Why is Lucca so Lucky?

Driving through the imposing medieval walls into the small Tuscan city of Lucca, we asked ourselves three questions:

Why does everyone look so happy?
Why is everyone on a bike?
Where is all the tourist hoopla?

Over the course of our three-day break, we found answers to all our questions.

First, everyone looks happy because they live and work in one of God’s green acres. According to Forbes magazine, Lucca is the second most idyllic place to live in Europe (after Patmos, Greece) and “has all the charm of Tuscany without the crowds … This is a quiet, though classy town, with lawyers and housewives peddling the narrow cobblestone streets past thousand year old churches and made-in-Italy fashion boutiques.” OK, that explains the contentment but …

Why does everone ride a bike? Because the busses don’t fit through the walled entrance and because most of the perfectly preserved historic centre has been pedestrianized. Locals and visitors alike find it more fun and easier to wiz around on bicycles. Bike rentals are everywhere and prices are reasonable (inquire at the tourist office). A highlight for visitors is to cycle the 4 km circuit around the broad, tree-lined ramparts.

But what about the tourist hulabaloo? As Lucca is a classy town and seems to appeal to a more discerning kind of tourist, the “tour bus, fake handbag and warped post card” options you find all over Florence and Pisa are in short supply. We did find lovely and fairly priced Italian linens in a shop called Butterfly on the Piazza S. Frediano and our daughter was able to find beautiful but affordable Italian paper and notebooks at the tobacconist on Via Santa Croce. Cultural offerings including churches, museums and ‘climbable’ bell towers were equally impressive and uncrowded.

Finally, we were delighted with our hotel and the restaurants. Thanks to the suggestion of Italian friends, we stayed at the mid-priced Hotel Ilaria, which was a great recommendation. This hotel benefits from an excellent location, charming staff, and lots of freebies including parking, WiFi, bicycles and drinks and snacks. Our rooms in the annexe, a former 14th century church, were large, nicely appointed and dead quiet. Rates include a generous buffet breakfast.

The best meal we had was at the Buca di Sant Antonio. This romantic restaurant has been a Mecca for the great and the good since 1782. The food and service were excellent. Also good was the Antica Locanda dell’Angelo where we feasted on budget busting truffles. We had a tasty €10-a-head lunch at Ristorante Gli Orti di via Elisa and the Café di Simo, with its belle époque interior, is a great place to see and be seen.

All in all, our three days in Lucca was hard to fault on any count. This town is indeed lucky, and we’ll be back.

Photo from Rex Maximillian's photo stream on Flickr.

Pining for Italy but Stuck in London

“Signore, Signora, how nice to see you again.”

Not a bad welcome for a restaurant we hadn’t visited since last November. As we sat down the Editor asked, “Have you written about Alba?”

No. And that’s weird since we’ve been coming here for ages. It’s one of our favourite restaurants in London. Sometimes you forget to mention the best things in your own backyard.

Alba is everything we love in a restaurant. It’s been owned by the same family for the last twenty years. Its low key and good for conversation. It’s not cheap but the prices are fair and the prix fixe lunch and dinner menus are a bargain. During the season, they have a truffle menu to die for. The food, mostly from the north of Italy, can also deviate into interesting regional specialties. The wine list contains hard-to-find Italians at reasonable mark-ups. If you are going to the Barbican which is around the corner, it’s a great post theatre option.

The night we were there, we were hugely excited because they had puntarelle on the menu, a classic Roman dish you almost never find in London but alas, we were too late. It had all been gobbled up at lunch. Instead, we started with octopus and squid followed by culingionis (potato ravioli) that had just been flown in from Sardinia. Covered in butter and fresh sage, and so beautiful to look at, the culingionis was divine. We washed it all down with our favourite wine from Sicily, Nero d’Avola. Total damage was £75 and worth every penny.

