by Krista | Feb 13, 2012 | Compatriot Wednesday
It was a gorgeous autumn evening when my friend Margo and I headed downstairs to try dinner at our beloved and quirky agriturismo, the Casa Scaparone outside Alba, Italy.
In spite of ancient plumbing with water that needed to be heated by wood fires every morning, and a charming host who warned us frequently to prepare for the coming Changement (the technological meltdown of the world), we loved it.
We’d already spent many happy hours writing in the sun-warmed garret, going for walks through the tiny community, and visiting happily in the beautiful courtyard, but tonight would be our first dinner and we were excited.
We arrived far too early, as evidenced by the empty dining room inhabited only by staff members bustling about setting tables and creating a ruckus in the kitchen. But we didn’t mind. It was a gorgeous night and we headed outside to wait for our feast.
We found seats near the outdoor dance floor and waited contentedly under the glow of thousands of tiny lights. Slowly but surely local couples arrived out of the darkness, strolling through the big metal gates and greeting each other like the old friends they undoubtedly were.
We heard music begin and soon our host beckoned us in. At last it was time to eat. With tummies rumbling we took our seats in a far corner where we could people-watch to our hearts content.
Soon the restaurant was filled to capacity, the babble of voices just audible over the jaunty strains of a local band playing Italian country songs. The mood was jolly and vivacious and we grinned as our sociable host made his way from table to table greeting folks with kisses and back slaps and hearty handshakes, welcoming one and all as if they were treasured guests.
Then the food began to arrive.
We started out with a basket brimming with flour-dusted fresh bread, copious amounts of local red wine and a glistening bottle of water. These were followed by:
- a platter of warm, chewy flat bread
- chilled asparagus frittata with fresh tomatoes
- fork-tender slow-roasted beef with carrots and parsley
- thin crust pizza with savory roasted garlic, tomato and eggplant
- glossy strands of fettuccine with sausage and cheese
- tender gnocchi with a rich cream sauce
Imagine our surprise when our waitress then asked us if we were ready for the meat course!!! Apparently we were just getting started. Alas, we were already about to burst, so we begged her to skip right to dessert. Such a choice captured the attention of our host who came to our table to verify that we really only wanted the “small menu.” I love Italy. 🙂
Duly assured that yes, we were perfectly satiated with the small menu, our waitress arrived with dessert. All three of them:
- heavenly dark chocolate studded with crushed cookies
- silky custard cake with crumb topping
- luscious caramelized apples with custard
It was truly marvelous. We settled back in our chairs with one more glass of red wine, feeling warm, full, and contented.
After draining our glasses we bid farewell to our host, assuring him once again that we had adored and were satisfied with every last morsel of our small menu. Choosing the teensy elevator over three flights of stairs, we collapsed happily into our beds and grinned as the band was joined by the crowd bursting loudly into song. Normally such goings on would keep me wide awake, but after such a feast, not even a restaurant full of raucous Italians could keep me from drifting off into luxurious sleep.
What is one of your favorite dining memories?
by Krista | Feb 8, 2012 | Compatriot Wednesday
I grinned when Margo at The Travel Belles asked us this months Across the Cafe Table question: “How do you pick a hotel?”
I grinned because until my late twenties, I’d NEVER picked a hotel!
Although my childhood was very happy, we were dirt poor. Our vacations were spent camping in tents or, if we were feeling especially flush, Motel 6. I loved our little vacationing adventures, but admit I grew up thinking that only rich people stayed in hotels, that they were something reserved for Hollywood elite or posh businessmen. The thought of staying in a fancy hotel with room service was relegated to the glowing rooms of fantasy.
