Trattoria Al Passo, Venice – Only Fish!

While we were all in Venice, Jeet’s friend and Andrew’s colleague, Umberto, wanted to take us to his favorite restaurant in the nearby village of Campalto. The restaurant’s card says Solo Pesce (only fish), and that’s all we had – lots of very, very good fish, most of it local and extremely fresh. Umberto and his friend Mauro ordered for all of us, and at the risk of a bad nautical pun, I will say that they went overboard.

Pictured above is the amuse bouche of smoked fish, which was served with Franciacorta (champagne-method wine made in Italy).

Then we had an antipasto crudo (raw antipasto). The object in front that looks like it has two big black eyes is a cavalletto di mare (sea grasshopper). These things have always looked creepy to me. The “eyes” are defensive mimicry – that’s actually the tail – and they have way too many little legs underneath. But I ate it anyway, and the flavor was divine – sweet, and the flesh slipped right down without being slimy. The plate also contained two kinds of shrimp (not raw) and some kind of fish (swordfish?).

I didn’t get a picture of the other antipasto, carpaccio di tonno (because I was too busy eating it): very thinly sliced raw red tuna, served almost Japanese style, but with olive oil. On the plate was a small mound of green stuff; I put a chunk of it in my mouth before I realized it was wasabi, which I’ve never seen served in an Italian restaurant before. Ouch!

Next we had cappesante (scallops), grilled, then served on decorative shells. Apparently this is not the season in which they are large. Didn’t matter – they were tasty!

Then razor clams, also grilled.

Then we finally got to the primi, first polenta with schie, the tiny and flavorful local shrimp. (We did wonder who peeled all these little bitty things.)

And, finally, risotto with clams. Fortunately, someone had thought to cancel the order for a pasta dish as well, and we hadn’t ordered any entrees.

All this took a long time, which we didn’t mind as we were eating and drinking fine things in good company. Pictured above are Enrico, Kiki, Hadi, and Geraldine (shown reacting to a bad joke, not asleep on the table!).

We paid about 65 euros a head for “only fish” (plus quite a lot of wine, coffee, a few desserts, and limoncello) – well worth it!

Trattoria Al Passo

via Passo 118, Campalto (VE)

phone: 041 900470, 338 347 6106

closed Mondays and Tuesdays

High Water (Not Hell) in Venice, part 5

When in Venice, Eat… Curry

In St. Mark’s Square, Jeet bought some necessary props (above).

We returned to the apartment to greet Andrew and Victoria, arrived from Paris. Jeet and Andrew set to work making a fantastic Indian meal.

Which they served in appropriate national costumes:

(Hey, I just live my life, in all its glorious weirdness – don’t ask me to explain it!)

Jeet learned his Indian cooking from Tsering and Tenzing, old friends from Woodstock. While we were enjoying the results of their lessons in Venice, our daughter, on quarter break from school, was staying with them at their home in Mussoorie. Yes, we’re all just one big happy family!

Venice 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , restaurant

High Water (Not Hell) in Venice, part 4

^ Even in Venice, kids go to school, and furnaces must be refueled.

^ How real Venetians ride in gondolas – none of your touristy lolling about on plush sofas!

^ The modern world is out of proportion to Venice (look closely).

Venice 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , restaurant

High Water (Not Hell) in Venice, part 3

A Tight Squeeze

On the way home from Ca’ Rezzonico, we saw this interesting scene.

The water was still high. How was this heavily-laden boat going to get past this bridge?

Answer: very, very carefully.

Knowing exactly how far your load sits above the water is a necessary skill for any Venetian boat operator. They might, you think, have removed a few items. But then the boat would be lighter and sit higher still…

Venice 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , restaurant

High Water (Not Hell) in Venice, part 2

Abuses Past and Present

Enrico, Geraldine, and I decided to visit a museum. The only exit from our apartment was now under water. I had gone back for two more pairs of boots, but there’d been a run on them that morning, and none were left in Enrico’s size. So he improvised with the heavy plastic bags the boots had come in. Fortunately, the only area we had to walk through water was this stretch right outside our building. I felt like a kid, splashing through the puddles in my boots.

We went to Ca’ Rezzonico, an ancient palazzo stuffed with antique furniture, frescoes, statuary, and paintings. Turning the corner to enter a room, I was startled by a marble bust of a woman, head lolling, eyes half closed, mouth open as if panting or moaning, breasts spilling out of her clothing. At first glance, this seemed to be an allegorical excuse for a portrait of a woman in the throes of orgasm. Then I noticed the wound on her marble breast, flowing with marble blood. The martyrdom of saint somebody-or-other, evidently. But it still looked to me like a squirm-inducing juxtaposition of death and sex. A suspect proportion of classical art depicts voluptuous, bare-breasted women being kidnapped, tortured, or killed (or already dead).

^ view from Ca’ Rezzonico (taking pictures inside not allowed)

Ca’ Rezzonico also features a set of four ebony statues of life-sized “Ethiopian warriors”, and several smaller statues of African slaves. You know they’re slaves (and not, perhaps, an appreciation of a different kind of racial beauty) because they all have iron chains around their necks, draping down to the ground. Huge chains. Unmissable. Nothing subtle whatsoever: these statues celebrate the ownership of other human beings.

Again – uncomfortable.

Tourism Frustrations

Italy bemoans the fact that it is no longer the world’s top tourism destination. But, goddamnit, Italy isn’t even trying to make itself particularly welcoming to tourists. For example: every painting in Ca’ Rezzonico had a tag with the artist’s name and dates and a title – all in Italian. What would it cost you to translate those titles? Make it just a little easier for the foreign tourist to enjoy? Each room had a single laminated sheet of text to explain – very inadequately – a vast array of fascinating objects. (We were with Geraldine, an art expert in her own right, so were far better off than most.)

Italians are justifiably proud of their national heritage of artistic and cultural treasures, and know a surprising amount about them. Pity they don’t go out of their way to share their knowledge with visitors.

Venice 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , restaurant

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia