Click on lamp post to view Versailles market gallery

Versailles in winter is truly overflowing with treasures, royal and otherwise.  It’s just a ten minute ride on the Transilienne train from Paris Montparnasse (lowest level) station. A bus from Versailles “Chantiers” station takes you to Notre Dame market, its square framed by a halle on each corner.  On a recent Friday, we were plunged into a hubub of activity:  vendors of cheese, fruit and flowers, salt and sausages fill the marketplace center, an intersection traversed by buses and bicycles dodging shoppers.  From clementines to fancy terrines, there are more upscale victuals to the square foot than any market I have ever seen. The vagabond was astonished by the cheeses alone, stall after richly appointed stall of fromages from across France and beyond.  Hankering for a wedge of gorgonzola , mimolette or spiced gouda, herbed chèvre from Provence, or curls of parmigiano-reggiano? This is your hunting ground.  Inside the halls, fish from all waters, glistening eyes a sign they are fresh today, are spread in a seemingly endless array. Sole, rouget or barbet/red mullet, rosy rascasse/red scorpion fish, and even slabs of dried morue/cod appeal to a variety of shoppers. With over thirty permanent stalls inside the halls open daily, and seventy vendors outside on Tuesdays and Saturdays, Versailles draws Ile-de-France shoppers to the best selection west of Paris.

And when it is time for a short break, step up to a plate of oysters and a glass of Muscadet – the only on-the-spot eating option I noted in Versailles halls. In the mood for something salty? Greek olives, capers, all sorts of pickled veg are ready to be scooped up. Almond-studded cornes de gazelle, among many honey-glazed Middle Eastern sweets tempted the vagabond during this market romp. Of course the market answers gift-shoppers’ quandries, too:  a little oval salt cellar with a wooden scoop, colorful packets of sugar-dusted fruit paste tied with a ribbon, even a chocolate Santa Claus will win up in someone’s stocking.

Try just a slice, or buy an entire terrine for a “festive first”
All of these market aromas and visual delights can trigger appetites, so shoppers need not look beyond the halls’ periphery – take a few steps and you are sitting in the sun with a coffee or a tall Belgian beer. We joined the locals at a corner café bar, the Franco-Belge on rue du Baillage for hearty traditional fare. When the vagabond tucked into a mound of choux-farci, she thought it would easily serve four…an hour later, the waiter removed the empty plate. Markets do stimulate appetites!  After lunch, a stroll through eighteenth century ruelles of the Bailliage antique dealers’ quarter led past fifty shops filled with everything from arm chair frames (which Louis ?…. don’t ask) to lamps, statuettes and paintings. In fact, this first visit to Versailles was an appetizer, with a follow-up planned for April…to find signs of spring in the Potager du Roi.

Getting to Versailles: Trains to Versailles Rive Droit station run regularly from Gare St.Lazare and take about 30 minutes (closest to center). From Gare Montparnasse, it takes about 10 minutes, but is a 20 minute walk from Gare Versailles Chantier on the outskirts.  Or take the RER from St.Michel metro stop or Quai d’Orsay stop, about a 40 minute ride to V. Rive Gauche stop.

Inside tips: Tempted to linger for more than one day, especially when the Versailles center for Baroque music has a full concert schedule? Watch the concert listings on www.versailles-tourisme.com . Even on a slim budget, Versailles for a weekend is a treat:  Hôtel Cheval Rouge faces the market place, and has 38 reasonably priced rooms (less than 90 Euros for a double room) – simple, and recently renovated.  Located near the Rive Droit station for trains from Paris, it is five minutes’ walk to the château and gardens. Visit: www.chevalrouge.fr.st for map and information in English.  Or, rent a car in Versailles for a few days and venture another 10 kilometers on the route to Dreux to stay in a dreamy B&B, www.clos-saint-nicolas.com.  For 90 Euros a double room is yours, with breakfast in the conservatory….and do visit the Grand Marnier distillery in the village of Neauphle-le-Château. The 1810 mansion has just three guest rooms, so reserve in advance for a remarkable base to explore the historic region.

