Dancing the Liscio in the Piazza

The festival in San Terenziano is in full swing. Whole families come for dinner in the piazza, enjoying local specialities like strongozzi with funghi porcini at picnic tables beneath the trees. At nine the music begins in front of the medieval borgo and everyone between 8 and 80 dances the liscio accompanied by a crooner (or crooness) and a brace of accordians. The streets are filled with baby strollers, long legged teenagers, and elderly ladies and gentlemen strolling under the stars. Gelatos in hand, they sway to the music, watching their neighbors dance. It could be Cinema Paradiso, so magical is summer here in Umbria.
--Sharri Whiting

Pane: From Wheat Field to Baker to Table

Wheat growing in central Umbria

Pane sciapo

        On my walks in the countryside I keep passing wheat fields so green I want to roll around in them. Eventually those grains will ripen, be harvested and milled, and metamorphosize into the piece of saltless local bread on the table next to my plate. The lack of taste discourages mindless nibbles while we wait for the antipasto, but it's terrific for a scarpetta ("little shoe" of bread) to soak up the not-to-be-abandoned olive oil or juices from my dish or for bruschetta with new olive oil.


      To be honest, I really adore the thickly crusted and divinely chewy casareccio in Rome more than the sciapo (saltless) bread they make in Umbria, at least for nibbling. Sometimes, though, history trumps taste, and in the case of this traditional Umbrian bread, I respect the history. This particular bread has been baked here without salt since the mid-16th century, invented in rebellious response to the Pope's blockade of salt to this landlocked region. While it's not the best to eat on its own, it serves very well as a delivery system for olive oil or gravy. 


     The most famous of the saltless breads comes from Strettura, a tiny village on the Via Flaminia between Spoleto and Terni. We went over there the other morning in time to see the raised loaves slid into the fiery wood-burning ovens at Forno Vantaggi. It's said their combination of local spring water, mixed grains and no salt is the best in Umbria. 

Raking out the coals

     The bakers had been working since before dawn and the risen loaves were ready for the oven. But, first, the forno had to be made ready for them. Behind three openings, about twelve feet of smoldering coals burned like Dante's Sixth Circle of Hell (the one reserved for Epicureans). The baker first raked the red embers into an iron barrel, leaving the oven ready for baking at 300 degrees Centigrade. Then the loaves were slid in and the doors closed. 

The risen loaves

The old recipes

In the workroom, various flours, eggs, and other ingredients awaited their turn to become cookies, sweet breads, or tozzetti (aka, cantucci or biscotti). Forget the Inferno, this place was obviously Paradise. On the counter was the recipe book, its pages marked by the fingers of bakers from previous generations. We nibbled warm slices of pizza bread, the tasty flat pane made by Italian bakers to test the heat of the ovens.

Torta al Testa

       Pane di Strettura is only one of many breads made in Umbria. There is torta al testa from the Province of Perugia, historically made on a flat stone in the fireplace or oven. This flat round bread, often served warm from the oven and cut into triangles, is called crescia in Gubbio and pizza sotto il fuoco (cooked under the ashes) in Terni. Today it is often cooked on top of the stove like a pancake in a pan called a panaro.  


    At Easter, Umbrians eat pane formaggio (cheese bread). There is also pan nociato, bread with nuts, and pan caciato, bread made with olive oil, pepper, nuts and Umbrian pecorino (sheep cheese). We are not suffering from lack of choice here in central Italy.


    Note: We visited Strettura as part of the annual Beecoming Festival, which offers events of all kinds in Umbria in late April/early May.


