National parks are the best idea we ever had. Absolutely American, absolutely democratic, they reflect us at our best rather than our worst. — Wallace Stegner

The problem with keeping an appointment at Yosemite National Park is that there are too many outrageous things to see on the way up to it. Neat small towns, like Greeley Hill (population 915) and historic Jamestown; startling hills and drops around every corner; and vistas that go on forever and require that you pull over and have a look. That sort of thing.

I was late for appointments two days in a row because of a million photo stops, towns either too strange or too charming to simply drive through and businesses too good to pass up. Take, for example, the Chinese Camp Store and Kiwi Tavern.

Welsh flag by the side of the road

The first thing we noticed as we pulled out of Sonora to go up to my appointment with the National Park Service was a huge Welsh flag flying by the side of the road. Then the name of the establishment caught our eye, and we had to stop.  Both American and New Zealand flags were also in full display as we approached the small rustic building.

The sign over the front door said “Established 1934.” Curiouser and curiouser. Why here? Chinese Camp? Kiwis? We walked in and found the usual display of sodas and chips and other trail supplies. Cowboy hats. Lanterns. An abundance of Native American dream catchers in an array of sizes. Engine oil and other treatments. And then, emerging from the back of the store, was the Chinese Camp’s owner of 35 years, New Zealander Mike Reid.

We started talking with him and got the skinny on him and the so-called town. It turns out he was

Mike, Tim and the Evans book

deep into reading a book by a Mormon named Richard Evans and showed it to us. He found solace in the sayings and quotes that Evans had collected in the volume. Things had gotten slow in these parts since the end of the Gold Rush. Mike told us about the ghost town that was this Chinese Camp and that it was about to come back to life. Maybe. Rumor was someone had recently bought it.

Here’s what the Historic Landmark No. 423 says about it:

Mark Twain Bret Harte Trail

Chinese Camp

Reportedly founded about 1849 by group of Englishmen who employed Chinese as miners. Much surface gold found on hills and flats. Headquarters for stage lines in early 1850s, and for several California Chinese mining companies. First Chinese tong war in state fought near here between Sam Yap and Yan Woo tongs. Present stone and brick post office built 1854, still standing. St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church built 1855, restored 1949. First Pastor, Father Henry Aleric.

Most folks know about Mark Twain and his jumping frog, an event which still takes place in Calaveras County, just north of Sonora, not too far away from here. Twain spent a lot of time in California. Apparently Brett Harte did, as well. There’s everything from a Brett Harte Trail to a Brett Harte Mini-Storage enterprise. You can’t escape it.

You can't make this stuff up

Mike’s happy here. Been here a long time. Gets to talk to folks who stop by the store and sell ‘em a Coke or bag of chips. Before you know it, you’ve talked too long and are late for your appointment back in the real world. Or are you?

I hope Chinese Camp stays the way it is, even if the ghost town starts to come back to life. I’d hate to see Mike get so busy he couldn’t sit and talk.

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…

 The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found. — Calvin Trillin

I haven’t been to a lot of California, but where I’ve gone, I’ve eaten well. Los Angeles, Pasadena, San Francisco, Corte Madera, Sausalito and Tiburon have all demonstrated creative cooking with high quality ingredients and profferred selections from wondrous local wine lists.

My recent trip to the Left Coast took me from Marin to Sonora and Yosemite, down to Silicon Valley and back up to San Francisco proper. And while the eating is good pretty much everywhere — A++ to Ike’s Place for sandwiches in the Castro (despite the 40-minute wait) and D- to Yosemite’s microwaved bunned hot dogs at a staggering $4.75 — two places are stand outs. I’ve written about one of them before, but three more meals in two days proved to me that I had to give it another rave.

A well-stocked bar

First is Portola Kitchen, at this writing, a two-month-old venture in Portola Valley near Palo Alto, serving rustic Italian cuisine prepared by Chef Guillaume Bienaime. The former executive chef of Marche in Menlo Park and consulting chef at Cuisinett in San Carlos, Bienaime has always wanted to do authentic Italian cooking and he is showing diners how it’s done.

The proprietor of Portola Kitchen is Mike Wallau, who owns three other restaurants in the area too, including Il Fornaio in Palo Alto — so he knows Italian. This is the team’s chance to offer high quality Italian food while keeping the restaurant true to its reasonably priced neighborhood dining roots.

First, let me say that the restaurant really looks good when you walk in: there’s a huge, well-stocked bar

Guillaume & his slicer

and the décor is California rustic, with a large covered outdoor seating area left over from the prior restaurant, Mike’s Café in Ladera. Nothing stuffy here. Go to the back of the restaurant, where the action is, and you’ll see the pride of Chef Bienaime — his high-end, lipstick-red meat slicer, imported straight from Italy. There is also the fancy pasta machine, because all the pastas are homemade here. They even support local farms whenever possible, so eating here just feels good.

Chef Guillaume

I started with the Beet and Arugula salad, nicely accented with oranges, pistachios and crescenza cheese. Tim had the evening’s special appetizer, a flavorful smoked salmon and fennel plate. For dinner, I had the Chicken Rosemary Sausage, with the finest, smoothest polenta ever and Tim had the Ricotta Angolotti with gamboni mushrooms. They brought us an amazing dessert, made with ice cream, chocolate sauce and a crunchy peanut brittle candy — and then the chef brought out a new fruit tarte that was absolutely sinful.

If you’re in the area or even remotely nearby, I suggest you try this. Portola Kitchen is the new gem in the neighborhood. Unpretentious, daring and welcoming. Mangia!