Rue Mouffetard on Thursday – even in light showers – is a bustling jumble of fruit vendors, fish stalls moved out on the sloping street, and oh, what cheeses!  This shopping street is legendary, nothing new to Paris shoppers, but for some of us from “the provinces”, rue Mouffetard has it all. And the story this week begins with grapes, voluptuous bunches of French Chasselas de Moissac and Italian Italia grapes. The vagabond hopped off the bus just a few steps from this market in the 5th arrondissement, drawn to a vendor’s stall literally draped with grapes. In addition to chasselas, translucent and pearly pale green to gold, the larger and less-sweet-more-racy- italias begged to be plated for an autumn banquet. Perhaps a cheese or two would be good companions, I thought, and peered into the shop windows of Androuet Fromagerie, the classic Parisian Cheese Shop founded by Pierre Androuet. His Guide du Fromage (published by Stock in 1971) has been this cheese-lover’s bible for fifteen years.  So it began well, an uphill market ramble  on rue Mouffetard.

About midway up the street, between butcher shops and racks of Indian scarves, I had a hankering for a warming cup of cappucino, answered immediately by a stop at a cozy Sicilian café. As I pondered the choice between a hot chocolate and a capucino, I was informed that this café is more than a coffee stop, it is a phenomenon. Beyond espressos, crèpes or Sicilian pastas and salads for lunch, to live jazz on Saturday nights, the crèpe master exclaimed: the Sweet Lounge is five cafés in one! After my last drop of cappucino, I took note of this espresso stop/crèpes extraordinaire/pasta lunch/bar/jazz-corner/international crowd’s watering hole…. for future reference. Continuing along the street between shoppers’ caddies and strollers, I resisted the urge to choose an ice cream at Berthillon and chocolates from Jeff de Bruges or sweet delights from Octave. Past sizzling, crisp-skinned chickens on rotisseries, wine shops and pâté boutiques, past a host of aromas and temptations, the vagabond resolves to return for more flavors on rue Mouffetard in upcoming seasons.

When the mailman’s vespa pulled up to our library window this morning, I swung open the shutters with a hearty Bonjour! No time to chat about the weather – I spotted a  familiar packet,  immediately recognized as something “edible”.  On the spine, I read… Travel Issue: The World on a plate…. Bonanza!  Opening to “Last Touch”, the way I’ve always approached a fresh-out-of-the-packet issue of Gourmet magazine,  I began to nibble.  Tasting the last page first may seem an odd habit – but this creature of habit’s ways are well jelled.  So, savory and sweet dumplings were today’s page 134, first taste.  Flipping forward for just a procrastinatory glance, like putting the Previews of Coming Attrations on fast forward  – past Chinese dining in East L.A., I  paused in the centerfold recipes for a Tuscany al fresco feast to mark Basil-lime Granita with a post-it sticker.  This simple gesture has marked decades of Gourmet issues, bringing me back to sample later. A few more pages flashed past, but rich colors, gorgeous platters of hot and sweet Peruvian food brought me to a full stop. A feast for the eye, but rather shopper-challenging to find ingredients such as aji amarillo or naranjilla fruit in (still) provincial France.

Southern Turkey’s pepper fields, the subject of a fascinating visit to Yaylak for – new words for this pepper lover  – Urfa and Maras, inspire chewing on  a good article, and another post-it tag on the Turkish lamb stew recipe.  Then, closing in on a first glimpse of the cover, I was waylaid by the monthly book review, with a recipe for Finnish meatballs…and cloudberries.  Having just returned from cloudberry land, it struck a resonant chord of northern flavors.  Even an occasional ad in this issue piqued my interest, such as an ice cream maker’s campaign to help the bees, suggesting…”plant your own bee-friendly wildflower garden” – we’re on the same wave length, to be sure.  When I turned to wine advice, comforted to find Gerald Asher’s savvy and polished critiques still at hand, it almost felt like these decades of nipping on Gourmet’s informative wine columns was coming full circle. The Contents listing  alerted me to a page – how could I miss it – about night markets in the Dordogne, In the Night Kitchen. Uncanny, I admitted, perfect timing for using graisse de canard from last week’s confit to stir up Pommes de Terre Sarladais…something to really sink our teeth into.  Oh, and the frites on the cover tempt me  to open the May issue and come at it from another angle, à chacun son goût, à chacun ses habitudes.

