Etruscan Towns of the South [10-2-09]

For our Friday trip, Romeo took us south, almost to the Tuscan border with Lazio (the Italian state for which Rome is the capital). While the towns we had been visiting earlier in the week seemed “ancient” in comparison to what we know in the U.S., what you actually see in the typical Tuscan hill towns may be as young as 300 years, or as old as 1100 years, but not much older than that … at least on the visible surface.

Now we would see the “really old” stuff -- things so old, even the early Romans studied their archeology. Our first stop was a verdant mountain setting, with lush vegetation, tall trees, and babbling brooks. What brought us here, however, were the ancient tombs of Etruscan kings and nobles. Carved into the sides of these lava stone mountains were mammoth-scaled altars, crypts, caves and tombs. I was blown away by the honor of being able to walk up to these magnificent structures, and touch them with my own hand. Someone once carved this beautiful groove I am touching, with tools he held in his hand, right here, standing where I stand now. Who was he? What did he love? What did he fear? George Trevelyan once wrote: "The dead were -- and are not. Their place knows them no more, and is ours today ... The poetry of history lies in the quasi-miraculous fact that once on this earth, once on this familiar spot of ground, walked other men and women, as actual as we are today, thinking their own thoughts, swayed by their own passions, but now are gone, one generation vanishing into another, gone as utterly as we ourselves shall shortly be gone, like ghosts at cockcrow." The Etruscans were very advanced as a society, and the Romans borrowed heavily from their technology, belief systems and culture in building the Roman Empire. One might think of the Etruscans as “proto-Roman,” except that might be distasteful to the Etruscans. The name Tuscany is derived from the word Etrusca.

Our next stop was the stunning city of Pitigliano (“pee-til-YAHN-no”), a city far older than places like Pienza or Montalcino, a city that is so “Medieval” it’s a bit scary. Using the local dark gray-brown tufa stone from the surrounding volcanic mountains, the city is deliciously dark and intriguing, especially from the outside looking in. On the inside of the city, almost as if the locals realize the color of their city is a bit off-putting, there are flowers everywhere. During the Middle Ages (and to some extent all the way back to the days of the Roman Empire) Pitigliano was the home of a large Jewish population. It was called “New Jerusalem.” They had prospered here, and had been largely responsible for the building of the city high above the dense forest below the walls. Of course, the Nazis of World War II made Pitigliano an example of racial cleansing, capturing and shipping off many members of Jewish families who had lived in this town for centuries. The Italians did what they could to hide some families, preventing their extermination. They also are said to have adopted many of the Jewish children, so they could pass as gentile when the Nazis came calling.

The food is excellent here. It's rustic and unrefined, and I ate every bite. For lunch I had one of the best lamb stews I’ve ever tasted. The meat was, of course, falling off the bone, and the whole thing was in a tomato and veggie stew, along with classic Tuscan bruschetta (which is just toasted slices of rustic bread smeared with garlic and olive oil, and sprinkled with salt).

We then departed for the neighboring town of Sorrano, a smaller version of Pitigliano. Romeo explained the sad fact that towns of this kind are dying in Italy. Fewer families, if any, move into these towns, the young people who do grow up in them so often move away for better jobs in big cities. The remaining population becomes older and (my guess) more and more resigned to a feeling of isolation. What town can do without the sound of kids invading its streets after school lets out in the afternoon? Unless something changes, such towns are destined to become ghost towns. I have to think that would be a great loss to us all if these towns, after enduring so many centuries of struggle and survival, cease to exist as living and breathing villages crowning the great hills of central Italy.

Montalcino and Pienza [10-1-09]

Okay, no more fooling around. It’s time to go for the gold. On this bright, cool Thursday morning, Romeo picked us up and we rocketed through the mountains to perhaps the most famous of all Italian wine-making towns … Montalcino (“mohn-tal-CHEE-noh”). Here is where the Sangiovese grape rules like an archduke of wines.