The Lights of Saha

Appearing for the second time on this blog is Saha,

Fattoush Salad

located in the Hotel Carlton on Nob Hill in San Francisco. We remembered this restaurant so fondly from two years ago, that we ate two dinners and one breakfast here on this most recent trip.

Chef Mohamed Aboghanem learned to cook from his Yemeni mother, and it is a blessing for all who try his Arabic Fusion cuisine. Although originally from Yemen, on the southern tip of the Arabian peninsula, Mohamed traveled extensively, learning the traditions and flavors of the countries he traveled to. Finally settling in San Francisco, he worked at some of the city’s finest restaurants before opening his own cafe, and later his own restaurant, Saha.

His food is suitable for meat lovers, vegetarians and vegans alike, all intriguingly spiced and all able to be

To start: warm bread with oil & roasted sesame seeds

prepared for a gluten-free diet. Saha — which means “to good health” — aims for best-in-class environmental practices, using biodegradable take-out containers and non-toxic cleaning products. Most of Saha’s food is organically grown and locally sourced. When you remember a salad for its intriguing combination of beets, mint and figs two years later, you know you’ve got something remarkable. Who remembers a salad? You won’t forget these.

Mohamed is a master soup maven, and he can do things to legumes, tofu and mushrooms that are borderline illegal, they’re so good. Spiced so you know it (without creating a fire in your mouth) his lamb, duck, seafood and veggie plates delight the eyes as well as the palate. Is it California cuisine? Is it Yemeni? Is it all a crazy invention? Who cares? Next time you’re in the City by the Bay, make a point of stopping by Saha on Sutter Street. Even better, stay in the Hotel Carlton and just go downstairs for dinner. Then go down again for breakfast in the morning. It’s your new home away from home.

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…

A FULLY BAKED GUEST POST: This week’s post comes from writer Barbara Worton, author of the highly acclaimed children’s book, Too Tall Alice. Her work has also appeared in Memories of John, edited by none other than Yoko Ono, and various other publications. Like me, Barbara is the child of one Italian parent who very much identifies with that (dominant, let’s face it) Italian side. And the fact that we’ve known each other since we were seven years old means that I can attest to the fact that every word here is true. As is every calorie . . .

Bolea's cookie case

I love Italian cookies, pastries, cakes and gelato. Cannoli, St. Joseph cakes, sfogliatelle, struffoli, zeppole, torrone, cassata, confetti, spumoni, tortoni, tartuffo, and regina, pinwheel, tri-colori, and pignoli cookies make me happy. That love affair began in Brooklyn, New York in the early 1950s and has been rekindled at a number of pastry shops across New York, New Jersey and Italy—the latest being Panificio Bolea Bakery & Café in Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey.

Made in Brooklyn

My Italian-American story, like so many others, begins in Brooklyn, where I was born and spent the first five years of my life. These were the days of penny candy stores, ice cream parlors, soda delivered in cases and left on the front stoop, and Nunzio’s Bakery on 22^nd Street and 4^thAvenue. I think that was the name of the bakery. I remember it more by its buttery, sugary warmth than its name.

White Chocolate Gelato

My mother was the Italian in our family of five; born in the U.S. in 1922, the first of Antoinette and Pasquale’s 11 children. The house she grew up in—by the time I knew it—was a tumbled-down Brownstone with a small yard, growling German Shepherd (named Rex, like all of my grandparent’s dogs) and outdoor toilet that had been converted to a full inside bathroom. Yep, my grandparents didn’t have buckets of money. On Sundays and holidays, however, you would never know it.

The Sunday pilgrimage

We traveled to Brooklyn from Massapequa Park, on Long Island, right after the 8:00 a.m. Sunday mass at Our Lady of Lourdes RC Church. The Southern State Parkway was always mobbed. Our cars—until my parents bought their first new car in 1967—were always on their last legs, so we packed gallons of water before we left home, and we drove, eyes fixed on the temperature gauge to make sure the car wasn’t about to overheat.

Eventually, we’d arrive at my grandparent’s house. There was always a parking space waiting right out front. My grandfather would cone off a space outside the house the night before—one of the perks of my mother being the oldest of 11 was preferred parking. And every Sunday as soon as we came around the corner, my grandfather would be on the sidewalk ready to guide whoever was driving our car to parallel park. This usually involved a lot of screaming and hand and arm flailing.

The warm welcome

Best olive bread — ever!

The minute we passed through the front door I could smell my grandmother’s Neapolitan sauce, heavy with meatballs, sausages, and beef braciole bubbling away on the stove. The dining table was always set—of course, with mismatched plates and flatware—for about 30 brothers, sisters, children, cousins, aunts and uncles who squeezed around the grownup and the kids’ tables.

The ritual before dinner was always the same. The women saw to the pasta and grating the cheese—and yacking about their husbands and kids, the price of this and that, and the miserable state of the country—in the kitchen. The men went to bring in the soda and smoke a cheroot or a Camel, and the kids chased each other around the house. It was chaos. Then, the front door would open, and my Uncle Frank and Uncle Pat would walk in with stacks of white bakery boxes tied with red and white striped string. Forget the pastas. The Italian cookies and pastries—the sweetest, creamiest, crunchiest desserts anywhere in the world—were in the building!

The 1960s hit my Italian-American family hard. Politics and religion and race and women’s lib and rock ’n roll and peace ’n love and the Vietnam War drove a wedge between us. But no matter what the differences, when the boxes from Nunzio’s came out, we came back together. That’s the way it was until my grandparents left this world, their children scattered across the country and eventually joining them in their Italian-American hereafter.

