We Bought The Farm

Spotted in our Backyard

I cut the grass this evening, and then went out to the shed to put some stuff away (brewing related - we just barreled up the latest batch). I saw a lump on the lawn and thought it odd, having just mowed. Hedgehog!

He didn't seem very frighty. I wonder if he was a lost pet. Gave us time to get the camera and grab a few shots. I looked them up and it said they like to eat insects, so he was probably out for the easy pickin's in the fresh-mown grass.

For a big city, we have our share of wildlife. I have some cute pix of foxes in our garden at our old place, and I've seen one run across Leicester Square at night. They're notorious scavengers - as bad as raccoons in the States. But we've not come across hedgehogs before.

A serendipitous reward for mowing the grass after a wet spell.

Eating Our Way Through Italy

I realise I've been a little slack in the content department of late. Such are the demands of family and working travels that it's taken a long time to start to feel caught up. But, hey, that's not a bad thing, now, is it? Anyhow, I've been thinking of a series of (I hope) three update postings with a largely foodie theme. Erik suggested I post a little more about our foodie experiences in Italy, time permitting. Yes, time, that's been the issue. Well, let this be the first, and maybe someday I'll get to the rest. Festina lente.

We had been psyching ourselves up for Italy for a couple of months, since we'd decided to go, and then to stay two weeks and have a two-centred holiday. In the run-up,I'd been augmenting Catriona's usual story-time tales with sessions poring over Frances Mayes' In Tuscany, which is a lovely book even if you don't otherwise care for her 'wide-eyed gringa in paradise' style. Catriona knew all about the olive harvest (more than your average three-year-old, I'll wager), the cheese, the wine, the sunflowers. But what she knew best of all that Italy was the home of pasta, her favourite (and rapidly becoming Daniel's too). I promised her that in Italy she could have pasta every day. I kept my promise.

Travelling with the little ones has its own challenges, although Italy is far more child-friendly than England. Still, with the kids used to checking out early, we adjusted our plans, usually, to have our big meals out at lunch time and then to stay close to home in the evenings, letting the wine flow freely and taking advantage of the wealth of mysterious Mediterranean products, as one of my favourite New Yorker cartoons so memorably puts it (I'll look for my clipping). These days, going to Italy without having a kitchen available seems a terrible waste.

Here are some of the highlights:

Exploring San Gimignano

First off, I was hoping we'd be able to avoid supermarkets, generally, and live from more local suppliers. But in the end, well, we fell for our local Co-op supermarket. Unlike in England, where the Co-op is the pricey stand-by of the smaller wayside town and purveyor of long -past-it fruit and veg, the local Co-op (for us in Figline Valdarno) was a haven of really wonderful fresh and local foods. Given that we had arrived too late and missed the market day in Greve (Saturday morning), we were grateful to find the Co-op and sort ourselves out for our first night. I was in salumi heaven. Finocchiona, bresaola. And some excellent mozzarella di bufala for caprese salad, aged pecorino (with white peaches and millefiori honey from the farm where we were staying - yum). Fresh pastas. Some chianti classico, and some more bog-standard but eminently drinkable table wine. We really didn't need to go far from home. Honestly, I doubt an Italian would suffer a crappy supermarket.

I already mentioned our visit to the butcher, Da Cecchini. His shop is lovely. You are greeted with a glass of chianti, invited to chow down on olives, bread, tasters. Lunch, almost. Our purchases sorted us out for several meals - the porchetta (bought by the slice, not the sandwich), with crackling. The excellent sausages, with a really good meaty bite to them and redolent with rosemary and garlic. And the bistecca, which we saved for our barbecue in Ravello the following week, cooked the way he recommended, with only some olive oil and seasoned salt - he provides the latter. Let stand for 12 hours at room temperature. Grill five minutes on each end over a red-hot fire, then 15 minutes on the side...not more. Don't touch with metal, only wood or your hands. Served with slightly grilled tomatoes and italian green beans with lemon juice. We had leftovers that lasted until our flight home. Let me tell you - that's flying first class, even on a cattle-car flight.

