Nada Vergili - July 21, 2008

A couple of weeks ago I returned from my usual Spring tours, I was very happy not only because they all went smoothly, but this time I was able to break what has become an unusual work routine (if you can call 'work' eating great Italian food and taking fun people to gorgeous sites) with an unexpected experience on the Amalfi Coast. Between my 4 groups in Tuscany and 1 group in the Veneto region, I took a few days off, grabbed my best friend Rossella (who lives in Florence), and quickly hopped on a train heading South. Despite the fact that we were able to take a Eurostar (Italy's fastest train), it ended up taking us about 5 hours from Florence to Sorrento. Because the 'fast track' stops in Naples, we had to switch to the slower and more 'spartan' (to say the least) Circum Vesuviana, a sort of light-rail that connects Naples to the small towns around Mt. Vesuvius. My initial purpose for this trip was to do some research on hotels and services to use for the tour I'll be leading next year to this area. Our simple exploration turned out to be an ultimate cultural experience full of unexpected surprises for both Rossella and me.

We spent our first night at Rossella's uncle's B&B on a side hill of Sorrento, overlooking the Bay of Naples, where we were soon introduced to a fun local character, who happened to become our driver for the first couple of days: Giovanni, but he liked to be called 'Johnny'. He was a true living stereotype: shiny black hair slightly longer in the back, yellow gold chain with a cross, dark sunglasses, beautiful white teeth and masculine Mediterranean features, tan skin, a shirt that was unbuttoned just 1-button too much, as much cologne as the curly black hair on his chest, and a cool attitude a' la Tony Manero.
So I said: "Johnny, what time are you picking us up in the morning? We've got a lot of territory to cover!" He answered with a smirk of confidence and an amusing Neapolitan accent: "I'll be here at 11." And so he was.

Knowing we were safe (i.e. not the ones who were driving), we were able to smoothly drive down the twisty, winding roads that hug the Amalfi Coast, stopping along the way in picturesque Amalfi, Ravello and admire the breath-taking views of the Mediterranean from Villa Rufolo and Villa Cimbrone. 'I have never seen lemons this big! What are they, on steroids or something?" shouted Rossella. "No, they're not lemons. Those are called 'cedri' (cedars, in English). We slice them and put them in salads. You eat the rind, it's very good, sweet, not as tart as lemons." responded Johnny. "Can I try one?" eagerly asked Rossella with an inquisitive grin on her face. Five minutes did not go by before the car stopped by one of the many vendors along the side of the road, with bright-yellow, red, and green signage indicating they had 'the best' produce of the entire coast. Holding a cedro in your hand was almost like holding an over-sized softball, but indeed, it was sweet and much more scented than a lemon.

Before we knew it, our first couple days went by in a blink of an eye, as we continued our fine-comb investigation through sophisticately decorated hotel lobbies and local hidden restaurants just waiting to be discovered. We transfered to a hotel in the heart of Positano, also called 'the vertical city' because of all the hotels and elegant villas decked with bougainvillaea, stacked vertically on steep terraced hillsides, all cascading down to a small bay. Positano, like the other small towns on the Amalfi coast, has a wonderful array of tiny shops, offering locally made crafts as well as countless cafes, bars and restaurants in which to relax and soak up the atmosphere of this vibrant Mediterranean coast. Turn any corner, and you will find yourself in a hidden piazza hiding a plethora of cafes and shops in the maze of steep stairs and cobbled stone alleyways.
The moment came when we had to say 'ciao' to Johnny and swiftly hop on another driver's shiny vehicle. After all, we had to research driving companies as well. This is when Gaetano stepped into the picture, a handsome man with a bright welcoming smile, gorgeous olive skin, and a deep toned voice that would make Marcello Mastroianni envious. With a tone of warm hospitality, he said: "I understand you ladies want to visit vineyards and off-the-beaten path destinations in this area. If that's the case, I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine, he's a chef and owner of a very good local restaurant. I'm sure he can give you some tips and ideas on the right places." Our schedule was tight and we anxiously aimed at squeezing the life out of every single second, so I responded, "We'll go only if you think this is really worth it.", and we proceeded taking back roads, beautiful scenic routes, passing by mountain villages, only slowed down by a herd of sheep along the road and even a funeral procession.

