The other day I tried cooking octopus. It was really fun! Its like cooking a giant, stringy wad of jelly.
I stumbled into this because the guy at the fish market was being extremely unhelpful. So instead of picking from a selection of dried-out looking fish, I just asked for a single octopus. If it wouldn't taste good, at least it would make for an interesting story.
So I get it back the the apartment, where everyone is pretty disgusted by it. Somewhere in there, it gets the name "Frank."
So we take Frank to the kitchen, and I clean it and strip the head. It is then a tangle of legs and looking like a very goopy gray blob. The one problem is that I didn't know how to fix octopus. It's not exactly a common fixture in Atlanta's supermarkets. So I checked out Mark Bittman's article on the subject, and then checked the kitchen stockroom. They didn't exactly match, so I ended up just throwing anything flavorful into a pot of boiling water and wine, and then adding the octopus.
The one rule I did follow from the article was the Italian legend that adding a cork in the pot would make it tender. I figured that would take care of most anything. So the octopus boiled for an hour and a half (who knew it could stand such treatment!?) and after, the gelatinous blob had turned bright white and purple, had seized up and shrunk in size by half, and had developed a sweet, candy-like fish taste.
I then further cleaned the fat from the legs (octopuses' have a surprisingly dense layer of the stuff) and then tossed the meat with a citrus salad.
A few people tried it, but Steve and I ended up being the only ones to actually have it for dinner. Mmmm... tasty.
On Saturday, Stephanie, Steve and I took a day trip to the city of Assisi, the home of Saint Francis. After three weeks of being in love with Rome, we were ready for a brief break, so we hopped a morning train and after three hours of riding through the Umbrian hills, arrived in Assisi.
It was spectacular. I felt like Elizabeth Bennet when she first glimpsed the grounds of Pemberly. Assisi is a stone town perched on a tall hill, with a castle capping the village and the monastery and basilica of St. Francis dominating view. From the train station, you walk straight up the hillside, and after a climb, are level with the cobbled streets that take you to the basilica, which was our first destination. We entered into the lower basilica after catching our breath, which had been stolen by the countryside that stretched out before us. Once inside the cavern-like hall, we gaped at the frescoes by Giotto – his many angels spreading their rainbow wings over countless Biblical and legendary moments painted on the walls. Past the altar, you then walked from that dark space into an open courtyard where you could see the friars’ quarters below. It was a very simple space, more reflective of the order’s mission that the basilica itself.
After further exploring the upper basilica, we were getting hungry (Holly, I’m about to describe food!). So we wandered about until we found a bustling trattoria further up the hill. Perhaps it was all the walking before, but lunch was superb. I ordered a hearty Umbrian soup that came to the table steaming. There were white beans, bulgar wheat, vegetables, and a hint of fatback in the dish, and like an sunken iceberg, a toasted crostino emerging from the depths of the bowl. That shared the table with a bread salad of lettuce, onion, vinegar, tomatoes and peppers – a spicy starter whose acidic kick brought out the best of the rich soup.
But we also had to do our homework: one of the niftiest parts of the class has been a wine tasting led by one of our professor’s friends. At this tasting, in which he gave us an introduction to the how, what, why, when and where of wine, he also assigned us un piccolo compito. At our next session (slated for this Wednesday), we were to bring back a label of a wine we enjoyed. So being in Assisi, we went local and tried the DOC red that the restaurant had on the list. For our student budgets, it was a bit of a splurge, but it gave the meal a whole new dynamic. The color alone – a dark plum purple that appeared almost black – was of an intensity unmatched by anything we had swirled in the last three weeks. It tasted deep and rich, and having it on the table certainly made the meal more memorable. Two hours later, we emerged back onto the stony streets that, at that time, were damp from a series of showers. Next stop, the castle!
Having just had a loaded lunch, we walked slowly, but within a half hour had reached the peak of the town where the medieval castle stands. It was my first real castle. And it was EPIC!
First of all, there were tiny stone passageways one man wide, arrow slits for archers to stalk invaders, twisted stone stairwells, and towers with turrets! Just like in storybooks. Secondly, they actually let us walk the passageways, climb the stairs and ascend the towers. We would have shot arrows too, but unfortunately we had left our quivers and bows at home.
