Back in October, we openly mocked our friend, Molly, for suggesting that we go to a Truffle and Sacred Chestnut festival. Then it turned out to be one of the most fun days in Italy. Since that time, when someone says "There's a random festival for [insert food item here] going on this weekend, do you want to go?" The answer is unequivically 'yes.' This past weekend it was 'cinghiale' or wild boar. We met up with 11 of our closest friends and hopped into various cars, driving northward to the tiny town of Dugenta.
About an hour later we arrived. And it was decidedly not open. A few humorous photo shoots later and we had an open bottle of prosecco, some plastic cups, a blanket and 3 iPhones coming up with a new plan. The reason I love our friends here is this: killing time normally takes the form of wine tasting. With an iPhone in one hand, a glass plastic cup in the other, our good friend, Gillian, was quickly chatting with a winery and setting up a tour. So up we drove, through vineyards and cute little towns as I squealed about my deep love of roadside produce (which I will still note, we did not procure. Totally a missed opportunity. Drat! Those peaches! They would have been lovely for the ride back. Drat!).
The little vineyard was adorable. For about 20 minutes, we wandered around on a tour of the vineyard in Italian. Now, I'm not fluent in Italian. I won't pretend to be. I know enough to figure out that when someone points to a huge cask and says something about it that they are probably talking about fermentation. Then they point to bottles and say something and it probably still has to do with winemaking. See? I've had enough practice at this whole "drink wine at a vineyard" thing to know what comes next. Explain your product, nod, nod some more, wait a bit, then, at long last, drink. The wine was fairly good, for 5 Euro and a way to kill some time, it was definitely worth it.
And we were off! Back at the festival, things were not quite as bumping as I thought they might become. To be fair, it was the last day of the festival and 2:30 pm and a Sunday. That's pretty prime riposo (similar to "siesta" in other countries. I have also very recently discovered that I've been saying "riposto" which is a town in Italy, NOT the afternoon rest. [Re-read above where I am very honest about not being fluent in Italian]) time in Italy, so the festival was more like a smooth jazz crowd than an electronica concert. Regardless, there was a little menu and cinghiale (wild boar) was a star in almost every dish. Cinghiale ravioli was probably the best, second to the Wild Boar festival caraffes of wine, of course. They were stamped with a wild boar. Oh stop it! That is too darn cute! They were 3 Euro and as the festival was winding down and they people running it had brought us more and more caraffes for free, we figured we'd take one or two for momentos. The rules on whether 3 Euro bought you a caraffe were fuzzy....
Fat, dumb and happy, we piled back into the carivan of cars (with a quick and delicious gelato stop on the way back. Mmmmmm gelato....) and back we came to Napoli! A quiet little weekend, but still something fun nonetheless.
In celebration of America's 236th day of birth, we took to the sea. Somehow, that made sense. Plus, it was one work day off in the middle of the week. This seemed like the easiest plan.
After the massive success of boating when my sister was visiting, it seemed only logical to give it a go again. On our first boat trip, we were advised that a trip to Ischia would be too far for us on one tank of gas. Well this time, we went for it! And it was awesome! As we pulled up to this island, covered in brightly colored houses, castles and vineyards, I felt the air escape from my lungs. Holy crap, we live in Italy. I have these revelations every once in a while, reminding myself that life has changed so much and that I should totally take advantage of each of those moments. Something about staring at a castle which is older than the country where I'm from can just help to put things into perspective.
