Truffles and Marble

Jet-lagged thoughts on a week in Italy and AN ANNOUNCEMENT

I snapped this photo quickly dodging speeding cars while trying to cross the street, but I think it’s one of my absolute favorites.

Good morning from my jetlagged state writing from a series of notes I jotted on a train from Venice to Rome, dreaming of a fresh cappuccino while sipping cold black coffee in bed. 

After two canceled trips and a rescheduled one, I’m now basking in the sights, smells, and flavors I’ll long cherish as my Italian souvenirs. I brought little home except for a few magnets, a thousand photos, and a detailed memory of wild boar ragu I’m going to attempt to recreate ASAP (as soon as I figure out if I can even purchase wild boar stateside). We spent just a week in this popular country, the land of my great grandmother, the land of ancient ruins, sculptures, pasta, and more tourists than I’ve ever seen crowded into so little square footage. 

In Florence and Venice, we stayed in boutique hotels just beyond the main attractions. We walked further, but enjoyed the luxury of quiet streets, especially in Venice where we wandered through alleyways bathed in morning light, crossing canal bridges, passing quiet cafes, seeing few people for half an hour until we finally arrived amongst the chaos of a full marathon dividing San Marco Piazza. One stormy night in Florence, we huddled beneath an umbrella, skirted (and stepped into) several deep puddles, before stumbling into a little Italian cafe where the menu was only available in Italian (which is always a good sign). The owner welcomed us, made recommendations, smiled broadly when my husband ordered the ravioli (he had, indeed, ordered correctly). Later, we scored lunch reservations for a restaurant in such high demand tourists begin lining up hours before opening. Here, THE DISH is truffle tagliatelle prepared tableside in a giant cheese wheel. Yes, social media has hyped this place but, in my opinion, it’s worth the hype. These two restaurants couldn’t have been more different. One was expensive and popular, located in the heart of the city. The other was a mile beyond it, quiet, unknown by most travelers. But both were uniquely delicious experiences. 

But not every meal is like the prawn spaghetti I ordered in Venice or the truffle tagliatelle from Florence. I inhaled the best breakfast of my life on a dirty train station bench—a to-go cappuccino and a buttery Nutella-filled croissant savored next to abandoned bakery bags and paper cups. The next day, we stood in a queue for a sandwich shop the size of a walk-in closet, ordered the two most popular sandwiches, and ate them around the corner in a grungy alley. These are the sorts of food memories that grip our taste buds, that we remember long after we’ve forgotten the names of fancy restaurants. I remember, for instance, the bread baked in the middle of a Colombian jungle that sent wafts of yeasty chocolate goodness through my nostrils while waking up in a hammock. I remember the outdoor hamburger stand in Juarez that consisted of a simple grill and a cooler. I remember these small, mouth-exploding flavors because the dishes themselves accompanied moments in time where I was hungry, curious, and full of wonder for the world. 

There were three main things I wanted to achieve with this trip: eat delicious cuisine (in alleyways and otherwise), visit the Vatican and Sistine Chapel, and see The Statue of David in real life. David is one of those pieces I’m so familiar with it would have been easy to talk ourselves out of standing in his presence. I’ve seen enough pictures through the years to be familiar with the famous figure carved in marble. But when i say it’s astounding in person, it’s no exaggeration—an experience we nearly missed due to our early timed entry and our very jet lagged bodies. We awoke an hour before the reservation, threw on clothes, booked it to the city train station where we watched two very full trains pass before one with standing room finally arrived. We made it to the city center, jumped off and quickly walked to the Accademia where we still had to get printed tickets in exchange for the digital ones we’d already purchased. We shuffled along with dozens of curious tourists through security and made our way into the main atrium where David’s massive body greets visitors, towering 17 feet above curious observers. He’s a sight to behold. If not for the ghostly white hue of the marble and his dead, blank eyes, I’d be tempted to believe he’s no statue (even with his imperfections). Everything about him is breathtaking from the defined abs in his chest to the tendons in his arms and ankles. Yes, he is very obviously naked, but the dozens of us staring were far more interested in this body of work as a whole than in ogling any singular component. 