Back to Brooklyn in one bite

Robert at work

My husband, Geoff, and I like to go out for breakfast on Saturday mornings, and that’s how we stumbled upon Panificio Bolea Bakery & Café. Tired of our usual egg and muffin spots, we were cruising the neighborhood for something new, and there it was, an unassuming storefront in downtown Ho-Ho-Kus. Two steps inside—cookies; all the real Italian cookies—not those dry, dusty, tasteless imposters you find in the supermarket dressed up in cellophane like those goodies that memories are made of. And Bolea had cakes, cannolis, mini-pastries, gelato, bread—lots of different shapes and sizes, including the best olive bread I have every eaten—confetti, prosciutto, press coffee, and an open kitchen and ovens where customers can sit and watch all the magic happen. Geoff and I sat, we ate, we oogled the goodies, we drank about six cups of coffee—mine decaf—and we signed up for baking classes.

Old-world baking credentials

Robert, the owner of Bolea, is the bread man, trained at his uncle’s bakery in Abruzzo. He’d gone over to visit family for a vacation, helped out in the store and decided to stay. Six months later, he moved on to Milan and spent 18 months apprenticing there. Then it was home and working in some top-notch Italian bakeries on Staten Island. A few career moves later, Robert opened Bolea.

The Sunday baking class was brilliant. Miguel, the pastry chef, and Robert took us through making

Even the cake is happy!

vanilla sponges, crème patisserie and butter cream icing. What we learned: Measure by weight and in grams, not by volume. Use the right cake flours—King Arthur—and order pasteurized egg yolks in bulk. Pass the crème patisserie through a sieve to give it that silky consistency. Chill the sponge cakes before icing and decorating. Rotate the sponge slowly while you slice it into three layers with a serrated knife . Brush the top of each layer with simple sugar before piping the butter cream icing around the diameter of the layer and filling in with chocolate crème patisserie. Piping and smoothing the icing was a challenge for Geoff and me, topped only by decorating the sides and top. It took some time to master the border decorations, but at the end, our cake was done and in the display counter, looking professional, and when we sliced into it, tasting just as good.

Generous helpings

Barbara, Geoff and the cake!

Robert and Miguel at Panificio Bolea Bakery & Café were so generous with their time and knowledge and stories of Italy and cookies and passion for baking. Panificio Bolea Bakery & Café is their 20-hour-a-day labor of love. Geoff and I enjoyed every moment of the class, and inhaling the butter and sugar and vanilla brought back so many memories. I was back in Brooklyn—the best of it. My mom was there, telling all of us that just about every famous person in America was Italian, my German/Dutch American father rolling his eyes and laughing. And I was happy: little kid, you just can’t stop giggling from the love-of-it-all happy.

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…

The sunflower is mine, in a way. — Vincent van Gogh

And who could argue with this? Of course it is Vincent’s.

But sunflowers are also my favorite flower. There’s nothing like driving through Tuscany or Umbria and seeing acres and acres of them dancing in the light breeze. They look so cheery and substantial. They are my favorite flower by far: yellow, orange, rust. Tall or short, big or small. They make me smile.

We have had several sunflower arrangements this spring and summer and I have tried to capture their essence in a few photographs here.

I’d also like to share a poem I wrote a few years ago. It didn’t make it into Up at the Villa, but it appeared in my chapbook, Sono italiana. I hope you enjoy it. Stay sunny.

Buon viaggio!

Girasoli

Our name takes up six pages in the Florence phone book.

But what would I say to any of them?

Even if the language were there, where would I begin?

How communicate the history, the longing, the fear?

My father did not want to come; maybe he was right.

He might be at home here, and what good would that do now?

Too late, I would have buried him among the sunflowers

Near Siena, from whence our family came.

I can imagine him among the fiery yellow stalks,

Loving the wine and the olives into rich soil,

Watered and warmed by the hand of God

Who is present in every thing.

c. 2003 Linda Dini Jenkins

In the Ropes Garden, Salem MA

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…

Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything. — Charles Kuralt

Sometimes, you’ve just got to get off the road.

The LIly B., sans rigging

Last Sunday, Tim and I took a road trip with some friends. Actually, with Tim’s sister and his new friend Verlon, the very talented carpenter who built Tim’s new boat, a nifty 20-foot Sharpie named the Lily B. We were headed down from Richmond to Deltaville — once the wooden boatbuilding capital of the Chesapeake Bay — where Lily had spent a lot of time, scouting out locations for a future sail.

It was such a gorgeous day, so we took the “slow” road. And after a while, we found ourselves in New Kent County and saw the sign for the New Kent Winery and, well, you know . . .

We’re now the proud owners of six commemorative JEB glasses, which were created to celebrate

One of our "JEB" glasses

JEB Stuart’s ride through the area some 150 years ago. And we spent time sampling some of the winery’s offerings. We have not always been pleased with Virginia wines, but I have to tell you — they’re getting much better. And the New Kent Winery is one of the best.

The setting for the winery is magnificent. The first thing you notice (after the vineyards) is the building, made almost entirely of recycled materials, like pre-Civil War bricks and heart-pine beams and floor timbers that were saved from structures more than 100 years old. It claims to be one of the most eco-friendly buildings on the East Coast.

New Kent Winery

The winery is actually part of a Master Planned Community called Viniterra, which features a Rees Jones Signature Golf Course, The Club at Viniterra and, of course, special events at the winery.

