Only after a disaster can we be resurrected. — Chuck Palahniuk

There are some places that you have to see, no matter how  painful or emotional they might be.

As a native New Yorker who was living near Boston when  the terrorists attacked on 9/11, I knew I had to get down  there as soon as it was practical. I had to see it for myself. I  had to stand at Ground Zero and take it all in. It was  sacred space and I needed to be there.

Tim and I went to New York for the six-month  anniversary, although we hadn’t realized at the time that  we had chosen that exact date to visit. We were even  interviewed that day by a TV news team, ironically, from Boston. Walking around lower Manhattan, we witnessed some of the ceremonies that were being conducted for the anniversary, but more than that, we saw what the people had done. The missing posters, still hanging on fences and in storefronts, the ribbons, the phone numbers offering assistance, the closed gates of Trinity Church, sadness and disbelief and emptiness everywhere. Would it ever be the same?

Well, New Yorkers being who they (we) are, the city has certainly been resurrected. Better than ever, maybe for a time, maybe forever. And while the politicians can haggle all they want about this monument or that project — despite the fact that there is still today, ten years after the event, no building yet erected — the city has gone on. So I wanted to see what was happening in L’Aquila (“the eagle”) after its own disaster. Had it gone on?

Bridge Out

On April 6, 2009, the city of L’Aquila, the capital of the Italian region of Abruzzo in central Italy, was devastated by an earthquake measuring 6.3 on the Richter scale. With the city at its epicenter, the earthquake riddled much of the surrounding area, ultimately claiming 308 lives, injuring more than 1,500 people and rendering more than 65,000 people homeless. The statistics are staggering, the damage even more so. The main earthquake (there were several significant aftershocks) was felt in Rome, nearly 60 miles away.

Now, earthquakes are nothing new to L’Aquila. The one in 1703, which targeted most of central Italy, took more than 5,000 lives. But this quake of 2009 was the deadliest in all of Italy since the 1980 Irpinia earthquake, which killed nearly 3,000 people in the south, near Avellino. Let me tell you a little about the medieval city of L’Aquila.

Street scene

It sits majestically among the Apeninnes and the snow-capped mountains of the Gran Sasso range. The city comprises a virtual maze of narrow streets, lined with Baroque and Renaissance buildings and churches opening onto elegant piazzas. Home to the University of L’Aquila, it is a dynamic college town and has many cultural institutions, among them a theater, a symphony orchestra, a fine arts academy, a state conservatory and a film institute. There are even several ski resorts near the city. A good place to be. At least it used to be.

We drove to L’Aquila from Sulmona, a little farther south in Abruzzo, and were headed ultimately up to Civitella del Tronto, on the northern border of the region. We had to take a bit of a detour to visit L’Aquila, but the rest of our group agreed that it was something we shouldn’t miss. The closer we got to the city, the stranger things became. Whole city blocks of buildings were supported by two by fours . . . over the windows, buttressing the balconies, forbidding entry entirely. Some had metal scaffolding all around them. And the people were gone. It was nearly lunchtime, and there were virtually no people on the streets. Something was very wrong.

1,000 keys to reopen the city . . .

We drove to the end of what looked on the map to be a fairly central artery in the city and were eventually stopped by a wall of orange plastic. We could go no farther; the bridge to the city was out. Rocks and debris were everywhere. It looked like this had happened last week. A few of us got out to walk onto the bridge entrance and agreed that it was something out of one of those cheesy “end of the world” movies that have always been so popular. I wonder why we have to imagine these stories when the real thing is there for the taking?

Back in the cars, look at the map, find another way in. We discovered a way by the  Fontana Luminosa (“Luminous Fountain”), a sculpture of two women bearing large jars, built in the 1930s. Nearby several food trucks were selling lunch to the workers, and across the way stood the impressive Spanish fort (Forte Spagnolo) built in 1534 by the Viceroy Don Pedro de Toledo.

Forte Spagnolo

We parked the cars and walked in, not sure what we might find. It took our breath away. The original plan was to have lunch in L’Aquila, but we soon discovered how difficult that might be. We walked through street after street of closed buildings, once so beautiful, now barred by intricate webs of heavy iron rods. Overhead, makeshift barriers prevented further spillage from falling onto the streets and, one assumes, onto pedestrians. Not that there were many of us there. The most prominent presence was the military police — standing nearby their Hummers, decked out in their camouflage, armed to the teeth to discourage looting and maintain order on the streets. To be honest, it felt like a war zone.

Fontana Luminosa

There were two hopeful signs indicating restaurants that were still open. We followed them down a side street only to find one closed and another that looked quite lovely, but only seemed to serve fish, which most of us didn’t want. So we went on, hoping for the best. We soon came to a broad spot in the road, near one of the former government buildings. A banner signaled that this had possibly been the site of a memorial service for the victims of the “terremoto” (earthquake) and, across the street, was a chilling memorial just like one I had seen in lower Manhattan those years ago: a wall of house keys, belonging to either homes or residents which no longer existed. A large paper key had a note on it that read: “1000 keys to reopen the city.” The keys are still there, and the city is mostly closed, most of the former residents having moved out of their government-issued blue tents and into the countryside (or even farther away) by now.

Today, L’Aquila is a city of a great historical past and an uncertain future. The people on its streets are largely workers, soldiers and a few die-hard shopkeepers who come to work each day to try to keep body and soul together. We found lunch in a slick, modern cafeteria-style place called Nero Caffe that was so totally out of place in this environment that we had to pinch ourselves to see if we were really there. But the food was good and the cost was reasonable and we felt that in some way maybe we had made a contribution to the city that day.

For your protection

As soon as the tragedy happened, the National Italian American Foundation created a place to donate; to date, they have collected many hundreds of thousands of dollars to the Abruzzo Relief Fund. On their website it says, “Individuals, corporations and foundations who wish to donate to the NIAF/Abruzzo Relief Fund can do so by visiting www.niaf.org/relief. Additionally, donations can be made by check payable to the NIAF/Abruzzo Relief Fund, The National Italian American Foundation, 1860 19th Street NW, Washington, DC 20009.” I’ve given, and I hope some of you will, too. The churches and cathedrals need to be rebuilt; the forte needs help (it houses the Museum of Abruzzo and its third floor completely collapsed); even some of the “earthquake-proof” modern structures — hospitals and university buildings — had to be closed. The people need to come home.

