Monday was a normal day in Pontelandolfo. The school lobby was open so we could vote in the Regional Election. With “what party” and “who” I was to vote for jotted on a note in my pocket, I raced around the rain drops. It was teeming and in 15 minutes the polls would close.
(For those of you who wondered why I had the “what” and “who” jotted on a note, there were six candidates representing six parties. All wanted to be Regional President. I can barely remember my own long Italian name. You had to know the name of the candidate so you could print it nicely on the paper ballot.)
Cursing the rain and hobbling up slick steps without a guardrail leading into the school, I looked up and raised a fist at my dad.
JFG started us getting out the vote before we could drive.
He had ingrained in me the absolute need to vote in any and all elections. Deluge be dammed. I stopped in the foyer, shook the water out of my hat and opened my tessera votare to see where I had to go. District 3.
District 3. How is it possible that the district I lived in so many years ago. The district filled with ardent supporters that made sure my dad would be successful in Flagtown, Hillsborough and the County was the same district I’d vote in here?
Ciao Midgeee! Salve Midgeee! And as it had happened years ago in a different District 3, the home town chattering began.
I voted and dashed out.
Barely making it to the car, I was convulsing with sobs. Tears ran down my face. Jack, who didn’t go inside to vote kept touching me and asking what was wrong.
Angie Dorsa. Mc Cray, Mc Hugh, Doyle, Johnny G – my dad. My bigger than life dad who was an iconic election figure. That’s what was wrong. After hearing the first poll worker bellow “Midgeee,” all those old Democrats came to life for me. I could see them, feel them, hear them in the District 3 of yore.
Click and feel the moment. Midge “raw”coming to you from her Fiat.
Borgo Cerquelle is celebrating fall harvests in a joyfully orangey way – pumpkins have crept into every aspect of the bioagriturismo’s autumn offerings. We were lucky to have taste tested their light as a cloud pumpkin gnocchi. Sorry, we scarfed them down too fast to take a picture.
Before I start slurping the pot of pumpkin soup I just made from one of Borgo Cerquelle’s organic pumpkins, I need to explain how visiting this hilltop bioagriturismo is a leap back into the history of Pontelandolfo. Borgo Cerquelle is an ancient – well borgo – hamlet – that in the end of the 1600s housed contadini – peasant farmers. Built entirely of stone, the borgo has been repurposed into an incredible spot for locals and tourists. It is just a few minutes up the mountain from Pontelandolfo’s historic center. Those of you who know me, know that gulp, twisty mountain roads are not my favorite route to anywhere. Jack loves them! That said, Borgo Cerquelle, located about 600 m – 1970 feet – above sea level and surrounded by streams, woods, meadows and olive groves is worth the driving angst. The view of Pontelandolfo from there makes me want to sing Finian’s Rainbow “How are things in Glocca Morra.” Some days I do!
Some members of the original families have returned to visit and marvel at how Borgo Cerquelle was rehabbed, preserved intact and is alive again. Guests stay in the rustically furnished, heated rooms with an independent entrance and bathroom. I must admit, the original inhabitants did not have indoor plumbing. Thank goodness for that upgrade.
Our Cooking in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo participants stay here and have nothing but joyful comments about the place, the family who runs it and of course – the food.
Celebrating fall and the fabulous harvest found on this organic farm also means fall foliage. Borgo Cerquelle is in an area abundant with oak trees. I learned that “Cerquelle” is based on the ancient dialect name for oaks -“cerque.”
The family that has created this unusual place to eat and stay is headed by Alverio and Marianna. Alverio insists Marianna is the boss. They are more than ably assisted by their son Antonino and daughter Serena. Antonino wears the administrative hat now and his sister Serena takes care of the kitchen following the traditional recipes of his mother and grandmother. Serena is a talented potter and her creativity can be seen on every table. Antonino’s photos grace their website.
Sniff, sniff, my zuppa di zucca is percolating on the stove. Yummy. After a day at Borgo Cerquelle eating farm to table fare that featured pumpkins, I knew I had to bring a pumpkin home. You need to know that lunch at this bioagriturismo takes a minimum of three hours. There is no menu choice. What is fresh today is what is cooked. We have never had anything but an exceptional locally sourced feast.