Our wine taster was Peggy Nickles, who ably guided us through the New Kent selections. The winery was first planted in 2001 and served up its first selections in 2005. The vineyard grows five kinds of grapes: CabFranc, Merlot, Chardonnay, Norton and Vidal, from which they currently produce nine selections:

• Chardonnay
• Chardonnay Reserve
• J.E.B.’s Red (a Meritage)
• Merlot
• 2005 Reserve Merlot
• Vidal Blanc
• White Norton
• Sweet Virginia
• Patriot

The Patriot selection was interesting (but too sweet for me). It is poured only on Sundays and $1.00 of every bottle sold goes to help the families of fallen solders via the Patriot Foundation. Peggy also says that, with 5% residual sugars, this wine could be consumed in Baptist churches!

While pouring the Chardonnay Reserve, Peggy said, “The best thing to go with this wine is more

Peggy with the award-winning wines

of it.” The tasting was like that. We had a blast. Go and take the tour; you won’t regret it.

After more water and wine crackers and a few purchases (we bought the Merlot and the Vidal Blanc) we found our way down to Deltaville. First stop? The Galley, for lunch. Three soft shell crab sandwiches and one crab cake sandwich, please. Yum. Then on to NaughtiNells for a look in the back room for some helpful used nautical books and charts. Then to the old ball field for a look. Finally, to the huge West Marine store for some necessities for Lily. She’s going to have a great time down here.

Governor's Cup Award Winner

And on the way home, we pulled off the road so that Verlon could climb up a tall fire tower. Tim followed, of course, but it had been a dream of Verlon’s to do that for years. They saw all the way to Richmond and came down safe.

So we got where we need to get to, but we had an even better time by turning off the road. I highly recommend 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…

This cooking tour is dedicated to the people who taught me to live, to cook and everything about life. — Anne Robichaud

Anne serves the pasta

I’d known about Anne Robichaud for almost two years before I finally met her. My friend Rosemarie hired her as a tour guide when she went to Assisi in 2010. And her name is all over the internet in connection with Umbria, including on the Italian Notebook site. When I learned that Anne was coming to the U.S. to do a series of cooking classes and lectures, I had to go and meet her.

Anne has been living in Assisi, in Umbria, since 1975. A French Canadian, born in Massachusetts to an Irish mother and raised in Wisconsin, Anne became enamored of Italy on a junior year abroad program through Loyola/Chicago. It brought 280 students to study in Rome from all over the U.S. and many of them are still very good friends. The class I went to was, in fact, hosted by a woman from Anne’s program and there were two other former students in attendance.

After her gap year, Anne went to graduate school at UC Berkeley and then set off with about $900 to try to get around the world. She ended up teaching at the International School in Rome and over the Christmas break she and a friend decided to go to Sicily. When their two weeks were up, they got on a packed train to go back to Rome. Little aware that you don’t leave Sicily on January 7 — because it’s the end of Christmas vacation and the day after Epiphany — the train was overflowing with immigrants going to all parts of Europe, and there was no room to sit. They spent half the night on the floor, but about mid-way through, they found seats and there was one empty seat next to Anne, and Pino — the man she would marry — sat in it.

Pino went back to Milan, but he and Anne reconnected a month or so later and friends who had this rundown farmhouse in the hills outside of Assisi invited them to stay. When the friends were called back to the States, Anne and Pino (who was originally from Palermo) rented it.

“There was no hot water, no electricity, no passable roads. And we went with, I think, $118.26 between us, but we had a tremendous desire to work the land,” she recalls. “And people later asked, ‘Is that because you grew up on a farm in Wisconsin?’ And I said, ‘No, it was because I was at Berkeley in 1972.’”

They learned everything from their neighbors — farming, animal husbandry, cooking, attention to detail and hard work —  and later found out they all had bets about how long she and Pino would last. Well, it’s been nearly 40 years and they’re still there, still working hard.

“We did not depend on the nine acres of land to give us a living,” she says. “Pino went to work with a stonemason (he’d been a chemical analyst) and he’s now considered really one of the best in the Assisi area in the restoration of medieval architecture.”

As the children came along, their farm labors decreased and now they only have token donkeys and goats. But at one time they had pigs that became prosciutto, cappicola, salami – and there were always rabbits to slaughter. Pino killed them and Anne had to gut them. Pino killed the ducks, geese, guinea fowl, chickens, turkeys and he’d throw them on the kitchen table and she’d have a boiling cauldron of water in the fireplace. How? Put the bird in, pull it out, pluck, split it open, gut it and cook it. She was cooking what she’d seen the farmwomen cooking because they all collaborated together.

Outside of their children, the neighboring farm people are the most important people in their lives. Like Ashley and Jason Bartner in Le Marche, Anne and Pino came to be “adopted” by the locals who were keen to share their traditional cucina povera with the newcomers — once they believed the newcomers were really serious about staying, working and learning!

Anne, The Umbrian Tourist Board

On September 26, 1977, while Anne was director of the Assisi Elderhostel program, an earthquake hit.

Insalata di Fagiolini e Patate

News went around the world that the Basilica of Assisi had collapsed, and tourism virtually ground to a halt in Umbria. Most people do not go to Orvieto or Perugia or Spoleto unless they also go to Assisi. What to do?

First, her former Elderhostelers started to write to Anne: are you alright, is your family alright, is there anything we can do? And she wrote back to them: Yes, and please get out the word that we’re fine, and that the Basilica did not collapse. Two couples wrote to her because they knew she was a lecturer with a vast knowledge of Umbrian history, architecture and cuisine. They said, “You put together the slide lecture and come over and tell America that Assisi is still standing.”

