Stew, Author at See You in Italy

HAS ANYONE SEEN THE REMOTE? WE HAVE.

Must be there when my roses spread their cheerful springtime yellow all over our pergola and brighten that whole corner of Umbria. For now, we are settling for reading about Italy, cooking Italian, emailing friends and neighbors there and day dreaming of our arrival.

LIMESTONE, Maine— Admit it. To anyone, from anyplace OTHER than Maine, the whole state of Maine itself sounds remote. Being “from away” as they say, I know it sounded pretty remote to me before we moved there. But there is Maine, where we live, and then there is Northern Maine. That is where Limestone is. How far North IS it? Seven hours by car from our house in the sissy Southern part of the state. Limestone looks to me to be North of most things. Including Halifax, Nova Scotia, and Montreal just for a start. Past towns with names like Mars Hill and Caribou. The radio announces time of day in EST and Atlantic Time. There IS an Atlantic Time Zone? I did not know that.

So, if anyone asks you how big Maine is just say BIG. That stretch of road up north in Maine that has never ever seen the light of day, from Bangor (bang gah) to Houlton is two hours of the forest primeval. Trees. A four-lane highway at the end of your car hood. And you. Occasionally there are signs for obscure towns that you could possibly exit to, but no sign of the towns themselves. And today the road itself is a long lonesome ribbon of wind blown, snow covered concrete. Needless to say, you need to “go” before you leave home. There really aren’t even any gas stations in sight there. Surely they exist. Somewhere. Out there.

Understanding this cosmic remoteness full well, and being pummeled with tractor trailer blown white outs every few minutes, we gratefully pulled our snow caked car out of the slippery line of traffic and into an oasis of Offical State of Maine Information. We thought we would ask them where to eat before hitting the next stretch of highway. Dysart’s Truck Stop was their answer. Dysart’s Empire would be more apt. But they did not steer us wrong.

Biggest truck stop I’ve been in this side of Great Plains. An industry unto itself. Whole sections of the restaurant dedicated to only truckers. Do not even think of going in there without a billfold on a long silver chain attached to your belt. Banks of phones (cell phones systems start starving for lack of towers, inhabitants up here) showers and signs exhorting you to consider a career in transportation See Chuckie on Second Floor, Excellent Benefits.

You know how I was bragging on the exotic new Japanese restaurant in London? Dysart’s can hold its own even against those fond culinary memories. The chowder (chow dah), fish chowder was a god send in the midst of this wild Maine day. Pieces of haddock as big as your hand were in our big bowls. We were cutting our soup! True fact. The most all inclusive and diverse menu I have ever seen. Whatever you wanted. Steaks, pies, Italian food, breakfast any way any time. What did you wish they had on the menu? Yes, look, its right here on the next page. And biscuits? Only to die for. Home made breads, too. All home made, home baked, comfort food. Some place on the menu they mentioned the bakery and spelled out how much flour they use a week. Want to guess how much? Would you guess over a ton? As in two thousand pounds in a week’s time?

THE LAND THAT CAPPUCCINO FORGOT

I was being a boring esthete when I pointed our car North. Thinking fondly of places we had been recently like Italy, like NYC, like London. Even Southern Maine. Outposts of civilization where you know where your next cappuccino is coming from. And that is one thing I suspect may not be coming to this menu any time soon. But I will tell you I was mighty glad to be there for an hour during the blizzard. It helped pass the time and steel us for the next five hours of road trip to The Forbidding North. And eventually we got to see our baby daughter in the play she was in at The Boarding School At The Top of the World. And, for a couple hours, we got to be the proud parents that we happily are. Grayson went to high school in London for her Freshman year and now here she is at The Maine School of Science and Mathematics, Maine’s only magnet school. A study in diversity in one child. She’s experienced a wide, wide range of education and geography. And why not? It is lovely and exciting in London, but it is grand up in the tippytop of Maine. Even in Winter. Beautiful, vast, wide-open, unpopulated spaces up there, and we are always happy to see her happy there. But we are pretty happy to be heading to the balmy south of Maine the next day, too.

