Italy

Matthew McConaughey has an actor's movie breakout in Jeff Nichols' "Mud."

Fountain by the sculptor Arnaldo Pomodoro, in Piazza della Stazione (Train Station Square).(Why are we posting about Pisa? Click here for an answer)Versione italiana

The legacy of literary Paris is dense enough to make days pass in haste.

Visiting Loreto Aprutino’s Festa di San Zopito got me more interested in the stories behind the monumental, 13-tonne white ox with his carefully trimmed and polished hooves,  multi-coloured ribbons and bells looped high over its head as it was led round the streets by an Abruzzese bagpiper, a Zampognari, whose job was traditionally a shepherd. For those not up-to-date with the Christian calendar (like me!), Pentecost was taken from the Jewish harvest festival celebration, Shavout, when 50 days after Passover the law was received on Mount Sinai, a week of refrain and a day of non work.  The Romans fashioned this into the Church’s birthday, Pentecost; instead of law, a time when the Holy Spirit descended and entered into the apostles on Whitsun or in Italian Pasqua rosatum, named after the priest’s red vestments, a colour symbolic of the Holy Spirit, those who receive their first Holy Communion on this favourable day wearing white. After reading Noel’s post about the event, there was a v short Comment referring to the Romans.  It seems they loosely wrapped up two of their April festivals into this new feria (non work day), the celebration of Ceres, Cerealiais’ who was, Jupiter’s wife, and goddess of fertility and whose followers wore white.  The Romans believed that it was Ceres who taught man to plough and sow, unusual because it was juxtaposed with the people’s favoured offering, the white ox, to her husband, Jupiter. Ovid, Fasti, Book IV: April 12: The Games of Ceres “Ceres delights in peace: pray, you farmers, Pray for endless peace and a peace-loving leader. Honour the goddess with wheat, and dancing salt grains, And grains of incense offered on the ancient hearths, And if there’s no incense, burn your resinous torches: Ceres is pleased with little, if it’s pure in kind. You girded attendants lift those knives from the ox: Let the ox plough, while you sacrifice the lazy sow, It’s not fitting for an axe to strike a neck that’s yoked: Let the ox live, and toil through the stubborn soil.” Floralia was the 6-day lascivious celebration, part of which became May Day, banned by the Pilgrim Fathers, and celebrating Spring’s baroque blossoms, it was a time to wear nothing(!) or highly colourful clothes red, green, yellow and floral wreaths.  A descendent of the flower offering remains in the traditional red flowers left at Church on Pentecost to signify the renewal of life, remembering family and friends no longer here and of course the warmth of the summer and blessed crops. Ovid, Fasti (V.185-190) “You start in April and cross to the time of May One has you as it leaves, one as it comes Since the edges of these months are yours and defer To you, either of them suits your praises. The Circus continues and the theatre’s lauded palm, Let this song, too, join the Circus spectacle.” San Zapito was a child martyr interned in Rome’s San Callisto catacombs in 300 AD Relics were brought in ornate box to Loreto in 1711, an arm and the skull donated by Pope Clement XI.  They passed a farmer, Carlo Parlione who complained that he had to toil granite fields on Pentecost, asking where the damn justice was in that.  Apparently the convoy shrunk back from such double blasphemy, but at that very moment, the farmer’s oxen walked toward the entourage ignoring the farmer‘s calls and knelt as if he wanted to pray. “A miracle”, they joyously proclaimed and the farmer repented, returning home to observe the Pentecost. The Festa di San Zopito is now a colourful 2-day festival celebrating this oxen moment.  The trained ox, nicknamed the ‘White Knight’ wearing a scarlet cloak with images of the Saints, carrying those same relics, kneels and gives praise in specific areas of the town as he is a tramite (vehicle of the divine).  A local primary schoolgirl stands on its back representing San Zopito, with floral wreath, silver wings, a red carnation (representing the Holy Spirit and harvest) in her mouth and carrying an umbrella to pro

We’ve eaten a lot of ham over the last decade in Abruzzo, at a Michelin-starred restaurant famed for its hand-carved slices, at agriturismi, trattorie et al, but none equalled the home-made prosciutto at Belvedere just outside Loreto Aprutino. Nonna’s ham reached dizzying heights of air-dried hamdom. We found this restaurant, as often the way, quite by accident, perhaps not as glamorously attired or appointed as some of its neighbours, but who cares when you have ham this good! I have to admit a preference primarily for porcine prosciutto’s sultry Spanish sibling Serrano, which is darker and less sweet, and its moody depths take you to all manner of places when eaten. However, Belvedere should be awarded a trillion gold stars for their prosciutto, that was thicker cut than usual and transported us with just one mouthful to hot midnight tapas suppers in Seville accompanying an expensive but so worth it plate of jamón ibérico and a glass of chilled fino sherry. It’s worth mentioning too sitting on that gorgeous plate of antipasti, Nonna’s thinly sliced and jointed and roasted chicken, served with a thin marmellate which, for someone who doesn’t normally like chicken, was a discovery of how good chicken can taste. The owners were incredibly hospitable and even more child friendly than usual for those with babes in tow, though no sign of high chairs. We had a delicious rich sugo, watch out for their peperoncini, those chillies are almost black in their sun-dried intensity! So worth a stop even if it is just to savour ham for a light lunch. Address: Ristorante Belvedere, 10, Ctr. Belvedere, 65014 Loreto Aprutino (PE) Province of Pescara, Italy Phone: +39 085 8289134 No facebook | No website Opening Hours Open for lunch and dinner daily every day apart from Monday Author informationSammy DunhamSammy Dunham is a freelance web marketing consultant. Past lives saw her study in Firenze after which she taught History of Art & EFL and lived in Barcelona & The Bahamas. She combines a passion for travel & photography, food & wine thru Lucciola.me & as co-founder to Abruzzo's 1st Food & Travel Bloggers Weekend,Let's Blog Abruzzo June 2013TwitterFacebook

