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Archive for the ‘Travel in Friuli’ Category

My only plan for the day was to take the train to Cormòns for lunch, which left me the entire morning to spend in Trieste. The air was surprisingly thick and muggy, the dark, overcast sky threatening rain. I worked up a sweat as I took a long stroll around the city center, stopping at several food shops along the way. Most memorable was Trieste’s oldest bakery, Pasticceria Bomboniera, founded in 1836. The bakery’s elegant hardwood displays, black-and-white marble floor, and crystal chandelier offered a glimpse into the grandeur of a bygone era. I bought two pastine (bite-size pastries)—sachertorte (chocolate cake with apricot glaze and chocolate ganache) and dobostorte (layer cake with chocolate buttercream and caramel glaze)—as well as a putizza, a Triestine spiral cake similar to the gubana found elsewhere in Friuli. I wanted to compare Bomboniera’s putizza to that from Pasticceria Penso. (As I came to learn, the primary difference is that Penso adds melted chocolate to the dried fruit and nut filling, while Bomboniera uses chocolate chunks.)

After dropping off the pastries at my apartment in Residence Liberty, I suddenly realized I was running a bit late. I speed-walked all the way to the train station, making it there in 15 minutes instead of the usual 20, and caught the train to Cormòns moments before it departed.

Upon arrival in Cormòns, I set out on the 45-minute trek from the station to La Subida on the outskirts of town. The foreboding clouds had begun to pass during my train ride, and by the time I was nearing La Subida, the sun was shining brightly in the blue sky. Vineyards blanketed the rolling hills, which were beginning to show the first signs of autumn color.

I had eaten at Trattoria Al Cacciatore de La Subida once before, and it had been my most memorable Friulian meal ever. It was a peaceful July afternoon, and I had sat outdoors, along with just one other table of diners. Owners Joško and Loredana Sirk had been free to spend a great deal of time chatting leisurely with me about Friulian cuisine and my cookbook project. This time, however, the restaurant was packed. Both owners were super busy, so their daughter Tanja was waiting tables instead. A young, petite woman, Tanja wore a beaming smile that projected the tranquil joys of life at a country inn.

As a complimentary appetizer, she brought me a taste of ricotta di malga on a bed of polenta and arugula, some crispy frico chips, and a glass of Prosecco. Instead of handing me a written menu, Tanja rattled off the choices of the day. While I was fairly proficient at reading and writing Italian, my conversational skills were far from fluent. I typically understood enough to get by while traveling and even conduct the occasional one-on-one interview, but the rapid-fire speed of normal speech often left me feeling rather stupid. So on this occasion, when I vaguely recognized an antipasto that I had not tried on my previous visit, I immediately went with that. The dish was a mound of minced venison over a bed of arugula, with potato purée and topped with three slices of meaty porcini mushrooms.

Next, I ordered the gnocchi di susine, a dish I was already quite familiar with, having eaten my share of the heavy plum-filled dumplings in other restaurants. These, in contrast, were light and not overly doughy at all. On the plate sat a pair of gnocchi, each one just slightly larger than a golf ball. Instead of being stuffed with a whole prune plum, as I had seen elsewhere, these were filled with a spoonful of juicy diced plums. When I cut into the dumplings, red juices burst forth with an audible squirt. More diced plums and a semi-circle of toasted bread crumbs garnished the plate, giving it the appearance of a smiley face. Sugar and cinnamon were served on the side to sprinkle as desired.

For dessert, I opted for something less decadent than the sweets I had been eating as of late: sorbetto al sambuco, a light and refreshing elderflower sorbet. Tanja also brought a plate with three different types of cookies and a bowl of candied pistachios. As I was enjoying my dessert, Loredana stopped by my table to say hello—she remembered me from my visit in July. Before I left, Joško spotted me and came over as well.

On my way out the door, I realized for the second time that day that I was running late. I had less than 45 minutes to catch my train back to Trieste. Once again, I speed-walked the entire way to the station, managing to get there with 5 minutes to spare. At least I could say I had burned enough calories to justify indulging in those slices of sachertorte and dobostorte later that evening!

Here is my recipe for gnocchi di susine:

For the Dough:
2 pounds white potatoes, peeled and quartered
4 cups all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons salt
1 egg

Place the potatoes in a large pot filled with water; bring to a boil over high heat. Cook until tender, about 20–25 minutes. Drain the potatoes and place in a large bowl; mash well. Cool to room temperature. Add the flour, salt, and egg; mix thoroughly to form a soft dough.

To Prepare:
1/2 cup sugar, divided
6 medium plums (about 1 to 1-1/4 pounds), pitted and cut into 8 wedges each

Roll the dough into four dozen balls. Flatten each into a 3-inch circle; sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon sugar and top with a plum wedge. Wrap the dough around the plum and seal tightly. (At this point, the sugar will begin to draw the juice out of the plums; placing the filled gnocchi on a wooden board will help prevent them from getting soggy.)

Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil over high heat. Working in batches, place the gnocchi in the water, taking care not to overcrowd the pot. Once the gnocchi have risen to the surface, cook until the dough is tender, about 10 minutes longer; remove them promptly with a slotted spoon.

To Serve:
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
1/4 cup dry bread crumbs
Ground cinnamon
Sugar

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the bread crumbs; cook and stir until golden brown, about 3–4 minutes. Add the gnocchi and toss to coat with bread crumbs. Divide the gnocchi among serving dishes. Drizzle with the excess butter and bread crumbs; sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.

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This was the day I had been looking forward to ever since my arrival in Trieste. My baker friends at Pasticceria Penso had invited me to watch them prepare one of Trieste’s specialties, putizza. Similar to the gubana found elsewhere in Friuli, putizza is a spiral cake filled with dried fruit, nuts, and chocolate.

When I arrived bright and early at the bakery, however, brothers Antonello and Lorenzo informed me that the big event had been postponed. Needless to say, I was extremely disappointed. As consolation, Antonello offered me a few treats: a curabiè (half-moon shortbread cookie dusted with powdered sugar; of Greek origin), a torta granatina (triangle of chocolate mousse), and a tiny marzipan peach.

I hung around the bakery for a bit, nibbling on the cookie, regrouping and trying to formulate another plan for the day. Finally, I decided to head to Gorizia. When I last visited this city on the Slovenian border, I was discouraged to find that many restaurants were closed, though I did eventually happen upon a tiny working man’s trattoria, where I enjoyed a hearty lunch of pasticcio and goulasch. Perhaps today I would discover a new place to eat.

When I got to the train station, I found the line at the ticket counter to be exceedingly long—apparently all of the automatic ticket machines were broken. By the time I finally arrived in Gorizia, it was nearly noon. I headed straight to the restaurant Ai Tre Soldi Goriziani. To my tremendous relief, it was open.

To start, I ordered the cestino di frico, a “bowl” of crispy, fried cheese filled with polenta and porcini mushrooms. Then, for my main course, I had the goulasch alla Goriziana. There were plenty of other local dishes on the menu and I had already eaten my fair share of goulasch on this trip, but I was too intrigued by the description “alla Goriziana” to turn it down. I was curious to learn whether the goulasch in Gorizia differed from that found in Trieste and the rest of Friuli. Upon tasting it, I determined that this Hungarian-style beef stew was fairly similar to one I had recently eaten in Trieste, in that it was prepared with tomatoes, an addition that, while not entirely traditional, is common throughout Friuli. To further assert the dish’s Friulian spirit, slices of grilled polenta were served alongside the paprika-laced stew.

Although I was quite full, I couldn’t resist ordering the palacinke alla marmellata for dessert. Palacinke may enfold any number of sweet fillings, from fruit preserves to ricotta cheese to pastry cream. I was pleased to find that these crêpes were filled with apricot jam—my favorite!

Here is my recipe for frico croccante, fried Montasio cheese in the shape of a basket. You may fill them with anything you like: polenta, mushrooms, fresh herbs and greens, prosciutto…the possibilities are endless! If Montasio stagionato is not available, you may substitute any aged cheese such as Parmigiano-Reggiano.

4 cups grated Montasio stagionato, divided

Preheat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Sprinkle 1 cup Montasio cheese into the skillet, making a 6-inch circle. Cook until the edges begin to turn golden brown, about 5 minutes. (Watch carefully as the cooking time will vary depending on the precise temperature of the skillet.) Gently remove the frico from the pan and drape over an upside-down glass or bowl. (Allowing the frico to cool in the skillet for a couple seconds off the heat will help the spatula release the cheese from the pan.) The frico will harden in less than a minute, at which point it can be removed from its mold. Repeat with the remaining cheese.

