Yes, Chef

I don’t know if America has a stereotypical “shit-box” car the way southern Italy does.  Maybe the Ford Escort or I suppose a better example, the F-150 pickup truck.  In Italy there is the Fiat Panda.  In smaller towns, particularly in the south, you see them literally everywhere.   It is hard to even stand somewhere you can’t see at least one. There are new ones, but they are invisible, looking like all the other plastic bumpered late models.  Their time will come. The older ones here in Italy don’t have body rust like we have in the north of America but they are often dirty, dented and tired.  Their wheels seeming undersized for the body, their colors many times lean toward the strange.  I have seen them modified to have pickup toppers cobbled on, or hood scoops to make them “faster.”  They are iconic in their trashiness.

Last year I learned about an AirBnb bait and switch the hard way.   When you book accommodations AirBnb will try to up-sell you “Experiences”.   These are local things to do.  Tours, guides, events and classes.  I had never paid much attention before, but my first trip to Italy I signed up for a pizza making class and had a really great time.

A close second in my list of favorite things to do in life, right behind eating, is cooking.  I love to cook.  The pizza class the first year was so great, on my second trip I wanted to expand on this.  I found several classes and spread them out over my 45 day visit.  Three of them in big cities, the fourth in a smaller town.  My attention to detail, not always the best, I hadn’t noticed one aspect of the small town class.  It was only five days prior, when I got the reminder email, I realized it was located an hour away from my AirBnb.  

The public transport system in Italy, compared to America, is fantastic.  From big city to big city, with the train system, there is no reason to get a car.  It gets a little trickier in smaller towns, but if you aren’t in a big hurry, bus service works pretty well.  Not so well you can travel at any time of the day however.  I could have gotten to the class a few hours early, but there was no way to get back home.  I had to instead rent a car and make the drive.  Of course they rented me a Panda.  I think it was my punishment.

This year I wanted to take the same class again.  We had made some ravioli containing Italian dandelion (we call it chicory in the states) and one other ingredient, I thought to be spinach.  When I made it this summer it was not nearly as good as I remembered so I wanted to figure out where I went wrong.  I built my plans around staying in the villa located where the class was held and found trains and a bus route to get to the nearby town, San Casciano dei Bagni. It was going to go perfect. But of course nothing goes as planned.  

We had traveled from Napoli to Spello, a beautiful hilltop town where I feel some of the best olive oil is produced.  From there we did a day trip to Assisi, once home to St Francis.  They were perfect vacation days.  The weight of my bag increased by a gallon of oil and it was very relaxing.  But then  the day we were to go to the villa a car crashed into the rail line damaging it.  All trains to and from Spello were cancelled.  Unable to take a train we could not make the bus connection and we had to walk six kilometers to the next town to rent a car.  Oh well.  That is what traveling is all about.

Villa Vetrichina was beautiful!  About two miles out of San Casciano dei Bagni, up a steep climbing gravel road.  During the season I am sure it is luxurious.  A great place to relax from the stress of getting there.  The second day I walked into town and visited a coffee shop.  It was in a vaulted room of what might have been the base of the original castle.  When I got back I put in a partial workday, then took a nap in preparation for our cooking class that evening.

Italians do have what Americans consider some odd beliefs and I got a front seat to an exhibition of this.   I was ready early for the cooking class as is my custom.  Not particularly paying attention to what else was going on around me.  It wasn’t until departure time that The Seamstress appeared in the room and I realized she had been showering.  She has very thick, very curly hair and mechanical drying has a set of problems only the curly of the population can understand.  Now, with only towel dried hair, she was ready to leave.  I warned her of what was likely to come but I don’t think she believed me.  I just smiled. 

We walked the short distance to the classroom kitchen, and as we walked in the door there was a collective gasp and horrified looks on their faces. I said to myself, “this is gonna be great!” Italians will never be seen out of their own home with wet hair.  The reasons are twofold.  An Italian never leaves the house unless they are looking their absolute best.  No disheveled looks.  No frumpy clothing.  Second, they think wet hair outside causes sickness.  So immediately they were concerned the hair drier in the bathroom might have been broken, or unable to be found.  It was a funny exchange as she attempted to explain her actions to an audience that wasn’t buying it.  I just stood there with my dry hair and a grin on my face.  It ended with the hosts saying “Americans are strange” a sentiment I don’t disagree with, but having nothing to do with wet hair. 

The class was great.  We made flatbread appetizers, a first course of guitar cut spaghetti with an amazing simple red sauce of plum tomatoes and fresh olive oil.  —The high point of the meal in my opinion.  For the main course we baked ribs and of course the vino rossa flowed.  A tiramisu for desert.  A great meal then followed up by lemoncello and Liquore al Basilico.  Sadly, no grappa but we had only ourselves to blame having consumed his entire stock the night before.

I figured out where I went wrong on the ravioli.  It wasn’t spinach but broccolini and they were blanched together to remove the bitterness.  A step from last year’s class that I missed completely.  They were again fantastic.  I can’t wait to make them again this summer.

Chef Francesco is larger than life.  Spending time in America when he was young, he loves to feel this bond with Americans.  Finding out we were from Minnesota (sort of, in my case) he excitedly showed off his Minnesota Vikings mug but also his Dallas football coffeecup, sadly having lost its handle but still in use.  His standard check-in when we were doing something right, “You expert!” made me smile every time he said it.

Finding out we were heading north after Villa Vetrichina he loudly exclaimed, “In Milano, they drive’a Ferrari, drive’a Porsche.  No!  We are Tuscany!  Cigaretta an’a Panda” 

Just like Italy, a little food and Pandas everywhere.