Summer has an odd way of building up a stock of fleeting moments, and by mid-August I have a mountain of memory-bites. In spite of azur skies overhead and al fresco lunches, between indoor and outdoor projects, part of me is racing against time toward cool September mornings. “Hint, hint”, the garden signals with asters peeping out in starry clusters, blushing sedum is about to burst, and a round knob of a pomegranate bulges on the bush. It’s time to pause in the race and collect a few highlights from my memory mountain, to revel in sunny days spent in western France, more specifically in the southern Charente. Landscapes? Think Tuscany viewed through a wide-angle lens, tile-roofed farms tucked into woodlands and undulating fields of shimmering wheat. I close my eyes and recall the heat as we hiked along patches of nodding sunflowers, turning their droopy heads to follow the sun’s path. This is the Charente, south of the majestic city of Angoulême, near Aubeterre and the edges of the dark Double forest: farm land, vineyards, nut groves.

On the way to Cognac for a day’s outing, we zipped past a sign nearly covered with vines. “Wait! A nut oil shop, Huilerie du Bernous“, I exclaimed. “Later”, I was told. On our return trip, after a tour and tasting in the historic Cognac château, now headquarters for Otard Cognac, we stopped at the huilerie and rang the bell. As Madame Petit managed their enthusiastic laborador, we walked to the huilerie, where they press walnut and hazelnut oils, and to the adjacent shop. The tanned woman seemed preoccupied as we talked about their work, about the upcoming harvest and those past. I selected some hazelnut oil, one of my favorite “drizzlers” to top hot carrots or beet and apple salads. Her remarks on the hazelnut yield this year were stark: “Zero”, she said, “…frost two nights running – just at the peak of blossoming – clipped the crop, so there will be no hazelnut oil this year”. But the walnuts seem to be promising, with their anticipated average harvest to weigh in at 60 tons. Last year was abysmal, she noted, with only 40 tons, a bad year. The Franquette variety is their favorite walnut with an average of nine kilograms of nuts to yield three kilograms of kernels, to give one liter of flavorful oil. Their harvest in October lasts ten days, with ten helpers and the use of a tree-vibrator, similar to those used in almond harvesting. The Petites, who run the business started by her father-in-law, have planted a new variety, Farnor, which will help replace over 1,400 trees lost in the violent 1999 winter wind storms. “Gradually, we are recovering”, she smiled and added a hopeful…”almost all of our groves will again be bearing next year”. No wonder she seemed preoccupied, I mused and vowed to return for another supply of nut oil and local honey.

The summer wheat seemed ripe for harvesting one late afternoon as I paused to survey rolling fields. At just that moment, a white van pulled up, stopped short of crushing the golden grain; a man hopped out. He waded through the wheat, bent and rubbed heads of wheat between the palms of his hands, blew the chaff away, and studied the kernels remaining: a gesture as old as agriculture. We had nodded bonsoir, so I ventured a question: “How does the crop look?” He glanced up at approaching clouds, waved an arm and said, “Come see this wheat – we have had too much cloud cover when it needs to be sunny for ripening the kernels, drying them”. I looked at the bearded summer wheat in his calloused palm and saw some kernels withered, some with a pink tinge at the base. “At this point, the kernels should be plump and slightly nacré, a little pearly. The pink you see is a disease “…trop des maladies cette année!” too many diseases this year, and too overcast.” His estimate, a harvest of normal volume but half the quality, anticipated the work of upcoming weeks, but as I turned to go, he added: “We’ll hope for a better crop next year”. This wheat farmer sums up the inherent spirit that keeps the wheels turning, the age-old plant and harvest cycle…. and hope for better weather.

