During the fall, around the time of the harvest, the hills are wondrous.  A deep, rust-brown color dominates.  Not necessarily a beautiful color on its own, but seen side by side with a rainbow of harvest hues and in contract to the still green of the trees, the blackish brown of the earth and the clear blue of the sky, it seems to be the very best of autumn colors.

My time in Piemonte for the most part has been accompanied by a haunting mist – somehow appropriate since the great grape of the region, the nebbiolo, comes from the Italian word, nebbia, meaning fog.  I remember one trip especially where the fog cut the mountains in half horizontally permitting only their majestic peaks to glisten in the sun while the villages and valleys below lay encased in a dense blanket of heavy dew.  “Mystical” is the word that comes to mind.

Enjoying a meal with Luigi and Pucci Lazzaroni in an intimate Piemontese restaurant

I returned to Piemonte often over the years – initially with Paolo and sometimes with Wanda exploring the charming towns and villages of its varied landscape.  Some of the best meals I have ever eaten were enjoyed in this region’s completely out-of-the-way small, family-run restaurants.  Menus were so enticing we often felt as if we had stumbled upon some secret stash of local ingredients waiting to be prepared just for us – plump porcini mushrooms, aromatic white truffles or local artisan cheeses oozing with flavor and character.  Most often the menus were not on paper but recited verbally by the proprietor.  And always we enjoyed wines of the region – not just those from the Nebbiolo grape which included world renowned Barolo, Barbaresco and Gattinara but food-friendly Barbera, soft fruity Dolcetto and two of the region’s most famous whites fragrant Gavi and crisp floral Arneis.

One of Wanda’s favorite dishes came from a simple trattoria in the Monferrato area near her hometown.  The chef was kind enough to share his recipe with us.  Rabaton, a delicious dumpling-like spinach and cheese combination was served in his restaurant as a first course.  I also like to serve it as a side dish accompanied with a simple grilled veal chop or a pork roast.

rob warner photography 2012

Rabaton

Piemontese Spinach and Cheese Dumplings

Makes approximately 38 dumplings

Serves 6 – 8

1-pound package frozen chopped spinach, thawed, gently squeezed of moisture

1 1/3 cups breadcrumbs

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons fresh ricotta cheese

½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

4 eggs

2 garlic cloves, finely minced

½ teaspoon salt

1/3 cup all purpose flour

6 cups chicken stock

½ cup (1 stick) butter, melted

2 tablespoons fresh sage, chopped

Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

In a medium-size bowl, mix the spinach and breadcrumbs together.  Add the ricotta and Parmesan cheeses, egg, garlic and salt.  Mixture should be firm.  Form into sausages approximately ½ by 2 inches.

Preheat oven to 350-degrees.

Bring stock to a rapid boil in large saucepan. Reduce to a simmer.

Roll the sausages in flour, shaking off excess.  Carefully add dumplings to stock in 3 batches and cook until they float to the top, about 2 minutes.  Transfer to a large baking dish using a slotted spoon.  (Dumplings can be prepared ahead to this point and set aside at room temperature)

Pour melted butter over dumplings.  Sprinkle with sage.  Bake in a 350-degree oven until heated through, about 10 minutes.  Transfer to individual plates, sprinkle with grated Parmesan cheese and serve immediately.

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There is a unique spirit in this region – a spirit of individualism and pride.  The Piemontese people are solid and reserved, steadfast and reliable – the Midwesterners of Italy. After Convito became known for its outstanding Italian wine selection, I was frequently invited to visit the region’s winemakers.  I especially loved coming here with members of the Convito staff.  It was always a privilege to meet the faces behind the labels and to see how and where the wines were actually made.

A winery I visited multiple times was Vietti based in the small medieval village of Castiglione Falletto in the heart of Piemonte’s famous “Langhe”.  To me the Currado family, owners of Vietti now in their fourth generation of winemaking, embody the true spirit of this region.  I can still picture the late Alfredo Currado out in one of his vineyards tending the harvest – sleeves rolled up, dark heavy eyebrows knit in deep concentration probably planning his next cru experiment or thinking of new ways to promote his beloved region’s amazing wines.

Visiting the late Alfredo Currado, “the spirit of Piemonte”, at the Vietti vineyards

While Alfredo labored in the vineyards, I enjoyed many a delicious lunch with his lovely wife Luciana who traces her family’s wine roots back to the mid-1800’s.  The Currados are not only known for their outstanding wines and inventive winemaking but also for their warm and generous hospitality.  Luciana was as proud of Piemonte’s special dishes as her husband was proud of its wines.

