Today we hop the train for a 35 minute ride to Como.
Board a ferry and we’re off for Lenno, where i’ve read about some awesome olive oil that Jamie Oliver and other chefs love. We ask directions and walk down the road and up a hill for about 10 minutes, and there we are. They let us into the area that is like a garage/work shed and I request a taste. He squirts some out of a big-ass machine
and I taste. The peppery finish that I remember from my last trip – not my favorite. But we’re here, and it’s fun, so we pick up a few small bottles for gifts and a large one for me.
Just for reference, I pay $25 – $40 at home for a bottle the size I just purchased, and I only paid $15 here. Such a deal!
We get a gelato (made right here) and wait for the ferry over to Bellagio,
thinking there will be more selection for lunch. We land and take a picture for Matt of the REAL Bellagio,
then tromp up the steep stairs along lots of shopping for tourists and settle in someplace for lunch. Can’t take the time to be real picky because it’s almost 3 and that’s closing time for most. A not memorable meal, then wander through gardens and back alleys and back around to the ferry dock, where we purchase our tickets back to Como. A seat on a lovely terrace overlooking the lake and coffee all around while we wait. Fast boat back to Como, then retrace our steps back to the train station – we have 7 minutes to purchase tickets. Michael trots ahead while I carry the bag of dried porcini mushrooms I scored.
Back in town, we hustle to our hotel to change and freshen up before Leonardo arrives at 7:15 (and it’s 7:05 now), and when I check my email, I see he’s too swamped with work to meet us. We map out directions to “The Small”, but end up hopping in a cab. They don’t show our reservation, but while I am trying to contact Leonardo to find out the name he put in, Barbara calls to cancel because the baby is not feeling well. Score! We sit in the most enchanting restaurant, with 2 smaller rooms decorated in an outlandish and kitschy way, and one larger room that is filled with awesome pocketbooks designed by his partner (Giancarlo Petriglia) that are sold in Neiman’s and elsewhere. I cannot buy one (although I would have bought a few) because this is the wholesale showroom. Anyway, we sit down at a table in the middle room and other couples start coming in. The owner is so chatty and explains his whole cooking philosophy and where the ingredients come from and toasts us with wine and caresses one of our arms everytime he comes through the room. We take his recommendations and await the food – but not for long!
First up is stratiatella, which he insists has nothing to do with the dessert.
I put the first bite in my mouth and tears come to my eyes. Not only because it’s so fucking good – I mean, as good as I fantasized about when I thought about coming to Italy to eat – but because I am overwhelmed with emotion at the whole experience: I AM here in Italy, eating incredible food with my wonderful son in a cool restaurant with very hip people streaming in and kissing each other and I’m drinking yummy wine, etc etc. And each course as good as the first…
After our wonderful dinner, we ask our new pal for a recommendation of a place to go and have a cocktail. He hails us a cab, gives us the european double-cheeked kiss, and sends us to Blanco. Guess what the decor is? A DJ spinning good music and we sit under the biggest umbrella I’ve ever seen and have cocktails amongst more hip people. What more could we want? We meander back home, extremely satisfied.