Belluno- Eating the Food of the Mountains

The small mountain town of Belluno is a good example of why no other country in the world can match Italy’s food chops. Pick any region, city, or town in Italy, and they are guaranteed to have unique and delicious regional specialties. We didn’t choose Belluno for its food, but somehow it still blew us away with its cuisine.

We were looking for a weekend activity that did not involve hopelessly navigating a new city and looking for the local palace/church/art. I love those things (they are nice secondary reasons to visit places behind food), but it was time to escape cities and check out the mountains. We picked Belluno because it was in the mountains, and it had a convenient train stop- that was about the extent of our thought process.

After we got our bearings in the town and got settled into the hotel, we immediately began the quest to find our first meal. The guidebook recommended Al Mirapiave, a small pizza place. As soon as I walked into the restaurant, I was assaulted by a sensory overload- the smell of pizzas bubbling in the back combined with the ridiculous view overlooking the mountains was enough to justify my trip to this small town. When we received our pizzas, they tasted as good as the mountains looked. Mine was topped with locally grown porcini mushrooms and caramelized onions. It was amazing, but I probably would have been equally satisfied eating a heaping plate of caramelized onions alone. Sarah’s pasta was another notable dish- penne with pumpkin and scamorza smoked cheese, which was a perfect sweet and smoky combination that I have rarely encountered before. (Side note- I’ve been surprised by how much pumpkin is utilized in Northern Italian cuisine. Northern Italian chefs throw this hearty vegetable on pizza or toss it with pasta.)

Both fattened and enlivened by the pizza, we decided to see what these mountains looked like up close. After a long walk down a winding road not built for pedestrians (read: near-death experience), we found a small marked trail. It wasn’t the trail that we originally set out to find, but we were all ready to get off the street and into the woods. After hiking for a while, half the group decided to take a break by a stream. Suddenly, something caught my eye: a small, mysterious sign pointing up into the forest that read “Le Polse.” Always a slave to curiosity, I exhorted Kate, Phil, Sarah, and Jenny to follow me up this mysterious trail.
We scaled the slippery, treacherous trail for about ten minutes until the trees parted and we arrived at a clearing. A small house rose seemingly out of nowhere, surrounded by well-kept gardens. At the same moment, we all realized that we might actually be on someone’s property. Just as we turned to leave, an elderly man popped up and yelled “Buon giorno! Volete qualcosa da bere?” (Good day! Would you like something to drink?)

It could have been out thirst. It could have been our desire to have an authentic Italian experience. Maybe our mothers’ lessons about accepting things from strangers never stuck. I’m not sure what it was, but something in our collective consciousness made us agree to follow this stranger into his house. We expected the man to fill up our water bottles, and perhaps we would exchange pleasantries, and then we would be on our way. Instead, as soon as we had stepped through his entryway, he pulled out five giant beers. Perhaps we had made a mistake? Would our friends be able to hear us at the bottom of the hill if we needed help?

We began talking with the man, and we quickly discovered that he was not a serial killer. He introduced himself as Aurelio, and told us a little bit of the history of his house. The house had belonged to the family of his late wife, who passed the place on to him. The property was named “Le Polse” (hence the sign), which Aurelio defined loosely as relaxation. This mantle applies to Aurelio’s life- he is retired and often has family and friends over for giant parties (he showed us the pictures). Despite this relaxed life nestled in the mountains, Aurelio clearly felt a degree of loneliness, betrayed by a sad look in his eyes when he glanced at the picture of his late wife on the wall. Suddenly, we were all happy to be spending time with Aurelio.

As we were sipping our beers and speaking in nervous Italian (his only English was “I love you”), Aurelio asked us if we wanted something to eat. Excited about the possibility of authentic mountain food and relaxed by the beer and conversation, we readily accepted. Aurelio scurried about, slicing bread, boiling sausage on his old-fashioned wood-burning stove, fixing up some cheese, and grabbing apples from his orchard. Within minutes, we had a veritable feast-sized snack in front of us. Each item tasted incredibly fresh- in reality, with the exception of the bread, it had all been produced within a few miles of Le Polse. We asked Aurelio about the origins of one particularly pungent cheese, and he responded with a line with unintended gravity: “Viene dalle montagne. Non ha un nome.” (It comes from the mountains. It has no name.) The apples were particularly amazing; I can safely say they are the best apples I’ve ever eaten- fresh, crispy, sweet, and tiny compared to the apples I’m used to (probably because they lacked growth hormones, pesticides, etc).

After thanking Aurelio effusively, we excused ourselves. Once we were out of earshot, we exchanged gasps at our good fortune. I guess the only way to have an experience like that is pure luck. We plan on exchanging postcards with Aurelio for the remainder of the semester.

That evening, we walked to Trattoria da Gianni where we had our dinner reservation. I had made the reservation without knowing the location of the restaurant, which turned out to be a mistake because the walk took seemingly forever. The rest of the group was slightly annoyed with me, until we tasted the food. I ordered a Flintstone-sized steak, which was tender, bloody (Italians don’t want it any other way), and delicious. Even tastier were the sides: fresh white beans seemingly adorned with nothing yet full with flavor and olive-oil doused local mushrooms, which exploded with the taste of earthy freshness.

This day in the mountains was one of my best days in Italy to date. Since, for me, food is happiness, it shouldn’t be hard to figure out why.