Frances Mayes's Blog, page 10

What I Am Reading

Book tours involve long car and plane trips and waits in airports, sometimes on runways, and odd hours in hotel rooms before and after events. These times I savor because I get to read.  These are some of the books I've enjoyed recently:

The Paris Wife by Paula McLain, a well-wrought novel from the point of view of Hadley Hemingway.  The author gets to the quick of that marriage.  I found this book, especially the end, very moving.

Every Day by the Sun by Dean Faulkner Wells, a memoir by the niece of William Faulkner. I also found this book touching. I never knew "Bill" was such an intense and loving family man (despite his affairs) or that he was so playful. While Hemingway and Fitzgerald and other majors invented their writing abroad and swam in the glamour of Paris, Faulkner stayed on his own plot and lived through all the layers of that earth.  The author tells about the family, their loves and foibles, and does so in an individual voice. I'd like to sit down with a bourbon (if I drank bourbon) with Dean.

Sex and Stravinsky by Barbara Trapido.  I love all her novels, especially the coming-of-age Frankie and Stankie. A South African now living in England, she's not well known here but should be.

Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson.  Brilliant structure to this novel of a woman's life beginning at the instant of conception.  The family flashbacks seem to explain the character's DNA. The level of imagistic detail is extraordinary and reminded me of a totally different writer, Charles Frazier in Cold Mountain.  Atkinson's Ruby is a memorable character and her whole family background delivers her to the page.

Paris, Paris by David Downie. He knows Paris like the palm of his hand. And he offers walking tours:  www.parisparistours.com David Downie is a wonderful travel companion.

Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier. This is a story of friendship and discovery.  Two nineteenth-century women discover fossils on the English coast and set off religious controversies, since the skeletons point toward evolution rather than one burst of creation. The fossils are remarkable and so are the women. From their perion, they're waving "hello, Darwin."  There's another novel on one of the women, Mary Anning, called Curiosity by Joan Thomas.  I'm going to read it this summer.

Fay by Larry Brown.  Brown's characters are from the nitty-gritty South and can't win for losing.  They do all the bad things and make bad choices. They're riveting and the writing burns with energy.

The Thee Weissmanns of Westport by Cathleen Schine. If you know Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, these three sisters and their mother resonate on the page even more.  There's a pleasing all's-well-that-ends-well conclusion.  I read it right after The Season of Second Chances by Diane Meier.  Both are about women changing their lives and both books are smart and solidly entertaining.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers by Paolo Giordano.  This is a sophisticated debut by a very young Italian particle physicist. The characters are rather remote but the subject–how people do or do not mesh–rings many bells.

Enough!  I read several forgettable others–grabbed in the airport–and am grateful to all for filling hours of solitude with vivid lives and memories.

Why I Love Italy

Don George, the wonderful travel writer who interviewed me at National Geographic, published this on the travel website Gadling:

http://www.gadling.com

The Last Half

The last half of my book tour was so much fun.  Ed and I drove to Randolph College, which is only two hours away, along rural roads.  We're usually on freeways and so totally loved winding among farms and small towns, watching spring trace its way North.  I love the vanishing rural structures in the countryside.  One of Ed's many virtues is that he will go back when I say, "Oh, look at that!"  I leap from the car and explore whatever has turned us around.

By my lights, this gas station in Alchie VA is a holy structure.  The lines are pure, the color contrast is stark, and the rhythm of the volumes pleases the eye. Literally, I wonder if it was once a church because it has the right form.  The sign says 1859, long before gas stations, so it had other incarnations prior.  Architects, lie down and weep!!!

I'd always brake for this:

By the time we reached Lynchburg, I was back into the love I had for Virginia when I went to Randolph-Macon Woman's College.  The landscape is always evocative.  Then stepping on the campus, stepping back many years, was one of those time-collapses because the campus is much the same and I always found that from it emanated a strong aura of learning and beauty.  When I was there, my friend Rena and I hung poems from the cherry tree and a tradition started from our "Loveliest of Trees" among the blooms.  I was lucky to be there when the cherry tree (not the same one) was in bloom and to read the poems dangling in the breeze:

President John Klein and his wife, Susan, were welcoming and my event there was a pleasure.  I met several women in their seventies and eighties who still wore their class rings.  Now that's school spirit. I saw my "big sister" Marion, and Jane, a classmate.  Ed seemed interested when I pointed out windows of rooms where I lived and had his own Virginia spring memories of his graduate school time at the Hollins writing program.

