Video by: GloboTreks Travels

See how modern day Mayas still use their ancestors techniques to prepare their corn tortillas

Click here to learn How To Make Corn Tortillas Like a Maya

Video by: John Sharp

Once, deep in the Ragusan land, Sicialia Italia, a passionate gardener and dedicated classical music fan decided to combine his two passions. It would just be unthinkable that the pomodori wouldn’t love to listen to Bach, Beethoven, Bellini and Vivaldi all day, like he did. He decided to expose his reds little sons and daughters to a variation of the finest classical pieces. What do you think what the result was?

Now Natura Blea treat their pomodori naturally like first class classical music lovers: good food, lot’s of sunshine and a continuous buffet of classic tunes.

Just a few meters away in the restaurant of “relais Marabino” they work their magic on the Pomodori. They transform the pomodori into a dish, so nice that even Apollo would descent from heaven to taste this most exceptional orchestra of tastes.

Amsterdam
storytravelers.com
We make eco-tourism and slow leisure grow by telling and sharing stories that travel

Wood reflects the scents and surfaces of its surrounding terroir. When dried outside, it absorbs the environment. In the instances of rain, its tannins are washed away. One hundred years of oak barrel production in the Burgundy region of France has awarded the François family with this distinct expertise. From the humble beginnings of one man to a worldwide cooperage, the art of the barrel has been refined and coveted by this family through the Tonnellerie François Frères.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

The first François barrels appeared in 1910 when Joseph François founded the cooperage in Saint Romain. As a wine broker and barrel maker, Mr. François sold two to three barrels a day. After a century, production has reached between 140 and 160 barrels a day.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Remaining faithful to craft and country, French oak dominates the cooperage’s barrels; however, American and Hungarian oak varieties are also integrated due to their diverse aromas. Trees, typically between 120 and 150 years of age upon arrival at the cooperage, are hand cut and consequently dried outside for two years. The oak varieties demand different cutting methods — the French oak emerging in wedges and the American in pieces. Regardless of oak type, only the middle section of the wood is viable as the center and exterior are too dense to fashion into staves. The portion of wood that is accepted for barrel creation, 20% for French oak and 80% for American oak, are ensured a clean and unaltered outdoor setting during the aging process. The air is tested and environmental modifications are prohibited, making certain the native climate saturates the wood. And so, the remote location of the cooperage is explained through the necessity for a pure and pungent country air.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Photo: Gianna Banducci

In the passing of the cooperage among four family generations, from Joseph to his great-grandson Jérôme, the terroir of Saint Romain remains steadfast in its conference of place upon the wood. Customers order years in advance to incorporate the taste of this region in their vintages. The barrels that house the wines produce more than a fleeting effect, validating their importance to the wine production process.

Gianna Banducci is studying gastronomy through the Food Culture and Communications Master program at L’Università di Scienze Gastronomiche. She is currently writing and preparing her thesis in Berlin, Germany.

Note to readers: I welcome your feedback about my tales and would like to hear your own personal stories. I invite you to submit any comments or questions regarding travel, food or general life abroad. – Gianna

Photo: Gianna Banducci

The sidewalks are crowded and the neon lights shine brightly. People greet each other on the street, inquiring about evening plans and freely joining in. Friday night festivities are in full swing. Mehringdammstraße in Berlin’s Kreuzberg neighborhood is the site of the revelry. The Friday night scene convenes in this part of Berlin around two tried and true food establishments: Mustafa’s Gemüse Kebap and Currywurst 36. For tourists and locals alike, Mustafa’s and Currywurst 36 are street food legends in the city. Standing literally steps away from each other, the only difficulty pertains not to the lines or absence of seating, but the decision of which food to eat. Both prepare foods synonymous with Berlin, the Turkish kebab from Mustafa’s and German currywurst from Currywurst 36. In the heat of the Friday night scene, between the bright lights of Mustafa’s and the red, smoldering glow of Currywurst 36, it is common for patrons to balance two plates, one of each.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Owing to the widespread Turkish influence in Berlin, there is practically no street in the city without a kebab shop. You can literally find one anywhere, the scent of spices and roasting meat accompanying you from one place to the next. Due to this extensive selection, people are strategic about where to go, meaning Mustafa’s comes up fairly quickly in conversation. Mustafa’s is situated in a stand, plastered with the proprietor’s giddy face on all sides, right in front of the U-Bahn (metro) stop. I have yet to see the line be short, but it is consistently orderly, German efficiency being ever present. Mustafa doesn’t stray from what he excels at in his menu, the kebab and falafel. The kebab contains a melody of flavors derived from the mix of ingredients packed into the flatbread. The seasoned, juicy chicken lays the foundation. On top of this, sautéed vegetables (zucchini and potatoes), lettuce, tomatoes, onions and a sprinkling of Feta cheese is piled. All the vegetables explain the name for both the kebab and the stand itself (Gemüse is German for vegetables). Coveting the freshly made creation, people head for a seat on a ledge in front of the bike lane, being extremely careful not to disturb the kebab’s unstable mound.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

