It's a been a while since our last post; a long while. I am always excited to return to Bologna, as it always feels like a homecoming -- I have a steady job here, albeit one that pays me zilch; a place to stay with a friendly face, and a city that I feel so incredibly comfortable in and familiar with even though with each visit new neighbourhoods and areas of the central part of the city seem to spring out of nowhere. It doesn't seem to matter that my language skills are pretty basic, as most people seem to be happy I am at least trying, and generally understand what I am trying to say anyway. I am forever uncovering incredible restaurants, which are not to be confused with elegant restaurants. They are usually trattorias serving delicious regional fare such as tagliatelle con ragu Bolognese, oven roasted rabbit, grilled pork chops, grilled chicken breasts, roast potatoes, stinco and the usual suspects when it comes to dessert - zuppa inglese, creme caramel, panna cotta.
Add to this wonderful culinary tradition a healthy shot of history and culture (Bologna is home to the oldest known university in the world, dating back to the 1000s) and you pretty much have my perfect city. Not to mention the temperature here rarely if ever dips below freezing; people noticeably shudder when I mention the numbing temperatures we endure in Canada), which means you can usually enjoy a glass of wine or coffee outside for most of the year.
I would live here if it was possible, but I am happy to just pretend I am a citizen here if only until the end of this week. I have a feeling obtaining citizenship would be a painful, irritating and near impossible process to endure anyway, judging by the fact 6 months after applying I STILL haven't received the official documents for my permission to stay. (We were granted papers as proof at the police office on the spot though).
I am going to miss Italy and Bologna in particular, like a long lost brother I just found then had to leave again. We have so much in common, but alas it's time to return home, which I am admittedly rather excited about. I kind of have a wonderful fiancée, a tiny wienerdog and a stack of hamburgers awaiting my return.
Wednesday, 13 January 2016
Wednesday, 2 December 2015
Tirano - La Citta Delle Montagne
Tirano
...is a less pretty Italian Banff. The town is a little larger than Banff and the river that bisects it not quite as mighty as the Bow, but it has the same sort of small alpine feel, and a river running through it. In fact, when I stood on one of the bridges that arched over the river it was almost as if I was looking at _____ Mountain. I think the main difference is that Banff has an incredibly young feel to it and is decidedly a ski town - lots of ski/snowboard shops, cheap eats, bars and 20-something's running around.
We grabbed a quick lunch at the hotel restaurant and crushed a bottle of wine, that is ended up drinking most of, and set out exploring the town. There are many retail stores along the Main Street running through the downtown, including 3 or 4 shops proclaiming to sell authentic Valtilinese products. Naturally I had to check them all out. Nothing incredible to report back, although there was a lot of a long noodle pasta that was flavoured with blueberry stocked on all the stores' shelves.
After a bit of a caffeine boost we sniffed out the older part of the city; I have learned that this is usually the most interesting part of the city and tends to yield restaurants that cook food typical of that particular region.
The food in Tirano is significantly better than that in Banff. For dinner we had an assortment of cheeses and cured meats from the region. A couple of e meats had a sort of "fridgy" taste to them, but aside from that everything was excellent - I had a grilled sausage and veg and Lynn, cotoletta with veg. The sausage was packed with flavour and ha ska nice tang to it which was pleasantly foiled by the copious amount of butter used to sautéed what I was hoping would be a healthy side. To say Lynn's cotoletta (Italian schnitzel) was big would be an understatement, as it took up her whole plate. It was scrumptiously crispy despite slightly burnt bottom, and was incredibly moist on the inside. Though I mused about dessert, it was probably for the best that we forwent it.
