Late into the evening they stood outside the hotel door, to the sides, pushed back by a rope and a vigilant porter. And they were there this morning. mostly young, not minding the cold. Stood and waited. I finally had to ask: che cosa state asspettando? (what are you waiting for?) The answer -- Johnny Depp!
Of course, I wouldn't recognize him if I saw him. That felt just wrong -- I could be in an elevator with him (the fancy executive suites where I imagine he's staying are on the upper floors of my hotel) and not realize it? I look him up and then I see it, the newspaper headline in the paper Torino Today:
Johnny Depp a Torino per il nuovo film: nel cast Riccardo Scamarcio, Al Pacino e Luisa Ranieri
It's supposedly a movie about the life of Amadeo Modigliani -- a tortured artist whose work I actually like. (Johnny Depp will not be acting in this, but directing it and shooting some scenes from it. The film will be based in Paris, but supposedly Depp is mining background material from here. But why? To my knowledge, the artist himself never lived here. Is it that Depp spent time at the Museum of Cinema? Speculations abound!) This whole Modigliani filming opened my eyes to the possibility of there being perhaps a very good collection of modern art in the city. I look this up and boom! There is! GAM -- the Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art has an amazing collection! And guess what? All tickets are sold out, or at least are not available for purchase for today. Possibly because of the entourage that's in town. So, Johnny Depp opened my eyes to another side of the city and then with the same hand (likely) took away the privilege of exploring it. Win some lose some.
The day is a repeat of Monday -- hazy sunshine, warm temperatures. I'll take it!
But first, breakfast. After yesterday's big meals, I have zero appetite for food, but I am rested (thanks, Barbara, for suggesting Benedryl! It worked!) and full of punch, so I decide to eat something. (Too, it comes with the price of the room.) Like a true Italian, I stick with a few sweet bites, fruit, and milky coffee. (Italians don't do breakfast. They just tickle their sweet tooth and move on.) Orange cake, a honey "brioche" and a marmalade "brioche." A bit of a misnomer there, but hey, we all engage in cultural appropriation at one point or another. Here's my breakfast pic:
Two cups of milky coffee and I'm ready to move on.
Where to? Well, there's the Central Market. We drove past it (more like sped past it!) yesterday and it looked chaotic, but it is a huge thing and might show a side of Turin that most who live here know and engage with.
It's a half hour walk that takes me through a different part of town.
(Note the shoes! At least in Turin, they are everyone's choice of footwear.)
One noticeable thing about Turin is that there are very few cars. Trams, buses, taxis and the occasional vehicle. The center is a ZTL -- Zona a Trafico Limitato. Only residents and cars with special permits allowed. This makes for a very quiet city!
On the way to the market, I pass through perhaps the most noted square in the city -- Piazza San Giovanni. This is where you'll find Turin's late 15th century Cathedral. With the Bell Tower.
I follow a group of school children inside.
Oh, yes, I remember now -- this is where the "Shroud" is on display. The fake one. There are rows of pews before it and a cluster of worshipers -- I just hear Italian, so maybe locals? The actual shroud (however you want to believe in its authenticity) is in a box underneath the fake one.
And speaking of copies and/or forgeries, this, too is where you can see Leonardo da Vinci's the Last Supper.
Think I'm confused, right? Isn't the Last Supper in Milan? Well yes, but this is a copy of it painted by Cagna in 1836. So heavy that it almost brought down the wall of the place where it hung before its move to the Cathedral. Now, if this is a faithful replica, does that make it a forgery or just a plain old copy?
Alright, onto the market!
It is huge. Largest outdoor market in Europe actually. I zero in on the produce. So many stalls of artichokes!
Most are from Sardinia.
The market is not a quite one. Vendors shout at you to get you to notice their foods. Since my camera is now small and invisible to most, and since I inspect produce carefully and close up, as I would if I lived here, I get the shouts and encouragements to buy as well. If I take out the camera, they back off. Ah, turista. -- I hear their note of disappointment. Sorry!
(all Italian markets have tomatoes. all the time.)
(more artichokes?!)
(my favorite predinner munch at home consists of leaves of raddichio and endive. there's something about their bitter taste that I love...)
(yes, more tomatoes. and zucchini flowers.)
Inside the hall, there are plenty of meat vendors and of course, loads of cheese sellers. With an Italian character all its own.
(this is why you have to dress correctly for the market: you may run into someone you know!)
Well worth the walk here!
