On the road... Again

Mom is sick now, too. Ugh. Aren't we a pair?

We enjoyed some old French cafe music and a little breakfast with the doors open to the patio. It is another sunny day here. I can't actually believe we have had only one day of rain -- knock on wood. It did get very cold once we got to the higher elevation, from about 95 to 65. We need to layer. If yesterday's market was any indication, the Italians are masters at layering. All of the displays looked incredibly stylish, with tanks and frilly sweaters cinched with fancy belts, the look completed with a scarf and chic bag. 

Mmmmm... being a girl is good.

Being a bee is not. I kind of feel bad for these guys. They won't survive in here and the place will be locked up for several days. Our hostess called yesterday to say that one of her next guests has been hospitalized and they are heading home. THAT would suck. So, the bees need to get themselves back outside. I opened the window and a few of them have flown the coop, but these other guys aren't too bright.

It's to the wine store this morning to pick up a few more bottles and ship our growing liquified grape addiction back home. Did I mention how unbelievably sweet this store is? With the card I mentioned the other day, you walk around this cavernous winos wet dream where stations dedicated to all kinds of wine can be found. There's Brunello, Chianti, and Supertuscan, to name a few. The Supertuscan is my fave. It's the regions only variety where all manner of production is not tightly controlled, giving the winemaker a chance to shine by creating something special. In my opinion, it's the bling of Tuscan wine -- and you know how I feel about bling.

At each station. There are about 20 bottles hooked up to an aeration system. You pop your card in, the buttons light up above each bottle. You make your selection, the card is debited, and the wine dispensed. 

Speaking of dispensers... twice now I've seen condom dispensers on the street. I've also noticed that rather than being hidden in the back of the farmacia, a huge assortment of condoms and lubes are prominently displayed. Either Italians are not as repressed as Americans about sex, or they are getting a LOT of it and this stuff needs to be easy to grab and go. 

We pack up the car and punch in our next destination... Levanto. But should there be a few wineries and olive oil places along the way, we've got nowhere to be at any particular time.

Vacations are a good thing.

Wine, Sausage and Melanie from Munich

We are sticking close to home today, venturing in to Greve In Chianti (pronounced greh-vey), which is about 3 kilometers from here. There is a large wine shop with varietals from the entire region and a butcher that has been in business since the 1700's. 

Mom's couch adventure will last exactly one night. I'm not sure if that's because it's about two feet too short, or her fear of the long incredibly nasty looking black bugs that crawl under the door from the back yard. I have relocated several wasps that have made their way in to our humble abode through a unique catch and release program. This entails me screaming, scooping them up in a plastic bag while dancing around, tossing said bag out onto the porch and slamming the door. Dont worry, my love... I retrieve the plastic bags later so as not to add insult or injury to the beautiful surroundings.

Speaking of, the yard overlooks an olive grove and is situated atop a hill which provides an amazing view. The sunset last night was awesome, and I hope despite our creepy crawly and beastly winged neighbors to enjoy a meal out there before we leave. I bought gorgonzola pasta for one night and chicken for another. And eggs... picked up right off the shelf, unrefrigerated, with the yolks as dark yellow as I've ever seen them. Yum.

Our first stop -- finding an internet cafe. I send mom into a store to ask and she uses all her Italian words to discover that it is located right next door. Still, job well done. She is much better navigating than she gives herself credit for. Here is a hint I plan to remove from this post later... please send her an email or post on Facebook. I think she's a bit sad she hasn't heard much from folks. I keep reminding her we are in Italy, but I think she would love to get a note. Or several. 

Next up is La Cantine de Greve in Chianti. It is a massive wine store with tasting stations and a plethora of wine from all across Tuscany. We buy a card with 25 euros in credit on it. Tastings range, based on the price of the bottle, from ,60 euros to 12. We exhaust the card in about an hour, which means that by 12:30 PM -- mom and I are a wee bit hammered. Happy, but hammered. I've earmarked a few bottles to pick up before we leave this area on Wednesday. That way I can ship all the bottles home from here and take advantage of the discount you get on bottles when you ship, I think something like 16%. 

