The Bakkens Jet to Italia for the Easter weekend
We just like to say that. Weekend in Italy? Fly to Rome from Bucharest for cheap and in an hour and a half? Okay. So we had to fly on an airline called WizzAir and had to fly on a pink and purple airplane (though Sophia declared it the best possible colors in the world for our skyway adventures), and that we had to leave at 4 am and ply the kids, who stayed away from 4am on, with M & M’s, we actually did land at Ciampino Airport at 7:30am and were out on the Autostrada headed South towards Naples by 8:45.
Let me say that we did not know that we had chosen a region of Italy famous for its Mozzarella di Bufala and at every turn of the road there would be someone grilling baby artichokes stuffed with parsely and green onions and bathed in olive oil. We only intended to eat ourselves silly on genuine Neopolitan pizza and dive into the Amalfi coast for Spaghetti a la Frutti di Mare. So the fact that all these storefronts were devoted to fresh buffalo mozzarella was sublime. We ate the mozzarella every which way: a whole round ball drizzled in olive oil and set atop grilled bread with sweet cherry tomatoes; generously sliced on top of our many varieties of pizzas; straight from our own little plastic baggie picnic-style on the table in our room at our farmhouse in Paestum.
One of the funnier food “mistakes” of our trip: at a lovely Ristorante built into the ancient Greco-Roman walls of Paestum, we ordered what we thought were small meatballs (polpettini) in sauce for Alexander and Sophia. What we got? Baby octopus in a tomato-bean ragu. Alexander devoured them—tentacles and all—nonstop. And at our seafood Ristorante outside of the coastal town of Positano, the kids both CHOWED a cross between baby cockles and sea snails. They scientifically jabbed their toothpicks into the shells, tugged out the nubbin of meat, then popped it into their mouths. Afterwards, they spent the better part of an hour playing with “Monster Fish” with emptied out mussel, clam, and shrimp shells while our charming waiter told us stories of Sophia Loren (who used to live in the "neighborhood," just down the cliff from the restaurant) and plied us with contorni.
In four days, we put approximately 500 miles on our little rental Peugeot. On the first day we wound our way along the coast down to the Greek site of Paestum. Unfortunately, while there were some pretty Mediterranean stretches, it seemed like most of the road took us through the Italian version of past-its-prime beachside condo hell. Lots of boarded up bars (advertised as “American style bar!) and discos and shady looking espresso stands. Of course, it was Italian style so this meant there were also panini stands. We stopped off at one grocery stand advertising Mozzarella di Bufala intending to buy just some to sample. When Christopher returned to the car (after abour half an hour...since he'd made friends with the cheese-making owners and was threatening to just stay there for the entire weekend) he came carrying a plate of bread drizzled with olive oil, some varieties of Gaeta olives (Gaeta being a town we would soon pass), and a hunk of what we took for a regional ricotta salata. His bag was full with a spray of ripe cherry tomatoes, a litre of homemade wine, two balls of Mozzarella di Bufala, two logs of the spicy ricotta salata, aged pecorino, and two bags of olives. Snacks a la Campania.
Our Agritourismo Casale Giancesare was located up a hill overlooking the sea outside of the ancient city of Paestum. We were greeted with espressos and cappuccinos and a glistening Irish Setter called Milli who was happy to scamper around the lawn with Sophia and Alexander. Milli even tried to scarf down Sophia’s Hoppy bunny at one point, and a mouthful of Littlest Pet Shops toys. Our kids were in need of serious doggy-time though—they’ve been missing our dog, Daphne, so this was an excellent diversion for them and they, in return for chase-the-dog-who-stole-the-toys, they received, in return, slobbery licks.
We have realized, in our jam-packed four days, that there is a limit to S & A’s tourism. Generally in Greece, the weather is warm so they too can scamper about outside. Since this was March, our wanderings around the ancient temples and ruins at Paestum, Velia, and Pompeii consisted of me, Mamma, headscarved and looking like some babushka from the Eastern bloc, and the kids alternately invigorated by the windy-wind and throwing tantrums and complaining about “having to walk.” Papa Christopher dutifully carried both Sophia and Alexander, despite having to content with the deadly affliction of “crunched back” thanks to soccer Romania-style, the squirming weight of our kiddies’ bodies, and poundages of luggage, and a lumpy bed in our Bucharest pad.
