Viva the Valtellina!

Light, fluffy clouds are picture-esque as long as you are not trying to view them from inside. This morning (i.e. two weeks ago) was still so cloudy and foggy, that it was impossible to see anything on the hillside, much less across the valley. So after a massive breakfast of: ...
yogurt
and soft boiled eggs
and good bread
with homemade preserves (including a great orange marmelade)
and three kinds of salume (bresaola, coppa, and prosciutto)
and a freshly baked apple cake
and coffee
(Heidi took great pride in the bounty of her breakfast table, and mentioned that there's a bit of a competition among the local B&B owners as to who offers the biggest breakfast. The fact that she's the only one in Teglio just means that she's well ahead of any prospective hoteliers.)

...we got on the road up to the Bagni Vecchio in Bormio, because there's no better way to wait out poor weather than in hot water. The hot springs have been in use since Roman times anyway, and the baths were built to take advantage of the springs sometime in the Middle Ages (1200ish). The water isn't very hot, only about 100 deg. at the source, but some of the ancient grottos are amazing, and there are incredible views from most of the pools and the saunas (we saw a family of ibex wandering through the grounds). We had a great time, and got to watch the clouds away, and reveal (most) of the valley for the first time.

Since we had spent most of the day appreciating historical architecture, we felt the we had earned the right to spend the rest of the evening wine tasting, before heading to our dinner reservations.

Sadly, or tasting excursion was largely a failure. We hadn't contacted anyone ahead of time, assuming that we could just show up and drink some wine. Our first stop was at Cantine Rainoldi, where we met the owner, Aldo, who informed us that they usually liked a bit of notice before giving tours. However, he was very nice about it, and made a reservation for us for the next day, and also offered three or four dinner places that he particularly liked.

We then tried to find Ar.Pe.Pe., a winery recommended by our hostess' son, who is a vigneron and sells to both Ar.Pe.Pe and Rainoldi. The address from the promotional literature, and the different address in the GPS system, both took us into a very strange industrial complex, without any apparent wine-related businesses. And it turned 6;00 pm just as we were arriving at Nino Negri, so we weren't able to get in there. So, with an hour before dinner, we stopped at the Napa-style tasting room of Pietro Nera, where I tried to unsuccessfully to demonstrate the difference between Valtellina Superiore and Valtellina Sfursat (a local version of Amarone). We knew that the wine wasn't going to be great, and they did bring us salume and grissini to go with our wine, but the wines were nearly indistinguishable, and both rather indifferent.

Dinner at il Poggio was notable for three things; a beautiful view (and the weather had cleared up so it was actually visible), blueberry gnocchi (which were purple, but didn't taste like blueberries, nor much of anything, for that matter), and meat on a giant "skewer" that was about an inch in diameter, grilled in an oven in the dining room. Julianna also very much enjoyed her mixed appetizer plate, which included "the best lox [she's] ever tasted." I thought the food was good, but not incredible, though the view about made up for it. The Valtellina is a beautiful part of the world, when it is visible.

The Road Trip: Leg 9 (to Teglio)

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It's been I don't know how many days since my last posting. I am astonished that the best, most consistent internet access has been on small, isolated farms, tucked up in the mountains. Anyway, there are some new pictures posted, and I'll try to catch up over the next couple of days. Posts will be issued in chronological order, so "today" is going to mean "two weeks ago" for a while....

The day of our departure from Oberschwanden was the first really lovely day of our stay. Between the gorgeously, splendidly, brilliant, blue sky and the green, snowcapped mountains, and the Brienzersee sparkling  down below, the view was breathtaking.

And so we headed south to Italy, chasing the rain and haze and fog. We got to watch Switzerland change from the green, pyramidal mountains of the center, to the jagged, gray, granite cliffs of the south. It was quite something, though seemed a little foreboding at times. Especially when the GPS directed us to a train station, and instructed us to "take the ferry" through the mountains... and since the car train was going to cost $200 Fr. and the first of the passes through the Alps was open (though the second was questionable), we headed up into the clouds.

I think there is a certain similarity between our drive through the Alps and Hannibal's invasion of Italy; while he had to deal with elephant-related logistics that we were able to avoid, getting a relatively large, "efficient" (i.e. somewhat gutless) Japanese car up the mountains was quite a daunting task. We started with beautiful summer weather, went up about 45 tight, 180° switchbacks, entered a number of cloud drifts and discovered winter.

If going up was slow and twisty and windy, coming down was worse. The switchbacks were just as tight, but visibility ranged between maybe 50-100 ft., and it was difficult keeping my speed slow enough not to go flying off the edge, or swing back and forth across the other lane. We had to stop half-way down in order to give the breaks a rest, since pumping the breaks wasn't really an option, and they got pretty toasty after the . There were a few moments between driving through cloud drifts when we were able see down the mountain, which just made things more nerve-wracking...

