This is the tenth installment of the monthly Italy Blogging Roundtable, a project organized by travel writing powerhouse Jessica Spiegel, and including professional travel writer Melanie Renzulli, art historian and general brainiac Alexandra Korey, Tuscan uber-blogger Gloria, and me. (If you missed the previous months, take a look here.) Please, pull up a chair to our Roundtable, have some caramel corn, and join in on the conversation.
I just woke up one day and knew it was time. I mean, you can only live in fear for so long. You can only avoid your demons for so long. You can only exist in a state of denial, shame, and self-imposed existential isolation for so long. At a certain point, it’s time to stand up and take back your life.
It was time to make gnocchi.
Yes, okay, I know. I’ve been living in Italy for almost twenty years and I’ve never had the courage to make gnocchi. There are a few dishes I’ve never made in all my years here for the simple reason that I have access to a number of elderly country ladies who are masters at dishes like torta al testo, torta di formaggio, and tagliatelle. So, when I have a hankering, it’s just plain easier to ask one of the zie to whip them up for me than go to the trouble of making it myself. Plus, it totally makes their day (Week. Month. Year.). I figure that when they start dying off on me, I’ll go to the trouble of learning their secrets myself.
This is not the case with gnocchi. I don’t know any older Umbrian women who are particularly talented at gnocchi, which is not a traditional dish in Umbria. Sure, they can throw a bowl of them together under duress, but it’s clearly not their piatto forte. Which is probably the very same reason that I’ve been avoiding making them for all these years. I mean, if Zia Anna—who can almost single-handedly butcher an entire pig and cook up its entrails into something enticing in her 300-year-old wood burning oven in the farmyard out back—can’t make a decent plate of gnocchi, it must be incredibly tricky, right?
But then a couple of things happened. One is that my friend and professional chef Jennifer started shaming me almost daily about it. It was bordering on a bullying-like situation. My self-esteem was beginning to suffer. And then–to rub salt in the wound–Jennifer showed wine blogger Mary Cressler how to make gnocchi in roughly 37 seconds, and Mary went home to make a perfect pot of gnocchi on her first go with complete nonchalance. Nonchalance, I say. And Mary had been in Umbria for all of five days. I’ve been here for 19 years.
It was humiliating.
As a final catalyst, there was the looming monthly Italy Blogging Roundtable, with the appalling theme of “roots”. Whoever came up with that idea is clearly a raving idiot (yes, it was me). But then the lightbulb clicked on. Roots! Potatoes are root vegetables! And potatoes are the main ingredient of gnocchi! I would make gnocchi!
Let the record show that when I said those exact same words to Jennifer over the phone, it was met with a disconcerting silence. The life of a genious is a lonely one, my friends.
So gnocchi it was. I was stoked. Ready. Yet potato-less.
Yes, potato-less. You’d think that living on a farm would guarantee a virtual endless supply of basic foodstuffs like eggs, potatoes, and grappa…but we had finished the potatoes from last year and the spring spuds aren’t ready yet. So, I called Jennifer back to ask what kind of potatoes I should buy from the grocery store.
The words grocery store were met with a disconcerting silence.
Which is why I found myself driving around the Umbrian countryside in search of a farm truck hawking locally grown potatoes. Because if my first go at gnocchi was going to crash and burn, it wasn’t going to be because I had the wrong damn potatoes. Luckily, I came upon a truck pretty quickly and the guy there had bagged me up a couple of potatoes when I mentioned I was making gnocchi with them. At which point he snatched the bag out of my hands and dumped them back in bin with a look like I was the biggest cretin who had ever pulled over next to his pick-up. “Why didn’t you say so? You don’t need the Colfiorito reds, then. You’ll be wanting the Avezzano browns. They’re grown in the sandy soil along the river.” Ah. I nodded wisely. He went on to discuss the merits of making gnocchi with potatoes from Avezzano for several minutes. Other clients chimed in. Advice and warnings were given. Pointers. Tips. Trouble-shooting solutions. None of which were particularly encouraging.
