Rick Steves, Rain and a Ristorante

By Megan Turner

On our search for the Tuscan sun, Megan and I did not let the persistent drizzle stop our journey. We decided to set out for a seemingly ironic day Under the Tuscan Rain. Little did we know that the rain (and Rick Steves) would lead us to the warmth that exists within the cuisine and culture of Cortona, even when the sun is nowhere in sight.

Sharing one umbrella, we huddled under an overhang to see what attraction Rick would lead us to first. With nearly every activity either a two-mile walk outside of Cortona or closed since it was Sunday, we had to come up with an alternative. What is there to do in a small Tuscan town on a Sunday in the rain? As our stomachs grumbled, the answer seemed apparent. Eat.

With only a few local restaurants open for lunch at noon, Megan and I stumbled across one that we had recognized, a ristorante that offered a 5 percent discount if we brought in our faithful travel companion’s book. Without hesitation, we stepped inside accompanied by Rick Steves.

The stairs led us down into the building, which was clearly an old medieval cellar. The stone walls and crisp air created a dark, yet inviting atmosphere. The simple tables were adorned with candlelight and racks of wine covered the bare walls. Romano, the owner of the restaurant, rounded the corner. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back and he wore slacks paired with a button up shirt and a vest that fit snugly around his belly.

Unsure if he spoke English, we quickly fumbled for the Rick Steves book and pointed to Romano then to the book. He looked puzzled until we showed him the entry titled, Ristorante La Buccicia.

As the realization set in, Romano’s joy illuminated the room. He began dancing around the store in excitement, yelling, “Agostina, Francesca!” His daughter and wife, the chef, came running from the kitchen. With pride shining through his smile, Romano showed his wife and daughter the book. It was like watching an Olympic medalist show off a gold medal.

He motioned for us to sit down in the corner, pulling out our chairs then tucking us into the table. Looking at the menu, I asked about the pasta dishes. He snatched the menus back and exclaimed, “I bring you a taste of my favorite dishes.”

I hadn’t realized by using the plural word of dishes, he was about to provide us a traditional Italian meal. First came the antipasti, a variety of sliced meats and fresh bread. The first primi was Bucaccia-style homemade nastrine pasta in a spicy pecorino-cheese sauce. Just as we finished the last bite, Francesca picked up our plates with Romano right behind her presenting us with our second pasta, homemade chestnut flour Ravioli in a porcini mushroom sauce. The slightly chewy, al dente pasta encased a creamy mixture of ricotta cheese that paired perfectly with the mushrooms. Thinking the meal was over, we scraped the plate clean.

Before we could look up, a smiling Romano held the secondi, or main dish, beef filet cooked in Chianti wine paired with sautéed potatoes and seasoned with fresh rosemary. He placed our dishes down and waited expectantly as we took our first bite. When we looked up, mouths full, to give him the head nod of approval, he smiled and pinched our cheeks. Although he spoke little English, the language barrier was not a problem. The only words necessary for Megan and I to mutter were, “Romano! Molto Bene!”

With a double edged sword of hope, hoping it was almost done because we were so full, yet wanting more because it tasted so good, we were excited to see the next course was dessert. Romano sliced warm chocolate chip biscotti and slid it onto our place mats to dip in a little cup of espresso.

When we realized that three hours had passed, we decided it was time to head back to reality. A little nervous at how much this meal would cost, we worked our way over to the bar to pay. Romano rushed over and said, “For you girls,” he then scribbled on a slip of paper 20 euros. We each handed him a ten, promised to tell everyone of our experience and received a big bear hug from Romano with a kiss on each cheek and a pinch for good measure.

As we walked outside, the rain jolted us back into reality. We strolled silently through the narrow street and soaked in our experience. It suddenly became clear that Cortona relied on more than its Tuscan Sun. Locals, like Romano and his family, make sure that Cortona glows year round, rain or shine.

Megan Turner, University of Kansas journalism student, studied in the CIMBA undergraduate program in spring, 2009.

Cooking Lessons:

Romano and his wife offer tourists the chance to discover the typical products of Cortona and Tuscan cuisine. He uses fresh local materials and locally produced olive oil and wines from the region. The dishes are never too elaborate and can be made at home. He says, “we make a lot out of a very little and you can cook for your family in your home our recipes.” Reservations are required.

Ristorante La Bucaccia
Via Ghibellina 17
Cortona (AR)
Te. 0575 606039

http://www.labubaccia.it/

info@labucaccia.it

A Day Under the Tuscan Rain

By Megan Sayler

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.