Yesterday we pretty much just puttered around town and pick up some stuff for lunch on the train as we were anticipating prohibitively expensive prices. We also stopped in to a little Osteria to check out the menu, at which point there as no one there(not a good sign), ran a few more errands and returned only to find the place packed to the gills, all speaking Italian (the best sign). We had grilled porchetta, which is pork belly, or bacon for those of you who are a tad squeamish, that is rolled with herbs, tied and roasted til the skin is crackly-crisp. It was magnificent, with a stupendous side of roasted potatoes. We also had spatzli, which seemed to be more common the further north we traveled and understandably so, as the area we were staying in borders Switzerland. the spatzli was served with a bacon and cream sauce and was also delicious.
...is a less pretty Italian Banff. The town is a little larger than Banff and the river that bisects it not quite as mighty as the Bow, but it has the same sort of small alpine feel, and a river running through it. In fact, when I stood on one of the bridges that arched over the river it was almost as if I was looking at _____ Mountain. I think the main difference is that Banff has an incredibly young feel to it and is decidedly a ski town - lots of ski/snowboard shops, cheap eats, bars and 20-something's running around.
We grabbed a quick lunch at the hotel restaurant and crushed a bottle of wine, that is ended up drinking most of, and set out exploring the town. There are many retail stores along the Main Street running through the downtown, including 3 or 4 shops proclaiming to sell authentic Valtilinese products. Naturally I had to check them all out. Nothing incredible to report back, although there was a lot of a long noodle pasta that was flavoured with blueberry stocked on all the stores' shelves.
After a bit of a caffeine boost we sniffed out the older part of the city; I have learned that this is usually the most interesting part of the city and tends to yield restaurants that cook food typical of that particular region.
The food in Tirano is significantly better than that in Banff. For dinner we had an assortment of cheeses and cured meats from the region. A couple of e meats had a sort of "fridgy" taste to them, but aside from that everything was excellent - I had a grilled sausage and veg and Lynn, cotoletta with veg. The sausage was packed with flavour and ha ska nice tang to it which was pleasantly foiled by the copious amount of butter used to sautéed what I was hoping would be a healthy side. To say Lynn's cotoletta (Italian schnitzel) was big would be an understatement, as it took up her whole plate. It was scrumptiously crispy despite slightly burnt bottom, and was incredibly moist on the inside. Though I mused about dessert, it was probably for the best that we forwent it.
Yesterday we pretty much just puttered around town and pick up some stuff for lunch on the train as we were anticipating prohibitively expensive prices. We also stopped in to a little Osteria to check out the menu, at which point there as no one there(not a good sign), ran a few more errands and returned only to find the place packed to the gills, all speaking Italian (the best sign). We had grilled porchetta, which is pork belly, or bacon for those of you who are a tad squeamish, that is rolled with herbs, tied and roasted til the skin is crackly-crisp. It was magnificent, with a stupendous side of roasted potatoes. We also had spatzli, which seemed to be more common the further north we traveled and understandably so, as the area we were staying in borders Switzerland. the spatzli was served with a bacon and cream sauce and was also delicious.
Cheese Babies
To pick up where we last left off - Gabri and his cheese-babies. Each one was fawned over and checked on by him like a lactic baby. He was supremely crushed when they ended up turning out anything except exactly how he envisioned they should. Even if the cheese was a delicious accident he would throw up his arms in a dramatic fashion and declare it a failure. Emotions I can completely relate to.
Gabri was pretty much the most useful WWOOFer on the farm; I don't think anyone even really thought of him as a WWOOFer as he knew pretty much all facets of the farm and farming and was capable of repairing pretty much anything on the farm. He is also an incredibly kind person.
Which is probably why he wasn't with us the day we had to shovel through a metre of horse shit. Though this may sound gross, it was not nearly as nasty as cleaning out the pigs' stall. Being tasked to take care of the animals and clean their stalls we came to appreciate some pretty odd stuff - such as the consistency and smell of a particular animals' shit. Pigs were the most vile, followed by the cows and tied for a very distant last the horses and goats. The little animals don't even count. We were also tasked with various minor construction/repair projects, which included the creation of a garden, fence repair and the beginnings of a mini greenhouse for herbs. Since I was terrified of shop class in junior high and have never done anything with a hammer but destroy things, it felt incredible to be creating something and actually doing repairs. (Granted I did smash my finger with the hammer hard enough to make it spurt a flowing geyser of blood).
