Per Franco and Frances’ advice, I rent a car to head south for the day to meet a few small Tuscan villages. Franco gives me a lift to the rental car company and they’ve given me a mini cooper convertible! I push a button, wrap a scarf around my head, and set off along the winding hills, breeze blowing and me feeling like Elizabeth Taylor….so glamorous cruising amidst the beautiful green Tuscan hills. I just need Marcello Mastroianni in the seat next to me. One of the many moments of bliss I experience on the trip. Here I am, in a movie that I’ve run in my head and it’s all so real right now.
Of course I have my handy gps talking me around every bend and over every hill. Before I know it, I am in the little town of Montepulcino. I park and, darn, no coins to feed the meter. I head up the 100ish steps and down, down, down into town. Finally I find someplace to get change, but I have to buy a few slices of proscuitto for it…oh, too bad. Back up, up, up the hill and down the steps to buy a parking ticket, then back up, up, up and over the hill where I can enjoy the town. But not yet, because I have to pee like nobody’s business (the downside of hot tea with breakfast!). I wander and look for maps, and come across a big fort. I decide I just have to deal with it, and as I walk through the gate to the fort, a big sign for ze toilette! Mother nature handled, I pay the price of admission and climb up the stairs to walk along the ramparts (?) and enjoy the view:
Next is wandering up and down streets. It seems almost every other store is advertising free wine tastings and worldwide shipping.
Not being an oenophile, I duck in to taste olive oil, but determine I’m just not partial about the oil from this locale. Getting hungry, but decide to wait until the next stop, Piensa, for lunch.
Back on the road, I am zipping along, when I see a little sign hanging in front of a house for olive oil. I slam on the brakes, back up, and drive into the entrance. A picturesque little abode
and then another outbuilding to which I walk and call out “Buongiorno?” No one answers, but I see what looks like the olive press, and a table stacked with melons or squash of many colors. I walk over to the house and press the doorbell. A woman of about 70 walks out onto the balcony to ask if I wanted oil. She comes down and takes me through a door into her little olive oil room and pours me a taste:
It’s all so wonderful that I buy a large and a small bottle, even though it still isn’t my favorite. Light, with a slighly spicy finish. She rattles on, laughing and explaining how she just pressed it, etc etc. I smile and pretend to understand. Then I’m outta there.
I pull into town, park, and look for a place to eat. The first place I come to serves mostly a variety of bruschetta and foccacia and I prefer a real meal. I wander around and see a little restaurant called ” de Fiorella” and walk in.
**FOODIE ALERT** If you are not a serious foodie, skip the rest of this paragraph (and the same for whenever you see this notation).
I sit at a little table and order grilled vegetables on arugula, to be followed by pici. Each little town and area has its own particular food specialties, and this is one for the area around Siena, and I have yet to try it. The salad comes:
and I dig in. Aaah. Fresh, lightly grilled vegetables. I drizzle on some local oil and spray (I have since looked everywhere, but they have a little spray top that screws straight onto the bottle for a beautifully light application) on balsamic. The perfect antipasti and always good to get some veggies when traveling.
The empty plate is removed, I drink a glass of water and await the pasta. Some real anticipation here. My cute waiter asks if I’d like some parmesan. I ask him if he adds to his, and he replies in the negative, so I do the same. I am soon presented with a plate of steaming, handmade, fresh, fat spaghetti noodles, all a little uneven, sitting on a white plate.
Clinging to the noodles is what I have to describe (a la Lauren Scheibe) as tomato gravy – a tomato sauce that is thick, but not too, uniformly saucy, flavored with garlic and enough red pepper to give it zing, but not enough to make it hot. No pools on the plate, only what is part of the whole. This is it! The meal I’ve waited for. I take a bite and the oily goodness fills my mouth and I taste al dente, lusciously chewy (but not at all in a bad way) fresh pasta. With each bite I take, I eat slower and slower (and anyone who knows me will find this rather shocking). I guess it is so good that I just want it to last.
Ah, but this comes to a bittersweet end, and I acquiesce to dessert. Panne cotta with fresh strawberries,
and the first bite is ambrosia. I probably should have stopped there, because it just couldn’t get any better. But I’m loving the whole experience. And I watch some people come in for lunch, and the waiter turns them away because they are closed until dinner. “My mother has to prepare the pasta for dinner”. Can it get any better than that?
Okay, back to reality. I walk the streets, which are so hard to capture, but…
visit an old church, snap pictures of the views, and smile from time to time thinking about that pasta. As I’m walking, I see a small rolling pin with grooves for making pici noodles and without a second thought I pick it up and it’s mine. Can I do my memory justice? We shall see.
On to the third and final town, Montepulciano. Only about 20 minutes away, I park once again and head into town. Up and down, cobblestoned streets, wine tasting stores and the usual lot of tourists. This town is the birthplace of Pope Pius II, so a church to him with an appropriate statue:
I stumble upon a store selling italian soaps and start using the sniff test to pick up a few more bars – so much cheaper here than at the Peppercorn! The almond smell is to die for . And lest we go too long without pictures of food, get a load of the cheese selection in some of these stores (the home of pecorino, so it’s everywhere):
And let’s not leave out the pasta:
Nor the cured meats:
Getting tired, so try to head back to the car, but I cannot figure out where I parked. I go in and out of the gates, and finally ask a nice woman (in italian) about the covered parking garage, and she sets me straight. On the road again,
I arrive back at the lodge in about an hour and a half.
I do some packing, upload pictures, then head into town for another (I hope) great eating experiences at a restaurant highly rated from several sources. Gadzooks! It’s so jammed she won’t even let me wait for a table; everything is reserved. I head back to the mediocre place from the first night because I’m just to tired to go tromping around. Pretty much everyone in there speaks english and I see a couple from the lodge. When they’re done, they ask if I’d like to share a cab back, and I ask if they’d like a free ride back. We walk to the car and drive back in the dark. I climb into bed a tired and happy girl.