totally overrated.

I'm talking, of course, about white truffles, those fancy little fungi (ideally) found in northern Italy, growing only on the roots of certain trees, to be harvested only a certain time of year, good for only a few days, and currently selling for $250 to $450 per ounce, although, to be honest, if you're paying $250, you've probably just bought yourself a knock-off Chinese truffle (yep, that's a thing now, too). I looked it up: an AA battery weighs an ounce. Five U.S. quarters weigh an ounce. And no one but a complete sucker would pay $250 to $450 for a battery or five quarters, amiright? And yet, white truffles draw us expat yuppies to the Piedmont like moths to the proverbial flame: we just can't help ourselves. Well, really, Mike and our friends can't help themselves; I think the things are totally overrated. Boom, full circle, back to the title. See what I did there?

Obviously, truffle season is in the fall, but you know what else fall brings? Oktoberfest. (How's that for a segue?) Awwww yeah, Oktoberfest. I don't even like beer, and I like this festival. Oompah bands! Giant salty pretzels with killer mustard! Sausages galore! Dirndls and lederhosen! The Sunday prior to departing for the Piedmont, we took the train up to Konstanz (a charming little town just over the German border) to check theirs out. It's like ours, in that it's only one tent, but they speak legitimate high German there (woohooo!), and they had two brass bands. Plus the carnival out front, where my ridiculously-good-at-shootin' husband won me a wee blue bear. (No, seriously, he's really good. But anyway.) A few photos from our Konstanz excursion appear below. (Pardon the photo quality: they're all from Mike's camera phone 'cause I was too lazy to carry our real camera.)

Here's us with our friends Lori and Aaron (with notable appearance by Ian's hand). FYI, I am wearing my dirndl under that jacket, but it was cold that day. Bleh.

The tent.

We ordered the assorted meats plate for four, and out came this. Easily would have fed eight. The ham and the cased, salami-like meats were good, and the pickled veggies were yummy, but I found that I can definitely do without liverwurst. (Not that the flavor is bad, but I think that spreadable meats are a crime against nature.) Note giant soft pretzel and mustard in foreground...mmmm.

Even though it was cold and drizzly and Sunday evening (which meant that everything was closed), we took a stroll through the historic city center.

Turns out that Konstanz is a charming little town, and I'd like to visit it during the daytime, sometime. The warm, sunny, not-raining daytime.

In the main square, we found a fountain complete with, among other things, these spitting bronze mer-bunnies. (The one at the far left looks like a mer-guinea pig, but only 'cause his ears broke off.) 

Also next to the fountain was this giant bronze horse. Here is my husband, astride it. In his lederhosen and Oktoberfest linen jacket. This may be the most amazing photo of Mike ever taken. 

And with that image in your minds, on to the Piedmont! I think this may be one of the most enchanted, fascinating places I've ever been, and thankfully, it's a little out of the way, so it's ridiculously under-touristed, too. There are ridiculous numbers of castles and really old churches here, as well as some fantastic and unique food, and you really can't beat their red wines. Essentially, all of the things I love (with maybe the possible exception of spicy food and consistently warm, sunny weather, but you can't win 'em all!) come together in this one place. It's glorious.

This year, we stayed a day less than last year, so that was sad, and our usual crew was a few members short, but our friend Geneva joined us on Saturday, and we did get to meet René's parents, who came along to spend time with the group's youngest member--Nanda and René's son, Finn (who is learning to appreciate the finer things at the ripe old age of 4 months). We all managed to roll into town on Thursday afternoon with plenty of time to check into our gorgeous little rental-apartment-style rooms, and then to head to dinner in Albaretto della Torre, the tiny little town nearby. Filippo was essentially empty, except for ourselves, but it was a delicious meal. Mike went for the tasting menu, with potato cakes in a red pepper sauce; cheese and porcini risotto; and roasted rabbit with crispy potatoes. I started with marinated veal, then had the same risotto, followed by steak-on-a-rock (see below). We split a fantastic piece of ricotta cheesecake topped with berries, and all was right with the world. YUMMMM.