Copyright Sharri Whiting 2012


       


        
     




         

Snowed in with Internet, phone, and the miraculous bed heater

Italy is snuggled up under a blanket of snow after the second big storm in a week. Last Friday, our drive to Umbria from Rome, normally a two hour trip, took eight hours.
We were stuck twice in snow and ice climbing the hill to San Terenziano from Todi Ponte Rio. When we finally arrived on Via Palombaro, we were forced to leave our car at La Casetta Rosa and walk down through the drifts to Yellow House. Luckily we were bundled up in thick coats and fur hats, accumulated during our days living in
Boston. It was dark and we picked our way in the light of a tiny pocket flashlight--we expect adrenalin rushes when we visit the Namibian bush, but not here in the placid countryside.
And yet, unlike the inhabitants of this house a century or more ago, we have the Internet, Satellite tv, space heaters for our feet, and the magical body sized heating pads that go under the bottom sheet of the bed. (If you ask me, this latter invention ranks right up there with the creation of pizza).
Like our forebears, we are busy keeping the fire burning and the soup pot bubbling on the stove. The water taps are dripping and we've put on the snow tires in case our neighbor is able to clear the road with his tractor. We are well stocked with pasta, vino, and cat food for Winona.
So far, so good.
PS The bottle tree is holding its own in the snow, reminding us of blue skies and summer sunsets.

THE OLIVE OIL TSUNAMI

Olives waiting to be pressed at a frantoio, Umbria

      In the aftermath of the current olive oil scandal sweeping across Europe, four or five multi-nationals will be chastised for blending oils from several Mediterranean countries and selling them as 100% Italian, or, as Extra Virgin when they aren’t.  This European network of inter-locking corporations, defined by La Repubblica, the Italian newspaper (Dec. 26, 2011) as a cartel and an agro-mafia, will probably be fined. 

     Consumers across the globe will be left with a bad taste in their mouths, determined never again to buy Italian extra virgin olive oil, which has always been thought by many to be the best.

Old olive trees, Puglia

     As a result, thousands of small independent producers, often with families dependent on the annual harvest to put the next year’s food on the table, will be unfairly tainted, tarred with the same brush as the mass market suppliers. They may be producing DOP oil (Protected Designation of Origin, an EU designation), recognized as the best regional extra virgin olive oil, but they might as well be making the same sorry swill stocked on the shelves of supermarket chains around the world.

      Whose job is it to police the industry? There are regulations in place in the European Union and fraud units assigned to the daunting task of finding the cheats in the olive oil trade.  The U.S. passed regulations about olive oil categories in 2010, but they are voluntary. Nobody has enough inspectors. It’s the perfect situation for fraud.

       So, what is the consumer who loves olive oil to do? 

TTPPT:  Taste Trust Price Producer Travel  

Taste.  Educate your palate, just as you would if you were buying wine. There are plenty of alternatives to mass-market olive oil. Specialized olive oil stores have opened around the world and many offer customers the opportunity to taste the oil before they buy it.  Look for the freshest oil. Don’t go for the clear bottles, which don’t protect the oil from spoilage as well as dark glass or tins. Use your oil in a few months and store it in a dark, cool spot.

Trust.   Find a specialty shop that sells oil and develop a relationship with the owner or buyer.  Ask them to set up a tasting of several oils or set one up yourself. (See how the professionals do it by downloading Olive Oil IQ to your smartphone or tablet).

Price.  You get what you pay for, just like when buying wine. You may come upon a jug wine or a mass produced olive oil that’s pretty good, but if you want DOP extra virgin olive oil, or a bottle of DOCG vino, you will have to pay more than 5 Euros or 5 pounds or 5 dollars for it if you want a product that has been picked and pressed by a local producer in the traditional way.

Producer.   Find the producers whose oil you like and ask your local shop to let you know when the new oil arrives. Every year will be slightly different, dependent on the harvest, but eventually you will recognize a group of labels that offer the oil you want.

Travel.   If you’ve followed the wine routes, think about traveling the olive oil routes. All across the Mediterranean, from Italy to Spain to France to Greece, as well as in the New World, there are places to taste and buy local extra virgin olive oil.  Often wineries will also produce oil, so check the websites of the wines you like. Make the experience a part of a culinary vacation, as way of educating yourself to know what good oil tastes like, as well as to experience the ambience that is an essential part of a local olive oil culture. 

    This blog post was originally posted on http://oliveoiliq.blogspot.com.

copyright Sharri Whiting 2012

So said Pliny and he was probably right

The good green stuff

          "Sip the wine and splash the oil." Pliny the Elder (Rome, 1st C AD). Good old Pliny, always there with a pithy comment. 


