We're not going to thrash around with superlatives in describing the two regions which have been paired together to form the sixth of these epicurean jaunts. They are not the most spectacular parts of Italy, and the traveler in the custody of a guided tour barely glimpses them. A pilgrimage to Assisi, the shrine of St. Francis, an overnight stop in Perugia, and he's off to Venice, with hardly a glance at the Republic of San Marino over his left shoulder, and only a flickering acquaintance with the seductive wine of Orvieto and the black truffles of Norcia. And that's too bad.
The more leisurely visitor, especially if he has a midget motorcar to putter about in, soon learns how much his hurried compatriot has missed. Umbria, and most of the Marches, is just one verdant Apennine after the other, with a wealth of medieval hill towns to reward the adventurer. By the time he has seen such miniature Carcassonnes as Spoleto, Cascia and Urbino, and has visited the fantastic crow's nest republic of San Marino, he realizes that this region is one of the neglected treasures of Italy. He may have found a dearth of fashionable spots for the skier, the casino hound and the sun worshiper, but he has encountered good food and wine, and comfortable places to slop overnight-almost everything, in fact, except his fellow tourist. This travelogue, therefore, is definitely for those who yearn to leave the beaten path.
There arc rewards aplenty for the food-conscious pilgrim too, although he must do a bit of scouting to avoid the dullness of hotel fare. Umbrian cooking has no strong regional tradition, but there are a few local dishes revolving around truffles, suckling pig and wild pigeons which are quite exciting. A rustling, gray-green tapestry of olive trees covers these Apennine slopes, which means that Umbrian cooking basks in olive oil, and of a quality only surpassed in Tuscany. In short, there is nothing sparse or Franciscan about 'he cooking in Umbria, in spite of the chaste example set by its greatest citizen, St. Francis of Assisi.
The Marches, unlike Umbria, are not landlocked and rejoice in the superlative fish caught off their Adriatic shore, the most delicate and varied in Italy. The fish soup which results from this piscatorial plenty is called brodetto marchigiano, an Adriatic cousin which holds up its head proudly with the bouillabaisse of Marseilles and the zuppa di pesce of Genoa. Here is a regional specialty to rank with the finest in Italy, a rash statement which we venture only after tasting brodetto all' anconeiana at Passetto, Ancona's most celebrated restaurant.
A fine race of oxen thrives in the hills around Perugia, assuring the robust steaks and savory ragouts which you will find on local menus. It is more difficult to come upon an Umbrian specially called palombacce, but if you are here in March or October, it is worth seeking out. During these months the wild pigeons fly over these hills, and a good many of them are waylaid to end up on the matting spit as palombacce. They arc served with an aromatic sauce called la gbiotta, based on a learned ané savory Combination of olives, lemon peel, sage, anchovy, vinegar, wine, oil, salt and pepper, quite enough to disguise the indiscriminate eating habits of any vagrant pigeon.
A favorite family dish in Umbria is la porcbetta. This is young, unfattened suckling pig. spiced with garlic, rosemary and other aromatic herbs. His eatable spare parts are cooked in a separate dish in the same oven. Whether they serve him with an appetizing black truffle in his mouth we don't know, but it sounds logical, for Umbria is the Italian home of the black truffle.
