Driving through the Amalfi coast and arriving in the quaint seaside village of Praiano, I shook my head in disbelief at never having traveled south of Rome in previous trips to my family’s home country.  This part of Italy’s coastline can simply be described as one of the most beautifully surreal places I have ever seen in all my travels; a sentence I would soon learn never to use again in my writing. 

Checking in to the family-owned Hotel Margherita I cautiously searched for the other participants attending the inaugural Praiano Writers Forum.  Still questioning my ability to contribute to the intimate retreat, I was happy to confirm my fallback option.  If this week turned out to be a bust, I was stuck in a picturesque Italian village with plenty of cultural excursions to choose from.

Toying with the idea of writing a memoir since losing my husband Rand to pancreatic cancer in 2008, this retreat would either serve as the kick in the ass I needed, or as the ultimate confirmation for my over-crowded calendar.  I kept waiting for the alert to pop up:  “Writing this book creates 75,000 conflicts.  Would you like to delete?”  The notes section of the warning would then undoubtedly remind me of my lack of guts and the talent needed to successfully tackle this overwritten plot.

My Aunt Robin’s words, however, rang loudest in my ears when I made the leap to cancel a week’s worth of meetings, lunches, calls and galas to attend my first writing workshop.  “Of course you are going Terrence – It’s Wally Lamb!  Look at what he did with the women of York Prison.  Just imagine what he can do for you.”   Truth be told, my Aunt is such a huge Wally fan that if I told her I had taken a piss at the urinal next to him she’d ask me if he had an update on Dolores Price.  But either way, she was right.  Whether or not Rand ever became a household name like Dolores, opportunity awaited in Praiano.

“Bongiorno Terrence – I’m looking forward to our collective Praiano adventure.  Hope you are too.  See you soon.  Prego!  Wally.”  Even his penmanship spoke like an Oprah favorite as I perused through our welcome package.  Sending off a picture of his note to my family back home, Aunty Rob included of course, I headed out to find the others.

Every man in the old-world village of Praiano seemed to be named Gennaro and each was nicer than the next.  The small community of just 2000 residents was filled with excitement as they vigorously prepared for the commencement of their much needed tourist season.  Colder weather than we all had hoped for, the resident’s hospitable warmth lifted our exhausted spirits.

Guided through the meandering streets by two of our hosts, the talented editor and writer Larry Bloom and the acclaimed poet Suzanne Levine, the six unlikely-grouped travelers were finally able to put a face to each other’s words.   Blindly turning yet another scenic corner, we were greeted by Wally in his best Connecticut-born Italian accent. “Bongiorno” he shouted from the top of another breathtaking vista.

Casa L Orto, the magnificent villa owned by Carol LeWitt, beckoned as we descended the precipitous stairwell.  Generous in its serenity, all pre-conceived notions were left outside before entering the Forum’s classroom for the week.  No matter what happened over the coming days, I had made the right choice. The distractions of my life drifted farther away than Manhattan itself as I inhaled the possibilities of what lay ahead.  

Our mornings at Casa L Orto were filled with workshops as we gently navigated the process of group learning amongst strangers.  Effortlessly we strained to absorb the immense amount of insight and knowledge as our teacher’s brilliance caused pens to fill the pages of Italian notebooks.  Both the praise and critique we listened to and offered one another opened our eyes to the dexterity of progressing from a civilian to a writer.  The insightful discussions were infectious.

Expanding my horizons each day, I learned to let go of the eulogy I had been writing in my head and allowed the realistic pain of my life with Rand to pour into my afternoon writing sessions.  My heart nearly pounded through my sweater Wednesday night as I unveiled part of my complicated love story to the group.   Like proud parents watching a first ballet recital, Wally, Lary and Suzanne listened along with fellow Praiano writers as I continued reading aloud from a piece I had written just hours before.   

“Rising gently from the tornado of clothes, shoes and everything else Rand had collected in his closet over the years, I carefully replaced each clear plastic bag into their rightful homes. They were never meant to end up in my shaking hands.  Every jacket was re-hung, each shoe put back on its shelf.  Tee shirts, socks, underwear, white cotton hankies all re-folded.  Rand’s crimson colored embroidered handkerchiefs remained untouched once again in the back of his top drawer as I pushed it closed and turned off the lights.”

The revelation of Rand’s betrayal in his Manhattan closet 8 years ago was a small window of our life together but a scene I thought I would never expose.  The encouragement from my first-ever reading of my work combined with the constructive criticism of our writing samples throughout the week fueled my desire and motivation to write.  

Gennaro’s Wine Bar, one of the few local restaurants opened during the offseason, was the perfect setting to celebrate our culmination to a productive week.  Familiar now with each other’s heartfelt stories and the complexities of our individual lives, we drank wine, laughed, and overate while encouraging each other to pursue our newfound discoveries.