Since then I have been able to stay in “real” hotels, and it still gives me a thrill every time: the weird paintings on the walls, pristine bed linen, fluffy white towels, unlimited air conditioning and wi-fi. It doesn’t bother me if the bathroom is so teensy I can barely turn around (Paris) or if my environs are invaded by friendly lizards (Fiji). I don’t mind being shoe-horned in with my family for a night (Rome) or hauling my luggage up three flights of stairs (Venice). It doesn’t seem to matter what catastrophes arise, it’s always such an adventure and I feel that I’m being spoiled rotten. 🙂
When choosing a hotel I look for cheap, clean, and close to wherever I want to go exploring. Since my job requires access to internet, I also look for free Wi-Fi.
But to be perfectly honest, I’d rather stay almost anywhere than a hotel these days. They do their job well – providing a safe, clean place to sleep and shower – but they’re not overly interesting. And I’m rather fond of interesting.
For short stays I love bed and breakfasts. They’re quirky and unique and you never know what you’re going to get. The owners are usually cheery and helpful, providing invaluable information about local transportation, food, and culture. Bed and breakfasts generally take you off the tourist/hotel strip and into a real neighborhood, allowing you to see how the locals live, shop and eat. I love this.
My friend Betsy took me to my first bed and breakfast on a fabulous Girls Road Trip we took to Vancouver Island, British Columbia. Beaconsfield Inn is located in gorgeous Victoria and had everything I could ever hope for in a lovely place to stay:
- sherry in the library upon arrival
- delicious breakfast in a plant-filled sunroom
- enormous rooms with fluffy feather beds, a fireplace, hot tub, and cute little bottles of champagne to go with your chocolates.
above photos from http://www.beaconsfieldinn.com/
While secluded enough to be peaceful and quiet, it was within walking distance to downtown Victoria and just around the corner from a splendid little theater that was hosting the Victoria Shakespeare Festival. For a girl used to sleeping in a small tent with three rowdy brothers, it was heaven.
It did not fit my usual requirement of cheap, but oh, it was marvelous, definitely worth a splurge for one night.
If I’m staying in a place longer than a few days, I will always look for a house or villa to rent.
My love affair with such accommodation started in Italy when four friends and I stayed at the idyllic Villa Trotta near Perdifumo, Italy. I’ve already waxed long and prolifically about this wonderful place in previous posts, but I couldn’t possibly describe how I choose a place to stay without bringing it up again.
Villa Trotta is a massive stone house in the country, perched right on the edge of a hill that sweeps down through orchards and vineyards to the Adriatic. For just over $1200 a week it was a steal, especially since the cost was divided between five girls. Yes, just over $200 per person for an entire week. We had the whole place to ourselves and spent many hours sunning and reading on the numerous terraces, cooking up splendid meals in the kitchen, and taking day trips to wondrous places like Capri, Naples, and Pompei.
My love for such places continued this fall when I met up with my friends and fellow travel writers Margo, Katy, Kate, and Kathy in Vogogna, Italy. We stayed in a wonderful old home nestled down the narrow cobbled streets of the Old Town. With three-foot-thick stone walls it was a quiet oasis in the midst of town. I loved the clawfoot tub in my bedroom, the wide stone steps that led from one level to another, and the rustic little courtyard out back that provided so much inspiration during our brainstorming sessions. Once again, the price was much, much lower than any nearby hotel, and the ambiance was exquisite.
So, how do I pick a hotel? I rarely do. I choose a villa or a rental house or a bed and breakfast, places with character and charm that don’t break my budget.
How about you, dear ones? What do you look for in a place to stay?
by Krista | Jan 31, 2012 | Compatriot Wednesday
While I love Amsterdam in any kind of weather, I think my favorite is a crisp Autumn day.
It was on just such a day in October that my friend Amy and I arrived at the Amsterdam train station from Paris. A chill wind was whistling across canals and through alleyways so after dropping our bags off at my brother’s apartment, we bundled up in woolens and hats and went for a stroll.
In spite of the cold, plants still flourished in pots set up staircases and on this cheery lime green bench.
Late afternoon sun glistened on the water and warmed the red brick buildings.
