Halfway into the trip (to deliver a friend’s furniture to his apartment on the Lido), Andrea and I decided we’d like a slap-up meal (with a good bottle of red wine) to celebrate the start of a three day sojourn from reality (work, bills…). So, turning our noses up at the motorway grills, their greasy fare way beneath our sophisticated palates, we ventured onto secondary roads in search of culinary delights.
Following sign posts proudly indicating the name of a restaurant in the commune of Malalbergo, we got there to find it had just closed (the village, too), like every other restaurant within a fifty kilometre radius. It was too beautiful a day to be discouraged, and we were in no hurry. What we hadn’t taken into account was that, once out of the city, village restaurants do not serve food at all hours; they don’t conjure up enough business.
Hungry (cannibalism a distinct possibility), thirsty, on the verge of collapse, we eventually found and surrendered to the Bar Nirvana (?!?) situated at the end of a long, winding dirt road out in the middle of nowhere (how we got there, neither of us can remember). Andrea had a sandwich with ‘something’ unidentifiable between what he swears were two slices of bread, and I had what bore a distant resemblance to... Could it have been a hamburger? Thank God for the beer!
On the return trip, will we subject our ‘sophisticated palates’ to a little greasy motorway fare? YES, YES, YES!!!
Hungry (cannibalism a distinct possibility), thirsty, on the verge of collapse, we eventually found and surrendered to the Bar Nirvana (?!?) situated at the end of a long, winding dirt road out in the middle of nowhere (how we got there, neither of us can remember). Andrea had a sandwich with ‘something’ unidentifiable between what he swears were two slices of bread, and I had what bore a distant resemblance to... Could it have been a hamburger? Thank God for the beer!
On the return trip, will we subject our ‘sophisticated palates’ to a little greasy motorway fare? YES, YES, YES!!!
3 comments:
So much for the urban myth that you can't get a bad meal in Italy. But share some of the good ones with us, Robertino. With the dollar tanking I can only dream about them or read about them, and from Los Angeles even a tramezzino at an Autogrill sounds good, accidenti.
On the return trip from Venice, we left the autostrada at Montevarchi, again to follow road signs (with images of the Bar Nirvana in our mninds) to an exquisite little restaurant named Osteria di Rendola, which we found open. Hurrah! I ate 'pappardelle al ragu di cinghiale' for my first course, followed by 'arrosto di maiale' with deliciously cooked vegetables, and finished off with the most delicious 'mousse al cioccolato', all 'washed down' with a perfect Merlot, the view out the window the rolling hills of Tuscany.
weren¨t you supposed to play tennis on this beautiful sunny Friday morning??????
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