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ricotta affumicataThe dark clouds that had crept over Trieste the previous afternoon unleashed a torrential storm during the night. It was still pouring when I left early in the morning, getting soaked on the 20-minute walk to the train station. Fortunately, I had plenty of time to dry off on the train, which arrived an hour and a half later in Udine.

I had a number of errands to do there, namely to purchase some local products to use in photo shoots for my cookbook Flavors of Friuli. My first stop was Formaggeria La Baita, to buy some ricotta affumicata, a smoked ricotta cheese that serves as the traditional Friulian garnish for dishes such as gnocchi and cjarsòns.

pitinaNext, I stopped by Macelleria Michelutti for a pitina, a type of salami traditionally made from mutton, goat, or game such as venison, and native to the mountainous areas of Val Tramontina and Val Cellina in the northern part of Pordenone province. Since pigs were once scarce here, it was not practical to encase the ground meat in pig intestines, the typical method for preparing salami. Instead, the meat was formed into balls and dredged in cornmeal, then left to smoke over a fire for several days.

Osteria Al Vecchio StalloAfter that, I bought some white polenta at Tami Galliano Alimentari and then browsed the cookbook section of my favorite bookstore, adding yet another Friulian cookbook to my growing collection. I also paid a visit to Osteria Al Vecchio Stallo to pick up a copy of their new book, Vecje Ostarie Al Vecchio Stallo, that co-owner Maurizio Mancini had promised to give me the next time I was in town.

All morning I had been stopping in every bakery I passed, as well as going out of my way to visit several more. One of the recipes I was considering including in my cookbook was torta di zucca (pumpkin cake), a dessert found in several of my Friulian cookbooks but apparently not so easily found in restaurants or bakeries, at least not during any of my trips so far. To my disappointment, I had no better luck that day in Udine but still held out hope that I would find plenty of pumpkin desserts at the Festa della Zucca later that week in Venzone.

When I had finished all my errands, I went for lunch at Hostaria Alla Tavernetta. I had been there twice before, for dinner—once by myself on Valentine’s Day, when I was mistakenly served musetto e brovada instead of the goulasch that I had ordered, and a second time with my friends Steno and Liviana—but on a handful of other occasions, the restaurant appeared to be perpetually closed.

Today, I was pleased to find Alla Tavernetta open. I started with the frichetto appetizer, what I assumed would be a “little” frico (cheese and potato pancake) but was as large as any main course portion I had ever seen. There are many methods of preparing frico; this one contained mostly cheese and only a small amount of undercooked grated potato. I also ordered the cjarsòns: large, square ravioli filled with apple, ricotta, and raisins. I enjoyed the sweetness of the fruit, but overall they were a little bland. To complete my meal, the owners served complimentary plates of almond biscotti and dark chocolate chunks.

After lunch, I took the train back to Trieste, where I spent the rest of the day holed up in my apartment, warm and cozy and dry!

frico con patateHere is my version of frico con patate. I like the texture that the mashed potatoes give it: velvety soft and oozing with cheese on the inside and golden crisp on the outside. If Montasio cheese is not available, you may substitute Parmigiano-Reggiano for the Montasio stagionato and fresh Asiago for the Montasio fresco. Serve with polenta.

1 pound white potatoes, peeled and quartered
2 cups shredded Montasio fresco
1 cup grated Montasio stagionato
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon olive oil

Place the potatoes in a large pot filled with water; bring to a boil over high heat. Cook until tender, about 20–25 minutes. Drain the potatoes and place in a medium bowl; mash well. Cool to room temperature. Stir in both Montasio cheeses, salt, and black pepper. Divide the mixture into four equal parts. Form each into a round mass and then flatten into a 4-inch disk.

Heat the olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat. One at a time, cook each frico until crisp and golden brown, about 3–4 minutes on each side. Drain any excess oil from the skillet, leaving about 1 teaspoon for cooking the next frico. (To expedite the process, use two skillets or a large griddle.)

