See You in the Piazza

by Frances Mayes

  Parking is easy and soon we’re under Gothic arches of the brick town hall that was started in 1286. We’re looking out at a statue of Julius Caesar. He built a forum in 50 B.C. and started the town on its way. (The word Friuli derives from Forum Julii.) Pigeons poop on his head but still he surveys with dignity the ancient town.

  Down the street, we try slices of gubana, the signature dessert of this area. The leavened dough is rolled around a filling of mixed nuts, candied fruits, raisins, and orange peel, then swirled into a cake pan. When it’s sliced, you see a spiral of the filling. A lot like pastries I tasted in Hungary, even similar to strudel but cakier, gubana tastes of mitteleuropa. The name probably comes from Slovenian, guba, bent. I’ve read that it’s sometimes served with a splash of grappa.

  So pretty, Piazza Paolo Diacono, surrounded by three- and four-story palatial buildings in pastel colors. Paul the Deacon: his piazza. That’s his chalky-white frescoed house. A monk and writer who lived in the eighth century, he chronicled the history of the Longobards. That he wrote a poem to San Giovanni Baptista fascinates Ed because the first syllables of the first six stanzas—ut, re, me, fa, sol, la—inspired Guido d’Arezzo to use them when he invented the musical scale.

  The artistic remains of the Germanic Longobards, who arrived in 568, bring many to visit this town. After them, and after an incursion from the patriarch of nearby Aquileia, Charlemagne took over in 774 and the town came under the dominion of the Franks, who bestowed the name Civitas Austriae, eastern city, which evolved into Cividale. Longobards. Long beards. We find their Tempietto Longobardo, miraculously surviving from the eighth century in the oratorio of the Santa Maria in Valle monastery complex. Though small in size, this is the fullest expression of Longobard art and architecture remaining in Italy. The space is very pure, very pale, with exquisite stucco grape clusters and vines surrounding an arch, and a stunning row of six female statues above. “What do they remind you of?” I ask Ed.

  He stares a while longer then nods. “The women in the mosaics in Ravenna. Same elongated archaic shapes.” Just what I thought, too. The overwhelming impression is stillness, silence.

  In the outer room, under restoration, we can only glimpse intricate choir stalls, and another arch with curly vines and grapes. We’ll be back another day. The walkway out gives us a pretty view of the river, houses perched along it, and distant mountains.

  Other Longobard relics are displayed at the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, along with finds from earlier and later times. Most arresting, an S-shaped fibula (garment fastener brooch) in gold set with garnet and amber; the jewelry found on a female skeleton—ring, belt buckle, hairpin, comb made of bone; sixth- and seventh-century necklaces of beads, filigree, glass, and amber. Take these home and wear tonight! Ed calls me over to look at a gold cross I could hold in the palm of my hand. It’s embossed with vegetal designs, delicate and highly worked. Another, even more cunningly worked, has an antlered deer carved into the crux of the cross. Those Longobards—not just Frankish hordes from the north but skilled and aesthetic artisans.

  Cividale is a town that takes outdoor life seriously. Bars and cafés with umbrellas and flower boxes are everywhere, and the townspeople are out strolling the appealing streets. Friuli is prosperous; local shops prove that. Along Corso Mazzini, a window shows exquisite embroidered linens. We pop into Scubla Antica Drogheria, now a gastronomy emporium, and buy polenta, biologico (organic) fruit jams, and vialone rice. Profumerie (perfumes and beauty products), hair salons, cool shoe and clothing stores are plentiful. My favorite shop, in the arcades on Piazza Paolo Diacono, is A Occhi Chiusi (“To Closed Eyes”). They sell exotic teas, spices, infusions, essential oils, and tea-making articles in a curated, attractive nook.