But we made it down successfully, and dropped into the Valtellina. Or at least I assumed we did, since we weren't able to see any of the mountains. The clouds were very low and thick, and the mountains on both sides of a rather small, narrow valley were completely invisible. The valley floor was clear, but everything disappeared a few hundred feet up. Which was rather ironic, since I had chosen to stay in Teglio because it was on a little promontory up above the valley floor, and was supposed to afford a wonderful view. Obviously, it didn't quite work out that way.

Teglio turned out to be a bit farther away from the main road than I had expected, and our B&B was a bit more isolated than I had expected as well, so between the windy roads down the pass, and the windy roads up to Teglio, and the windy road back down to the house, we arrived quite late in the evening. But Ca' Branchi turned out to be a wonderful place to stay. Heidi, our hostess, was incredibly warm and friendly, and the house was very quiet and peaceful. She recommended that we try a restaurant back up the hill, 'al Tegli,' which specialized in the local dish, pizzoccheri (pronounced "piz-och-eri").

We were the only people in the restaurant, besides the owner and his extended family, who were having a great time in the next room. Our meal started with a mixed plate of cured meats, including prosicutto, bresaola, and the best lardo I've ever eaten, all silky and soft and flavorful and looking like snowy hills on the plate. Just wonderful.

Our pizzoccheri followed, and was a pleasant surprise, since we had ordered it without really knowing what we were getting. It was listed as both an appetizer and a main course, and I had assumed it was some sort of pizza. In fact, it is a wonderful dish of buckwheat noodles cooked with potatoes and cabbage and roasted garlic and lots of cheese (which anyone who followed the link above already knows); classic mountain food, and redolent of the best qualities of Swiss cooking (which is generally disappointing, except when the ingredients are cheese, meat and a carb. of some sort), though with some Italian refinements (like garlic). It was quite tasty, and rather filling for an Italian pasta course. The wine was delicious, though maybe not the best pairing; Aldo Rainoldi's Sassella Riserva 2003, which was quite reasonably priced and recommended by Becky, the "beverage manager" at Bar Bambino (thanks Bex). We had just enough room afterwards for coffee and a slice of cake, before rolling back down the mountain to home. A delightful welcome to Italy, even if the weather was lousy.

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"Switzerland is beautiful, Switzerland is fine..."

... I like Switzerland, I visit all the time.

I think my Mom may be the only person who's going to catch my very obscure reference to a children's song about sandwiches, but Switzerland is quite a nice place, even if it's not very exciting, and slightly irritating some of the time. For example:

Everyone is very friendly, but serious in a certain way, and believe in doing things correctly. There's the right way, the wrong way, and the Swiss way to do things; and the Swiss way is the right way, but faster.

The speed limits here are about 20 kph slower than everywhere else in Europe. I got (will get) my first ticket for going 94 in a 80 zone (58.4 mph in a 49.7), and my fingers are crossed that's the only one, and it won't cost me more than $150.

The pastries are pretty lousy; for that matter, most of the food isn't very good. And everything costs maybe 20% more than it seems like it should. And the quantities are maybe 20% smaller than everywhere else (eggs are sold by 10, rather than the dozen, and we bought chickens that looked like Cornish Game Hens). There is some great Swiss wine (surprisingly, mostly Pinot Noir), but a lot of it is pretty terrible, and only people "in the know" can find the good wines. I'm not one of those people.

But it is beautiful, and there are some lovely wildflowers and waterfalls and everything is green and the lake is surprisingly blue and there's still snow up on the top of the striking, craggy mountains. And one night we had raclette, which is wonderfully decadent and a rare indulgence even within Switzerland, and almost never consumed elsewhere, since it's hard to find 6-8 people who are all willing to consume their fair share of a 6# 1/2 wheel of cheese, melted over potatoes.

We were able to see some local friends, and spend some time with Julianna's family, and it's been a very relaxing stop. I feel very lucky to have such a charming, comfortable, foreign home-away-from-home. Mark and I had an impressive winning streak at cribbage, the local Rugenbrau is a light, tasty lager, and there are occasionally cow bells in the distance. And with a fire burning in the stove, my quibbles with Switzerland seem very slight, indeed.

From France, etc. '10

From France, etc. '10

From France, etc. '10

The Road Trip: Leg 8 (to Oberschwanden)

Change of plans.... we were planning on spending two days in Genova, and then go through Vernazza in Cinque Terra on our way to spending a day or two in Parma, but it is raining in all of Northern Italy for the next few days. And since it's not very enjoyable to walk around a new town, looking for things to do inside and worrying that you're missing things, and since we were only able to reserve our hotel room for one night, we left for Switzerland. Where it is also raining, but at least we don't have anything in particular to do or see.