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Santuario di MonrupinoIt was a picture-perfect day, with crystal clear skies and only the slightest autumn chill in the air. Hoping to explore the Carso a little more, I left Trieste midmorning and caught bus #42 to Monrupino. My plan was to visit the Santuario di Monrupino and then have lunch at Ristorante Furlan. I arrived around 10:00am and wandered up the tree-lined road toward the white campanile towering above the surrounding stone walls.

Built on a hill above the ruins of a prehistoric fort, this medieval church is the site of the Carsic wedding ceremony, the Nozze Carsiche, which takes place in August every two years. This rite is based on the traditional marriage ceremony of the late 19th century and today attracts thousands of observers. The festivities last four days, beginning with the bachelor and bachelorette parties, followed by the transport of the dowry to the groom’s house. The party culminates on Sunday with the wedding ceremony at the sanctuary, where around five hundred people participate, all dressed in traditional costume. This is followed by a bridal precession to the town of Repen (Rupingrande), where the bride is given away to the groom’s family at the Casa Carsica. After the ceremony, guests are served a traditional veal stew called zvacet at the reception dinner.

Monrupino parish houseEntering the courtyard, I passed the parish house, one of the oldest structures in the Carso. Adjacent to this gray stone building was the small but imposing Santuario. Inside the church, I was greeted by an older woman whose Italian I struggled to understand. When she switched to English, I learned that she was originally from Alabama and had lived in Monrupino for forty years. It appeared that she was a caretaker of sorts at the church, but before I could ask how she came to live there, she disappeared abruptly with a curt explanation about how she needed to go do her ironing. She also mentioned, on her way out the door, that my restaurant would probably not be open today.

I still had a long time to kill before lunch, so I found a smooth rock to sit on, in the grounds behind the fortified walls of the church. I read for about 40 minutes, then meandered back down the hill to the town. I found Ristorante Furlan quite easily, but as the woman had predicted, it was in fact closed for lunch.

The bus schedule showed a return bus to Trieste in 15 minutes, but to my considerable annoyance, it never came. Neither did the next one an hour later. It was only upon closer inspection of the sign—for the fourth or fifth time—that I realized that the bus to Trieste didn’t actually stop in Monrupino but in the next town over, Repen. The timetable also indicated that the bus did make a stop in Monrupino going in the opposite direction toward Opicina, so I waited another 20 minutes for that bus.

By this time, I was feeling somewhat lightheaded and nauseous, from sitting for so long in the direct sunlight as well as from hunger. I greatly regretted not having packed any snacks. Luckily, the bus to Opicina came as expected, with a perfectly timed connection for Trieste. I arrived back in Piazza Oberdan just before 2:00pm, with the urgent need to find something to eat as soon as possible.

There were several restaurants on Via G. Carducci leading away from the bus stop. The first one I passed, at the corner on Via C. Battisti, had no free tables. The next offered buffet-style food at its bar, but the stand-up counter was also too crowded. Another didn’t have any local dishes on their menu, and despite my gnawing hunger, I was determined to find some traditional Friulian/Triestine food. After all, researching the region’s cuisine was my sole reason for this trip! I walked up and down the street, finally ending up back at the first restaurant, Buffet Marascutti, which had all but cleared out by then.

Founded in 1914, Marascutti is one of the oldest buffets in Trieste. Across from my table, several enlarged black-and-white photographs spanned the gray stone walls, giving the place a decidedly old-world feel. I ordered the rotolo di spinaci: slices of boiled pasta “strudel” filled with spinach. I understood the waitress to say that it was served with a little brodo di carne (meat broth), which is the traditional presentation for the dish. Consequently, I was puzzled to find a pork chop on my plate in addition to the strudel. I was positively famished by this time, so the extra food was a welcome surprise!

As I left the restaurant, I could see dark clouds approaching from the north—evidently the storm I had seen forecast on TV the night before. I took a little detour on my way back to my apartment: first, a limone (lemon) and yogurt gelato at Gelateria Zampolli, and then a brief stroll through the department store Coin.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working on the computer, transcribing my notes from the past few days. For dinner, I had some leftover potatoes and string beans, which I heated in the ridiculously tiny microwave, on a saucer that would only fit when wedged in at a sharp angle. I also had a can of tuna and thought I’d throw together a tuna melt sandwich. The problem was that the apartment didn’t come with a usable skillet. Well, actually there was one, but I hadn’t used it because it was full of gashes and its non-stick coating was peeling off. The only other cooking vessel available was a medium-sized pot, the one I had been using to boil and sauté vegetables. It was just large enough to hold a slice of bread, so I layered on some cheese and then half the can of tuna, topped by another slice of bread. It was only then that it dawned on me: how was I going to flip the sandwich when the wide spatula couldn’t maneuver down inside the deep pot? So as it happened, my tuna melt swiftly turned into a tuna explosion!