A Sunday morning market draws shoppers to Aubeterre, but not all are here for peaches and new potatoes. This is a craft market as well, a mix of pottery, jewelry, paintings and artisanal foods. In this sense, it is unique in the region, with over half of the vendors showing their work in a side-walk café ambiance. After soap shopping (boutiques are open, too) and wine tasting, we went looking for lunch. A few steps off of the central boulevard market, we were rewarded at the Le Passé Simple. Inside the purple-toned dining room or outside in the garden, the restaurant is attracting Sunday crowds with a simple menu. Appealing entrées, such as hot scallops on a bed of rich, creamy leeks or a pyramid of spicy shrimp, are followed by old favorites prepared with originality. Magret de canard (duck breast) and roast lamb are done perfectly, and a layer of roasted, crushed tomatoes under daurade (sea bream) from the Gulf of Gascony sings of the season. Any room left for a gooey white chocolate and coconut mousse? Or how about a mousse au chocolat, so dense it is more like scooping into ganache - dipping into thick frosting with a spoon? Just how good was it? We returned at nine for dinner…..c’était dimanche!

Notes:

Huilerie du Bernou, Les Vergers du Marquis, sell their single-pressed walnut and hazelnut oils to visitors, call tel.: 06 80 83 11 29 (to make sure someone is there). Located near the village of Pillac, they are west of Aubeterre, north east of Chalais.

Le Passé Simple, 1 rue du Minage in Aubeterre-sur-Dronne, is closed Wednesday night and Thursday. Call to reserve (Sundays are especially busy) tel.: 05 45 98 50 64.

Next up: A French heirloom in season, baking with Charente butter – the Cognac will wait until autumn – and almond butter for the rentrée/back to school.

A week in Lorraine – the Meuse and Moselle region of northeastern France – isn’t enough. What I had planned as a jaunt to visit Verdun, to taste and learn more about fine, artisanal sugared almonds turned out to be a revelation beyond candy-making. Wedged between Alsace and Champagne-Ardennes on the northern route to Luxembourg, the Lorraine region doesn’t get much ink in travelogues – or even in foodologues. The fact that Jeanne d’Arc lived here is an item tossed into guides and tourist pamphlets, as an aside to the glories of the Isle de France and the Loire valley. Since pre-Roman times, this cross roads has carried its history well, surviving invasions and changing rulers. In fact, it is amazing that so much remains after centuries of warfare.

After a day in Verdun, where Dragées Braquier have made sugared almonds since the eighteenth century (this is another, sweeter story!), we took a regional bus back to Metz, rolling through tranquil landscapes of pastures and river valleys from the Meuse to the Moselle. The city’s enormous central train station has a hulking stone presence, reflecting the neo-roman style popular in early twentieth century Germanic architcture (Metz was at the time under German rule).  I looked up at the modern fingers of light ringing the station plaza, and thought: these look like talons – or claws of a beast. We would meet the monster later, in the crypt of Cathedral St-Etienne.

We ambled up and down walking streets lined with shops on the way to the city’s central market. The best of Metz’ shopping streets is Rue Tête d’Or, where pastries and confections decorate windows, enticing me inside to inspect and to catch a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. I stopped to admire fanciful pastries as we passed Claude Bourguinon’s chocolate shop and tea room, just as a case of artisanal ice creams was temptingly rolled onto the street. We found the U-shaped Metz market hall facing the grand cathedral, which is still the hub of this vibrant city. Longer than the cathedrals of Bourges or Strasbourg, and nicknamed “God’s Lantern”, Metz’ cathedral is illuminated by 6,500 square meters of stained glass. Like many buildings in this historic center, St-Etienne is built of a luminous golden stone, pierre de Jaumont. With or without exterior illumination, these plazas and surrounding façades seem to glow from within. After a pause to study the cathedral looming over a café on the plaza, I was ready to scout for regional specialties in the market hall. June brings the melon season, berries and rhubarb for tartes, along with early green cabbage and flats of chantarelle mushrooms. Jars of Mirabelle plums are everywhere, but fresh Mirabelles will not be in the market until August. Then, the sweet, golden plum is cause for celebration in Metz, attracting thousands to its annual Mirabelle Fest.