I’ll leave you with an entry from a Wikipedia post that sums up the energy that the government put towards L’Aquila in the weeks and months after the earthquake. Not much has been done since:

“Because of the 2009 earthquake, the Berlusconi government decided to move that year’s G8 summit from its scheduled Sardinian host of La Maddalena to L’Aquila, so that disaster funds would be distributed to the affected region and to show solidarity with the city’s inhabitants. World leaders converged on L’Aquila on July 8 and many of them were given tours of the devastated city by the host Prime Minister. A Washington Post newspaper article on April 11, 2010 reported that in February 2010, residents of L’Aquila, frustrated that cleanup efforts of the destroyed downtown had not begun after ten months of waiting, had organized daily volunteer crews to haul away rubble themselves. Many of these displaced residents have been re-housed in new housing on the fringe of town, and missed the vibrant life, shops and cafes downtown that were damaged and shuttered (reportedly some 2,000 businesses have closed).”

Can it be resurrected?

Like the author Nan McElroy writes in her wonderful little guidebook: “Remember that Italy is a country, not a theme park.” Sometimes the authentic Italy is not so pretty. It can move you to tears and reach out for help. Will you?

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene . . . Prologue, Romeo and Juliet

Verona's Duomo

It was our last day in Verona. Sadness all around. What to do?

We were meeting our friends from Milano for lunch and Tim and I agreed to go over to the train station, Porta Nuova, to meet them around noon. But first we decided (he decided) to take me on a seemingly 100-mile walk around town that would include all the historic churches of Verona, the Teatro Romano and surrounding structures, a jaunt across the Ponte della Pietra and back again, over to the station and finally, a return to Piazza delle Erbe and lunch. By the end of it my feet were killing me, but it was fantastic and I only squealed once, en route to the Chiesa di San Zeno Maggiore, which, honestly, I insisted on seeing.

We first stopped at the 12^th Century Romanesque Duomo Santa Maria Marticolare, and after a while, headed off across the Ponte della Pietra, the old stone bridge that spans the Adige River. This led to the other side of the city and over to the Teatro Romano.

Then the usual happened. Tim met a fellow (a young Spaniard, this time) who was also a

Teatro Romano, Verona

talker and they wiled away an hour or two at the Teatro Romano while I snapped pictures and basked in the warm Italian sun. Soon it was getting close to noon and we had still to see San Zeno before hoofing it over to the station. They were both generally in the same direction, but we soon learned how far away an inch on a tourist map can really be!

Inside San Zeno

San Zeno was magnificent. Named to honor Verona’s Patron saint — and housing the body of San Zeno, who died in the 4^th Century — it is, like so many other long-standing churches, an amalgam of many styles and periods. It’s got a rose window, a cloister, a bell tower, a presbytery — the place is huge. We will have to go back, because we were running out of time and we couldn’t be too late to Porta Nuova to meet our friends. We actually sprinted in, like marathoners, about 5 minutes before the train from Milano arrived. I, of course, thought we’d take a taxi back to Piazza delle Erbe, but it turns out we were only a short distance away because we really had walked entirely around the city!

After a tasty lunch and lively conversation in the garden of Ristorante S. Eufemia just off the main shopping district between Piazza della Erbe and Piazza Brá, we found some good gelato and all stood around to take in the Saturday afternoon people watching. Before long, our friends headed back to the train and Milano and we headed off to get ready for the opera. The opera? How did this come about?! Well, rewind to yesterday’s lunch at another friend’s palazzo.

One of the really marvelous things about travel is that you can make friends for life. In 2003, eight of us rented a villa in a little Lombardian village called Sermide that is owned by the Castellani family of Sermide and Verona. We have since been back to Villa Castellani and also to Palazzo Castellani, the family’s home in Verona, and are honored to consider them  friends of ours. In this day and age, so far removed from the patronage system that allowed the arts to flourish during the Renaissance, Ing. Luciano Castellani is about as close to my personal patron as one can get, and I am most grateful.

Knowing that we were going to end our 2011 Italy tour in Verona, Luciano and his family kindly invited Tim and me and our traveling companions to

Ponte delle Pietra over the Adige

Palazzo Castellani for lunch before we left for home. We arrived at 1:00 for a lovely garden reception, which included many of his family members and several friends whom we had met two years before, when he organized a reading for me at the palazzo (and also at the villa) to introduce my book to Italy. It was fantastic to sip prosecco and sample excellent cheeses and little sandwiches in such an exquisite setting. Soon we were ushered into the grand ballroom for a simple but elegant lunch of asparagus risotto, several local wines and two configurations of gelato. It was something out of a dream.

As we were saying our good-byes, Luciano introduced me to his son-in-law, who asked if I and my guests (6 of us in total) would be interested in attending a performance of the opera the following evening. Now, normally, the night before a departure is filled with packing and sadness and anxiety, but how could we refuse? What an elegant replacement for all those crazy emotions! We said yes, absolutely!

The glorious hall at Palazzo Camozzini

Shortly before 9:00 p.m., we found ourselves at the entrance to Palazzo Camozzini, which bills itself as “A historic palace for private events in Verona.” That doesn’t begin to describe it. The main hall, where the performance would take place, was covered in monochrome Neoclassic frescoes and sported a chandelier the likes of which I have not seen since The Phantom of the Opera. The room was set up for maybe 20 or 30 people, tops. There was a grand piano off to the side and a few tables of fresh flowers. Nothing more. I felt like a very special 18^th Century dinner guest who was retiring to the drawing room after dessert for a private performance. And that, my friends, is exactly what it was. (That said, I apologize in advance for the quality of the photos in the villa — since the setting was so intimate, I did not want to haul out my large camera, so they were taken surreptitiously with my iPhone.)

