Udon in Italy

I keep traveling.

Normally, the Siena plaza is big and calm, but during Palio di Siena, a horse race that takes place twice a year, things get ugly. It is too narrow for 10 horses to race and many riders fall off and horses fall.

What do the locals eat while they get heated up with the thrilling race?

They eat “Udon”.

Thick hard noodles made with wheat and water. Italian Udon, made in Toscana.

It is quite different from spaghetti.

It is called PICI.

In front of Siena park, people eat cream and bacon PICI.

It takes a lot of effort to chew on.

This is interesting. I will walk around and try these.

I came to the supposedly number 1 cafeteria in Siena.

Italian Udon, PICI was a popular menu here too.

A strong culture of wheat.

Italian Udon PICI is strong.

But it has no taste of salt.

So you want to eat it with sauce that has a strong taste.

Wild boar ragoût is the classic sauce.

Toscana is the countryside.

A small village called San Quirico in Toscana.

In Japan, they used to call wheat, Merican powder.

This is because they imported them from America.

They should have called it Tarian powder.

Garlic tomato PICI is thick, hard, and unrefined. I want to chew on it forever.

As I eat, I think to myself, Japanese Udon has a lot of potential.

The sun is still up, but bring on the thick red wine and Grappa!

　

Italian Udon PICI, duck ragoût @ San Quirico.

A famous comedian from back in the day once said Udon was a drink. He actually drank it.

I respected that.

Montepulciano, an old village on top of Mt. Toscana.

Later, I practiced drinking Udon without chewing on it for a few days.

I was a child but I tried it with soft udon from Osaka, so I was able to do it.

No way I can do it with Italian Udon, PICI.

Italian Udon PICI, tomato garlic.

Thick. Hard. Strong.

There was another comedian who would eat Udon, sneeze, and pull out noodles form his nose.

I cannot do that with these noodles. I would get a nosebleed.

But I’m eating tomato sauce so I guess it’s okay.

Wild boar ragoût, a classic sauce for Italian Udon, PICI.

But there’s more boar meat than noodles.

Ragoût with PICI.

Can I get some strong red wine from Toscana?

Also, do you have any white rice?

Next to the state of Toscana is Umbria, Assisi.

Here too the Italian Udon awaits the pilgrims.

It is the same thickness and stiffness, but instead of PICI, it is called Strangozzi.

This name gives it a better sense of how strong it is.

Cream and black pepper Strangozzi.

Simple, but its strength stands out.

Orvieto, top of Mt. Umbria.

Upon arrival, a dignified strong cathedral from the 13^th century awaits the pilgrims, and they cry.

Eat Italian Udon and wipe your tears.

This store had shortened pasta, so they called it Umbrian pasta instead of Strangozzi.

Stiff noodles and ragoût with strong tomatoes.

Orvieto is known for its strong white wine.

That too please.

Sorry, I cheated on you at the end.

This is Tagliatelle.

It said artichoke pasta, so I couldn’t stop myself from ordering it.

The end.

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Holiday at Toscana

   

I rented the Fiat 500 and a white/red Gabriola in Rome and arrived in Persia.

18 years ago, Hidetoshi Nakata became a legend by scoring 2 goals against Juventus on his first match at Serie A.

A simple stadium at a simple town.

In 2001, as I was walking down the road of Morocco, many people called out to me saying, Nakata!

A player from Umbria, a countryside of Italy, became famous in North Africa via satellite.

I realized the power of soccer and the power of satellites.

15 years later, I was at the site.

A place of pilgrimage. Assisi. Umbria, Etruria, Rome, Eastern Goths, Kingdom of Langobardorum, Frank, Persia, history of governance by the pope.

Anywhere you go around here, the history is similar.

The numerous rampart villages and alleys tell the story.

Enter Siena of Toscana from Umbria.

The headquarters of Monte Dei Paschi, the oldest bank in Italy.

From the left you will see baroque, gothic, and renaissance buildings from 14 – 16c.

Sophisticated Toscana.

