$280 for a Pasta Dish in a Rome Restaurant? · Jul 2, 12:40 PM by James Martin
If you’ve followed me on twitter, you already know of a Japanese couple who were charged euro695 for a meal at an expensive and well-established restaurant in Rome.
Every once in a while you hear these kinds of stories about Italian restaurants. A waiter suggests something, a customer bites, and the charge is astronomical, a rip-off made possible because at no time was price mentioned. In this case, not only were the charges much higher than the published menu price but a “tip” was added to the bill (which should never be the case in Italy) so the restaurant was (temporarily) shut down.
The Japanese couple did the right thing. They went to the police. (I’m assuming they questioned the bill at the restaurant first).
I live in a rural area of Italy. People depend upon each other in the Lunigiana. Someone who would rip anyone off wouldn’t last long in these parts.
Thus, when I’m at home in the Lunigiana, I almost never consult a restaurant menu. Many restaurants don’t even have menus here. You get what the cook wants to cook, mostly dependent upon what’s fresh in the local markets. If you’re Italian restaurant savvy, you find out what’s fresh and good by yacking a while about the food with the waiter (See: Ordering Good Food in Italy).
I seldom spend more than Euro 25 for a meal—including wine in the Lunigiana. I certainly have never spend Euro 140 for a bottle of “Sauvignon”. Heck, I wouldn’t pay that for a case. I seldom ask for a price unless what’s offered seems rare and is likely to be expensive. I’ve never been ripped off under these conditions.
But big, tourist cities? Well, that’s another story.
So what advice to give travelers? First of all, you can get ripped off anywhere on earth, as you know. So, if you find yourself in unfamiliar territory it’s good to consult the waiter to find out what’s good, but don’t be afraid to ask the price. Keep in mind that price can be based on weight in Italy (Tuscany’s famous Bistecca alla Fiorentina is almost always charged based on the weight in fractions of a kilo, for example), so be sure to ask about typical portion size, especially if you’re on a budget. And remember the weight is “before cooking” so things can shrink a bit.
It is illegal for a restaurant in Italy to not give you an itemized bill or receipt. It’s called a ricevuta fiscale. You can learn what’s supposed to be on an Italian Restaurant Receipt and see a typical one by following the link. Do not leave a restaurant without one.
But believe me, my experience tells me that these kinds of things are rare these days in Italy. I’ve actually been ripped off many more times in my neighborhood in San Francisco than I have in Italy. I even know a restaurant I love for its breakfasts but will never return to. Why? Because I’ve never been there when they didn’t overcharge me. When I mention that the bill is wrong they snap it from my fingers and fix it without consulting me about exactly what I’m protesting. The hassle just became too much to deal with.
I mean there’s only so much cat and mouse you can play—and who wants those kinds of things in a restaurant?
Filed in: Food Italy Travel Tips
Infiorata in Brugnato Video · Jun 15, 03:04 AM by James Martin
Yesterday the Infiorata del Corpus Domini was held in the Ligurian village of Brugnato, which is so pretty, even without flower carpets, that it has been named one of the borghi piu bella d’Italia.
So, we made the half hour drive out to Brugnato and took some pictures and made a video of the production of carpets made artistically with flower petals.
Enjoy the video, especially if you like flowers: Video of the Infiorata del Corpus Domini in Brugnato, Italy
Filed in: Italy Festivals Italy Travel Tips
Tawdry Toilet Tales from the Travel Twitterverse · May 31, 05:34 AM by James Martin
I’ve grown to like twitter. Where else can your laptop be wakened by a tweet from Lance Armstrong wondering on his last hotel day in Italy what those pull cords in Italian bathrooms do:
what’s up with these cords/strings they always have in Euro bathrooms? Is it bad if I tug on them whenever I pass by?
Lance, if you fall, you pull the cord and….I think something happens…
Ok, so here’s where the story starts falling apart. I have to admit I’ve pulled a few cords in my lifetime, by mistake or with a purpose, and never has a single event taken place which can be attributed to those actions.
So, what’s supposed to happen, I’m told, is that someone in a position high enough to have keys to your room hears some alarm emitted from the ol’ master panel, rushes in, helps you up from where you’ve fallen, and takes the appropriate secondary action of getting medical help. Or as Jessica (@italylogue) says:
Those are emergency cords. Like, “I’ve fallen & I can’t get up” cords.
While Italian law mandates such cords, there seems to be a general consensus among twitterati that there is no law to mandate further action resulting from pulling those cords. I imagine hotel employees quickly come to the conclusion that tourists don’t fall in bathrooms, but rather take inordinate pleasure in pulling any string they find dangling from bathroom walls. So they ignore the constant buzz from their master panel. Or turn it off.
Not always.
Erica (@Moscerina) adds a lurid tale of her own:
I pulled one by accident at FCO and machine-gun holding carabinieri came into the women’s bathroom to find me.
Sure, the carabinieri don’t have guests to welcome and toilets to clean. Thus they’re free to break down barriers with their manly gun thingies any time they hear the buzzer. And FCO is an airport, so all is forgiven.
