The Keys to the Kingdom...

And so, with thoughts of Spring’s arrival still fresh, I thought I would meander more into the beautiful world of dining al fresco, bringing to light a few more of my all-time favorites.

Spain. So many places to choose from; so many opportunities to eat in the warm, open air. I can hardly remember a meal indoors in that country. But by far -- and by far, I mean out of the stratosphere, -- the most wonderful was one of the most simple and most unexpected.

Approximately an hour outside Madrid stands one of the most stunningly picturesque towns in a country filled with the stunningly picturesque. Toledo, (pronounced Toe-lay’-doe, unlike its sister city in Ohio) like most small medieval towns that seize the mind and spur the imagination, is a crammed jumble of interlocking streets and alleyways that sits atop a hill encircled by ancient walls. Walking through its portal is like entering a time machine set to the Middle Ages, where buildings, storefronts, and plazas have remained unchanged through the city’s history. One of the local crafts, the famed metalwork of Spain’s illustrious past, can still be seen in the coats of armor, fine swords and elaborate filigree work arranged for sale in the windows and doorways; adding even more to the old world atmosphere.

You can spend an afternoon or a lifetime exploring the winding streets and cracked façades of Toledo, and everywhere you look will be yet another perfect vision: the way a cobblestoned street climbs, curves and then disappears around a bend, luring you around the corner; the textured aging of an imposingly heavy wooden door opening to a flowered courtyard; the way the shadows of the narrow alleys give way to an explosion of sunlight upon entering an open plaza.

But one of the best views of all, is of the city itself. And one of the most striking vantage points lies just on the other side of the scenic Tajo River, strategically set on the patio of the Parador Conde de Orgaz.

Now for those of you who don’t know, the parador is the stuff of fantasy. Paradores are historic buildings: stately manors, pristine monasteries, lush palaces, and even towering castles, that are restored to their former glory and converted into luxury hotels. They dot every town and region throughout Spain, and in each case, add an absolutely unimaginable firsthand experience of culture, architecture, history, and gastronomy in one place. Seriously, haven’t you ever dreamed of living in a castle? In a parador, you can be the prince and princess, the lord and lady, sometimes the sultan and the harem, ahem; but you get the idea. Now that I’m writing this, I realize I will need an entire blog series devoted to paradores, but back to the Conde de Orgaz...

The Conde de Orgaz was an old manor situated on the hill facing Toledo. Perfectly conceived, the grounds here are sprawling and lovely, the kind of place that was just begging for a manor. The fact that this hill is called the Cerro del Emperador, or the Hill of the Emperor, only serves to prove my point.

As you enter, the building has everything your Spanish manor should have: beamed ceilings, decorative tile work, heavy wooden antique furniture that looks like it will outlast another five centuries. And just off the main floor is the perfect patio, surrounded by trees and hills, facing just across the river to Toledo, offering that view worthy of your manor.

This little wonderland allows you to sit even if you are not a guest at the parador, and it offers table service for drinks and light fare. And so, not to disappoint one of my blog followers who recently pointed out that all my blogs tend to lead to tales about food; I will tell you that after a day of touring the sites of Toledo, one does tend to get parched and just a little hungry. And so, light fare and drinks are very much in order.

Sangria, wine mixed with fresh fruit and juice, is Spain’s answer to our iced tea and lemonade. Light and refreshing, it goes down easily, maybe a bit too easily, on a sunny afternoon. It also acts like a chameleon, adding the perfect accent to any type of food, from light tapas, to heavy meats. And as you already know, after a day of touring in the hot sun, you don’t crave heavy fare, but rather something light and easy that will fill you up and satisfy your hunger: Jamon Serrano and Manchego, Spain’s answer to our ham and cheese. Jamon Serrano is preserved ham, much like Italian prosciutto, but not quite as salty and little meatier. Manchego is the king of Spanish cheeses, mild enough not to be overwhelming, but creamy and salty enough to stand on its own.

So here we are, with our perfect little meal, and our perfect little Sangria, on our perfect little patio, with our perfect view of Toledo, spread before us like our own perfect little kingdom. There is no one else there, except for the wonderfully astute and quiet server, who creeps in silently to replenish Sangria or add more cheese. And just as we don’t think it can get any better, the sun starts to set over the town, giving an unearthly light to the stones of the city until it glows.

In that moment, it feels like the world is yours. And when you’re sitting outside your parador, eating delicious foods and sipping delicious drinks, with one of the most beautiful sights in the world at your feet; it is.

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For more information on Spain's paradores, or for a consultation on your travels, contact Maria Puma at info@renaissancejourneys.com.

Many thanks to Anita Puma and Lisa Peck for the pictures.

