At the turn of the century (possibly before), Signor Buitoni had a pasta shop. In 1907 (that historic year!), he decided to add a few sweets to his offerings. He made a rum-filled sweet called the "Rosanna" and a few others...which quickly took off! Pretty soon, the sweets side of the business eclipsed the pasta portion.
Fairly early on, Buitoni partnered with a couple (the Spagnolis) to work on some of the marketing and to develop products. They introduced chocolate to the mix, which became wildly popular. One inspired day, Luisa Spagnoli (who in her own right was a clothing designer at the time -- more about that later) decided to use the leftover bits and pieces from the chocolate fabrication process, mash it up, and cover it with chocolate. Makes me think of "refrigerator soup", you know? All the dribs and drabs that get tossed in together & served? Or "leftover casserole". Made with chocolate, one would expect it to be a bit tastier, though.
And it was. She called her creation "pugno" (I think) -- meaning in rather crude slang "punch" (as in a punch to the face). After the others tasted this, it was time to rename it; with a bit of jujitsu they changed the violence to love, and the pugno became the "Baci" (meaning "kisses").
Overnight it was a huge success. To the point that they had to build a new factory almost immediately. Now, our tour guide proudly pointed to a display where were shown the three icons of Italy: Vespas, Baci, and...Fiat 500s! (You knew I'd drag my car into it somehow, didn't you, since I hadn't gushed about it for a while?)
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| Tricia with our shopping bags |
What would a trip to the chocolate factory be without a trip to the chocolate factory store? A wasted morning, if you ask me. So, loaded up with our annual provisions (including a particular chocolate that I haven't found elsewhere -- dark chocolate with red fruits -- really scrumptious, and I don't even LIKE dark chocolate!) and a sampling of the Rosanna (which everyone associates with their grandmother since that's what she would have in the candy bowl!), we went on our way.
Believe it or not, we were actually ready for some lunch (real food), and tried to find the restaurant recommended by our tour guide. La Collina Verde was the trough specified, and we were told it was next to the hospital. Negotiating Perugian traffic and traffic circles and all the excitement that entailed, we made it to the hospital. Then what? We circled around the parking lot, feeling a bit calmer now that we were out of traffic, and found niente. No Collina, no verde.
As we were about to leave the parking lot none the fuller, we saw a sign: "La Collina" !!!! Could this be it? As a confirmation the sign was -- you guessed it -- verde. Unfortunately, that was all the confirmation we received: the place looked like a 1950s roadside motel from the states, including the putrid color, in this case a yellowish orangish beige.
Expecting Norman Bates around any corner, despite the architectural disconnect, we wandered into a deserted courtyard -- peering this way and that for any indication. Aha! A sign for a trattoria! As we turned to the right, a fellow in a penguin suit popped out from behind. He told us he could fix us right up. Thinking he was with the accommodations portion of the resort, we told him we were just looking for a salad or light meal. No problem! He could take care of everything.
You know how in the cartoons they pull performers off the stage using the crook of a walking stick? Tricia and I felt vaguely as though we were being pulled INTO the restaurant with this technique. Or maybe he was using a cattle prod.
Docile as lambs, we surveyed our fate: a sea of empty tables with beautiful damask tablecloths -- the works. Oh my word, what had we got ourselves into? Was this going to be a three-martini lunch with a three-martini price?
Directly facing me across the table was not my lovely companion, but a television. That was on. Ick. So I asked kindly (given that we were the only ones there apart from a canoodling couple who had eyes only for each other) whether the TV could be turned off. Absolutely not, I was told, but they would cheerfully move us to another table. The waiter-cum-penguin escorted us to an alternate location, where I continued to have front-row seats for the so-called entertainment.
Seeing that that wouldn't do, he figuratively shrugged his shoulders, waddled us back over to the first table, and turned off the TV.
And he didn't like me.
Anyway, we looked at the menu. First good sign: it was all in Italian (no menu turistico here!). First bad sign: it had a ton of stuff that we didn't recognize. I started inquiring about what exactly we would get -- no sheep's eyes or anything even more revolting, you know the precautions one always makes. Thawing, our waiter went to inquire with the chef, because some words had two possible culinary meanings -- either cherry tomatoes or a type of cheese -- and came back quite cheerfully with the response. Tricia asked for the fish platter, but expressed some concern about tentacles. Not knowing the word for that part of marine anatomy, I had to use hand gestures, which caused some amusement, I'm sure.
Back he came, cheerfully now, bearing salad which he placed carefully on a table that was pulled up next to ours. The most elaborate salad ceremony commenced. We had a toss here, a toss there, a sprinkling of olive oil, a crank of salt from the large hand grinder...you get the idea.
Thereafter, we had a most convivial luncheon. The food really was quite delicious, and Tricia's fish platter (sans tentacles, but avec shrimp heads) was a sight to behold. At the end of the meal (about 3:30 or so) we had a look around the restaurant. During the course of our salad tossing, shrimp dissection, and coffee stirring, the entire place had become packed. We couldn't believe how many people were just now getting around to their lunch!
Time to move on. Feeling like contented lionesses, we trundled off to my Italian icon and set our sights for the next whistle stop on our Perugian tour. Having heard about Luisa Spagnoli, how could we resist going to her shop in downtown Perugia?
Ironic note: as we were circling around trying to find the shop, I was back on my old stomping ground of our Questura-hunting days! However, that didn't help our locating the shop. As I had pulled over to ask a bus driver (who compassionately told me that he was a stranger here himself) about her shop, Tricia mused, "What's Spagnoli?" Not really listening or paying attention, I said I didn't know.
We reviewed the schematic provided by our Perugina tour guide one more time. Hmm. It did say to keep going this direction, so...even though it looked rather residential...we continued. Under the bridge (with a smaller archway on the right for pedestrians -- very sweet), up the hill, and our faith ran out. As I turned around, I nearly ran smack-dab into a sign reading, "Luisa Spagnoli" !!!!!!
We found our shop. It was an outlet. And the clothes were lovely...beautifully designed and tailored. And not expensive given the materials and construction. Tricia found a few items. I wasn't really looking, but as she was checking out, I saw it: a cone of yarn!!!!! Voice trembling with excitement, I inquired as to whether these were decorations or for sale.
Well satisfied, both Tricia and I left with our purchases (and our Luisa Spagnoli bags), and decided that it was time to head home.
Love,
Alexandra
p.s. The pacchini turned out to be tomatoes, in this case.
This was a great "outing". The chocolate factory got my attention. I could drink chocolate "punch" before it turned into chocolate kisses.
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