I got back home assembled the rest of the ingredients, according to what Jennifer had told me over the phone:
- Four to six potatoes. I’m not even going to try to tell you what kind. Ask your farm truck guy.
- An egg, slightly beaten with a fork.
- Four to five cups of flour. Have five ready just in case.
- A small handful of grated parmesan cheese.
- Salt. (I forgot to put the salt in and they came out fi…oh, wait. I won’t spoil the ending for you. But don’t sweat the salt thing.)
And then I took about 20 minutes to decide on what music I wanted to listen to while I cooked. Because my priorities are straight.
I washed the potatoes and put them in a pot of salted water, brought it to a boil, and then lowered the heat to a simmer and, in theory, let the potatoes cook until fork-tender. What really happened was that I got distracted by this singularly hilarious blog post by my friend Michelle, which pulled me down the rabbit hole of capes, Borsellinos, and cigars until I suddenly realized that I had probably overboiled the potatoes. As it turns out, they came out fi…oh, wait. I won’t spoil the ending for you. But don’t sweat the overboiling thing.
I drained and peeled the potatoes (while roughly still the temperature of the surface of the sun) and then went to pick my sons up from school. I wanted to involve them in the gnocchi-making process, as it involves a) the food mill (big fun); b) mixing dough by hand (bigger fun); and c) rolling out snakes and cutting them into pieces (playdoh-level fun). And, of course, if my first go at gnocchi was going to crash and burn, I could blame them.
When we all got home, we put the cooled potatoes through the mill, then made a well with about three cups of the flour and added the potatoes, beaten egg, and cheese. My sons took turns mixing and mashing it all together, gradually adding more flour until the dough wasn’t sticky. My gut feeling is that we worked the dough a little too much (My turn now! No, let me knead it now!) but as it turns out, they came out fi…oh, wait. I won’t spoil the ending for you. But don’t sweat the kneading thing.
The boys broke off chunks of dough to roll into snakes, which they then cut into the classic little pillow-shaped squares. I kind of gave them free reign at this point, which risulted in a hodge-podge of sizes, shapes, and scored vs. unscored gnocchi on our final tray. But we’re less about form and more about function at our table.
It was time for the reckoning. I cooked the gnocchi in two batches in a large pot of salted, boiling water so they wouldn’t stick together (they only take a couple of minutes to rise to the surface after you dump them in, so it’s easy to keep the first batch warm while you quickly cook the second) and dressed them with our own pesto, which we make in summer and freeze to use the rest of the year. They looked pretty good…they had retained their shape (a promising sign that they wouldn’t be too mushy) but also swelled just slightly while cooking (a promising sign that they wouldn’t be too tough).
And it was underwhelming. I mean, not the gnocchi. The gnocchi were fabulous. Perfect. Despite a strong probability that we used the wrong potatoes, despite forgetting the salt, despite slightly overboiling the potatoes, kneading the dough to death, and having made no two the same size.
Which just goes to show you. Sometimes the secret to success is not sweating the small stuff.
Curious to hear what Alexandra, Gloria, Melanie, and Jessica had to say about this month’s topic? Check out their blog posts, and leave your comments.
I spent the month of January blogging about wine for Umbria on the Blog, and, while it was certainly one of the funner months in recent history (the parts that I, ahem, remember), the experience served to bring home one truth: there can, indeed, be too much of a good thing. I got pretty wine-d out by the time the project came to a close with the International Wine Tourism Conference in Perugia, but before I hop on the wagon I thought I’d throw together a quick guide to the principal wines produced in Umbria with some suggestions for my favorite places to sample each.
Hard at work researching. Really.
Though this region has a wine-making tradition that began with the Etruscans over 2000 years ago, the Umbrians spent most of the past two millenia brewing up tiny batches of wine for use by family and friends, and never made the name for themselves to rival that of their Tuscan neighbors.