In the late autumn the Umbrian farmer and either his truffle hound or his sow are familiar sights in the southern extremity of this region. Norcia, Scheggino, Spoleto and Cascia, picturesque hill towns all (the last named provided our title page sketch), are centers for the fragrant ebony tuber which now plays such an important part in the orchestra of any fine chef. There are many other varieties of truffle in Italy, of course: delicious white and lavender ones, best known in Piedmont, and some which aren't delicacies at all. There is a strong, handsome but malodorous one called tubero bituminato, for example, a too-coalish nugget which even pigs won't eat, and which is blackballed from the big city markets. Hut luckily the choicest black varieties, tuberomelanosporo and tubero brumale, flourish in these hills, as they do under the oak trees in Périgord. In years when the truffle crop is sparse in France, it seems logical to import from Italy. After ail. écrevisses are flown into France from Poland to garnish many a Burgundian dish. Just how many Umbrian tubers have been shipped to Périgord to become naturalized French truffles, and to appear imbedded in the divine foie gras of Périgord geese, is a matter of total conjecture. It has happened, however, and Italian black truffles have found a warm reception in New York and London restaurants as well. They found an even warmer reception two millennia ago when the Romans, ascribing aphrodisiac powers to them (“Pbiltrum quo vincere mulierem”), dedicated the templing tuber to Venus herself' There is an ancient saying that “those who wish to lead virtuous lives should abstain from truffles, but proof of such propensities, alas for the truffle trade, is dismally absent.
With such a wealth of black nuggets at hand, it is not surprising that the gourmets of Umbria have indulged themselves in a spaghetti sauce containing a substantial quantity of pounded truffles. This dish is a fast favorite, especially in the Christmas season.
Spagbetti alla Spoletina
In a mortar pound 4 or 5 ounces of peeled black truffles with a little parsley, a filet of anchovy, and a clove of garlic. In a shallow saucepan heat 1/5 cup olive oil and stir in ½ cup tomato paste and a little hot water to make a sauce consistency. Add salt to taste and the paste of truffles and heat but do not boil. Use this sauce on 1 pound of cooked spaghetti. Serves 4.
Umbrians also have a sweet tooth, to judge by the carloads of chocolate which emerge from the Perugina faculty in Perugia, and by the templing cakes which brighten up its pastry shops. One of these is a lozenge-shaped concentration of goodness called pinoccata, and it is practically compulsory at Christmas and New Year's festivities. It is made with pine nuts, lemon peel (sometimes a touch of candied orange peel), and sugar. Some are left a golden color, others are colored with chocolate. In either case the result is seraphic. The shops also glisten with mounds of a sweet bun called il torcolo, a fine, fattening delicacy embedded with raisins, candied fruits, pine nuts and anise seeds.
In the Marches, one dish dominates all others, the divine brodetto marchigiano. It has two distinct versions, but both are based on the same piscatorial finery, consisting of sole, red mullet, cuttlefish, baby octopus (calamaretti), palambo (a lean critter who looks like a baby shark), and squid (which, unlike fountain pens, are of no practical use until their ink reservoirs are removed). Garlic, parsley, onion and oil complete the cast of characters. In one version the fish are sprinkled lightly with flour, and the sauce is allowed to thicken, with saffron added. In the other recipe, the sauce is thin, vinegar replaces the saffron and garlic is more in evidence. Either type turns out to be a symphony if you go in for this son of thing, and you really should, just once.
The wines of Umbria are few, but one of them is a bright star indeed. This is Orvieto, one of the best known of Italian wines, and one of the finest travelers. Its squat, Straw-woven fiasco is known in far corners of the epicurean world. Its color is pale, straw yellow, its bouquet seductive, its power (12 degrees) well concealed. There is a sweet and a dry Orvieto, for different tastes and dishes. The dry one, which has just the suspicion of a flinty aftertaste, is reminiscent of a Chablis, and a worthy companion to the superlative sea food from the nearby Adriatic. The sweet Orvieto is more than adequate as a dessert wine. The fame of Orvieto's wine goes back for centuries. Pinturicchio, the famous Umbrian painter, loved it so much that he wanted a rider put into his contract for painting murals in the town cathedral, allowing him all the wine he wanted while working. Actually the wine comes from slopes far afield from the ancient citadel. Visitors may be, puzzled, as we were, at seeing so few vineyards when approaching the town. The surrounding countryside borrows the Orvieto name and preserves its standards, but the heart of the wine business is in the citadel itself. There are plenty of opportunities for the inquiring oenophile to indulge in a private wine tasting also. The house of Bigi and several others are most hospitable in this respect.
