Tour del Gelato: Oasi del Gelato, Roccamonfina

Oasi del Gelato is located on a main street in Roccamonfina, in walking distance from the wonderfully green Piazza Nicola Amore. In all of Italy, this is my favorite gelateria, and I would not be surprised if N felt the same way. As I mentioned in my previous post, Roccamonfina is known for its chestnuts, and it is the castagna (chestnut) gelato at Oasi delGelato that keeps us going back for more. Oasi del Gelato also showcases a few other nut flavors: the rare noce (walnut,) mandorla (almond,) pralinone (praline,) and the ubiquitous nocciola (hazelnut.)

I took me a while to try the chestnut gelato. I was never a fan of nut flavors, preferring fruit flavors like melone (melon,) limone (lemon,) and mela verde (green apple) in hot weather, and the range of chocolate flavors when it's cooler. The first nut flavor I tried at Oasi del Gelato was almond, because I thought it would make a happy abbinamento with chocolate. Well, it did, and I liked it even better than chocolate (blasphemy, I know.) Almond was my favorite until N coaxed me into trying some chestnut. Since then, I have not gone back to Roccamonfina without ordering it. I even had it with green apple one very hot summer day. That is not a combination I recommend to anyone.

Last Wednesday, I ordered chestnut and chocolate tartufo, while N chose chestnut and liquirizia (licorice.) He realized this was a strange combination, but he likes chestnut almost as much as I do. We like the chestnut gelato because it strikes the perfect balance of nutty and sweet. It is exceptionally creamy and has bits of soft, candied chestnut. If you are fortunate, and arrive just as they place a new tub behind the counter, you may get some chestnut syrup in your cup or cone. The chocolate tartufo wasn't bad, but it had more of an alcohol taste than I like in my gelato. It suffered too much from being next to chestnut, I fear. N's licorice was quite delicious. It was creamy, sweet and delightfully sharp.

Of the other flavors available, walnut may be the most interesting. N actually prefers it to chestnut. It's also creamy, not too sweet, and has bits of walnut throughout. Almond tends to have a more regular consistency than either walnut or chestnut, and a pleasant, if mild, almond taste. Praline is the sweetest and crunchiest of the nut flavors. Of the fruit flavors, I like green apple best. It's more like an ice here, very light, and it has just the right amount of tartness. Other flavors available at Oasi del Gelato include the typical amarena, lampone, fragola, limone, melone, strasciatella, baci, the usual chocolate flavors, and the intriguing sapori di sicilia (flavors of Sicily) which we've never tried, but certainly will do on a future visit.

Here's a close-up of my cone. Yes, I did lick the half with the chestnut gelato before taking the photo. No, it would not have been possible to wait until after taking the photo. This is a view of the interior of the gelateria. As you can see, there are plenty of comfortable places to sit while enjoying your gelato. There's additional seating outside. On warm, sunny days, it's even better to take your gelato with you as you walk to the piazza, where there's a terrace with a nice view of the countryside. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a photo of the gelato counter because there were too many customers, which is always a good sign. You can see some of them anxiously waiting to order in the background of the photo.

Oasi del Gelato
Via Napoli 21, Roccamonfina (CE)
Tel: 0823 921760

For more information on the Tour del Gelato, visit Ms. Adventures in Italy.

Roccamonfina

Wednesday was the Festa della Liberazione, the anniversary of the 1945 liberation of Italy. N, finding himself with a rare day off from work, suggested that we go for a passeggiata. We first thought of Casertavecchia, a medieval town in the hills above Caserta, but it began to rain just as we were about to leave. There was no sense in going to Casertavecchia in bad weather, but we didn't want to give up on doing something fun. We decided to take a quick trip to the mountain town of Roccamonfina for some gelato at our favorite gelateria.

On the drive to Roccamonfina, we passed through heavy rain and even hail, but as we neared the town, we saw some breaks in the clouds ahead of us. By the time we arrived, it wasn't raining anymore, although there were still plenty of threatening clouds in the sky. Rather than go directly to the gelateria, we decided to take advantage of the break in the rain and visit the Franciscan monastery of Sta. Maria dei Lattani. People from nearby towns often go there to collect water from a fountain of pure spring water, and Wednesday was no exception. Despite the poor weather, there were already quite a few other visitors when we arrived.