After dinner, the maitre d’ who, over dinner, had sung the praises of his home town, Tropea, in Calabria took us over to the computer to show us some pictures of the beaches and the church where he was married that is pictured above. All the while, one of the waiters from Venice rolled his eyes in that way that Italians have when they are forced to acknowledge other parts of Italy than where they were born. For the record, the photos of Tropea were so beautiful that the first thing we did when we got home was check flights into the closest airport in Lanezia Terme.

No Crowds complains a lot about eating out in London, a town plagued by high prices and poor service, but our dinner at Alba last Friday was just about perfect. We basked in the glow that comes from being treated like cherished regulars even though we only go occasionally. We became devotees of culingionis and we got some great travel ideas for Calabria. If you are pining for Italy but stuck in London, a meal at Alba may be the next best thing.

Alba Restaurant
107 Whitecross Street
London EC1Y 8JH
(220 m from the Barbican main entrance)

Tel: 0207 588 1798
Fax: 0207 638 5793
http://www.albarestaurant.com/

Open Monday through Friday for lunch and dinner

Photo credit: Wikipedia

A Roman Romance

“What would you say to a weekend in Rome?”

Having sworn off short haul air travel, trying to save some money and bearing in mind we’d been there before, I did not hesitate.

“Sure, that sounds great, let’s go.”

But to go to Rome without the children, to go, as they say, “a deux”, that would be a new experience. This was to be a travel story about romance, about ardent emotional attachments, about dreamy, imaginative habits of mind. We were going to Rome for 48 hours in search of romance but would we find it?

We got off to a bad start thanks to the inexplicable failings of Heathrow’s new Terminal 5. Leaving aside the confusing signage (don’t they test this stuff), you can’t convince me that queuing for 30 minutes for security at 6 o’clock in the morning in a flagship terminal that cost 8.4 billion dollars and 100 million man hours to build is anything short of pathetic. We were told there were problems with both the machines and staffing but this is what got me mad. EVERY store in the beautifully appointed and glamorously lit mega shopping area, including Prada, Dior, and Gucci, was fully staffed at 6:00 am and open for business. So how come the security staff can’t make it on time but the Prada and Gucci staff can? I’m sure I’m not alone in saying - I don’t want a damn handbag, I just want to get on my flight. After cursing air travel in the 21st century and promising never to buy anything at Heathrow ever again, we finally took off for our romantic weekend in Rome.

Things instantly took a turn for the better when we arrived at the atmospheric Hotel Locarno, a 1920s time capsule located on a small street just off the Piazza del Popolo. The Locarno is so bathed in sepia tones, so “out of time” and has so much faded charm, that you can’t help but think you have stepped onto a film set. In a way, you have, something that was recognised by the film director, Bernard Weber, who made the hotel both his home in Rome and the star of his 1978 film, Hotel Locarno, about a collection of characters who sought refuge from the modern world within it walls.

We were hooked instantly although our room, despite high ceilings and old fashioned furnishings, was nevertheless rather poky. Well, we did ask for their cheapest room. La Sorellina (the baby sister now living in Sydney but also back in town for a visit), who knows the hotel well, assures me that the deluxe rooms and suites are grand affairs. In the end, we were ridiculously happy at the Locarno, despite the poky room. Every thing else, the location, the public spaces, the bar, the roof terrace, the free old fashioned bicycles (perfect for riding in the nearby Borghese Gardens) put us in a wonderful, and yes, very romantic mood.

And what do people in search of romance do for fun in Rome. They eat. Thanks to the La Sorellina, we had one of those lunches that you can only have if you know someone. In this case, the restaurant was on the via del Croce, two blocks in from the via del Corso and I think it was called “Frescatteria” although it’s hard to be sure since the place has no number and no sign. There also was no phone, no credit cards and no coffee. The food was great. We had excellent stracetti and at €18 per person in one of Rome’s most expensive neighbourhoods, it was an absolute bargain.

Don’t you dare write about this restaurant, La Sorellina admonished at the end of the meal. Of course, writing about something and being able to find it are two different things but if you head down the via del Croce at lunch time and you see a small room crammed with people eating, go in. You’re probably there.