With the intricacies of my path towards writing a memoir slightly clearer, I left the week energized, inspired and enthusiastic to continue my journey.   I have no doubt that on a future trip to Praiano, when I read from the pages of my newly published book, I will be thanking the readers in the audience for fostering my creative process in this coastal village along the Amalfi coast – unquestionably one of the most beautifully-preserved destinations in the world.

August 8, 2012 Casa L Orto was the setting for the fourth literary encounter in Praiano’s ProsaThe series. The writer Michael Gregorio

presented their eco-noir thriller “Boschi e Bossoli”. Before an enthusiastic crowd of residents and visitors,

they described their earlier series of historical detective fiction and read a passage from their latest novel. Refreshments included Maria’s home-made zeppole—

exceptional!

On Thursday night we made one final garden feast with guests Stephen and Clo Davis. Hallie, Clo, and Tess all cooked together and produced a delicious meal of our favorite Praiano dishes plus some new editions.

Menu:

-Whipped ricotta spread with lemon zest and black pepper

-Green and black olives with savory biscotti

-Stuffed peppers

-Insalata Praianese

- Zucca with sautéed herbs

-Risotto with lemon, wild arugula and pecorino

-Affogato

On the 4th of July we hosted a feast here at Casa L Orto in honor of the American holiday, the arrival of Hallie’s parents in Praiano, and Tess’ return from her trip to the states. 

The Menu

Apertivo:

-Hallie’s homemade tomato rosemary foccacia

-Crostini and peppers with fava dip

Anitpasti:

-Insalata caprese

-Oregano onions

-Pepperonchini ripieni

-Melanzane alla parmigiana

-Insalata verde 

-Alici marinati 

Primi:

-Spaghetti alle alici e noci

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This past week marked La Festa di San Luca, celebrated in the Piazza San Luca in Praiano. For three days fireworks were set off in the piazza at all hours of the day. I could hear them in the morning when I was stringing up tomatoes, and I would pause during my night runs to watch them explode above the roofs. Each evening a procession carrying a metallic statue of San Luca and a magenta baldacchino paraded around the town and up to the piazza followed by a wind instrument band.

On Friday night after a late run and a late dinner I decided to venture up to the piazza by myself. Piazza San Luca is located just above Casa L Orto—a five minute walk up several hundred steps. The steps take off at a steep incline from the Piazza Moressa, just outside the gate of Casa L Orto. This little piazza consists of one small bench and a cement railing where the elderly women of the neighborhood like to perch themselves. Sometimes they lean over the railing to observe the action down at the grocery store on the street below and other times they seat themselves on the bench to observe and make conversation with the people that roll by—on foot, on vespa, or in stroller. 

I passed through the piazza Moressa, and headed up the steps. Before I could see the church of San Luca or the lights in the piazza, I heard the famous refrain from the Barber of Seville, floating down to me from the square.

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…they just keep coming! This week Hallie began the process of canning tomatoes to try and keep up with our ever increasing supply. Yesterday the two of us finished up our first batch of 12 jars. It was my first time canning and so Hallie taught me the painstaking process of sterilizing each jar and lid. The hardest part was using the tongs to pull each slippery jar out of the vat of boiling water. We had special tongs for the task but it was still a challenge.  Funneling the sauce into the jars without spilling any on the rim wasn’t easy either. I drew up some Casa L Orto labels by hand and we taped them on so that the recipients of the jars will know where the product came from! We’ve given away a few jars already—one to Salvatore at Bar Mare and one to Pasquale the barber—but we’ve only just begun.

This afternoon Jordan and I made the trip up several flights of steps and through the Piazza San Luca to the hardware store; a tiny hole in the wall stuffed with all the hardware goods you might need.  We bought 30 more glass jars so there is sure to be more tomato sauce as well as some other canned goods on the way. 

Yay! We have tomatoes! Too Many tomatoes.

It’s hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, we were all so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eagerly scavenging for even just a handful of the little red jewels. Ah, how young we were; how little we knew.

See, things are different now. The tomatoes just don’t seem to stop coming. And even with our discovery of the second most simple and tasty thing to do with a cherry tomato (the first being slicing it in half, sprinkling it with salt, and putting it in your mouth), we can hardly keep up with them. Good thing we love ‘em.

The Second Most Simple and Tasty Thing to do with a Tomato

- 1/2 c. extra virgin olive oil

- too many tomatoes (I used cherry tomatoes, but a larger variety would be equally delicious. Just halve them before roasting.)

