The Runaway Cook

A diary of culinary adventures

A Fish Market & an Elusive Plug

Why is it that every place in italy seems to have different plugs? I mean I purchased this big, heavy converter from Amazon.com that claimed to work for plugs across Italy and Germany, but apparently Italy as many shapes and sizes of outlets as they do kinds of pasta.

So my friends,  this evening I am out looking for a converter plug. I have left my hostel in Salerno (yes I'm back in Salerno but actually visiting this town rather that getting out as fast as possible) and am walking between skinny brick alleys crayoned dark on the edges by vespa fumes and dirt. The sunlight skips through the hanging laundry, open shutters, and little mettle balconies. I need a general store but, it's late tonight and many of the stores or closing or closed in the main square. To top that off it's the weekend tomorrow and many stores will be closed, so it's now or never.


After about 20 minutes of meandering, I happened upon this small square with a grocery store, deli, general store and a couple white tents in the center. Steam is rising underneath the pale canopies, creating a foggy haze around the lamps. Th salty aroma is flooding this small piazza and people take gray paper cones filled with crisp fish, skin still gleaming beneath the crunchy film of batter.

Behind these steaming tents are several very steep steps leading to the cramped doorway leading to a room filled with little boxes and bottles smooshed together on shelves that line every wall. I scan the shelves looking for anything that resembles a plug or a cord, but see nothing.  

The hefty, 5-ft, older woman  heads my direction and says "prego" (welcome) then asks me what I want. I can't understand her and ask if she speaks english. She says no and we try to sign to each other which really doesn't work. She gets louder, as if yelling in Italian will somehow help me understand her. I am about to leave when she makes me to follow her out to the stoop. She stands there next to me and hollers will all her might does anyone speak English? and continues hollering "English" over and over. I am mortified and everyone in this small pizza, including the people frying the fish, are all staring at me on this pedestal of old steps.

Just when I think, "God what is going to happen next?" an older gentleman  peeks out from the grocer's canopy. He motions me over and I step over the line of tile that marks the boarder of the piazza from the inside of his 7'x15' shop. flats of fruit and shelves of juice and water make me think there's probably not a plug here either.  I speak with the old man, whose kind eyes reassure my thoroughly embarrassed self and he explains that all the stores selling that item are closed and will be closed tomorrow.

My eyes let out the whimper that I make inside me. He smiles, and tells me to wait right there. He leaves to the back room and I decide to buy some peaches, oranges, and water while I wait.  Finally he comes back and in his hards are a few black converter plugs. he says he didn't know which plug was american so he just grabbed all he had hoping one would work. I am in awe at his sweetness. He indeed found an american plug. When I ask him how much I owe him. He wont take a cent. I insist but he also insists.

"When are you leaving Salerno?"
"Tuesday."
"Then just bring it back before you go. (Very big smile)"

Although some of them yell, curse at me in a foreign language, and scoff at my American tendencies and accent, there are some that make me shed tears from their kindness. But, I love them all anyway!

However, I have a feeling that the little, old man from Salerno will always have a special place in my heart.

Original photo from:http://www.landbigfish.com/images/recipes/BEER-BATTER-FRIED_SARDINES.jpg

Granita & Mr. Japan

It's the last of my time in this beautiful town and about time I stock up on some food before everything closes again. I can already feel myself missing this place in the future. Someday I will come back to you Amalfi.

As I walked out of the small grocers I happened to bump into another tenant from my hostel. I almost always find this soft-spoken gentleman carrying a  large backpack and on his way to climb these gargantuan mountains. But today Mr. Japan has spotted me. As we chat, we both share our sadness in our impending leaving. Then with a twinkle in his eye and smirk in the corner of his mouth he tells me to wait.

He asks me, "Have you eaten granita?" Though I have walked many times up and down this street, I never happened upon this stairway that lead to a little shop selling lemon granita. Outside the door couples and children gather in small wooden benches among the crates and baskets of lemons. Each person, holding a cup of pale, yellow slush covered with their choice of fresh fruit.

"You have to try this" is all that comes out of Mr. Japan's mouth, over and over even after I am convinced.

Soon a clear cup is in my hands, with a smorgasbord of fruits nearly overflowing from the rim. Fresh pineapple, strawberries, melon, kiwi, and of course a fresh plum-colored cherry on top. Each bit was sweet from the oozing syrup-like fruit juices and tart from the slush of fresh lemon crystals.  It's nothing like the granita I've been taught how to make at school, smaller crystals and more juice.  Each bite is different, lovely, and mouthwatering

Thank you Mr. Japan for enlightening me to this sweetly sour ice.