For years after World War II the Italian nation was it ruins. As the allies pushed the Germans ever northward with brutal battles and bombings, the collateral damage to Italian towns, and people, was devastating. What does that have to do with wine? A lot. With their post-war infrastructure in shambles, people were simply trying to find enough food to live on while they rebuilt their homes and towns. Picking up the pieces. The art of fine wine making necessarily took a back seat. Eventually, as towns rebuilt and people found productive jobs, things slowly began to return to normal, which allowed for the timid revival of wine production. The volumes increased, but the “art,” the fineness of the wines of central Italy, was still lacking, the same way Japanese cars were a joke in the 1960’s. I can remember in the 1960’s and 1970’s, even the word “Chianti” was a kind of code for drinkable, but not at all “good” wine -- while the wicker covered bottles became gaudy, wax-coated candle holders in every Italian restaurant in America.

Then in 2001 a huge spotlight was focused on the small hill town of Montalcino in central Tuscany, when Wine Spectator (the international publication that rates all major wines) announced that the newly released 1997 Brunello di Montalcino was, literally, the best red wine in the world – beating out the usually dominant French reds which the world had come to accept as the standard by which all other wines were measured. Not so any more. The lively complexity, depth of color, mouth feel, broadly nuanced Brunello di Montalcino had won the grand prize from the best wine tasters on the planet. Everyone who dealt in wine would have to rethink the stature of Italy as master wine maker.

Little Montalcino! Suddenly people began talking, once again, about Italian wines. What had happened? The old candlestick-bottle Chianti had suddenly become Chianti Classico, also winning new collectors and awards, and in demand everywhere. Then new mixes of Sangiovese and other Italian grapes began winning acclaim as the “Super-Tuscans.” You might say the lexicon of wine making had changed to include these new giants. More importantly, the art of making fine wines had been recovered in Italy, in the same way Brunalleschi recovered the art and craft of making a great dome (his, the Duomo of Florence) after being lost to the world of architecture for a thousand years.

Romeo took us to the La Fortuna winery just below the city of Montalcino, where the grapes were now off the vines and the massive process of turning their juice into wine was well underway in huge stainless steel vats of roiling red. Again the wine making family was happy to see Romeo and treated him like a cousin. They wanted us to try their “mosto” (known as “must” in English) – the grape juice as it exists in the early days after being forced from the skins of the grapes. It was like drinking a lollypop - - heavenly! The fact was explained that once the juice is removed from the skins, it is separated from what will eventually make it a Brunello. The SKINS are where the flavors begin. These large vats had tons of skins floating on the surface above the denser grape juice below, and the process underway was power-siphoning the “mosto” from a bottom port and redelivering it to the top so it could, over and over again, shower and pass through the grape skins, eventually stripping them of their flavors and color. I bought a bottle of the La Fortuna Brunello for the equivalent of $30 U.S. – a bottle that will cost up to $150 in about 4 years when it’s released to the market en masse. In the meantime, once finished in oak barrels and properly balanced and bottled, it will “sleep” in the cool La Fortuna cellars. They quietly let us see where the 2008 is now sleeping, and the 2007 and 2006 – massive cages filled with stacks of dark, unlabeled bottles lying on their sides, awaiting their day of liberation. We didn’t want to wake them.

Pienza was our afternoon stop, not far to the east from Montalcino. Pienza is known as “the perfect Tuscan hill town,” not just because the locals like to think of it that way, but because Pope Pius II spent a huge chunk of church money on making it that way. It had been his childhood home, and I guess he had a vision from God on how to give it a long needed makeover so all those other hill towns that surround it would no longer look down their noses. He did well. Pienza today is like a Tuscan hill town designed by Walt Disney Studios. Cute as a bug in every nook and cranny. Its product is cheese … pecorino cheese to be exact. Made of sheep milk, this world famous cheese was originally the product of the sheep farms of Sardinia. After World War II, many of those shepherd families moved, with their herds, to the mainland of Italy, settling in southern and central Tuscany. The fine art of pecorino cheese making was their gift to their mainland Italian cousins.

Pecorino comes in three ages or levels of maturity, from “fresco” to “stagionato” (aged). I bought a one-kilo wheel of the stagionato, which Romeo’s favorite cheese vendor in Pienza was happy to vacuum pack for the long trip back to the states. No refrigeration required. It’s not a “smelly” cheese at all, but the vacuum wrap will help confine it. If you saw this round wheel of cheese on the side of the road, you’d think nothing of it. It looks like a dirty, blackened rock. That’s because the Pienza stagionato is aged in layers of dried chestnut leaves mixed with the black ash of burned chestnut leaves. When eating it with slices of pear and a good Brunello, pecorino staggionato taste sort of like … chestnuts!

Montepulciano & Vino Nobile [9-30-09]

On Wednesday we were once again trundling across the countryside and mountain roads in Romeo’s van, this time heading northeast to the land of the great Vino Nobile (“VEE-noh NOH-be-leh””) of Montepulciano. Romeo lectured us most of the way there on how this honored wine is made (with Sangiovese grapes, which are nicknamed “Prugnolo Gentile” in this part of the country). He pulled off the road to visit one of his favorite wine makers, the Natalini family, and their Le Berne vineyard wines. You could immediately tell that this was a placed cared for, year round, with love and attention. The clusters of grapes on the vines, and the broad leaves that surrounded them, seemed to have been carefully arranged for our photographs. There were no real "weeds" anywhere in sight. What work this must require. The aromas that surround any winery are unique and unforgetable. Breathing in that smell of grape fermentation takes me back to earlier trips to the Napa Valley. I always feel like its a kind of great priviledge to be allowed to walk into the space of this ancient art. It was a beautiful day, and we caught this happy family “just right” -- in the process of harvesting their matured crop of grapes. I counted about 8 people working in the vines. This was no bulk harvesting process. These "workers" seemed as if they might be family friends who had volunteered to come over and help with the harvest. Joking and banter back and forth, as they cut clusters off a vine and dropped it into their big red bucket, made it seem like a little party in the grape fields. I don't mean to make light of their labor; it's just that they seemed so happy to be there, doing what they, in large part, lived for. Hanging in beautiful mounds of dark blue-gray, these grapes became our snacks while the various family members joked with Romeo and guided us around the vineyard, showing us how they select and cut the grapes from the vines in such a way as to preserve the health of the vines for next year’s growth. Scattered here and there on the ground were thousands of “raisin” clumps of grapes that were cast off in earlier weeks as imperfect. This was indeed a tour that “not just anyone” would be able to take, given the urgent business at hand of getting the grapes into the long wine-making process while the time was right. Once again, Romeo was our key to that door. The main end product of this harvest will be the 2009 Vino Nobile, Vino Nobile “Reserva,” and the Montepulciano Rosso (the younger brother “table wine” to the distinguished Vino Nobile, made with exactly the same grapes).

When the wine tour was complete, we drove up the mountain and entered Montepulciano. It was a comfortably coolish, sunny day, and the stroll up through the streets of the city to the main plaza at the top seemed effortless.

Grosseto and the Coast [9-29-09]

The second day of touring began with breakfast at the Innocenti house and then the arrival of our guide and driver, Carlo’s son Romeo (pronounced “roh-MAY-oh”). Romeo speaks English very well (his mother was British) and enjoys taking the cooking school guests on daily tours of Tuscany. He actually lives in the town we visited on this date. His wife is a therapist and they have two kids, a 4 year old boy and 6 year old girl.

Grosseto is a handsome Tuscan town, but it lacks one of the typical ingredients of its sister cities and towns: it’s not on a hill. In fact, Grosseto is located in what was once a vast swamp land, where the flatness of the terrain made it almost impossible for natural rainfall to seek its way to the ocean. The entire area was drained by the digging of canals in the late 1700’s … a huge civil engineering project advanced by Leopold II, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Leopold’s family ruled Tuscany from Vienna after the decline of the Medici family, which had held sway over the grand duchy for generations. When Leopold, as the emperor's second oldest son, inherited only Tuscany, he moved to Florence to take up the job. This statue honors Leopold’s success in draining the swamps of southwestern Tuscany and bringing an end to the malaria that had always plagued that area in prior years. Notice the lady at his left side (she represents the town of Grosseto) holding a dead child (representing the unfortunate victims of malaria). Behind Leopold, a huge snake (malaria) is being killed by a griffin (the symbol of the rulers of Florence). So this statue tells the malaria story in one shot, giving credit to the Grand Duke for spending Tuscan money on this project instead of conducting wars with neighboring princes.