Upon entering the restaurant, one gets an eyeful of actual meats roasting in an actual fireplace. It's a good sign for things to come.

Nanda and René and our table.

Steak on a rock! I don't even really like steak, but I had to order this. They throw a giant slab of raw, partially chopped steak on a terrifyingly hot rock, then bring it sizzling to the table, where you get to decide how long to let it cook before eating it. It was spectacular. I flipped a few little sections over for a few seconds and got a nice sear on the outside, while keeping it red on the inside...which was a revelation to me. And suddenly, after a lifetime of raw-food-associated hang-ups, I finally understood why redder (ok, maybe even a little bloody, to my shock and horror!) steak really is better. Gross, but true. Sorry, vegetarians. As much as I dabble with chickpeas, I'm still a meat eater at heart.

So pretty. So delicious. No red meat here.

Friday morning was our first wine tasting, at a little family-owned-and-operated place named for its founder, Elio Altare. This was our first visit there. I know, I know, it makes us sound like alcoholics to schedule a wine tasting for 10:30 in the AM, let me 'splain the simple reason why it went down this way: it's the harvest season, so anyone who could have led a tour and tasting in the afternoon would be occupied with that measly little unimportant thing. You know, the picking of the grapes in order to ensure continued wine production, and whatnot. Thankfully, the tour before the tasting ate up a little time, so we didn't hit the booze until close to lunchtime. We're not that bad. And look what greeted us upon arrival!

This is Polpetta, which is Italian for "meatball." She's their new puppy. If seeing this upon approach isn't a sign of good things to come, I don't know what is.

Here's their other goggie, Leone, getting some pettings from Geneva on Saturday. He and Polpetta are still working out their pecking order, so there was lots of tussling going on while we were all outdoors. 

But anyway, the tour! 

From their terrace...this country is ridiculously gorgeous.

All of the wineries we've visited are roughly on the same two hillsides near La Morra, so this view is very familiar.

Purty vineyards.

The oldest of their barrel rooms.

Currently, Elio Altare himself (on the right) is running an experiment with making wine entirely by hand. Here, they're sorting grapes. Naturally, it'll be a small production, so no one will get to try any other than the people involved, but I love that there are still wine makers out there who think it's important to preserve tradition.

This is why we come here, people: the barolo. It's a bit much before noon, but thankfully, you always work up to it with a few "smaller" wines first. 

Next, it was over to Alba for a truffle-y lunch.

Here's Finn and his grandpa, inspecting the lunchtime offerings at La Libera.

Ta-da! It's a plate full of rocks! No, wait, those are the all-important white truffles. These bad boys are  ridiculously smelly fragrant, but they have a shockingly mild flavor. Weirdly enough, when it comes to white truffles, it's actually the aroma, and not the flavor, that you're buying.

Mike's plate of scallops in a cream sauce, topped with paper-thin truffle slices. He followed this with a dish of awesome little meat-filled agnolotti pasta.

My plate of super wide noodles in a pea and lamb sauce, topped with delicious fresh parmesan cheese. A bargain at about a fifth of the price of the truffle dishes.

Obviously, lunch was no joke, so Mike and I went for a walk afterwards through Albaretto della Torre. 

Here's a panorama of the view from its terrace.

It's not exactly bustling: it's a church, a tower (torre, get it?), a handful of houses, a restaurant or two, and some serious picturesque charm. And that's about it.

Definitely lovely, though.

Dinner was at Gemma's, literally one of our favorite restaurants in the world, and worth the five-hour drive from Zürich by itself. The local-home-cookin' menu there is almost always the same, with a few seasonal changes, and you get twelve different dishes served family style for the price of around 25 Euros per person. Make your reservations early, though: this was the one place that everyone recommended to us, everywhere we went, and it is usually fully booked. Probably because the meal itself is insane. You start with house-made salami (2 types), bread, and grissini (those long, thin, crunchy breadsticks native to Piemonte), and then out comes the raw veal. I didn't take any photos at this meal, 'cause we've been here a number of times and I just wanted to enjoy it, but our friend Geneva did manage to take one photo of the standout dish of the evening.