We took our time leaving Genova, but after eating breakfast and doing internet things and going to the Genova Aquarium (which is evidently the largest in Europe, and features manatees and seals and things), and walking around town a bit more, and doing a bit of shopping for driving snacks, we got on the road.

I was disappointed to leave Genova, but Julianna assures me we can come back. The narrow streets are wonderful, and it's great to get lost in the old city. Soyoung highly recommended the opera, and nothing was playing while we were there, so we missed that. We had one wonderful meal, but there were at least three other restaurants we wanted to try. I didn't go into any wine shops, or buy any salame Genovese, and while Julianna did have "Trofie al Pesto" it was at a lousy lunch counter, just half a step above a Bar/Tabac. There are some very cool churches, with quite intricate facades, and a beautiful, Belle Epoch men's barbershop where I desperately wanted to get a haircut, with five stools and a 60 year old barber and (I assume) buckets of Pomade. Our 23 hours in town were just the slightest taste of a very cool city.

The drive to Switzerland was uneventful. They let us through the border crossing without any hassle (thanks Kris, for the loan of a car with Diplomatic license plates), and it is green and raining and pristine and lovely in a way I imagine is pretty typical for Switzerland in the springtime. The trip took a bit longer than it probably should have done, since I've started playing with the Prius, and you don't average 48.7 mpg over a tank of gas while driving at 80 mph...

Anyway, we're in Oberschwanden, Schwanden beiBrienz, CH until Sunday Monday. (Tuesday?)

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The Road Trip: Leg 7 (to Genova)

Genova, Genoa, Genes, Genua... I suppose every town has different spellings in different languages, but somehow Genova seems to have more than others. However, I may be getting ahead of myself...


After a couple of croissants and a beignet, taken in the wonderfully aromatic garden of the Palais Carnolès, which is the largest citrus garden in Europe with 130+ kinds of citrus trees, we were ready to depart Menton. Genova is only a couple of hours away, but as there aren't many coastlines more beautiful than the French and Italian Riviera, we decided to take the long route, as close to the water as we could get. 


The SP1 is a lot like Highway 1; it's slow, and curvy, and runs through the middle of every small town along the coast, and has a speed limit of 90 kmh (about 50 mph), but offers some incredibly beautiful vistas. The sun was shining, the water was that special, cloudy sapphire color that you find in the Mediterranean along the Cote d'Azure, and eventually the rocky beaches of the French side became sandy.

^^The Med.

<-France                                                 Italy->


After many hours of lovely driving, we arrived in Genova. Julianna found us a hotel room for the night at Hotel C. Colombo, named after one of Genova's famous sons... it is a very nice, though slightly "eccentric" hotel (our room had a random exposed end of an antique structural beam in the wall, for no apparent reason). Below you may see Julianna enjoying a reasonable glass of wine and some snacks in the Piazza delle Erbe, where we scampered soon after arriving, desperate for food and drink to tide us over until dinner.

Julianna took a bit of a nap upon returning to the hotel, and we wanted to adopt the Italian dining hours, so we didn't start looking for restaurants until 8:ish. The receptionist at the hotel didn't have any particularly interesting dining recommendations, so we set off on our own, and started wandering hither and thither through the very small, narrow streets of the old town. Through many trials and tribulations, including restaurants that didn't look very good, and other places that didn't have any room, and as we were getting increasingly cranky, Julianna was able to find her way back to one of the first places we looked at, La Buca di San Matteo. 

Since the wonderful meal we had with Kris in Brussels, we had about struck out when it came to good restaurants. The place in Bayeux had terrible service and mediocre food, the restaurant in Arles wasn't great and a bit pricey, there wasn't anything in particular memorable about Menton. But tonight, luck was with us. It was a small restaurant, staffed (tonight anyway) entirely by women. There were a handful of tables filled, and no one was speaking English. The menu was small, and mostly indecipherable (between us, Julianna and I speak French, German and Spanish, but when it comes to Italian, I rely almost exclusively upon words I've seen on the Bar Bambino menu). The tables were small and wooden, with white runners, the glassware was high quality (Reidel and Schott), and there were bottles of vintage Italian wines scattered around as ambiance and decoration (there was a 1977 Gaja Barolo next to me, and a couple of bottles from the late '60s on a sideboard, in addition to Barbarescos and such of a similar vintage). 

We split a warm octopus salad, I continued with Gnocci Verde al Scampi (or something similar) in a light tomato sauce, and finished with an artichoke stuffed loin of rabbit. Julianna was disappointed by her risotto, but the piece of beef she ordered was incredible, garnished with Condimento di Balsamico and strawberries. All of the courses were rather artistically presented, though without being at all awkward to consume. Along with, we had a 2003 Nebbiolo d'Alba "Agrestis" from Agricola Marrone which was lovely, and developed delightfully over the course of the meal. Finished with cookies and a glass of Vin Santo. A wonderful end to a wonderful day. 

