Lecce, 5/13/2016

Lecce, Puglia, Italy
May 13, 2016

When you mention, Lecce, to an Italian, they cannot help themselves. Immediately, they say, bellissima.  And it is.  The historic center, contained by an ancient wall, is dense with exceptional baroque churches in outstanding condition. The streets are worn white marble cobble stone. There are two Roman theaters from about two-thousand years ago. There is a jewel box of a concert hall with brocade upholstered walls and crystal and fold-leaf. It has four tiers of boxes, yet seats only three-hundred people. Very intimate. We heard a lovely performance there by a twelve year old girl. With poise, excellent technique, and a wonderful musical personality she played a concert by Haydn for piano and orchestra. Her father, an opera director of note, sat proudly beside us in an adjacent box.

Lecce is crawling with wine bars. The general Puglia region grows lots of grapes and makes lots of wine. Dante Alighieri said, about Puglia, "a beautiful land where the sun becomes wine".  The wine bars have long lists of wines by the glass, dozens of them. They offer food, too, a limited menu. Very few things, served in small portions, but very tasty. Very easy on the mouth. One in particular, Mamma Elvira, was packed at sundown and for food reason. We had three super tasty small plates. Sauteed green peppers strewn over wine-cured smoked sliced pork capocolla. Bombette di Martina Franca: items the size of stuffed grape leaves, rolled meat wrapped in lardo and capocolla then oven baked in local rose wine. Involtini di Melanzane: slices of eggplant rolled around smoked cheese, baked then dressed with wildly delicious tomato sauce.

For fans of wine, these are the local common wine grapes. The most common white grapes are: Bombino Bianco, Malvasia Bianca, Verdeca, Fiano, Bianco d'Alessano, Muscat Blanc and Pampanuto.  The most common red berried grapes in Apulia are: Negroamaro, Primitivo, Uva di Troia, Malvasia Nera, Montepulciano, Sangiovese, Aglianico, Aleatico, Bombino Nero, Susumaniello and Ottavianello.

One meal in particular stood out. It was on a side street with not much foot traffic. The covered yet open air dining area is the former space where you would have parked your large horse carriage. It has a large arched doorway which looks down and attractive lane. In the vestibule, there is an ice tray filled with fresh fish. I ordered what I thought would be a little calamari followed by a little steak. What arrived was a huge, entire, intact calamari and a huge sliced steak smothered with the arugula, parmigiano, and olive oil combination. The calamari made me swoon. I cannot remember ever having an entire calamari from the grill like that. It was outstanding. I ate myself silly. Every bite. Interestingly, I did not feel stuffed. The ristorante was called ???   We also had a pasta with fried noodle strips in it and hick peas. I was interested to learn they do not use egg in their pasta dough. We were introduced to an interesting hot weather dish: hard crusts of bread the size of an egg which are meant to be quick-soaked in water and mixed with chopped tomato, olive oil, fresh oregano and salt. You do this because in the hot summer one cannot be bothered with a heavy and hot meal. Another common dish is pureed fava beans accompanied with sauteed chicory. They can be eaten combined or separate, but must be drizzled with good olive oil. Italian chicory is unfamiliar to us. It is like a cross between swiss chard, firm spinach and broccolini.

Wes found us an outstanding place to stay. It is in an old, four-story, stone town house. With twenty-two rooms. We have a suite—two bedrooms, two bathrooms, full kitchen and sprawling outdoor garden—which occupies the rooftop.  The roof is paved with polished tile and has a lush garden which consists of fragrant and colorful plants overflowing their containers of terra cotta or stone. There are shaded areas and there are chairs and tables for lounging and for eating.  The views, in all directions, are of baroque church tops and terra cotta tiled roofs.

One particular sight is the lovely and excellent campanile—bell tower—of the duomo—main cathedral.  It is the work of "Lo Zingarello"—the gypsy—Giuseppe Zimballo. He lived for ninety years and worked, until his last day, designing and building baroque church facades mostly in Lecce.  Basta—enough—was not in his vocabulary. If there could be more, he made more. His columns twist and turn. When that is not enough, flowers sprout. Then stone animals nibble at the flowers while angels, in clusters, peek, point, smile and laugh from above. Joyous.

Speaking of joyous, we are joyous when breakfast arrives. Our bedroom is furnished in old world elegant style. There is beautiful polished wood, tile, brass, brocade upholstery, everything very fine and in excellent taste. I particularly enjoy the little brass figures on the chandelier that dance, smile and watch over the bed.

