The Runaway Cook

A diary of culinary adventures

Australians and Pasta a Pasta Dinner in . . Amalfi?

I am back in Amalfi! I know what you’re thinking, “Why is Elizabeth backtracking?” Well,   I have made friends with a couple of Australians that also wanted to go to Positano and Amalfi is the perfect place for a lunch break on the two-and-a-half-hour journey. 
We eating dinner at a place that Emilio (cheesy Italian man who was mentioned in earlier articles) told me is the best pasta in town, El Teatro. There are about three ways to get to this hidden little restaurant. One can choose the first white painted stone stairway, the second, or the third. After walking up a story of steep ledge-like steps just follow the all-white, painted, stone hallway between the buildings that leads to a widening in the hallway with tables, a lamp, and a sign. 
I’ve never found a restaurant that fit the word “hidden” so well. This place is practically asking to not be found by most people. I guess that’s how they weed out the foodie tourists from the not so food-motivates others. 
The three of os sit down under the solid arch that shades us from the hot sun. This lengthy hall makes for a gentle wind tunnel so it’s pretty comfortable outside the restaurant. We order the red wine of the house, which cost just more than water per liter. It’s light and acidic but good enough for quenching our thirst and matching our food-somewhat. 
First course is a pizza topped with black olives, tomato, basil, cheese, and from-scratch tomato sauce. The steaming round produces floating wafts of garlicy breeze and a tart scent from the olives and tomato. It tastes delicious, right down to the not-so-thin crust. The edges are crunchy but the center is soft. Strangely, it seems to make us more hungry and refreshed with every bite.
Second course is different for us all. To my left is a plate of stuffed vegetables and across from me is spinach stuffed raviolis covered in garnet-colored tomato sauce. But, right in front of me is a plate full of porchini mushrooms stuffed raviolis covered in a creamy sauce and just begging for me to take a bite. I love mushrooms and these, I have to admit are good, but have been sauteed with just a little too much white wine for my taste, In fact they’re almost a a little bit sour. However, the richness of the ricotta in the filling and creamy sauce almost makes the tart mushrooms seem normal. The pasta is tender and lovely- just what I had hoped for. All in all, I’d have to say I was happy with the meal.








Ahhhh look at the time! With these couple glasses of wine, the three of us have nearly lost track of the time. We must catch the bus to Positano so we can have some time there before we run to catch the last bus back to Salerno . . . . Grab your bags ladies it’s time to run!

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.

A Love Story . . . and Wine



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

Italian Men 101

http://picasaweb.google.com/RoyFernley/AtraniItaly# -the bench and the beach
Have you heard the rumors? You know what I'm talking about, the ones about those tall dark handsome Italian men. . . I was warned that for every block there's about five men that will swoon over the sight of a woman and woo them with romantic words and an accent that is to die for. Are they true? Or are the rumors about sleaze-ball Italian men with cheesy lines and an excessive adoration for their mothers more true?

Reading the below may burst your bubble or encourage your fantasy. . . you have been warned.

This story all starts with food, of course. All my "men" stories start with food. I think it's some sort of uncanny gift I've been given- when I'm around food they flock to me, the good and the bad. 

It was sunny with a haze hanging in the air. It's the kind of weather that makes everyone more hungry and everything we eat taste better. I found looked for a semi deserted spot near the beach at Amalfi. I take a seat and prop my foot up under me and let the other dangle. Out the delicious gems come from their hiding in my purse. The mozzarella was moist, fresh and delicious. I struggled a little to get it out of the bag and up from the bath it was packed in. But after the first bit of smooth salty skin with a sponge-like inside saturated in the sweet and sour whey I was certain my effort was worth it. Yum. . . oh, but better still was the fruit. I can't even tell you how lovely that nectarine was. Crisp and sweet, the I swear that If I had not bitten that fruit, the juice would have burst right through the skin. The hot sugary elixir coated my lips and dripped down my hands and arms. The stickiness was no distraction to the loveliness I was experiencing. 

Instead I found my distraction in front of me. I was sitting there in my classy black bathing suit covered with a pale blue tank top and my durable olive shorts. It's a wonderful day and yet, I am hesitant to swim. What will I do just swim alone? I'm not so good at swimming, and fish give me the willies. I wonder if there are fish in there? I'm wearing a one piece. No one here wears these- even the 70-year-olds go bikini. Sigh . . . Will I look ridiculous or just feel ridiculous being alone. I notice people playing, taking showers. They are children, parents, grandparents, teenagers, families, lovers, they are together.

I sigh as my eye catches a glimpse of a tan and wonderfully thin couple kisses in shore line. He has his hand behind her back and the other dug into the dark gravely sand. Her arm coils around his neck with her fingertips ending in a mass of brown curls. They are so young. Ha! What am I saying? I am so young too. . .Eh, but this is puppy love. It's likely to end soon, yet the thought of no worry about the future, no thinking about where each of you will go to college or work, just ocean and each other makes me wish. I mean I can't help the little bit of jealousy that I'm feeling. 

