It was hard to imagine we were in the medieval village next door to Pontelandolfo. Riohana Cocktail House, is a hip bar with a Manhatten vibe. What exactly makes this a cool place? Could it be the drink menu designed by an ace mixologist; the laid back jungle atmosphere replete with couches, cozy tables both indoors and out; an outrageous bar menu; and gastropub fare that goes way beyond the mundane? With two out of town guests, Jack and I put on our party clothes and drove to Morcone to find out.
Ever curious, we wondered what the two story building balancing on a mountain ledge had been. A blacksmith’s shop was the answer. Hmm, I thought, a walled in outdoor terrace with a metal gate to the street – corral? Did horses head to a watering trough neighing about their new shoes? We never did find the answer. We did find an adult watering trough that made us whinny with delight.
Mattia Cioccia is the bartender/manager and creative force behind the Riohana Cocktail House. He is also the reason we went. I first met Mattia years ago when he was a bartender at Pontelandolfo’s Landulphi pub and restaurant. We bonded when I made him laugh by reminding him in barely there Italian that I was an American woman and could handle a double pour of vodka, gin, scotch etc. Mattia is a first rate mixologist and has a delightful personality. His bar menu at Riohana had enticing names like –
Since gin is one of my go to beverages, I felt compelled to try “Ant-Ree.” Floating on top was a toasted mini mandarin slice. I could picture the ants marching along carrying their citrus find. It was delicious. So delicious that – no I will not reveal how many adult beverages I can consume and still wend my way home on mountain goat paths. Each of us had a different drink. Each drink was unique and perfectly blended. Mattia knows his stuff.
The kitchen didn’t disappoint us either. We started with the €3 each “Tagliere/aperitivo.” Snacks to accompany our cocktails that were interesting. Don’t tell Jack that the open faced tramezzini he gulped down was made with pickled eggplant. After another drink or three we realized that ordering something heartier might be appropriate. They have essentially a hot sandwich, panini, menu.
The green beverage you see in the background is a gin and basil drink. I’ve had it before and think I also had one that night. Gulp. Back to the sandwiches. We each got a sandwich cut in four parts. Swapping and tasting was the idea, my Alpi e Appennini was so scrumptious that I cried when I shared. Great tasting, fresh ingredients made each one exceptional.
The best news? Jack and I after an enjoyable night out in Morcone spent only €36. Are you all starting to understand why we love spending time in the Sannio Hills? Great stuff and prices we can afford. We will return to Riohana Cocktail House.
The time is now to organize your pals to come and Cook in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo! We are setting up 2025 spring and summer’s programs now. Email me at info@nonnamulberrytree.com
thre is no better way to start cooking than with a bar crawl! Cook, Eat, Laugh!
Three Cs for the discerning tourist. Culinary treats, Cultural experiences and Cursing in a new language – complete with gestures. Vafan#@$%!
Did she say cursing adventures? Our sweet American lady in her third act would never suggest one come to Pontelandolfo to learn to flip the bird in another language. Midge would never ever simply curse in another language!
Dear readers, I might curse in multi languages at the same time, but is that really the same as cursing in another language which implies one language? 🤣
Sigh… The title for this concept was not my idea. For this new tourism initiative, I must give credit where credit is due. It was the idea of the witty, wise and wee bit snarky women from Baltimore who were here for our last Cooking in the Kitchen of Pontelandolfo experience. One of them suggested that the name for our activity should be the three cs culinary, cultural and cursing adventures. Cursing in another language is the true mark of an educated person.
For the sake of decorum, I will not reveal which of these howling ladies came up with the idea.
I thought about this idea, it really does make sense. What follows is X rated and not for those folks who have never cursed and will never curse.
When we’re happy we curse. When we’re angry we curse. When we’re sad we curse. But what language do we curse in? When I was a kid, I cursed. OK the only curse I really knew was the F bomb. Both my parents used the F bomb. After a while, the F bomb became simply a yawn bomb.
Now in Italy, I’m hearing curse words light. Simple ones like caspita which means damn or merde which means poop and the list goes on. What our guests were referring to were the words dashed out by the men playing scopa in the piazza or arguing over bocci points. Words like stronzo, che cazzo, or bastardo. You can look them up, I am too embarrassed to define them.
Susan at age one was whispering “eat shit.” I replied the family password, “and die.”