strucolo de spinazeRotolo di spinaci may also be referred to as a rollata or strucolo (Triestine dialect for strudel). It can be prepared with either traditional pasta dough or potato-based gnocchi dough. My version here uses pasta dough. If Montasio stagionato is not available, you may substitute Parmigiano-Reggiano or any other aged cheese.

Filling:
1 pound fresh spinach leaves
1 cup fresh ricotta
3/4 cup grated Montasio stagionato
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• • •
Pasta Dough:
3/4 cup semolina flour
1 egg
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
• • •
1/2 cup beef broth, heated

For the Filling:
Place the spinach (plus 1–2 tablespoons water if using packaged, prewashed spinach) in a large pot over medium-low heat. Cook, covered, until wilted, about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Drain the spinach thoroughly, squeezing out all excess liquid. Coarsely chop the spinach and place in a large bowl; cool to room temperature. Stir in the ricotta, Montasio cheese, salt, black pepper, and nutmeg. Refrigerate for 1 hour, or until ready to use.

For the Dough:
In a medium bowl, combine the flour, egg, olive oil, and salt. Transfer the dough to a clean surface; knead until the flour is fully incorporated and the mixture becomes smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes. (If the dough is too dry or crumbly, lightly moisten your fingers with water during kneading until you reach the desired texture.) Cover with plastic wrap and let rest for 30 minutes.

To Prepare:
Roll the dough to form a 12- by 18-inch rectangle. Spread the spinach mixture over the dough, leaving a 1-inch border on all sides. Starting with one short side, roll up jelly roll style, sealing the ends tightly. (Moisten the dough with a little water to help seal, if necessary.) Wrap the strudel inside an 18-inch-square piece of cheesecloth, tying the ends securely with string.

Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil over high heat. Place the strudel in the water; cook for 1 hour, adding more water as necessary to keep the strudel submerged. (If the strudel is not entirely covered by water, you may turn it over after 30 minutes to ensure even cooking.) Remove the strudel from the cheesecloth. Cut into 1-inch slices; serve with the warm beef broth.

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Val RosandraHaving lived, at the time, over fifteen years in San Francisco, I sorely missed seeing the gorgeous hues of autumn foliage. So when I traveled to Trieste in October of 2005, I found myself in a perpetual state of awe over the reds and oranges that were beginning to transform the countryside. Longing to immerse myself in the great outdoors, I planned a hike through the Riserva Naturale della Val Rosandra.

I set out early to do a few errands first: the produce market for some apples, the salumeria for a wedge of latteria cheese, and the tiny supermercato for my new favorite olive bread. Then, after dropping off my groceries and packing a picnic lunch, I swung by Pasticceria Penso to deliver the gift of Vitovska wine that I had purchased the day before at Osmiza Škerk. In return Antonello gave me a slice of sachertorte for the road.

I took the bus to the small town of Bagnoli at the mouth of the Val Rosandra, a huge gorge slicing through the mountainous Carso region. Numerous hiking trails had been cut through the forests of the nature reserve, and I set out on what seemed to be the most well-trodden path.

Val RosandraThere was no map, but I followed the trail until it emerged onto a ridge overlooking the gorge. From a distance, I could just make out the 118-foot waterfall that fed into the Rosandra Stream. The bora wind whipped through my hair as I struggled to keep my footing on the slippery gravel. The path hugged the cliffs, rising and falling with the curve of the mountain, until it descended once again deep into the woods.

Though the foliage was only just starting to turn, I still saw plenty of reds and golds mixed with the verdant evergreens. I crossed the stream near the ruins of an ancient Roman aqueduct, in an area I suspected to be very close to the Slovenian border. Then, I followed the path as it climbed the ridge on the other side of the ravine, the rough path giving way to a wider, paved road.