While waiting to reach the small counter of Mustafa’s stand, the line often extends to the storefront of Currywurst 36 where paper plates overflow with sauces. Currywurst, a street food of German origin, entails pork sausage cooked in a curry-tomato sauce. According to its history, currywurst comes from the post-WWII era. Since many people didn’t have access to proper meat cuts, the wurst (sausage) was used as a substitute. Any available spices were added to the tomato sauce to improve the taste. Today, currywurst is eaten with French fries or bread. Although it is not a dish that Germans rush to claim as part of their national cuisine, it still remains a food from the local streets.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Turning off of Mehringdammstraße, the lights of Mustafa’s and Currywurst 36 can still be seen from a distance. The meat spit turns at Mustafa’s and the fryer sizzles at Currywurst 36 into the late evening, satisfying the street food cravings of all who come. These foods may not symbolize traditional German fare; nevertheless, they reflect the contemporary cuisine, whether imported or recently developed, flooding the streets of Berlin.

Gianna Banducci is studying gastronomy through the Food Culture and Communications Master program at L’Università di Scienze Gastronomiche. She is currently writing and preparing her thesis in Berlin, Germany.

Note to readers: I welcome your feedback about my tales and would like to hear your own personal stories. I invite you to submit any comments or questions regarding travel, food or general life abroad. – Gianna

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Driving to and from Monachyle Mohr farm many times, we skillfully maneuvered the small roads that wound between pastures and the animals-in-residence. The car window was like a portal to neighboring farms and the animal inhabitants. Besides more coos and sheep, I discovered the Shetland pony, a miniature horse with a thick mane and tail. As one of the oldest horse breeds in Britain, I learned that the Shetland both competes in horse shows and provides companionship to other larger horses.

Shetland Pony

At the end of one of these Shetland pony-scouting drives, we arrived at an organic farm, EPO Growers. Echo Mackenzie has been growing organic produce since 1987. She maintains a small, committed contingent of 20 CSA members and is dedicated to developing her farm into a learning center. As opposed to other organizations in Scotland and the U.K. that impose daily fees to study farming, Echo welcomes everyone to work, learn and stay. Our day on the farm entailed caring for the animals, weeding, subsoiling, fixing a fence and hauling wood. Of course it didn’t take much time to become captivated by the animals. Two geese: distinctly white and aloof. Echo said they no longer laid eggs; nevertheless, they were still demanding. Five ducks: commonly seen parading in a single file line led by one multicolored and assertive bird. My task was to feed them. I was still quite a distance away from setting down the pan of food when they began feverishly pecking away. Water splattered and the pan wobbled precariously. I thought for sure that one would jump in. Echo swiftly removed the pan from my hands, placed it in the middle of the feeding frenzy and shut the doors to their home.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Finally, a flock of goats. With names and specific pens, there was no confusing their identities. They marched into the field in the morning to graze and repeated the same procession in the evening. Their evening return marked the second milking of the day. Only four still produced milk despite not having had babies recently. We waited for this moment all day. While everyone else had milked an animal before, I had not. I was instructed to grab the teats as if I was holding air in a balloon. By trapping the milk with my fingers, I gradually pressed down to release a stream. Nothing came the first few grabs. And then it happened. The sound of each subsequent squirt hitting the silver bucket produced a song. It was a delicate and precise activity. There were particular pats to signal the beginning and end of milking to the goat. The bucket was not allowed to touch the legs of the goat at any time. They didn’t like this. When no more milk came, the goats were escorted back to their pens. The milk, unfortunately for us, was offered to the dog. Scotland has a law that a producer cannot sell or freely give raw milk to anyone. Bureaucracy again getting in the way of what we can eat.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

So, major takeaways from time spent with Scotland’s farm animals, besides the fact that politics can be disruptive to food. First, all animals that are able should be permitted outside to graze. Second, if you go into a field to see animals, bring a friend. Otherwise you’ll be standing in a field alone. Lastly, milk a goat as often as possible, maybe even sneaking a taste of the fresh milk.

Gianna Banducci is studying gastronomy through the Food Culture and Communications Master program at L’Università di Scienze Gastronomiche. She is currently writing and preparing her thesis in Berlin, Germany.

