McClendon's Select

We have a tendency, when we travel, to go to farmers’ markets.  Just like others who can’t be away from their Blackberry or laptop on vacation, we find ourselves drawn to markets in whatever city we visit.  We have been to some amazing ones, the Green Market in New York’s Union Square, the Ferry Building on Saturday mornings in San Francisco, Pike’s Market in Seattle.  But none of those come close to the colors, diversity and oddities we found at the Rialto Market in Venice.

This area in Venice has had merchants selling their wares for over a thousand years.  It is said that the Rialto Market is where Marco Polo first brought spices back from this travels to the Orient to introduce to Europe.  The market still has that mystic of old and new worlds coming together over a vibrant mix of just caught fish, fresh fruits, vegetables and wonderful weird food items.  (Horse meat anyone?  I passed.)

The Mercato del Pesce, or fish market, smelled of sea water and had fish was so fresh that much of it was still alive, having been caught just hours before.  There was everything from cuddlefish and octopus to sardines and scallops still in their shells.  There were many exotic choices, the likes of which we had never seen before.

Right next to the fish, were produce vendors with beautiful displays of every kind of fresh vegetable and fruit you can imagine, and several we had never imagined. Sean, of course, marveled at the logistics of bringing everything in and out by boat, as we watched the barges crowd along side the market while men loaded and unloaded with handcarts.  It makes figuring out how to park our trucks seem much easier in comparison.

What I liked most about the market was the existence of true Venetians.  Our whole time in the city we found ourselves trying to navigate away from the crowds and into the quieter parts, finding Venetian life much more fascinating than the overpopulated tourist areas.  At the market, these two populations of Venice collided, but while much of Venice is for show to its visitors, at the market the tourists were kept at bay while Venetians carried out their business of finding what they needed for their homes or restaurants.

Sean loved the market so much that he went twice.  Although, we learned that some things stay true, whether you sell at a farmer’s market in the middle of the desert or one along the Grand Canal.  The first time we went we got there just as they were packing it up for the day.  It was 1:30pm on a Wednesday, the exact time that Sean would be doing the same at Town & Country.  The irony was not lost on us.

We did also enjoy the floating produce stands that we found throughout the city.  Just the thought of doing a farmers’ market on a floating barge had Sean dreaming.  I guess like anyone, you can’t help but think of work a little while on vacation.

The bad thing about the Amalfi Coast is that once you go and see if for yourself, and realize that it is real, you are then ruined with this knowledge once you return.  That it exists an ocean away is something I now have to live with.  But the good news is that is the only bad thing about the Amalfi Coast.

We had hired a gentleman named Mariano, on the recommendation of friends, to show us this famed coastline while we were there.  We were told that he not only could expertly navigate the hair-pin curves that hover over cliff sides, but that he knew more about this area than anyone else.  They were correct.  They were also right that Mariano is a delight.  He entertained us with stories, facts and the history of the area, while negotiating the Amalfi Highway alongside lumbering tour buses and stunt devils on Ducatis.  He promised us the best places to take pictures, to eat lunch, to enjoy the local flavors, and he delivered.

What we had not counted on, was that after a day of jaw-dropping views and a meal that I will always remember, that the highlight of our day would be when Mariano kindly invited us to see his family’s farm.  As one farmer to another, we were touched and honored.

And humbled.

Mariano’s family farm has been in his family for eighteen generations.  It backs up to the Amalfi Highway on one side (which is really more of a sleepy, two-lane road in parts), and has views overlooking Sorrento on the other.  He lives there with his wife and sons, his mother and siblings, and all of their children.  This is a family farm tended to and loved by all. They add new homes as the family grows.  One of his nieces has the newest house, the oldest is lived in by his mother, who they affectionately refer to as the “Generali”.  Her house was built in 1523.

The farm itself was a magical maze of lemon orchards, grapevines, and rows of leafy greens.  It felt like a fairy tale.  We walked through canopied orchards of Sorrento lemons that have a wrinkly peel that smells sweet like lemonade.  There were large old olive trees that had netting underneath, to help during the harvest.  Their tomato plants were held up by string in perfect rows.  We saw peach trees, kiwis, squash blossoms, and a large, beautiful tree with fat, ripe cherries hanging so low that they were begging to be picked.  They had a hen house for their eggs, and a cow for their dairy (and fertilizer).  And all around were little songbirds in cages (the Generali likes the sound), manicured bonsai trees (she likes those too), and colorful potted flowers.  Aidan ran around the farm, chasing their dogs, swiping cherries and feeling very much at home.

Mariano’s wife was kind enough to invite us into their home for a visit after we had toured the farm. Her whole house smelled of something sugary warming in the oven.  She offered us fresh made hazelnut cookies and lemoncello.  Their farm provides the food for their family, but it is the lemons that they sell to a company down the street that bottles lemoncello.  I doubt that it could have been better than what we were offered, her lemoncello was definitely the best we had during the trip.  She told us her secret was to use only a very high-grade alcohol and then to add a little honey in at the end to cut the sour.

