OK….so I might not be able to provide a fair assessment of the Carrfour–when juxtaposed with Gina’s real-life, everyday experiences of the place (to my left…over there…)–BUT
OH. MY. GOODNESS.
I remember spending three blissful hours in the aisles of that store (with three of my favorite people in the world no less (Noah, Michele, Stefan)) and being in the company of riches… RICHES I TELL YOU…everything from perfectly sized and shaped organic, strained lemon yogurt cartons, to holiday-gift-packed GIANT cases of DeCecco pasta, to three gallon jugs of fresh, green olives. And then getting to pick out the best of the fourteen options of prosciutto in the meat department of the store (which is roughly the size of half of our local Stop and Shop).
I mean I’m sure my Americana perspective is skewed–we live in the land of bulk avocados from Walmart and wilted lettuce from D’Agostino…if we’re lucky. (I’m still not sure what the sell at the Piggly Wigglys(ies?) down south. Okra? Jicama?) Really, just having access to grocery store food that is remotely fresh and, well, fresh seems, here anyway, like a gift to us folks who need to go out of our way to add a vegetable to each meal.
Obviously my perspective is skewed by my frame of mind and this interminable winter and, well, love. (I miss my friends.)
Nonetheless, and because I have a really sick kid this week…whose illness is making me all gushy and emotional inside and also stealing away all of my moments of writing time…I thought this would be as good time as any to admit to my boorish, yet truthful, covetousness of Gina & her family’s life THERE.
And, you know, also share a few moments of the bliss of their new life that we were able to imbibe in with them just a few short months ago.
First, the wine:
Oh, the wine. Simple. Delicious. Old.
Life on a vineyard is pretty spectacular.
Also, there’s the vinegar:
VINEGAR THAT TASTES LIKE HEAVEN. Mixed with ice cream. And marshmallows. Michele & my dorky kids (above) tasted them all. Even the ones mixed with fig. And then gave their opinions of the odd flavored liquid to the very nice (and cute) donna.
(Our bottle of 25 year old balsamic from this place sits in a coveted spot on our counter here in NY, next to the fancy olive oil from Murrays, (NYC).)
Then there is Venice. Sweet, sweet, Venice. Only a 90 minute drive away.
…FROM THE WINE…
…AND THE VINEGAR.
(If the place wasn’t sinking into the Adriatic I’d move there tomorrow.)
And I still might. Especially because of the friends who are there.
(this is actually Modena, not Venice, but it matters not.)