My next stops were at favorite book-tour places.  I got to stay at the historic Brown Palace in Denver and to speak at one of the great bookstores, The Tattered Cover.  It's one of those superb bookstores that are a cultural force for their city.  Then onward to another fine venue, Rainy Day Books in Kansas City.  My two events there were at a women's club, The Central Exchange, and at Brio Tuscan Grill.  I reunited there with Barbara, who owned the hair salon I went to in San Francisco. One of the joys of the tour is such meetings.  Sometimes I think I will see again everyone I've ever known!  Vivien and Roger, who own Rainy Day Books, are such important people.  They work constantly to promote a sense of community and to give authors the best opportunity to present their work.  With Border's struggling to survive (our local one is closing), you have to realize how endangered our community bookstores are.  And they are so crucial!  Please, support your booksellers–and all local business.  Just being in a bookstore inspires me.  I always find something I didn't know I must read, whereas on line, I simply order what I already wanted.  Something about thumbing through, something about the paper and the typeface, and always, the opening sentence. . .

National Geographic put on a grand event with a lavish reception.  Looking in the glass walls were a mother duck and eight tiny ones.  I met many old friends and new ones there and afterwards.  Don George interviewed me on stage, which was slightly scary beforehand–an interviewer can ask anything–but totally easy once it began. We dined late and long with a group of friends then happily repaired to our B & B, The Swann House, which was like visiting friends because Mary, the owner, seems like someone I already know.  We had another day to wander the National Gallery and to admires I. M. Pei's East Wing.  I especially liked his wall of water in the underground connector between the old and new wings.

Right in front of it, on the small world plan, we ran into Swiss friends from Cortona! That's Kurt's foot peeking into the edge. I wonder what I. M. Pei would think of the gas station in Alchie, Virginia.

Here endeth the tour for Every Day in Tuscany. Many thanks to everyone who hosted me, all the organizers at Broadway, and everyone who came to the events.  You mean the world!

A Brief Pause in the Action

The wisteria is romping through the woods and all the dogwoods are flaring among the pines. I long to be outside but I'm shut in with a few deadlines.  On Tuesday, 12 April, I will be at the National Geographic in Washington D.C.  (see "Tour").  Then I hope to pop up to the Walker Museum in Baltimore on Wednesday to see an exhibit of religious artifacts.  I love a gita, quick trip, to Washington. We'll get to see good friends and dine in a couple of restaurants–a fine end to my book tour.  We're driving up through Virginia, where spring is in full force.  When a moment of calm arrives, I'd like to post some photos from my recent travels to Randolph College in Lynchburg VA, The Tattered Cover in Denver, and a stop in Kansas City for Rainy Day Books.  All those events were fantastic for me.

A history professor of mine used to say "All wars begin in spring."  I'd rather think that all travel plans do.  I am very excited to start planning a one-week drive around Sardinia, with a couple of days on Capri, at the end of May.  I've been only once to Sardinia and that was to Alghero, where there's more than a touch of the Moors in the food and architecture. That trip started off my dreaming about places I wanted to live, which resulted in A Year in the World. Finally, I'm getting back there.  Isn't it odd how you tell yourself you'll return soon and then it takes forever to do so?  This shot is from Capri and is just the serenity I'm craving. To sit at that table with a notebook and a glass of lemonade and feel that balmy air. . .

I'm about to start gathering information.  If anyone has recommendations for Sardinia or for Capri, I would love to hear them–places, wines, foods, books, anything.

As a P.S. here's a link to a short interview I did with The Recipe Club. http://www.therecipeclub.net/2011/04/06/cooking-around-the-world-tuscany-with-frances-mayes/#comments

Field Notes

So far, my travels on behalf of the paperback edition of Every Day in Tuscany have been fun.  If you're anywhere near, do visit the "George Inness in Italy" exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. www.philamuseum.org/exhibitions/398.html I spoke there as part of the activity around the exhibit and was dazzled by the museum in general, as well as the exhibit in particular.  Inness was a nineteenth-century visionary who loved the Italian landscape and dreamed over it so much that he even painted evocative Italian landscapes when he was not there. What beauty greets the eye when looking at his greens and vistas and his lonely single figures that the landscape converges on. The exhibit is small and exquisite.

