| This February 5-17, 2012: Tasting Royal Rajasthan  February 5-17, 2012 Feel a culture beneath your feet as you walk the noble hallways of Indian palaces. Stop and gaze through a windows at villages, dotted with baby blue houses painted in Krishna's honor. Walk streets of turbaned shop keepers selling chai and spices. Become familiar with ingredients and vegetables you have never seen before. Peak your curiosity and palate while being served like a Raj with utmost care and respect. Marvel at the world in contrast, color and texture and smile back at the Indian spirit which welcomes you. It's a potent experience, and will be a truly unforgettable adventure.   Three rooms available Email us or call our booking coordinator, Merete, at 303-910-0897 to reserve your spot! "The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end." ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Indian poet.   Program includes: ~ Airport pick-up by private driver ~ Domestic airfare within India ~ All accommodations and most meals ~ Cooking classes and guided cultural excursions |
October 19, 2011
Upcoming Program: Tasting Royal Rajasthan, India
October 16, 2011
Relaxing with "Thé Petales": Rose Petal Tea from Perfumer Miller Harris, London.
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| Paul Grimes smelling the roses at Jalil Belkamel's aromatherapy garden in Marrakech. |
Just this late summer and fall, I have kept moving at the speed of light. I've been steeped in poetry, fed warm sheepsmilk ricotta, tasted numerous full-bodied wines, eaten rustic ragus, seafood stews and delicate volutes topped with fennel pollen and drizzles of aromatic oils on various stuffed pastas, meats and frilly fresh salads. I've sucked on salt chocolate, cinnamon chocolate, hot Sicilian chocolate and soon to be, ambergris chocolate. I've traveled by air, train, ferries, sailboat and zodiac. At times, I switched to donkeys, camels, mopeds and bicycles. Even when I have stopped for a few short days here and there, I am constantly asked to do something, organize something (even a closet), make plans, write out a recipe, think of a plan for next year (but right now), price something, talk to this person, introduce that person, meet these people, re-pack a bag, hop a taxi, book a ticket, or deal with the details of the moment. Old and new friends are constantly coming and going.
This sort of existence has texture and depth, rich in meaningful, earthy experiences. A constant massage, it touches the places that love attention, offering a sensual smorgosbord for the eyes, ears, nose and palate, engaging me deeply in body, speech and mind. So much so, that at times I feel like my life is like a flimsy lacy petticoat, hanging half way off the shoulder and my legs are dangling out the window of a brothel. Enough already.
I have a thousand stories to tell and many details of discoveries to share. Most of them seem like they wait like wallflowers to be noticed or disappear all together.
Today, with another bag to pack and upcoming transition to make, I sat down to write instead. I made a cup of assam tea with a precious pinch of thé petales (rose petal tea) from Miller Harris. It was a gift from the perfumer herself. I met Lyn Harris at Jnane Tamsna in Marrakech. We share a passion, not only for tea, but for this private guesthouse that we frequent every year. It feels like a home away from home. I know everyone, including the carob trees and rose bushes, surely she knows every aromatic plant.
The interesting thing, is that I was aware of her perfume before I met her. I have her "fig" and "fluer oriental." Unusual fragrances, they stand apart from the plethora of powdery perfumes. Meeting her on casual turf in caftans and bare feet brought a certain air of authenticity to her product and mutual like-mindedness of mood.
"Drinking rare and beautiful teas has always been an essential luxury," says Lyn Harris. "Inspired by the delicate art of balancing flavor and aroma, Lyn has combined the world's finest teas with pure, natural extracts to create a collection of blends with top, heart and base notes. This tea demands the prettiest of cups. Smooth and sensual Turkish rose combines with velvet notes of vanilla Ceylon. A heart of Taiwanese White Tip Oolong is entwined with geranium bourbon from the island of Reunion to create a delicate refreshing cup. " So says the back of the tea canister.
So that description my friends..."is my cup of tea," on this fine Sunday afternoon in Florence. Life no longer hanging out the window, but sitting quite properly enjoying one's tea in a pretty cup reading a novel, Everything Beautiful Began After by Simon Van Booy.
Visit the Miller Harris tea collection.
October 1, 2011
Sicily: These are a few of my favorite things....
when the train strikes.. when our feet hurt.. when we're feeling tired... we simply remember some
fabulous things and then.. we don't feel.. .so tired...!