  We stop for a light lunch (after all that gubana) at Enoteca de Feo, where we’re surrounded by young businessmen in fitted suits and dress shoes with no socks. Very cool and likely to stay that way. Friuli is justly known for San Daniele prosciutto, which we’re able to buy in Cortona. With our Montasio aged cheese, we’re opting for D’Osvaldo prosciutto, arguably more delicate. Transparent slices seem to melt in the mouth, imparting the gentlest sweet-salt tastes. We’re sitting at an outside table because the day is perfect, sipping a glass of Friulano, which used to be called tocai. The Hungarians won the right to tokay and tocai, and local makers renamed theirs Friulano. The elixir in our glasses is Schiopetto’s Friulano Collio.

  From the corner of two pedestrian streets, we see bicyclists’ baskets blooming with fennel fronds, a toddler in red running away from his mother, and a tall teenage boy, insouciant of his beauty, who could have stepped out of a Bronzino painting. He will never lack someone to love him.

  * * *

  HARD TO PULL away from Cividale. In the afternoon, we push on for a look at Palmanova, only a half hour away. I was first curious about this town because of reading W. G. Sebald’s Austerlitz. He was fascinated by the architecture of star forts such as Palmanova’s. By the time they were built, interim advances in armaments eclipsed the tactical advantages offered by the star-shape design. They were obsolete before they were finished, blending into his sense that enterprise is dispersing even as it is conceived. Sebald saw in this a deeply melancholy philosophy that puts life always in diaspora. Our reach never grasps.

  On approaching, the lineaments of Palmanova’s star are clear. Inside the walls, we come immediately into a grand piazza, center of the town plan. The center hexagon has eighteen concentric radiating streets and four ring streets intersecting the radials, a mesmerizing spider web. Built by the Venetians in 1593, Palmanova was meant to protect the area from raucous invaders, especially Turks, but the plan wasn’t just for defense. The Venetians believed beauty promotes the general good, and designed accordingly. Their intention was utopian: Equal land was given to everyone.

  The surprise—no one came to live there. Too perfect? Too regimented? (There is something deadening about planned communities.)

  Finally, in 1622, the Venetians released enough prisoners to occupy the ghost town.

  What elaborate preparations, all for battles that never happened. Without military parades or festivals, what to do with such an immense piazza? A playground makes a tiny dent along one edge. Some old wooden hoists used in the original construction occupy another small space. A café intrudes a few meters. Mostly, though, it is empty, a space still waiting for something to happen.

  * * *

  AS EVENING FALLS, we park in front of Trattoria Al Piave in Mariano del Friuli. Right on time—it’s eight o’clock. Behind us, Robert and his fiancée, Kirsten.

  Robert is one of those friends you pick up with as though you’ve seen each other last week, when it has been six months. And this beauty whom we already know to be brilliant, too—what a pleasure to meet her. The trattoria owner, Patrizia, throws her arms around Robert. Her family-operated place is welcoming, too—a fireplace, bucolic mural, white tablecloths. We’re seated in an intimate garden drenched with the scent of jasmine. Patrizia brings out prosecco. There’s catch-up, there’s getting acquainted with Kirsten. Travel. Books. Politics. Food. News. Projects. Out come the house-made breads, a potato strudel with bruscandoli and ricotta with cubes of tomato. What luck, this is the season when it’s possible to try bruscandoli, the mild green top shoots of hops. Pasta with raunchy wild greens and rabbit. Fall-off-the-bone veal shank. The wine honors go to Robert. He chooses first the Sturm Andritz Rosso Collio 2011, and when we have turned up our glasses for the last sip, he orders Raccaro Collio Malvasia 2016, both new to us. Best to trust Robert, who knows his way around Collio wines!

  We love the old-fashioned trattoria, the owners’ dedication to the gifts of the land. Love being with friends for a great feast to pull us back together again. Now we go in different directions. Next year? Same place?

  * * *

  IT’S LATE BACK at La Casa di Alice but we sit by the pool for a few minutes, letting th
e day settle into place, revisiting the menu at Al Piave, admiring the food of Friuli and the Slovenian, Austrian edge.

