The Sweet Sour of Sorrento

SORRENTO, ITALY – One continuous, artistic slit with his pocketknife and the old man cut away the entire dimpled rind of an oversized lemon. Then he stepped away from the fruit stand, cradling a naked yellow citrus, blade still bared.

Without breaking stride, with his feet or his knife, he pierced the exposed lemon, popped out a wedge and slid it straight into his mouth. The sun, filtering down past the awnings and laundry lines, illuminated his stoic face. He did not flinch. He did not pucker. He just repeated the step, until he ate the whole lemon. Then the pocketknife was pocketed and the old man continued strolling past tourists and locals alike, with a sunny smile on his face and the leathery, yellow coil of the lemon peel bouncing from his sun-cracked fingers.

Fresh, frozen, liquefied, baked, fermented, candied, etched, painted – there are innumerable iterations of lemons here in Sorrento. But luckily there are plenty of locals, promenading old men included, who have refined their citrus skills to a more memorable point.

Perched upon a high bluff overhanging the Bay of Naples, in close proximity to Pompeii and acting as the gateway of sorts to the rest of the Amalfi Coast, Sorrento’s tourist appeal is heavy. And to satisfy the masses, the lemon-centric theme is abundantly front and center, infused in most everything you eat, see, smell and feel. Lemons are featured menu options, role player ingredients, garnishes, fragrances, decorative patterns, snacks, souvenirs and sightseeing stops. Sorrento’s ‘dolce vita’ is unabashedly tart.

But a more authentic, and easier, way to experience Sorrento’s lemon obsession is to get lost amidst the town’s patchwork of cobbled, uneven, sea-bound roads, some main thoroughfares but others barely wide enough for a scooter (although riders still manage with speedy ease). Wander and you’ll find a more genuine Sorrento: a veritable treasure trove of lemon-soaked hidden gems.

Peering through gates and over stonewalls, I noticed bright yellow citrus trees filling residential gardens and backyards. Tucked away specialty shops featured lemons on their artisan items, like a woodworker who crafted stunning wooden jewelry boxes and photo albums, inlaid with delicate lemon tree landscapes.

Meandering along Via Correale led my family to a veritable Italian Eden, hidden behind massive stone walls, through an old archway adorned by a sign promising refreshment from the brutal summer sun. This was Il Gardini di Cataldo, a family limoncello maker.

There, under the shade of umbrellas and tree limbs, we cooled off with fresh lemon granitas, icy concoctions made from the establishment’s main attraction. Despite no tours going on, we were allowed to pop inside their factory and see the rows of limoncello bottles.

Then we tasted. In a town doused in the liquor, the Cataldo limoncello was puckered perfection. It went down smooth and tangy, with a sweet finish and barely any alcohol aftertaste. Of course, we left with a few bottles of our own.

The fairytale continued when we entered a nearby lemon grove, L’Agruminato. We climbed a stone stairway, entered the elevated public space and were immediately hit with a pungent citrus aroma. Lemon trees, loosely wrangled by rustic wooden fences and trellises, scattered in all directions away from a central path. We were mostly alone during our peaceful stroll among the arbors, until we reached the end of the path where a kiosk waited to offer us free limoncello samples made from the park’s fruit. It was an iconic Italian experience – the sheer beauty of nature and what humans can do with it, finished off with free booze. 

Of course, in Italy, the food is what makes the most vivid memories and in Sorrento, lemons made the most memorable food.

Take the gelato – of which we partook at least twice a day (it was hot). At Raki, a small shop slipped in next to a colorful fruit stand overflowing with massive peaches and lemons, my daughter shoveled a combination of peach and lemon gelato into her tiny mouth. On the other side of town was Davide il Gelato, a larger ice cream shop where the kiwi flavor was interwoven with chunks of actual kiwi fruit and the tiny black kiwi seeds gave the impression of natural chocolate chips. But as is fitting for lemon-centric Sorrento, the most memorable flavor at Davide il Gelato was its succulent limoncello. The perfect balance of tart and sweet, it was a frozen aperitif.