Ed and I drove to Atlanta, spending a night in Greenville, S.C. en route. That's a leafy city with walks along the river, a burgeoning food scene, and  public art.  One venerable building from the past has been left as an evocative shell and Mamie, our lovely waiter in The Lazy Goat, told us she takes her poetry students there to read because of the good acoustics.

Greenville seems like one of those blooming towns where you'd like to live and become a big booster of the place.  At our late dinner at Soby's, we felt right at home.  All over the South, outstanding restaurants are cropping up!  Hurrah!

In Atlanta, I read for the Georgia Center for the Book.  www.georgiacenterforthebook.org Long may they reign. They do great things to promote books across the state. I spoke in a big Baptist church in Decatur and had fleeting thoughts of becoming a preacher.  Bill Starr and Joe Davich put together a wonderful event. My cousin David cooked dinner for us and my sister afterwards and we had a fine reunion. We left early on Tuesday for Asheville—home of Thomas Wolfe, as all good southerners know.  Malaprop's is a terrific bookstore with a friendly staff. Laurey's Catering did the event. I met lots of warm people. After the event, we walked around the corner to The Table and fortunately they were still serving their delicious bob-white quail.  We stayed at the Indigo Hotel.  I requested it because I stayed at the Indigo in Athens, GA last year and loved the fresh, contemporary décor.  It's a small chain and worth seeking out.  Not luxe, luxe but so crisp and thoughtful. In the morning, before heading North, we visited Laurey's simpatico café for muffins and coffee. Her manager had just learned that the bone transplant on her small son had worked! Her joy lit the place with supernatural energy and propelled us home.

We were happy to find our three cherry trees in white splendor.

Also happy to meet a calm weekend full of recipe testing. The cookbook is almost done! Here's our homey torta della nonna–grandmother's tart, a short crust, a lemony custard filling, and toasted pine nuts:

and our creamy torta di ricotta, which looks plain, like the big full moon we've been witnessing:

Next time, I'll dress it up with toasted almond slivers or currants plumped in vin santo. Or, a drizzle of chocolate. The recipe came to me from Silvia Regi, who owns the country luxury inn Il Falconiere in Cortona. The small ones on the side are for us.  We're having fun giving away most of what we bake. It's the only sane way to go! I'm adding the recipes at the end of the post.

During this break, our friends Chiara and Giampaolo Venica were here on a wine tour.  (I posted photos—mostly of shoes!—from their June wedding.) Giampaolo's family owns Venica & Venica, sublime wines from Friuli. We took them to a great southern command-central of great food: Revolution in Durham, NC.  Always a little tension taking Italians to dinner in the U.S. but not to worry—they loved the food and the ambiance.  Durham is just astonishing.  In the five years we've lived here, good restaurants have popped up like porcini a week after rain.

For my birthday, we celebrated at Panciuto in Hillsborough, another stellar place that sources almost every bite from within twenty miles.  On his menu, Aaron Vandermark lists all his farm sources and ends with rosemary, four blocks, from his own yard. My grandson was thrilled over dining out on a school night. We started at 6:30, which Ed regards as late lunch. Aaron had procured two rabbits for us, which we'll experiment with.  Two Tuscan classics–one braised in balsamic and tomatoes, one deboned and stuffed.

On Monday, I travel to Randolph College in Lynchburg, VA.  I went to school there when it was Randolph-Macon Woman's College.  All the girls were smart and took themselves seriously.  I was shocked because I thought college was for making friends, reading poetry, and going to parties. It was an overdue awakening for me and my first writing class there confirmed that what I wanted to do in this life was write books.  How foolish and wise we sometimes are at eighteen.

