Zafferana Etnea lies in a touristic no man’s land between the seaside pleasures of Taormina to the north and the historic port city of Catania to the south. It sits on the slopes of Mt Etna, whose geological footprint and rich volcanic soil literally and figuratively extend an enormous shadow over the area. The festival itself spreads across the historic center — Piazza Umberto I, Piazza della Regione, Via Roma — with a “belvedere” (beautiful view) looking out over the Valle del Bove.

Travel writer John Moretti and I — fresh off an exploration of the seaside markets and Sicilian *pasticcerie* of Catania — ventured north to Zafferana. Drawn by the lure of the Ottobrata but not wanting to get stuck in Sicilian traffic madness, we visited early in the morning to avoid the incoming and inevitable crowds. The vibe at the even is a mix of traditional Italian weekend market and food-industry trade show. We saw larger agribusinesses and service providers mingled with local producers in a way that is rare in my experience. But as one would expect in Italy, business seemed a distant second to the food itself.

Each of the four Sundays belongs to a different product of the mountain — not a rotating theme for variety’s sake, but a genuine harvest calendar. In 2026: grapes (Oct 4), honey (Oct 11), mushrooms and chestnuts (Oct 18), and Etna apples (Oct 25). Zafferana isn’t a random host for this — the town has long been considered one of Italy’s most significant honey producers, historically credited with as much as 15% of national output. Alongside the featured product each week: “mostarda” (mustard), Etna wine, walnuts, porcini, local cheeses, prickly pears, pomegranates, hazelnuts, and olives cured in oil.

The Ottobrata began as a modest product market in the early 1980s. It’s grown, without losing its purpose, into something that now draws hundreds of thousands of visitors from across Sicily and beyond each October — while still running on 100% biodegradable tableware, a sustainability commitment the town has kept as it’s scaled. Each Sunday follows the same rhythm it always has: morning nature excursions into the surrounding countryside, then exhibitions and craft stalls through the afternoon, and outdoor concerts closing out the night.

Pulling in after our drive and feeling parched, we found a vendor selling “spremuta di melograno” (pomegranate juice). This was several years back now, and in the U.S., pomegranate juice had not yet ventured widely out of health food stores to become a Whole Foods staple. The vendor used a levered hand-press that looked much older than me and transformed a fresh pomegranate into a glass of juice with a single pull. The fresh flavor of slight tartness combined with just enough sweetness — all in that gorgeous blood red color — confirmed that we were in the right place.

Up ahead was an entire pig roasting on an open pit and being carved up for hungry visitors. I’ve noticed this kind of display often shocks American visitors. We’re not used to seeing a dead animal in such a fashion. It’s easy to go squeamish at the sight of a whole animal, head included, being carved up and eaten immediately... rather than processed and packaged meat on a foam tray. But that reaction says more about us than the animal. Supermarket meat comes stripped of everything that brought it there — no farm, no face, no chain of care connecting a living animal to what ends up on our plate. We’ve disembodied the animal from what it was, and in so doing, we have separated ourselves from something important.

In Italy, in addition to being very commonplace, seeing the animal in this manner is not a spectacle, but rather a tribute. This animal was raised and harvested with abundant care, and it’s being cooked and eaten in full view of the people it will feed — not hidden many steps removed in a factory. There’s something respectful in that directness. It’s a reminder that the animal gave its life so we could have ours, and that the least we owe it is not looking away. It made a lot of people happy that day. So when you see this sight, ask for the panino alla porchetta and enjoy the sandwich... and the animal that made it possible.

A bonus to our visit to Zafferana Etnea lay just a short drive from the piazza in the very same town. Monaci delle Terre Nere is an 18th-century pink villa turned Relais & Châteaux retreat, sitting on approximately 60 acres of vineyards and citrus groves farmed organically on the same Slow Food principles as the vendors a few minutes away at the Ottobrata. We’d noticed a lovely old Maserati parked outside, which felt about right. It would have been easy to write the place off as a posh detour from the “real” Sicily happening in the piazza — except it isn’t a detour at all. The restaurant’s ingredients come from the same volcanic black earth, grown without pesticides, some from fruit varieties the estate has spent years bringing back from the edge of disappearing. Monaci delle Terre Nere reflects the Ottobrata’s food-first values, albeit at a different price point.

As we drove off, fog settling low over lush vineyards with Etna towering above, none of it looked like the Sicily I’d grown used to — the dry, sun-bleached, and rocky island of postcards. This area looked more like Piedmont, or somewhere in the Alpine foothills. Zafferana Etnea, it turns out, isn’t only overlooked on the map between Taormina and Catania — up close, it doesn’t even look like what that map tells you to expect. It was a day extraordinary for its simplicity, in a place that never once matched the image in my head.

John and I came to Campania from Sicily to stay with family of his in Caserta. Through them, we connected with a couple of young guys who ran a water buffalo farming operation nearby. I don’t remember an exact headcount, but it was big — hundreds of animals — penned in long open-sided barns. This was commercial agriculture at scale.

The animals themselves surprised me. My first impression was of big, lumbering, faintly prehistoric creatures, which they are, but they were curious in a way I didn’t expect, drifting toward the rail to get a look at us the moment we walked close to the pens. These are water buffalo, technically Bubalus bubalis, originally from India where genus split into two different expressions. Swamp buffalo migrated to South Asia; and so called river buffalo found their way to the Middle East and North Africa. The story of how the river buffalo got to Italy is fascinating, and I’m working on a follow-up article that dives into the mystery and the competing theories. Spoiler: it’s highly debated and largely unresolved — which is what you should expect from Italian food history.

The day we visited the farm, the crew were working through the herd doing pregnancy checks — leaning over the rail, arm in a glove, one holding the animal steady while the other worked. The buffalo took it with a level of calm unthinkable with an American steer, which often needs a full containment chute for the same procedure. Nobody here seemed worried about getting kicked. The mood was almost bored, which I took as a good sign. It’s also, bluntly, an economic procedure. A female gets a couple of chances to conceive; if it doesn’t take, she gets cycled out of the milking population and becomes a meat source. The reason is obvious the moment you think about it — the business here is about producing milk. Nobody explained this to us apologetically. It’s a working farm.

From there we walked over to the milking parlor, which was running on what we were told was a strict overnight schedule — milk collected beginning in the later afternoon to be finished by around eleven at night, then shipped out around midnight to begin processing. I can’t tell you for certain that the milk from this specific farm ended up the caseificio we were to visit next — that stretch of Caserta has buffalo operations throughout the region, and I never confirmed a direct link between the two stops on our day. But the process is essentially the same wherever the milk starts: it moves fast, on a clock, because everything downstream depends on how fresh it still is by the time it’s cut and stretched.

Speaking of caseificio, Caseificio Cantelli in the town of Aversa was small, artisanal and unindustrial, with clean tile, a couple of stainless vats, and nothing that looked like a factory. Buffalo milk is warmed and set with rennet, and once it coagulates, the curd gets broken up and left to acidify in its own whey for a few hours until a cheesemaker decides, mostly by feel, that it’s ready. Then it’s cut into strips and worked in hot water until it turns smooth and elastic — the step that gives the whole category of cheese its name, pasta filata, “spun paste.” What I watched looked like it started on a machine and finished by a person’s hands, the stretching handed off at the point where judgment mattered more than horsepower. The shaped curd is then hand-cut. In Italian, the word is mozzare (“to cut off”), which is where the cheese gets its name. Next, it’s dropped into cold water, and the cheese is done.

Supermarket mozzarella exists in Italy too, and it does what it’s built to do. But comparing it to what I’d just eaten isn’t really comparing two versions of the same thing — it’s closer to comparing a fast-food burger to a dry-aged filet mignon. Both are technically beef, built for entirely different jobs, at entirely different distances from the animal they came from.

The gap starts with the milk itself. Buffalo milk carries close to double the fat and protein of cow’s milk, with a denser casein structure that produces a firmer, more elastic curd — exactly what the traditional stretching technique, pasta filata, rewards. When researchers concentrated cow’s milk to chemically match buffalo milk’s solids, protein, and calcium, the buffalo milk still made stronger curd. The difference isn’t concentration. It’s structure.

The rules that protect this cheese are also, in a sense, what keep it from ever really leaving home. Real Mozzarella di Bufala Campana can only be made from milk of buffalo raised within a defined zone across parts of Campania, Lazio, Puglia, and Molise — and by law, it has to be packaged at the place of origin before it can even be sold. That’s a different kind of restriction than you’ll find with Champagne or a proper aged prosciutto, both built to travel — one ages for years before release, the other is cured specifically to survive months away from home. You can find real Champagne or real DOP prosciutto in any decent shop in the U.S. without much trouble. Mozzarella isn’t built for that trip. It’s built to be eaten before the trip would even make sense … with a few exceptions. At huge expense, some of it does get packaged and put on a plane the same day, bound for exclusive restaurants in New York or Paris or beyond that have standing orders for it, arriving the next morning as close to fresh as geography allows.

Tasting it minutes after it was made was a genuine treat — almost a reason by itself to visit Campania. Or at least to take a day trip away and escape from Naples or Pompeii. Descendants and variations of the real thing have made their way around the world, sold in vacuum-sealed tubs from Chicago to London, but the good stuff, made and eaten inside a single day, is still stubbornly tied to this one corner of southern Italy. If you’re considering a trip, seek out a market or caseificio where it’s made on-site rather than a supermarket shelf. You won’t forget it. Here are a few others — beyond Caseificio Cantelli — in the Caserta area that caught my eye.

LIST

• Bufalè Caseificio Braceria (Caserta)

• Caseificio Leuci (Casagiove)

• Caseificio De Nicola Degusteria (Capodrise)

A note before you go looking: as with reviews of restaurants, markets, or even hotels across Italy, remember that reviews of these places are wonderfully Italian — full of strong opinion, not necessarily fueled by any pure objectivity. A one-star rant about a slightly rubbery texture says less about the cheese than about the reviewer’s standards, which, if anything, is exactly why the good places stay good.

This was ten years ago now, deep in the Hyblean plateau, a landscape that doesn’t so much roll as buckle — ravines, cliffs, everything steep and post-volcanic, nothing like the soft agricultural counties you’d picture from the word “farm.” No, this is pure Sicily. Tenuta Carbonara was one of those places you find only because someone who actually knows the region tells you to go, not because you’d ever stumble onto it. It isn’t the kind of place you end up by accident. You have to want to be there.

By the time we pulled in, it was full dark and the stone parking lot was slick from rain. A dog came out first — a scruffy, farm-bred mutt, the kind that exists on every working property in rural Italy and answers to nobody in particular — and Nella followed close behind him. My Italian is generally serviceable at best; but thankfully John’s was fluent. It didn’t matter much, because what Nella spoke was closer to Sicilian than Italian, which for all practical purposes might as well be its own language. John spent the better part of the evening translating between two dialects of the same country. There was no protest in her when we introduced ourselves, no visible irritation at two strangers rolling in late and unannounced. If anything, she seemed pleased.

We told her not to worry about food — it was late, we said, anything left over was fine, we didn’t need much. She didn’t really hear us. Within minutes she’d disappeared into a small kitchen at the back of the building, and the three of us were squeezed into a small kitchen barely big enough for a couple of people, let alone me taking photos in bad light. Sausage went into a pan — homemade, from the look of it — followed by onions, garlic, olive oil, and eventually tomato, building into a rough, unfussy ragù. The smell of it filled that little room completely. And then, almost as an afterthought, she started on the pasta.