That said, over the past twenty years the culture surrounding wine in this region has moved out of the private sphere and into the public eye. Commercial cantinas have begun to make themselves an international reputation by both refining the traditional varietals and by pushing the envelope with new products and blends.
The principal wines produced in Umbria are:
Montefalco Sagrantino DOCG from the area surrounding Montefalco. This tannic, full-bodied red made from the Sagrantino grape is aged a minimum of 30 months (the final 12 in wood barrels), has spice, berry, and earth flavors, and is best paired with roasts, lamb, game, and aged cheeses. The Passito dessert version–made with grapes which have been dried at least two months–goes well with biscotti or berry jam tarts. Blended with Sangiovese, the Sagrantino grape is also used to make a Montefalco Rosso DOC.
Colli Martani DOC is produced in much of the same area as Sagrantino and includes a Trebbiano (made primarily with Trebbiano Spoletino) and a Grechetto–two light, clean whites and a Sangiovese which, if aged for a minimum of two years the latter of which in oak barrels, carries the name Sangiovese Riserva. The Riserva is more complex and structured than the easy-going Sangiovese and can even get Chianti-esque, pairing well with grilled meat and aged cheese.
There are a plethora of excellent wineries in the area surrounding Montefalco where passers-by (I’m always impressed with myself when I remember how to make that plural) can stop in for a tasting. Arnaldo Caprai is, perhaps, the best known, and for good reason. The Caprai family almost single-handedly resurrected the largely-forgotten Sagrantino grape in the 1970s and has been one of the most active wineries in refining and marketing the wine. Their tasting room is sleek and modern and their wines the same. I also love the equally historic yet more rustic Scacciadiavoli winery, and the venerable winery Paolo Bea is making some excellent award-winning Sagrantino. Also rans are di Filippo, both for their wines and for their vibe, and Colpetrone, one of the few wineries in the area that’s not a family business.
Torgiano Rosso Riserva DOCG is produced in the area surrounding Torgiano and made from Sangiovese, Canaiolo, Trebbiano, Ciliegiolo, and Montepulciano grapes. This complex wine must be aged at least three years and its bold yet balanced flavor is best enjoyed with roasts and fowl, game, and hard cheeses. Torgiano also produces a number of DOC wines, both white (with Trebbiano and Grechetto grapes) and red (with Sangiovese and Canaiolo). It is also one of the few areas in Umbria which produces spumante.
There are only two wineries in Torgiano proper: Lungarotti, the Grande Dame of Umbrian wineries, began selling their wine in the 1960s and continue to be one of Umbria’s most well-known names in wine; and, just down the road, the upstart Terre Margaritelli, which is just six years in the biz but already making some of the most interesting wines in the area and is one of my favorite wineries right now.
Orvieto DOC Perhaps one of Umbria’s best-known wines is the crisp white made with Trebbiano, Grechetto, Verdello and Canaiolo grapes from the hills surrounding Orvieto, which makes up 75% of Umbria’s total wine production. The mineral and delicate fruit flavors in the dry white come from the particular volcanic rock in the area; these wines are best with fish, vegetables, or strong cheeses. A sweet version is produced by letting the grapes stay until late into the fall on the vine, where they produce a high level of sugar. Sip them with cookies or creamy cheeses like gorgonzola.
Lago di Corbara DOC The microclimate around Lake Corbara between Todi and Orvieto is such that producers there have been experimenting with innovative blends of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Pinot Nero–not widely found in other areas of Umbria–along with the classic Sangiovese. The full-bodied reds coming out of these wineries are intense, dry, and slightly tannic.
My favorite vineyard near Orvieto (overlooking Lake Corbara) is Barberani, but I openly admit that this is largely because I have a huge crush on the cutie-pie brothers who run the winery. My friend and guide Alessandra Mallozzi from Discovering Umbria, who, as a sommalier, is probably more objective, suggests the award-winning Palazzone and the small, family-run Custodi.