In the morning, we climb out from under the fine embroidered bed linens. Step out of the curved wood bed frame. Shuffle sleepily to the front door. Admire the garden. Then gasp at the wicker basket. It is large. There are silk ribbons tied on the handle. It is lined with crisply ironed white linen. It is overflowing. A gift from the Goddess of breakfast, Elisabetta. Hot-from-the-oven, flaky, buttery french pastries. Glass jars filled with yogurt swirled with Elisabetta's preserved watermelon. a glass bowl filled with sliced sweet melon and strawberries and peaches.

The "bed and breakfast", (when did Italy eliminate the term "pensione"?), is called Rooftop Barocco Suites. Our innkeeper, Elisabetta, and her husband, appear to let out their roof top suite for their pleasure. It did not feel like a commercial transaction. We were treated as esteemed house guests. You cannot put a price on that experience.

Wes and Marlow
Lecce, Puglia, Italy
May 13, 2016

Our trip into Sicily by train

Train from Lamezia Terme to Siracusa

Tropea

Although the distance between mainland Italy and the island of Sicily does not appear to be too large to be linked by a bridge, despite many plans to construct some type of link between the two land masses, there is still no bridge.  The exports from Sicily travel mainly by boat or airplane.  And tourists generally arrive through the airports or on the car/passenger ferry between Reggio Calabria and Messina.  Bridges of various forms have been proposed, planned and preliminary funding obtained and then rescinded since Roman times.  

I had often read about the train trip from Southern Italy into Sicily where instead of requiring passengers to transfer from a train to a boat to another train to get to the island the entire train is loaded onto a specially designed ferry boat.  This allows passengers to remain on the train during the short 25 minute ferry trip and not change trains.  This direct train idea is leftover from the post-war period where it was common to travel to and from Sicily via overnight trains and the ability to remain in one's berth was important.  Now, overnight trains are becoming more and more distinct due to low cost airlines, but the train/ferry link between Sicily and mainland Italy has survived.  I very much wanted to experience this unique travel mode of a train on a boat so the trip into Sicily was planned to accommodate this desire.  Fortunately they operate this train/ferry service twice a day, once doing the day and the second service at night.  So we didn't have to travel on a night train to experience this unique travel mode. 

The train originates in Rome and makes very few stops on its way south.  So the first step was determining which stop had a rental car office nearby where we could drop our car off close to the time the train would depart and would be a nice place close by to spend the night before.  La Mezia Terme station was chosen due to its proximity (1 hour) to the magical coastal village of Tropea.  We spent two nights in Tropea staying in a small albergo located right on the beach.  The morning of our train departure we drove from Tropea to Lamezia Terme and dropped the car at the Hertz rental office conveniently located right across from the train station.

The Intercity train arrived in Lamezia Terme on time and we found our window seats easily.  The train makes very few stops before reaching the ferry port at Regio Calabria (Villa San Giovanni).  Once at the port, there were quite a few starts and stops as the train was shuttled about to get in proper alignment in order to move onto the ferry.  The entire loading process took about 45 minutes.  In order to fit the entire train onto the ferry it is divided into two parts.

Although this isn't the fastest way to travel into Sicily, I was pleased to experience this unusual travel mode!

Villa San Giovanni station outside of Reggio Calabria

Train tracks on a boat!

Single train is divided in order to fit onto one ferry boat

Cisternino & Martina Franca, 5/12/16

Cisternino and Martina Franca, Puglia, Italy

May 12, 2016

Between Locorotondo and our next stop, Lecce, we visited Ostuni and Cilegie Messapica for meals. The ristoranti we sought were both closed.  We moved on and went to tiny Cisternino to have dinner in a maccelleria. A maccelleria is a butcher shop. The butcher helps you choose meat, then cooks it in a forno di legno—a wood fired oven—and serves it to you at a table.   

Customers consulting with the butcher 

It was a blustery night. We snaked through the narrow white marble Cisternino streets in search of two particular maccellerias. Both were closed. There were others that were open. One, through the door, looked warm and cozy. The people inside, adults and children, had smiles. We entered. The butcher stood with a smile. We spoke our usual opening phrase, "abbiamo studiato Italiano dal giugno scorso e parliamo un po' ma non molto", "we have studied Italian since last June and we speak a little, but not much".  That phrase has set the tone for many wonderful and not at all awkward exchanges. It makes clear we are not demanding they speak English and with their help and patience we will operate in Italian.  Mostly, they are pleased to be our teachers and help us improve.