Villa in Canto is the brainchild of Maestro Riccardo Serenelli, a wildly experienced and absolutely charming orchestra director and vocal coach who has performed throughout Italy. The program offers five performances each week, from April through August, of highlights from some of the best lyric operas. This season showcases Donizetti’s The Elixir of Love, Puccini’s La Boheme, Madame Butterfly and Tosca, Verdi’s La Traviata, and Rossini’s The Barber of Seville. We were privileged to hear excerpts from and explanations (in English, thanks to M˚ Serenelli) of  The Elixir of Love. The voices were spectacular — Giorgia Paci as Adina, Carlo Giachetta as Nemorino (it doesn’t hurt that he looks like Antonio Banderas), Ferruccio Finetti as Neomorino and Michele Filanti as the always over-the-top Dulcamara, the seller of bogus elixirs. Supplemental characters were coaxed up from the audience, and we felt very much part of the scenes; the performers pulled us in on all the jokes and, when the main arias came, they were weep-worthy. What voices! Check out this short video of Elixir performances – the soprano and bass are different from the ones we saw, but you definitely get a sense of the ambience and virtuoso experience.

The chandelier -- think 12 feet tall!

At intermission, prosecco was served (I love Italy!) and the Maestro talked with all of the guests. And at the end of the performance, the actors formed a receiving line of sorts, and greeted everyone who had come. It was a spectacular evening. Just being in the room would have been enough. Just hearing the piano would have been enough! Just hearing the voices would have been enough. As my Jewish friends would say, Dayenu! But we had it all. What a way to leave Italy. A night at the opera.

As we walked home under the stars, we were transfixed. Tim — who, after a very mediocre performance of Butterfly a

Curtain call

few months prior, allowed as how he didn’t care if he ever saw another opera again — was eager to give it another try. He hummed one of the principal arias all the way home. We turned from the quiet via San Salvatore Vecchio and onto Piazza delle Erbe with the passeggiatta in full swing at 11:00 p.m., and were plunged into yet another aspect of the magic of Italy. Parting is, indeed, such sweet sorrow.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

Sulmo mihi patria est. — Ovid

We began our 2011 Italian adventure by creeping out of Rome’s Fiumicino airport and into a major traffic jam — the usual — but only after having our perfunctory rental car adventure. I guess Italian tourists travel with bags the size of fanny packs, because our mid-sized car that we made clear was to hold four passengers for two weeks virtually collapsed after the first bag was launched into the trunk. After a fair amount of wrangling, we were upgraded to a larger car that still barely held the bags, but hold them it did, and we were off, into the aforementioned traffic jam. About 90 minutes and 10 km later, we discovered that there had been a very minor fender bender, which was handled in a typically Italian way: gobs of officials standing around, a cute little portable sign blocking one lane out of the airport, an ambulance (unused, as far as we could tell) and hundreds of infuriated Italians and frustrated tourists rubbernecking around the scene in their cars. Let the good times begin!

We took the autostrada east into the region of Abruzzo,  about a two-hour drive, and  headed for the historic city of  Sulmona, which was to be our home for four nights.  Sulmona is a dynamic town of some 25,000 residents  located in the center of Abruzzo  among the highest peaks of  the Appenines. The views from Piazza Garibaldi, the main  square and home of July’s famed Palio, are breathtaking.  Mists and snow were  frequent on the mountaintops, and  when the sun came out, it was spectacular. Close  to several  ski areas — Roccaraso being the one everybody raves about  — and not too far from the beaches of Pescara along the  Adriatic, Sulmona offers visitors a great jumping off point for drives and recreation of all kinds. Problem, is there aren’t too many visitors. At least not Americans. German and Dutch visitors have found the place, for sure, but we need to bring up the averages, people — this place is great!

Sulmona was home to the poet Ovid, whose presence is felt everywhere in the city, from his statue in Piazza XX Settembre to his famed saying, “Sulmo mihi patria est” (Sulmona is my fatherland) written out or abbreviated SMPE all over town. Sulmona was also a very important artisan and commercial town back in the day and it’s hard to walk a block without seeing a statue or monument of some grace and import. But the tough economy has hit here, too. We were told about a 60% unemployment rate among the city’s youth, for starters. And on our walk around town, we were shown a significant patch of land, maybe 40 feet by 15 feet, under which lay some apparently well-preserved Roman or Byzantine mosaics. The city has carefully covered them up and grassed them over for safekeeping and will restore and reveal them when it has the money to do so properly.

Our B&B was just off P. Garibaldi, right at the end of a 13^th century aqueduct. In fact, one of the arches of the aqueduct actually ran through our bedroom! Sei Stelle offers comfortable accommodations right in the heart of the city. It was a fine jumping off point for our walking tour of the city and frequent trips to shops, restaurants and the local mercato. Run by the Frattaroli family (originally from Sulmona and who now split their time between Sulmona and Boston, where they run the Filippo Ristorante in Boston’s North End), Sei Stelle is an affordable option offering a fine continental breakfast every morning and the option for you to negotiate with the caretaker, cousin Franca, to cook for you (and it’s fantastic). But do be aware that little or no English is spoken here and that with my little or no Italian, we did run into a few glitches. Nothing that couldn’t be solved, but it could have gotten sticky.

So now that we’re here in the middle of the Appenines, in this lovely old city, what do  we do? Well, first we get a tour. Francesco met us at 9:30 after a first good night’s  sleep, and toured us around until lunchtime. We started at the Cathedral of San  Panfilo (Sulmona’s patron saint) which is ancient, and which was heavily damaged  in an earthquake in 1706. Centuries of rebuilding have lead to an interesting mix of  styles, largely Romanesque but with plenty of frescos and wooden, marble and stone  artifacts to keep you guessing. The newest part even has a fresco of Pope Benedict XVI  in bright colors over the doorway! Of particular interest was the display of artifacts and information about the short-lived Pope Clemente II, who served for only one year and who was, perhaps, a bit too reform-minded for the church at that time. Very near our B&B was the Fountain of the Old Man (La Fontana del Vecchio) and of course, the Acquedotto Medievale (Medieval Aqueduct), built in 1256 under the Swabian ruler Manfredi.

But perhaps more than anything, Sulmona is known as the home of confetti. What’s confetti? Ever been to anItalian wedding? Ever gotten a favor of coated white almonds in a little net bag? That’s the American tradition. In Italy, you can get almonds in different colors for all kinds of events, presented in everything from satin bags to Ginori china. White is for weddings and communions; green is for engagement; silver is for 25^th anniversaries; red is for graduation and birthdays . . . and so on. At the Pelino headquarters — one of the oldest confetti manufacturers — we saw the Pelino family members carefully taking orders, arranging boxes of colorful creations or managing the small shop. There is also a museum over the factory that displays all manner of machinery, documents and copperware that have to do with the celebrated tradition. And there are confetti stores all around town selling everything from bagged almonds to stunning almond flowers to unusual almond rosaries.