Fine dining restaurants here feature lemons in various ways, from sweet to savory. But as is the case in so much of Italian cooking, freshness and simplicity reigned supreme.

Mt. Vesuvius loomed in the distance as we sat seaside at Ristorante Bagni Delfino. The fishing boats came and went and my family discussed what life must have been like back in the ancient times. Then our meal arrived, perhaps reminiscent of that older, more modest era. I ordered a branzino, simply grilled. The only seasoning was the dousing of fresh lemon juice, applied by the waiter after he sliced and served the fish tableside. As one of the top restaurants in Sorrento, Delfino’s dish was expertly prepared, pairing fresh fish recently plucked from the adjacent sea with fresh lemons recently picked from nearby trees.

Sorrento’s premier dessert, delizia al limone, is a shining pillow of moist, spongy lemon cake covered in a smooth lemon cream dome.

Like its lemons, Sorrento is a vibrant city that needs to be engaged, not just observed.

Early one evening, a party began to emerge down at the Marina Grande. People were gathering around a haphazard line of tents and food stalls selling everything from balloons to roasted nuts. A rainbow of fishing boats had pulled into the harbor and children skittered along the marina. My family had unknowingly stumbled upon the town’s festival of St. Anne.

As we explored, we learned of the night’s highlight – a fireworks display. A sign promised the show would begin at 9:00pm and a passing local promised it was worth staying up for. As such, we determined to stake out a spot to witness what was promised to be an extravaganza. 

We secured a waterfront table outside a small bar and dragged enough chairs around it to hold our entire group. And we waited – because when Italians say promptly at 9:00pm, they actually mean about midnight.

But when the show did begin a few hours delayed, it did so with an eruption. Audibly, the booms rocked the surrounding cliffs sending echoes reverberating down through the cobbled piers and onto the seawater. Visually, the Italian sky was lit up in a color array that would rival even the best gelato display. The fireworks show lasted for hours, seemingly unending, as if they just kept finding a few more shells under the seat cushions.

My young daughter stayed awake for much of it, well past proper parenting hours. But the flocks of Italian children scurrying around the harbor reminded me we were far from America and far from any need for a reasonable bedtime. She ooed at the yellow fireworks the most, the ones that looked like lemon bursts.

While the rockets blasted overhead, my family made a few toasts and sipped glass after glass of local limoncello. I thought about how hidden gems – food, gardens, fireworks, festivals – are sweet.

But not in Sorrento. Finding a hidden gem here will pucker your smile and leave a sour taste in your mouth. And that's a very good thing.

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Sorrento’s sweet life

 

As the rest of Italy hawks ‘la dolce vita,’ Sorrento’s sweet life tends to be a bit tart. That’s because this seaside town embraces all things lemon – from souvenirs to side dishes, the bright yellow citrus fruit is imbued in just about everything here.

But when the sun bears down on the piers and cobbled streets, tourists rush for one Sorrento treat that comes in all kinds of flavors, including lemon: gelato.

The heat is no joke in Sorrento, especially during the summer months. Being a coastal town, the summer is also one of the more enjoyable times to visit this gateway to the Amalfi Coast. There are festivals and fireworks down by the piers and fresh seafood in abundance. The island of Capri is a quick, refreshing boat ride away, offering both the cool, cavernous Blue Grotto experience and a chairlift to the island’s breezy summit.

The town itself sits up on a bluff above the sea, its streets and neighborhoods swinging towards the cliffs like a hammock on a lazy summer afternoon. One road climbs up along the waters edge to a series of cliffhanging hotels, while another winds and declines down to the Marina Grande. A pedestrian walkway hewn into the rock provides access to the public beaches and the larger seaport. Altogether, Sorrento is an ideal summer destination, complete with seafood and citrus, sunbathing and swimming.