The church and monastery were begun in the fifteenth century, after a shepherd boy found a miraculous image of the Madonna and Child in a nearby grotto. The first structure was a simple chapel built by the Roccani, as the inhabitants of Roccamonfina are called, but later the spot was visited by San Bernardino da Siena, giving impetus to the construction of the monastic complex.
The buildings are small and very simple, befitting a Franciscan monastery. The church is preceded by a staircase of local stone, which I believe is volcanic, given that the town is named for the nearby extinct volcano. (In fact, I've read that the town where I live was built up on volcanic stone and soil from the Roccamonfina volcano.) The monastery has a lovely cloister with seventeenth-century frescoes painted by a cleric from Naples.
















To the left of the entrance to the church, under the porch, there is a door that leads to a narrow passageway running along the side of the church. A few meters down this corridor is the grotto where the miraculous image is said to have been found. Inside the grotto is a niche closed off by an iron gate protecting the sacred place where the image was discovered. The friars have placed another image there to take the place of the original, which is housed in the church. Visitors leave rosaries and other small gifts, sometimes whatever they find on their person: I saw plenty of hair clips and elastic bands.

Roccamonfina is known for its chestnuts, even hosting an annual sagra, and the monastery is surrounded by fields of chestnut trees.

The chestnuts have even inspired some of the decoration there. The arches of the monastery's facade arcade spring from capitals decorated with chestnuts and leaves:

The fountain is located in the courtyard before the church and monastery. Above it is a large image, executed in painted tiles, that illustrates discovery of the spring, said to be holy because of its proximity to the sacred grotto. The basin dates from the fifteenth century and is made of the same volcanic stone as the staircase preceding the church.

Here I am, taking a drink of fresh mountain water. I can't explain why I chose to cup my hands like that, when I should have been using one of them to hold back my ridiculously long hair. But seeing myself like that now makes me think of Diogenes, who, seeking to simplify his life, cast off all his possessions but for a single drinking cup. Then one day he came upon a shepherd who cupped his hands to drink from a stream. Diogenes then cast off his cup as well, he, a philosopher, having learned from a simple man. I think there is a lesson in the the story of Diogenes, but I can assure you that the next time we go back to Roccamonfina, we'll be bringing bottles to fill with water, in the manner of the Roccani and their neighbors, who aren't satisfied with a few furtive sips from cupped hands.

Love Thursday: Ele's forbidden love

Ele, our three-year-old niece, is the only girl of her generation in N's family. She looks up to her two older brothers, and likes to copy whatever they do. Not long ago, when they were talking about the girls they liked at school, she announced that she too had a fidanzato, which translates roughly as steady boyfriend. When they asked her who it was she thought for a moment, and then announced, "Zio N." This comes as no surprise because N is also her brothers' favorite uncle.

When Ele's father heard that she had chosen N as her fidanzato, he began a program of what my sister-in-law referred to as lavaggio del cervello, or brainwashing. It's not that he spoke against N, rather he just made it clear to Ele that if she were going to have a fidanzato it would have to be her papà. This caused some difficulty at Eastertime when the whole family was together. When Ele sat beside N, he teasingly asked her who her fidanzato was. Looking around and seeing that her father was in earshot, she just uttered a whiny "nnnn." But when her father left the room, she whispered to N, "Quando non c'e babbo, tu sei mio fidanzato," which means, more or less, "when daddy's not around, you're my boyfriend."

Ele and her family have since returned to the north of Italy where they live. But the other night when N was talking to his sister on the phone, she told him of how Ele has not forgotten her secret fidanzato. As a treat, Ele and her brothers were given cioccolatini (chocolate candies,) or cioccolini, as Ele prefers to say. She left one of hers uneaten, and her mother wanted to know why, because even at her young age, Ele is already quite golosa. "Questo è per Zio N!" she snapped, annoyed with having to explain something that should have been obvious. Even after her mother reminded her that Zio N was far away, and that she wouldn't be able to give him the cioccolino for a long time, Ele persisted. So the cioccolatino was duly wrapped up and put away in a cupboard, where it sits waiting for Ele's fidanzato.