Floating around the bay, we relished in some creature comforts (read: juice box wine). They have juice box wine in the US, I know. But there's something about 1,50 Euro wine that doesn't suck that also makes me appreciate Italy. When I took my sister to Ipercoop, our equivalent to Kroger, Food Lion, Ralph's or whatever you call a grocery store in the rest of the US, she couldn't get over the funny wine choices. I find that it still makes me smile as I'm plopping a few boxes into my cart. "Don't mind if I do...." And while I'm on the subject of grocery stores, let me also touch on one other revelation: some food that I've always thought of as very American is also very European. Hot dogs, I'm looking at you. Hot dogs, or wurstle as they are called here, are HUGE! Like crazy huge. Like, there are multiple chilled display cases of them at Ipercoop. Oh, that isn't the type you like? No worries, here's 197 other varieties that you can browse. Beer flavored, cheese infused, 2 packs, 12 packs, 48 packs. How many friends do you have coming over because for sure, you can get 12 hot dogs a person if it comes to that. No buns, that's another story. Secondly, watermelon. While lemonade may not be all the rage, huge hunks of watermelon sold out of the back of 3 wheeled trucks definitely is. The problem is this: try to mentally calculate the cost in Euro and the metric system. If you can do that in your head, you are a better person than I. I take that back, you're just a better mathematician. Wouldn't want to sell myself short.
So, alas, no fireworks for us on the 4th of July. And yet, even with all of the awesomeness of boating and juice box wine and extremely old castles, there was something about a Wonder Bread sandwich with baloney that just made me smile and think fondly of the good old U S of A. We're heading back there in September where I fully intend to spend hours lazily wandering the aisles of Target, eating Thai food and sipping Yuengling. Until then, from all of us on this side of the pond, hold down the fort, America. We love you all and miss you so much.
Baci a tutti! (Kisses to all y'all!)
Lynne
My wonderful sister and her amazing husband came to Italy for an entire week last week. It was one of the best weeks that I've had in a really long time. Just wonderful and relaxing and full of good food and good wine and seriously, seriously good people. Having never been to Italy before, we started off with a bang in Rome spending two days at break-neck speed seeing everything! The Vatican? Check. The Coloseum? Check. The Roman Forum? Check (though Christy was never entirely sure what it was all about. We even took a little break to read the Wiki definition and check out a wiki map. Still no luck. Alas, it was hot. We need gelato. And water. And shade. And oh my heck, it was so stinking HOT!!!). Trevi Fountain? Check. Piazza Novona? Check. Pantheon? Check. I mean, seriously, I ran these two bleary eyed travelers into the ground and then happily tossed them onto a bullet train back to Napoli. Phew. Napoli.
Because so much of the week was so awesome, I'll just give you the highlights:
1. Well Rome, obviously, is always awesome. Each time I go back, I find something new to amaze myself with. To smile and gawk and stare, mouth open and attracting flies, in sheer awe of the splendor of this great city. What can I say? I'm a huge nerd who wasted my impressionable years learning Latin! We ate spectacular food and gelato almost hourly and pinched ourselves to make sure that it was all real. (Also, Todd, not me, had trouble with the shower. See? It's obviously a Europe thing!! Everyone thinks that showering abroad is difficult. Don't question it, just get on board and agree)
2. The Boat Times. If you haven't seen the incredibly weird and somewhat disturbing video for OId Greg, look it up. If you don't like British humor, don't look it up. It's weird and uncomfortable and did I mention, it's weird? Regardless, my sisters and I (and by extension our hubands) can quote just about any line from that sketch on a moment's notice and do, quite often. We spent a day on a boat, puttering around the island of Procida just outside of the Bay of Naples. The clear, salty water, the warm day and a cooler of beers made it all even better. We had such a fun time!!
3. Positano. I love Positano. It's my favorite little town along the Amalfi Coast, most likely, because of a magical day spent there last summer with my dear, wonderful, fantastic friend, Kristine. Going back again, for the 5th time (?), it certainly didn't disappoint. We had the most heavenly meal with food that looked like it came right out of a magazine. Everything was beautiful and artfully placed on each plate. With a glass of cold white wine, mamma mia! Perfection! Everyone bought a truly European hat that day, completing our day of leisurely strolls and casual spending. You're welcome, Economy of Italy, we were quite the stimulus package this week.
