Part I: Welcome to Aosta, in care of the Slow Food Guide.
Part II: Passo San Bernardo, cycling to the woof-top home of the St Bernard.
Part III: How Bovine, bring your appetite and your dancing shoes to Gignod’s “Feta di Teteun”
You may recognize Valle d’ Aosta from the 2006 Winter Olympics. This most-northwestern province of Italy lies about an hour away from Torino and shares its borders with France and Switzerland. Aosta is it’s main city.
The proximity to France and it's alpine surroundings conspire to give Aosta a decidedly different atmosphere than what you might typically expect in Italy, even the street names seem from a different land. It's a pleasant town to walk through (although there is only one pedestrian street, it seems to go on forever) and with the proper guidance in hand it can be a wonderful place to stop off for lunch.
At this point, I am compelled to make unabashed plug for Slow Food's "Osterie & Locande d' Italia" (A Guide to Traditional Places to Eat and Stay in Italy). Julie and Tim had given me this opus magnificum as a going away gift on my departure for Italy. Now, the thought of what my last six months could have been without it is downright nauseating. I am not playing to hyperbole by claiming that the only reason not to immediately tear out and throw way the “where to eat” and “where to stay” pages of any other guide or magazine article is that they may come in handy if you find yourself in a public restroom without any toilet paper. Yes, it's in English - now, stop asking questions and just get it.That said, you should know that Zio Tony’s motto for traveling planning is, “Everything else is just figuring out what to do between meals”. So, when I first struck a fancy to explore Valle d’ Aosta, the Slow Food Guide was the first place I looked to conjure up an itinerary. In particular, this was the phrase that hooked me: “… cow’s udder, to which Gignod dedicates a festival round about 20 August". Now, honestly, who could resist?
So, it was only a matter of waiting for the calendar to roll to the third week in August before I found myself driving the 2 hours between Milano and Aosta and arriving, of course, just in time for lunch. I immediately sought out the Slow Food recommended “Trattoria degli Artisti”. Along the way, this "pasticceria" (pastry shop) reeled me in where I picked up a tasty cream filled pastry for later.
... which provides me the opportunity to report on the only “you’re clearly not one of us” intolerance I’ve experienced with Italians. You can butcher their language, overcrowd their beloved piazza’s, and fluster at the ticket counter and expect nothing but understanding smiles and calm (granted, sometimes too calm) cordial manners – but, if you want the yummy cream filled pastry that you are pointing to, for goodness sake, don’t hopelessly confound the clerk by asking for “crema” when it is actually filled with “panna” – likewise, if you’d like the other cream filled pastry next to it, don’t foolishly ask for “panna” when it is actually filled with “crema” … and, be warned not to ask for either when “crema di ricotta” is on the line. Whether or not you can actually see the “cream” inside to hazard a guess is beside the point – if you don’t know what to call it, you really don’t deserve to pay for it, much less eat it. I have experienced the same confounded reactions when trying to select a “mozzarella” or “prosciutto”. Of course, you should also know that the Italian Bureau of Health and Gastronomic Welfare strictly forbids grating cheese on your pasta when any sort of seafood is involved. As is the case with any law, “ignorance is no excuse”. Besides, why would you be so rude as to order the linguine with clams after the waiter happened to mention that the porcini were fresh? And no doubt, some of you have experienced the humiliation of trying to order a cappuccino late in the day or after dinner (“No!”). At least in this case the infamous Italian bureaucracy allows for a loop hole called the “caffe macchiato”, essentially a cappuccino served in a small espresso cup. All that said, I attribute this quirkiness to Italy’s wonderfully hyper-epicurean culture, of which we are undeniably grateful beneficiaries. So, in keeping with the “when in Rome” spirit, I have adopted a simple mantra by which my foodie-kharma has joyfully feasted on many occasions: “Mi consiglia, per piacere.” (Please recommend to me).
Which brings us back to “Trattoria degli Artisti”, located in a quite alley off of the main pedestrian drag, which at that point is called Via Aubert (like I said, the street names betray an intermingled history with the French).
I selected my lunch from their Traditional Menu. Here you see my “primo piatto” (first course), a “cotechino” (cure & cooked sausage of pork, lardo, spices, and pork rind) filled pastry accompanied by a Pinot Noir recommended by the waiter. Pour on a fondue of fontina cheese and you can imagine the risk I took of wrecking my epicurean prospects beyond the first plate. However, the cotechino proved to be relatively lean (like a summer-sausage) and the Artists really pulled it off by creating a light, you-could-almost-forget-it-was-there, pastry. The local Pinot was uncharacteristically edgy, but nonetheless both tasty and utilitarian as it cut nicely through the fondue.
Having successfully avoided the potential belly-fulls of the first course, I had plenty of capacity left to take on the second, a hearty stew of capriolo (a small alpine deer) served with rough cut polenta. It’s rich and gamey flavor left no doubt that … well ... my lunch had recently been gallivanting about the cliffs and peaks that rose up around me. To take on the touch of wilderness on my plate, the waiter poured a bold & plumy Torette Superiore into my glass. Perhaps a better trained palate could corner the Torette into a more familiar varietal, but, to me it was one of those “Well, I would have never imagined!” discoveries that you hope to stumble upon when off the beaten path.
Since I already had a pastry (filled with “panna”) in my bag and a much anticipated dinner at La Clusaz yet on the horizon, I passed on “dolce” (dessert) and went straight for the “digestivo”. I wonder if science really understands how these high-octane after-dinner elixirs work. One would think that following two full courses and a couple glasses of wine with a dram of practically pure alcohol would lower the curtains and dim the lights for nappy time. However, I have experienced the restorative powers of these gastronomical defibrillators more than once. Each region toutes it’s own “magic potion” (you are most likely familiar with “limoncello” and grappa”). So, I was curious to learn the digestivo of choice in this corner of Italy. Evoking the “mi consiglia, per piacere” mantra quickly produced a bottle “Genepy” on my table. Made from the essence of a mountain herb of the same name, it delivers a wonderfully accessible compromise between a grappa and the typical herbal "amaro" ("bitter", jagermeister is technically a digestivo).
Well, at this point, I’ve clearly rambled on too long while the new blog stories keep on piling up. Which is too bad, because I’ve only just gotten done with the first meal of the weekend. So, I will try to come back and fill you in on the fantastic dinner, which was as refined and nuanced as my lunch had been down-home-hearty, that followed at La Clusaz (another Slow Food recommendation and also where I took a room). But in the mean time, I will leave you with a copy of their “Herbal” menu (the fixed price choice I selected) to practice your Italian and your appetite. Can you guess my choices?
1 comment:
Wise owl hopes there will be time to do a bit of Lago touring between meals!
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