Day 7 - Epilog

I can hardly believe that more than a month has gone by since the start of my Italian adventure. For some reason it has been difficult to sit down and write the last installment. I think that the reason might be that, writing the conclusion would put a definitive end to the experience. I wrote the previous installment on December 13, just a week after arriving back in New Jersey. I was definitely still basking in the afterglow of my trip. The hustle and bustle of Christmas has now passed and, with it, the once-vibrant images of Parma. I am now ready to finish the story.

Parma, through a window

The alarm sounded. It was dark and cold in the bedroom and the temptation to linger under the covers was great, but not today. Today was departure day. I needed to finish packing, which would not be difficult. I had done most of it the evening before. I laid out the clothes for the day and put everything else in the suitcase. I got out of bed and made my final coffee to get me going. Then I showered and packed up my toiletries. I ate breakfast and tidied up the kitchen. I made one last sweep through the apartment to make sure I had everything. My time in Parma was nearly over. I am always a little sad when I have to leave a place where I have enjoyed myself. So I sat in the easy chair one last time. I just wanted to savor these last quiet moments before the hectic pace of travel set in.

It was another wet, cloudy day. I left the apartment to go to the ATM. I had told Antonia that I would stop by the restaurant at noon to return the keys and pay the remainder of my rent, which would take most of the cash that I had. At some point, I also had passed a candy shop, which I hoped to find again. Italian candy makes a nice, easy gift. As I closed the door of the apartment building, I took in the sight of that majestic medieval square in front of me. This would be an enduring memory.

Piazza Duomo, Parma

 I strolled through the streets one more time, found the ATM, but unfortunately not the candy shop. I stopped in a bar to get a sandwich to take on the train. It was time to go. I returned to the apartment, collected my suitcase and walked around the corner to the restaurant.  Giorgio greeted me warmly and called Antonia. She asked if I needed a cab. I did, so she called for me. I returned the keys and handed over the envelope. We chatted while waiting for the cab, which quickly arrived. Then, in a flurry of hugs and kisses, we said our goodbyes. I got into the cab and waved. Arrivederci, Parma.

The apartment's 'cortile'

I had purchased my ticket to Milan on line, so once at the station; all I had to do was find the track. That was easy enough. I was surprised, however, by the number of people waiting for the train on a Tuesday afternoon. The train was a few minutes late, but nothing by Italian standards. I had a reserved seat in business class, so there was no rush to board. The trip to Milan was uneventful. I kept trying to decide how to make my connection. The train to the town where my hotel for night was located left from a different station. The airport shuttle stopped there, but that ran only every thirty minutes. If I did that, however, I would probably have to wait another hour for the next train to my destination, Casorate Sempione. I decided to take a cab. As we left the station, I could not believe how much Milan had grown upwards since my last visit. I said something about this to the cabbie, which led to our having a great chat. It was not a long trip and, when we arrived at the Porta Garibaldi station, I gave him an overly generous tip and said it was an early Christmas present. He gave me a big smile and a handshake.

The Porta Garibaldi station was bright and modern. There were quite a few shops and eateries all decorated for Christmas. I found a ticket machine and bought my ticket. I needed to use the restroom, which I found. It required a Euro coin but I could not figure out how the door operated. Fortunately, a passerby showed me the trick. I found my train and boarded. It too was very clean and modern. It was part of the Trenord line, a merger of a regional train with the national rail company. It is primarily a commuter train line and services almost every town in the Lombardy region big enough to have a train station. My train was packed with teenagers obviously heading home after school. It was interesting passing through these towns and villages as we moved farther and farther away from Milan. It was about a forty-minute trip to Casorate Sempione. I did not know what to expect when I reached the town. I had no idea how big or small it actually was. When I got off the train, there was no sign of a taxi. On the map, the hotel did not appear to be too far from the station, so walking was the option, actually, the only option. With the help of my phone, I found the hotel, the Osteria della Pista, rather easily. As it turned out, it was not far at all. The sun had come out at this point and it was a lovely afternoon. I checked in, made a reservation for dinner and dropped off my suitcase. After sitting for so long, I decided to go for a walk and explore Casorate Sempione. 

My hotel in Casorate Sempione

What I discovered quickly was that Casorate Sempione was the quintessential “one-horse town”. There were almost no shops and many of them were closed. I finally found a bar that was open and went inside for a beer. I’m sure the locals wondered who I was. I went back to the hotel, as it was getting dark. I worked on the blog until it was time for dinner. I was looking forward to this. On TripAdvisor, the reviews of the restaurant were excellent. That was a major reason for choosing this particular hotel.

Downtown Casorate Sempione

I checked in with the maître’d, who handed me off to a young waiter. The waiter showed me to a table in a kind of pavilion adjacent to the indoor dining space. It was only 7:30, yet the room was three-quarters full. “Where did all these people come from”, I wondered. We were in the middle of nowhere. The waiter returned with the menu and I began my deliberations. Although this was Lombardy, the menu was decidedly from Southern Italy. Apparently, the current owners were from the Naples area and the menu reflected that fact. Perhaps that was part of the draw here in Northern Italy. I ordered the spaghetti with clams and a half bottle of Falanghina. 

Last dinner in Italy

The waiter seemed to approve of my wine selection. Then he asked if I wanted bottarga (salted and cured fish roe) on my spaghetti. “Now there’s a treat,” I thought. So I said yes - it was my last night, I didn’t care what it cost. The pasta was delicious, as was the beef strips with porcini mushrooms and squash puree that followed. I didn’t think I could manage dessert, but my waiter convinced me to try the local specialty, the “Torta San Tito”. It was a walnut and honey cake, quite simple but truly delicious. He offered a grappa on the house. How could I say no?

