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Roberto, Maestro of Sardinian Food (Guest Post)

**The Blissful Adventurer is running about Italy at the moment so in his stead we happily endorse and support the work of the following food & wine writer, Viktorija Todorovska. Please check out this post, leave comments for exchange with the author, and give their blog a read.**

Viktorija is a food and wine adventurer passionate about the Southern
Mediterranean and its people. She is never happier than when making
new discoveries and sharing them with others. Visit her at
www.olivacooking.com and check out The Puglian Cookbook: Bringing the Flavors of Puglia Home.

Santu Lussurgiu, a tiny village in Western Sardinia, is not a must-see for most visitors to this breath-taking island. And Sardinians like it that way. Nestled in the Montiferru hills, famous for olive oil, casizolu (unique cow’s milk cheese) and the tender meat of bue rosso, Santu Lussurgiu is a Mecca for food lovers in the know. This little village houses one of the best restaurants in all of Sardinia, a place where food is passion, community, and a sustainable network of family producers who give expression to the land and its history.

In the midst of this land of olive orchards, nuraghe, and bue rosso, the red cow that freely roams the hillsides in search of the best wild greens, is Roberto Flore, a genius in the kitchen. Roberto is the chef of Antica Dimora del Gruccione, an albergo diffuso in the historic center of Santy Lussurgiu. Young and energetic, Roberto is not your stereotypical chef. His welcoming smile instantly puts you at ease and his enthusiasm about Sardinia is balanced by his deep understanding of great food and modern food tastes. Once you taste Roberto’s food, you will want to know this intriguing young chef. And you’ll wonder how he found the time to perfect his culinary skills. Because Roberto also makes delicious (and natural) wine, spicy olive oil, and delightful liqueurs flavored with everything from wild thyme, mint and myrtle to exotic herbs such as artemisia.

Unassuming and somewhat shy, Roberto releases his passion in the kitchen. Whether creating a fresh spring salad with edible flowers or cordula, a traditional Sardinian dish of lamb intestines braided and roasted until crunchy, Roberto’s flavor are impeccable: clean and focused, showing you what food really tastes like.

Roberto, originally from Seneghe, a village 3 miles from Santu Lussurgiu, has a deep passion for this region and its products. He knows each ingredient he uses because he gathers most of them himself. Whether you’re tasting his silky wild asparagus soup with fregola or cleansing your palate with the fresh and zesty spring salad, chances are Roberto gathered the greens in the field that very day. What he doesn’t gather or make, Roberto sources from small, local producers: the heirloom beans, flour, honey, meat, and pasta he uses all have a story. And through Roberto’s delectable creations, they all help tell the story of this area.

And if you want to know more about Roberto’s food, simply ask. He loves teaching about nature and its bounty as he explains Sardinian food traditions and their roots.

His deep knowledge of tradition feeds his adventurous spirit and leads him to create dishes for modern palates. As a German guest, passionate for Roberto’s food says, you will taste food you would never have ordered and wonder what else you might like. That is a true chef: confidently leading his guests to discover new flavors and new stories, to savor this pocket of Sardinia.

Roberto’s menu changes every day, so guests who come for a night or two often stay longer, eager to taste more. And Antica Dimora del Gruccione welcomes them with its charm and beauty, helping them immerse themselves into the Montiferru and learn about real food grown and prepared by passionate people. So, put Antica Dimora del Gruccione on your top 10 list of places to experience. Your taste buds need it.

tags: europe, food, italy, Italian, @Blissadventure, Photography, images
Monday 05.14.12
Posted by Sarah Finger
 

True Italy Stories - Out of Gas in Puglia (Part 1)

It was 03:45 am and my wife Juliet and I were pushing a 2005 Audi A4 wagon on the very busy SS16 from Monopoli back to our villa in Capitolo.  Cars filled with mostly drunken disco douche bags were streaming by at 150 kilometers per hour and we were making at best 10kmph into a headwind.

This was clearly a dangerous situation and we were in fact, out of gas and ¼ mile from safety.

The day had been scripted by the gods of decadence as we awoke far too early from our previous night’s excessive consumption, in order to catch a train to Lecce.

Me, my wife, and two American companions embarked on the 20 minute walk to the train station, having only 15 minutes to make the train.  One of my friends was celebrating her birthday and I was feeling the pressure of being the tour guide and responsible for this painful, hung-over half jog as the temperature was already at 90F by 8:45am.  I assured the team that we needed to double time it in order to catch the train, but I could not promise them air conditioning once we got on board.  Much to our happy surprise we made the train and the AC was cranking.  We were, as is often the case in Italia, the main attraction for the locals on their way for another day at the office.  The ladies who were heading down to babysit the bambini were all too amused to sit ears cocked to the sides to hear the not so dulcet tones of our American English.  A nun had taken up residence in the seats behind us and I am certain Rosaries were being said for the protection of the young and the infirmed from the interlopers of Treno 12571.