I’ve made pasta enough times to know what it looks like when someone is actually good at it, and what Nella did bore no resemblance to a recipe. She poured flour onto the board without measuring anything, cracked in eggs, and within five minutes had a workable dough, rolling and folding it with the specific unhurried efficiency of someone who has done this ten thousand times and stopped thinking about it around the two-thousandth. The flour itself was worth noting on its own: *semola di grano duro rimacinata* from Molino Roccasalva Gaetano, a mill in nearby Modica, in packaging that had clearly never been anywhere near a supermarket shelf. It was the kind of ingredient you only get access to by being from somewhere, not by visiting it.

The ravioli, once she’d rolled and cut and filled and folded them, held nothing more complicated than home-made ricotta — and was married with the lovely ragù she had thrown together. And just as that pot came together, she turned, without missing a step, to dessert. We looked at each other like idiots. Dessert. She was already working a short, almost shortcrust-like pastry dough into little open-faced tarts, filling them with ricotta, apple, and cinnamon, sliding them into the oven like it was nothing at all — because for her, it clearly wasn’t.

We ate our 9pm ravioli in a long dining room built for exactly this kind of hospitality — the same room, it turned out, where Nella runs cooking classes for groups larger than two lost writers. Bread with her own olive oil first, then a plate of salami, cheese, and olives, a carafe of local red wine, and then the ravioli itself, the sauce tasting the way tomatoes only taste when they were on the vine that morning. The tarts came last, the pastry holding its structure perfectly against the soft apple inside. Nella didn’t sit with us. She came in and out, made sure we had what we needed, and otherwise disappeared to clean a kitchen she almost certainly wouldn’t have let either of us touch even if we’d offered — which we did.

Our rooms were in a converted barn a few steps from where we’d parked, five or six of them in a row, each with its own door onto the same gravel yard, nothing separating guest life from farm life in any meaningful way. Everything was stone, clean, well-kept, with the kind of step-up bathroom that seems to appear in half the farmhouses in Italy. I remember sliding doors that felt like a holdover from the building’s working life, before it was anything other than a barn. And I remember the dark — not dim, actually dark, the kind you only get far from any town, where turning off the light drops you into something closer to a cave than a bedroom. It should have felt isolating. Instead, with the rain still beating down outside, it felt like exactly what it was: a farm, at rest, at the end of a long day.

I was up before John the next morning, camera in hand out of habit, and I crossed the road to photograph a single olive tree standing alone in a field that I’m fairly sure was part of Nella’s land. The light was still low, the shadows long, and the soil — still wet from the night’s rain — was a deep, almost impossible red-brown, the kind of color that makes the old claim about Italian soil feel less like folklore and more like documented fact. There’s actual geology behind it: Sicily’s position, jutting into the sea, post-volcanic and steep in a way that has nothing in common with gentler farmland elsewhere, produces ground that looks like it could grow anything you dropped into it and make it thrive.

Breakfast was simple and good — eggs, bread, cured meat and cheese, more of her pastries, strong coffee. On the wall hung a couple of newspaper clippings, local coverage of the cooking classes she taught, and it was clear that Nella wasn’t just a woman who happened to cook well for two strangers who showed up late. She was known. In a region where you don’t pass through by accident, where getting there at all means you already meant to, everyone in earshot seemed to know exactly who she was.

When we settled up and said our goodbyes, and Nella offered to host a proper cooking class if we ever came back with a group, and then we were back on the road, still half-lost, heading toward the next farm on the list. Nella had no real reason to expect anything from us. We weren’t press with a following, weren’t guests who’d booked far ahead, weren’t anyone she had cause to impress. She fed us anyway, generously and without hesitation, because that’s apparently just what you do when people show up at your door in the rain.

I’ve noticed, looking back at reviews online now, that some run lukewarm — which surprised me until I remembered who’s likely writing most of them. Sicilians are not sentimental about their own cooking; they’ve eaten this food their whole lives and have exacting, occasionally merciless standards for it. That’s a different bar than the one I was clearing that night, soaked and grateful for being fed a home-made meal I hadn’t expected by a woman who’d had every reason to just point us toward our rooms and go to bed. Tenuta Carbonara is hard to find. I’d argue that’s more or less the point. If you find yourself near Ragusa, I urge you to visit Nella for a stay or a cooking class. Order the special 9pm ravioli … if you can.

Tenuta Carbonara, Contrada Scardina, 96019 Rosolini (SR) — beware of addresses using "Contrada". I've come to believe they are just jokes being played on tourists brave enough to venture into the Italian hinterlands. Bring a paper map. Or better yet, someone who knows the way.

In researching, what I learned about Cinta Sense prosciutto probably shares a lot in common with the process used for other type of pigs produced across Italy. Though, as is always the case in Italy, regional variations & subtleties undoubtedly exist that may appear minute or arcane to an outsider. However, these distinctions can approach the level of casus belli (or “case for war”) within Italy! But the basic process — pressing, salting, “greasing” and aging — seems to be a common trait to the making of a DOP prosciutto.

From Leg to Salt

The process starts with the hind leg of a pure-bred animal, harvested whole. One detail the DOP standard insists on: the hoof stays on. It’s a small thing, but it’s also the easiest way to tell, at a glance, that what you’re looking at is the real thing and not a non-DOP imitation.

Before any salt touches the meat, butchers manually roll each leg — by hand or with a rolling pin — to press out any blood still sitting in the veins. It’s unglamorous, physical work, and it matters: any blood left behind can spoil the cure before it even starts.

Then comes what’s sometimes called the “aromatic infusion.” The leg is painted or rubbed with a water-based mixture of garlic and sugar, then coated heavily in coarse sea salt and ground black pepper. This isn’t a light seasoning — it’s a thick layer, the first of two.

The Long Salting

The leg spends 5 to 7 days resting in a cold, temperature-controlled room while that first layer of salt pulls out the initial moisture. Then it’s brushed clean, and a second layer of salt goes on for another 5 to 7 days.

After that second rest, the salt is scraped away entirely, and the legs are left standing upright in cold, humid rooms for two to three months. This is where the real penetration happens — salt and garlic working their way in, as the saying goes, straight to the bone. Only after that does the leg get washed in warm water to remove any salt still sitting on the surface, and moved into drying rooms for around six months of carefully controlled temperature and humidity.

By this point, the leg has been resting, salting, and drying for the better part of a year — and the part of the process that actually defines a great prosciutto hasn’t even started yet.

Sugnatura: The Greasing

Once the ham has dried, it goes through a step with a name almost nobody outside Italy has heard of: sugnatura — literally, “greasing.” (It’s also known as stuccatura.) A mixture of lard, rice flour, and black pepper, called sugna, gets worked over the exposed parts of the meat. (I am sure that the mixture of the sugna is the type of secret detail that varies with region and exact composition of which are never shared.) Regardless, the purpose is control: without it, the ham would dry too fast or too unevenly as it continues to age, and the texture would suffer for it. The fat itself is deliberately left uncovered, because that’s where a lot of the flavor is concentrated, and the curers want it exposed to the aging room, not sealed away under grease.

After the sugnatura, the hams move to cool, dark cellars for the remainder of their aging — the long stretch that, combined with everything before it, adds up to 24 months at minimum, sometimes stretching to 36. What comes out the other side is a ham with a deep red color and fat that’s fragrant enough to melt at room temperature — a function, ultimately, of that slow acorn-fed fat finally getting the time it needed.

Worth the Wait

It’s a strange thing to sit with: somewhere in a cellar in Tuscany right now, there’s a leg of Cinta Senese that won’t be ready to eat until sometime in 2028. The whole process — the rolling, the double salting, the sugnatura, the patient dark cellar — only makes sense once you remember what this breed’s pork fat is actually like, and why a standard pig’s timeline would shortchange it.

It’s also a reminder of just how much modern curing has compressed. Most prosciutto on a supermarket shelf never sees anything like this. The Cinta Senese version is slower because it has to be — because that’s what the meat itself is asking for.

Walk in to any decent macelleria in Italy, and you are likely to see the signature prosciutto hanging ceremonially from the ceiling. Depending on where you are, it’s as much a symbol of Italy as a Vespa in Rome, a Venetian gondola, or a trulli in Puglia. You can even book tours across Tuscany and other regions in Northern Italy to see the prosciutto in a cellar.

But a trip to a place like Tenuta Spannocchia (as described elsewhere on Farm Table Italy) brings the process up close. There, you can visit the animals in their own habitat and literally see and taste the love and patience that goes into making this treasure. It’s a rare glimpse into a centuries old process that reminds us that food does not just come from a store. Great food comes from a commitment to something larger than just the ingredients: a harmony between people and the land.

The Palazzo Pubblico, located in the Piazza del Campo in Siena, is the city’s historic palace and center of civic activity since its construction began in 1297. Inside, Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s fresco cycle The Allegory and Effects of Good and Bad Government (1338-39) features detailed images important to the ruling elites of Siena. For our purposes, there’s one unique element in the cycle’s countryside panel — Effects of Good Government in the Countryside — a particularly handsome pig. Among the farmers, harvests, and pack animals going about the business of a well-run countryside, the pig has a dark coat, with a white band said to mark its front legs and shoulders — a belt, in effect. Almost seven hundred years later, that same belt is still how you’d recognize a Cinta Senese today.

Cinta means belt. Senese means “of Siena.” Together, the name is almost a description rather than a name — a black pig from Siena’s countryside, marked by a white stripe across its front half. It’s been bred in this region for centuries, indigenous in the truest sense: not imported, not engineered, just shaped slowly by this particular stretch of Tuscan land.

Too Slow for the Modern Farm

By the 1980s and 90s, the Cinta Senese had nearly vanished.

The reason is almost entirely about time. A Cinta Senese takes about two years to reach maturity. A commercial breed like the Large White does it in eight or nine months. In an industry built around speed and volume, a pig that takes more than twice as long to raise — and that runs naturally fat besides — simply didn’t fit. Through most of the 20th century, agriculture rewarded the fast and lean. The Cinta Senese is neither. It nearly disappeared because it refused to be efficient.

After World War II, Danish and English breeds were introduced to Italy and the slower breeding Cinta Senese, along with other native Italian pigs, began to disappear quickly. In 1927, there were 27 heirloom breeds in Italy and today we are lucky to find 6 — the Cinta Senese among them.

What saved it, in the end, is the same trait that almost killed it: that fat. Raised right, it isn’t a flaw — it’s where the flavor lives.

Raised the Old Way, By Law

Today a consortium oversees how Cinta Senese can be raised and still carry the name, and the rules read like a description of how pigs lived before anyone thought to industrialize them. They must be free-range, with access to open pasture and wooded land for foraging. Supplemental feed is capped at just 2% of the pig’s body weight per day — everything else, the pig has to find for itself: acorns from Mediterranean evergreen oak, wild mushrooms, truffles, whatever the forest floor offers up that season.

At the farms still raising them this way, the supplemental feed itself is often milled on-site — a blend of oats, barley, and favino, a black fava bean that supplies the protein component. The ratio shifts with the pig’s age: more bean and protein when they’re young and growing, more carbohydrate as they near the end of their life, fattening for the butcher.

It’s worth pausing on the mud, too, because the Cinta Senese’s relationship to it isn’t the stereotype people assume. Pigs don’t sweat, so wallowing is thermoregulation — a layer of mud that keeps them cool from the outside in, and incidentally keeps biting insects off their skin. It’s practical, not slovenly. And their long ears, which fall forward over their eyes, aren’t an aesthetic accident either — they’re built for pushing through underbrush while foraging, a kind of built-in blindfold for an animal that spends its life nose-down in the forest.

