My beautiful home for the last two nights.
I bought some olive oil from the owner of La Ripa to bring home. It was so reasonably priced here and so expensive at Lotsa Pasta in Louisville.
Early morning views of the olive groves with the mountains in the clouds behind.
The produce in Acquaviva is beautiful, and this photo was just the citrus fruit. There were also apples, pears, and other fruits that I couldn't identify.
While I was searching for that coca-cola zero, I came across this cafeteria. There were many remarkable-looking pastries in the glass case, and since my friends wanted me to write more about the food, I thought, well, I have never had an authentic Italian cannoli. I have quit ordering them in our country because they are always this thick, sorta soggy boring tube. My, my, my -- where have these pastries been hiding? The outside shell was light and crunchy and 100% out of this world. The inside was the smoothest, most delectable cream filling. I wanted to lay on the floor, kick my feet up and yell hallelujah. Even the chocolate morsels at each end were memorable. May I never settle for an American Cannoli again.
I needed lots of miles to work off my mid-morning treat. It is your fault, my friends, or at least I used you all as my excuse to have dessert at 10:30 in the morning. I am not feeling at all guilty.
There was beautiful scenery in every direction.
As I walked into Montelibretti, I spotted these two murals depicting this area's early settlers.
Montelibretti is another one of the villages built on the side of a mountain. As I was trying to find my lodgings for the night, I was sure I knew where I was going. I know, how unusual. But an Italian man stopped me and was insistent in his motions, asking to know where I was going, so I showed him my papers with the hotel's name. He looked puzzled, and he asked his wife. They seemed unsure, and he pointed in the way I had just come. I wanted to argue, but he was so adamant that I backtrack up the steep hill. So not wanting to be rude, I turned around and stomped (on the inside) up the (did I say steep?) hill. He got in his car and drove up, and pointed to a house. He was right. It was my lodging for the night. He didn't seem sure when I showed him my papers for the hotel but thank heavens for kind people. I would probably still be looking. I love Italy and Italians. What a wonderful experience.
The perfect advertisement for this village.
So I stopped for a glass of wine -- happy hour except the wine here is so cheap there is no need for happy hour -- every hour is happy! With my glass of wine, the bartender gave me these little nests of puffed pastry filled with something akin to tomato paste but much better and not so sweet as our tomato paste. They sang with tomato flavor!
I have no idea who this is, but he was my dinner companion! Not much of a talker.
I ordered the Pizza Caramellata with mozzarella fior di latte, pecorino, provola, speck, cipolla caramellatta e cialdadi pecorino translated as pizza with a little bacon, lots of good cheese and caramelized cipolia onions. Cipolla onions are those little onions that, if you buy fresh, will make you suicidal in trying to peel them. Squisito! The onions were so sweet and flavorful that they seemed to be sautéed in honey. Everything else played second fiddle to those onions. This pizza had no tomato sauce, but it sure didn't need it. Spettacolare!
So another day down and only three to go.
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