An Unanticipated Evening at the Villa Aurora

Giovanni and I are still digesting the fact that we ate dinner at the Villa Aurora last Saturday night. We began our day without any particular plan in mind besides soccer practice (me) and preparing lunch for the fellows (Gio) and ended it by joining the Prince and Princess Ludovisi for an extremely formal repast complete with hovering staff, French service, candelabras, a miniature white poodle circling the table and bottomless glasses of wine followed by a private viewing of the only known Caravaggio fresco in existence before strolling down the Via Veneto to hail a cab home. It was surreal -- and could have been an outtake from La Dolce Vita.

Why were we asked you might ask? Because our dear friend and neighbor Corey Brennan, the Mellon Professor in charge of the Humanities here at the Academy, was invited to the historic Villa that night with his wife Antonia and a group he’d been entertaining all week from the National Trust for Historic Preservation. Unbeknownst to the hosts, the total head count for dinner was 13. Once the Principessa realized this sfortunata she actually refused to serve dinner until at least one other person was found to join the table and defuse the bad omen. Luckily, Corey knew Gio and I were enjoying a round of negronis back home on the communal terrace of 5b with friends and called us as likely first responders to aid them in their "social emergency" (as he deemed it).

We informed our eight trattoria-bound amici of our once-in-a-lifetime opportunita’ and they cheered us on while we doubled up on Corey & Antonia’s baby sitter, kissed the kids goodnight, threw on our most formal attire and jumped in a cab. Ten minutes later we arrived at our destination and were met by a footman in red jacket and lace-aproned maid at the base of a long candlelit promenade near the Villa Borghese. The priceless moment of the evening for me was when they both nodded to us as we crossed the street and gestured courteously inside as we approached the cherub-topped columns flanking the main gate. I’m not kidding. It was one of those rare moments when I could suspend and savor disbelief to the point where I forgot all about being yelled at for the majority of the afternoon by my four-year-old son (inconsolable apparently because he couldn’t find the right poster of a tank at an Italian military show held at the Circus Maximus hours earlier) and bask in the overwhelming sense of anticipation.


Following our long, magically illuminated stroll up to the imposing 16th-century edifice, we were met by more sartorially impressive staff and greeted beyond the threshold by our much-relieved and simpatico hosts Rita and Nicolo Boncompagni Ludovisi. Naturally, the eleven others waiting in the sitting room were elated to see us.

Soon after exchanging salutations and pleasantries we were interrupted by another red-jacketed staffer proffering a tray of cordials and caviar which we were all too happy to sample before proceeding to the dining room lined with sombre paintings of the Prince's bejoweled ancestors, including Pope Gregory XIII -- the guy responsible for the calendar. I repeat, I am not making any of this up.

The subsequent conversation flowed like the Gewurtztraminer from Alto Adige and the setting was worthy of a Merchant-Ivory production what with all the plaster-cast putti spilling out of the ceiling overhead and four different glasses and eight pieces of flatware assigned to each of us. Thankfully, I didn’t spill my prosecco or mention Napoleon Bonaparte. Turns out, as I would reread the following morning in a Times article written just this past summer about the Villa, “The Little Corporal” had abolished the Ludovisi family’s state holdings in 1801. That seems like only yesterday in Rome time.

Following a round of espressos and more chitchat back in the sumptuous sitting room, the elegant Principessa gave Gio and me a condensed tour as late comers, indulged us all in some group photos in front of the family coat of arms in the foyer and insisted that we come back “any time” as she bid us buona notte. I intend to keep her offer in mind – after all, we did do everyone a huge favor by derailing all that bad juju that was heading their way.

In retrospect, my only missteps were not indulging in seconds of the fresh pasta with lemon cream sauce and failing to leave our number should the Ludovisi's find themselves in a similar bind in the future. If she does ever ring, I hope it's before I open another can of tuna and when the kids aren't screaming.

