Cinque Terre, which translates to Five Lands, is a series of 5 villages along Italy’s mountainous western coast which are connected by hiking trails and a modern Trenitalia rail line which alternates from surface to tunnel as it winds its way along the rocky coast. The iconic yellow houses precariously clinging to the waterside cliffs have become some of the most photographed in Italy as this area has become the darling of internet travel reviews and the subsequent explosion in popularity. It’s a rainy day, so we have a leisurely breakfast in our flat with some local eggs, fresh fruit and Italian rocket fuel made stovetop in the iconic Bialetti espresso pot. The towns are crowded despite the weather because it’s also Liberation day here, a national holiday celebrating the freeing of Italy from Nazism and Fascism in 1946. Hiking is out for the day, so we’re going exploring.
From north to south, the villages of Cinque Terre are Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia,
Manarola and Riomaggiore. We
hop the train to Monterosso with the plan on working our way back home over the
course of the day. We done some very
chic blue ponchos at the station and set on our stylish way. Climbing the seaside walking path, we pass
the pillbox, a German gunner’s nest and a vestige of life before the
Liberation. At the
top of the hill is Cappuccini Monastary, home to one of the town’s two most
famous statues, Monumento a San Francesco d’Assisi, the saint and his dog
overlooking the sea.
We continue on to explore the steep narrow streets, churches
and shops throughout the town for an hour or two. In one tiny shop, Mandy is greeted by a woman
about our age who we presume is the owner.
The woman starts the hard press, “how beautiful”, “how finely made”, as
she foists one piece after the next onto Mandy.
As Mandy starts to feel trapped, out of nowhere an elderly woman we’ll
call Nona, stout, well under 5’ tall and with the deep lines of 80 years in the
seaside sun, starts ranting in Italian.
She pushes Mandy aside and starts refolding scarves that previous
patrons had disheveled, blaming Mandy for the perceived mess. Mandy sees her out, ducks around Nono and
daughter and breaks for the door. We
roll out laughing, Nona having unwittingly saved Mandy from being sentenced to
10 minutes of polite disinterest. We
stop for lunch at a build your own panini joint, where we create The ManSquale,
a sandwich with mortadella, pesto, arugula, sun dried tomatoes and stracciatella
cheese, an even yummier version of ricotta where only in Italy such a thing
exists.
We hop the train to Vernazza and notice what a different personality
this place has. Our wandering leads us
to the pier and we get some nice pix of the sweep of the architecture as it
rises into the hills. Then it’s up the
hill (everything is uphill here, both directions) to the modest church on the cliffs
overlooking the sea. The second half of
lunch is Misto Frito, a dish of mixed fried seafood served in virtually every restaurant
here in some form or another, but most popularly in a big paper cone. This tiny café seats 8 people max at tables
most suitable to kindergarten classrooms.
The fish is great, hot, crispy with just a touch a sea salt and a squish
of the lemon wedge. Back on the train platform,
we’re directed wait in the tunnel. Out
of nowhere a massive gust kicks up and the entire group of us is taken aghast
by the ferocity of the wind, then the subsequent rush as the express train
blasts past at full tilt. I now
understand the last thing soda thinks as it’s sucked up the straw.
Back in the Airbnb, we have a nice predinner chill then head
back to Monterossa for dinner. It’s
still raining like mad, but we take a chance to walk along the sea a bit before
we head into the restaurant. First we
pass the beach, the only one among the 5 villages, but rocky and narrow and nothing
like a proper east coast shore. Next we
come across Il Giganto, the massive statue carved into the rocks and supporting
the lookout walk above. Then very
unexpectantly, Mandy finds out how to pronounce Brigantine, the location of our
summer home in New Jersey, in Italian.
I walk into Miky like the big wet dog that I am, so I shake
out in the anteroom and we ditch the ponchos before we enter the posh space. We sit for a few minutes, the pretty décor and
wafting jazz changing our gears into ahhh mode.
The waiter recommends a nice bottle of Cinque Terre white wine, Liguria
di Levante a Scia, and our transformazioni is complete. We order, and a few minutes later an
unexpected and very beautiful amuse bouchée is delivered. The waiter explains that it’s a
representation of all the beauty and foods of this place. A pair of savory, walnut sized crab eclairs
set atop forks suggest the flowers of the mountain and the prominence of
shellfish. The fish shaped biscuit was
topped with gossamer ricotta and a touch of caviar representing the bountiful fish
and fine cheese tradition here. Last, he
blows out the tea light and explains that it’s made of bees wax and is to be
used atop the fermented black garlic on the little toast points. It’s rare to find a dish this beautiful and
creative that tastes this good, so they set the bar high right out of the
gate. Next is our order of the signature
appetizer, anchovies 4 ways. Three
dishes are delivered, one better than the next, and they’re so good that
neither Mandy or I bring up the lack of the fourth preparation. Just as we finish the third, the waiter ceremoniously
brings three additional plates of the little fishys, and these three trump the
first three. Wow, a chef with a sense of
humor and timing… well done, sir. The
kitchen splits our order of spaghetti with clams, and we’re too food drunk (and
maybe wine buzzy) to take a pick of the well plated dish. Our final course of mixed grilled fish is simply
fantastic and a fitting end to the evening.
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