IN 1220, FRANCIS OF ASSISI WAS LIVING IN GUBBIO, WHEN A WOLF TERRORIZED THE TOWN, ATTACKING LIVESTOCK, THEN PEOPLE. NO ONE COULD KILL HIM (HER?). THE GUBBIANS FEARED TO EVEN VENTURE OUTSIDE THE CITY WALLS. EXCEPT FRANCIS, WHO’D SPENT SOME TIME IN THE WOODS, CHATTING WITH SQUIRRELS, BIRDS, BOARS AND BADGERS. FRANCIS CUT A DEAL WITH THE WOLF: IF YOU STOP EATING LAMBS, PIGS AND PEOPLE, WE WILL FEED YOU.
TODAY, THERE ARE 3,309 APPENINE WOLVES IN ITALY. UMBRIA IS IN THE FOOTHILLS OF THE APPENINES. THERE HAVE BEEN NO REPORTED WOLF ATTACKS, BUT UNLIKE TUSCANY, LAZIO OR LOMBARDY, UMBRIA IS WILD, UNTAMED AND SAVAGELY BEAUTIFUL.
FROM MID-APRIL TO MID-MAY, WE RENTED A 14TH CENTURY STONE VILLA ATOP A HILL WITH SPECTACULAR VIEWS OF THE VINEYARDS, OLIVE GROVES AND FARMLAND BELOW. THE ESTATE, COMPRISING FOUR STRUCTURES, WAS METICULOUSLY RESTORED OVER A SIX-YEAR PERIOD STARTING IN 2006 USING THE SAME MATERIALS AND BUILDING TECHNIQUES THAT WERE EMPLOYED IN ITS ORIGINAL CONSTRUCTION. OUR FRIEND SANDY, A HIGH-END RESIDENTIAL CONTRACTOR, DESCRIBED IT AS “THE EMBRACE OF IMPERFECTION.”
WE RENTED THE LARGEST HOUSE WHICH SLEPT EIGHT COMFORTABLY, SO WE INVITED FAMILY AND FRIENDS. LYNN’S DAUGHTER ALBYN, THEN SANDY, RUTH AND ESTHER.
THE FINAL TWO WEEKS, ALONE, PROVED A KIND OF SECOND HONEYMOON.
THE CLOSEST TOWN OF ANY CONSEQUENCE IS UMBERTIDE, WHICH IS AN HOUR OR LESS OR MORE FROM ASSISI, AREZZO, SAN SEPULCRO, PERUGIA, MONTONE, SPOLETO, ORVIETO, AND, OF COURSE, GUBBIO. MOST ARE HILL TOWNS. EACH IS UNIQUE. AND QUITE A FEW ARE HOME TO SOME OF THE GREATEST ART WORK AND ARCHITECTURE IN THE WORLD.
WHEN THE ROMAN LEGIONS MARCHED INTO UMBRIA AROUND 300 B.C., THEY RAN INTO THE ETRUSCANS, WHO’D BUILT WELL-FORTIFIED CITIES LIKE PERUGIA, SPOLETO AND CORTONE. THE ETRUSCANS HAD THEIR OWN WRITTEN LANGUAGE, ADVANCED ARCHITECTURE AND ENGINEERING, RELIGIOUS BELIEFS, ART, MUSIC, AND GREAT-LOOKING JEWELRY. SO, ALTHOUGH THE ROMANS HAD “CONQUERED” UMBRIA BY 295 B.C., IT WAS ACTUALLY A MERGING OF TWO ADVANCED CULTURES. THE ROMANS GAVE THEM AQUEDUCTS, COLISEUMS AND ROADS. THE ETRUSCANS GAVE THE ROMANS THE ARCH AND THE ORIGINAL RECIPE FOR TIRAMISU. AFTER SEVERAL CENTURIES OF STRUGGLES BETWEEN THE ROMANS AND THE BARBARIANS, THE GUELPHS AND THE GHIBELLINES, THE PAPACY AND THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE, THINGS SETTLED DOWN INTO THE APTLY-NAMED DARK AGES. BY THE 14TH CENTURY, ITALY HAD DIVIDED INTO PRINCIPALITIES, RULED BY POWERFUL FAMILIES SUCH AS THE MEDICIS (FLORENCE), THE VISCONTIS AND THE SFORZAS (MILAN), AND THE PAMPHILIJS (ROME). THE POPE, OF COURSE, WAS ALWAYS IN THE MIX. (HE HAD FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES.)
AFTER A WHIRLWIND THREE DAYS IN LONDON, WE FLEW TO ROME WITH ALBYN IN TOW. THE DRIVE TO UMBERTIDE TOOK TWO AND A HALF HOURS, AMPLE TIME TO RE-ACCLIMATE MYSELF TO DRIVING IN ITALY. ON THE AUTOSTRADA, IT’S USUALLY TWO LANES IN EACH DIRECTION. THE LEFT LANE IS RESERVED FOR THE FASTEST DRIVERS. SO EVEN IF YOU’RE DOING 180KM/HR IN YOUR LAMBORGHINI VENERO, SOME OLD LADY IN A FIAT WILL TAILGATE YOU TILL YOU MOVE OVER.
WE RENDEZVOUSED WITH DEBORAH D’EMILIO AT THE COOP IN UMBERTIDE. DEBORAH IS A CHARMING, LIVELY ENGLISH-SPEAKING WOMAN, WHO SUGGESTED WE SHOP BEFORE HEADING TO VILLA CASTELLARO.
I’D HAD VISIONS OF SHOPPING AT FARMERS MARKETS, BUT THE COOP WAS A REVELATION– HIGH-QUALITY PRODUCE, FISH, MEAT, WINE, AND A DELI SECTION RUNNING THE WIDTH OF THE STORE WITH FIVE KINDS OF PROSCIUTTO, SALAMI, MORTADELLA, CHEESES, OLIVES, PEPPERS, BABY ARTICHOKES, AND BREAD. (HISTORICAL NOTE: WHEN PERUGIA CHALLENGED THE POPE’S PRIMACY, THE PONTIFF IMPOSED A SALT TAX ON THE REGION. THE UMBRIANS RESPONDED BY ELIMINATING SALT FROM THEIR BREAD. TO THIS DAY, WHEN YOU ORDER BREAD, YOU MUST SPECIFY “CON SALE” BECAUSE THEY STILL MAKE IT (BADLY) WITH OR WITHOUT SALT.
VILLA CASTELLARO IS STRICTLY IN NICCONE, SOME 15 MINUTES FROM UMBERTIDE. WE TAILED DEBORAH FROM THE TWO-LANE HIGHWAY ONTO A DIRT ROAD UP AND UP, PAST VINEYARDS,EFARMLAND, STANDS OF CYPRESS, A HERD OF WHITE CATTLE..AND UP AND UP, FOR FOUR KILOMETERS WHICH SEEMED LIKE FORTY. BUT THE PAYOFF WAS THIS INCREDIBLE HOUSE, GROUNDS (35 ACRES) AND THE VIEW!