Finally we approached a lovely courtyard, greeted by a handsome green-eyed man in his late thirties, it was Mario Iaccarino, the owner's son. He patted Gaetano on the shoulder and giggled, "You have a tough life, man, don't you? Always working way too hard!!" Gaetano smiled back returning the same degree of sarcasm: "Yes of course, almost as hard as you do! Oh, these are my two lovely clients, Nada and Rossella. Nada takes groups to Italy and has some questions for you."
Mario turned his attention to us and suddenly became 'slightly' more serious, in a more business-minded mode. "Please follow me, let me show you our extensive wine cellar. It is an ancient tunnel, dug out by the Etruscans, roughly 80 ft underground, ending at the bottom of a well." We soon realized how deep it was as Rossella and I kept going further and further down the narrow steps in a sort of 'choo choo train' motion, hanging on to each other for stability: her hands on my shoulders and my hands on Gaetano's. We could barely keep breathing without our sinuses getting stuffed up by the ancient molds in the air. Mario continued his narration: "25,000 bottles of wines from every region of Italy, but also wines from all over the world, including France." Of course, we were very impressed by this subterranean wine-bunker, but couldn't wait to get back into open air.
As soon as we strenuously resurfaced to the light, almost gasping, Mario walked us to the main house, which had been recently turned into a luxury B&B. "My great-grandfather founded our restaurant in 1890 and my father kept the tradition of passion for fine food and wine by acquiring an organic farm which supplies fresh ingredients to the kitchen every day. If you want, I can have someone take you to the farm. Yes, yes, let's do that."
I didn't have enough time to respond "Grazie, but no, grazie." much less when he asked us to stay for a 'quick lunch'. Again, we were on a very tight schedule and started to get antsy about continuing with our plans.
With a classic wink and a smile, he insisted: "Come on, it's 1 o'clock, you need to eat. Just a quick lunch...a sandwich..fast-food, a McDonald-type lunch! My brother, Ernesto, is the chef and he can fix something quick for you guys."

Little did we know what we had committed to by accepting his charming 'light lunch' invitation. Completely oblivious to what was about to happen, Rossella, Gaetano, and myself sat together at a round table covered with a soft white cloth, exquisite stemware and cutlery. A sophisticated ambience with pink-toned accents, bright wall coverings, and beautiful contemporary paintings lined the dining room.
It wasn't long before the restaurant's sommelier came by, pouring a refreshingly bubbly Prosecco in our glasses. Shortly after, a parade of courses perfectly designed on our plates as modern artwork unfolds before our eyes. Sharply outfitted waiters walked out of nowhere to our table, as in a perfectly synchronized waltz, then lifting the shiny silver domes from our plates, uncovering the delicious aromas of a culinary masterpiece.

After she took the first bite, Rossella opened her eyes so wide, they looked as they were about to pop-out. "This is unbelievable. I've never had something so tasty and delicate at the same time.”, she said while savoring the soft flavors of homemade ravioli in a light tomato sauce. "This doesn't even taste like ravioli! I mean, such a common dish as spinach ravioli with tomato sauce and it's like nothing I've ever had in my life!”, I responded. Indeed, it was the best and most uniquely crafted ravioli all of us had had. Courses came one after the other, after the other. All very distinctive and divinely flavorful.

As we were indulging in this taste-bud heaven, I abruptly stopped my fork on its tracks: "What do you mean that's your mother?!? How's that possible? She looks way too young!" I said to Mario referring to a gorgeous, impeccably dressed, classy lady who energetically walked through the doors and to our table.
They both smiled. While pointing her finger at a newspaper page in her hand, she seamed to be very zealous about talking to us. It appears to be an article from the New York Times, October 2006 issue.
We could only squeeze in a few compliments before she enthusiastically interrupted us, telling us about the article she was holding on to. She said "This man was a food & travel journalist for the NY Times who died at 71, just before this article could be published. They published it soon after R.W. Apple's death and in the article he writes about his top 10 favorite restaurants in the world. He included our restaurant, Don Alfonso in the list."
Our jaws not only dropped, but we couldn't even get a decent word out of our mouths. Gaetano knew about this all along, but the little rascal didn't even mention it to us. It turns out we were having a 'McDonald-style lunch' at one of Italy's top restaurants. 3-star Michelin and a ton of other high recognitions make the Don Alfonso not just a restaurant, but rather an institution. Oh, and allow me to mention that no other Italian restaurant was mentioned on that list. All of a sudden we remembered all the beautiful cook books sitting on the shelves in the lobby: they were all written by Alfonso Iaccarino, Mario's father.
We were absolutely dumb-founded, confused, and felt quite silly... the wonderful food, wine, elegant setting, the warm and humble welcome we received by such an important family. "Why didn't you tell us?" I asked Gaetano. He just responded, "Don't worry, they're my friends and I really wanted you to see this place." As we walked back to the car, a small run-down and battered pick-up truck pulls up in the driveway, from where a scruffy older man with big rubber boots and worn out working clothes steps down. "This is my dad. He just returned from the farm.” said Mario, introducing Rossella and me to this 'culinary legend', Alfonso.
Although the introduction was short, we left with a full belly and much gratitude.
After reluctantly returning to catch the train back to Florence, Rossella called her fiance Francesco to tell him about our experience at the Don Alfonso restaurant. Being a passionate gourmand and wine enthusiast, he could not believe we had actually eaten there. With a small chip on his shoulder from feeling a little envious, he asked: "How much did you guys spend? Like 200 - 300 Euros per person? Yeah, I'm sure the bill was as memorable as the meal."

I'll leave it to you to imagine his reaction when he found out our lunch was 'on the house' thanks to our new friend Gaetano and his connections.