Sadly, I must admit my sweet sister Susan and I would often say something horrific to each other. Usually, after my mother blamed the wrong one for some egregious error. Imagine my delight to discover that we could share the love in Italian with – mangia merde e morte! Sounds so much better in the language of Dante.
But seriously, our tourism inattive has gone beyond cooking. Speaking of cursing, we have a fabulous group of playwrights coming in October. THERE IS ONE SPOT LEFT MESSAGE ME FOR DETAILS. I am a playwright and I curse. Does that imply all playwrights curse? No, but I a betting a few F bombs dash out on pages just to add a bit of reality.
If you would like an experience that goes beyond the backpack carrying mass tour and experience literally Italy, including a smattering of bad words. Send me a message. We are setting up experiences for 2025 now. Together we create something unique and real. I cannot guarantee you will hear cursing. I can guarantee it will be an experience you won’t forget.
Have you missed me? Sorry, I’ve been so silent, but life in New Jersey had some ups and downs. Speaking of ups and downs. Boom, bang – no not thank you mam – but my blood all over the nice marble floor of Aeroporto Fiumicino. Caspita! I’ve always had stars in my eyes but this wasn’t my favorite way to find new ones.
I am now – thanks to family, friends and the medical system – fine. Swollen knees, cracked teeth, ditzy witzy head and a hole in my lower lip ain’t gonna keep me down. Yes, I did all the right things – went to doctors, dentists, got X-rays and an MRI. (Panoramic X-Ray of my teeth – €40. MRI of my fabulous head – €100.) That’s the boring part of the tale. This is actually one of those “feel good” stories.
BACKSTORY –
Why were my eyeglasses on the floor over there? Hmm? Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw were my eyeglasses floating above my ear. My ears were very active –
Signora, mi senti? Ma’am can you hear me? Yes I could hear her – what is in my mouth? Why is my nose smelling the floor?
Tutto OK? Was I OK? Bo? I haven’t an idea – the floor looks good – nice marbling. I was asked that by about six different people. Was I finally an extra in the Law and Order franchise?? Damn, what fun. Do I get the SAG day rate??
Apparently, after we got off the plane, which had been held for about 3 hours on the tarmac in Newark, NJ, got Jack a wheel chair ( his aching back won’t tolerate super long walks), I fainted.
Sta sanguinando! She’s bleeding! Whose bleeding? Shitis that wet stuff under my mouth my blood? Shit, it is my blood. People, speaking a variety of languages, were tossing blood soaking up things at me and putting them on my lower lip and chin. No one was afraid to touch the bloody lady sprawled on the floor.
Two woman helped me sit up. Whoa – sitting on the floor was a nice change from eating the floor but I wasn’t going anywhere else. Weee, the merry go round is fun! We’re my underpants clean and not ancient?
Chiamare i pronto scorso! Someone called the EMTs and suddenly I was in a chair being prodded and poked.
There had been a female vigile near by who not only had seen everything, but with the incredible woman pushing Jack’s wheelchair got me to sit on the floor and carried all pazillion pounds of me to a nearby chair. How did the chair got there? She explained to the head EMT (doctor) that I was walking perfectly well and then suddenly like a waterfall slowly wafted to the floor smacking my face/head. Wafted to the floor – was that a Graham dance move or was I once again channeling Ruth St. Denis?
Good goddess, why is Midge telling us all this horrific tale? Because “she” – me – I was treated like visiting royalty. Every staff person who interacted with me was genuinely concerned, courteous and terrific. OK, OK, I can hear you cynics thinking – they just worry about lawsuits. In Italy a lawsuit would take 100 years.
I am telling this tale because I want to publicly thank the woman pushing Jack who then called for a wheel chair for me and organized our getting through passport control, getting our luggage and even asking a pal at lost luggage to leave her spot and find Jack’s lost bag. Damn, she was great, as was the other woman who was stuck pushing me and dragging my carryon.
The vigile must have called the accident in and two oh so handsome men in superior uniforms arrived to check our passports and calmed me down in English. Actually, they both had luminous dark eyes and maybe that’s what calmed me down.
The EMT staff was there quickly and acted professionally. As a woman was taking my blood pressure and oxygen levels another was looking in my eyes. Everything they checked was perfect – even my sugar levels. They wanted to transport me to the hospital in Rome, I wanted to go home. After signing a release that I was refusing the hospital, I was not allowed to stand and transferred to the wheelchair. Grazie Mille a tutti.
