The Runaway Cook

Note to all travelers staying in hostels. It is no longer the flirtatious smile and innocent giggle that can save you money at your next point of rest. Rather it is bringing lost travelers to your host who end up staying where you were that please him enough to take 23 Euro off your bill. That's right folks. I happened to meet four young travelers on the train from Verona to Venice in the wee hours of the morning and told them about the superb location and bathrooms of my hostel. They needed a place to stay and I brought them back with me. After a short conversation with the owner he decided to knock off a night from my bill. YES!

So what have we learned my friend. That even at 4am it is vital to talk to the traveler next to you, they just might get you where you need to go or save you a few bucks!

Wandering on my own today has brought me to some interesting places. Today, I'd have to say was one for the books. Believe it or not I found a small wine shop that sells wine by the liter or half-liter from a large bottle with a hose in it. All the wine is from a local mainland winery and they don't just sell to tourists, the local venetians fill up their bottles here. It's like pumping gas in a way. Just come with your vessel and the guy will bill you for whatever it holds. HA! And if you don't have something to put the wine in, they'll put it in one of their many plastic bottles.

I hot half a liter of pinot grigio and half a liter of a red blend. Two very easy drinking wines. but worth the 4 Euros I they cost me.

Tonight is Peter's last night in Venice and Italy for that matter. He is headed to Austria. We have yet to find a place that has given us a meal worth slobbering over the story that we tell our loved ones and we are bound and determined to find just that. After asking many locals and getting a bit lost, we have found the Trattoria Storica after talking with a man behind the front desk of a very small and beautiful hotel. He Claimed that this was one of the best places for pasta and fish.

He was right. I ordered a pasta dish with garlic, tomatoes, herbs and scampi that was luscious! The perfectly al dente pasta was coated in a rich film of peppery olive oil. Garlic hung in the air above my plate and clung to each bite I twirled around my fork. The scampi was tender and naturally sweet and rich in minerality which was complimented by the sweet and acidic cherry tomatoes. It was simple but enough to make the sound of happiness vibrate my vocal cords: MMMMMMM!

I couldn't have been more pleased with my dish. However, I could have done away with the mosquitoes that kept catching me off guard. After a few slaps our waiter brought over a bottle of bug spray and left it at the table with kind not of his head. We spared everything but the food and it seemed to help some.

We each ordered a filet of fish as well as our pasta dished. We were both excited when out waiter push a gueridon to our table and deboned the grilled creatures in front of us. Mine was gilled a little longer than my liking but was still good.

I would suggest this restaurant to you all. Venice is a beautiful Italian city, but finding a place with delicious pasta took three attempts. If only finding delicious and authentic cuisine was as easy as it is to admire the architecture.

I would have never imagined getting to a restaurant that had obnoxiously wonderful reviews on the NY Times website would be so difficult. Tonight all began when Peter and I decided that as culinarians, we wanted to splurge on some splendid Venetian fare for our dinner. I had done some research prior to leaving the states on places to go and we used my base to find what we imagined would be the perfect place. I called and made a reservation at this on-the-water experience and wrote down the address and marked it on the map. However, after a long walk and going back a forth between the only to restaurants in the area, we realized that this restaurant was so perfect, that we and no one we asked could find it.

The morning is still young, my swim suit is on, map in my hand, Norwegian at my side and get with my backpack on his back. We are headed to the beach today, but not until we have picked up our breakfast and lunch at a market that is said to have exceptionally fresh fish and produce.

Just inside a large brick building with wide open walls, is a sea without water. My eyes can't stop staring at the glossy creatures laid out shaved ice. So many suction cups and so many scales! From prawns and shrimp to giant fish and octopus, there's so much of everything, even bins full of snails.  It's hard not to just buy a fish with the sound of the Grand Canal swishing next to us.

Our goal is to make a picnic today so we must press on to the produce. Every stone fruit you could imagine is here. Cherries, nectarines, round peaches, flat peaches, purple plums, and even these amazing little oblong yellow plums. All these Italian grown stone fruits are spectacularly delicious and my absolute weakness, even more than gelato and pasta. The hazy skin of a plum and the bright red of a nectarine beckon my euros and leave my fingers wet and sticky from their sweet juice. Needless to day my breakfast today was a peach.

Men behind the tables yell in multiple languages convincing locals and tourists alike that their food is the best. Remember no touching! Just tell the person behind the table "for today" or "for later" and they will give you what you need. But if you are eyeing what seems to be the perfect peach out in front they'll let you grab it.