From the top of the tower, there was a stunning view – 360 degrees of magical forest, patchwork farms and the stone towers of the churches in town. The weather was blustery and damp, and as we stood on the turret, clouds rolled through the valley and we could see the rain charge across the plains. We got wet once or twice, but never enough to chase us away.
That afternoon was the first time I could really believe in fairy tales. Just like when you look out across the Texas flats and realize Pecos Bill isn’t too much of a stretch, or climb the forests of Oregon and see Paul Bunyon, the idea of faeries, giants and ogres did not seem too far-fetched. The black-green forests stretching over the hills, the dramatic cliffs and huddled farms beneath the town created a world of princes and princesses (which I suppose at one time it was), and standing there, I would not have been shocked if a knight and his magician friend appeared at the gate.
Checking our watches, we realized we had to rush back down if we were to make it to the two other churches that were on our list, so after a few more photos we booked it down to the main part of town, visited S. Chiara and then took a taxi downhill to the S. Maria degli Angeli.
At this latter church, they have built a beautiful cathedral around the chapel of St. Francis – the church that he found in the wilderness and was called upon by God to rebuild and grow. It was a modest shrine with frescoes, literally just sitting in the middle of this (relatively) modern church. A great way to end the day.
So we made our way back to the train station, where after a short wait we were back on our way to Rome. We were exhausted and excited, but walking back to the apartment past the Circus Maximus and Roman Forum, we thought again how lucky we are to be able to spend a whole month in this rich place.
It has taken several days to get around to writing this because it goes into what is undoubtedly one of the strangest things I have ever seen. Ever.
What made it even weirder is that we found it accidentally. You see, one of the great things about Rome is that there are churches everywhere. And each of these churches is historically epic – most have fantastic frescoes that would be behind glass in the States, others date from the Medieval period. Some have Byzantine mosaics, others have Bernini's. So when walking around the city, we make a game of going into as many as possible. We started out trying to go to them all, but quickly realized that wasn’t possible in a month.
S. Maria della Concezione is one such church we stumbled into. I had vaguely remembered hearing about it before, and had completely forgotten why. On the way to the main cathedral, we passed the door that lead to the crypts. We had seen crypts before, but hey, why not see a few more? So with that rationale, we went in, paid a mandatory voluntary donation to enter, and were totally shocked.
On the other hand, I then remembered why the name sounded familiar.
Decorating the walls were the bleached bones of 4,000 Capuchin monks. And it was strangely fascinating. There were six alters in all, five of which were crafted solely of human remains. There was a skull room. And a pelvis room. Vertebras and digits were tacked in ornate patterns to the arched ceilings, creating the effect of a mosaic, but in a very different medium.
In one chapel, a skeleton was hung who held the scythe of death and the scales of judgment. His frame was tacked onto the ceiling, and surrounded by rounds of vertebrae and other odds and ends. On the altar of another chapel, there were bodiless hands crossed over a shrouded dead monk. One of the hands was still covered in the shrunken flesh of its original owner.
Presiding within the swirling patterns of calcium carbonate, were shrouded monks, shrunken in death. They sort of looked like the Jawahs in the first Start Wars movie – you know, the ones who shoot the droids.
It was an oddly voyeuristic museum, like we were getting to see something we should not be seeing. The monks had begun crafting the altars in the 17th century, a practice that continued until the 1870s. Such a practice would not have been possible earlier because city ordinances forbade the burial of the deceased within the Aurelian Walls – a practice started to help keep the city free from disease.
Not only were the bones themselves off-putting, but other details added to the bizarre atmosphere. For instance the dirt that covered the ground was imported from Jerusalem and the chandeliers above our heads were crafted of femurs and other longer bones. There was something more unsettling about the use of bones as functional objects than as art. Partially because I didn’t notice that was the case until, after about 20 minutes of looking at the altars, I looked up. I think I prefer other light fixtures.
After a while, the crowd started to build and we headed back outside. Amazingly it was still a bright summer day, so we continued down the Via Veneto through the “American Ghetto” and went back to our class site visits.
But it was a strange 40-minute detour. So very strange.
So the other day I most likely saw, in seven hours, more famous and beautiful pieces of art than I've seen in my life, though I've been to quite a few museums before.
Starting at 10, we headed to the Vatican Museums which has vast collections of pretty much anything imaginable - from Roman busts to Raphael frescos to Etruscan ironworks.
