tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1625881039566133482008-08-30T07:31:45.981-04:00Join Bill and Suzy as they eat, drink and dolce vita their way through Italy. It's the next best thing to being there!Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-49540989676675783402008-07-19T07:53:00.000-04:002008-07-19T07:55:28.345-04:00

“Grazie, Perugia!” Such are the final words from international jazz superstar (obligatory adjectives around here these days) Herbie Hancock, as he and his band thank the huge crowd at Santa Giuliana Arena, a veritable mob that has crowded in front of the stage for his twenty minute encore, snapping pictures with their phones, dancing, smiling, groovin’ and rockin’, chanting “Air-Bee,” “Air-Bee,”

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-13795741056273391652008-07-14T06:27:00.000-04:002008-07-14T06:28:28.643-04:00

As we have been writing for years, the Italian experience is an incredibly powerful and multifaceted one. It is simply impossible to identify one single experience or image that completely sums up this country – the food, the warm, friendly people, the art, its history as a worldwide empire and as a leader in a political, artistic and cultural renaissance that transformed the western world,

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-73059219178847619012008-07-10T07:42:00.001-04:002008-07-10T07:46:14.989-04:00

A week ago we arrived at Rome’s Fiumicino airport, relatively fresh considering the long, multi-connection flight that brought us from Asheville, North Carolina. The travel had been smooth, however, and without much ado we arrived in Umbria a short while after landing. As I mentioned in an earlier posting, it has been some time since we have been in Italy in the summer. Our import business,

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-9671777034355570492008-07-08T11:25:00.000-04:002008-07-08T11:29:17.453-04:00

On only the second day of our October visit to Italy we did something very un-us-like. We went on a daylong bike excursion from Florence to Fiesole, a hilltown seemingly located about 4,000 miles straight up a hill from Florence. I’m pretty sure if you glance up toward the noonday sun you can catch a glimpse of Fiesole - slightly to the right and below. At the time, surviving this physical

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-5878698897090498762008-07-04T06:38:00.002-04:002008-07-04T06:40:33.838-04:00

It has been a whole two months since we’ve been in Italy we think to ourselves as we disembark from our airplane at Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci airport, a little draggy from a day of travel that has begun nearly a full day before in the mountains of western North Carolina. The summer sun, searing through the morning haze, cooks the air conditioned jetway as we step off the plane. Like the summer

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-52540469116502682882008-02-19T12:25:00.001-05:002008-05-29T12:28:11.936-04:00

You, dear reader, have suffered through too many dripping descriptions of fried this or grilled so and so, served by a charming man who would give up his life to defend your right to eat a particular dish so long as it was garnished with extra virgin olive oil from trees growing within view of his restaurant, which his family has run since the time of Pope Leo. Of course you are bored to death

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-65962201016626075622007-10-30T05:43:00.000-04:002007-10-30T05:44:33.764-04:00

I’m sitting here, writing this piece under a beautiful blue sky, the convertible roof open and the sun streaming in. It’s a glorious day as our trip winds down to its final two days and our plan for the day is simple. Do nothing. With the top down it is a bit chilly, so I get up and walk into the closet and get a sweater, returning to the bed to continue reading internet stories of last night’

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-85306527357006979962007-10-29T14:44:00.000-04:002007-10-29T14:48:41.566-04:00

Today, as the Boston Red Sox stand on the verge of their second World Series title in four years, it’s get away day for us. After 13 days, our trip is coming to a close and we are bound today from Piemonte to Lombardia, a few hours to the north, where we will set up camp for two days before taking a short drive to Milan’s Malpensa airport and our long flight home. But just like the Sox, we do

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-74897740659779203242007-10-29T09:51:00.000-04:002007-10-29T09:53:25.480-04:00

Whoever said that youth is wasted on the young never met these two guys. * * * It is our second full day in Piemonte and when we arise the past several days’ drizzle has been replaced with a cool autumn sun. Our room, on the second floor of the Albergo dell’Agenzia (Via Fossano, 21, Pollenzo, tel. 0172.458600), looks out over the hotel’s

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-30492591111652872007-10-28T05:49:00.000-04:002007-10-28T05:50:42.464-04:00

We awake to a cold, damp drizzle this morning, our first full day in the Piemonte region, having checked into our hotel near midnight the evening before. Our hotel, the Albergo dell’Agenzia, is located in Pollenzo, a small hamlet near the town of Bra and about a quarter hour from Alba, the principle city in this area, and an hour and a half from Milan. We have come in search of white truffles,

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-49902377858820906942007-10-27T14:22:00.000-04:002007-10-27T14:23:09.078-04:00

Bologna. Most of us know it as an alternative spelling of baloney, the meat product, not the expression of disgust. But to Italians Bologna means cuisine, seriously good food that is not too serious. We agree. This is our third visit to Bologna, none, however, lasting more than a day. Through those visits we have only scratched the surface, like the grating of parmigiano cheese, which is much

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-24121232648193299502007-10-26T08:01:00.000-04:002007-10-26T08:11:46.861-04:00

I’m falling, falling, falling, twisting through the darkness, not knowing which way is up, not knowing how long I will fall or how long I have been falling. I am falling, falling, falling, corkscrewing through the inky blackness, unsure whether it is night or day, unaware whether it is hot or cold. I can feel nothing, see nothing, understand nothing. I simply go on, falling, unsure how I even

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-44951960601120052522007-10-25T03:08:00.001-04:002007-10-25T03:19:28.719-04:00