At the central market in Florence, among other things (more salumi, bread, cheese, and fresh San Marzano tomatoes), I found some stuffed saddle of rabbit. Stuffed with herbs, artichoke, mozzarella and prosciutto. I roasted this under the grill for about 30 minutes and served it with just a salad. Such perfect summer food. Oh, and the wine, of course. Classico from the farm.

Simplest salad ever: tinned cannellini beans and a big slab of tuna (tonno), bought in oil from a local deli in Greve, oil, salt, pepper and herbs. Served with a sort of focaccia/crispbread I found.

Our big meal for the Tuscan week was at La Cantinetta di Rignana, a farmhouse out in the sticks but not too far from where we stayed (ergo,...). We had some excellent beef (mine was in a balsamic glaze, and although I think balsamic vinegar tends to be overused, it was a light touch here, served around a delicious cut of bistecca), and some really fine homemade pastas - the kids loved this place. We drank the farm's own classico and, well, we had to have a second bottle. Since I was driving we stre-e-e-tched the afternoon out and the kids had a good play on the jungle gym while I had an espresso doppio and drank in the scenery. Expensive place, but value for money. Full marks.

In Naples we had pizza - what else? And the kids had pasta. I gained a new appreciation for pizza after Naples. It was so good. The crust inspired me. I know I probably won't be able to recreate it on my stone at home, but it won't stop me trying (I confess to making excellent homemade pizza, but also concede room for improvement in crust technique).

Taking a break on the walk to Minori

Another find for us was in the town of Minori, which was basically straight downhill from our house in Ravello. We know - we walked. With two trooper kids who hung on for the whole walk; about an hour down step after scenic step (Daniel :"step, step, bigstep" - after a while, I did carry him). We had lunch at Ristorante L'arsenale, which is where the pasta photo in my earlier posting was taken. Set just back from the coast, we settled in for what proved to be the big meal of this week, with three kinds of pasta (for the kids, of course) and a massive seafood platter. We drank some white Frassitelli wine from Ischia - the vineyard (quick loading flash) of cousins of the man who looked after me so well on my 2001 visit to Ischia. Another long leisurely afternoon, followed by a couple of hours on the beach and a visit to a pasta fresca shop to get some take-aways for dinner.

On our last day, we had lunch in Ravello at Cumpá Cosimo. This place was the most unexpectedly convivial. We were getting tired of all the hauling around, but you can't help but enjoy the infectious welcome you receive from Donna Netta. Her first order of business was to get the kids started on a mountain of pasta. And we had so much food from the antipasti to the tiramisu (we had pasta as well, and I had a grilled sausage for my secondo) that I'm not sure how she worked our bill, but it was a whole lot less than I had reckoned. I think she just looked at our family, said, "This is what it should cost to feed a family of four." and left it at that. I think it was about €65, including two big pitchers of house white wine.

Did we have any "lowlights"? Yes. We had a fairly disappointing meal at Bottega del Moro in Greve-in-Chianti. Our guidebook (from 1998, admittedly) gave it good marks, and to their credit we did order off-menu, finding their short (two starters, two mains) lunch offering disappointingly non-Tuscan. A positive was eating in their gazebo, where Daniel gave us a running commentary on every passing bus and truck ("mammi, mammi? MAMMI?" "Yes, Daniel?" "bahss" "Thank you, Daniel."). We also were disappointed by La Cisterna on Capri, where we landed by accident after finding our intended destination closed and our kids at the boiling point. Here, frustrating service let down some decent food (although the caprese here, in its birthplace, was low-grade). I was really put off by the owner trying to pull a total fast one with a credit card surcharge. I called him on it, fought it and won, but it left me feeling prickly and the opposite of 'restored' after lunch.

