Rapallo, Rabbit, and the Sun · May 7, 10:19 AM by James Martin
Finally, there was sun.
So we hightailed it to Rapallo, took the funicular, and found ourselves in the clouds.
But by the time we’d walked the stations of the cross behind the Santuario Basilica Nostra Signora di Montallegro (1559) it had cleared enough to take pictures of the Golfo del Tigullio from our perch outside the Casa del Peligrino where, under the spotty shade of freshly pruned linden trees, we decided to celebrate the lack of rain with a Prosecco.
We were lazy and didn’t want to walk anymore before lunch, so we asked to look at the menu. It had coniglio, rabbit done in the Ligurian style with olives. It was a done deal. We ordered a pitcher of crisp white, a few salads, rabbit, a swordfish (also with olives) and whiled away the afternoon.
Then we headed back to town and tried for a decent gelato. We were too early. “Estate” they said. Summer. Bummer.
In any case, a trip up the mountain on the funicular to have lunch on the terrace isn’t a bad way to spend a sunny day on your Italian vacation. If you want to know more, check out our Rapallo Video. The tram ride is quite dramatic.
Rapallo, Rabbit, and the Sun originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com May 07, 2012, © James Martin, 
Italy Travel Toolbox
- All About Italy Rail Passes
- How to Ride Italian Trains (video)
- Italy Maps
- Italy Cities Climate and Weather
- Italy Autostrada Map
- Cinque Terre Hiking Map
A Rombo You Can Stomach · Apr 7, 04:27 AM by James Martin
Language is a funny thing. Here in Italy, for example, a Rombo is a fish. God has made the Rombo in just the right shape to fit a platter of the type Italians use to serve fish on. Imagine.
However, in the US a Rombo is quite a different thing. If you are there partaking of the great American pastime of sitting and watching the television, you are likely to be subject to a great many advertisements. This time of year you will be rewarded with political advertisements—a bonus! One of the politicians has made an ad called “Rombo.” It is not about a fish. It is, evidently, about a man who has committed the egregious crime of actually doing something to reform health care in the United States, which we all know is perfect and the best in the world. (After all, we wouldn’t want to have a bad health care system which makes us live two years longer like you Italians. We couldn’t afford the health care if we lived so long!)
Anyway, here’s an Italian Rombo. It is not a television commercial:
A Rombo You Can Stomach originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Apr 07, 2012, © James Martin,
Touristic Trains in Italy · Apr 3, 01:45 AM by James Martin
Got a bit of nostalgia for some slow travel on restored steam engine driven trains? Want to eat on a tram? Well, there are a few programs for you.
Ferrovie Turistiche Italiane – FIT – operates out of the Val di Orcia and Lombardi. Watch their home page for the latest trips, often scheduled for Italian holidays and in peak tourist times in Summer. FIT operates the following trains:
- Treno Blu (Lombardy, Lago Iseo)
- Ferrovia Val d’Orchia (Tuscany)
- Ferrovia Turistica Camuna (Lombardy—Brescia-Iseo-Edolo, 103km)
Green Train Sardinia – Trenino Verde – is how to see Sardinia like D. H. Lawrence did, according to Italy Chronicles. The routes are found on the Sardinia Rail Map at Wandering Sardinia
Torino’s Servizi Turistici GTT offers special dinners on trams and tourist boats. Cena in Movemento or “dinner while in motion” provides special dinners on the “Gustotram” and the “Ristocolor” as well as on the boats Valentina II e Valentino II that ply the Po river.
I hope this give you a little idea of some special (and legal) things you can do on trains, trams, and boats on your vacation.
Touristic Trains in Italy originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Apr 03, 2012, © James Martin,
Popular These Days
Cima alla Genovese · Apr 2, 05:54 AM by James Martin
There are just some things that you arbitrarily find to be what people call comfort food—you know what I’m sayin’? Perhaps it is that traditional Genovese dish called Cima, a stuffed veal breast that’s oh so good. In my mind Cima alla Genovese is a fine example of cucina povera, too, but different from the simplicity of many Italian dishes. It’s got lots of ingredients. Ingredients that can surprise you.