Ahhh! I can't see them anymore. Some very tanned guy in a bright, turmeric-yellow cap is leaning against the black railing of the sidewalk just enough to block my view. Oh well, my stare was an invasion of privacy anyway right. Fine you crazy Italian man I'll look in another direction.

"Hello" I turn to see that this obstruction is no trying to talk to me. "Where are you from? England?"
I shake my head no.
"Germany?"
I shake no again and he pauses to think.
"Australia?" he says thinking he's figured it out.
I smile and nod again
"Italy?" he says with a strange squeak and tone of I-doubt-this-but. "Do you speak English?"
"yes." I say and laugh
"Then where-uh are-reh you-ah from?"
 Wow this accent is getting stronger as I utter my usual response, "The USA." 

Our conversation continues and he asks why I am sitting here alone on this bench and how long I am staying in this area. We exchange names, (for our purposes we will call my Italian acquaintance Emiliano- It's an italian name that means eager- quite fitting) argue about a few things regarding where I'm staying and my purse of all things. He does most of the talking. At this point, I am not sure if it was what he was saying or that he was saying it in a strong Italian accent that put an "uh" at the end of nearly every word, and a breathy lisp in the complicated phrases, but I found myself giggling at him. 
"Oh Elizibet-uh. I-uh cannot-uh look at-uh you. Your eyes, they are-uh too beautiful. When-eh I-uh look at-uh them I cannot-uh think-eh." (remember he has a bad lips when it comes to the "th" and sometimes "s" sounds, so these "sonnets" come out as slobber and tangled attempts to seduce me.

"What-ah would eh-you think if we just-uh jumped into the ocean right now?
"Right now? Uhhhhh, I don't know. . . I was just thinking of doing that." 
"Do you have-uh your-eh bikini on?"
"No, but I have a one piece."
"Hahaha well I don't want-uh to-uh know-uh which piece that-eh is."
"What?"

The funniest thing "have a" and "have-uh" sound just alike. So, I thoroughly explain I have a swimming suit on that is called a "one piece" not one piece of a bikini. This gets even funnier as we walk to the beach and he decides to just take off his shirt and jump in. I take off my shirt and begin to take off my shorts when he screams "NO!" This guy still thinks I'm only wearing one piece. Hahahahaha it was lost in translation I guess.

We swim out and I am a little nervous- there are no ropes and this water is really deep. Thank God I'm not out here alone. Oy! Oaf!! I am plunged beneath the water from a thump on the head. 
"Oh sorry. I better kiss it to make it better."
Oh yeah right buddy. This "oops!" game continues but with lighter thumps. I dodge him and eventually we make our way to the shore.  As we sat on the edge of the shore I couldn't help but think about how I sort-of got what I had wanted. How strange it was to be just where I had thought of. 

The worst part was that although Emiliano's rippled chest was coated in droplets of sea water and his dark wavy hair curled around his espresso-colored eyes, and well it even started to just barely rain- the only rain I saw in all my stay here in Amalfi- this all seemed like a comedy rather than a romance. 

I felt as though I had met a cartoon character. I had swam with a shirtless Italian man in his late twenties and instead of swooning over him, I kinda just liked laughing at him and the hilarity of the whole situation. What will this guy do next I wonder? 

This story will continue in later posts. To keep up with the Italian Men 101 look for new posts in the coming week.




The Streets

The water is blinding me as I stare out at the lightning edged ripples. The air is warm with a salty col breeze. Even though I've only been out here for a short time my hair is already coated in the aroma of magenta flowers, sea air, and citrus.                                                       -                                                                                                           This morning I am hunting for food. As I've walked through town and up the main street, I have found that there is no shortage of limoncello. Every shop, no matter what their specialty, sells this lemon liqueur and I am pretty sure the tourists here can't get enough of it. All the buzz about this beverage makes me all the more excited to visit the Limoncello Factory in Ravello tomorrow.

Aye! But I have yet to find some food, I just want a bakery or a grocers or something. So far many of these I've gotten bad directions and I had found none of the above. But after a little more wandering I found my first fruit and vegetable stand. In a nook smaller than my apartment stairwell, was a counter surrounded by dragon beans, tomatoes, citrus fruits, and more- including about eight different stone fruits who all must know english because they are wooing me to them.                               -                                                                                                     Note to all about markets in Italy. DO NOT TOUCH. Even though there are boxes just out in the open and fruit begging to be grasped and adored, you are not the one to do this. No matter how many people are there with the one worker, you must wait and ask for them to pick out the fruit. Just mention if it is for now or later and you'll get the ripeness you want.  I ended up with a couple nectarines that cost me about 80 cents US for the both of them. Mmmmmm. . . . 

Next I found a little grocers just up a bit and to the right.  There I was able to get some bread and fresh mozzarella di bufala. Granted this is probably not the highest quality of either, I am still in a state of bliss and can't wait to eat my bounty.