Home is where your heart is” or sometimes home is not where you are physically, but a place you carry IN your heart despite the distance. Just the thought of it, makes you smile and feel happy….or homesick, in my case. A big piece of my heart belongs to Cesano, Senigallia.
The holiday season is here. With that, fond memories of the many great times spent in Italy with my family. Decorating the tree: year after year, using the same ornaments and the same short, beaten-up artificial tree from which we couldn’t depart such we loved him so much.
Growing up in Perugia, in the heart of Italy, we did not have any fruit other than the one Nature could provide on its own, without manipulation. That meant the usual Winter melons, Apples and Pears.
Thanksgiving if the holiday that made me a better person. It made me more aware that there are so many reasons to be grateful, and I need to celebrate each one of them. Mille Grazie! (A thousand thank you’s)
Here is what I learned from life: Diamonds are NOT a girl’s best friends. FRIENDS are. I know, truth can hurt, and don’t get me wrong…I like the bling bling, too. When it comes to real life, though, everybody needs a very close friend. A BFF as they call them now.
When one gets married, in Italy, one is willing to grow deeper roots. I, on the other hand, always wanted to grow wings- for as long as I can remember.
From the very start of my wine journey – I’ve always loved red wines. Especially red blends. In addition to growing excellent pinot noir, Oregon can impress with it’s large bodied reds. There are many big red varietals (i.e. cabernet sauvignon, tempranillo, or merlot) that are grown in Southern Oregon because of the warmer climate. However, today’s selection is from a little further north.
In Italy we have a popular saying: You can’t pick your family members, but you can choose your friends. How exciting! I got to have a twin, who is not my brother, but who’s the bestest of friends. If you find this confusing, you are not the only one. Here’s how it all happened.
When one is born Italian, he/she is supposed to like coffee, wine and animal organs (in this order) as if it were part of the natural genetic patrimony. Caffelatte (Milk and coffee) is what I grew up having for breakfast as a child.
Upon my first sniff I knew I was in for a treat. It had a crisp acidity with a hint of black pepper. It smelled like a crisp fall day