Here, with the chilly wind blocked by the limestone peaks above me, I found a warm spot in the sunshine to sit and eat my picnic lunch—cheese, olive bread, an apple, and that yummy slice of sachertorte. There were very few people on the trail that day. I had passed several hikers near the entrance to the park and another few along the initial rocky ridge. Since then, I had enjoyed complete and utter solitude.

Val RosandraAs I continued on my way, the paved road leveled out. I noticed the occasional sign marking a bicycle path, as well as an unmarked building that looked like a refuge of some sort. Unsure of where this road would lead, I plodded forward, winding around the mountainside and passing through tunnels. Eventually I was able to spot the town of Bagnoli in the distance across the gorge. The visibility was excellent on such a clear day, and from this vantage point, I could even see all the way to the Gulf of Trieste and the sea beyond.

I had been hiking for about two hours at this point, and I began to wonder if it was wise to continue in the same direction, whether the path I had been taking would eventually circle back to its starting point or if I had better begin retracing my steps back across the ravine. A map or some signs would really have come in handy just then.

Fortuitously, I passed a young woman walking her bike, and I asked her whether this road continued full circle. It did not, but she told me that up ahead there was a shortcut leading down to Bagnoli—but she warned me that it was quite dangerous, with steep slopes and slippery rocks.

I decided to follow her direction. The trail was not well marked, but I found the narrow path cut into the bushes, heading downhill on my left. She wasn’t kidding about the steep and slippery part! Wishing that I had brought my good hiking boots on this trip (though the boots I was wearing still had some traction), I managed to baby-step my way down the mountain without falling on my butt. An hour later, I emerged not too far from where I had started in Bagnoli—and I made it to the bus stop with only five minutes to spare before the next return bus to Trieste!

Buffet Da PepiI spent the afternoon back in my apartment, looking through the cookbook of Triestine desserts that Antonello had loaned me. Around 5:00pm I headed out for an early dinner at Buffet Da Pepi. Once again, I had the piatto misto, the pig-shaped platter of assorted types of pork, accompanied by a heaping portion of sauerkraut. And, of course, a glass of local red wine.

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Pasticceria PensoSo far my efforts to visit an osmiza—a sort of pop-up tavern where small producers can sell wine out of their homes—had proved fruitless. Today being Sunday, I was determined to locate one at long last. My most recent attempt had revealed that daily listings of osmize were printed in a local Slovenian newspaper, so I headed to Pasticceria Penso in order to enlist the help of my friend Antonello. He immediately ran out to buy a copy of Primorski dnevnik and translated for me the listings of two osmize open that day. After helping me figure out the various bus routes, he then sent me on my way with a pallina di cioccolato, a yummy ball of chocolate, raisins, hazelnuts, and rum covered in sprinkles.

Casa CarsicaSince it was still early, I had time for a little detour. First, I caught the bus going to Rupingrande, so that I could visit the Casa Carsica, an 18th-century house now open to visitors as an ethnographic museum. In the architectural style typical of the Carso region, the home’s bedroom, kitchen, loft, and stable adjoined a central courtyard, which was surrounded by a high stone wall built to keep out the fierce bora winds.

Afterward, I went to lunch at the nearby Hotel Krizman. I started with a plate of gnocchi di susine: three potato dumplings, each stuffed with a small plum and topped with bread crumbs browned in butter. Sugar packets and a jar of cinnamon were provided for me to sprinkle on top as desired. The gnocchi were huge—nearly the size of tennis balls—and more dough than fruit. Regrettably, I was unable to finish them, as I needed to save room for my second course, pollo fritto. Chicken fried with a bread crumb coating sounded rather ordinary, but I had read that this was a dish typical of the Carso. Finally, despite being overly stuffed already, I couldn’t resist ordering dessert when I saw palacinche on the menu, particularly since I had missed several opportunities to try these crêpes in Vienna at the beginning of my trip. A traditional dessert throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire, to which Trieste belonged for several centuries, palacinche may be filled with fresh fruit, jam, cooked apples, sweetened ricotta, or pastry cream flavored with chocolate or nuts. The ones at Krizman were filled with a rich chocolate cream—delicious, though I could only manage to eat a few bites.

With an uncomfortably full stomach, I left the restaurant and leisurely made my way to the bus stop. Though quite warm in the sunshine, there was a certain autumn crispness in the air, a cool breeze rustling the yellow leaves as they drifted to the ground.