This, my friends, is fassone. It's raw veal seasoned with a little olive oil, a little lemon, and some salt and pepper, and that's it. At Gemma's, it's cut so finely that the texture is almost feathery, and I never in all of my wildest dreams could have imagined that raw meat could be this delicious. If the entire meal consisted of this and bread, I'd be perfectly happy to eat until I could eat no more. We've had it a few other places, but none of them even hold a candle. That's me giving the thumbs-up.

After the veal comes the Russian salad, with chopped boiled eggs, peas, and carrots coated in a suspiciously mayonnaise-y (but way tastier!) dressing; then the vitello tonnato, which is the thinnest of veal slices topped in a tuna sauce (sounds weird, but is truly fantastic, and again, Gemma's has the best I've tasted); then spaghetti-like noodles (in Piemonte, they're called tajarin) in a meat sauce and a dish of meat ravioli in a meat sauce; then two meat dishes (this time, it was rabbit and veal, both roasted, in their own sauces); and then the final nail in the coffin--four desserts: a not-too-sweet apple strudel, a plate of bunet (or bonet, which is this coffee-chocolate-hazelnut-custardy-Jello-y "typical of the region" thing that I don't love), a pineapple-and-whipped-cream concoction, and a fantastic meringue dish with a crunchy, almost candied crust on the bottom and little crunchies on top (my absolute favorite, although the strudel snuck up on me this year). It's only taken 7 or 8 visits to Gemma's, but I've finally learned how to pace myself a bit: I think I've left that restaurant 3 times now without much actual physical pain from overeating. I consider that a victory of the grandest proportions, considering the food they serve and my love for it (especially that crazy delicious fassone).

Sadly, we couldn't spend the entire trip at Gemma's. Saturday morning was another wine tasting, this time at Renato Ratti, whom we know and love. And apparently, they know and love us, too: thanks to our repeated visits, they actually remembered us (!), and not only were they able to fit us in for the tour this year, but they gave us a discount on our wine purchases at the end, in front of other people. Heh, heh. It's nice to be part of the "in" crowd...especially at an Italian winery! (Who in his or her right mind would have ever envisioned that as happening in real life??)

The old building next to Renato Ratti's new (and very modern) building. I've taken a picture of this place every time we've been there, and only this time found out that it was part of their original winery here.

Barrel room at Renato Ratti.

Marcella showing everyone the very limited number of locations whence barolo comes.

After Ratti, we made the quick trip up in La Morra to find lunch, whereupon we stumbled across a tiny  outdoor market (4 booths) and felt compelled to ogle the cheeses.

I'm pretty sure this is what heaven looks like. Or at least, part of it.

And finally, another jaunt into Alba to visit the hallowed truffle market, which I love, because there are heaps of things other than truffles there. (Hazelnuts, salami, cheese, mushrooms, fresh and dried pasta, wine, grappa, local sweets...all high quality, and all offering samples. Yesssss.)

Mmmmm, cheeses.

Mmmmm, salami.

The center of the market, where the actual truffle sales occur. We bought our truffle--to be used in dinner later--from the gentleman in the green vest, on the lower left.

And now, all about said dinner. Last year, our final evening in Piedmont was spent cooking and devouring a huge, delicious meal at the giant kitchen table in our rented villa, and a tradition was born. This year, Mike and the rest of the fellas whipped up another culinary triumph.

Another gigantic table, surrounded by friends and covered in good food. It really does not get much better than this. Here, the starters: good Italian bread, grissini, and some sliced cheese and salami.

...and some truly fantastic (as in, maybe the best I've ever had) prosciutto. And the plate of mortadella that Mike's holding up in the background. (Mmmm...bologna's predecessor...)

The chef himself, enjoying some antipasti.

Finn, contemplating the festivities.

René approves of our truffle selection.

Mike and Steve dishing up Mike's amazing pasta: cappellini in a light, creamy carbonara sauce. Perfect for topping with shaved white truffle. Or, in my case, eating a few bites with truffle, and then gorging myself on the pasta by itself. Sooooooo ridiculously good.