I would point out we had a really useful guide for Naples and the Amalfi Coast part of our trip, Carla Capalbo's The Food And Wine Guide To Naples And Campania, which pretty brilliantly helped plan our trail through our second week. I had ordered her similar volume on Tuscany, but it didn't arrive in time. Oh well, something to look forward to on our next visit. Also worth mentioning - no trip to Tuscany is ever undertaken without Nancy Jenkins' Flavors of Tuscany in the carry-on.

Erik, we didn't get any lardo, although if it's any consequence, we can get good lardo di collonata here in London, and my wife still won't eat it.

Pros and Cons

I've lived outside the US for more than eight years now, mainly in England but with a two year stint in Brazil. While I still strongly identify with my nationality, my sensibilities and sensitivities have become far more European. Thus, coming over to the US is for me an exercise in observation and extraction. To fit in perfectly and comfortably (I even find a southern accent surprisingly easy to effect), but to see things so much as an outsider. And to try to take home from my visit the things I find noteworthy.

Last year we were in Las Vegas, where we attended a performance of Peter Pan at the Cashman Center. We pulled into a car park full of SUVs, only to find out that the same venue was also hosting a gun show. We're walking our two-year-old daughter cheerfully in to watch Peter Pan and Tinkerbell and all of these people are walking back to their trucks with guns in their hands. That kind of a juxtaposition is just what strikes me as so unmistakably American.

Sign on restaurant door, "It's a crime to carry a concealed handgun without a permit on these premises." In Spanish, too.

I shouldn't be surprised that in Texas the prevalence of SUVs and pick-ups is even greater than in Vegas. I picked up my rental car - a Dodge Neon, which is classed as a Compact. The girl asked me if I wanted to upgrade to a Cadillac or an SUV. No, thanks, the Neon will do. This car is bigger than most cars on the road in England, but I confess to feeling downright dwarfed driving this thing along the freeway through the tunnel of hulking oversized SUVs and pick-ups that probably never see more off-road than occasionally driving on the shoulder or jumping a curb to get around one of the million inconsiderate drivers who haunt the streets of Houston.

It takes big people to drive big trucks. On average. A web friend noted that Houston was the "fat city" and I find this is true, or was, until Detroit was voted a fatter city. People here are big. I'm big, so, again, I can fit right in. But these people are supersize-me big. One of my colleagues was sitting in his office with one of those take-away drink cups the size of a small garbage can. A dinner entree, for $10, is so big that I stand no chance of finishing it. The slices of dessert on the trays at my conference today were so large that I felt ill halfway through my cheesecake. I love the 'bottomless' iced tea, constantly topped up by a too-attentive waitress. So ubiquitous in Houston, but there really is only so much you can drink. Ugh.

At the same time, the US has so much to recommend it. I sigh with envy and resignation at the sense of the possible here. Prices are low; houses are huge. Gas is cheap; cars are cheap. I can totally understand how unapologetic untravelled Americans take this as their birthright. By rights, it's mine too, although I chafe at the excess of it all from the safety of our shoebox in London.

Things are piled high and sold cheap. Houston is a retail wasteland; an enormous grid of strip malls punctuated by shopping malls and the occasional high-rise. Driving on the main roads, you don't really see where people sleep, only where they shop; set back from the road by giant car parks and free-standing restaurants (that serve really good food in, naturally, huge portions). Drive a mile or two and it repeats. Jack-In-The-Box, Borders, Starbucks, Office Depot, Taco Bell, Wal-Mart, Supercuts, Jack-In-... Category killing big box retail located conveniently close to you, wherever you are.

And yet, and yet. And yet. When I come to the US, I come with a shopping list. Silly things. Things you just can't get in the UK. I bought an ice cream maker. Not one of those kitchen counter appliances, no. A motorised crank churn barrel 1-gallon capacity rock-salt machine. Like we had when I was a kid. I bought a pizza peel, and a butter bell. The kind of useless kitchen toys that, yeah, you could probably find them somewhere in England if you spent long enough looking, but you know that Williams and Sonoma will just have what you want (and make you drool over the All-Clad skillets that still might come home with me).