AND SOLE, THE RESIDENT FERAL CAT, WHO IS FED BY THE GARDENER, BUT LIVES OUTSIDE. SOLE LIKES TO BE PETTED, BUT NOT PICKED UP. SHE WAS THERE TO GREET US WHENEVER WE GOT HOME.
WE HAD A DINNER RESERVATION AT CALAGRANA, AN AGRITURISMO B&B, WHERE YOU CAN TAKE COOKING LESSONS AS WELL AS EAT. AND, THANK GOD, IT WAS ON OUR ROAD! A PRETTY DINING ROOM WITH WHITE TABLECLOTHS, BEAMED CEILING, TERRA COTTA TILES, TWO DOGS AND A CAT.
CHEF ALBERTO (MILANESE) AND ELI (BRITISH) CHIAPPA MET IN LONDON WHERE ALBERTO OPENED TIRAMISU, THEN BLACKPEPPER IN 1998. EVENTUALLY, THEY TIRED OF CITY LIFE AND MOVED TO UMBRIA.
AFTER A GRUELING DAY, IT WAS A JOY TO BE SIPPING TREBBIANO AND SANGIOVESE WITH OUR ANTIPASTI (CHICKEN LIVER BRUSCHETTA, ASPARAGUS AND A POACHED EGG SMOTHERED IN SHAVED TRUFFLES), FRESH TAGLIATELLE WITH MORE TRUFFLES, A PERFECT LITTLE ROASTED CHICKEN, AND MOLTEN CHOCOLATE CAKE.
SATED AND HAPPY, WE HEADED HOME. BUT I TOOK A WRONG TURN AND WE WOUND UP ON A STEEP PEBBLED ROAD FACING A LOCKED GATE. DOGS BARKING. TOTAL DARKNESS. COULDN’T TURN AROUND. BURNED UP THE CLUTCH TRYING TO BACK OUT. IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN LYNN RANG THE BELL. LOVELY WOMAN. CALLED CATIA, WHO LIVES NEARBY AND CLEANS OUR HOUSE, TO COME PICK US UP.
BUT THE NEXT DAY WAS SUNDAY AND WE HAD NO CAR. DEBORAH, WHO LIVES IN ASSISI, OFFERED TO PICK US UP AND TAKE US TO HER HOME TOWN FOR THE DAY. I SUGGESTED WE TREAT HER, HER HUSBAND LUCA, DIEGO (6), AND STELLA (2) TO LUNCH.
PRANZO DOMENICO (SUNDAY LUNCH) IS A WEEKLY RITUAL, OBSERVED ALL OVER ITALY. IT COMMENCES AT ONE AND FINISHES MANY, MANY COURSES LATER, AROUND FOUR. (SEE FRANK BRUNI’S RECENT ARTICLE IN THE NYT).
RISTORANTE DI TRE ARCHE WAS A DINING HALL WITH LONG TABES CROWDED WITH LARGE ITALIAN FAMILIES (TWO BIRTHDAYS). THERE WERE CARAFES OF HOUSE WINES, BOTTLED WATER, AND A SEEMINGLY ENDLESS PARADE OF DISHES: ANTIPASTI, TWO PASTAS, GNOCCHI, SALAD, GRILLED MEATS, CHEESES, TWO DESSERTS, ESPRESSO, GRAPPA… 25 EUROS/PERSON (WINE/GRAPPA AND TRUFFLES INCLUDED) LUCA INSISTED ON PAYING.
BY THAT TIME IT WAS CLOSE TO FIVE AND MOST OF THE TOURISTS WERE LEAVING ASSISI. WE FILED INTO THE BASILICA DI SAN FRANCESCO TO VIEW GIOTTO’S ANIMATED FRESCOES ILLUSTRATING THE LIFE OF THE SAINT, WHO, BRIEFLY, TRANSFORMED THE CHURCH BY TURNING HIS BACK ON A LIFE OF LUXURY. HE TOOK TO THE WILDERNESS, THEN TO THE TOWNS, PREACHING POVERTY AND HUMILITY. THE CHURCH, BLOATED WITH OSTENTATIOUS WEALTH, WAS SMART ENOUGH TO EMBRACE FRANCESCO, WHO WAS CANONIZED JUST TWO YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH. TOWARDS THE END OF OUR TRIP, WE VISITED CONVENTO LE CELLE, THE MONASTERY FRANCIS ESTABLISHED IN CORTONA, LIVING AND PRAYING IN A WINDOWLESS ROOM ABOUT THE SIZE OF MY SHOWER.
GIOTTO DI BONDONE, ONE OF THE TRANSITIONAL PAINTERS AND ARCHITECTS OF THE LATE MIDDLE AGES, EXECUTED THE ASSISI FRESCOES BETWEEN 1290-95. LIKE HIS CONTEMPORARIES MASSACCIO AND CIMABUE, GIOTTO NEVER QUITE MASTERED PERSPECTIVE. BUT HE TRIED. SO DESPITE THEIR RELATIVE FLATNESS, THE SCENES ARE DRAMATIC, TOUCHING AND FULL OF LIFE. I PARTICULARLY LOVED ST. FRANCIS PREACHING TO THE BIRDS.
MONDAY, DEBORAH DROVE US TO PERUGIA TO PICK UP A NEW RENTAL, A WHITE, 4-DOOR HYUNDAI. WE PARKED AT THE STADIO, THEN HOPPED ON THE MINIMETRO, THE SINGLE-CAR FUNICULAR WHICH TAKES YOU TO THE ESCALATORS, WHICH BRING YOU WITHIN SPITTING DISTANCE OF THE PIAZZA IV NOVEMBRE. THIS ASYMMETRICAL SQUARE, ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL IN ITALY, IS DEFINED BY MEDIEVAL STONE BUILDINGS CROWNED WITH BRONZE LIONS AND GRIFFINS, PERUGIA’S MASCOT. THE FONTANA DI MAGGIORE WAS BUILT BETWEEN 1275 AND 1277 TO COMMEMORATE THE NEW AQUEDUCT WHICH BROUGHT WATER TO THE CITY. THE STUNNING STONE CARVINGS BY NICOLA PISANO AND HIS SON GIOVANI DEPICT DAILY LIFE– FARMERS PLANT AND HARVEST; WINEMAKERS CRUSH THEIR GRAPES TO MAKE WINE; PIGS ARE SLAUGHTERED AND TRANSFORMED INTO PORCHETTA.
THE GALLERIA NAZIONALE WAS CHUISO (MONDAY!), BUT OSTERIA A PRIORI, ONE OF NANCY SILVERTON’S RECOMMENDATIOS, WAS ONLY A STEEP FIVE-MINUTE WALK FROM THE PIAZZA. THE RESTAURANT AND WINE STORE IS CASUAL AND HIP; THE DISHES, LIGHT AND INNOVATIVE TURNS ON TRADITIONAL UMBRIAN FARE.
