vecchia funghi

This weekend we made it out to Caserta, to see the Royal Palace, and the old town...

The palace was as expected.  Old, interesting frescoes, crazy-looking furniture...  a theatre, which was not open, and an expansive garden.  I look forward to finding an event to attend at the theatre, and bringing a picnic lunch for an afternoon exploring the gardens.

Caserta Vecchia is one of those ancient tiny towns on a hill...

With mind-blowing architecture...

A requisite torre...

Or two...

And a gorgeous little church....

With at least one more-or-less disturbing relic...

I am in love with the large imposing doors...

And creative openings...

Some with a forbidden past...

You can just feel the history seeping through the stones...

I imagine a world where there are no cars...

Work is done by hand...

We are drawn into a cafe where the display of treats gives us pause for difficult decisions...

The most stressful part of the trip complete, we took our treasure on the road...

Since we were out in that direction, we pressed on a bit further to find a chestnut festival.

Chestnuts are a well known product of this area, and we figured that we should learn about some of the typical ways the little nuggets are prepared.

I have to be honest.

I am not particularly a fan of the chestnut.

But I try to have an open mind.

In usual Italian style, I found them to be delicious.

Perhaps it was the enchanting atmosphere of the festival, set against hills flocked with autumnal trees...

Or the warmth of the open fires decking the walking paths...

But in one short afternoon I became quite fond of the nutty treats.

It's difficult to count the varieties presented - everything from fresh off the tree...

To roasted,

and baked...

Some were masking in other forms...  (that's chestnut formed into mushrooms)...

To candied and dried...  oh, and of course... alcoholic...

Creme de chestnut anyone?  We passed on that option, but did bring home a bottle of crema di baba...  It's hard to describe the flavor, but its namesake is an extremely popular dessert from the area.  You can try some and form your own opinion when you stop by...

And then there were the complimentary foods...

Sausages, Wine, and other local specialties...

Including the illustrious truffle.

Ah tartufo...  you mischievous devil...

This little black mushroom (there are white ones too, but I prefer the black) has a unique taste and smell that you will never forget once you experience it...

I celebrated the chestnut festival by dining on what amounted to an open-face grilled cheese

Yes people, that is caciocavallo cheese, roasting over a fire.

With truffle shavings on top.

Heavenly...

I was completely transported to this foreign land of festivity when I see a familiar face...

Smalls is completely nonplussed.  Her Switzerland response seems to indicate that she too thinks these characters are ever-so-slightly out of place...

We wind our way out of town, through the hills, and towards the sunset over the Mediterranean, our stomachs full from our adventurous journey.

At home we use the small truffle we bought at the festival to make a pasta dish.

The animal print interior of the little stinky prize made it ever more delightful.

We marvel that Smalls is developing quite the expensive taste in food.

She licks the pasta clean.

so smart

I think the vegetable guy likes me.

The last time I went to Conad to shop, he was very friendly (as usual), and was very excited that the baby was awake this time (she is always sleeping!)

But then...  he offered me a coffee!

Right in the middle of the fruit and vegetables.

There was a little silver carafe.

He poured me this tiny cup of black gold.

And it was fantastic.

I practically skipped through the store.

Seriously excellent way to drum up business... get everyone hyped up on coffee - maybe they will buy more...  or, in my case, just get their shopping done much faster...

Brilliant!

There are a few noteworthy things here...  such as the unexpected and unbelievably good coffee in strange locations...

Like the shopping carts, for example.

In order to use a cart, you have to insert a euro coin - generally a 50 cent, or 1, or 2 euro coin.

When you return the cart to its rightful place, you get the coin back.  Excellent.  Saves from carts being strewn every which direction.  So smart.

Probably wouldn't work in the states for a quarter.

And let's get real, who carries a dollar coin?

On first glance, the parking situation in our piazza would seem pretty dumb.

But having watched our parking "attendants" in action for a few weeks, their system works quite well...  Parking is several cars deep, they know who belongs to what car, they know if you live there, they help direct people around, and they make a few bucks along the way.

They can get your car un-buried in a matter of moments.

Curiously they are nowhere to be found when the carabinieri and tow trucks show up...

It's a good show from up above, where I sit with a cup of coffee, observing the drama of shaking fists, tears, and more hand signals than a fast moving baseball game.

I have come to really respect riposo.  It's the perfect time to go for a walk, or do some shopping when everyone else is...  um...   - well I haven't figured that out yet, but the stores are empty (or closed), and there is only a little traffic.  Sunday morning calm scheduled in the middle of daily chaos.  Just lovely.

It's a great opportunity to get out and about - where you could visit a park like this one...  and...  Well, if you can figure out what "is" allowed, you could do it!

Something else most Americans don't think of when community planning - building your houses so close together that in a pinch a guy could just hold them up himself.  This proximity also prevents most automobile traffic on your street...

Although the stylin motos can still get by...

You get extra points for packing your entire family of four or five on a two-wheeler.  