Another winemaker I visited several times, especially later in Convito’s history, was Angelo Gaja often described as “the undisputed king of Barbaresco” and whose wine is considered a status symbol on a par with Chateau Lafite-Rothchild.  He was one of the first winemakers to visit Convito.  Our wine director at the time referred to Gaja as “The Italian Rock Star”.    He did look like a rock star, always impeccably dressed often in Missoni with the commanding presence of a revolutionary – which in the wine industry, he certainly was.

“Rock Star” Angelo Gaja and me in his tasting room in Barbaresco

When Convito first opened its doors, a bottle of Gaja Barbaresco was still affordable.  I purchased many a bottle for my cellar.  Years later while hosting a Piemontese dinner for Convito managers, I decided to open a 1978 Sori Tilden single vineyard Barbaresco. The price tag of $19.99 was still on the bottle. One of the managers present was Al Cirillo, Convito’s current wine director, professor at Northwestern and Italian wine expert.  After pouring a glass for each guest, I raised my glass in a toast to Piemonte while explaining Angela Gaja’s contributions to the wine world.

Wine Director Al Cirillo & Manager Reysa Samuels at one of my regional dinners

As we all took our first sip, I casually asked Al what the price of this wine would be in today’s market.  After all we were retailers and interested in that kind of thing.  “About $1,000.”  he answered.  There was an audible gasp around the table.  The wine was unabashedly delicious, modern in style and as we just learned, breathtakingly expensive. It certainly was a flamboyant and intense ending to our meal reminiscent of the winemaker himself.

The dessert I prepared was Barolo Poached Pears based on a dish I had with Angelo Gaja in a charming castle-like hilltop restaurant just outside of Barbaresco.  The poached pears can be prepared ahead of time, then filled with the mascarpone and finally garnished with the pecans and sauce at serving time.  I have made this elegant dessert with other full-bodied red wines less expensive than Barolo.  I usually selfishly save the Barolo for drinking.

rob warner photography 2012

Barolo Poached Pears

Serves 6

6 Bosc pears with stems

2 cups full-bodied red wine

2 tablespoons lemon juice

Grated rind (colored part only) of 1 lemon

1 cup granulated sugar

1 stick cinnamon

1 vanilla bean, split

1-cup mascarpone

¼ cup pecans, chopped, toasted

Peel the pears without removing the stems.  Combine the wine, lemon juice, lemon rind, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla bean in a saucepan large enough to hold the pears comfortable.  Add the pears and just enough water to cover the pears.  Heat the mixture to a boil; reduce heat and simmer very slowly until the pears are just tender, 10 to 20 minutes.

Remove the pears to a plate and cool completely.  Rapidly boil down liquid until it is reduced to 1 cup; strain.

To assemble, slice each pear in half vertically and scoop out seeds, leaving a small circular hole.  With a spoon, fill each half with mascarpone.  On each serving plate, pour some of the reduced wine sauce to form a pool in the middle of the plate.  Place two pears halves on each plate.  Sprinkle the mascarpone with pecans.  Drizzle the remaining red-wine sauce over the pears.

Those experiences in Piemonte were truly life changing.  The food, the people and in particular, the wine burrowed deep inside me and left me obsessed with learning as much as possible about the region and its wines.  I decided that if I was to become a real wine expert, the absolute only place to begin was with the grapes of Piemonte.

Upon my return from Italy, each night at my kitchen table I would pour three glasses of wine made from nebbiolo grapes – Barolo, Barbaresco, Gattinara, Nebbiolo d’Alba or even Ghemme.  Mastering appearance was easy, but aroma was more complicated.  The variations were incredibly subtle to a neophyte, but after sticking my nose into glass after glass of wine and inhaling deeply, I was able to identify and actually name some complex components.  In mouth sensations (certainly I had them) and finish (aftertaste) were even more challenging and in the end I simply never got the hang of swirling wine around in my mouth and spitting it out.  I like to think I was never able to make peace with tasting these incredible wines and then having to spit them into a wine bucket, but if I’m more honest with myself I just don’t think I had the palate.  Instead I decided that I would continue to learn about and enjoy wine, but would leave the serious “swirling” and “smelling” to the wine aficionados.

My first serious foray into learning about wine remains a fond memory.  The nebbiolo was my first – and as with all firsts; first crush, first kiss – it occupies a special place in my heart.  As it does in Convito’s wine department.

Paolo’s mother, Wanda, arranged a meeting with a winemaker friend of hers in Ovada, a village in the Monferrato area of Piemonte about an hour and a half from Milan.

Mother and son picked me up at my hotel just after lunch.  Anxiously anticipating our first official business meeting as well as my introduction to Wanda, I spent a good portion of the morning obsessing over how to dress for the occasion. Stylish but not outrageously trendy, maybe a bit on the conservative side I thought.  Italian women were known for their impeccable fashion sense so I wanted to hit the right note.  I finally decided upon a chic yet subtle camel and burgundy silk print dress, the right blend of traditional and chic.