Three other wines of Umbria are secondary but worth looking for: Vino Santo d'Umbria. Sacrantino, a friendly, powerful wine grown near Montifalco, and Greco di Todi, a mild and aromatic white.
Umbria and its coastal neighbor are well equipped to take care of the traveler in the larger towns and shore resorts. The smaller hill towns call for the hardier type of hotel dweller. May we offer thumbnail sketches of some of the highlights?
PERUGIA
The capital of Umbria is a queen among lull towns, a gay, populous, intellectual citadel built high on an Apennine ridge. Originally an Etruscan stronghold, its timestained Arch of Augustus antedates by centuries the Roman emperor for whom it was named. Studded with Gothic palaces, fountains. Renaissance doorways, and very individual churches (our drypoint shows the tall, octagonal church of Sant'Ercolano), it is a joy to the traveler and a long-established stopping place for him. In this civilized city the scooter, motorcycle, baby Fiat, even the bicycle, must bow to the pedestrian during the promenade hour. Late every afternoon the main thoroughfare is roped off to all but strollers and most of Perugia takes a walk: town dignitaries, college professors, giggling signorine arm in arm, young marrieds with their perambulators and a profusion of gesticulating college students. You see many beautiful, oval faces, just as Perugino used to paint them, but there are many un-Italian types among these chattering pedestrians too. For Perugia is the site of the Italian University for Foreigners, and many a lad or lass from Caen, Copenhagen, Canterbury or Kansas City has learned the lilt of the Italian language here. Hut they study more complex subjects too, among them Etruscology.
This broad promenade is called the Corsi Vannucci, by the way, and is named for Pietro Vannucci, one of the greatest of Italian painters, better known as Perugino. Born in Citta della Pieve in 1446, he adopted Perugia as his home and has left his imprint in many places here, especially in the Collegio del Cambio, considered to be his masterpiece. The versatility of the founder of the Umbrian school shines forth in these astonishing frescoes. Perugino's self portrait is in the same building.
By changing a single letter, one can shift the subject from the divine to the delicious, for Perugina chocolates, known the world over, are made in this same city. Behind this impassive factory façade the most extraordinary miracles in chocolate are achieved. We were in Perugia a few weeks before Easter this year, and the chocolate works were going all out for hollow chocolate Easter eggs. An Easter egg with a surprise inside is a part of Italian home life, and the bigger the egg the better. Perugina vies with its rivals. Talmone, Nestlé and others, in producing the fanciest gilt wrappings and the giddiest cellophane ribbons. What treasures they all contained we never did find out, but they must be considerable. The largest one was priced at 60, 000 lire, which makes a shambles of a hundred dollar hill. Not all of these chocolate eggs are for the kiddies, by the way. Our favorite model reveals a squat bottle of old brandy when the oval chocolate portals are thrown open.
In some Italian cities the most obvious hotel is not always the most satisfactory, but in Perugia there is no question about the predominance of the ALBERGO BRUFANI E PALACE, a large and long-established hostelry on the southern brink of Perugia's breathtaking promontory. It was built many years ago, supposedly on the location of a vanished temple to Minerva, and one has the impression that it hasn't suffered an instant of neglect from that moment to this, Everything is immaculate, and the large attractive lounges are about the most comfortable places in all these Umbrian hills. The bar is a bit funereal, but the large dining salon is cheerful and buzzing with activity. This is the crossroads for travelers of every nationality. There are menus in Italian, English and French, and the food is the best in Perugia, a considered statement based on a ten-day stay and many foraging expeditions.
The assured calm of the Brufani is rarely upset, but it was definitely troubled on the third day of our sojourn. when the hotel served as overnight headquarters for the annual motorcycle tour of Italy. The place swarmed with lizardlike little men in one-piece zippered black leather suits, and the attendant throng of journalists, managers and broadcasters. The management was quietly wringing its hands. This is the only day of the year we advise you to avoid the Brufani-in fact, may we suggest that you avoid all contact with motorcycle races, and the horrendous bottleneck which they cause on the Italian roads?
