Outside the Walls

We went outside the walls for the first time yesterday (that sounds like we’re in prison or an episode of Hogan’s Heroes).  The other day Shelley asked if there were restaurants we should try or things we should see in the part of Lucca outside the walls.  In my research online I had found references to a pizza place that Trip Advisor rates as the best in Lucca as well as a blog post about a commercial street described as intriguing, so on her walk that morning she went on a scouting mission.  The recommended street was underwhelming, so she stopped by the Wednesday outdoor market and picked up lunch, a roasted chicken that was delicious and a foccacia that had seen better days and was ready to be converted into croutons.  She found the pizza place and we decided to go for lunch yesterday.

The website for the restaurant, La Tana dell’Orco, describes the owner as “Chief Ogre” and his wife as “Chief Ogress,” so that alone made it appealing.  It brought back memories of my favorite restaurant back home, the now closed Smokey Pig in Ashland.  The Smokey Pig opened when I worked in admissions at Randolph-Macon back in the late 1970s, and it became the office go-to spot for lunch.  The Jeffers family who owned the restaurant became close friends, I worked there the summer between leaving Randolph-Macon and going to graduate school, and Bob Jeffers ended up being an usher in my wedding despite the fact he was old enough to be my father.  It is because of Bob that Shelley collects pigs.  Anyway, in the early days of the Smokey Pig I came up with the “I Dig the Pig” slogan for the t-shirt and wrote the “Pig Story” on the back of the menu, and in the “Pig Story” Bob wanted to be described as “The Big Pig.”

La Tana dell’Orco is located on Viale Regina Margherita just outside the San Pietro portal to the walled city.  As we passed through the portal, which is a cool architectural feature, we ran into a tour group getting back on their bus after visiting Lucca.  The sign on the bus said Norwegian Cruise Lines.  I’m sure the guided bus tour is a good way to see a lot of places in a relatively short time, but it doesn’t hold much appeal.

At the restaurant the owner seemed to be working solo as waiter, cook, and chief bottle washer, so service was leisurely.  Behind the bar was a highway sign for Route 66.  We ordered salad and pizza, and it was good.  The bread was the best we have had since arriving in Italy, and that is high praise indeed.  The salad was an attractive presentation that included lettuce, tomatoes, corn, tuna, and nuts with a big dollop of what looked like cream cheese, but turned out to be mozzarella.  Because Shelley had given me a hard time about always ordering ham on my pizza, I decided to change things up and order one with bacon instead, but the bacon sure looked like ham, or perhaps Canadian bacon.  Is Canadian bacon in Italy referred to as Canadian?

For her beverage Shelley ordered Diet Coke, which they didn’t have, so they brought Coke Lite, which seemed to be the same thing, instead.  Perhaps Europeans aren’t as obsessed with dieting as Americans, such that Diet Coke isn’t the marketing advantage it is in the States.  I ordered Coke Zero, and apparently the marketing appeal of Zero is universal.

When the drinks arrived they were in long, thin cans, similar to Red Bull cans.  Shelley used to work for Reynolds Metals Can Division, so when I remarked on the different can she told me that Reynolds had originally designed that can a number of years ago.  She was also able to identify on my can the symbol that indicated which can company had made the can.  Interestingly enough, the cans for regular or Classic Coca-Cola were the same size found in America.  Perhaps European drinkers of Coke Lite and Coke Zero need skinnier cans to remind them of the advantages of not drinking the real thing.

After lunch we walked back through the city so Shelley could take some photos of the Piazza Napoleone the day after the Eagles concert.  She has taken to her responsibilities as official blog photographer, anticipating things with potential visible interest and most of the time not rolling her eyes when I suggest an odd photo idea for something I might want to write about.  At we walked back I tried to pay attention to how many businesses were closed for riposo, the traditional mid-day break that last 90 minutes to two hours.  It was definitely a minority, but even on Via Fillungo, the main shopping street, there were some places closed.  At one dark store a tourist looked at the sign on the door, which said that the store would be open at 1:30.  It was 2:30.  Before heading home we tried to take a picture of the Roman centurion, but he was nowhere to be found, perhaps on his own riposo.

When we arrived back at the apartment I tried to be in solidarity with the culture of our Italian hosts, practicing my own personal riposo by taking a nap.  Ciao!