A cold wind was strongly blowing down from the mountains, toppling trees in city parks and making us question the sanity of walking down the tree-lined streets of Rome to Termini Train Station. But we were kidless for the weekend and nothing was going to stop our little planned getaway. Already a little frustrated from having to scale-back from renting a car and heading for the mountains, we were instead jumping on a train for the short ride to the suburban hilltown of Frascati. We’d heard that it is known for wine, pork sandwiches, and centuries-old country villas of the super wealthy.
The wind, of course, was still blowing as we walked from the Frascati train station through the winding streets and alleys of the old town center and out the other side. Our B&B promised great views of Rome in the distance, but it wasn’t terribly convenient. By the time we walked the 2-km, we were both wondering how we could get this cold when the temperature wasn’t even below freezing. The knock on the front door went unanswered so we walked around to the back to find a quaint restaurant overlooking a wide valley with snow-capped mountains in the distance. Through the door, we could see a couple huddled near the fireplace on the far side of the room and they beckoned for us to enter.
The woman welcomed us and then brushed past to make sure that her very large dog wasn’t too friendly with ours. The man stood as we approached, revealing his chef’s uniform, and asked in Italian if wanted something warm to drink. From the half-eaten pear on the plate in front of him I could see that we’d interrupted their afternoon. My wife said that she’d love an espresso, but I said I didn’t want anything warm. The chef asked if I preferred wine and which color I would like, strongly and repeatedly urging me toward the red. He returned with a coffee and a large glass of wine. He then went over to a table in the corner and pulled a cloth off a hidden hunk of prosciutto. It was then that I noticed the many cuts of meat hanging from the ceiling, curing, on the far side of the room. He proceeded to cut some very thin slices of prosciutto onto a plate, which he brought to me at the table closest to the fireplace. He asked how the wine tasted and waited for me to try the ham. Of course I said that everything was “stupendo.”
But when my wife reached for a piece of prosciutto the chef let out a scream, startling both of us. He loudly objected to mixing ham with coffee – an obvious cultural faux pas except for Americani. Luckily espresso cups are small and hers was soon empty, prompting the chef to get another glass of wine. Now it was OK for her to try the meat. When the dog-woman returned from outside, the chef recanted to her the story of the crazy Americana who wanted to eat prosciutto with her coffee. But what a great way to come in from the cold and be welcomed into great place!
+++++++++
Considering a trip to Frascati? We stayed a wonderful night at B&B da Giacomo. Absolutely no promotional consideration was given to us. We simply had a great experience!