They arrived on time, the embodiment of Italian sophistication. Wanda sat in the back seat of Paolo’s Fiat clad in a classic navy blue suit and pewter silk blouse looking more like Paolo’s sister than his mother.  As usual the details of where we were going and what we were doing were not at all clear. Paolo’s plans were almost always shrouded in mystery.  Locking in specifics, I suspected, stripped him of a certain kind of power.  I grew to anticipate Paolo’s vague and ever-changing agendas but never warmed to them.

Wanda shared her son’s intensity but hers was more of the kinetic variety.  She spoke no English and I no Italian but to Wanda that fact was insignificant.  Language never got in her way.  Over the years I was constantly astounded by her ability to communicate with people who didn’t understand a word she said.  Hand gestures, facial expressions and a big warm smile won over everyone she met and immediately erased any language barrier. All the way to Ovada Wanda asked me a series of rapid-fire questions.   Some Paolo translated, some he didn’t. By the time we arrived it was clear that Wanda was genuinely enthusiastic about the possibilities of this new venture and most curious about the woman who might make it happen.

Our drive was surreal.  I was sitting in the middle of an Italian opera with two people I barely knew speaking a language I couldn’t understand and doing so with a bravado and fervor that was in enormous contrast to what I had grown accustomed to in the English countryside where I had been living for the past three years.  Proper and conservative, England was anything but this.

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The daughter of a Midwestern High School principal, I am a practical, tie-up-the-loose-ends, planning kind of person – much more English in nature than southern European.  But I was strangely exhilarated about the prospect of a completely new project in my life – something challenging and wildly unfamiliar.  I was not interested in going back to teaching history and English nor did I want to be chairwoman of anything.  I was volunteered out.  My children were growing up and needed me less and less.  It was time to change direction.

the harvest

A few hours later, my head ringing with Italian conversations that were still mostly a mystery to me, we arrived at a winery tucked into the hillside of Italy’s legendary Piemonte region. Though surrounded by vineyards in every direction, the winery itself was very small. Alberto, the owner, ushered us into the dining room where he, Paolo and Wanda spoke for about an hour occasionally attempting to include me.  I was clueless. Paolo’s earlier advice – to present myself as a tough and serious American businesswoman – remained clear in my mind.  “Look stern,” he said.

After a brief tour of the winery and a walk through one of the vineyards where workers were in the first stages of their grape harvest, we adjourned to a local restaurant for an early dinner.  Following Alberto through Monferrato’s winding vine-clad hills, we arrived at a quaint little inn tucked into the side of the road.  On our way, Paolo took me aside for what I assumed would be a quick update on what I had missed back at the winery and perhaps even a little advance word on what to expect at dinner.  Instead he suggested I needed to lighten up.  Apparently what I imagined to be my best American businesswoman’s’ “stern expression” was coming off as more “bitchy” than serious.

I took his advice, relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the evening, tasting many outstanding Piemontese wines and attempting to participate in the conversation.  After the second glass of wine, I was certain I understood more of what was being said and each attempt I made at using an Italian word was met with genuine enthusiasm and raised glasses. Italians are so appreciative of anyone who at least tries to speak their language that even my rudimentary vocabulary was a reason for celebration.

Alberto insisted we begin our meal with Bagna Cauda, a classic Piemonte dish meaning “hot bath”.   Made with olive oil, garlic and anchovies, it is a glorious dipping sauce.  The waiter delivered this robust combination of ingredients in a rustic ceramic pot and placed it over a small candle in the middle of the table.  Small baskets filled with a lovely assortment of seasonal raw vegetables came next.   Much in the fashion of fondue, we began dipping slices of the vegetables into the sauce.  Not only was it delicious but the ceremony and communal nature of the dish set a happy tone for the evening.

rob warner photography 2011

Inspired by Bagna Cauda, I developed a first course dish combining it with another Piemonte favorite – roasted red peppers. In addition to being a delicious first course, it makes an excellent side dish with grilled sausage

Peppers Piemonte

Roasted Red & Yellow Peppers with Anchovy Sauce

Serves 8

2 pounds red bell peppers

2 pounds yellow bell peppers

Eight ½ inch crosswise slices French baguette or Italian bread

¼ cup olive oil plus additional for serving, divided

One 14.5-ounce can Italian plum tomatoes, drained & roughly chopped

4 fresh basil leaves, coarsely chopped

½ teaspoon salt

Freshly ground black pepper

6 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 cloves garlic, finely minced

6 anchovy fillets, rinsed, patted dry, and finely chopped

2 tablespoons capers, drained and rinsed

1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley

Preheat the broiler.  Place the peppers on the broiler pan.  Broil the peppers 2 – 3 inches from the heat.  Turn the peppers with tongs until they are completely blackened on all sides.  Using tongs, transfer the peppers to a plastic bag and seal it well.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees for bread toasting.  Let the peppers steam in the bag for approximately 10 minutes, then remove them and peel off the skin.  Cut the peppers in half and remove the stems, seeds and membranes.  Cut lengthwise into strips ½ inch wide.  Reserve.