Yeah, I have a pazillion pounds of pumpkin! Jack, borrowing a samurai sword, hacked it into manageable pieces. I had been gifted an old rooster that had outlived his cock-a-doodle and made a rich chicken – or is it rooster -stock. Now, how to put both these quite local food groups together? Simple. 1. Roast the pumpkin which makes it easier to cut up. 2. Take a scant head of garlic, dice it, toss it in the broth and let it simmer. (Garlic wards off fall flu.) 3. Toss in some old cheese rinds, tyme, rosemary, salt and pepper. 4. Let the roasted pumpkin cool. Ok, Jack made me let it cool. I am famous for burning my hands in the kitchen. 5. Cut up the pumpkin, toss it in the pot and let everything simmer to meld. 6. Take out the immersion blender, zzzzzzzzzzz, errrrrrrrrrr, it to a creamy texture. 7. EAT with hearty bread from Diglio Forno drizzled with Borgo Cerquelle savory pumpkin marmalade.
This fall, Borgo Cerquelle has offered a plethora of activities from harvesting, trips to the river, classes in cooking, ceramics, art therapy and my favorite APERITIVO! With a reservation, as the sun sets, we can zip up the mountain and enjoy a cocktail and incredible snacks. As the laughter of guests fills the fall air, an outdoor bar decorated for fall is the anchor.
When I asked Alverio why they do what they do. He explained that they want to revive the activities and traditions of the ancient inhabitants of the village. That means cultivating the land and raising animals organically, providing an oasis away from the stress of the city and offering an experience that is perfect for individuals and families. I have to say that every time I bring children there for lunch they race off to see the animals, climb the rope course and just plain old play.
HEY JACK WHEN YOU READ THIS BLOG POST – AND YOU BETTER BE READING MY BLOG POSTS – WE HAVE TO GO TO THIS AT BORGO CERQUELLE – werwolves and witches – huzzah!
The people, the place and the friendly wolf/dogs Vilcas e Tempesta make Borgo Cerquelle a great place to eat, relax, play and breath. I hope to run into you there.
A group of Cooking in the kitchens of Pontelandolfo cooks pose with Marianna, Antonino and Alverio.
Wild Boar – Cinghiale. They dig up crops, scare the bejeeezus out of tourists, and imagine this – one year ago the Italian army was sent in and told to shoot to kill. The ugly critters, found even in the streets of Rome, were or may have been carrying African Swine Fever which threatened the pazzilion dollar prosciutto industry. Some of the wild bad boys may have been getting a little too close to the gentile domestic sow. Sigh – isn’t that always the way.
Here in Pontelandolfo, we may not like their big ugly tusks charging at us but we do love the rich sauce you can make with the meat. The amazing steak and well, the general incredible taste that only free ranging, wild things can give us. 🎶 “Wild thing, you make my taste buds sing!” 🎶
Growing up in rural agrarian Somerset County, New Jersey, venison, wild turkey, peasant and other wild critters often graced the table. My dad told me that in the dark days of the depression, ground hog – which tastes remarkably like pig when made in tomato sauce – was often part of Sunday pasta day. My nonna told me the horror stories of picking buckshot out of teeny tiny sparrows or maybe they were black birds. When a flock flew over my nonno would hauled out the shotgun and BAM. Wee birds for dinner. I remember cleaning buckshot out of peasants and that wasn’t fun. But a family has to do what a family has to do.
