“Traveling-it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.” -Ibn Battuta
I was gathering stories on a recent cross-country road trip. Here are three short ones for the road.
Story #1 Boubon Water
We pass this iconic water tower each time we go back and forth to the Midwest. NO, it’s not full of Bourbon, though it seems to be a bit tipsy. The water tower is no longer in use, but still stands as an often-photographed novelty. So what’s up with this? I googled as we drove along:
Bourbon, Missouri, population 1,946 is on I-44 (old rt. 66.) It claims the distinction of being the only town in the United States named for bourbon whiskey.
When the railroad came through the area in the 1850s a settlement sprang up. A man named Richard Turner established a general store on his property to serve the needs of settlers and railroad workers. He imported barrels of a new brand of whiskey called Bourbon, and placed one large barrel labeled “Bourbon” on the porch of his store to advertise. Soon, the railroad workers were calling the new settlement Bourbon. The name stuck.
I wonder… If Mr. Turner had placed a crate of potatoes on his porch, would the town be known as Spudville? Tater Town? It just wouldn’t be the same….
Oh man. I was going through some photos of our trip to Italy and came across this. Have you every tried authentic Neapolitan pizza? Now this Seams Like a Story worth telling. Who knows? Maybe it will make an appearance in the travel memoir I’m working on. Come on, take a few moments and travel with me to Italy.
Ed and I found a little pizzaria in a small village not far from Naples. We descend ancient stone steps and duck through the arched doorway of the town’s pizzeria. The centuries-old building has been modernized but maintains its vintage style. Red and white checkered cloths and vases of fresh flowers adorn round tables where a few people are enjoying a late lunch. A young woman at the hostess stand is folding boxes for take-out orders. There is no signage on the door, but it makes no difference. Locals know where to come–the pizzeria has been here for generations. But even if you are new to the city, the aroma of freshly baked bread and rich tomato sauce coming from the wood stove would lead you here.
The hostess greets us and invites us into the kitchen. The space is tiny and is filled with organized clutter, perhaps like any diner kitchen. Yet unlike a typical diner, the centerpiece of this kitchen is a monumental wood-fired stove. The outside edges are charcoal-black from decades of wear. It’s iconic curved opening glows crimson, like a one-eyed dragon, or the gates of hell radiating waves of heat. A fan twirls in the window above the industrial sink and a stainless steel table is in the center of the room. Behind the table stands a small man with graying hair, a trim mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He wears jeans, a white tee shirt and a clean white apron tied around his waist. A young woman is at his side.
“Ciao! Welcome to our pizzaria. My name is Sophia. My uncle Franco and I will be your guides today. This business has been handed down through our family for generations. It is our pizza, but also our passion that we will share with you today.”
Franco nods and smiles, content to let his niece do the talking. Because the space around the table and in the oven is limited, we work in pairs. It’s hard to wait our turn, but soon, it’s time for Ed and and I to make our pizza. Franco takes a ball of dough that has been rising in a covered container. His experienced hands move quickly, flattening and stretching the dough into a dinner-plate sized circle.
“Now for the moment you’ve been waiting for!” Sophia says.
On cue, Franco tosses the circle of dough high in the air, letting it spin and stretch, then catches it at exactly the right moment. We laugh and clap in amazement as he repeats the process with the next ball, then places the perfect circles of dough in front of us. Under his watchful eye, I ladle a generous amount of sauce onto the dough and use the back of the utensil to spread the liquid-tomatoey goodness almost to the edge.
“We make the sauce here. Local tomatoes, garlic, basil. Simple. Now we add some freshly made mozzarella.” She hands each of us a section of the creamy white cheese and instructs us to pinch off small bits to distribute around the sauce.
“And we bake.” Franco ceremoniously takes a large wooden paddle from a hook on the wall. In a series of smooth movements, he shoves the paddle under my tomato and mozzarella topped circle of dough and slides it off onto the glowing stone floor of the pizza oven. Immediately the crust puffs, and the mozzarella bubbles over the tomato sauce releasing a burst of aroma that lights up every appetite-inducing neuron in my brain. While the pizza bakes, Sophia explains that we are making Pizza Margherita, in the traditional Neapolitan style.
“ According to the legend, Pizza Margherita was invented in by a chef in the 1800s to honor Queen Margherita of Savoy and the unification of Italy. See the colors of the Italian flag? Red tomatoes, white mozzarella, and here is the green.”
She reaches for a vase of fresh basil. The pizzas bake quickly and Franco knows exactly the right moment to pull them out–when the crust is golden brown with a few bits of char from the intense heat and heavenly blobs of mozzarella have melted over the sauce. He slides each one onto an oversized dinner-plate that has obviously been made for exactly this purpose. It can barely hold the 12” pizza, more than enough to serve two people, but we each get our own.
I’m not one of those people who take pictures of their food-usually-and it sounds silly, but this pizza is beautiful. I pick up one of the wedges and take my first bite. I’m in love. Pizza love. The crust is perfect–crispy yet light and puffy–unlike anything that could be accomplished in a traditional oven. The combination of tomato, cheese and basil is heavenly. The cheese and sauce slide off and dribble down my hand. Extra napkins all around.