I will never forget how the director from the Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications said “I can’t trust Americans or Italians” during a negotiation to liberate telecommunications between Japan and America in 1985.

Maybe these Americans visiting Toscana is the last people he can trust.

But they are good people.

・・・Castiglione

Church, plaza, sound of the bell, stone pavement, waving emblem on the flag, upper roads that connect houses, curio, shoes, bags, lace, jewelry, glass art, pottery, miniatures, old books, olive oil. I love them.

It must’ve been a lot of work to build fortresses and churches on a mountain like this.

・・・Castirano Dolche

As I get bored of driving, I think about Italian names that end with Ni.

Fellini, Pasolini, Antonioni, Taviani, Mastroianni, Puccini, Armani, Modigliani, Marconi, Mussolini, Berlusconi...

I ran out of ni, so I will move on to Italian names that end with i.

Bisconti, Totti, Inzaghi, da Vinci, Versce, Vivaldi, Ferrari, Machiavelli, Botticelli, Bertoucci, Montessori...  Pienza

Next, Italian names that end with o.

Michelangelo, Galileo, Baggio, Caravaggio, Gattuso, Del Piero, Sandro Lopopolo, Renzo Piano, Umberto Eco, Ferragamo, Girolamo... Cortona

Arriving in the mountains, I stayed at a renovated post office from the 15^th century.

The hot spring in the back dates back to the Roman period.

I wish they would renovate old post offices in Japan too.

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Sicily and Noboribetsu

Column for those involved with the post office

The neck of the marlin stared at me. Unfamiliar fish that look like a small shark or a sea robin stared at me too. The Palermo market is packed with seafood from the Tyrrhenian Ocean. On a closer look, you might think the fish were smiling at you. I probably felt they were staring at me because I convinced myself that Sicily was a hiding den for mafia members.

The ocean, and the mafia. Yes, I remember something like that from earlier. Remember. 25 years ago. I was working at Noboribetsu in Hokkaido. I was in my later 20s. I was a director at a postal office.

A staff dove into the office screaming, “delivery mistake!” Apparently, they delivered an important party invitation to a succession of a mafia leader to a different office and they are panicking.

Oh no. We are 100% at fault. We have no choice but to apologize, but I wonder what waits us after that. Would they take one of our arms? I am not sure. But there was no time to wonder. I took the biggest gift box for customers in the director’s room and headed to the mafia’s office with a section chief who was about to retire.

It was a house next to the ocean. We opened the door to find a topless skinhead man sitting on top of a stage. Next to him were young members, giving him a massage along his elegant tattoos. It was the boss.

Oh no. I feel so overpowered. But the boss talked calmly. The young members yelled and the boss calmed them down. We just kept apologizing. Staring at the tea in front of us, we just kept bowing.

Boss: “I am not asking you. I am asking the director.” No, I am the director. “Don’t be ridiculous young one.” No, it’s true. There is this system at the post office. I just came from Tokyo. “What, so you’re an elite?” Yes, no, well, my mother raised me herself, I graduated college and before I knew it I was at the post office.

“Why are you staring at the tea cup.” Well, I was wondering if I would get hit if I drink the tea. Or maybe I would get hit for being rude if I don’t drink the tea.”

Then everyone laughed out loud. We drank tea. “What did you bring us.” Yes, this is a gift. “I know, what is it?” Ah, well I grabbed what I could from the post office. “Is it cash?” No, there is a lot of cash at the post office but I don’t think so. I opened it. It was a towel. “Oh, it’s just a towel.” Yes, well, it is a towel.

Maybe they thought I was weird. They asked me lots of questions about labor union counter measures at the post office. “Looks like you have it pretty tough too.” They wouldn’t let us go home. But at the end, they gave us a ride back to the post office in their car. The other staff, worried about us, seemed surprised.

It was scary. All I did was drink tea. It was a few hours but I’m sure I lost weight. Today, it is a story I can laugh about on the shores of Sicily. Dangerous work, scary experiences, they all become stories to tell. Maybe. Just like that, the day goes by.

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