Some of you will notice that I’m a day late with my posting; none of you will care. But I find that when I go off to do “research” as I did this past weekend, it’s hard for me to get the new posting done on Monday. So, from now on, Tuesdays will be new blog posting days.

Last weekend was Valentine’s weekend, and Dennis and I decided to head to the romantic town of Cortona for an overnighter. This is the town where “Under the Tuscan Sun” was filmed, and near the place where the author of the book renovated her villa. As a result, this is a touristy town, and we noticed more Americans than we’d seen in any other town we’ve visited to date.

We dropped our things in the little apartment we had rented for the night which was right off the main piazza, and headed out to explore the town. As usual with Italy’s hill towns, one of your best bets is just to head “up”. One of the first sights we discovered was a beautiful church dedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. It is the second largest church dedicated to him outside of Assisi. This church had some beautiful frescoes whose photos I have included, and lots of renovation was going on to restore them.

As we continued our trek steadily upward, we caught sight of beautiful views of the valley below. The day was cold, clear and crisp with the smell of wood fires in the air. The higher up we went, the fewer tourists there were and we began to catch glimpses of everyday life in an Italian hill town. There was the apron wearing woman on the street talking to her neighbor who was hanging out of a window above (They were discussing a soup recipe). There was laundry hanging on a line in the sunshine three stories up. There was the fattest cat we’ve ever seen majestically guarding a doorstep, and an old man walking his sweater clad little dog.

We were out of the commercial area of the town and into the residential. As we walked along, stopping in old churches, we peeked into backyard gardens. Though it’s still very cold here (colder than it normally is), winter gardens are in full swing. Here in Italy, they are very fond of various greens that are less commonly used in the States. Almost every house had a well-tended garden with beautiful rows of chicory, chard, broccoleti, spinach and other unidentifiable greens. (Read today’s recipe column for a great chard recipe.)

By the time we headed back down hill in the late afternoon, we began to hear drums as we approached our apartment. It seems we were just in time for a procession of medieval pageantry! First came the buglers, followed by the drummers. Next were the flag bearers, and last of all the procession of royalty and crossbowmen. These were townspeople of course dressed in replicas of medieval costumes. When the procession arrived at the main piazza, the flag bearers gave a show as the royalty looked on in appreciation. After about half an hour, the procession reorganized itself and marched away. What a treat!

Speaking of treats, as usual, the weekend was full of culinary wonders as well. For lunch we went to an enoteca and treated ourselves to a lovely glass of red wine each. I had a bowl of ribolitta which is a very old peasant recipe for a soup. Back in the day, it was a way to use up veggies that were getting old as well as stale bread. It’s really more like a stew as it is so thick with beans, vegetables and swollen bread chunks. It’s quite hearty and very filling. Dennis had a platter of bruschetta; lovely hunks of grilled bread covered in melted cheese and cherry tomatoes with fresh basil and of course, drizzled in olive oil. We also shared a beautiful ball of buffalo milk mozzarella. Each bite made me close my eyes, murmur an “ahh”, and savor its soft, salty milkiness.

For the first time, our lack of making reservations ahead stopped us from eating in the best of Cortona’s restaurants for dinner on this Valentine weekend. We had to settle for a lesser trattoria, but the meal was wonderful nonetheless. Dennis indulged in a gigantic plate of grilled steak smothered in porcini mushrooms, and my bowl of spaghetti with a tomatoey duck meat sauce was quite yummy.

The next morning, we headed out of the apartment to find a cappuccino, and lo and behold in the piazza where last night there had been medieval pageantry, now stood about 10 white booth/tents. When did this happen? And guess what was in these booths?! CHOCOLATE! Yes, we had stumbled upon a Valentine’s Weekend Chocolate Festival! Oh, the sampling! One woman was selling the most delicious cake. It was so incredibly moist, and almondy, fruity and chocolatey all at the same time. Unfortunately, Dennis was headed out of town for the week. If I bought this cake, I would have to eat it ALL by myself. I refrained…..and now I regret it. Can’t stop thinking about it. We did not refrain however from purchasing a slab of dark chocolate studded with hazelnuts for Dennis and dark chocolate covered candied orange peels for me. And for both of us, the most intriguing, delicious, velvety smooth bottle of chocolate liqueur with hot red peppers. Spicy!

Two nights in Montefalco:

Now that I have discovered red wine, Dennis and I spend a fair amount of time hanging out in wine shops, of which there are many here in Rome. After discovering Sagrantino in Todi, we realized that many of the wines we love come from Montefalco. And it dawned on us that rather than continuing to pay more money for these wines in Rome, we should just go to the town of Montefalco and hope to find some bargains.