4. My sister. Christy brings out every part of me that is the best. I have been feeling low lately, feeling insecure and small about myself. My Italian isn't good enough, I don't do this well enough or that well enough or I'm letting someone down. All of it was just getting my down and I was disappointed about this place and my life in it. Christy pulled me up and dusted me off and spent a week building my self esteem. She is, truly, one of the most selfless people I've ever known. She is kind without an agenda and has the affection that makes her the world class teacher that she is. She is married to a kind, hilarious man who is quietly brilliant (disregard aforementioned shower difficulties). I cannot write enough of their praises and can never, never thank them enough for leaving behind their 10 month old daughter to come spend a week in Italy with us. These next two years will be rough so far from home. I will not pretend that I'll not be sad or low again, but for now, for this moment, I am so full of happiness.
Just like District 12 and the Hunger Games, so too are the Hungary Games. Whatever, we got to shoot a bow and arrow and felt like Katniss Everdeen for a minute.
A few weeks ago my friend, Molly, wrote me an email and said "Let's go on a trip. Do you want to go to Budapest?" And I said "No, not really." Then we started comparing ticket prices and length of travel and Budapest became the least cost, shortest travel time alternative and thus, tickets were purchased, hotel room booked and research began.
We flew on Wizz Air, highly heckled because of their pink and purple (both the brightest version of those colors) color scheme. "No real airline picks those colors." Wizz flys mostly to small, crappy airports in parts of Eastern Europe that you haven't heard of. Maybe you have, but I hadn't. Wizz, like Ryan Air, Easy Jet and the other budget European airlines is a crapshoot of crazy, involving jamming of bodies onto buses, running down the runway once the bus stops and elbow jabbing old ladies in the face to get a seat. And, at the Budapest Airport on the way back, a pack of 6 very large Hungarians who tore open their Duty Free Palinka (which is the Hungarian version, except more delicious, of grappa - which for you who don't know what grappa is, it's like fire water that is made from the stems and skins of grapes after they were first used to make wine. You drink it after dinner, exhale fire and feel the warmth go into your belly while you try not to vomit in front of the waiter. It's a fun game, for sure!) and downed the entire 750 mL bottle before getting on the plane. That stuff's 80 proof. They drank it in under 10 minutes. Holy crap. I clapped. They judged. But seriously, damn.
But we got there. One cab ride later (involving a significant amount of secret searching for the exchange rate app on my iPhone - "How much is 7,600 HUF??? Is that a lot??? It sounds like a lot..."), we rolled up into the Boscolo Autograph Collection Hotel. It was one of the fanciest hotels I have been inside. Ok, go ahead and judge, I don't stay at fancy hotels all that often. So in walk Molly and I, mouths gaping open, attracting flies, to this crystal palace filled with hydrangeas in elaborate vases, the most attractive doormen known to Eastern Europe and chandeliers like crazy. "We should make sure this is the right hotel before we get too excited," I whispered out of the side of my mouth to Molly. When I asked, the very hot doorman smiled [swoon] and reassured me that we were in the right place. [Swoons]
[Enter Lynne's battle with awkward showering #492] I booked through Orbitz. I shouldn't have. Molly and I walked into this massive, super modern hotel room and again, our mouths dropped. But for one tiny, itsy bitsy problem: super modern hotel rooms in Europe think that also requires them to have an all-glass shower in the middle of the room with no door. I wish I could say that we are graceful people (sorry Molly, I'm lumping you in with me on this one) but we just aren't. We had to come to agreed upon areas of the room that required your back to the shower while the other was in there and then ended up getting the entire bathroom soaking wet because there was no stinking door on the shower! Come on, Europe! Put doors on your showers! People need that! Or put a drain in the middle of the floor. Or don't make your floors marble. I mean, it's like the perfect storm of dangerous bathing situations, and I can do that all on my own, as the sheer number of posts labeled "Awkward Bathing Situations" would lead one to believe.
And we were off! The day before we left, I bought tickets to the Budapest Opera House for their evening show of some random ballet. The tickets were 1,200 HUF a piece and I was nervous at first that this would be too expensive. Well, with the conversion rate, that's roughly $5 to see a ballet in a world renowned opera house. During intermission, over a $1 glass of wine (#winning), we discussed the plot. "So, is that guy supposed to be Satan?" About half way through act 2, we gave up. "Why is he in a wheelchair?" It got complicated. But people danced in spandex and looked really beautiful.