           The third week of November is the highlight of our year, when ten friends from four countries arrive on Via Palombaro to spend a week picking our olives, drinking the local garage wine, and catching up on what has happened in the U.S., the Netherlands, Namibia, England and Italy over the last year. 


           What is it about olive picking that is so engaging, so refreshing to mind and body? Is it the fresh air? Is it the respite from ongoing (and often tiresome) responsibilities? A chance to get back to basics, to the relationship between humans and the land? A moment to be with friends, without cell phones ringing or texting, appointments waiting, chores to do?

Pickin' and grinnin'

    There is nothing more satisfying than standing with your upper half hidden within a net of olive branches, filling the basket across your chest with the fruit that has emerged after another flinty Umbrian winter, drenched spring, and bone dry summer. Looking from the house, it seems that the olive trees have each grown a set of denimed legs. 


            The aimless chatter of familiar voices emits from the trees like birdsong, spiced with laughter, hoots and hollers, and sometimes a song (our Swedish friend comes from Todi to pick with us and amuses himself by singing Scandinavian folk tunes). Occasionally, a mild expletive that soars across the field, when a basket full of olives is dropped, if the olives begin to roll off the net and down the hill, or if a ladder shifts, throwing its occupant to the ground. 

The end of the day

           With regard to our friend, Pliny the Elder, we can't say that the Olivistas exactly sip the wine during Olive Picking Week. We probably splash both the vino and the olio, if truth be known. We work hard, we have fun, and we end up with something tangible and delicious: nuovo olio, the new oil, fresh, green, something we contributed to producing with our own hands. It's not digital, it's simply delicious. 
    


   

Hungry?

Steak tagliata at Lo Scoiattolo

       Never let it be said that we fail to meet our responsibility to report on the ristoranti around Umbria. It may require a lifetime of eating, but our mission and our focus are unwavering. How else would we justify those extra 5 kilos?


      Here's the latest list of favorites:

Taverna Sette

Taverna Sette in Trevi
    Run by a group of energetic ragazzi (young people), this place is sophisticated, charming and downright good. Partners in the business are the charming Sara Damiani and Gherardo Mugnoz, who are responsible for the ambience, beginning with the intriguing torches that draw diners from the piazza up a narrow stone vicolo to the ristorante. Chef Alfredo Santovito is inventive, turning local ingredients into tasty dishes with a twist. My favorite antipasto is the Ricottina, which is light, fresh and fluffy, served with toasted walnuts and a drizzle of honey.

Tomino cheese antipasto at Taverna Sette

    Find more details at www.tavernadelsette.it. The address is Vicolo del Sette 8, Trevi. Take the road up to the top of Trevi and come down to Piazza Mazzini to find it. They're closed on Wednesdays. Call 0742 78071 to ask for a table in the secluded atrium.

Lake Trasimeno from Lo Scoiattolo

Lo Scoiattolo is on the road up the mountain about 4 km above Tuoro on the right.
    We were feeling peckish while driving over the mountain on our way to Cortona from Gubbio. We passed this place, with its plastic tables and chairs out front, and thought it was a bar. What we needed was lunch. Rounding the curve, we came upon an astounding view of Lake Trasimeno, an unmissable photo opportunity. Since we were there, since we were hungry. . . . We walked in and saw the ristorante in the back. This is a great find for lunch on a gorgeous day. We ordered the succulent local white beans and delicious steak tagliata.

How to Get There  Lo Scoiattolo is directly on SS416, between Lisciano Niccone and Tuoro. Tel (+39) 075844119 Call if you want to reserve a veranda table overlooking the lake.



Taverna del Gusto in Deruta

Deruta

    Our friend, Grazia Ranocchia, a Deruta city councilwoman, turned us to this one, which is right across the street from the comune building in the old part of Deruta. The official address is Via MastroGiorgio, 5. Ask Luciano to bring out an array of the ristorante's  antipastos, which are really delicious. Then perhaps share two or three pastas -- the fava bean and pecorino pasta is wonderful.
Tel: 075/9724120  Parking tip: park outside the gates to Deruta, as parking spaces can be sparse inside.