Stefano and his partner Alice are both from the Bergamo area and both had past careers having to do with animals prior to starting the farm. Stefano was a vet and Alice, a dog trainer and breeder. Stefano also happened to be a very good cook, teaching me quite a bit about the. Bergamaschi kitchen and allowing me to help out on Sundays at lunch n their restaurant doing cheese plates. Did I mention how blindingly delicious the cheeses are?
Alice kept a much lower profile and we didn't really get to know her as well. We pretty much knew she has a pack of various dogs and had very strong opinions about food.
Our last day on the farm was a couple of days ago, and though we were sad to leave, it also feels nice to be on the road again, travelling and seeing some new towns and scenery. Afterall isn't travel about just that?
Ciao for now,
Matt & Lynn
Gabri was pretty much the most useful WWOOFer on the farm; I don't think anyone even really thought of him as a WWOOFer as he knew pretty much all facets of the farm and farming and was capable of repairing pretty much anything on the farm. He is also an incredibly kind person.
Which is probably why he wasn't with us the day we had to shovel through a metre of horse shit. Though this may sound gross, it was not nearly as nasty as cleaning out the pigs' stall. Being tasked to take care of the animals and clean their stalls we came to appreciate some pretty odd stuff - such as the consistency and smell of a particular animals' shit. Pigs were the most vile, followed by the cows and tied for a very distant last the horses and goats. The little animals don't even count. We were also tasked with various minor construction/repair projects, which included the creation of a garden, fence repair and the beginnings of a mini greenhouse for herbs. Since I was terrified of shop class in junior high and have never done anything with a hammer but destroy things, it felt incredible to be creating something and actually doing repairs. (Granted I did smash my finger with the hammer hard enough to make it spurt a flowing geyser of blood).
Stefano and his partner Alice are both from the Bergamo area and both had past careers having to do with animals prior to starting the farm. Stefano was a vet and Alice, a dog trainer and breeder. Stefano also happened to be a very good cook, teaching me quite a bit about the. Bergamaschi kitchen and allowing me to help out on Sundays at lunch n their restaurant doing cheese plates. Did I mention how blindingly delicious the cheeses are?
Alice kept a much lower profile and we didn't really get to know her as well. We pretty much knew she has a pack of various dogs and had very strong opinions about food.
Our last day on the farm was a couple of days ago, and though we were sad to leave, it also feels nice to be on the road again, travelling and seeing some new towns and scenery. Afterall isn't travel about just that?
Ciao for now,
Matt & Lynn
Monday, 16 November 2015
The Happy Farm
...no seriously, it's actually called The Happy Farm - the translation of Fattoria Della Felicita. And it more than lives up to its name: there are dogs galore, from the tiny whirling dervish-like Jack Russell who has managed to squirm her way into my heart, to the big lumbering dopey eyed Burmese mountain dog to the two hyper-energetic Australian shepherd sisters. Actually, they have all managed to find a special place in our hearts, right next to the real estate occupied by our main canine companion, Hugo!! (We have a video of him on the iPad we watch a couple of times per week).
The view here is more than incredible, and reminds me of when I lived in Banff in a valley nestled into the mountains. I never tire of the view, and find my mind wandering, seeking routes up the mountain in a mental attempt to try and scale it. I can almost feel the unexpected chill on my face and being completely unable to sign my name in the log book due to said cold the time I managed to scale a mountain in Banff with a ragtag band of misfits from work (the restaurant, not the bank).
