Sunday, 7 October 2012
Cauliflower cream topped with a caramelized scallop topped with freshly shaved white truffle.
Roasted and browned rabbit beside a potato topped with shavings of smoked foie gras.
Very rare leaves of veal with a large dollop of a cream composed of pureed tuna and egg and oil.
Paper thin slices of fresh porcini mushrooms over a small bed of coarsely grated cheese and dressed with olive oil from Sicily.
Silky, fine, golden egg noodles combined with chopped porcini mushrooms cooked in their own juice.
We ate those things, and more, last night in Alba.
But at this moment we are walking downhill from the vineyards of Serralunga and across the border into the Barolo vineyards. There are grapes galore. They hang at the bottom of the vines where the leaves have been trimmed away for maximum light exposure to create maximum flavor. I just picked a grape. The flavor was extraordinary.
Our path twists and turns. Shading the path are hazelnut, walnut and pear trees. It appears the grapes will be hand-picked. That is rare in our era.
The morning began with a drive. The countryside is a fairy tale come to life. Every hilltop with a castle. A layer of fog blanketing the ground. Slight mist in the air giving an effect of viewing the vistas through a veil.
Our vineyard walk has arrived at the Barolo hilltop. There is a medieval castle. And a tower, round and old with every repair and remodel, from the past thousand years, visible. Beside the tower is the small local church. The service is ended. The noon bells are chiming. The organ music wafts through the door and down the cobble stoned spiraling path. The congregation is pouring into the small piazza. There are very old and very young people. On a bulletin board are posted the recently deceased from the community.
We are in our third hour of our walk. Our group is more or less thirty-five people. Mostly Italians on visits to the countryside. Just as in opera we have had a crisis. A twelve year old boy who began with us went missing. His mother went into emotional crisis mode. A policeman took her into his car to go on a search. The group was unsmiling and concerned. Then, voilá, the boy appeared. The mother was about to grab him by the ear, then instead burst into tears and hugged him. Resolution. I expected, as in opera, we would gather in the village piazza for a feast and a six-voice aria and a toast to the re-united and final happily-ever-after bow.
I should be listening to our guide. But she is addressing the group in Italian. I understand every tenth word. The scenery speaks for itself. There are hills in every direction. They are terraced with rows of grapevines neatly spaced. There are rows facing absolutely every direction. It stands to reason, different orientations produce different results. We continue to snitch grapes, nebbiolo, from the vines.
A half-hour later......we have descended into an oak forest. The leaf canopy is very high. On the ground amid the debris of fallen tree limbs are mushrooms. Beautiful. Spooky. Tempting. Unusually sculptural and colorful. Approach with caution, if at all.
Three and a half hours into our walk we have stopped on a knoll with a tiny romanesque chapel, eleventh-Century. We are sitting on a low stone wall under trees eating our sandwiches of salami crudo and tangerines with green skins, more sour than sweet. A few feet away is our dessert hanging on vines, sweet, plump, bursting with juice grapes.
We also have a cake made from five ingredients: ground hazelnuts, sugar, eggs, butter and vanilla. What more does one need.
View Hike in the Langhe Sunday Oct. 7 in a larger map
Route of our hike in the Nebbiolo Vineyards
Signing off from Barolo
Marlow on behalf of myself, Wes and Roland
7 October, 2012
Sunday (day of rest)
1:45 p.m.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Cauliflower cream topped with a caramelized scallop topped with freshly shaved white truffle.
Roasted and browned rabbit beside a potato topped with shavings of smoked foie gras.
Very rare leaves of veal with a large dollop of a cream composed of pureed tuna and egg and oil.
Paper thin slices of fresh porcini mushrooms over a small bed of coarsely grated cheese and dressed with olive oil from Sicily.
Silky, fine, golden egg noodles combined with chopped porcini mushrooms cooked in their own juice.
We ate those things, and more, last night in Alba.
Our path twists and turns. Shading the path are hazelnut, walnut and pear trees. It appears the grapes will be hand-picked. That is rare in our era.
We are in our third hour of our walk. Our group is more or less thirty-five people. Mostly Italians on visits to the countryside. Just as in opera we have had a crisis. A twelve year old boy who began with us went missing. His mother went into emotional crisis mode. A policeman took her into his car to go on a search. The group was unsmiling and concerned. Then, voilá, the boy appeared. The mother was about to grab him by the ear, then instead burst into tears and hugged him. Resolution. I expected, as in opera, we would gather in the village piazza for a feast and a six-voice aria and a toast to the re-united and final happily-ever-after bow.
I should be listening to our guide. But she is addressing the group in Italian. I understand every tenth word. The scenery speaks for itself. There are hills in every direction. They are terraced with rows of grapevines neatly spaced. There are rows facing absolutely every direction. It stands to reason, different orientations produce different results. We continue to snitch grapes, nebbiolo, from the vines.
A half-hour later......we have descended into an oak forest. The leaf canopy is very high. On the ground amid the debris of fallen tree limbs are mushrooms. Beautiful. Spooky. Tempting. Unusually sculptural and colorful. Approach with caution, if at all.
We also have a cake made from five ingredients: ground hazelnuts, sugar, eggs, butter and vanilla. What more does one need.
View Hike in the Langhe Sunday Oct. 7 in a larger map
Route of our hike in the Nebbiolo Vineyards
Signing off from Barolo
Marlow on behalf of myself, Wes and Roland
7 October, 2012
Sunday (day of rest)
1:45 p.m.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Do you actually have the recipe for the hazelnut cake? Inquiring minds want to know! (Inquiring minds wish they were with you!) ~ David
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