And of course, like most every Italian tourist town, a gelateria is never far away in sun-soaked Sorrento. They are on the main street, amidst the surprisingly buzzy nighttime scene, and sprinkled in amongst the back roads and pedestrian areas. And that’s a good thing, because a quick cone is always an option as dessert, as a palate cleanser, in between meals, as a snack…you get the idea.

If you’ve ever had gelato, you know quality is a product of careful craftsmanship. There are gelato makers that reach for the next level of frozen treats and Sorrento is home to some standouts.   

My family stopped – many times – at Raki, a small shop tucked in next to a colorful fruit stand, which was overflowing with massive peaches. On the first visit, we relaxed at the bistro tables out front, my one year old daughter reaching over my shoulder for one of the aforementioned peaches. She got one and sunk her tiny teeth right in, stopping only when my father-in-law emerged from the shop and plopped a cup of peach gelato in front of her.

Raki’s flavors were creative and bold. We tried a ricotta walnut honey, with a luxurious but tamed sweetness, as well as a cinnamon that had a distinct flavor of the natural spice but also mixed in the taste of fiery cinnamon candy. My favorites here were the delicious vanilla fig, which combined a deep natural vanilla flavor with bits of actual figs; and the peach, mainly because it tasted almost exactly like the real fresh fruit sold to us by the adjacent grocer.

Whereas Raki was situated on a more pedestrian side street, Momi Gelateria sat in a parallel spot right on Corso Italia, one of Sorrento’s main drags. Funky and fun, with a welcoming owner, Momi provided creamy, top-tier versions of my favorite gelato flavors: pistachio and nocciola (hazelnut). The combination, enhanced only by the addition of a third scoop of chocolate, is a go-to in Italy. And here at Momi, with its artisanal take on gelato, they do them as well as anyone. Their takes on the flavors burst on the palate, melting into each other in a nutty, creamy, cool concoction.

Back in the jumble of Sorrento’s cobbled roads is Davide il Gelato, a larger ice cream shop with indoor seating and an expansive cooler case saturated with vibrant mounds of colorful creations. The kiwi flavor was interwoven with chunks of actual kiwi fruit and the tiny black kiwi seeds gave the impression of natural chocolate chips.

But as is fitting for lemon-centric Sorrento, the most memorable flavor at Davide il Gelato was its succulent limoncello. The perfect balance of tart and sweet, it was a frozen aperitif, embodying the essence of this seaside haven.

There are many more options for gelato in Sorrento and more likely than not, wherever you choose you’ll get a taste of the sweet life by the sea.  

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Culinary Kennebunkport

This story appeared on Northshore Magazine - August 17, 2016

Our entire evening was a culinary whirlwind of trendy modern and classic New England.

The Brussels sprouts were candied, the lobster was whole fried and the haddock was a luscious pillow. Candy boutiques mingled with local olive oil artisans. After popping into a gourmet ice creamery, we relaxed around a stylish wine bar’s communal bonfire, sipping hard-to-find Syrah. All of this within comfortable earshot of the ocean waves. 

Such are the culinary delectations that have become standard throughout Portland, Maine’s, thriving, well-deserving food scene.

But we weren’t in Portland.

Thirty minutes south, here in Kennebunkport, similar culinary creativity is regularly on display, with an added sprinkle of year-round, small town charm. Portland may be Maine’s most popular contribution to New England’s fashionable food scene, but when you come to Kennebunkport you better come hungry.

Kennebunkport has been on the tourist map for some time, of course, as home to fishermen and former Presidents. The village stands as a go-to destination for weddings and weekend getaways, while its annual Christmas Prelude is a town-wide, off-season celebration that regularly draws visitors from all over. Because of this, many establishments remain open into December to catch the Prelude crowd, making Fall a less-crowded and exceedingly enjoyable time to visit.

But regardless of season, the food scene here is reason enough to come.

Downtown, comprised essentially of one road bridging Kennebunk and Kennebunkport, is dotted with eateries serving waterfront fare variations. However, sailing a bit off course will bring you to Kennebunkport’s real treasures.

We navigated past downtown to Cape Porpoise, where the traffic dissolved and the food options materialized at a small intersection.