Roccofiore near Todi
     We wrote about Roccofiore several years ago for Luxury Travel Advisor magazine and then happened to go back recently with friends. We had forgotten the wonderful view of Todi from the terrace, not to mention the wonderful carpaccio Chianina. The atmosphere is quintessential upscale Umbria, with postcard landscapes to see in every direction.

Roccofiore 

Go to Roccofiore for details and directions.
    
Residenze l'Alberata in Collepepe
     For years, we've driven to Collepepe when we've needed foodstuffs on a Sunday morning. The deli/grocery there has prepared goodies, as well as staples to make Sunday lunch. Eventually the Andreani family built a few rooms upstairs; now they have opened a restaurant in their Sala del Gusto. They serve on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays only. The location is unexpected and charming, though you will have to climb three flights of stairs to get there (think of it as penance before you dig into the menu). There are different menus every weekend, with fixed price meals available, as well as ala carte.

Pasta with zucchini at l'Alberata

Go to Home Cooking for details.


   I suppose now you are wondering when I will recommend gyms in the area to work off all this eating, but no. Take to the countryside, where walking is a pleasure for the senses and always justifies the caffe and cornetto in the village bar afterwards.
Buon appetito!


copyright Sharri Whiting 2011


      
      

The Most Amazing Place in Umbria

      


       Sometimes words really aren't necessary. In the case of the Gran Piano near Castelluccio during flower season, all you need to know from me is how to get there. 
      Drive 28 km. from Norcia, up and up and up into the Sibillini Mountains, about 5,000 ft. Come around that last curve, slam on your brakes, grab your camera, and marvel at the astonishing view of this vast high plain, surrounded by velvet green mountains, filled with wild flowers as far as the eye can see.
      
                                          Drive down across the plain. . .

 

Get out of your car and wander. . .

Visit the town of Castelluccio

Buy locally grown legumes from a farmer who plays an organetto diatonico.

                                     

     This is all you need to know. The spring flower festival happens in June, but the Gran Piano is beautiful anytime. In fall and winter, you might encounter cross country skiiers or hikers coming down from the trails in the national park for lunch in Castelluccio where the lentils are legendary; in summer you will see green mountains with that seem to have giant mossy patches -- look closer and you'll see they are forests. 

      Buon viaggio.

copyright Sharri Whiting 2011

Umbria in a Week? So Many Choices, So Little Time

 

     
    How to choose what to do in Umbria in just one week? You might follow Malcolm Gladwell (Blink, 2005), who said that instantaneous decisions can be better than those based on lengthy rational analysis; in other words, wake up in the morning and see how you feel. Or, you could do your homework up front and decide where you want to go based on your own personal interests: history, art, food, wine, local products, rural settings, towns, shopping. 

The view from Titigliano

   


    Spend at least a day exploring the neighborhood where you're staying, especially if there's a sunset view. After all, vacations should include some downtime.




    The towns we love:

    Orvieto is known for its duomo (cathedral), some say the best Gothic cathedral in Italy (versus Siena and Milano). Pozzo di San Patrizio is an ancient well designed in a double helix so that the donkeys taking the water up from the bottom of the huge tufa mesa would not meet those going down to fetch more. Shop for ceramics, beautiful stationery, and chocolate. Taste some Orvieto Classico, the famous white wine. Visit Etruscan tombs and underground passages. If you drive up to the big parking lot across from the funicolare (cable car), there's a shuttle bus that will take you to the main piazza. 

Montefalco (photo SW)

    Montefalco is one of Europe's best preserved medieval towns; famous for its red wines, olive oil, locally produced fine linens, and eight saints of the Catholic church. The Church of San Francesco is now an excellent small museum with frescoes including by Perugino and Gozzoli. Stop in at one of the wineries along the Sagrantino di Montefalco Wine Route and don't forget to sample the local olive oil. Montefalco is known as the Balcony of Umbria -- the views from here include the towns of Assisi, Spello, Trevi, Spoleto and the verdant rolling countryside in between.

Assisi (photo SW)

 Assisi  and Spello are a nice combination for a day trip. The duomo in Assisi is simply spectacular, with unforgettable frescoes and the tomb of Francis of Assisi. In summer and during religious holiday times, there are often crowds of pilgrims crowding the streets of Assisi, so consider spending half a day in Assisi and go on to Spello, a smaller, quite charming town nearby, for lunch and an opportunity to poke your nose in a gallery or two.

