Welcome to Chez Cliff!

Italy shuts down between 1 and 3 p.m. every day.  Even the restaurants and bars.  If you find yourself hungry at 1:30, forget about it.  You’d have better luck capturing a pigeon for lunch than finding an open restaurant.

Thus was our predicament during one day of our vacation.

Maybe it was poor planning on our part or the fact that the previous nights dinner still sat in our stomachs.  Whatever the excuse, hunger did not visit us until we were into the lunch-time blackout.

So we did what anyone would do in our situation: we drove around.

Aimless wanderings, missed turns, and pure chance brought us to this small, mountain-top village called Montagna which is Italian for ‘mountain’.  Our first impressions of this town was that it was deserted.  No traffic, either by car or by foot.  Most of the buildings: boarded up.  I’m not sure what made us poke around this completely empty town but we did.  One of us noticed a sign which read “Ristorante”.  It was almost deserted . . . two men having lunch at a back table told us that maybe this place was the oasis in the lunch-time desert.

The owner came out to greet us.  A young owner.  His English: impeccable.  With open arms, our host bade us to sit and enjoy the best they had to offer.  No, no menus.  Just whatever the kitchen happened to fix.

Thus became the parade of dishes.  Pasta dish after pasta dish.  Sauces and fragrances which danced on the tongue, leaving warm fuzzy feelings in their wake.  Each course was accompanied with a wine, something specific to each region of Tuscany.

Right about at the third course, we watched our host as he served a basil-based pasta dish.  The pan on which he served the pasta – he cradled the dish as if it were a newborn baby.  The proud look, beaming from his eyes; his slightly cocky smile; the handling of the food with extreme care . . . this was more than some college-kid hired to slop out food at the local TGI-McFunsters.  No, this guy was different.  So we asked.

Not only was this kid the owner, he was the chef.  It was just him.  At nights, his father and sister would help out.  But this was his place.  This was his food.  This was his labour of love.  And what we had stumbled onto was not some feed-bag, chow down restaurant but rather a magical place where passion and love combine to create something truly special.  And it showed.

We invited him to have a drink with us.  Which he willingly obliged.

Underneath that rain-soaked tent, he told us his story about living in Ireland for a few years before returning to Montagna.  The restaurant, which had been in his family for generations, was now his mantra.  The town, once numbering 500 had now dwindled down to twelve.  Most of the people have left, looking to find jobs in the city.  Only a few, brave hold-outs remained with him being one of them.  The monks in the adjacent seminary were doing their part for the community: producing wine.

We spotted him as we were leaving, transfering his passion into the polishing of the silver platters he had in his kitchen.  Mirror-shine.  As is my tradition when visiting great, but out- of-the-way places I said a silent prayer for him.  My hope was that his resturant would still be there, upon our return at some future date.  Whether he may remember us or not is irrelevant.  The love he openly displayed for all to see made a lasting impression on us all.  Something none of us will forget for some time to come.

The appeal to medieval cities stems from the idea that at one time, advances were made and then suddenly time stood still.  Very rarely do you find a small town where buildings are five or six hundred years old and then suddenly buildings from the 70’s or 80’s appear.

Thus is the story of Monterchi, Italy.  This completely medieval town probably sprang up because it was the half-way point between two major cities.  What remains of the cobble stone streets shows hundreds of years worth of foot, horse, donkey and cart traffic.  It is an odd sensation, touching stones that have been worn smooth with the passage of time.

Much as it probably was in the 1500’s, the town has one restaurant and one bar.  To my recollection, the bar was never closed.  Always open to serve either beer or wine along with an assortment of meats for a continual afternoon of grazing.  The fact that the meat was free with the beer was an added bonus.

Once a day, my friends and I would find ourselves at this bar drinking Peroni’s and munching away on the free salami.  And since Italians seem oblivious to drinking water, beer and wine was the main thirst quencher.  Every now and then, a car would zoom by on the small streets.  But other than that, nothing was around to disturb us or our views of the city nor of the country-side.

It was here that I was exposed to the concept of “vino de casa” or house wine.  Before, it was always choosing a bottle of a long extensive menu.  But in Italy, the “vino de casa” often times tasted better than what you could get out of the bottle.  And that is not an insult but rather spoke to the quality of the house wine.  Add to that the house wine only cost 5 euros for a jug made this an easy decision.

Lately, my head has been a brick.  Plugged completely solid.  Whatever infected me only targeted my head.  My chest, throat and fingernails seem to be doing just fine.  But my head could easily double as a boat anchor.  After a night of breathing through your mouth, you know full well your breath won’t be pretty.  After doing this for several days, your morning breath could peel paint.  I was into day 5 and needed some relief.

For dinner one night, we settled on Thai.  Thai food is good for plugged heads because the spices clear out the yucky with way more effectiveness than any medication available.  

Let’s clear something up.  I like spicy food but I like spicy food that has taste.  Making something spicy to the point where it melts your teeth is not my idea of good food.  One time, a sushi chef made me his famous “Cry like a baby” roll.  I cried alright and my stomach distended for two hours.  It had no taste.  How much fun is that?

Thai Server:  What would you like?
Clifford:  Spicy pork.  Medium. 

With Thai food, my barometer is “Medium”.  Anything higher than level Medium runs the risk of setting my colon on fire.

The server eyed me up suspiciously, wondering whether I could really take medium-medium or if medium-light spiciness would be better.  I recognized his quizzical stare and assured him that even though I was a round-eye I could take medium-medium.

He brought me my food.  Nothing.  I called him over.

Clifford:  This is not medium spicy.  This is Gerber baby-food spicy.  Take this plate back to your chef and tell them I want my head to be a smoldering stump!

He brought me my food.  My head caught on fire.  My stomach started jumping like a fish out of water.  I took another hit of this delicious pork with a splash of Thai ice tea.  

But for the first time in a week, I could breath.  Oh, what a wonderful sensation it was.

How Cow, this is still a partial real estate blog . . .

Well, to be honest: nothing has been going on.

All of my places are rented.  The tenants are all paying on time.  Life is good.

I’m still kicking around the idea of trying to sell the house again come next spring.  To be honest, I’d much rather have a more stable investment.  Prices continue to drop.  At least as of last quarter they were still inching down.  But I think 2009 is going to be a flat year.

So now that the boring Real Estate Stuff is out of the way, let’s talk about FOOD!

Bacon-wrapped prunes, served along side goat cheese truffles with herbes de provence and parmesan reggiano on toasted baguette.  A little Beaujolais Nouveau to wash it all down.

And a cute girl.  :)

Oh yes it is!

You can’t stop it.

It’s coming.

Brace yourselves!

The Beaujolais Nouvea est arrive!!

Yes true believer, your perfect match to Turkey has been found.  Stop being a fuddy-dud and let the fresh wine flow!

Let’s ask some wise people what they think.

No one that has drunk old wine wants new; for he says, “The old is nice.” –Luke 5:39

“In victory, you deserve Champagne, in defeat, you need it.” – Napoleon Bonaparte

“Wine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy.” – Benjamin Franklin

“What is the definition of a good wine? It should start and end with a smile.” – William Sorkolin

“It is well to remember that there are five reasons for drinking: the arrival of a friend, one’s present or future thirst, the excellence of the wine, or any other reason.” – Latin Proverb

“Wine is bottled poetry.” – Robert Lewis Stevenson