Emigrant Gap, November 2010

Brilliant white almost turns to desert from within the Subaru with the heat cranking and the chains thrumming like we are hauling ass down a washboard dirt road. Our last gasp prior to Junior. I won 50$ across the border one day previous.

Glenn Beck?... Wait Mr. Antichrist!

Defending Fox News from New York liberals... or is that liberating New York liberals from the tyranny of Fox News?

Home (28 October 2009)

Amy, Jane, Vassili, and I traveled home together.  Can't remember much after we got back other than it felt amazing to be home, and the first place we ventured once we had recovered a bit was the St. Francis for breakfast.  All was well in the world.  And a fine adventure had been had.

Thessaloniki (21 October -- 27 October 2009)

This will be more of a photo montage.  We were with Jane and Vassili, Vassili is proud of Greece, and now we know why.  Is there anything else to say?  Vassili and Jane were consummate hosts, and we got to see where Vassili went to grammer school and where he first kissed a girl.  And we will never have as good as fish as we had then.  Period. End of story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rome (17 October -- 20 October)

The above is from a series of photos I took that (try to) show the odd juxtaposition of the ancient and reality of the modern.  Rome was by far my favorite city (we stayed in the Hotel Santa Maria [a former convent] in the Trastevere neighborhood).  It didn't have the closed-in feel of Bologna and the old-city-as-shopping-mall feeling of Taromina wasn't apparent either; it was the miracle in action that Marino, the chef we ran into in Trieste, talked about, but there weren't any rough edges or bulging seams.  Rome felt open even though it is an ancient city; the pains of modern life on a city that had its beginnings several thousand of years ago weren't at all apparent.  We spent our time in Rome walking for hours, taking it all in, working up our appetites.

The first night in Rome, we ate at a bar/coffee shop near the hotel, which wasn't as bad as we thought it was going to be.  We went to a pizza joint that we had read about, but the wait was too long, and I was too tired to try and find another place to eat though I should have been more prepared with a back-up or we should have waited it out given we only had three days in Rome.

The most impressive moment for me, that cut through all of the rest of the tourists mulling about, that reached possibly a spiritual moment, visceral, was the space of the Parthenon and the Oculus (I believe that is what it is called); the particular parts that made up the existence of that building, the space it made, had energy and resonated in such a way that I could feel it vibrating with life.

The second night, we ate at a family-run restaurant that served straight-up Roman fare (name to follow).  It was excellent.  Given there has been some time, and I am writing this a mere 3 months later, I have forgotten exactly what we ate, though I remember some devine pickles to start and a brilliant cacio e pepe (spaghetti with olive oil, black pepper, and pecorino.. that's it).  We had gotten lazy and not brought enough money to dinner to pay, and of course the restaurant only accepted cash.  Next scene:  Scott jogging over cobblestones for a half a mile hoping he remembers where the cash machine was he saw earlier that day; arrives at cash machine; Amy being held hostage, drinking espresso and laughing nervously; Scott tries to pull money out on his credit card and it won't allow him to... tries second card and thank god it works; Scott huffs it back imagining Amy about to be sold to Albanians.

The third night, we ate at the pizza joint we tried to go to the first night. They specialized in neopolitan pizza, and it got high praise, but we weren't totally bowled over; the pizza maker, in his speed, was pretty amazing though and I learned a thing or two, by watching him, about how to deal with a raw pizza crust.  After dinner, we went to an area south of the Aventino (Rome anyone?) that felt a hell of a lot like Brooklyn (again...).  There wasn't much going on and we were desperate for a last-night perfect drink experience when we happened upon the most perfect looking food cart ever.  Ever. There were a lot of people milling about and, well, some illuminated ambient light balloons.  Then we noticed that every beer bottle behind the guy in the food cart was faced perfectly, and everything in the cart was perfect, and it was actually a set for a film that was being shot.  A bit surreal, and for a moment we thought our perfect drink was going to be a reality.  We headed back to the hotel with not too much disappointment as we were headed to Greece the next day.