OH. THAT’S WHERE ROGER’S CHRISTMAS PRESENTS WENT

Seven hours one way or not, we went up to the top of Maine one day, and right back down the very next. The trip back was much nicer. And sunny. And thirty degrees warmer. When we got back to southern Maine, we had to dig our way into our house as it had snowed over a foot while we were gone. And, unbeknownst to us, as soon as we had headed North, FedEx had dropped two Christmas orders out on the lawn by our back door. They did that just before it started to snow. Two, small, white cartons. Which we found poking up out of a snow bank. A few days after Christmas. Life in Maine.

NEXT STOP, WEST TO OMAHA. AND THEN, EAST TO ITALY.

Like a Rolling Stone. That would be us. We’re going all the way West to the Qwest Center in Omaha to see two legends together: . The Rolling Stones and Brooks & Dunn. I can rationalize this trip West like this: Rationalization No.1) It is near my family in Iowa. Rationalization No.2) It will be a big time, once in a lifetime, party time!

And then, when both the holidays, and this concert, are behind us, we can start pinning down our exact springtime trip back to Umbria. Finally! Must be there when my roses spread their cheerful springtime yellow all over our pergola and brighten that whole corner of Umbria. For now, we are settling for reading about Italy, cooking Italian, emailing friends and neighbors there and day dreaming of our arrival.

Day dreaming, and wondering: Is our home there missing us as much as we miss it? Has time stood still? Has life there in Umbria been on “Pause” vs “Play” while we have been gone? We know better. But irrational flights of fancy often get us through the day.

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THE WHERE THE HECK ARE WE TRAVEL QUIZ. London? Or Limestone, Maine? These pictures were taken the same week in those two exotic locations. Can you parse out which ones are which?

Stay tuned for the next blog featuring Ferraris in the Panicale Piazza. What a collection of classics. Che shock, che piacere.

London to Limestone Express?

Being the shallow, easily impressed outoftowners, that we have proven ourselves to be, I loved seeing a RED Rolls Royce (no, I did not know they painted them that color, either) parked right under our windows. Rolls or not, we felt Positively Royal the whole time we were there.

LONDON, England—No, London-Limestone is never going to replace Venice-Istanbul on the Orient Express. But there these two very different destinations were in the same week on our travel calendar recently. What a long, strange trip through time and space it was. The contrasts were just so extreme and so obvious because we visited them back to back. In a few day’s time we saw one daughter at the center of the universe — balmy, temperate, downtown London. And a couple days later we saw the other daughter at one of the universe’s furthest flung and most likely to be frozen solid outposts — Limestone, Maine. Where? Limestone, Maine. No, really. Yes, really. Even though we live in Maine, Limestone, Maine is seven hours north of us. Could anything sound more remote? Or actually be?

CROSS CONTINENTAL DAY TRIPPING

LONDON—Have you ever taken the flight over the pond during the day? This works swell for my body clock. We leave Boston at 8 am. And hit London at 7 pm. Versus the killer overnight where we arrive at 5 or 6 am, hours before your hotel is ready for you. On a normal, “work day” in Maine we would be leaving our office at five pm. On this travel day, at that same time of day, it was 10 pm in London’s East End, and we were in an orange and black striped Indy club (The Urban Bar) trying to talk over impossibly loud music. Wiley’s boyfriend Daniel is the bass player in a rock band, and we wanted to see and hear his gig. Hearing it was not a problem at all. Hearing anything afterwards, another subject entirely. So. There we were. Fresh as Daisies because our bodies said Heck, it’s Five in the Afternoon. Let’s Rock.

WILL WE LIKE THE SUBURBS OF LONDON?
WELL, I THINK HAROLD WOOD.

Daniel’s family has a new home in the far outskirts of London in a town called Harold Wood. And we wanted to experience a bit of that, too. They found us a place near them called, bizarrely enough to me, New World Hotel.
And here I thought England was part of the Old World. No Matter. It was the quintessential Tudor manse drowning in Charm and Class. It even had a formal “Italian Garden,” and our huge, huge antique-laden room had organic-themed, Art Nouveau styled, leaded glass windows, looking right out on the garden. In answer to your unasked question – because you are way too polite to ask, really – it was 89 GBP “pounds” a night. I’ve paid twice that in downtown London and gotten rooms smaller than this room’s marble clad bathroom. Being the shallow, easily impressed outoftowners, that we have proven ourselves to be, I loved seeing a RED Rolls Royce (no, I did not know they painted them that color, either) parked right under our windows. Rolls or not, we felt Positively Royal the whole time we were there. Che shock. I know it was way off-season, but even so, the price seemed incredibly fair, the people so nice, we did not want the magic moments to end. We really wished we could spend an other night. I checked with the front desk. Our room was available. So we grabbed the moment and stayed.