This is one of the reasons I had to get home. Our first group of culinary adventurers were arriving June 8 and I landed June 1.
I want to thank Giuseppe who was our ride home from the airport. He literally waited hours for us and didn’t laugh at my bloody swollen face once – well maybe once. He was a gem.
Once I landed on the couch in our house, I received incredible support. Thank you Annarita for all you do. Thank you Mariann and Jeff for making sure I wasn’t comatose and fed. Thank you Carmella and Giusy for making sure I had help, appointments for X-rays and doctor visits. Thank you Rossella for keeping me sane. Thank you Zia Vittoria for getting edibles in my empty refrigerator. Thank you to the men in my life Jack, Nicola and Mario.
Thank you all.
Stay tuned for more about life in a small Southern Italian village.
Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Tis the season to be jolly fa la la la, la la la la. Gorge we now on panettone – – -! What else is a girl to do but gorge! This holiday confection seems to chase her around the store? Well, I could wait and not buy one. Impossible. I could buy a few and not eat every slice. The springy tall cake, liberally speckled with raisons, dried citrus and what ever else someone had in the pantry is impossible to ignore. If you don’t eat it all it starts to get stale. Hmm, not so bad stale either. I imagine, a slightly hard piece of deliciousness, soaked in eggs that have been whisked with vanilla and cinnamon, grilled on my Nonna’s cast iron stove top grill and then bathed in real, honest to God maple syrup. Couple that with crispy bacon and it is orgasmic. OMG. Weight Watcher points be damned that is one fine seasonal breakfast, lunch, dinner or snack.
Cross section of the best panettone in the world – from Diglio Forno!
Made by Antonio Diglio in Pontelandolfo, panettone is light, flavorful and simply fabulous. There is usually none left over unless it gets hidden so I don’t eat it all in one day. Making French Toast, all of those lovely spongy holes fill with egg and a slice cooks up heavenly. Sigh….
Perhaps, I should start at the beginning. Did I enjoy panettone as a child? Not that I can remember. When did I first taste the stale crappy ones sold in supermarkets? That would have been in college. Surrounded by all those Italian American women in my dorm from Italian enclaves like Jersey City, Newark and Hoboken I was introduced to the Italian traditions that New Jersey farm girl Midge never experienced. That is also when I discovered, having imbibed in a bit of Maryjane, how stupendous panettone was doctored with jam, jelly, maple syrup, etc. Luckily, later in life when I had a couple of lira in my pocket, I unearthed panettone that was light, airy, sweet but not gooey and wonderful to eat all by itself. Now, spending holiday time in Pontelandolfo I am binging on the fresh panettone from Diglio Forno and other cakes brought to town from the capital of panettone – Milano.
Diglio Forno makes holiday treats that require self control – no one can eat just one.
Who started this tradition of culinary goodness? What follows is an obvious embellishment of the ancient legend. It was a dark and stormy night, the ides of – wait, wait, wrong legends.
The Legend of Panettone: Tis the season to rock around the great hall. A blowout of a Christmas party was happening at the 15th century Milanese court of Ludovico Il Moro. Servers carried out tray after tray of beautifully prepared food. The dessert, which was to be a surprise and an incredible joy, was slowly cooking in the oven. One young kitchen helper was left to guard the oven and make sure the dessert came out pefectly. For whatever reason, maybe he ran out side to see the snow, maybe Gabriella the serving girl stopped and flirted with him, the reason doesn’t matter – he let the dessert burn to a blackened crisp. Caspita! Desperate, the lad looked around the kitchen and remembered he had made a bread with left over dough. He had tossed in dried fruits, lemon peels and whatever edibles were around. He gulped, put it on a fancy tray, powdered it with sugar, and suggested that the cook serve it. The cook walked incredibly slowly into the great hall. Toni was cowering in the doorway. Slices were served. Compliments were tossed and the party was a success. In summary: Toni, a lowly kitchen helper, made a terrible mistake and fearing he’d be served up roasted, was saved by his quick wit and culinary creation made of leftover stuff. He saved the party and introduced the world to “L’è ‘l pan del Toni,” meaning “It’s Toni’s bread, hence the name panettone. The end.