Oh Damn...

Why is it that in this country public transportation can just decide to stop? What about all of us that just don't have any way to get across these mountains other than the bus? I guess that's why some of these guys actually schedule a bus strike ahead of time, then we can rearrange our schedules.

I just want to go to Positano . . please.  . . I have tried my best to con a vespa ride out of Emilio from Amalfi and he agreed. Alas, his stinking boss has called him into work early. Sigh, I guess I'm just going to have to be stuck on the beach and let tomorrow and Positano take care of themselves.

When I say the word “football,” I’m sure images of laced oblong-shaped balls, 50-yard lines, and giant men dressed in really tight pants with oversized helmets are filling your mind. Well, stop the filling. That’s not what I’m talking about. Try a round, black and white ball, nimble muscular goalies, shorts and shin guards. 
It’s “football” season for the world. As I’ve traveled from Asia to Europe, I’ve learned that if a bar/cafe/small restaurant want’s to have patrons on game night, they HAVE to show the game. 
Tonight, I think most of this small town showed up for the viewing of Germany vs Spain. My small, Atrani cafe was packed and even had people standing on the cobble stones behind the outdoor seats. I arrived about 20 minutes into the game, so my chances of being able to see the screen were slim to none. 
Despite this packed predicament, I was able to score a seat right in front of the screen next two a couple of blond Aussies. How, well it was all because the Fabio-blond (one of the owners of the cafe) saw me, moved a chair to the frond and curled his fingers in a wave to signal me over to him. HA! yes now I can cheer for those German boys with no large Italian men blocking my view
Here’s where the real game starts. This ploy by my curly-haired, taught-tushied man was just to get me within intense flirting range, and in line for “scoring” some sort of goal.  Note to all women. Flirting is a whole nother ballgame in Italy. Below is a play-by-play account of this sport.
zonal marking system - A system of play where each player is assigned a zone on the field. Each player is then responsible for covering any opponents that may enter his zone. 
This for of dividing up the playing field is nonexistent here. It is pretty much a free for all, any man can flirt, woo, and charm any woman, even the same women- no matter the depth of friendship between the two men competing for her.
First TouchIt is also quite literal as it is the first touch a player has on the ball when receiving a pass or cross.
Apparently it's “ok” for these men to just touch you as part of their excessive flirtations. This may or may not include “time-wasting” and or staring. I experienced this play soon after sitting to watch the game this evening. Our dashing "Cassanova"  brushed his fingers slowly across my cheek, looked into my eyes and closed the move in grasping my chin for a moment. 
Can I just day What the h***! Although he is as smooth as silk in that moment, it just all seems a little out of place to me. At a later time when the same debonair fellow tried to pull the same “first touch” on some of my new german friends, one of them about drop-kicked him. HA! ...culture shock?
time-wasting - A deliberate attempt to keep the ball out of play longer than is necessary. 
This tactic has many forms, such as small talk, unnecessary compliments and the like. My favorite instance is what I like to call “Fabio’s Question.” Beginning with a ballet-like swoop and spin he bent his whole torso around the back of my chair, placed is lips ever-so-closely to my ear and whispered (this is in a loud crowd of screaming fans mind you), “Who are you cheering for? [long pause and breath]” 
“Germany” I say with a nervous laugh- you see in a crowd even this big, I am the only one here cheering for Deutschland. Everyone else here either hates Germany for beating them or loves Spain so I am SOL. 
“Ahh...... I see. [long pause, again] I should have guessssed” he replies with a smile and a turn of the head.
Offside -A player in an offside position is only penalized if, at the moment the ball touches or is played by one of his team, he is, in the opinion of the referee, involved in active play by interfering with play, interfering with an opponent, or gaining an advantage by being in that position.
This is a risky act for anyone! Usually ending in a big penalty. Watch for those who think they have you within range. Too much pride and your Italian may just get a little too spontaneous. Examples include: Fabio taking a sip from my wine glass in a BYOB setting in an attempt to show off more than needed. Deflection- holler hay, now you owe me an ice cream or something (penalty) and you immediately get the offensive plus a big cone of fresh gelato from the shop next door :)
riding pine - A term used by players that are seeing very little game time. The bench is their friend
This is a guy who is a little desperate and persistently tries to win you. Examples of this go from asking the time and offering a coffee for the answer to men following women up steep walkways from one ton to another just to ask a few simple questions and offering a gelato. Beware the pine riders!
scoring - To have the ball pass completely across the goal line, between the two goal posts and beneath the crossbar of the opponent.
This is interpreted differently for each player. Many Italian men vs American women are shooting for what girls in middle school are told “what every boy wants” however there are a few sweeter players just seeking to score a kiss and an opportunity to just play the game.