ASSISI
One extraordinary man still dominates this beautiful hillside town, more than seven centuries after his brief lifetime of forty-four years. St. Francis of Assisi leaves his mark on every visitor to this mystic city, and a refreshing experience it is. We don't feel qualified to say weighty things about St. Francis and the example he has set for the world, but we do feel strongly about one thing-a few hours in Assisi is not enough for the assimilative visitor. The average motor tour almost whisks you through. This wonderful town on the cypress-clad slopes of Mount Subasio merits a visit of two or three days. In addition to the Basilica of St. Francis, a remarkable two-layer Gothic Structure with the tomb of St. Francis reposing in the crypt beneath, one finds an architectural richness in Assisi which has few counterparts anywhere. Besides a notable cathedral, there is the famous buttressed church of Santa Chiara, a towering fortress, handsome fountains and the facade of a Roman temple, still intact. Some of the greatest frescoes of Giotto and Cimabue are here. Definitely, Assisi is a place to stay for a few days. Its view of the Umbrian hills, with Perugia looming in the distance, is inspiring. Its shops are filled with tempting things, and its hotels are entirely adequate, pleasant and cosmopolitan. We have tried both the ALBERGO SUBASIO and the WINDSOR, and enjoyed each. Mind you, they're both “touristy,” but they take good care of their guests. Assist does not represent the gastronomic pinnacle of Italy perhaps, but its culinary standards are far removed from the pious poverty prescribed by its patron saint.
ORVIETO
Standing up from the surrounding plain almost like a mirage, Orviero is built on another spine-tingling site chosen by those discriminating Etruscans. Its streets are grotesque and ridiculously narrow, especially toward evening when the soldiers begin to stroll. (This is a garrison town.) Orvieto is famous for its wine. too. but its greatest glory by far is the cathedral. Its façade, dating from 1285, is a polychromatic symphony of sun-baked sculpture, colored marble and mosaic, all dominated by a superlative rose window. It is reminiscent of Siena, as is the brilliant interior, conceived in alternate layers of light and dark stone. It is in Orvieto that the enthusiast for medieval art has the best chance to view the paintings of Luca Signorelli, one of the few masters who influenced Michelangelo. He was also one of the rare painters of the time who possessed and gratified the whims of a gourmet.
Orvieto is another hilltop town worthy of an overnight stop, and the ALBERGO REALE, facing the market square, will prove adequate. If you are only spending the day in Orvieto, we think you will be reasonably happy at the RISTORANTE MAURIZIO, at Via del Duomo, 55. Some energetic publicist on a Vespa scooter chased our car through the streets of Orvieto and, as soon as we parked, swamped us with postcards and broadsides about the Maurizio. We're inclined to be testy in the face of such ractics, but decided to calm our ruffled feelings and give him a fair test. The verdict: A for publicity, effort and courtesy, B for food, wine and service. Major disappointment: They couldn't provide an outstanding specialty of Orvieto, a famous—or infamous one, if you will—the alarming liver sausage prepared with sugar called mazzafegati. Perhaps it's just as well.
There is much more to be seen in Umbria—Gubbio and Todi, for instance Both are startling hill towns. Then there is Lake Trasimeno, largest in the leg of Italy, where pike and lazy carp are supposed to linger, and those fortified villages in the truffle country. But while there is still space, we should be off to the Matches, the region which forms the inner thigh of the Italian boor. This is a lean part of Italy for the average sightseer, and calls for briefer mention than Umbria. ANCONA, its principal city, is a seaport occupying a dazzling amphitheatre of high land on the Adriatic, but it attracts few visitors. Among Italian gourmets, however, it is famous for its sea food. If your path happens to lead through Ancona, we beseech you to seek our the RISTORANTE PASSETTO, on the Piazza IV Novembre, and try one of their specialties, if not the divine brodetto all'anconetana, perhaps their spaghetti with mussel sauce. We have acquired the recipe for the former dish. In case you live near an Italian fish market, you can perhaps acquire a sufficient variety of sea food to give it a try.