One Pig, One Family, One Year

At Tenuta di Spannocchia, the Cinelli family runs a small, deliberate operation — around 70 pigs a year, all raised and processed organically, with the curing and aging done entirely on-site. Spannocchia’s version skips the modern shortcuts entirely: no nitrates. Just salt, pepper, air, and time. The pig itself only leaves the property for one day, for the actual butchering nearby; everything after that — the curing, the salting, the aging — happens back at the farm.

The logic behind it is older than refrigeration. Traditionally in Tuscany, one pig was meant to feed one family for an entire year, which meant the meat had to be processed in stages that aged at different speeds, so that something was always ready to eat. Buristo — a cooked blood sausage — is ready within days and lasts only a couple of months. Salami takes up to three months to age. Capocollo, around six. Prosciutto is the patient one: twenty-four months, the better part of two years, before it’s ready.

Eaten in that order — fresh, then cooked, then cured — a single pig could carry a family from one season into the next.

On the Plate

I first understood what all of this adds up to in a small restaurant inside Siena’s city walls, where Chef Francesca showed me how Sienese cooks turn buristo into something else entirely: Pici al Buristo, a dish built on the same blood sausage Spannocchia ages for just a couple of months before it has to be eaten. It’s a fitting way to close the loop — from a fresco wall in the Palazzo Pubblico, to a forest floor thick with acorns, to a curing room that smells like salt and garlic, to a plate of pici in a kitchen that’s been making this dish for generations. 700 years of history brought to life by a resurrected heritage breed and dedication to slow, meaningful processes that are still feeding us to this day. Watch for a follow-on post that dives deep into how DOP prosciutto is made — coming soon.

What I describe is not a minor distinction. It is the difference between a convenience food and one of the oldest, most labor-intensive, most rigorously protected condiments in the history of Italian cooking. Understanding that difference won’t just change how you shop. It will change the way you think about what Italian food is actually capable of.

A Thousand Years in an Attic

The history of true balsamic vinegar begins, as so many Italian food stories do, with the Romans. The practice of cooking down “grape must” — the freshly crushed juice, skins, seeds, and stems of the harvest — dates to ancient times, when the resulting thick syrup was used as both a sweetener and a medicine. The word balsamico comes from the Latin “balsamum”, meaning a balm or restorative, and for centuries that is precisely what it was: a tonic, a cure, a remedy carried by noblemen in small flasks as a matter of routine.

By the 11th century, production had concentrated in two adjacent provinces of what is now Emilia-Romagna: Modena and Reggio Emilia. In 1046, a small barrel of the precious liquid was presented as a diplomatic gift to the Holy Roman Emperor Henry III as he passed through the Po Valley — an early indicator of how highly it was prized. By 1600, the vinegar cellars of the Ducal Palace of Modena were producing what court records would eventually, in 1747, officially name aceto balsamico for the first time. The Dukes of Este reportedly gave small bottles of it as wedding gifts to members of the nobility. A daughter’s dowry in some families of Modena included a batteria — the series of progressively smaller barrels in which the vinegar was aged — as a matter of course.

The process that earned it all this reverence hasn’t changed in any fundamental way since. Trebbiano and Lambrusco grapes are harvested, crushed, and their must is slowly cooked over a direct flame until it reduces by roughly half, concentrating the sugars and thickening the liquid into what is called mosto cotto. This cooked must is then poured into the largest of a series of wooden barrels — a batteria — and begins its transformation. Each year, a small amount is drawn from the smallest barrel and bottled; the remaining vinegar is moved progressively down through the series, each barrel replenished from the one above it. The process is not unlike the solera system used in sherry production in Spain, and the result is a blend that contains components from many different years. The barrels are made from different woods — oak, chestnut, cherry, mulberry, juniper — and each imparts something different: oak for structure, cherry for sweetness, juniper for an aromatic sharpness that becomes one of the condiment’s distinctive notes.

This is not a metaphor. By law and by tradition, authentic aceto balsamico tradizionale is aged in the attic spaces of the producers’ homes and farmhouses, where the brutal extremes of the Emilia-Romagna climate — cold, wet winters and hot, airless summers — drive the slow evaporation and concentration that gives the vinegar its character. You cannot make it properly in a climate-controlled facility. You cannot rush it. Start with 100 liters of cooked must and you may end up, after twelve years, with five. The whole process takes a minimum of twelve years. And it lives, from start to finish, in an attic.

Modena vs. Reggio Emilia — and Why it Matters

The two provinces produce their tradizionale under separate consortia with subtle but meaningful differences. Modena’s consortium bottles its product in a distinctive squat, rectangular 100ml bottle designed by the Italian automotive designer Giorgetto Giugiaro — the same man who designed the original Volkswagen Golf and the DeLorean. Reggio Emilia uses an inverted tulip-shaped bottle and a color-coded cap system: red (Aragosta) for a minimum of 12 years, silver (Argento) for 18 years, and gold (Oro) for 25 years or more. Both require rigorous tasting panel approval before anything leaves the acetaia.

The two versions from the different regions taste different. Reggio Emilia’s tends toward a slightly more rustic, earthy complexity; Modena’s is perhaps more refined in its sweet-sour balance. Neither is superior. They are simply distinct expressions of the same ancient tradition from neighboring provinces that have been, productively, arguing about it for centuries.

The Impostor Problem

Here is where the story gets complicated — and more than a little maddening.

European Union labeling law protects “Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena DOP” and “Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Reggio Emilia DOP” as designated origin products. But it also permits the name “Aceto Balsamico di Modena” — without the word Tradizionale — to be applied to an industrial product that has no meaningful connection to what you just read above. This industrial version is a mixture of wine vinegar, concentrated grape must, caramel coloring, and sometimes preservatives, aged for as little as 60 days. It costs a few dollars. It is produced by the millions of liters. And it sits on the same grocery store shelf, with a name that sounds nearly identical to one of Italy’s most protected food products.

Umberto Sidoli, whose family has been producing balsamic at Agriturismo Cavazzone in the hills outside Reggio Emilia for generations, is direct about this. Some of the barrels in Cavazzone’s ancient hayloft contain vinegar that is more than 100 years old. His father keeps, for his private use, a barrel that is 250 years old. When Sidoli travels to present his product in the United States and visits gourmet food stores, he finds only a handful of sources for the genuine article anywhere in the country.

His test for authenticity is simple: shake the bottle. Real tradizionale is so viscous from years of evaporation and concentration that it coats the sides of the glass. Industrial balsamic, however dark its color, runs thin and fast.

Read the ingredient list. If it contains anything other than cooked grape must, it is not tradizionale.

How to Actually Use It

Authentic aceto balsamico tradizionale is not a cooking ingredient. You do not reduce it into a sauce. You do not toss it with olive oil for a salad dressing. You add a few drops — perhaps four or five, from a small spoon — to finish a dish just before it reaches the table.

The classic pairings are precise and deeply Italian in their logic: a chunk of aged Parmigiano Reggiano, a thin slice of prosciutto, a piece of grilled fish, a fresh strawberry. The 12-year version pairs well with roasted meats. The 25-year gold-label version is reserved for Parmigiano, fruit, and, memorably, a small spoonful over vanilla gelato — a combination that sounds implausible and arrives at the table tasting like the best thing you’ve eaten all week.

A small 100ml bottle of 12-year tradizionale will cost between $80 and $150 depending on the producer. Used with appropriate restraint — a few drops at a time — it will last for months. It does not require refrigeration, it does not spoil, and it improves in the bottle over time. There is no expiration date that means anything; the European Union requires one by regulation, which is the kind of thing that makes Italian food producers reach for a glass of Lambrusco.

Places to Find It in Italy

If Emilia-Romagna is on your itinerary, Cavazzone — a working agriturismo and restaurant about 15 kilometers outside Reggio Emilia in the hills near the village of Regnano — offers guided tours of their acetaia, tastings, and cooking classes built around balsamic vinegar. The restaurant, housed in what was once the estate’s stable with cast iron pillars supporting a vaulted ceiling, serves the full canon of Reggio Emilia cuisine: tortelli, tagliatelle, erbazzone, cured meats, Parmigiano, and Lambrusco — all accompanied by the Sidoli family’s own balsamico. Tours are by appointment; ask for Umberto.

If you can’t make it to Reggio Emilia, the Museum of Traditional Balsamic Vinegar in Spilamberto, just outside Modena, is an excellent alternative — and it sits conveniently in the same neighborhood as Modena’s other culinary attractions, which deserve an article of their own entirely.

I visited a special facility called an acetaia where the process of slow fermentation occurs. Located near Modena, Acetaia Villa San Donnino provides visitors with an excellent view into the process and history of nurturing and developing balsamico. It turns out that it’s a bit of a tradition for Italians to reserve a new bottle of balsamico to mark the birth of a new child. The fermentation processes begin … and time slowly performs its magic. Often, the final product is then delivered at the babies’ future marriage or graduation or other significant date far-in-the-future. Talk about a gift that gets better with time.

The town perches at roughly 2,000 feet on the flank of a hill in the Val di Chiana, the broad agricultural valley that runs between Arezzo and the Umbrian border. The Etruscans settled it as one of their twelve great city-states around the 8th century BC — they called it Curtun — and the walls they built, massive irregular blocks of stone fitted together without mortar, still ring the historic center. Rome absorbed it in 310 BC. The medieval guilds and the Florentine republic and, eventually, the Medici all left their mark on it. The result is a town whose steep cobbled streets open without warning onto views that stretch south past Lake Trasimeno and into Umbria — on a clear morning, the horizon feels almost dishonestly far.

The Val di Chiana below is famous for two things: the Chianina, a massive white cattle breed that produces what many Italians argue is the definitive Florentine steak, and Syrah. That second one surprises people. Cortona DOC has emerged quietly as perhaps the most serious Syrah appellation in Italy, led by the Tenimenti d’Alessandro winery just outside town. The valley’s combination of clay soils, warm summers, and cool nights produces a Syrah that is firmly Italian in character — structured and savory rather than jammy — and worth seeking out before the rest of the wine world catches on.

Sitting on a hillside in the locale known as Creti, about six miles from the center of town, is Casa Bellavista. It is more bed-and-breakfast than pure agriturismo — but that distinction does nothing to diminish its farm-to-table authenticity. Simonetta and Guido run it as a genuine home, the kind of place where the hospitality feels personal because it is. The rooms are furnished with 19th-century antiques and the kind of carefully chosen detail that reveals a strong personal aesthetic rather than a decorator’s hand. The pool looks out over the Tuscan hills in a way that is unreasonably beautiful. There is also a small spa — sauna, whirlpool, sensory shower — tucked into a private corner of the gardens and called, with understated charm, The Nest.

What makes Casa Bellavista a destination rather than simply a place to sleep is Simonetta Demarchi. She is the chef, and she approaches the kitchen the way serious Italian home cooks always have — with a garden as the starting point. Her own vegetable plot produces fennel, artichokes, zucchini, and cauliflower. Meats and additional produce come from nearby organic farms. From that palette she teaches hands-on cooking classes that are family-friendly — children are not just tolerated but genuinely welcome — and emphasize local ingredients, traditional techniques, and, by all accounts, a great deal of fun. The breakfast alone — homemade cakes, focaccia, local cheese, fresh fruit — is the kind of thing that makes you cancel whatever you had planned for 9am.