Knowing that Anne was going to America to bring back tourism, the Italian government got her into sites to photograph that were off-limits to most people. AlItalia paid her long flights and the Commerce Board of Assisi paid all her interior flights. She left in February 1978 and, thanks to her Elderhostel and gap year contacts, lectured at Vassar, Smith, American University, Portland Fine Arts Museum, University of Texas/Austin, NYU, UCLA, USC, St. Louis University, Loyola Chicago – 26 lectures in very prestigious venues. She was even televised in Ohio. Thus began Anne’s annual spring pilgrimage back to the States for a lecture and cooking tour. Umbria was back on the map.

To find out where she’s going to be in 2013 and how you can attend a lecture or cook with her, check out her website.

The only American licensed tour guide

Ready to cook

As director of the Assisi Elderhostel program for 12 years, Anne naturally became fascinated by what she was hearing from the guides about Umbrian art and history, and in 1992 decided to close her language school to focus on taking the guide exams herself. A friend in Florence had told her that they were even tougher than her doctoral dissertation, so Anne buckled down and studied everything Umbria for two long years. During the written part of the test (all in Italian, of course) half of the 500 people being tested walked out of the room. Of the original 500, only 35 qualified to take the second (oral) part of the exam, scheduled for four months later. She passed — and is still today the only American tour guide in Umbria.

I asked Anne what she likes best about Umbria, and if she has a favorite city. She said she loves the variety of what Umbria has to offer. Assisi is best, because she lives there. Gubbio, because it’s a perfectly restored medieval town. Perugia because it has the most exquisite Renaissance period in all of Umbria. Spello, because it’s what Assisi would be like if Francis hadn’t been born there. Deruta, for its pottery. Narni, for its 12^th century frescoed church in a grotto discovered under a 13^th century church 12 years ago by rock climbers.

If you’re going to be in Umbria, be sure to get in touch with Anne before you go. She’s licensed throughout the region and will give you a unique insight into this historic and drop-dead gorgeous region that is known as “The green heart of Italy.”

The Food of Umbria

Anne has some very strong opinions about how food is “done” in the U.S. vs. in Umbria.

La Bandiera — red, white and green

“Food is communication,” she says. “I talk about how colors and smells and tastes transmit messages to people, and how it’s important for young mothers here to say something other than, ‘Put your coat on, we’re going out for dinner.’ Tomato sauce on the stove when you get up in the morning is a different kind of message from a mother.”

Umbrian cuisine is a classic example of the Mediterranean Diet: seasonal ingredients, picked, cooked and eaten as quickly as possible after they leave the garden. If it’s meat, it’s slaughtered almost immediately. The characteristic foods of the region are legumes, truffles, and prosciutto. Wine-wise, if you can get your hands on a bottle of Sagrantino, you will be in heaven, no matter what’s on the plate.

For our cooking class, Anne wrangled 18 people around a medium-sized kitchen in suburban Bethesda, MD and — providing us with recipes for appetizers, salads, main courses, pasta and desserts — choreographed us into a lean, mean Italian cooking machine. When we finally sat down to partake in our shared experience, it was glorious, and well worth the time and learning curve.

Today, Anne’s farm neighbors are teaching her the regional recipes and the traditions because their own children are leaving. The kids don’t want the traditions anymore. And what are they going to do with 17 acres of farmland or 50 acres of vineyards, anyway? (Give them to me and Tim, maybe??? Pleeeeeeze. . .) So the locals are opening their arms to these newcomers because they’re thrilled that somebody is paying attention.

“But I’ll tell you something else,” says Anne. “They wouldn’t want their kids to do it. They want the famous word benessere – well being – for their children. They’re all sorry to see it end but as they say, it’s inevitable.”

As is, I hope, a trip to Umbria for you. You’ve got to go. And you can’t miss an opportunity to meet up with Anne, whether it’s on her own Assisian turf or back here in the States next spring. If you’d be interested in seeing Umbria with Anne, let me know and we’ll plan a trip!

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…

When we return home, we can put what we’ve learned — our newly acquired broader perspective — to work as citizens of a great nation confronted with unprecedented challenges. And when we do that, we make travel a political act. — Rick Steves, Travel as a Political Act
  

I want to tell all you travelers or soon-to-be travelers about something really important. It’s not new and it’s doesn’t rely on the latest technology. It doesn’t cost a lot and you can do it either in the US or overseas. You can do it alone or with somebody else. You’ll be richly rewarded, though, no matter how or where you do it.

It’s easy: You can become a SERVAS host or traveler — or both.

SERVAS was created in 1948, shortly after the end of World War II, by a Danish conscientious objector. He believed that it was possible to build stronger foundations for world peace by building a network that would bring concerned people from around the world together to meet and learn from each other — and to recognize that we all belong to one world family.

The word SERVAS itself is Esperanto for “serve” and it truly captures the spirit of international mutual service that characterizes the movement.

In Verona with old friends & SERVAS friends

Tim and I first learned about SERVAS when we lived in Salem, Massachusetts. A neighbor came over one day and asked if we would be interested in hosting two fellows from Italy. Since we are nuts about Italy, we immediately said yes, but wanted to know more about how he happened to know two fellows from Italy who needed a place to stay. That’s when Bill told us about SERVAS.

He and his wife Marlene had been members for years, it seems, and they had traveled all over the world with SERVAS. They were US hosts, as well, and had people coming to stay later that week. So when they received the request from the Italians, they couldn’t accommodate all of them, but didn’t want to say no. We said yes and it was, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Laurent and Roberto are still friends of ours nearly 10 years later and we see them whenever we get to Bella Italia. We also joined SERVAS.