It was unlike any museum I've ever seen in that it was nearly impossible to tell where the exhibited art ended and the museum itself began. Most modern museums are built around the idea of a showroom: you have special lights, plain walls, and simple space that lets whatever is hanging on the wall to dominate the viewer's thoughts.
At the Vatican, that is anything but the case. For sure, there are rooms with framed pictures hanging on the walls. And those paintings are works by Raphael, Da Vinci, and others with equally recognizable names. And they are stunning. However, the walls are not white, and the rooms themselves have intricate ceiling patterns - often textured with carvings or vibrantly painted or featuring a papal crest - that create a 360-degree experience that keeps your mind from focusing on the masterpiece at hand. Instead, I found myself bewildered at the sheer visual spectacle, with a bit of a sore neck from twisting my head in so many directions.
This hectic display, combined with the throngs of people that were continually herding towards the Sistine Chapel, was at times overwhelming. But trying to just ignore the people and pace myself (I took a lunch break in the courtyard, for instance), it ended up being one of my favorite days of the trip.
As you enter, the museum staff funnels everyone into a more or less circular path that leads through the main antique showrooms and ends up at the Sistine Chapel. I, accidentally, quickly got turned around in a side chamber that housed the Etruscan archeology collections and presented fantastic views of the entire city below. Finding the path again, I wandered through a series of themed rooms.
There was the hall of statues, filled with busts and Roman works. Then I hit the darkened tapestries room – a long hall with ceiling to floor drapery more detailed than the finest frescoes. I would hate to have to weave one of those pieces, which had to have measured 20x40 feet at times, and presented scenes from the life of Christ and the coronations of the Popes. Ridiculous amount of detail.
Following the tapestries was my favorite of the themed rooms: a hall painted with maps! I love maps. It was great fun seeing the various Italian regions – each of which merited their own section of the hall – and finding the places I am either going after class ends or places I have already visited. Best of all was the map of Sicily, which for some reason was painted upside down, but that had sea monsters surrounding its boundaries and a great cartoon of Vulcano erupting. That’s the same volcano I climbed with Geo class in March! But the maps were not the only things of interest in the room – above my head where panels of frescoes painted on the ceiling portraying a huge assortment of Italian and biblical scenes.
The first time I walked through this gallery, I took a wrong turn and ended up prematurely in the Sistine Chapel. Not a bad mistake. It was a sudden change and took a minute to sink in. For some reason I had it in my head that the scene of Adam reaching out to God (and Eve) was the centerpiece of the room, larger than the scenes around it. So it was surprising when I realized that was not the case, but that it was simply one spectacular scene of many. Once my mind adjusted to the reality, however, the ceiling became more and more impressive – the detail is stunning. And it is amazing how, even after frescoes have become a daily part of my summer experience in every church and chapel in the city, Michelangelo’s work rises above them all.
Post Sistine Chapel, I found my way to the exit, which was decidedly not where I wanted to be, given I had only seen half of the museum, if that much. So I wandered through the ancient Roman hall (great mosaics taken from the Baths of Caracalla!), the Vatican post office, and the upper courtyard over looking St. Peter’s, before finding the most unexpected (and unmarked) of the rooms: the hall of carriages.
Pope-mobiles throughout the centuries! These things were awesome – gaudy, golden, gigantic terrors on wheels. They had carved birds and angels, enough horses in tow (wearing red velvet harnesses!) to mount an army, and plush velvet interiors to ensure that none of the fathers were bruised as they were jostled through the streets. Some time, according to the display, the popes switched to Land Rovers, and then finally to the really, really pretty black convertibles that the modern mobile is modeled on.
After a lunch break, I reentered the rounds and discovered so many things I had missed on the first go around. First there was the largest of the many courtyards in the complex. Here there was a connecting passage to the outdoor room featuring the Laocoon, Apollo Belvedere, and several other stunning Roman statues, the best of their collections.
Although I had seen pictures of all of these centerpieces, seeing them in real life was a totally different experience. As a class we had mocked the need of the Grand Tourists’ mandatory viewing of the Laocoon, but now it is indeed the most spectacular statue I have ever seen. No one should miss it while in Rome. The movement and angst that the sculpture brought to the scene is unreal (it is a portrait of a father and his two sons being devoured by snakes) and makes the myth truly convincing. The same dramatic realism and glorification of the human form was evident in the other capolavori.