September 25, 2011
Sicily: Same and Different
This September's program in Sicily was our first in two years, and in many ways we were unsure about what we would find. We were pleasantly surprised to see how Fabrizia Lanza is tending her mother, Anna Tasca Lanza's exquisite garden and cooking school. This was the first trip since the passing of Anna Tasca Lanza, great friend and renowned cookbook author, whose estate, Regaleali was—and still is, the centerpiece of our program.
We found some things changed, as things often are over time, and other things we found to be as expected. In the end, we left re-invigorated about Sicily and its future. The island's deep flavors and rough landscape is still unlike any other in Italy, and we were pleased to find that a younger, innovative generation is now carrying culinary traditions forward. We are excited to be on the crest of this new Sicilian wave, and look forward to bringing you, our guests, along for the ride.
One of my favorite global expressions is, "same, same but different." Here are a few examples of what we found:
Palermo was cleaner than I'd remembered and the view from our third story apartment revealed the myth that Palermitani eat way into the night. At midnight the streets were still lined with table after table and the grill was smoking away with large tenticled species.
Ristorante Francu e Pescatori is still alive and well. Still hard to get to, but well worth the trip into the underworld to find it. Chef Franco is as generous as ever, and passionate about his cooking and his ancestry.
The mythical landscape of the Regaleali wine estate is the same "as it ever was."
Fabrizia set a table outside under Anna's Palm, and a blanket of stars. Dancing to live music in the barn on our last night, was a "first" at Regaleali.
Anna's garden is even fuller of forgotten fruits, pistachio, figs and flowers, than it was before. A legacy she left to Fabrizia who is caring for it and sharing it generously.
Modicans have always had a good sense of style. Good friend Innocenzo Pluchino, has put a simple, classic touch on his Beach Club, where the food equally matches the aesthetic in taste and to the eye. Bingo.
Bonajuto is still mixing and melting chocolate, but not just any chocolate and not just to any temperature. New flavors to us are being developed from recipes from the 1700s. Stay tuned.
Our new friends, the Padovas at Mastri Di San Basilio, showed us the simplicity of "materia prima" with the unadulterated tasting of their prestigious extra virgin olive oil, and the fine restoration of their country house, surrounded by 450 acres of verdese and maresco olives.
Wonders never cease at Catania's ancient Fish Market. Still alive with fresh starry-eyed fish, whole and separated into hunks of fresh flesh ready for a cooks able hand. Sights of purple cauliflower, mounds of melanzana, compact and shiny, ready to fry, grill, or put into a parmigiano. Fruit, innards, and various forms of cacciocavallo cheese, line the old market's streets.
We were delighted by our cooking class at Katane Palace. A fine place to stay in Catania's historic center. Smoked ventresca (which we smoked right in the kitchen, see photo above), fish stock, seafood risotto and tomato emulsion with gamberi crudi was just right.
The home-made chocolate gelato helped the sun go down...
Join us next year to taste a bit of the old and the new in Sicily: September 6-13, 2012.
* Photos by Merete Mueller.
September 20, 2011
Catania, Sicily: An Endangered Market, Alive and Well.. for Now
Old men and young, stand behind make-shift stands in old clothes and rubber boots. The stone street is wet with water and the occasional fish gut. Fish of all kinds are huddled together in blue plastic tubs, wooden crates and buckets, and spread along tables in colorful forms of fishy madness, with the slaughter and sadness of a funeral parlor.
Bright eyes and bloody heads sit beside exquisitely butchered torsos of tuna and swordfish. Tiny schools of fish lay one dimensional on ice, next to neonatal neighbors of baby squid, whitebait and minuscule clams that squirt. Piles of ricci (sea urchin) lay on top of each other looking like spiky black stones, used for Medieval hand grenades. When opened they display thin channels of briny gonads that we like to slurp up raw with a bit of lemon.
Lampuga is in season—beautiful grey and yellow mahi mahi. I can't say that I haven't enjoyed eating them as this week alone I've had them prepared raw with pomegranates, baked with tomato, red onion and capers, and pan fried with breadcrumbs.
Yet, I can't help feeling that we are raping the sea of its bounty and delicate balance. To think this happens nearly every day is astounding. Yet, it seems the Sicilians are partial to fish. It can be economical, throwing nothing away. One uses the bones and head with fleshy cheeks for broth.