Then there is Guido. Simonetta’s husband holds the title of nationally certified olive oil taster — a designation that is, in Italy, close to sacrosanct. The position is theoretically open to anyone, but the requirements are ferocious: a rare ability to distinguish scents at an extremely high level, followed by a battery of tests designed to prove it. Guido will walk you through the testing process in fascinating detail before leading you through your own extra virgin tasting session. Beyond tasting, he covers the full arc of olive oil production — from the cultivation of the trees through the picking and pressing — and then teaches the techniques of pairing oils so that you can begin to recognize the strengths, weaknesses, and distinctions that separate one source olive from another. For anyone who has ever poured supermarket olive oil over a salad and assumed that was the experience, an afternoon with Guido is a corrective that borders on the transformative.

Casa Bellavista sits in ideal day-trip territory. Arezzo is 45 minutes north. Montepulciano and its Vino Nobile is 30 minutes west. Assisi is an hour south into Umbria. And Cortona itself — the Saturday market in Piazza della Repubblica, the MAEC museum’s remarkable Etruscan collection, the Sagra della Bistecca in August where the Val di Chiana’s famous Chianina cattle are celebrated in the most direct way possible — is fifteen minutes down the hill.

The Farmhouse
Panfilo is a picturesque family-run farmhouse nestled in the rolling hills of the town of Cellino Attanasio in the province of Teramo. More bed-and-breakfast than working agriturismo, Panfilo is a hybrid, though the distinctions are not terribly important. The farmhouse has recently been remodeled and includes elegantly furnished rooms and suites across two buildings; we rented three en-suite guest rooms all located on a single floor in the main farmhouse, and it felt like we had the place to ourselves. The other buildings offer an even more private experience with multi-room suites with cooking options. All visitors have access to an infinity pool, a hot tub under the stars, and a fire pit and barbecue area.

Panfilo owners Annamaria and her husband Lino are lovely and accommodating people who are available when you need them for local recommendations and anything you might need to make your stay more comfortable. Neither speak fluent English, but Annamaria is quick to grab her phone and use Google Translate to overcome any language obstacles. (As always, I urge you try to speak a little Italian and everything will be fine. You’re in their country after all; and Italian is not difficult if you know even some Spanish or other Romance language.) Annamaria, Lino and their staff are all charming and make you feel instantly welcomed. No request is too small. You will also be hosted by their adorable farm dog, Armandino, who is always eager to visit.

Location
Rugged and remote yet still charming and accessible, Panfilo provides a jumping off point for you to experience the charms of Abruzzo. Positioned about 30–40 minutes from nearby Adriatic beaches and within easy reach of medieval hill towns, national parks, and vineyards, it’s ideal for travelers seeking a relaxing base for exploring Abruzzo’s natural beauty, culture, and cuisine. Panfilo is located in a picturesque valley surrounded by rolling hills that stretch to the horizon. Put on some hiking shoes and climb up those hills for views of both the Adriatic 17km to the east as well as the distant Gran Sasso d’Italia mountains to the west.

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Food
For me, the star of the staying at Panfilo — even with all its natural beauty and lovely accommodations — was the fresh hand-made breakfasts created every morning by Annamaria and her staff. I call them “staff” but I’m sure they are family or friends because they chat and laugh like schoolgirls as they work their magic. Each day brings endless portions made from farm-fresh & locally-sourced produce, cheeses, breads, jams, and seasonal specialties. In particular, the homemade yogurt was a joy. I found myself eagerly waiting for Annamaria and her crew to open the doors each day — promptly at 8am! The light-splashed, airy views from the restored barn provide wonderful views across the valley as you sit down for an unforgettable meal.

The local restaurants carry forward the rustic feel of Abruzzese cuisine. This is not “sophisticated” Tuscany, but just as rewarding. At one local restaurant, we tried the Abruzzese speciality called arrostocini. They are typically made from mutton or lamb cut in chunks and pierced by a skewer then grilled simply over hot charcoal -- it’s important that the meat not touch the flame. Legend has it that the dish was originated by local shepherds who were being frugal to use meat from sheep that were no longer productive. We visited a local restaurant called Sott’a la Cerqua in the tiny nearby town of Manzitti. The arrostocini were served in a bespoke ceramic mug and the flavor of olive oil, rosemary, and roasted lamb was fantastic. I started to eat the meat by pulling it off the skewers — which seemed logical — only to be gently corrected by a local at the next table who told me that the correct way to eat them was straight off the skewer! I began to feel more like an Abruzzese shepherd almost immediately!

Region
Part of why I think visitors will love Panfilo is the chance to explore Abruzzo and find places like Sott’a la Cerqua. Whether you want to hike in the mountains, a day at the beach, or the chance to visit its historic villages, Abruzzo has something for you. We ended up driving to nearby Sulmona, famous both as the birthplace of Roman poet Ovid and as the capital of sugar-coated almonds known in Italy as confetti. (If you have ever been to a traditional Italian wedding, in the U.S. at least, small lace bags of confetti are on every plate.) Considered one of the most beautiful towns in Abruzzo, Sulmona is nestled adjacent to the dramatic Montagne del Morrone whose 6,800 ft peaks dominate the area.

In Sulmona, we walked into the Saturday open air market common across the villages and cities of Italy. These markets feature merchants offering everything from local food & specialties to clothing and housewares. These markets remain a vital part of local life in these towns. Visting them is a chance to experience a ritual in local Italian life and grab some amazing food. I found a local butcher selling head cheese — more commonly known as “coppa” in Italy — made from pork cheek and other head meats. I know … it’s hardly the “boar’s head” you’re used to, but try it and you will be surprised. Beyond Sulmona, other towns to visit nearby to Panfilo are the ancient Roman town of Atri, the fortress town of Civitella del Tronto, and the artistic ceramic center of Castelli.

Travel tip: I always find that the local governments in Italy produce excellent websites highlighting the tourism of their particular regions. Check out the site for Abruzzo.

For me, the hospitality of Annamaria, Lino and their staff at Farmhouse Panfilo were the best introduction to Abruzzo that I could have hoped for … and I cannot wait to return. Abruzzo’s abundance of food, culture, and nature are perfectly reflected at Panfilo. But more than that, my visit brought a genuine sense of tranquility and benessere (“well being”) that reminds us why it’s so good to avoid the beaten track. Particularly in Italy.

Send me a postcard … and buon viaggio!

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So when an old friend recently asked me to recommend some farmstays and hotels in and around the Venice area, I thought it might be an opportunity to pass them on to FTI readers. I adore Venice and have been many times, but I am never a fan of her almost constant crowds. What’s more, those crowds can make getting any type of authentic experience almost impossible. But these nearby agriturismos offer a chance to see the area beyond the lagoon while being close enough to make day trips into the city easy. The hotels I found are selected as a hedge against the crowds. They look to me to offer a chance to see Venice more like a local than a tourist. So if you like my reviews and my approach, here are a few recommendations for Venice and the Veneto region. If you’d like more, please reach out and let’s see how I can be of assistance.

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AGRITURISMOS

Ca’Orologio

Email: agriturismo@caorologio.com
Address:   Via Ca’Orologio 7a Baone, Veneto 35030 (near Padua)
Website | Google Maps

An elegant-looking wine resort in Baone (Veneto wine country) close to Venice with a harmonious courtyard and a variety of room options including traditional camere (rooms) as well as larger apartments. Breakfast is included, but there’s not a restaurant on-site. But that just provides the opportunity to explore nearby Padua (35km), Vicenza (50km), or Ferrara (60km) for more northern Italian cuisine and culture.

I love the vibe nestled among the wine-growing hills of southern Veneto. The proximity to Venice means that you can use it as an escape from the crowds there or as a countryside base to explore Veneto and take a day trip or two to La Serenissima -- which is often enough for most people.

Col delle Rane

Email: info@coldellerane.it
Address: Via Mercato Vecchio, 18, 31031 Caerano di San Marco (near Treviso)
Website | Google Maps

Another welcoming spot not far from Venice that caught my eye is Col delle Rane. Whereas Ca’Orologio is located to the West of Venice, Col dell Rane is more north in the area that includes Treviso (with its canals), Bassano del Grappa (natural beauty and a gateway to its renowned grappa and to the Prosecco wine region), and Marostica (home of the famous cherry festival.)

Col delle Ranne offers a variety of accommodations including doubles, twins, and family sized rooms; they also offer full apartments with refrigerators and even a camping area with electrical hook-ups, bathrooms, showers, & laundry facilities. Enjoy daily breakfast featuring farm-sourced and local products.

HOTELS

Normally, I tend towards AirBNBs when I’m staying in a city because they’re much more economical and enable you to pick a neighborhood and experience the area more like a local. But sometimes, hotels are a better choice … or simply a nice splurge. In Venice, these hotels caught my eye and I’d happily try any of them:

Hotel Huereka (Cannaregio)

Email: post@hotel-heureka.com
Address: Fondamenta Gasparo Contarini, 3534, 30121 Venezia VE
Website | Google Maps

Lovely location in Cannaregio -- the historic Jewish ghetto sestieri (neighborhood) in Venice -- that includes a beautiful enclosed garden and artfully designed & decorated rooms … all charmingly Venetian. Nearby is the Gothic, 16th century home of Tintoretto, the master Renaissance painter of the Venetian style. Nicknamed Il Furioso for his dynamic and rapid painting style, Tintoretto’s works can be seen across the city. His tomb is located in the Chiesa della Madonna dell’Orto which is also close to the Hotel Huereka.

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Hotel NH Collection Venezia Murano Villa (Murano)

Email: nhcollectionmuranovilla@nh-hotels.com
Address: Fondamenta Andrea Navagero, 29, 30141 Venezia VE
Website | Google Maps

Murano is far from tourist-free, but the Venezia Murano Villa looks like a winner to me; convenient to the Venice airport but tucked away from the main tourist canal in Murano, it looks like the best of both convenience and location. A 15 minute vaporetto ride will bring you back to the heart of the sights at San Marco & the Grand Canal.

Maison Boutique Al Redentore (Guidecca)

Email: info@alredentore.it
Address: Calle Cape, 866/T, 30133 Venezia VE
Website | Google Maps

A final hotel that I would definitely investigate in the Guidecca neighborhood is Maison Boutique Al Redentore. The hotel is located next to the Chiesa del Santissimo Redentore (cathedral and adjacent convent) with its lovely and serene garden. Giudecca is on the far south side of the Venetian archipelago. Just remote enough from the tourist core to experience a bit of serenity, it’s a great area to walk and is still conveniently 2 stops from San Marco square.

BONUS

Ristorante La Bitta

Phone: +39 041 523 0531
Address: C. Lunga S. Barnaba, 2753/A, 30123 Venezia VE
Google Maps

If you’re in Venice and would like a restaurant recommendation, try La Bitta. (Say ‘hi’ to Debora who, I believe, still runs the restaurant.) I met her many years ago on a fateful evening. We had a lovely meal and for dessert, her signature panna cotta. (Debora even generously shared her recipe with my sister.) The restuarant is located in the Dorsoduro neighborhood across the Grand Canal from San Marco. If you’re on the San Marco side, take a traghetto (a gondola ferry) to cross the canal. The most convenient one is located here; or simply get off at the Ca’Rezzonico vaporetto stop. The hours at La Bitta can be unpredictable, so check ahead of time and do call for a reservation. They do two seatings (one early around 7pm; one late around 9pm.) They feature a rare meat-oriented menu in a city where most restaurants naturally focus on fish.