Failing to mention lots in between, finally there were the Raphael rooms – the instantly recognizable visions of the School of Athens and others. They took up whole rooms! As someone very familiar with the picture of Plato and Aristotle arguing together, surrounded by the other great minds of history, it was shocking to see it in its entirety. It is usually cropped as a rectangular work, but the fresco is unframed and unbounded – it takes up an entire wall. The only reason, I assume, it is cropped is to cut the door out of the picture. The several rooms that he painted were fantastic, and better yet, when I left that area, I was almost in the Sistine Chapel again (which comes after the modern art wing).
In all it was a totally overwhelming day of tough crowds, three cups of coffee and more beautiful art than is possible to absorb in several weeks, let alone seven hours. And by the end I was completely ready for bed, and could count it as one of the best days in Rome so far.
This is just nifty. Uphill from Santa Sabina is a villa gate that has a peephole in it the size of a Euro. Very tiny. However, when you put your eye to it, you get this amazing view through the garden.
Two days ago we visited Santa Sabina, a early Christian basilica perched atop the Aventine Hill. Built in the 5th century of Roman brick, the building is gorgeous. The interior of cool gray stone is less ornate that most of the churches in the city (which, with Baroque influences, can be overwhelming!).
My favorite detail were the etched and dyed portraits of the deceased that were buried beneath the basilica floor. These drawings were very plain, almost cartoonish, and involved simple lines that created garments, religious objects, and the countenance of the individual. Other than that, the predominant decoration was a fresco of Christ with his disciples set in a pastoral landscape amidst a flock of sheep, also quite beautiful.
Right outside the church is a public park that the church maintains. The day we went, there was a couple getting their wedding photos taken beneath the orange trees. And a group sunbathing in swimsuits.
At the far end of the park (past the wolf's head nasone - my favorite type of water fountain), there is a terrace that looks North-west over the Tiber corridor. In the distance, we could see St.Peter's dome and the seagulls that stalk it. Then there were the steep banks of the Tiber, now controlled by the concrete berms. Finally further left was the Pantheon's round roof, the birthday cake of the Victor Emmanuel Memorial, and the domes of several churches and the synagogue. We ate lunch with all that in sight (see earlier post on the sandwich!), and I am definitely planning on going back there to read. It was an absolutely fantastic park.
This was eaten on the terrace of S. Sabina on the Aventine, overlooking the Northern Tiber corridor and most of Rome including the Pantheon, Vatican and everything in between. Not only that, but with roasted eggplant, fresh ricotta, chopped pinenuts, fresh basil, garlic, tomatoes, arugula, and oven-hot bread from this place down the street, it was delicious.
What a meal. We just returned from a class meal at a perfect little trattoria called "La Griglietta" or "the tiny grill."
Entering past the outdoor patio seating, we sensed good things were about to happen. Antipasto and dolci were piled high in a glass window and at the peak of the edible pile was a glorious platter of roasted Jerusalem artichokes. I was hoping they'd end up on our plates.
Our Professor then asked the question, "Would steak be ok?" After a week of eating pasta and pizza (although brilliant and utterly delicious), our inner carnivores screamed "YES!" Steak would be just fine.
As with most typical Italian meals, we began with a selection of antipasto. Within moments, enormous platters were set in front of us. There were individual pizzatas with cherry tomatoes, arugula, and mozzarella. Golden fried potato dumplings. Fried risotto balls bound with a red sauce and sculpted around a cheese. One of my new favorites was fried zucchini flowers stuffed with anchovies and mozzarella, a combination that first crunches, then strings melted cheese from mouth to plate. The added punch of salt from the Mediterranean baitfish explodes in the mouth, but does not dominate the delicate flowers.
Lastly, however, my wishes were answered when those artichokes, prepared in a classic romana fashion, were also perched on the platters. Soft and delicate, the clarifying tang of the roasted vegetable contrasted with the surprise addition: they had also been flash fried, without breading. Thus all the outer leaves became like crisp chips, and only once you bit through to the heart did the usual cushioned bite and delicate flavor dominate.
And that was only the first course.