Of course, all of this tourism was buoyed by really marvelous food. Our main aim for Easter Sunday was to find some sort of Agritourismo that served a fixed menu. Oh boy did we ever! Outside of the town of Velia—a small sign off the road, down a dirt road, to Agritourismo Azienda La Fattoria. For 30 Euros a person (the kids counted only as one person) we basically were fed like royalty. First: every other table was long, filled with Italian families passing around these enormous chocolate eggs (basketball-sized, nut encrusted). Then we were told that it would be better not to have bread because we had a long, long meal ahead of us. What did this consist of?
Round One: Bruschetta di Pomodoro and a fried bread fritter covered in pomodorino sauce and crumbled local Campania cheese.
Round Two: An antipasti platter. Thinly sliced pancetta. The house's Cappicola. Two different kinds of salami. Baby bell-shaped Riccotini. Pecorino. Lard-heavy pancetta. Artichokes and olives.
Round Three: Fresh Cannelloni Lasagna and "Napkin" Pasta with Asparagus Sauce.
Round Four:
The meats? Slices of Pork, Slice of Beef, and Chicken a la Forno.
La Verdure? Baby Five Beans, Chicory/Spinach/Broccoli Robe in Garlic, Roasted Potatoes with Rosemary, Eggplant Stacks a la Forno, roasted peppers, stuffed baby Artichokes, pickled zucchini Ribbons, and I’m missing something else.
Round Five: Dolci (Ricotta-Lemon-Raisin Torta), Grappa, Ferne Branca, Espresso and Cappuccino.
Round Six: A lovely Easter phone call from Christopher’s brother in California. “Where are you?” he asked. “Ahh, we’re somewhere in the South of Italy with our bellies full and our kids finally asleep in the car,” Christopher answered.
Round Seven: Later, much much much later, two beautiful pizzas for a late dinner. Two kids who thankfully and finally both simultaneously slept through a late dinner.
We all ate and praised the God and gods that be for our four days away from the less-Mediterranean inspired Romanian fare. (Why is it that even industrial poverty and concrete apartment blocks looks better on Italian hillsides than they do in the mountains of Eastern Europe?)
We just like to say that. Weekend in Italy? Fly to Rome from Bucharest for cheap and in an hour and a half? Okay. So we had to fly on an airline called WizzAir and had to fly on a pink and purple airplane (though Sophia declared it the best possible colors in the world for our skyway adventures), and that we had to leave at 4 am and ply the kids, who stayed away from 4am on, with M & M’s, we actually did land at Ciampino Airport at 7:30am and were out on the Autostrada headed South towards Naples by 8:45.
Let me say that we did not know that we had chosen a region of Italy famous for its Mozzarella di Bufala and at every turn of the road there would be someone grilling baby artichokes stuffed with parsely and green onions and bathed in olive oil. We only intended to eat ourselves silly on genuine Neopolitan pizza and dive into the Amalfi coast for Spaghetti a la Frutti di Mare. So the fact that all these storefronts were devoted to fresh buffalo mozzarella was sublime. We ate the mozzarella every which way: a whole round ball drizzled in olive oil and set atop grilled bread with sweet cherry tomatoes; generously sliced on top of our many varieties of pizzas; straight from our own little plastic baggie picnic-style on the table in our room at our farmhouse in Paestum.
One of the funnier food “mistakes” of our trip: at a lovely Ristorante built into the ancient Greco-Roman walls of Paestum, we ordered what we thought were small meatballs (polpettini) in sauce for Alexander and Sophia. What we got? Baby octopus in a tomato-bean ragu. Alexander devoured them—tentacles and all—nonstop. And at our seafood Ristorante outside of the coastal town of Positano, the kids both CHOWED a cross between baby cockles and sea snails. They scientifically jabbed their toothpicks into the shells, tugged out the nubbin of meat, then popped it into their mouths. Afterwards, they spent the better part of an hour playing with “Monster Fish” with emptied out mussel, clam, and shrimp shells while our charming waiter told us stories of Sophia Loren (who used to live in the "neighborhood," just down the cliff from the restaurant) and plied us with contorni.