The Fruits of Pompeii

After an arduous March, as March tends to be, I am ready to open my arms to the splendors of Spring: the warmth, the sun, the flowers and new life everywhere. In my case, that new life is also realized in the arrival of the newest member of the family, my great nephew (great as in he’s wonderful, and also because he is the first child of my eldest niece). And for those of you wondering, I happened to have been a very young aunt – so I’m not quite ready yet for the polyester and bingo nights…

But I digress. Back to Spring and the beauty it brings to everything. When these days hit, it’s almost sacrilegious to remain indoors, and my husband and I are finding more and more reasons to be outside, including a lavish and beautiful picnic in Central Park last Friday. And like many moments in my life, the bliss of that moment brought to mind other times and places…

Pompeii, city of mystery and melancholy; where you walk through the streets and thoroughfares and can’t help but connect with the ancient citizens and wonder what you might have been doing on the day Vesuvius erupted: how would you have reacted? would you have survived? It is a chilling place, but also wondrous as you walk down Roman roads trodden for centuries by countless visitors, enter Roman villas with elaborately whimsical frescos, and see mundane signs of everyday life: herb gardens, decorative statuettes, and even graffiti. But the one thing you won’t see in Pompeii is a decent place to eat.

It’s a common mistake that most tourists make. Everywhere else in Europe, from the most visited site to the most far-reaching little landmark, inevitably has a snack bar, a food stand, a restaurant, and a chintzy but fun souvenir stand. In the vast expanse of the excavations of the entire city of Pompeii, there is only one cafeteria; and after walking through the captivating remains of the ancient world and marveling at the grandeur of Rome, it’s more than a little disappointing to have standard tourist fare that is far less than epic. The juxtaposition of the hard modern seats in a darkened, stagnant room, with bland, lifeless food, when the magnificence of the ancient world stands outside, all around you, is almost as tragic as the city’s destruction.

This is why one of the best tips to my Renaissance Journeys clients is to pack a picnic lunch when heading for the day to Pompeii. Whether driving or taking the train, it takes about 15 minutes to stop in the shops in the modern city of Pompeii, just outside the main gateway. Here you can delve into the culture and feel like a local, with short visits to the bakery, the deli, and the fruit stand – and you’re in Southern Italy here, so this is the stuff. (Don’t worry if you don’t speak Italian. Many of these shop owners are well versed in English, and if not, a smile and a finger point will take you a long way).

Now remember, in Italy, there’s no such thing as a 7/11, so you can’t go to just one place and have them make a sandwich – (Well you can, but it’s cheating. You can go to the local bar and have them wrap ready-made sandwiches for you, and they won’t be bad, but they won’t be as good). So to truly shop and eat like a local, you go to a number of different specialty shops and put your lunch together. I normally start with the deli (or salumeria), and load up on salamis, because there is no hunger in life that can’t be satisfied by a truly good Italian salami. From hot to sweet, they’ll have it all, just remember to have them slice it for you, because you can’t bring a knife into the area of the excavations.

Then you can add a few local cheeses. I always look for those I haven’t tried before, just to give me the feel for the local flavors that are so characteristic to each region in Italy. (If you ask nicely, shopkeepers will even let you taste them to make sure you like it). Again, have them slice it for you. Also, glance around the shop to see what else they’re selling, and if it looks good, it probably is; so add it to the bag and then it’s on to the next place.

Now in Italy, every self-respecting salumeria is right next to the bakery (or forno) and a good fruit stand or shop, and Pompeii is no exception. On the same street, you’ll find a great forno where you can go and pick your bread. If you’re a little particular and you want it cut just right, they’ll do it for you. But if you’re me, there is nothing like ripping a piece of freshly baked bread, so I usually get a long loaf. They’ll also have small breads for sandwiches (or panini – and by the way, the singular of panini is panino, – a pet peeve of mine in American “Italian” restaurants). Now the bakery should also have some nice little sweets or cookies. Feel free to load up on a few for dessert. After all, this is going to be a long day of walking, so any additional calories will be completely cancelled out by a run up the steps of the great amphitheatre. You’re covered.

Then it’s on to the fruit shop. I normally get some tomatoes for my sandwich, but beware that this isn’t for the faint of heart. You can’t have them sliced because they’ll just mush up in the pack; and you can’t bring a knife into the site with you. Being half-Sicilian, my hands can be used as a knife and can surprisingly slice a tomato quite cleanly and efficiently with no assistance whatsoever. If you don’t have that gene, then you might want to skip the tomato; but remember, you’re in Southern Italy, and the fruit here is food for the gods. You won’t get figs, peaches, berries, or any other fruit for that matter that is as good as it’s grown here, so be sure to get a few of your favorites.