We had 12 people on this leg of our journey, one of them whose family hailed from Abruzzo. Vicky’s Mom was from a town called Castel di Sangro, not far from Sulmona; her father was from Pescara on the coast. At a pre-trip dinner, Mario Scalzi (president of Parker Villas) told Vicky that she could count on the Abruzzese to pick her out. He was right: the first day in Sulmona, a woman came up and asked Vicky where her family was from! One rainy day, a group went to help Vicky find her ancestral home. No one in the family had been able to get there successfully, since infrastructure was slow coming to many parts of Abruzzo. In fact, the highways didn’t go into some places until the 1970s. Anyway, this time, Castel di Sangro was reached and, as Vicky was talking on the phone to her mother in Cleveland to tell her the news, the church bells rang. Magic.

The Abruzzese people were very friendly to us. Lots of smiles and nods,  and some were curious enough to ask us where we were from. All in all,  it was a delightful place to be. And one day, when we decided to visit the  Celestine Abbey in Badia (Santo Spirito al Marrone) to learn about the  hermitage tradition, we met a woman who not only gave us a guided tour  of the place, but also met up with us later that evening in Sulmona.  Novelia is an Abruzzese charmer who lived for several years in Canada  and then came back to Sulmona. She and her sister Vittoria are a high-  spirited couple of Italians who love where they live and want to show  others why they should love it, too. Next time, we’ll consider staying at  her place in town, La Casa del Cuore. Drinks at the Hotel Santa Croce  Ovidius were a hoot.

We passed our four days here in a flurry of wine tours (Valle Reale,  whose Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and Trebbiano wines were first-rate),  good food and visits to a few neighboring towns like Scanno and L’Acquila. For lunch one day, we drove up to an agriturismo at what seemed like the top of the world to a real find called BioAgriturismo Valle Scannese. We were fed and feted well and they told us tales of snow falling on the piazza in town just the day before. On the way there, we saw shepherds with their flocks of sheep and big white working dogs. We even saw a small cluster of wild boar (cinghiale). This is rugged country, folks, and the real thing.

Tim fell in love with the mountains and the herbal amaro, a local digestivo, and I fell in love with the local rossa (rosé) wine called Cerasuolo. On market day, Tim and I bought a delicious round Romano cheese from a white-haired lady sitting all alone at a small glass display case that she probably hauls around from town to town. We felt a little sorry for her and bought from her instead of from the larger trailer stalls. Then, on the way home, we re-watched The American and saw that George Clooney did the same thing . . . some of the final scenes were shot right there on the piazza. If you’ve seen the movie, you might remember the Easter procession scene — Sulmona is famous for its five-day over-the-top Holy Week celebrations. I can’t wait to come back some day to see it!

Sulmona is a beautiful city with a long history, great traditions and terrific food and wines. I miss it already — especially the church bells ringing all night long, every 15 minutes, reminding me how much sleep I’m missing. But really, I do — there was something comforting about it. There was so much more that we could have done — go to the coast, for instance — but there wasn’t enough time. Just when we were getting used to the pace we had to pack up and go on to the next destination. And that is a story for another day. But put Abruzzo on your list, by all means. It’s a different kind of Italy and you’ve got to see it.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

April is the cruelest month . . . — T.S. Eliot

I’m sorry about April. About not writing in April, that is. It must have been a busy month. But I’ve let all of us down.

When you start this blogging thing, you make explicit promises to yourself and implicit promises to your (wished for) readers. I promised to write every week, and I did just that for almost a year. Then I got a fairly regular paying writing gig for almost four months, and all bets were off. Weekly turned to bi-weekly turned to monthly and then all of a sudden, five weeks went by with nothing. What was I doing? Mostly planning for my upcoming trip to Italy. When you travel with a group and you’re the instigator, all the questions funnel into you, eventually. And most of the planning. And all of the worry. And there’s been a whole lot of that since the activities of last Sunday night! So I’ve been worrying a lot, I guess.

But I also did some amazing things, culturally, in April. Saw Madame Butterfly at the Virginia Opera (not the best production ever, but not bad). I saw one of my all-time favorite plays, A Thousand Clowns, with Richmond’s own thesbian master, Scott Wichmann. And I got to see a rare appearance of Mary Oliver, whose poetry has inspired me and moved me to tears for years.

She’s a lot funnier than I expected her to be in a reading, although there’s certainly a great deal of humor in her poetry. She read from a number of her books, covering oldies but goodies like The Journey and Wild Geese. And she read from several of her “Percy” doggie poems. As a dog momma myself, I greatly appreciate these, but no more than masterpieces like The Journey, which has probably saved my own life a few times.

She recounted regularly running down Commercial Street in her pjs after Percy (all of them) escaped — a sight, she says, that Provincetown locals are quite used to. Wish I was there! And, flipping madly through volumes, she muttered that she’s such a big shot now that it’s hard to manage a reading, what with poems lodged in so many different books. Would that I had such a problem!

Assisi-bound (hopefully!)

So I guess you could say that I’m back. But you could also say that I’m going forth very soon. To more adventures in Italy. First to Abruzzo to sample first-hand what has been called by some the best food in the country. Then to an agriturismo in Le Marche that I’ve been reading about for more than a year in the blog La Tavola Marche. Then off to Verona, with a stopover (I hope) in Assisi. There will be cooking classes and tours of confetti factories. There will be visits to vineyards and olive oil producers. There will be history absorbed, photos taken and stories written, and you will be privy to all of it over the summer.

For now, I will leave you with one of Mary Oliver’s “Percy” poems. Enjoy!

Percy

(One)

Our new dog, named for the beloved poet,

ate a book which unfortunately we had

left unguarded.

Fortunately, it was the Bhagavad Gita,

of which many copies are available.

Every day now, as Percy grows

into the beauty of his life, we touch

his wild, curly head and say,

“Oh, wisest of little dogs.”

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating. — Luciano Pavarotti and William Wright, Pavarotti, My Own Story

They call it a soft opening. I call it the inside track. At least that’s what I’ve got until you read this. Then you’re going to want in on it, too.

It’s the Belmont Food Shop, Carytown’s new-ish establishment dedicated to the art and joy of good eating. They call it a “back to basics approach to food.” And the results are pretty spectacular, even while they’re on their shake-down cruise.