It was fun to meet several readers of this blog at the events.  Thanks for coming.  Kathleen, thanks for the pizzelles!  Emoke, grazie for the books, especially yours. Rick, I treasure Le Tavolette Votive Italiane and have been poring over it!  Mille grazie. Hope to see some of you at the Tattered Cover LoDo in Denver on 30 March or in Kansas City on 4 April, when Rainy Day Books will host two events.  My last stop is National Geographic in Washington DC on 12 April.  Click on Tour for details.

Here are the two recipes. Use the Pasta Frolla crust for either.

Pasta Frolla

Frolla means "friable." It's a short crust; you can press it into the dish with your fingers, if you like. Any leftover dough can be baked as cookies with a couple of pine nuts on each, or with a dab of jam on top.

Makes 1 double 10-inch pie crust

2¼ cups all-purpose flour, sifted, plus additional for preparation

2/3 cup sugar

Pinch of salt

12 tablespoons (1½ sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut in bits

2 eggs

Zest of 1 lemon

Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl or mound them on a floured work surface. Make a well, with the butter in the center. With your hands or 2 forks, blend in the butter until it looks like breadcrumbs. Add the eggs and zest. Knead, forming a soft dough. You also can use a food processor: Pulse together the butter, sugar, and salt. Add the eggs and lemon zest, and then add the flour a half cup at a time, pulsing, just to blend, until the dough forms.

Roll the dough into a ball, pat it with flour, and wrap it with a damp dishtowel. If you're making the torta della nonna, divide the dough into two balls, one slightly larger.  Chill for at least an hour. The dough will be sticky.

Flour the rolling pin and a cool surface. Roll out a circle to fit your pie plate. Flip the pastry over the rolling pin and into the pie plate. Or simply press the pastry into the pan with your fingers.

Torta della Nonna

1 recipe pasta frolla (short pastry)

Filling:

2 1/2 cups milk

4 yolks, beaten

2/3 cup sugar

Zest and juice of 1 lemon

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Topping:

1 teaspoon polenta

1/3 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted

2 tablespoons confectioners' sugar

Prepare the pasty.  While it chills, make the filling.

In a medium saucepan, beat the milk, yolks, sugar and zest.  On medium heat, stir for 5 minutes or until slightly thickened.  Turn the heat to medium-low and slowly sift in the flour and cornstarch, whisking all along. When it becomes a very thick and creamy custard, stir in the lemon juice and vanilla.  Remove from the heat and allow to cool while you finish the pastry.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Divide the chilled dough in half. On a floured surface, roll out one half to fit a 10-inch tart pan. Sprinkle half the polenta on the bottom for a little crunchy taste. Pour in the filling then roll out the other circle of dough to cover.  Crimp it around the overlapping edges.  Press the pine nuts into the dough and sprinkle on the rest of the polenta.  Bake for 30 minutes, or until the crust and nuts are bronzed.  Let the torta rest for 5 minutes before sifting the confectioners' sugar over the top.

Torta di Ricotta

1 recipe pasta frolla.  Add to it add 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon.

Filling:

2 cups milk

Zest of 1 lemon or orange

4 eggs

2/3 cup sugar

Pinch of salt

1 tablespoon flour

1 pound (1 3/4 cups) fresh ricotta

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In the bottom of a double boiler, heat the water to a boil and then turn down to a good simmer.  Put the milk in the top half of the double boiler, along with the zest, and heat thoroughly but don't boil. Set aside.  In a large bowl, combine three of the eggs with the sugar and whisk until a thick ribbon forms.  Incorporate the salt and the tablespoon of flour.  Slowly whisk the egg mixture into the milk.  Cook the egg and milk mixture over the simmering water for 10 minutes, stirring until it is thicker than heavy cream but not as thick as sour cream.  Remove from the heat and let it cool.

Roll out the dough to fit a 12-inch tart pan.  Prick the bottom and sides with a fork.  Bake for 10 minutes then remove from the oven.  Whip the ricotta with a fork to smooth and lighten it.  Fold it into the filling.  Mix well and then stir in the remaining egg and the vanilla.  Beat vigorously  Pour the filling into the partially-baked shell and, if you like, top with toasted almonds, or currants or dried cherries plumped in wine or vin santo. Bake for 30 minutes, or until the filling is firmly set.