 

Sicily = Mexico? (Monday 12 October -- Friday October 16th)

Did Sicily break off from Mexico 50 years ago and go full steam across the Atlantic and squeeze through the mouth of the Mediterranean and engage in a blanket memory-embedding marketing campaign to convince us all that it has always been here? Just kidding. Kind of. We stayed in Taormina, saw Mt. Etna, engaged in cooking adventures (we had a kitchen in the apartment we were staying in), were epically lost in Catania (I can still hear a projected Dave Moore in the car: "Goddamnit! Goddamnit! You've got to be fucking kidding me! Can someone please put up a street sign?!!"), had a nice afternoon on the beach, saw some amazing ruins, got a haircut, and wondered if every square inch of architectural wonder in Taormina had been grafted onto a shopping mall (it had). Favorite town: Noto; the entire town had been built out of the same toasted yellow-hued stone (thanks to Google: "Noto’s stone is a variable-light yellow colored Miocenic fossili ferous calcarenite, belonging to Palazzolo formation which is of sedimentary origins from the Iblei series.").  Our last day and a half in Taormina, it rained... poured... like crazy; after the Messina mudslides, we didn't sleep so well.

We spent our last Sicilian evening in Palermo because we were feeling a yen for the insanity and beauty of an Italian city. Palermo was supposed to be more insane than Naples, but we found it to be reminiscent of New York-Brooklyn (with the addition of lots of pretty boys on scooters [one of whom was hauling ass down one of the streets with a baby in one arm (obviously, baby car seats, etc. are an invention to get Americans to spend more money... the Italian version of a car seat is sandwiching a child inbetween mother and father careening down a gothic street at top speed)]). Amy had a good afternoon photographing all of this happening while I played bodyguard. There was a lot of Richard Scary half-the-house revealed scenarios where we got a real appreciation for the layers of history, architecturally, that are layered on top of one another in a living breathing millenia old city like thick paint. For dinner, we went to Osteria di Vesperi where we got the tasting menu (house-made bread including squid ink bread [think Jane's Oceanoff-winning prosquiderol], raw fish platter, ravioli, pasta rings with barbequed octopus, lamb, tuna, cheese plate, dessert [as well as several amuse bouche... everything was covered in bottarga]); it was really good but way too much food. Amy's quote: "I feel like I swallowed a basketball." We got up at 6AM on Saturday and embarked on an eleven-and-a-half hour train ride to Rome with the intention of rewriting NYT's 36 Hours in Rome.

Amalfi (6 October -- 11 October)

 

After the farm, Baghdad would have seemed like a nice way to spend a few days, but I have a feeling Amalfi would have held its own without the flying excrement torture. The way the town (and all of the towns on the Amalfi Coast) was stacked up and perched on the side of serious vertical was unbelievable; every bit of the valley the town inhabited was terraced and had lemon orchards and there were innumerable steps (many of which Amy and I took) that led to nowhere and to everywhere. We had an 8-hour hike around the valley that we thought we would never come back from, the best lunch possible from da Vincenzo in Positano (grilled octopus and deep-fried artichoke, frutta de mare fritta, and a nice regional white wine), and some beach time doing a lot of nothing.

Down on the Farm: Rustic Gone Wrong ( 4 October -- 6 October)

Stop in Naples on the Way to the Farm
§no picture... would have been clubbed immediately after taking camera out and robbed blind§
So, at least near the train station, the water supply is laced with a nice amount of crack cocaine. Amy and I took a stroll in the neighborhood between trains and Naples makes the Loin look like Pac Heights.

 

The Farm

We should have heeded the sign at the "convenience" motel/bed and breakfast at the Contursi train station: once we reached the 4 out of 4 mark for baby shit and piss hitting the floor during a meal, the fact had sunk in that our hosts only used cold water and glycerine soap to clean their dishes (and hands after baby cleanup), and the realization that everything we were eating with or from (and the walls) had a good amount of black mold, we came to a quick decision to end our stint helping this struggling family on their "farm." Day 1 we helped with the grape harvest and crush (which lasted about 2 hours), and Day 2, after we had given notice, we picked the trash up around the house (just the inanimate trash), made some hasty plans for travel and lodging in Amalfi, and found ourselves elated on a bus to Salerno at 6:30PM.

Florence (Friday 2 October -- Sat 3 October)

I can still hear the echo of what Rick is going to tell me when I return: "Moore, you travel halfway across the globe, go to Florence, and you don't go the Ufizzi?! Where are your priorities man?!" All I can say is that we weren't planning on spending 2 days in Florence, the line of cows waiting to get into the Ufizzi was hours long, Boticelli can wait (or he will be better remembered in print; Picasso, at least his cubism, is better as plates in a text book), and they were holding Octoberfest in Dante's piazza (note Lynchian character in middle of the shot below)... what do you want from me?