Todi (photo SW)

  Todi is a beautiful place to wander, from the glorious main piazza with its palaces, museum, duomo and ancient Roman cistern under your feet, to the San Fortunato church, where you may climb the steeple if the spectacular view from the piazza isn't high enough for you. Combine Todi with a trip to Deruta to see the excellent majolica ceramics museum or spend the afternoon in Carsulae, the parklike ruins of a Roman town on the ancient Via Flaminia. 

Isola Maggiore (photo SW)

 Castiglione del Lago, on Lake Trasimeno, central Italy's largest lake, is the prettiest town on the lake. Taking the ferry to Isola Maggiore, the island famous for lacemaking, is a great way to spend a summer afternoon, especially with a gelato in hand. The ferry also stops at Tuoro sul Trasimeno, the site of Hannibal's great victory over the Romans in 217 B.C. Come back to Castiglione del Lago for a dinner of lake carp.

Bevagna (photo SW)

   Bevagna's Gaite (market festival) is a late June experience not to be missed -- local residents dress in medieval clothing to join crossbow contests, demonstrate old techniques of book and paper making, blacksmithing, candlemaking and more. Bevagna was originally Etruscan, but became a Roman town called Movania in 80-90 BC. The Roman baths are worth a visit, as is a stop for coffee overlooking the main fountain, where folklore says St. Francis had a conversation with the birds. Combine a trip Montefalco with a visit to Bevagna, only 7 km away.

Spoleto (photo SW)

    Spoleto is known for the summer Festival of Two Worlds, as well as other cultural events, but the atmosphere and the architecture draw tourists all year: the duomo (Cathedral) of S. Maria Assunta, the Rocca Albornoziana, the walk across the arched Ponte della Torri former aquaduct spanning Via Flaminia, the Roman amphitheater make the town unusual. Drive up the mountain above Spoleto to visit Monteluco and the 13th c hermitage of St. Francis for a glimpse of a more rustic part of Umbria.

Norcia (photo SW)

   Norcia's heart-shaped medieval walls encircle the town best known for salumeria, Italy's revered prosciutto and salami, as well as black truffles, lentils and other legumes. The hometown of St. Benedict, the Norcia area is also known for it's contributions to early medical science -- both the Norcia butchers and the surgeons were celebrated in the Middle Ages.  Nearby Castelluccio, above the great plain where the lentils grow, is the jumping off point for trekkers to Mt. Sibillini National Park. Travel to Norcia and environs by driving through the long tunnel that leads from the Via Flaminia near Spoleto to the Valnerina, the Nera River valley.

Gubbio (photo maggioegubino)

Gubbio's architecture -- its Roman and Gothic palaces, cathedrals, elegant houses -- make this city clinging to a slope of Mt. Ingino both dramatic and interesting. The majolica ceramics tradition is strong here, where metallic glazes for ceramics originated. If you happen to visit in early May, there is the Corsa dei Ceri, a spectacular run that takes place annually on May 15.

Trevi (photo SW)

   For your next trip. . . consider Lake Piediluco, Cascata delle Marmore, the Fonti del Clitunno, Trevi, Amelia. . . .

 copyright Sharri Whiting 2011

Life is Just an Ocean of Cherries; What to Do About It

    Somewhere around 1998 we planted a cherry tree at La Casetta Rosa, our house down the road. We just love cherries. For years, we had a few cherries here and there, most of which were enjoyed by the birds and the wasps before we ever got to them. This year, though, things were a bit different. Our cherry tree went on a growth spurt never seen by the likes of humans and 2011 will be a harvest for the ages. We picked cherries and gave them to friends, we picked cherries and ate them and ate them and ate them and gave more to friends.
    Finally, we recognized a problem: we needed to do something about the cherries filling up our kitchen and quick. Otherwise, they would all be ruined. Last Sunday morning I got up early and consulted my recipe books. I went into storeroom #2 and found a dusty box of empty canning jars, left over from the summer Jim and Carolyn stayed and went crazy making fig preserves. 