Tagliatta di manzo

Wes ordered bombettes, a local specialty of one meat rolled around another meat and about the size of an egg. The variations of what gets rolled around what are huge. They can be very tasty and Wes's were. I ordered a tagliatta di manzo, which is a steak cooked on the grill, thinly sliced, topped with arugula, fresh shaved parmigiano and finished with a drizzle of local olive oil. 

Grilled bombettes and sausage

Verdure sott'olio

All olive oil here is local. There are far more olive trees than people. And there are cooperative olive presses where you take your olive harvest to be pressed into oil.  With our meat we asked for a plate of verdure sott'olio: vegetables preserved in olive oil. Parchment thin eggplant slices, baby artichokes and lampascioni, which are grape-sized bitter onions. We drank the local red wine, Primitivo. It is plentiful, inexpensive and goes well with everything in Puglia. 

Two other towns we enjoyed were Alberobello and Martina Franca.  Alberobello has a dense concentration of trulli which, as mentioned in an earlier post are the cone-shaped dwellings made of stones piled, without mortar. Much is made of seeing the trulli, as if they were a Holy Grail. I will simply say they are interesting in the way an adobe structure or a teepee  is.

Martina Franca 

Detail of Marina Franca balcony

Martina Franca was pure pleasure. At the passeggiata hour everyone is out taking a walk, getting fresh air, visiting with friends, taking caffè or an aperitivo. Martina Franca's streets and piazzas sprawl. One leads to another.  There are interesting details everywhere. 

We have enjoyed northern Puglia. Now, we are off, in the car, to Lecce, pronounced Lay-Chay. See you there.

Wes and Marlow

Cisternino and Martina Franca, Puglia, Italy

May 12, 2016

Polignano a Mare, 5/11/2016

Polignano a Mare, Puglia, Italy

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

We are in the tenth day of our voyage.  We are driving around in a black Fiat Cinquecento. The pope, on his recent American tour, abandoned his high security pope-mobile and drove in the same Fiat car.  His model was tiny. When he got into and out of it in his long white robe it looked like an act from the circus. Our model is the hatchback, a little larger than his, but still compact enough to get through the narrow, crooked, cobblestone village streets.

By now, the car is dust covered. All cars here in southern-most Italy are dust covered. The sand blows over from the north African deserts. With their finger, someone wrote on our window, "lavami".  

We have had great weather. It has been mostly sunny, but cool inland and sunny and hot at the shore. Imagine the shape of Italy. It is described as a boot. Imagine the boot has a particularly high heel. That heel is the Salatine peninsula. It has water on three sides. On the east coast is the Adriatic Sea. On the west coast is the Ionian Sea. Throughout the length of the peninsula the distance between the seas averages about twenty miles. In our car, we have zig-zagged north, south, east and west. Here is what we found. 

Polignano a Mare

On the east coast, the town, though on the water, is raised above it; somewhat of a mesa with the shore at the foot of steep cliffs. The water roils and churns. It slaps the cliffs with the force of a battering ram. Over the past several thousand years, it has eroded the cliffs into grottoes.

One particular grotto, a natural cathedral, both tall and wide, is the site of a restaurant. There is a stone shelf which spans the grotto walls. One side of the shelf opens to the sea, the other opens into a cavern. The ristorante sits upon the shelf. The shelf has two sides, each one with a guard rail. One faces the ocean. The other faces an underground cavern. The shelf is elegant. It has wood floors. It's tables are handsomely dressed. So are it's waiters. On the ocean side, the water is the color of gemstones: emerald and aquamarine.  On the cavern side, the water is less active and a spot of daylight indicates another grotto opening to the sea. The menu is expensive. It reflects the unique location. The food was excellent, but the dramatic setting is a scene stealing show stopper. Wes had Salmon Tataki: a rectangle of salmon, smoked till it's exterior was savory and smooth. It's interior was perfectly cooked. I had calamari which jumped from the sea, into a sauté pan and onto my plate atop a bed of pureed black chickpeas. 