Near the Rijksmuseum this bashful lady shielded her eyes.
And pigeons gorged themselves on a lush, green lawn.
I’m always smitten by the bicycles of Amsterdam. They aren’t the shiny, modern bikes I’m used to seeing in America, but the lovely old ones complete with bells and baskets.
On days like this I love returning home and making something comforting. My favorite dish recently is spiced applesauce. I don’t know of anything that makes the house smell more delectable than a pot of apples simmering with ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. While it’s delicious by itself, I really like it swirled with vanilla yogurt.
What is your favorite time of year to go walking in your home town?
Spiced Applesauce
Ingredients:
8-10 apples, peeled, cored and diced
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4-1/2 cup dark brown sugar or 2-3 Tbsp real maple syrup
Directions:
- In a saucepan combine all ingredients and cover with water.
- Bring to boil then lower heat and simmer 45 minutes.
- Cool and chill until ready to serve.
by Krista | Jan 24, 2012 | Compatriot Wednesday
Sometimes the most beautiful places on earth are a lot closer than you think.
Such was the case when Bear and I went a-hunting for waterfalls last week. When we got to our first stop – Daggs Falls – I was speechless. I thought places like this were only found deep in South American jungles. (click here to view photos) I had no clue they were a one hour drive from my front door.
Much to my delight, the beauty was only just beginning. After meandering through a forest glistening with rain drops and rounding a bend to a sun-filled glade, we headed back down the trail and emerged at a lookout with this view of Queen Mary Falls.
I leaned carefully over the edge, watching the once placid stream gush over the cliff edge and fall to the rocks below. Sunlight broke through the heavy mist for a few minutes and turned the scene into something out of a tropical jungle. I fully expected monkeys to start swinging in the trees.
Everywhere I looked was lush growth: ferns clinging to the hillsides, trees growing right out of the rocky cliff face. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe this!” may or may not have been repeated a dozen times by yours truly.
All too soon we rejoined the trail and hoofed it down the mountain so we could see the waterfall from the bottom. The trails themselves were gorgeous, canopied by bright green leaves glossy from rain, carpeted with even more leaves in chocolate brown and russet. I loved the fuschia ferns lining the path.
Finally we reached the bottom, glancing back at the creek magically transformed from a raging torrent to a quiet stream flowing gently among the boulders.
Then we craned our necks to look up through the mist to the cascading water. It was wondrous. Once again I felt I had been transported to a tropical oasis. This just couldn’t be so close to home.
We lingered awhile, trying to soak it all in, and at last turned homewards, hiking the trail through the bush, climbing leaf-strewn stone steps.
We got back to the car just before the heavy mist turned into a downpour. We dashed inside a nearby cafe and watched the deluge from dry, warm seats, sipping hot drinks and grinning at the trees filled with birds in bright green, blue, yellow and orange.
It was a good day.
What is the prettiest waterfall you’ve ever seen?
by Krista | Jan 18, 2012 | Compatriot Wednesday
The sun was shining gloriously through the early morning mist as my friend Margo and I woke on our last day at the beautiful agriturismo Casa Scaparone near Alba, Italy.
We packed our bags and went to take showers only to discover there was no hot water! Not a welcome discovery on a chilly October morning, but such are the occasional hiccups of staying in the Italian countryside. Margo ran downstairs to let our host know, and they immediately set about putting it to rights…by firing up the wood stove to get the water hot. 🙂 I love discovering little quirks like that. It never did get hot enough before we had to leave, but as I shivered my way through my morning ablutions, I grinned thinking how fun it was to be staying in a place where water is heated by flame-licked logs in a stove.
Margo and I met up in the wonderful old dining room (click here to see photos) for one last hearty farm breakfast. I toasted thick slices of homemade bread and slathered it with homemade soft goat cheese and homemade jams made from fruit grown on the farm. Our host made us deliciously strong Italian coffee and I soaked up the atmosphere of this marvelous place, delighting in the brick floor smoothed with age, the sturdy dark timbers overhead, and the soft light streaming in the tall windows.