Well past noon, a mounting hunger sent us in search of lunch à la Lorraine. The Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is a short walk, across two bridges, from the cathedral. We luckily found a table on their shaded terrace, an ideal spot to watch swans dipping into the river. I sipped a fruity white Moselle wine and awaited the arrival of a Tarte aux poireaux (Leek tart), then a Pintade au choux (Guinea fowl braised with cabbage) before tackling a Tarte aux groseilles à la crème d’amandes. The waitress, dressed in peasant skirt, cap and bodice, smiled when I rolled my eyes and took the last bite of the dark berry (currants and raspberries) tart with almond cream. My husband, Michel, didn’t look surprised and asked: More cream, eh? Well, a two-tart lunch doesn’t happen every day – only in Lorraine.

The crypt below St-Etienne cathedral holds artifacts of the city as well as religious documents and sculpture. And that is where I encountered a replica of the city’s legendary monster, the Graoully, suspended from the ceiling. St-Clement, the first bishop of Metz, was credited with destroying the menacing beast who was said to live in the old Roman arenas. It is a story reminiscent of St-George and the dragon, a familiar metaphor of Christian force crushing pagan beasts. In the third century, St-Clement founded the first chapel on the site of the Roman forum’s ruins. But tales of the Graoully are still told, in fact a literary award for science fiction writing, Le Graoully d’or (The golden Graoully) is awarded annually in Metz.

The famous Dragées de Verdun drew me to the Moselle, but there are many other reasons to return. The Mirabelle Festival in August, the huge monthly flea market – perhaps to find Madeleine molds or oval earthenware terrines – a gathering of brocante dealers second only in size to Paris’ noteworthy Marché St-Ouen, and the Marché de Noël would all be fun. Imagine stepping out of the monumental railway station into a frosty plaza filled with cabin-stalls chuck full of jams, pâtés, wines, novelties and preserved Mirabelles – all well lit by designer Philippe Starck’s narrow, pointed street lights. In any season, Metz is well worth the detour.

To view more images of Metz, tap the photo above. Then tap category “Bites of History” to return to the story.

Note: Take the TGV Est from Paris’ Gare de l’Est, about one hour’s train ride to Metz, via Nancy.

Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is at 1, rue du Pont St-Marcel in Metz. Open year round, reserving a table for dinner is advised : tel. 03 87 30 1229. Claude Bourguignon’s chocolate and pastry shop at 31, rue Tête d’Or, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 9:15 to 7 p.m., and Sunday from 8:30 to 12:30.

‘Still Life at Cabalus’ (edible!)

Off season in Burgundy, frosty nights and luminous days, are reasons alone to visit such medieval sites as Vézelay. But arriving “cold” on a recent winter Saturday, just before the tourist office closed, posed problems of lodging and a little nourishment. The few hotels open at this time of year were full or closed for the weekend. Luckily, after the cheery tourist office manager made two calls to chambres d’hôtes (B&Bs), a vacant room was found.

We continued an uphill walk along the steep main street of Vézelay to a twelfth century hostel-hospital for pilgrims, now renovated into four bedrooms and a very large, vaulted central room which serves as a café-gallery. Once inside the gate and small entry court of “Cabalus, une maison d’un autre temps “, we entered another time zone: ring a small bronze bell, as a pilgrim would in the thirteenth century, ascend worn stone steps and walk through a narrow passageway, to enter a large bedroom. Look out the single window over tiled rooftops to Burgundy’s Morvan hills, look down at old (but spotless) floor tiles and around at white-washed walls. Sink into the bed’s snowy white down coverlet and imagine who has spent time in this room – pilgrims or travelers – over the last nine hundred years. It gives one pause.

