I am Not a Drunk

Contrary to ugly rumors we've been hearing, Steve and I do not spend our days drinking. We restrict ourselves to a bottle of wine at dinner and perhaps a glass of prosecco beforehand. However, as culinary tourists we do like to sample the local cuisine and our last night in Naples was no exception. That night we dedicated ourselves to eating il vero pizza da Napoli which unlike the thin crusted pizza in Rome is made with a thick, chewy crust. We ate outside at an charming restaurant with the obligatory wood burning oven, drank a bottle of the house wine and ate a delicious pizza while listening to the babble of Neapolitan families chatting at high volume and high speed.

I must confess, however, that I prefer the style of pizza in Rome.

Bella Napoli

This is our second full day in Napoli and, despite the fears of family and friends, we have not been mugged, robbed or otherwise assaulted. In fact the scariest thing that happened to us was the cab ride to and from dinner last night.

Traffic here is truly unbelievable. Stop and go, bumper to bumper with the added attraction of motorbikes zigging and zagging in between the lanes of traffic, and all this accompanied by the constant cacophony of horns. The total effect is exhausting and sometimes close to terrifying. Coming home from dinner last light (incredible seafood!) we witnessed a couple of bang ups between motorbikes and cars. Lots of noise but little drama. The bikers just picked themselves and their bikes up and zoomed off. Most cars here bear the scars of battle; I don't think I've seen more than a handful of cars without some dents or scratches.

We drove out to Pompeii today but, fortunately, the autostrada was problem free. Tonight we are going to sample Naples' famous pizza but only if we can walk there!

Andiamo, Andiamo

Here we go again—eating too much, drinking too much and having way more fun than supposedly senior citizens should be allowed.

Our 3 days in Rome are a blur except, of course, for the 3 wonderful meals we had each night at favorite restaurants. First, Da Poeta in Trastevere, our old neighborhood, for perfect thin crust pizza forno al legno. Then, fresh fish at the always crowded Le Mani in Pasta, another Trastevere culinary landmark and, finally, Roscioli or as Steve calls it “the deli”—Famous should only look and taste so good!—for an incredible bottle of Brunello di Montipulciano and a seleczione of proscuitti and salami and fromaggio.

Now we are in Naples. The city is wild—chaotic as one guide book aptly states—noisy and full of people who look they come from central casting for an Italian movie in the 50’s. Chubby bambini running around the piazzas; ragazzi in jeans and tee shirts—the boys with lots of hair gel and the girls with tons of make up (I don’t believe you are allowed in public without dark black eyeliner and several coats of mascara.)--flirting and fooling around; stout little nonnas clutching each other and their shopping bags are all crowding the narrow streets and somehow avoiding getting killed by the scores of motorbikes zooming by in every direction. (Crossing the street here is an exercise in wishful thinking. You walk across slowly but steadily trusting that the drivers racing along the street will see you and not hit you. So far it’s worked.)

Admittedly, the city is filthy—graffiti everywhere, trash bins overflowing and every building seems to be in some stage of decay with weeds growing out of cornices and paint peeling off the walls. Despite the noise and the chaos, Steve and I feel perfectly comfortable and safe. It is like walking through a blown up version of South Philly with everyone gesticulating wildly and talking loudly.

Last night for dinner we walked around the corner from our hotel to Osteria da Carmela. Carmela turned out to be an tiny but energetic woman around my age dressed like a punk rocker in a low cut summer dress accessorized with black tights and motorcycle boots. Her bright red hair was as short as Steve’s except for a single long pig tail that reached down to the middle of her back. It was just Carmela and one other cook in the tiny kitchen but they whipped out an incredible meal—pasta with fresh porcini mushrooms (in season now!!) and cuttlefish, fried anchovies, Steve’s fave, and sautéed tiny clams (so sweet) served on a bed of chopped croutons perfect for sopping up the delicious sauce. The restaurant was full of regulars; we were the only strangers but afterwards we went back to the kitchen to thank Carmela for our meal.

Benvenuto a Roma

Here we are back in the land of pizza, prosecco and pasta. In less than 24 hours of our arrival in Rome, we sampled the first two and I'm hopeful tonight that we will enjoy the third.

The city is golden, the streets are full (although not as crowded as in the spring) and the weather is perfect for strolling. We spent our first full day visiting some of our favorite places from the Piazza del Populo down to the Piazza da Santa Maria in Trastevere. Steve even got a hair cut and beard trim at his barber so he is looking quite the Italian gentleman.

The big news--for us at least--is that our favorite wine bar, Ferrara on Piazza Trilussa, has gone through a major renovation. Although the wine is still wonderful, the new decor lacks the warmth and charm of the original space. Oh well, life goes on.

Mary J Blige is in the house. . .

And so are Ellen and Amira.

I was so impressed. Amira knew the words to every song. We both spent the whole concert on our feet dancing and grooving to Mary J. She was an incredibly powerful and passionate presence on stage in skin tight pants and thigh high stiletto boots. She gave us her all, the highs and lows, the ups and downs, and at the end we were all "Just Fine."

I Missed the Debate and I'm Proud of It

Why I can't stand to listen to CNN anymore, courtesy of Charles Pierce on Altercation:

"For several days, it was made increasingly apparent that the Republican Party has nominated for vice-president a person who is manifestly unqualified to teach middle-school history. (Hint: the default answer, always, is, "Dred Scott v. Sanford, Katie." The Civil War was, like, a bad thing.) And yet, through the entire run-up to the debate, it was argued by serious people who analyze serious politics and make a serious living doing it that Sarah Palin could reveal herself to be non-dim by putting on the correct puppet show for the media in her debate against Joe Biden. Make no mistake. That's what the punditocracy was arguing. Give us a reason, please, not to have to write what we all know to be true, what has been self-evidently true to the entire country since you walked off the podium in St. Paul. . . None of what the Walking Dead on the cable shows were looking to see has the slightest thing to do with her fitness for the office she seeks, let alone the office that might descend upon her. Journalists should not be in the business of perception-is-reality. It is our job to hammer the reality until the perception conforms to it. Hell, even Katie Couric's pretty much figured that out. Any postgame analysis that doesn't reflect this principle is not worth talking about."

One More Day to One Night Only

. . . and I don't mean the Biden/Palin debate.

Thursday night, 7-10 pm, the place to be is the spiffy showroom of Luxe Home at 1308 Chestnut Street for One Night Only, a very special evening to benefit Women's Medical Fund.

What's in store--an open bar, great food from Peachtree and Ward, fabulous music with DJ Abbey Klein and a raffle with incredible prizes. Ticket price is ridiculously low--just $35 for those under 35 (I wish!) or $75 for those $35 and older.

Best if all, you'll be supporting a really important organization, the only one in the area that provides direct financial assistance to women and teens in need of a safe and legal abortion.

You can pay at the door or click here. I hope to see you there!