A New Addition

Last year, when I was meeting with Clarkson Potter about the cookbook I wanted to write, they asked if I'd be interested in a travel journal.  As the blank book queen of the universe, I immediately said yes. Now it has arrived and looks inviting.  I wish I were going to India so I could fill it with spices, vegetable recipes, moony descriptions of the Taj, and swatches of cloth. The pages are blank and lined. Scattered throughout are quotes from my books.

The photographs on the cover are by my dear colleague Steven Rothfeld.  We have worked together on so many projects. The sunflower one records a memorable lunch at Bramasole.  Looking at it gives me a pang of longing for long afternoons in July. That's not my house with the wisteria but I wish I did have that decadent vine cascading from my balcony.  The cypresses along a white road are my favorite images of Tuscan landscape.  Who could not want to walk that road?

Before Winter Leaves

Here's an eloquent photo of the pleasures of winter travel.  This is the security line at the Rome airport at the end of January:

I've never taken a picture in an airport but this was a sublime scene.  Maybe not as sublime as the view from our mountain house the day before.  The two peaks in the distance are extinct volcanos, floating above a sea of fog in the valley. The landscapes of winter are just as evocative, for me, as the lush greens and sunflower fields of summer. The hill in the foreground is where Bramasole sits, on the left, and the lower slope to the right is Cortona. In summer that lavender-lined walkway is swarming with butterflies and bees; I hope it survived the February cold. The pergola is covered with white wisteria and white roses in early summer.  After five years, they've finally covered the structure, creating a nice spot for lunch.

Another pleasure of winter is bagna cauda, a hot sauce of seasoned olive oil–the freshest possible–with garlic and a few anchovies in it.  It's especially lovely in winter because it reminds you of all the crispy, fresh vegetables that soon will be arriving. This feast took place at our friends, the Di Rosa's splendid table.  I've written about Fulvio and Aurora in my books.  He is a master restorer in Tuscany  (www.borgodivagli.com ). This was followed by a big pasta. You can't see it in the picture but the brown containers have a candle within for keeping the oil warm.

Peppers, celery, carrots, cardoon, radishes, endive, fennel, escarole, lightly steamed sunchokes, broccoli, onions, potatoes and artichokes–any vegetable deserves a dip in a warm bath.

On our last night before flying out, we ate at Pier Luigi in Rome.  In warm months, you dine outside in a small and noble piazza.  In winter, we sat inside and ordered a Tercic Matijaz Collio sauvignon blanc to remind us of our trip to Friuli, and then grilled fish, and the purest of salads, arugula mixed with it's wild cousin, rughetta:

At dessert, I was thrilled to see cenci, meaning "rags," those light, fried pastries that appear only around mardi gras.  The dough is cut in rectangles, split at one end and the other end looped through.  In hot oil they puff slightly.  They are light, crunchy, and delicious!

Did we eat most of those?  Did we?

I'm still basking in the memories of our winter trip.  And starting to look toward returning in May. For now, the book tour starts today.  I'll post the recipe for cenci as soon as I test it with American flour.  This weekend, we spring forward into longer days!

Daffodils Are Out

Yesterday, I picked all the bright yellow blooms I could carry and now they're on my kitchen counter singing hallelulia.  My three cherry trees are about to don their bridal veils and the tiny blue irises are coming up in clumps along the spring.  Lo, the winter has passed, at least here in North Carolina for the moment.

Also popping out at my house are new covers for my books and the paperback of Every Day in Tuscany.  The new covers make them seem like brand new books.  Even though my mother always said not to, I do, initially, judge a book by it's cover.  The new one on A Year in the World makes me want to rush for my passport. I'm imagining a plunge in that infinite blue water.

That tiny beach behind the rocks looks intriguing.  The cover brings back the pleasures I had when writing the book and traveling to all those places I'd long dreamed of.

The other covers–thank you Broadway Books!–are equally vibrant.