I took a bus to the town of Prosecco, then changed buses for the hamlet of Prepotto, where I was hoping to find an osmiza run by the Škerk family. Since I didn’t have a map, I was obligated to wander the streets looking for the trademark frasca, a leafy cluster of branches hung above the door to indicate that an osmiza is open. At first, the only human activity I saw was an agriturismo crowded with visitors enjoying an afternoon of snacks and wine tasting. I ventured inside, inquired at the bar for directions, and shortly found myself approaching my destination.

Osmiza SkerkAs expected, a frasca marked the entrance to Osmiza Škerk, where a few people stood milling around, glasses of wine in hand. I entered through the large wooden doors into a courtyard surrounded by a high stone wall, built in the same architectural style as the Casa Carsica. Picnic tables were set up in the courtyard, as well as in several ground floor rooms. All were jam-packed with guests drinking house-made wine and tucking into platters of cheese and salumi. With no room to squeeze in at a table, I ordered a glass of wine at the counter—Vitovska, a white wine I had never tried before—and stood against the wall sipping it, regarding the buzz and chatter of camaraderie all around me with just a touch of envy. Before leaving, I bought a bottle of Vitovska to take back to my friends at Pasticceria Penso, as a thank-you gift for their generosity in letting me hang out in their bakery kitchen during my stay.

Feeling thoroughly gratified by the day’s success, I returned to the bus stop to make my way back to Trieste. My return, however, would prove to be a bit more complicated. Most bus stops in the region post a schedule on or near the sign. This one, unfortunately, did not. But since I had no other way to get home, I was compelled to wait…and wait…and wait.

Presently, two elderly ladies joined me at the bus stop, though they didn’t know when the bus was expected to arrive either. They did, however, help me figure out that I didn’t necessarily need to backtrack. I could alternately take the bus heading the other direction toward Aurisina, then change buses to get to Trieste. I decided that I would just take whichever one came first. After waiting over an hour, I spotted the bus to Aurisina and jogged across the street to catch it. My connection for Trieste came within minutes, and I was soon back in my apartment, exhausted from a long day of exploring and still full from my enormous lunch.

palacincheHere is my recipe for palacinche with apricot jam—my favorite filling and perhaps one of the most popular.

2 cups all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons sugar
Pinch salt
4 eggs
2-1/2 cups whole milk
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon freshly grated lemon peel
• • •
2 cups apricot jam
Confectioners’ sugar (optional)

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, and salt. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, melted butter, and lemon peel. Gradually whisk in the flour mixture.

Preheat a 10- or 11-inch nonstick skillet over medium-low heat. Pour 1/2 cup batter into the skillet, swirling to allow the batter to coat the bottom of the skillet. Cook until the crêpe begins to turn light golden in color, about 1–2 minutes on each side. Repeat using the remaining batter. (Stack the crêpes between layers of parchment or waxed paper; they may be warmed in a low oven or microwave before assembling.)

Spread each crêpe with about 3 tablespoons apricot jam; fold into quarters. Sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar, if desired.

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Italo StopparI had planned on leaving for Pasticceria Penso extra early the next morning, but a restless night of sleep made rousing myself at 6:30am hopelessly unappealing. So by the time I finally dragged myself out of bed and across the street to the bakery, the day’s work was already well underway. I found the Stoppar family busily preparing all sorts of decadent sweets: jam-filled crostate (tarts), mini tartlets filled with pastry cream and fresh fruit, cream-filled puff pastry horns, and candied orange peel dipped in dark chocolate. At one end of the vast stainless steel work table sat three specially ordered sheet cakes waiting to be picked up, each garnished with strawberry slices and fluffy flourishes of whipped cream.

Antonello StopparTwo days earlier, I had arrived to witness twenty-five chocolate cakes being pulled fresh from the oven. Now it was time to transform them into sachertortes. First, Italo Stoppar sliced each cake in half, assembling the layers with a glaze of Maraschino liqueur and apricot jam. Next, his son Antonello spread the cakes with a rich chocolate ganache. The sides were then garnished with chocolate sprinkles and the word “Sacher” expertly piped on top.

