I delved into the culinary landscape of Veneto with Sebastiano for an evening.
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Joe Chandellier: a new generation finds freshness in Cévennes
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We import European wine, and love the cuisines of France and Germany and Austria and Italy. But let’s face it, in summer our hearts and stomachs turn to the myriad flavors of Italia. A pristine French rosé can ably accompany our favorite frutti di mare fantasies.
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Pollastrini is hard to find. It’s not lost along a gravel path on a remote estuary. It is behind a vast abandoned-looking warehouse complex, next a parking lot full of cop cars and fire trucks. On the day of my visit, a burned out and abandoned Mac Truck sat in the shoulder, distracting my attention from the entrance.
Anzio is an hour’s drive south of Rome but still in its sprawl. I felt New Jersey vibes. The cafe where I sipped the tiniest ristretto had gaudy, delicious pastries, scratch off cards, silver velvet chairs, and a clear cast of local characters, including doughnut-eating cops. Confectioner’s sugar and gossip filled the air. My pronunciation of sfogliatelle was very amusing to the barista. Her nails had jewels. Her face could have been on a Roman coin.