Here in Pontelandolfo, we still have subsistence farmers who grow and process vegetables, raise animals for milk and meat and, gulp, remind me of my grandmother. They are kind, hardworking and loving people. We’ve integrated into the village’s rural lifestyle. Nope, I haven’t planted a thing except words on a page and a good will smile. Since, everyone thinks that because I spend my time at a desk, poor Jack will die of starvation, we are often recipients of parts of harvests and hunting. NOW YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING…
Thanks to a wonderful hunter, a giant chunk of cinghiale found its way to my freezer. Jack and our summer guests would not starve. Unless I was hosting a party for our contrada (neighborhood), there was too much to use for one meal. I put on my 4-H Cooking Club farm girl brain and thought – I know me thinking seems like an anomaly – but Shazam an idea. Yes! I would divide the meat and create three freezable dishes. Stew, pasta sauce and meatballs – all freeze well and will make Jack a happy cena.
First step, get out a big knife and divide the hunk. Based on no knowledge of boar anatomy, I think it was a thigh or butt. I grabbed one of my nonna’s giant stainless steel bowls – yes, I brought a few to Italy – tossed in leftover red wine, wine vinegar, apple cider vinegar and herbs. Why, you are wondering did I use a mix of vinegar. Simple, there was a little bit left in a few bottles. I also added diced garlic, fresh rosemary on the stem, thyme, pepper and salt. Plopped in the meat, covered it and left it in the refrigerator for two days. I think twice I remembered to flip it around.
Truth be told, I then had to succumb to google. Did I wash the meat after the marinade? I did. Did I mention, I throughly washed the meat before I dropped in the melange of acids. I’m glad I washed it. An important lesson was learned. Leaving boar in vinegar for 48 hours means it is tender and tastes like a hint of vinegar. Next time it will just be red wine.
I looked at the three big pieces of meat which were now no longer red. WHAT DID I DO? I was planning on taking one third to our friendly butcher and asking him to grind it. When I got there the first words were – in very marginal Italian – did my marinade wreck the meat?! He laughed. The meat absorbs the acids and changes color. I promised him some meatballs. He smiled at that too.
Cinghiale Balls!
There is something meditative about squishing a mixture of meat, grated cheeses, breadcrumbs, raisins, oregano, salt, pepper, basil and eggs through your sanitized hands. Because the meat wasn’t very fatty, I used more cheese and eggs than one might usually. Actually, I scooped in extra bread crumbs too. I ended up rolling about 30 balls this size.
Meanwhile on the stove, my giant stainless steel pot was hosting slow cooking freshly diced tomatoes, onions, garlic and green/red pepper. I wanted the fresh stuff to break down before I added jars of passata ( homemade tomato puree graciously left on my veranda.) In went the passata plus a couple of store bought cans of diced tomatoes. I was trying to fill the giant pot and freeze enough sauce for decades.
To make the sauce really rich, I have learned to add a mirepoix. Carrots, celery and onion were diced to almost a paste in my blender. That went into the pot then I stirred and waited. When it started to bubble, I very carefully placed each of those boar balls in the pot. Lid went on and I let the ragù slow cook for a few hours. The meat balls gave it not a gamey taste but a savory taste that one wanted to go on forever.
I could eat this sauce everyday!
I made enough sauce and meat balls for three of us to have a substantial meal. Nestled in my freezer are now three containers of sauce and balls for the future. Yummy. I thank the hunter who share with poor starving Jack.
We will talk about the stew another day. I am hungry and need to forage for local cheese,wine and bread.
Dear easygoing Jack has one giant quirk. He hates birthday parties, birthday hats, birthday presents – just about anything that has to do with birthdays. Now, me, I adore all the bellowing, trimming, gifts, chaos and energy of everything birthday. Since Jack’s birthday is mid-August, we have developed a compromise. Simply called, “Jack’s Birthday Staycation.” There are no gifts, no whistles no party favors. However, the staycation is not at home but fifteen minutes away at Hotel Ristorante Il Grottino.
Jack may hate birthdays but he loves cake from Pontelandolfo’s Diglio Forno!
Why drive a scant few kilometers up another mountain for the staycation? The place is fabulous. There is a beautifully landscaped pool surrounded by mountain vistas, an outdoor seating restaurant area with linen tablecloths – OMG I sound like a snob – comfortable rooms with balconies, and the food is terrific. For the past few years, to celebrate another trip around the sun, we have booked a room for a few nights at Il Grottino. Michele and Giovanna, our hosts are friendly, accommodating and love what they have built. In other words, it is perfect for Jack. (Is it too self serving to say it is also perfect for Jack’s adorable wife?)