I was up at 6:00 am the next morning. The shuttle was leaving at 7:30. I had enough time to shower and have breakfast. The shuttle arrived right on time. It was a beautifully clear and chilly morning. As we drove along, I could see that a heavy frost had settled on everything overnight. As we got closer to the airport, I caught glimpses of the snow-covered Alps catching the first rays of the sun. The views were spectacular. Once at the airport, it was the usual procedure. The only thing that stood out was passport control. As a non-EU citizen, I was in the longest line with many non-Europeans and people from Eastern Europe. Departure was delayed for about an hour, because the crew got stuck in traffic coming from Milan, but before long we were able to board and take off. 

The majestic Alps 

The flight was long, but uneventful. We even managed to make up most of the time of our delay, so I arrived back in Newark pretty much on schedule. I texted my ride that I was on the ground. He was meeting me and then another monk who was arriving a little later. Unfortunately, the other monk’s flight was delayed for over an hour. At this point, I just wanted to get home, so I said that I would get an Uber. While I waited for my bags, I kept trying to get an Uber, but I kept getting a weird message that they didn’t pick up at Terminal C. I Googled to find the Uber pick-up point and decided to go there and see what I could find out. No more information seemed to be available there either and I was still getting that stupid message. What was I going to do?

I saw this guy standing by a car and I suspected that he was an Uber driver. I was just about to approach him and ask him, when he said to me, “Do you need an Uber?” “Yes,” I said. “Where are you going”, he asked. “Morristown,” I said. “OK, good.” I thought to myself, “This is not how it’s supposed to work.” He said, “I was supposed to have a pick up, but they cancelled on me.” Well, was not so sure about this, but I was eager enough to take the chance. So, I got in. “How am I going to know how much this will cost?” I asked as we pulled away from the curb. “Check on Uber now and see what it says.” Lo and behold, it worked. $56.00 to Morristown. He seemed OK with that. I certainly was. I am always interested in Uber drivers so I asked if this was his full-time job. Yes, it was. He was an immigrant from the Dominican Republic and he lived in Harrisburg, Pa. “What are you doing all the way out her?” I asked. He said that he had to drive a couple to Newark Airport and that he then had this pick-up that cancelled. The reason he was willing to take me was that he could then just jump on I-78 and head home. Am I lucky or what? I showed him the back way to Delbarton and explained how to get back onto I-287 S without going through Morristown. We reached the abbey and I had just enough US dollars in my wallet to pay him the fare and a tip. He left and I was home.

Postscript

Our cook, Aldo, was very interested in my pasta making experience. He has been making his own pasta for years, but had never heard of fresh pasta made only with flour and eggs. He seemed very keen on seeing how this was done. It turned out that we had the perfect excuse just before Christmas Eve. Earlier in the month, we had had lobster tails on December 8^th. The abbey’s patronal feast is the Immaculate Conception and there is always a extra special dinner. Since there are only a handful of the monks who eat fish, it was not prohibitive to buy lobster. Since it was more economical to buy whole lobsters, we had decided to serve the tails on our feastday and freeze the rest of the lobster to make ravioli for Christmas Eve. So when the time came, Aldo and I got together and I showed him the method that I had learned in Parma and he was amazed at the results. That evening we made five dozen lobster ravioli and, if I do say so myself, they were scrumptious!

Aldo making fresh egg pasta

 Day 6

Monday. My last full day in Parma. The time has really flown by. I had to set my alarm for this morning, because I was going on a food tour. I needed to be at the meet-up point at 9:30 a.m. When planning my trip I had investigated several types of similar tours. In reading the promos, the one offered by Maestro Travel Experiences seemed like the most in-depth, though the “Tasty Bus” moniker was rather silly. (Italians have a fondness for dropping little bits of English into publicity. I am not sure why.) I also liked that no pre-payment was due until 48 hours before the day of the tour. I liked having the option to change my mind. I was, at best, ambivalent about this kind of tour, because I assumed that I knew quite enough about Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, prosciutto and balsamic vinegar. My ambivalence was reinforced, when I received a message from the company on Thursday, that there were no other takers for the tour on Monday (today), but they were still willing to do the tour for one - me. I wrote back and said that I would have to think about it, which I did. In the end, I decided to go for it. The weather forecast for Monday was lousy, most museums and restaurants were closed and I would get to see something of the surrounding countryside.

I reached the meeting point and saw a black mini-van waiting. As I approached, the young woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window and asked, “Paul?” “Yes, that’s me.” She introduced herself as Marika (she is the one who had been in touch) and she got out of the van to greet me. Since we were not waiting for anyone else, I got in and we set off. As we headed out of the city, Marika, told me a bit about herself. She was not originally from Parma, but from a town close to Milan. She was a student at the University of Parma studying Gastronomic Science (a broad subject embracing almost any aspect of food culture.) She enjoyed helping people appreciate better the food culture of Parma. I had a sense that she would be a very good guide. As I looked out the window, I realized that we were taking essentially the same route that I had with Antonia on Thursday. When I saw the signs for Langhirano, I knew that I was right.

Our first stop was the Caseficio Basilica Nova, where authentic Parmigiano-Reggiano is made. It was not a very large place; and, as Marika explained, it was still a family-run production. We donned our sanitary gear and entered the room where the cheese comes into existence. We arrived just as two workers were extracting large bundles of curds from a kettle. I was allowed to taste the very raw product, which, honestly, did not have much taste at all. 

