We stepped off the train in Cortona hoping to see the villas and mountain vistas of Under the Tuscan Sun, but instead saw misting rain from an overcast sky and not a single person in sight. As we stared up from the base of a mountain, my friend Megan and I realized that Cortona was at the top, five miles up, and we were in Cambucia, at the bottom. The town seemed vacant with no buses or taxis running on this Sunday morning. Never did we imagine that a courtesy ride up to the top from a sympathetic Italian would lead us to a meal we would never forget or that we would return to this same train station in just four hours with full stomachs and warm feelings for Cortona.
Wandering to the only open store, we peered inside to find Italian men staring at us, wondering why two American college women were wandering Cambucia in the rain on a chilly Sunday. We motioned a steering wheel to them to indicate “car” and said, “Cortona?” but no one responded. After many attempts at communication, one man offered to drive us up to Cortona in his small red, beat-up car. The ride up to Cortona’s Piazza Garibaldi was in silence, but the drive became increasingly scenic nearing the top; the winding, narrow roads offered views of zigzagging rows of olive groves and smaller farmland villages with orange and white rooftops. We offered to pay our driver, but he motioned that he wanted our phone number, not cash. After reluctantly trading numbers, we began our journey at Piazza Garibaldi, the front entrance of Cortona.
We had no plan to experience this hilly Tuscan city, so we walked up and down through the vertical medieval walled alleys and squares, deserted on this rainy day. Different colored window shutters and doors personalized each home, and even though it wasn’t sunny, the blues and greens of the shutters shone brightly. With each uneven street we began to hike, we talked about how difficult it must be for older Italians.
Feeling the cold, we wanted to escape the rain, so we went to the closest restaurant, Ristorante La Bucaccia, right off the central Piazza della Repubblica on Via Ghibelllina. The restaurant had just opened for the day at noon as a rosy cheeked, short Italian man with a protruding belly came out from the kitchen to seat us. As he showed us the way, I pulled the Rick Steves book out to mention that he was listed in the “Eating” section. He grabbed the book from my hand and in disbelief kept turning from the page he was featured on to the front cover as he asked, “Is this this year? 2009? I am in this?” His excitement made us laugh and he called for his wife and 11-year-old daughter, who was a miniature version of the mother. “My name is Romano, this is my wife who makes all the food, Agostina, and this is my daughter Francesca. Let’s take our picture!” As he called out an additional helper from the back, he posed us for pictures in three different locations, including his wine cellar he is very proud of (“It holds over 400 bottles of wine,” he said).
Finally, he sat us down and took our menus off the table. He exclaimed, “I will give you what is the best. The specialties! Just sit and wait.” The tables were only a foot apart from the other in a darkly lit cobbled stoned room. Overtaking the table in the corner were two 3-feet-long legs of pork; our antipasto came from meat scraped with a fork on the inside of the legs and was topped with a potato, fig, and honey jelly.
Following were two pastas: a doughy, fresh homemade pasta doused with a pecorino-cheese sauce, followed by chestnut flour ravioli filled with ricotta topped with tender porcini mushrooms. Each slightly tender, al dente bite of pasta made my eyes close and my throat “Mmmmm” in satisfaction. Next, Romano brought out what he called Chianina beef, which with the touch of the knife fell into juicy pieces, and roasted potatoes topped with rosemary. We had come up to the hill to Heaven: Romano was giving us the best meal of our stay in Europe and topped each course off with another glass of his favorite red wines. We expressed our euphoric approval of his food every time he passed. He would give us a wide smile, pinch our stuffed cheeks, and say, “Aw you like it, good!”
As the after-dinner espresso and chocolate chip biscotti were being served, we stepped back into reality and prepared ourselves for a bill that was over our student budgets. Approaching the counter, Romano said, “You pay…” and he scribbled 30 euro, which we looked at with astonishment. Then he interrupted our gratefulness and said, “No 20 euro total actually, and when you are cooking with your family back home, email me and you can impress them with my recipes.” We exchanged emails, he hugged and kissed us on both cheeks, and we walked outside into the cool rain.
The taxi, called by Romano, drove us down to the train station where our day had began on such a bleak note. Our state of mind was in a completely different place than when we arrived. I learned that Cortona does not need the Tuscan sun to be enjoyed. On this rainy day, we enjoyed the city’s architecture and scenery, and in our escape from the cold rain, found hospitality and food that kept us warm for the rest of the day.
Megan Sayler, a University of Kansas journalism student from Kansas City, studied in the CIMBA undergraduate program in spring, 2009.
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