BABY POACHED ARTICHOKES CAME DRESSED IN A PEPPERY OLIVE OIL WITH A DOLLOP OF CHÉVRE. TWO EXCELLENT PASTAS — ONE WITH ZUCCHINI; THE OTHER, WITH TRUFFLES. I HAD BUNNY, WHICH WAS MOIST AND SCENTED WITH ROSEMARY. WE KNOCKED OFF A BOTTLE OF ORVIETO BIANCO, THEN DESCENDED BY ESCALATOR AND MINIMETRO TO THE CAR.
WITH ALBYN NAVIGATING ON GOOGLE MAPS, WE HEADED FOR HOME. BUT SOMEWHERE WE MISSED A TURN AND THE CHEERFUL AND CONFIDENT GOOGLE GIRL, RECALIBRATING, SOON DIRECTED US INTO THE SURROUNDING MOUNTAINS. GOOGLE FINDS THE SHORTEST ROUTE TIME-WISE TO ONE’S DESTINATION. YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED GOOGLE CARS WITH CAMERAS ON THE ROOF PHOTOGRAPHING EVERY STREET AND STOREFRONT IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD, BUT I SERIOUSLY DOUBT THAT GOOGLE HAD EVER PHOTOGRAPHED THE ONE-TRACK OBSTACLE COURSE THEY SENT US DOWN. DEEP, WATER-FILLED RUTS. BOULDERS WHICH BATTERED THE BOTTOM OF THE CAR. NO PLACE TO TURN AROUND NOR GO BACK. A GENUINELY TERRIFYING ROUTE, WHICH SOMEHOW, MIRACULOUSLY, DUMPED US ONTO THE VERY DIRT ROAD WHICH LED TO OUR HOUSE. THAT NIGHT I SLEPT AN HOUR. WERE WE CURSED?
THROWING CAUTION TO THE WINDS, HOWEVER, WE SET OFF TUESDAY ON “THE PIERO TRAIL” — AREZZO, MONTERCHI, AND SANSEPOLCRO.
STANDING BEFORE THE FRESCOES OF PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA (1415-1492), YOU CAN SEE HOW MUCH THE EARLY RENAISSANCE PAINTERS HAD LEARNED ABOUT PERSPECTIVE SINCE THE MIDDLE AGES. THE BIBLICAL SCENES ARE FORMAL AND PRESENTATIONAL, BUT THE FIGURES ARE SCULPTURAL; SOLID AS STONE, FORWARD-FACING, CONFRONTATIONAL. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO LOOK AWAY.
THE SOURCE MATERIAL FOR THE FRESCOES IN THE BASILICA DI SAN FRANCESCO IN AREZZO, IS THE LEGEND OF THE TRUE CROSS, A WACKY, CONVOLUTED TALE WHICH CONNECTS THE WOOD FROM THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN TO JESUS’S CRUCIFIXION CROSS..DON’T ASK. THE CHURCH ITSELF IS MORE ROMANESQUE THAN GOTHIC WITH A MASSIVE CRUCIFIED CHRIST SUSPENDED JUST BEHIND THE ALTAR LIKE SOME GHASTLY SUPERHERO. PIERO’S FRESCOES COVER THE WALLS AND CEILING OF THE APSE. IN ADDITION TO ALL THE CROSS NONSENSE, HE PAINTED BATTLE SCENES AS COLORFUL AND CHAOTIC AS UCCELLOS.
ON OUR WAY BACK, WE STOPPED IN MONTERCHI TO SEE ONE FRESCO, PIERO’S PREGNANT MADONNA FLANKED BY TWO ANGELS. THEY CHARGED SO MUCH TO SEE THIS ONE PAINTING THAT LYNN STOLE A MAGNET FROM THE GIFT SHOP.
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, WE TOOK TO THE PIERO TRAIL ONCE MORE TO SEE HIS RESURRECTION IN THE MUSEO CIVICO IN SANSEPOLCRO, WHICH ALDOUS HUXLEY CALLED “THE GREATEST PICTURE IN THE WORLD”. THE GERMANS OCCUPIED THE TOWN IN WORLD WAR II AND THE ALLIES TARGETED IT FOR BOMBARDMENT. BUT TONY CLARKE, A BRITISH OFFICER, RECALLED HUXLEY’S WORDS AND CONVINCED THEM TO HOLD OFF. MAYBE THE GERMANS WOULD WITHDRAW. AND THEY DID.
THE JESUS WHO RISES FROM HIS TOMB IS NO LIMP AND PITIABLE VICTIM. HIS WOUNDS ARE MERE SHAVING CUTS. HE’S BUFF. HE’S TOUGH. MORE THAN LIKELY, HE SPENT THREE DAYS AT THE GYM AND NOT ON A CROSS. WITH ONE FOOT FIRMLY PLANTED ON THE EDGE OF HIS SARCOPHOGUS, HE STARES AT US WITH IMPLACABLE COMMAND. ONE PITIES THE FOUR ROMAN SOLDIERS ASLEEP AT HIS FEET. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY WAKE UP?! (NOTE: THE SOLDIER IN THE BROWN SHIRT IS PIERO)
ALBYN LEFT FAR TOO SOON THE MORNING OF MAY 6. WE’D HAD SUCH A GOOD TIME WITH HER, WE HATED TO SEE HER GO. BUT HOURS LATER, THE PILGRIMS, SANDY, RUTH AND ESTHER, ARRIVED, GREY WITH HUNGER AND EXHAUSTION. WE PLIED THEM WITH OUR LOCAL VICTUALS– PROSCIUTTO, MOZZARELLA DI BUFALA MOZZARELLA, TOMATOES, BREAD, AND WINE. RESTORED AND REFRESHED, THEY REPAIRED TO THEIR CHAMBERS TO REST AND PUT AWAY THEIR MEAGER BELONGINGS.
SANDY HAD RENTED AN ENORMOUS, PUTTY GREY BMW STATION WAGON, WHICH I THOUGHT RIDICULOUS CONSIDERING THE NARROW STREETS AND TIGHT PARKING SPACES. BUT IT PROVED A GODSEND WITH ITS AMPLE BACK SEAT AND SANDY BEHIND THE WHEEL. I WAS TRULY GRATEFUL NOT TO BE DRIVING.
WE COULDN’T DESCRIBE EITHER THE FALCONS OR ESTHER AS “ART PEOPLE”, SO THERE WAS NO POINT IN FORCING THEM TO TOUR CHURCHES AND MUSEUMS. WE DID FORCE THEM TO VISIT ASSISI. THEY WERE NOT IMPRESSED. SO WHEN WE RETURNED TO PERUGIA TO SEE THE COLLECTION IN THE GALLERIA NAZIONALE DELL’UMBRIA, WE LEFT THEM TO WANDER AND SHOP WHILE WE SEARCHED FOR THE POLYPTYCH OF ST. ANTHONY BY PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA. SANDY BOUGHT A CASHMERE JACKET; RUTH, A DRESS. AND EVERYONE WAS HAPPY.