Each morning we got up promptly – ha ha – slowly, tossed on a bathing suit and wandered downstairs. The hotel has an elevator so folks in their second and third acts can easily get to the upstairs rooms. There waiting for us was a set table with croissants and the smiling Giovanna. Soon cappucini ( no spell checkers it is not misspelled – that is plural for cappucino) arrived with whatever else we wanted. The blue sky over the mountain, cool mountain breeze and lovely piped in music made the morning bright. We wandered to the pool and did what we do best on vacation.
Read! For me, read and wrote. This book is fabulous and written by my pal Adele.
I am working on a couple of plays. ‘I’m Ann” is about a Sicilian woman’s experiences in the USA. “Born to the Sea” is an exciting new musical about the Swedish VASA ship. And – this is super exciting – my 9/11 themed play “Email: 9/12” is being produced in 2026 by a company in the Netherlands. I am creating a monologue or two that takes place in Den Haag. All projects needed a breath of fresh air and Il Grottino provides just that. Jack read, snoozed pool side and smiled a lot.
Each day between snoozing, reading and writing we ate seafood lunches outdoors under the pergola. I love impepata di cozze, mussels steamed and served with a dash of pepper and their own juices. Giovanna served me an enormous bowl and I grinned bigger than Jack grins. Our New Jersey friend Maryann C. was visiting so she got to come to Il Grottino too. She had what I thought was a riff on my favorite dish, La Zuppa di Cozze. The mussels were steamed with tomatoes and served with points of focaccia. It too was exceptional.
Il Grottino is known locally for its metre long pizza. The place was packed one night with whole families there for pizza. What else could we do but order a three foot plus long pizza. Cleverly, the super charged pizza is divided by toppings. Jack loves pizza Margherita, Maryann wanted vegetables and I only eat pizza con tonno. The thin crusted mammoth pizza arrived with sections of each topping. All three of us dug right in and enjoyed each bite.
One of the reasons we come back each year is that the food is great. We also come back because the staff and owners are willing to go the extra mile to make guests comfortable. The real reason – being there makes Jack smile.
Happy Birthday Staycation to Jack. Thank you to Il Grottino, Giovanna and Michele.
The following blog may contain content that vegans, vegetarians and lovers of small farm animals may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.
Did you ever lust for something so much that the thought of it made you salivate? Admit it, you have. This week all I could think about was eating lamb. I love roasted lamb, lamb chops, lamb-burgers and most of all real hearty Shepherd’s Pie made with – what else – lamb. The little baa baas had been tempting me for a month. Daily, I watched the little ones romp in Pontelandolfo’s verdant fields, stop traffic and then suddenly they disappeared . Disappearing lambs? My mind was wandering hither and yon, over hill and dale, wondering where Bo Peep was hiding the baby sheep.
Love the Lamb Jam. Driver beware.
My tummy wanted to find them. That is a big juicy lie. I did not want to find a lamb, I wanted to find mutton before it became mutton. Knowing that I would make Jack insane if I didn’t stop talking about Shepherd’s Pie, I dashed down the hill to Marcelleria Mancini.
One of the primary joys of living in Pontelandolfo is being able to shop at a real butcher, baker and cheese maker. Stefano Mancini of Marcelleria Mancini is an amazing butcher. All of his meats are locally sourced and he prides himself on working only with select farms. The meat found at Marcelleria Mancini tastes like meat that was on the hoof a few days ago. Free range, scrumptious and not spiced up with hormones. Of course, I would head there for lamb.
Stefano, our always smiling butcher.
What is wonderful about Stefano is that he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy when I ask for something that most of my neighbors would ever ask for. Like agnello macinato – ground lamb. Not just ground but thickly ground. Here, ground meats are passed through the grinder a few times. For my rustic dish I wanted it rough.