But of all the indulgent treats that found their way into the bakery’s display case that morning, one in particular seemed to be calling my name: the dobostorte. Unlike the round layer cakes I had sampled in the bakeries of Vienna and Budapest, these were rectangular, made to be sold as the bite-size pastries Italians call pastine. True to the traditional style, Penso’s version consisted of five thin layers of sponge cake, each spread with a light chocolate buttercream, to which the Stoppars added their own personal touch of ground hazelnuts. Crowning the torta was a sixth layer of cake covered in a lemon-scented caramel glaze.

I found it impossible to tear myself away until I was practically forced out at 1:00pm, when the family closed up shop for their afternoon break. Since it was already late, I went to lunch at the nearby Ristorante Al Bragozzo, an upscale seafood restaurant Mike and I had been to the previous year. I ordered the zuppa di pesce (fish soup), in order to compare it to yesterday’s lunch at La Marinella. This version had a wider range of seafood—one mussel, one clam, one shrimp, and one langoustine, as well as some fish and octopus—although the broth was barely tepid. In addition, I struggled to break open the langoustine without a nutcracker. (At my recent lunch at Muggia’s Ristorante Al Lido, the shells of my scampi all buzara had been pre-cut, though still a messy challenge to extract the meat even with the provided nutcracker!)

Trieste's Cattedrale di San GiustoAfter lunch, I took a walk up the hill to Castello di San Giusto. The castle interior was closed, but I spent some time exploring the grounds outside the gate, most notably the ruins of an ancient Roman basilica. Cattedrale di San Giusto was open, so I was able to view the splendid gold mosaics in its three domed apses. A unique structure, the cathedral was created in the 14th century, when two parallel churches were joined together. I descended the hill via a winding road through the Parco della Rimembranza, a park dedicated to the memory of fallen soldiers, and then passed briefly by the Teatro Romano (Roman amphitheater) before returning to my apartment at Residence Liberty.

Torta DobosHere is my recipe for Torta Dobos, inspired by the one at Pasticceria Penso:

For the Cake:
6 eggs, separated
2/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon freshly grated lemon peel
1 cup cake or pastry flour, sifted
Pinch salt

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Line three baking sheets with parchment paper. Trace two 8-inch circles onto each piece of paper.

2. In a large bowl, beat the egg yolks, sugar, vanilla extract, and lemon peel to the “ribbon stage,” about 5 minutes. (The batter will be pale in color and will leave a ribbon-like trail when drizzled over the surface of the batter.) Stir in the flour. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt until they form stiff peaks. Soften the batter by stirring in a little egg white; fold in the remaining egg whites.

3. Spread about 3/4 cup batter onto each of the six parchment paper templates. Bake until the edges are golden brown, about 10–12 minutes. Transfer the cakes, along with the parchment paper, to wire racks; cool completely before removing the paper. Choose the best-looking cake to reserve for the top layer.

For the Caramel Glaze:
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons water
1 teaspoon lemon juice

1. Combine the sugar, water, and lemon juice in a small saucepan; bring to a boil over high heat. Cook until golden amber in color, about 6–8 minutes. Pour the caramel immediately over the reserved cake layer. Spread using a buttered offset spatula, scraping away any caramel that has spilled over the edges.

2. Wait a couple minutes, until the caramel has begun to solidify but is still warm to the touch. Using the blunt edge of a buttered knife, score the cake into twelve wedges. When the caramel has cooled to room temperature, cut the cake into twelve wedges using a sharp, buttered knife.

For the Buttercream Frosting:
1 cup water
1/2 cup hazelnuts
1 tablespoon baking soda
1-1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3 cups confectioners’ sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. In a small saucepan, bring 1 cup water to a boil over high heat. Add the hazelnuts and baking soda; cook for 5 minutes. Remove the hazelnuts and place in a colander under cold running water; rub off and discard the skins. Transfer the skinned hazelnuts to a baking dish; toast until golden brown, about 15 minutes. Cool completely.

2. Grind the toasted hazelnuts to a smooth paste in a food processor. In a large bowl, beat the hazelnut paste, butter, confectioners’ sugar, and cocoa powder until soft and fluffy.

3. Spread a thin layer of frosting over each of the remaining cakes, stacking to assemble the five layers. Spread additional frosting around the sides of the cake; use any extra to decorate as desired. Place the caramel-glazed wedges on top of the cake.

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