SPOTTED DICK AND KING HAROLD

The town of Harold Wood is pretty. And, pretty idyllic. Especially when you consider that it is part of one of the major cities of the world. It is clearly urban. But urbane as well. To get to Daniel’s house you get off the train right in the town center. Walk down the main street and you almost feel like you are on a country lane. A couple cars, a taxi, a horse and rider, two bicyclers constituted the traffic on our first walk through town. In the block long village center we couldn’t help notice the strangely named Laughter and Tears Flower Shoppe (weddings and funerals, you figure out which is laughter which is tears, I suppose) an Asian take-out called Bamboo Garden, a great Indian restaurant which we sampled and loved: Bombay Palace, and a great “local” King Harold pub that looks right out of the movies stucco’ed with many chimneys and gilded signs. Spotted Dick by the way, is one of those classic, bizarrely named desserts you should be able to get in any good British pub. We Puritan Americans would call this dish something wild like Raisin Cake with Creme Sauce. All this wonderful English-ness is to be found in the single block of Harold Wood outside the train station. A half a block further on is their house. At the other end of the rail line, all of London.

WHEN IN ROME

Don’t think that we got so caught up in the rural life that we forgot about London. We do what right thinking people should do and follow ”a local native” to the best. We always make sure we find our Panicalese friend Francesco when we are in London. His famous Umbria Rentals web site is the reason we have a home in Italy and specifically in Panicale. If you have not been to the site, run there quickly. So much information about the area of Umbria around Panicale. Francesco is from Panicale, but he is half Swedish and totally uber-global, man about town. No matter what the town. Londontown, Cape Town, China Town and every place in between. He and his British girl friend Alison, travel constantly but always come back to London so they can set us straight on hot new plays, museum openings and the best new restaurants. They seem to have fun surprises to share with us every time we come to town. We now have blind faith in their awesome recommendations.

The world is Francesco’s oyster and he eats up the oysters and everything else London has to offer, with relish. But, let’s talk about British food for a moment, shall we? For generations “English Food” had a big ugh factor going for it and that is about all. Not anymore. Not if you follow someone like Francesco around town. We’ve eaten Moroccan with him, Turkish, Indian, Italian of course, of course and this time Japanese. I know what you are thinking: I saw that yawn. I am the same way. I often think that all Japanese restaurants get the same five gallon buckets of generic goop off the same truck. OK, put some cashews in that one and some pea pods in the other one. Close enough. Boring as it can be, it is somewhat addictive and we find ourselves needing a fix of Thai or Chinese or something a couple times a month.

OK. CAN YOU SAY OKONOMI?

Well, neither can I. But this kind of Japanese food is a revelation. Especially in the way we were able to sampled it at the Abeno Okonomi-yaki , a block from the British Museum. I Googled them (okonomi london) when we got home and it appears this is London’s ONLY Okonomi-yaki style restaurant. I saw one review that said it was the only one in EUROPE. Oh, us tourists from the wilds of Maine and Umbria are out on the leading culinary edge now! Tiny tables with hotplates built in them like the Benihana’s of old. Fresh, fresh ingredients of veggie and meat variety, your choice, cut up before you and made into an awesome something. Can I call it a pancake? Maybe. Some people call Okonomi an omelette, but I remember eggs being an option that only showed up in some items on the menu. Regardless, there is some light, light batter involved as it all holds together quite nicely. Here are some of the things we sampled but had never seen on Asian menus before: Furikake On, Gyoza, Inaka DX and the ever-popular Nasu. Have you ever? I, certainly, had not. After cooking the pancake patty a bit, they put a shiny metal lid over it, let it cook under that for a short time and then decorated it with sauces, spices, fish flakes, and oh, my. Now THAT is what I call some outrageous good British food.

Coming up next: The Frozen North portion of our trip. After that, Ferraris in the Piazza. Could we interest you in something in red? Stay tuned.

