Farewell Dinner

June 15, 2013

Yesterday morning, Guido took me for a drive to see what he called the “Grand Canyon of Tuscany,” in a place called Balse, halfway between Montevarchi & Firenze.   Extraordinary formations from rivers that disappeared millions of years ago.

Afterwards, he was eager to get home to begin preparations for the meal that night.  He & Paola had invited me, Adriana, and Tina, who live on the first floor, for dinner in their beautiful apartment on the top floor of the house.  (I am in the garden.) This would be a farewell-to-me event, and I brought the best bottle of Chianti I could find in the Gastronomia Chef. 

At the appointed hour, I climbed the stairs, and found Guido in his undershirt, battling a smokey wood fire in the open hearth of his kitchen.  Paola gave me art books to look at while she set the table.  Adriana & Tina arrived; we sat down at 8:30.

The feast began with a platter piled high with chicken liver paste crostini, sliced salami & prosciutto, then a platter of luscious green olives & ripe red baby tomatoes.  Then, of course, the pasta, raviolis stuffed with fresh cheese & herbs, sprinkled with freshly grated parmesan, and then the main event, huge grilled steaks, thick rib eyes, with another platter of fresh raw celery & fennel.  Guido poured some olive oil on my steak to be sure I enjoyed it the right way.

   

We ate slowly, enjoying the flavor of smokey grilled meat, and the crisp vegetables we dipped in good olive oil. After we'd eaten our fill, Guido produced a beautiful bowl of fresh strawberries that had been soaked in a little sugar, not too much.  We drank well: the wine was superb, and another great bottle of red appeared before we were done.  Guido opened a bottle of champagne when the strawberries came out. 

Paola served the cake, brought by Tina, which we ate after the berries, and it was probably, without exaggerating, the best cake I ever tasted.  She said it came from a Sicilian bakery in Montevarchi, and this just tells me I’ve got to go to Sicily. 

We ate and drank with pleasure, toasting each other, to new friendships & good health.  It was wonderful to sit down with people who love food and enjoy eating, unlike some of the meals I've had with friends back home. where this one doesn't eat this, and that one won't eat that...  So much finicky, fussy, picky eating in the land of plenty, so little joy in what is meant to be a happy way to be together, and enjoy friendship.

After dinner, Guido led us into another room where he showed the pictures he’d taken that morning, at Balsa, with me looking 9 months pregnant.  After six weeks of eating in Italy, what else?   I begged him to please fix them up with Photoshop.

To say farewell, Adriana translated my Casa Il Pino guest-book message, in which I expressed appreciation for all of Paola's & Guido’s kindnesses during my one-month stay in their beautiful home in Montevarchi.  Paola told me that Francesco had also communicated to her my appreciation for the special price they gave me, which I promised to keep secret, and everyone was happy. 

Kisses on both cheeks for everyone.  Ciao, ciao...

It was midnight, Guido insisted on accompanying me home – down the stairs, and ten steps across the gravel, to my front door -- then returned a few minutes later to deliver my camera, which I’d left on the dining room table.

They're setting up stands now & decorating the via Roma, the main street of town.  There will be a big festival tonight, with music and food, and everyone will be there.  I don't know what it's about but you can be sure I'll be dancing in the street on my last night in Montevarchi.

Viva Italia!

That's it...  andiamo domani.

love & kisses,
--
carol

Guido at Balse

it's really the tie on my capri pants

Adriana

Tina

Paola and the Beef

Guido and Paola Cioncolini

Guido and the Beef

Montevarchi - arriva derci

June 13,2013

Ultimi Funghi!

That’s what the farmer shouted as I passed his stand at the big outdoor market in Montevarchi.  At first, I thought it must be a poem.  I reached down to squeeze a fat specimen of his beautiful porcini, but he pointed a finger at me and said, gently, but firmly, “non tocare.”  In Montevarchi, we’re not allowed to touch the produce at the market, but they offer tastes of most things, and he was generous, threw an extra mushroom into my bag, and an additional tomato as well.

People are kind here.  I could site so many examples.  On our first day exploring Montevarchi, in pouring rain, Julie & I got lost & stopped into a café to ask directions to our home.  A young man examined my map, then looked outside at the rain, and said, “Wait here, please.”  A few minutes later he pulled up in his little Fiat & drove us home.

Before I go further I need to apologize for what I said about Tuscan Pizza.  It’s not thick & bready, but thin & crisp the way I like it, with great toppings; as good as it gets.  You just need to know where not to go.  I now know the good pizza places in Montevarchi – and, (grazie Francesco) I stand corrected.

Can’t change my mind, however, about the salt-less, tasteless bread.  They say it’s better to hold the parma ham, wipe up sauces, and other salty foods, but I don’t agree. 

The Tuscan sun has finally appeared, to show me what I’ve missed for a month of cold, rain, & near-daily thunderstorms.  I’d actually begun to rationalize my limited travel ability to the weather. 

But no, one needs a car in Tuscany no matter what the weather.  The train is fine, but too limiting.  I wish I was daring, adventurous, and foolhardy enough to have rented one by myself, drive everywhere I want to go, but I’ve finally come up against something I feel too old to do.  I’m scared to drive alone in Italy.  I need a driver, or a navigator, a road partner.