Now you’ve got your lunch, but you still don’t have the pièce de la resistance. Remember that bar I talked about? Well, you’ll want to go there now and pick yourself out a nice bottle of local wine. If you like white, you can get one that is chilled here. And if red is more your game, they’ll have plenty of choices. Be sure to ask them to open it up for you before you leave, as the same rule of the knife in Pompeii holds true for a corkscrew. (Besides, even if you brought a corkscrew on your trip, what are the chances that you actually remembered to bring it with you from the hotel?) Remember to recork the bottle and store it safely in your bags to prevent spillage. It might seem like a hassle, but believe me, you’ll be happy you did.

And finally, you’ll also want to bring a few large bottles of water with you. You can get them at the bar, again chilled, and you’ll need it for all that wine. Also, the ruins are vast, and the days get hot in Pompeii, so without any convenient snack bars or stands in the ruins, you’re mostly on your own for water. And you don’t really want to drink from the water fountains there – trust me. So bring plenty of water and keep hydrated. (You’ll also want to wash your fruit with it, so save some for that).

And what, you may ask, are you expected to carry all this stuff in? If you’ve got a backpack or two, a bike bag, or some other comfortable sac, bring it with you. I normally bring one or two backpacks so that I can distribute the weight among a few people; but if not, the stores will provide bags; and it is allowed to bring backpacks and small bags inside the ruins. One last note, even if you’ve brought your own sacs, remember to get a few of the bags from the shops anyway, as you will need these later to either store leftovers or throw out your trash. And please remember to deposit your trash in a receptacle. There is nothing worse than touring one of the most beautiful sites of the ancient world and seeing a very modern bottle or bag sticking out like an eyesore, ruining the view and that perfect picture you were hoping to get.

Once you’re inside the excavations, you will be captivated as you walk the streets of the Romans, noting the worn strips in the stones where wagons once passed; touring ancients homes from the most modest rooms to the stateliest villas; passing by the ancient shops mimicking the ones you’ve just visited: the forno, the olive oil stand, the tavern; and of course, lingering in the majestic buildings of the Forum, the heart of the ancient city, lined with the remains of temples and governments buildings that once embodied the greatness of Rome. All the time, the sun that shone on Pompeian citizens so long ago will warm you; you’ll hear the voices of the past speak to you, your throat will be parched and lined with the dust of the old city, and you’ll be ready for your lunch.

You will find many breathtaking spots calling out to you. The small theatre is one of my favorites as there’s seating room and room to spread out your lunch. Afterwards, it is not impossible that I will be coaxed to go onstage and recite a poem or sing. You might find that refreshing wine on a sunny day does that to you, so you might want to prepare a little something. Sometimes passersby will even join in. But if the theatre is not your thing, there are so many other areas to choose from that you will be sure to find the perfect spot: in the grass among the flowers, under the arcade of the gladiators’ barracks, against the ruins of the temple of Hera; wherever you’re hungry and inspired.

I never send a client to Pompeii without this advice; and so far, every one of them has returned and told me that this moment, sitting on a dazzlingly sunny day against the backdrop of Roman ruins, with a glass of wine and hearty local fare shared among family, friends, and lovers, was the most memorable moment of the trip.

Where is your favorite picnic spot?

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For more information on Pompeii, or a consultation on your travels, contact Maria Puma at info@renaissancejourneys.com.

Pictures courtesy of Laura Puma.

Time in Ruins

There is nothing like visiting ancient ruins that seem to have no bearing whatsoever in your life, and then finding something there that is so mundane, so universally normal, that in one instant the past is connected to the present. A carving, a word, a coin, a fragment, becomes a moment of shared experience. It is a form of communication that is eternal and it is what brings ancient sites alive.

Malta is practically littered with ruins. In fact, there are so many, and surprisingly, they are so rarely visited, that in the same day, we saw the same custodian three different times at three different sites. I asked him if he knew where we’d be later that evening because he seemed to psychically predict our every move.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, some of these ancient sites predate Stonehenge by millennia, and have a range of appeal from the oldest, to the ones that overlook the sea, to the ones with the most artifacts. Many of them are so wonderfully preserved, they still have standing arches, shrines that still await the faithful, and pathways that are worn with the footsteps of countless unknown people. But what stopped me in my tracks were those small touches, those moments when I came to an understanding of the people who inhabited these mystical places: beautiful and intricate decorative carvings and statues that like most ancient artwork, depict figures in positions and behaviors that are quintessentially human.