Arrange the baguette slices on a baking sheet.  Toast the bread until the slices turn light brown, about 5 minutes.  Turn the slices over and briefly toast the other side, about 5 minutes.  Remove from the oven and reserve.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a small saucepan over medium-high heat.  Add the tomatoes, basil, salt and pepper.  Simmer over medium-low heat for about 20 minutes.  Put through a food mill or puree in a blender or food processor.  Reserve.

In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the butter with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil.  Add the garlic and sauté for 1 minute.  Remove the pan from the heat and add the anchovies.  Stir well with a wooden spoon.  Return the pan to low heat and continue cooking, stirring until the anchovies have dissolved into a paste, 1 to 2 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Set out 8 small (6 ounce) ramekins or small gratin dishes.  Place 1 toasted bread slice in the center of each.  Spread 1 tablespoon of the tomato sauce on each of the slices.  Cover with the pepper strips, alternating red and yellow, ending by wrapping the strips around the outside of the slice.  Cover each with another tablespoon of the tomato sauce.  Top this with 1 tablespoon of the anchovy mixture.  Sprinkle each with capers.  Bake until heated through, about 20 minutes.  Remove from the oven.  Top with the parsley, drizzle with a bit of olive oil, and serve immediately.

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As we savored our Bagna Cauda I learned it was early in the truffle season in Piemonte (even a primitive Italian speaker is well-served by familiarity with tartufi, Italian for truffle). Paolo ordered risotto for our next course with what we were told was the first of the truffles coming from the nearby town of Alba, the white truffle center of Italy.  The waiter came to the table with what looked to be an ancient cheese grater in one hand and a round, warty irregular shaped truffle in the other.  He began shaving the truffle over my risotto, the finely curved shavings piling up on the rice. The powerful, earthy pungent odor was like nothing I had ever smelled before.  Mesmerized, our waiters knuckles getting closer and closer to the blade, I let him continue shaving away learning only later that each “shave” dramatically escalated the price of the risotto.  Again I had betrayed my newness to Italian regional culture, but this time at least the error turned out to be a delicious – if expensive – one.

Alba madonna (AKA white truffles)

White Truffle Risotto

Serves 4 – 6

If you are lucky enough to come across a real white truffle usually found in the late fall in an upscale market in an urban area like New York City, make the below recipe without the truffle oil.  But for those of us who are not likely to find them, truffle oil is the next best thing – expensive but not nearly as expensive as the real thing.

The best-known and most popular variety of Italian rice used for risotto is Arborio rice.  Arborio’s uniform pearly kernels hold their shape, and their high starch content creates a delectable creamy consistency.  Some chefs say the creamiest risotto is achieved when using another Italian rice variety, carnaroli.  The starch content of this grain is even higher, and the end result is a luscious, plump risotto.

Because of its last minute preparation, risotto can be a difficult dish to serve.  However, making a good risotto requires more attention than concentration.  My solution is to prepare this dish for good friends who will enjoy sharing a glass of wine and some simple antipasti with the cook while she tends to the ceremonial stirring of the risotto.

5 cups chicken broth

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons olive oil

3 tablespoons finely chopped onion

1-½ cups arborio or carnaroli rice

½ cup dry white wine

1-tablespoon white truffle oil

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

salt & freshly grated pepper to taste

In a saucepan bring the chicken broth to a steady simmer.

Melt the butter with the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over low heat.  Add the onion and cook until soft.  Add the rice and cook for approximately 2 – 3 minutes stirring constantly.  Add the white wine.  Stir into the rice until incorporated.   Add ½ cup of the simmering broth.  After the rice has absorbed the broth, continue adding the broth, 1’2 cup at a time.  Continue stirring over medium heat, making certain the rice is not sticking to the bottom of the pan and being careful not to add too much broth at one time.  Continue adding the broth.  The rice is finished when it is firm but tender.  This process will take approximately 20 to 25 minutes.  If you run out of broth, use water.  Remove from the heat.  Stir in the white truffle oil and the Parmesan cheese, salt & pepper.  Serve in individual bowls.

If using a REAL white truffle, use approximately 2 ounces for the 6 servings.  Shave over each individual portion of risotto.