After lunch and to satisfy our desire for more romance, and a cup of coffee, we headed for Caffe Greco, Rome’s oldest and most atmospheric cafe on the via Condotti. Yes, its touristic and expensive but at the same time, the place still has much of the incomparable elegance that made it a favourite of the intellectual giants of the times. Chopin, Berlioz, Wagner and Mendellssohn, Goethe, Byron, Shelley and Keats, they all took their coffee there. Hans Christian Andersen lived upstairs. Blink, and despite the hordes of Japanese tourists, you are transported to another time when it was common to wile away the hours in Napoleonic splendour. The ageing waiters in frock coats (ours had a large bandage slapped up the side of his head) add to the old world atmosphere. La Sorellina reports that Caffe Greco is at its best in the early evening when the tourists have mostly departed and the Italians like to meet for a post shopping aperitivo.

That evening, we ate fish with La Sorellina and family at the Monserrato. It’s an intimate place where the day’s catch is prominently displayed as you come in the door. Needless to say, you would only put your fish out for all to see if they were very, very fresh. The Italians would spot a bad one in a heartbeat. We ate spaghetti vongole with gusto. Throughout the meal the Sorrelina’s children were clucked over and indulged and gazing down the table crowded with food and lively with conversation, I reflected on the fact that in Rome, even family dinners have a romance all their own.

On day two we continued our pursuit of great meals and civilising experiences. We spent a interesting morning at Trajan’s Market which has been newly reopened after a $7.6 million renovation. The results are impressive and go a long way to help visitors visualise what is no longer there. Later, we had lunch on the terrace of Da Giggetto in the old Jewish ghetto, stuffing ourselves on fried artichokes, zucchini flowers and bucatini all’ amatriciana and dinner at Trattoria da Settimio all’Arancio where the bistecca Florentina is so huge and obscene that they have to hang a side extension off your table to fit it all in.

Sadly, after 48 hours of indulging our appetites, admiring beauty and celebrating civilisation, it was time to return home. We had gone to Rome looking for romance and had been seduced, yet again, by that singular experience that is the Eternal City.

Useful Addresses

Hotel Locarno
Via della Penna 22
Tel: 39 06 361 0841
Fax: 39 06 321 5249
info@hotellocarno.com

Frescatteria
Somewhere on the via del Croce
No phone

Caffee Greco
Via Condotti 86
Tel: 06 67 82 554

Ristorante Monserrato
Via Monserrato 96
Tel: 0668 73 386

Da Giggetto
Via del Portico di Ottavia, 21a
Tel: 06 6861 105

Trattoria da Settimio all’ Arancio
Via dell Arancio 50
Tel: 06 68 76 119


Photo: Couple in MG, Ruth Orkin, 1951, Florence

The Great Speck Hunt

On the taxi ride from Bolzano to the ski resort of Corvara in Alta Adige region of Italy (formerly the Sued-Tyrol of Austria), we asked our local driver where we could find the best speck. Speck, which confusingly means “bacon” in German but comes from the same part of the pig as ham, is cured in a way that is absolutely unique to the region combining the salting methods of the Mediterranean with the smoking techniques of northern Europe.

The driver thought for a moment and suggested we try the local butcher. That was the answer we expected. Of course, no self-respecting local gives out the name of his favourite mountain farmer who still makes genuine speck according to a year long process of brining, smoking and ageing but we were not interested in buying any old speck made quickly and artificially from any old butcher. Never mind, we thought, we have seven days to find the real deal. Let the Great Speck Hunt begin!

As a specialty of the Alta Adige/Sued Tyrol region, traditional speck dates back to the days when isolated mountain farmers would slaughter pigs in the autumn so that there would be plenty of meat for the winter when they were snowed into their houses. The old method took enormous patience and involved salting the meat for roughly two months in aromatic brine containing juniper and other secret family ingredients and then cold smoking and hanging the meat for another five to six months in the fresh mountain air.