Extracting the curds

Without explaining every step of the process, it is extraordinary how this basic milk product evolves into one of the most prestigious cheeses in the world. Of the facts that I learned here, I think the most interesting one was about the salt used in the curing process. Originally, the salt used in the production of Parmigiano-Reggiano only came from the town of Salsomaggiore, where saline water issues from a thermal spring. There the water was collected, dried and the salt gathered. In the late 20^th century, regulations permitted salt from the town of Cervia as an acceptable salt for the production of Parmigiano-Reggiano. Who knew? After the tour, we were treated to a taste of Parmigiano of four different ages - 12 months, 24 months, 36 months and 40 months. The difference is incredible. We also tasted a caciotta (fresh milk cheese) and some panna cotta (yummy!) I will now be sure to try to find the age before purchasing any cheese here in the States.

Parmigiano-Reggiano aging

After Parmigiano-Reggiano, the next stop product was prosciutto. As we headed towards our destination, Marika pointed out the castle of Torrechiara, which Antonia had tried to show me. This time, however, I could actually see the castle!

The Castle of Torrechiara

 As we got closer, Marika explained that most of the prosciutto di Parma was actually produced in the town of Langhirano. To simplify matters, however, the prosciutto of this region is called ‘di Parma’. Like Parmigiano-Reggiano, prosciutto must meet rigorous standards to be called prosciutto di Parma. Perhaps the most interesting feature of this ham is that it spends a certain amount of time exposed to the air via open windows. The producers maintain that exposure to air coming in from the sea imparts to their prosciutto its particular flavor. As a result, prosciutto factories are clearly recognizable because of their distinctive windows on the upper floors. What amazed me the most was the fact that the local people figured all this out centuries ago without the benefit of modern science. Perhaps the greatest difference between the past and now is the shear volume. At the Conti plant that we visited, they prepare over 400 prosciutto a day. In addition, Conti produces another cured meat called ‘culatello’ prepared using the buttock muscle of the cow. At the tasting following the tour, I was amazed at the flavor of this meat. I almost think it was better than the prosciutto. I’ll have to go back to do another taste test!

In the aging room of the Conti factory

Crossing the Parma, we headed back across the river Parma towards our final destination to explore balsamic vinegar. First, however, it was time for lunch. I was excited when we pulled off the road into the parking area of “Osteria la Maestà”. 

Osteria a Maestà

There were quite a few work vehicles in the lot. That boded well. If workers frequent the place, you can rest assured that food will be excellent and the prices reasonable. The tour company obviously has an arrangement with this place, because all the staff knew Marika and greeted her warmly. She went into the kitchen to greet the ‘padrona’.  The waiter quickly brought us water and wine and then our antipasti - a wedge of squash tart and piece of ‘erbazzone’, a kind of vegetable pie. Both were delicious. Then a plate with two types of pasta appeared - the ubiquitous tortelli di erbette and fettucine in a kind of brown sauce that I learned was actually radicchio. Again, simple but great. A few pieces of fruit torte and coffee completed the meal. This was the kind of restaurant and the kind of food, which make me love Italy so much. I was sorry to have to leave!

Pasta at Osteria la Maestà

Now it was time for balsamic vinegar - the last of the holy trinity of Emilia-Romagna - Parmigiano-Reggiano, prosciutto di Parma and balsamic vinegar. We arrived at the door of “Acetaia Picci” in the town of Cavirago and rang the bell. The door was opened by a giant of a man, whom Marika introduced to me as ‘Marco’, the proprietor. He let Marika take me on the tour unaccompanied and she explained the traditional process of making true balsamic vinegar. Again, I was struck how the process for creating balsamic vinegar was worked out centuries ago, again, without the benefit of modern science. It is too involved to describe in detail, but suffice it to say, it is quite elaborate. Also, it takes a minimum of twelve years to produce authentic balsamic vinegar. Marika explained that almost no one makes a living producing this authentic vinegar. Individuals and families do it as a passion, but not to make a living. It simply is too time consuming and labor-intensive to be profitable. At the end of the tour, Marco offered a tasting of his balsamic vinegar at various stages of maturation. The transformation of this nectar over time is nothing if not incredible. We finished by having some pastry cream drizzled with 25-year old balsamic vinegar. I could have died a happy death right then and there.

Death by balsamic vinegar

So we climbed back into the van and began to head back to Parma. It had been a great day and I was so happy that I had decided to take this tour. Marika and Massimo (the driver) were chatting and I was texting. At a certain point, Marika exclaimed, “It’s snowing!” and sure enough, it was. Big flakes of snow mixed with the rain. I hadn’t expected this! When we reached the drop off point, they offered to drive me to the apartment, but I declined. I told them that I wanted to see how the residents of Parma reacted to a little snow, since they were already dressed like eskimos because of the cold. This got a big laugh! We said our good-byes and I set off into the city.

 

Day 5

Sunday dawned bright and sunny, if chilly. I had a pretty full day planned. On the first Sunday of the month, all the public museums are free and I had postponed visiting the major art museum until now. It was also the first Sunday of Advent, so I needed to go to Mass. Fortunately, there was no shortage of churches. The hard thing was finding out when they were actually having Mass. There is a Benedictine abbey in Parma. It consists of about 6 old monks. It’s a rather sad place. They publicized that they had Mass at 10:00, which was perfect. It was also very close. I was relieved when I reached the church, because it was clear that Mass was actually going to be celebrated. In the end, there were about 20 people in the congregation - mostly senior citizens, like myself.

Benedictine church of St. John the Evangelist

After Mass, I headed straight to the museum. It is housed in the Palazzo della Pilotta, a large complex of structures that were built over the centuries to house various activities of the ruling family. Part of the structure now houses the National Gallery of Parma. The various rulers assembled the collection of paintings over the centuries. Most of which had been scattered across Europe after the end of the various dynasties. It has taken decades of hard work to reassemble as much of the collection as possible. The gallery has also tried to add works that represent artists who lived and worked in Parma. Many of these works came from churches that had been deconsecrated. What is there now is very handsomely displayed in long corridors that have been turned into galleries. The largest number of paintings have religious themes, as was typical for the period from which the collection stems. I spent a good two hours viewing the collection. I was please to find several representations of St. Benedict among the paintings. All in all, it was a very impressive collection. Two hours, however, is about my limit when it comes to museums. I left and headed back into the city.