There, The Wayfarer restaurant stands out as much for its versatility as for its reliability. Every dish was fresh and unique, including the aforementioned Brussels sprouts and fried lobster. Lobster mac n cheese bubbled over with flavor, claws and tail meat. But the surprise was the bacon-wrapped meatloaf, a far cry from anything mom used to make. The meat was spiced Italian-style, offset by bacon and a sweet brown sugar glaze, as if a southern barbecue pitmaster decided to smoke up some meatballs. In a welcome break from the high-priced cocktail menus downtown, the Wayfarer is BYOB, which made our wine bottle and dinner all the more personal.

 Personal seems to be the only way they do things around here – personal and local. Farm + Table owners Liz and Bruce Andrews know how to do both. They assist Farm + Table customers with welcoming conversation and by organizing this artisanal food store geographically, with little placards identifying an item’s home state. The shop, located near the Wayfarer, is in its second season, housed in an old red barn and chock full of eclectic offerings, like a wall of Maine jams or a shelf of South Carolina cocktail bitters.

“Would you like to try some?” Bruce asked, as I perused jars of Maine-made bloody mary mix. I left with a jar.  

Back across the street, right next to the Wayfarer, Cape Porpoise Kitchen doles out fresh-baked pastries, baskets of moist blueberry muffins and prepared foods for those looking to cast away for the afternoon.

Cape Porpoise is not the only epicurean enclave in Kennebunkport.

Down Ocean Avenue, Mabel’s Lobster Claw takes Maine seafood to a new level. They specialize in lobster, of course, but special is an understatement – their variations of baked stuffed lobster are the stuff of legend. The Lobster Savannah is a massive crustacean split and swollen with scallops, shrimp, mushrooms and Newburg sauce, topped with provolone and broiled golden brown. The result is as overwhelmingly delicious as it is artistic.

Other notables include the hyper-locally sourced al fresco dining at Earth at Hidden Pond (two onsite gardens make sure of that); and the creatively spun selections at Salt & Honey, like the juicy chicken biscuit sandwich and a zesty bloody mary.   

Wherever you eat, be sure to stick around after dinner.

Rococo Ice Cream’s rotating selection of adventurous flavors keeps things interesting, like an exotically sweet Amarula Pecan and the Blueberry Chipotle, with a mild but noticeable heat on the backend of each lick. Our scooper encouraged us to try his own cocktail-based concoction, Dark and Stormy. A refreshing ginger/lime combo, we made sure to vote for it in Rococo’s summer staff contest for best original flavor.

We capped our night across the bridge at Old Vines Wine Bar. We lounged around their outdoor fire pit, wine glasses lazily swaying in our fingers, and tried unsuccessfully to recall something more satisfying than Kennebunkport’s culinary experience.

 Read the story here: http://www.nshoremag.com/culinary-kennebunkport/ 

Paris for Newbies - Guest Blog

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to have your friends fall in love with each other. Sometimes you get really lucky and they write a guest blog from their trip to Paris. Such is the case below, as Michael Corcoran and Kathleen Hoye, have provided a special post about their recent visit to the City of Light.

Mike and Kathleen, or Corcoran and Hoye as I've known them (the former for almost 20 years and the latter for more than 10), are getting married. Yup, two of my closest friends got together, slipped into that mushy place filled with unicorns, rainbows and shirtless Milan Lucic posters they call love, and are currently staring down the barrel of forever, fixing to pull the trigger in a few months.

But before any of that can happen, they embarked on the tried and true tradition of testing a relationship through international travel (whether that was their intention or not). Nothing stresses a couple more than stepping into line at a café and not knowing how to order a cheese sandwich, or attempting to cross a street with a neverending flood of homicidal vespas. On the other hand, nothing brings a couple closer than conquering a country together. There is usually a point during the trip where one begins a sentence in a foreign language and the other finishes it - this is not simpatico, but rather an example of how each of you only knows half of how to ask where the bathroom is. Regardless, those are the moments when you realize you've made the right choice, both in companion and travel destination. From that moment on, there are no photos or trinkets that can compare to the stories you share.