Stefano looks at me and asked – what are you making? My Italian will get us fed, a room and a hospital but how do I explain Shepherd’s Pie – torta dei pastori? Sauté lamb with veggies and cap with butter-rich mashed potatoes. As I described it, I could see it and couldn’t wait to make it.
Dashing to the back room, Stefano returned holding aloft a leg of lamb. Literally, aloft. He was holding the leg by the tibia (shin bone), above the knee was the meaty thigh. La coscia sarebbe perfetto, he said. This is the first time that I realized that the leg of lamb we buy is really the thigh! That incredible meat would be perfect for my Shepherd’s Pie.
As the butcher deboned the meat, I asked if I could have the bones for bone broth. He was impressed that I would make a broth and promptly dashed the bones into manageable pieces. From leg to grinder to packaged, I soon had the lamb I needed for dinner and a package of bones.
Don’t tell Jack, please but another thing I love about Macelleria Mancini are their “pretend you spent the day making interesting meat based dishes.” Stefano’s fiancé, Ilaria, creates amazing to go dishes. As their website says: Avete voglia di qualcosa di sfizioso ma il tempo stringe !?! Passa a trovarci…tutti i giorni prepariamo diversi “pronti a cuocere”…con carni fresche e di qualità !Craving something tasty but running out of time!?! Come visit us…every day we prepare different “ready-to-cook” dishes…with fresh, quality meats!
Pretty Isn’t It!
My Shepherd’s Pie was scrumptious- and I had made enough for a couple of days. After cooking the base, I made the mashed potatoes. No, I tried to make the mashed potatoes. Where are all my potatoes??? Merde, I only had four little potatoes. That would never be enough for my mashed topping. What do do???
Think about where you are and use what you have. What did I have corn meal for polenta? I made a batch of polenta, added Parmesan cheese, and mixed the polenta with with the potatoes. It was absolutely fabulous. My mashed potato – pontenta may become a carb mainstay.
Wherever you are enjoy what you make. Buy local and serve every meal with a smile.
Since we got back to our happy creative place, my inbox has been a flutter with invitations to book launches, book club and writer meet and greets. Remember, my happy creative place is not an urban center but Pontelandolfo – a tiny village with a population under 3,000 – that includes sheep and cows.
One of the newest organizations that is making a literary impact is Sannio Che Legge. Spear headed by folks with an interest in art, literature, intellectual discourse and highlighting the cultural connections of Pontelandolfo, Morcone and the entire Sannio area, they are constantly providing me with a place to go and a book to read.
An aside: I just turned to Jack and bellowed, “I just love this!” We are sitting outside Bar Elimar, my writers room, Latin music is playing, I’m sipping a limoncello spritz, tapping my foot and writing. Two tables of men are playing cards. Three tables of thirty something’s, with babies in tow, are gossiping and laughing. How could someone not create art here???
Jack and I went to the Sannio Che Legge event at Morcone’s newest restaurant, Cantina Ristorante Biancamela. (Morcone’s progressive mayor and council are working hard to bring life back to their historic center. That is another blog. ) I was impressed. About 30 people were there listening to author Rita Martignetti talk about the genesis of his work. He actually gave all of us a copy of one of his books. Grazie Mille. His numerous works deal in an entertaining manner with the history of the Sannio Hills.
I should note that Sannio Che Legge grew out of the Pontelandolfo Biblioclub and signed a Reading Pact with the Municipality of Pontelandolfo. The organization is now entrusted with the Pontelandolfo Library.
I will be there with my cosmopolitan literati hat on.
One of my besties, Adele Gentile had a recent book launch and of course I went. Once her publisher gets that e-book link and on line bookstore link up there, you will get a full story on her tome.
Book launches here are set up a bit differently. Adele, the author, didn’t read any parts of her book. She has a wild and wonderful personality and I was looking forward to her reading. Instead, others – think critics – talked about the book. There was also dialogue with the author. It was actually incredibly interesting. A great way to learn about an author’s catalyst for creation.
Blue is Adele’s favorite colors and blue took over the auditorium. From the flowers on the stage to the cover of her emotional and yet entertaining memoir. I chuckled as I watched Adele hand out programs and check every detail of the launch. Is she a Jersey Girl too?