THEY WERE JUSTIFIABLY ENCHANTED BY MONTONE, OFTEN DESCRIBED AS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL HILL TOWN IN ITALY. WE’D BEEN THERE WITH ALBYN IN THE RAIN. RETURNING ON A CRYSTAL CLEAR DAY, WE SCALED THE COBBLED STREETS OF THIS PERFECTLY-PRESERVED MEDIEVAL TOWN AND MARVELED AT ITS PANORAMIC VIEWS.
ONE DAY, WE HEADED SOUTH TO LAGO TRASIMENE, ONE OF ITALY’S LARGEST LAKES, WHERE ON JUNE 21, 217 B.C., HANNIBAL’S CARTHAGINIAN FORCES HAD SLAUGHTERED A ROMAN LEGION COMMANDED BY GAIUS FLAMINIUS. WE FOUND A PLEASANT OSTERIA NEAR THE WATER, WHERE THEY HAD FISH ON THE MENU, THE FIRST I’D FOUND IN AN UMBRIAN RESTAURANT. THE UMBRIANS DON’T SERVE FISH BECAUSE, THEY EXPLAIN, THEIR PROVENCE IS LAND-LOCKED. MY SAD LITTLE FILLET OF PERCH, SMOTHERED IN TOMATO SAUCE, CAME FROM LAKE TRASIMENE.
ON TO CUCINELLIVILLE, WHERE THE GIRLS WERE HOPING TO PURCHASE THEIR FALL WARDROBES AT THE CUCINELLI “OUTLET”. SOLOMEO, THE-WHOLE-AND-OWNED-SUBSIDIARY OF BRUNELLO CUCINELLI, IS A PICTURE-PERFECTLY UNREAL HILL TOWN WITH ITS VERY OWN CHURCH; NOT ITS PRINCIPAL ATTRACTION. THIS WOULD BE THE THREE-LEVEL CUCCINELLI OUTLET WHICH DOLES OUT A GENEROUS TEN PERCENT DISCOUNT FOR PEOPLE WHO DON’T NEED ONE. I PRICED A LEATHER JACKET AT 4,600 EUROS WITH THE DISCOUNT. SOLOMEO DISAPPOINTED US BY BEING EXACTLY WHAT WE’D EXPECTED.
SANDY ARRANGED A PRIVATE TOUR OF “UNDERGROUND PERUGIA”, WHICH BROUGHT US BACK TO THIS ANCIENT AND COSMOPOLITAN TOWN FOR THIRD TIME. WE RENDEZVOUSED IN THE PIAZZA D’ITALIA WITH MICHAELE, OUR HANDSOME AND CHARMING GUIDE, WHO DESCRIBED THE CITY’S MULTI-LAYERED HISTORY FROM THE ETRUSCANS TO ITS EMERGENCE AS A POWERFUL CITY STATE IN THE 12TH CENTURY. WE THEN DESCENDED BY ESCALATOR TO THE VAULTED CHAMBERS OF WHAT HAD ONCE BEEN A FORTRESS. PERUGIA RESISTED DOMINANCE BY THE POPE IN ROME (REMEMBER THE SALT TAX?). BUT THE POPE PREVAILED. HIS ARMIES FINALLY CONQUERED THE CITY AND BUILT ANOTHER CITY ON TOP OF THE FORTRESS. TO THIS DAY, PERUGIANS HATE THE POPE.
MAY 2. THE PILGRIMS BOOKENDED THEIR VISIT WITH A FINAL MEAL AT CALAGRANA. THE NEXT MORNING, THEY PACKED THEIR BAGS, BID US A FOND FAREWELL AND HIT THE ROAD TO ROME.
WE WERE NOW ALONE IN THIS BARONIAL SPACE, WITH NO ONE ELSE TO TALK TO, HELP PLAN OUR DAYS, DO ALL THE DRIVING, AND PAY FOR THE MEALS. WHAT WAS IT LIKE? IT WAS GREAT. NOT THAT WE HADN’T ENJOYED ALBYN, RUTH, SANDY, AND ESTHER. BUT THERE WAS STILL SO MUCH TO SEE, SO MUCH ART, SO MANY MEALS TO EAT. AND NOW THAT WE KNEW THE LAY OF THE LAND, GETTING PLACES WAS NOT SUCH A CHALLENGE. WITH TWO WEEKS TO GO, WE DIDN’T FEEL COMPELLED TO GO TO A DIFFERENT TOWN EVERY DAY.
WE BEGAN TO SPACE OUR EXCURSIONS AND JUST ENJOY THE HOUSE AND SURROUNDING COUNTRYSIDE WHERE EVERYTHING WAS IN BLOOM. WE’D DRIVE TO THE COOP TO REPLENISH OUR STRACCHINO, THE LIQUIDY COW’S MILK CHEESE; PROSCIUTTO AND SPECK; TOMATOES AND BREAD FROM CALAGRANA, WHICH ALBERTO BAKES DAILY. WE’D TAKE OUR COFFEE OUTSIDE IN THE MORNING AND SIT AT THE LIMESTONE TABLE UNDER A CANOPY OF WISTERIA. WE WERE BOTH READING PATRICIA HIGHSMITH’S RIPLEY SERIES. WE RESEARCHED THE ARTWORK WE WERE PLANNING ON SEEING THE FOLLOWING DAY. WE DIDN’T TURN ON THE TELEVISION FOR FIVE WEEKS. MOSTLY, WE JUST ENJOYED BEING ALONE, TOGETHER, SHARING THE THINGS WE LOVE: ART AND FOOD.
SPOLETO IS WELL-KNOWN FOR ITS SUMMER ARTS FESTIVAL, INITIATED IN 1977 BY NATIVE SON, GIAN CARLO MENOTTI, WHICH RUNS FOR 17 DAYS EACH SPRING AND ATTRACTS WORLD-RENOWNED DANCE, OPERA, AND THEATRE COMPANIES. WE SAILED PAST FRAMED POSTERS OF BARYSHNIKOV, PAVAROTTI, ROBERT WILSON, AND AL PACINO AS WE RODE THE THREE ESCALATORS TO SANTA MARIA ASSUNTA (DUOMO, FOR SHORT).
THIS 12TH CENTURY ROMANESQUE CATHEDRAL LOOKS OUT ON THE BROAD PIAZZA WHERE CONCERTS ARE HELD DURING THE FESTIVAL. THE DELICATE FACADE WITH EIGHT ROSE WINDOWS AND ROW OF ARCHES IS DWARFED BY A MASSIVE GUARD TOWER. THE INTERIOR IS A PLAY OF CONTRADICTIONS; THE ORIGINAL ROMANESQUE STRUCTURE EMBELLISHED WITH GOTHIC AND BAROQUE CHAPELS ABLAZE IN GOLD LEAF AND WINGED PUTTI.