Guest Post:  by Nerone, the dog   So here I am, just bein’ the good dog, barking’ at cats, takin’ walks, watchin’ the laundry dry (that’s hard work you know…)  And all of a sudden, my friends, the chicks DISAPPEAR!   I told that lady who feeds me, She Who Must Be Obeyed, that we needed to get right on that.  So She talked to my friend Costantino.  I saw him shakin’ his head and all.  I’m thinkin’ bad things happened.  He’s all the time ridin’ around on that big ole tractor, cuttin’ grass.  Maybe he ran over them.  But She said no.  And She said She didn’t really understand what Costo was tellin’ her.  Then the next day She was talkin’ to his wife, Olive Oyl.  She told me that Olive Oyl pretty much said the same thing.  That ‘the chickens’ year was over’.  (What does that mean?)  And that the chickens were peckin’ at their eggs.  And that was bad.   Well!  I’m not surprised!  The way Olive Oyl and Costo go on about the chickens being fat and all.  They were probably hungry!  You know Olive Oyl calls me Grossone.  Really!    I mean she’s (Olive Oyl) all the time worryin’ about weight.  But she’s a strong one.  A few weeks ago before the chickens left, I saw ‘em when they was movin’ that mattress.  She Who Must Be Obeyed and Costo had gotten it down the steps but then the two of them couldn’t get it any further.  So Costo called Olive Oyl to come help.  (He calls her by right name.  I’m the only one who calls her Olive Oyl.  Look what she calls me!)  Any way, she come over.  Now she’s wayyyy taller than either Costo or SWMBO.  So Olive Oyl hefts up the mattress and is in one corner, Costo is in the middle, with most of the weight fallin’ on his head and SWMBO is diagonal from Olive Oyl in the back corner.  So they all three set off, heftin’ this mattress like jungle bearers bein’ chased by a tiger.  Ceptin’ it was the chickens chasin’ them.   Man alive, I just about peed on my tail it was so funny!    Those chickens were good for all kinds of fun and now SWMBO seems to think that they are livin’ somewhere else.   But then… I don’t know what SWMBO did, but I thought She was tryin’ to get rid of ME!         Look what She’s feedin’ me!  That’s not Italian, that’s Spanish!   Well, I have a delicate stomach.  I was sicker than a dawg!  For days!  I don’t know.   Maybe it was just dog flu.  I’m feelin’ better now but I had to stay in from work, protectin’ and watchin’ for cats for a few days.  I was so sick.       And it’s not like I get any privacy.  Here I am in my own room, just tryin’ to take a little nap but She just has to take a picture.        Really, life is so hard sometimes…  I miss my chicken friends.

With headlamps pointing the way, an army of classic sports cars rumbled in, crisscrossed Vicenza’s Centro Storico, then, in an instant, galloped off into the night continuing along a course laid down decades ago and known the world over as the Mille Miglia (1,000 Miles). Although the “invasion” was brief, thousands of Vicentini lined the route… (more)The Note The most beautiful race in the world appeared first on ItalianNotebook.

  New week, new theme: words Jamie Schler, images by me.  The post New post over on Plated Stories appeared first on Lucullian delights - an Italian experience.

I was just going through my Verona pictures the other day. That got me to remembering how much I like Verona. It certainly has one of the most beautiful historic centers in Italy. I was thinking, “it’s a shame people are induced to come to Verona on the premise that they must see a balcony very dubiously attributed to the family that gave life to a character in a play nobody has read since high school. Yes, our emotional attachment to deep, yet forbidden love, is strong. But c’mon, is a glance at the platform upon which lovers were alleged to have wrung out their tormented souls together worth a couple of euros? That’s what the city of Verona is thinking of charging you to have a peek at said balcony. “Euro one, euro two, where art thou?” you might be asking soon. Go to Verona. See a real play. Revive your spiritual self. And wander the city at night, too. The beauty doesn’t cease when the sun goes down. In fact, it get’s better! Usually, I don’t post pictures with scaffolding in them. But look, it doesn’t matter. Here, everything works. Imagine being immersed in this beautiful and historic setting, perhaps imbibing one of the Veneto’s specialties, a glass of shockingly good vino. Everyone knows that there are some great painted houses in Verona’s famous market square, piazza delle erbe, a market since Roman times. But at night you can see them with ominous shadows and without glare, and you can see the shutters open just a bit to let the cool night air in after a warm day. And if you are taking in a play or musical event at the Roman arena, where will you go to eat, or maybe you’re early, where will you go for a drink—or a snack? Well, park yourself right in front of the arena’s Roman arches, it’s all right here: Forget the balcony! Plan a trip to the real Verona. Don’t tell your friends and neighbors you didn’t shell out for the balcony. They’ll be heartbroken, but that’s what the play’s really about anyway.

The 13th century Duomo of Siena is one of Italy's top cathedrals. Inside are beautiful frescoes, important art works, and the stunning inlaid marble floor mosaics, only uncovered for a couple months each year. Recently the Gate of Heaven, a series of rooms in the "heavens" of the cathedral, opened to the public and can be visited on a guided tour by reservation only - see Gate of Heaven for details....Read Full Post