Assisi DOC hails from the vineyards of Assisi and Spello and comes in a white version (with Trebbiano and Grechetto grapes), light, dry, and best used as an aperitif wine or paired with fish, and an intense and persistent red–Rosso, Rosato, and Novello–(with Sangiovese and Merlot grapes), best served with pasta dishes.
The place I head to first when I want to pick up some local swill is the charming Saio winery just outside of Assisi. Lovely wine, and the family has organized some pretty walking trails and picnic spots in the surrounding vineyards with some great views towards Assisi and Mount Subasio.
Colli Perugini DOC This is a large area, extending from Perugia through Marsciano and Monte Castello di Vibio (including one of our favorite wineries). The wines produced in this area (primarily Trebbiano and Grechetto whites and a Sangiovese red) are friendly quaffing table wines, but there are also a few heirloom native varietals worth searching out, including Mostiola, il Tintarolo, la Pecorina e il Lupeccio.
The Goretti winery near Perugia has one of the niftiest stores around: there are retrofitted gas pumps in the shop, and locals come with their own containers to fill up. It’s pretty cool, as is the medieval castle where the winery is located.
Colli del Trasimeno DOC wines hail from the area ringing Lake Trasimeno with its unique microclimate allowing for the cultivation of a number of grapes not found elsewhere in Umbria: a white with Trebbiano, Verdello, and Grechetto and red with Sangiovese, Ciliegiolo, Gamay, Malvasia, and Trebbiano grapes. The light white is perfect for aperitifs or with fish and the bright, smooth red with roasts, game, and cheese.
Colli Amerini DOC is produces in the area including Amelia and Narni. The red varieties blend Sangiovese, Merlot, Montepulciano, Canaiolo, Ciliegiolo, and Barbera grapes. The Rosso can be opened young or aged and is served with pasta in meat sauce, grilled meats, or semi-aged cheese. The fruity Novello pairs well with traditional Umbrian dishes, charcuterie, or fresh water fish. Rosato, with its delicate fruit flavors, goes well with truffles, spelt soup, or pasta with pork ragù. The prestigious Rosso Superiore, aged a minimum of two years (at least seven months in oak barrels) has a bold flavor best served with braised meat, boar, and game. The whites include Trebbiano, Malvasia, Drupeggio–a variety of Canaiolo–, and Grechetto grapes and are known for being dry yet smooth, with a delicate fruit undertone that pairs well with vegetarian pasta dishes or fried seafood.
Colli Altotiberini DOC is produced in the Upper Tiber Valley. The delicate white–best paired with fresh water fish or young cheeses–is made from Trebbiano and Malvasia varietals, while the well-rounded red (Rosso and Rosato) includes Sangiovese and Merlot and should be served with legumes, risotto, or roasted chicken.
The best place to sample these lesser-known wines is at the fantastic Enoteca Regionale in Orvieto.
This is the ninth installment of the monthly Italy Blogging Roundtable, a project organized by travel writing powerhouse Jessica Spiegel, and including professional travel writer Melanie Renzulli, art historian and general brainiac Alexandra Korey, Tuscan uber-blogger Gloria, and me. (If you missed the previous months, take a look here.) Please, pull up a chair to our Roundtable, have some Twizzlers, and join in on the conversation.
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust
They say if you really want insight into a country and its culture you have to spend some time in its kitchens and bedrooms. Well, I’ve visited innumerable kitchens in my years living in Italy (and far fewer—ahem–bedrooms) and though you can certainly glean a trove of useful information in those places, I think to really put your finger on the pulse of this nation you need to go where the pulse beats no more: the cemetery.