Palazzo della Pilotta

Probably because of the nice weather and the fact that it was Sunday, the streets were filled with people. I had a restaurant in mind for lunch, but I kept getting turned around, even using my phone. Eventually I found it, but the wait time was over an hour. I did not want to wait that long. I had to find someplace, because very few restaurants are open on Sunday evening. I had passed one that didn’t seem too busy and was away from the crowds, so I headed there. Unfortunately, there was a wait even there, but then the proprietor said, “Unless you want to eat outside.” It was not that cold, so I said, “Sure. Outside is fine.” He probably went back inside thinking “Crazy American!” I ordered a plate of cooked ham to start, mostly because it was served with a kind of pickled pear that I wanted to try. When the waitress came she asked if I also wanted some parmigiano - why not? I was in Parma, after all. At the same time, I ordered some little squash gnocchi with a Gorgonzola cream to follow my started. The ham was simply delicious, naturally sweet and moist and the parmigiano salty and dry. These folks definitely have it figured out. I drank some nice Lambrusco to wash it down. There was a lot of food in that appetizer. I almost regretted ordering something else. It seemed like forever, though for that ‘something else’ to arrive. Eventually my young waitress arrived to take my starter away. She said there was a little problem in the kitchen, but that my gnocchi would take some time. OK, I thought. Then I waited, and waited. Eventually the proprietor came out and I asked, “How much longer is this going to take?” He seemed very apologetic and asked if I wanted to move inside, since there was room now. So, I did. My gnocchi arrived shortly thereafter. They were very good, but the experience had taken the edge off my appetite. I paid and left. (My phone battery was depleted, so there are no pictures.)

Parma as seen from the Palazzo

I hurried back to the apartment to get some juice back into my phone. I was going to a concert of sacred music at 4:30. When I had visited the church of San Francesco earlier in my visit, I had seen a notice for this concert, which was going to feature Gregorian chant paired with reconstructions of medieval chant in the early Franciscan period. Interspersed were going to be selections from the writings of St. Francis. I thought that this seemed like an interesting program. I walked over to the church and was surprised to see how many people were already there. I found a seat and got comfortable. A Franciscan gave a long and wordy introduction to the program before the singers ever appeared. When the musicians did come out, there were three distinct groups - a men’s’ choir, a women’s choir and a small ensemble of instrumentalists. The men sang the Gregorian chants and the women responded with a piece of non-Gregorian sacred music, some of which was accompanied by the musicians. Then a text of St. Francis was read aloud. It was quite well done and not very long - less than an hour. Soon we were walking out into the brisk, night air. I was headed back to the apartment for a quiet night “at home’. And it really was starting to feel like that.

Musical angel outside of San Francesco

 

Day 4

The sun was actually shining when I woke up. This was the first time since I had arrived on Wednesday. Today was Saturday and Saturday is market day. Whenever I am anywhere in Italy, I always try to find out what day is market day. The experience of the open-air market is one of those quintessential things in Italy to which we have nothing to compare. Antonia had told me about a small farmers’ market in one part of town and the main market in another. In reality, they were not that far apart. Again, it was in a neighborhood right across the river where I had not yet been. I found it easily enough and it was not that large, roughly the same size as the farmers’ market in Morristown. I did a quick tour of all the stalls, just to see what was being offered. I really was only looking for apples, so I had to try and console myself. That one stall selling goat cheeses looked very interesting, though - especially the goat bleu cheese. There was no one in line, so I stepped up an ordered a wedge. When I asked the woman how much and she responded, I realized, for the first time, that I had forgotten to put in my hearing aids. This was not going to be helpful. I then went back to the stall that had the greatest selection of apples. There was a line at this stall, which fortunately gave me a chance to read the sign describing each variety. By the time it was my turn, I knew what I wanted. They were also selling pieces of ‘erbazzone’ a kind of vegetable pie. So I bought some of that too. I was planning tonight’s supper. The market was at the end of a long, straight street, which obviously ended in a piazza of some sort. I decided to walk up one side and down the other. It quickly became clear that this was an immigrant neighborhood, there were Middle Eastern shops, a South American restaurant, ethnic butchers and bakers and even an Indian restaurant.

Parma Farmers' Market

I crossed back over the river and immersed myself in the steady stream of people moving towards the market. You could hear every conceivable language being spoken. These weekly markets are not primarily food markets, but rather clothing, shoes, bags, housewares, and even bedding - all at ridiculously low prices. While many items purport to be name brands, almost all of the merchandise is knock offs or, at best, seconds. I prefer not know where the rest of it comes from. I once heard a vendor at one of these markets in Rome shout, “Don’t steal the merchandise!” and then utter under his breath, “it’s already been stolen.” At any rate, everybody shops at the market, from well turned-out matrons to gypsies and everything in-between. I imagine that, for immigrants from Africa, the Middle East and Asia where this type of market is common, this must be the closest thing to being at home. Curiously, I could not seem to find the one thing that I wanted - a pair of gloves.

Saturday is market day!