Upon our return to Arcidosso in the afternoon, Carlo and his partner Pascale (far left in this photo) take over and engage the class in making the night’s dinner. This evening we started with a lesson on various forms of Tuscan bruschetta. It was also our introduction to making pasta. This was Pascale’s specialty and each of us was expected to make our own pasta for the evening supper. She walked us through the ancient process of combining a finely ground flour with an egg, a generous pinch of salt and a local olive oil. Mixing the dry ingredients first, she then had us make a deep depression in the middle of the flour mix (making the little hill look like a volcano). Then the liquids are inserted in that hole. Pascale said it was best at first to start tossing the egg/oil mixture around with a butter knife (her favorite) or a fork, slowly incorporating the flour on all sides. When the dough ball began to form, we sifted to our impeccably clean hands and commenced a full 15-minute process of rolling and kneading the dough to build up the long gluten strands that would hold the dough together. Then the fun part. Using a stainless steel pasta press, we rolled out longer and longer “flats” - - each one being pressed slightly thinner than the previous run-through. In the end, we had beautiful, pasta which could easily be sliced into linguini noodles by a quick adjustment to the roller press, but we had a different use in mind. We laid the finished flats on the long wooden work table (which had been sprinkled with simolina flour to keep the dough from sticking to the table) and plopped little scoops of a spinach and ricotta cheese mixture about every 4 inches along the flat. With a fold-over and several cutting and fork tong pressings, we had our fresh tortellini, ready for boiling - - our main course for the evening's delicious feast.

Siena [9-28-09]

Many veterans of Italian travels will gladly tell you that Siena is their favorite city in Tuscany, or even in all of Italy. It’s easy to see why it holds this spell over its loyal former visitors, the same way San Francisco does in the U.S. It is “old” even in comparison to other ancient cities in Italy, having been founded about 900 years before Christ. That’s only slightly younger than Rome, itself. Legend has it that Siena was founded by (and named for) Senaes, the exiled nephew of the first king of Rome (Romulus).

Siena is historically most famous for its long, valiant struggle to remain independent of its aggressive and powerful neighbor to the north, Florence (or rather Firenze … “Florence” is just the name early British visitors gave the Tuscan capital city because they were tired of trying to pronounce its actual name). Siena got in some good punches, but ultimately lost its independence, succumbing to Florentine rule in 1555.

Both cities are Tuscan, both are surrounded by vast grape vineyards and olive orchards, both are cities of higher learning and of fine arts, and both became famous in history for moving away from the domination of the Catholic Church in Rome. These were “civil” cities, that, to the extent possible, separated church and state in the same way we understand those terms in the United States today. Roman Catholicism never ceased to be “the” religion of choice in both cities, but the Medici dynasty in Florence, and the noble families of Siena (like the famous Piccolomini family) refused to accept that the Pope should dictate public policy in addition to religious practices. The great families of Siena made this a formal proclamation of independence from the Church in 1167, an act that Madrid or Paris, for example, would have found unthinkable at that time in history.

Accordingly, in Siena, the great “square” (the “Campo” … one of the most famous plazas in Europe) is dominated not by a great cathedral, but rather the high tower of the city’s civil government offices. The great Duomo of Siena is not far away, with its own comparatively cramped plaza. One look at the Duomo of Siena, though, tells the other side of the story. Ousted from civil dominance, the Church still put on quite a show with this amazing structure. To walk into the cathedral of Siena is to be overcome with the sense of power those long-robed cardinals wielded for centuries in this city. High above, visitors can’t help noticing the sculpted heads of the first172 popes staring down at them. “Have your own way, but remember, we’re watching you!”

