What's in a name #2

Growing up in New England, most of the Italians I knew were from Sicily, Calabria, Abruzzo, Naples. For all sorts of reasons, Italian-Americans from the South tended to settle in the Northeast. Meanwhile, my family, on both sides, came from the North...Piacenza and the hill towns around Tortona in Piemonte. Somehow, we ended up in Connecticut.

So it wasn't until I was in my mid-twenties that I met another Traverso who wasn't a direct relative. It was a snowy night at a dinner party in Boston, and she was from Argentina. My family tells a story about my great-grandmother Severina who came to this country via Geona. There were two boats at that port the day she left: one heading to New York, the other to Buenos Aires. Severina chose New York and made her way to Plymouth, Massachusetts where she cooked for the men who were digging the Cape Cod Canal. After she had saved up enough money, she went back to Italy to retrieve her husband and three sons. Perhaps that Argentine woman and I were long-lost cousins, but her great-grandmother had taken the other boat.

Anyway, I digress. My point is: no Traversos. So you can imagine my delight when I learned that there was a semi-famous Italian specialty market in Santa Rosa with my very same name. In fact, people have often said, upon meeting me, "Oh, Traverso as in Traverso's?" No, I didn't think so, I said, but inside I felt the thrill of belonging, if only by association.

I finally stopped by the shop a few weeks ago. The store has been open since 1922, and is run by George Traverso and his son Michael, who represent the 3rd and 4th generations, respectively. We compared family histories enough to determine that we're not cousins, though their ancestors came from an area near Genoa and did live in Hartford for a brief period. But we had a nice chat, and they gave me a cap and a t-shirt to take home. I like to put on the shirt and dance around Scott shouting, "Traversos rule the world!"

I have to admit, though: I was hoping to find a relation. In my heart of hearts, I wanted cousins and uncles and Sunday dinners. In our family line, I'm the last Traverso. The ranks have thinned on the east coast...wouldn't it be nice to find a batch of long-lost relations out here? Instead, I went looking for family and all I got was a t-shirt.

But it's a nice shirt. And the fact is, I have a big family. It's just made up of Kirsners and Vogels and Roehls and Clios now. "Resisting change doesn't recapture the past," as the saying goes. "It loses the future."

Sonomapalooza

Originally uploaded by amytraverso.

Went back up to Sonoma this weekend. I can't help it. I never knew love like this before. My mother-in-law sat obediently in the back seat while we carted her to Iron Horse and Roshambo wineries. Sometimes it's hard to remember that other people don't live for this kind of stuff. But she was a good sport, and we all got a kick out of the contrast between Iron Horses's backyard shed tastings and Roshambo's fabulous, fabulous, la-la high-concept wine salon. Can you tell I didn't fall in love? In an effort to wrest wine from the stodgy elite, they've gone the way of self-conscious hipsterism, with their Rock-Paper-Scissors contests and their t-shirts. But I really did like the 2002 Chardonnay (need to double-check the vintage), and I'm not a big Chardonnay person. I also picked up a few bottles of the 2004 Iron Horse Rosato di Sangiovese, which struck me as a perfect summer wine. I'm impaired, though, by my reluctance to pay more than $30 a bottle. Do I need to overcome this? Everyone else seemed to be doing it.

We had lunch at Willi's Seafood in Healdsburg. Very tasty small plates, but so ladled in butter that I felt like an overdressed piece of lettuce. Perhaps a better metaphor would be "like a live trout thrown in a tank of melted butter." Either way, too oily. Just down the street in the town center, we walked off lunch by browsing the best flea market/antique fair ever in the world. Would that magazines paid better! But you're not here to read about shopping...

Vines, vines everywhere and lots of wine to drink

vines, vines everywhere and not a drop to drink
Originally uploaded by amytraverso.

Just got back from a trip through Western Sonoma. That place is Eden, Eden, Eden. Especially this time of year when the hills are still green and everything is in bloom. We focused on the western part of the region, hitting towns like Healdsburg and Sebastopol, following the Russian River, and taking in the landscape, which ranges from ocean to primeval forest to big sky rolling hills within just a few miles. Everywhere you turn, there's an apple orchard or a vineyard or a sheep farm, and the markets are bursting with local cheeses, breads, wines, organic strawberries and cherries. Foodie heaven. Plus, Sebastapol is a funky little leftie place with a "Nuclear Free Zone" sign at the town line and a mayor who won on the Green Party ticket.

We had some memorable meals. In Sebastopol, Bistro Bella Vita (8050 Bodega) just opened a few months ago, and though they don't yet have a Web site, they're worth seeking out. Great Cal-Ital food cooked by Manuel Mena, a chef who grew up in the Yucutan. He works some of these flavors into the menu, so if you see any dishes with salsas or moles, try them. Madrona Manor in Healdsburg is housed in a gorgeous Victorian mansion (Bless those 1880s lumber barons). This is a place where I'd love to take my mom for lunch, which, for us, was served on a patio that looks out over the gardens (like many California restaurants, the folks at Madrona grow their own flowers, herbs, and vegetables). Californians are really into composed salads right now and we had a deconstructed Nicoise in which every element was allowed to shine: wild salmon, sweet green beans, creamy fingerlings. Oh, and candied walnuts thanks to our kind and generous sponsors. Finally, we had a terrific dinner at Underwood Bar and Bistro in Graton, which is a one-horse town, Sonoma-style. No traffic lights, but a gourmet shop and a bistro. And Underwood is all about the bistro experience, with a Spanish accent, which means you'll have the perfectly roasted chicken, but with olives and preserved lemon rubbed under the skin, not herbs and butter.

Our tour guide for this chowfest was a wonderful guy named Clark Wolf, who has a home near the Russian River Valley. Clark is a restaurant consultant, pretty much the restaurant consultant in the country right now, and he divides his time between New York and Las Vegas, so he was doing double shots of espresso at every stop. But he's all heart, very generous, and he loves Sonoma. Back in the 70s, he stumbled across a job at one of the first-ever gourmet cheese shops in San Francisco, which means he landed right at the birth of the American food renaissance. And he met all the players, from James Beard to M.F.K. Fisher to Ruth Reichl. More recently, he helped found the Russian River Food and Wine Fest. The first festival took place last September, and this year's fest takes place on September 25. The New York Times has called the Russian River Valley "the new Normandy," and if the festival captures even a slice of the spirit that I saw on this trip, it'll be well worth the traffic on 101 to get there.