The sun has returned, blue skies have prevailed! Was beginning to think this weekend of Friuli DOC was a wash (har) after the near flooding that ensued after the past three days of downpour. And this on the weekend of Friuli DOC, the regional food and wine festival (which I was pleased to realize I have attended 3 years in a row)! Saturday brought lightening, thunder, and heavy rains, which for some reason reminded FL of how yummy fresh-caught trout is. We forgot about our disappointment for the festival, and decided instead to brave the storm and head into the mountains.



There was a little restaurant on the river that we had seen last fall. At the time it was closed, and we always talked about how one day we would retrace our steps and find it again, one day when the timing was right. I could not have for the life of me recalled how to find the place, a beautiful old wooden hotel in the middle of the forest, a river running by. FL knew where to go, though, and after an hour of gorgeous, smoky scenery we arrived. The river was rushing wildly, and clouds hung low on the mountains, cutting our view of them off at the base, the sky a solid grey. The lights were on in the hotel, and the restaurant, to our surprise, was actually opened for business.



The inside was amazingly cozy, it felt like someone's house; and more than that, it felt like someone's house in Georgia, or Tennessee, the Blue Ridge Mountains, maybe, or the Smokies. Someplace familiar and safe, paneled in fragrant pine and cherry, washed brick floor, a fire burning. Out the windows the wind caused the branches of the magnolias and pines to lash against the windows fiercely. We took off our coats and had a seat.

There was no menu, just a little old lady who bustled over and told us what she had cooked up that morning: un pasticcio (what we mistakenly call "lasagna") with cream, bay and trout; pumpkin gnocchi, with butter and sage; roasted deer with mixed peppercorns; fresh trout, with lemon and white wine. FL told her to bring us one of each.







What with the polenta that comes as a staple with every meal (am thinking that it it surely kismet that I moved to the one region in Italy that upholds grits as a cultural, daily necessity. I can run, but my Southern-ness will follow me to the ends of the Earth), and the salad, the tiny ceramic jug of house white wine, we were stuffed. Sat by the fireside and let our tummies settled, full of butter and lemon and nutmeg.

oooh, must go! we are heading to Friuli DOC, finalmente!