UMBRIA, TUSCANY, Italy — Our lucky friend Kiki is in Italy for the holidays. Three weeks this time. (Dec 6-28th) She owns the house there with us and it is a joy to have that in common with her. We like to say that it is her fault we own the house, in the first place. Midge and I were happily renting there in Panicale and Kiki came to visit and after about two days said “Have you seen that house up the street?” Pause, skip a beat, she continues “Lets buy it together”. And we were off to the races and happy ever after. Now she’s deliriously happy with the new wireless broadband in the house and she and her trusty laptop are dropping us a lovely stream of notes, the fun light moments that fill a trip with memories. I feel like we are there when I read her emails and thought I could spread that happy feeling around.

Buon giorno styooo

Dear Stew,

I’m sorry about your phone. None of the TIM guy’s ideas made sense. I told him you were here a lot and always charging it with credit. By the way, your telefonini still receives incoming calls; I tested it. Rather like the land line: A telemarketer called the other day (incredible) even though we can’t call out.

The weather has been lovely. Some rain, but mostly unseasonably warm and sunny. We’re trying to hit as many activities as we can. Your Umbria online link (on our Italy Links page, under “Umbria”) has been great.

Let’s see, what’s new in Panicale : Lights on at the Contessa’s … No Gun yet – get some recording that doesn’t sound like her … The bancomat ate my card Friday, perhaps because of that being gone a year and a half thing again. Tried to talk to them today, they said come back tomorrow. Got caught in another Catholic holiday Friday, Feast of the Annunciation. You’d think I’d know. It’s a big one, the official kick off for Christmas, which is really nice (as opposed to pre-Halloween, like us.) Todd and I went to the first ‘Soul Christmas’ event that night. A group from New Orleans rocked the church in Paciano. Very Aretha.

Wednesday we go to Rome for lunch with Massimo and Anna. Then we’re trying to decide about Venice for Christmas. There was a nice write-up in the Sunday Times travel section just before we left with things to see and do. I emailed the two hotels they recommended — and there’s room at the inn! The Chiusi train guy told me there’s a four-hour InterCity from here. Sounds good to me. What do you think? Should we go there before Christmas, and spend the holidays here? Or should we spend the holidays there? I’m concerned that so many places close down starting December 24 at noon — and will be closed the 26th, too.

No motorcycles to rent, thank God. And Todd’s too much of a downeaster for a scooter.

Love to all — and thank you again for giving me the top floor. I love hanging out the window!

Kiki

————————————-

The spys who love you

Dear Stew,

I am hooked, hooked, hooked on wireless. Todd is upstairs preparing to grill, yes grill, chicken from the cute butcher’s (Giugliana) over an open fire. Here I am downstairs loving your emails.

We would be thrilled to house spy for you. Will definitely see what we can find out.

Heard from Gun today. She said she’d try emailing you to see if that works.

Oh the Italian words I’ve learned today. Mostly when I walk away from someone and realized all the things I just said, wrong.

More (don’t you just know it?) later.

Ciao ciao,

Kiki

————————————-

Major House!

Dear Stew,

We visited today, disposable camera in hand. Gate was locked, but signs of fresh tracks in the wet clay. Todd got in and took pix inside and out. What a spectacular location! On the way out, we met a truck. Hailed the guy and it turns out he’s a worker there. As you instructed, I said we were ‘amici di padrona,’ and told him it was beautiful work (at least that’s what I think I said … I’m so discouraged with my painful Italian.) Asked him if he’s working alone; he said no, there are two or three. Asked him if he’s working on the house, and he said outside — I guess where the new foundation is. Anyway, lots and lots of equipment. The much-envied ‘gru,’ (the construction cranes you see everywhere in Italy) cement mixer and palettes of brick and stone. Something’s clearly happening there.

There are pomegranates drying here in the kitchen. What kind of a report shall I give you?

Definitely feel free to use any words. Did you know that foreign correspondent was my childhood ambition? That and scuba diver, like Lloyd Bridges on ‘Sea Hunt.’

Saluti a tutti,

Kiki

————————————-

Pomegrantes

Oh Stew, I’m so sorry: You could have used my pomegranate update for that gorgeous blog page about pomegranates! It’s beautiful, and I love the writing. I’ll post a comment when I can. Do I really need a password? The pomegranates are burnishing nicely. Mostly golden very firm to the touch. They’re not light as air yet. Does that come later?

Went to Rome yesterday for lunch with Anna and Massimo. How cool is that? It’s been lovely here. The dawns are especially beautiful, soft and misty. Today I have to make reservations. Wish me luck that Masolino’s has room for us Christmas Eve lunch … and Patrizia Christmas Day lunch. The only urgency I have ever heard in Panicale is about booking for Christmas. Very cute. Shows where their priorities are.