"Mozzarella di Bufala"

It tastes like a steak. The fleshy juice in my mouth is raw and rare and I wonder if this really is cheese or a medium rare ribeye. The alabaster orb glistens on my plate. It's pure smooth skin is inviting and begs for my serrated blade and fork to join it. With each slice moon-colored liquid oozes from the small pores and collects into a perfectly white pool. The skin is thin with little differentiation from the flesh. With the first clamp of my mouth flavor rushed everywhere: the tart buttery taste of buttermilk, the sweetness of whole milk, the meaty buffalo essence, and freshness of a a ripe watermelon. 


All I can do now is smile and savor the lingering dance of refreshing richness from this beauty that is Mozzarella. 


So where have I found the pearls that fell from heaven? The answer is Capaccio, Italy. It's just a short train ride through fields, mountains, and palm trees on the track running south from Salerno. Not to all get off at the right station, this is farm country and the train is not hourly, so if you get off at the wrong station you could be there for a while or be facing a long walk. Learn from my mistakes my friends and be sure before the train starts to move again and some Italians says oh yeah that was your stop. 


Ok, back to heaven. I've learned not to look for pearly gates, but pearls and braids of cheese, achromatic milk, and rich textured yogurt. You may think that I'm exaggerating about this whole idea that I've found heaven on a water buffalo farm in the southwest of Italy, but I am dead serious. We all know how I worship all things dairy, especially whole milk. So just imagine this for a minute- a world revolving around milk that makes, what I must admit to as, even more wonderful cheese and yogurt than that from cows. 




In the Beginning . . . 


Tenuta Vannulo, is not just a farm that's home to the water buffalo we imagine crossing raging rivers in southeastern Asia. It is also home to a busy little cheese factory, cheese shop, yoghurteria, leather shop, and kitchen and agricultural museum. The story on this bustling corner of paradise, begins with the dreams of a small boy revealed by Tenuta Vannulo's owner Antonio Palmieri.


When he was a little guy, Palmieri says he was always thinking about changing the farm. Back then is was all hand milking and the young Palmieri thought quite a bit about how he could change that. For the past 40 years, the Vannulo Dairy has been using automated milkers for their buffalo rather than that pesky had milking Palmieri remembers.


"If you look at people when they succeed at things, they start when they're a child, [great] violinists start at four or five years old." Palmieri leaned forward and continued, "That's why I started thinking that [changing from hand milking] at such a young age."


What may sound so simple, was far from it when this boyhood idea needed to become a reality. At that time, nobody used anything other than hands to milk buffalo. Sure cows could be hooked up to electric milkers, but buffalo were another story to these machinists. Palmieri's persistence eventually won him the first electric buffalo milkers and today his dairy has one of the most technologically advanced systems out there. Utilizing robotics and sensor system, the buffalo to move from eating to resting to milking on their own schedule.  
The Journey
Just as Palmieri saw hand milking as something to be improved, he saw fair prices as nonexistent. Even though his family was producing superior quality milk, the price they were offered was the same as that given to lesser quality milks. To add to that, when the season change the price of mozzarella rises and falls. However the price of milk stayed constant. In 1988 Palmieri decided that rather than selling their milk, they could make their own cheese. 
The factory Vannulo is named for the local area where the Palmieri’s grandfather, Antonio, began to breeding buffalos at the start of the last century. The original 200 hectares of land are the home to 500 adults and dry young along with 6 bulls. In 1996 Mr. Palmieri made another improvement from the original in becoming the only organic buffalo farm in all of Italy. To date they are still the only organic buffalo farmers.