The work is incredibly taxing in terms of the physicality of it, but at the end of the day it is so rewarding. You feel that kind of full body drain you can only feel when you have pushed every muscle to its limit and your complete inability to peel yourself from the chair you're sitting in is all that's preventing you from going to bed about 4 hours early. The funny thing is, I can't even explain why it is so rewarding, I just know that I find myself with an ear to ear grin at least once a day - whether it's when I scratch behind the injured goats ears and he tilts his head back into it like a dog and smiles (I've named him Cervantes) or when Adam (Czech WWOOFer) was completely butchering the Italian language in a hilariously self deprecating way at the dinner table (No problemo, Italiano!) or hacking through a metre of horse shit with the 4 other WWOOFers or pulling up weeds, looking up at the mountains and the surrounding farm and thinking, "This is it. I'm actually in Italy. I'm literally living my dream"
The farm is run by a couple named Stefano and Alice, a veterinarian and dog trainer respectively, who have only been farming for the past 10 years or so, but completely love what they do. In addition to being a farmer and vet, Stefano just happens to run a restaurant on the farm that is open 3 days of the week. He is no slouch in the kitchen, cranking out classic Bergamaschi dishes along side a young cook named Mauro, who is very keen to get out of Italy and do some travelling. Cheeses made. On the Farm by another WWOOFer called Gabri is sold both as part of an antipasto platter and in tiny wheels. He has been with Stefano and Alice for a number of months now and isn't really showing. Ny signs of wanting to move on.
Gabri is from a small town just outside of Bergamo and is incredibly impassioned about cheese. I have found that this is a very common trait among Italians, and have noticed it with our hosts or people on the farm. There is a reverence for food in Italy that I have never seen before. Gabri has churned out some delicious cheeses - fresh goat cheeses (which he has to actually go out and milk the goats by hand for), aged cow milk cheese, fresh ricotta, a semi soft cheese called formagella which his does with both goat and cows milk. There is another one I am forgetting, but they are all delicious. I have taken a particular shining to the ones that are aged. They are decidedly not for the faint of heart, but have a distinctly nutty and kind of fruity flavour with a texture very similar to Parmigianno Regianno. I have helped him make various cheeses a number of times now, and it's amazing to watch and participate in every time. Every step is taken with diligent care, instruments washed prior to use, and executed as if he were performing a delicate task with a baby farm animal - a look of total concentration yet enjoyment visible on his face. And he is incredibly excited if anyone is interested in his process, getting you to jump in pretty much immediately to help out. If you ask he will even get you to help him milk the cows and goats.
That all consuming fatigue is starting to swallow me, so we will continue with Gabri and the rest of the cast tomorrow.
ciao for now!!!
Mara
Mara and The Olives
We didn't really know what the expect from the second farm we were about to experience; all we knew was that she loved animals, was vegetarian and owned an olive grove.
Mara is kind of like an olive: she may leave a bitter taste in your mouth the first couple of encounters, but once you are exposed to her enough, it turns out she is sweet, incredible and nuanced in ways you didn't previously recognize. She is disorganized to the nth degree, forgetting her keys, or wallet or some bib or bob religiously. She drives an olive green Fiat, which I think was a completely intentional decision, my compatriots not so much. She has no time for bullshit, which sometimes comes across as being pretty abrasive, She drives like an Italian, which is to say like a maniac, especially if she's late for an olive pressing. She will nurture you and conjure up some homeopathic cure if you have a cough, a sniffle or a frog in your throat. She loves to laugh, hang out eating freshly roasted chestnuts around her hearth, chatting about politics or horses or her next big adventure.
And she loves olives. I have never seen someone so singularly dedicated to something in my life. Her day revolves around time in the field, and most appointments seem to be scheduled accordingly. If there are olives on the trees, Mara is there to make sure they find their way into a waiting olive-net. She is fiercely proud of her olives and her oil, telling you with a smile about the time she won 1st prize in an annual olive oil competition in Romagna, and may even produce the card with the judges tasting notes and scores...provided she can find it. The oil IS magnificent, the best I have tasted. It is emerald green, not army green, yellow or any other color. Tell Mara about the oil used back home and she is liable to scrunch up her face, stick out her tongue and "blech!" This year's oil, that we tried about an hour after it was pressed, tasted very grassy and slightly peppery in the finish. It may seem strange talking about olive oil as you would wine, but this stuff has subtleties and notes much like a good glass of wine. Ask Mara if you should use it for cooking and she may very well punch you in the face.
