The invisible pressure of Northern or Southern Italian pride can be detected the second your white sneakers hit the cobble stone pavement from the airport or train station. When I stepped foot in Venice for the first time 18 months ago, I was shocked to discover a bustling city of fast moving people. Where were the Tuscan hillsides and shmoozing Italian men relaxing on street corners? They were South of me, along with my intelligence.
After all this time however, the most South I've ever ventured is Rome. Not that I'm complaining, but I see many travels of Southern Italy in my far future. Since I suffer from this predicament on a daily basis, finding out about the South coming to the North in the form of a food festival was paradiso to my eager traveling soul; I was jumping up and down in my knee high Italian boots.
The festival took place in Piazza Bra, a stone's throw from our apartment. Once nighttime quieted the Veronese streets, we headed out in search of a couple things: gourmet cheese, hand picked olives, tasty wines and free sips of flavored liquors. I could hear the rustic southern Italian music from our porch because the band was extremely loud, but after sampling wine and liquors, I found myself listening to it as if I bought the CD a week ago.
The tents were simple white constructions with handmade signs. Various food or bottles of wine, liquor and oils were on display like pieces of art. And everyone, I mean everyone, spoke louder than the band played and in accents typical of Italian cartoon characters on old Warners Brothers shows. (See video at end.)
This bread was at least two feet long and one foot wide.
(Candy.)
Found a perfect white, creamy cheese with spicy peppers mixed in it.
Giant, green, hand picked olives are in my hand.
Mark found some great Sicilian wines and a liquor made from cantaloupe.
The end result - a perfect Friday evening in the North with my Southern cheese
and olives, Sicilian wine and a little journal writing...tranquillo!
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