As Vannulo’s standards of quality became more renowned, Palmieri saw the possibility to do more with mozzarella with his respected milk and buffalos. Additions like the leather shop and yoghurteria were created. In the leather shop, patrons can not only buy handmade leather products, but also watch the crafters make these beautiful purses and bags from the buffalo hide. 
At the yoghurteria, one can sit and enjoy a scoop of rich buffalo ice cream, buffalo custard, multiple pastries, or a simple bowl of buffalo milk yoghurt with kumquat marmalade. Now I’m sure you never thought the words buffalo and dessert could be used in the same sentence, but i just have to say the proof is in the yoghurt. 
The Tangent 

I can’t tell you how much I miss the sweet and sour taste of Tannulo’s buffalo yogurt. Mr, Palmieri offered me a bowl of it himself as we sat in his office and chatted via his right hand woman and translator, Andrea. As the bowl of gelatinous dairy arrived, looked like any other classic yogurt: white with a bit of gray cloudiness, glossy top, and thin, slightly-watery edge. However, I should have known from the bright orange kumquat syrup oozing into the water that this was going to a little different.
Imagine this: a spoonful of creaminess that feels rich, slightly grainy, with a refreshing combination of intense dairy, tartness, sweetness and tang. I loved it! The kumquats were slightly chewy and sweet like candy, making them the perfect condiment to thick rich and sour yogurt. Mmmmmm! As I took bite after bite I wished I could have just stopped and devoured the bowl of loveliness rather than pacing myself and slowly eating petite spoonfuls. 
Talking With The Man
I feel so at home here that I think I could cry. Behind Mr. Palmieri is a large, close-up print of a buffalo licking it’s nose. Something only a true farmer would be proud to display. His happy wrinkled face and soft eyes gaze across the desk as he leans into every syllable he speaks. His cracked leather chair matches perfectly with the hard work he does. And the fact that the wall behind me is one giant window that lets the farm into the office, seems more than fitting for this man. 
Palmieri says his favorite part of raising buffalo is the breeding. He says that even with all these technologies used in breeding and milking “without the buffalo there would be nothing.”  To Palmieri, the Bufala is the “mother of everything”, and without this simple creature this would never exist. The buffalo are everything.
This love for the buffalo can bee seen in every cow’s name. Rather than be given at birth, these names are given when the buffalo gives her first birth. Ranging from random numbers to traditional names and even words, such as  “absurd” these girls all have a name from the big man. 
With that said, it wasn’t any surprise to me when Palmieri said the most meaningful par of his job was the community. “It’s a pleasure to see people come in and pay for their mozzarella and then say thank you. Usually when you pay you don’t need to say thank you.” He said with open eyes and a large hand gestures. His pleasure is in seeing the people enjoy what he does here. 
As Palmieri reflected, I could see the care in his eyes. This place is more than just a job or a tradition. It seems to Palmieri the buffalo are a gift and a legacy. He finished saying that “It’s the result of a meaningful life if you do something that makes people happy. You can’t count that in money.” 
Talking with Palmieri felt like I was talking to family. Although we spoke different languages, our hearts both spoke the language of a love for the farm and the gift that we see it as. 
The Mozzarella 
As art of my visit today, I was allowed to step inside the cheese factory. The small room was not much more than a few silver tanks, a tile floor, and several men dressed in white. Their motions moved from stirring to dumping, and finally pinching. To make mozzarella the chief cheese maker and his assisting cheese makers much work together to pinch off the rounds of soft hot cheese freshly pulled from the hot liquid.
Their skill is quite impressive as each pinch is uniform in weight and shape yet done so quickly the vat soon fills with tiny floating balls of white.
Unlike our supermarket stunt-cheeses, fresh mozzarella should never be refrigerated. Instead just leave it on the counter int it’s liquid and consume within three days. Buying in bulk is not an option, but who wants old cheese anyway when fresh is so close at hand.
At Vannulo, they run out of cheese every day. They can never keep up. In an effort to spread around the wealth around, they limit each person to 5kg (about 11 pounds) of mozzarella. Yes, 11 pounds. I don’t know how, other than a large party, one person could take care of that much cheese. 
The Last Few Things
As I finished the last few bites of mozzarella on my plate, Mr. Palmieri had a smile as big as mine. I’m not sure if my translated description of the cheese pleased or surprised him, but he seems to be excited no matter.  I savored the taste of what was likely to be the last time I’d taste this unique food for quite a while as Andrea explained that it’s said buffalo mozzarella has 99 different flavors. How it’s just a flavor short of 100 I don’t know, but I believe, with all sincerity, that they are right. 
Until then I’d never thought a cheese could have more flavor than a meal. 