Only after the dishes had been cleared away and we looked around the room with contented gazes, did we see the cutting boards heading our way. These large wooden blocks were topped with a steaming steak, fresh off the grill that was then effortlessly sliced by the cammerino at the table. Our professor had ordered everyone tagliatta, a romana beef dish which is like a rare grilled tenderloin. It was accompanied by a pile of fried potatoes (better than any French fries imaginable) and grilled radicchio, a bitter contrast to the butter-like cut of meat.
Accompanied by an earthy Chianti (new information on that thanks to a class wine tasting yesterday!), the beef was somehow less sweet and meatier than similar cuts in the US. It had less fat and a less forgiving chew, but as it possessed an incredible cow taste, almost more like bison, deer or other game than a farm raised animal.
After such a feast, we couldn't move, so we ordered dessert. Splitting an almond tart, fresh bowls of cherries, strawberries with sugar and lemon juice, and blanc mange, it was difficult to not imagine a better end of the day.
And then we were able to walk home.
Catching the bus back from the restaurant to the Ponte San'Angelo, we hopped off and strolled back to the apartment via the Vatican and the Tiber. The dome of Saint Peter's was surrounded by flocking seagulls, which from my perspective was lovely. Then Steve pointed out that St. Peter was the fisherman, and so seagulls were especially appropriate above his basilica.
15 minutes later and we were back in the apartment and it was time for bed. Rome rocks.
Adventures are the best! Two days ago at 4:00, I struck out from Atlanta, GA for Roma, Italia. I was scheduled for a direct flight that would put me into Fiumicino airport only 20 minutes after the New York crowd arrived, and we would then find our way to Trastevere together and meet the class. It was a great plan, but not quite what happened.
First, my direct flight way delayed, getting me in an hour and a half later than originally scheduled. The flight was also oversold, so the announcements to "please get off this flight" were tantalizingly repeated (they were offering to pay for half my ticket!). Given that I had to meet the group Sunday, I figured there was no chance of being able to take the deal, but when I talked to the gate agent, she was thrilled that I was available for the switch, put me on a flight to Venice that, after a Alitalia connection, got me to Rome only an hour and a half after the expected arrival of my first flight. And they took care of half my ticket cost! Yes! More for the gelato slush fund.
That switch was the best thing that could have happened. Onboard, there was a rainbow out my window somewhere over Virginia, a blaring full moon that lit up the Atlantic somewhere East of Iceland, and the captain did a fly-by of Venice on his way to Marco Polo Airport, and I could see the spires of St. Mark's from 4,000 feet. The sacrifice for all of that was that Delta left my bag in Atlanta. But that also ended up working perfectly, because instead of having to roll it around all afternoon, I was traveling light. So instead of heading directly to Trastevere, I had fun getting lost downtown.
I've never been in a more bewitching place. Everywhere I turn there is some statue, monument, fountain, or mosaic I've seen in books. Better yet, the restaurants, bars, and gelaterias throw the scent of fresh tomatoes and coffee onto the streets. Best of all, EVERYONE is speaking Italian, which is the most expressive (and pretty) language on earth.
As I started wandering toward the river from Termini Station, I climbed the Quirinal Hill and saw the Palazzo guarded by posh guards with machine guns. Two minutes later, I dodged down a stairwell, and saw piazza Venezia take over the landscape. It is massive centerpiece — sort of like a birthday cake as people call it — of bleached white marble flanked by bronze horsemen and dual tricolore flags. Continuing downhill, still pretending to follow my map, but happily lost, I found the Pantheon when I was looking for the Tiber. It was just around the corner, casually sitting there. Open. They just let you walk in. So I did and sort of strained my neck staring at the ceiling.
But by that time I started to realize that I might need to actually focus on the map. Fortunately, the Pantheon was extremely well marked and made for a great landmark. So found again, I strode back through the Largo Argentina and followed the trolley tracks to Trastevere, the neighborhood where we are living in the Piazza of Santa Maria di Trastevere (a beautiful gilt church).
Thankfully, the gang wasn't too upset about my plane confusion, had not waited past 12:15 at the airport and had easily found their way to the fountain. After a short wait, we met with our Professors and moved into the apartments. The rooms are lovely - ours has 13-foot ceilings, a great kitchen, and living room that fits the entire class. The marble stairway leading to it is epic.
As I was sitting in the piazza before dinner yesterday, I realized I couldn’t think of a better place to spend the summer. I’m just so excited to be here!