It may seem odd, but three of my favorite haunts (sorry) near Assisi are its cemeteries. Here’s why:
Italy’s cemeteries are lovely, in that way that old European monumental cemeteries often are. Generally, Italians of any import were buried underneath churches for centuries, until a Napoleanic edict at the beginning of the 19th century ordered the closing of crypts and subsequent burials to be done in cemeteries outside of the town walls. Thus, in most cemeteries in Italy, it’s difficult to find graves that date any earlier than the 1800s.
That said, a stroll through an Italian cemetery is an excellent mini-course on the progression of architectural styles over the past two hundred years. From the faux-Romanesque and the neo-Gothic, past the elaborate rinascimentale stonework, to the linear modern post-War styles: in just a few steps you can get a taste of what architectural schools have blown in and out of fashion over the past few generations.
Many of the more elaborate family mausoleums are also richly adorned with sculpture and bass relief work–in many cases of excellent quality—or flourishes of elaborate wrought iron or stonework. Noble, serene seraphim and angels, finely detailed reliefs of saints or busts of the deceased, delicate ironwork on gates and grilles, the odd mosaic or majolica tile…when you walk the stone and pebble paths in these campi santi you get as much eye-candy as a trip down an Italian town’s main street.
In this, Assisi’s pretty cemetery–just a kilometer from town outside the Porta San Giacomo city gate near the Basilica of Saint Francis—is no exception. An easy, shady walk from the historic center (some of the most beautiful views over the surrounding hills are from this cypress-lined lane and the cemetery itself), it is one of my favorite places to take a leisurely stroll on a beautiful day. The pink Assisi stone, the various stone and bronze statues of Saint Francis, the artisan iron- and stone-work: all the trademark details of the town itself, in miniature.
Though the beautiful mausoleums are certainly one of the reasons I have always been drawn to the Assisi’s main cemetery, it is her tiny, hidden country graveyards that I love the most for the sense of family and community that is so strong there.
In centuries past, almost each mountain parish had its own cemetery set back behind the small, stone country church. In the early 1900s, many of the rural cemeteries closer to town were closed, the deceased moved to the main Assisi cemetery, and the plots abandoned (or, in the case of our own parish at Costa di Trex, converted into surprisingly fertile vegetable patches). Tucked here and there in the more remote hills around Assisi, however, there are still the last hold-outs against this “urbanization” of the dead, and in Santa Maria di Lignano, a tiny group of farmhouses dominated by an incongruously large stone church about 15 minutes from Assisi in the Appennine foothills, there is still a miniscule, walled country cemetery.
This isn't Santa Maria di Lignano (currently under a meter of snow), but another country cemetery in Umbria.
It is here I see the soul of Assisi. The names on the stones that repeat over and over, underlining how generations live out their lives in this patch of land. The carefully tended graves, which are the work of the country women who make weekly visits to freshen flowers, polish marble, and—let’s be honest—catch up on the local gossip. They tenderly touch the portraits attached to the graves and quietly greet their loved ones, keeping them up to date on family news, how the crops are getting along, and their own aches and pains.
I especially love visiting this cemetery on the Festa dei Morti, when all the plots have been tidied up for this special day of remembrance and this usually quiet place is buzzing with visits not only of old women, but their men, children, and grandchildren. The cemetery becomes a momentary piazza as greetings are exchanged by distant relatives and neighbors who have moved away–down to the valley close to businesses and schools–and don’t make it back up to these remote hills very often. The elderly reminisce and the younger boast, children are admonished to “say hello to Nonno” as their hands are placed on headstones, and the cycle of life-death-life becomes complete.
I am, as I have mentioned many times in my writing, a non-believer. I have cobbled together a patchwork of ethics and principles to give me some sort of bearing in life—more or less the same Judeo-Christian model with which most of the Western world has been raised—but my feelings about what may or may not happen to us after death run more along the lines of molecular physics than resurrection.
