Swapping Tuscany for Sardinia?

Anghiari, a diminuitive

walled Tuscan village

I slept like a rock. I think I fell asleep before 10 pm, temporarily stirred into semi-consciousness at some point very early in the morning, and considered waking, but lapsed again into a deep sleep until almost 9:00! I hate that a little bit, as I like to "set my clock" on the first day. But only one side of the bed (where I slept this past spring) had electrical outlets, and someone had taken it over. And forbid me to set an alarm.

So, moving quickly as possible, I showered and got ready for the day. It's still hot here; in the Fahrenheit 80s. I didn't pack sandals because I knew their season would be short-lived, and my favorite Geox pair (bought here) took up too much suitcase space to say what the heck; so they didn't make the cut. Lightweight cargo joggers, T-shirt, and Adidas are what it is for today.

Joe also primped and prepped. We then walked to Artigiana; probably close to being the best place in the world for cornetti and cappuccini. Alfio, behind the counter, grabbed two cornetti nocciole, which, as a filling, can best be described as Nutella minus the chocolate. Our cappuccini were slow in arriving, and I wasn't quite sure if Alfio heard Joe order them, so I got up to check. They weren't in progress.

"You Are English?" Alfio asked, slowly. "Peggio. Sono Americana," I answered. Worse. I'm American. Alfio continued practicing his English. "You Came All The Way From America To..... Biancavilla?!" He was incredulous. Hands over his heart, he continued, "I'm so sorry about Milton".

I explained that yes, it's a terrible hurricane, but we fortunately live north and inland enough to be unaffected. The same look appears on most European faces as one tries to explain the vast nothingness between New York and Hollywood. "Near Canada and the Mississippi," I added, and some of the fog cleared from Alfio's face.

A group of nine friends, 30-somethings, were near us on the terrace, enjoying caffè together. As Joe bit into his cornetto, he said, no matter how hard anyone tries to replicate this back home, it's never even close. I said New York comes pretty close. But, to be fair, I am off exploring tiny neighborhood haunts in NYC while Joe works during the day, so he hasn't had that same New York experience. To his point, though, it is not exactly the same. Here, it's all of the pieces that make the whole experience: long, vivacious visits with friends, the slower pace of life, unequalled butter and water quality for the croissants and espresso, excellent Moak caffè and frothy thick milk for the cappuccini, a humble terrace, and baristi-- they and all merchants, actually -- who understand and finesse the art of being one. Far cry from the American teenage employee who, while texting and looking at their phone, may mumble to a customer, " I dunno; if it's not out there, we don't have it".

Walking from Artigiana, we checked out more of the spiffing up of Biancavilla. Fresh new facades, a new train station elevator tower, revamped store interiors, a new optical shop. Joe's plantar fasciitis, which I guiltily had forgotten about, was flaring up, so we stopped at Forno Crispi, closer to our place than Forno delle Delizie, to get our bread. Turning home, I suggested we get the good salami at the bottega close to home. This place too, has fancied itself up. Unfortunately for us, that means that the salumi here are now pre-packaged, just as we can get from Deco or CRAI. When I asked later, Elena said the best salumeria is at Deco, but take a ticket and stand in line to have it freshly sliced, versus buying the packaged deli meat. Good ol' Deco.

I stopped in to say hi to Elena once we got home, and Mariella and the lovely Andrea were there. "Ah Karen! I forgot to give you the bread I made yesterday". Indeed, I had asked last night what smelled so delicious in Elena's home. Today, she handed me a slice. "Here is just one slice; I want you to try it. Then if you think it tastes like shit, you can throw it away when I'm not looking". There followed a heated discussion between Elena and Andrea, with Andrea saying the bread needs something sweet on it, such as marmalade or Nutella, and Elena arguing that the pure taste of it is good, even if it did not rise as high as it should have, but that I should taste the bread as bread, to experience it's full flavor. But what is this type of bread for, other than eating with marmalade, Andrea argued back. 

Mariella said we need to book soon. What? I saw I had several WhatsApp messages. Mariella, Vincenzo, and their friends are inviting us to join them on an excursion the first week of November to a cluster of small Tuscan villages (plus a stop in Florence). But they need to book us in ASAP if we want to go. Elena already had my passport info. We needed Joe's, so I called him down to confirm he indeed wants to go, and to ask for his documenti. Based on the time of year, Tuscany may be an excellent option. We'll save Sardinia for beach-ier weather. I haven't been to Tuscany for years --and the food and the wine are worth the trip alone! I'm going to have to cool it on the cornetti until then, if I'm to continue wearing the clothes I packed.

