Now that Balance on the Ball had been published, I was craving another creative project. I had had some success writing a few articles for fitness magazines, but I yearned for a subject I felt more passionate about. So I came up with the (somewhat naïve) idea of becoming a travel writer. My next trip to Italy took me first to Torino, where I interviewed Salvatore “Cicco” Ciccorelli, a dollhouse craftsman known for constructing faithful reproductions of actual Italian homes. (This article was published in Dollhouse Miniatures magazine.) From there I headed to Padova, and finally—drawn by memories of frico and cjalsòns—to Udine.
It was yet another cold, wintry afternoon when I arrived. This time I chose Hotel Principe, primarily for its convenient location across the street from the train station and next door to the bus terminal. My room was sparse and had very little charm, but it afforded all the comforts I needed, such as a spacious bathroom and large, plush bath towels. The staff was extremely friendly and helpful, making me feel right at home in proper Friulian style. In fact, Principe quickly became my go-to hotel for every subsequent visit—and there have been many, given that Udine’s central location makes it an ideal base for day trips.
After settling into my hotel, I went out exploring. I took a circuitous route, skirting the edges of the city center, and found myself on Via Zanon, where a murky canal ran alongside the street, shaded by drooping willow trees. At one time, Udine had a series of canals, called “rogge,” running through the city, but most have since been filled in. Eventually, I ended up at Piazza della Libertà, that delightful square filled with Venetian-style monuments. Although the air was frosty, the sky was blue for a change, perfectly matching the blue-and-gold clock face of the Torre dell’Orologio.
When it was dinnertime, I headed directly to Osteria Al Vecchio Stallo. I arrived promptly at 7:00, when the doors opened, but there was already an elderly woman seated at a corner table. Over the next few years, I would continue to see the same “signora” every single evening that I was there, always sitting in the same spot. I never felt bold enough to inquire, but I speculated that she may be the owners’ mother.
Al Vecchio Stallo’s menu changes daily, always featuring a number of local specialties. Although I hadn’t yet begun my research for Flavors of Friuli, I was still curious about Friulian cuisine. So I ordered something I had never heard of and couldn’t even pronounce: mignaculis. The waiter explained that they were “piccoli gnocchi,” but I found the misshapen lumps to be more akin to spätzle than gnocchi. A traditional dish from Carnia, they were served with a heavy sauce of tomato and sausage. The portion was huge, and I could only manage to eat half of it. When asked by the waiter if I would like anything else, I declined, saying (in Italian) that I was “piena” (full). His response, also in Italian, was “How many months?” Apparently, the word “piena” has a colloquial meaning that I was unaware of: pregnant. It never was entirely clear to me if the waiter was serious or if I was being teased.