I take a different path back and this is where I have a change of heart toward Turin. It's not just a northern Italian city. There are so many vast, uncrowded squares here! They open up the city significantly and on a sunny winter day, it's just heavenly to cut across them.
(she's either playing for the Ukraine or she herself is Ukrainian)
(one square leads into the next...)
In the afternoon I take another longer hike, to the other side of the river...
... and up the hill to the Chiesa del Santa Maria del Monte dei Cappuccini.
(a more residential, affluent, hilly neighborhood)
I come mostly for the view, hazy as it is.
And down again. [During this return walk I check my phone for messages. Ed wrote. Our coop was raided this morning. We lost two of the Bresse girls. Decapitated, carried away. Such a good bunch we had now! The remainng three are trumatized. What are you going to do...]
I thought about pausing for a coffee in the sunshine once more, but since I am leaving Turin tomorrow, I changed my mind and looked instead for a small ma and pa local cafe that serves the classic bicerin (the combo of gianduja hazelnut chocolate and coffee and milk). I did not order it correctly. By the taste of it, I think I got a pure thick hot gianduja chocolate. So rich! I could not finish it.
I pass a tiny park where everyone is so enjoying the warm near-evening air!
And at the hotel, the mountains once again come into focus as I admire them from my room.
Downstairs, the crowds swell for a Depp sighting. (I can see them from my window. They chant Johnny in the most Italian way -- John-ny, John-ny!) And they are rewarded! At 7, he comes out. Somewhere in that tumult is Depp.
...I set out for Scatto Restaurant. It's on yet another pretty square, which a little bit reminds me of San Marco.
Scatto is supposed to be only 6 minutes from the hotel and it is reputed to have great locally sourced food. A couple of weeks ago, I checked the price, I clicked, and I booked. I did wonder if perhaps this wasn't your ordinary trattoria when they asked for a deposit with the reservation. Oh, oh. Is this sort of like Johnny Depp -- something with a cult following?
It is. Turns out Scatto is run by the Costardi Brothers. Christian and Manuel. I saw an interview with them maybe a year ago. They are the gurus of risotto (among other things). They use the fantastic Carnaroli rice from the Piedmont region (where I am). Scatto isn't their first restaurant. They are the chefs behind Ristorante Christian e Manuel in Vercelli -- a town where their grandfather once ran a hotel, halfway between Turin and Milan. That place has a Michelin star. There, Christian makes risotto and Manuel does desserts. And so much more. Michelin stars aren't easy to come by.
Scatto isn't at that level of stardom. Simple, minimalist decor, with a set menu that wont require you to put a second mortgage on your house. Thank goodness. Still, when I checked the place on line one last time before heading out, I decided to change clothes and I felt myself to be grateful that I brought one pair of pants with me on this trip that isn't corduroy (my standard winter travel wardrobe is 100% corduroy).
Once again I choose the "select your own" tasting menu. Three small dishes and a dessert.
And it is too much. Their fabled risotto? Today it's with calamari and pumpkin and ten other things that I cannot now remember (served in their signature Warhol like can).
What I do remember is that halfway through it I'm thinking -- everyone of those cooks in the open kitchen is watching me. As are the waitstaff. And despite that, I cannot finish this signature dish. And by the way, I have two dishes to go. (Which I also then cannot finish.)
The food is beautiful, inventive, fabulous. I hadn't eaten a lunch and I ate only a small breakfast. What just happened here?
(kiwi, white chocolate, etc...)
There are so many reasons for having a low appetite: yesterday's packed meals are still with me. Too, at home, I have so moved away from foods that are not veggie based, that I am overwhelmed by them now, as I chomp away at pasta, meats and fish, with creams and butter no less. And, I really do blame much of it on my pinkie finger. It got infected way back at the farmette and the infection lingered. The day before leaving I went to the doc and said -- I feel so stupid with this, but I'm going away and I want to know if I should do anything for it. She at once put me on a heavy course of antibiotics. Which I'm plowing through right now. There's little out there that'll tame your appetite more than antibiotics. Finally, there's the age factor. I eat so much less than I did when I was younger. Could it be that these tasting menus are meant for younger people? The crowd tonight was staid -- in their later middle years I'd say. Nonetheless, once again, I am sure I was the oldest one in the room.
So, a wonderful restaurant, where I cannot finish all the food that's put before me.
I'm learning that Turin's small is my enormous.
I rolled into bed after that. As well I should. Tomorrow morning I leave for Rome.