May your holiday season be bright and filled with scrumptious panettone. If you buy one in an Italian market DO NOT SAVE IT. Why let it get stale – EAT IT TODAY. I googled what one can do with panettone and here are some ideas. Panettone bread pudding – obvious but yummy. Panettone tiramisu – hmm not so obvious. What follows is an easy way to use the bread up. On a griddle heat up slices of panettone. Toast it well on both sides. DO NOT PUT IT IN A TOASTER. I have and it warranted a call to the fire house. Put the slices on a plate and pour some Grand Marnier over it. Imagine all the liquors you could experiment with. Heating up a slice opens the door to the refrigerator and pantry because you can spread it with whatever sweet stuff you like. Or, eat it my way – make French toast and douse it in real maple syrup. Do not leave out the crispy bacon.
Email: 9/12 – demonstrates how sharing, grieving and even allowing a spark of humor to fly through cyberspace helped America get through the painful aftermath of 9/11.
This unusual competition takes strength, precision and a passion for the past. La Ruzzola is an ancient game played in the streets of Italy. Members of a squadra, team, toss wheels of cheese down a course. Originally it was a well aged pecorino cheese. The early players were probably farmers and shepherds – pecorino cheese is made from sheep’s milk. The winner sent the cheese soaring down a path the farthest. Today, the goal is to reach a specific point with the least number of tosses. I heard someone in the crowd watching the day I was there say it reminded them a bit of golf.
This is a serious sport. Team shirts, buses, fans and all the trappings of a sport were seen in Pontelandolfo this past weekend. Fifty teams from throughout Italy filled the village on Saturday. Some didn’t qualify for Sunday and took their cheese home.
I could talk about how glorious it was on an October weekend to what happened a sport that is so unique. I could ramble on and on about the feeling of comradeship. Or talk about the fun I had watching out of town guests amble up the street following the action. I could but isn’t it better to watch this –
Enjoy!
See you in Pontelandolfo (BN), the best village in the world of cheese throwing.
The summer season is almost over and the shore towns on the Adriatic Sea are slowing down. Jack and I thought that this would be a great time to explore, Termoli, a small city that we have flashed through once or twice before. I booked a hotel that was right on the sea and adjacent to the sea wall of Termoli’s historic center. In the province of Molise, this shore point is less than an hour and a half from our home in Pontelandolfo.
After checking in, sipping aperitivi by the sea, we climbed what felt like a million steps up to centro storico. The ancient city reminded us architecturally of one of our favorite places in Italy, Alghero Sardegna. (Shout out to the best language school ever – Alghero’s Pintadera.) We wandered the cobblestone streets, stared at the sea, and then I froze – there was a wee alley festooned with white lights, tables classically set and with an artsy vibe that took us back to Venice. (Read the blog Searching for Goldoni and you’ll understand.)
I decided that we absolutely had to eat there. Since it was only 7:30 PM, and way too early to eat, I needed to make a reservation for the yet unnamed space. Around the corner from the alley, we saw a handsome, curly haired man sitting by the restaurant’s front door. He smiled. I smiled and asked if there was a table for two available tonight in the alley.
“Si, signora – quale il sua nome?”
“Midge.”
“Midge?” He looked at me quizzically and probably thought, “Her mother named her after a small annoying fly?”
I shrugged and speaking the barely uttered truth said, “Margherita.”
He scrawlled “Margherita” on a scrap of paper, handed it to me and told me to choose a table, put my name under the water glass and come back whenever we wanted dinner. Then –
“Tu sei inglese?”
“No, sono americana.”
“Da dove?”
“New Jersey – ma vicino Philadelphia.”
“La mia moglie parle “Americano. Lei da Rochester – vicino New Jersey?”
Then and there it was decided that I should meet his wife! I mean, maybe somewhere between Rochester and New York/Jersey we might have run into each other during our decadent youths in some bar or another.
Jack and I continued our pre-dinner passeggiata and tried to keep our tourist faces at bay. The stillness of the old town, the colors of the buildings, the scent of the sea and the warm breeze made it a beautiful evening. Eventually, we made our way back to –
“Jack, what was the name of the restaurant?”
“I don’t know. You were talking to the owner. Don’t you remember how to get back there?”
“Of course I do.”
(I mean we only meandered up and down a few narrow vicoli, posed for a selfie near the sea wall and entered three different piazza since we made the reservation. )
“I will swiftly guide us back,” I lied.