That said, there is one thing I do believe: life is a gift. A gift. Every sunrise we witness, every breath we draw, every moment of joy or desperation, abundance or hunger, confusion or serenity is a miracle brew of science and serendipity and just dumb luck. Unfortunately, at times life gives me such a shaking down that I lose sight of this immense, inconceivable (The Princess Bride just popped into your brain, didn’t it?) gift I have been given, and that’s when I know it’s time for me to head to the English War Cemetary in the valley below Assisi.
More than 900 allied soldiers were laid to rest there in late 1944, most of whom were killed in the battles between the Germans and the rallying Allied troops, who had taken Rome in June and were continuing their advance north through this region. The precisely trimmed lawn and disciplined rows of identical headstones give this graveyard an unmistakable Anglosaxon look, and from here visitors get a breathtaking views of Assisi on the hillside above.
But I don’t come for the lawn or the views. I come for my secret place: the bench at the back of the cemetary, the one under the big oak tree. In my bleakest moments, I make for that bench, winding my way through the rows of markers, each one with a name, an age, and a country. James, 19, United Kingdom. George, 21, Australia. Thomas, 24, New Zealand. Jacob (with a Star of David), 20, Canada. Peter, 28, South Africa. The names go on and on, calling me, mocking me, as I make to my bench. “You think you’ve got problems, lady? I didn’t live long enough to have your problems. I didn’t have time to fall in and out of love, lose sleep over my kids, worry about paying the bills, or health problems or aging parents or sagging buttocks. You think your life is hard? Well sit yourself down on that bench over there and look out over all of us and consider the alternative.” And I do. And I wail for them, and for myself, and for whatever curveball pitch I struck out on that has driven me here to my secret place.
And then I shake it off, and stand up again, and walk back out of the elaborate cemetery gates. Back to life.
Curious to hear what Alexandra, Gloria, Melanie, and Jessica had to say about this month’s topic? Check out their blog posts, and leave your comments.
This is the eighth installment of the monthly Italy Blogging Roundtable, a project organized by travel writing powerhouse Jessica Spiegel, and including professional travel writer Melanie Renzulli, art historian and general brainiac Alexandra Korey, Tuscan uber-blogger Gloria, and me. (If you missed the previous months, take a look here.) Please, pull up a chair to our Roundtable, have some charcuterie, and join in on the conversation.
There is an invasion afoot in Umbria, there’s no denying it. And it ain’t a stealth invasion, either. It’s a full-on, in-your-face, landscape-be-damned advance of the Big Box Stores.
I wish I could say that I have taken on a nom de guerre, gone underground, and organized a grassroots uprising against this disheartening trend which has turned much of the vista along Umbria’s main artery highway 75 into something akin to the blight in the far western suburbs of Chicago, but the fact of the matter is that I have found myself a customer more often than I would like to admit. Call it the convenience, the selection, the heavy weight of this current economic insecurity, but sometimes it’s hard to ignore the siren song of the one-stop-discount-shop, even though you know in your heart of hearts that you are just hammering one more nail in the coffin of a local economy which has survived for centuries—if not millenia—on the small and medium-sized family business.
I was pleased that the Roundtable topic chosen for this month was “crafts”, so I could talk up some of the amazing artisan wares—none of which are to be found in sprawling, low-overhead superstores–which come out of this region and bring my moral credit bottom line back into the black.
If you can only stuff one thing in your suitcase to bring back from a trip to Umbria, it’s gotta be something to eat. Unfortunately, given the array of things that—tragically–can’t be taken overseas (I have managed to smuggle a salame or two over the border, but that was in the heady pre-9/11 days), you will have to strike the amazing local charcuterie, cheese, and produce from your list. There does remain, however, the incredible olive oil (Umbria produces some of the highest quality and most sought after oils on the market) and wine, truffles, honey, and heirloom legumes. Nothing brings back fond memories of your trip months later than being able to recreate some of the same dishes that were such an epiphany when you first ate them here.
Budget buy: Pick up some Perugina Baci chocolates at a local grocery store. A fun, easy gift for folks back home.
