Fricco, Friuli and Fathers

It's always been odd to me how one can - and frequently does - say that they love "Italian" food. It's like saying, "I love green things" or "My favorite food is chewable". Nonsensical. Italian food, as Friuli has shown me, can be more varied then I even imagined. Of course I noticed the dramatic difference in the offal of Rome and the fried, spicy oil of Calabria - the beans, steak and unsalted bread of Florence and the wild boar salami of Chianti. I've eaten the light, flaky fish and dark greens of Salerno, and the mouthwatering pesto of Liguria. And I have certainly had more then my share of prosciutto in Parma, and buffalo mozzarella, still warm and fresher then I could have imagined possible. The idea that Italian food cannot be lumped into a category simply defined is an idea not lost to me, and the importance of locality, seasonality and simplicity are the only things that these cuisines seem to have in common.
But nothing prepared me for wurst in rice salad. Or "cotto", cooked ham dressed with spicy brown mustard. And my favorite - fricco. A fried potato and cheese "latke" which is the most typical dish of Friuli, the most Northeastern part of Italy. Pastries that look suspiciously like rugalach. Udine is an old city, with architecture that mirrors Venice but a language that mirrors Slovenia and Austria, both only 15 km away. The local dialect is full of "j's" and words ending with "c's", and looking up at the gray, chipping marble and the even grayer, drizzling sky, its not an imagination that Eastern Europe is, literally, a stone's throw away. The people are blonde and pale, light eyes and strong noses, with lilting dialects and hearty mountain food that would amusingly confuse someone who says they "love Italian food". A rice salad, lovingly prepared by Valentina's father, with olives, capers, peas, wurst, cheese and oil - dressed with, of all things, mayonnaise - was delicious, but threw even me for a loop. Fricco, though addictive as all cheese and potato fried things are, sits in your stomach as and good Eastern European food could. Valentina's parents put together a feast for us, of all the local dishes with a few Calabrian ones thrown in belying their origins, though the family has been in Udine for over 60 years. Fried peppers in oil brought back a familiar childhood smell, but the spedini, marinated pork and skewered sausage in red wine, was a new and addictive way to prepare an old "American barbeque" favorite.
Valentina and her family are incredibly gracious. I slept in her room while she took the guest room, and this morning she took me to Cividale, a small Medieval town on the Slovenian border founded by Ceasar and home to a fantastic Celtic tomb down a harrowing flight of stairs. The town was beautiful in the "spitting" (as she put it) rain, and though Valentina lamented the poor weather, for me it seemed strangely appropriate to the region. She says that Friuli should but up a canopy over the whole region, and after maybe a third of they year of straight rain, I would think so too. However, as a tourist, its perfect and even a little romantic mixed with a touch of creepy. A graying Medieval town, overlooking a rushing river - it wasn't just the Celtic tomb that made me think of Ireland. Street vendors, opening up, frying pans of fricco and the beautiful smells wafting down the narrow alleyways as the Church bells rang deafening in my ear. A reminder, to everyone, that it is Sunday, and you should be somewhere else...not huffing fricco aromas in the streets adjacent to a bridge aptly titled "ponte diavolo".
After a quick tour of Treviso via public transit, I now sit at the Malta airport, as of yet unscathed from my first Ryanair adventure. On a side note about Italian trains, buses and the like - if you cannot manage them, you are an idiot. It is the easiest thing I have ever seen, and I'm floored by everyone who told me it was difficult. I will exchange words with all of you when I get home.
I really did enjoy Udine, and even more, I enjoyed Valentina and her family. She is incredibly smart - speaks 4 languages perfectly - and her family, with their open arms and insistence on more (and more) food really reminded me of my own. There is something so soothing about mothers and fathers, especially when I haven't seen my own in so long.
Oh, and Happy Father's Day to my wonderful, amazing father who would have had a field day at the Celtic tombs today :) Thank you for teaching me the respect for cultures and diversity that made me want to go out and see this whole wide world. Love you.