Yes, I lied. But since the centro storico is enclosed by a wall, I managed to guide us back to Sognadoro, Via Rocco Mugnano,3 in Termoli! (For purposes of the blog, Midge, the smart-ass, looked up the address.)
We got back, found our reserved table waiting, looked at each other and smiled. What a cool environment. A young gregarious waiter appeared, brought our local white wine and asked if we knew what we wanted. What happened next couldn’t have been played out better by Netflix. Just as Jack started to say “tonno,” the owner, Francesco Sciscillo, came over, took away the menus and told us to wait.
We waited, he returned with a fish that was so fresh it was still jumping. You are all wondering what kind of fish it was. I am too. We are calling it the former alive fish called X. X had been very recently caught, right here in the Adriatic Sea.
Rats – I took the video in the wrong direction but you’ll get the point.
The thinly sliced fresh X was drizzled in olive oil from Francesco’s trees and spritzed with a dash of fresh lemon. Who knew that something so simple and swiftly prepared would be absolutely incredible.
Next appeared calamari fritti. Jack tries calamari everywhere we go. When I saw it, my fork of its own volition dashed into the plate. Tender, tender, tender. I immediately noticed that the calamari had not been cut into rings but had been sliced into rectangles. In the future, I too will prepare them this way. Each bite was full of flavor. They had been be very lightly coated in flower and flash fried. Yummmm.
Enjoyed more than you can imagine.
I don’t remember what else we ate, I do remember an enjoyable night spent in conversation and laughter. A young woman approached the table, introduced herself as Anna and said that her mother would be getting out of work soon and was anxious to meet us. The effervescent mom, Patrizia, regaled us with tales of making the transition between life in Rochester, New York and Termoli. The building that housed the restaurant had been in her husband’s family for generations. There was such pride in her voice as she spoke of his family and her family. A photo of Francesco’s mother is prominently placed inside the restaurant. Obviously, the sea and what it provides plays a preeminent role in their lives. She is climbing onto the fishing pier.
We were so enamored with the food, setting and family that the next day we returned for lunch. The entire family was seated at the “family table” and greeted us warmly. As the only customers, I suggested we simply eat what Francesco was serving the others. What a smart move! Polpette, ground fish and spices formed into but not to be confused with packaged fish sticks, were served in a rich red sauce. Next was a simple but tasty dish of chicory, red pepper and sepia. Great conversation, perfect lunch and then I saw something I didn’t like. Obvious tourists stopped outside the restaurant, pulled out their phones and stood there reading. Then they smirked a little and left. Smack me in the head – they were looking at reviews. Why would they leave? I quickly scanned the obvious sites. WHAT??? The place only had a few reviews on each site but there was a theme – rude owner, bad food, lousy atmosphere. TOTAL BULLSHIT! All we could think of was that the scant reviews were posted by someone who was jealous or opening their own place. Lesson learned – DON’T TRUST REVIEWS. I never look at reviews. That is a lie – wow two lies in one blog. That same night I asked at the hotel what place they would recommend for dinner. Then I looked the restaurant up – 5 stars everywhere. We ate there. 0 stars from us – boring tourist fare. The learned lesson was reinforced. In our quest for meals, we will continue to wander back lanes of towns until we find a place that just calls to us.
As we walked out the door that day, we looked at each other and both knew that Sognadoro would be on the top of our “lets go for a ride and eat something wonderful” short list.
Pontelandolfese and lovers of Italy wherever you are – check out my tourist guide to Pontelandolfo’s historic center – written in English and Italian.Or simply enjoy the life we lead in Italy by reading my humorous travel memoir.
Whaaaaat? You want me to climb up those two thousand year old steps to look at some little thingy that means some rich dude lived here?
Not a rich dude’s crest but the Wind God!
That is exactly what I want you to do! Visit Pontelandolfo and explore the historic center by searching for gli stemmi – crests. The adventure in urban trekking will be fascinating.
Urban Trekking is happening in cities across the world. Annarita Mancini and I worked together to create a tourism guide for our medieval village that brings urban trekking to a different level. I’m the author and Annarita was the translator. Together we have published An Italian Treasure Hunt; the Quest for the Crests of Pontelandolfo. This guidebook provides readers with clues to unearth tiny pieces of art hidden throughout the village. It can be a team sport with trekkers challenging each other to find the most crests or a slow meditative look and walk.