Many years ago, when we lived in Austria, we had our first taste of traditional speck which was the beginning of a life long obsession. Speck has a smooth, light and elegant taste, unlike any other cured meat, which is a rich addition to soups, pasta, vegetables and seafood but our favourite way to eat speck is either in a dumpling (Speckknoedel) or simply sliced thin and eaten with good rye bread. Speck works wonderfully with red wine and the locals will tell you that it is impossible to get drunk if you eat speck while you are drinking. Sadly, this has never been our experience.

Regardless, every time we visit Austria or the Alta Adige, we dedicate our self to the task of finding and acquiring good traditional speck. This year, our strategy was to ask the chef at our hotel, Parkhotel Planac. Having danced the night away with him last year during Carnivale, we hoped we had enough of a relationship that he would cut us in on some special speck action. At first, he hoped we would be happy with the product being served in the hotel’s dining room. As speck goes, it was fine, but not the speck we were seeking. “The hotel’s speck is good but we’re after special speck, you know the one that is still made slowly and carefully by mountain farmers.” His eyes lit up. He knew we knew. “OK, he said, I’ll see what I can do.”

A few days later, our speck-trafficker was back with good news. A 7.5 kilo side of Bauernspeck (farmer’s speck) with its own certificate providing the name of the farmer, the farm and the region had been found. The certificate went on to say that our speck was from a specially selected, naturally reared pig with an optimal proportion of fat that was particularly valuable because it was produced in such small quantities. Eureka! More good news was to follow. This extremely handsome and noble piece of meat was very correctly priced, costing only €4 more per kilo than the stuff they were selling in town (we checked). We were thrilled, the Chef was proud and the speck was magnificent.

Epilogue

Back in London, we tasted this year’s speck and can report that it is absolutely superb, one of the best we’ve found. Thanks to the Chef at Hotel Planac, we now are aware of the organisation which certifies the producers who rigorously follow the artisanal methods of production. Using the organisation’s website, we can now buy speck with assurance of its quality without having to dance the night away with a chef. In a way, we’re sad about that, but we are still in pursuit of that elusive farmer who continues to makes speck at home in his Raeuchkuchl who will take pity on our speck-obsession and let us have a piece of the top secret, not-for-sale piece he is saving for his family. Let the Great Speck Hunt continue.

CONSORTIUMSÜDTIROLER - SPECK - ALTO ADIGE
Rittnerstrasse 33/AI - 39100 Bozen
Tel. 0471 300381
Fax 0471 302091
E-Mail: info@speck.org

If you live in an European Union country and would like to purchase traditional certified bauernspeck over the internet, click here, but be aware that the website is only in German and Italian.

Photo courtesy of the Alta Adige Speck website

In Praise of Sciacchetra

Now back in London, Gary and Lorraine share their new affection for one of Italy's rarest wines.

Been to Tuscany? Probably. If you have, you’re certainly no stranger to that wonderful fortified dessert wine served after most meals, Vino santo (or often, vin’ santo). A lighter and more mellow digestif than a heavy port or thick sauternes, vin’ santo is the perfect finish for a typical 6 course Tuscan repast.

But wait—there is something better! From the salt-washed hillsides of the Cinqueterre comes a truly astounding experience, which is simply not available anywhere else in the world. Sciacchetera (pronounced shock-a-TRA) is the result of leaving three local varieties of grapes on the vine until they are literally raisins, and then fermenting that intensely concentrated fruit using a unique method handed down through the generations. The only place it is produced is in the AOC of the Cinqueterre, those 5 towns dotted along the Ligurian Sea, each with a year round population of less than 1000. Vines are grown on the steep hillsides facing the sea and the sunset, giving them what are arguably the best views of grapes anywhere in the world. Vineyards are perched on these terraces, held back by thousands of miles of dry stone walls (more stonework than in the Great Wall of China).