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Over dinner what had been offhanded conversations about Chicago’s lack of Italian gastronomy and wine gave way to more concrete discussions of the real possibilities of importing Italian wines.  We might even include unique specialty items like the grolla pot.  Paolo suggested publishing a regional newsletter describing wines and foods of the area with accompanying recipes (what would eventually become Convito’s original Capitolos). He also wanted somehow to integrate Wanda’s legendary cooking skills into our business plan.  We came up with the concept of a club where each member would receive a regional publication and at least three wines from the particular region we were describing.  Still in the “pie-in-the sky” stage of our partnership, we were only just beginning to define our concept.

the first of nine "capitolos"

The sun slipped behind the Piemontese hills long before we left the restaurant. Without the residual glow of city lights, the country darkness was deep and complete.  We carefully picked our way to the car, said our goodbyes to our host Alberto and began the drive back to Milan.  Silence prevailed this time, each of us tired from a productive but intense evening.

After this first visit to Piemonte, I left sated by the region’s food, enraptured by its wine and energized by our dreams, but without a strong sense of the region’s underlying character. I had so much to learn – what was the proper behavior for an American businesswoman, how many shaves of a truffle was one short of too many – and of course, there was the language.

I would return to this region frequently with Paolo as my partner and long after with Convito staff, friends and family.  I would come to know it well and consider it one of my favorite regions.  I was comfortable here.  It felt familiar.  I felt at home.

photo by robert warner 2011

It was bitter cold when Paolo Volpara picked my husband and I up at the Milan airport to begin our late evening journey to Valle D’Aosta.  Prior to this my Italian travels had been confined to its big cities.   This was my first “regional” experience – the beginning of an Italian odyssey that would last some 30 years.

Several hours of highway driving later we stopped at a cozy lodge just south of Aosta, the region’s capital.  It was time for a nightcap so Paolo ordered Valdostana coffee, a delicious blend of coffee and liqueur.   Traditionally served in a rustic, gnarly vessel, these friendship pots, called grolla, are iconic symbols of the region. Hand carved from one block of wood then cured for two days submerged in butter, they contain anywhere from 2 to 24 spouts depending on the size of the wood block.

Caffe alla Valdostana recipes differ but all agree that espresso and grappa (in varying proportions) are two key ingredients.  This version included sugar and a small amount of Aurum, a liqueur made from rum, tea and tangerines.  Other recipes call for Fernet or Genepy, both herbal, medicinal-tasting liqueurs.  Whatever the concoction, the mixture is heated before pouring it into the grolla.  The alcohol is flambéed- usually at the table – and after a minute or two the lid is placed on top to extinguish the flame.

Our particular grolla had four spouts.  Paolo took the first drink then passed it to me.  I love coffee but being caffeine sensitive, I rarely drink any after my morning two-cup allotment.  Even decaf.   But this was an exception.  A complete pushover for ritual, I fell in love with the region at first sip.  The sugar and tangerine liqueur rounded out the deep, complicated taste of the espresso and completely masked the grappa, which to me has a harsh jet-fuel kind of bite– even the refined versions.  It is definitely an acquired taste- one that I have never acquired.  However, up to this point, I had not been introduced to grappa and knew nothing of its power.

I was not only enjoying this harmonious custom but the coffee drink itself.  Valley tradition dictates that those who drink from the same grolla will be forever united in eternal friendship.  There were also rules.  Very specific ones decreeing that the grolla not be placed back on the table until totally empty and that it be passed in a clockwise circle.  The first rule we followed.  The second, to my eventual demise, we didn’t.

My husband took the next sip.  Rather than passing the grolla to Paolo completing our small circle, he passed it back to me -Paolo, Nancy, Bob, Nancy, Paolo, Nancy- until the last drop.  Because we unconsciously revised rule number two, I consumed twice as much as my two “friendship” partners.

The caffeine seemed to balance the effect of the alcohol at least in the beginning of the evening.  I was having a fantastic time with minimal side effects.  Or so I thought until I went to bed.  The pounding of my heart from the caffeine competed with the pounding in my head from the liquor.  Nothing seemed to prevent the moon-washed walls of my room from spinning wildly out of control.  Sounds of the night, which included a snoozing husband, only added to the already intense jam session going on in my head.  Even a stint sitting on the cold tiled bathroom floor didn’t help.

I am a headache person.  I have been a headache person from the time I was a teenager. I get headaches even without introducing liquor into the equation.   Alcohol quite easily takes its toll on me so I most definitely think twice before I have a third glass of wine.  Often two is too many.  Because I am cautious, I rarely have a hangover.   But when I do, taking two aspirin and feeling fine in two hours doesn’t work for me.

As soon as dawn approached, I quietly slipped out of the room in search of a good espresso. Reluctant as I was to have another “coffee-go-round”, caffeine usually takes the edge off and I was determined I would not let anything affect my weekend.