This is not your typical tour guide. Like I would do something typical – yawn I’m bored thinking about it. You all know I spend a lot of time in Pontelandolfo blogging about life in a small Italian town. Some days I need a reason to get off my butt, leave the office and wend my way through the ancient alleys. My search for the crests was a great incentive to walk through the old part of town and get a sense of what life was like for my ancestors.
Annarita Mancini, who is an exceptional teacher of Italian, noted that having the clues written in both English and Italian not only make the book useful to more people but is an excellent way to explore a new language.
It really took a village to create this book. One day writing in the Pontelandolfo Library, I discovered a stack of faded little blue pamphlets called Stemmi gentilizi aPontelandolfo written by researchers/authors Litterio Villari and Pia Piacquadio. With a donation to the library, I grabbed a pamphlet and accompanied by Maria Vittoria Albini raced out of the building in search of a crest.
Battista Family
Local historians Carmine Fusco and Antimo Albini assisted in the project by reading the draft and adding bits of local lore. Pontelandolfo residents (and Nonna’s Mulberry Tree subscribers – hint hint) Mariann Prigioni and Jeff Millard had the trekking task of following the clues to see if one could really find all the crests.
Now, local visitors to Pontelandolfo can get a copy of An Italian Treasure Hunt; the Quest for the Crests of Pontelandolfoand also do some urban trekking. It is only an E-book now. Hard cover to follow when I get to formatting it. Yikes, who knew self publishing would be work?
E-readers will follow the clues and photographs of family crests on their phones. Actually, I think this is the best way to use the book. On your phone you can enlarge the photos and refer to the map. This quest for the crests offers a unique and captivating experience that is challenging, fun, creative and exciting! Perfect for adults, children and families. So, grab your camera, walk around beautiful Pontelandolfo, discover the riches of history and unearth hidden ancient traditions.
Book 1 in our Urban Trekking Series – Any town want to hire me to do theirs?
E-book versions of An Italian Treasure Hunt; the Quest for the Crests of Pontelandolfo are currently available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo and other retailers.
Not just any Norma but Pasta alla Norma! Who knew that my favorite summer vegetable – melanzana – could be part of a pasta plate so scrumptious? Just thinking about it puts a satisfied smile on my face. Probably all of you knew about the Sicilian primo piatto. A delicate blend of eggplant, pasta, crushed tomatoes and… Finding Norma for me was an incredible accident or a woo woo moment.
My niece, Alessandra, and I were exploring Benevento. Our provincial capital is a fabulous city – particularly the historic center. Walled in by Mura Lonogobarde it is full of museums, art, shops and of course bars. Early in the day, we parked in Piazza Risorgimento, stopped for collezione at – a bar, stared down Corso Garibaldi and planned our unplanned day. Knowing we had to walk off the cappuccini and croissants, we started our exploration by walking around an interesting old looking building. Actually, it was not just old but ancient. The huge tower that attracted us was built by the Lombards in the 6th century. Two guards were outside – young and gorgeous I might add – so we figured the place housed something precious. It was the Rocca dei Rettoi e Giardini della Rocca. That translates to the fortress of the rector. The exterior garden was lush and offered an amazing vista of the city below. “Attenti” we heard. Looking over at the older gentleman who had bellowed, I wondered if we were standing too close to the edge of the overview. Whoosh – first the sound and then nooooo – the water. He had started the sprinkler system. Laughing but wet, we skidaddled over to the building. Shadowing us was one of the guards. Hmm, what wonderful stuff must be housed here. Or was he shadowing my gorgeous niece? There was an internal courtyard that is used for cultural events and features some ancient pieces of architectural sculptures. Slabs outside and inside, I’m told, were a collection from the ancient Via Traiana. The advertised museum was closed. We found il bagno, used the necessary resources and moved on.
The Torrione is 28 meters tall.
A bit above the tower was Villa Comunale. I kept looking for a big house but Villa Comunale is the name of the park that overlooks the city. One can meander on shaded paths, sit on a bench to watch the world go by or some nights listen to classical music under the stars. We found the bandstand but couldn’t figure out if people brought their own chairs, stood around or if the city set up chairs. One of the things I love about the Italians here is their ability to reuse, repurpose and create something from nothing. At the entrance to the park is this interesting piece of art. Is it a serpent, a reindeer, a crocodile, a…
This fallen tree becomes a work of art! Looks prehistoric to me.