I had decided that I would have lunch out and have a light supper in the apartment. Again, the thought of trying to find a place to eat as a solo diner on a Saturday night was enough to make me want to stay home. I could work on the blog, have supper and then watch TV until I felt sleepy.  It was still much too early to think about lunch, however. I wanted to visit a museum dedicated to one of the last royal rulers of Parma, Maria Louisa of the Hapsburgs, the second wife of Napoleon. As I started out towards the museum, I discovered that market day covered much more of the city than I imagined. So naturally, I had to check out what was being offered in this area. As always, a bit of everything. As far as I could tell, though, no gloves for men. I found the museum and spent about an hour there. I appeared to be the only visitor, which suits me just fine. I left, now ready to hunt down some lunch.

My original idea was to try the Osteria della Zingara not far from the apartment. It was said to have some of the best local cuisine. As I walked back however, I thought about another place I passed all the time that had a very interesting, non-traditional menu. It was small, so I imagined I would never get in for dinner, maybe I could try at lunch. So, I opened the door and stepped inside. I asked if there were room for a solo diner. Of course, I got “the look”. So I added quickly, “If it’s not possible, that’s ok.” After a brief exchange with one of the wait staff, the young man nodded for me to follow him. We started down the stairs into the basement, whereupon I thought, “Oh great. They are going to put me in the cellar.” The young man explained the day’s specials and indicated the QR code for the menu. By the time he came back, I had decided on the pasta special, which was a short pasta with a slightly spicy seafood sauce and then the faraona (guinea fowl). I asked what kind of still white wine were they offering and he named a grechetto from Lazio, which I knew. I agreed immediately, which seemed to take him by surprise. Then I explained that I had lived in Rome. That really seemed to break the ice. In the end, the room filled up. I have to say, that was some of the best food I have ever eaten in Italy. The consequences of which was the first nap on this trip.

Garganelli with seafood sauce

When I woke up, I could see that the sun had come out. I knew I needed to take advantage of this opportunity, so I grabbed my coat and headed out. Late afternoon is the time of the ‘passegiata’. Thisis when Italians take to the streets to stroll, greet friends and neighbors, window shop and just enjoy themselves. It usually ends shortly after it gets dark. People either go inside somewhere for an aperitivo or they go home to prepare dinner. I wasn’t going to do either of those things, but I enjoyed mingling with the locals.

 

Day 3

Despite the dire prediction of rain for almost the entire time of my visit, I was surprised, when I woke up on Friday morning, that it was not raining. I decided to take advantage of that fact to go and visit the Ducal Palace, which is located in a park on the other side of the river. First, I wanted to go visit the church of San Francesco, which Antonia had highly recommended. It was turned into a prison in the mid- 1800’s and was only turned back into a church a few decades ago. Most of it still needs an enormous amount of work, which is slowly getting done. The church is not far the apartment, and, if I hadn’t got turned around, I would have been there in a few minutes. Once I did find it, I was astounded by its size. It is at least as big as the cathedral, I think. It is in the Gothic style, which is quite rare in Italy. Even on a cloudy day, you could tell how luminous it would be. Unfortunately, other than the building, there is nothing left to see, since everything was stripped out of the church when it was turned into a prison.

San Francesco

From there I walked towards the river, which wasn’t very far. I was surprised when I crossed the bridge how rapidly the river was flowing. Obviously, there had been more rain upriver than here in the city. The Ducal Palace sits in a large park, which, at one time, was private. In late autumn, on an overcast day, the park had quite a melancholy feel. There were not many people in the park, which added to the sense of loneliness. The Palace now houses a branch of the Italian security services and is rarely open to the public. I strolled the long way back to the apartment to get ready for my cooking class with Antonia.

The Ducal Palace

The plan was for me to meet Antonia at the restaurant and then drive with her to her house for the lesson. When I arrived, she was not there but her husband and daughter were, so we sat and talked while I waited. Antonia was not far behind and soon we were off. We reached her house in no time. It’s in the city, but sits on a rather large piece of property that her family has owned for over one hundred years. We went inside; and, after a very brief orientation, I was put to work making fresh egg pasta. I have done this before, but never with an experienced teacher. The first thing I learned is that you don’t have to be that meticulous and that pasta is very forgiving. Soon I was rolling out long sheets of pasta by myself. We were making the most traditional type of pasta in Parma - Tortelli di Erbette. We made the filling, which is very simple - ricotta, parmigiano, a small quantity of boiled swiss chard and nutmeg. I then learned how to place the filling on the pasta and how to fold, seal and cut the pasta. That’s it!

Making fresh egg pasta

Antonia said, “Do you want to learn another pasta?” Of course, I said, “Yes.” The next pasta was anolini, a filled pasta that is used in soups, especially at Christmas and other festive occasions.  The filling begins with the broth of three meats that have been braised for several hours. Breadcrumbs and parmigiano are mixed together and then the warm broth is added. This is mixed until all the liquid has been absorbed. At this point, it seems more like a paste. Then another healthy dose of parmigiano is added and finally some nutmeg. This filling is then placed on a pasta sheet, covered with another and then  a stamp is used to give the anolini their distinctive shape - that of a medieval hat. These are then cooked in either beef or chicken stock and then served with additional parmigiano. Do you see a theme developing?

We took a break at this point, because Antonia’s father (who lives next door) came over for an aperitivo (official reason) but I think also to see this strange American monk, who spoke Italian. He weighed in on several food and wine related products while we ate salami and a vegetable torte. This was all washed down with another fizzy wine, Malvasia frizzante, a white wine. Then it was back to work. Antonia asked whether I wanted to make fettucine, which, of course, I did. It was not difficult. However, when she showed me how to pick up the pasta with the knife and let it drop, I thought, “No way!” She talked me through it and I did it! It was a proud moment for yours truly.

I did it!

