kids, and me to Terme San Giovanni, about a half hour east of Siena. The views from the pools and from the lawns and sun beds that surround them are of a perfect Tuscan landscape. The five cascading swimming pools here start with a covered kind of temple-to-the-water where 39-degree celsius (102-degree Fahrenheit) water emerges from the mouths of marble gods, then descends through the other pools, getting cooler at each plateau. The water is uniformly white from its natural mix of sulfur and magnesium sulfate. It has so much of the stuff that you can pick it up in your hands from the bottom of the pools like mud and plaster it all over your skin, which is supposed to be something good to do.

But that wasn’t what John was noticing. Turns out while I was pondering the effect of sulfur on one’s pores, John looked around and realized that we were surrounded by scantily clad, buff and beautiful 20-something Italian men and women prancing about.

John tapped me, and I wiped the white goop out of my eyes and looked around. We were, by a wide margin, the most modestly clothed bathers in the terme. It turned out we’d happened to arrive for the Friday and Saturday spa nights when the place in open until 1am and features “Romantic bathing under the moon, surrounded by candles, with a dinner that is never banal, in an intimate atmosphere.” Intimate. In case you didn’t get it already.

I started to worry, but then remembered something I’d read on the website, something that seemed odd at the time, but made more sense now. Foremost among the rules was “Evitare Effusioni Pubbliche”.

I will use the literal translation here: “Avoid Public Effusion”.

In addition to the baths, there is also a hotel, and restaurant by the pools (which I did think was good, but may have borderlined the “b” word). Terme San Giovanni also has a spa, which judging by my massage, has pretty fabulous treatments.

To visit a Tuscan terme is to embark on an unusual adventure. Don’t forget that you’ll need rubber flip flops and a fabric hair cap, as you will at all Italian pools.

July 7, 2018 In Roam By Nancy

The Madonna del Parto

Another restaurant I love in Monterchi is Una Terrazza in Toscana, run by three sisters from Rome. They make the best Carbonara I’ve ever had. One cooks, one works the front, and one splits her time. It’s tiny inside and in the winter I am usually the only woman eating there as most are work men in some type of uniform, often head to toe safety orange. Because it’s also a worker’s restaurant they offer a fixed lunch of pasta, main course, wine, and water for €12. (I adore worker’s restaurants, more about the genre later, with many more addresses to come.)

Oh, this place also happens to be next door to a museum that houses one, and only one, painting. It’s Piero della Francesca’s Madonna del Parto, one of the greatest masterpieces of the Renaissance, and the first time in art history that the Madonna was ever shown pregnant. Piero painted it for his mother who lived in Monterchi and it was in the cemetery until it was recently moved to the museum. No one is sure exactly who owns it: Italy, the Vatican, or the local village. Because of this Monterchi will never let it go on loan to major museums worldwide because it might never return back to the village. The New York Times has a fascinating article about it.

There is something about her expression, and the angels’ red and green feet contrasting with their red and green robes that gets me every time.

I guess it gets other people too. One time at lunch early on in our time in Italy (really saying that I was still pretty contaminated by California thinking) a Brit at the next table was holding forth on how he was “on the trail of the PDFs.” My mind was racing—had his computer crashed and he had lost valuable documents? Was he tracing a digital trail for some fantastic white-collar crime? Nope. He was on the trail to see all of the local Piero Della Francesca’s.