Corso Garibaldi is a wide avenue that has been closed to traffic. It meanders down hill from Villa Comunale all the way to Piazza Cardinale Pacca and when one is walking downhill feels like it is a scant half mile long. When a woman in her third act is walking back up the hill is at least a pazzilion miles long. It is full of history and Italian designer shops. Being modern women with no purpose, we started with the history. I had never visited Santa Sofia, a small Roman Catholic Church that was built in the late eighth century. Thank the goddesses, no one tore it down to put up a McDees. In 2011, as part of a group of seven buildings inscribed as Longobards in Italy – Places of the Power 568-774 AD, it became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Sitting on the ancient wooden benches – Alessandra gave me the “you are my pazzo zia” look because I mentioned that I actually felt my grandmom next to me. But I did! To attend festivals in Benevento, she and my aunt and uncles would walk all the way from Pontelandolfo! They camped out in fields along the way. I figure a significant place like Chiesa Santa Sofia, had to be a stop along the way. Sitting there was a powerful and our first woo woo moment.
Baptismal Font in Santa Sofia
Time to hit designer shops – not that the museums aren’t a draw, they really are. If you don’t believe me, go to the Campania Tourism Website and check it out. We enjoyed shopping with only our eyes so much that the morning raced by. Growls from our bellies made us realize it was time for lunch. Alessandra opened up the Trip Adviser app and looked for local restaurants. She found one that had 300 positive reviews and was ALLEGEDLY close by. We walked and walked and I bitched and bitched and then we found it. A takeaway place that, though they obviously have lots of friends,looked to smarmy to enter. We used our native noses and found our way back to Corso Garibaldi. Now down which tiny medieval alley will we possibly find a restaurant? WAHHHH – that was Zia Midge crying. We couldn’t find anything. Time to do aggressive searching. I went into Arcos, a wonderful museum of modern art and Egyptology. The man behind the counter was so nice.
I’m not from here, I just work here and I don’t eat here.
Ok, Ok, I did not give up. You may not eat here but must have heard of other people going somewhere to eat.
Well there is a place around the corner, directly behind the museum.
Fainting with hnger we dragged ourselves behind the museum and saw a sign that said, Trattoria Santa Sofia. We walked in to a fairly empty space and wondered what we had gotten into. The owner escorted us to a dark room with about five tables preset. The only diner was a priest. As Alessandra went to sit down – her chair moved. A magical move – enough to feel but not enough to make her fall on her butt. We looked at each other. Was it the priest? Santa Sofia? The owner walked over and recited the meals of the day. We both heard the word melanzane and still weirded by the chair said we would take whatever was made with eggplant.
Alessandra looked at me with dreamy eyes and said,” I hope it is Pasta alla Norma.”
Who is Norma? A mom of a pal?
Aunt Midge, Pasta alla Norma is in every Italian restaurant in Los Angeles.
(Obviously, she lives in LA and is a casting director in the biz.) I had never heard of it. She explained that as a vegetarian – yeah, LA – she always looks for scrumptious meatless meals. Then she described Pasta alla Norma – a heavy pasta with a light fresh tomato sauce, sautéed eggplant and onions with bits of fresh mozzarella teasing the palate. She sighed. Seriously, a big sigh for a pasta.
A lovely salad came out first and we annihilated it. The accompanying bread was wonderful too. Looking over my shoulder at the owner carrying in plates of pasta, Alessandra began to smile and clap with delight. She knew exactly what the pasta plates were – Pasta alla Norma. We ate it slowly and with great dignity. Savoring each morsel of pasta, eggplant and mozzarella.
There are lots of different recipes on line for this dish, which is a Sicilian staple. Many have ricotta cheese, others do not. Our wonderful gastronomic moment was sans ricotta cheese. We will return to Trattoria Santa Sofia located at Via Stefano Borgia, 7 in Benevento. Don’t be confused but – Trattoria Santa Sofia is right next to Chiesa del Santissimo Salvatore!
Who knew that Norma would also become my favorite chef. Norma, I don’t know who you are, where you lived or how you did this but Grazie mille.
Annarita Mancini and I finished our Pontelandolfo Guide! An Italian Treasure Hunt – The Quest for the Crests of Pontelandolfo! Una Caccia al Tesoro Italiana – Alla Ricerca Degli Stemmi di Pontelandolfo!
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 