”They” are Steve Ruscitti and Mike Yavorsky, two CIA graduates (that’s Culinary Institute of America, not that scary place in McLean) who have partnered up to co-found a most welcoming little place that speaks to what can happen when people love food, have big hearts and exude creativity.

The daily menu board

Located at 25 N. Belmont Avenue, the Belmont Food Shop — once an A&P Grocery Store —  shouts local color. It has a storefront presence, with good windows and a spectacular wood and marble bar that’s been lovingly moved and reassembled from Steve’s native Chicago. Art on the walls sets the artistic bent to almost everything you see — chalkboard, apple press, decanters — and extends right into the kitchen. Peek inside the kitchen door and you’ll see the original walk-in refrigerator, an ancient but workable Viking oven, a sink and various makeshift surfaces and cubbies that serve as prep and storage space. And what do they make in this quaint space?

Well, ask anybody who’s been there and the first thing they’ll probably say is “truffles.” Walk by the shop and, if it’s open, you just might get a sample of what is simply the richest, most wonderful melt-in-your-mouth chocolate concoction ever.

French toast to die for!

The other thing the Belmont Food Store is known for around town is lunch. Now, you can get a sandwich most any place.  And a soda. And a side dish. And you might pay less than the $12 (tax included) that these guys charge. But I guarantee you it won’t be half as good. Check out the sandwich menu:

• Roast beef, caramelized onions, focaccia
• Minced pork, mustard vinaigrette, potato bread
• Baked turkey, provolone, pickled red onion, arugula, herbed roll
• Crabcake, sally lunn roll
• Smoked mozarella, roasted vegetable terrine, arugula, black pepper potato bread

Check out the side dishes:

• Potato salad (excellent!)
• Deviled eggs (the best ever!)
• Green salad (they make it interesting!)
• Fresh fruit (ditto!)

Sodas? A variety of Route 66 healthy drinks or — if you’re very lucky — some of their home-made ginger beer, which is so crisp and refreshing it will become your staple all summer long.

They also do catering. I asked for a catering menu and Steve said, “Tell us what you want.”

Things are happening in the back yard. . .

Here’s their catering philosophy. (I love that about Steve and Mike — they actually have a philosophy . . . of sourcing, of eating, of cooking, of serving, of creating an environment.)

• We bring our experience, hospitality, and flexibility to your events
• From elegant dinners (in our space or yours) to corporate gatherings or intimate backyard parties, we work with you to create an unforgettable event of any size or theme
• Our catering menus are designed personally with you and we thoughtfully consider every detail of the dining experience
• Drawing from more than 20 years of professional culinary experience, we will work to execute your vision and showcase flavorful foods and beverages
• Belmont Food Shop can be transformed for most occasions, from cocktail receptions to sit-down dinners served with buttoned-up formality or laid-back family style. Art launches or business meetings will feel right at home.

Don’t you love it already? And just wait until September. They’re working with the city to prepare for the opening of their full-service restaurant that, if lunch is any indication, is sure to be spectacular.

High stylin' in the kitchen!

Tim and I brought a gaggle of friends over for a pre-theatre brunch a few Sundays ago. We asked if they could whip something up so we could show our friends the shop and give them a taste of what’s to come. We put a mighty tight budgetary restriction on it and told them we’d have to be in an out in about 90 minutes. When we arrived, even we were gobsmacked by what they had done. Tables had been set up in front of the bar. No fewer than 5 main courses were being put out, family style, and the ubiquitous truffles were already on the table for a sweet finish. A huge bottle of home-made ginger beer was being poured. Coffee was available. People got to the front door and stopped in their tracks. They never expected anything like this, not in their wildest dreams, and certainly not for the money. Just one more little Richmond surprise.

Sinful Apple Pecan Torte...yum!

There’s no doubt in my mind that the Belmont Food Shop — and Steve and Mike — are going to be an important part of the community centered lifestyle in this historic Richmond neighborhood. They make their breads daily and hand cut their roasted meats, much of which they get from Polyface Farms in the Shenandoah Valley. They use local food purveyors whenever possible, like Manakintowne Specialty Growers, Buffalo Creek Beef and Black Hand Coffee Company. And they feed their friends. Well. Try it out. You won’t be disappointed.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

Dream of Italy’s Umbria Harvest Week is a wonderful introduction to the food, the wine and the craft of Umbrian living. I could have used another week because I wanted to keep going. Grazie a Kathy e tutti! — Linda Dini Jenkins

The gorgeous olives

Yep. That’s what I said about it on the evaluation form. And she’s doing it again. Kathy McCabe, that is, Editor and Publisher of the wonderfully informative Dream of Italy newsletter. (If you’re an Italophile, you really should subscribe.)

I went on her 2010 Umbria Harvest Week: Food, Wine and Ceramics. She calls it a gourmet Umbria tour, and that it is. And since my spring trip to Verona fell through this year — and if you really wanted to get to bella Italia this year — consider going on this adventure with Kathy in the fall (November 5 – 11). She’ll show you Umbria like a native, and you’ll eat very, very well. Food is what Umbria, the green heart of Italy, is all about.

Start by staying at La Fattoria del Gelso, a 17^th century farmhouse villa

After the harvest

near  Assisi. You’ll be part of a small, well-cared-for group that shares many adventures. You’ll visit Deruta, Italy’s ceramics capital. Then you’ll eat. You’ll tour wineries and an olive oil mill. You’ll eat. You’ll get a 1/2 day cooking class that will put you in a food stupor, but in a good way. You’ll go to the dogs . . . to hunt for truffles. And then you’ll eat. You’ll get guided tours of St. Francis’s beloved Assisi and the historic Umbrian capital of Perugia. And did I mention you’ll eat?

There’s more — and it’s all included in the price. Room. Board. Food. Wine. Guides. Van. And more. Only airfare and transportation to the villa are extra, and Kathy can help you with that. Check out the 2011 itinerary here.

At the Winery

So think about it. If you wanted a trip to Italy this year and you missed out on Verona — which we’ll offer again next year, so keep the spring open — this is the trip to go on. Tell Kathy I sent you.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

For all sad words of tongue or pen/The saddest are these, “It might have been!” — John Greenleaf Whittier

Alas . . . not enough writers or Italophiles signed up for the Verona Word/Play extravaganza planned for this coming May and, as yesterday was the registration deadline, I am forced to cancel it.