  “What’s better than frico? Like hashbrowns but not. I could eat frico every day,” I muse. The shredded potatoes are mixed with the local aged cow’s-milk Montasio cheese and sautéed until crisp. Some versions include apples or herbs.

  “Genuino, that sacred Italian word.” Genuine.

  “Yes. Don’t you love the frequency of woodcock, venison, and goose on the menus?”

  “And fat white asparagus, best I’ve ever tasted; canerino, that canary-yellow radicchio. And all kinds of mushrooms…”

  We trail up to bed in the red, red room.

  * * *

  ANNA’S BREAKFAST IN her big sunny kitchen: crostata with apricots, lemon, nuts. She’s set out, too, local caciotta cheese with herbs, and a basket of breads. Anna is a sunny presence herself. We look with her at some of her cookbooks, then she takes us around the garden. This is like visiting a friend of a friend.

  We stroll around Cormòns while it’s still early. Ed beams as we pass a vending machine that dispenses bicycle inner tubes for seven euros. His kind of town. We greet Massimiliano I, his statue a vestige of the Hapsburg era of the town. The Maria Theresa yellow of several buildings also connects to the long Austrian heritage. The other color of Cormòns I like is a pale blue, ashen and calm. Particular to Friuli is the centa and we look into the entrance to one. Centa, from the word for “belt,” I presume, is a single or double row of houses arranged in a U; they protect a church, nested inside.

  Cormòns is an elegant, low-key town. Will Robert someday buy a house here? Maybe this one, with a celadon-green door and shutters, an arching bower of white roses tangled with wisteria, a calico cat on the step, and a red vintage Fiat Cinquecento parked outside.

  NOTES:

  Robert Draper’s article on his Cormòns adventures in Smithsonian magazine: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/​travel/​venice-friuli-wine-region-vineyard-enoteca-italy-180956875/

  UNESCO site on Palmanova: http://whc.unesco.org/​en/​tentativelists/​1154/

  Interesting connection: Plaza del Ejecutivo in Mexico City was based on Palmanova’s design: http://worldurbanplanning.com/​plaza-del-ejecutivo-mexico/

  Gnocchi con La Lepre

  GNOCCHI WITH WILD HARE, SERVES 4 TO 6

  Hare is relished in Italy. Milder and readily available, rabbit is sold in most butcher shops, which every town has—we can shop at four in our immediate vicinity. Neither hare nor rabbit is easy to find in the United States, but there are online sources for ordering both. I hope this is not heresy, but this recipe from Chefs Patrizio and Stefano Fermanelli also works with chicken.

  FOR THE GNOCCHI

  2 pounds russet potatoes, peeled and freshly boiled

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  2 large eggs

  FOR THE HARE SAUCE

  3 tablespoons sunflower oil

  1 whole hare (or rabbit), about 4 pounds, cut into pieces

  3 onions, chopped

  3 carrots, sliced

  2 cloves garlic, minced

  Rosemary, sage, marjoram, QB

  4 juniper berries

  3 tablespoons sweet paprika

  1 bottle red wine

  2 cups chicken stock, plus more if needed

  Salt and pepper, QB

  2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

  Prepare the gnocchi: Crush the potatoes and let them cool in a medium mixing bowl. Add the flour and eggs and mix until the flour is completely integrated. Let stand for about 10 minutes. By hand, make cigar-shaped cylinders with the dough, about 1 inch thick. On a floured counter, slice the cylinders into ¾-inch pieces.

  Prepare the hare sauce: Add 1½ tablespoons of the oil to a large skillet and brown the pieces of hare over high heat. Remove and add the remaining oil to the skillet. Sauté the vegetables, the herbs, juniper berries, and paprika. Return the pieces of hare to the pan and add the wine and stock. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer until cooked, 20 to 30 minutes, depending on the size of the pieces. Take the hare out, remove the bones, and cut the meat into small pieces.