Figline Valdarno (27 September -- 2 October)

What is it that Jennifer Oakes said about cooking school?... something like: "Cooking school is for people who don't know how to cook and want to spend a lot of money."  I should have consulted with Jen before booking my cooking class with Claudio Piantini, the kingpin of a gypsy scam operation running out of the hills above Filigne Valdarno.  To be fair, I did cook a lot of dishes, picked up a few things, helped butcher a lamb, and made lunch and dinner for me and Amy Wednesday and Thursday of the week, but I ended up seeing Claudio as some tragic figure in the middle of a swirl of family obligation, a bad marriage to an insane woman, and the need to whore himself out to a U.S. cooking vacation (or whatever the hell they call these culinary program places) outfit to keep it all afloat while his restaurant flounders).  Could just be my opinion, but still.  Got the hell out of there a day early and hightailed it for Florence.

Parma (25 September -- 27 September)

Friday and Saturday, Amy and I stayed with her Parma host family from a semester she spent in Italy in college. Claudio and Claudia Ferraroni live in a 4-story building with Claudio's three brothers and each of them have a floor; the top floor is not occupied and Amy and I stayed there. Claudio, Claudia, and their son Lorenzo, were incredible hosts and Claudio immediately saw that the way to connect with me (as we couldn't do it though language) was through cured meat and booze; I believe I ate half a pig's hindquarters while at their home and ran though quite a few bottles of wine and about a bottle of grappa with Claudio. Claudio also liked to bring out his Mussolini paraphenelia (apron, underwear, wine collection...) to rile up the liberals, and it got really interesting when he brought out his shotgun...



Saturday, Claudio took Amy and me to a parmesan cheese production wharehouse and we got an impromptu tour by the Indian guys making the cheese. It's quite an operation with copper vats that are used to make each round. They take big paddles and dislodge what becomes the round from the bottom end of the vat, which looks like an upside down funnel, and then hang the curds in burlap to extract the extra liquid (we each got a fist of warm curds off of one of the rounds... guess that one will be a little light). Once the extra liquid is wicked away from the round, it goes into a plastic mold for a couple of days to form up, then a salt-water bath for a week or so, then to the aging rack for several months. Each round ends up being around 400 Euro and this joint had around 1,000 rounds in the aging racks. We also went to a salumi factory, but they weren't grinding pigs up to shoe them in their own intestines, so we were limited to trying the product. That afternoon, we made carbonara. Saturday night, the entire family (including their daughter Mariana and her boyfriend) went to a restaurant out in the country. Dishes of note: various proscuitti (to be placed in a pillow of fried bread [basically a square fluffy unsweetened donut...] and consumed over and over again), capitelli in brodo, tres ravioli, and wild boar (chingiale).


Sunday for the midday meal, the entire family convened (including Frosty), and Claudia showed Amy and I how to make gnocchi (potatoes and farina, that's it... rice the boiled, peeled, and still steaming warm potatoes into a waiting mound of flour, knead the resultant mixture into a smooth dough, roll pieces into index-finger width lengths, cut into gnocchi-sized pillows, and texture). We had the gnocchi with both a gorganzola sauce and a pomodoro and basil sauce; it was lovely. We spent the afternoon at the house and then Amy and Mariana drove me to the train station so I could make my way to Figline Valdarno for a cooking class.

Bologna (23 September -- 24 September)

Day 1
Porticos and kilometers of terrazo; two towers at odd angles; Hotel Panorama with high ceilings and huge rooms.  We got to Bologna at midday and walked the city.  We ate lunch at AF Tamburini, a crazy cafeteria made from the same mold as Ratto's in Oakland.  The city feels insular with narrow roads and no idea of right angles all contained within the city walls (which now are ruins, but the boundary of the old city still exists, it has just become a four-lane road, the other side of which presents a time conumdrum [with minimarts and buildings approximating strip malls populating the other side]).