Since joining, we have moved to Virginia, just outside of Richmond, and it’s not exactly in a tourist hotspot, so we don’t get a lot of travelers. We had a couple of young Danish fellows once who were en route to LA and Latin America. Last week, we hosted a couple from New Jersey, who were driving up from their winter digs in Florida. Turns out they’re very big in SERVAS, ex-officio board members, and we got bitten by the “international traveler” bug while listening to their stories of visits in over 100 countries.

So we’ll be trying it out in the UK this September and we’ll let you know how it goes. Here’s what the “brief history of SERVAS” reports:

Volunteers were first found in countries of northwestern Europe who gathered lists of people who could offer free hospitality to approved foreign travelers. It was hoped that, by traveling in the open-door style, people would build links between groups and individuals seeking a peaceful and just society.

A group of leaders from several pacifist organizations in England gave sound roots to the hospitality system, which was known by several names: Peacebuilders, Work-Study-Travel, and Open Doors. Meanwhile, a dedicated Gandhian and Quaker woman in California, “Grandma” Esther Harlan, created the even more extensive hospitality system in North America — using only correspondence to compile a roster of people identified as potential Peace Builders. Within a few years, the movement had taken root in a number of other countries.

Lists were circulated of those willing to open their doors to travelers within the system. Early US hosts included leaders in race relations, Quaker, Jewish, Protestant and Catholic leaders, leaders of cooperatives, peace leaders and village rehabilitation workers. Though a peace-oriented organization, it has never excluded non-pacifists; it has, in fact, welcomed travelers in uniform. From these humble beginnings, SERVAS has reached out to people all over the world, driven entirely by the efforts of concerned volunteers.

Today, SERVAS has hosts in more than 130 countries and has more than 14,000 member hosts and travelers on its books. And since 1973, SERVAS has been recognized as a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) registered with the UN’s Economic and Social Council.

The idea of SERVAS, boiled down to its basics, is this (and these are my words, not theirs): if you actually spend

Our newest SERVAS friends

time with people from other countries and exchange ideas and get to understand a little bit about their politics, religion and other points of view (and they, ours), we might be less likely to blow each other to smithereens in the next awful war.

So what exactly do you do as a SERVAS host? Pretty basic. First you agree to accept travelers regardless of age, race, creed, nationality or sexual orientation. You spend as much time as you can with your traveler, understanding that they probably want to go out and be tourists some time and you may have to go to work. You share ideas about your life, community and interests. You provide a minimum of two nights’ accommodations and make every effort to share at least one meal with them. No money is ever exchanged — they stay with you for free. They may want to reimburse you for food or offer to pay for a meal, and that’s okay. But accommodations and friendship are free.

This has been such a rewarding experience for me and Tim and we are very much looking forward to being on the other side — as international travelers — in a few months. I highly recommend that US readers go to the website at http://www.usservas.org/ to learn about fees and other specifics; readers in other countries should go to the link up top. This is not only a great way to travel, it’s also a great way to make friends around the world and gain a better understanding of what’s really going on out there, as opposed to just listening to the droning, divisive, fear-mongering media these days.

Pardon me if I sound a tad political. But go, do this and travel in peace.

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…

 Nothing annoys people so much as not receiving invitations. ― Oscar Wilde

Five dedicated Italophiles are about to celebrate their first anniversary together as the Italy Roundtable. Auguri a tutti! Their commitment to Italy and to spreading the word about Italian life, food, wine, history, oddities, accommodations, traditions, events and more is admirable. Plus, it makes for very enjoyable reading.

Who are they? Alexandra, Gloria, Rebecca, Melanie and Jessica, respectively, at ArtTrav, At Home in Tuscany, Brigolante, Italofile and WhyGo Italy. You go, girls!

They recently extended an invitation to their readers to write on one of the topics they’ve covered in the last year. I wish I could write on all of them. Maybe I will, eventually. But I’ve decided, mostly to address the quizzical looks I know I must get from friends as they open yet another blog post about things Italian, to tackle the Roundtable’s very first topic: Why I Write About Italy.

Clemente, the wine maker

I write about Italy because I grew up with an Italian father and an English-Irish mother but, like brown eyes, the Italian side was always dominant. We never had pork pies or fish and chips at holiday meals. No. It was always a creamy lasagna or eggplant parmigiano, with mini cannoli and sfogliatelle for dessert, washed down with some of the worst red wine you’ve ever tasted, compliments of my nonno Clemente who kept his barrels in the basement. And we always had fish on Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve even though I was raised in the Protestant faith (that’s where Mom came in). Shrimp and eels and sardines and I still get wriggly just thinking about it.

I write about Italy because my nonna AnnaMaria used to hoist me up onto a three-legged wooden stool when I was a kid and let me watch her as she worked at the stove. She was a marvelous cook, intuitive like most peasant Italian women, never measuring a thing but always creating something masterful from nothing. My father used to say she could do compound interest in her head, no dummy she, although I doubt that she ever went to school. My father also used to say that you could eat her meatballs on Friday, so good was she at stretching the family food budget.

I write about Italy because I always felt like an Italian. That meant that most of my relatives still lived in Brooklyn, while we had moved out to the “safe” suburbs. It meant that all my cousins looked like Sophia Loren even though I felt more like Jimmy Durante. It meant that I knew we were a little louder than the other families on the block when we all got together. It meant that my Aunt Theresa’s mamma would always bring her own “sangwich” to family functions because who knew if the food there was going to be as good as she could make? And it meant that nobody else I knew had fathers who got up early on Sunday mornings to cook sauce for the spaghetti, or made regular pilgrimages to visit with his cu’mare, with respect and a bottle of Three Feathers whiskey.