THE FARM

With that in mind, let’s consider an amazing slice of rural Italian life nestled in the central Tuscan hills near San Casciano called Corzano e Paterno. Here, you can certainly have access to otherworldly views and a lovely glass of wine, but if you’d like to experience life on a working and vibrant farm, Corzano e Paterno is for you. Nestled in the rolling countryside, just 45 minutes from Florence, sits a piece of unique Tuscan history; where over a millennium of history & culture intersect. The route to the farm includes the ancient Via Cassia -- a road that runs from Rome to Siena to Florence is adjacent to Corzano. That same road that has carried ancient Etruscans, Roman legionaries, Lombards, Goths, and ever-feuding medieval Tuscan nobles and peasants today still delivers you to this amazing place.

The heart of Corzano e Paterno is the food it creates: its wines, olive oils, and cheese. Let’s quickly talk about each:

• Grapes
  The vineyards that are used to produce their wines are on the hills carved by the Pesa River and produce typical regional varietals including Sangiovese, Canaiolo, Malvasia, and Trebbiano. To those local grapes, they have added Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Chardonnay. The farm normally produces a white wine, a rosé, four reds and a sweet wine.

• Olives
  The farm includes 4000 trees producing olives of the classic Tuscan varieties, Frantoio and Leccino; but they also have trees producing Moraiolo & Pendolino olives. They are pressed at a nearby frontoio and bottled for sale. Tuscan oils are characterized by their buttery and peppery taste.

• Cheese
  For me, however, the signature of the farm are the Sardi sheep (named because of their Sardinian heritage) whose milk produces an amazing variety of cheeses. But more than just the cheese, the sheep feed the ecosystem of the farm by supplying the olive orchards and vineyards with manure as fertilizer. I love to visit the sheep in their stable and in the surrounding hillsides. Both inherently curious and naturally skittish, the sheep are guarded over by a unique breed of dog -- the Maremmano-Abruzzese sheepdog.

I got to know several of these noble beasts on my most recent trip to the farm, and their vigilance and dedication to their flock is a testament to their breed. As for the sheep, it was lambing season when we were there and got to meet some of the newest members of the flock! If you’re lucky, ask the staff and try to schedule a quick tour and introduction to the sheep and dogs.

As for the milk and resulting cheese, Chef Susan Grant, about whom I wrote about in an earlier post describing the restoration of nearby La Petraia, was the first person to tell me about Corzano as the producer of “the best pecorino cheese in all of Tuscany.” In addition to the pecorino, Corzano produces 15 other types of cheeses; their herbed cheeses, in particular, are my favorites.

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HISTORY

If the food is its heart, the history of Corzano e Paterno reveals its soul. That history of the farm is fascinating and inspiring and I urge you to read the detailed account written by the family and published on their website. But, I will try to summarize it here to entice you to read more. It begins with the purchase of the farm and its rocky land that hardened Tuscan locals call la terra ingrata (“the ungrateful earth”) to an unlikely buyer.

Fate brought Wendel Gelpke to Corzano. A Swiss anthropologist turned architect who had moved to Florence, Wendel purchased the in the early 1970s when the family who owned it was forced to sell in order to satisfy the dowry of its daughters. The wild and untamed property near San Casciano was primitive: buildings with no water, electricity, or heating. The farm itself was overgrown and largely untended and was utilizing laborious and outdated methods. But Wendel could see the potential of the land. He began planting vineyards and olive trees. The overgrown land was trimmed back by the introduction of Sardinian sheep, who would feed the cheese manufacturing that was added to the farm’s production. (As I wrote about when describing the history of the nearby Spannochia, the farm at Corzano was the product of the feudal mezzadria share-cropping system.)

Through dedication and difficult work, the growing Gelpke family slowly brought the farm back to life. During this period when Wendel purchased the farm, the Italian population was shifting to the cities and away from the rural farms. That demographic shift presented opportunities and in 1975, Wendel was able to purchase the adjacent Fattoria di Paterno from the historic Machiavelli family and the basis of the combined farm that exists today was formed.

Over the past 50 years since he purchased Corzano, Wendel’s family has grown and with it the output and success of the farm. Slowly but surely, they modernized the processes, added to the vineyards and olive groves, and built out facilities to support their growing activities. Among many changes, formal stables were built to house the sheep; an underground wine cellar was added in 2001; a caseificio (cheese making facility) took over from the old wine cellar; and the housing facilities were developed to make it possible for guests to experience the farm and its history.

EXPERIENCE

Let’s be clear about something: at Corzano, you’re visiting their farm much more than they are hosting you and catering to your every whim. There’s no hotel breakfast room every morning with waiting coffee and a waiter to take your order. But rest assured, the staff will take very good care of you and are welcoming and generous. This is your chance to live for a short time on a working farm in an historic location whose legacy is visible everywhere around you. This is visible through the renovated buildings that serve as guest houses now. There are wonderful lodging options across several buildings spread out across the expansive properties of Corzano e Paterno. In Fallochio, you can rent one (or more of) individual bedrooms and share a communal kitchen. In Corzanello, you can rent a six bedroom medieval farmhouse that has been fully restored and expanded. Gina is a large apartment in one of the oldest buildings on the property and includes access to Corzano’s pool. Erta is for the more adventurous. (I stayed here.) Located off a rugged, dirt road on the hills between the Corzano and Paterno, Erta offers six large bedrooms, privacy, and views galore. Each location offers cooking facilities with all you’ll need to prepare something from a morning cup of coffee to a full meal. Clean, expansive, comfortable and complete with all amenities, the guest houses and rooms will enable you to experience life on the farm as well as providing a perfect base from which to explore the surrounding Tuscan countryside and hill towns.

There is an on-site restaurant (called Fienile) that operates from March to mid-October and during that time is open several days a week for dinner; and for larger groups, meals can be made available at any time. For those seeking an authentic, local, Tuscan meal featuring fresh and local ingredients, prepared by skilled chefs, I cannot imagine a better setting.

Individual dinners can also be arranged. On my recent visit, Chef Loredana’s pre-prepared & ready to heat meals were a revelation. We were arriving late in the evening and knew we wouldn’t have a chance to get to a market prior to arriving, so we ordered a meal for three. It was awaiting us when we arrived. Not only was the quality superb and the pairings unique, but the amount of food was so generous, it literally lasted three days. Our menu included a pesto lasagna with béchamel & Parmesan, pork fillet with apples, plums, & onions, a lovely cabbage salad, and beyond-all-expectations yogurt tiramisu!

ACTIVITIES

If you ask, you can schedule a visit to the stables to see the sheep and their watchful companion dogs. You can hike through the ancient hillsides and meander down toward the Pesa River that feeds the farm side. You can take a cooking class with Chef Loredana. Enjoy an afternoon by the pool enjoying a glass of Corzanello (one of the winery’s bright, welcoming red wines.) And, of course, take a tour of the winery and caseificio to see where the magic happens. I’d suggest putting on some good shoes and taking a hike on the strade bianche (“dirt roads”) around the vineyards and oil trees and take in the beauty of the landscape. The combination of natural beauty and the energy of the farm is a timeless combination; other than the occasional buzz of a local Ape (one of the ubiquitous 3-wheeled utility vehicles the local farmers use), you feel that it could be 1525 as easily as 2025.

SUMMARY

For me, Corzano e Paterno is the perfect Italian farmstay. It’s a chance to experience life on a working farm whose products you can enjoy but, beyond that, it’s a glimpse into the family and staff dedicated to making it all work. Every day brings new challenges and opportunities and, as a visitor, you can see the love and passion that makes the place so special. What’s more, the history of the surroundings seem to call out to remind you that the distant past isn’t really so distant at all. The people, the crops, the animals, the land, and the food they produce are no longer abstract things, but a reminder of a constancy over time. That assurance brings with it an overwhelming sense of place and the kind of deeper understanding that we should seek out when traveling.

Traveling by train in Europe is a unique joy for American tourists. Despite the size of America, or perhaps because of its continental reach, train travel in the U.S. is rarely utilized by us. In Europe, with its grand capital cities situated with relatively short distances, train travel has long been an affordable and convenient means of seeing these varied cultures across the continent. How do I put this gently? The reputation of Italian train travel has traditionally lagged behind its larger neighbors in France or Germany. But times have changed, and it’s easier than ever to travel from north-to-south and across Italy in trains that are fast, clean, and enjoy levels of service on par with the rest of the Continent. I certainly wouldn’t say they are 100% on time -- this isn’t Tokyo -- but where’s the fun in that anyway?

Primary Types of Italian Train Travel

• Regional trains run shorter distances and on less frequent timetables than other types of service. They are also generally slower and stop more frequently. But what they lack in efficiency, they make up for with access to more remote cities and towns … which we like! These trains come in all shapes and sizes. There are no reserved seats on these trains and no food options onboard. But you’re welcome to bring your own food or drink. Further, the cars may or may not be air-conditioned and will likely have less storage for luggage.

• InterCity trains connect cities across regions and are faster than the regional trains reaching speeds of up to 160 kilometers per hour (100 mph). They normally have open plan seating with a center aisle and seats on either side. But there are still classic side corridor trains with compartment seating on certain routes. (Think of the Hogwarts Express on the Harry Potter movies!) These can be fun if you’re traveling with a larger group and you can grab a compartment together.

• High-speed (or “Frecce”) trains also connect cities across the country at greater distances (such as Rome to Milan) but they reach speeds of up to 300 kilometers per hour (190 mph.) The most common train is the Frecciarossa (“red arrow”) and, beyond their speed, they feature multiple classes of comfortable service, food coaches onboard, and free WiFi. Less common are the Frecciaregento (“silver arrow) and Frecciabianca (“white arrow”) trains. They travel at slightly slower speeds than the Frecciarossa and operate on particular routes where they can make use of older rail networks. But they offer the same levels of service as the Frecciarossa.

At any large train station, you will see other types of train service but Regional, InterCity and Frecce are the primary movers. I’ll describe some of these others types of services later in this post.

Reservations

Some important details on the process of making train reservations in Italy. Remember that there are reservations and there are seat assignments and they are not the same thing. As we will see, some trains require reservations and others do not. Unless you’re traveling last minute on Regional trains, I would recommend that you make reservations and seat assignments in advance to avoid hassles. Reservations and seat assignments on InterCity and high-speed Frecce trains are REQUIRED. We will discuss important issues related to regional trains tickets below but be aware that they are easy to get and the process is similar to other European countries.

Regional Trains

Regional trains normally do not require reservations but you can still make them in advance using any of the online services (see below) or apps. Buy tickets at the train station on the day of travel using a Trenitalia ticket machine or at the ticket office (look for signs for ‘biglietteria’). The ticket machines are multilingual and easy to navigate. Regardless, these tickets need to be “validated” using one of green machines that you will see when you enter your train’s track/platform (or “binari”.)

Increasingly, these validation kiosks offer contactless payment (using your credit card or phone via Apple Pay or Google Pay) so you can purchase (and validate) your ticket electronically. This has become more common after the COVID pandemic and is increasingly available on popular regional train routes. You tap to board the train and then tap again when you disembark at which point you are charged for the journey. Importantly, using contactless bank cards, you can only purchase for one individual. (Parents traveling with children take note!) In the Resources section below, I will provide a link to regional routes that have the “Tap & Tap” functionality.