Last item on the program (I got more than my money’s worth!) was a stuffed chicken breast. The stuffing was very similar to the anolini but, instead of meat broth, the recipe called for chicken stock or even just hot water. From those ingredients, you make the same kind of paste. Now the chicken breasts, which are cut very thin, are laid out. A slice of prosciutto is placed on top, then a node of the stuffing, salt and pepper. These are not rolled up like involtini, but are simply folded over in half and fastened with toothpicks. These little bundles are then sautéed in butter and olive oil until nicely browned on both sides. The Marsala wine is added to the pan, then a little cream, and then covered with the lid. The flame gets lowered and, in about ten minutes, the chicken is done with a delicious sauce. Teacher’s tip: Not to worry of some of the filling falls out into the sauce - that only makes the sauce better. Chicken done, we sat down to eat the fruits of our labors. Antonia also gives lessons to a group of Boston College students, who spend a semester abroad in Parma. I had to try and explain the American university system to her  . . .

Our "Tortelli"

Once back at the apartment, I had everything to do not to fall asleep. I decide to keep working on this blog. I’m not sure how it was possible, but around 7:30, I started thinking about food again. By 8:00, I was putting my jacket back on to go to a pizzeria around the corner. “I’ll just come back to the apartment, if it’s too busy.” I thought. Well, it wasn’t and soon I was seated and ordering. On the menu, they had supplì a kind of rice croquette that is ubiquitous in Rome. They are not unlike arancini. They were a must and a pizza “Napoli’ with anchovies and capers, because I didn’t have to justify my menu choices with anyone! The supplì were as good as any I have ever eaten and the pizza was delicious. When the proprietor brought dessert around, I had to say no. When he suggested grappa, I said, “Yes.”

It had been a wonderful day!

Grappa

 

Day 2 Part 2

I got back to the apartment and had time to shower and change before meeting Antonia. You can say one thing about this weather, though - you don’t perspire much! Speaking of weather, the sky was dark and low, when Antonia and I set out. She wanted to show me this castle on the outskirts of Parma. Despite the fact that it wasn’t even 4:30 in the afternoon, it was almost dark. The farther we got from the city, the lower the clouds seemed to descend. When we finally reached the turn off, Antonia pointed upwards and said that the castle was up there. Well, you could have fooled me. We preceded up this road with multiple ‘s’ curves. Eventually we reached a barrier that told us we could go no further. We parked and got out. A few lights burned ahead of us. At the base of the castle, there was a restaurant, a bar and a little shop of some sort. Since we were not going to see very much else, we went into the bar for a coffee. The barista seemed surprised to see anyone walk in on this dark night. Inside, however, it was bright and warm and had an almost alpine feel. We drank our coffee, chatted for a bit and then returned to the car. Antonia took us on a different road hoping that we might catch a glimpse of the castle, but the clouds had settled even lower.

The Castle of Torrechiara - which I never did see

Thwarted in that plan, we now set out to visit Antonia’s sister at her organic farm-market, Agricola Bergamina. It did not take long to reach it. As we pulled in, I could see a field on my right side and recognized many late fall items. (They still have not had frost). On the left, was a long, low building with lots of glass. This had once bee the stall. Inside it was brightly lit and I could see shelves with vegetables on them. This was clearly a bigger operation than I had imagined. Antonia obviously knew most of the employees, because everyone greeted her. She went off to look for her sister, so I had plenty of time to poke around. I’m not sure what kind of fertilizer they use, but there were some very large cabbages and cauliflower on display. In addition to vegetables, they sell bread, artisanal cheeses, and pickles and sauces in bottles. Not everything in the shop is produced there, but everything is sourced from other small, organic farms. Happily there was a steady stream of customers.

The farm market

Antonia returned and introduced me to her sister, who had a nice ruddy glow about her. She seemed distracted, however. There was a lot of activity going on around us. She finally explained that they were getting ready for dinner service. I hadn’t realized that there was food served on a regular basis. The back of the room had quite a few long tables, which I assumed were used for special events. Apparently, what had started as a small ‘aperitivo’ (they brew their own beer) has morphed into light supper offerings. They have recently built a good-sized kitchen and someone who looked like a chef was standing at the stove. It seemed like the kind of operation that I would have loved to been involved with. Antonia and I sat down at one of the tables, where we enjoyed a selection of three cheeses, home baked bread and home-brewed beer. After a nice chat, we said out good-byes, got into the car and headed back into Parma - Antonia to the restaurant and I to my little apartment.

Our 'snack'

 Day 2 - Part 1

I pulled the covers over my head at about 9:00 on my first night in Parma and did not set an alarm. I fell asleep quickly enough, but woke about two hours later to the sound of voices that seemed to be right in the apartment. They were coming, however, from the street outside my window. The high walls create a kind of echo chamber. I am definitely not used to sleeping in an urban environment. Eventually I awoke and was surprised to see that it was 8:30. I did get a good night’s sleep after all. I was eager to get going, so I  washed and dressed, had my coffee, ate my breakfast and set out. My first objective was to see the complex right outside my door - the cathedral, the diocesan museum and the baptistery. As I was preparing to leave, I heard the bells of the cathedral start tolling. ”There must be a funeral.” I thought. I’ll do the museum first.

The diocesan museum has an important collection of pieces from the 13^th century cathedral, which were removed when the cathedral was “renovated” in the 1500’s. Many pieces, especially the sculptures, are the work of Benedetto Antelemi, an artist/sculptor who played a major role in the construction of both the cathedral and the baptistery. The museum, while not large, is well laid-out and nicely documented. In fact, it is possible to download to your phone a free online guide for all three parts of the complex. After the museum, I toured the cathedral. Unfortunately, it was a very dark day, so I did not bother to take any pictures. I then moved on to the baptistery.