Note to readers: I welcome your feedback about my tales and would like to hear your own personal stories. I invite you to submit any comments or questions regarding travel, food or general life abroad. – Gianna

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Two weekends ago I traveled to Scotland to visit a friend working on a farm, Monachyle Mohr, between Edinburgh and Glasgow. More than just the people, place and food, I got to know Scotland on a level that I hadn’t anticipated beforehand. Indigenous Scottish coos (cows). Shetland ponies. Sheep. Pigs. Goats. Ducks. Geese. And of course, Harry (introduction to follow on him). I landed in the middle of a Scottish barnyard during my trip. I heard pigs at night in bed, watched sheep from my apartment window and encountered all the other animals at practically every turn. Most of the time, I trailed after the animals as opposed to them following me. My pursuit tended to be a lost cause—the animals either shied away or were simply disinterested as I approached them. Nevertheless, I was not deterred in my mission to commune with the animals, even if I was frequently left standing in a field alone while the animals lined the surrounding fence.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

The Scottish coos and pigs were the easiest animals to get close to since they lived in the barn next to where I stayed. In truth, it was a travesty that these animals were not allowed to roam free. With so much land at the farm’s disposal, it was hard to understand why they remained indoors, especially considering that other coos and sheep were grazing nearby. The bulging pigs were ravenous. Throwing scraps of food into the pen caused a paradoxical pig run. The stoic coos in the adjacent pen mustered no response at the sight of the chaos. I’m not sure whether this was because they couldn’t see through the thick, shaggy hair covering their eyes or they just didn’t feel the need to shift their large, chiseled shoulders to show a reaction.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Among the coos and pigs in the barn, a final resident, whom I like to identify as a “lone wolf”, meandered through the hay: Harry. Not afraid to stray from the pack, Harry would amble awkwardly in the barn instead of taking to the field like his comrades. The first time I saw Harry was the night of my arrival. My friend brought me to the barn to meet the animals. At the sound of a rustling behind me, I turned to see Harry standing there looking like a decrepit superhero. He stormed onto the scene, appearing as if he had just conquered the enemy. His fur hung in chunks off of him, mostly because he was molting and not because he had just saved a cat stuck in a tree. He tilted his head, whether puzzled or introspective I cannot say, and then turned to leave. It was over in a flash.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Heading outdoors, fields waiting to be explored spread out before me. I set myself on a direct path for the sheep and coos. To both my left and right were lochs (lakes) that held the reflection of the blue sky on their surfaces. The hills stood in front and behind me. When the sheep noticed my imminent arrival to their field, they headed for these hills. Coaxing them with hay or remaining quiet and stationary would not convince them of my benevolent intentions. Every time I turned my back, they would return to the pile of hay that I had just attempted to lure them toward. At this point, I shifted my focus to the coos. Corralling seven large coos was not a thought in mind, but I was curious to see them outside of a confining pen. They moved as a pack and often stopped to watch me. One particular stampede in my direction followed by seven unflinching stares quickly ushered me out of the field. I came to find out later that they are extremely alert and observant animals.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

I thought that this family of animals would be all that I saw during my time in Scotland. Little did I know that there was more to come.

Gianna Banducci is studying gastronomy through the Food Culture and Communications Master program at L’Università di Scienze Gastronomiche. She is currently writing and preparing her thesis in Berlin, Germany.

Note to readers: I welcome your feedback about my tales and would like to hear your own personal stories. I invite you to submit any comments or questions regarding travel, food or general life abroad. – Gianna

Recorded these images on a farm outside Matanzas, Cuba. The farmer is 69 years old and obviously physically fit!

Images recorded by Tim Frakes.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

The number of places in the world is daunting. Now, consider that each of these places has an exponential amount of food to taste. Not only what is interpreted as local cuisine, but also all the ethnic food that has migrated onto the scene. Seems fairly overwhelming, right? If I have learned anything during my year studying gastronomy in an Italian graduate program, it is that sharing about where you come from or where you have visited is a travel experience in itself. In line with this idea, I present a piece of Berlin: the neighborhood of Kreuzberg.

I unexpectedly found myself in Kreuzberg for the first time last summer. It’s funny how things have a way of aligning far in advance of their greater impact on your life. A group of friends and I rented an apartment in the area while visiting the city on vacation. I spent a week exploring the food haunts, shops and deeply rooted Turkish culture that defines this neighborhood. After leaving, one of my friends and I crafted a plan that would get us back to Berlin and, more importantly, Kreuzberg at the earliest possible opportunity. An independent, two-month internship pursuing freelance food writing in Berlin. And here I sit, writing from Kreuzberg.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Besides the Turkish and counterculture residents, those committed to organic and natural foods are quite at home in Kreuzberg. You can’t walk too far before stumbling upon one of the many organic markets commonly sourcing products from abroad due to Germany’s limited produce farming. In fact, while heading to an organic store the other day, I found a new market that I hadn’t seen on a street I had previously crossed a few times. They seem to grow overnight.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Another source of delight in Kreuzberg is the Marheineke Markthalle located on Marheinekestraße. With stalls of foods for breakfast to dinner, varying in nationalities, it is a playground for the food centric types. Baked goods, cheese, meats, produce, teas and nuts line the main thoroughfare inside. Along the walls, stalls serving lunch, selling toys and copying house keys stand in front of the entrances. Self-restraint is essential anytime going near this culinary haven.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Combine these places with tree-dotted canals, cafés in which you could sit all day and the brown, grainiest of German breads and you understand a bit of Kreuzberg. I definitely still have more to explore in the neighborhood and even more in the larger city at hand. Most likely, I’ll have a German baked good and Chai latte in tow while doing so.