If you book in advance online, you will not need to validate any tickets. Bring your phone or the paper receipt you received in email with a scannable code, and you’re good to go. If you purchase tickets in advance, there are rules about making changes to the reservation. Being Italy, it’s a bit complicated so I urge you read the rules carefully when you purchase. But, in general, if you need to cancel regional trains reservations, do so at least the day before. You can change the reservations up until the day of the travel but they are no longer refundable.

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InterCity & High-Speed Trains

InterCity and high-speed “Frecce” trains require advance reservation & purchase. But “advance” can mean months before at home … or an hour before at a kiosk. These trains rarely sell out completely so you can book them at the station on the day of travel. However, the fares will be more expensive that way and you will likely not get to choose your seat. I try to always book a few weeks (at least) in advance and make seat selections. If you are the type of person who likes the have physical copies of things, you can print out the reservations or the email confirmation before you travel. They will contain a QR or scannable code that you can bring onboard the train for the conductor to check. Trenitalia or most other reservation providers will likely have apps for iOS or Android phones that will keep your reservation confirmations. One person can book for others -- but make sure they’re all on the train together and have ID in case it’s necessary.

If you purchase your tickets at a kiosk or at the ticket office on the day of travel for InterCity or high-speed trains, you will not worry about validating them; that is limited to same day Regional tickets.

Fare classes are also worth a mention. The further in advance that you book your fares, the better the prices will be. These are “economy” or “super economy” fares in contrast with “base” rates. There are also other special fares but they often require membership in Trenitalia frequent traveler clubs and may not work for you. Read carefully before booking.

CLASS OF SERVICE

On Regional trains, things are simple. Many of these trains are single class; and, where it’s available, the difference between first-class and second-class carriages is less noticeable.

On InterCity or high-speed “Frecce” trains, second class is perfectly fine for most travelers. If you want to splurge, first class offers a more quiet experience with slightly wider seats; and often the upgrade doesn’t cost much more. Many long distance Frecce trains feature a dedicated food carriage; and some classes feature a glass of prosecco and a snack service during the trip. Bathroom service, in my experience, about the same level of cleanliness as any busy U.S. airline. Serviceable, if not luxurious.

HOW TO BOOK

Booking travel can be done from a variety of online agents but I tend to go directly to Trenitalia.com -- the official site of the Italy’s state-run train system. You can customize your language choice (Italian or English) and see schedules and fares based on time of date and service class. In the resources section below is my list of recommended online booking online sites.

OTHER TRAIN TYPES

In addition there are also other notable types of train service you may notice at train stations in Italy. Here is a non-exhaustive list of some:

• InterEuro: As you might guess, these are trains that connect Italian cities with others across Europe. One thing to note about routes that cross national borders: generally, InterEuro trains are operated by the rail service of the country in which they orginate. So a train from Paris to Torino is a French operated train (that’s usually SNCF.) So booking that train would require you to make a reservation with that entity.

• InterCity Notte: Overnight trains in Europe, like the “Notte” can be a lot of fun and will probably merit their own post. Within Italy, they can save you time while traveling and give you more time to explore the country. Most likely, you’ll take one from another country arriving in Italy. There are many options and types of overnight service so research carefully (until I can write up a post on them!)

• Special Routes: There are several unique, specialty routes that you may come across in your research. A few of these include the Sicily Express: an InterCity train that actually boards a ferry to cross the Strait of Messina. There’s a train that runs Naples to see the historical sites at Herculaneum and Pompeii.

• Italo: Another high-speed option is Italo. Italo is a private company that uses the same high-speed rail system as the Frecciarossa and offers excellent intercity high-speed service within Italy at speeds up to 360 km/hr.) I have taken them and found them to be excellent options. Booking is done easily in advance (online or via their app) and at the station.

LAST MINUTE ADVICE

Train station layout: Train stations in Italy run the gamut in terms of size and shape. But all will have a large information board showing departure and arrival times. Most will have food & shopping options. (In Rome or Milan, there are are like mini shopping malls.) Note that the the location of the tracks (or binari) can sometimes be confusing. At some stations, you may need to take stairs under the tracks to get to a particular platform but they are well marked and it’s not difficult.

Get on the right train!: At the entry point to you train platform, you will see a prominent sign indicating the number of the binari and the unique train number for your journey. Make sure the number matches your reservation. You may be rushing and many of the trains can look alike.

Get on the right carriage!: To avoid getting on the wrong carriage, look on your ticket or reservation. it will indicate the specific carriage that you’re booked on and this is not the same as the class of service. Check before you get on and get settled! In the rush to get onto your train, it’s very easy to get on the wrong carriage. I’ve done it myself and then had to hump heavy bags back out and onto the right one. (On the other hand, it does amuse/annoy the locals.)

Fun fact: On most trains, you can bring your own food (and even your own wine) onboard; it’s allowed!

Beware of pickpockets: It has never happened to me and I don’t think it’s as big a problem as in the past, but train stations in Italy — as anywhere in Europe — are a magnet for pickpockets. Keep valuables in front pockets or in tight fitting backpacks or slings to avoid giving anyone an easy target.

Luggage: On InterCity and high-speed trains, there is ample room for luggage and carry-on bags. Large bags often have areas near the entry to carriage for storage. In addition, these trains also have overhead storage throughout the carriages for smaller bags. Regional trains have much more limited storage areas so plan accordingly.

Train strikes: Train strikes in Italy are an unfortunate occurence which can affect your travel. In my experience, you will likely hear about the possibility of a strike in advance as they tend to make the news in Italy. I have never been directly affected myself, but they’re a possibility worth mentioning.

BOOKING & INFORMATION RESOURCES

• Booking direct with Trenitalia

• Booking Italian train travel via Italiarail

• Booking European train travel via Trainline

• Booking Italo high-speed travel

• Tap-Tap Trenitalia Routes

• Seat61.com: My go-to source for train travel help and tips worldwide, but excellent details on Europe, in particular.

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On that Sunday wandering through the Cannaregio neighborhood, we crossed a canal and saw an amazing mix of different types of rowing boats: gondolas, English style rowing boats, Venetian style rowing boats, kayaks, so-called “dragonboats” (that hold up to 20 rowers sitting 2 across), canoes, and a few others I could not identify. But if you can row it, there’s a good chance you’ll see one in the Vogalonga.

Here are a few clips of the Vogalonga 2017:

My two sons -- then teenagers -- suggested that we needed to enter this race at the earliest possible opportunity. Fast forward to 2025. Those two boys are now men and decided the time was right to rent a two-man kayak for the 2025 Vogalonga. They entered themselves in the race and made their way to Venice. What follows is a quick summary of their experiences:

“Navigating Venice and renting a kayak in Italian was as chaotic as one would expect. Getting to the start line at the beginning of the race was the hardest part of the whole thing. Not surprisingly, the scene at the start of the race was a bit chaotic. Imagine a thousand odd boats off Punta Della Dogana all bumping into each other waiting for the starter’s pistol. Many different types of people enter the race. There were some father/son kayaks, some Indiana Jones-looking British explorer types in a wooden canoe, teams of older women on big row boats, many international rowing clubs rounding out the field. And, of course, many local Italian teams who participate every year. The larger boats often feature a coxswain pounding out a perpetual rhythm on a drum.”

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“There were also boats organized by tour groups with a guide at the front with a megaphone calling out rowing cadence to the rowers. One of these boats with 30 people onboard flipped over shortly after the start ... which may not have been in the brochure but certainly added to the experience.”

The route of the race take the rowers 30 kilometers around the lagoon from the beginning at the Punta Della Salute, proceeding out past the fortifications of the island of Sant'Erasmo, then through the outer islands Burano and Murano before returning to Cannareggio and the finish back on the Grand Canal.

In the spirit of Farm Table Italy, I would be remiss if I didn’t encourage visitors to Venice to venture out to Burano, Lido, as well as the *sestieri* (districts) like Cannaregio (the old Jewish quarter) around the main islands. The tourists hoards typically, and with good reason, focus on St Mark’s, the Piazza San Marco and the Palazzo Ducale but the true charms of Venice are found in its remote corners. The vaporetti (water taxis) are inexpensive, relatively easy to navigate, and provide the best means of getting around the Venetian islands. But even if you just want to stay in the San Marco area, wander off and follow the canals around the city. Remember, it’s an island -- how lost can you get?

Back to the race report from my boys:

“The water on the way out was calm and the boats were bunched up together; but on the way back toward the main islands of Venice, the afternoon winds kicked up and the water became more choppy separating the participants. At Burano and the start/finish, there were race support stations (punti restori) where rowers could grab water and bananas to refuel.”

“There were many locals rowing on gondola style boats using their distinctive rowing motion. The last stretch (through Cannaregio) was probably the prettiest; kayaks could sneak through the narrow bridges fastest so we got the Grand Canal basically to ourselves.”

Watch & see …

La Vogalonga is the type of event which shows that even in its larger cities and tourist hubs, Italy continually offers opportunities to experience her beauty and traditions like a local. Seek them out and be rewarded with great memories … and much better travel.

If you enjoyed this, please consider sharing this post and Farm Table Italy with your friends!

A presto …

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CREDITS:
Photos: Jack Gabrieli
Descriptions: Lucas Gabrieli

It’s as good as it looks. Buon appetito!

DINNER

At a recent dinner visit, the combination of biodynamic methods, organic meats and produce married to Susan’s unique culinary training and style were evident. The cause for the celebration was the approval to begin construction on their new cantina for on-site wine, olive oil, and other food production. This was no small accomplishment given the nature of Italian bureaucracy, and in particular, Tuscany’s bulletproof zoning laws. Italian (and, in particular, Tuscan) bureaucracy takes a back seat to no one and the necessary plan approvals took literally years to work their way through. Indeed, the guest list on this particular day was the Radda rank-and-file: the mayor, his wife, and other city officials who had been instrumental in getting the plans passed. No one noticed the American who spoke limited Italian marveling at each course of the meal. But the hosts and guests alike were all gracious and beguiling dinner companions.

Delicious and creative pairings of food, herbs, and wine were the norm at La Petraia. The marriage of Susan’s transalpine techniques with the local flavors of Tuscany produced a dining experience both sophisticated and rustic; urban and rural at the same time. It was an artistic yet wholly authentic farm-to-table experience.

The biodynamic menu that night at La Petraia included these elements:
(Apologies for the poor camera photos of the dishes I tried to capture when no one was looking!)

SORRISO (smile)

The first course at Petraia is called sorriso (or smile). Today, it is “crack”; an aptly named addictive, homemade cracker that features wild fennel seeds harvested on the property. These tasty crackers were matched with a trio of cheeses - crudo / cotto / stagionato - to set up the palate for the courses to come, and paired with a white wine from La Petraia’s vineyards.

FEGATO (liver)

Remember your grandmother’s liver dish? OK, now forget it. The liver at Petraia is a light, airy paté but with a caramelized crust like one would find on a creme brûlée. The earthiness of the liver is softened by the mousse-like consistency and then matched with the sweetened crust to wonderful effect. It’s so light that Susan sometimes spreads the fegato on crackers for a snack. The dish is completed with corniolo (a jelly made from the fruit of a dogwood cherry tree) and hearty grape bread. The plate is accented with a sprinkling of fresh herbs and flowers, including petals from the enormous and fragrant lavender fields that line the entrance to the property.

EGG OF THE DAY

The egg of the day is a tribute to the farm-to-table nature of life at Petraia. Eggs are precious; hens are fed grass and organic grain only. Unlike many industrial eggs, no artificial light or hormones were used to stimulate their ovaries — so they do not produce as many and their arrival is unpredictable. But those they do produce are much better-tasting. The result is that they are highly valued possessions to Susan and are cooked with special attention.