Hung out to dry

I came upon this somberly dressed doll while wandering through the dark labyrinth of narrow streets in the center of town. I wondered if she were somehow associated with Lent, as I found her on Good Friday, but when I asked N if he thought she had any particular significance, he said he had never seen anything like her before. She's dressed much like the members of the archconfraternity that led the Good Friday procession. But the street were she hangs was never visited by that procession, because it's much too narrow, as you can see. Maybe she represents a hanged witch, and is an image of evil overcome, which wouldn't be incongruous with the meanings of Lent and Easter.

Or maybe she's just a morbid child's plaything and has been hung here maliciously to bring an end to any sweet reveries brought about by the beauty of the medieval quarter on a warm sunny day. If that was the intention, I must confess that she was not very effective.

April, Campo di Pere

A couple of weeks ago, on a warm and sunny morning, N and I went for a passeggiata to Campo di Pere. This time there were blue skies and plenty of sun. As we walked through the meadow, tall grasses rustled before us as lucertole darted here and there, looking for places to hide. There were wildflowers blooming throughout the meadow:

Margherite that graciously turned their faces in the direction of my camera

One of the many wild roses growing on the periphery of our property

A tiny star-like flower that I'd never seen before

The fig trees have begun to unfurl their leaves, and the pear trees continue to flower:

















Soon it will be time to cut the grasses, or else they'll become a fire hazard. In June, the cherry trees will fruit, and we will begin to think about fertilizing the olive trees. And then, in July, there will be figs.

I think that what I love best about spring is that it represents the promise of the future. It turns this pessimist into an optimist every time.

Love Thursday: Ladri di Iris

I've written posts about love before, once even on a Thursday, but this is my first Love Thursday post. At first I thought that I would never write one, because I'm not much of a follower, but then I realized that when it comes to love, that's a very silly position to take.

Thieves of Irises*

The irises began to bloom around here a few weeks ago, and when I first saw them along the road to Naples, I cried out and pointed to them, telling N that they were among my favorite flowers. "Those are my mother's flowers," he told me, and justly so: his mother's name is Iris.

N and I have fallen into the kind of love in which we have such a great sympathy that when one of us wishes something, the other discerns the desire immediately and shares it, without ever needing to speak of it. I never thought this kind of love imaginable, and yet we live it every day, and every day I marvel at it all the more, as it grows even stronger. And so it was that when N spoke of his mother, I knew that he meant to stop the car right then and there and pick the irises for her. "Amore," I told him, "if we pick them now, they won't be fresh when we visit your mother next week."

The next time we drove to Naples, N slowed the car as we neared the patch where we had first seen the irises, but there was nowhere to pull off the road. We drove along slowly, looking for places to park, angering the motorists in the cars behind us; they honked and honked, but to no avail. Finally we found a spot where there were some white irises, and I waited in the car nervously while he ducked down in the field to pick them. When he came back with some white irises in hand, I said, "Those are beautiful," but he knew that I thought that purple ones would make a nicer gift. So we drove back the way we came and found a place to stop across the road from a few large clumps of purple and white irises. As I waited in the car, I looked over the white ones that N had picked, and thought of planting irises in the garden next to our house. This time he came back with about a dozen, both purple and white, a few of them still attached to their rhizomes. "Look," I said, "you've pulled up the whole plant!"
"Tesoro, those are for you to plant in our garden."

N's mother is gracious woman, quiet and unassuming, yet self-possessed. She spends her time thinking of others, and when someone offers her a gift, or when she realizes that someone has thought of her, she smiles only surreptitiously, because she is embarrassed at the attention. This is how she greeted us when we arrived bearing irises, and when we told her that they were for her because they share her name, she could no longer suppress the smile, and her eyes lit up. Being a quiet person like she is, I know that to her small gestures like these are the greatest proof that she is loved.

Stolen irises on a windowsill, waiting to be replanted

*No irises were taken from any one's garden, all of them were growing along the side of the road, at the edge of agricultural tracts given over to raising much less evocative plants.

