Tierra Madre: Slow Food Conference, Italy 2010: Another day, another adventure, another bottle of wine.

Yesterday, we woke in Modena, with our car and with our wits about us.

For breakfast, there was the most amazing thing: an automatic orange juice maker. You put two oranges in the top of the hopper, it swirled around, down the slide and then there were rotating "hands" that pushed an orange at a time against a cutting edge that then dropped them into the squeezer and out came the juice. I dutifully announced, as a tacky American, "I want one in my kitchen!!" Besides having a spread of a traditional European breakfast of sliced meats, cheeses, breads, pastries, cereal and yogurt, they also had cookies. One, in particular, was a cookie that looked like a Milano cookie from Pepperidge Farms. Now, I know this sounds silly, but it never occurred to me that this cookie may have been named after a PLACE and the style of cookie made there, and that, someday, I might be near that city and run into the original cookie! I excitedly announced, again, like only an American would do, "You know, maybe the Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies were inspired by this cookie!!" Needless to say, I drank more coffee and put my head on straight and we went on our way.

Our first stop yesterday morning was to Balsamic Vinegar maker in the next town over. 'Next town over', you might say, 'No problem. Just a hop, skip and there you are'. Oh, don't be so American. Think like an Italian would. Think, "Nowa, letta me seeah. Sinceah it'sa onlyah 14 kilometres away froma the Hotella, lettsah make itah REEEALLLLYYYAHHH difficulta for tours to getta thereah."
We dutifully drove south from Modena and were told the balsamic maker was going to be right on the road that we were heading out on. We drove....Didn't see it....We drove a little more....Didn't see it....So, I pulled us over, found a (again) handsome man to spit out an Italian conversation with. As an aside, if you haven't noticed the pattern yet: we head to a new city, get hopelessly lost, I get out have a fabulously choppy conversation in Italian, with a beautiful man, we get the help we need, and we're on our way to our next extravagant meal. WE LOVE ITALY!! So, the lovely man gave us more specific instructions letting us know that we passed it already. We headed back that way, we found the main entrance with a stunning iron gate and brick wall - that was definitely locked. We could see the amazing villa behind the walls, but didn't see an entrance to get in! We drove BACK south to ask a local place where the entrance was. When we stopped in the pastry shop, all the Nona's having coffee didn't have any information for us, but one of them walked us to the newspaper stand next door because she figured he would know. Soooo, enter Stage Left: sparkly eyed man behind the counter with, who seemed to be, his father or other older gentlemen out in front of the counter chatting. Nona walked us in, told them what we were looking for, told fawn eyed boy to take good care of me (as she gently set her hand on my shoulder) and he called the phone number that we had for the balsamic maker (our cell phone number wasn't dialing through). Pretty eyed man gets the directions, gets off the phone, give Papa instructions to escort us while we followed in our car to the entrance because it's THAT hard to find from the road. In Italian, I kept hearing the newspaper vendor saying, "Go through these two traffic circles ("Rotundas" in Italian) and then 2 kilometers ("due kilometre") on the left, there will be two columns set back off the road ("due columne") and enter through there." So, we get in our car and follow Dad. I explained to my compatriots the plan of action with a hint of skepticism in my voice.

Well, I was wrong and Dad did a fine job! He led us right through the gates to the picturesque villa where the balsamic is made. What an amazing experience. First, he showed us where the grape must (juice) is simmered down to half it's original potency, then showed us the fermenting tank that the first fermentation takes place. Finally, he took us to the upper room where all the casks were where the final years (note the plural in year"s") where the vinegar continues. His balsamics stay in the casks for up to 20 years. The vinegars get moved to progressively smaller casks as they age and the water evaporates. Finally we tasted the finished product in his tasting room. What an complex and enjoyable flavor! We bought some of the "younger" balsamics that spend less time in the barrels, are less concentrated and therefor in our price range. Without a doubt, we will still enjoy them. We also bought preserves made from his sour cherries that he grows on the property, and other pickled products and jam. We all left happy. He recommended a local place for lunch right up the road in the direction we were heading. We were not to be disappointed there either! Beth's eye was caught by the array of yummy offerings on their salumi and vegetable buffet and Jeri ordered the margherita pizza while I set my heart on a calzone with cappicola, blue cheese, and eggplant. We also had a side of their fried potatoes from the potatoes they grow right on property at the restaurant. Such a meal! We hit the road towards the sea coast with our bellies happy and smiling.

The gentlemen at the house that made the balsamic vinegar suggested our route to the coast south through the mountains on the highway rather than through the mountains on smaller roads. At first we weren't sure if we would be able to see the beauty of the region from the route he suggested and were we WRONG!

The highway from Modena down to the coast cuts (literally) through the mountains and around them on a raised highway. So, you get to see all the gorgeous river valleys that you are crossing over and the mountains with the villas that you are passing through. The tunnels through the mountains with the hairpin turns around the mountains make it feel like you are in a chase scene through a James Bond movie (sans Sean Connery). We had a perfectly sunny day down to the sea. We arrived to the city by the sea, Carrara with a touch of time to spare before dinner, since the Italians eat so stinking late! Not a worry. We three strolled the marble lined streets of Carrara in style: a gelato! One must do as the locals. We enjoyed the local piazzas with the gnarly old tree, vistas of the marble kissed mountains behind, and the children riding the funniest little bikes that you propel by pushing the pedals with your feet.

