in the black

This past weekend we took a trip to see our friends in Martina Franca.  With her husband on the way to the boat to fly exercises for a few weeks, T decided that this was the weekend to put together a Thanksgiving dinner, and we were lucky enough to be invited.

My friends back "home" have a tradition of eating Thanksgiving dinner whenever we manage to gather as a group.  It's been a few years - what with children being raised, and families moving about the world - since we have managed to convene, but the concept of "scheduling" holidays, and meals of thanks, is one that I am very amenable to.

What is it about celebrating a traditional holiday away from home that makes a person feel so much closer to home...

I believe that this is the first international Thanksgiving I have attended.  Food from Italy, family recipes from America and Croatia, wine from France, beer from Belgium.  So very cosmopolitan...

There is one problem...

This puts a real kink in my "no Christmas music till after Thanksgiving" rule -

Thanksgiving came really early this year.

I guess we will have to get used to breaking rules here in Italy.  We will just have to embark on creating some new rules and family traditions.  Like pecan pie with bacon for breakfast...

On Sunday we visited the town of Alberobello to see the Trulli.

An incredibly beautiful fall day in a magical little town.

The story goes that in order to avoid taxation, the people built houses that could be easily dismantled when inspectors paid a visit.  The charming little domed houses dot the landscape of Apulia, and are clustered in Alberobello.

We make a mandatory gelato stop, and comb the tiny shops for local treats - Smalls in tows.

Back on the road to Pozzuoli, we stop to pick up sandwiches, and for a coffee.

It probably goes without saying, but here goes...

Wait for it.....

Coffee in Italy is an art.

Perhaps I shall have a masters in this art before I leave town...

I'm going to give it a serious go.

Let me back up to the first time I had "real" Italian coffee, in Italy.  For, in fact, a family friend introduced me to Illy many years ago, and although delicious, it still lacked something that it does not here, in country...  probably the water...

When I first encountered Italian coffee (caffe normale) - what most Americans would probably call espresso, I had many preconceived notions - for example, that Italians don't put sugar in their coffee (they do), and that they don't drink cappuccinos after breakfast (they don't - although I have discovered that there are other forms of coffee with cream or milk that are just as tasty).

My favorites so far are the caffe macchiato, and caffe schiumato.  A caffe macchiato (which means "stained") is an espresso with just a touch of milk and foam, whereas the caffe schiumato is just foam on an espresso.  Apparently there is also a latte macchiato, where espresso is added to milk (as opposed to the other way around), but I have not encountered that one yet.  I doubt highly that it will resemble what Starbucks considers a macchiato in any way.

Here people also stop at the gas station for coffee as they traverse the autostrade.

And at the auto grille we are given the cutest little to-go cups I have ever seen.

Keep in mind that the espresso only fills around 1/2 of this cup...

Now, when would you ever buy a meal at a gas station in the US?  Ok, I know there are exceptions...  but really...  these are some of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten, and the coffee...  well, the coffee makes every stop worthwhile.

Ridiculous.

We make it back to Pozzuoli, fulfilled and fully fueled.