She poached the egg using an immersion circulator; and the precision means the consistency is perfect. The egg sits on polenta, topped with a creamy sage fondue and is completed with a single, delicate sage leaf sitting atop. Here again, the combination of technique and local flavor is worthy of every Michelin star that grace the restaurants where Susan once reigned. Polenta is pure Italian peasant food so the combination of simple and elegant was perfect and matched the entire theme of La Petraia. The fonduta was a rich cheese sauce that is delicate but full of hearty parmigiano flavor. The sage leaf on top served as a reminder that the cream for the sauce was boiled with fresh sage from Petraia’s ample herb gardens.

CECI

Ceci beans (also called ‘chickpeas’; the Spanish call them ‘garbanzo beans’) are a robust legume common throughout the Mediterranean. This presentation here is pure ‘comfort food; bathed in a rich broth and served with a simple grilled Tuscan bread. It was a rustic bridge to the upcoming meat dishes of our meal.

FARAONA (“guinea hen”)

The fowl is raised on the property and it has a long history for Italians. The word ‘faraona’ translates to “Pharoah’s hen” because they were originally thought to have come to Italy from Egypt and were popular among the ancient Roman upper-class in ancient times.

This faraona was prepared utilizing a more modern confit technique: Briefly, confit is the process of slowly cooking meat in its own fat. This method is particularly well suited for free-range meats that may be a bit tougher than non-organically fed animals. Served in a creamy broth, the faraona was rich tasting and farm simple at the same time.

PETRAIA CINTA SENESE

Cinta Senese pigs are a heritage breed that was almost lost to extinction in the 1960s. According to U.N. documents, the entire population was less than 80 as late as 1990, but due to concerted efforts, the breed has made a strong comeback and were raised on the property at La Petraia. (In her cookbook/anthem to the creation of La Petraia entitled Dinamica, Susan and Michael recount the role of the Cinta Senese pig in their conversion from vegetarians to meat-loving Tuscans.)

Susan’s preparation was worthy of the respect she has for the animals. Paired with pancetta, the seared pork was wild and intensely flavored. But for the presentation and setting, it would have been easy to imagine this meal being eaten beside an outdoor fire pit hundreds of years ago when these animals were feral and plentiful. The presentation — the pork flavored with wild fennel (finocchio selvatico), served alongside some refreshing quince (mele cotogne) and sprinkled with fresh granola — brought this traditional dish to a modern table perfectly.

SUMMARY

To my mind, the meal was a triumph of modern and ancient, of urbane and rustic. The knowledge that the meat you are eating is from a breed brought back from the brink of extinction; that the fowl was the same enjoyed by ancient Romans; and that wine you are drinking is prepared using techniques both ancient and modern would make even the most apathetic grocery shopper a locavore for life. The diversity of flavor, consistency, and ingredients combined with the knowledge that you can see the hen that provided the egg, or the pig that has provided the meat, or the sage plant that added its distinctive touch makes the experience so very unique. No distance exists — neither physical nor emotional — between farm, preparation and table. I feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to experience such a place and I hope it inspires travelers to seek out the many other agriturismos in Italy that strive to provide this level of connection. Bravo!

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PROPERTY & LOCATION

At the end of a windy dirt road, far from the grape-soaked thoroughfares of Radda-in-Chianti, and thrust deep into the dark stands of juniper, black pine and oak that dot this area of Tuscany, sits La Petraia. Reborn from the ruins of a centuries-old farm and with a rustic beauty that makes you feel like you’re truly on a movie set, La Petraia was rebuilt as an Italian sanctuary for the locavore.

The words “La Petraia” literally means “place of stone,” and when former proprietors Susan and Michael Grant acquired the property, that’s largely what it was: a big pile of rocks. Susan and Michael resurrected this property to its former greatness with a focus on timeless techniques and careful attention to biodynamic principles. With a lineage dating back to the 11th century and unoccupied for more than 40 years, the land was overgrown and untended, but it contained a rich history that foreshadowed its potential. Built on a property totaling approximately 55 hectares (135 acres), it includes the ruins of a 2,700-year-old Etruscan settlement and all the agricultural richness that is characteristic of the Chianti hills. In the rebuild, the Grants focused on the harmony between the land and the buildings. Great attention was paid to maintaining the character of the structure itself while bringing modern functionality. But as impressive as the structures are, the heart of Petraia is the land.

The Pesa River begins from springs on La Petraia as it crosses the provinces of Siena and Florence on its way to the larger Arno and then to the Mediterranean. The well-watered land encouraged Susan and Michael to plant a wide variety of vegetables, fruit trees, and grapes using agricultural methods that fell out of vogue in Tuscany long ago and that had the locals scratching their heads. Tuscan farmers traditionally confine their growing to grapes for their famous Chianti wine and olives, so the thought of growing vegetable gardens on Tuscan soil was anathema. In spite of their neighbors’ suggestions to the contrary and in cooperation with an agronomist from the nearby region of Emilia-Romagna, the results have been spectacular.

The summer harvest featured tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers; winter crops include leeks, onions, lettuce, cabbages, broccoli, beets, fennel, celery, carrots, brussels sprouts. The spring brought fava beans, potatoes, peas, and asparagus. On top of that, La Petraia was home to a variety of animals, both raised and wild, including Val d’Arno hens (which produce fantastically flavorful eggs), heritage Cinta Senese pigs, rabbits, geese, guinea hens, turkeys, and ducks.

Their harvest of fruits and nuts were equally impressive and diverse. The grounds produced almonds, hazelnuts, persimmon, apples, pears, quince, apricots, plums, peaches, mulberries (from trees that are centuries old and once housed silkworms), olives, figs, gooseberries, raspberries, black, red and white currants. The pedigree of each was thoroughly vetted by the retained services of a local agricultural historian. The quince, for example, were of the same variety grown by Tuscan aristocracy many centuries ago.

The Chianti region of Tuscany is synonymous with wine, of course, and La Petraia grew the traditional Sangiovese grapes, but in an unconventional method. That is, it was conventional and traditional here before anyone had heard of a wine from Chianti. Since 2012, La Petraia has used the ancient alberate training system, locally called the testucchio method, which uses tree trunks as support for the vines. Less efficient than the bicordon method favored today – which are the two long wires strung with vines that stretch miles along the countryside - the Romans and perhaps the Etruscans just used what they had for support. And centuries-old olive trees were resurrected and new sapling planted to feed the harvest.

ACTIVITIES

When La Petraia was operating, Susan and Michael offered their guests cooking classes and harvesting activities that are truly “farm-to-table”. These activities were based on the then-current fruits, nuts, vegetables, and meats that are fresh and in-season at the farm. These classes and harvesting activities changed as La Petraia evolved and as their understanding of the land grew. Susan and Michael have also offered “Landscape Readings” (their unique version of a foraging class) through which you can gain in-depth understanding of not only the food, but how it impacts the farm’s eco-system. In addition to their other amazing activities, La Petraia offered wine tasting and olive oil exploration classes, as well as normal lunch and dinner tastings. Beyond these formal opportunities, guests were welcome and encouraged to harvest nuts and other produce on their own during their visits, when appropriate.

All these facts, history, and experiences describe what comprised the experience at La Petraia, but there is more. Michael and Susan describe with great eloquence the powerful natural forces in the land around their farm that have inspired them and that have guided their efforts at La Petraia. But I think that their status as 'outsiders' to Italian tradition (if not all of its obtuse mores) and their willingness to follow their own direction while also respecting the soul of the land and surroundings is the true key to the beauty that they have created here. By embracing the land and its possibilities and seeing beyond the custom and tradition, Susan and Michael created something much greater than the sum of its parts — they uncovered someplace magical that redefines what it means to visit an agriturismo.

Watch for Part II of this post coming very soon where I’ll describe a dinner I attended at La Petraia which completely captures the essence of that magical place.

I will be making more videos so tell me what you think!

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This will not be a step-by-step guide; rather it’s about how you approach travel. In short, it’s about how to do travel well. On the home page of Farm Table Italy, there is a post regarding my offer of travel planning services in which I describe my own philosophy of travel. Ironically, my framework started with some startup business planning with a good friend many years ago (h/t: Tim) It envisions travel as something loosely analogous to a three-act theatrical play. The first act is planning (similar to the introduction of the characters and setting the scene); the second is travel itself (the main action of a play); finally, act three is a kind of memorialization (how the story ends and how the characters change.) It’s not a perfect analogy, but it works when you start to break it down.

Act I: Don’t Be Afraid.

Planning is the timing and logistics of your travel, but also about something just as important: anticipation. Guide books, meeting with your fellow travelers, reading Substack (!), exploring online -- all these activities will serve to heighten the excitement for your upcoming trip. This leads me into one of my first lessons for doing travel right: don’t be afraid.

Depending on how much you have traveled or if it’s your first trip abroad or to Italy, you may feel nervous or apprehensive. That’s natural and it results in a natural side effect: caution. Confronted with many choices and unknowns, people will have a natural tendency toward the “safe route” when that fear of failure becomes too strong. That can take the form of choosing to stay at an American branded hotel in an busy location as opposed to a smaller, well-placed Italian B&B. Or eating at a restaurant with English menus and great Google reviews (from Americans) as opposed to a smaller trattoria full of locals speaking Italian. But is taking the safe option really why you are taking this trip?

It is easy to book a hotel or hand your experience over to a tour company because it feels like risk mitigation. But you should realize that avoiding any risk means that you’ve also left a lot of discovery and experience on the table. I would suggest that you think about and plan your trip as if it has already happened. What do you want to have seen or experienced on your visit? Be intentional. As with life in general, people rarely look back and celebrate having taken the safest route. Travel is an adventure and a journey into the unknown … embrace it. If you plan well & seek out good advice, I believe you will find the results will be worth it.

Booking from most large tour companies will leave you sitting on a bus looking out a window or following a tour guide holding an umbrella through throngs of other tourists. Instead, think about finding a small hotel in a neighborhood and get to meet the people you came so far to see; seek out local guides and walking tours to see things up close. As opposed to staying in a hotel near the Trevi Fountain in Rome, explore AirBNBs or VRBOs in a Roman neighborhood away from the center where locals live and get a feel for the rhythms of the city that are impossible from a cloistered hotel or tour bus. Or better yet, add a stop in the countryside at an agriturismo (working farms with rooms to rent) and experience a different side of Italy.

Regardless of how you want your trip to be, try to use your Act I planning to learn as much as you can; take ownership of what you’d like to do and try to embrace the excitement and nervousness that you feel; the looking forward is rewarding in itself!

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Act II: Festina lente. (“Make haste, slowly.)

Your bags are packed and your flights are booked and the day has finally come. Act II is the journey itself; where all the planning comes to life. Maybe you have only been on a plane a handful of times or maybe you take flights twice a week for work. Either way, nothing is quite as exhilarating as beginning a journey to a destination that you have thought about and planned for months.

My advice is plan, prepare and then slow down and don’t worry. Your trip is never going to be perfect. If you let go of that expectation, you paradoxically free yourself to have a better experience. Perfect travel is impossible; expect the unexpected. You may make a mistake in your planning and not realize that the museum you want to see is closed on the day you want to go. Unexpected events can intervene in Italy. Things will not always go according to plan. Bad weather, airline or train delays, and other unforeseen gremlins will crop up. But try to remember that your trip is greater than the sum of its parts. If you have done your homework and planned well, you can adjust to pretty much anything that occurs. Slow down & relax. The thing that didn’t go the way you hoped might well result in an opportunity you would have never seen coming ... and could never have expected. So roll with it make adjustments when you need to. That flexibility is a life-skill; not just a travel-skill.