When Mike and Kathleen told me they were going to Paris,  I asked if they'd be willing to put together a guest blog about their experience. Mike had never left the U.S. (save for Canada and well, that just doesn't count) and Hoye, the avid travel bug that she is, ventures around the world frequently for work and pleasure. It is an interesting combination and I was interested to see how these two travel backgrounds would meld.

I could write a weekly series about my friendship with Corcoran and Hoye, both individually and as a couple (and maybe someday I will - I could see Pulitzer in that, or perhaps a Razzie). They are two of the most passionate people I know, intelligent and eager to consume the world around them. As someone who helped push them, not so gently, towards each other a few years ago, I was eager to hear about their first international opportunity to do just that.

Merci et bonne chance!

GUEST BLOG - by Kathleen Hoye and Michael Corcoran

We both love formage, vin rouge and pain au chocolat (cheese, red wine and chocolate croissants). That’s probably why we’re getting married. We both can appreciate the simple and wonderful things in life. We realized we enjoy them more when they’re consumed in early September in Paris. No talk of wedding plans or home improvements. We acted French and sat outside for long lunches and watched the world go by (in skinny jeans).

After some consulting with our travel guru’s Rick Steve’s and one “American Husband in Paris”, we were ready for a whirlwind three days in the City of Lights. We decided that we just wanted to stay in the city proper and crossed Versailles off of our list. (We’ve been to Newport, RI and toured the Breakers. It’s just the French version, right?) We had our priorities straight and decided to focus on the fine works of art and architecture and enjoying culinary delights.

Here are the highlights:

·         Night bike tour and boat ride with Fat Tire Tours – we peddled through the city like experts as the lights came on and made the days sights glow in a whole new way http://paris.fattirebiketours.com/

·         Sainte Chapelle – pictures and postcards can’t do this place justice. It’s one of those places you just have to open your eyes, drop your jaw and try to memorize all the colors in your mind.

·         L’Orangerie Museum – better than Orsay. A great collection of Impressionist art that’s not too crowded. Huge murals of Monet’s Waterlilies make you feel like you’re not in the city, but surrounded by color’s they don’t have in the paint aisle at Home Depot.

·         Rue Cler – a great little neighborhood street where we went from formagerie to boulangerie to marchand de vin and gathered a delightful picnic in the park. It’s completely socially acceptable to drink wine straight from the bottle in a public park as long as it’s accompanied by a loaf of bread and chevre.

·         Taking it easy. No wonder the French are happy. Aside from nutella crepes, it’s expected that you will sit for lunch, eat it slowly and enjoy the company of the people sitting beside you. There is no rush. Bon appetite. (Despite our love of food, we both lost weight while in Paris as we walked everywhere and up everything.)

American observations:

·         Sushi and bagels in the same place? [insert photo]

·         We made a great effort to speak French, even though Kathleen couldn’t help but pronounce French words in Spanish (who drops the last consonant?). Our mercies, sil vou plaits and madames were plentiful and sincere. We noticed that most Americans didn’t even bother and figured out that’s why most people hate us.

·         The Americans with Disabilities Act doesn’t exist France. Come visit while you’re still able bodied. Join the gym so you can climb the 700 steps up to the second floor of the Tour Eiffel.

·         What’s with all of the Asian bride’s getting their photos taken surrounded by pigeons and tourists outside of Notre Dame?

A Little Scottish Mussel

One of the best dishes I've ever eaten

Cuisine is not necessarily at the top of anyone’s tourism to-do list on a visit to Scotland. After all, their most well-known dish is comprised of a sheep’s stomach filled with a spiced intestine stuffing (haggis). But just because the United Kingdom’s culinary reputation lacks the luster of other European destinations, does not mean there isn’t a pearl to be found in some oysters.