Once our bags were loaded in the car, Margo and I bid farewell to Casa Scaparone and headed down the mountainside to pick up our fellow writer Kathy in nearby Alba. Armed with a hand-drawn map scribbled by our host on an obliging place mat, we were on the search for a sheep farm where we hoped to learn all about the making of cheese.
Our search took us far up into the hills, up, up, up, meandering through tiny villages and along the edges of sheer drop-offs. It was stunning!
It didn’t take us long to get lost, or rather, for the sheep farm to get lost. We knew precisely where we were, but there was no sheep farm to be found. We stopped often for directions, easing our way through narrow alleys in search of someone, anyone who might know where it was. But to no avail. Not one of the Italians we met had ever heard of it. Alas.
It didn’t matter though. We were so in awe of the gorgeous countryside we were seeing in our rambles, that we really didn’t mind.
After winding our way through the town of Cuneo, we decided to stop at a welcoming looking farmhouse to see if they knew where our elusive sheep farm was. We were greeted by a tiny Italian woman who spoke the merest amount of English. She’d never heard of the sheep farm either but she then surprised us with the announcement that she was a sausage maker. Not only was she a sausage maker, but her “factory” was just down the road.
Well, with three food-lovers in the car, there’s no way we could pass up a chance to see how Italian sausage is made. We sauntered down the country lane and entered a ramshackle courtyard complete with some ferociously barking dogs. After a rather entertaining display of bravado, we made it past the dogs, through the farmyard, and into the pristine and odoriferous environs of the sausage-making workshop.
Thanks to Kathy’s interpreting skills, we learned a lot about Italian sausage and dried meats. We learned that pancetta must be made from the stomach since it has more fat, while prosciutto (my favorite) comes from the leaner leg. Our hostess told us that she processes ten pigs a week all year long and still can’t make enough sausage to keep up with demand. Having tasted her product – salty, savory, and toothsome – it’s little wonder.
We bid farewell to our sausage-making friend and headed for the hills on our way to Lago Orta. Pretty soon we were ravenous and stopped for a roadside picnic featuring finds from our travels that day: local cheese, handmade sausage and Italian chocolate.
We never did find the sheep farm. Perhaps some day we’ll go back to that area of Italy and go a-hunting once more. Until then I cherish sunshiny memories of a glorious fall day in the Piedmont.
What is your favorite picnic food?
by Krista | Jan 11, 2012 | Compatriot Wednesday
If you could travel somewhere you have never been, where would you go?
Would you head to the canals of Amsterdam, the souks of the Middle East, or perhaps take a train through Australia’s bush country?
If I could go anywhere this year, I would go to Spain.
(Creative Commons photo courtesy of Pixdaus)
In all my trips to Europe I have never been to this fascinating country. I was a nanny in Portugal and explored France with my family, but I never made it across either of their borders into Spain. Up until recently this omission didn’t trouble me greatly.
But then three things happened:
(Creative Commons photo of Lanzarote Island courtesy of Green Fudge)
One: I found a few riveting novels set in Spain at the library that drew me in to the world of fierce mountain clans and stunning cities.
Two: I watched Anthony Bourdain’s enticing foodie trek through the wilds of Spain and ever since have been hungry for the delectable dishes he featured.
Three: I met my two English friends Katy and Kate. Kate and Katy both speak Spanish and have lived and traveled in Spain numerous times. Their stories, photos, and hilarious adventures stirred up an unquenchable desire to experience this country they both love so much.
I don’t know if I’ll get the chance this year, but it sure is fun to dream.
(Creative Commons photo of Cuenca Casa Colgadas courtesy of Famous Wonders)
How about you? Where would you go?
For more travel inspiration and global dreaming, click here to join the discussion at the Travel Belles delightful and informative Across the Cafe Table.