Lynn and I were fortunate enough to accompany Mara to the press one evening, while the other WWOOFers went home to gorge on meat (Mara is vegetarian, but allowed the others to cook meat that particular evening). I think this is when the real bond was forged between us - she saw that WWOOFing was not just about having a place to crash and food for free for Lynn and I; that we cared about the product enough that we passed up this evening of meaty madness and wanted to learn as much as we as we could about olive oil and the process. The olives are first washed and picked through (depending on how scrupulous the oil producer is) for things like snails and large sticks. They make their way up a little olive escalator (not the technical term) and from what I could gather have any errant leaves whisked off by machine and the pits removed. They are then milled into this gross, brown sludge by a giant corkscrew and finally passed through a centrifuge to separate oil from water. Total time for the amount of olives we bring in, which is typically 800kg or so: about 3hours.
When the press guy Marco crunched the numbers for the amount of litres yielded, Mara was ecstatic, clapping her hands and hugged us. 13%, the best anyone got that day. She'll be happy to get over 200L from her olives this year, since that's how much friends have already ordered from her. At 10 euros per litre, she'll make over 2000 euros. Taking into account the month or two spent pruning the trees, the cost of supplies to nourish the trees and pay for the press, and resources to pick the olives, she really doesn't get much back... But she does it anyway.
We didn't really know what the expect from the second farm we were about to experience; all we knew was that she loved animals, was vegetarian and owned an olive grove.
Mara is kind of like an olive: she may leave a bitter taste in your mouth the first couple of encounters, but once you are exposed to her enough, it turns out she is sweet, incredible and nuanced in ways you didn't previously recognize. She is disorganized to the nth degree, forgetting her keys, or wallet or some bib or bob religiously. She drives an olive green Fiat, which I think was a completely intentional decision, my compatriots not so much. She has no time for bullshit, which sometimes comes across as being pretty abrasive, She drives like an Italian, which is to say like a maniac, especially if she's late for an olive pressing. She will nurture you and conjure up some homeopathic cure if you have a cough, a sniffle or a frog in your throat. She loves to laugh, hang out eating freshly roasted chestnuts around her hearth, chatting about politics or horses or her next big adventure.
And she loves olives. I have never seen someone so singularly dedicated to something in my life. Her day revolves around time in the field, and most appointments seem to be scheduled accordingly. If there are olives on the trees, Mara is there to make sure they find their way into a waiting olive-net. She is fiercely proud of her olives and her oil, telling you with a smile about the time she won 1st prize in an annual olive oil competition in Romagna, and may even produce the card with the judges tasting notes and scores...provided she can find it. The oil IS magnificent, the best I have tasted. It is emerald green, not army green, yellow or any other color. Tell Mara about the oil used back home and she is liable to scrunch up her face, stick out her tongue and "blech!" This year's oil, that we tried about an hour after it was pressed, tasted very grassy and slightly peppery in the finish. It may seem strange talking about olive oil as you would wine, but this stuff has subtleties and notes much like a good glass of wine. Ask Mara if you should use it for cooking and she may very well punch you in the face.
Lynn and I were fortunate enough to accompany Mara to the press one evening, while the other WWOOFers went home to gorge on meat (Mara is vegetarian, but allowed the others to cook meat that particular evening). I think this is when the real bond was forged between us - she saw that WWOOFing was not just about having a place to crash and food for free for Lynn and I; that we cared about the product enough that we passed up this evening of meaty madness and wanted to learn as much as we as we could about olive oil and the process. The olives are first washed and picked through (depending on how scrupulous the oil producer is) for things like snails and large sticks. They make their way up a little olive escalator (not the technical term) and from what I could gather have any errant leaves whisked off by machine and the pits removed. They are then milled into this gross, brown sludge by a giant corkscrew and finally passed through a centrifuge to separate oil from water. Total time for the amount of olives we bring in, which is typically 800kg or so: about 3hours.