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The Road Trip: Leg 6 (to Menton)

We were planning to get to Genova today, but didn't quite make it, after leaving Arles about noonish and looking for gas through the middle of Monaco.

Most of Menton smells of orange blossoms, which is really quite incredible. There are quite a few gardens filled with citrus trees, many of which are simultaneously in bloom and have mature fruit. Sadly, there were people around, so we weren't able to ignore the signs prohibiting picking the fruit with the level impunity I would have preferred.

The beach is rocky, like most of the Cote d'Azure.

Dinner was fine, though I ordered Carpaccio when I meant to order Tartare; a fine difference, but I was really feeling in the mood for egg with my raw meat, rather than oil and Parmegiano.

The hotel room was reasonably priced, and had parking, but was one of the tiniest rooms we've stayed in, and had two twin beds, without a good way to combine them. But it all worked fine.


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The Road Trip: Leg 5 (to Arles)

And in Arles, we rested. And bathed. At the very luxurious Hotel d'Arlatan.

Disappointingly, dinner was only ok. I won't bother mentioning the place by name.

BTW, the last time I was in Arles, I came in on the train. I remember being surprised by the way that French drivers careened around the narrow streets, without regard for pedestrians. This time, I was one of those drivers, and I realize now there's no other way to drive in Arles, when the single lane, one way streets don't quite line up across intersections, and there's no room to make the three point turn that would otherwise be required if one didn't drive on the sidewalk. Sorry.

And it was incredible to go from the rich, verdant, hills of the Pyrenees, through the flat farmlands to the east, and end up in dry, rocky Provence (though Arles was green and lovely). Also, the next time we go driving along small mountain roads, I want a sports car.


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Final Farming Aforisms

If it's broke, fix it. With whatever tools and materials are available. Don't wait for special parts if you can work something out right now.

There's the right tool for the job, and there's also the tool that's handy. While an edger is better for weeds, a chainsaw will do in a pinch, at least until after lunch when you can get the edger out from the basement.

After milking 35 sheep twice a day, I've come to appreciate big, thick, long nipples that you can really get your hand around.

Coffee with milk in the morning is bad for digestion. Salt is bad for the heart. Duck fat is the healthiest fat, far more so than pig fat (though pig fat is pretty delicious). 

The fact that I didn't shower for 16 days didn't mean that I was any more pungent or dirty than anything else on the farm. And my hair looked great. 

Lambs are never "as white as snow," since curly, wooly hair is a magnet for mud and poop, but they are pretty cute. 

Cows are intimidatingly big, almost like small cars that produce milk; if they were just slightly smarter, there's no way they'd let humans boss them around.  

Ever since I discovered wild herbs and wild asparagus growing on the hillside, I keep thinking that everything ought to be edible; sadly, it's not the case.  


The current "whole animal" restaurant craze doesn't begin to approach farm eating. On various nights during our stay we had: a rabbit that still looked like a rabbit, with head and feet still attached; tripe stew; veal five ways (over five days, after said veal was slaughtered) starting with cutlets and continuing to sweetbreads; mutton (presumably one of the former milkers); a lump of wild boar Jean-Louis shot the previous fall. And whatever isn't finished one night comes back again for lunches and dinner, until it isn't fit for human consumption, and goes to the dogs.

I held down a lamb while Jean-Louis assassine'-ed it; it is incredible to see the muscles moving and twitching, minutes after the blood has all been drained out, the head cut off and the skin removed.

Saturday Farmer's Market

We're traveling in France, upwards of 6000 miles away from the Ferry Plaza, and without any significant responsibilities on Saturday for the first time in four years, and what do we find ourselves doing on two successive Saturdays, but working a Farmer's Market stand. The first week was cold and cloudy and just after school holidays ended, so it was slowish, but decent. Yesterday was freezing cold and raining, and just as long and miserable as any rainy market in San Francisco. By the way, the guy next to us sells a fresh goat cheese, rather like a young Crottin. So it was rather like home.

However, there is a cheese truck that comes to this market, so that's something, anyway. However, the piece of St. Nectaire and the piece of Brin d'Amour I purchased were disappointing, and not any more interesting than anything available in the States. They were somewhat ambitious purchases, since there seems to be very little "fermier" production of those cheeses, but my hope springs eternal. 

It is strangely satisfying how Farmer's Markets are all the same. There are the clients who like to talk, and the ones who just want to buy their piece of cheese and go. There are people who become friends, and new people who don't know what your are selling. There are people who are looking for something that someone else is selling, and there's the sinking feeling of watching your neighbor have a rocking day of sales, while you stand twiddling your thumbs. There's the standard, daily trades for lunch or eggs or whatever staples you don't make yourself, and the impatience for the last 30 minutes to go by.

On the other hand, this market ran from 9:00ish to about 1:00, and the stall fee was 1 Euro, so that wasn't quite the same.