The place was packed. That means about 200 people came to a book launch. A book launch in a teeny tiny village! (Damn, time to start getting my stuff translated.)
Adele, wrote her memoir while undergoing treatment for breast cancer. Ooops, I vowed I wouldn’t say a word until we had the links so that you could buy the book. It is – a freakin‘ amazing work.
Rescheduled to September.
I am excited to hear this presentation and buy a copy of the book – written in English and Italian. Written originally as a screenplay, the novel tells the tale of the 1861 pillage of Pontelalndolfo in the name of Risorgimento in a different way. An American woman with Pontelandolfo roots visits the village, sees a mural and …. I can’t wait to read the story.
I could overburden your inboxes with more examples or you could visit our little place of creative energy and see for yourself. Interested in gathering up some writer pals and spending a week here? Just let me know and we can organize something magical. Then, I will grab my laptop and join your writer’s room on Piazza Roma.
FaceBook sometimes feels like just another chore and then some photo or post will smack me in the face and send my memory cells careening around my brain. On April 15, 2025, my testa dura got smacked hard. Into my otherwise boring feed popped a picture of a handsome young man at his thirtieth birthday celebration. I started to sob. Not because, I wanted to be thirty and at that party – though that thought did enter my mind – but because I first met the now thirty year old Valerio Mancini in 1995. The year that changed our lives.
The adorable Valerio Mancini held by his beautiful mom, Carmela Fusco. 1995
1995 – Jack and I accompanied my Aunt Catherine back the village she was born in, Pontelandolfo, Italy. That year, I had started a family tree and the three of us were on a quest to find more information.
Just to put 1995 in perspective, this is before we had a cell phone with a magic app that did instant translation. We had to get by on Jersey Girl balls and a big smile. Aunt Cat had had polio In Italy and at 80 something smiled like a wee elf sporting a big brace. Jack wheeled her to the municipal building and stopped. There were two flights of stairs to the anagrafe office. No worry, Aunt Cat beamed that magical smile at two local policemen who carried her up two flights of stairs in the chair. (This is what the Italian heart is all about.)
The woman responsible for vital records spent about three hours with us going through all these old books dating back to the 1860s. Aunt Cat started speaking in an arcane Italian dialect and everybody understood her. Her face lit up. It was like she had just found heaven. This was a language that was entrenched in her soul. A language that she never spoke at home and suddenly here she is and it’s possible again. We find all kinds of information. Like my Great Grandfather, Salvatore Guerrera, was married to Caterina Guerrera. Italian women keep their own names so my imagination went wild. Did he marry his cousin/sister – euuuch? Is that why I am just a little pazzo? Guerrera, we discovered, is a super common name. I licked my pencil point and kept on writing. We thanked everyone and found our way down the stairs and back to our car.
Now, we have about 6 handwritten pages of family tree and I haven’t the foggiest idea what we’re going to do with it. While staring at each other and standing in the almost empty Piazza Roma another vigile comes up to us. Having lived in Waterbury, Connecticut, He speaks English. Side Note – After World War Two, the lack of jobs and demolished towns were a catalyst for a mass exodus. There are more Pontelandolfese in Connecticut today than there are in Pontelandolfo.
Pietro Perugini, sporting his vigile uniform, walked right up to us. Asking if he could see the family tree, he pulled the notes from my hand, stared at them, got into the town police car and left. He left with all my notes. He just freaking left. Three hours’ worth of notes and he gets in his car and he leaves. What the f*&$? I threw the biggest hissy fit imaginable. All that work. All that time going through the dusty books. Had I unearthed a horrible town secret?
The tantrum chock full of English curses started drawing a crowd. Aunt Cat smacks me with her cane. I’m thinking, OK OK, maybe like we’re related to really bad people and they don’t want us to know that we’re part of the baddest of bad evil people. Or maybe we’re royalty. That must be it – and and and and and they don’t want us to know because we really own this freaking Piazza.