Do you know what’s going on with the restauro at the Podesta? Public offices?

Ciao baby,

Kiki

————————————-

Hotels, hotels, hotels

Dear Stew,

No room at the Orto(Hotel Orto di Medici, Florence). Panicking, I ran upstairs and snagged your ‘See You In Italy!’ book for hotel picks in Florence. We’re now booked at the Pensione Annalena, which Bon Appetit recommended in May 05 as a ‘best value.’ I’ll give you a true foreign correspondent report on it when I return. 126E, near Boboli Gardens … so a completely new location. I’ve barely been on that side of the river.

Now to see if Antico Noe is aperto dicembre 27.

Chow chow,

Kiki

————————————-

Antico Noooooo

Finally got ‘the man’ at Antico Noe. (Called earlier and was told to call back.) He says he may or may not be open on the 27th, our one and only night in Florence and last night in Italy.

In any case, he won’t take a reservation. Artistes. We’ll give it a shot. If that doesn’t work we’ll try one of the restaurants in your fabulous ‘See You In Italy!’ book. Of course, there’s always one of the restaurants in the Cibreo constellation. I ate at the Cibreo trattoria two years ago with Molly and Frank … Steve Siegelman recommended Cibreo recently when I emailed him about his sound system (and oh by the way, Mr. Food Expert, where should we eat in Florence?) … and Massimo did yesterday. Can’t miss, if any of them are open that day …

Chow ancora,
Kiki

————————————-

Telefo no

Dear Stew,

I have a new telefonino number. I’m not even going to memorize it. Still heartbroken I lost the old one. Those digits made sense to me.

Know the best thing about going to Rome? Coming back to Panicale. I loved walking through the gate last night after a ‘veloce’ trip on the InterCity. The street lamps were on … soft American jazz sifted
through the loud speakers (Is that a holiday thing? I don’t remember the sound of music here before.) … and endless sparkling darkness off our garden.

Tomorrow night we’re going to Jane Parker’s for drinks, then Boldrino’s. Looks very cute and the couple seem sweet.

They’ve been working in the garden below us. Very structured.

Just had a coffee with Bruno at the ‘club.’ I’m waiting for the farmacia to open. Todd a il rafreddore. Have to get something for sore throat and earache. Jane says the Umbrian cure for earache is warm olive oil and onion … poured into the ear!

Ciao ciao,

Kiki

————————————-

Thanks for the heads up on that home cure Kiki. I’m never going to complain of an earache around an Umbrian bearing Onions. Happy Holidays to all!

See you in Italy,

Stew

PANICALE, Umbria– True Confession: I was raised on a farm in Iowa. You could tell I wasn’t a native Umbrian? What gave me away? Oh, that accent thing. I’m WORKING on it. But imagine this farm boy’s surprise to find himself watching a big John Deere tractor going back and forth in the distance on a lazy fall afternoon. It is far enough away that I can’t hear its distinctive putt-putting but I know John Deere green and yellow when I see it, even at this distance. But how strange and disorienting. Instead of watching the tractor from a back stoop in Conrad, Iowa, at its level across a wide, flat plain - we’re looking down on the fields and the tractor. We see the Deere almost like a bird would see it from high up in our pocket garden’s terrace.

Even more surprising, it is late October and we’re still in short sleeved shirts and lounging around on lounges we thought had long been put away for the season. The sun is trying to dry some clothes on the line but first it has to work its way through the big fig tree at the end of the garden. FIGS! Can you imagine? I led such a sheltered life that I’m not sure I’d ever seen or tasted a fig outside a Newton, until we found we had a tree full of them in our own yard here. We missed them this year as they are more of a September sort of fruit. They have long since taken that final suicide dive from their high branches, splatting their gooey selves all over the stone terrace there and long since been cleaned up by long-suffering Anna. I do hope she took a few bushels home with her as a preemptive defensive move ahead of the purple rain of fruit. Look at us. We’re half complacent about figs. Yawn, oh, figs. Didn’t we always have a fig?

HERE’S A NEW CROP TO SELL AT OUR ITALIAN FARM STAND?

Right next to the fig is this year’s big surprise. Our pomegranate. How the heck did that get there? Is it a bush? Could it be a tree? It is higher than my head and wider than it is high, bent over with heavy, dense, baseball-sized, fruit on every side. I cut the fig back to give the pomegranate some sun last year and the greedy little booger filled that space and more and went on a crazy fruit-making spree. Every day the fruit gets redder and the leaves yellower. Getting closer to the way La Foce’s pommes looked the week before. I know they get more winter sun than we do.

