Site search
sponsored by
News
ENLARGE
Marcello, proprietor of the il Jardinetti sandwich shop, and amateur winemaker Michele Aprile (right) share a taste of two-day old 'Novelli,' an Italian version of Beaujolais nouveau that dances on your tongue.
|
ENLARGE
|
Frisco resident Leigh Wadden joins in the fun at the il Jardinetti sandwich shop by dressing up in an Italian navy uniform and posing for pictures with a group of friendly locals in Brindisi, Italy.
|
After an eight-hour ferry ride from Vlore, Albania, Leigh and I stroll through Brindisi. The town sits like a spur on the heel of the Italian boot, where it does double-duty as a gritty commercial port and naval base, and as a gateway for passenger ferries to sunny Greek isles.
We've been rambling around the edges of the southern Adriatic sea for a couple of weeks, with stops at Pompeii and Corfu. We toured fascinating World Heritage sites in Southern Albania. At Butrint, we scraped away sand to view Byzantine floor mosaics. In Gjirokastra, we drank raki in the basement bar of a medieval castle where Ottoman ruler Ali Pasha once held court.
And now we're in the mood for a snack, so we stop at il Jardinetti (the little garden), a deli just across the plaza from the Brindisi train station.
“What would you like on your sandwich?” Marcello asks, starting to hollow out a small loaf of bread with his fingers.
Neither one of us is picky, so we tell him to fix it his way. He smiles, and packs one side full of antipasto — pickled peppers, marinated mushrooms and artichoke hearts — then piles salami, mortadella and cheese on the other half. When he finishes, he asks if we'd like some wine.
“Si,” we answer, not quite sure where he stashes the fermented grape juice in his tiny shop. From behind his counter, Marcello produces a large plastic jug filled with bright purple wine, filling a line of cups on the counter.
As we taste, the story emerges.
The wine is made by the family of Michele April, whose dark eyes sparkle when he talks about his family vineyard near Foggia.
“It's the ‘Novella,' only two days old,” Michele says, pantomiming a stomping motion with his feet. “It's natural — only for the family,” he adds. The wine is not for sale, but only shared among friends.
We're not sure why we've been included in this round of drinks. With our backpacks and somewhat grimy clothes, we must look like thousands of other backpacking travelers who stream through the train station and past Marcello's diner on their way to the ferry port. And it doesn't really matter. For some reason, we've connected with this band of men, hanging around a sandwich shop in the middle of the night.
Talking with our hands and our hearts, we describe our trip and learn about Michele's stint in the Italian navy
A few weeks later, back home in Colorado, we count that short tasting session as one of the highlights of the trip. And the wine was good — delicious, in fact. Think Beaujolais Nouveau, except with a lot more personality.
Michele says the wine was shaken up a bit too much in the car during the ride from Foggia. The sediment will settle to the bottom in a day or so, improving the taste. But we all enjoy it just the way it is.
Just before Leigh and I head for our train, Michele pulls his naval uniform out of the trunk of his car and asks Leigh to put on the dark blue dress jacket and white hat for a last round of pictures. Then he tries to draw a map to his vineyard in mid-air and writes down the name of his family's estate in my notebook before we scramble across the street and into the station.
We're a little tipsy, and our Italian is questionable at best, but we're pretty sure he wants us to visit if we ever make it back to this part of the Italian boot — and we'd sure like to taste that wine again after it's aged for a year or two. Sounds like reason enough for a return trip, we decide.
Summit Daily travel editor Bob Berwyn and Leigh Wadden recently traveled through southern Europe. This story was originally written on a cell phone touch pad at 3 a.m. in the bottom berth of a six-person couchette on the train from Brindisi to Milan.
Read more of the real-time blogs from Europe at www.1worldimages.com. Contact bberwyn@summitdaily.com to
submit travel stories and photos.
We've been rambling around the edges of the southern Adriatic sea for a couple of weeks, with stops at Pompeii and Corfu. We toured fascinating World Heritage sites in Southern Albania. At Butrint, we scraped away sand to view Byzantine floor mosaics. In Gjirokastra, we drank raki in the basement bar of a medieval castle where Ottoman ruler Ali Pasha once held court.
And now we're in the mood for a snack, so we stop at il Jardinetti (the little garden), a deli just across the plaza from the Brindisi train station.
“What would you like on your sandwich?” Marcello asks, starting to hollow out a small loaf of bread with his fingers.
Neither one of us is picky, so we tell him to fix it his way. He smiles, and packs one side full of antipasto — pickled peppers, marinated mushrooms and artichoke hearts — then piles salami, mortadella and cheese on the other half. When he finishes, he asks if we'd like some wine.
“Si,” we answer, not quite sure where he stashes the fermented grape juice in his tiny shop. From behind his counter, Marcello produces a large plastic jug filled with bright purple wine, filling a line of cups on the counter.
As we taste, the story emerges.
The wine is made by the family of Michele April, whose dark eyes sparkle when he talks about his family vineyard near Foggia.
“It's the ‘Novella,' only two days old,” Michele says, pantomiming a stomping motion with his feet. “It's natural — only for the family,” he adds. The wine is not for sale, but only shared among friends.
We're not sure why we've been included in this round of drinks. With our backpacks and somewhat grimy clothes, we must look like thousands of other backpacking travelers who stream through the train station and past Marcello's diner on their way to the ferry port. And it doesn't really matter. For some reason, we've connected with this band of men, hanging around a sandwich shop in the middle of the night.
Talking with our hands and our hearts, we describe our trip and learn about Michele's stint in the Italian navy
A few weeks later, back home in Colorado, we count that short tasting session as one of the highlights of the trip. And the wine was good — delicious, in fact. Think Beaujolais Nouveau, except with a lot more personality.
Michele says the wine was shaken up a bit too much in the car during the ride from Foggia. The sediment will settle to the bottom in a day or so, improving the taste. But we all enjoy it just the way it is.
Just before Leigh and I head for our train, Michele pulls his naval uniform out of the trunk of his car and asks Leigh to put on the dark blue dress jacket and white hat for a last round of pictures. Then he tries to draw a map to his vineyard in mid-air and writes down the name of his family's estate in my notebook before we scramble across the street and into the station.
We're a little tipsy, and our Italian is questionable at best, but we're pretty sure he wants us to visit if we ever make it back to this part of the Italian boot — and we'd sure like to taste that wine again after it's aged for a year or two. Sounds like reason enough for a return trip, we decide.
Summit Daily travel editor Bob Berwyn and Leigh Wadden recently traveled through southern Europe. This story was originally written on a cell phone touch pad at 3 a.m. in the bottom berth of a six-person couchette on the train from Brindisi to Milan.
Read more of the real-time blogs from Europe at www.1worldimages.com. Contact bberwyn@summitdaily.com to
submit travel stories and photos.