For dinner we had reservations at Drogheria Della Rossa (previously a pharmacy).  We  arrived at 9pm and closed the joint down with the owner, Emanuele Addone, an odd mix of Yves Saint Laurent and the reverberating voice of Louis Prima.  Emanuele made everyone feel like we were eating in his home (and he made every woman feel surprised when he rubbed up against her) .  We were greeted with a glass of prosecco (which was refilled as much as needed) and he gave the menu verbally (nothing was printed, including the wine list), stating the three or so primi and three secondi.  A salumi plate was provided to every table and it was either vino bianco or vino rosso (Emanuele had some algorithm only known to him where he determined what type of vino bianco or vino rosso you got [i.e., they were bringing bottles to the tables, not carafes]). Amy got the tagliatelle bolognese and I got the cheese tortellini for the pasta course (amazing), and we both got the filet with a balsamic sauce (again, amazing). After the wine bottle was empty, unpromted, one of the severs brought a half a bottle of dessert wine and left it with us. Not soon after, Emanuele sat down next to us and brought a bottle of grappa with him, which he also poured for us and we went on about the differences between people from Bologna and people from San Francisco. At one point, Amy mentioned I was going to be taking a cooking class, and suddenly the chef Francesco was saying hello and he and Emmanuel were telling me to come in to make pasta the next morning at 11:30.

Day 2
11:30 and I swallowed my nerves and walked into the kitchen at the Drogheria and was greeted by Francesco and his two chefs (well the two chefs didn't quite greet me.... they proceeded to crack jokes in Italian about the American who didn't speak Italian, but I  expected something like that). They were in the middle of making pasta for the day, and, Francesco, who doesn't speak a lick of English (or didn't to me), proceeded to teach me how to make their fresh pasta (both tortellini and taglitelle; I will share the recipe in my kitchen...). I ate the pasta we made at a table out front with a glass of prosecco.  A good day.

That night I ran a bottle of Ron Anniversario Pompero over to Francesco and gave him two bags of his tobacco.  He was surprised, we had an odd moment of not speaking the other's language, and I then I got the hell out of there.  We ate dinner at a place around the corner from the Drogheria called Bistrot Marco Fadiga.  We took the long way around so we wouldn't run into the Francesco and Emanuele after considering going over for dessert but then deciding there was no way we could repeat the previous evening's closing out the Drogheria.  Dinner was nice, but they were trying, somehow, not to be Italian (reminded me of some combination of Blue Plate, Range, and insert obligatory San Francisco restaurant here that serves sea bass sauteed on a bed of wilted greens [I know, poor us... but still]).

We left for Parma the next morning (will catch up on Parma and Tuscany, but about to head to a Farm that doesn't have hot water and may not have electricity... so may be a while... 


And this picture is for Jane:

Trieste (20 September - 23 September)

Day 1
On our first day in Trieste, we struck out for a lavanderia across town (it turned out there was one a block from where we were staying [James Joyce Hotel. Never stay here... I was a sucker for the name; the hotel staff were less than helpful, especially when providing locations of various services such as lavaderias and internet cafes. The staff also believed their broken internet was Christ-like (they kept claiming it worked, and every time Amy went over to the computer and proved it didn't. Doubting Thomas?)]) with two plastic bags filled with wash (pretty romantic, eh?) to the neighborhood with the self-service lavanderia. After throwing the wash in, we went to the trattoria next door to have a beer. There was a loud gesticulating man hunched over a large plate of boiled shrimp voraciously consuming them and sending shells everywhere (we were the only people in the place; although it was Italian, the most immediate translation was: Vietnamese-place-in-the-Tenderloin-with-plastic-tablecloths-where-you-know-it-is-a-bad-idea-to-order-the-seven-course-beef). After a while, he called us over, introduced himself as Marino, owner and chef, and had the bartender pour us more beer. He went on to tell us about a book he was writing about exercise, that we could have stayed at his friend's house for less than what we were paying at the hotel, that we could visit his house in Croatia, and that it was a Miracle that Italy worked on any and all levels (in an immediate way, we had already seen infrastructure around Trieste that showed a very patched together approach... Some of the buildings reminded me of Gieger; they had corrugated plastic tubes half embedded in their sides and somewhat covered with stucco, erupting from below the surface randomly, carrying electrical wires, water, whatever). 