But first a picture of Cima alla Genovese
The surprising part: There are some things in there that come from the basic innards of the animal you don’t often see chopped up into food. I know this because I happened to consult Kyle Phillips, my go-to guy when it comes to the cuisine. He has a Cima recipe of course. The third item on the rather long list of ingredients sorta floored me.
1/4 pound (100 g) cow’s udder
Hmm. This would scare some folks away. They are folks I never understand. You know, folks who look back at what they’ve eaten and point to the dish they’ve cleaned with that scarpetta, the little shoe of bread, and can’t help exclaiming, “What’s in this? It’s the most fabulous thing I’ve ever wrapped my tongue around. I’m going to make this for sure. Gimme the recipe, dammit. I gotta have it. This dish is gonna be on my special Christmas menu, I can tell you that!”
And then you tell them that Cima alle Genovese contains, among other things, exactly 1/4 of a cow’s udder.
That’s when you see them shrink away, like when that rubber fantasy lady (or man) you have in the closet (and use in an emergency) springs a leak (I mean an air leak of course).
In any case, they’ll be left gasping for air after you tell them the next ingredient: half a calf’s brain. By the time you get to the testicle you’ve lost them. They may need artificial respiration.
(On the other hand, the recipe can be used to teach your gourmet-inclined children about fractions. Just a thought.)
Just in case you still have a fondness in your sweetbreads (yeah, it’s got that, too, and so do you), you can find this fine specimen at Osteria da Vittorio in Chiavari. The whole plate with the vegetables and all will cost you a mere 6 euro. Yes, you should do the whole tour of Chiavari I’ve outlined in Hidden Liguria: Chiavari
You don’t have to worry about coming to my house and having Cima alla Genovese forced into you because I don’t even know the words for “cow udder” in Italian, nor have I ever seen a quarter of one stuffed in a Styrofoam tray over at the Conad Market. So you’re safe. Really.
Cima alla Genovese originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Apr 02, 2012, © James Martin,
The Lardo Tales: Part 1 · Mar 20, 01:05 PM by James Martin
I love to write about Lardo. Mostly because it’s something my fellow American’s can’t seem to stomach. And I, being a contrarian, can’t seem to stomach the American propensity for wretching over the concept of a thin sliver of the spiced and cured backfat of a pig laid gently over a slice of grilled bread—who then moments later bellyache over the fact that Italians don’t serve butter with the bread that comes to the table.
In any case, I’ve made it my duty to study this delectable victual. So when super-guide Serena Giovannoni invited us to tour the lardo works of Al Lardo, Al Lardo in Colonnata, I jumped at the chance (well, as high as an old fat man can jump that is).
After we had awakened the owner from his mid-day slumber he walked us to his laboratory, wrenched open the door and walked over to this huge conca, or marble vat. He opened the lid. “This, he explained, is lardo that’s been aged over six months and is just about ready to package.” I remembered that he eyed us suspiciously, looking for signs of a reaction. I asked him about the liquid on top. It was a brine solution, liquid that had been drawn out of the backfat by the copious amounts of salt that had been used to cure it—and the spices, including fresh rosemary and garlic, were floating in it as you can see in the picture (click to see it larger).
Then he continued on with his tour, always eying me suspiciously as if I was about to make off with one of his vats full of fat. We saw some lardo that had just been started on the curing cycle. We saw an old conca that was maybe 200 years old and was caked in the salt that the process and the humidity had drawn from the inside to the outside of the marble. It was impressive.
Then the tour was over.
We left through the little shop. Serena bought a package of guancale for pasta all’Amatriciana and I bought some lardo in a tub. While we’re waiting for him to ring us up the guy casually asks me where I’m from.
He’s surprised I’m from the United States. Really surprised.
“You’re one of the few Americans who didn’t run when I opened that first vat,” he said.
Yes, he estimates more than 90% of Americans scapare when they see the curing brine. No other nationality can even come close to that figure. I mean really folks, it’s salt water. It’s like the Med only garlicky and murky. And you swim in that.
I don’t understand the squeamishness of Americans. Pink slime in our burgers? No problem. Brine? Lemme outta here!