Gianna Banducci is studying gastronomy through the Food Culture and Communications Master program at L’Università di Scienze Gastronomiche. She is currently writing and preparing her thesis in Berlin, Germany.

Note to readers: I welcome your feedback about my tales and would like to hear your own personal stories. I invite you to submit any comments or questions regarding travel, food or general life abroad. – Gianna

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Last summer marked many new beginnings for me. The first time I visited Berlin and Prague, the first time I worked on a farm, the first time I entered Pia’s kitchen and tasted her testaroli (small crêpes containing pesto sauce). While in Tuscany for two weeks at an organic produce farm, l’Azienda Agricola Biologica Nico, I met Pia, the mother of the farm’s young owner. Not a day passed when I didn’t see her. She would wander near the farm shed to hang laundry, push her granddaughter around in a stroller or host us for the midday meal. Tuesday, her day off from work, meant that Pia cooked lunch. Tuscan traditionalism paired with contemporary innovation characterized Pia’s cuisine. Not only did her dishes make me dash to the table at noontime, but they also incited questions about ingredients followed by furious note taking of recipes.

Photo: Gianna Banducci

Pia’s modest and reassuring manner made each food discussion seem a common event. Whereas to me her meals were a novelty, to her they were simply lunches prepared for the farm workers. Her slight smile and tender explanations balanced my eagerness when reaching for pen and paper. So, the Tuesday of Pia’s testaroli, I was ready with an appetite and writing tools. Having started the day early, we spent the morning bent over, weeding the rows that had been recently sown. The awaiting meal kept me working through the sweat and aches. As the lunch hour approached, we returned from the fields and gathered around the table. Pia served testaroli as the primo piatto. I had never encountered them before. At first, the crêpe seemed out of place, invading the typical dwelling of a pasta or risotto. However, the grated parmigiano and drizzle of olive oil on top were Italian ingredients that I knew only too well. The pesto escaped the soft and doughy walls of the crêpe with the first slice, reminding me of the protruding green grasses I had pulled all morning. I had a sweet and nutty tang in my mouth after the first bite. I could tell that the basil, pine nuts and olive oil of the pesto had blended. The dish was light and appropriate for the hot summer day, but still somewhat foreign since the pesto was missing its pasta companion. In that moment, I remembered refusing pasta with pesto as a child. I was glad that my palate had developed enough to make me appreciate Pia’s testaroli.

I cornered Pia after our meal to determine the preparation process for testaroli. She took me through the steps of a flour, water, salt and olive oil crêpe batter. The ingredients must be mixed so that the batter gets air. Then it is placed in the refrigerator to thicken. Once ready, the crêpes are cooked on a skillet, a spoonful of pesto is placed in each and they are finally rolled and dressed with parmigiano and olive oil. To Pia, the dish was an expression of her culture and kitchen. I wanted to be a part of both.
By the end of two weeks, Pia’s role as my culinary mentor was established. On my final evening, after Pia had allowed me to sample the antipasti for dinner, she turned to me and said, “Siccome tutte e due di noi abbiamo la passione per la cucina, questo è un regalo per te” (As we both have a passion for cooking, this gift is for you). The gift was a small book of Tuscan recipes that she had found earlier in the week and brought home for me. I told her that my next visit to the farm would involve more time in the kitchen than the fields.

Testaroli
Pesto sauce (basil, Pecorino cheese, pine nuts, olive oil)
Flour
Water
Salt
Olive oil
Parmigiano

Prepare the crêpe batter by combining the flour, water, salt and olive oil. (1 cup of flour to 1 cup of water)

Note: Add more water if the batter is too thick.

Mix all of the ingredients so the batter gets air.

Place the batter in the refrigerator for approx. 1 hour.

Heat a sauté pan with a little olive oil. Spoon the batter into the pan (the amount will depend on whether you want to make small or large-sized crêpes).

Be sure to cook them on both sides.

Once ready, add a spoonful of pesto to each crêpe, roll and dress with grated Parmigiano and olive oil.

Gianna Banducci is studying gastronomy through the Food Culture and Communications Master program at L’Università di Scienze Gastronomiche. She is currently writing and preparing her thesis in Berlin, Germany.

Note to readers: I welcome your feedback about my tales and would like to hear your own personal stories. I invite you to submit any comments or questions regarding travel, food or general life abroad. – Gianna