Arrival in Arcidosso [9/27/09]

Arcidosso is a classic southern Tuscan hilltown from the early Middle Ages, built of the volcanic “tufa” stone carved from local mountains, which give it an undeniably “ancient” look and feel. It’s not one of the better known “destinations” for tourists in Tuscany, but the locals on the sidewalks don’t seem put off by strangers in their midst and easily give a nod, a smile, and the greeting that’s always so nicely “Italian” to hear: “Buon Giorno.”



I drove to the recommended parking spot in the upper “old town” and walked the rest of the way up to the castle tower where the cooking school would be conducted (and where I was booked to reside for the coming week). The highest point in the town is little Piazza Cavallotti, with “Casa Innocenti” connecting directly to the walls of the 1100 year old castle (built by the noble Aldobrandeschi family of southern Tuscany, exceeded only by the Piccolomini family for Sienese wealth and power during the Middle Ages).

I lifted the 5-pound iron knocking ring on the front door and waited. “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.” Next step: cell phone - - that other “best friend” to modern tourism.

The teacher/chef, Carlo Innocenti, answered and told me to meet him down the hill where I had parked my car (next to the iron fountain) in 10 minutes. Fortunately, I had decided to leave my luggage locked in the car while I searched out the house, so walking back down hill was easy.

Carlo showed up in a lightweight three-wheel pick-up truck, jumped out, and offered a warm greeting to Arcidosso. We tossed my luggage in the back of the “mini-truck” and trundled back up the hill to the castle.

He quickly explained that he was still underway with lunch at his restaurant across the valley, so I’d have to make myself at home for several hours. It was about 1:00 PM, and he had not expected me to arrive until late afternoon along with the other members of the cooking class coming in from Rome. He gave me a key to the front door, said “Ci vediamo presto” (roughly “We’ll see each other again soon”) and put-putted back down the hill in the little three-wheeler.

Back home, my neighborhood is trying to find someone to be Santa Clause at our tree-lighting ceremony in December. Too bad we can’t seem to find someone exactly like Carlo. He looks like Santa, with a close-shaven beard. In his 70’s, round rosy cheeks, twinkling eyes and a jolly disposition … he’d be perfect!

Alone in the house, I grabbed my 50-pound suitcase and my over-the-shoulder-bolder-holder and began climbing to the top floor of the "tower." When I finally arrived at the top (which I guess I could describe as three full flights and three half flights of stairs from ground level) I found a cozy kitchen with Persian rugs on stone floor, a fireplace, ceramics and art displayed on the stone walls, gigantic wooden beams in the ceiling, and a door to my bedroom, which was comprised of a little foyer with the actual bedroom to the left and small bathroom to the right. All furnishings seemed ancient, but still in good shape and highly functional: chest-of-drawers, wardrobe, night stands, mirrors, chairs and benches. Dominating the bedroom was a large framed etching of Vittorio Emanuele II, who was crowned the first king of united Italy in 1861 (prior to that, what we know as Italy was not a nation, but for centuries had been a hodge-podge collection of dukedoms, principalities, and mini-republics).

The floor my bedroom was on was clearly the highest residence in the entire town (an honor my legs would have to re-earn every day). Carlo had briefly explained that, while the main house was 1200 years old, the top two floors were quite a bit newer, having been “added on” only 600 years ago. It had been in the Innocenti family now for several generations. The photo of Arcidosso here is one I took actually at the end of my week there. Rain clouds were threatening, but a beam of light magically descended from the heavens to illuminate the city as I was taking the shot (no, it wasn’t “Photoshopped”). I’ve drawn an arrow indicating my bedroom.

So, I unpacked, explored the rest of the house, and then decided to take a nap, with the cool air of Mount Amiata drifting through the window by my bed.

Later that evening the other three students arrived: Mark and Lisa, a married couple from St. Paul celebrating their 25th anniversary (very sweet, intelligent, and energetic people, with interesting stories of their four mostly grown children) and a lovely lady from Atlanta named MaryAnne (a retired telecom executive, originally from Long Island -- she had not surrendered one syllable of her beautiful Long Island accent, talking about things like taking “lowung wowks” with her “dowug”). We would be a foursome for the week’s adventures, and, given the possibilities, I felt extremely lucky to have landed in a "class" of fun individuals. We "hit it off" instantly.