And now, back in our apartment, Elena and the boys arrived, bringing pasta e zucchine from Mariella, for our lunch. "But you eat it late; you just had Artigiana cornetti," Elena advised. She said she'll bring the boys up to play later this afternoon!!! Yay!!

Pasta e zucchine

After lunch, Ettore came up to play. While still redistributing items with the gusto of an empirically-driven aerodynamics student, he has mellowed out somewhat, in a good way. We had active play (hockey, fencing, bowling, general running around), and he also enjoyed the quieter activity of showing me he can now write a few words, including his name, and how his coloring has progressed. He requested tea and cookies, and asked to make ice cubes. The top of a glass candy dish was an unfortunate casualty I'll have to discuss with Mariella, but all in all, a manageable day.

Ettore and I talked about pumpkin carving, and I showed him ideas from online sources. I think I can at least find what we call pie pumpkins at Lidl. He was drawn to three variations in particular:

Ettore liked the moon-topped tower effect.

He immediately recognized the pipe cleaners from his preschool projects, and thought these spiders were cool.

He said this one looks like Joseph.

Rodi came up, holding Matteo, just after five to collect Ettore, who has a birthday party at six. Joe is asking what we're doing this evening, but I'm still a bit full, a bit tired, and his foot hurts a bit too much to walk. I wouldn't mind getting a little more activity in. The last part of our overseas flight left me feeling stiff, and I'm still working out the kinks. I keep comparing myself to 19-year-old me (invincible), and getting a little bored with the now-aged me and my less malleable body. And stamina. I think I'm having a sugar crash.

*********

Indeed; I crashed with my blog post in my hand. A little nap-refreshed, I splashed my face, freshened my lipstick, brushed my hair, and changed clothes.

I had arancini on the brain, and Scandura in my sites, but remembered Joe's sore foot. We decided to make the very short trip to Artigiana, where appertivi replace pastries in the evening.

Alfio was still there, and recognized us. We sat inside, as smokers were on the terrace, and each ordered a drink and an arancino (pistachio, of course).

The bar

One of the terraces, in the background. And I don't know what it is with Joe and pictures.

Arancini flank the array of snacks that are served automatically with any drink order.

I ordered my new regular drink, a Campari and soda, while Joe had a Negroni. Contrary to how these are served in the US, the 3-liquor Negroni comes in a tall water glass, while the Campari and soda arrived in a low-ball glass--with very little soda.

I "spend" tons of calories, carbs and/or fat and/or is deep fried with gusto, for a food I love and can't often get. Arancini is at the top of this list. Sadly, Artigiana will be my go-to for the morning and for gelato, because, for the first time in Sicily, I ate an arancino that wasn't worth the sin tax. Not that most people wouldn't be happy with it, but I know there are far better ones out there, and within walking distance. I tried not to cry.

After Joe had some gelato, we paid up and walked the few steps home. I'm feeling a little out of sorts, and not just because of the arancini debacle. So I think I'll make it an early night. Despite any of that physical discomfort, I'm really happy to be back here. 

Whenever Nonno sees me, he breaks into a big smile and yells, "Cate!!" across the room while waving sweetly. (Cah-TAY is a nickname for Caterina. My grandma used to shake her hand when I was naughty as a child, saying "Mina Mina tocca dar', Cah-TAY!" [I'm going to smack you, Caterina], while laughing, us both knowing she'd never slap me. So it brings back memories). 

And Ettore (also Matteo, Agnese, and Rachi) are giddy with delight to have us amongst them again. Mariella fawns over us from her magic kitchen; Vincenzo is always helping us, and... Elena. Incredible, funny, brainy, beautiful Elena. She is a treasure.

Thank you again, Lori, Leah, Divine Intervention, and hey --also a little thanks to my hard work as well-- for making this a vibrant and viable world. Sometimes I have to stop and touch something; to breathe in the things around me, to believe all of this is not a dream. 

Perhaps that's my out of sorts feeling. Living in a dream is pretty unconventional, because you never want to wake up. And yet here I am, feeling very much alive.