All of this had me rushing to my very own bathroom in Tuscany to see what my cords did.
Guess what? They ring the doorbell when you tug them. Honest. And you have to tug them HARD.
But I also discovered that they end about three feet above the floor. If I have trouble in the shower, I’d better not fall flat. Best if I slump against the shower wall while fishing for the cord and hoping for the best.
Then I’ll have to wait while someone in the house runs to answer the door. Another 15 minutes for that “gee, who’s playing tricks on us?” delay. Only then could I expect an angel of mercy to throw open the bathroom door to check on my collapsed form.
After all, it’s not like you can expect the carabinieri come to your rescue every time the doorbell rings.
(I’m @wanderingitaly, if you’re interested in following my scandalous scant scribblings)
Filed in: Italy Travel Tips Living in Italy
Beware the Bicerin · May 29, 01:30 AM by James Martin
If you are a savvy tourist, you’ll know that a Bicerin is a drink widely known and produced in the beautiful baroque caffes of the city of Turin or Torino. (It’s the same city, pretty much.) Like the Marche’s Moretta, the Bicerin is a layered coffee drink. Unlike the Moretta, it is non alcoholic, relying only upon chocolate and whole milk to seduce and significantly alter the minds of consumers.
Wandering Italy has recently learned of a malady widely associated with the coffee delight known as “Bicerin.” Scientists have begun to call it “Naso di Bicerin“ or Bicerin Nose. A significant case is shown in the picture you see to the left, provided to us by a close and concerned relative who gave us permission to display it as a warning to all peoples.
It is not enough, these scientists claim, to ignore the brown nose smudge which appears to disappear when wiped gently with a soft cloth.
“Note the general environment in which the subject has decided to place himself after obviously consuming at least one Bicerin,” Dr. Bruno Muso pointed out in reply to our query. “In Italy, a male who has perched himself in front of a shop that displays such fanciful purses is widely believed to be in a particular kind of male crisis. A malady, you might say. Italian law prohibits me from going further into this inquiry.”
When pressed, Dr. Muso offered our faithful readers this explanation: “You see, normally upon consuming a Bicerin or two, the consumer is seduced by its creamy and magical, um, toxins so to speak. He starts to hear Viennese waltzes inside his head. He wishes he were wearing skin-tight pants made of shiny fabric. He yearns to place a frilly, powdered wig upon his head. These salacious thoughts are instantly erased once the scent of the Bicerin is lost. However (here Muso raises both finger and voice emphatically) if the merest molecule is left on or near one’s naso, even more bizarre desires erupt!”
Dr. Muso, clearly passionate about the subject, then began to recite a long list of symptoms and examples in rat-a-tat Italian that soon crescendoed out of control—plaster being dislodged from the medieval hospital in which he is sequestered—until some quite ornery looking specimens of physical perfection (male, that is, and big…) came to see what was happening. When it became obvious that bedlam awaited, we’ve decided not to record the final section of this interview.
But be warned anyway. Wear protection. It’s the only nose you have. And use a wallet. It’s far more practical than a purse although a tad less attractive. Usually.
Filed in: Food Italy Travel Tips
How to Watch the Giro d'Italia · May 27, 09:00 AM by James Martin
I’ve now watched two stages of the Giro d’Italia. I doubt this qualifies me for anything, perhaps not even for the title of tifoso, the designation given to an Italian fan of cycling. I am not short of opinions on how to see the race, however.
As I see things, you have two basic choices for viewing. You can stand on top of a mountain pass, perhaps at the finish, where things slow down considerably. You’ll have to plan well in advance for this, perhaps sitting all day with people whose intelligence might be called into question considering the idiotic costumes they have decided to get decked out in. At the end the riders will be strung out. I mean they will be far apart. You will have many minutes in which to see men racing bicycles this way.
Or you can choose to stand at the side of the road in a place near a village (so that there’s access for your car when they close the road, which they do several hours before the race begins). It is the easy way out. The tourist way.
Few with any respect for the sport do this, of course. You could turn out to be the only person in the universe who has picked a particular spot to stand in—in which case you will be lonely and disappointed. But we are tourists and novices. This is our lot.
Before the race a gaggle of nicely attired but very bored constabulary ply the course on their spiffy motos. Leisurely. I don’t know about you, but these folks have never been of particular interest to me; I, in fact, try hard to avoide them under normal circumstances.
When an undulating line of cars with spare bicycles bolted to the roofs and decals announcing bike parts (and beverages you wouldn’t drink even if someone had shoved into your hand a lager glass full to dilute the poison you had inadvertently swallowed) you should put aside your loneliness for a moment and prepare for the impending arrival of of a pack of sweating cyclists punching a hole in the mountain air. Silently. This is unlikely to be a Sunday outing of the type you took with grandma. Which is why they pass so quickly.
When you finally hear the “chopper” position itself overhead you should be at the very apex of excitement. If you have had the foresight to position yourself on an incline, preferably a near vertical one, you might be in for a real treat as the bulging musculature of the stout-hearted men will be all that much more distinct, and you will be able to see it because they will be slowed by the incline.