Easter 2007

Finally, an account of some of the recent Easter celebrations in the town where I live.

In the weeks before Easter, elaborate frameworks for lights were put up all over town, but most of all along the main streets and squares. On Good Friday, workers checked the lights, making sure that every bulb worked. That evening, the lights were extinguished for the somber Venerdì Santo procession, which began at twilight at the cathedral, and circled its way through the town, visiting nearly every piazza and church. The air was thick with ashes from several bonfires, the largest of which produced a column of smoke so high that it was visible throughout the town. Along the main street, the Corso, many of the shopkeepers dimmed their lights as the procession neared:



The procession was led by the Archconfraternity of the Most Holy Crucifixion, whose members dressed in black robes and hoods. Along the way, the first few members of the procession would pause and wail mournfully. When they began to move again, they were followed by other members who carried torches, and then by others who carried a series of venerated statues, among them the Scourging at the Pillar, which appears to the left. The last of the statues represented the three Marys who sought Christ at his tomb. On either side, confraternity members carried long ropes to separate themselves from onlookers. While they walked, a brass band followed them, playing somber hymns. The band was in turn followed by a few hundred people who recited the Rosary in unison. Where my husband and I watched, the street was narrow, and as the procession came through, we had to press ourselves against the walls of the shops to avoid being crushed. After they advanced a certain pace, the members of the procession would then walk backward half the distance they had just covered. After this they would pause again as the band played another hymn. When the band finished playing, the confraternity members at the beginning of the procession would wail mournfully, beginning the ritual all over again.

The three Marys

By the way, in case anyone is wondering, these photos are blurry because of the very long exposure time made necessary by the dark conditions, and because I couldn't use a tripod.

The morning of Holy Saturday, there was another procession, undertaken by members of the Confraternities of the Most Holy Refuge and of St. Charles Borromeo. They carried statues of the Deposition and the Pietà and were followed by penitents dressed in black, who bore large candles that dripped wax all over their clothes and the street.The first image shows the Deposition. Beneath is the Pietà. The figure draped in black is the Madonna. The candle bearers were followed by the brass band from the night before, who this time played slightly less mournful songs. Like the Good Friday procession, this one advanced and reversed, making very slow progress through the town. In fact, both processions lasted several hours.

Just a couple of minutes after I took these last two pictures, I began to feel very sick from influenza, and I could barely stand. N and I went home, and I got into bed, where I stayed until Monday morning almost without interruption. In the meantime, the Easter celebrations continued. These are some (though not all) of the events that I missed, though I could often hear them off in the distance:

• Procession with the image of the Madonna del Popolo and the effigy of Leo IX
• Translation of the image of the Madonna del Popolo and the effigy of Leo IX
  
• Baby karaoke su megaschermo (That would be "Big screen baby karaoke" in English)
  
• Gran torneo per ragazzi di Playstation su megaschermo (Grand children's Playstation tournament, also on the big screen, of course)
  
• Fountain, light, and music show in the main piazza
• Irene Grandi concert
• Fireworks from the terrace of the ducal palace

If anyone has any questions about what a confraternity is, or who the three Marys are, or what the Deposition is, etc., please don't hesitate to ask me. In my former, academic life, I happily answered questions like these almost every day.

Split personality

I like to be on time, and to plan ahead. I like it when things are done in a timely manner. I like to follow traffic rules and I think that tax evasion is wrong. I like to spend my time in quiet places away from crowds. I'm a nonconformist and I find many traditions annoying, even oppressive. That's why I find this surprising:

Your Inner European is Italian!

Passionate and colorful. You show the world what culture really is.

Who's Your Inner European?

I'm glad that my inner European finds herself exactly where she should be. But how does this square with the characteristics I mentioned above? To whom do they belong? Do I have an outer European? If so, who is she, and can the both of us be happy here in Italy?

Picturesque

I have always been drawn to overgrown gardens and landscapes. They fill me with a sensation that combines delight with awe, and justly so. The picturesque is, after all, an aesthetic category that falls somewhere between the beautiful and the sublime.

