Joe's Fatherland and an Abduction

After a strengthening caffè doppio and some cornetti at our new favorite pasticceria, we bid adieu to Tropea and set out to Settingiano, Joe's paternal ancestral home.

We visited the town of Settingiano, Calabria, on the mainland; home to Joe's grandparents on his dad's side. We spoke at length with Maria at the caffè bar. She tried calling Francesco Pingitore, who she believes is a cousin, but no answer. He works? I asked. No, no, she assured me. Maria told us, Just go to his house. Down this street, there's a piazetta with a fountain, by the market, just past the parrucchiere. His house is right there. Parrucchiere di Mary?, I asked, having seen it on the way in. No; she's dead, she informed in true southern Italian fashion. The other parrucchiere.

Francesco wasn't around. We walked the town, popped into the mother church, took in the scenery, and finally walked toward the car. A jovial man pulled up next to us in his car, Eh, eh; you're walking all over town! I saw you down below when I left, now up here when I return! He was effervescent. We chatted with him a bit longer, then left this charming, quiet, vertical town. I told Joe I'll bet they all get an A+ for cardio fitness here.

Ciao for now, Settingiano.

On to San Floro, a post along the ancient silk road, today still known for its silk. Unfortunately, we arrived during the hour of pranzo, so everything was closed.

We pulled into town and parked at the mother church. Within two minutes of exiting the car, a man drove up, shouting something at us through his open window.

I peered into his car, noticing his hair was gelled into what was maybe supposed be a comb-over, but the combination of hair sparcity (I get it) and the oblique sunlight angle, made it look like devil's horns.

He asked if we wanted to go into the silk museum? It's closed, but he could make a call. San Floro is really fantastic; the view is fantastic, and the silk is fantastc. Everything fantastic, Alexxxx-ahnder tells you, he said, using the third person. 

I thought, sure; we came here because it's on the silk road, so why not get into the museum?

We asked if anyplace else were open. No, but he'll take us "right there below," to a place where they mill antique grains and make bread and pizza. This made sense, since we did a tight zig-zag up the hill and the streets were accordian-folded, one on top of the other. He made another call to tell them we're coming. His dog, Duc (Duke) greeted us. He reminded me of my yellow lab, Elsa.

Yes; get in. We go now. They are there. You see the fantastic antique grains and we eat fantastic bread with a little olive oil.

We'll follow you in the car, then? Joe wisely asked. No, no, get in my car. We go, said Alexxxx-ahnder.

Like sheep, we piled in. Joe complimented him on his English which, in actuality, was probably only as good as our Italian.

Alexxxx-ahnder's Father says (pounding motion) Must Learn English!

You ahhh you ahhh votato for this guy your president? This is okay for you? We assured him. No. But here we go.

We learned that his dad, an author, died of pancreatic cancer; his mom is alive but lives in Rome, there are three boys in the family, and WHERE THE HELL ARE WE GOING, I thought. This is not just the street below, we are on the autostrada. Probably on the way to a horrible death.

Eventually.... eventually... we pulled up to a mulino, a grain mill. We got a personal albeit brief tour, ate some really wonderful bread, olive oil, chocolate chip, and cinnamon cookies, thanked the owners, and got back to the car. It was getting late, and we had a long drive to San Nicola di Arcella.

Alexxxx-ahnder will take you to a fantastic really beautiful view; you can't believe this view ok? We drove for a while to the vista point, which, ok, if it were out my kitchen window, I wouldn't hate it, but.... Joe walked past and a little ahead of me, laughing quietly and saying, "I think we've been hustled".

Now in the car again, I expressed concern about getting back to our car and driving a couple of hours before it gets dark. Ok, don't worry; Alexxxx-ahnder is not bad person, is good person. My father is happy in heaven I'm showing you things. Don't worry. (Which of course made me worry).

Driving driving driving. Are we going to San Floro now? I'm asked wanly.

Yes yes don't worry. But Alexxxx-ahnder think you can try this caffè, it's very fantastic, it's made with sparkling water, very typical of San Floro. We stop at a bar up this road.

I thanked him, but urged a return to our car; the B&B host awaits us and it's a long drive (my voice was scaling into a falsetto).

He looked hurt, said again Alexxxx-ahnder is not bad, he wants his father to be happy, but I finally convinced him we need to return to our car (and I had a slight slight moment of doubt about it even still being there).

We returned, did a quick perusal of San Floro with him, then got to the car. He gave us a copy of his dad's book. Joe took money out to pay him.

No, no! Alexxxx-ahnder does not want money! I do this for friendship and to make my father happy in heaven! We were dumbfounded.

We shook hands and air kissed, getting into the car, Alexxxx-ahnder waving as we drove away. 

And we didn't see one silk thing.

*******

Arco Magno 

San Nicola Arcella.

Our lovely, brava donna B&B host, Simona, met us outside her beautiful place called Suitetti Camere Relax. 

She left these specialty cookies for us

We got situated and found a place with lights on in this beach town that's sleepy in wintertime. Simona called them to make sure they're open for business.

What a fantastic, as Alexxxx-ahnder would say, wine bar and dinner! We had the place nearly to ourselves.

Veronica, the owner and our server, guided us through food and wine choices, first bringing us complimentary prosecco and an amuse-bouche of spuma di agrumi-rana (mousse of whipped anglerfish and sour citrus) in a tiny edible cup set into a bowl of white sand and black rice. We followed with a Negroni for Joe and another prosecco for me.

Then, a tuna tartare served with teeny dollops of homemade mayonnaise seasoned with cedro, the football-sized lemons with origins in nearby Campania.

Next, Joe had monti e mare, a dish with mushrooms and sea bream. I had seppia pasta with a spuma of cauliflower and saffron. We had a bottle of yet another style of Greco Calabria. Joe finished with grappa.

The chef came out as we were eating; we praised her talents! As we were leaving, I thanked her again, telling her she's a chef of creativity while keeping the importance of really good tasting food.

"I pretend," she said, clasping her hands in prayer.

Back to the B&B, and a major conk out tonight. It. Has. Been. A. Day.