- 2 medium sized white onions, cut into wedges

- handful of basil, torn

- 4 garlic cloves

-  sea salt to taste

- 1/4 c. grated pecorino romano cheese

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. 

2. Toss all ingredients but the cheese in a large bowl until tomatoes are evenly coated with oil.

3. Arrange tomatoes on a baking sheet, top with grated pecorino, and roast for 45 minutes.

All seven raised beds have now been planted! The raised beds were planted to serve as an easily accessible  kitchen garden. They contain: pepperoncini, chard, lettuce, radishes, parsnips, beets, dill, basil, chives, and parsley. 

We met Maurizio on the main road in Vettica. He pulled a small green plastic bag from his backpack, slipped his flip flops into it, and began to run barefoot down the hundreds of steps that lead to the beach.  We found our friend Alfonso in his tiny white speedo, moving kayaks into the water, the white speedo standing out like a cutout against his redish-purple skin. Maurizio and Alfonso directed each of us to one of the kayaks set out for us and we began paddling along the coast.

We had been introduced to Maurizio and Alfonso the first day that Tess brought us down to the beach at Gavitella. 5 minutes after we jumped in the water, Hallie got stung by a jellyfish. As soon as she got out a man wearing a tiny white speedo came over to treat the sting with olive oil and garlic. While Hallie’s wound was getting treated Tess introduced us to Alfonso (the one applying the oil) and his friend Maurizio. The next thing we knew, Maurizio was rowing us all over to a secluded beach where he said there wouldn’t be any jellyfish—or medusa as they are called in Italian. We pulled the boat up onto the pebbly beach—the six of us (Maurizio, Tess, Hallie, Jordan, Alfonso, and I) straining to push it through layers of wet gray stones.

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When I arrived in Praiano and saw the stairs, I assumed there was no way I would run while I was here. I was a serious cross country runner in high school and have run many different places on different terrain and in different conditions, but the stairs and winding roads still seemed too daunting.

One day during our first week at Casa L Orto, we decided to walk into Vettica (the town center) after a sweaty and exhausting morning weeding and stringing up tomatoes on the terraces. On our way back toward Casa L Orto we stopped at a trattoria to look at the menu. I felt so exhausted that I sat down on the cement against a railing. Somehow, in that moment of total exhaustion, I decided I should run back to the house to shake off the haze of heat and fatigue that was hanging over me.

To run from Vettica back to Casa L Orto requires running up what we call “the Vettica hill”—a hill that just keeps going up. It starts out steep and then it doesn’t flatten out until the top where it suddenly becomes a downhill. I ran up the hill—slowly—and was so happy to start going down the other side that I didn’t notice that there was a stretch of road where they had spread new cement. I ran right through. I left footprints that Jordan and Hallie saw as they walked by—wondering who had been silly enough to run through the wet cement. My plan had been to run straight back to the house, but instead I began running down the steps toward the beach at La Praia.

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Kate and Andy Spade celebrated their last night in Praiano over a simple garden dinner at the finest dining room table in town. 

Spaghetti with Lemon Garlic Confit and Pancetta

The Lemon Garlic Confit I used in the pasta is truly the most versatile and useful thing I know how to do in the kitchen. Make it once, and you’ll find that you’ll want it on more than just pasta. Crostini, marinades, roasted meats, roasted veggies, a spoon…

Lemon Garlic Confit

1. In a saucepan, submerge 7 peeled garlic cloves in extra virgin olive oil. Cook until fork-tender and golden brown, and remove saucepan from heat.

2. Remove the soft garlic cloves from the oil and mash them until they reach a paste. Then add them back into the olive oil.

3. Whisk in a bit of roughly chopped oregano, the juice of 3 lemons, and a handful of grated pecorino. 

Garden Salad 

I can proudly claim that this parchment-roasted Pezzogne made seven-year-old Bea Spade “even like the fish.” But let’s be real, how could you not love something that shares its roasting pan with onions, basil, and the first crop of sweet and plump cherry tomatoes?

 In the evening when we go down to water the terraces we often find Clementina, bent over in her white undershirt, pulling weeds out of her neat rows of vegetables. She keeps a white handkerchief tucked under one strap. From a distance her hair looks thick and brown, but when she bends over her tomatoes you can see that on the top her of head her hair is thin and white. Other times when I look out over the terraces from our kitchen window she is walking through the rows in her orange top and blue pants, smoking a cigarette. 

Clementina and her husband used to be responsible for farming all of Casa L Orto’s terraces, but now Clementina comes only in the evenings to farm a small section on one of the lower terraces. With help from her son Pasquale, Clementina maintains a vegetable garden that feeds her family. She also keeps chickens and two rabbits.  We ask Clementina about her garden and for suggestions with our work—she knows more about how to farm this land than anyone else. 

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