WHAT BROUGHT US TO SPOLETO, HOWEVER, WERE THE CYCLE OF FRESCOES ILLUSTRATING THE LIFE OF THE VIRGIN BY FILLIPO LIPPI BEGUN IN 1467 AND COMPLETED IN 1469 BY HIS ASSISTANTS AFTER HIS DEATH. I’VE READ SEVERAL ACCOUNTS OF LIPPI’S LIFE AND DEATH. APPARENTLY, FRA OR NO FRA, LIPPI WAS QUITE THE LADIES MAN. THE ENCHANTING NOVICE NUN WHO SERVED AS A MODEL FOR HIS MADONNA WAS ALSO HIS MISTRESS, SO WHEN THE DIOCESE OF SPOLETO ASKED COSIMO DI MEDICI TO LEND HIM OUT FOR A COUPLE OF YEARS, COSIMO WAS ONLY TOO HAPPY TO GET HIM OUT OF FLORENCE. LIPPI WASTED LITTLE TIME SEDUCING A MAIDEN IN SPOLETO FROM A WEALTHY AND POWERFUL FAMILY. SHORTLY AFTER (OR POSSIBLY BEFORE) COMPLETING THE FRESCOES, LIPPI WAS POISONED. NEVERTHELESS, THE CHURCH NEEDED A CELEB FOR ITS TOMB. 200 YEARS LATER, LIPPIS REMAINS WERE STOLEN FROM SAME TOMB, POSSIBLY BY THE DESCENDANTS OF THE DISGRACED GIRL. DELICATE, DRAMATIC AND SENSUAL, LIPPI’S LIFE OF THE MADONNA ARE A MARVEL. IN THEM, YOU SEE THE IMPACT LIPPI HAD ON TWO OF HIS FAMOUS PUPILS, SANDRO BOTTICELLI AND HIS OWN SON FILLIPINO LIPPI.
SEARCHING FOR A RESTAURANT, WE GOT CAUGHT IN THE RAIN. A WOMAN EMERGING FROM HER PARKED CAR TOLD US THE RESTAURANT WAS CLOSED. FISHING A SECOND UMBRELLA FROM HER CAR, SHE INSISTED ON WALKING US TO PANICALE. SHE MADE US KEEP THE UMBRELLA.
AFTER AN INDIFFERENT MEAL WE TOOK THE ESCALATOR TO THE ROCCA ALBORNOZIANA, THE MASSIVE FORTRESS WHICH LOWERS 1,299 FEET ABOVE THE SPOLETAN PLAIN. AMONG OTHER THINGS, IT HOUSES A PRISON, WHICH HAS CONFINED PRISONERS FROM THE 14TH CENTURY TO THE 20TH, THE LAST OCCUPANTS BEING THE RED BRIGADES, WHO TERRORIZED ITALY IN THE 60S.
THE WEATHER HAD CLEARED, ALTHOUGH WE COULD SEE THUNDERSTORMS HEADING OUR WAY. WE QUICKLY CIRCLED THE FORTRESS FOR A LOOK AT THE PONTE DELLE TORRI, THE AQUEDUCT BUILT BY THE ROMANS TO SUPPLY WATER TO THE TOWN.(NOW A BRIDGE) LYNN WAS BITTERLY DISAPPOINTED THAT IT WAS TEMPORARILY CLOSED TO PEDESTRIANS.
TWO DAYS LATER, MAY 9TH, WE EMBARKED ON OUR MOST AMBITIOUS TRIP — TO ORVIETO. THANKS TO THE OMNISCIENT GOOGLE GIRL, WHO, APPARENTLY, DIDN’T NOTICE THE ROAD CONSTRUCTION EN ROUTE, IT TOOK US THREE HOURS TO GET THERE. TOO LATE FOR THE CATHEDRAL, BUT JUST IN TIME FOR LUNCH!
THE GREEN MICHELIN GUIDE HAD LISTED, ALMOST IN PASSING, I SETTE CONSOLI, A HOP, SKIP AND A JUMP FROM THE CATHEDRAL. THE PLACE WAS EMPTY — NEVER A GOOD SIGN — BUT WE WERE USHERED THROUGH IT INTO A LUSH AND LOVELY GARDEN WITH A FEW TABLES UNDER A WHITE CANOPY. THE MENU HAD LOTS OF THINGS I WANTED TO ORDER BUT LYNN BULLIED ME INTO GETTING THE TASTING MENU. OKAY, SHE LET ME CHOOSE THE WINE, AN ORVIETO BIANCO, A SUBLIME BLEND OF GRECHETTO AND RIESLING.
A COMELY WAITRESS IN BLACK LINEN CULOTTES AND A WHITE, SILK BLOUSE SERVED US CRUNCHY ARANCINI OOZING MOLTEN TALEGGIO, FOLLOWED A BARELY POACHED EGG SWIMMING IN POOL OF VICHYSSOISE EMBELLISHED WITH ROUNDS OF TINY ASPARAGUS, FRICO AND PANCETTA. THEN, TWO SMALL PORTIONS OF PASTA: A CACIO E PEPE WITH THE FAINT BURN OF CHILI FLAKES AND A TAGLIATELLE WITH CINGHIALE RAGÚ. THE “PORCHETTA” OF RABBIT WAS MOIST AND DELICATE. NEXT, A SELECTION OF CHEESES, FOLLOWED BY STRAWBERRIES WITH MERINGUE AND A CAMPARI REDUCTION. THIS WAS AS FINE A MEAL AS WE’D EVER EATEN; BETTER THAN THE 3-STAR OSTERIA FRANCESCANA AND AS GOOD AS ANY WE’D HAD IN FRANCE AT A FRACTION OF THE PRICE– 55EUROS/PERSON PLUS THE WINE WHICH WAS 35EUROS.
AS WE SAY ON PASSOVER, “IF YOU HAD JUST GIVEN ME THIS MEAL, LORD, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH.” BUT BY THE TIME WE MOUNTED THE STEPS TO THE CATHEDRAL IT WAS NEARLY FOUR. THE CROWDS HAD THINNED OUT AND THE AFTERNOON SUN HAD SET THE GOLD LEAF ON THE FACADE ON FIRE. WE GASPED.
MILAN’S BASILICA IS LARGER; CHARTRES, WITH HER FLYING BUTTRESSES AND STAINED GLASS NARRATIVES, MORE ELEGANT, BUT ORVIETO’S CATHEDRAL (1290) MANAGES TO HARMONIZE THE STOLID SIMPLICITY OF ITS ORIGINAL ROMANESQUE PLAN WITH ELABORATE AND INTRICATE DECORATIVE ELEMENTS TO PRODUCE AN EFFECT THAT IS SIMPLY DAZZLING. THE ALTERNATING HORIZONTAL BANDS OF TRAVERTINE AND BASALT ARE ALMOST COMICAL. YOU COULD SPEND DAYS DECIPHERING THE FIGURE-PACKED CARVINGS OF THE LIFE OF MARY AND THE LAST JUDGEMENT ON THE FACADE.