Not only would I wander the country-side, discovering where to go along the way, I’d have destinations.   Termi di Saturnia, for example, rated just this morning by Lonely Planet as #6 in its list of the “Top Hot Springs in Europe.”  That phrase really gets to me.  I’d cross oceans for such an experience, but alas, not the nine hours of public transportation, over mountains & through valleys, for less than 200 miles.  It will not come to pass. 

I did take the train back to Florence one afternoon this week, to gaze again at its incomparable beauty - in the sunshine this time.  I stopped for a cappuccino in Roberto Cavalli's cafe on the via Tournabuoni, & observed the beautiful Italian women, serious shoppers, wearing the most fabulous clothes, shoes & bags, step up to the bar & throw back a quick cup of strong coffee.  This experience told me I need a whole new wardrobe.

So, now it’s ultimi giorni – last days in Montevarchi.  How I loved this place!  Peaceful, relaxed, beautiful, authentic, non-polluted.  I’d forgotten what clean air smells like, & how to take things slowly, look around, smell the jasmine, & enjoy the moment. 

I’ll take the train back to Rome on Sunday, dine in one of my favorite restaurants near the Piazza di Spagna, and leave the next morning for home.  Next time I go to Italy, I swear not only will I have a driving partner, I’ll speak Italian.

amore & tanti baci,

A slice of ham.

Train station.

RAIN

under the tuscan WHAT???

Firenze June 1, 2013

I have one thing to say about Florence: Officina Profumo – Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella, founded in 1612, with its essences, pomades, spirits, syrups, balms, smelling salts, waters, liqueurs, eaux de cologne, face & body creams, potions, room fragrances, & other pure herbal, flower, plant essence preparations. 

I wander through carved gilt & marble rooms adorned like a holy museum, stopping at each station to sample scents, elixirs, flower waters & lotions, swooning in ecstasy over fragrances like nothing I ever experienced. I want everything. 

Sure, you can stand on endless lines and buy tickets to enter the crowded Uffizzi, the Academia, Pitti Palace,  Duomo --  majestic buildings that house the great art of Florence, Da Vinci, Boticelli, Michaelangelo, best in the world.  You can visit Italy’s high fashion houses of Gucci, Pucci, Cavalli, Armani, Versace, buy the finest leather goods, acquire precious jewels on the Ponte Veccio, & stroll through the magnificent Boboli Gardens. We didn’t.

We walked through the crowds & looked, took shelter at the swanky Savoy Hotel bar where we sipped cocktails served with delicious appetizers, ate a great 3-course seafood dinner at the gorgeous Ristorante Fellini, gazed into small crowded bars & cafes displaying sandwiches, pizza, panini di prosciutto & formaggio, and the inevitable gelaterias, especially the one at the corner of Santa Trinita bridge, with its pink-cushioned benches, where we did more than look.   

I don’t like Tuscan pizza – too heavy, bready, especially after the thin crisp pastry-like crusts in Rome.  And, Tuscan bread is made without salt.  Impossible but true; beautiful to look at but dull & tasteless.

It rained all the time we were in Florence; two days of cold wind in our faces, teary eyes, fingers frozen to umbrella handles; we coughed & sneezed our way down ancient cobble-stoned streets, looking in every shop window, stopping for a creamy canolo, or delicate ricotta cheesecake with a steamy cup of thick hot chocolate.

For a brief moment the sky cleared & we hopped onto the open upper deck of the on-again-off-again bus that drove around the city, showing us the sights of Florence & surrounding hills overlooking the gorgeous city, with its domes & tiled roofs, playing the music of Vivaldi in the background.  At least we had that.

The manager of our hotel told me last year at this time the temperature was 35 degrees – in the mid-nineties -- which would have made the gorgeous, inlaid marble floors of our luxurious quarters much more enjoyable.  Our bathroom, incidentally, was the size of Grand Central Station.

Julie left at 4:30 am for her long flight home.  We had a great time together, got along well, were good to each other, cooked, ate, drank, shopped, explored, & enjoyed everything we did.  I’ll miss her.  But loner that I am, i return to Montevarchi, 38 minutes away by train, excited to experience the place on my own. 

First thing, I head to “Gastronomia Chef,” a tiny, dimly-lit, take-out food shop with painted brick & wood-beamed arched walls, chandeliers & antique decor, tucked into an ancient building on a small side street of Montevarchi.  Here, the brilliant chef prepares a dozen different dishes each day, and his charming rotund wife takes care of hungry customers.  I buy small portions of lasagna with pecorino sauce, light semolina gnocci with thin shavings of black truffle, ravioli with ragu sauce, roast codfish with garlic sauce, mixed grilled vegetables, steamed carrots & string beans, eggplant parmigiana, tender osso bucco in red sauce, roasted rosemary potatoes, a fragrant veal stew with little onions & mushrooms…  Well, it’s Saturday & the shop is closed Sunday & Monday.  What else can a girl do?

rain in the garden of casa il pino

Duomo of Florence

just us girls

owner & assistant of Gastronomia Chef in Montevarchi