Dark wooden beams and white walls: simplicity prevails in the heated bedroom and bath. The shower and a sink with sleek faucets set above a wooden table are clearly not medieval, but contemporary and functional. After a walk through narrow streets and up to the Basilique de la Madeleine – do not miss the west façade’s tympanum at sunset – return for a supper of long-simmered soup and salad, the wise choice for a winter evening when most guide-book choices are closed. But, more important, be up for petit-déjeuner.

On Sunday morning we took our places at one of the marble tables set for breakfast. Each setting was a still life: a single apple, a tray of jam and ruffly shaved cheese, a basket of homemade bread – warm from the oven – and a tall taper in a brass candlestick to light the marble table. Perfection. And while sipping coffee or tea, we admired the twelfth century vaulted ceiling, the fire burning in a broad fireplace, herbs hung to dry, and books of all sorts tucked in between old objects. There are prints, drawings and calligraphy, jewelry displayed on branches, all against the natural tones of walls that have weathered time. If these old walls could speak, perhaps their best expression would be in the small polished stones subtly carved with labyrinth designs, pendants created by the artist who renovated this welcoming space. Whether for pilgrims or those of us just passing through, time at Cabalus nourishes the body as well as the soul.

Reserve with Mme Cabalus, tel: 03 86 33 2066, rue St.Pierre, F89450 Vézelay. Out of season, B&B rates run about 80 Euros for a double room. Book well in advance during Easter or Christmas seasons.

In between one mousse and another, a quick word on current and upcoming chocolate events: In Perugia, Italy,  Eurochocolate is this week, 13th to 21st October.  In addition to tastings and demonstrations, sit in on a round table discussing “The Sustainable Economy of Cocoa Producing Countries”. If not 2007, put Perugia on the Tasty Travels plan for October 2008.  Check www.eurochocolate.com/en/perugia for details.

Over 100 chocolatiers and 400 exhibits fill the Salon du Chocolat, the 19th & 20th of October  in Paris – events on the menu include chocolate-hued fashion shows.  In New York, Chocolate Week is the 4th to 11th of November, 2007.

Summer’s lush colors on the Italian Riviera are worth a detour, worth an extra day to literally smell the roses. Returning to France after a week in Tuscany, our last stop was Sanremo, famed for bicycle races and as a winter residence for royalty of the belle époque. This casino town is the heart of the Riviera dei Fiori, the flowering coast, a blooming stretch of Mediterranean shores that explode with color – even in the driest, hottest season of a hot and dry year. Brilliant magenta bougainvilla cascades down rocky slopes, barely stopping for spiny cactus, as trumpets of morning glories clamber through oleander bushes dense with blossoms. On this stage of such intense colors, I assumed we could explore intense flavors: I was not wrong. Before heading for the market, set in and around a central market hall in Sanremo’s old quarter, we rambled along the narrow streets as shops were opening and menus were being posted. Overhead, laundry strung between windows reflected morning light, geraniums nodded from windowsills, life was going on as usual. Stalls of clothing, bedding, hats and tools lined our way to the market hall, but once I stepped inside the hall and took a breath, I knew that Liguria’s best could be found here.

The shopper in me went into overdrive: taking home a bouquet of fresh basil didn’t make sense, but bottled pesto and unusual pastas did. If Livorno’s central market hall is a fish-shopper’s paradise, Sanremo’s market is the place to fill a basket with soft and fragrant olive oil, snappy pesto and all sorts of tid-bits to taste at home. At one point, I paused and glanced up, taking in the sunlight streaming into the hall. Set against the wall, high above the rustle and bustle of vegetable and pasta sellers, was a small madonna figure – her halo illuminated with electric candles, in blessing.

At noon, the cathedral’s bells announced pranzo, pause for lunch. Earlier, I had noticed an interesting menu posted at “Ristorante le Quattro Stagioni“, the Four Seasons Restaurant, so we made our way back through crowded streets to sample a local red wine and study their lunch menu. Tiny ravioli filled with borage in an herb sauce, a typical Ligurian marriage of herbs, fresh greens and pasta, were delicious, tender, perfect. We sipped a soft red wine with lunch, the local Rossese di Dolceaqua recommended by the restaurant’s owner, Gaetano Monaco. Wines served at the restaurant are supplied by per Bacco, his new wine bar next door. When I raved about the ravioli, he called the chefs, Luca Diano and Larissa Loapa, to tell us more about their summer menu. And as we left, I noted a sign by the per Bacco door announcing musicians lined up for summer evenings. Live music, good wine, more summer flavors to explore – more reasons to linger in Liguria.