  Remove any excess oil from the skillet with a spoon. Pass the vegetables through a food mill or coarsely purée in a food processor, and return the mixture to the skillet. Season, then add the flour and mix quickly with a whisk to avoid lumps. The sauce should not be too liquid or too thick. At this point add the pieces of hare. Thin with stock if needed.

  Cook the gnocchi in plenty of boiling salted water until they just come to the surface. Drain them and top with the sauce.

  Trattoria Al Piave, Mariano del Friuli, Friuli Venezia Giulia

  Torta al Limone e Ricotta

  LEMON RICOTTA TART, SERVES 8

  Anna Brandolin serves this for breakfast, but I’d like a late-night slice and a glass of malvasia to take out to the pool.

  12 tablespoons butter, plus a little more for the tart pan

  6 tablespoons sugar

  Zest and juice of 4 lemons

  3 large eggs, separated

  1 cup ricotta, drained of excess liquid in a colander

  ¾ cup self-rising flour

  ⅓ cup almonds, chopped

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  2 teaspoons baking powder

  Confectioners’ sugar

  Preheat the oven to 350˚F.

  Line the bottom of a 9-inch tart pan with parchment and butter the sides.

  Make the pastry. Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl. Add the lemon zest. Add one egg yolk at a time, and combine well. Add the ricotta and continue mixing. Beat in the lemon juice.

  In a medium bowl, combine well the flour, almonds, vanilla, and baking powder, then add the ricotta mixture.

  In another medium bowl, whip the egg whites until they form soft peaks and then fold into the ricotta mixture.

  Pour into the pan and bake for 40 to 45 minutes. Test for doneness with a toothpick. The tart will be very umida (moist) because of the ricotta.

  Unmold the tart, and let it cool for 5 minutes before sifting confectioners’ sugar over the top. Serve at room temperature with fresh fruit, crème fraîche, or whipped cream.

  La Casa di Alice, Cormòns, Friuli Venezia Giulia

  I Girini: Briciole di Pasta Buttata Condite dall’Orto e Funghi Porcini, Quasi Crudi

  “TADPOLES”: CRUMBS OF TOSSED PASTA SEASONED FROM THE GARDEN, AND PORCINI MUSHROOMS, ALMOST RAW, SERVES 4

  La Subida is a family enterprise. Fortuitous it was that daughter Tanja married a chef. Alessandro Gavagna stepped into the kitchen and the La Subida legend continues. I’m delighted to share his “tadpoles.” Porcini are hard to find in the United States. Substitute portobello or any wild mushroom. When traveling in Italy, tuck a few bags of dried porcini in your luggage, along with small boxes of porcini dadi, bouillon cubes. The colander called for below should be one with good-size holes. I have an old aluminum one that works perfectly. When dropping the pasta into the water, it should be at a dolce boil, a soft boil rather than a hard boil. Remove the zucchini pistils with tweezers.

  FOR THE PASTA

  4 large eggs

  1½ cups all-purpose sifted flour

  FOR THE SAUCE

  1 tablespoon butter

  3 ounces porcini mushrooms, chopped

  1 small zucchini, finely chopped

  8 pumpkin or zucchini flowers, opened, stem and pistil removed, coarsely chopped

  Salt and pepper, QB

  3 tablespoons aged M
ontasio cheese (or substitute aged Parmigiano-Reggiano)

  4 grapevine leaves, washed and patted dry

  Olive oil

  2 to 3 tablespoons goat cheese, crumbled

  Chopped oregano or basil, or the flowers of ursino garlic (wild garlic or ramps)

  Dash of red wine vinegar

  Prepare the pasta: Break the eggs in a bowl and beat until well combined. Let them rest for 10 minutes. Add the flour and mix vigorously. Let rest for another 15 minutes, then pour the mixture into a colander and push the dough through, dropping “tadpoles” into gently boiling salted water. Pour in small batches to prevent clumping. Break apart any clumps with a fork. As soon as they come to the surface, skim them from the pot and drain them in cold water.