Travels

As we head out of town, the skies (which previously had so dilligently guarded the condensation therein) finally relented to the swelling pressure, and the rain began it's descent. Coming in waves as we drive the convoluted streets into the town of Camogli (that's pronounced ca-MO-yee, with maybe the faintest hint of and 'L' between the "MO" and the "yee"), the rain finally lets up and becomes a drizzle as I execute the finest parallel parking job in history, coming within inches of the rough stone wall on the narrow winding road down into town. This is, of course, after driving down into the town once, not finding parking (or even being sure that we were in the right place), driving out of the town, looking at the crude map of Camogli given by the hotel, firing up the GPS, inputting an intersection as the destination, and following the GPS back to where we were.

Of course, this finely executed parking job was a bit too far from town. Sooooo, we get back in the car, drive to some free parking lots and find our first SUV-like vehicle mostly parked in it's space, but not enough to allow us to park in the only remaining space in the two free lots. I'm not ready to give in to the pay-lot yet, so we start heading back to our original spot on the hill and find one a bit closer. After deftly parking yet again, we head into the soggy (but currently drying) town.

We start into the quaint, quiet town down a tall and narrow street. Not much happening here other than the occasional puddle. We decide to take a long steep staircase down toward the sea. As we enter the sea-front road and begin to pass some shops, nature decides to oblige our unconcious desire for more water and the clouds begin to relieve themselves. On us. A lot.

The beginning of Noah's flood is too much for us to bear anylonger (especially with no umbrella), and we duck under the closest shop awning. Hey look! It's a gelateria! I resist, but Nancy gives in. We sit on a bench outside the gelateria, Nancy licking away at her single scoop on a cone, for several minutes. Through the deluge, we watch as people walk by covered by blankets, towels and (occasionally) an unbrella. Apparently we're not the only ones unprepared.

Deciding that we can't sit there and eat gelato all day in the rain, much as we may like to, we make a dash in the rain to the next awning. Hey look! It's a bar! Nancy resists, but I give in. Well, on second thought Nancy has a beer too. We get our drinks and some procciutto and a basket of semi-edible bread. The proprietor turns on some music on a DJ rig and Santana begins to fill the air in a hip-hop remix. Not bad... but the bread leaves us wanting. Finishing out drinks, we press on into what is now a drizzle.

Without the pressure of trying to stay dry, we hit a few shops (read: Nancy hits a few shops as I tag along). Knick-knack here, scarf there we go through pretty much everything the seaside has to offer. Looking at the time, we start thinking about dinner. A strange closet of a restaurant catches our eye, mostly because it's lit up with red and dim lights internally, but it's closed and to prove that there is no one to take our reservation, we knock on the door and get no reply.

Deciding to take one of the shop keeper's bits of advice, we plan to go to one of the restaurants on the seafront at either end of the street. We're looking for a bit of seafood. None of the places is open yet, so we decide to explore the next tier of Camogli. We stumble across a wine bar across from a bar that is oozing a smooth bassline onto the street. With nothing to stop us between now and dinner, we elect to step in for a drink. The bassist/owner informs us that he's not open yet, but there will be live jazz and drinking later that evening. We decide to try our luck with the wine bar instead.

Success! As we sit down at one of the tables halfway into La Cantina Della Bossa, the Julio Iglesias look-alike owner gives us the wine menu. The place is nicely decorated, perfectly lit and some Ibiza-like chill music is playing in the air. We fit. Taking a look at the menu, we decide on some local wines that don't disappoint. Well.... does this smell corked to you? Nancy's not sure, but I'm usually pretty good at picking up the TCA in a wine. I take the wine up to Julio and say, "E posso il vino e cappo." A dubious look. Which wine was it? Eh... I don't know I wasn't paying attention that closely, but I've got a 50/50 chance. It's this one. He pours a glass. Sniffs. "No! E fantastico!" I've guessed wrong. The entire time, he does not smell the glass that I've brought to him, but he pours me a new glass of il vino fantastico and pushes it across the bar dismissively. We've lost our Julio card.

A new face (possibly Julio's son) brings out some snacks for our wines. A tuna puree, olive tapenade, toasts. Then, fried mozzerella stuffed ravioli, fried zucchini blossom, meat stuffed fried olives, fried something else and something else fried. We order another round of drinks and inquire if they do dinner. They do and they start serving in 30 minutes. Great! We drink and wait and talk about the day as the 30 minutes passes into oblivion.

Enrique comes back to take our dinner order and does his best to explain what some of the handwritten menu is. We order a type of pasta called trofie with pesto (a specialty of the area) and gnocchi dish with polpi (which we learned was octopus). Both are excellent and the pesto is the greenest and smoothest that we've ever seen. A little red haired nonna (and I mean red hair) sits down next to us and orders her usual: two deep fried ravioli with mozzerella (these are much bigger than the snack version) and a glass of red wine. Her english is very good and she recommends that we not own a house and that we travel a lot. She finishes the night with a grappa and wishes us well. We do the same and order a plate of her ravioli.