But you can help me plan for future trips by commenting on this blog post with your answers to these questions.

I’d surely appreciate it. <<Sniff . . .>>

Bevagna, Umbria

1. This trip was planned for May. Is there a better month/time of year for you?
2. This trip was planned to be one week long. Would you have preferred something longer or shorter?
3. This trip was based in Verona. Is there a city or region you would have liked better?
4. The basic trip cost was $1950 per person (airfare extra). How does that compare with other trips you’ve looked at?
5. Are you going to Europe in 2011? If so, where? Would you share a little about the trip you’ve chosen?
6. How far in advance do you usually commit to trips of this nature — 6 months? one year? longer?
7. Is there anything else you think I should know to help me with future trip offers?

Grazie mille e buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

“Like a cross between The DaVinci Code and Life of Brian . . .” — The New York Times

Strange as it seems to my friends in the local Italian club, I am a Protestant. My parents met when my father crashed a Presbyterian church dance. He, a pure-blooded Italian of 14, met my mother, a half-English, half-German girl of 12, and they never looked back. His parents were less than thrilled at first, but they loved my mother and so that was that. I was raised first in the Presbyterian tradition and then later, as a teenager, in the Methodist tradition, safely away from the Catholic world of relics and reliquaries. No spleen of St. Whozit for me.

My early trips to Italy, where one inevitably visits many, many chiesi each day before noon, were a bit uncomfortable. I’d stand in some magnificent duomo, marveling at the marble and the frescoes and the paintings and the starry vaulted ceilings and then, wham — it would hit me — I’m staring at a glass case with a waxen saint lying in state. Or at an ornate box that is proudly displaying the liver or wristbone of some poor martyred true believer. I would flip through the guidebook or my dictionary to make sure that what I thought the object was was really what it was. Inevitably, it was. Body parts. And bodies. O mio Dio!

What is in here??? Do I want to know?

On a recent trip to New York City, I stopped into St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Madison Avenue. It was a quick walk-through, to be sure, since we had to make a theatre curtain, but as I walked around the periphery, I noticed a wrought-iron-enclosed glass case with the note: RELIC OF ST. THERESE on it. I never found out what they had in there, and I don’t care; I practically ran out.

So I was a little intrigued (and nervous, if I’m honest) about diving into David Farley’s book, An Irreverent Curiosity, in which he recounts a tale of living in a small, odd town outside of Rome for a year while undertaking a most unusual quest: to find the whereabouts of a most unusual relic — the foreskin of Jesus Christ — which had mysteriously disappeared from the local church in 1983. Or was it 1986? Did the Vatican steal it? Or is it all a hoax? There’s a lot to this mystery.

For those of you not familiar with David Farley, he is a journalist who teaches writing at New York University. He lives in the city with his wife, the writer Jessie Sholl, and their dog, Abraham Lincoln. His writing has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Condé Nast Traveler and Slate, among others. But this journey to Italy has made him something more than a mere journalist and travel writer in my book — it has launched him into the realm of picaresque hero. A modern-day Don Quixote, fighting the forces of secrecy, ennui, the Vatican, the local priests, history, myth, the wack-o residents of the town and a few other forces I’m sure I’m missing. And it’s a great ride.

I’m not going to tell you what happens, but I will give you enough to hopefully whet your appetite for this laugh-

Read this book!

out-loud tale of intrigue and lunacy.

First, there’s the very concept of the foreskin’s salvation (so to speak) and survival for over 2,000 years. Shall we even go there? Good, let’s not. Then, if we buy into the first concept,  there’s the historical spin on the story — which includes angels and Charlemagne and Constantine and countless popes and priests and Crusaders and on and on, winding up in a church in this strange little town outside of Rome.

Then there’s the story of why churches (nay, entire villages) wanted relics on site. It’s simple, really. Relics granted wishes, caused miracles, were givers of good fortune and restored health. Maybe most important, they caused believers to make pilgrimages to see them, thereby adding much-needed revenues to the village inns, hostelries and churches.

Trying to explain his unconventional quest to a guard/ticket salesman outside of the Sancta Sanctorum in the Vatican, David says, “It was the Sack of Rome in 1527 and a soldier stole the relic from here and also the jewel box in which it was contained . . . And then . . . the solider arrived in a village that’s called Calcata. It’s forty-five kilometers from Rome. And he was put into a jail. Thirty years later, they found the relic and put it in the church . . .”

And so you need to know about the village that this church is in. Today, Calcata is a haven for artists and architects and bohemians and other sorts of frichettoni — what the Italians call “freaks.” Tie dye abounds. A woman (“la strega”) lives in a cave with crows. Another walks through town with her black cat on a leash. But it wasn’t always so. The “old” Calcata was moved up the hill in 1969 to form Calcata Nuova (David tells the Byzantine story about how an earthquake in Sicily in 1935 caused this migration), and the residents followed. The frichettoni arrived that same year in lower Calcata (the “old” city) to drop out of mainstream life in Rome, no doubt (it was 1969, after all), and they are still there. And they both help and hinder David in his quest, and therein lies the crux of this surreal tale.

I highly recommend An Irreverent Curiosity. Pick it up if you have a hankering to know more about church history, miracles or the whole idea of reliquaries. Pick it up if you’re a history buff. Pick it up if you’ve ever had the notion to pack up and live in an Italian town for an extended period of time. Pick it up if you enjoy a good conspiracy tale—and a good laugh. Pick it up, by all means, if you’re just a little irreverent yourself.

Thanks, David, for your unique blend of well-researched history, wit and wisdom. Most of all, thanks for taking up the mantle (I couldn’t resist) of the search for, as you call it, “The Father of All Foreskins.”

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

His love for glasswork and his desire to guarantee the Murano glass tradition led him, in his retirement, to teach future generations of those who share this passion, including in the United States at nonprofit glass centers such as Public Glass in San Francisco and Chicago Hot Glass. — The GLASS Quarterly Hot Sheet, December 21, 2010

You never know who you’re going to meet when you go on a trip abroad. This past November, when I went to Umbria with Dream of Italy’s Umbrian Harvest Tour, I lived amongst a dozen interesting, funny and smart people for a week. I saw two of them — Rosemarie and Valerie — for dinner in New York a few weeks ago. And one couple, Lee and Tarie Harris, are among those I also know I’ll stay in touch with. The very first night, Lee regaled us all, as we sat around the fireplace waiting for dinner, with the prior week’s experiences, among them a three-day trip to Murano to visit his glass-blowing mentor, Elio Quarisa, who was very ill with cancer.