Everyone who knows me well, knows that I appreciate a good rest. The Beatles “I’m only sleeping” is a personal mantra and I think, a strong statement to live by. So imagine my surprise and overwhelming satisfaction when I found that the most famous statue from the ancient people of Malta was the figure of a sleeping woman. So touching in her simplicity, she is immortalized in that state that I love best. She’s just a small statuette, dating from 3600 – 2500 BC, almost post-modern in her stylized, curvaceous form, and she is surrounded by mystery. What exactly does she depict? Was she an actual person of note or just a simple representation? She lies on her side, a smile on her face, in restful slumber forever. But whether she was a noblewoman or just a regular person; whether depicting sleep or a metaphor of deeper meaning; for me, she acts as a connection with the distant past, bringing with her the age old knowledge that no matter who you are or what your hopes, dreams, or trials; a good sleep will always rank among the world’s greatest and most restorative pleasures. If I were to be immortalized, that is probably the state that would best represent me.

How would you be remembered?

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For a glimpse of the Sleeping Lady, log onto: http://www.heritagemalta.org/museums/museums.html and select the National Museum of Archaeology. Just above the title, you’ll see an icon of a vase. When you click on it, it will bring you to the museum’s collections, and the first one of all, is my “Sleeping Lady”.

For more information on Malta's ancient sites, you can log onto: www.visitmalta.com.

My absolute favorites were:

The Hypogeum, an underground temple and burial site that is beautifully preserved and maintained;

Mnajdra, which overlooks the sea;

The Tarxien Temples, which have the best preserved carvings and artwork.

If you’d like more information on Malta, just post a question or comment. And stay tuned for more blogs on new destinations …

Malta's Magic

There is nothing quite as inspiring to the imagination as a great marina; boats lined along arcing shores, filled with the promise of exploration and intrigue. Nantucket’s marinas embody its shores like a skyline defines a great city. The marina of Naples is immortalized in countless heart-wrenching songs. Coastlines on the Mediterranean are dotted with rustic medieval villages and busy thoroughfares sprouted from great marinas. Trade, prosperity, cultural exchange, and indeed, progress itself are the natural fulfillment of thriving marinas. But nowhere in the world is the marina raised to the level of art form as in Malta. Set on gracious walkways with room to sit and linger over sweeping views to the sea beyond, Malta’s marinas grace every town and are the center of cultural activity, with bustling marketplaces, hot restaurant scenes, and almost daily local festivals.

The characteristic boats of Malta decorate its shores with astonishing colors, like gemstones gleaming on a brilliant crown. Said to date back to the time of the Phoenicians, these simple fishing boats are as beautiful as they are functional, with elegantly curved bodies ending in the accentuated points of bows that cut through the sea with the utmost grace and efficiency. These boats do not bore the seascape with the washed-out, unimaginative colors of simple whites or battered grays; but rather challenge the very blue of the Mediterranean with an array of hues from turquoise to cobalt, and highlights in sunny yellows, cheerful oranges, or taunting reds. Unchanged for centuries, possibly even millennia, each fishing boat still marks its bow with a small but noticeable pair of stylized eyes, wide and colorful, and offset by harshly dark outlines, they stare out from the front of the boat, lifelike, guiding the way on its passage. Legend holds that these are representations of the mythical eyes of Isis, believed to protect the boats from harm; a testament to Malta’s ever-enduring connection to the Sea.

My husband and I went to Malta, for the same reason that Everest was climbed, because it was there; and so we took a side trip from our visit to Sicily to spend some time exploring this new place. Although many Europeans, especially the British, have flocked to Malta for its island appeal of fine beaches, resorts and nightlife; my husband and I actually delved into its unique and fascinating history. Known for its association with the Templar knights, I half expected to find myself in a Dan Brown novel searching for the one true grail; so I was a bit surprised to find that the Templars didn’t arrive in Malta until the 16th century. Instead of the medieval hamlets with heavily carved stonework and looming gothic figures that I had envisioned, I was met with charming baroque cities, all uniform in a delicate sand color, with intricate decorations around balconied windows and ornate doorways.

In a culture dominated by the historic protectors of the church, of course there are churches -- many churches -- dripping with evidence of legendary riches. Dramatic in their abundance and overwhelming in their opulence, each church is crammed full with towering altar pieces in sterling silver and heavy drapery in red and gold silks and velvets. Most striking of all, surrounding each imposing structure are myriad statues of church figures, depicted in colorful robes and adorned with crowns and staffs of gold, with unexpected and slightly disturbing painted faces gazing out in stern judgment or divine ecstasy. Most churches are situated right along the shore, blessing Malta’s union with the sea, but even those churches that are further away, soar to heights that allow all to view them from any vantage point, basking in their protection and in the confidence that God is never far from the seafaring.

And with a culture so driven by its ties to the church, there are festivals -- one for practically every day of the week, -- when these already ornate churches are hyper-decorated with finery and silver; the streets overflowing and the marinas alive with vivid decorations, sweet local delicacies, and merry traditional music. Locals fill the streets, and the celebrations last well into the night, long after the church procession has ended and the last of the fireworks has reflected in the sea.