Post script: For those interested in more background on the Villa Aurora, our generous hosts and their ongoing restoration efforts, check out the The New York Times article and slide show at http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/16/greathomesanddestinations/16iht-rerome.html.

Mostly Mushrooms

We spent a glorious autumn day last Sunday in the hills outside Viterbo and the town of Bassano Romano where Claudia, the head of housekeeping here at the AAR, grew up and has an uncle who excels in the mycological arts. I’ve never been mushroom foraging before and was eager to join the Rome Sustainable Food Project (RSFP) kitchen crew on their group outing and also get the kids out of Rome and into the campagna. Mind you, I firmly believe that no dish is so good that it warrants the risk of spending the rest of our year abroad on life support awaiting new livers (imagine the paperwork here alone!), but I considered our chances of surviving any subsequent funghi-based repast to be extremely good given that we were to be in the hands of an established expert -- and the fact that this was a repeat visit to Zio Vincenzo’s farm.

Notwithstanding my mother’s email that same morning imploring me in all caps to “AVOID ABSOLUTELY ALL MUSHROOMS!” we may happen upon in the wild, there also were plenty of cautionary tales of overconfident amateurs to bear in mind. I’ve read scores of stories of recent immigrants to the Bay Area dropping dead after ingesting what they thought looked like a trusted fungus back home (typically China it seems) thriving in the mist of Marin County, so yes, I remained circumspect, but my curiosity and desire to participate in the hunt ultimately won out. I resolved on the ride up that if our guide wasn’t a stooped and wizened native with some trace of facial hair (and that stipulation applied to female foragers as well), or if s/he relied on a field guide to identify questionable candidates, I was prepared to politely decline the porcini bruschetta no matter how good it smelled coming off the make-shift grill. I wouldn’t deign to try any mushroom we picked that wasn’t vetted by a local who looked at least as old as the surrounding terroir.

As luck would have it, Zio Vincenzo (pictured at left) fit the bill and reassured the novitiates with his sparkling elfin-blue eyes, infrequent speech and forthright manner. We were handed buckets within minutes of our arrival and set to our task forthwith. The way he wielded his perfectly smooth and gnarled walking stick reinforced that we were in the calloused hands of a seasoned authority who had clearly been savoring the subtleties of spore-borne specialties long before any of us were born. Any remaining traces of lingering fear were obliterated by the reassuring presence of his smiling wife (who appeared very much alive as well) and three playful kittens that followed faithfully behind us as we clambered through the native oak and chestnut forest in search of its damp delicacies. Here’s a shot of the calico tagging along with the kids as we enjoyed the fresh breezes and dappled autumn light.

Once we returned with our ample catch (pull?) of large, umbrella-shaped massa tamboras, delicate clusters of bright yellow chiodinis and stocky porcinis, we enjoyed a hearty antipasto spread and convivial pranzo of Zia’s beans and sausages with a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and savored some of Mona and Mirella’s exceptional cookies for dessert. Interestingly, no funghi were served (probably because our hosts had refrained from picking any beforehand in anticipation of our arrival and they didn’t want to analyze our harvest on an empty pancia). I of course had to continually implore the kids to eat while the kittens mounted their cuteness assault against the patio windows. I couldn't recall any news stories of children starving to death because they forgot to eat while playing with cats so I gave in and excused them from the table after three bites of sausage.

Following our post prandial espresso, Zia filled the gatti’s bowl with the leftover fagioli and we headed out to reassess our treasures. I was careful to refrain from sorting any buckets myself lest an errant entophyte picked by an over zealous neophyte get past Zio’s careful eye and result in the demise of an esteemed fellow or two back at the Academy at lunch on Monday. “Fatal Fungi Fells Fellows Following Fossicking Fieldtrip” might have been the headline a few of us had in mind as we ceded the sorting table to those more experienced. Zio and Mona set to work and meticulously picked over our collective harvest while the rest of us snapped photos of them in action and the kids continued to practice their burgeoning kitten-carrying techniques. We headed back to Roma in the Academy van with several crates of the freshest funghi available and fond memories of a particularly exceptional day. Grazie a tutti!