Don't forget to bring Fido.  

Wear flip flops.  

Leave the helmets at home.

While you are out and about you might also notice that using the bathroom is a bit of an adventure...  Many toilets don't have a seat at all...  and this would prevent almost anyone from trying to sit down (and who would do that in a public restoom anyhow?)  

In this case, however, there was a seat, and it went up and down automatically.  I want one of these for my house...  Just as soon as Smalls gets over thinking any toilet is her own private pool...

No need to worry about finding a place to kick back and relax though...

Since cars are everywhere, and here they are furniture.

It's totally acceptable to lean, sit, stand, or use any car available as a goal for your game of calcio (cal-cho) - soccer...

This guy is enjoying his sandwich leaning against our car.  

While we were sitting in it...

While on the subject of cars - what a fantastic idea to make use of space available and park on the sidewalk.  

Oh, and driving into oncoming traffic?  What an intelligent move to make your daily commute more adventurous.  No one was really using that lane anyway...

Throwing your hands out the window, honking and yelling really drives the point home...  on both ends...

Stop signs?  Really, what's the point.  In fact, much better to use your own judgement about when and where to go, and how fast to do it.

Ah Italy...  what a capricious little rebel you are...

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.

freshy

Buying groceries here is a daily event.

Or should I say,

a daily adventure?

Produce here is best fresh.  It is so ripe, it generally should be eaten within twenty-four hours.

Refrigerators are small (because electricity is wildly expensive), and markets are easy walking access, for the most part, so stopping by on your way home from - something - is easy.

For this kind of shopping we are lucky to have many options within a few blocks.  The fruit and veggie truck is the best, and as you may recall, that's only a short distance from our front door.

I have made friends with the older gentleman working the truck, and he helps to clarify for me which items go in which bags - for there is some kind of system that I have not yet mastered...

Blue bags, clear bags, fruit and veggies by the pound (kilo), by the piece, or group...

The local women zip around challenging prices and quality as I slowly assess the options.

He also helps me identify and pronounce the names of their offerings, although they are from Gaeta, and the dialect there is different, so it can be a little confusing - every day a small lesson in  the language and customs of the event.

Then there is the corner market that has the essentials, like milk, eggs, and bread.  We have met all of the family members that run this little shop, and have tried a number of their prepared items from the deli counter.

The guys at the butcher shop in the square are young, friendly, and try to speak a little English.

I have no idea what I am buying most of the time (slabs and skewers of sparsely labeled meats),

but they are very patient with me and my attempts to speak a little Italian.  I definitely have a lot to learn about the butchers.   Uh, I mean... going to the butcher...

Further, only a couple of blocks in either direction there are three choices of grocery stores, Conad being the closest, and luckily the best as far as quality of products versus expense.

It's about a two-block walk from our place.

Discovering the best way to accomplish this kind of daily market lifestyle - fruits and veggies here, meats and eggs there, other groceries elsewhere - has thus far required daily experimental combinations of strollers, baby carriers, grocery kart, grocery baskets, backpack, fanny pack (ooh, how retro), and tote bags (they charge you per plastic bag here).

Take one combination of the elements above, followed by: navigation of staircases (multiple),

doorways requiring keys (multiple),

gates and additional stairs (one),

giant parking lot of crazy Italian drivers (untold), other pedestrians (sense of personal space anyone?), stray dogs (numerous, and so far benign), cobblestone (unreasonable but pretty),

sidewalks (narrow, populated),

untold obstacles (many),

untold obstacles (many, many),

and grocery store aisles (narrow, confusingly organized).

Our best guess thus far is putting Smalls in a carrier, probably close to nap time so she will be dosey and adorable - this goes far with Italians, for they love themselves a sleeping bimba - and attaching a fashionable (definitely questionable but functional) waistpack purse (handsfree is essential on these missions).

Not since I lived in New York City have I encountered this quantity of daily exercise via simple chores.

And I was shopping for one back then, not a family.

What used to be a simple diet of cereal, cheese, crackers, and beer, has spiraled into Susie homemaker antics.  Fresh squeezed juices, hours long sauces, identifying local produce, decoding local recipes, friending local merchants, and discovering the best places to find specialty items, takes a good percentage of my average day. 

I was completely thrilled to find a Buffalaria (where they sell primarily buffalo cheeses) only a couple of blocks from the house.

And discovering a place to buy little desserts was a total coup -

since I have never seen them in any of the other shops - unless you want to buy them frozen in the grocery store.

And I have now joined the ranks of the locals with a grocery kart.

I generally never see any other babies or children in the grocery store.  Probably they are at home with a close relative, and not subject to these kinds of errands.

But I don't have those kinds of resources, so away we go...

I'm bagged up, strapped down, grocery list in hand...  and...

Oh right...

All the stores close at 2:00 p.m. on Sundays...

and...

it's a bit after that hour already.

I guess it's pizza for dinner.