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Surrounded by high mountains, Monte Bianco, the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa to the north and the Gran Paradiso to the south, Valle d’Aosta’s landscape is one of breathtaking proportions.  The quiet serenity of its luscious, secluded green valleys and rippling streams contrasts greatly with the majestic, rugged mountain peaks present from every view.   I was reminded of the fairytale picture books of my childhood where princesses skipped beside bubbling brooks while beautiful black and white smiling cows grazed in rich, green pastures peacefully surrounded by snow capped grayish blue mountains

Nancy near Monte Bianco

To the French this area appears very Italian.  To the Italians it appears French.  And to some it looks Swiss.  There is a strong Swiss influence especially in the Swiss-style architecture of the chalets dotted across the mountaintops, but for the most part the people remain tied to the French language and customs yet maintain an Italian style all their own.   It is a bi-lingual region.  Street signs are French and Italian and almost all place names and local surnames are French in origin.

The cooking of Valle d’Aosta is typical mountain cooking – rustic and somewhat heavy featuring many a strongly flavored dish.  But because there are numerous popular ski resorts in Valle d’Aosta, which draw from all over Europe, it has also developed a unique cuisine often using the area’s ancient recipes but giving them an international flair.

There are three basic elements to the region’s cooking.  One is its use of country style dark bread made from hard wheat flour.   Another is its outstanding Fontina Valle d’Aosta cheese.   Fontina takes it name from Mount Fontin near Aosta.  It has a nutty flavor and a smooth texture excellent for both cooking and eating.   It is the main ingredient in the regions version of fondue, called fonduta.  Although there are many Fontina pretenders, the real Fontina Valle d’Aosta is the best – considered one of the world’s great cheeses.

The third element is the ever-present stockpot filled with broth, simmering on the stove ready to be used as the base of the region’s many soups.  Valle d’Aosta soups are most often very thick, more recognizable as stews.

We had lunch in a small intimate wood paneled restaurant in Aosta sitting near a toasty warm wood-burning fireplace.  There was no menu but the waiter informed us of the day’s special – a vegetable soup, which he maintained, was a meal in itself.  We ordered a plate of speck (a smoked cured ham) and a bottle of Donnaz; one of the region’s red wines and anticipated our main dish – its rich and savory fragrance permeating the restaurant.  The waiter was correct.  It was indeed hearty and contained all the main ingredients of the region – dark bread, Fontina cheese and ample vegetables.

Whenever I make this dish – usually on a wintry Sunday – it conjures up images of the mountains and valleys of Valle d’Aosta.

photo by robert warner 2011

Zuppa Valdostana

Serves 6

2 tablespoon butter

2 ounces pancetta (1/3 cup) diced

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon fresh thyme

2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil

3 cups onion, peeled, sliced in half then thinly sliced into half moon slices

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon fresh ground pepper

1 cup diced tomatoes

7 cups beef broth

2 cups diced carrots (1/4 inch dice)

2 cups cubed zucchini (1/4 inch dice)

1 ½ cups diced potatoes (1/4 inch dice)

6 slices dark rye bread (1/2 inch slice) toasted

6 ounces Fontina cheese sliced into 6 slices

1/3 cup fresh grated Parmesan cheese

Melt the butter in a soup pot.  Add the pancetta and sauté over medium-high for 2 minutes until pancetta is browned.  Turn the heat to medium-low, add the bay leaf, thyme and basil and stir into the mixture.  Add the onions and wilt, covered for approximately 10 minutes stirring occasionally.   Uncover and cook for another 10 minutes caramelizing the onions somewhat.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Add the tomatoes and carrots and raise the heat to medium.  Add the broth. and simmer uncovered for about 15 minutes.  Add the zucchini and potatoes and simmer for another 10 minutes.

Pre-heat the broiler or the oven to 250 degrees.  Divide the soup among 6 ovenproof bowls.  Top each with a slice of toasted dark rye, and a slice of Fontina cheese and 1 tablespoon of grated Parmesan cheese.  Place under the broiler until the cheese melts, or bake until the cheese has melted and the soup is bubbly.

Serve immediately

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Paolo & Nancy with terraced vineyards

Land is used to its fullest in this mostly mountainous region. Vineyards crawl up the lower slopes in terraced rows of twisting vines.  Not much of the minimal production makes it outside the area so we wanted to make sure we tasted as many local wines as possible during our limited stay.   In the summer cows graze on steep-sided rich green pastures producing excellent milk and other high-energy-yielding food products including butter and a whole assortment of sweet and savory cheeses. The mountains – especially the upper reaches – house many wild and rare animals some who meet their demise when coming face to face with the skilled hunters of Valle d’Aosta.  Occasionally a wild boar stew or an ibex cooked in Barolo can be found on a restaurant menu but for the most part, these dishes are exclusive to home cooking and enjoyed by the hunter, his family and friends.

Lettuce is grown just below the snow line, thus its name “snow lettuce”.  And potatoes are a popular staple, unlike in other parts of Italy where potatoes are no more than an afterthought.  Delicious honey and great chestnuts are also produced here.

