Guido e Luisa;

UPDATE: To see the meal we enjoyed while watching 8 1/2, click here.

As I mentioned last week, on Saturday we decided to base our meal around the movie we were to watch that evening, 8 1/2. For anyone struggling in the creative process, it’s a fantastic film to indulge in, as the lines between Guido Anselmi’s memories, fantasies and reality were so thoroughly smudged as to make a very strange narrative that anyone who appreciates A Christmas Story would instantly love.  While not as immediately comedic for anyone not fluent in Italian, the frustration of its main character are immediately apparent to anyone of an artistic disposition.  To write with authority on this topic requires more than one viewing of the film–one of the reasons why it’s now on my media shelf as well as why I am not trying to expound on its deeper themes.

The visual style of the film struck a more primal aesthetic reaction from me, both in how Fellini filmed his surroundings as well as how he dressed his actors–it’s immediately stylish in a haute way, but it is inspiring in embodying an impossibly cool mid-20th century European “look”.

You look at these screenshots and say you don’t want to recreate them in your mind (or in your wardrobe):

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I’d like to mull more over this film and its more cereberal aspects–but that is another day and another viewing (which will be soon).

As for the food we enjoyed, well that will be revealed in good time.

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L’illusionista;

Since we decided to go to a party on Valentine’s Day to mix things up a bit, Saturday will be our designated night of staying in and making dinner, our normal way of marking the holiday.

I proposed to add a twist to the festivities, however–using a rewards certificate from Amazon.com, I managed to get a copy of Fellini’s 8 1/2 after seeing how much we both enjoyed watching La Dolce Vita a few months ago.  Given that it was filmed in and around Rome, we’re going to try some Roman dishes and sip on some Montepulciano d’Abruzzo (which, by the by, is becoming more prevalent here in the States and is an extremely well-priced Italian red compared to others, but that’s another post).

Here’s the original film trailer to set the mood:

Some initial thoughts for meal ideas include Roman-style lamb, bucatini alla’amatricana, and stracciatella alla Romana, but other suggestions are  more than welcome in the comments.

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Tw Cen MT is not Futura.

Acqui Terme, Italy.  October 11, 2008, 2:24 PM.

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I apertivi;

One small part of Piemontese life that we didn’t experience extensively was the bar culture–specifically, the before-dinner-drinks, or apertivi.  Most of our time spent in town (or in Torino) was in the afternoon and we were content to sip on either a beer or a glass of wine with a slab of pizza to tide us over before the dinner hour, and having some amazing wines completely at our disposal meant that cocktails weren’t given much consideration.

In the months since we’ve returned, though, I’ve taken to flipping through the completely gorgeous book Autumn in Piemonte, a shower gift from a dear friend, and I recently caught a section that described aperitivi and some of the traditional libations that accompany this oh-so-elegant alternative to American happy hours:

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Tw Cen MT is not Futura.

Acqui Terme, Italy, October 11 2008, 2:16 PM.

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Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head, and just like the guy who’s feet are too big for his bed–nothing seems to fit, those raindrops are fallin’ on my head, they keep fallin’;

It’s miserable out–grey, wet, icy and shitty–and I’m here listening to two plumbers rip out my toilet to fix a giant crack that’s leaking…something into the basement section underneath the pharmacy below us, and therefore we will be without a toilet until at least tomorrow.  Add to that a sizable 1/5th of our bedroom celing that collapsed while we were away for the holidays due to the roof leaking (water was literally pouring into one corner of our bedroom the morning we left that is still not fixed, and you can see that I am far from being a happy camper.

So here’s a pretty picture taken on the Regione Valloria:

UPDATE: Right after I posted this, the plumber told us that we would be losing our shower as well.  Fuck.

UPDATE #2: Yep, not allowed to run any water now.

UPDATE #3: We’re in a hotel room–and had to drive out in the less-than-stellar weather to do so–because our landlord insisted on us staying here.  Please hope along with us that this is the only night we have to do this…blerg!

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Arial is not Helvetica;

Torino, Italy, October 10 2008, 4:10 PM.

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Il pranzo primo in Italia;

One of the last pieces of information my then-brand-spanking-new-mother-in-law relayed to me over the phone as I was scribbling down the directions to Baur B&B was “there will be a bottle of wine waiting for you two.”  And when we arrived late that morning, that was an understatement.

We lugged our bags up to the room, and after some showers (I had to get out all of the gross hairspray and other products from my bridal hairdo, plus wash myself of plane), we ambled over to the kitchen where we had this waiting for us:

Focaccia, tomatoes and basil, figs, Genoan salami, goat cheese (I think), olives, carrots and proscuitto.  And a bottle of Barbera d’Asti.  In other words:  heaven.

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Max e Murphy;

So I lied.  I promised a Top Chef recap, and I’ve yet to deliver, and will remedy this tomorrow.  In the meantime, can I offer some puppies (in spirit, if not in age) as a concession?

I’ve been meaning to write about Max, the dog Michael is referring to when he tells our friends and family back home that “he likes dogs in Italy.”  Max is a very special dog–cheerful, affectionate, intelligent, and loyal as hell.  The fact that the afternoon we set out for our walk and he kept following us (despite many, many attempts at Diana, Michael and I to dissuade him) shows that he is nothing if not smarter than we all give him credit.  He is the one-dog greeting company at Baur B&B, and he’s happy to sit by you so long as you scratch behind his ears.  Michael made such an impression upon him that on our last afternoon at the B&B, Max heard his voice as we arrived at the base of the hill and barked–to which I sad “he totally heard you talk, you with the instantly recognizable voice”–and was proven correct by the yellow Lab torpedo that came out at us halfway up the hill.  He’s a pretty awesome dog, all in all.

While we were there, Michael kept telling Max how much smarter and less slobbery he was compared to my parents’ dog Murphy, who will turn 10 in March.  Michael’s first encounter with Murphy was a few months after we picked him up over that Memorial Day weekend, when he was still technically a puppy, and he came over to work on an AP English project.  Long story short–he came in, Murphy got really excited, and they literally met eye-to-eye when Murphy flung himself into Michael’s arms.  It was pretty fucking hilarious at the time, and the image remains so to this day.

So let me give you some puppeh porn, in the vein of I Can Haz Cheezburger–well, in the actual spirit of the site, as I generated some LOLDog images of both Max and Murphy.

First, I offer the latter, as he is not into getting his picture taken:

And to be fair, one of my favorite Max pictures from our vacation–Diana called up to us and informed us that MIchael’s preferred patio seat had been “taken”:

Some unadulturated pictures after the jump:

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Andiamo a Torino;

I know I’ve been remiss in continuing to recap our Italian adventure, but this last week wasn’t terribly inspiring for me–frustration in other quarters drained me of the urge to write anything at all.  That said, let’s get back to things.

When we were still planning some of the details of our trip, I thought I knew that I wanted us to spend a day in Milan and maybe do some serious Italian shopping.  As the time drew closer though, I wasn’t quite into it–I hadn’t had the urge to shop in a while, and the idea of spending a day shopping was seriously losing its appeal.  When Diana suggested Turin as a closer, more culturally-rich alternative, my interest was piqued and settled our decision.  She suggested driving to Asti and then taking the train from there as it would be a shorter trip (and we’d have more alternatives for departing trains) than just taking a train from Acqui.  Armed with her directions, we set off late in the morning to give it a go:

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