Otherwise, especially near the start of a stage, expect about a minute and a half of multicolored, undulating snake. That’s pretty much all you can hope for.
The best thing you can do is to grab an outdoor table at a cafe along the route with other tifosi and a big screen television. Join in their joviality. Revel in their stories. Have several beers. Watch the whole race.
You might have to get there early to get a good seat.
There was no such place outside Poibbico when we went to view the 16th stage of the Giro, so we ended up at the Trattoria La Colombara, a road house restaurant just outside Piobbico dishing up some of the most incredible paparadelle with goat sauce I’ve ever eaten. Lots of tifosi were present. Race workers ate there. The television was on and tuned to the right channel for the giro.
Trouble was, when the race was supposed to start nothing happened. We asked what was up.
“Oh, they’ll pass here around three.”
They were supposed to pass at 2.
Ok, so we left and walked not in the direction of the race, but back into town for a coffee while we waited. There was a bar with a television outside. The folks were discussing when the race would hit Piobbico.
“20 minutes” the woman in the apron said.
“But, look at the television. They haven’t started!” I interjected. (Actually, I probably said something like, “Giro! non go! TV, saw nothing!” but I’d like to cut a more bella figura than reality usually hands me.)
She insisted she was right. A man explained that the television doesn’t show the whole race, and today didn’t show the start. Ooops.
So we jumped into the car and hightailed it to the intersection where the race was supposed to be. The cops on bikes were already coming through. The chopper could be heard.
(“Incoming!” yells Radar.)
And there they were. A small group. Zip…then, minutes later (it seemed like hours) the peloton comes swishing by in a tight pack, followed seconds later by the van announcing “the last bicycle has passed” or some such.
That was it.
Now, if we had wanted a more leisurely experience, we would have climbed the hill were the finish took place. We could have fought for a place about 2km from the end where the idiots in costume usually storm out onto the road and try to touch the butts of the cute guys on the bikes—you know, to urge them on. Or something. We would have been stuck there, of course, because the only road to the top was closed for the bike race.
But there we could have seen the guys wilted from the heat slog up the hill. Carlos Sastre, as it turns out, won. He could hardly hold his hand up for the winner’s salute.
It was exciting. We saw this on television. Thank God.
Filed in: Italy Travel Tips General
2009 Giro d'Italia Pictures - Outside Piobbico · May 26, 12:03 PM by James Martin
Ok, so just how close can you get to your heros of bike racing at the Giro d’Italia? (And how much work do a cyclist’s arms get?) Well, looking through my 70mm lens, I kept sensing that I was in danger of hitting the cyclists with my elbow. They were that close.
Here are more pictures of the Giro from outside Piobbico in the Marche region, which is a very nice place to visit. Do not be put off by the horrible quality of the thumbnails. The pictures are much nicer. Look out Sports Illustrated!
Filed in: Italy News Italy Travel Tips
Don't Go to Puglia During Bad Weather... · May 16, 10:12 AM by James Martin
…or you might get photos like this:
We were going home to our masseria, the Masseria Li Mennuli, which is right across the street from this “warehouse” in Puglia south of Manduria, the famous Primitivo wine region. The sun had just peeked out from some big storm clouds.
Is there any wonder why I choose to go to Europe in the “off” season?
Filed in: Italy Travel Tips Italy Travel
Trattoria Armanda in Castelnuovo di Magra: Even Getting There Is Fun · May 12, 12:22 PM by James Martin
When I leave the Lunigiana for home, I’m always sad. I miss making lunch plans, then zipping down the windy country roads, darting to the verge to let the big marble trucks pass, skittering off the road to get shots of the little villages as you see below (Fosdinovo, if you must know), then up a big hill to a castled hill town (Castelnuovo di Magra) and finally sitting down to a menu degustazione at Trattoria Armanda, seven courses of pure bliss (€35)
Here’s the menu:
Lardo di Colonnata cone pane di castagne (lardo with chestnut bread)
Frittelli di baccala (cod fritters)
Verdure Ripiene (stuffed zucchini, the best I’ve ever had)
Lattughe ripiene in brodo (lettuce stuffed with meat and herbs in little balls floating in broth, the hit of the show: “Food of the rich from Sarzana and Castelnuovo de Magra,” says the waiter.)
Ravioli di boragine con burro e salvia (ravioli stuffed with a green not unlike nettles, in a butter and sage sauce)
Coniglio disossato e farcito (A deviation from the normal Italian philosophy of few ingredients, boneless rabbit stuffed with three herbs, new potatoes, ham, and lardo with a moistening of wine sauce)
Parfait al limone con salsa di fragola (lemon parfait with strawberry sauce)
Martha reminds me that we ate also two dishes not on the printed menu: Rabbit liver pate on brioche bread with fig jam, and crespelli con asparagi, crepes wrapped around asparagus and melted cheese.
The meal was great. I’m stuffed, ma non troppo. The Map of Castelnuovo shows all, and has information on the Trattoria Armanda. Go, you’ll even like the drive.
We did, and we even got lost…
Filed in: Food Italy Travel Tips