Tidbits from Tuscany - Insight No. 3

Another thing I learned in Italy: Not all olive oil tastes good.

Yep, you heard me right. In fact, I'll even go so far as to say some of it is downright nasty. And keep in mind that this is coming from an admitted olive oil addict. At home in the states, I buy the stuff by the liter and add it to just about everything I eat -- salads, hummus, pasta, seafood, sauteed veggies, pizza, chicken, dipping sauce for bread and so on. At my last physical, I learned that my LDL (or "good") cholesterol was off the charts high, and my doctor told me that probably had much to do with my extreme penchant for olive oil.

So, you can imagine my surprise when, at the Cantine de Greve (referenced in a previous post), I dunked a fresh piece of bread into a dish of Tuscany's finest, popped the dripping morsel into my mouth...and nearly spat it out on the tasting table. The flavor was awful -- like it had been aged in a corroding lead pipe.

"Must've gotten the dud," I thought, and moved on to the next oil spout. Thinking perhaps the bitter taste in my mouth had something to do with the bread I'd used for dipping, this time I ran my finger through the shiny, golden liquid and licked it in hopeful anticipation. But once again, what I experienced was a tongue-curling, pungent flavor.

After a third unsuccessful tasting, I finally gave up. Maybe my tastebuds were off that day or maybe my palate just isn't sophisticated enough to appreciate authentic Italian olive oil. But either way, it brings me to Tuscan Tidbit No. 3 - All olive oils aren't created equal

Photo Courtesy of rd.com

Tidbits from Tuscany - Insight No. 2

No trip to Italy would be complete without a good dose of wine tasting. And since our home base for the week was a cottage in the heart of Chianti, we challenged ourselves to taste a wide variety of Chianti's best. And I must say we performed pretty well against our goal.

By the end of the week, we had tried everything from a (delicious) carafe of the house wine at our local ristorante, to Il Vino Nobile di Montepulciano and Barone Ricasoli's Chianti Classico.

On our last day, we even made a stop at Le Cantine di Greve, a be old wine cellar with cool stone walls, tile floors and a smorgasbord

of tasting options. We went hog wild hopping from one sample station to the next, sipping reds, whites and vin santo, then dipping tiny

cubes of bread in an array of olive oils.

Anyway, my point is that we consumed our fair share of Chianti during our time in Chianti. And I'm embarrassed to say I very nearly left the region without even knowing what it is that makes a Chianti Classico a Chianti Classico.

Fortunately, a charming Italian man saved me from my ignorance. Giuseppe Mirossi -- better known as Beppe -- is a friendly and accommodating gentleman who runs a car service in Tuscany and was kind enough to drive Granville and me from Castellina to the Pisa airport for our Saturday departure. I can truthfully say I learned just as much from Beppe during our 70-minute commute that day than I had in the previous six combined. I'll try to share all that I learned from him in future posts, but for now, it's back to the topic of Chianti.

As many people know, Beppe said, in order to qualify as Chianti Classico, a wine must be made from at least 80 percent Sangiovese grapes. But what most do not know is that the Sangiovese grape vine is indigenous to Chianti and therefore thrives in the region's soil, which is riddled with stones. These stones, said Beppe, leach minerals that provide nourishment to the grape vines through their roots. Plus, because the stones are very porous, they absorb moisture during the winter months and release it back into the soil during the hot summer months, making for a surprisingly stable environment for the roots all year round.

So, Beppe told us, Sangiovese grapes planted and grown in California, for example, will produce a wine very different from that made with Sangiovese grapes grown in Chianti. And only the latter will ever be considered Chianti Classico. The secret, he said, is in the soil.

Tidbits from Tuscany - Insight No. 1

I just returned to the states after six days in Tuscany with my family. Now, a week in Tuscany may sound idyllic, but, in all honesty, our trip was less reminiscent of "Under the Tuscan Sun" than it was of "Dumb and Dumber."

For example, within two hours of our arrival in Italy, we had driven in circles for 30 minutes in search of the leaning tower of Pisa, barrelled down a one-way street headed the wrong direction, and virtually burned through the clutch of our rental Peugeot. When we finally screeched into a sliver of a parking place in the center of town, we rolled out of the car feeling like a cluster of baby birds newly ejected from the nest. We squinted in the sunlight, gave our ruffled feathers a good shake and wobbled off to see the Leaning Tower.












Well, apparently our brains were as muddled as a baby bird's too. Either that or we had somehow left our good sense behind in the states, because not one of us second guessed the fact that we were leaving a car full of luggage parked on the street in a city known for its high incidence of theft.

So of course when we returned to the Peugeot an hour later, we found the front passenger window shattered into a million tiny pieces. And, sure enough, virtually everything of value was gone: laptop, iPod, Kindle, Blackberry, sunglasses and cash. The lucky bandit might as well have graffitied Dumb American F--ks on the side of our car... because we sure felt like them.









Granville realizing that with his iPod and laptop, the Italian thief had made of with thousands of dollars worth of iTunes.

A slew of four-letter words and several phone calls later, we made our way to Pisa's Carabinieri, or police station, to report the crime. And I know you'll be shocked to learn that the officer on duty could not have cared less. After making us wait a while in the designated waiting room -- for no apparent reason, as we were the only ones there --he had us to fill out two identical copies of a claim form (I guess a Xerox machine would be far too indulgent for the Pisan police station) and sent us on our way.









Granville and Rob contemplating the Italian justice system at Pisa's Carabinieri

So we proceeded back to the rental car office and traded in our battered Peugeot for a trusty Volkswagon. "I guess that's why they require you to buy rental car insurance," said my dad in a moment of brilliant hindsight.

Fortunately, the trip was all up hill from there. But I don't think any of us will forgive ourselves for that initial display of stupidity any time soon.


Tuscan Tidbit No. 1 - Don't forget to pack your street smarts