ALERT: FLORENCE AIRPORT CLOSED UNTIL MAY!

We wanted to make you aware of an announcement made at the Florence airport this week. Due to unusually high levels of air traffic over the past two years, the runway at the airport is in need of emergency repairs, and the airport just announced that it will be temporarily closed for extraordinary maintenance starting at the end of January.

FLORENCE/FIRENZE — We wanted to make you aware of an announcement made at the Florence airport this week. Due to unusually high levels of air traffic over the past two years, the runway at the airport is in need of emergency repairs, and the airport just announced that it will be temporarily closed for extraordinary maintenance starting at the end of January. The length of the closure is unknown at this point, but a press release from the airport indicates that they expect the work to be finished by May. Here is a link to the press release about the closing of the Florence Airport

During the temporary closure, most major airlines are re-directing their flights to Pisa Airport. The Florence airport authority recommends that any travelers affected by the temporary closure should contact the airlines directly. Below is a list of airline websites, for your convenience. Travelers already booked to fly into Pisa or into Rome should not be affected by the Florence airport maintenance. The Pisa airport is located about 2 hours from Spannocchia, and is an easy drive. We can provide you with driving directions, if needed. If you are taking public transportation, there is a train station right in the airport that has trains connecting to Pisa Centrale and Florence – Santa Maria Novella on a regular basis. You can check out Italian train schedules at the very good (and in very good English) train web site:www.trenitalia.it

Airline websites:
Alitalia
Lufthansa
Air France
KLM
British Airways

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This just in today, Friday, January 13, 2006, from our friend Erin Cinelli the director of Spannocchia, the Agri-Cultural Estate, just outside Siena

Thank you for the heads up on this important travel advisory, Erin.

Ah, Siena. Ah, Spannocchia. (A Wiley Report)

At an hour and half away from Panicale, Spannocchia , is just far enough away to feel like a mini vacation and just barely far enough away that you can rationalise spending the night. The drive there is easy and really it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t. We’d go anyway!

SIENA, TUSCANY—How do I love Siena, I couldn’t possibly count the ways. So when Erin, our friend at Spannocchia, just outside Siena, invited me to come stay the night I was beyond excited. Erin is the director of the foundation there. She is also our neighbor in Italy and in Maine!

This grand AgriCultural estate sits atop over 11,000 acres and includes a castle, a major villa, a chapel and lots of interesting and original farmhouses, a classic Medieval Tuscan hilltop community, in short. We have definitely written about Spannocchia before. Here is a Siena/Spannocchia blog from this time last year. But it is just so amazing I want a whack at it, too . . .

Note from Stew:
the photo above can be clicked on to see it in enlarged form.

When I was 13, my family went to Italy for two months. As I said, I was 13, it was the end of eighth grade — I would be missing eighth grade graduation!! Now I was not completely upset about the missing school situation, but foreign countries are scary and/ or boring when you have no idea what you’re doing, where you’re going or what you’re looking at and what people are saying.

But something special happened in Sienna and at Spannocchia. It was all just so pretty, so calm and dream like in its simplicity and elegance, with such amazing history and a great sense of fun. In Sienna it was the Duomo’s Piccolo Uomini Library that captured my heart, at Spannocchia? Pizza Night!

Now, nearly 10 years later, I had never been to Spannocchia for any other night except for Pizza Night. So when Erin emailed and asked if I would come on a Monday (pizza nights are Wednesdays) of course I said YES!

Between Italian class, webpages and phone calls that followed me literally up to the gates of Spannocchia I was definitely ready for some of Spannocchia’s white wine to empty my mind on the terrace before moving on to the official pre-dinner drinks, -Red, this time- in front of the fire.

Then dinner. It started out with Ribolita, a Tuscan, twice-boiled, vegetable and bread soup that seems to warm your insides as soon as you look at it. Of course totally enough for a meal on its own, but true to Italian form, we were literally just getting warmed up. It was followed by their own thin, succulent, pork filets, little cakes with pine nuts, limoncello and huge amounts of laughter.