Polignano a Mare is ground zero for the fans of Domenico Modugno. He was born there. The town erected a monument in his honor. With his arms outstretched, he stands in the fierce wind above the shore. His eyes closed, he imagines the wind will fill his arms with thrust and take him high above the sun. His hands and face will become blue like the sky. Volare ... Oh oh ... Cantare ... O ho ho ho ... Nel blu, dipinto di blu. Felice di stare lassu. And which precocious—edging toward obnoxious—American was breaking into song showing off his Italian lyrics? It was I. I, who have never ever sang before, have become the crazy, singing, American fool. 

Our thirty-second anniversary occurred during this trip. It was a happy anniversary in Polignano a Mare. The sea, it's color, the wind, it's force, the grotto, it's vista, and the celebration. Years from now we will feel, "it seems like only yesterday". 

Wes and Marlow

Polignano a Mare, Puglia, Italy

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

A few photos - May 14

Near the tip of the Salento Peninsula

Gamberini viola crudo, A Casa Mia

Choosing the catch of the day at A Casa Mia

Dip before lunch

Salento swimming hole

Otranto

Volare (Polignano a Mare)

Ristorante Grotta Palazzese, Polignano a Mare 

Massaria Aprile

Le Lampare a Fortino, Trani

Agriturismo Masseria Aprile, Locorotondo

During our first three nights in Italy we will stay in the Masseria Aprile. It is possible I will describe this incorrectly, but an "agriturismo masseria" is a government designation which allows a family with a farm to operate it as a hotel.

The family farm where we are staying has exceptional stone buildings in outstanding condition. And it has agricultural land, about thirty acres, with edible plants. Not enough to sell and feed the masses, but crops enough for the family to be self-sustaining.

From the covered terrace of the stone breakfast pavilion, as we sip our cappuccini, we look onto the cherry orchard, tall sculptural artichoke plants, grape vineyards and fields of poppies and grasses swaying whichever way the wind blows. Also there is a pony. And there is an asino, which we call burro, donkey, ass. I asked if the asino has a job. No, they said, he is a pet. Last week, we saw Shakespeare's A MIdsummer NIght's Dream which has a character named Bottom who turns into an asino with tall pointy ears. Here, our pet asino has those tall ears, too, and a crooked bottom as if he has too much stuffing on one side of his tail and not enough on the other. In the morning, he walks the grounds mowing the lawn with his teeth.

Our room, on the ground floor of the main building, is located where the corners of two buildings come together. We have a stone room with bath and we have a covered patio with tile floor and coved stone roof. Passing through a door of the patio we have an outdoor dining table, for twelve, facing a large garden and stone terrace. That dining table is just outside a stone arch. Inside the stone arch is a food preparation area with a stone fireplace for cooking over a wood fire. Finally, there is an outdoor shower and a stone wash basin for laundry.  

We are in the the village of Locorotondo in the Province of Bari. It runs down the east coast of the Italian peninsula and ends at the southern-most tip of the boot. (We will explore it next week when we relocate to Lecce, pronounced, lay-chay). It is mostly flat. It has more olive trees than Italy has people. Also there are fig trees. Anywhere a fig seed can find a speck of dirt it moves in and grows. There is bougainvillea and cactus and sago palms. Everything that grows in California grows here, too. 

There is a type of small building unique to this area. It is called a trullo. It is a pile of stones without mortar or stucco. The bottom portion can be square or round, but the top portion, the top half, is a cone, a large pointy-tipped cone. Our masseria has a cluster of them. They are attractive and handsome. I would not want to endure an earthquake in one, but I love looking at them. 

Saving the best for last, a few words about our inn keepers. They are an affectionate family and very proud to share the best of their Italian life with visitors. The exceptional mama is Anna Marie. One morning she said, "I coccolarvi", I want to pamper you. Every morning she, (and her daughter), bake the breakfast items and make the coffee. They are our family for a sweet few days. She makes a Piemontese cake with ground hazelnuts. A coffee cake made with coffee, rich and dark. She cultivates fresh yogurt and creates the jams—of apricot and fig from her trees—to spoon into it. She has made them all of her life for her own family. we are lucky she takes care of us, too.

She, her husband and their daughter Stefania were amused by our attempt to speak their Italian. They were helpful and good teachers of Italian. Anna Marie has a beautiful voice. One morning she began to sing a song written by a native son a few villages away. I know that song, Nel Blu Dipinto di Blu. in America, we call it Volare. I have memorized the Italian lyrics. I sang along with her and we laughed and smiled and drank more coffee and ate more yogurt and jam and cake and life in that moment was outstanding.