Photos courtesy of Tenuta Vannulo and http://www.brocoli-illustre.com/recettes-italie/petit-atlas-des-produits/la-mozzarella-di-bufala/



I Am Smitten
I walk alone the hot black-top road dragging my finger along even hotter caramel-colored stones that form the edge to this dramatic turn, and I can’t help but feel the romance here. The warm sun kisses my skin as the breeze plays with my salt-soaked strands of loose hair. Furore, laid out like a pearl necklace coiled back and fourth agains itself on a vanity, is another town just up this row of disobedient mountains that stray from the mainland. 
Perhaps the charm of this small village is what has captivated me, or is this dizzying affect from the many turns it took to make my way up here? Maybe it’s that so many of the walls are painted with murals of life and love? Either way I am smitten and certain that this is only the preface of the love story written here. 
From the outside, one would hardly suspect to find what is hidden behind the unpretentious sliding wooden doors of Cantina Marisa Cuomo. Through the glass panes  only glimpses of the shining metal, glossy bottles, and white boxes. If it hadn’t have been for impeccable directions and a bus driver that recognized the name, I might have missed it completely.  And I’m think the camouflage of this winey is so great because it’s really an extension of a small-town family home. 
A Dangerous Romance
Let me start at the beginning of this true tale as it was told to me by Dorotea Ferraioli, the daughter of wine makers and owners Andrea Ferraioli and Marisa Cuomo. 
It was in the midst of WWII when Dorotea’s grandfather, on her mother’s side, had left his family and fiance back in Italy. In the midst of battle in Croatia, a bullet changed everything. 
Our soldier was wounded and surely fearing death when he was saved by a local family. As he healed from the shot, this Italian boy fell in love with beauty who nursed him. With desperation and passion now pumping through his veins, Dorotea’s grandfather risked imprisonment and smuggled his beloved into Italy, dressing her as a dead soldier. 
Once back to Furore, the lover broke off his previous engagement and married his Croatian bride. Dorotea ended the story saying that that her grandparents had 13 children. Her grandfather made many of the tunnels through the mountains here and the first man he sought to help him was the spouse of his x-fiance. She also mentioned that her aunt married the son of this other family. “You need a big family to pick the grapes.” Dorotea said with a smile. 
Another Love Story

Local wines had always been made and consumed, but the first to be bottled was under the brand, Gran Furor Divian Costiera. Began in 1942, wines bottles under this brand were considered IGT quality and “low quality” according to Dorotea. 
But in 1980, a marriage would change everything. Andrea Ferraioli, son of a local renowned family of winemakers, married Marisa Cuomo.  As a wedding gift, Ferraioli who was just over twenty years old, bought the Gran Furor Divian Costeria as a wedding gift for his bride. 
“[My] mom never worked before in wine, but my father was good because his family worked grapes and made wine.” Dorotea said as she explained that the road to where they are today was full many mistakes. She said it took a while but, “step by step” the honed their skills and worked to make what they have.


Step by Step
In 1995, the Marisa Cuomo winery received D.O.C. recognition as one of three sub-zones in the Costa d’Amalfi. D.O.C. is a status of quality given to only particular vintners who meet a set of agricultural and wine making standards. This designation was only a milestone. Fervent work continued on make the perfect cuvee (blend) of juices to make the best wine the region could offer. 
All their work paid off in 2006 when their top white wine, Fiorduva of 2003, received the “Oscar” of “Best Italian White Wine of the Year” by one of Italy’s most famous publications. This award brought the eye of the world to Marisa Cuomo and was only the beginning of many awards to come
Between 2005 and 2006 Marisa Cuomo wines received Three Glasses from Gambero Rosso, two silver medals for the Furore Rosso Riserva, and the a gold medal in Los Angeles for the Fiorduva.
Recently their 2008 Furore Bianco received the gold in the category of “white blend” for the international wine competition called the Golden Glass Wine Competition. 
A Walk in the Vineyards
So what’s to grow grapes off the steep cliffs of Furore? Consider it tedious, hot, and full of tradition. 
Summers here can be quite warm with an excessive amount of sunlight and little. This means the small amount of land they do have here is great for growing grapes that need to be stressed to produce a strong wine rather than an irrigated wimpy wine-like beverage. But when your town is small, your means of transportation are limited and bust be used across cliffs and ocean, one has a desperate need for growing more meal-friendly produce. This precarious predicament made for an amazing symbiotic relationship. 
To protect their gardens from the bright sunlight coming down and being reflected up, the people of the Amalfi have planted their garden’s under a canopy of trellised vines (called a pergola). But there’s a problem with planting vines in the same ground a vegetables. Vegetables need plenty of water and vines need little water. This problem too has been solved. The vines here are planted into the walls of the terraced land. 
To me, this unique agricultural technique is astounding. I love how clever this is and how the land is used to its fullest potential. I can’t wait to somehow implement this in my own garden. 