THE HORIZONTAL STRIPES ARE ECHOED BY COLUMNS IN THE INTERIOR, WHICH IS TOWERING AND UNCLUTTERED. OVER NEARLY THREE CENTURIES, THE FINEST SIENESE CRAFTSMEN, PAINTERS AND SCULPTORS DECORATED THE SIX BAYS AND TWO AISLES, INCLUDING FRA ANGELICO AND LUCA SIGNORELLI, WHO HAD A PENCHANT FOR NAKED PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY GUYS. THE DAMNED HAVE PINK ASSES; THE DEMONS, BLUE ASSES.
WE LEFT THE CATHEDRAL BUT COULDN’T GET OURSELVES TO LEAVE. WE TOOK A TABLE FACING THE FACADE AND SIPPED MACCHIATOS AND ESPRESSOS AS THE LIGHT FADED. HEADING HOME, WE DITCHED GOOGLE GIRL AND REVERTED TO THE ANCIENT WAYS: A MAP. WE WERE HOME IN AN HOUR AND A HALF. WE SMOKED A JOINT AND READ PETRARCH SONNETS ALOUD UNTIL WE FELL ASLEEP.
A PERFECT DAY.
LIKE OTHER PROVENCES IN ITALY, UMBRIAN MENUS ARE MOSTLY THE SAME WHEREVER YOU GO. UMBRIA’S NOT A PROVENCE FOR VEGANS, VEGETARIANS OR THOSE WITH SIMILAR EATING DISORDERS. EXCELLENT PORK, LAMB AND THEIR PRIZED CHIANINA BEEF, WHICH GRAZE PEACEABLY IN THE PASTURE NEAR OUR HOUSE. PASTA, RISOTTO, FABULOUS SALUMI, PIZZA, SALADS, AND THE UBIQUITOUS MOLTEN CHOCOLATE CAKE. BUT NO FISH, UNLESS YOU CONSIDER BACALA FISH. WHEN I ASKED WHY NOT, THE WAITSTAFF OR MANAGERS WOULD SHRUG, EXPLAINING THAT UMBRIA IS LAND-LOCKED. OKAY…
ONE FISH RESTAURANT, HOWEVER, WAS ON A LIST OF PLACES RECOMMENDED IN UMBERTIDE: ROCCA. I MADE A RESERVATION. WE HAD TROUBLE FINDING IT AND WHEN I ASKED FOR DIRECTIONS TO RISTORANTE ROCCA, THEY’D SAY, “BAR ROCCA?” THE RESTAURANT IS ATTACHED TO THE BAR AND JUTS OUT INTO THE STREET. WE WERE EAGERLY USHERED INTO A SPACE ENCLOSED BY PLASTIC SHEETING. A RADIO WAS BLASTING. IT WAS 7:30. NO ONE WAS THERE. “OKAY,” WE MUSED. “IT’S EARLY.” THERE WAS A NICE SELECTION OF FISH ON THE MENU. NONE WAS AVAILABLE. THERE WAS NO WINE LIST. I FOLLOWED THE WAITRESS INTO THE BAR TO PICK A BOTTLE FROM THE FRIDGE. WE ORDERED DEFENSIVELY. BY THE TIME OUR FOOD ARRIVED AT 8:30, THE PLACE WAS STILL EMPTY. MY SPAGHETTI ALL VONGOLE FRIGHTENED ME. WE LEFT AND DROVE TO CALAGRANA, WHERE ELI GAVE US A WARM WELCOME.
SATURDAY, WE RETURNED TO GUBBIO TO SEE WHAT WE’D MISSED ON OUR FIRST PASS. A ROMAN THEATRE IS A STONE’S THROW FROM THE CITY WALLS, BUT THE TOWN ITSELF RISES STEEPLY FROM THERE . IT HAS THE SAME MEDIEVAL FEEL AS MONTONE, BUT MUCH LESS TOURISTY. AN ANTIQUE CAR RALLY WAS INSTALLED IN THE PARKING LOT. WE PASSED A JAGUAR XKE, VINTAGE M.G.S AND ALFA ROMEOS AS WE SCALED THE STEEP STREETS LOOKING FOR THE CHIESA DI SAN AGOSTINO. ITS ROMANESQUE FACADE IS AUSTERE, BUT THE GOTHIC INTERIOR HAS A GRACEFUL VAULTED NAVE AND WONDERFUL FRESCOES BY OTTAVIANO NELLI (AROUND 1400).
NO ONE WAS THERE.
WE HAD LUNCH AT BOSONE GARDEN, A SPACIOUS AND TONEY HOTEL RESTAURANT.
NO ONE WAS THERE.
WELL, WE WERE. I HAD DELICATE CAPELLINI IN BRODO, FOLLOWED BY AN UNINSPIRING FILLET OF BRANZINO EN PAPILLOTE. LYNN’S CARPACCIO WAS APPROPRIATELY BEEFY.
THE PALAZZO DEI CONSOLI (THE JUDGES PALACE) IS GUBBIO’S ULTIMATE SYMBOL OF POLITICAL POWER, WITH A FOUR-STORY TOWER AND A BROAD DEFENSIBLE PIAZZA.
THE INTERIOR HOUSES A MUNICIPAL MUSEUM WITH ART AND ARTIFACTS DATING BACK TO THE ETRUSCANS. THERE ARE COPPER TABLETS WHICH RIVALED THE ROSETTA STONE FOR DECIPHERING THE ETRUSCAN LANGUAGE. ON THE MAIN FLOOR THE THREE CERI, 8-FOOT WOODEN “CANDLES” WHICH ARE SHLEPPED BY TEAMS OF YOUNG MEN AS THEY RACE TO THE TOP OF THE TOWN EACH MAY 15TH. PAZZO! (MESHUGA!)
CORTONA, ANOTHER ETRUSCAN/ROMAN/GHIBELLINE/PAPAL CITY, WAS A SLEEPY MEDIEVAL HILL TOWN TILL 1996 WHEN FRANCES MAYES’ MEMOIR AND SUBSEQUENT HIT MOVIE UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN TURNED IT INTO A TOURIST DESTINATION.
IT WAS A 40-MINUTE DRIVE THROUGH A LUSH AND VERDANT VALLEY. OUR STOPOFF AT CELLE TO SEE ST. FRANCIS’ MONASTERY MADE US LATE FOR LUNCH AT LA BUCACCIA, A MICHELIN/SILVERTON-RATED RESTAURANT, HOUSED IN PALAZZO CATTANI, A 13TH CENTURY PALACE; MORE SPECIFICALLY, IN THE DUNGEON. WELL, MAYBE NOT THE DUNGEON BUT CERTAINLY UNDERGROUND. ARTFUL LIGHTING ILLUMINATES THE ANCIENT STONE WALLS AND BUCACCIA’S IMPRESSIVE WINE COLLECTION.