We also found a culture that stretched way back to pre-history, not surprising for a land forever at the crossroads of the Mediterranean, with sites so old, they make Stonehenge look like a newcomer to the ancient scene. These sites are better preserved than any other sites of their age, with ancient carvings and statuettes that look surprisingly post-modern in their stylized simplicity. The most dramatic of these stand against the sea, another reminder of Malta’s close and never-ending relationship with the Mediterranean.

Wherever we went, whatever town we visited or site we toured, we came back each time to the marina. Each town has one, and each one is absolutely breathtaking in its delicate embrace with the sea. There are upscale marinas that cater to wealthy yachters looking for a playground; there are rustic marinas overflowing with those distinct fishing boats and markets showcasing the day’s freshest catch; there are trendy marinas with fashionable cafés or restaurants taking advantage of the dazzling sunsets; and there are quiet, more remote marinas with enchanting views and a few benches to sit and linger.

Even our hotel offered views of either the sea or the marina. The sea view was unavailable to us our first night, so we were actually considering changing rooms the second night; until we sat on our balcony over the marina with a bottle of wine and watched the lights change on the water as the boats gently lapped against their restraints, aching to venture out again into that welcoming and mysterious sea. We decided that nothing could compare to that view, and so we kept that room for the rest of our stay.

In Malta, there are marinas everywhere -- because the country is made up of islands; because every small town there has faced the sea throughout history; because the culture and survival of the Maltese has always depended on it; and because it is the only way to truly honor their long and enduring bond with the sea. To understand this, is to understand Malta.

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Malta is not an easy destination to get to, as there are no direct flights from the U.S. It is sometimes included on cruise itineraries; but the best way to get there is to add it to another destination in Europe. There are direct flights from Milan, Sicily, France, London and other points in Europe. If you’d like more information on Malta, just post a question or comment.

For more quick info on Malta and its sites, stay tuned for more blogs in the next few weeks…

Have you been inspired by a marina? Where is your favorite and how did it affect you?

Traveling Home

Sometimes I’m just not sure what to write about. There are so many places I’ve been and so many places I’ve dreamed of going that they all run through my head one after another in a string of favorite experiences and elaborate new plans. And when a travel dream is fulfilled, there is nothing quite as meaningful, sometimes life-changing. I’ve known so many people who come back from a trip and tell me that they wish they could have stayed longer. And when I was studying abroad, there were countless fellow classmates scheming and hoping to extend their studies into a long-term career. But I recently visited Ellis Island, and for all my travels, it is sometimes a wonderful thing to visit and appreciate your own country.

My grandparents sacrificed everything to come to this country. It is a story we’ve all heard recounted over and over again by our elders, ad infinitum; but to really stop and think about it is a powerful insight, especially in this economy when so many have had a rough 2009 where we might have lost some things we’ve maybe taken for granted. When I stop and think about it, I’ve lived a pretty storied life. I’ve never worried about where my next meal was coming from, whether or not I would have a roof over my head, whether or not I could go to school, worship where and when I pleased, and gone where I wanted. What would it take for me to leave everything I ever knew? How bad would it have to be for me to say to my family, I’m leaving and may never see you again?

For my grandfathers, that motivation was poverty; not the poverty that we may have seen or heard about; but real I-have-nothing-to-eat poverty, and every bite I take is one less morsel for my family. My paternal grandfather was 16 years old when he left his family to come and find work in the U.S. At 16, I was lucky to get a babysitting job for some quick spending money.

As you go through Ellis Island, you hear 1st person accounts of the many reasons why so many left all they knew and loved. The harsh realities of the time come pouring in as you are brought step-by-step through the stages of the immigration process: long lines, confusing processes in a foreign language, frightening medical exams, separation from family members, and the inevitable hoards of parasitic ne’er-do-wells, attracted by the vulnerable, waiting in the sidelines to exploit the newly arrived. As you move through the rooms, you are presented with startlingly vivid personal accounts telling what went through their minds at that very moment. The accounts are sometimes horrifying, sometimes inspiring, and always touching.

The museum does not try to sugar coat the past. It gives an unbiased view of the many cases and experiences of those who came through, some straightforward and relatively easy, and some harshly difficult and traumatizing; but I must say that for me, it offers an incredible perspective of – here it comes, the trite but true – the people who made this country great. One case that struck me particularly, was the account of a child who was detained at Ellis Island because of the measles. She was scared and separated from her family, but was consoled by a caring nurse who brought her little toys to help pass the time in her solitude. The voice of an old woman spoke of that great kindness after so many years and how it would be remembered forever.

