Summer of '24 was the summer of Greece, or spring rather, so we never made it across the border oh so close to the east. We need to pick up my brother and his wife in Nice, so LYL proposed a few nights in Italy, for wine and food and the vibe. So it was we set out one midsummer morning.
We took the same valley we had on our road trip in 2023, at first broad and held down by the weight of river, then rising through the rocks, literally through those places blow out to allow the passage of cars. The road practices writing the letter Z, again and again and again, until topping out at Isola, the last slice of France but disappointingly without any cafe upon whose terrace we can sample the cool of elevation and the workings of heated caffeine. Down the other side, this Italy now, more bicyclists than in late summer, a few with support vehicles, gearing up and up and up for La Tour a few weeks hence. Tried a less trafficked way into Cuneo, though we missed bisecting the long box canyon of squat blocks of flats toward the heart that is the piazza. Disappointed not to get the chocolates that dazzled not only us but Hemingway a century before, but alas, Arione is closed today.
The clouds have been low and dark, shading the wine country when we reach it. Late lunchtime, we snag a table at La Cantinetta, and I sink into a glass of one of my favorite reds (and that of Hemingway a century before.). After the funky WiMu Museo del Vino, we play connect the dots with tasting rooms on the way back to our hotel. Hotel Barolo was chosen for its generic name, but luckily it hosted Ristorante Brezza and its dinnertime terrace, with views of the striped rolling hills and the castello and the hot air balloons making the best of the quickly diminishing heat of air.
We hadn't realized that since the pandemic era, tastings at vineyards must be pre-booked. I'd sent a hasty mail to the one that looked most interesting, but had been politely refused. Yet my courteous reply, "oh what a shame because blag blag blag" was the ticket. We'd been told that a large group was coming, if we didn't mind squeezing in, and as we pulled up the dirt drive of Fratelli Serio e Battista Borgogno, that group was slowly trickling off their coach, allowing us to squeeze past and get half an hour with the cheerful young owner as her minions dealt with the geriatric chaos behind us. A scenic drive through the vineyards, truly disappointed by the construction engulfing the colorful Cappella delle Brunate, stunningly situated in isolation amongst the vines, though now only in old photographs. It doesn't take much time to explore the churches and views and tasting rooms of La Morra, and we depart laden with new bottles and the regional language of grapes and styles.
Another late lunch in Alba, truffle country. La Piola came recommended, and we are beginning to note that the food culture of the valley is not very extensive, but it enables us to repeatedly return to our favorites over a number of meals. Up next is siesta, opting to walk the Via Vittorio Emanuele in the cool of the evening, adding to our loot pasta and truffles, to join the weight of bottles currently sinking the back of our car. From a table at Bove's, we watch the dinner theatre of an extended family leave their flat a story above us, to fill the adjacent table with animated gesture, yet the arms of the youngest generation are held in place by their phones.
From our start in the cool of morning, it is a day of hilltop villages--Grinzane Cavour, Serralunga d'Alba, Monforte D'alba--each with views to admire, each with wines to taste. On the way to the latter, I noted at a turn off that Roddino was a mere six kilometers off our route, which I'd thought was longer. So it is that shortly after a mere cut of the wheel, LYL is able to score us a table at the world famous Gemma, the last of the day. We settle in not sure what to expect, receiving neither menu nor explanation, as the surrounding tables begin to fill and plates begin to rain from the heavens onto our table. We buckle in for the ride, though I am anxious at how long this will take, as we still have a three hour drive down to the Liguria. Luckily the eight(!) courses are almost assembly line and we are full up after a mere 90 minutes, each course identical to those enjoyed seven years before by Matt Goulding in his classic Pasta, Pane, Vino. Heading toward the door we are gifted a quick smile by the twinkling Gemma, who must be bemused that the Sunday lunches she once made for her neighbors now daily draw such a crowd.
LYL dozes as I wind southward along country roads, seeing more bicycles than cars. This changes once I leave the mountains at Ceva, though the mountain passes still amaze, as do the swift moving rivers that bring definition to the landscape below. Then the sea. We'd wanted to recreate a memorable stay in 2015, but this time had gotten the hotel wrong. The old dame the Grand Hotel de Londres still holds her charm, though we'll quickly leave her to walk the promenade to the town center, setting into some Ligurian trofie at the corner of a small square away from the tourist flow, where women young and old walk their dogs, and boys kick a soccer ball against a wall again and again, meters from the open window of a flat whose innards must rumble from the onslaught.
Breakfast is lavish, shared in a ballroom with a large tour group from India. We get a couple of hours at a small beach we'd been eyeing from our tiny balcony, a pleasant spot run by a friendly woman who is the Dona of the sands. A quick shower mere minutes before checkout, then we trace the Ligurian sea to a supermarket in Ventimiglia, then the confusion of finding parking in a small beach town whose carpark gates are not working. Grab a pie down at Pizzeria La Giara before passing through a surprisingly fortified border station (due to a big international conference in Nice), to arrive at the airport just in time get a big hug from my brother arriving after adventures of his own. And more to come, as we've collected 27 bottles that need drinking...
On the turntable: Tommy Bolin, "Whips & Roses II"