Days later, while moving through a massive throng through the connecting rooms of the Vatican, my senses were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of marble statues, Renaissance art, and the gold-encrusted walls and ceilings that greet visitors room after room until final arrival at the magnificent Sistine Chapel. There was little time to properly take in the complex frescoes when swarms of people congregated at all sides. But we moved to the center, craned our necks, and immediately realized we were standing directly beneath The Creation of Adam. I’m not sure I thought I’d ever get to stand beneath this famous ancient work, witness its brilliance in real time amongst strangers just as besotted as I was. 

Rome itself is a marvel. We left the Vatican (and hordes of people with it), and wandered back towards the other typical sites everyone ought to witness in Rome: the Roman Forum, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Colosseum.

Rome is a paradox of old layers existing between and beneath new ones. She’s ancient cobblestones and McDonald’s wrappers. Renaissance art and graffiti. Stone fountains and yellow puddles. She is fast-paced. She is packed. She is delicious.

I don’t think there’s any correct way to visit Rome, but we mostly walked all over and ate our weight in pasta. Carbonara to be precise. Beautifully yellow and creamy with a slight bit of crunch from the cured pork, a slight bit of spice from the pepper. My rule of thumb is always avoid restaurants with photographs on menus, the ones just down the street from popular destinations where the waiters are too eager for our euros and the prices are far too high. Walk a few blocks from the Colosseum and you may find a delightful ivy-covered cafe serving simple pasta dishes. It’s worth it, let me tell you.

Our last night in Rome was another stormy one. We made it back to our hotel just in time before the heavens opened and released intense winds and heavy rains. But afterwards, once the storm had passed, and we were (yet again) craving gelato, we walked back outside, caught the effervescent colors of a perfect sunset I know must have looked spectacular above the Colosseum. But even from our quiet street in Monti, it was…a wonder. The sort of scene just as awe-striking at The Creation of Adam or The Statue of David or the mighty ruins we’d glimpsed the day before. Perhaps because, no matter the near perfection of human-made art, nothin can quite compare to the marvels of light or a psychedelic sunset after a dark, broody storm.

Anthony Doerr writes in Four Seasons in Rome that the continuous thing about Rome throughout its many eras is the light. He writes, “The light tiptoes across everything, exposing it anew, whispering, Here is this! Here is this! Ecco Roma! Bursting out of the sun, streaking through space, skirting Venus, just over eight minutes old, but eternal, too, infinite—here comes the light, nameless and intangible, streaming 93 million unobstructed miles through the implacable black vacuum, to break itself against a wall, a cornice, a column. It drenches, it crenellates, it textures. It throws the city into relief.”

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An Announcement!

Substack is the main space where my writing has sharpened and evolved. I love this little digital oasis and the people I’ve met through writing, interacting, and engaging in an atmosphere that continues to be so encouraging for so many of us. So it’s here I’ll always share my writerly news first—I wouldn’t be the writer I am without this wonderful space and all you wonderful readers. 

I’m still reeling a bit from the many ways 2023 has surprised me repeatedly.

I’ve spent the last few months closing certain doors (or having them closed on me), but have also been creatively revived. Part of it is timing. Part of it is the development of new habits. Part of it is little nudges that directed me towards renewed hope. And part of it is fellow writers who have spoken goodness into me. Over the past few months, I’ve been quietly working on a book proposal. The tiniest inkling of an idea took on form. I plastered sticky notes over the living room wall. Then I moved my desk from the living room into the second bedroom so I could work in a dedicated space. Each day I worried I’d lose momentum, get stuck, arrive back to the work and discover it’s absolute shit. But that didn’t happen. 

The idea grew and while it’s still in its infancy, I’m also so incredibly excited to announce I’m now represented by Morgan Strehlow at The Bindery, a literary agency based in Colorado!!

I’m absolutely thrilled to move forward in my writing career with Morgan as my agent. I’m excited and a little nervous, but also so incredibly grateful for the work and words ahead.

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