    I decided to start with Ciliegie sotto Spirito, a tasty concoction of 1) cherries 2) sugar and 3) pure grain alcohol. I found a bottle of the spirits in the back of the pantry, where it had lain since the year we made plum wine. (That's a whole 'nother story; suffice it to say that one of the bottles was left in the sun by some workers painting the living room and it blew up, scattering broken glass and plum wine all over the terrace, where every bee within flying distance arrived within thirty seconds to drown in sweet delight. A real mess).
     So, I started with the white lightning recipe, filling several liter jars. Next, I moved on to pickled cherries with white wine, white vinegar and fresh tarragon (called dragoncello in Italian, such a wonderful name). After that, I still had a few empty jars, so we tried pickled cherries in red wine, balsamic vinegar and brown sugar. Then we were out of jars and, as it was Sunday, the stores were closed. There were still a lot of cherries, even counting what we would eat with our lunch guests, with our dinner, and for breakfast the next day.
     Back to the computer. There is no cherry pitting implement in our kitchen, so I needed a recipe for how to freeze cherries with the stones in. Found out you wash them, dry them, spread them out in single layers to freeze separately and then put them together in Ziplock bags in the freezer. This was all well and good, but my freezer, which isn't the largest, was full of figs and plums from last year, along with a variety of things including a bag of Parmesan rinds for winter soups, half a frozen polenta cake from Christmas, and half a bottle of sorbetto limone with pro secco. The cake and some other over-aged packages (Il Magnifico calls them left-evers) got tossed, the sorbetto was consumed and we were in business freezing cherries. Supposedly, they will last a year and will taste like fresh fruit when defrosted. I will report back.

Umbria, Southern Style: the Bottle Tree Cometh

  
    When the peach tree that shaded our terrace at Yellow House started to die, we thought we'd have to take it out. Poor ole thing had been producing peaches as hard as baseballs for the last five years, it had bunions growing where branches had been trimmed in other generations, and early this spring it developed a terrible case of a wet black fungus that harbored zillions of little black bugs. 


    One sunny spring morning, we decided the old tree had to go. Il Magnifico and I dug around the storerooms #1, 2 and 3, and eventually found a little rusted saw and got to work on the misshapen branches. The flimsy instrument kept catching in the wood, so making any headway was like a trip to the gym -- in about five minutes our tongues were hanging out. Panting like hound dogs, we flopped down on the sofa and a long simmering idea surfaced in my Alabama- bred brain: our peach tree would have a second life, as a bottle tree. At last, I would have a little piece of the American South in my own backyard in Umbria (not counting the Mardi Gras beads strung in the olive trees).


    Il Mag went to the hardware store in Bastardo and brought back the biggest galvanized nails I've ever seen.  I scrounged around among the boxes and debris in the various storerooms for bottles, blue bottles to be exact. I've been following Felder Rushing's gardening show on Mississippi public radio for years, as well as his website (www.felderrushing.net/BottleTreeImagess.htm), so I knew from the hundreds of photos of bottle trees from across Mississippi, Alabama, South Carolina and other southern states that this was the color I wanted. 


    According to Felder's history, the desire for bottles trees originated in Arabia after glass was invented, spread through central Africa, and was brought to the southern US by slaves as early as the 17th century.  In the South, bottle trees were a way to have something inexpensive and pretty in the front yard--bottles catch the light, shine brightly at dawn when the sun shines through them, glow at sunset. Cobalt blue bottles have been said to capture and banish the bad spirits, keeping them away from the house. I certainly wasn't going to have a bottle tree without blue bottles and I could find just one. That was not going to do.

© Eudora Welty Collection,  

Mississippi Department of Archives and History, 1930s

    A call went out for blue bottles. Friends in Mississippi promised to bring us some, my cousin in Alabama passed along an old Milk of Magnesia, and my aunt in Virginia finished off some German wine and passed along the empty. A Brit with no earthly idea what I was talking about dutifully kept her eyes open and found some blue bottles containing water from Wales. I was making progress.
     