Budapest cafes are possibly the most adorable in the world for one reason: they have blankets at all of their outdoor tables. It is the most adorable thing I've ever seen and I was obliged at each location to put the thing on, whether I was cold or not, because seriously??? What kind of place has outdoor blankets? Adorable places. When I open my perfect pub, which will be called Prim & Proper, it will have outdoor blankets. And people will say "Do you want to go grab a drink at that adorable pub with blankets?" The answer is yes.
But back to the trip! We spent all day Saturday on the most heavenly tour of my life. I think back on it, much like the doormen at the Boscolo, and sigh frequently. Taste Hungary is the most amazing company for tours. We went on the Somlo (pronounced "shom-low") Region wine tour with Gabor, who had the most hearty, authentic laugh that convinced both Molly and I that we were, hands down, the funniest people on the face of the earth.
Lynne: "Gabor, is that a grape?"
Gabor: "Hahahahahahha"
Lynne: Damn, I'm funny.
On the tour, we tasted about 1,000 wines and walked away with 28.6 KG of wine. Holy cats. That's a lot. Our second winery, Spiegelberg, is owned by the Istvan, a slightly lecherous German who relocated to Hungary after working for both BMW and a movie theater. Somehow, those skills translate into wine making gold because his wines were probably the best that I've had in Europe. And I live in Italy. From his crisp, mineral-rich whites to the stuffed cabbage that his girlfriend made over the flames of a campfire to the sweet farm dog named after his prize-winning grapes, Furmint, it was one of the most amazing days of my life. No words, no photograph, no explanation can ever truly capture the serene, lovely, peaceful nature of that place. We returned back to the city, our hearts full of the Hungarian countryside and yet already missing that idyllic, magical place. Even now, I still feel a tinge of sadness to have left.
Budapest surpassed all expectations. It was such a magical, wonderful trip. I will hold it dearly with me as the years pass and remember my dear friend, Molly, our day in the heavenly countryside and a little dog named Furmint.
Baci,
Lynne
We've made new friends, we've kept the old, we've tried to figure out who's silver and who's gold. One thing remains: our friends love wine. All of our friends, basically everywhere, are wino-s. Maybe that's why we feel so at home with them, maybe that's why we always seem to be having too much fun, maybe wine's just delicious. Regardless, we met up with our dear friends, Kim and Nathan and their dear friends, who are quickly becoming our dear friends, Brian and Gillian, for a trip to Ravello.
When we got to Bella Napoli at the Indoc class where we were warned about being robbed, mugged in broad daylight, pick-pocketed, run off the road and then murdered, we were also told that Italy was great. Listening to the first part, I feared for my life. In the second part, once they finished explaining how we'd likely being knifed to death, they told us all about how great Italy is. It was in this class that I first heard of Alberobello, which we visited a few weeks ago, and of the famous concerts in Ravello, which we just went to this weekend. Ravello is like a town in the clouds. It sits absurdly high above the Amalfi Coast, the road to get there both winding and sometimes terrifying. We four, Kim, Nathan, Tom and I piled into our Honda Civic and off we went, up and down winding roads, playing Kim's Best of 1983 mix and making jokes about "pressed ham" (read: mooning cars on the Autostrada. For the record: I would not allow Nathan to press ham on my windows. Some things are sacred).
Ravello: It has probably the most beautiful views of the Amalfi Coast that you will find. The cliffs and the sea, the rows upon rows of lemon trees, it's all so idyllic and lovely that it feels like a fantasy world. We had lunch, one item being called "His Majesty the Sea" which, obviously we had to get. Please, there's royalty involved. His majesty would hate for us to leave him behind.