Hunger was beginning to get the best of the birthday quartet when we landed on the platform in Lecce.  A quick duck into the disgusting filth hole of a restroom revealed some friendly immigrant males making their way into the womens room much to the chagrin of the classy Italian gents in wife beaters and suspenders.  While no fight ensued, we were already dangerously low on hand sanitizer by the time we began to negotiate the sun drenched streets of the Florence of the south.  That term really makes me laugh.  I still even use it sometimes in our marketing materials, but make no mistake, Lecce is not Florence and thank God I say!  Florence is easily my least favorite major city in Europe and I am sure it was 2006 since the last time there has been an Italian sighting there.  I am fond of many things Tuscan, but Firenze is not my bag.  Florence has more pictures of menu items on restaurant walls than the Houston Hong Kong Market.  I come to Italy to meet, work with, argue with, and sometimes even eat with Italians.  In Florence I am rarely given the opportunity to do any of the above and while I am certain I will get a list of GFY and die emails from Florentine acolytes, I simply needed to state my case and now I can move on to really cool towns, like Lecce.

...to be continued

tags: @blissadventure, adventure, Audi A4, beer, birthday, Castello, disco, Florence, gas, Italy, Juliet Housewright, Lecce, Michael Housewright, Monopoli, Puglia, quote, rossa, Southern Visions, SS16, the blissful adventurer, train, Travel, wine
Sunday 05.13.12
Posted by Sarah Finger
 

Haiku Sunday - Alaska (Guest Post)

**The Blissful Adventurer is running about Italy at the moment so in his stead we happily endorse and support the work of the following blogger, Ryan Henisey of lifeasgood. Please check out this post, leave comments for exchange with the author, and give their blog a read.**

K. Ryan Henisey is a teacher, artist and poet living in Los Angeles. He currently spends his days teaching first graders in a public school. In the evenings and along his commute he composes verse and paints. Henisey's work can be seen at lifeasgood.com. He has published pieces for Equal Magazine, Amatistrad Jewelry, and has a collection (Status Haiku) available on Amazon. His ongoing account of creating and teaching a small after school art program can be seen at EALLA.org. Henisey has a Master's in English from CSU Bakersfield. He lives with his partner, a happy dog and a mischievous cat.

Above the clouds and
Mountain tops, we dwell a time:
Thirty-thousand feet.



Snow and we are blown
'Cross the windswept road - ice floes
Navigate at sea.

He looks back, concerned
Across the snow, and I'm warmed
By the loving glow.

Bundled in North Face,
I reflect, in the snow, on
Basho - I'm not he.

The snow machines howl
And we're made wolves in the white:
Boys at engine dance.

North on iron tracks -
In the snow, others have left
Cold paths to-and-fro.

Eagle surveys the
Track. We are an iron horse
Under his domain.

Like the loon, hidden
In mist and lake, McKinley
Remains elusive.

Imposing, Northern
Jewel. Denali - rock and ice,
Millennial song.

The interior:
Braided rivers, they move like
me, mercurial.

~

Thank you, Blissful Adventurer and readers for this guest post. My poetry, photography, and art can be regularly seen at LifeasGood.com. These haiku first appeared on twitter, where I chirp micropoems daily. My first volume, Status Haiku, is available for download on Amazon.

tags: Haiku, Images, Photography, Poetry, Stories, Travel @blissadventure, poetry, Travel
Sunday 05.13.12
Posted by Sarah Finger
 

The Americans vs. Italy (Guest Post)

**The Blissful Adventurer is running about Italy at the moment so in his stead we happily endorse and support the work of the following blogger, Airports Made Simple. Please check out this post, leave comments for exchange with the author, and give their blog a read.**

By AirportsMadeSimple

Venice, Italy, 2004: The beauty of The Piazza, pigeons flocking about, and… harried Americans.

Other than the incredible beauty of this historical city, I was struck by travelers who didn’t “get” why they were here:

To relax
Enjoy the moment
Savor the wine
Observe the locals
Eat food at out-of-the-way places


If you’re visiting Venice anytime soon, take note:

Americans: Think feeding the pigeons in Piazza San Marco is cool.
Italians: Think feeding pigeons that poop on you is akin to making friends with a rabid bat.

Americans: Think leaving the windows open (on the canal, at night) is a great idea. Local flavor.
Italians: Know if you leave your windows open, you won’t be able to get your eyes open from all the mosquito bites.

Americans: Are waaaaaaay too uptight about drinking wine with lunch.
Italians: Drink wine with lunch, dinner, any pretty much anytime they damn well feel like it.