The town of St. Andrews revolves around a castle, a cathedral and of course, a golf course. All of it is situated along a picturesque stretch of Scottish coastline with rocky jetties and expansive beaches. A drive through the surrounding coastal region reveals fishing villages nestled between the tee boxes. If Scotland was going to excel at one type of cuisine, it would assuredly be coming from the sea.

I had just finished exploring the ruins of St. Andrews Cathedral, situated at the tip of the town, overlooking a rock wall breaker, a beach and the sea beyond. I exited the crumbling walls through a side door and stepped onto a cliff walk that skirted down to the beach in one direction and off along the ridge in the other.

I heard crashing waves below and wandered to the right, declining downwards toward the water, past the small remains of a chapel and several signs identifying the historical significance of one of Scotland’s most important religious buildings. I strolled down to the breaker wall that projected out into the water, framing the adjacent beach, East Sands. At the tip of the breaker wall I turned to look at the St. Andrews skyline, which was made up predominantly of the cathedral’s jagged towers, roofs popping haphazardly and the silhouette of St. Andrews Caste standing guard castle further up the shoreline.

The panorama was spectacular, and a different perspective that I had not seen trekking through the village streets. I scanned the scene, noticing some fishing boats and smelling the briny water lapping up at the rocks. In that moment I was hungry.

My stomach rumbled as I retraced my steps back along the water and up to the cathedral. The smell of something delicious wafted along the sea air, prompting me to stop short and engage the man responsible. Since I had last been here outside the cathedral walls, a green umbrella had popped up and a young man with a pedal-powered food cart had positioned himself along the cliff walk. His setup was unlike a traditional hotdog or ice cream cart. It was a bicycle-powered mobile cooking unit - with large pots bubbling up on miniature stove tops and an elongated cooler at the end. Neatly printed in gleaming white on the emerald green cooler was, "The Wee Caboose."

He was selling mussels – that’s it. He had no other options besides freshly caught, local mussels gathered about an hour earlier a little ways up the road. Did I want some? My growling stomach almost answered for me.

I attempted to hand him my money but he said not yet, wait until they were cooked. He pulled a small bucket full from the cooler and dumped them into a creamy broth bubbling on his cooker.

They’d be ready in four minutes, he said. That was four minutes I had to figure out how and why he had gotten to be here on this cliff walk. As it turned out, this was the street vendor’s first time selling his mussels in St. Andrews and I was his very first customer. We chatted about where he came from and where the mussels came from (both in a village nearby) and he gave me some advice on other seaside Scottish towns I should explore (which I did a few days later, to great acclaim). He described his homemade recipe and I compared it loosely to the way seafood is traditionally prepared in New England, which took us off on a tangent about traveling and my hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. We even covered the military and military bases, after a few fighter jets swooped by in the distance.

All in all it was quite an enlightening discussion with this local Scot, and a fair introductory course before my main meal.

He broke off our conversation mid-sentence, knowing exactly when the mussels needed to be removed from the heat. He pulled out a cardboard rub, roughly the size of a sand pail, and tumbled in a couple dozen cooked mussels. He then kept pouring the milky broth until the shells were swimming. I handed him six pounds, he handed me lunch. He clapped me on my shoulder, said it was nice talking and wished me well.

Two passers-by saw the exchange and stopped to ask me how the food was. I hadn’t tried it yet, nor had I barely stepped away from the cart but the smell alone told me it was going to be unforgettable. The couple got two orders.

I took my lunch to a bench sitting along the cliff a few yards away. Flanked by rose bushes behind me, the outline of St. Andrews Castle a few hundred yards further along the cliff walk and the ocean crashing on the rocks below, I dove in. The mussels were perfectly cooked, tender and juicy. I had never tasted shellfish so sweet, even in New England. The broth was creamy with a strong pepper and garlic flavor, and really nothing else. The simplicity was its strongpoint. After I gorged on the mussels, sopped up the juice with the bread, I drank the remaining broth.

The combination of stunning venue and savory snack turned this afternoon into one of my most memorable food experiences. As it turns out, reputations are flimsy things. All it takes to break them is a little mussel.