The occasion for the covers is that Every Day in Tuscany is coming out in paperback.  I can't imagine that it has been a year since the hardback was published.  See the TOUR at the top of the blog.  I will be at Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh, The Philadelphia Museum of Art, The Georgia Center for the Book in Decatur, Malaprop Bookstore in Asheville NC, Randolph College in Lynchburg VA, Tattered Cover Bookstore in Denver, at two restaurants in Kansas City for Rainy Day Books, and at National Geographic in Washington DC.  Please, if you live near any of those, come say hello! I'm excited about being on the road. I always meet so many fantastic people, get a chance to see new places, and to sample the food of the area.  This trip, I am thrilled to be speaking in connection with the George Inness in Italy exhibit in Philadelphia.  Also, it will be a wonderful nostalgia trip to visit Randolph College (formerly Randolph-Macon Woman's College), where I went to school eons ago.  At National Geographic, I'll be on stage in conversation with Don George.  Everything on my tour looks fun. A fine spring.  I think I'll go read A. E. Housman's Loveliest of trees the cherry now is hung with bloom along the bough. . .

Florence in January

In winter, Florentines take back their city.  The Florence that's usually hidden by crowds becomes visible and intriguing.  For example, take the short street, via dei Servi, which runs from the piazza of the grand duomo to Piazza Santissima Annunziata.  I go down that street often to buy papers and notebooks at Tassotti and to look at the hand- bound leather books at the Scriptorium.  The rest of the street has been rather a blur, with bicycles, Vespas, and people crowding the way.  In January, it reverts to a calm little street, with the great bulb of the duomo visible at one end and the magnificent piazza at the other.  This (actually taken two streets over) draws me to Firenze in any season.  See the people at the top of the dome?  So much to contemplate in this one small photo.

The Piazza Santissima Annunziata would be the pride of any city but here, in the city of extravagant treasures, it's kind of neglected. The city has chosen to position six big trash receptacles around the perimeter.  In winter, it's empty of people and you get to stand near Ferninando I, the bronze horseman who anchors the piazza, and slowly turn around, enjoying the ideal Renaissance architecture and speculating about the barred window in the Ospedale degli Innocenti.  The innocenti were babies, abandoned at the hospital; the window at the left end once held a wheel where the innocents could be left and spun inside to some refuge.  The building was designed by Brunelleschi and later decorated by Andrea della Robbia with ceramic medallions of swaddled bambini. There's an easy half day to spend on the piazza and the nearby Archeology Museum. But this time I was taken by the little street, lined with tiny, interesting  shops.

We stayed at a residenza, not quite a hotel, nor and b & b.  Italy has been very fast to offer alternate accommodations to hotels during the crisis and even before.  B & B's are cropping up everywhere and now very nice "residences" are too.  Our was Residenza della Signoria, www.residenzadellasignoria.com in the very heart of town and next door to Verrazzano, where we often go for pastries, quick lunch, or a glass of wine before dinner.  Location, location, yes!  The residenza  offers no hotel services—no concierge or bellmen or room service, or even breakfast.  But the room was attractive and the bath nice and it was very quiet. Amazingly inexpensive, too.

Not so, the two restaurants where we dined: Ora d'Aria,  www.oradariaristorante.com and Alle Murate, www.artenotai.org . Both represent the new food of Florence.  We love the traditional trattorie but these two strike out in directions primarily pertinent to the chefs in charge, rifting on tradition and surprising combinations.  Ora d'Aria, used to be located across from a former prison and took the inmates' "hour of air" as their name.  They've moved now to an airy space—a little too well-lighted—painted in pale gray and cream, a cool Gustavian style. Alle Murate, also contemporary in décor, is romantically lit and discreet.  The ceiling is painted with 13th-century frescos of astonishing quality.  The chef and most of the staff are female.  If you go and are four or five people, request the table at the top of the stairs—you'll be right under the fresco and across from the earliest portrait of Dante.  We were downstairs at an intimate table and more than happy. Neither restaurant was the kind of place where I felt comfortable snapping photos, but, take my words, these are two unique experiences in Florence.  When food is great that's enough but when the place itself transcends its space, that's a memorable experience.

Both days were fine.  The sun blazed in a blue, blue sky and all the Florentines were strolling, sipping hot chocolate–very thick–topped with whipped cream, or walking their dogs, also in Prada coats, and chatting in the sunshine with friends.  Italians manage to look stylish and elegant in their bundled up state. I guess it's the cut of the coat, the butter-leather boot, the scarf knotted just so. It was just warm enough for an aperitivo outside at Café Rivoire on Piazza della Signoria.