Ceramics are everywhere in Umbria, but the vast majority of them all come from the same town: Deruta. The name has become synonymous with high-quality hand-painted majolica over the past roughly seven centuries of artisan production, and if you’re looking for cheap factory-spat tchotchkes you will be sorely disappointed. The heartfelt ceramic tradition is still very much alive in the dozens of workshops large and small that line the highway and the winding roads up to the top of the hilltown itself and you can find anything from majolica tops for table seating twelve or contemporary ceramic sculpture running in the thousands of euros, to tiny painted beads made into unique earrings or pendants. Gubbio has its own unique history of ceramic production, the apex of which was the famed lusterware of Mastro Giorgio in the 1500s, and you can still find a flourishing tradition of majolica workshops in the center of town.
Tight fit: If you need to pick up something for your neighbor who has been watering your plants while you’re away, but are down to your last ounce of baggage weight, slip in a painted ceramic wine cork (or two). The fit perfectly in the toes of packed shoes.
I have waxed poetic about Umbria’s traditional damask and jacquard hand-loomed at the Brozzetti workshop in Perugia repeatedly, so I won’t bore you with it again. Or, on second thought…hands down one of my favorite places to visit in Umbria, both for the dramatic workshop (housed in a 13th century church in the center of Perugia) and for the breathtaking cloth Marta and her assistants are still weaving by hand today. Ok, I’m done. If you can’t make it to Brozzetti, excellent quality cloth is also to be had in specialty boutiques across Umbria, principally in Montefalco and Spello.
In a strange historic quirk, a bit of Ireland lives on Isola Maggiore (the largest of Lake Trasimeno’s islands) in Pizzo di Irlanda—Irish lace. At the beginning of the 1900s a local noblewoman asked a few Irish maids in her service to teach their lace-making craft to local women, and generations later you can still find these delicate crocheted pieces in shops on the island and in towns around the lake shore. One of the towns near the Lake, Panicale, has its own rich tradition of embroidered tulle –known as Ars Panicalensis—which has been producing intricate flower, medallion, bird of paradise, and baroque scroll patterns for convents and bridal veils for over a century.
I love to walk the backstreets in Assisi, where sooner or later you inevitably come across a Signora sitting in the afternoon shade busy stitching a motif of griffins, birds, or stylized flora on a piece of rough, unbleached linen in bright blue, brick red, or soft brown silk. Ubiquitous in the souvenir shops around town, this traditional embroidery—a mix of cross and Holbein stitches—was first produced from around the 1200s through the 1500s, when it seems to have become a lost art. Revived again by local women artisans in the 1800s, there is nary a home in the entire greater Assisi area which does not boast at least one hand-embroidered runner. I have two.
Hard core: If you are passionate about textile history, there are a number of small but excellent museums in Umbria, including Tela Umbra in Città di Castello, the Museo del Tulle in Panicale, and the textile collection in Palazzo Sorbello in Perugia.
If you think that only Venice does glass—well, you may be right. That said, in the late 13th century glass artisans migrated from the famed Venetian glass-making island of Murano to Piegaro in Umbria and continued making exquisite pieces in their new outpost. Piegaro is now home to one of Europe’s largest industrial glass factories, but more compellingly a glass museum located in the restored historic glass factory. For a look into a glass museum that continues to actively produce, stop in the fabulous Studio Moretti Caselli, a family atelier which has been producing hand-painted stained glass windows for cathedrals and monuments world-wide since its founding in 1860. Now in the fifth generation, the studio is still an active workshop and offers guided visits and a small gift-shop (just in case you don’t have room in your luggage for an entire window).
Really cool: Ok, if you want to know how to be the absolutely positively hippest cat in town, get yourself a pair of bespoke eyeglass frames from Ozona in Perugia. It doesn’t get any craftier than this.
Curious to hear what Alexandra, Gloria, Melanie, and Jessica had to say about this month’s topic? Check out their blog posts, and leave your comments.