Back to my original question? Where do pomegranates come from, Mommy? One of the best things that has ever happened to us is that Elida knew Nico. And she knew he was an architect and a sculptor and a plant lover. And she further knew he had designs on our garden. In typical matchmaker fashion she threw a dinner party to introduce us and we said Heck Yes, Design Away. He did us a selection of the most wonderful plans I’ve ever been privileged to see. Pure genius what he had in mind for this long, skinny, curved terrace hung between two tiny Umbrian streets. It was hard, but we chose one and said do it just like that. Almost. We took out one sculptural rock – too Zen for us I guess and we took out a single plant. The pomegranate. But yet, we have a pomegranate, don’t we?

Nico objected to both deviations to the plan, but we won him over eventually and proceeded with out those two items. For a couple months. Our frequent guests and long longtime friends, the Traveling Lambarts, arrived about that time. What great houseguests! They even weed! Nico joined them for weeding and pruning a few times that spring when the garden was so young. And before they left they wanted to surprise us with a gift for the garden. They consulted the maestro and who appeared to think about the idea for a minute and then said, You know, I think a pomegranate would look great. Right about here. Under the fig. Of course he was right. It is perfect. Thank you, Nico. Thank you, Lamberts. Thank you, Elida. It took a village. But we got pomegranates.

All the pomegranates in the photos here were grown and photographed in our Umbrian Garden of Eatin’. We ate the one in the title right on the spot. Some friends were over we had some wine and cheese and what the heck will you have some fruit with that? Why yes, we will. And did. The rest of the “harvest” is in that box you see here and hopefully drying out to become guilded Christmas decorations another year. Is that just too Martha Stewart? Thats what I thought, too, but we’re trying it anyway.

Our goal for ‘07: to keep thinking warm holiday thoughts all year round!

See you in Italy,

Stew

CITTA’ DELLA PIEVE, Umbria– Aren’t Saturdays grand? No work and all that. What a great concept. Wait just a minute we’re on vacation. Everyday is Saturday on vacation. Even better concept.

Lets make a list of what we want to do today: Get up late. Check. Go for leisurely coffee with friends in the piazza. Check. Decide on spur of the moment to go to Citta’ della Pieve for market day.

And, thats enough list making for one vacation, we’re in the car and headed down the hill. Its only what? maybe 20 minutes from our house in Panicale so we’ve been to Citta’ della Pieve, lower left of map, a few times and eaten at Piccolo Eatin’ (ok, purists may spell the restaurant: Piccolo Eden) and rented cars from Signore Giorgi at his gas station there. Things like that. But we’ve never just, you know, what IS the Italian word I’m looking for? Hung out. That’s it. We’ve never done that there. Shirt sleeve weather surprising everyone here in late fall, we’re able to stroll from shop to shop up to the city center where the market stalls are set up displaying hardware next to x-rated undie sets, costume jewelry next to collandars and everything in between. All the non necessities of life. Half an hour later we have bags and I can hardly think what is in them. Fuzzy, flowered purses and neon stripped socks figured in there somewhere.

TO MARKET, TO MARKET, TO BUY A FAT PIG SANDWICH

Tried, at 11:30, to get a porchetta pannini. I know they probably are not like health food. But can you smell that? The stand is right there, the guy in the white paper hat and apron is there behind the glass counter, but the pig is gone. Oh poop. So, we trudged down the street, heads hung as low as sunflowers in a winter field. That rejection pushed us into a pasticcieria for a paninni and mineral water break. Ohhhh Shiny objects, sparkly candies, fruit tortes, Sacher (Looks like a big old loaf of dry Tuscan bread but inside it is a super moist and creamy, fruity kind of cake. When the guy behind the counter said it, it sounded like how we’d say “soccer”) More coffee and a plate of those cookies to go, my good man! We’ll be back to Stefania’s pasticceria. We were literally like kids in a candy shop here because well, it IS a candy shop as well as pastry and coffee shop.

STREET SEEN

The car shot? That is for Steve. No, not San Francisco Steve, not Palms Springs Steve, not cousin Steve from Maryland, not Aussie Steve. Yet another one. One from Yarmouth. Some days it seems like half the people we know are Steves. And you know, Stew, as a name, isn’t exactly a giant leap away from Steve, is it? Regardless, I just put the Shiny Black, Non-Candy Item in here so Yarmouth Steve would know it was actually all very civilized over here on that side of the pond.

Speaking of that side of the pond, our friend Kiki is there in Panicale right now, so if you see her and Todd, be sure and wave. They will be there through the holidays curled up by the woodstove doing wireless emails on the newly installed broadband. Talk about civilized.

OK, think Happy Holiday thoughts.

See you in Italy,

Stew