Brodetto all'Anconctana
Clean 4 pounds of fish of diverse types—cuttlefish, sole, red mullet, baby octopus, palumbo, and squid-wash them, and cut the larger fish in pieces. Discard the ink bag from the squid and wash the squid thoroughly. In a deep pan brown 1 onion, sliced, in an abundant quantity of olive oil, then add the sliced cuttlefish and a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Simmer the cuttlefish in the olive oil for a few minutes, add enough saffron so it takes on a fine yellow tone, and add enough water to cover everything. Simmer for about 1 hour. In the meantime, in an earthen casserole. place the other fish in layers, then add the cooked cuttlefish and its sauce, adding water and white wine to cover the fish completely. Boil over a vigorous fire for about ten minutes. Serve very hot with crusts of fried bread.
The Adriatic shore north of Ancona is strewn with little bench resorts and fishing towns. Fano and Pesaro among them. Scattered along the sands are any number of inexpensive summer hotels for the vacationist. Their clientele is overwhelmingly Italian-another chance to avoid the usual tourist path. Beautiful paper is made in Fabriano, high in the Marchian hills, but our favorite hill town is farther north.
URBINO
In a setting of austere grandeur, Urbino sits alone in the hills, conscious of its former grandeur as the seat of the Montefeltro dukes and the birthplace of Raphael. The mighty palace of the dukes, and the humble house where a son named Rafaello was born to the Sanzio family, are still preserved for public inspection. Urbino is animated and unspoiled, its streets enlivened with open-air markets and clusters of students, for a small university has been established here for centuries.
Remote as it may seem, Urbino should prove to be a good overnight stop, due to its HOTEL ITALIA. It is located on a crowded, arcaded street, and doesn't offer much from the outside. But it merits closer attention, for here is one of the diminishing number of hotels where the landlord considers himself a host in the old tradition. He is genuinely solicitous about the welfare of his guests. We've rarely seen such cheerful service-maids, waiters, bus boy, garage man -all doing their best to make us happy. Our dinner was genuinely good, served with a clean, appetizing wine from the surrounding hills. This is a simple hotel. mind you, and there are no frills. Many guests have reacted to its charm and hospitality just as we have. The guest book. which runs into several volumes, is filled with the names of statesmen and ambassadors, and of there ambulant citizens, our own included, who have gone out of their way to visit Urbino and have been struck by the friendliness of the Italia.
SAN MARINO
The loftiest, craggiest hill town of them all is in the center of the diminutive republic of San Marino, just north of the Marches. This remarkable little community has maintained its sovereignty for over fourteen centuries, and its history is replete with attempts to conquer it. We recommend it unreservedly for motorists with mountaineering instincts. Every peak of San Marino is crowned by a crenelated fortress, and when you get to the topmost one you arc more than 2000 feet above the plains of Rimini and can glimpse the Dalmatian coast on a clear day. You can also have luncheon nearby on a comparably breath-taking eminence.
San Marino suffered cruelly during the war from Allied air raids, and attempted to escape from the resultant economic straits by establishing a high-stake gambling casino, just as Monte Carlo had done. The venture proved a sad Hop, and the tiny country is now largely dependent for its revenues upon the sale of postage stamps to the philatelic work), and the patronage of tourists. The latter will find comfortable accommodations in the long established TITANO, EXCELSIOR and BELLEVUE hotels, and quite luxurious ones in the newly completed HOTEL DIAMOND. Sad to relate, we don't know of any gastronomic specialty in San Marino, unless perhaps it's mountain goat.