My grandfathers went on to have jobs, not the best-paying, and certainly not the most suited to their talents, but they earned a living, went on to have children and grandchildren who were well educated, successful, and never spent a day worrying about having enough to eat. It was a lifetime before my grandfather could be reunited with his family, a family he supported like so many others, by always remembering to send a portion of what he made back home. When he met his brother, it had been over 50 years since they had seen each other; mere boys when they were separated, they were now old men; and when they met, they embraced and cried.

Sometimes, travel brings you back to where you are and helps you appreciate what you have, the lessons learned, and a life well spent. 2009 was not an easy year for most of us. For 2010, I wish you a happy, healthy, and prosperous new year, one where you have more than what you need, and you appreciate all you have.

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For a few tips on visiting Ellis Island, the most important is the website: http://www.ellisisland.org/, where you can get information on the experience, buy tickets, and you can even do a search for your ancestors.

My recommendation is to combine your trip with a visit to the Statue of Liberty and to pre-register for tickets. This not only allows you to avoid the long ticket lines, but also ensures that you can climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty, which usually sells out early.

It takes a full day to visit both sites.

The Illusive Chef of Erice, Part II

So where did I leave off? Oh yes, my then fiancé, now happily-married-to-me husband, and I were going to be married and we had decided to be married in Sicily. Ah, my Sicily. Of course, we chose the idyllic Erice as our setting, with its lofty towers and imposing walls of white stone glistening in the sun. The reception had to be at the Elimo…

I contacted the magical restaurant and secured the date, but this wasn’t going to be a typical wedding plan. Being so far away, we could only reserve the space. There was no talk of a tasting menu as Chef Tilotta only works with the freshest ingredients, so I was told to come on by when I arrived in Sicily and all would be settled. The fact that this would be just days before the wedding did not seem to alarm them. Me? A little bit; but with so much else to coordinate on two different shores, I let this one slide.

Months passed and I was sitting with my husband discussing wedding particulars. “Are you worried about the reception?” he asked. “We haven’t even given them a deposit. Who’s to say they’re still holding the date?” Sufficiently alarmed, I wrote to Chef Tilotta to confirm, (politely adding that we’d LOVE to know some of his thoughts on the menu). But, if an e-mail can embody a physical gesture, this one was a deliberate roll of the eyes. “We have the date. Just come to the restaurant when you get here,” was all he wrote.

Only three days to go until the big day, and we still didn’t know our menu. As instructed, my husband and I dutifully made our way to Erice to meet with Chef Tilotta, who greeted me with the affection and patronage of a father welcoming his own daughter. As we sat in the crammed room by the piano, he went over his notes on the menu, and his plan was music to my ears...

The Wedding day -- My husband and I got to the Elimo before our guests, and Chef Tilotta greeted us with open arms, then quickly ushered us on a tour of the premises to proudly show off his work. Much to our surprise and delight, he hadn’t just reserved the room with the view over the rooftops that we’d requested, but the entire first floor space of the hotel, including two large banquet halls, and the breathtaking garden courtyard with terraces overlooking the sea.

He had thoughtfully considered the arrival of our guests after the long and tedious drive up the never-ending mountain, so he’d set up a welcoming refreshment table with mixed antipasti and chilled wine in the garden where guests could take advantage of the fresh air, enjoy the views of the city, and relax before the ceremony. The garden was bathed in the late afternoon sun, and the perfectly chilled wines sat like luscious fruits promising to end your thirst. We couldn’t stop to enjoy, though, because Chef Tilotta was quickly moving on to the other rooms, showing us the round tables set up in the dining room with luxuriously decorated table linens in a rich brocade, and of course, that stunning view of the rooftops descending to the sea below.

On to the dance hall, lined with tables overflowing with cookies of every conceivable type, where I lingered for just a moment to take it in. Noting my hesitation, Chef Tilotta stopped his excited rambling to tell me to try a cookie; and like any of my Sicilian relatives, he would absolutely not take no for an answer, holding the cookie to my mouth as if his very life depended on my having a bite. Satisfied only after seeing my eyes pop at the almond explosion on my tongue, he continued to the kitchen where he hand-fed us spoonful after spoonful of each of the dishes with the enthusiasm of a child who wants to show you his newest, most spectacular toys; all deliciously tantalizing samples of what was to come.

Our guests began to arrive, and as Chef Tilotta had guessed, they were tired after the long drive, and delighted by the bounty and the beautiful surroundings. My husband and I went to our room to get ready, and then on to the whirlwind of the wedding ceremony and off to the scenic overlooks of Erice to take pictures against the fairytale background of the white stone walls over the Mediterranean.