None of us had ever met a glass blower before. A PBS special on Dale Chihuly was about the closest any of us had gotten. But Lee had studied with a “first master” of the Venetian glass school and the love he had for this man and his art and the people who are involved in this incredible industry was evident as he talked into the night.

A month after we returned home, we got an e-mail from Lee saying that his beloved mentor had finally

Maestro Elio and Lee

succumbed to the disease. He was distraught, of course, but grateful for the days he and his wife had spent with Elio and his wife, Adriana. He wanted to get the story out about Elio, his work and the scholarship fund that has been set up by The Studio at the Corning Museum of Glass, where Elio taught in his retirement. I hope you enjoy reading about this amazing man and his efforts to keep an ancient art alive. Thanks, Lee!

“I was incredibly honored not only to be in a workshop with the Venetian Goblet Maestro Elio Quarisa, but to become great friends with him, from the very first day of the workshop at my home glass studio, Chicago Hot Glass, about seven years ago.

Elio and Pino Signoretti, the greatest glass sculptor ever — and one of Chihuly's most treasured Muranese glass artists

“Because of his stature as a living legend I, as well as other top glass artists in the U.S., found ourselves reserved in his presence, to say the least. At the same time, from the first moments of assisting Elio, his quiet reassurance and sincere gestures of kindness made these fears melt away, and in their place came admiration and the sheer joy of being with him.

“With Elio’s awesome good looks, poise and wonderful carriage, he confidently sculpted exceptionally thin and delicate glass into amazing dragon and “delfino” (dolphin) stem creations. You realized quickly that you were in the presence of someone of supreme confidence that only a lifetime of working with glass and the hands of God could produce.

Elio and Adriana

“After only a few weeks of becoming friends with Elio, I and my wife Tarie had the additional gift of becoming friends with his wonderful and beautiful wife, Adriana. I  told Elio that he was actually the Marcello Mastroianni of glass and, were it not for the fact that Adriana had frosted hair, I would have called her the Sophia Loren.

“When you worked with Elio, rushing to bring him a bit of hot glass to finish a complex, delicate goblet, he would look up from the bench, with his wonderful smile, and say, in his broken English, ‘easy, easy…ELEGANTE, slow, breathe’ — in effect, reassuring both the advanced glass artist or neophyte to relax, enjoy and not worry. ‘It’s only glass,’ he would say.

“After these years have passed and now that he has left us, I must admit that if I ever really thought about the

Shaping the dragon

stature of this remarkable glass legend, I might not have experienced the depth and majesty of this amazing man.

“When Tarie I stayed with Elio and Adriana at their wonderful home on the island of Murano, we would walk along the canals, and we would constantly hear people calling out, ‘Ciao, Elio.’ And without even turning around, Elio would call back, ‘Ciao Rosa,’ or whoever it was, knowing everyone by their voice.

“He was Murano — a time and place where neighbors came out early in the morning, sweeping their front streets, or trimming their flowers in the planters of their front windows.

“Seeing this gentle Maestro, one would never know that he had actually gone to work in the glass factory at nine years old during World War II, when his father died and he needed to help support his mother and sister. At an early age, he was recognized for his energy and amazing glass talents. By the time he was 21, he was regarded as a ‘Primo Maestro,’ the highest level of glass artist in what has been the undisputed glass center for 1,200 years.

“After working with several different famous glass studios in Murano, he worked for nearly 30 years at the exclusive — and oldest — furnace in Murano: Barovier & Toso. Jacobellus Barovier was a French chemist, who started the company in 1295. His secret glass coloration formulas are still held by this glass studio, and the company is still held by the Toso family. Elio became their chief of design, in itself an amazing accomplishment.

Signing one of his amazing dragon goblets

“I visited with Elio in November, just a month before he died, hoping that his battle with cancer would end differently than it did. I am grateful that for those amazing three days, not only did I find Elio mobile, but could hardly keep up with his energy.  One day he and Adriana had planned to have his cousin and his wife meet the four of us at the ‘vaporetta’ (water taxi) to get their cars at the Venice airport parking garage, to tour part of the mainland and have a wonderful lunch and dinner. It was about a 12-hour day, and though Elio was experiencing intense chemical poisons to kill the cancer, he never complained and hardly seemed tired.

“Those three days will always be something that makes me smile, because I was with ‘my Elio’ at his home, finding the embracing residents of Murano, whether garbage collector or fellow maestri, all happy, as always, to see Elio.  And, as usual, Elio would stop and ask them how they were, and would want to know how their family and friends were…to catch up.  He would listen and look into their eyes with each word they spoke.

“Of course the people of Murano — many of whom were his artistic contemporaries, legends, suppliers and shop owners who had the benefit of being a part of their lives and their families — also felt he was ‘their Elio.’ I can only smile with the one thought, that perhaps he is now God’s Elio, which I am jealous of.

“So, when I email or speak with other Maestro friends, or glass suppliers and friends in Murano and Venice, when we say hi, or goodbye, we say ‘Ciao.’  To me, it has the same meaning as ‘Shalom,’ because when Elio said Ciao, he meant take care of yourself, because I care about you and your well-being and want you to be happy.

“Ciao, Elio. Shalom.”

Lee wanted me to tell you about a wonderful project being organized by the Corning Glassworks:

Elio, after he retired, came to the U.S. to be sure that anyone interested in Classic Goblet creation could learn from, study with or simply watch the Maestro. It was critical for him that his love of Muranese Goblet design would live on. And so The Elio Quarisa Scholarship Fund has been created by Corning Glass. Each year, Corning hopes to have Elio’s legend live on by awarding scholarship(s) to students wishing to learn and develop classic Venetian Goblet creation.