Later that day, we were wandering the neighborhoods and while Amy was taking a gentleman’s photograph, we heard whistling and yelling up a street and it was Marino (we unknowingly passed his home). We met his wife and cousin, talked for a bit, and promised we would come by his restaurant the following evening for dinner.  

For dinner, we went to Il Buffet da Pepi for various parts of pig and cow (nice parts as well as blood sausage, tongue, kidney, heart).  Who needs Whole Hog, when you get this set up with kraut, mustard, and beer?

Day 2
On Day 2 we went to Carso, and after several bus trips wondering if we should have brought our passports (we were flirting with the Slovenian border in and out of several towns), we arrived in Samatorza. The town was a bend in the road, but we had heard there was an osmizza in the town (kind of an underground restaurant... .they are marked by signs with very loose wreaths and you have to be accepted in order to, well, order a meal [kind of like the Soup Nazi]). we had prosciutto crudo, fromaggio, salami, hard-boiled egg, pickles, and a mezzo liter of house made wine (come to think of it, it was all house made). 

That night we returned and had dinner in Marino's restaurant.  He sat with us and continued his monologue while we ate Scoglio (spaghetti with a shrimp saunce and seafood basically).  It was great to meet him and we hope to see him again.

20 September (Freedom)

 

Basel is behind us and to say we are pleased is a bit of an understatement.  Of course it also means my continuous work, and Amy being a sport about it, is behind us.  After emerging on the southern side of the Alps, we didn't quite contain our whooping and hollering (our mistake was thinking that we had to contain ourselves, in Italy, in order to prove we were civilized by only expressing ourselves in staid monosyllabic tangential musings on what we might want to communicate to those around us in Switzerland).

L'enfer (Wormhole to Paris, 12 September)

Catching up on a post meant for last Saturday, September 12th. We met up with a great friend in Paris, Catherine "Katy" Wallace. Katy went to graduate school with my mother and they have been close friends ever since (and I have had the luck to spend time with Katy since I was a wee lad pretending to be a student at UCR while my mother took me to classes because a babysitter couldn't be had?).

Katy grew up in Liverpool alongside John and Paul and used to head straight to "The Cave" at lunch break from her civil service job and watch the Beatles play.  

We went to a lovely restaurant, Cafe d'enfer on Rue Daguerre in the 14th, where we were quite entertained by our waittress, had a fine meal, Amy and Katy got to know each other, and Katy and I caught ourselves up on the last six years since we had dinner in San Francisco in 2003.

If I Had Only Known Fondue Would Turn it All Around

Finally found a good dinner in the city center at Walliser Kanne Tuesday night.  That seemed to turn things around immensely.  Below is a postcard that will never get to Sue because we addressed it to her old address on 14th Street.

This dinner was after a day of Amy recklessly cannonballing around Basel on my staffperson Jenny's bicycle.  Amy joined me and my crew for 7-dollar Starbucks coffee drinks (it serves us right for going to Starbucks in Europe) on Tuesday inbetween biking adventures.

Tonight (Wednesday night), after Amy spent a day with my colleague Robert's wife Renee tooling around the German countryside and the Black Forest, we went to a lovely Italian restaurant along the Rhine that I had been to with Robert and Renee previously.  Amy had a crazy ricotta-stuffed gnocchi and Robert, Renee, and I all had the wild boar (can't even start to describe how good the pig was...).  We ended up at R&R's home eating ice cream topped with hot raspberries.

Dark Days Before Freedom....

We are staying in Basel's version of the Hanoi Hilton.  It looks retro and cool, but it is a prison until Sunday.  I am working down the street (a 10-minute walk), but coming back in the evening to work in an attempt to wrap things up before we go to Italy.  I perceived subtle themes of mutiny as my colleagues smirkingly asked me whether people from Genentech earn their sabbaticals or if they just decide to take 6 weeks off whenever.  I had to remind them through gritted teeth that they take basically a month off every year, so they probably come out a bit ahead... Methaphorically and literally it is overcast with some rain; haven't had a decent meal yet and I think the Swiss tried to poison Amy our first night here.  Other than that, it's beautiful.