Finally we returned to the Elimo, when the true extent of Chef Tilotta’s genius was revealed. As we sat, lavishing in the enchantment of that room, he brought course after course, each one a pinnacle of Sicilian cuisine, and each one surpassing the one before. As do all great Chefs, he presented twists and turns on Sicilian standards, with surprisingly new and inventive pairings, perfectly balanced tastes and forms, and of course dazzlingly alluring platings. From beginning to end, he held us spellbound: Sicilian pancetta in a balsamic reduction, with pineapple – a very unusual yet perfect pairing; followed by a shrimp terrine with saffron, fennel, herbs and Tabasco, each bite with just a hint of fennel followed by a touch of heat, all married perfectly in the broth, just begging for you to dip in the toast points to get every drop.

The risotto was one of the most unique I’ve ever had. Delicately molded into an elegant cylinder, and painstakingly encircled with the subtlest wrapping of infinitesimally thin slices of eggplant -- oh what Sicilians can do with eggplant -- and then covered with the lightest sprinkling of breadcrumbs seasoned with cinnamon. The eggplant was perfectly softened in texture and flavor, balancing the richness of the rice, while the breadcrumbs and cinnamon added an entirely new dimension, with little crunch surprises and a sweetness that made the dish seductively exotic.

Of course, the next course would be fish. We are in Sicily; there has to be fish. He served scorpion fish, one I had never heard of, but my husband recognized it and explained that scorpion fish is not generally eaten in the U.S. because it is small and its spines are poisonous. We Americans don’t know what we’re missing. Light and tender, the scorpion fish was presented in a blood orange sauce, its juice rich and pungently sweet yet at the same time, tart against the softness of the fish. To top it off, he added a garnish of fresh blood orange and watermelon. Not only was the addition of the fruit visually stunning, but when you took a bite of it, your mouth came alive with freshness. For the true fish lovers among our guests, this was the piece de la resistance. My brothers and his son, two who aptly fit this description, couldn’t speak for the entirety of the course. They were too busy eating to notice the rest of the world, as they hungrily scavenged that last bit of flesh from the bone.

After a meal like this, what kind of dessert could even come close to satisfying you? Leave it to Chef Tilotta, who served a simple lemon gelato in a hardened shell and watermelon sorbet; sweet, light, simple and refreshing after a full meal on a hot summer’s day.

But wait a minute, what about the wedding cake? Not an Italian custom, I had explained to Chef Tilotta on the day he planned the menu that we would need a cake, so I asked if he could do that instead. Instead? Absolutely not. In addition to. And so he added a Cassata Siciliana, a customary Sicilian cheesecake with everything but the kitchen sink thrown in.

My husband and I were, I think, the rudest of hosts as we went from plate to plate, raving about the meal, but we hadn’t tasted any of it before this day, and so each course was a gift from our extraordinary Chef. In fact, I was so delighted with the meal, that I requested that Chef Tilotta come and greet our enraptured guests; but the wait staff returned saying he would not come out of the kitchen. It took the bride herself to finally drag him out, for no Italian can refuse a request from the bride on her wedding day. He shyly followed me into the banquet hall as I presented him to our guests, and the room erupted with applause. I think he stayed for 15 seconds before scurrying back to the shelter of his kitchen.

It was at this point that my brother, a great culinary appassionato, recognized him. He told me he had seen Chef Tilotta before, on television, and that he was indeed a celebrity among the great chefs of Italy.

The dinner stands out as one of the best decisions my husband and I could have made for our day. The day ended in a blur as we danced like savages for the rest of the night, way past the designated time of the reservation, with my family pulling the wait staff onto the dance floor to join in the celebration. We were so full, very few of our guests had taken advantage of the bounty of cookies surrounding the dance floor.

At the end of the evening, Chef Tilotta brought my new husband and me into his office, letting us know that we could have the place until closing. He presented us with the bill, and there were no surprises, no additional fees for all the extras. He charged us what he had promised in the original e-mail; the e-mail that seemed so unlikely, so unsure, and so unbelievable. But in addition to the great gift of his genius, he presented us with another wedding gift, an aged and celebrated bottle of Sicilian wine to remember our Sicilian wedding. The bottle was a full magnum, and the year, one of Sicily’s best. I am tearing up as I write this, remembering the solemn and affectionate look in his eye as he made this sincere and generous gift. Remember, in Sicily, you’re either a stranger or family. We were family.

The Illusive Chef of Erice

And now that I’ve spent so much time discussing a Chef whose food you will never have the opportunity to sample, I thought it only fair to tell you about another one of my favorites, one particularly close to my heart, still steadfastly practicing his craft...

In my beloved Sicily, mythic land of my forefathers, there is a town set high on a cliff above the far-reaching expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. The town is called Erice and, in contrast to the dazzling whitewashed setting of the Moors you’ve visited in my blog on Mijas; Erice has the serene and resolute beauty of a medieval Norman installation. In Erice, the towers, fortress, homes, piazzas, and cobblestoned streets are carved from thick white rock which lends the city its characteristic shimmer as the sun reflects off its walls.