What’s up with that?
The Lardo Tales: Part 1 originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Mar 20, 2012, © James Martin,
You Gotta Love DuVine Bike Adventures · Mar 18, 12:48 AM by James Martin
You know what I’m sick of? Cheap. The very word nauseates me.
That said, I will tell you how to write a blog that will make you immeasurably rich. Here’s the tip: Write incessantly about cheap. You know, spin stuff like “The Ten Cheapest Crap Pizza-By-The-Slice Hell-Holes in Rome Where You Can Save Several Euros On Your Roman Vacation!” People eat that sorta thing up. Do it over and over. It’s what passes for travel journalism on the web.
The problem is, it doesn’t add up. You spend $1200 on your flight. You spend 100 euro on your “cheap” hotel room every night. Then you torture your digestive track by making it try to digest crap food because it’ll save 2 euro.
And of course being a “free” market, the demand for cheap crap food encourages others to use short cuts in creating this junk and thus it proliferates. Ick.
Let’s stop that right now. Let’s talk about….no, let’s shout about:
Value!
Here’s a new mantra for you. Value, not cheapness! Say it until is sticks in your brain.
Ok, now imagine this:
On DuVine bike tours in Italy we make a great point of introducing our guests to this most-Italian obsession with quality. Our favorite Tuscan winemaker, Vittorio Innocenti, produces a Vin Santo so sublime that his town, Montefollonico, is now referred to as the Borgo del Vin Santo (Vin Santo-Ville). But despite all the accolades, he has never tried to capitalize on his renown and continues to sell his Vin Santo at cost. When asked why he doesn’t try to profit from his top wine, he shrugs and says that he enjoys carrying on the tradition of Vin Santo production and the quality of the product is its own reward.
So it turns out that DuVine bought some nifty, light, carbon fiber bikes from an artisanal frame-maker in Florence. Who does that kinda thing? It’s like throwing away your money. Just give the people some badly screwed together bikes made by Chinese political prisoners, will ya? I mean, think of the profit!. But no:
Not only did Renzo offer us a great deal on his newest carbon frames, but he represents everything that I love about Italy. He was generous with his time, patiently working with us as we customized the paint job and each component while seemingly unconcerned about the profitability of our order. I’m sure the end result will delight DuVine guests for years to come. ~ DuVine Gets New Carbon Road Bikes in Italy
Whoa, baby! It’s a new dawn! Somebody thinks about value.
I’m telling you: you wanna start a revolution? Take a DuVine bike tour. Vote value. Craftsmanship. Employment for passionate and talented people who do hard work on things people value, the kind of people who don’t get rich make gambling instruments out of people’s mortgages. The kind of business that doesn’t have a CEO making 20 million a year screwing up so he can get his 100 million golden parachute (how much value do you think that adds to the product?).
We can turn this thing around. Really, it’s as easy as gliding through a downhill bend in your 17.5 pound, hand-built bicycle and seeing a Tuscan hill town shrouded in fog and thinking, “dammit, this is what a good life is all about!”
Just do it: DuVine Adventures
[Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with DuVine Bike Tours. I haven’t taken one. I do not profit from you clicking that link. I just read the blog post and became immediately convinced of the value these guys offer.]
You Gotta Love DuVine Bike Adventures originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Mar 18, 2012, © James Martin,
Enzo Ferrari and his Museum in Modena · Feb 28, 04:58 PM by James Martin
Modena. It’s the epicenter of Motor Valley, La Motor Valley in, um, Italian.
In just a few days a new museum will open at the boyhood home of Enzo Ferrari. The pictures of the museum are almost bizarre, a building covered with a sensuously curvy roof looking for all the world like the type of louvered hood you might find on a Ferrari—in Modena yellow, a vibrant canary yellow. This in the historic center of Modena, mind you.
Here’s a News Report from Motor Valley, which has a picture: The Enzo Ferrari House Museum opens.
So you can mouse yourself over to our Modena map and guide to see Enzo’s museum mapped on a google map, along with climate information, hotel recommendations and other tourism info.
The museum has its opening set for the tenth of March, 2012. I’ll try to be there. Modena is a great city, ignored by tourists. Don’t all go there the same day.