Details: In Sanremo, Ristorante le Quattro Stagioni del vino/ per Bacco, Via Corradi 83/89. tel: 0184.573262. Reservations advised for dinner. Closed on Sunday. Light meals served in the wine bar, per Bacco.

Another Sanremo wine bar, a very contemporary neighborhood watering hole is: VinoPanino&Co, Corso Mombello 56/58. Their selection of wines, by the glass or bottle is outstanding, whether you explore Italian wines or switch to French or Chilean. Do sample any of a long list of paninos (small open-faced sandwiches) before tackling a plate of smoked swordfish carpaccio.

   What is it about river towns that draws me back? I reflected, inspired by the soft-toned facades of medieval buildings lining gentle bends of the river Arno.  Again, I crossed Pisa’s old bridges, marveling at column-edged Renaissance windows while the matter-of-fact daily life of buses and bicycles whizzed past me.  The same magnetic sensation had been at work earlier this summer in the Spanish town of Girona.  There I explored river-side medieval ateliers, shops and studios now restored and still in use by printmakers, sculptors and book-binders. In a glance through their doors and windows, one looks straight out to the river Onyar that flows through the Catalonian town, just as the Arno snakes through Pisa.  I felt a curious sensation of déjà vu.

So, unable to resist the tug to the Arno, we returned again this summer en route to a family gathering near Siena.  A pause, just a couple of days, in this historic university town gave me a deeper appreciation of the treasures of western Tuscany, its flavors and traces of Pisa’s rich past.  As I reported last year, the vegetable market is set in adjoining piazzas right in the center of town.  Basically the same vendors were still there, patiently tending red and green tomatoes, heaps of zucchini blossoms and plump plums.  I was reassured and took more photos, but this time around, I also found fruit and vegetables closer to the leaning tower of Pisa.  What? Fruit on the Campo dei Miracoli?  Well, these garlands of fruit date to about 1602.  Cucumbers on the vine, carved by Giambologna were cast in bronze, along with apples and plums – all to celebrate the Tuscan earth’s abundance.

Vegetation Motifs of Centuries Past
Click here to see full photo gallery

I delighted in discoveries of the Duomo’s magnificent carvings, on and around its enormous doors. The Duomo, the majestic church itself, was built early in the eleventh century. Giambologna’s doors replace earlier west portals which were destroyed by fire. In the last light of a summer evening, few tourists remained. An air of calm settled over the marble-faced buildings, placed neatly on the Campo dei Miracoli’s (Field of Miracles) verdant platter of manicured grass. We took advantage of the special summer hours, giving visitors access to the Baptistry and Duomo until twilight. This photo session of vegetation and grape vines inspired a good appetite.  We soon found our way toward the Piazza dei Cavallieri – only about ten minutes walk from the Duomo and leaning tower – for dinner at the Osteria dei Cavalieri on via San Frediano.  I knew we were taking a chance without reservations, but the waiter graciously brought us glasses of sparkling wine to sip for a few minutes until a table was free.  The informal atmosphere, prompt service and well balanced Tuscan cuisine keeps this osteria at the top of guide books’ listings.  I understood why as I dug into a plate of gnocchi with flakes of delicate fish: as it melts in your mouth, it lasts in your memory.