Finished with dinner, we head across the way to the bar with the bassist. We order a couple of pints (well... half a litre each) and pick a table close to were the action will be. As we listen to the trio crank out standards on their sax, guitar and bass, we pick up a Scrabble set and begin to play as we drink. We do our best to play in Italian, but despite the excess of certain letters for the language, I am unable to get the right combo for words that I know. Nancy eeks out "duomo" across the board with a smile, and I continue to pull unfavorable letters and drink.

Eventually we head back to the hotel and I use the bidet the only way I know how: to do laundry. Our 6 days of socks and underwear fully washed and rinsed, I hang them to dry on multiple surfaces to dry. Exhausted from the labor (and possibly overeating and drinking) I join Nancy in bed and crash.

It's dark, and we start our winding way through the town of Sinio, away from the castle to our dining destination: Nonna Genia. According to Nicola, this is the opposite of the previous night's dinner. Whereas Bovio was about €60 per person for antipasti, primi & secondi plus dessert, Nonna Genia should be about €25 per person for everything on the menu. It turns out that Nicola was right...

After letting the GPS take us to the right place (although I refused to follow the directions that would have taken us through a vineyard), we arrive 10-15 minutes later. It's in the middle of nowhere. For all I know, I should have followed the GPS blindly, as it looks like were are in the middle of a vineyard with a road running through it. There is no official parking lot that we can discern, but there is someone guiding cars to parking spots as though there was. We are pointed in the direction leading away from the establishment and toward the side of the road. I am now parked in a vineyard. On an angle In knee-high weeds and grass. If this is any indication of the milieu, we're definitely in for some mom & pop culinary action.

We enter the large wooden building on the side of the road. The only building for miles kilometers, as far as I can tell. There are two huge parties in the main seating area. The two groups comprised of about 20 people each never actually stop talking or enjoying their time together as they regard the two Americans, with antennae sticking out of their heads, invading their space. We're seated in the next room over, still within earshot and sight of one of the groups, at a small table in what appears to be the old kitchen of a farmhouse. The wood-fired oven is still in the corner of this room (currently in disuse), and an old, crumpled blue couch looks like it will welcome us after we've over-eaten, as it has for generations before us.

After getting a pitcher of acqua con gas (sparkling water) that they seem to make themselves (meaning that they impart the CO₂ to the water, not that they have tanks of hydrogen and oxygen in the back and somehow fuse them together to make water), we order a bottle of barolo and trust that the fact that no menu is offered means that food will be coming automatically. Mmmmm auto-pilot...

After the wine is opened and we approve, we are served two trifectas of antipasti comprised of (among other things) salad, carpaccio, fried egg with picked something, and polenta squares (we think). As if this weren't enough to appetize us, there is a basket of bread and breadsticks to keep us company. At some point in the dinner, possibly the point at which over half of the bottle of wine is gone, my hand falls haphazardly near the breadsticks and decapitates the lot of them in one fell swoop, their heads tumbling to the ground to join their long since fallen comrades: opps-my-meatball and may-I-have-another-fork-please.

The antipasti are followed by two primi, both pasta dishes. The first is a wedge-shaped tortellini stuffed with veal and herbs, accompanied by no sauce, just a little parmesan. The second is a taglietelli with a bolognese sauce. Both the pastas are freshly made and excellent. Everything is served family style, where the family actually brings the casserole dish full of the pasta to your table and continues scooping until you say "when". The two antipasti were a clue as to how things operate here, so we knew not to accept too much pasta. More was definitely coming.

The main courses (secondi) showed up "family style" again. First, a roast of sorts. Slices beef covered in a sauce accompanied by creamy polenta. The second secondi was rabbit wrapped in prosciutto (also in a sauce) with carrots on the side. We hadn't had much vegetables at this point in the trip (or so it felt), so I asked for a couple extra spoonfuls. Honestly, both of the meats were actually a bit of a let-down, especially when compared to everything else thus far. Their texture was a bit tough and dry as though overcooked. On the other hand, both of the accompanying dishes were fantastic. The polenta was very creamy but not entirely smooth, offering a bit of texture to avoid being tactilely bland. The carrots, I felt, were the best I'd ever eaten. Despite having been cooked long enough to make them soft, they somehow have managed to retain their raw carroty flavor. I almost ask them to bring more of them, but dessert will be coming shortly and I must save what precious little room remains. Somewhere in the middle of this course, Nancy posits that perhaps we are not supposed to finish each course. I shrug off the suggestion, and I believe that it is at this point where I execute the breadsticks with ninja-like precision. I am clearly an ambassador of my country.

After clearing the table, dessert is brought out. We have the foresight to request only one dessert to share, since we are both so full already. However, they still get the better of us. I'm not exactly sure how to say "dessert sampler" in Italian, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was "dolce miste". The dessert is actually 6 desserts in one! Comprised of pannecotta, pear cake, hazelnut torte with some sort of eggy sauce, two other bits of something and in the middle... chocolate "salumi". In the taste test, I believe that the pear cake came out on top for me.