We all live in worlds that are much smaller than the World we live in

Our second evening in Paris, Amy and I followed some suggestions of Kate's boss, Anthony, first trying Chez Pauline (closed... note to self: call ahead next time) and then happening upon Willi's Wine Bar by total chance (I hadn't looked the address up).  We had some good wine (Côtes du Rhône and Châteauneuf-du-Pape) and a really nice dinner:

• Fricasse of artichokes, baby onions, chanterelle mushrooms
• Tatin of apples, baby onions, chanterelles, on a bed of wilted spinach
• Sea bass with a parsley pesto containing preserved lemons, julienne carrots, and a eggplant tapanade
• Beef boucheron with fingerling potatoes and some crazy devine reduction
• Chocolate tarte with an angaliase-like sauce
• Rice pudding with fig, apricot, and other fruit from trees
  

So, in the middle of dinner we started talking to the two people next to us at the bar.  They are in the Cordon Bleu sommelier program.  I mention Kermit Lynch (Kate's company), Amanda (Linn) mentions she is friends with the guy who works for Kermit Lynch in Los Angeles, we ask her if that is Anthony (Kate's boss), she says yes, and that he had dated her best friend.  Hence the title of this entry.

We walked to Montmartre after dinner, sat on the steps with a bunch of teenagers drinking Heineken, and watched the city for a spell.

Riots in Paris?

 

Who would have thought Paris would be so glamorous?  After several quick plane -change houdinis, Amy left her bag in the dust. Now it's like we are living in the Lower East Side (we are in Montparnasse... Jean-Paul Satre and Simone de Beauvoir are buried a stone's throw from here [not that they had anything to do with Amy's bag not arriving at Charles de Galle or the Lower East Side, but still...]) and Amy's got what she wore on her back and that's it.  We hope her bag shows up soon, but in the meantime it is getting pretty goddamn Parisian around here.  Nothing to report other than I spent the day in a conference room, Amy's birth from de Galle, and how nice it was to see her after 15 hours of travel on her part.

Parisian Basecamp

This one is for David Moore.  He knows why (so does Barbara).  That's citron vert in my hand, and it was the best goddamn lime glace that I have ever had and I am going back to Berthillon tomorrow, the next day, the next day, and the next.  Take that! And take this audio experience of me eating my glace on the corner:

In Paris.  The desk clerk at the hotel, Pedro, has a wooden hand.  Amy is arriving tomorrow and will actually enjoy Paris while I am in a conference (I know, poor Scott... there is a charitable organization that is supporting my pain; I will find the contact information and forward it on).

T-Minus .3 Days to Launch (for Scott); T-minus 1.3 Days for Amy

Mission Beach Cafe for a last breakfast with the tribe (dungenous crab benedict was crazy good) this morning.  It is now 11:38pm.  I leave at 8:45am tomorrow morning.  Amy's going to close up shop and hand the keys over to our friend Heather on Wednesday.  Still don't have any hotels once we enter Italy, but Amy has always enjoyed camping....

T-Minus 1 Day to Launch (for Scott); T-minus 2 Days for Amy

 

Amy and I are in crossing-things-off-the-list mode (most interesting: buying a hoodie at Ambercrombie Kids store [which has no designation as such... it would be like Gap Kids being called "Gap"] for my German colleague's son).  We have decided to go to Sicily for Week 4 and we shot across town to The Perish Trust, owned by Amy's friend Kelly (shown above).  Kelly has been to Sicily and we needed a last check-in that we weren't going down the wrong path (Nanci Clarence cemented it by telling us later in the night that Sicily was something to do now... we could do the Amalfi Coast when were 60).  Just finished the transportation puzzle today with Rail Europe and Aegean Air, but still need to reserve hotel rooms (who needs shelter?).  Back to Nanci, we visited with Nanci and Lidia this evening for a couple of fine St. Germain cocktails and a post-wedding catch up.  Fading fast; need to wake up early to get near to being ready to go Tuesday morning...

Last Home-Cooked Meal Before Departure to Europe

Friday evening dinner of barbequed rosemary, oregano, tarragon, garlic, olive oil, and salt-rubbed chicken with rice pilaf.  Also, barbequed corn was in the mix.  spending the weekend getting organized for me leaving for Paris on Tuesday and Amy leaving on Wednesday.  Will work through the weekend, only breathing for breakfast Monday with Micah, Stacey, Anika (AKA S.A.M.), Rick, Anja, Jessica, and Sarah.  We are Meeting at the Mission Beach Cafe for the last tribal get together until we meet up with Vassili on October 20th.