ALTHOUGH THE DISHES ARE NEITHER FUSSY NOR COMPLEX, CHEF ROMANO MAGI MAKES THE MOST OF LOCAL INGREDIENTS. A CHIANINA TARTARE, DOTTED WITH LITTLE PEARLS OF AGED BALSAMIC “CAVIAR” HAD THAT SLIGHT METALLIC NOTE WHICH CHARACTERIZES GREAT BEEF. LYNN’S SOFTBALL OF FRESH BUFALA MOZZARELLA HAD BEEN DELIVERED A HOUR EARLIER. SHE DECLARED HER TAGLIATELLE WITH TRUFFLES THE BEST OF MANY, MANY TRUFFLED PASTAS. I ATE AS MUCH AS I COULD OF THE CRUNCHY AND MOIST STINCO DI MIALE, A PORK SHANK THE SIZE OF MY ARM.
ALTHOUGH THE STREETS ARE DOTTED WITH CHIC BOUTIQUES, CORTONA FEELS LIKE A REAL PLACE WITH GELATERIA SNOOPY FACING THE MUSEO DELL’ACCCADEMIA ETRUSCA ON THE PIAZZA LUCA SIGNORELLI. THE MUSEUM INCORPORATES ACTUAL ARCHEOLOGICAL EXCAVATIONS BOTH PRE-HISTORIC AND ETRUSCAN. RATHER FASCINATING.
NO ONE WAS THERE.
NEARBY, HOWEVER, IS THE DIOCESAN MUSEUM, FEATURING NATIVE-SON LUCA SIGNORELLI, WHOSE LAST JUDGEMENT FRESCOES WE’D SO ADMIRED IN ORVIETO. HE WAS AN INFLUENTIAL MEMBER OF THE COMMUNITY AS WELL AS A WILDLY SUCCESSFUL PAINTER. SO SUCCESSFUL, IN FACT, THAT HE HAD MORE WORK THAN HE COULD PERSONALLY HANDLE. THE RESULT, UNFORTUNATELY, IS THAT AMONG THE MASTER’S MASTERPIECES ARE SOME TRULY DISAPPOINTING WORKS BY ANONYMOUS ARTISTS WITH DIPLOMAS FROM THE SCHOOL OF SIGNORELLI. FOR MY MONEY, THE MOST STUNNING WORK IN THE COLLECTION IS FRA ANGELICO’S ANNUNCIATION. A TRULY VIRGINAL VIRGIN IS BEING ASSAULTED BY THE ANGEL GABRIEL WITH A VISIBLE TORRENT OF WORDS. SCARLET AND GOLD LEAF ARE THE DOMINANT COLORS. THEY LEAD THE EYE AROUND THE PAINTING AND GUIDE YOU THROUGH MARY’S LIFE, WHICH RUNS LIKE A COMIC STRIP ALONG THE BOTTOM OF THE ALTARPIECE.
LOOKING BACK OVER OUR FOUR WEEKS IN UMBRIA, OUR ONLY REGRET WAS EATING PIZZA AT DEGUSTO FOR OUR LAST MEAL, BECAUSE AS WE TOOK OUR FIRST SLICE OF THE SOTTOBOSCO WITH ITS BLISTERED CRUST EMBRACING A MOLTEN FILLING OF MOZZARELLA FIORDILATTE, FRESH PORCINI AND SALSA TARTUFATA GIULANO TARTUFI, WAS THE REALIZATION THAT WE WERE EATING THE BEST PIZZA WE’D EVER ORDER FOR THE FIRST AND LAST TIME. LYNN, DRUNK ON SANGIOVESE BIANCO, TRIED TO BUY THE WAITER’S T-SHIRT OR MAYBE IT WAS THE WAITER.
BY SATURDAY AFTERNOON WE WERE IN ROME. MAX, OUR HANDSOME TAXI DRIVER WHO’D MANAGED TO BRING US WITHIN STRIKING DISTANCE OF THE INN AT THE SPANISH STEPS, OFFERED TO TAKE US TO THE AIRPORT ON TUESDAY FOR OUR RETURN TRIP TO. I POCKETED HIS CARD.
THE HOTEL ITSELF IS SMALL, BUT IT’S CO-OPTED A BUNCH OF APARTMENTS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. OURS WAS A HEFTY TWO-FLOOR WALKUP ON VIA CARROZZE. IT WAS ROOMY ENOUGH WITH A FULL KITCHEN WE DIDN’T NEEDED, TWO TVS, GHASTLY VERTICALLY STRIPED WALLPAPER AND TWO BLINDINGLY BRIGHT CRYSTAL CHANDELIERS. BUT THE HOTEL WAS FULLY BOOKED, SO WE RESIGNED OURSELVES TO THE SHOCK.
THE LAST TIME WE’D BEEN IN ROME WAS 2006. OFF-SEASON. NOW, THE AREA AROUND THE SPANISH STEPS WAS CHOKED WITH TOURISTS, TOTING THEIR BACKPACKS AND WATER BOTTLES, SELFIE STICKS, BASEBALL CAPS; IN PAIRS, FAMILIES AND TOUR GROUPS. FORTUNATELY, WE’D STAYED IN THE CITY FOR TWO FULL WEEKS AND KNEW OUR WAY AROUND, KNEW HOW TO AVOID THE CORSO AND OTHER CHOKE POINTS. EARLY AS IT WAS WE FOUND OUR WAY TO OUR OLD STREET, VIA RIPETTA AND A SWEET LITTLE TRATTORIA WHERE WE GRATEFULLY GORGED OURSELVES ON FRIED ARTICHOKES, SALTIMBOCCA ALLA ROMANA, BROILED BRANZINO, AND A CRISP BUT TOOTHSOME ARNEIS.
WE WENT HUNTING FOR CARAVAGGIOS, FIRST IN THE PALAZZO DORIA PAMPHILJ. THE DORIA FAMILY, WHO STILL OWN THE PALACE, TRACE THEIR ROOTS BACK TO 12TH CENTURY GENOA. FAMOUS MEMBERS INCLUDE POPES, POLITICIANS, TITANS OF TRADE AND INDUSTRY AND AT LEAST ONE VIOLINIST.
THE COLLECTION, ASSEMBLED OVER CENTURIES, INCLUDES FILLIPO LIPPI’S ANNUNCIATION, MEMLING’S LAMENTATION, TITIAN’S SALOME, RAPHAEL’S PORTRAIT OF NAVAGERO AND BEAZZANO, PETER BRUEGEL’S SEA BATTLE, THREE — COUNT”EM THREE CARAVAGGIOS, AND LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, DIEGO VELÁSQUEZ’S PORTRAIT OF INNOCENT X, WHICH INNOCENT HATED BECAUSE IT WAS TOO REAL.
THE PALACE ITSELF WITH ITS BAROQUE AND ROCOCO GILDED HALLWAYS IS A BLOATED FEAST FOR THE EYES, BUT THE COLLECTION IS EXTRAORDINARY. ALSO, IT’S GOT A VERY NICE RESTAURANT FACING THE GARDEN COURTYARD.