The diocesan museum

 The baptistery is probably the most important work of art in Parma. For some reason, the practice of administering baptism in a separate structure seems to have survived longer in Central Italy than anywhere else. One only needs to think of Florence and Pisa. Still the baptistery in Parma is an amazing structure. I will spare you the art history lesson, however. What really caught my eye was a series of sculptures done by Antelemi representing the 12 months of the year and the agricultural tasks associated with each season. I found them as beautiful as they were interesting. I was lucky enough to be the only one in the baptistery at the time, so I had the whole place to myself.

Sculptures of the months: L- R August, July, June

By now, it was noontime. Antonia had called with a proposal to take a drive outside the city to see a local castle and to visit her sister’s organic farm and market. We were leaving at 4:00 and knowing that this was Italy, I suspected that food would make an appearance at some point. So the question was what to do about lunch? Antonia had mentioned a supermarket with a food court. I needed to by some more coffee, so that seemed like a logical choice. To reach the supermarket, my path took me towards a major edifice that house several of Parma’s most important museums. (It was on my docket for Sunday when entrance would be free!). I spent some time looking around before I found the large piazza where the supermarket is. It also happens to be the place where Parma’s outdoor market is held on Saturdays - but more about that later.

Outside the museum complex

I found both the supermarket and the coffee, but none of the food really grabbed me. When I left the market, I noticed a restaurant, Osteria dei Servi, that I had read about on TripAdvisor, so I walked over to look at the menu. It looked interesting and they had wild boar, one of my favorites. When I went inside, I could tell that they were very busy. I indicated to the person at the door that I was alone. At once, I saw that look of consternation that passes over restaurant peoples’ faces, when you tell them that. But then, he picked up a menu and led me to the table.( I have found that once they give you the table they are just fine.) I studied the menu briefly. I knew I wanted the braised wild boar for my main course, but wasn’t sure that I wanted pasta as well. They were offering a squash flan as a first course and I decided on that. Unfortunately, the Italian name for that is ‘tortino’ and it must have registered as ‘tortelli’ with my young waiter. I didn’t send them back, though, when they came. It wasn’t worth the fuss. They turned out to be very good. The wild boar, on the other hand, turned out to be underwhelming. You win some, you loose some. While I was eating, I realized why the place was so busy. A young man walked by me with a wreath of laurel leaves on his head. This is traditional in Italy for university students on the day they obtain their degree, or laurea. There was a group of family and friends having lunch with him to celebrate. After I paid, I was waiting near the cash register to use the bathroom. I asked the fellow behind the counter whether they were always that busy at lunchtime and he said ‘No, it was the graduation’. Then he said, ”May I offer you an after dinner drink on the house?”  I wasn’t going to say, “No” to that offer.  I enjoyed my grappa. You have to love Italy.

Tortelli di Zucca at Osteria dei Servi

Osteria dei Servi -Note the little the little stove bottom right corner

 Day 1- Part 2

I had suspected that the photographs of the apartment presented it in its best light - and I wasn’t wrong about that. It was much smaller that it looked in the pictures, which was fine. After all, it was just me. Antonia led me from room to room, explaining any peculiarities. She also emphasized that I should keep the doors closed in each room to conserve the heat. I was surprised to find that the apartment was pleasantly warm on a chilly day. The longest presentation came in the kitchen, where my host endeavored to explained the different bins for the different types of material that need to be recycled separately. Once again, I was struck by how much more seriously our European brothers and sisters care for the environment. The last - and perhaps most important - lesson was the operation of the Nespresso machine. This was going to be the source of my morning coffee, so I paid close attention. Antonia left me at that point, telling me to come to the restaurant whenever I was ready.

The apartment is the one with the long balcony

I did not have much to do in the apartment, so I walked over to the restaurant after about 10 minutes. I was seated in the bright, sunny room that obviously had been , at one time outdoor seating. I was handed a menu, but I said to Antonia, “What should I have as my fist meal in Parma?”  Her recommendation was that I should have the plate of mixed cured meats with the ‘torta fritta’ and the dish with their signature two types of tortelli. I added a mixed salad for good measure and sat back. A higher power decided the order of my meal, so the tortelli arrived first. They look like ravioli, but don’t call them that in Parma. You WILL be corrected. The classic version is filled with ricotta, Parmigiano and swiss chard; the second with winter squash puree. Both were lavishly covered with butter and aged parmesan cheese. They were both light as feathers and delicious. Then the cured meats arrived with a basket of ‘torta fritta’. Let me explain. Torta Fritta is a rectangle of bread like dough, which is fried so that the middle puffs up. They look like dough pillows and are usually served warm. In Emilia-Romagna, they are the traditional accompaniment to cured meats. They were delicious. On my plate was prosciutto di Parma, culatello, coppa and salami di Felino. They were all amazing. For me, though, the striking difference was how less salty the prosciutto was. I washed down all of this with a ½ bottle of the restaurant’s house Lambrusco, Emilia Romagna’s slightly fizzy red wine. As far as I know, Emilia-Romagna is the only region of Italy that does not have its own, local still red wine.

Cured meats, torta fritta and salad, my first meal

After lunch, I resisted the very strong temptation to take a nap. It was close to 3:00 by now and there would not be many more hours of sunlight. I wanted to take advantage of those remaining hours to get something of an orientation to my new surroundings. I also need to get a few provisions for breakfast. I soon realized that the historical center of Parma was fairly compact and that I could walk easily to almost any place that I wanted to visit. You can never really tell that from a map. After about an hour, I headed for the two shops that Antonia had recommended and bought water, fruit and yogurt for breakfast and a bottle of wine and few pieces of pizza rustica for a dinner/snack. I walked back to the apartment, put my things away and took a nice hot shower. I was in for what I knew would be an early evening.