Southern Italy has much to offer to those in search of the picturesque. There are, of course, the ancient ruins that remind us of the Greeks and Romans. Their monuments can be found in the towns and the countryside, where they are often overgrown with grasses and vines. And then there are newer and less famous ruins: crumbling farmhouses left abandoned because it costs more to restructure than to build anew. These ruins receive little of the affection that we have for their more ancient counterparts. They are simply not old enough, even if they are picturesque all the same.

On this abandoned farm located at the edge of town, I found garden flowers thriving despite having been neglected, along with the house they once served to decorate, for nearly a decade.

Some calla lilies bloom near the farmhouse door, which stands open permanently, inviting weeds to cross the threshold. Tiny white wildflowers grow among the calla lilies' large green leaves.
Near a sunken well, there is a bush of some daisy-like flowers that look like coreopsis. From here, one can see how the steps leading to the front door have been invaded by grass and weeds. The roof of the shed that abuts the house is covered with leafy vines.A variety of plants and grasses spread out over the fertile land, covering it like a carpet. At the top of the slope is the town. I envy the people who live in those houses, who every day look through windows that frame the charming scene below.

The elephant tower

KC pointed to a tall, white structure in the distance. "Look, there's another tower," she said.
KC's husband, N, looked at the tower, but to him it seemed like the one they had seen perhaps an hour earlier, and he told her so, saying "No, Tesoro, that's the same tower we saw before."
But Tesoro insisted, "No, it can't be. I think we're in a different part of the city."
N was skeptical because KC has no sense of direction. "No," he told her, "it's the same tower. We've been walking in circles."
"That may be so, but it doesn't look like the other tower."
"It looks exactly the same. It's the same tower."
KC became impatient and demanded, "Are you sure you want to make that argument to an art historian?"

But N was unpersuaded even by KC's authority in such matters, and saw their disagreement as an opportunity. "Let's make a bet", he suggested, "and if I win, you'll make me a cake. What do you want if you win?"
"A kiss."
"A kiss? It has to be something real," N protested.
"A kiss isn't real?" KC asked. "I was being generous because I know I'm going to win." She tried to think of something else, but despite the surety of knowing that she would have whatever she asked, she could think of nothing. Then, after a minute or two, she told N that she would like him to make spaghetti all' amatriciana for her.
N seemed relieved by the still small request, but feeling confident, pressed her to ask for something larger. "You don't want anything bigger?"
KC paused again, reflecting, but soon she realized that, no, there really was nothing else she wanted. "I already have everything I want," she told him, matter-of-factly.

KC and N were almost out of breath as they neared the tower. It was high up in the city and to arrive there, they had climbed up through steep streets. As they walked around the back of it, KC said, "We'll know soon enough when we see the front, and there will probably be a sign." Then, as they turned around the bend, the entrance façade came into view, and while there was no sign, there was one detail that made it unmistakeably different from the last tower they had seen.

KC, the first to notice, exclaimed, "Wait a second, what's that up there on the façade? We haven't seen that little fellow before!"
Not wanting to gloat, she turned to N and made an offer. "If you give me a kiss now, you won't have to cook for me."
N smiled and touched KC's face. He told her, "You can have three kisses now, and I'll cook for you anyway."

Zio Peppino and the lamb

Wherein Zio Peppino consumes an inordinate amount of meat. Vegetarians might want to skip this one.

When I first met Zio Peppino, I noticed almost immediately that he had a great love of eating, and that this passion was matched by another, equally strong, which was talking about eating. Any meal taken with Zio Peppino lasted hours because he preferred to eat slowly so that he could fully savor every flavor and texture, and because eating presented him with ample opportunity to remember and recount his gastronomic exploits. Often he would begin with a simple question addressed to one of his fellow diners, a question like, "Do you like pork?" or "Do you eat mushrooms?" Whether the answer was yes or no, it mattered little; either way, the response was merely his cue that it was time to begin a story. At the table, Zio Peppino had the air of an accomplished raconteur. He knew when best to slacken the pace to create suspense or pause and brandish a fork or knife for emphasis, while glancing wild-eyed at his audience. Now and then he would speak with his mouth still full, making smacking noises that accentuated perfectly the rich descriptions he offered of delicious and succulent foods.