SADLY, SANTA MARIA DEI POPOLO WAS CHUISO FOR RENOVATION, BUT WE HUNTED DOWN CARAVAGGIO’S ASTONISHING FRESCOES OF THE LIFE OF ST. MATTHEW IN SAN LUIGI DEI FRANCESI AS WELL AS HIS MADONNA DI LORETO IN NEARBY SANT’AGOSTINO. THIS WAS THE PAINTING THAT SCANDALIZED ROME BECAUSE A. THE KNEELING PENITENTS HAVE DIRTY FEET. AND B. BECAUSE THE MODEL FOR THE VIRGIN WAS A PROBABLY LOCAL HOOKER.
ROME, LIKE NEW YORK, IS A CITY WHICH NEVER SLEEPS. WE’D NABBED A 10:15 RESERVATION AT DA GINO PARLAMENTO, A SHORT WALK FROM OUR HOTEL. SATURDAY NIGHT AND THE STREETS WERE PACKED WITH KIDS AND OLD PEOPLE, COUPLES PUSHING STROLLERS, WINDOW-SHOPPING, AND CROWDING THE CAFES.
DA GINO WAS CROWDED TOO WITH WHAT LOOKED LIKE NOTHING BUT ROMANS. WE WERE HANDED MENUS BUT NO WINE LIST. A GRUFF BUT FRIENDLY WAITER PLOPPED DOWN CARAFES OF ROSSO E BIANCO. A RADICCHIO SALAD HAD TOO MANY ANCHOVIES FOR LYNN’S LIKING, BUT NOT MINE. SHE SHARED MY SHAVED CARCIOFI AND PARMESAN SALAD. MY WHITE OSSO BUCO WAS SUCCULENT BUT LYNN’S LAMB STEW, COMPOSED OF VARIOUS CUTS, SUBTLY SCENTED WITH GARLIC AND ROSEMARY, WAS A TRIUMPH. IN BETWEEN THE LAMB STEW AND DESSERT, A GROUP OF SIX SAT DOWN AT NEARBY TABLE WHERE THEY ALL ORDERED SPAGHETTI CARBONARA. FORTUNATELY, WE’D LEFT ENOUGH ROOM FOR AN EGGY CREMA CARAMELA WITH A SAUCE THE COLOR OF ESPRESSO.
EVERYONE AND I MEAN EVERYONE — NANCY SILVERTON, JOSEF CENTENO, OUR FRIENDS BETTE AND HOWARD, AND THE NEW YORK TIMES — HAD RAVED ABOUT ROSCIOLI, THE SALUMERIA AND RESTAURANT, WHICH HAS RECENTLY OPENED A BRANCH IN SOHO, AND IS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE TO GET INTO. I’D RESERVED TWO MONTHS IN ADVANCE.
THERE ARE TWO SEATINGS. WHEN WE ARRIVED AT 7:30, A LINE OF EAGER DINERS HOVERED AT THE ENTRANCE. THE GROUND FLOOR HAS A FEW TABLES FACING THE SALUMI COUNTER. LEGS OF PROSCIUTTO AND STRINGS OF SAUSAGES HANG ABOVE COUNTERS CRAMMED WITH CHEESES, BREAD, PICKLED ONIONS, ARTICHOKES, AND PEPPERS.
WE WERE USHERED DOWNSTAIRS TO THE COZIER, BRICKED DINING SPACE, WHICH ONE COULD NOT DESCRIBE AS SPACIOUS. A RATHER SELF-SATISFIED WAITER WITH A HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE ADVISED US ON FOOD AS WELL AS WINE. ALTHOUGH ROSCIOLI IS MOST FAMOUS FOR ITS CHEESES AND SALUMI, I WANTED TO SEE WHAT THEIR COOKING WAS LIKE. SO WE ORDERED A GOOSE LIVER PATÉ, SOMETHING WITH PICKLED PEPPERS, A STUFFED PORCHETTA OF GUINEA HEN, AND THEIR TOUTED CACIO E PEPE. THE FOIE GRAS WAS MINISCULE; THE GUINEA HEN, DRY AND TASTELESS. THE WINE, A TIMORASSO (AN OBSCURE VARIETAL), DELICIOUS.
WE FARED MUCH BETTER AT SANTO PALATO, AN UNPRETENTIOUS BUT ADVENTUROUS LITTLE TRATTORIA IN SAN GIOVANI, FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. SARAH CICOLINI IS THE YOUNG ABRUZZEAN CHEF AND THE DISHES RANGE FROM ROMAN STAPLES SUCH AS A EGGY, CREAMY, CHEESY CARBONARA TO A PIGEON FOR TWO SERVED IN TWO COURSES. CHEF CICOLINI’S FOOD IS A MARRIAGE OF CONTRASTS — HEARTY AND FAMILIAR/SUBTLE AND SOPHISTICATED. THE SERVICE WAS WARM, RELAXED AND EFFICIENT. WHEN I ASKED THE WINE GUY TO PICK SOMETHING, HE POURED US A RED BURGUNDY.
IT’S FOOLISH TO GENERALIZE FROM THE PARTICULAR, BUT ON OUR LAST AND RAINY TUESDAY IN ITALY, MAX PICKED US UP AT 8:30 AM TO TAKE US TO LEONARDO (L’AEROPORTO) DA VINCI. HE ASKED ME TO RIDE IN THE FRONT SEAT. AS WE TURNED ONTO THE CORSO, I ASKED HIM WHY. “WELL, YOU SEE,” HE SAID. “I SHOULD NOT BE EXACTLY DRIVING TODAY. MY UNION NEGOTIATES NOW WITH THE CITY. ALORA, I AM ON STRIKE.”
EVERYWHERE WE WENT, PEOPLE WERE, WELL..NICE.
NOT KNOWING THE DRILL AT THE COOP, I’D NEGLECTED TO BAG AND WEIGH MY TOMATOES. AS CUSTOMERS PATIENTLY WAITED, THE CHECKER ABANDONED HIS REGISTER TO BAG, WEIGH, TAG AND BRING THEM BACK. WHEN LOST, WHICH WAS OFTEN, EVERYONE WE ASKED GAVE CAREFUL DIRECTIONS. ALTHOUGH I SUBSEQUENTLY PAID HER FOR HER TIME, DEBORAH INSISTED SHE PICK US UP AND TAKE US TO EAT WITH HER FAMILY.
NORTHERN ITALY IS MORE PROSPEROUS THAN SOUTHERN ITALY. STILL, IN ALL THE TOWNS WE VISITED, WE NEVER SAW HOMELESS PEOPLE, UNLESS YOU COUNT THE GYPSIES IN ROME. THE ITALIANS DRIVE LIKE MANIACS BUT RARELY HONK THEIR HORNS. THEY DON’T PLAY MUIC IN RESTAURANTS. NOR DO THEY RUSH YOU THROUGH YOUR MEAL.
A FEW YEARS AGO, A POLL WAS CONDUCTED WHICH ASKED THE QUESTION: “IF YOU COULD LIVE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD, WHERE WOULD YOU GO?” “ITALY.” REPLIED THE ITALIANS.