Piazza del Duomo - As seen from the apartment

 

Day 1 - Part 1

All the planning was done. It was time to go. My beautiful new suitcase was all packed and waiting in the hallway. Just before leaving, I received a phone call and had to take care of just one more thing at the office. I rushed back upstairs, grabbed my suitcase and headed for the car. The first snowflakes of the season were falling as a snow squall pushed through. I loaded my bag and we were off with Fr. Benedict at the wheel.

Loading the car with snow

 Traffic was a little slow, especially on Rt. 24, but fortunately, we had left more than early enough for my flight. We pulled up to Terminal C and I grabbed my bag from the back, said good-bye and headed inside. As I began printing my baggage claim, I looked around for my shoulder bag. “Where was it?” I wondered. Then my heart sank. I must have left it in the car. Ben couldn’t have gotten far, so I called him and asked him to look for the bag so that could he bring it. I hung up. A few minutes later, he called back. “It’s not in the car.”  I then realized what had happened. When the phone call came and distracted me, I forgot to go back into my room. That’s where the bag was. In it were my laptop, my Kindle and my meds. I could live without the first two items, but not having the third for 8 days was a little more problematic. Ben graciously agreed to drive back to Morristown, retrieve the bag and return to the airport. A quick calculation suggested that there was just enough time to do that.

I sat down in the baggage check area and thought about all the other things that could go wrong now. This trip was not off to a good start. Then my phone rang. I was Fr. Benedict. “I’m stuck in traffic on 78. I don’t think I’ll make it.” “S..t”, I thought. Then he continued. “I called Br. William. He’s going to your room right now to get the bag and will leave immediately for Newark.” “Yes”, I thought, “tag team. This could work.” Within minutes, I had a text from William saying that he was on his way. The next 45 minutes were among the longest of my life. Then my phone buzzed. It was William. “I’m close” he said, “come outside.” The next thing I knew, he was there in front of me. He handed me the bag through the open window. I thanked him profusely. He waved me off and disappeared into the stream of cars circling the airport. Catastrophe averted.

I passed through security with remarkable ease and I was at the gate in plenty of time. Soon we were boarding, but I was surprised that there was no special call for Premium Economy passengers. I thought that was part of the deal when you ponied up for the extra services. At this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get on the plane and get the flight over with. When I got to my seat, that, too, was a bit of a disappointment. It certainly did not look much bigger, but at least there were only two side-by-side. Again, oh well. At least the lavatory is right there. Then the business class flight attendant emerged to announce that she had 45 passengers in business class and these two lavatories were exclusively for their use. Everybody else, including Premium Economy, needed to use the other two lavatories in the back. My seatmate says, “So the other 200 of us have to use two toilets?” She just turned and walked away. Well, at least we had real silverware to eat the crappy food.

Resigned to my situation, I made myself as comfortable as I could. I read for a while and was growing a little drowsy when they shut the cabin light off. I shut off my Kindle, pulled the blanket up around me and tried to sleep. I must have eventually fallen fast asleep, but I woke because I needed to go. No one was looking, so I snuck into the forbidden lavatory. What were they going to do?  -Throw me off the plane? I made it back safely to my seat just when the cabin lights came on. Thank God. We would be landing shortly. Soon enough we were flying over the Alps just as the first rays of the sun were hitting the tops of the peaks. In less than an hour, we were on Italian soil. The good part was ready to begin.

A beautiful morning in Milan

Getting through passport control and luggage claim went very smoothly. Then it was off to find the train from the airport into Milan. Finding the train was relatively easy. Getting the ticket a little less so. As usual, there were a number of vending machines, several of which were out of order. I finally found one that worked and got my ticket. Of course, then the machine that you are supposed to use to validate the ticket before boarding wasn’t working. Welcome to Italy! I joined a crowd of people waiting on the tracks. It was pretty cold down there. Fortunately, the train came quickly. I stowed my suitcase and sat down. I had the infamous shoulder bag on my lap with the Delbarton “D” in full view. A young man sat down across from me and, after the train started moving, we made eye contact and he asked, “Dartmouth?” in English. I said, “No. Delbarton School. Our swag looks very similar. Do you go to Dartmouth? “Yes”, he said. “I’m in the MBA program.” I asked if he were doing some kind of study abroad, but he was actually just on vacation like me. The train into Milan takes about 45 minutes and we ended up having a great conversation. He went to Notre Dame as an undergraduate and spent a year in Rome, so we had lots to talk about. When we reached Milan, we shook hands and wished each other “Buona permanenza”, which means, “Have a nice stay!”

Waiting for the train to Milan

Milano Centrale is one of those great 19^th century train stations. I just love them! My first task was to get a ticket. Fortunately’ I found a machine right away that was working. I got my ticket and figured out that my train was in about a half hour. That meant that I finally had time for a cappuccino. One of my rituals is that I always have a cappuccino as soon as possible after landing. I could have had one at the airport, but the place wasn’t very appealing. Lucky for me, there was one right near the ticket machine. I popped inside, had my cappuccino and a pastry. Now I was ready for Parma.

Waiting in Milan

I waited with a crowd of people waiting for the track number to be posted. My train was going from one end of Italy in the north, Milan, to the far reaches of the south, Taranto. Parma was the first stop of many! The track listing finally appeared and we all started to move. I had bought a business class ticket, so my car was towards the front. I climbed on board and found my seat. Departure set for 11:05, then it was 11:15, finally we pulled out of the station at 11:20. This was a high-speed train and it was a bit scary to see the actual speed posted on the monitor. We were in Parma in under an hour. I exited the station and eventually found a taxi to bring me to the restaurant, Angiol D’or (the Golden Angel) where I was to meet my host.

Parma - that wasn't even very fast