Main course: beef braised in barolo with roasted veggies. 

Dessert: Nanda's super rich, dark, flourless chocolate cake with crushed hazelnuts. I am proud to say that I contributed to the process, in that I was the primary hazelnut crusher. I ate as much of this as I could fit into my angry, overstuffed belly.

Sunday morning-ish, we all got up and stuffed our faces yet again with salami and cheese leftovers, Nanda's cake (ok, it was mainly me eating the cake 'cause I kept it out of everyone else's reach), and a fine assortment of cookies from the bakery in Alba. I was in no way hungry, but the spread was just so gorgeous.

You can see why we always shop at this particular bakery.

Steve was kind enough to make loads of coffee for everyone--using a wee moka pot, no less!--and then we all packed up and headed home. Obviously, it was a food-centric trip, but I think that's my favorite kind of tourism anymore. (Well, that and old buildings, but there's no shortage of those in the Piedmont, thank goodness.) Next time, I'd like to spend a little more time exploring castles and maybe visit a new hilltop village or two, and perhaps a little less time overeating, but the good part is that all of this is just a five-hour drive away. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: life in Europe is grand. Not to rub it in, or anything. Come visit, kids.

What I'm reading: finished The Hiding Place, and wow, what an incredible story. I'd estimate that it made me cry approximately six times, but it was entirely worth the read, as Corrie and her family and the Dutch underground were absolutely heroes, and their faith was so strong and so luminous, it's hard to even wrap my brain around. I don't know how anyone could possibly keep faith in anything during experiences like that, but somehow Corrie herself managed to survive, to keep her faith in God, and to forgive. It's powerful, amazing stuff. 

And then for something completely different: The Sweet Life in Paris, by David Lebovitz. It's a collection of anecdotal essays on the experiences of an American moving to Paris, and it's full of hilarity. Plus, each chapter ends in a recipe. I liked this book so much (and the one recipe I've managed to try) that I subscribed to the guy's blog (which is full of interesting stories, recipes, and tips on foodie places in Paris...gotta love that). 

Next up was The Adventures of Ed Tuttle, Associate Justice, and Other Stores, by Jay Wexler, which was just weird, weird, weird. Not my favorite.

Then came The Venice Experiment: A Year of Trial and Error Living Abroad, by Barry Frangipane and Ben Robbins. Really wanted to read this one, as I really like Venice and its ancient, crumbling facades, although everyone else I know seems to think it's overrated.* On the one hand, I found this book a little irritating, as it was obviously geared towards people who've never been to Italy, know nothing about it, and don't read at a very high level. (Ouch, I know.) On the other hand, I enjoyed pieces of the story, as I could completely sympathize with a few of the expat experiences Barry and his wife Debbie went through. Although their story definitely made me realize that it's nice to live near Italy, but maybe not in it. I truly adore the place, and its culture and food and history and people, and I've wanted to live there since the first time I visited, but... given its politics and economy and the general "things will probably get done, when they get done, and on no specific timetable, to no specific standard of quality" way of life, it's nice to be in quiet, efficient, clean, stable Switzerland. Even if the language isn't as musical or as easy to learn, and the food isn't nearly as good,** and the people aren't quite as warm. Italy is still very close by. 

And on that note, I'm now reading another book about Italy--Sweet Honey, Bitter Lemons: Travels in Sicily on a Vespa, by Matthew Fort. Now here is a well written, almost poetically descriptive book, which also happens to include recipes (hooray!!). Seriously, this guy's prose is lush and lovely, and naturally, he makes me really really really really want to go to Sicily. Not that I didn't before starting this book...it's just worse now. Thanks a lot, Matthew Fort.

Since I'm getting hungry just writing about Italy, I'm going to go find a snack. Next up: our triumphant, if brief, return to Ireland. 

*Get off the tourist thoroughfares, you people! Go see St. Mark's, and then get lost in the back alleys. And don't eat anywhere with a menu printed in any language other than Italian. Sheesh. This is not that difficult. Venice is magic.

 **Although the Swiss do have rösti. And fondue. And killer chocolate. It ain't all bad here.