Inspired by delicious fish and our proximity to the sea, the following day we hopped on a train to Livorno – less than an hour’s ride through pines and farmland from Pisa.   We took a city bus from Livorno’s station and found our way to the central market hall, which was surrounded by canopied stalls stretching beyond it in all directions.  Heaps of  melons and tomatoes, dangling housewares and platters of aromatic ham -ready to slice – lined each street.  We stepped inside the hall, its center filled with vendors of fish and shellfish, flanked by stalls of bread, pasta and cheese.  But I was determined to see the old harbor, where fishermen sell their catch directly to shoppers.  By the time we found Livorno’s extensive marina, the sun was overhead and most fishing boats were being hosed down; the fishermen were on their way home.  Near the Fortezza Vecchia’s (old fort) slanting brick walls, I spotted a striped canopy over marble slabs, where a few fishermen still sold fish.  Change a few details, I thought, and change a few centuries, but the scene would be the same, and Livorno’s famous fish soup would be simmered for family suppers – whatever the century.

In Pisa: Osteria dei Cavalieri, via San Frediano 16. Tel: 050 580858. Limited seating, reservations suggested. Closed during August; closed Saturday noon and Sunday.

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Along Rethymnon’s Venetian harbor, a strong gust of wind almost caught me off balance – and with this surging spring wind, I caught a heady whiff of grilled meat.  Overhead, holiday lights outlined masks strung across streets in the town’s old quarter.  Music blared as costumed kids paraded in clusters or holding a parent’s hand.  We stepped aside as Smoky Thursday crowds ambled past, young revelers behind masks.  In all parts of Greece, we were told later, high-jinks and heaps of meat on the grill are the tradition on this Thursday before Shrove Tuesday.  Both are days of (over) indulgence  before Lent’s long privation, the forty days leading to Easter when no meat can be eaten.  For devout Greek Orthodox practitioners, no cheese, nor any oil pass their lips during Lent.  The practice is Orthodox, but the carnival atmosphere (dampened by a light rain) in this busy port on Crete’s north coast had a decidedly Venetian air – not surprising after four hundred years of Venetian occupation.  We ducked into one of the snug bars near the harbor for a warming nip of raki and noted locals sipping the same clear alcohol distilled from grape must.  Drummers marched past, masks appeared and vanished in the narrow streets, and a throng of teenage boys in wild, colorful wigs pranced along, (partially) disguised. We walked back to the hotel past the cybercafé, our usual spot to check Email messages.  But now it was filled to overflowing, and under a broad awning’s protection from the rain, I noticed that the pink and blue “wigs” were taking a cyber break.

Spring in Crete means more than Carnival antics and the hiss of meat on the grill.  During a weekend at the eastern edge of this long, mountain-ridged island, we spent a day with friends, driving along steeply winding roads into the hills above Agios Nikolaos. Wild almond trees in bloom sponged soft pastel tints across arid, rock-strewn pastureland. We paused as sheep scampered across the road; villages were silent, shuttered. One might wonder if anyone lived there.  Artemis was driving, and she rolled down the window to ask directions of a woman dressed in black. “You lookin’ for greens?” the old woman spoke first, in a local dialect (I was told).  “You know where to find ‘em?”  Their short conversation gave Artemis directions to a taverna, but yielded no secrets about where to find ‘horta’, the wild spring greens so prized to fill flaky pita (pies) as well as to keep for medicinal uses.  We drove on to a smaller village for lunch in a simple taverna with no sign posted outside – one has to know the lay of the land for lunch in these hills.

Settling into our places at a pine table, I asked “What’s for lunch?” The house specialty, I was told: boiled goat.   Not kid, nothing like cabrito (kid, a favorite for Mexican Easter feasts) that I had tasted, just the long-simmered goat.  The cook and his wife seemed to be eagerly awaiting our arrival.  First, a flotilla of plates arrived for us to share and sample: eggplant salad, a dish of dakos (barley buns moistened with olive oil, then spread with crushed tomatoes and crumbled feta cheese), pickled octopus, herbed beans, country bread and succulent black olives.  Then, a bowl of broth before the main course was set before us all: a platter of steaming meat and carrots. The first bite was surprisingly tender, definitely delicious.  A side of macaroni and a dish of greens came around, a light red wine was poured again, and I thought: Ah, spring in Crete, prefect timing for a memorable lunch of boiled goat!