Finally, don’t expect everything that you take for granted in daily life in the U.S. to be the same in Italy. Day-to-day life in any Western European country is perfectly manageable for Americans, but there are quirks. For example, rather than hailing a cab in the street, you may need to find a taxi stand where the cabs congregate. There are perfectly good reasons why it’s different so don’t be surprised. If you expect differences and ask for advice, it will all work out well. Travel is not about bringing America to the world; it’s about you experiencing a culture and way of life that is different and growing from it.

“Even though it’s al dente, it’s still good”

My family and I were staying in a small, hilltop village in central Tuscany very near a cluster of Chianti wineries. The town had a single, small restaurant that was family owned and offered excellent local cuisine. Because we were staying in the village for an extended period of time, we visited more than a few times. The waiters got know us and loved that my boys ordered using polite Italian language ordering etiquette. One day, an American family came in while we were there. They weren’t the stereotypically rude Americans; but they did seem to expect (rather loudly) that the restaurant would have the internationalized Italian food they wanted. After some back and forth over the menu -- written in Italian -- they settled on a few simple pasta dishes. After the food was served, the waiter checked in ... and the mother in the group pronounced her verdict on the pasta stating awkwardly,“even though it’s al dente, it’s’ still good.” To this day, my family and I share a smile and maybe an eye-roll at that memory. Of course it’s good; while Italians may not have invented pasta, few would argue that they have perfected it in all it forms. Beyond that, I like to think that she learned that maybe her expectations -- more so than the pasta -- were a bit “al dente”.

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Act III: Memorialization.

Act III is capturing the memories of your trip. Before you starting planning your Instagram posts, I would urge you to think more broadly. These are the moments captured in your mind, in your camera, in a notebook that you take with you to capture your thoughts and feelings during the travel. Memories fade and writing your daily events and experiences reminds you of the things that can get lost during your trip. Travel is usually so busy, it’s easy to forget these small details. Take quick notes so as not to lose the memory. Do it when you sit down for a coffee or just to take a break. Capture the highlights and fill in the details later at the end of the day or when jet lag keeps you up at night. Organize the photos and videos you took during the day when you have a moment.

Speaking of photos, Italy is a beautiful country so you will want to take pictures to remember your trip. I’m an amateur photographer myself and I know how satisfying it can be to capture a moment or a vista. But recognize a few things: you’re not the first person take a selfie at the Trevi Fountain. (Sadly, social media has become a scourge at the many popular tourist destinations and an annoyance to locals and travelers alike.) Look for the photo that hasn’t been repeated a million times on Instagram. I’m sorry, but the world does not need another TikTok video of the Pantheon and certainly not preening in front of St. Peter’s Basilica. So maybe just keep those photos and videos for yourself or just share with your family.

Finally, here is some quick takeaway advice that applies to Italy but could as easily apply to anywhere in the world:

Let Italy be Italy.
I had a boss who used to say “Take the world as you find it, not as you would have it be.” Don’t expect it to be America with better food and deeper history. While that’s true, try to embrace its unique way of life and customs.

Travel like a local.
As much as you can, try to experience Italy like a local. If you see a restaurant with an English menu full of Americans, keep walking. Find one where you see mainly locals and you’ll eat better and probably learn some Italian. Especially in smaller cities and in villages, take a late afternoon walk (passeggiata) around 5pm. Notice the grandmothers and daughters and granddaughters walking together and wonder why that doesn’t happen in the U.S.

Speak some Italian.
Try to learn a little Italian before you travel but certainly don’t feel like you need to be fluent. Italians can spot that you’re American from a mile off and, unless you speak pretty well, they usually won’t reply in a staccato quick response. But I have always found that Italians generally love when visitors make an effort to say a few words in their language. It’s taken as a form of respect that you try and is always appreciated.

You’ll most likely return.
When folks approach me about a one-time trip to Italy, I tell them that they’ll probably want to go back. Italy seems to be like that; it gets under your skin because they seem to practice a lifestyle that we Americans naturally appreciate. So assume you're going back and go a bit slower. You cannot squeeze a trip to Rome or Florence into 2 days anymore than you could visiting New York City or Washington. So slow down a bit and assume you’ll be returning; it’s a safe bet you will.

Please reach out if I can be helpful in your planning.

Periodically, I’m going to send you a digest of Notes written by me. Notes are posts that show up within the Substack app, but if you only subscribe FTI emails and do not use the Substack app, you may not see these. I hope you enjoy the summary and the additional words and images. Also, I urge you to check out the Substack writers mentioned within my Notes.

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— David.

Not surprisingly, many of these events take place during the late summer and into fall during the vendemmia (or harvest time.) But that’s not a strict rule; you can definitely find them throughout the year all across the country. I hope this list will encourage you to explore the region you’re visiting for sagre during your trips. They provide a rich, cultural, insight into Italian food, culture and life. And the food’s not bad either. ;-)

JANUARY

• Sagre delle Frittelle
  Frittelle are traditional Italian doughnuts that feature raisins, and orange and lemon zest. There are sagre focused on frittelle in many locations across Italy, but the one of the largest ones takes place in the village of San Donato in Collina just outside Florence and should be on your short-list if you’re in the area during the winter.

  Location: San Donato in Collina (TU)

  Location: The event starts in mid-January and runs every weekend through mid-March.

FEBRUARY

• Nero Norcia

  For Italian foodies, Norcia in the province of Umbria means cured meats; in particular, its famous prosciutto ham. But another gem exists in the Umbrian hills: black truffles. This feste both celebrates these ingredients and provides a unique view into the culinary life in the mountains of Umbria. There are tastings, conferences, and producer demonstrations focused on the black truffles but cold cuts, cheeses, wines and many other typical regional products are also featured.

  Location: Norcia (UM)

  Timing: Weekends beginning February 21 and continuing through March 2nd.

  

MARCH

• Festa Regionale Del Vino Friulano

  This noteworthy wine festival takes place each year for two weeks in March since 1950 in the town of Bertiolo in the region of Friuli-Venezia Giulia. (This area is north of Venice near the border with Slovenia and Austria.) Friuli produces wonderful Italian wines and the sagre features kiosks for wine tasting and sample local agricultural food products along the streets of the town. In 1984, a wine competition was introduced and it has expanded to include all DOC Friulian wines. The event attracts all sorts of vendors markets and includes car shows, concerts, and even rides for children.

  Location: Bertiolo (VE)

  Timing: Weekends in the middle of March.

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APRIL

• Mostra Interprovinciale Dell’Asparago Bianco di Cimadolmo IGP
  For Italian foodies, springtime is synonymous with the annual harvest of white asparagus (asparagi bianchi). Sagre focused on asparagus take place all over the country thanks to Italians hyper-regionality and unshakable belief that their local version of any ingredient or dish is always the best one. But the festival in the town of Cimadolmo on the banks of the Piave River in Veneto is worthy of special attention. The flood plains of the Piave provide an ideal, nutrient-rich environment for the growing of asparagus. If you can’t make it to the event, be sure to try asparagi bianchi during the springtime when it’s ubiquitous in restaurants all around the country.

  Location: Cimadolmo (VE)

  Timing: The event runs from early to mid-April.

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SEPTEMBER

• Sagra Dell’Anguilla
  Comacchio, aside from being a lovely town full of Venice-style canals on the Adriatic coastline of the northern province of Emilia-Romagna, is home to a food with which many Americans might be unfamiliar … or even squeamish. Anguilla means eel and while you may not want to hold them in your hands, you will definitely want to eat them. Specialities include grilled eel and polenta (whose flavor is so wonderful that it’s considered an insult to ask for lemon juice to drizzle) and Emilia-Romagna style Eel Risotto. In addition to the local dishes that feature anguilla, there are opportunities to explore the Po Delta Park by boat, bike, minibus and on foot. You can discover the districts, canals, and bridges of Comacchio as well.

  Location: Comacchio (ER)

  Timing: Sagra dell’Anguilla runs from late September to mid-October.

• I Primi d’Italia
  I Primi d’Italia focuses on an Italian staple that everyone can get behind: pasta. A bit more commercial and larger in scale than many of the other sagre listed here, this is a gastronomic event. It bring chefs, producers, experts, critics and journalists together in a celebration of pasta. It takes over Foligno — a town in central Umbria not far from Perugia or Assisi — with tasting points, gala dinners and shows. Pasta, tortelli (stuffed pasta famous in central Italy) and rice are the stars in this pastafest. Finally, themed events and markets attract groups of gourmet enthusiasts as well as food professionals and even celebrities.

  Location: Foligno (UM)

  Timing: End of September and into the first days of October.

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• Sagra dei Funghi di Cusano Mutri
  I’m thrilled to recommend a sagre in one of my favorite Italian regions - Campania. The village of Cusano Mutri is located in the hills about 75km northeast of Naples in the Benevento province. It’s a town full of medieval charm with well-preserved buildings and squares that will transport you back in time. The focus of the sagre are the local porcini mushrooms but expect to smell roasted chesnuts and other locally harvested ingredients. Also look for dishes featuring Campania’s famous Caciocavallo cheese. (Imagine porcini on toasted Italian bread drizzled with melted Caciocavallo and you have the idea.) If you want to explore more in the area, consider a visit to nearby Sepino where exist the ruins of an ancient Roman town dating to 300 B.C.

  Location: Cusano Mutri, CM

  Timing: Weekends from mid-September to mid-October annually.

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• Sagra del Cinghiale

  About ten years ago, I was driving down the winding switchback road in Tuscany from Lamole, where my family and I were staying, a brown beast flashed up a very steep banking and bolted across the road. Powerful, with a thick neck and large tusks, it looked like it weighed at least 200 or 300 lbs. We had crossed paths, albeit briefly, with a Tuscan cinghiale (or wild boar.) Beyond its size, our reaction was amazement that something that big could move that quickly. It’s not surprising that it didn’t see us; wild boar have extremely small eyes and poor eyesight but a long, straight, hard snout and an acute sense of smell. That anatomy means it easily digs up nuts and mushrooms from the rich soil that gives it a flavorful meat. Cinghiale has long been a popular dish in central Italy where they are plentiful. Normally that takes the form of a ragu (or sauce) served with wide pasta like pappardelle. But also can be found a la cacciatore or even cured as a cold cut. The festival takes place in large park near the medieval village of Capalbio in the Maremma region of western Tuscany.

  Location: Capalbio (TU)

  Timing: Visit during the second week of September.

  

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• Fiera Internazionale del Tartufo Bianco d'Alba
  To my enduring shame, I have never been this sagre, but rest assured I will remedy this heinous gap in my foodie resume. An international celebration of the white truffles of the Alba region that takes place in historic Alba. There are markets where you can buy truffles directly from the Trifulao (truffle hunters) and other authorized merchants. There are more cultural, food, and musical events than I can list here. Walk, run, crawl, or drag yourself to this one.

  Location: Alba, PE

  Timing: Early-to-mid October until the first week of December.

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A couple of disclaimers:
(1) Make sure to check dates carefully for precise activities and timing. Many of the websites you will find are not written in English. Feel free to reach out to me if you want some help with translation.

(2) This list is far from exhaustive! But from my research, these events demonstrate a good cross-section of the type and variety of food festivals that can be found outside the Italian cities.

Buon appetito tutti!