Ann and Dale

   Finally, our friends arrived from Oxford, MS, bringing with them a carefully packed box containing six beautiful blue bottles, along with their unmatched expertise on the South. Ann Abadie is associate director of the Center for Southern Culture at the University of Mississippi and an authority on all things Southern; her husband, Dale, is a historian. With them were law prof John Robin Bradley and, his wife, artsy Laura Bradley. With this level of Mississippi firepower on our terrace in Italy, we had no doubt our bottle tree would be imbued with a special magic. We each hammered in a nail and placed a blue bottle, with Laura's critical eye determining the perfect spot. 
    
   That was day before yesterday. Since then I've added an antique bottle from Cape Town to crown my tree -- since the idea for bottle trees came to the American South from Africa, I think its pale green glass is a fitting addition. Dale says I should move the bottles around once in awhile, for aesthetic reasons if not to confuse the roaming bad spirits. I might even consider adding red or yellow to the mix if I happen to find any. Any and all contributions will be accepted.

Bottle tree experts come to help

Bottle by bottle

   Fun reading about bottle trees:
http://usads.ms11.net/maxpower.html

http://usads.ms11.net/bottletree2.html
http://thiseclecticlife.com/2010/03/31/bottle-tree-at-last-maybe/
     
     

    

Martedi Grasso, Mardi Gras, Carnevale: It Began in Italy

A Carnevale princess on a street strewn with cordiandoli (paper confetti)

Mobile, Alabama, the town founded by Pierre Le Moyne d'Iberville in 1702, was the capital of French Louisiana from 1702-1711. In 1703, the settlers celebrated the first Mardi Gras in the U.S. The symbolic colors of Purple (justice), Green (faith) and Gold (power) became official in 1872. But, it was the Italians who started it all.

For adolescent Mobilians in the mid-twentieth century, Mardi Gras was all about the parades. The shining satin costumes worn by revellers atop mule-drawn floats reflected the flickering lights of the torches carried by the white jacketed muledrivers. Paper confetti and serpentine flew threw the air, landing in our hair, our mouths and the gutters. As children jostled for position among the crowds lining the street, straining for the beat of the marching band and avoiding their mothers' seaching hands, they thought only to go home with a good haul of the Moonpies and glittering cheap necklaces thrown by the masked men or women who rode the floats.

Carnevale in Piazza del Duomo in Milan

Mardi Gras (aka Martedi Grasso, Fat Tuesday), the culmination of Carnevale, was first devised by the Romans, although it is Carnevale in Venice and Viareggio that are famous worldwide. The word Carnevale translates as "go away meat," because during Lent practicing Christians did not eat meat. Much earlier in history, the Roman Saturnalia celebrations began with a parade of floats resembling ships – the carrum navalis. Instead of the colorful costumes we see today, the riders were, in fact, naked men and women dancing with erotic abandon. (And we thought that was a Brazilian idea). Eventually, the more sedate Carnevale celebrations spread to the Catholic countries of Europe and then on to the new world.

These days, Carnevale in Italy, apart from Venice, revolves mostly around children in costumes and food. The King’s Cake may be traditional fare in Mobile and New Orleans, but it is frappe, crespelle, sfingi, castagnole, cenci, nodi, chiacchere, bugie, galani, frittole, berlingaccio, sanguinaccio and tortelli that mark carnival season here.

Carnevale pastries

Children attend parties dressed like princesses or cowboys, while their parents ogle the pastry offerings that appear in the windows of le pasticcerie (bakeries) and clog the aisles of supermarkets. The diets that began on January 1 are forgotten these few weeks before Lent -- no one can resist the crunchy, flaky, sweet delight of a plate of frappe dusted with powdered sugar, and it’s absolutely impossible to eat only one.

In Umbria, Todi produces Carnevalandia, a lively festival packed with costumed children and their smiling parents, and a medieval banquet to localize it all. Other Umbrian towns celebrate with medieval-style flag throwers or Carnevale parties in the piazzas or schools. Costumes are for sale in local shops and i ristoranti decorate their entrances.

The Devil at EMI supermarket

At the supermarket, checkout ladies wear Carnevale hats and pretend to overlook the multiple packages of frappe sailing across their scanners on the way to my grocery bags and our own personal Pastry Saturnalia. And then, too soon, the frappe will be gone and Carnevale will be over until next year.
copyright Sharri Whiting 2011