I write about Italy because I wish that I could have persuaded my father to come to Italy with me. He never went, never crossed the ocean, never got to see where his father and mother came from (Viterbo/Acquapendente and Salerno/Montano Antilla). He was afraid, like he was afraid of most things new. He remembered when being Italian was a shameful thing in this country and he wasn’t sure what to expect over there. He said he didn’t speak the language (he did, but forgot a lot from his childhood). And he was getting old (he was). And while I haven’t been to Viterbo or Salerno yet myself, they are on a very short list of places to go. He will be with me then in spirit.

I write about Italy because I have been there more than a dozen times and because I miss it like crazy when I am not there. I write about it because I have not yet figured out how to live there for part of the year and still make a living (maybe I inherited a little of my father’s fear?). I write about it because I love the food and the wine and the unhurried enthusiasm and reverence that are poured into each and every eating occasion. I write about Italy because I have found it easy to make friends there and adore what people are doing with their lives, promoting regions, culinary traditions, cities, vineyards, language, a way of life that is so different from ours that sometimes that I cringe when I think of coming back home.

I write about Italy because it is breathtakingly beautiful: ancient Etruscan ruins, medieval cities, Roman arches, cobblestone streets, pink marble, snow-capped mountains, glorious beaches with crisp lines of beach chairs and umbrellas, multi-generational families sitting around a long table for hours at a Sunday lunch, old women strolling arm-in-arm at the passeggiata. I write about Italy because it makes me smile. It is a generous, diverse, stylish, practical, whimsical, disjointed, theatrical, proud place of unique rule-bound chaos and somehow I feel right at home there.

Besides, I adore Italian food and design and I think the language (I speak and understand 12 words fairly well) is simply beautiful. My heart actually aches to know more. But as long as I can say “Pasta alla Norma,” “Panna Cotta” and “Sagrantino, per favore,” I’ll be okay for a little while longer.

I have been writing about Italy since 2007, published a book in 2009 and started this blog in 2010. I try to promote people who are doing good things in Italy and I will continue to do that. I have taken friends to Italy and shown them places and a way of life they would not have seen on traditional tours. We have rented villas, gone to B&Bs and agriturismi and stumbled into once-in-a-lifetime experiences like opera in a villa and becoming local celebrities for a day in a small town along the Po.

Italy is history. It is architecture. It is certainly food. It is people, not quite united yet, but that is part of their charm. It is the reason I sit at my computer every day, to read and write and learn more. So to Alexandra, Gloria, Rebecca, Melanie and Jessica — thank you. And thanks to all the ex-pats who are in Italy doing what they love, brave enough to leave the safety of the familiar and take a chance on the beautiful and unknown. I hope one day to join 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…

Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read. — Groucho Marx

Lady Maxine of the Ozarks

My dog, Maxine, always wanted me to start a blog post like that. She’s got quite a sense of humor. But April being National Poetry Month and tonight being World Book Night, I thought this was exactly the right time for it.

World Book Night began in the UK in 2011; this year it has grown to include the U.S. and Ireland. Next year, more countries will be included. Why April 23? Because it’s UNESCO’s World Book Day, chosen to mark both the anniversary of Cervantes’ death as well as Shakespeare’s birth and death. In the Catalan region of Spain, April 23 is celebrated by giving a book and a flower to a loved one. The idea of World Book Night is to spread the love of reading — “person to person.”

As volunteers, we were asked to choose from a list of 30 pre-selected books and agree to distribute 20 free copies to readers (and especially to non-readers) on April 23 and pass on our love for this chosen book. Bookstores got involved to order, box up and distribute boxes of books to us volunteers.

The chosen books include a wide range of subjects and genres, from Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings to Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games to Just Kids by Patti Smith and The Stand by Stephen King. The book I selected is The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien’s absolutely remarkable book about memory, war and the power of story telling. We got three choices, and I got my first choice. I’m excited. I heard Tim read from the manuscript that would become The Things They Carried at The Bread Loaf Writers Conference back in the late 1980s and can attest to its power.

Here’s what the “volunteer’s” press release says:

From Kodiak, Alaska, to Key West, Florida, in 6,000 towns and cities across America, 25,000 volunteers will give away half a million free books on one day: April 23, 2012. 

World Book Night U.S. is an ambitious campaign to personally give out thousands of free, specially printed books across America. Volunteer book lovers like myself will help promote reading by going into our communities and handing out free copies of a book we love to new or light readers, reaching them especially in underserved places – and even some fun spots. Volunteers will be picking up the books at a local bookstore or library in order to go out and share them in locations as diverse as VA hospitals, nursing homes, ballparks, mass transit, diners, and more.

I am giving away five copies to friends who have heard me write about the book but have not yet read it themselves. I hear things like, “I would never read a book about Vietnam,” or “I don’t like short stories.” I’m here to show them the error of their ways. The other 15 copies are going to an English classroom in suburban Virginia where many of the students are not financially able to buy books for pleasure.

I’m so happy to be doing this. If you’d like to volunteer for next year’s program, sign up at april23@worldbooknight.org.

Concurrently, there’s National Poetry Month. Inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, National Poetry Month is held every April, when (according to the website) “publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events.”

Twenty-five years ago, I bought a poster in New York by the artist Edward Koren celebrating the 75th Anniversary of Poetry, the magazine founded by Harriet Monroe back in 1912. I remember picking it up from the framer and having to negotiate it onto a downtown Fifth Avenue bus one rush hour; I’m stunned that it has made it through all the moves over the years. Well, it’s now 100 years since Monroe founded this little magazine with her belief that “The Open Door will be the policy of this magazine — may the great poet we are looking for never find it shut.” The greats have all published here.