We chose to stay in the valley the next day for a relaxed afternoon exploring the small towns surrounding Aosta.  We drove along the riverbanks and vineyards where the soil is a mixture of sand and clay.  It was warm for this time of year so we decided to buy a few local products and picnic near a crisp bubbling stream just at the base of the one the vineyards.   Dark bread, two cheeses – a Fontina with white truffles and a Toma – a delicate, creamy and somewhat salty cheese – plus several local salamis and a bottle of local Pinot Gris were all the ingredients needed for a perfect winter repast.

Our last day was spent in Courmayeur one of the most popular ski resorts in Europe.  This 200-year-old Mecca is nestled at the base of Monte Bianco stunningly situated in the middle of a dozen other peaks.  We enjoyed Sunday lunch at Maison de Filippo sitting outside in a courtyard patio surrounded by snow-covered grey stonewalls.  In spite of the season, we were quite cozy in our light winter jackets.  Maison de Filippo, filled with antiques and other interesting artifacts, is a colorful tavern combining rustic chic with sophisticated elegance.  Paolo said it is almost always packed with skiers, locals and people like us who were willing to make the journey for the food, the scenery and the beautiful people watching.

After the hearty dishes I enjoyed in the valley I was hoping for something light.  Country-style regional dishes dominated the menu so I asked the waiter if he could recommend something less robust.  He suggested trout cooked in a light wine sauce with toasted almonds.  It was so beautiful and fresh it tasted as if it had just jumped from one of the area’s numerous fresh mountain streams onto my plate.  It was accompanied with succulent brussels sprouts sautéed with speck and onions.

photo by robert warner 2011

Brussels Sprouts with Speck & Onions

Serves 4 – 6

1 pound brussels sprouts

¼ pound speck or prosciutto, cut into matchsticks about 1 inch long x ¼ inch wide

1 medium-sized onion, cut in half then sliced in thin half-moon slices

4 tablespoons olive oil

3 tablespoons butter

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

Remove any ragged or old looking leaves.  Steam the brussels sprouts for 3 minutes or until tender.  Place the sprouts in a bowl of ice water to keep their bright green color.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and 1 of the butter in a medium skillet over medium heat.  Add the speck matchsticks and brown adjusting the flame to high if needed.  Brown the speck until crispy approximately 5 – 8 minutes.  Remove and set aside.

Add 1 more tablespoon of the oil to the skillet.  Add the onions, turn heat to medium and cook until onions turn a rich, brown color approximately 15 minutes.  Stir occasionally making sure onions are not burning.

When the onions are caramelized, drain the Brussels sprouts and cut them in half.  Add 2 more tablespoons of the butter to the pan.  Melt the butter over medium heat; add the brussels sprouts and the crispy speck. And stir all together.  Increase the heat from medium to high and cook for several minutes.  Add a pinch of nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste.  Do not overcook.  Overcooked brussels sprouts turn bitter.

Serve immediately

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Nancy & Paolo opt for an espresso instead of another Caffe alla Valdostana

Even though Courmayeur hosts a very international crowd, its customs and traditions reflect those of the region.  Just as in the valley, gnarly grolla pots promising eternal friendship were in evidence throughout the tavern.  Anticipating our long drive down the mountain, Paolo skipped the fortified coffee and concluded his meal with a cup of plain old regular espresso. A throbbing headache still too recent in my memory, I happily followed his lead.  But the idea of the grolla pot and Valle d’Aosta’s signature coffee lingered.   Surely, I thought, if these restaurant patrons, a variety of nationalities, types and ages, were enamored of this ritual  – or at least appeared to be – my future clientele (the residents of Chicago’s northern suburbs) would be equally enthralled.

Before leaving the village I purchased two pots from a local craftsman.   Months later Paolo would arrange with that same craftsman to ship a large quantity of grolla to Convito.

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Still months away from opening my market, I returned home to finalize plans.  During one of Paolo’s visits to Chicago, my good friend Sheila organized a dinner party in his honor.   I decided this would be the perfect “grolla-pot-moment” – a lovely way for me to contribute to the meal as well as to share my newly discovered Valle d’Aosta custom.   We arrived at the party with grolla and coffee ingredients prepared to test the waters.

Near the end of the meal, Paolo withdrew to the kitchen to prepare the coffee.  Tall and handsome, Paolo is an imposing figure.  Like many Italians he is very adept at storytelling – gestures and all.  He arrived back at the table with flaming grolla in hand relating the story of Valdostana coffee.  Completely charmed, everyone enthusiastically agreed to participate in what Paolo described as the “path to eternal friendship”.

