not just the cioccolato

After gallavanting through the chocolate fest (see previous post) we were left to enjoy the rest of Torino on a gentle yet persistent cocoa high.

One of Stefano's must see destinations was the Santuario della Consolata. Designed in 1678 it's a church set on the Piazza Consolata. The interior overflows with aesthetic accessories in marble and gold but it still manages to be intimate and quiet. One of the more intriguing elements of the church is near the entrance to the Sacresty. There are two areas whose walls are covered, literally, by framed sketchings and drawings of incidents in which people were saved from harm by holy intervention.



The scenes are refreshingly amateur, many watercolor or seemingly crayon, and depict the moment in which the subject was not killed by the streetcar, having fallen off of his bike just inches away. Or the small child dropped from a balcony who miraculously survived. There are soldiers coming home from war, received by a family with open arms and hospital patients surrounded by doctors after a successful operation. In every frame is a unique story and the frames reach high to the celestial ceiling. The one element the pieces have in common is a "G.R." in the bottom corner -- "Grazia Ricevuto" or "Grace Received."



Across the Piazza Consolata is the Al Bicerin cafe. This small cafe opened in 1763 and is famous for one thing - the "Bicerin," a hot drink made with espresso, cream and chocolate. It is most definitely not hot chocolate. To call it hot chocolate would be a disservice. This drink is more akin to a melted brownie with a layer of cream hovering on top. It is rich and decadent and guilt-inducing. And perfect for a rainy afternoon - which is what ours became as we crossed the Piazza.



We sat at a small table in the corner, with a serpentine flame swaying between us, and shared the glass. The cream sat on the top waiting for us to mix it in - and when we did spoon it into the chocolate below it gently gave way, folding into the heavy mixture.

There is something to be said for raindrops on the piazza and a corner in a warm cafe. And truly, for Italy in general. This place is magical and delicious and energizing. It is different and random and frustrating. It is not the United States. It is not what you see in old movies. It is the Italy that forms after a month of moments, after sidewalk scenarios and park bench vignettes. And every day we have, every drink we share, is a chance to stop and feel lucky.



And we do.