The museum has a fine website in English: Museo Cassa Enzo Ferrari
Enzo Ferrari and his Museum in Modena originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Feb 28, 2012, © James Martin,
Soup, Italian Style · Jan 29, 06:14 PM by James Martin
I made this Italian soup the other day. It was made from stuff in our back yard. You see, Martha had planted arugula a few years ago. Arugula is a weed, so it’s spread itself all over the place. We used lots of it in the soup. We also have some scrawny potatoes sometimes, but used a couple from our local farmer. He doesn’t put all that poisonous crap in them that industrial potatoes have to add in order to keep the little buggers from forming “eyes” on their long journeys in trucks across the globe. We had some bread that was about to get used as a doorstop, it was that dried out—so we used that in the soup, too.
Now I’ve made it sound like we made a junk soup outta stuff lying around that the vermin hadn’t gotten to yet. That’s not entirely true. We sort of used a recipe from Marcella Hazan out of her fantastic cookbook called More Classic Italian Cooking. We use this cookbook a lot. Its been to Sardinia. Its spine is in worse shape than mine, and I’ve labored in little square holes in the ground as an archaeologist armed with a dental pick. You can see what’s left of the book in the picture below.
The soup we made is cucina povera at its best, this concoction of chopped potato, torn arugula and stale bread, all cooked in water. (Yes, water, no broth.) But the kicker is that great drizzle of olive oil you put on top of the soup as the bowl in front of you steams up your glasses. Even the poor had olive oil, mostly. They might have had to hit the social circuit, cut a bella figura, did somebody a few big favors, but they could get the oil, you betcha. And olive oil that’s made by someone with a satisfaction motive instead of a profit motive can bring a dish of such “found” ingredients alive. If you are stuck in America it’s likely you’ve never had decent olive oil from Italy.
You have to know someone. I don’t mean one of those corporate “persons” but a real human who makes olive oil from olives.
Anyway, I was thinking about this ingredient. I mean the soup is outrageously good, better by far than the sum of its profoundly ordinary parts. It seems to me that a lot of cucina povera is like that; there’s one simple ingredient that surprises you because you can’t quite figure out why the dish in front of you is so damned good.
Like real life, you can’t have strong arbitrary prejudices or hate surprises or you’ll end up like one of my dig directors, who swore each and every day that if she ever found a single sliver of anchovy in a dish I made for her she’d rip my testicles off and throw them over the fence to the dogs. One day I made her a pasta different from everyone else’s and she got curious—so much so that she dug a fork into my pasta and declared it “delicious,” demanding that I make her some pronto.
So I took some garlic, some oil, about three anchovies, a tablespoon of tomato paste, some parsley and some red pepper flakes and made her the sauce, tossing some spaghetti into it and giving it a flip or two. After presenting it to her she slurped it down, licked the plate clean…and then licked the pot clean.
“What’s in this?” she demanded.
“Well, if you must know…anchovies. Lots of anchovies. It’s the star of the dish,” I explained.
She began to retch. It was a sort of fake retching, which is less pleasant to watch than real retching.
“You, you, you’ve poisoned me,” she said, holding her throat.
Americans are funny people.
Another surprise ingredient Italians use in their simple cuisine are the little capers you find on plants that like to grow between rocks in southern Italy. One of the reasons you can’t get real Italian food at a joint like the Olive Garden is that American diners there found capers “too unexpected.”
What’s wrong with unexpected? TOO unexpected? What’s that?
Expect some unexpected ingredient when you encounter real Italian food. I know it sounds funny, but really, make eating a Zen experience. Just let the food happen. Don’t give me any of this, “it’s too unexpected” or “it’s too green” as Olive Garden diners speak of pesto.
Really. I’m warning you. A cook might do you some harm. Watch out especially if you have testicles and there are dogs nearby.
How can a food be “too green” anyway? I give up.
Here’s something to read: Olive Garden Struggles With Diners Afraid Of Capers, Pesto
AFRAID?
Soup, Italian Style originally appeared on WanderingItaly.com Jan 29, 2012, © James Martin,