After paying the bill, our wine bottle is adorned with a funnel, and the wine is poured from the decanter back into the bottle. We are not given a brown paper bag for it. Cheapskates! Stuffed, we roll ourselves back to the car and follow the GPS religiously back to the castle. It seems to not favor the cross-vineyard route for the return trip.

We get back and try to catch up on our blogging, but it's 5 days into the trip now and I'm already a third of the way through my moleskine. Catching up while not miserably stuffed and mildly intoxicated would be difficult. In my current condition, I defer to Nancy. And finish the rest of the wine. Everyone in the castle has gone to sleep, and Nancy wants some tea to help her stomach. Pressed to find hot water, I spy the espresso machine behind the bar. I turn the only knob that logically won't produce a caffeinated beverage or steam and.... yay! I didn't break it... and I have a glass of hot water. I'm a hero. A drunken hero.

A barking dog greets us as we approach the door. The ristorante overlooks the valley, but at 8:30pm it's too dark to appreciate the view anymore. We are seated (after successfully confirming our reservations online in Italian (woo hoo!)) at the table with our place card which reads:

Well... I guess that sets the staff's expectations of us fairly low. Nowhere to go but up, now!

We order antipasti and main courses. An amuse is sent out from the kitchen: breaded and fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with veal and herbs. Lovely. We order a bottle recommended by Nicola (a Barbera d'Alba) and it's great (of course).

Nancy's quail with its uovi looks and tastes great and my tartare of veal is wonderfully light and clean tasting. Both dishes are topped with shaved truffles. Neither dish stands a chance. When our next course arrives, my veal filet comes wrapped up as a gift in cellophane and ribbon. Nancy's taglietelli with white truffles shows up as just pasta with a little butter, but having observed it several times in the restaurant already, we know what's coming. The head waiter comes over with the white truffle and starts shaving. With every slice, I can hear the cash register bell ringing *ka-ching! ka-ching!* After about 45 slices, the dish is probably worth the €35 we paid for it. Both dishes are delicious.

With that course conquered, the desserts are offered and, despite achieving satiety, Nancy orders the pannecotta and the semifreddo. I get the tortello di nocciolo (hazelnut torte). Nancy eats half of hers, and I all of mine. An espresso and cappuccino finish off the meal.

Molto bene.

Our first meal in Italy. I don't know what it is about the menu, but something is throwing me off. I feel like there are too many pages for what is being offered. Another problem... wines by the glass are not shown on the menu (something that I'm really not used to). Nancy directly handles the issue of BTG wines by asking (God bless her). She gets the house red ( a Barbera d'Asti) and I get the Dolceto d'Asti.

We order the risotto al funghi for our main course, and order appetisers as well. Nancy, a sautéed gnocchi with pancetta and some greens (arugula?) and I get the Tartare di Tonno. All dishes are preceeded by an aparatif (passion fruit and blood orange juice with grappa on the rocks) and an amuse of sorts (a diagonal half of wheat bread topped with chees and salumi, served with strawberry jam and dried oregano on the side). The first, delicious and palate-whetting and the second, odd but yummy.

The appetizers arrive. The gnocchi looks good , and smells better. It tastes good, but I've had better sautéed gnocchi in Sonoma county at Monti's. The flavor is pure, however, and the pancetta is welcome and the greens refreshing.

The tartare di tonno (tuna tartare) is a different matter. It looks great and tastes great. As you would guess, the tuna is fresh tasting and tender. It's served in the trendy cylindrical format, but it is topped with three types of sprouts (onion, frisée and bulls blood beet) There's a nice decorations drawn with molasses in one quadrant of the plate, and I'm instructed to pour a liquid served on a side dish over the top. The liquid remids me of tea with honey in it. Honey is the only ingredient that I can readily identify, but Nancy seams to think that some sort of vinegar was involved. The taste of everythings was wonderful. Clean, refreshing and reasonably light.

Nancy was full by the timeour main course arrived, but she still managed to make the large circle of risotto into a Pac-Man by eating a quarter of it. The risotto was full of mushrooms (porcini?) and perfectly al dente (not a hint of uncooked centers of the grains anywhere). It had the perfect amount of sauciness to it, and the flavor was great. However, that didn't stop Nancy from telling the Italian couple next to us (Anna and Maximo) that my mushroom risotto was better (much to my simultaneous pleasure and chagrin).

With Nancy stuffed and me with a quarter of my dish left (also stuffed), we skipped dessert. I did order an espresso, however.

I'd been waiting to try coffee in Italy since we started planning this trip about a year ago. Perhaps I was expecting too much, but it didn't live up to the hype. It smelled stong (expected), but it was thick (unexpected). It was stong, amost hars, and had an ok finish. It wasn't like the espress o that Nancyàs sister brought back from Rome (which had a wonderful nose, stong flavor and was slightly acidic, resulting in a teriffically clean finish). I'll be conducting more research in this area over the next two weeks.