I've bought books. Books I could order at home, but, well, they're here; they're cheap, and I might as well travel heavy. Yes, we have Borders at home. But not like the one I was in this afternoon. It looks like a casino from the outside. Big and welcoming. Once inside, I felt lost and kept thinking, "now, why am I here, exactly?". Then I feebly browse for 45 minutes, finally to select a title so as to justify my whip round through the shop (I also bought each of the kiddies a little book - Borders is a mecca for kids books).

I've bought beer. Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Shiner Bock (hey, I am in Houston). Dead Guy Ale. I bought a 20-ounce bag of nacho chips and a bottle of posh salsa. Stuff that just doesn't make the leap.

I shopped, therefore I was. I consumed, therefore I fit right in.

Houston has a Pacifica radio affiliate, KPFT. Wonderful. Lefty talk and excellent music. The voices of the dispossessed. Prison radio. Black voices. Community voices. I drove home last night listening to the Spanish-language programming. My Spanish is rusty, but I could still follow. I even put words into the DJ's mouth at one point. Lovely Latin music; real music, with soul. It's funny - they play BBC news. I could be at home. I could probably simulcast the Houston radio station playing BBC news in my living room in London. Coals to Newcastle, with an Afro-Caribbean soundtrack.

The sense of the possible.

British folks who stay in the US often cite something like the sense of the possible as the reason they fell for the place. Land of opportunity. The longer I live there, the more I understand. The longer I stay here, the more I understand. Lower tax. Lower prices. More disposable income. Lower barriers to entry. And I wonder...are we making the right choice, living over there, raising our kids over there? I could probably find a thousand jobs over here, oil man that I am. The place is positively ebullient with that 60-bucks-a-barrel vibe. Boom town. It's been bust town before. Piled high, sold cheap, unapologetic, brash, friendly...welcoming.

Lulled in by the seductive charms. Wake from the reverie! There must be more than this no-place anywhereness to life. Least common denominator. Land of opportunity knocks. Don't answer. There must be more than this race for the bottom that feels so damned good. Ingrate! Keep looking! Keep shopping!

Flying Visit

We're back from our holidays in Italy. We had a lovely time - a week based on a farm (vines, olives) in Tuscany, and then a week in Ravello, on the Amalfi coast. Two really different experiences, but both very Italian. Tuscany was very foodie. We took some side trips (to Florence, San Gimignano) but tried to stay close to home and enjoy the landscape. The farm sold its own Chianti Classico and olive oil, and we finally made it to L'Antica Macelleria Cecchini, a landmark on the foodie map, where we got some wonderful bistecca, porchetta and some delicious sausages.

In front of the church in Panzano

The Amalfi coast, by contrast, was quite an active holiday. Lots of walking, beaches, a day in Naples, a day on Capri. The apartment we rented was not on a street, but stairs. 43 up from the road, or 143 down from the town centre. You think differently when you have to hump everything into and out of your hillside house. The last night we managed, just the grown-ups, to take in the Ravello Festival open air Wagner concert, with Gergiev and the Mariinsky. It was just as Gore Vidal describes it, with the full moon rising. Lovely.

The kids sharing some pasta in Minori (can you see Dan's chicken pox?)

This past weekend, our only one in town for a while, we took in the Opera Holland Park production of Andrea Chénier (fantastic - dramatic and rousing) and then spent Sunday at the WOMAD Festival. So many of these summer events were staples for us "BC" - before children, and before Brazil. It's nice to be able to resume doing them, and doing some of them (like WOMAD, which is very family-friendly) with the kids.

Catriona grooving at WOMAD

In a sense, I'm really only just passing through, doing my time at work. This weekend, I'm off to Houston for a week, and on my return I'll join the rest of the family in Scotland; we'll be staying with friends and taking in the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, another fixture on our summer calendar. So, quiet times ahead on the blog as I'll be making hay while the sun's still shining.