We venture out into the main square to pop into the shops that are open -- where I find this killer bracelet -- and then sit down in an open air cafe for lunch. We order pasta with truffle sauce (seriously, I can't get enough of this stuff) and possibly the worst bruschetta in all of Italy. Mom says it's my fault because I made her order it. I'm not saying anything, especially since she treats me to gelato afterward. 

Who can be mad while eating gelato?

Then we head to Antica Macelleria Falaroni, a butcher shop that has been in business since 1729. This place is amazing. I swear, if I could figure out how to smuggle meat back into the United States, I might risk jail for this mouthgasm. Yes -- that good. Sadly, despite my newfound old age, my boobs do not sag enough to hide a salami let alone a slab of proscuitto. Still, the meat hooks and cleavers hanging on every wall and the hind quarters lining the ceiling from Porky The Pig and his fifty cousins are quite entertaining. Mom is a bit grossed out by the bits of hair, but I'm fascinated by the hip bone sticking out the side and am dying to touch one. I don't think I should elaborate on the ecstasy I find myself in upon discovering the cheese cellar... 

I mean, this is a PG-13 blog after all.

We buy a few snacks and head to the car and then for home. Or not quite. Don't tell mom, but I'm driving in the wrong direction specifically so we can hit a few wineries on the way. The first one we stop in, Castello Vicchiomaggio, doesn't have wine I love necessarily, but they are sweet and one of the girls gives us an amazing tour. First we stop in the fields to learn a bit about the vines. They don't start harvesting them until they are five years old. When they are 45, they are destroyed. The older vines produce less grapes with more juice and these are used to make the reserve wine. She describes how you can tell what varietal the vine is from how the leaves look.

Then, it's on to the distillery, where she talks about the giant oak barrels, and how every few years, they have to pay someone to come in, crawl INSIDE these monstrous casks through a tiny hole, and scrape the insides to remove sediment. She has never been in one. Of course I asked. The smaller French Oak casks can only be used for a few years and cost 800 euros a piece. They can be used about twice. The trees used have to be a hundred years old and only the heart is used. I wish I could remember everything she was telling me, but sadly, we did the tour AFTER the tasting.

Next, we stopped at another winery -- Castello di Verrazzano. The woman behind the counter had the most unbelievably sour disposition. I am sure the people coming in and out of these places all day aren't fun, but lady... you sell wine for a living. Being more of a people person might increase profits. This theory is proven ten fold by the next place we stop, where Melanie from Munich is an absolute doll. She came to Italy to paint, but has made a little segeway, selling wine at Fattoria Di Calcinaia. The white is delicious, and we even manage to swallow the grappa without too much trouble (I am not convinced this stuff isn't actually made of turpentine), but it's her personality that is delicious... and we are drinking. There are some lovely folks from Tennessee in the shop when we arrive who have also had the same experience with the surly señora down the road, and we all have a really nice conversation about the importance of costumer service and smiling. Melanie has plenty of the later and is thus nominated as the patron saint of today. 

So here's the score... 

Castello di Verrazzano -- 0 bottles purchased
Fattoria Di Calcinaia -- 5 bottles purchased

Melanie wins, and I think we've had enough fun for today. Tomorrow, the market in Siena and San Gimignano.

Ciao, Montepulciano... Hello, Chianti!

Ah, Italy. Your troublesome ways never disappoint me. I think people here must siesta just to escape the craziness of living in a country with no rules and no formal procedures. There aren't even lanes on the road, for Heaven sake. However, I must admit, one of my favorite things about Italy is driving here. At 130 km per hour on the Autostrade, things begin to blur. Literally. 