When the press guy Marco crunched the numbers for the amount of litres yielded, Mara was ecstatic, clapping her hands and hugged us. 13%, the best anyone got that day. She'll be happy to get over 200L from her olives this year, since that's how much friends have already ordered from her. At 10 euros per litre, she'll make over 2000 euros. Taking into account the month or two spent pruning the trees, the cost of supplies to nourish the trees and pay for the press, and resources to pick the olives, she really doesn't get much back... But she does it anyway.
The Olives
In mid-October we were finally back volunteering on a farm. The one we went to was a small B&B / farm, run by one woman (Mara). The B&B was a former mill, where we all stayed, and every day we drove to her olive fields in another location. That's what we were there for - the olive harvest! There was us, Mara, and three other WWOOFers. Nicky and Janice, 50-some year olds from London, and Martin, a young cook from Germany.
Mara had over 200 olive trees, which we mostly got through in two weeks. It was fairly easy work, with the routine of laying down nets under the tree, then using plastic rakes to comb all the olives off the branches ideally to fall onto the nets. We'd make a couple of trips around the tree to get all the branches, including climbing up the middle (only a couple of metres high) and using longer and electronic rakes (dubbed "the rattlesnake"). When the trees with nets were done, the nets were gathered up and the olives put into crates, which we hauled into the garage every day. At lunch time, we'd gather around a rickety table and eat a picnic, usually a cold pasta or rice dish. Most days were sunny, and the view (especially from up a tree) was off beautiful rolling green hills, with the Adriatic Sea on the horizon.
The days that were rainy were our days off. The first of these was a lot of fun, since the other WWOOFers had cars and took us all to a few scenic towns. We also had a massive lunch together with lots of local specialty foods, including strozzapretti ("the priest strangler", pasta spitefully served to a greedy priest). Anyway, our harmony with the other WWOOFers sadly deteriorated a fair bit by the end of two weeks. They started to complain a lot about the work, muttering about Mara's decisions, and even often bringing up the lack of meat, though the farm was advertised as fervently vegetarian. In the end, the difference in us and them endeared us to Mara more ("you are the true WWOOFers!") and we parted very warmly.
We did also get to watch the olives get turned into oil at a local press, but I think Matt described that for another post.
Mara had over 200 olive trees, which we mostly got through in two weeks. It was fairly easy work, with the routine of laying down nets under the tree, then using plastic rakes to comb all the olives off the branches ideally to fall onto the nets. We'd make a couple of trips around the tree to get all the branches, including climbing up the middle (only a couple of metres high) and using longer and electronic rakes (dubbed "the rattlesnake"). When the trees with nets were done, the nets were gathered up and the olives put into crates, which we hauled into the garage every day. At lunch time, we'd gather around a rickety table and eat a picnic, usually a cold pasta or rice dish. Most days were sunny, and the view (especially from up a tree) was off beautiful rolling green hills, with the Adriatic Sea on the horizon.
The days that were rainy were our days off. The first of these was a lot of fun, since the other WWOOFers had cars and took us all to a few scenic towns. We also had a massive lunch together with lots of local specialty foods, including strozzapretti ("the priest strangler", pasta spitefully served to a greedy priest). Anyway, our harmony with the other WWOOFers sadly deteriorated a fair bit by the end of two weeks. They started to complain a lot about the work, muttering about Mara's decisions, and even often bringing up the lack of meat, though the farm was advertised as fervently vegetarian. In the end, the difference in us and them endeared us to Mara more ("you are the true WWOOFers!") and we parted very warmly.
We did also get to watch the olives get turned into oil at a local press, but I think Matt described that for another post.