I have been collecting the National Poetry Month posters over the years and delivering workshops and reading poetry wherever anybody will let me. I’ll also be giving away nine copies of the 100th Anniversary issue of Poetry  on World Book Night.

April 26 has been designated “Poem in Your Pocket Day” by the Academy. Everyone can participate: Simply select a

The 100th Anniversary Issue

poem that you love and carry it with you to share with co-workers, family and friends. And you can also share your poem selection on Twitter by using the hashtag #pocketpoem.

Ideally, poems from your pockets will be unfolded throughout the day — the Academy of American Poets has even published two volumes of poems to tear out of anthologies for just this purpose: the original anthology and the newly published anthology for kids. Please check them out. And if it’s too late for this year, be ready for next year. Teachers, caregivers, office workers, clergy members . . . let’s try to make the world a little more poetic. These days we can use all the help we can get . . .

Buona lettura!.

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…

Let’s face it, there’s something special about Italy . . . Suzy & Bill Menard

Mangia!

When I’m missing Italy (which is whenever I’m not there), it helps to surround myself with Italian things. Food, ceramics, music, wine, movies. . . you name it, it all helps. A fresh fig can keep me happy for days. Well, I recently found a source for all the things that make me smile, and I want you to know about it, too.

I’d first heard of Bill and Suzy Menard when I signed up for Kathy McCabe’s Dream of Italy Umbrian Harvest Tour back in 2010. The villa that we stayed in, La Fattoria del Gelso, is owned by the Menards and it provided us with a truly comfortable and stress-free Italian experience in a small town in a small valley in the shadow of Assisi. The more I learned about them, the more I wanted to know.

Fast forward two years and I’ve signed up for a cooking class to be given by the only American licensed tour guide in Umbria, Anne Robichaud (more about Anne in another post), and it’s in Bethesda, Maryland. Right where the Menards have their store, Bella Italia. So I write to Suzy and tell her that as long as I’m going to be in town, I’d like to stop by and see the store, take some pictures, etc. Well, alas, Bill and Suzy are in Italy on their annual buying trip (boo-hoo) but Suzy wrote right back and told me that two of the fellows who work with her in the store, Brett and Marc, were also planning to attend the class and of course they’d show me around the next day. So off I went.

The day I walked into the store, the front table was piled high with the famous Colomba of L’Acquila — the dove-shaped

My beautiful Colomba

cake that appears for Easter, harkening to the coming of spring and a wish for peace. Their Colomba, from Sorelle Nurzia, was wrapped magnificently in blue paper and blue ribbon, some even boxed for special presentation. I took one home and served it for Easter dessert; I’ll get it again and again, and will absolutely try their Panettone for Christmas. But I was still only five feet into the store!

As I looked around, I saw masks and puppets from Venezia, marbled Florentine papers, Umbrian textiles from Montefalco, foods from throughout Italy and ceramics from Deruta. There were books — I wanted all of them — and gorgeous knives that came from the Tuscan village of Scarperia that I had visited a dozen years ago and even Pinocchio dolls from Collodi. There was jewelry on the counter and soaps and decorative glass from Murano and much more that I’m sure I’m forgetting. In addition to the Colomba, I bought an assortment of pasta integrale (whole grain) and a balsamic jelly in the most beautiful glass container ever that I can’t wait to slather on a pungent cheese crostini.

Geribi Dolphin

The centerpiece of the store, for me, is the collection of ceramics from Deruta. The Menards have chosen three lines to import — Geribi, D’Arna and Ricceri — and feature a fine collection in the store. If you know someone who loves Italy and has a wedding or a special occasion coming up, this is the place to go. I’d register for a whole set if I were getting married again! Best thing about it is that you can order online; also, Suzy will be happy to talk with you about special orders if you can’t find exactly what you’re looking for. My personal favorites are from the Geribi studio — the ones with the animals in the center and the peacock feather/chicken feet motif. I bought one when I was there in 2010 and it makes me smile every time I see it.

Three-sided Venetian mask

Bill and Suzy opened Bella Italia in 2003 to bring some of what they love about Italy to the States. Their love affair with Italy began nearly two decades ago, when Bill was a student in the Georgetown University Law Center summer program in Fiesole (near Florence). They went back to Italy frequently after that and, after attending a cooking class on the Italian Riviera in 1995, they partnered with the chef to create an internet-based Italian import business that supplied gourmet food products from family run Italian suppliers. And so Bella Italia was born. Of course, now they had to travel back to Italy frequently to source products and artisans for their shop, and eventually they got the idea to bring Americans to Italy, just as they had been bringing a taste of Italy to Americans.

In 2008 Bill and Suzy established Experience Umbria and purchased their beautiful villa, La Fattoria del Gelso, a

Fattoria del Gelso, Cannara, Umbria

historic stone farmhouse situated on a 40-hectare working farm in one of Italy’s most fertile regions. They offer tours (food/music/photography) several times a year, but even on your own, this is a fantastic base from which to visit the Umbrian cities. And seeing it with the Dream of Italy tour is, well, dreamy.

But back to the shop.  If you’re anywhere near the Washington, D.C. area, I urge you to drive to Bethesda and check out Bella Italia. The staff is friendly and helpful and the products are wonderful. Be sure to check out the store events — everything from book groups to ceramic painting to olive oil tastings and opera nights. If you can’t get there in person, keep the website on your Bookmarks Bar. Whenever the “missing Italy blues” hits you can order something and get your smile back.

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…