Very late, returning from Alle Murate, we were pulled by the music to a café on the main piazza. The band played 70's music and when they began "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe" a small, thin man in his 80's glided out with a big-boned girl in her 20's.  They were smooth and symbiotic, and found each other's rhythm across the years.  He later danced with two loose and angular young Japanese girls.  Lovely to witness, especially out under the stars on a January night. . .

The last day, we were knocked sideways by the big Bronzino exhibit. His portraits!  The grace with which he painted hands.  I'd say he was obsessed with hands.  I bought the catalogue and all the way home on the train dreamed over his canvases full of light, his touch of the erotic, his faces looking frankly at you from another time, and most of all his blending of the tactile and the visionary, rather like two dancers who, in the confluence of movement, become one.

Venice in January

In any season or weather, Venice stuns me.  Such irrational beauty–those intricate floating palaces built on mud–and the dream-like reflections in water turn over my world view. I'm living inside one of those glass globes you shake and the snow flies.  In winter, there's the added allure of quiet.  Not that Venice ever is empty, and who would want it to be, but the throngs and dazed mobs following a tour guide's flag hardly are present.  The gondoliers in puffy down jackets, some still wearing their straw hats, stand around in groups.  And sometimes the gelid light throws a whiter shade of pale over the sky and water so that the buildings look more like watercolor paintings than reality.  Venice astounds me, in it's monumental and incidental beauty.

I am reading The Perfect House: A Journey with the Renaissance Master Andrea Palladio by Witold Rybczynski, in which he visits and describes the architecture of several of Palladio's houses.  This has led me to Palladio's churches in Venice.  Look how he invents light:

His church, Il Rendentore (The Redeemer), on the island Giudecca, was built as an offering to stop an outbreak of plague.  Palladio worked on it only three years before his death. Walking along the quays of the Giudecca, we were freezing; the Adriatic wind whipping up from the water and lifting our hair into icy spikes, so we hopped back on the vaporetto to see his other major work in Venice, San Giorgio on the island of the same name.  No one about.  A pleasure of winter–that you have places to yourself and can linger and inspect, especially if you have good coat, scarf and gloves. I do. (The first hour we arrived, I immediately entered a glove store and bought better ones than I had.)  Palladio, what a joy to study.  If you've never read Palladian Days, Sally Gable's account of buying and learning to feel at home in a Palladian villa, I do recommend the book. This year, I would like to take that trip along the Brenta River, visiting the villas he built.  We got back to San Marco asap and to our cosy hotel for a two hour warm up before our long walk around Venice.

The hotel, actually a B & B, is a delight.  Of the hundreds of hotels I have stayed in–at least ten in Venice–this is the friendliest.  The charming young staff learns everyone's name.  The small lobby has a window opening onto a canal, and a water taxi can pull up there and unload luggage.  The spacious rooms are decorated with murals of figures from Commedia dell'Arte. Here's the one in our room:

The door to our room welcomed two writers:

We love staying here.  Barbara, Igor, Bruno, Alex–grazie mille for such a warm welcome.  Breakfast is served at small tables in the intimate lobby–and Barbara is insisting that we try her light pancakes with fruit, or eggs on toast.  We're confirmed Italians with regards to la prima colazione, however, and are content with a brioche and espresso.  The name of this delightful spot, right off Piazza San Marco in a quiet courtyard, is Locanda Orseola, www.locandaorseolo.com.  The staff is just exceptionally nice and the location is perfect.

The first night we had dinner at Vini da Gigio, a lively trattoria with land and sea dishes.  The second night we ate at A Beccafico.  Both were delicious and fun places to be.  A Beccafico is half Sicilian and half Veneziano–a good pairing.  At Vini da Gigio, I especially liked my pasta with grilled raddichio and a vellutata–a creamy soup–of white beans. I had several good photos to post but the powers controlling the site keep telling me "fatal error." Don't you think that's a little too serious for a photo of pasta?  Rather like Sarah Palin's "blood libel".  Let's all try not to get carried away!  Still, I'll try later with more photos. . .

Walking "home" late, Piazza San Marco is almost deserted, even the pigeons have flown away for the misty night. Tomorrow, back to Cortona.