So, just prior to our trip home for Christmas, we took a train to Montefalco. Weather-wise, it was not the best of weekends. We’re talking torrential rains. The bus from the train station let us off just outside the city walls, but the rain had let up, so on a dark Friday evening we passed through the city gates and climbed to the piazza at the top of the town. As usual, there are not many hotel choices right in the ancient city, but we found an empty one, with nice rooms, that included a little breakfast.

The town appeared nearly deserted when we arrived, whether due to the weather, the time of year, the economy, who knew? All the shopkeepers came alive as we passed by. Customers! But at that point, we were only in the market for dinner. After settling into our room, we scouted the area for restaurants and settled on one where you had to walk through a shop selling artisanal products before heading downstairs to the actual restaurant. So this is where all the people are! The restaurant was quite full, but we were able to secure a table for two.

We are in carnivorous mode. I decided after previous experiences that the next time I had the opportunity to eat a steak with black truffle sauce; I was going to order my own and not share. It’s on the menu! I’m ecstatic and my decision is made very quickly. Dennis decides to have wild boar stew. We order a half bottle of Sagrantino from a vineyard called Còlpetrone. My steak is tender, juicy, and oh so delicious, I can barely stand to give Dennis a bite. But I do, in exchange for a bite of wild boar, which is truly phenomenal. All I can think is, “the boys would love this meal”. The wine is perfect, and we take a picture of the label.

The following day brings sightseeing, shopping, and dodging rain showers. It doesn’t take long to walk around the town. We find lots of wine shops and eventually pick one for a longer look see. The woman is a great salesperson. She opens fresh bottles for us to try, serving bread in between tastes. We leave the store with eight bottles! We find a museum where we learn that it has only been in recent years (the last 30) that the area vintners have been making dry wine from Sagrantino grapes. Prior to this, for hundreds of years, the local monks made sweet Passito wine from the same grapes. Underground, below the museum we find the remains of an ancient church whose walls are still holding beautiful frescoes. It’s here that we wait out a monstrous thunderstorm. Between flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, we view frescoes of tortuous exorcisms and beatific monks. The area is known for its weaving as well as its wine. We find a shop selling beautiful linens and invest in a fabulous tablecloth in shades of green trimmed with olives as a memento of our time in Italy. We buy ceramics for Christmas gifts (and for me). We share a fabulous pizza for lunch (with a less than fabulous house wine) before discovering another church. On display are the mummified skeletal remains of the old keeper of the church keys in the same position in which he was found dead outside the doors of the church long ago. Amazing.

After an afternoon siesta; a requirement of living in Italy, and more shopping, we search for a dinner restaurant. The weather is so uncooperative that we choose the enoteca that is right next to the hotel. What a fabulous choice! We arrive a little early and of course don’t have a reservation. After discussion, they think they can squeeze us in. We laugh to ourselves because the place is empty, but by the time we leave, every table is full, and joyous customers are partaking of the owner’s wonderful offerings.

We each choose something from the menu and we ask the owner to pick out a nice Sagrantino that we can order by the glass. He is thrilled to be asked to choose, picks out a nice bottle, pours us each a glass, and sets the bottle aside at the bar. Before our dinner arrives, he brings out a huge flat pan. “This has just come out of the oven. It’s hot, please don’t touch. It’s so beautiful, I must show it to you.” He leans over to show us a huge focaccia bread studded with cherry tomatoes, sprinkled with herbs and glistening with olive oil. We ooh and aah over it, and soon a plate loaded with small squares of it arrives at the table, “on the house”. He sees us eyeing a leg of prosciutto at the bar, and comes over to explain that it is the best ham from Spain and we really should consider ordering it for an appetizer. We do. We’re making him very happy.

To be honest, I can’t remember what our main course was for dinner. Maybe it’s because for the first time ever, Dennis and I finished a whole bottle of wine over the course of one dinner. But after dinner…..out came a bowl of roasted chestnuts, hot from the fire, “on the house”. And after the chestnuts, came a bowl of cold mandarin oranges that were so sweet and juicy, “on the house”. And when we ordered our after dinner coffees, out came a plate of miniature cookies made on the premises filled with almonds and dried fruits. Last, but not least, we ordered one glass of Passito, the sweet Sagrantino wine to share for dessert. Normally, passito comes in a small aperitif glass; this huge portion came in a giant red wine glass, and was like nectar of the Gods. It was so heavenly; we decide to buy a bottle to take home. As we wait for our bill, I glance at my watch. Three hours has gone by! Now that’s a dinner to remember.

Driving in India

Happy New Year to all my blog readers! My wish is for good health and good food for all. I’ve taken quite the hiatus from my blog due to being in Beaverton for one month over the holidays. When we returned to Rome mid January, we were barely there a week when we had to hit the road again, this time to Dubai and India. So, though my blog is entitled IreneinRome….I am actually in India at the moment, and I’ve decided to write a bit about India and hope that you will find it interesting as well.