I am so enamored with Erice’s many charms, that I was married there. But that’s another story.

The very first time I saw Erice was on the approach to it from the road. Rising high above the sea in the distance, you could enjoy its splendor for miles, but as in all fabled lands of myth, the closer you got, the further away it seemed. I couldn’t help but think of ancient, weary travelers, making their way slowly up the arduous inclines. But once its summit is reached, Erice more than rewards the effort. The elegantly austere architecture, unchanged for centuries, envelopes the steep, narrow pedestrian pathways, now leading up, now down, following the natural curve of the mountain, then opening up to small, flower-filled piazzas, and stunning scenic overlooks.

I was traveling with my sister and nephew, and we immediately fell in love with the place. We took about a million pictures of the town from every small corner and every high tower, browsed the shops, and visited the Cathedral. Then we got really hungry. It was early for the local lunch time, but we couldn’t help ourselves. We peeked into the lobby of the tiny Hotel Elimo, the one place that looked like it might be open. It was filled with period furniture crammed around a grand piano against a backdrop of myriad pictures on an exposed stone wall – that ever-present, beautiful white stone.

The host responded with a characteristic Sicilian grimace when we asked if they were serving yet. And after checking on their readiness and giving us a look up and down, he invited us in to the magnificent dining room. Yet more exposed stone walls, unadorned and dramatic in their simplicity, framed the row of windows at the end of the room with an unobstructed view of the city; its rooftops, uniform in their ancient sun-baked colors, steadily giving way to the epic Sicilian countryside far below. Beyond that, the mystical Egadi Islands gracefully floated on the blue, blue sea. This is the kind of room and the kind of view one does not easily forget.

The waiter brought the menu, which was rich with Sicilian specialties: pasta alla norma, a hearty pasta with ricotta salata, fresh tomato, and eggplant; -- eggplant, the ever-present Sicilian staple so indelibly linked with the island’s history (and Sicily is the only place in the world where they know what to do with it); -- swordfish involtini, a delicately sliced fillet of swordfish, stuffed and rolled in breadcrumbs and cooked to a tender perfection in a sauce of white wine, butter, and lemon; and of course, as is necessary for any self-respecting Sicilian restaurant, a veritable bounty of the freshest fish just out of the sea.

We ordered an array of dishes (remember we were really hungry) and ate family style (not that the restaurant serves in this way; but when I’m with family, it’s just understood that everyone will share). The Chef made the simplest, most ubiquitous Sicilian staples extraordinary. We were stunned with our good fortune as we went from a mixed antipasto of perfectly grilled vegetables and my sweet caponata (another Sicilian variation of the esteemed eggplant, slowly simmered with olives and vegetables and caramelized by balsamic vinegar); to a mix of pastas, some highlighting the freshest fish while others accentuated local meats in a rich tomato base; and finally on to the exalted catch of the day, some grilled simply so that you could appreciate their delicate flavors, and others that were bathed in sauces that melted in your mouth. Nowhere in the world do they prepare fish like in Sicily; and nowhere in Sicily had I tasted the local cuisine prepared with such startling and succulent subtlety. This was not only a more decent meal than we had expected, but we had stumbled on a gold mine. Without knowing it, we were in the skilled hands of the much acclaimed local celebrity chef, Carmelo Tilotta, who is renowned for his mastery of Sicilian cuisine and his wondrous creativity with the island’s endless bounty.

As we sat and raved, we garnered the attention of the stern waiter, who swelled with pride, slowly but surely warming to us as most Sicilians will; wary at first of foreigners, undoubtedly a characteristic defense long ingrained in a people with a history of invasion. As the granddaughter of Sicilian immigrants, this is perfectly normal to me; but my nephew, a generation removed, was taken aback. I told him to hang in there; Sicilians don’t open up to just anybody, but once cracked, they have a warmth and affection that are genuine and overwhelming. In Sicily, you are either a foreigner, or family.

By the end of the meal, we were happily full, and a cast of characters surrounded our table wanting to know us better, our dour waiter smiling broadly as he learned of our Sicilian grandparents -- from this region no less, -- and he laughed heartily, slapping my nephew on the back when I translated his jokes. They bid us farewell with the bittersweet yearning of friends who want to see more of you, yet know that the pleasure will be reserved for the far distant future. We left without meeting the illusive Chef Tilotta, whose acclaim we wouldn’t learn of until later, and who is surprisingly shy despite his success.

That day and that meal would stay with me. So a few years later, when my husband first proposed and we were deciding where to have the wedding, we chose Erice. Of course, the choice for the reception was obvious. It had to be the spectacular room at the Hotel Elimo and the extraordinary talents of Chef Tilotta. But as I’ve already told you, that would be for another time and another story...