Today I'm doing all the talking. Peter and I pick out fruits and I dig through out pooled euros and get what we need. Then the precious bags get slipped into the backpack and we move to the next table.  Everything is going pretty smoothly and then I see them, grape tomatoes on the vine. More red than a tub of grandma's lipstick these little orbs look fantastic. I ask to see them and am offered a taste. The skin taught skin popped from the pressure of my teeth. Sweet and sour juice explodes over my taste buds and I buy two bunches. More than I need but I just can't help myself. Indulging in tomatoes isn't really an indulgence is it?

Next we step into a cheese shop, Casa Del Parmigiano . Here cheese is practically a food group on its own. Hanging in the doorway are long plastic garlands to perhaps ward off pigeons. Two small graying men stand behind two conservative-looking, clear cases of cases filled with rows of cheese. Four bookshelves hold rounds of hard cheeses accompanied by a couple of prosciutto legs hanging from the ceiling. Today Camembert, Asiago, and salami are the winners. Sweet smiles come from behind the counter and accented laughs give way to a ciao as we step out the door.


Our pack is getting full but we have got to get some bread. I'm thinking focaccia or something with a crust that crackles. Just a few steps away is a little bakery with exactly what I want. Peter and I pick out bread perfectly crisp baguettes.


The backpack is full and now it's time for the beach. Until next time my friends! Now where are those tomatoes?

The skinny streets of Venice

After a brief check-in with the strangest hostel-own I've met to date, Peter and I are off to see as many sights as we can that are listed in his revered travel book.  We also have a map with special locations highlighted. Peter's philosophy is to cross reference with his guide and forget about all the sights that aren't in his book. "It must not be important" he reasons. I giggle and go along with it since there are too many X's on the map to get to in one afternoon.

"How about you take the map and I'll read the book!" he says with that strong Norwegian, decisiveness. I agree and find that navigating these itsy-bitsy streets is pretty fun. With all the tiny roads and landmarks that amount to small fountains in widening parts of the street, it's little exciting to feel like I know where we are going.

Peter seems to be blindly following me so that too feels pretty good. I did get a little confused a couple times but with some gentle arguing we figured out where things were. I'm not sure how many bridges we crossed during the trek, somewhere close to 50 I think.

Our stops included chapels, shops, piazza, sainted squares, and famous bridges. The paintings in these chapels seem darker, in color and theme, than those of other cities. The very small church, San Rocco, had large dark paintings lining the walls and thick red drapes in the windows. What I remember most are the hanging lamps and wooden crucifix that seemed haunting. Perhaps it was a combination of the sun setting and the drapes keeping out the light or maybe just the strikingly gaunt look of the body, but I just can't seem to get that sculpture out of my head.  

Venice is gorgeous from above. The turquoise water is a pleasing contrast to sienna-colored roofs and gray stone streets. I can see San Giorgio Maggiore and the dome of the Santa Maria della Salute church. To top that off the sky is as perfectly blue as the water and there's just enough breeze to make me not want to go back down that elevator.  Eventually Peter tore me away from the view and we walked on.

To the left are the steps of the station and that bridge is the one we crossed to get to the hostel

Walk to far from the steps of the strain station and you fall right in. Shimmering and sloshing in its winding path, the Grand Canal more than grand. It's magnificent and surreal. Walking over these bridges every few feet and skipping along the seams of water and stones, I feel like I'm merely floating on the pearly green water.

My hostel happens to be just across from the train station, which means crossing a very tall bridge over the canal. I'm perfectly fine with a small hike up and down, but at this point my feet are half-dead, torn, and worn out more than my shoes. That, and the fact that this very large suitcase of gifts and belongings is as heavy as a middle schooler are going to mean trouble for me.

Luckily I am meeting my new friend from Norway who goes by "Peter" (an easier version of the norwegian counterpart)  has been patiently waiting for my train to arrive. I think I was more happy to see him standing there with is silly hat and dark shades than I was to eat my dinner that evening. I admit that one of my dreams is to have someone actually waiting for me at an airport or train station. Believe it or not, with all this traveling and even flying back and forth to school I rarely see someone waiting at the edge of the steps. So this occaision was more than a relief. To top that, this strapping man took my load of stuff and carried it over the Grand Canal and up the stairs to our hostel. What a peach!

At this point, I have officially entered heaven as he continues to tell me his "plan" for us. He explains he has scouted out Venice and the attractions a bit and states, "Tonight, we see the city and tomorrow we go to the beach."

I am floored at how prepared my buddy is. All signs of exhaustion have left me as well as my plan of a long shower and early bedtime. I mean who wouldn't want to take a late afternoon walk on the water?


Photos from other sources: http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1308/917931481_56bc104728.jpg
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