Dubai was vaguely interesting. Yes, there are modern architectural wonders, but really it is like being in Las Vegas; fancy hotels, lots of shopping, but no gambling. The downturn in the economy has certainly affected Dubai, and its’ gajillions of construction cranes seemed to be stopped mid-project. I was able to have coffee on the 27^th floor of the 7-star hotel that is shaped like a sail. There was a stunning sunset view, but unfortunately, it cost me US$25.00 for two cappuccinos. Enough said about Dubai.

On to India which is always interesting to me. There may be parts of India that are supremely dirty, have huge issues with the disparity between the rich and poor, and bear many problems with their infrastructure, but it is always fascinating to me. The people are so kind and sincere, the food is phenomenal, and the cultural differences never cease to amaze me.

Driving in India is an adventure to say the least. No, I am not driving here, and neither is Dennis. The company provides a driver, for which we are most grateful. Without the skills of a native (I was going to say “professional” but changed my mind to “native”.) driver, we would have been road pancakes long ago. Carston and Drew have experienced driving in India and can attest to the excitement/danger of it. We had to go visit Dennis’ hydro dam project which is in the middle of nowhere in a place called Maheshwar. Our flight from Delhi arrived to the nearest big city, Indore (yes, you can start humming the theme from Star Wars now…I always do.) at night, so we had to make the two and a half hour drive to go a mere 70 miles, on treacherous roads late at night.

The car shares the road with a much wider variety of modes of transportation than a car in the US. We are dodging not only other cars, but cows pulling carts, plain old cows just wandering around, bicycles, motorcycles and much more. Stray dogs must be honked out of the way, many of them hobbling on three legs as they’ve already had run-ins with cars and know better a little too late. There’s the occasional elephant coming home from work, or camel tugging a heavy load which really causes traffic to slow.

Seatbelts, and indeed seats in general are not mandatory here. Many three-wheeled “taxis” meant to hold two passengers regularly carry six. The driver can up the fare a bit for more passengers, and the passengers can then share the fare making it cheaper for them. Small SUV type vehicles are popular here and I think when the boys were visiting last year, we counted 11 people in one…..or was it 15? Regardless, you get the picture. Not only are 6 people squished into the space 3 should occupy, but the back door is hanging open and people are hanging on by their fingernails.

Unfortunately, nighttime means truck time, and the roads are simply full of them. They drive with their brights on, and I have to close my eyes as they approach. I can only hope my driver is not doing the same. Motorcycles regularly carry families of four. It seems a sedan is not needed until you bear your third child. Women ride side saddle only, colorful saris blowing behind them. The youngest child is clutched by the mom and sandwiched between her and the husband driver. The oldest child gets to ride atop the gas tank in front of the father. No helmets of course, except sometimes for the dad. Sigh.

Indian drivers drive with their horn. As they approach a vehicle they want to pass, (and they want to pass everyone and everything) they lay on the horn to warn the car ahead of their intent. They lay on the horn if any person approaches the side of the road. Considering we are screaming through tiny villages at the equivalent of 55 mph in a spot that would be 25mph in the US, I guess this is a nice courtesy. They lay on the horn to warn off bicycles that of course have no lights, and also to ward off the familial motorcycles. They needlessly lay on the horn as they approach a cow. Cows move of their own accord. Horns mean nothing to a cow. After awhile, a person could go insane and be driven to violence listening to this horn. It’s not as though you want to reach through the drivers’ mouth and back out through his belly button and grab the horn from the steering column and pull it back out through his body or anything like that…….but almost.

Lines mean nothing to the Indian driver. I’m not sure why they bother to paint them. I guess it gives someone a job. The road we are on is pretty much two lane, so all passing must be done against oncoming traffic. Drivers on both sides constantly drive off the road onto the shoulder dirt (versus the actual road dirt) to avoid each other. When we came to a railroad crossing with its’ barrier down, an amazing thing happened. All the drivers on our side of the barrier took over all lanes on both sides of the road trying to be the first one through when the barrier went up. Unfortunately, all the drivers on the opposite side of the barrier did the same thing. Guess what happened when the barrier went up? Nothing! Because no one could go anywhere! It took a while to untangle that Gordian knot. And they all blew their horns at each other while trying to maneuver as if that would help! Dennis and I just roll our eyes. This is why though we sometimes scream along at 80mph; it takes us 2 ½ hours to go a mere 70 miles. That and getting stuck behind a cow, camel or elephant.

We only had 3 near misses. One was versus husband and wife on a motorcycle. When I saw their headlight dead center oncoming, I threw my jacket over my head and held on. The screech of tires matched my little scream, but somehow, somehow, that motorcycle managed to remain upright. We did not hit it, and the sari wearing, side saddle riding woman on the back stayed on. Amazing.