It is difficult to imagine that only 24 hours has elapsed since I last updated you as to our progress. When we were last together, Suzy and I were drifting off to a peaceful sleep at the beautiful Villa Tre Grazie near Todi in southern Umbria, having spent the day lurching from a wonderful cooking class, to a difficult real estate negotiation to a meeting with the villa’s caretaker to pick up the

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-51569898891912854162007-10-23T06:44:00.001-04:002007-10-23T06:46:10.169-04:00

Today is just fun. Really fun. Or at least most of it is. Our door bell buzzes at nine o’clock, just as we are finishing our packing and closing up the apartment. It has been a relaxing, pleasant few days here, despite our somewhat frenetic schedule and our desire to engage in every possible activity, see every local sight and to eat at every known restaurant. We have been able to come and

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-16660878026064085302007-10-23T03:55:00.000-04:002007-10-23T03:58:28.596-04:00

Sox win! Sox win! Sox win! Those beautiful words are replayed in the hearts and minds of the millions of faithful that comprise Red Sox Nation last night as they tuck themselves into bed, bleary eyed but dreaming dreams of a second World Series victory in three years. The game has been late, as have each of the games in this nail biting series, but it has been worth staying up for and now

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-55634389692519872162007-10-21T06:55:00.000-04:002007-10-21T06:59:15.877-04:00

Chocolate is big business. Today is our second day in Umbria, and when we awake yesterday’s winds are still blowing, but have brought cold temperatures with them. The skies are a melancholy gray and for the first time we begin to notice leaves of yellow and dark red on some of the trees. When we left America less than a week ago, signs of autumn were everywhere, along the Blue Ridge Parkway in

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-81281361211477609782007-10-20T03:35:00.000-04:002007-10-21T07:01:33.343-04:00

The previous evening, with the wind at our backs and Florence in our rearview mirror we make the hour and a half drive through the Tuscan countryside toward Siena turning to the east past Lake Trasimeno to Ponte San Giovanni, our destination for the next several days. A small bedroom community of Perugia, at whose base it sits, Ponte San Giovanni is a gritty little hamlet displaying little charm

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-53873559186441407262007-10-19T14:32:00.000-04:002007-10-19T14:38:54.121-04:00

Let the food orgy begin. When we last left you, dear reader, the sweat was drying on our tired bodies, having just scaled on bicycle the summit known as Fiesole (ok, perhaps a bit of an exaggeration) and having been returned to downtown Florence by our guide, enjoying the pleasures of an Italian haircut. Upon return to our hotel we had asked the concierge to arrange dinner reservations for us

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-81262185109764339282007-10-18T03:40:00.000-04:002007-10-19T14:38:54.121-04:00

What fit of madness can explain why an overweight, unathletic, out of shape man in his late forties and his wife would choose to spend their first full day on vacation, after nearly twenty four hours of travelling across the world, on bicycles, pumping and straining to reach an ancient hilltown when a perfectly good city lay before them right at their feet? I struggle with that question the

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-33444240795049425542007-10-17T12:25:00.000-04:002007-10-17T12:36:14.755-04:00

Rather than a smooth, flowing moving picture, today’s account of our adventure is a choppy, jerky series of still images, garnered from snatches of consciousness and punctuated by periods of deep, if unrestful sleep. It is a travel day, from Washington, DC to Florence, by way of Philadelphia, Frankfurt and Milan, but despite nearly 36 hours of planes, trains and automobiles (not to mention

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-37403526433672470442007-09-24T00:46:00.000-04:002007-09-27T08:15:18.869-04:00

It's been a long absence from bella Italia. Nine months, to be exact. But that powerful itch needed a good scratching, and so we are in the final stages of designing an industrial strength back scratcher. Sixteen days to two of Italy's best culinary destinations - the Piemonte region in the country's northwest and Umbria, the green heart of Italy. Our mission - to seek out, hunt (with dogs),

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-50186014090915988072007-01-21T18:32:00.000-05:002007-10-09T22:07:58.760-04:00

The scene: a portly, middle aged, American man is standing in front of a large block of marble in a dusty medieval workshop, dressed in khakis, a polo shirt, tennis shoes and baseball hat. The camera pans back to reveal a few younger men, dressed in renaissance striped leggings and funny hats, crowded around the older man as he places a chisel on the marble and draws back the hammer. As the

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-57233821832035684722007-01-20T18:29:00.000-05:002007-10-09T22:07:58.760-04:00

So much for the magic of Florence. We arise after a poor sleep, the result of unusually good weather. Paradoxically, this winter’s unseasonably warm temperatures are not compatible with our hotel’s heating system, which generates enough heat to warm a small city, regardless of the outside temperature. Even when the in-room heating is switched off, billions of BTUs spout up the elevator shaft

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-32115151530015413032007-01-19T18:28:00.000-05:002007-10-09T22:07:58.760-04:00

This is one of those days where there is not much to tell. We are in Florence, birthplace of the renaissance and birthplace of our Italian love affair. It is here that we first fell in love with this country, its people, its food, its culture, its everything. It is here that we always find a way to come back, never doing much of anything except, perhaps, paying silent homage to this place and

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-162588103956613348.post-78602014482870099032007-01-18T18:27:00.000-05:002007-10-09T22:07:58.760-04:00

Yesterday’s theme was “what a difference a meal makes,” but we left you without describing the difference making meal. If you recall, we finally arrived in Siena the previous evening after the sun had set, having endured a miserable day of driving, getting lost, adjusting to a new rental car and dealing with a much to early in the morning start. Our luck seemed to change when we arrived around

Bill Menardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00844309265463118952noreply@blogger.com