Cibo glorioso!

For those of you who have been waiting patiently for more AAR food shots, here are a few to whet your appetite. The meals are glorious and the fellows are continually singing the kitchen's praises. A typical lunch spread includes soup, pasta, and a variety of seasonal salads followed by fresh fruit and organic yogurt with honey.

Dinners are a more formal affair, excepting Friday "family night" when parents can enjoy at least a few minutes of adult conversation while the kids do laps around the cortille after dessert. The biggest challenge the fellows face while here may be refraining from overeating at pranzo so that they have at least some room for the superlative cena offered in the evening.

The impressive loggia pictured is where the resident fellows and visiting artists and scholars enjoy their delicious mid day and evening repasts.



Giovanni is enjoying being back in a bustling kitchen and picking up new tricks. There's a lot of comraderie among the staff and interns and residents and fellows are invited to volunteer on Saturday mornings. One especially exciting development is that a photographer was here last week snapping shots for the Rome Sustainable Food Project's upcoming soup cookbook and she took pictures of Gio and the RSFP staff as well as all the kids and families on site for inclusion. It won't be out in print until next year, but promises to be a great keepsake. I'm hopeful that the one of Giorgio eating zuppa di fagioli con ciccoria next to the Academy's Hercules fountain will make the cut.

Here's a shot of our favorite visiting artist in action cleaning fresh funghi porcini for dinner.

For the record, Daddy is by no means the only gastronome in our apartment. Giulia and Giorgio are both making bread at school these days and Giorgio has a scheduled field trip this month to Aprilia where he and his classmates will be participating in the "vendemmia" or grape crush. Let's hope they send the kids home with a sample of the finished product for the parents.

Here's a shot of Giulia sharing her handiwork with Giorgio.

...and another of her enjoying some pasta carbonara in Trastevere.

Other, more general gastronomic observations about Italy for those interested:

1. If Rome figures in your plans, you will inevitably start to smell like an aged pecorino by day three - regardless of how many showers you take.

2. The mozzarella is only truly fresh if it makes your teeth squeak when you bite it.

3. Word to the wise - Don't try complimenting anyone on their homemade preserves unless you know to avoid the term "preservanti" when speaking Italian. It's one of those linguistic "false friends" that will put you at risk of proclaiming how much you enjoyed someone's condoms instead of their jam. "Marmellata" should suffice.

Mid-September Dispatch

Life at the Academy is in full swing and the weekly calendar is filling up fast with walks and talks, tours and receptions, Italian conversation and yoga classes and forays to local markets and out-of-the-way bakeries. Amazingly, I also find a way to manage to shoe-horn in getting the kids to school and back. It's been said that living at the AAR for a year is akin to receiving a graduate education. So far, it seems to hold true -- I would only add the qualifier that for parents, access to a reliable baby sitter is key. With that in mind, all the parents here in 5b held a meeting on the roof-top terrace this week to discuss setting up a babysitting collective so we can enjoy the occasional night out. Somehow, we successfully managed to work out a coupon-based system over vino rosso while the kids raided a family's fridge for popsicles and covered their bodies with washable magic markers.


Distinct highlights from last week include attending a birthday party on a terrace overlooking the Piazza Venezia where Gio and I danced to Euro-trash disco til midnight next to a 90-year-old reveler, and celebrating my birthday by spending five hours alone at the Vatican Museum where I believe I may have happened upon the inspiration for a wide variety of regional pasta shapes based on the hairstyles of noblewomen from late antiquity. (See image below) I'm currently considering fleshing out my thesis further for a Rome Prize fellowship in 2012.



While traversing the Museum's 3.5 miles of galleries I also made other observations:

1. The food at the bar located on the interior courtyard should be avoided. Shove a pizza bianca in your purse beforehand to eat on an outdoor bench instead and then head to the bar and indulge in an overpriced cold drink in the shade. My panino was abyssmal but the prosecco was lovely. In retrospect I didn't feel so bad about paying 12 Euros for the experience given that a good portion of the tab will doubtless go toward victim compensation. It certainly isn't funding the creation and printing of helpful handouts or expository pamphlets on the countless treasures contained within.