This evenings place of dining had been suggested by the chef in Modena: The Magnolia at Hotel Byron. Hotel Byron is a few cities over in Forte di Marmi. After a 40 minute drive along the sea and getting only a little lost, we arrived to the hotel and were greeted by posh style and ambiance. White linen service was the order of the evening (down to pulling out chairs and opening the door for me to the bathroom). The meal was another championing fete of cuisine. We let the waiter know that they had been recommended by the other chef (they turned out to be good friends). The chef, in turn, sent out a dish of tuna tartare with micro greens, a drizzle of olive oil, and a crostini. What a "melt in your mouth" treat. The whole dish was perfect. The tuna had the taste of the sea while being buttery good and perfect on the crunchy toast. They also started our evening out with spelt cracker, puffed rice with saffron, and tiny crackers (that they called biscuits but pronounces "Bisquits"). The pronunciation was positively entertaining.

Jeri ordered the "Pici" which was a dish of a kind of spaghetti and vegetables in a tantalizing broth. It was a treat to be a veggie that evening. Beth ordered the anchovies on corn bread and dried capers while I tried my hand at the spaghetti with seafood. On the menu, my dish was simply described as that with a further detail of being garnished with fresh herbs and olive oil. The loveliest surprise was the seafood that ended up with my pasta (what was fresh at the port that day): teeny-tiny snails! When they put the dish down in front of me, I look at the dish and thought, "Perhaps I need my glasses, but I think I see little heads with antennae in my food. All I could think to myself was the joke of the customer screaming to the french waiter, 'Waiter! What is this fly doing in my soup?!?' To his query the snooty waiter replies, 'Zee Backstroke!' I fully enjoyed the moment and tucked right into my dish of "lovely, little friends". And were they lovely! Again, the gentle taste of the sea with their tender texture were dynamite. Beth's anchovies had that perfect salty-brininess paired with a corn bread that made it balanced all the way through. But I've been saving the description of Jeri's dish for last in this course because I think it was the winner! Such a simple dish of vegetables and pasta in a broth, so ofter, gets passed over, tossed around as ho-hum, and is almost never anything to write home about. Well, I'm writing home about it. Mark your calendars: this "Pici" was delici! Everything was on the money. All the veggies were bright and seasoned, pasta cooked perfect and the broth- and the broth! That was the secret: a broth that knocks your socks off. Flavor, flavor, flavor. A show stopper.

For our main course, Jeri ordered a dish of eight cheese paired with different preserves (of course!!), Beth ordered the prawn with caviar and croquettes and I (falling to my weakness) got the suckling pig (not the whole thing! Just a beautiful cross cut). The cheeses were a magnificent reflection of all the different animals and styles of cheese in the region were were traveling through. The complimenting preserve with each successive cheese made the plate. Beth's prawns could not have been more perfectly poached. When they were setting this courses' silverware, (remember, that white linen thing I mentioned? All the courses, all that silverware!!) they set a sauce spoon down at Beth's setting and she asked me if she was getting a flaky fish to use it on. I replied that I thought she was going to get a sauce. Did she ever. The plates came out (wave service, of course!). and Beth's plate was set in front of her and then the back waiter came by with a little, steaming pitcher which he gracefully poured over the entire contents of the dish. The golden broth did the trick. It blessed the entire plate. The caviar with the prawns in the broth were magical and the croquettes...Well, croquettes don't need an apology. You simply fall in love with the fluffy potato inside with a crispy salty outside. My little piggy went to the market and didn't come back...And I'm not sorry in the least. Porky was well loved on my plate. He was shown the utmost respect from pan to plate. I received a cross cut in the middle of the rib (boneless) and had all the good parts. Tenderloin on the inside, loin around that, and the belly tucked neatly underneath. Rosemary and sage were still clinging around him on my plate. I've saved the last part of the Porkies' description for last: the skin. Some of the fat under the skin had rendered and the skin was left to, possibly, the most golden and crisp ever. No really, the skin was so perfectly crispy, it was actually difficult to bite into, so I decided a trip to the dentist didn't need to added to our blog. Porky came with shaved roasted hearts of artichoke which made my heart go "pitter patter". Artichokes really make me happy and roasted come right up there with fried and they did not disappoint.

We ordered desserts of meringue with strawberry ice cream and strawberry sauce, pear with chocolate mousse, and pistachio nougat with orange gelato. Our lovely waiter graced each of us with a glass of Vin Santo to go with dinner. All three desserts were divine but the nougat stole the show. Yowzers. Such a perfect, fluffy, yummy nougat had never before been had.

The plate of cookies that they brought out to cap the evening off has some bigger winners that others. I loved the peach mousse and the chocolate truffle with coconut filling. Jeri was a big fan of the lemon tartlette and the marzipan chocolate. While Beth and I don't like marzipan, she gravitated to the chocolate mousse among others.

The whole of the evening was another winner. The drive to find our hotel, while still enjoyable was not. We quickly got our way back to the city of Carrara. Our hotel was in the heart of Carrara and at some moment, we voted on turning on what we thought was the street to our hotel. Instead, we got a beautiful, meandering driving night tour of, what we believe, was every nook and cranny of the city marble built. Not a drop of sweat in that car. We chatted, hypothesized on where each street might spit us out onto, laughed, and wondered where the parking lot was that we wanted to park in. We celebrated the small victory of finding our preferred parking lot, got to the hotel and promptly flopped down in each of our respective beds and slept like marble statues. All in a day's work!!

More tomorrow on the tour of the marble sculpture's studio and another picturesque view of the drive up the coast and through the mountains tomorrow.

Buone Notte!!