Of interesting note: Best Western, the budget hotels of America, are amazingly swanky in Italy. Capri, Ravello, heck, even Naples, have the most amazing Best Westerns! I can recall openly mocking the one on Capri until I realized that the rooms were somewhere around 350 Euro a night off-season. Humbly, I took my judgement back. Our hotel in Ravello was once a paper mill, converted into a ridiculously gorgeous hotel with the most committed nautical theme I've ever seen. It was also directly on the water, our room looking at nothing but the sea and the bathroom (you knew there would be a shower story in here) had a large window that looked directly into the neighboring house and the sun porch and lounge chairs of our hotel. "Why hell, Asian tourists, enjoying a sunny morning. Don't mind me, I'm just showering in full view of you. I'd close the blinds or draw the curtains, but there aren't any." No, no, it got uncomfortable and was, it's probably safe to say, the shortest shower of my life.
The main event and reason for our trip, was to see a piano and clarinet recital at the famous Villa Rufalo. Beginning at 9:30 pm after a delicious meal, the concert involved absolutely no speaking. No introductions, no notice about cell phones, no explanation of the pieces. We all agreed that the pianist was phenomenal and that her clarinet counterpart could have used a bit more practice. All the men also agreed that such an event was the perfect place to take a little nap.
About 10 bottles of wine and a very late evening, ended abruptly by a patron miming that we were being too loud, we all met up for breakfast the next morning and took what is probably one of the more random photoshoots on the little stone landing for summer beach bathers. Though the water was chilly and the rain began rolling in, we got some true gems that really captured the ridiculous, hilarious and fun-loving nature of our group. Fun times had by all. Naps required upon arriving home.
Next stop: Budapest!
Lynne
xoxo
Before moving to Italy, I based my life decisions on the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun." I figured that I'd befriend a couple of Polish immigrants, pick olives and drink a lot of wine. Also, that I'd become that quirky American who wears fabulous dresses and gains the respect of her town for her sticktoitiveness (no, no, that's a real word. Don't worry, I looked it up). Alas, many of the plot details from that movie, including meeting a random Italian and having a wild night of passion (I mean, Tom probably wouldn't be so down on that plan), haven't happened. No Polish fan club. No cheering crowds of Italians, my co-workers aside, who appreciate my new-found ability to order half a kilo of chicken. Come on!
But I digress... this weekend, we piled into our friend's, Molly and Deacon, Alfa Romeo and charged nobly onwards to Toscana! The four hour drive north broken up with road trip games and conversations about just how many bottles of wine we'd be returning with. Around 8pm, we arrived in Siena at the Villa Elda where we were staying. We strolled the city streets, those old, rugged walls lined with horse tethers and decorative flags, until we reached Il Biondo, a fairly typical tourist trap that our front desk clerk had recommended. Ok, so our first night's meal was a bit of a let-down. But! We finally ate some of the food that you think of back in the US as "Italian." Ravioli? Haven't really had it in Italy before. Lasagna? Haven't really had it in Italy before. Tuscany, that's where they hide all of the Italian food that you know. My ravioli had this creamy sauce, likely laced with crack, that I was obliged to practically lick from the plate. It's shocking that our waiter judged us... wish I could put my finger on why... weird....
Siena, like Rome, Venice and Sorrento in the summer, is not quite as Italian as we were thinking it would be. Around nearly every corner you could hear that obviously American accent of some college student from Texas, their twang ringing in your ears. In Naples, we make up about 50% of the Americans in our neighborhood. The sight of my blonde hair is enough to have the waiters drawing straws for who has to put up with the Americans. Or, when we went to get burgers the other night and every member of the waitstaff gathered around to listen to us try to order in Italian, snickering ever so quietly as we stumbled. But Siena, they are ready for tourists. Even on Sunday, the day when everything is normally buttoned up tightly, Siena was bustling.
Based on the ridiculously high reviews on TripAdvisor, we booked a Chianti tour with a driver/tour guide for Saturday. Through winding roads and scenic fields of wheat and wine, learning that Chianti Classico is a region and more destinguished than those little rafia wrapped grocery store wine in the US would lead you to believe. Somewhere along the way, 2 cases of wine ended up in the back of the tour van. Our tourguide was a little disinterested in our stories and would space out when he wasn't talking, but we hung out with real Canadians (so funny to hear them talking "aboot" things. Oh Canada, you guys are adorable!) and a super nice couple from Raleigh. It was great to have a bunch of cool people packed into our van for hours on end!