2. There is a wide range in quality concerning tour guides. (FYI - Those guys who authoritatively assert that "Jesus's gaze miraculously follows you as you pass by his likeness" still exist. I actually encountered one in the hallway of Renaissance tapestries.)

3. Don't try to avoid checking in your Swiss Army knife at the "Guardaroba" if the uomo at the metal detector instructs you to do so after passing by his station. I made the mistake of assuming that he wouldn't waste time watching me out of the corner of his eye while processing 250 more tourists' bagagli.

4. The Church is really missing out on a huge merchandising opportunity by not offering more pagan chotchkes for sale in the many gift shops. With all those Roman mosaics, sculptures, coins, paintings, etc., all I could find was a T-shirt of some gladiators. Very disappointing. On the other hand, those interested in basing their home's design scheme on Michelangelo's iconic "Creation" scene depicted on the Sistine Chapel ceiling will fare much better. The restrained, sophisticated simplicity of the Roman mosaics and paintings still move me more than all the writhing limbs and exaggerated musculature to be found in later periods, but they clearly don't sell as many keychains. (The mouse with walnut pictured was part of an elaborate mosaic on display that depicted a floor after a Roman banquet. It was stunning in detail.)

5. Many of the paintings from 14th-16th centuries could use a good professional scrubbing as they were almost too dark to see.

6. Most surprising was the presence of a battery recycling receptacle prominently placed next to a trash can on the cortille (see below). While the Church remains unrepentant in its embrace of the Dark Ages in many respects, this uncharacteristic recognition of environmental consequences did make me think that perhaps there is a sliver of hope behind those imposing ramparts after all.

By 3 pm I had had my fill of contemplating priceless treasures, and headed back to pick up the kids from school. Gio and I then decided to head out for sushi at the kids' insistance (a regrettable mistake) but salvaged the evening by strolling over to our favorite gelateria in Trastevere - which incidentally is popular enough that it doesn't see the need to have a name or display a sign.

For those of you eager hear more about how the bambini are adjusting, be assured that they are settling in better than we expected. Giulia has pronounced the food at school to be so delicious that it's "better than Daddy's" and is making new friends in class, and Giorgio is singing in Italian in bed before he nods off and ingratiating himself with two older boys in our building to gain access to their cache of Legos.

Here's a parting shot of them showing off the gladiator outfits they made themselves out of our bedsheet and some old paper bags. "Two thumbs way, way up!"

For those of you eager to hear about how Gio is adjusting in the Academy kitchen, he's glad to be back in his element and has already picked up some new tricks (those of you who count yourselves as leek aficionadoes will be particularly pleased to see us return home). The fellows are clearly enjoying his handiwork. He's also had the benefit of being able to participate in a gnocchi-making demo in the town of Amatrice and may be heading down to one of Rome's most famous bakeries next week for a day of pizza making. I look forward to sampling the results!

Viva la Scuola! Morte per le Zanzare!

Giovanni and I join the legions of proud parents this week who dropped their children off at a new school and documented the event with umpteen jpeg files. Giulia clung to my leg for her customary 15 minutes when in the presence of a new teacher but took to Maestra Alice's arms/charms without much cajoling. When I returned to pick her up from her first day of Prima Elementaria (first grade) she ran into my arms and declared that she understood a lot of the Italian that was spoken and really liked it. Giorgio started "Terza Materna" (Kindergarten) last week and I spent a few hours with him the first two days to ease his anxiety. By day 3 he simply hung up his new backpack, sat down to paint and waved when I said ciao. Glory be to all those gods who may have been involved in the smooth transition.

Here's a shot of the kids waiting for the #44 bus in Monteverde to take us to la Scuola Arcobaleno.