I didn’t get her exact lemoncello recipe, but found this one that sounded close that we found while we were in Capri…

CAPRI LEMONCELLO
1 litre of water
1 litre of alcohol (high-grade is best)
1 kilo of sugar
8 lemons
Honey to taste

Peel the lemons finely and put the peels down in the alcohol.  Close the infusion in a jar and allow to sit for four days.  After that, prepare a syrup with a litre of lukewarm water and the sugar.  Add the lemon infused alcohol and mix.  Let it sit for 10 minutes and then filter it.  Serve very cold.   (Mariano’s wife adds the honey at the very end, before chilling.)

Mariano entertained with his stories of the Generali, the much-loved matriarch. He told us how she listens for his door to open every morning, and then rushes to make him an espresso before he reaches her door, which sounded exactly like a good Italian mama.  He also showed us their pizza oven and explained how they don’t use a thermometer.  The Generali just puts her hand in and lets him know if its needs more wood on the fire.  When Sean asked how hot the oven gets, Mariano said, “Oh, she likes it about 500-550F”.  He also told us that she is a woman of strong opinions, and her thoughts about the family farm were quite clear.  Recently, she had visited an attorney to cut all of her children out of her will.  She wanted the farm to continue in their family, so she willed it to her grandchildren, knowing that by Italian law they could not sell it, if they so wished, until the youngest reached 25 years old.  She is determined that it will remain in their family another generation.

I understood Mariano’s mother and her want to keep this place in their family for as long as possible.  This farm felt like a living testament to their history.  It was very much built and maintained with great love and respect for one another, the land and the generations to come.  When I asked Mariano about an olive tree that was growing out of a stump that had been obviously cut before, he said that about every fifteen years when the tree is done producing, that they cut it down and graft another olive branch to it.  They have been doing this for about 300 years, because, after all, it is a good stump.

If you ever go to the Amalfi Coast, or for that matter, anywhere on Italy’s boot, Mariano is your guy.  He knows everyone and everything about the Amalfi Coast, but he has also worked all over the country and spent a decade doing tours and driving in Tuscany.  He was an absolute delight and we can not recommend him highly enough.  You can contact him at info@pleasantravel.com.  If you do, tell him the McClendons say “Ciao!”

Once upon a time eleven years ago, Sean asked me a question and I said yes.  We were in Florence, in the Boboli Gardens to be precise, and he slipped a ring on my finger and asked if I would become his wife.

Since that trip we have dreamed of returning to Italy, to bring Aidan and introduce him to a place that holds such a special place in our hearts.

And we wanted to eat.

Over the past few months as I have been planning where we would stay and what we would do, the one thing that needed no planning was what we would eat.  Because I knew that we would eat well, and often, and usually with wine, wonderful lusty Italian wine, and of course, with big overflowing cups of gelato afterwards.

Just walking down the streets in Rome we were lured by food, warm chestnuts from a vendor near the Spanish Steps, wood-fired ovens from trattorias near our hotel, fresh pasta and cured meats hanging inside shop windows.  There aren’t words to describe what we ate, although if I had to choose a few they would be fresh, seasonal, organic, hand-made.

Perfecto!

Italians eat the way we aspire to here. Eat what just came out of the ground, because that is what is the freshest and what tastes the best.

We ate dishes with ingredients so fresh they needed nothing elaborate to bring out their bold, earthy flavors.  Simple, beautiful treatment with a touch of olive oil, a little sea salt, a squeeze of lemon was often all that was needed, because the produce actually tasted like something you wanted to try all on its own.  We enjoyed squash blossoms, artichokes, asparagus, lollo rosa and big, fat ripe tomatoes.  All of our old friends from the farm met us time and again on menus throughout the city.  We weren’t seeking out places that specialized in seasonal or organic produce, because we didn’t need to. Eating seasonally is not a trend, nor a restaurant “concept”, it is just how food is done.  It just makes sense.

We laughed one night when a waiter, explaining that the menu had a few changes based on what was in season, proceeded to change the description of every item on the menu.  Every. Single. Item!   I loved that.  Why eat the same mediocre things over and over again all year long when you can eat something spectacular, even if it is only available briefly in June?  That is what eating seasonal is about.  Savor something wonderful when it is at its peak, as nature intended, even if it means changing your whole menu.

This is how food is meant to be prepared, served and enjoyed.

For all of the news we are bombarded these days on how Americans eat, there is a lot to be learned from our Italian friends.  Meals were served with the intent to be savored.  There was no rush, each bite is meant to appreciated.  Portions were not eye-poppingly oversized, but rather they were rationed in reasonable quantities, enough to fill and satisfy, but not gorge.  We ate our meals slowly as we discussed what we had seen and enjoyed that day.  And, in my favorite tradition of Italian dining, after a fulfilling meal, we took a stroll after we ate.  In the evenings the streets were filled with families, walking arm-in-arm, talking and laughing in their beautiful language that became the background music of our trip. Walking nowhere in particular, we would join in, continuing our conversation, enjoying now the scenery as we had the meal.

And we stopped for gelato.