For more information, contact Amy Schwartz at 607.974.8914 or thestudio@cmog.org. To donate by check, please make checks payable to: The Corning Museum of Glass (designate which scholarship fund in memo/note). Mail donations to: The Corning Museum of Glass, Development Office, One Museum Way, Corning, NY 14830.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

I’m going to show you the real New York — witty, smart, and international — like any metropolis. Tell me this: where in Europe can you find old Hungary, old Russia, old France, old Italy? In Europe you’re trying to copy America, you’re almost American. But here you’ll find Europeans who immigrated a hundred years ago — and we haven’t spoiled them. Oh, Gio! You must see why I love New York. Because the whole world’s in New York! — Oriana Fallaci

I was in New York City last weekend. A native New Yorker, I need to go a few times a year, and I am reminded of another quote each time I go. This one is from the writer Sherwood Anderson, who said:  “I think you know that when an American stays away from New York too long something happens to him. Perhaps he becomes a little provincial, a little dead and afraid.” Maybe so; I don’t want to find out.

Anyway, my friend Sharon and I flew up last Friday night for a girl’s weekend. We had tickets to a play at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. (That’s not true, really — we had tickets to see Alan Rickman. He could have stood there and said nothing for two hours and we would have been happy). And I had a mission. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about a certain little Italian comestibles shop called Eataly.

Hotel Mela: Trendy Lobby Area

We checked into the Hotel Mela (which means “apple” in Italian; I loved that) on West 44^th Street. A super friendly boutique hotel that opened in 2007 right in the heart of Times Square, Hotel Mela is comfortable, features amazing staff, offers free Wi-Fi, has beautiful Egyptian cotton sheets and is remarkably well-priced for a hotel this cool. Best of all, it sits directly across from one of my all-time favorite hangouts, Café Un Deux Trois, which I discovered when I worked a few blocks north in the 1970s. A pleasant surprise was that the Café is now open for breakfast as well as lunch and dinner, and it was oh-so-continental to start the day with a steaming cup of caffe au lait under the chandeliers.

And let’s face it . . . I came to eat. So Sunday morning we set off to be at Eataly when it opened at 10:00. The fact that I could even think about eating again after the fabulous dinner we ate with friends Barbara and Geoff on Saturday night in the tiny and tres chic Aurora (Soho) was another thing. It takes practice and, I’ll admit it, I’m well practiced at over-eating good food. Not to mention good wine.

But back to Eataly. Twenty-third Street and Fifth  Avenue (right where, as I once said in a poem, “Fifth  and Broadway do-si-do . . .”) will never, ever be the  same. This was not even a neighborhood when I  lived in New York (and I lived just 4 blocks away!).  The only reason you’d go over to this corner was to  catch a cross-town bus. Especially on a Sunday  morning. My, how things have changed!

Getting there early was a good idea. The entrance  that we chose opened into a little Italian café . . .  authentic coffee concoctions (made from Torino-based Lavazza, of course) were paired with yummy pastries, and couples and families were coming in slowly and filling up the seats. It was friendly and bright and relaxing and we were off to a good start. As the morning went on, the crowds grew more intense and, while I’m not big on crowds, there was something enjoyable about this. Maybe because we were all here to have the same experience. Maybe because there were so many different languages being spoken (including a whole lot of Italian) and it was transporting. Maybe because the places is just so smartly designed and the products are so irresistible that you didn’t care. We stayed for nearly five hours.

Eataly was created in 2007 in Torino (Turin), Italy, the brainchild of Oscar Farinetti, an appliance/food store impresario who had a dream to create an experience that combined the elements of a lively Italian marketplace with a resource where customers could eat, shop and learn. His first 30,000 square foot enterprise began the journey to make high-quality Italian foods available to everyone. Today there are Eatalys throughout Italy (Torino, Bologna, Milano, Asti and Pinerolo) and Japan (Daikanyama, Mitsukoshi and Gransta); the New York City location, which opened in 2010, is the latest venture.

Joined by business partners Mario Batali, Lidia and Joe Bastianich and the Slow Food Movement, Farinetti’s Eataly NYC is a singular experience, sometimes overwhelming but always amazing. The store’s 10-point Manifesto begins with the statement, “We’re in love with food” and sets the tone for the tour. These people are passionate about food and passionate about sharing it with the public. They believe in selling quality products (which means they don’t always come cheap) and offering quality service. I wasn’t disappointed.

Delizioso!

Where to start? What’s your pleasure? Fish? Buy it for later and enjoy the raw bar while they wrap up your gorgeous selection. Vegetables? There’s a produce market like none you’ve ever seen and you can be seated to enjoy fresh-made soups, bruschettas and more. Pizza and pasta? Of course. A little wine and cheese? Go straight to La Piazza for your tastings. Looking for some bread or sweets to take home? There are almost too many to deal with. There’s a selection of house wares in the back, including the always amusing Michael Graves-for-Alessi selections. Restrooms? Of course. And, as the sign says, they’re in the back by the beer . . .

Bello carciofo!

While all the individual tasting areas were more than tempting, Sharon and I opted to have the full Eataly experience and put our names in for a 12:15 seating at Manzo, the formal dining room. I’m happy to report that this meat-centric restaurant has something for everybody, even mostly-meat-avoiders like me. The service was impeccable and the food was to die for. We each started with an appetizer — a roasted beet salad with hazelnuts, poppy seeds and smoked ricotta for one, and then crispy baby artichokes with oven-dried tomatoes on a bed of arugula with a dressing of whole mustard and olive oil. We could have stopped there. But of course, we didn’t.

Ham and Cheese!!

Sharon had the Girasoli di Mortadella with Pistachios and Scallions. There’s nothing quite like a stuffed pasta in the shape of a sunflower to make you smile! And I opted for the Angolotti del Plin with Brown Butter and Parmigiano. These closed-up little guys were stuffed with a combination of chicken and mortadella and the shaved cheese on top was so sweet it almost made me cry. Stop there? Not on your life! Bring on the Torrone Semifreddo and café! Sure, it would have been cheaper if we’d just gone over and ordered a slice . . . but really, who knows when I’ll get back here? I have no regrets, just another pound or two to work off before the next Weight Watchers weigh-in. I only wish I could have stayed for one of the Lidia Bastianich-inspired cooking classes. Next time . . .

And with that, we went back to the hotel to wait for our car to the airport, armed with a few gift selections and good memories of the theatre, the restaurants, the hustle and bustle of it all and Eataly. You should go. Sign up for the mailing list and take a cooking class. Travel to Italy without the passport. Mangia bene!

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…