Here's my parting shot of Giulia looking dubious in Maestra Alice's arms and one of Giorgio getting to work in Kindergarten with his nuova amica Allegra.

The most amazing thing by far is that the kids get served a hot three-course meal and stay until 5 pm every day (which must have something to do with residing in a siesta culture where businesses close for three hours in the afternoon and reopen at 4) so there's no "aftercare" as we Americani know it. It now appears that I'll have time to explore the neighborhood, visit local museums, bargain hunt, exercise, read, write and work while school is in session and be able to devote the customary hours required here to wait for repair people (our fridge is broken) and stand in line to affect any kind of official transaction.

Living at the Academy has been wonderful (excepting the aforementioned refrigeration issue) and we continue to meet interesting people and make new friends daily. Gio started in the kitchen and will work day shifts primarily so we'll get to see him for dinner every night. Here's a shot of us with Mona, head chef of the Rome Sustainable Food Project, and kitchen intern Francesca welcoming us last week in the garden where we enjoyed a preprandial prosecco and transcendental burrata cheese served with chestnut honey.

The kids love running in the grass, but we keep reminding them that the rapturous screaming in this particular garden (the one where Galileo reputedly first demonstrated his telescope before being consigned indefinitely to house arrest by Pope Urban VIII) has to come to an end this week when all the fellows are scheduled to arrive. Once they do manage to control themselves (the kids that is) we look forward to trying out the bocci court and grill. The ochre edifice pictured is the main administrative building which also houses the library, kitchen and some studio apartments. The stakes visible to the left are supporting the last of the summer pomodori.

Wildlife sightings thus far include a dozen feral cats in various states of health, multiple itinerant parrot colonies that swoop overhead at twilight preceded by garrulous squawking, and several plump bats that clearly cannot keep up with the great number of mosquitoes (zanzare) in the offing. The latter have been merciless, and continue to feast on us whenever we decide to allow fresh air into our quarters after 6 pm. Giorgio appears to be their preferred appetizer and Gio their main course. When Giulia and I are alone, they'll happily settle for our relatively meagre vital juices, but when the boys are also on the menu, we girls rank no higher than a so-so side dish.

The incessant (and quite historical) mosquito problem raises another big question in my mind: if Romans have been battling these blood suckers for millenia by draining swamps and reclaiming marshes, why hasn't it occurred to any enterprising soul since Caesar to design a retractable window screen for seasonal installation or at least sell mosquito nets at the local markets? I've declined more light-up paperweights and music-activated stuffed toys from street vendors than I can count, but would readily lighten someone's load if s/he offered citronella or a net for over the bed instead. Just sayin'.

I'm thrilled to report that we are happily ensconced atop the Janiculum Hill behind the Aurelian walls and enjoying the fresh breezes, green space, extra square footage, shared terrace and, perhaps more importantly (now that I'm no longer 25 and have two small children in tow), a second bathroom at our new apartment at the American Academy. Two months in a small Trastevere apartment in 90+ degree heat was more than enough for an intensive introduction to Italian urban life. We certainly enjoyed having everything within walking distance, but I was starting to think that at least the last dozen or so of the famed layers that make up the Eternal City are composed soley of gelato spoons, cigarette butts, empty wine boxes and dog excrement.

Alas, our fortunes have changed for the better. According to our housing contract, we have been officially designated as "Visiting Artists and Scholars" which means we have 4th dibs on tickets for any AAR-organized tours or events, but presumably the same priority as everyone else when the freshly baked cornetti come out of the Academy ovens. The illustrous fellows (those with higher priority) start moving in this weekend so we have a few days to ourselves in the family housing building, poetically named "5B". We just hope we can get the kids to stop screaming while jumping on their beds by then so that we aren't asked to vacate. If pressed, I am prepared to assert that jumping from beds while screaming is their preferred art form and that their seemingly chaotic outbursts are actually an elaborate, pre-structuralist reenactment of the Roman incursion of the Visigoths under Alaric the First. Or, to put it in terms more easily understood here at the Academy, "It (the kids' screaming/jumping on installations more commonly used for nocturnal repose) also illustrates the contingency of construals of particular situations/events/persons. This arises from different framings tied to different-use contexts, but that diversity can then be harnessed rhetorically to negotiate agents' desired outcomes." (This text was copied directly from a fellow's project summary on the website -- I have absolutely no idea what it means, but am hopeful that I can repeat it with confidence if/when the time arises to keep us in fresh linens.)

