favorite places Archives - Page 4 of 4

favorite places Archives - Page 4 of 4 - 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

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November 15, 2018 In Best Of, Chow, Roam By Nancy

No tips here

After our trip to the mother of all caves we were hungry. Nearby we found a village, Pierosara, with 140 inhabitants, a monastery from the year 1,000, and a wonderful restaurant, da Maria.

We came in about 2:45, very late for lunch, even by Italian standards. A woman greeted us and I tried to tell her that we would eat quickly, but somehow it came out that we wanted to eat right away (and be done quickly). I saw her face fall and felt the temperature in the room drop suddenly. I reached deep in my Italian language warehouse to explain that I was worried about their closing time, that we were so late, and that we would keep them. Everything shifted.

We were shown to the last table—every other was packed for a lingering Sunday lunch. We had fresh, homemade ravioli with truffle sauce and a steak, and were both completely unhurried and warmly welcomed. As the restaurant emptied out, we were one of two tables left, and they began to set up for dinner.

I started to think about the difference between service in Italy and the U.S. (and elsewhere in the world.) The kind of ease and sweetness we often experience was so different from the forced “Hello, my name is Andrew and I will be your server. How are we doing tonight?” kind of greeting. Her disappointment when she thought we wanted to hurry the meal (even if our lingering resulted in their inconvenience), the absence of pressure to leave so they could “turn the table,” the lack of any pretense; it’s all fundamentally different. I’ve rarely felt a forced note here in a restaurant, unless I am in a highly-touristed center.

It often feels like you are being invited into someone’s home, with the equivalent sense of a meeting of equals. I think a small part of this is because service is always included, as a “coperto,” or cover charge, per person. In the U.S., discretionary tipping may add to the feeling that dining out is merely an economic exchange of money for food and service.

But I think it really has to do more with something core in the Italian character that has fascinated me since we moved here six years ago. Italians simply seem more secure and full of self-respect than Americans (and from what I’ve seen, of Brits) where you are only as “worthwhile” as your university, last project, round of funding closed, academic paper published, weight, brand of shoes…

This Italian ease in the world is a tonic for my soul, and something I will be studying, with mouth agape, for years.

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.

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.