Americans: Expect to hear Dean Martin’s “That’s Amore” when plopping down $250 for a gondola ride.
Italians: Prefer to sing songs like AC/DC’s “Back in Black.”

Americans: Life = speed. In eating, walking, or waiting for our food and drink in a restaurant.
Italians: Are indifferent to hurry. Don’t speed through Life with absent presence. Serve food when it’s ready. Get where they’re going when they get there.

Americans: Drive like our ass is on fire. All the time.
Italians: Drive like their ass is on fire IF their ass is actually on fire. Most walk.

Americans: Take trips.
Italians: Take vacations.

Italy is a feeling.

Murano glass, handmade pasta and breathtaking architecture are their symbols.

We need to catch up.

CLICK HERE for more info about AirportsMadeSimple.com.

tags: Dining, Drinking, Italy, Stories, Travel, Uncategorized, Wine @blissadventure, Europe, food, italian, wine
Saturday 05.12.12
Posted by Sarah Finger
 

True Italy Stories - Out of Gas in Puglia (Part 5)

Here is part 5 of the day the disco broke down :-)

Now, the disco in Puglia is not your father's club scene. This is Italy first and foremost, and we actually were living in a small villa at the epicenter of the summer disco onslaught; the beach town of Capitolo. Say this name to any Italian aged 19-31 and they immediately begin to groove in time with the music in their immediate memories, they will begin to drift in and out through the recollections of 3am make-out sessions on the beach, and will only snap back to reality with a vocal or physical jab!

Most folks out there have heard of the decadence in Rimini further north on the Adriatic, but Capitolo is no slouch with clubs alternating with pay beaches along 7km of coastline and cranking up the local decibel and traffic levels on par with an evacuation from Beirut. Our offices are in Monopoli and we were living in a villa in Capitolo and knew if we did not want to face traffic for upwards of 1-2 hours to drive 7km we had to be home from town by 9pm on Thursday-Saturday nights this summer. Not only do the clubs get packed with revelers during this season, but as is often the case in Italy during times of celebration or youthful exuberance the kids head for the streets on scooters, cars, heavy machinery, bikes, little red wagons, and of course loud, fast, motorcycles.

The motorcycle is the ultimate form of show in Italy as the opportunity to see and be seen at great speeds and with great pomp is unmatched. If you want to be king of the beach, roll into town in your box cut swimwear, shirtless with an unbelievable bronze tan (must be seen to be appreciated) on the back of your Ducati or Moto Guzzi with your helmet securely fastened to the back of the bike to show your appreciation for safety, and ride very slowly stopping to shout at a fellow bronze statue with sculpted abs that only Michelangelo could recreate or a muffin-topped ragazza with breast sizes admired and emulated by the world's best surgeons.  You can then make a few short gestures before accelerating and narrowly, but deftly avoiding a family of 5 as you jet back to work at the Bar 20 minutes late from your oh too short 3 hour lunch in order to make coffee for the old people who have come in from the beach bejeweled, sweaty, and in need of caffeine.

Once the Beach King finishes the next few hours of "dedicated" labor he rides home at breakneck pace in order to eat something very likely spectacular that Mamma has prepared and then it is off to the quiet solitude of the bathroom for the next hour to hour and a half to make the transformation from king of the beach to king of the club.

The Italian male is indeed king of the disco and in many ways I love this. In America, dancing is widely considered to be a feminine act and only in the presence of females are males perceived to have permission to dance. In essence, if you are a guy in America and hit the floor with other guys or without the required number of females present you could very likely be considered gay or perhaps a tool. Many closet dancers in America know the great secret that gay clubs are a safe haven to be free to express oneself on the dance floor without the scorn of friends or vacuous women.

The Italian disco kings do not possess our American hangups and dancing is widely considered to be celebratory and one of the principal reasons to attend a disco in the first place. Italian men are constantly seen dancing alone, with groups of friends, and also of course with women. However, you rarely see an Italian wallflower just standing in the corner making no effort to be cool while actually making every effort to be cool with only clothing, small gestures, and furtive glances.

The American disco king is a total punk, while the Italian disco king is very likely a dancing fool and this was precisely the reason we all wanted to celebrate this important birthday on a beach in Italy with the kings of groove without any fear that our desire to shake it would be misunderstood.

A typical Italian Disco Crew

tags: @blissadventure, adventure, Audi A4, beach, birthday, Blog, Capitolo, disco, Douche Bag, food, food porn, foodies, Havana Club, humor, Images, italian, Italy, Juliet Housewright, Lecce, Michael Housewright, Mojito, Monopoli, Photography, Prosecco, Puglia, SS16, stories, the blissful adventurer, Travel
Friday 05.11.12
Posted by Sarah Finger
 
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