Here's a photo of the kids settling in and deciding where to post a photo of Jim, our beloved tabby cat back in Napa.

I took the next shot a few hours ago on the communal terrace where we dined on take-away pizza and enjoyed a view of the city below.

We're planning to spend the next few days locating the nearest markets, getting acquainted with the resident feline population and learning the new bus routes. Giulia continues to love drawing the Roman skyline, Giorgio seems most content when building trattorias and ancient monuments out of Legos and Gio is chomping at the bit to get into the Academy kitchen next week. In the meantime we all continue to benefit from his culinary artistry.

School starts for the kids in two days and we're all looking forward to starting a more regular routine.

Ferragosto

We're back in Rome after a two week trip to la campagna and I admit I was savoring the lack of traffic congestion and clean air afforded by the small towns of Puglia, Molise and Umbria. Happily, we were greeted by a very pleasant surprise in that the city has disgorged itself of at least half its residents -- all of whom are doubtless smoking on one of the many crowded beaches or looking for a parking place nearby -- and the temperature has dipped below 90 degrees. It's actually perfect except for the fact that our corner store and some of our favorite cheese shops, enotecas and pizzerias are closed until September when we move to our more permanent digs at the American Academy.

The kids continue to keep us on our toes and have made the very important discovery that the color of the gelato is not a good indicator of yummyness. Clearly another developmental milestone.

We started our country foray catching up with Giovanni's relatives in Carlantino, the Pugliese hill town where his parents grew up, and were able to partake in the fest of San Donato - the local patron saint. The celebration was officially kicked off by a traditional procession with decorative icons held aloft, brass band, dignatories, priests, nuns, countless dour old ladies in black walking arm in arm, and led by a small child holding a crucifix twice his size. It definitely felt like being on the set of a Fellini film. Afterward, the festivities continued with more food, fireworks, street vendors and, oddly enough, a Pink Floyd cover band. While admittedly incongruent, I presumed the latter was previously vetted by an obscure Vatican council that specializes in such matters.

We spent the remainder of our stay partaking in the hospitality of many families, overeating, meeting up with more cousins, walking the main street between meals, and (at least in my case) trying to understand the local dialect. I am now entertaining creating a board game based on our experience. The goal is to get through town in five days without gaining weight or offending anyone. Clearly it's a matter of succeeding in one respect or the other as refusing a course at someone's table is not condoned. This go round I'm certain we managed to fail on both counts.

Oh yes, and lest I forget, we spent a very memorable final evening at a farm where watermelon was served for desert after being ceremoniously cut by a chainsaw. Clearly not the kind of thing you will see anytime soon in Gourmet or Sunset magazines as part of "An Authentic Italian Picnic" spread.

Our next out-of-town outing will be to Viterbo for a few days and the country home of Renato and Christina, good friends of ours from years ago, and their two boys. I met Renato one summer while traveling through Italy working as a volunteer and he still runs "Brancaleone", the alternative social center that started as a communist-run squatter collective in an abandoned school -- and which I helped build the patio and garden area for with a dozen other well-meaning stranieri. The Italian government continues to leave them alone because they've improved the neighborhood by reclaiming a derelict building and, more importantly, pay the utility bills on time (and most likley turn down the screaming techno pop after 11 pm on weekdays). He's a club producer and a farmer/beekeeper and says their rural retreat has Etruscan ruins nearby as well as cats, turkeys, chickens and dogs so it promises to be a kid-pleaser.