Of my three classmates, Mark probably had the best “knack” for learning Italian. On one of our drives through the country MaryAnnne worked on trying to learn how to say “thank you” in Italian -- the way an Italian would say it.

“Grat-zee?” she’d ask.

“Nope … that’s American … in Italian it’s three syllables: GRAT-zee-eh.”

“GRAT-zee-ahh”

“No … listen: GRAT-zee-eh.”

“Gra-see-AYE. Grat-see-AYE”

“No, GRAT-zee-eh.”

“Grat-see-yae … Grat-zee-ahhh?”

“No, it’s just GRAT-zee-eh. It’s really hard for Americans because we just don’t have any words that end in the sound ‘eh’ . . . Try to think of the name ‘Ted’ and then say it without the ‘d’ on the end … That’s the sound you’re looking for in GRAT-zee-eh.”

“Okay … Ted … ehh … grat-see-AHHH. Oh, I’ll NEVER get it!”

The four of us ended up laughing at how hard it can be to vocalize another language - - but that's okay. After all, isn't laughter more important than learning how Italians say "Grazie?" Besides, what MaryAnne didn't now about the elusive Italian "e," she more than made up for as a serious student of Roman history, the writings of Cicero, the pre-Roman Etruscans, etc. She could teach a lot of Italians a thing or two about Italy!!

Heading for the Cooking School [9-27-09]

On Sunday morning, I departed Monte Argentario, crossing over the causeway to the Italian mainland and setting out across southern Tuscany for the hill town of Arcidosso (“Arch-ee-DOH-soh”) -- the site of my one-week Tuscan cooking school.

With GPS mounted on the windshield, Arcidosso was easy to find, even in this hilly country with steep winding roads.

Let me say a few words in praise of this gift from the American military to the world of tourism. GPS “real time” guidance has expanded the freedom of travel like nothing else since the invention of the rental car. I have a Garmin Nuvi, but I know the other brands are probably just as good. Before I left Dallas, I downloaded the new European maps (about a 2-hour download to my home computer) and then transferred that data to the little Nuvi. Next (at my brother-in-law’s recommendation) I located each of my destinations in Italy on Google Maps, and for each such location I followed the Google “send to” process to get those specific addresses into my Nuvi. Each pinpointed address was then given an easy name to remember, like “Lucca Hotel” or “Vernazza Parking Lot.” Those names were automatically stored in my Nuvi’s “Favorites,” and the rest is history.

When I set out for Arcidosso, I picked “Favorites” on the Nuvi touch screen, then “Casa Innocenti” and “GO!” The British lady who lives inside the Nuvi (I call her “Rose” because she sounds like that character in the old “Upstairs-Downstairs” PBS series) begins to give directions (in addition to the screen presentation) for how long to stay on this particular country highway, how far to my next exit, etc. Sometimes Rose gets addlepated when I follow a clear highway sign that doesn’t match her recommended way to reach my destination. My rule is: “Highways signs, when clear and understandable, trump Rose, no matter how upset she may become.” When I divert from her path, she interjects, with a truly sarcastic tone of voice: “RECALCULATING.” I doggedly continue on the clearly marked course to my destination, and she all but starts waiving red flags: “RECALCULATING . . . TAKE THE NEXT AVAILABLE U-TURN . . . AND THEN LEFT TURN . . . RECALCULATING . . . CONTINUE 300 FEET AND THEN, LEFT TURN . . . RECALCULATING . . . “ I suffer her snobby tone long enough for her to realize, at last, that I’m on the right road after all and only took an “unauthorized” link-up she knew not of. Of course her tone immediately changes . . . as if nothing had happened . . . “Continue 13 and a half miles.” Peace at last. I wouldn’t trade Rose for anything. I know she’s trying her best, and that’s what counts. She can’t help it if she doesn’t know every last service road improvement recently installed by the Italian highway department. Even so, I have to admit a little relief when I finally arrive at my destination and get to hit her “power” button -- giving her some needed time off.