We could tell the real fishermen from the ones who were not, as they only had their small catch of the day. They were few and looked hungrier. Their dialect strong and their faces, ruddy and weary.
And you may ask yourself... so why does she write about it so poetically?
The last time I was there, the tables were wooden. Now the EU demands stainless steel. The old, the new. Who will remain? The fishermen who fish? Or the fishermen who buy from other fishermen?
Or will there fish to fish?
At least one thing is for sure, there will always be fish-kisses..
The last time I was there, the tables were wooden. Now the EU demands stainless steel. The old, the new. Who will remain? The fishermen who fish? Or the fishermen who buy from other fishermen?
Or will there fish to fish?
At least one thing is for sure, there will always be fish-kisses..
September 14, 2011
Sicily: Beach Club Bingo
Twenty minutes from downtown Modica is a golden beach with sand as fine as flour.
The Mediterranean sea lapped warm and shallow close to the boardwalk where I was met with open arms by my old friend, Innocenzo Pluchino, entrepreneur and chocolatier, who was once just a curious young Sicilian who loved to travel.
Now, he is a successful young man, who takes a keen interest in creating quality products and experiences. His Beach Club is a white washed building with an open porch with simple tables, not unlike some of my favorite places on Bar Harbor Island in the Bahamas, or Barbados in the Caribbean. There were no dunes on the beach, just a flat horseshoe bay that reflected blue sky and a tourmaline sea.
Francesco, my gypsy driver, stripped down to his speedo before leaving the bus, walked through the Beach Club and out the back door to the sea like he owned the place. He stuck his cigarettes in the sand and took a dive. Merete and I fell into the sea like a baptismal. We lolled for the longest time in what seriously felt like salted bathwater. The Sicilian sun is strong. A rest under the umbrella brought a nice reprieve.
Innoncenzo invited us in for lunch. I had asked only for a taste of a few small plates. They started arriving with poetic names like, Involtino di pesce spada in sfoglia di melanzana con cuore di ricotta all menta. "Sword fish rolled with a leaf of fried eggplant stuffed with ricotta and mint."
Tuna tartar with specks of orange zest.
Two types of spaghettini—one with ricci, sea urchin, and tomato.
The other with clams, green lemon from Siracusa, and whipped ground toasted almonds.
The taste of the sea was in our mouths, in our vision and under our nose. Tasca d'Almerita's "Leone" vino bianco was the perfect date—a chardonnay and Insolia blend—it gave a bright fruit forwardness to dance in tandem with fellow Sicilian flavors.
I was really impressed by the Beach Club. The chef is young and passionate, previously a pastry chef by trade and by family. Innocenzo recognized this passion and put him to work. You could feel his heart in the food.
I can recognize a certain note of happiness in myself when the stars line up around people, place and taste and today hit a high note. Bingo. An unexpected aria. The day was splendid—and free.
* Photos by Merete Mueller
September 11, 2011
A Poem, Under Anna's Palm
Here in a Sicilian courtyard,
under a palm
we speak of times past with Anna
in the garden and her beloved
forgotten fruits
the sorb apple, quince and mulberry
we bloody our hands with juice
and pick less forgotten figs high up
in the tree
we are surrounded by 1000 acres
of vines and olive trees with a canopy
of blue sky that fades slowly into
dusk with a pink blush that matches
the Rose' that we drink
for an aperitivo with a crostino
of fresh ricotta and anchovy
the night is as quiet as the moon that
promises to be full, for tomorrow will
bring more flavors to the forefront
to fulfill our Sicilian dreams.
Written in Sicily at Casa Vecchie, Regaleali, the wine estate of Tasca D'Almerita.
I have been visiting Anna Tasca Lanza for 15 years. Her daughter Fabrizia came on the scene a few years ago, to work in tandem with her mother. Unfortunately, Anna died a year ago, July, unexpectedly. I had last seen Anna in 2009 and had not been back to Sicily until this September. I felt quite sad to be without her there. Yet, Fabrizia filled her shoes so brilliantly, I thought surely that I must keep coming back, if nothing else to see how far Anna's trees had grown and taste the fruit from year to year. This simple poem is a tribute to her. Anna not only left her trees to us, she left Fabrizia to carry her muse forward.
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