After dinner we gathered back in front of the fire to see all the pictures from Spannocchia’s last batch of visitors, this is an annual group that includes Erin’s parents Gail and Peter, that goes to Spannocchia in order to continues the rescue and restoration work on “The English Garden”. This year a highlight was a woman from Maine helping everyone make animal statues out of pine needles and branches including a set of wild boars.

Then it was time for bed, but I’m sorry, I just can’t sleep. Why? Because it has started to rain, and when I say rain I mean it is pouring buckets out there. Y’know how you count between the thunder and lightning to see how far away the storm is? Well, that storm was right over us, directly over us, and it just would not budge. The windows were rattling, the shudders were shaking, it was loud and it lasted all night. But it felt kind of nice to be in this big all- weather, weathering castle and snuggling under the duvet listening to the rain as I eventually drifted off to sleep.

After breakfast the next morning of yogurt and muesli, hard boiled eggs and coffee lots of coffee, I swam down the road and back to Panicale, canceling house viewings along the way, and wishing I had another week, another lifetime to stay at Spannocchia.

Our Italian Cup-A-Cake

Christmas Eve Dinner was an eclectic success. Classic American Fare? Classic Italian Fare? Some of both. With a large dollop of Southern Food thrown in for grins. We opened with Proseccos, and followed up with eggplant Parmesan and then moved to the piece de resistance, the mail-order, deep-fried turkey. Tacchino Fritto?

MIDGE’S HOLIDAY PANETONE RISES TO THE OCCASION!

NEW ENGLAND— Christmas Eve Dinner was an eclectic success. Classic American Fare? Classic Italian Fare? Some of both. With a large dollop of Southern Food thrown in for grins. We opened with Proseccos, and followed up with eggplant Parmesan and then moved to the piece de resistance, the mail-order, deep-fried turkey. Tacchino Fritto? Chi lo sai. It was all aces, but we had to feel Wicked Proud of the Panetone. Who knew you could actually make that at home? Could. And did. To be on theme, (and because we did not have many of the prescribed ramekins) we baked the cakes in oversized cappuccino cups. Worked like a charm. And the homemade Panettone was much moister and fresher tasting than the store-bought ones we have had in the past. Another benefit was that our whole house was redolent with the perfume of the little Panettones for the whole evening.

The next morning, Christmas Day, we had those Panetones, again. This time, for a late brunch: Omelet’s to order, Panettone with blackberry jam, and of course Cheesy Grits. True Multi-cultural Christmas Joy!

Speaking of things Italian and American Brunch: One of our life goals is to do our version of Brunch for our Italians friends sometime soon. The concept of eating Non Italian food will probably initially scare them half to death I’m sure, ma va le la pena (worth the pain). When pressed, most Italians will admit that they have heard Americans skip plates and eat straight out of cans that we buy in the SuperMart. And that we have only recently tumbled to the idea of using a fork to extract the food from the can. Well! Don’t they know we have moved up to Microwave Food? No matter. I have a secret weapon in mind to help win them over to our evil ways. As conservative and xenophobic in taste as Italians are about food, I have a way to help take away some of the fear: Maple syrup. Strange, but true. We have used it as a regional Maine Pride present to many of our Italian friends and so far, over the years, the reaction has been universal: cosmic, undying, How Have I Lived My Life Without This? So, my plan is that if I lead with Maine Maple Syrup and pancakes on the menu, I may be able to segue into Cheese Grits when our friends’ guard is down.

In the meantime, Happy San Stefano’s Day You do know that today, the day after Christmas, is a holiday of sorts in Italy? San Stefano’s Day is like Boxing Day in the British Empire. But rather than being all about presents etc. in Umbria it is all about Tombola! It is like Bingo. But it has more personality. Every number has a nickname and story to go with it. The Tombola games themselves are fun trip souvenirs, not to mention that they are a good way to motivate yourself to learn Italian numbers and counting. And it is a pressure-packed learning device, as you have to be quick with yelling those numbers out and getting them right. Playing in a town-wide Tombola is exciting. If you find yourself in Italy over the holidays, ask around and chances are good there will be a game and it will surely be open to the public. Well, that is what we did one year. And I won a Hair Dryer. Now, if I only had enough hair to need said hair dryer. Sigh. Oh, well, the girls in the family were impressed. And isn’t that what Christmas is supposed to be all about?

Allora, Buona Stagione a Tutti!