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
Bergamo
Our final visit before we started up on farms again was Bergamo, home of the pastas scarpinocc and casonsei. Being a city in the north of Italy, polenta was also in plentiful supply. We arrived on time, but were greeted by our airbnb host late and with the news of our accommodations not actually being where they were stated on the website. After a 15 minute journey even further away from the city we arrived at our palace and immediately decided to find some dinner.
While searching for a place that served authentic cucina povera we meandered straight into an international (mostly) food market - German sausages, Greek gyros, Italian piadine, deliciously pillowy salty yet somewhat sweet pretzels, roast pork, amazing ginger snaps, beautiful handmade wooden products for the kitchen, PORCHETTA, artisanal sausages both dry and fresh with the farmer cutting off slices giving them to people to try, tiroli being boiled and fried right before your eyes and so much more. We opted for a plate of roast pork with roasted veg in drippings. As the trend seems to be in Italy, the veg stole the show. So deliciously sweet from the slow caramelization, yet salty, sweet and packed full of meaty from the (you guessed it) roasting pork.
Fast foward to the following day: we fuel up on cappuccino and pastry and beeline it to a little one way tram ,that takes you to the Upper City, called the Funicolare. (Who put the "fun" in Fun-i-co-lare?!). Once up there we leisurely strolled around the stone streets, taking in the old buildings and Italian-ness of it all. Upon entering a typical piazza we decided to check out a basilica, as Italy typically has at least one per city and they rarely disappoint. This one far exceeded any expectations I have had for any of these ornate structures. There was so much beautiful art all over the place. It was as if a medieval tattoo artist was let loose on a church and just told to go wild. Murals on the roof bled into each other, albeit it in a very cohesive manner, and statues dotted the church. It was a lot. It was too much to take in. Ocular overload in a magnificently glorious way.
Once our eyes had recovered and brain caught up processing what we had seen we decided on lunch. Much debate ensured, but we settled on a pretty nondescript looking cafe that served one of Bergamo's beloved pastas: CASONSEI. Now going into this I was determined to discern the difference between scarpinocc (Bergamo's other most well known pasta) and casonsei. From what I thought scarpinocc was supposed to resemble a shoe (scarpe), but as it panned out and we visited more and more pasticcherias, it appeared casonsei also bore a strong resemblance to a shoe. Working up the guts to try and butcher my way through an Italian sentence I asked a few people what the difference is. The response: the filling. They all said that the shape is interchangeable, but casonsei will always have a meat filling; scarpinocc, a cheese based one. Our casonsei was sensational. It was accompanied by a locally brewed stout, which again was magnificent. As it turns out, the craft beer game in Bergamo is exceptionally strong. That tiny city is churning out some delicious beers. Moretti and Peroni move over, there's a shitload of NKOTB.
The afternoon was spent trying to avoid sporadic bouts of rain. We sought shelter in what we thought was the Botanical Gardens, but turned out to be a children's playground. Either we can't read or the sign was so very wrong.
Skip to dinner and we find ourselves once again in Citta Alta at a restaurant with copper pots, swords and medieval kitsch hanging all about. We had what we would find to be very common dishes in the north of Italy (and delicious at that): polenta and roasted meat, and polenta and braised meat.
Besides studying the local pastas, we also did some shopping in Bergamo. On a fair weather day, we took the train to Lake Como, one of Italy's largest and most famous lakes. When we got to Como we pretty much hopped right on a ferry, to enjoy the lake. The trip up the lake and back ended up taking up most of the afternoon, but we did fit in a stop in the town of Bellaggio, and got a good look at George Clooney's multi-million dollar lakefront property. The last train of the day to Bergamo was then caught with enough time for Matt to first stop on the way to get a high five from a giant hand statue.
The remainder of our time in Bergamo was comprised of pretty much exploring Citta Bassa and returning to Citta Alta to eat. A delicious and beautiful city!!
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