This late harvest method creates intense flavours of honey and herbs with just a hint of tartness in a wine that is typically light amber to peach in colour. Try it with the local gorgonzola and you will be in heaven, or go all the way to the sweet side and dip your cantuccini (dried sweet almond cake) in it, just as the Tuscans do with their vin’ Santo. At 18% alcohol, Scciacchetera is not something to take lightly—you’ll enjoy it more if you have a walk, rather than a drive home afterwards. And of course, don’t be surprised at the price. Highly concentrated late harvest wine created with an ancient artisanal method on steep hillsides has its price—you’ll seldom get away at under €10 for a glass at a restaurant, and buying a small (500 ml) bottle of the aged stuff at the local enoteca could easily set you back €100 or more.

Trattoria dal Billy - Getting out of the Scrum in the Cinque Terre

My friend Sandy (Mr Soul City for you regular readers) has been after me for ages to get contributions for NoCrowds from my well travelled family and acquaintances. “Well Sandy”, I keep telling him, “they just don’t send me stuff. What am I supposed to do?” “Try blackmail” he advised.

And just when I thought that the idea of creating a community of like-minded travellers was going nowhere, into my mailbox drops this wonderful post from Gary and Lorraine, from the Cinque Terre in Northern Italy. By way of introduction, while most of us dream about someday paying off the mortgage and seeing the world, these two have been living the dream while managing to hold down jobs, raise children and yes, pay off the mortgage. That is why I am particularly proud to offer this review of a great NoCrowds destination from two admirable nomads who I didn’t even blackmail.


Trattoria dal Billy

Manarola is a tiny place nestled on the Mediteranean and practically clinging to the steep escarpment that rises out of the water up into the lesser alps that sit behind this section of the Italian Riviera. It is town number two in the cinqueterre, the 5 lovely staircase-encrusted towns that have spent most of their lives cut off from land based access to the rest of the world. Tourism has definitely come to Manarola, as hourly ferries and the putt-putt local train that winds impossibly through ledges and tunnels disgorge plenty of visitors into the town center, where olive oil shops, basil shops and wine stores stocking sciacchetera, the local dessert wine, abound.

The restaurants on the main gallery through town are packed at lunchtime, but the hardy walker has a wonderful alternative. Perched high on the southern cliff that forms half of the town, a tiny place with the improbable name of Trattoria dal Billy clings to a tenuous foothold almost directly above the town square. With a lovely indoor dining room, but a truly spectacular terrace that boasts 6 – count em 6 – tables, you will find yourself in culinary heaven, literally looking down on the mere mortals crowding into the pizzerias in the center of town. Just a word to the wise—if you’re there in the summer when the crowds are, try to get there by 1:00 which is the very beginning of the lunch hour, otherwise those tables may well have been taken for the duration.

My companion and I decided to start with the antipasto de mare, a combination of cold calamari and incredible lemoned anchovies with warm polpe (octopus) and the most incredibly seasoned vongole (tiny clams) you might ever eat. We weren’t sure how this magic was woven with olive oil, butter, garlic, and fennel, but it served not only the clams but a fair amount of dipping of bread. A very serviceable bottle of Billy’s own vino bianco di Tavola was a perfect accompaniment. Following this, we chose to share the grilled sea bass, sold by the gram. A mere 320 grams later, we were more than impressed with the chef’s ability to perfectly cook this delicate fish to perfection, and finished every mouth-watering morsel.

Sitting back and enjoying the view after the satisfying repast, we enquired after the postres. With our espresso, Billy recommended what he called “something with milk and eggs and cheese and fragole, which was in fact a unique and light cheesecake with the tiniest strawberries I’ve ever seen as a topping. However, enquiries about after dinner drinks brought disappointing results. The sciacchetera, he agreed was magnificent..but he had none. Limoncino? Wonderful way to end the meal. Unfortunately, he had finished the last of it himself last night. We settled for the grappa and happily finished our coffees before heading back onto the cinqueterre trail.

Trattoria dal Billy
Via A. Rollandi 122
Manarola, La Spezia
Italy

Photo of Trattoria dal Billy (circled) by Gary and Lorraine.