As previously mentioned, we spent Sunday shopping and shopping and shopping. From my adorable yachting inspired wedges to the incredibly necessary olive-wood box with a built in cheese grater, I picked up all sorts of objects that Tom judging lugged around all day. "Seriously, Lynne. No more ceramics. I can't look at another plate and still look interested." "Seriously, Lynne, basta." "Honey, I'm going to go get drunk." Like our trip back from Cinque Terre, we stopped in to the town of Orvieto on the way back, the home of Pinochio. He is super terrifying and would have filled my dreams with nightmares, so there are no pictures of that little devil. BUT! Orvieto and Siena both have green and white striped churches with amazingly intricate facades, so there are about 1,000 pictures of them on my computer.
This weekend, it's the symphony on the cliffs of Ravello on the Amalfi Coast. I've been looking forward to this since we got here, so I'll be sure to let all y'all know how it is!
Ciao, Tutti!
Lynne
xoxo
When we first got here, we struggled with menus. What are you going to get? What do you think that is? What is "rocket?" These are things that inspired the term "menu roulette." It's when you have no idea what you ordered. To date, I think the funniest one was when our friend Nathan ordered a pizza which he thought had tweleve of something on it. It turned out to be 12 things. One of them being an egg. When the waitress asked how he wanted it and he said 'si' I think she realized that we didn't understand. She decided that she would cook it with the pizza, as the Italians like it. So in the middle of the pizza was a half-cooked, runny egg. Yeah, it was weird.
Living in a city which does not really speak your mother tongue or print their menus in multiple languages makes dining choices difficult. We've now ordered enough bad things to know what we should avoid (read a fried calzone 'ripieno fritto').
Lesson 1: 'Fritto' means fried. How many times did I order something and go "son of b! Fritto! Ugh!" Gut bomb seems to be the most applicable term. I guess I was just surprised at the European love of fried food. I thought it was just a State Fair type of thing in the US. But no, it's big out here, too!
Lesson 2: Wurstel. Hot dogs, or wurstel, are SO freaking popular in Europe. The commercials of a party with a platter of just wurstel. I mean, I know, commercials don't really portray reality (because I've tried to use Mentos to have men pick my car up when I'm parked in a tough spot and that did NOT work the way the commercial led me to believe it would.) but the presence of hot dogs in just about every food situation is notably strange. There is a place down the street from us called 'Dog Out.' Tom swears that Dog Out is the base of the best meal he's eaten in Italy. A hot dog. No, I'm not kidding. The ever famous hot dog and french fry pizza is everywhere! We tried it, because seriously? It's a pizza with hot dogs and fries on it! How could you NOT try it?? But, it turns out that it's pretty dry. Instead of "sauce" (which my Jersey-native husband has informed me is the correct term for any tomato-based substance on a carb-based substance), it's panna, or this kind-of alfredo sauce, except a bit thicker and more bland.
Lesson 3: Anything "alla casa" is good. Vino della casa? Good. Get it. Antipasto della casa? Good. Get it. Primi della casa? Good. Get it. I think this is the thing that I will miss the most when we get back to the States. A liter of house wine, made by someone's cousin who has a farm 20 minutes from where ever you happen to be (he's probably named Giuseppe) for 7 euro? It's amazing. Rocking up for dinner and just plopping down and ordering the house wine, the house antipasti is wonderful. Antipasti come in two rounds, cold and then hot. The cold stuff is normally sliced meat and cheese, some grilled or marinated veggies and olives. The hot stuff is where it gets crazy! Fried mozzarella, fried pizza dough (mmmmm delicious!) (also read aforemention 'fritto' lesson), these little rice balls with cheese in them. Each place has a different collection of what you get when you order their house plates, so it's always fun. Without any direction or specification, menu roulette or "what do you think this is?" becomes a fun game again!
In my soon-to-follow post about Toscana, or Tuscany for you fuzzy foreigners, I'll discuss my first ravioli in Italy and the exciting world of cinghiale (wild boar!). Keep reading!
Lynne