There was some reluctance to drink from the same pot – especially the same spout – but that hesitance quickly disappeared after the ceremony began.  (I am not sure that reluctance would disappear in today’s world).  The grolla is not the most efficient of drinking vessels since it is carved from a thick block of wood making it difficult to determine the temperature of the coffee inside, so frequently participants burned their lips and tongues on first sip.   Nor is it leak proof.   By the time the last drop was drunk, Sheila’s beautiful lace tablecloth was spotted with dark brown sticky stains.   Grolla calamities also extended to the kitchen.  Later I learned that the stove and countertops were saturated with espresso and liquor and granules of sugar covered the floor in front of the stove.

The question of whether suburban Chicagoans would actually purchase a grolla pot and conduct this ceremony in their own homes – a potentially messy one – was not answered that evening. Nor was I convinced that the hilarious conclusion to our meal had anything whatsoever to do with the true meaning of this Valle d’Aosta tradition.

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A large shipping crate arrived at Convito just in time for the holidays.  I unpacked each pot, tucked a coffee recipe inside, and arranged them next to an assortment of beautifully packaged panettone, Milan’s famous Christmas bread.  The holidays came and went.   So did the panettone.  But the grolla pots remained; their little wooden crevices and spouts eventually collecting dust. A few were purchased I think.  And a few I gave away.

But as I began writing about my regional Italian experiences, seeing and touching an actual grolla pot – so much a part of my Valle d’Aosta weekend – became an obsession. Where were the unsold grolla?  I sorted through box after box of discarded memories.  Nothing.  Finally concluding that mine (I must have kept at least one) had been misplaced or lost during the many moves of a messy divorce, I turned my attention to friends and relatives who might possibly have tucked one away in a basement or closet.  Several phone calls later I located two – one functioning as a planter in my friend Sheila’s kitchen  (ironically the very room of the “Chicago-grolla-experiment”) and the other in a dark corner of my sister Karen’s attic.

All the customs, traditions and rituals I observed or participated in during my years of total Italian immersion are too numerous to count.  But the ritual in Aosta was my first.   Thirty years later, I can still feel the magic.  It brings me back to beginnings.  To uncluttered enthusiasm.  To possibilities.   I was on the precipice of learning about a country I so came to love absorbing the kinds of tastes, sights and culture that would inject a kind of authenticity into the Italian business Paolo and I would soon launch.

Selling grolla pots was not a Convito success story. Totally suited for the mountains and valleys of Valle d’Aosta this ancient grolla ceremony would never have translated to the suburbs of Chicago. That fact became abundantly clear.  But some thirty years later the grolla custom I participated in that giddy night in Aosta, the deep and complicated taste of the coffee, even my throbbing headache marks a beginning for me.  It was the beginning of an adventure that carried me to the four corners of Italy and every region in-between.  It was also the beginning of another kind of journey – a personal one that opened up possibilities I never considered or knew existed.  It was a heady time for a girl brought up in the fifties.

Caffe alla Valdostana

6 cups of espresso

½ cup grappa (can substitute vodka)

½ cup Aurum (can substitute Grand Marnier)

¼ cup fernet (a type of amara, a bitter aromatic spirit)

1 orange peel strip

1 lemon peel strip

6 teaspoons sugar

Prepare the coffee.  Pour it into a medium saucepan.  Add the liquor, orange & lemon peel and sugar.  Heat the mixture.  When mixture is about to boil, flame it.  Pour into individual coffee cups and serve.

Or if for some reason you have a grolla pot in your cupboard, pour the coffee mixture into the grolla pot, then flame it, replace the lid to extinguish the flame and begin the ritual.

Note about grolla pots:  purists never wash their grolla pots – just rub them clean with a damp cloth.

The grolla is arguable the strongest visual image of Valle d’Aosta.  Its origins are a mixture of religious and communal traditions.

Nancy and Paolo near Monte Bianco

Convito Italiano's first space before construction 1980

My name is Nancy Brussat and I am the owner of an Italian café and market in Wilmette, Illinois, a suburb on the north side of Chicago.  The original Convito Italiano was opened in 1980.  It included a deli, bakery, prepared foods, groceries and wine.  Today it is renamed Convito Café & Market and has expanded to include an 80 seat restaurant.

In preparation for launching my business I wanted to learn as much as possible about the food, the wine and the culture of this country I so came to love. I had the good fortune to have extraordinary teachers, Milanese residents and future partners Paolo Volpara and his mother Wanda Bottino.  During my frequent travels from 1979 to 1986 I was able to cook with Wanda in her small Milanese kitchen during the week then travel to different regions with Paolo on the weekends. I continue visiting Italy to this day but this was my time of total Italian immersion.

It was the beginning of an adventure that carried me to the four corners of Italy and every region in-between.  It was also the beginning of another kind of journey – a personal one that opened up possibilities I never considered or knew existed.  It was a heady time for a girl brought up in the fifties.