We slept about 11 hours each of the past two nights, that, and whatever the pharmacist gave me last night seems to be doing  wonders. I'm congested, and have a runny nose, but I am feeling much better. We are up and packed to go by about 11:00 AM. We decide to complete our winery tour of the place next door before heading out to the Fiat dealership to see about a piece for the car, then moing on to the Hertz in Chuisi if that doesn't work. The winery is awesome, and though I've decided I'm not a huge fan of this nobile wine of Montepulciano, I love seeing the bulging casks of oak towering above me and those stacked three high lining the walls of the musty cellar. Some of my favorite pics from the trip are taken in this dungeon. 

The drive to Chiusi isn't bad, but finding the Hertz is a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey sort of adventure. We end up calling, and lucky us, actually reaching an English-speaking and extremely helpful chap named Sergio. This story I'll save for the following post.

We stop in a tiny ceramics factory on the side of the road where I find a bowl as big as a trough for 88 euros. I leave it there as it would cost three times that much to ship home. Then it's on to Greve in Chianti, by way of a supermarket. The first place I try and stop SAYS supermarket, but it's actually a shoe store. My Italian still isn't so good, apparently. When I do finally manage provisions, it is pouring rain and I am soaked by the time I get back to the car. What does mom want? Instant coffee. I don't even drink coffee, and that makes me cringe. I'm might be coerced into instant wine, though. That might be the next big thing. Sold in packets... for those moments you just need a pick-me-up.

Like when we arrive at the absolutely adorable little stone farmhouse we will be staying in the next few nights. Nobody here to meet us. Here's the funny thing though... Italians don't ever seem to be on time, but both the sister-in-law of the woman renting us the place who stops by to say the father-in-law is on the way with the key, and the pater familias himself, comment on us being outside our estimated window of two to four in the afternoon. I apologize -- in Italian -- and explain about the car. It is what it is. What it is. What it freaking is. Nothing seems to go according to plan here, so I'm just going with the flow now.

And the flow is heading out to dinner. After a half hour drive, the last of which is up a dirt road into the middle of nowhere, our lovely "fully operational" GPS says we've arrived at  the restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet. We make our way back to Greve central, where we find a darling little restaurant called La Cantina di Manetti Allesandro. The owner is way friendly and sits us down with a glass of prossecco each -- on the house. 

Here's what we order:

Coccoli con Stracchino e Prosciutto o Lardo di Colonnata (fried pizza dough with ham or lardo di colonnata and stracchino cheese) 

Gnocchi Gorgonzola e Tartufo (potato gnocchi with gorgonzola cheese and truffle)

Cantina con Mozzarella, Tartufo, Bresaola e Rucola (pizza with mozzarella, truffle, cured beef and rocket)

The gnocchi, which is technically pasta, is amazing. Absoeffinglutely amazing. The sauce literally makes me want to lick the plate, which I do, but in a refined way so as not to draw too much attention to myself. My eyes roll back in my head a little. Of course, that could be the prossecco, too, but I'm convinced this is the most amazing thing I've eaten in Italy so far. Yum. I can barely finish my dinner, and I catch mom wrapping hers in a napkin and sticking it in the bag with the extra appetizer. Even while I am stroking my Italian food baby, Francesca, the owner sends over desserts, also on the house. He winks at me. 

Nice, but here's the thing. Italian men? Too skinny. They dress funny. Not this guy, per se, but he IS wearing a fanny pack. Most of the men here are either bald, or have really really thick hair I would be afraid to lose things in (like my sanity, which is help on by a very thin cord at this point.) It's the same thing with the pasta -- I'm just not sold. So for all you clowns back home who keep advising me to find myself a nice Italian boy... I've got my eye on the prize back home, thank you very much.

Back home, I've put a load of wash in and tucked mom onto the couch. Look, it's not my doing -- she chose to sleep there. There are two bedrooms (upstairs) and two bathrooms (one on each floor.) The problem is, upstairs there is a step down and then step up that is right by the stairs. If one was not careful on the way to a midnight potty run, they could literally fall down the stairs quite easily. When the father-in-law left, I looked at mom and told her I was worried about that, and she said she already planned to sleep on the couch. We will see how tonight goes.

In the meantime, I have to just tell you how delighted I am to finally have a bidet... I mean a ROOM... with a view.