In four days, we put approximately 500 miles on our little rental Peugeot. On the first day we wound our way along the coast down to the Greek site of Paestum. Unfortunately, while there were some pretty Mediterranean stretches, it seemed like most of the road took us through the Italian version of past-its-prime beachside condo hell. Lots of boarded up bars (advertised as “American style bar!) and discos and shady looking espresso stands. Of course, it was Italian style so this meant there were also panini stands. We stopped off at one grocery stand advertising Mozzarella di Bufala intending to buy just some to sample. When Christopher returned to the car (after abour half an hour...since he'd made friends with the cheese-making owners and was threatening to just stay there for the entire weekend) he came carrying a plate of bread drizzled with olive oil, some varieties of Gaeta olives (Gaeta being a town we would soon pass), and a hunk of what we took for a regional ricotta salata. His bag was full with a spray of ripe cherry tomatoes, a litre of homemade wine, two balls of Mozzarella di Bufala, two logs of the spicy ricotta salata, aged pecorino, and two bags of olives. Snacks a la Campania.
Our Agritourismo Casale Giancesare was located up a hill overlooking the sea outside of the ancient city of Paestum. We were greeted with espressos and cappuccinos and a glistening Irish Setter called Milli who was happy to scamper around the lawn with Sophia and Alexander. Milli even tried to scarf down Sophia’s Hoppy bunny at one point, and a mouthful of Littlest Pet Shops toys. Our kids were in need of serious doggy-time though—they’ve been missing our dog, Daphne, so this was an excellent diversion for them and they, in return for chase-the-dog-who-stole-the-toys, they received, in return, slobbery licks.
We have realized, in our jam-packed four days, that there is a limit to S & A’s tourism. Generally in Greece, the weather is warm so they too can scamper about outside. Since this was March, our wanderings around the ancient temples and ruins at Paestum, Velia, and Pompeii consisted of me, Mamma, headscarved and looking like some babushka from the Eastern bloc, and the kids alternately invigorated by the windy-wind and throwing tantrums and complaining about “having to walk.” Papa Christopher dutifully carried both Sophia and Alexander, despite having to content with the deadly affliction of “crunched back” thanks to soccer Romania-style, the squirming weight of our kiddies’ bodies, and poundages of luggage, and a lumpy bed in our Bucharest pad.
Of course, all of this tourism was buoyed by really marvelous food. Our main aim for Easter Sunday was to find some sort of Agritourismo that served a fixed menu. Oh boy did we ever! Outside of the town of Velia—a small sign off the road, down a dirt road, to Agritourismo Azienda La Fattoria. For 30 Euros a person (the kids counted only as one person) we basically were fed like royalty. First: every other table was long, filled with Italian families passing around these enormous chocolate eggs (basketball-sized, nut encrusted). Then we were told that it would be better not to have bread because we had a long, long meal ahead of us. What did this consist of?
Round One: Bruschetta di Pomodoro and a fried bread fritter covered in pomodorino sauce and crumbled local Campania cheese.
Round Two: An antipasti platter. Thinly sliced pancetta. The house's Cappicola. Two different kinds of salami. Baby bell-shaped Riccotini. Pecorino. Lard-heavy pancetta. Artichokes and olives.
Round Three: Fresh Cannelloni Lasagna and "Napkin" Pasta with Asparagus Sauce.
Round Four:
The meats? Slices of Pork, Slice of Beef, and Chicken a la Forno.
La Verdure? Baby Five Beans, Chicory/Spinach/Broccoli Robe in Garlic, Roasted Potatoes with Rosemary, Eggplant Stacks a la Forno, roasted peppers, stuffed baby Artichokes, pickled zucchini Ribbons, and I’m missing something else.
Round Five: Dolci (Ricotta-Lemon-Raisin Torta), Grappa, Ferne Branca, Espresso and Cappuccino.
Round Six: A lovely Easter phone call from Christopher’s brother in California. “Where are you?” he asked. “Ahh, we’re somewhere in the South of Italy with our bellies full and our kids finally asleep in the car,” Christopher answered.
Round Seven: Later, much much much later, two beautiful pizzas for a late dinner. Two kids who thankfully and finally both simultaneously slept through a late dinner.
We all ate and praised the God and gods that be for our four days away from the less-Mediterranean inspired Romanian fare. (Why is it that even industrial poverty and concrete apartment blocks looks better on Italian hillsides than they do in the mountains of Eastern Europe?)
Kerry
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