So here’s what you need to know. Forget what you thought was pizza–the double stuffed, extra cheese, sausage, pepperoni stuff that late night college runs are made of. If you are expecting that, you might be disappointed in this simple pie. Many Americans who come to Italy are. But if you approach this pizza with an open mind, you will experience pure Italy–simple, fresh, authentic. Amore
Now, who’s hungry?
Threads of thought?
What is a favorite food memory from your travels?
Are you an adventurous foodie when traveling? What’s the stangest thing you’ve tried?
What toppings would be on your pizza amore?
Debra VanDeventer is an educator, author, blogger, sewist and traveler. To read more check out:
Out of the Crayon Box: Thoughts on Teaching, Retirement, and Life
The back of the merchandise truck makes a great photo op.
November 11, 2022
Yeah, we did it! Elton was coming to Phoenix and we didn’t want to miss the chance to see him for the first (and probably the last time). We snagged a couple of tickets in the less expensive section of Chase Field, ordered the appropriate Elton John sunglasses, and we’re on our way!
Rockin’ the look
The stage is set
tiny stage, big music
We arrived about an hour before the concert and took our seats. Did I mention we were way up here? That amoeba-shaped stage is where teeny-tiny Elton and his piano will be. Good thing there are big screens and a huge sound system set up. From our vantage point we watched the crowd file in. Many were clad in Elton-inspired costumes.
The show begins
Philadelphia Freedom, I looove you, yes I do!
The arena lights dim and the stage lighting floods the space in red and blue. The crowd is quiet in anticipation, then breaks into cheers and applause as we realize Elton is on stage. He pounds out his first number Philadelphia Freedom and the show begins. The music vibrates through the space and resonates in my body.
My Gift is my song, this one’s for you.
Elton is dressed in a spangled tuxedo and wearing his trademark glasses. At 75, he doesn’t levitate off of the piano seat as he once did, but his voice is remarkable and he jumps up at the end of each song to wave and connect with the audience. He plays and sings for over two hours, with only a minutes-long interlude for a costume change.
We hop and bob to the Crocodile Rock , thrilled when the band stops playing and we get to do the la la la la laaaaa part. We tear up at Candle in the Wind and Don’t Let the Sun go Down on Me. We belt out the refrain to He shall be Levon and sway with the Tiny Dancer. At the end of the show, we cheer as Elton sings I’m Still Standing while clips of his life and career dance across the big screens.
Encore
He walks off the stage, but of course, we applaude him back for an encore. He takes a bow and thanks his fans for honoring him with our presence this night and throughout his career. He tells us goobye. We hold our phone flashlights high and sway as he plays his final number Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
Farewell Rocket Man. Thank you for your gift of music. I think it’s gonna stay a long, long time. Yeah, I think its gonna stay a long, long time.
“Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.” – Anna Akhmatova
It had been three years since we’d last been in Italy. On our first trip, just before the pandemic, we traveled to Milan, Florence, Venice, and Rome. We fell in love with italy! When travel restrictions lifted, we simply had to return. This time we visited southern Italy and Sicily. Here are 4 reasons to love Italy:
#1 The Scenery
The Mediterranean as seen from our hotel room in Taromina.
Vineyard on Mt. Etna
A glimpse of the Mediterranean
You are in a dream world with breathtaking views at each turn. Everywhere you look you see shades of umber, cinnamon, cream, turquoise, olive. The sunlight is golden. It’s as if you are living in a movie set.
Venice
Tuscan Villa
The Arno River in Florence
#2 The Food and Wine
“Life is too short to eat and drink badly” says the sign on our table in Amalfi.
There’s a trip in my future. Though not a travel newbie, I’m always looking for ways to improve my experience, especially in packing. For this post, I have assembled a team of experts to help alleviate my suitcase insecurity. Here’s what they have to say:
Expert #1
RS is widely known for his travel books and videos. In the videos, we see RS sprinting all around Europe with a carry-on sized backpack. With this slung across his shoulders, there is no need to check luggage, and he nimbly hops on and off planes, busses, trains and taxis. In one episode, he dumped the contents on the bed in his hotel room and showed the audience what he packs: 2 pairs of slacks (jeans and a lighter khaki pair…. one he wears and one he packs) 3 shirts, a light sweater, a rain jacket, socks and underwear, and a small bag of toiletries. He wears his only pair of shoes. He describes methods for washing your clothes in the hotel room, including using a 2-gallon zip-lock bag and a squirt of laundry detergent or the hotel shampoo to create a mini washing machine. That explains how he gets by on such a limited wardrobe. I like the idea of traveling light and picutured myself squishing socks and undies around in a sudsy ziplock bag in the hotel bathroom, rinsing, then hanging them on the towel racks and shower curtain rod. Hmmm…
Nope, won’t fit in a backpack…
Inspired by RS, I spread my proposed travel wardrobe out on my bed. At last count I had 9 tops (because you need sleeveless, short sleeves, long sleeves) 4 pairs of slacks (yoga pants for the plane, joggers, cropped pants in black and khaki) a sweater, a jacket, an umbrella, socks and underwear, 3 small clear bags of toiletries ( 3 oz. or less) a pair of sandals. a swimsuit, and a packable sun hat. Sorry RS. It will not fit in a backpack. I need some further advice.