Anna Marie grew up on her farm. It has been in her family for several centuries. It is more than a job. She is proud to share the best of her Italian life with her guests. I wrote a short speech of appreciation. I read it to her when we parted. There was a moment of sweet silence at the end. We were happy to have met her. Wes chose Masseria Aprile out of hundreds of listings. It was perfect. Thank you, Wes, and thank you, Anna Maria and Stefania.

Wes and Marlow

Agriturismo Masseria Aprile

Locorotondo, Bari Province, Italy

May 10, 2016

Puglia: Trani and Locorotondo, 5/9/16

Today was a perfect day. We arrived into the Aeroporto Internazionale in Bari, Italy. We drove an hour north to Trani. We parked in the Piazza del Popolo. Interestingly, the paid parking is free from one-thirty in the afternoon until four o'clock because the city wants it's citizens to enjoy their two and one-half hour lunches without concern for parking fees.

Trani is a waterfront town on the Adriatic Sea.  We walked to the waterfront. There were very few people. It is not the tourist season. But more than that, there were not many people on view, local or touristic. When we got our first glimpse of the water through the buildings, it was stunning. The harbor almost forms a circle, of course it has outlets to the sea, but they are not much visible. The boats in the harbor are mostly small fishing boats painted blue with nets  piled neatly.

The water is green; a shade between coke bottle and emerald. The waterfront buildings are low slung, three story, stone structures. They are human scale, not monumental. The stone color is creamy; a blend of beige with a hint of rose. Much of the street and sidewalk pavement is white, rough-hewn marble. On the part of the harbor that projects most into the sea is the local church. We did not go inside. It was closed during our short lunch visit.  Most cathedrals are located on a plaza, a piazza or a town square. They are inland and landlocked. The site of the Trani church, on the waterfront, a jewel in the harbor tiara, is unquestionably one of the most beautiful on the planet.

We searched for a ristorante for lunch. Wes and I were wandering on opposite sides of the harbor. At the same time, we both took note of the same ristorante.  I was reading Mario Batali's description of it. Wes was actually looking at it. It was situated in the center of the harbor, almost an island, atop a mound of stone that seemed part of an ancient fort. We entered the place - Le Lampard al Fortino. We were one of four parties there. The eating area is a covered terrace open on three sides across the water to the buildings on the shore, to the fishing boats in the harbor, to the cathedral and to the sea. The vistas in all directions were magnificent. The climate was perfect; clear sky, sparkling sunlight, cool temperature, yet with warm breezes.

The meal was perfection.  It is the Adriatic. The harbor is full of fishing boats. The boats come to shore constantly with just caught fish and shellfish. We began with Franciacorte sparkling wine. It heightened our appreciation of where we were and what we were doing.  For food, first up was a large and perfect scallop, seared outside, yet "crudo" (uncooked) inside. It rested in a shallow pool of drippings from a sweet tomato. On top were curled, fine strands of raw celery.  Next, a thin slab of black slate arrived with various crudo (uncooked) items arranged on top.

There were salmon, tuna, a macaron filled with salmon puree, and a sculptural item that was a whole gambero rosso, a five-inch long mini-lobster with head and tiny claws attached and absolutely sweet meat.

Two years ago on the island of Saint Bart's, we had a cottage on the sand, only a few feet from the bluest, warmest water, filled with, over populated by, live sea urchins. They were on today's menu. I requested several and had my first experience with them. They are menacing looking: fist-sized, gleaming black, covered with needle sharp spikes, with an edible fluorescent-orange filling. Remarkably, they did not taste of seafood, nor of fish. They tasted like the sea—briny, watery—and had I been asked what they were, if I had been blindfolded, I'd have guessed they were plants or vegetables from the sea.

Next up, gambero rosso, (sweet pink shrimp), sliced paper thin, layed over a mound of burrata cheese, and with a few sundried, wondrously sweet, teeny tiny pinky-sized roma tomatoes. An adjacent table was having a large branzino baked in a salt crust. I was hugely tempted to have it, too, but it was way too large for two people and Wes encouraged me to have restraint. I have been known to over stuff myself when presented with food that is new to me and irresistible. 