Marisa Cuomo is quite small, with only 3 hectares of their own grapes and purchased grapes from other famers all totaling a mere 16 hectares. Dorotea says that although they are small and trying to grow, it's hard to find produce or purchase more grapes and keep the same quality. Marisa Cuomo pays a higher price than most wineries and picks only the best vineyards to produce the grapes for their wine. 

It's not just the vineyards that make these grapes so valuable. It's the vines themselves. All Marisa Cuomo's grapes are from original rootstock of the historical grapes vines used in this area. This means that unlike most wineries around worldwide that graft the original vines to American rootstock for protection of an American louse that nearly wiped out the whole of Europe's vineyards, they use the whole plant un-grafted. This makes for some vines that are very, very old.

The Wine
Hidden deep within a cave formed from chipping away the mountain behind the winery, are barrels and barrels of precious wine.  What was once the home of this family is now a great wine cellar, the product of tedious workmanship and patience.  It is not only gorgeous in here but naturally temperature and humidity controlled. Yet, beyond the cellar and her beautiful barrels, is the earthy wine that pools within. 

Famous for both white and red wines, I have decided to list several of the most well know below along with information on where you can find these delicious wines in The States.


Furore Bianco
Grapes: 60%Falanghina & 40% Biancolella
Grown between 200-550 meters above sea level on a southern facing slope in dolomitic limestone rock, these grapes are hand-picked the first ten days of october. The wine is matured in Stainless steel tanks for four months. 

Wine: Dull straw yellow color with delicate fruit aroma tart but fleshy. Both in the nose an mouth is a distinct flavor imparted by the soil of this region, dark, moist and earthy. The flavor is balanced, dry, and acidic.  Something I personally love about the wines of Amalfi is the strength and zest they have, even the whites. In fact, if your eyes were closed you might think this was a red at first sip. 


Fiorduva Furore Bianco
Photo from KLWines
Grapes:  30%Fenile, 30% Ginestra, 40% Ripoli 
Grown between 200-550 meters above sea level on a southern facing slope in dolomitic limestone rock, these grapes are hand-picked the last ten days of october. The juice is fermented in oak barriques for three months. 

Wine: Bright yellow with golden hues, this wine reminds one of apricots, broom flowers, and a subtle hint of tropical fruits. The flavor carries the aromas through showing apricots, sultanas, and candied fruits.

Furore Rosso Riserva
Grapes: 50% Piedirosso (knows as Per and Palummo locally) & 50% Aglianico
Grown between 180-600 meters above sea level on a southern facing slope in dolomitic limestone rock, these grapes are hand-picked the last ten days of october. The juice is left with the skins for an intense 21 days, then undergoes malo lactic fermentation in new French oak Barriques. The wine is then matured for one year in new French Oak.

Wine: Red with dark ruby hues, the aromas are intense: blackberry, brambles, black currants, and blueberries. In the mouth it is smooth and well balanced with an aromatic finish of brushwood and spices.

To purchase these wines click here
Wine notes and information are from Marisa Cuomo unless noted.


Happily Ever After

In the end, it's never an end. Just as Marisa Cuomo has become a renowned winery, deemed the best winery on the Amalfi coast by many, it is ever changing, growing, and moving forward. Dorotea and her brother are constantly learning and helping to push their family tradition to the best it can be. I wish i could show you all the smile on Dorotea's face as we looked at the grapes that hung from the frames of the pergolas. or the ways her eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams fro the future of her family's legacy. 

I've come to the conclusion that this village in itself is filled with love stories. Those of smuggles lovers, young teammates, big families, sweat and struggle,  and of course the charm of the past and it's pull on the future. (sigh) . . . oh the romance.

To visit Cantina Marisa Cuomo's Web Site Click Here