I swear we waited for 3 ½ or 4 hours. but Jack said it was probably maybe 15 minutes. I don’t know. All that pacing was making me insane. Officer Perugini finally came back and said, “I think I found your relatives follow me.”
We get Anne Catherine back in the car and we followed to row houses on a side hilly street. I found out later that after a devastating earthquake that eradicated homes dating back to the 1600s, this public housing was built. Since the houses were crammed next to each other, it was tongue in cheek branded as Shanghai. The vigile and I knocked on a door. A little old lady tentatively opens the door and with a fierce look stares at us. I’m holding the family tree and pointing I say here I am and there you are. The policeman says it in Italian. Actually, I have no idea what he’s saying but I’m guessing it’s ‘here she is and there you are.’ Bamm, the door was slammed in our faces.
Jack had parked and Aunt Catherine is, with great difficulty, dragging her leg, holding on to Jack and walking toward this house. I knock on the door again. Again, I’m greeted by a scowling woman, but also a smiling younger woman holding a baby saying “come on in for coffee.” Obviously mother and daughter don’t agree about what to do with these strange Americans. The old woman is essentially saying we know no one in America and we don’t want to. The young woman with an adventuresome gleam in her eye is curious. They see and hear Catherine say in her little voice from the road “are you my cousin?”
The three of us were in the doorway. Aunt Cat asked again, “tu e mia cugina?”
The old woman replied, Jesu e Maria.Ora e sempre, Caterina Guerrera had recalled the ancient greeting. Both women started to cry and hugged.
Giuseppina Guerrera and Caterina Guerrera meet.
Suddenly, Giuseppina Guerrera, who we discovered was indeed Aunt Cat’s first cousin, starts to ask her 20 questions. It was better than any of those quiz shows. The million dollar question was – Libero Capporosso. Conosci libero caparoso? I’m thinking who the hell is Libero Capparoso? A light went off, the audience cheered as Anne Catherine said – “bookie.” Libero means book in Italian. He had left the village and come to New Jersey and stayed with our family. Bookie was the magic answer that opened the door to our hearts and love for Pontelandolfo.
That day, we also found another family and first cousin, Carmine Manna. Both families have embraced us. Because of them we became part of the greater Pontelandolfo family.
Thank you Valerio for posting your birthday bash on Facebook. Thank you for being part of our extended family. Thank you for reminding me how blessed we are to have found our roots in Pontelandolfo. That you for being that wee baby boy who smiled and welcomed us home.
Sigh, I can see the steam floating up from my perfect cappuccino at Cafe Style. My wallet is thrilled that we can go to Bar Elimar for a scrumptious homemade lunch and spend a scant €15 for two people. Jack’s nose is yearning to smell the bouquet of the featured wines at Ponte Simone. We both have saved up our pennies for a night out at Tãwa, the glorious sushi restaurant, in Piazza Roma.
Do I sound homesick? I am, I am! Soon we will be back home in Pontelandolfo and I can’t wait.
Will we see you there? In 2025 we have two incredible opportunities for you to become a part of our village. Cook in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo – May 17th to the 24th or September 6th to the 13th! This yummy program has been bringing smiles to the faces of culinary adventurers since 2016. (Not bragging, but last year we got a tourism award.) Check out the videos on the website – lots of food, laughter, and community. Then register and join the fans.
Follow your Creative Muse to Pontelandolfo
Our newest adventure is literally literature. Toss your laptop in a bag and participate in our 2025 Writers’ Refuge in the Sannio Hills. This Writer’s Retreat runs from June 21 to June 28th. Authors can soak up the atmosphere and work on their craft with Amy Scott of Scott Editorial.
All of the adventures start with a bar crawl. ‘Midge, Midge,” you are thinking, “a bar crawl is soooo sophomoric.” Nah! It is anything but sophomoric. What an incredible way to explore different parts of the village, meet locals and gain an understanding of village life.
Our very first group of writers joined the village in 2024. Playwrights organized by the New Jersey non profit – Write Where You Are. They wrote. They flourished. They conquered.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 