Instead, we had two pastas. One was a long noodle with sweet gambero rosso tails, dollops of creamy burrata-like cheese and snails. I am not  a frequent snail eater. I have nothing against them, but often they are just a texture without much to offer on their own. In this dish, their texture was an asset and they earned their keep.  The final pasta was a short noodle. It featured fresh black chickpeas, which, aside from their unique color, had a wonderful texture and flavor distinct from their common garbanzo cousins.

It was time for us to conclude our meal. Our lunch parking time allotment was almost concluded. And we were full. And we were the only table that remained. But then I remembered: Moscato di Trani. It is unique to that town. It is one of their specialities. It was on the menu. How could I miss the opportunity. I ordered it. It was floral and mildly sweet and nectar-like and wonderful. Now, we really had to go, but first, before the check arrived they sent out another black slate laden with tiny and colorful single bite desserts. My favorite was a cream puff with hazelnut creme. We paid. We went to the car.

The day was perfect. Could it get better? Yes, it could. Yes, it did. We drove south, one hour, to Locorotondo. Wes, is an outstanding and superior researcher. We arrived to the farmhouse inn (called an "agriturismo masseria") he selected, from the probably hundreds he surveyed, and it is more than perfect. The host probably was born here on this land, some thirty acres of vineyards, cherry orchards, ancient olive trees, a horse, a pointy-eared donkey with a mis-shapen rear end, etc. Each morning, Anna Maria Aprile rises before the sun to bake the breakfast goods. The Italian classic breakfast is a few spoons of unsweetened yogurt and coffee with a sweet cookie, roll, cake or toast with preserves. (Everything made from scratch by Anna Maria.) They do not take eggs or meats or cheeses or cereals.

Our room is a suit of spaces both indoors and out. Our room, of course, is indoors, but our kitchen is outdoors.  It is a stone arched alcove. Inside is a stone slab counter with a grill in it's center. Beneath the grill is a small area for arranging wood to make a fire for the cooking. There is another stone arched alcove seating area with a vista—past the horse, the cherry orchard, the donkey, past the vineyard, through the meadows of swaying-in-the-breeze red poppies—uphill to the scenic village of Locorotondo. And there is yet a final covered dining area that faces an orchard and garden, stone courtyards and large planters of exotic flowering plants busy with large black and yellow fuzzy buzzing bees.

The innkeeper loaned us a book of recipes of the local specialities. Then she sent us uphill to a ristorante to sample them. The ristorante, uCurdunn da Peppino e Margherita, had vaulted stone ceilings and stone walls all painted white. Outside, the village is also stone painted white with rough white marble pavement. So many parts of the village are perfect locales for putting on a chamber music concert or a play or a recitation of Shakespeare's sonnets.

Our dinner began with capocollo, sliced meat. Initially, I was unenthusiastic. Sliced meat, I thought, it will be nice I am sure, but I'd rather have cooked food. I was so wrong. It was not a sausage, but a cured pork concoction. The meat was put into a mold, weighed down, poached in white wine and salt, then dried, smoked and sliced. Wildly good. It was thinly sliced and piled around the edge of the plate—like rose petals. In the center was a bed of chopped radicchio beneath a ball of burrata cheese . It came with a side of caponata: eggplant cubes simply cooked and seasoned. Perfect.

Next, came fresh, made in house, orecchiette (ear shaped pasta), in tomato sauce with tiny meatballs. Meatballs from heaven. More parmesan cheese and chopped garlic than meat. They struck my palate as wonderful. The pasta itself took me  by surprise. In far northern Italy, some pasta noodles contain dozens of egg yolks. They are golden and rich. Here, in the south, it is entirely opposite. Pasta noodles here are made without eggs. Their texture could be called bland, a touch squishy, maybe incapable of having the beloved "al dente" mouthfeel.

Finally, the local legendary dish, "fave e ciccorie." Dried fava beans pureed with a touch of potato, topped with sauteed chicory, (which in Italy is across between spinach and swiss chard), and drizzled with the best olive oil.

We drank a local white wine; a specialty of Locorotondo. To finish we had a house made liqueur. Packed with sugar and herbs, I have found it takes the edge off of feeling indigestive. It is called a digestivo. One drinks a mere thimble of it for a good result. Our ristorante makes their own. It was dark and green. We thought it tasted of clove and basil, but in fact it was made from leaves from a laurel tree, which those of us who make chicken stock call bay leaves.

Now, it is time for bed. Arrivederci.  Ciao belli.

Wes and Marlow
Locorotondo, Puglia,  Italy
Monday, May 9, 2006