This is a story that Zio Peppino recounted one afternoon upon hearing the cue, "I like lamb." I cannot tell it the way Zio Peppino did, because I am not a storyteller of his caliber, so I ask you to keep my description of him in your mind as you read, and try to imagine how it must have been to hear him tell the tale.

One spring, Zio Peppino happened to mention to one of his friends that he had purchased a tender young lamb. They began to have a heated discussion about the best way to cook it, and it soon became clear that this friend was very much interested in the lamb. Zio Peppino offered to bring it to his house, where they could cook it and have a fine dinner together, and his friend happily agreed. When Zio Peppino arrived at the house, he noticed that in the kitchen preparations had already begun for what would surely be a memorable dinner. Zio Peppino offered to help with the lamb, but he was pushed out of the kitchen by his friend's wife, who told him to enjoy being a guest, as she would take care of everything. Still, Zio Peppino checked on the progress in the kitchen from time to time, and while he thought it odd that his friend's wife seemed sluggish in finally putting the lamb in the oven, once it began to cook, he gave it no further thought. In fact, he soon became distracted by some pleasant conversation with some of the other guests and he lost track of time.

When dinner was ready, Zio Peppino and the other guests took their places around the table. His friend's wife brought out the courses, and the guests consumed them, one after another: the antipasti, a primo, then another primo. When finally she brought out the secondo, Zio Peppino was confused because it wasn't the lamb, but then he figured that there would be two second courses, just as there had been two primi. Afterward, as the hostess began to clear the plates, she offered fruit and dessert wine, and Zio Peppino asked where the lamb was. His friend seemed surprised. "The lamb? Oh, yes," he told the other guests, "we also have some roast lamb for anyone who would like it," and he asked his wife to bring some to the table. It was then that Zio Peppino understood why the wife had been so slow to cook the lamb. His hosts had not intended to offer it that evening at all, preferring to keep it for themselves, and it was only Zio Peppino's surveillance in the kitchen that had forced her finally to put it in the oven!

The hostess returned from the kitchen carrying a very small quantity of lamb that was quickly consumed by all the guests. Zio Peppino was not satisfied by this, and he asked for another serving. "And bring out the whole lamb this time," he added. His hosts seemed reluctant, but not wanting to cut a brutta figura, they complied. Once the lamb was placed on the table, ZioPeppino brandished his knife and offered to cut a piece for anyone at the table who wanted bis, or seconds, but he was the only one who was still hungry. He cut a piece for himself and ate it. Then he cut another, and ate that one too. As he ate, he told stories about how he never ceased to surprise people with the quantity of food he was able to consume. He cut another piece of the lamb, and another, slowly and methodically eating every last bite. As the hours passed, his hosts looked on, increasingly dismayed as they realized that Zio Peppino had truly outeaten, or rather, outsmarted them.

Not something you see every day

Italy is not known for customer service. In the shops, clerks expect that you feel honored that they deign to sell you anything. Having something repaired can be even worse. When our Telecom Italia telephone stopped working, we called Telecom, who told us to bring it to the shop where we bought it. At the shop they were visibly annoyed and asked us what they were supposed to do with it, as they only knew how to sell telephones. Imagine how attitudes like these translate into the national health system, where the possibilities of being treated coldly, impersonally, and with indifference are probably infinite. So I am sure you can understand how surprised I was when I saw this:























These are two sides of a customer service survey printed in a brochure for a public hospital in Naples. I apologize for the wonkiness of the scans, but that's the way it was printed in the brochure. The survey begins with the statement: "Il suo giudizio ci aiuta a migliorare," or "Your assessment helps us to improve." Some of the issues patients are asked to evaluate include courtesy and respect for privacy (no. 3), welcoming and comfortable atmosphere (no. 8), and waiting times and organization of the Ufficio ticket (no. 10.) All three of these, judging from my experience (and that of most people I know,) are issues that the health system really needs to work on. There's even some space to write suggestions (eventuali suggerimenti.) I don't feel that the straight-mouthed smiley really conveys the idea of satisfaction, but that's a small complaint, really, considering that someone cared enough to ask about patients' concerns. I am truly impressed.