torino two times

We headed to Torino for the chocolate festival this weekend and did our best to honor the spirit of the event -- indulging in samples and skads of wanton chocolate purchasing. While it wasn't in the same piazza as last year (we know because we were there) it was almost as good. We couldn't find the smoked chocolate, and the salted chocolate (our favorite) was only available in the smaller, and more expensive, bars. But we did find a flourless chocolate cake, the size of a dessert plate and heavy as a brick, that's now in our kitchen waiting to be devoured.

Reaching into the sky above Torino is a spired tower that can be seen from almost every piazza and open space in the city. You could see it from the chocolate fest - and it shows up on the right in the first photo. This symbol of Torino is popularly known as "The Mole" and was finished in 1889; at 167 meters many claim it be the tallest structure in Italy. What was originally intended to be a synagogue is today a well-known observation point whose main building houses the Torino Cinema Museum.



The view from the tower is a good one although the elevator ride to the top is the real adventure. Twenty seconds of glass-walled lift through open space. No girders, no elevator shaft, just a glass elevator gliding up, up, up along its cables. Sheer exhilaration.

The cinema museum is excellent. Starting with the simple play between light and shadow and reaching into today's technologies, the museum traces the development of cinema over time. In our attempts to enter the museum, and our wanderings within it, three themes made themselves brilliantly clear: 1. the domination of Hollywood in the film world, 2. how very cool a museum can be, and 3. a certain nonchalance towards customer service.



The museum is basically an opportunity to see never-ending examples of film and its precursors. The space is surprisingly interactive and you find yourself exploring the many floors and exhibits, watching clips from every genre, era and style. There were surreal films playing in a giant refrigerator with toilets as the theater seats. Experimental films screening in a mad scientist's laboratory, TVs glowing in the sinks and stove. Horror films presented in a haunted mansion complete with a coffin under the floor.



In the center of the museum, in the large space under the tower with the elevator rising directly above, is a theater where guests recline in lounger seats with speakers at their heads, watching films play on giant screens in front of them and, intermittently, projected on the interior of the tower. The vaulted ceiling becomes a giant screen, with the stick-straight cables leading into a small hole in the roof through which the elevator reaches the spire. As you might imagine, it's quite dramatic.

It's true that a majority of the films will be easily-recognizable to Americans. You can't escape the fact that Hollywood churns out more than a few of the world's most popular films. And you'll see clips of them at every turn. Even in the screening room we couldn't quite figure out -- its theme had something to do with love and you have to lay down on a giant, circular, red velvet bed to see the film clips which were playing on the ceiling. We found ourselves laying there with a young Italian couple, watching films play in the muted light. Once we got up, we were replaced by a quintet of silver-haired ladies who giggled as they lay down.



I should mention that we waited in two lines to enter the museum. First, the "wrong" line which could easily have been avoided if the young lady manning the cash register had been more interested in us rather than her pile of un-counted euro pennies. Which she proceeded to count as we stood in front of her. And count. And count. She finally told us we had to go wait in the other line. And once we finally did reach the other cashier - after 30 minutes standing in the sun - our previous "helper" double-checked with her cashier colleague that we had actually waited in the line. (As if we'd been hiding in some dark corner of the museum for half an hour and had only just then popped out to cut in line.)

Additionally, there was a staff member at the top of a very, very long spiraling ramp who let us know, in no uncertain terms, that our understanding of the museum layout was quite off and that we were to head right back down that long spiraling ramp until we were back at the bottom. And that was that. No more discussion about it.

I will say, though, that even though the customer is never right, especially at the cinema museum, it behooves the customer to visit the cinema museum. Because it is so very cool. Especially when you've got chocolate in your pockets.

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.

torino for two

For Stefano and myself Torino used to mean "site of the Olympics." But after this weekend it means something else. Something quite unexpected and terribly too good. We were certainly very impressed by the Egyptian museum (see later post). And we were very happy with the aesthetics of the city and intrigued by its people. But what caught our attention first, and was the result of serendipitous good timing alone, was "La Grande Festa Del Cioccolato" - the Chocolate Festival. Chocolate, my friends. An entire piazza filled with the stuff.



Piazza San Carlo was framed with tented exhibitions by various producers and purveyors of "cioccolato" -- pronounced "choc-oh-lott-oh" and seemingly embraced by the Italians with even more vigor than Americans. The clincher was that each exhibitor offered samples of just about everything they had on display - the most requested taste seemed to be from the jars of soft chocolate. Think Nutella but gourmet. Everyone was walking around nursing a miniature spoon recently dunked into the stuff. And not to be outdone, Nutella had it's own booth and was selling Nutella milkshakes, crepes and more. But that's the simple stuff.

The chocolate purveyors were very creative in their combinations and that's where things got interesting. Think of a flavor... Let's try curry. Were there any curry chocolate bars at the Torino Chocolate Festival? Why yes, there were. Licorice? Don't be silly - of course.



Shall we ratchet up the oddball factor... something more difficult... smoked chocolate? "Cioccolato affumicato?" Had it. And while I wouldn't say it's required eating it was very worth the taste. With a smoky flavor wisping through, it's the only time I've eaten chocolate and felt very masculine in the process-- like a lumberjack who'd wandered into Godiva.

Winner of best in show for "new ways of thinking about an old favorite," for us, was salted dark chocolate. Weird and wonderful it's chocolate with a salty wave rushing through it - not sharp, but smooth and surprising. We brought home a bar and have already cracked in for a square or two.



Of course there were perfect candied orange wheels dipped in dark chocolate. And the traditional candy of Torino - the elongated triangular log called the "giandujotto" which is way too easy to eat. Creamy, soft and often tinged with hazelnut - it's a bite and a half of decadence wrapped in metallic paper. Sheets of chocolate with candied ginger, halved figs or curled walnuts laying along the top. Whatever chocolate you may have tasted once in a boutique years ago, or dream about in a world veined with chocolate rivers... was there.



So while we may not have seen the Alps, we did see a Harry Potter chocolate Easter egg the size of a pregnant sow. Thank you Torino. And not just for the chocolate - thank you for giving the Italians a reason to stop smoking for two seconds. Cause otherwise they couldn't come in the tent for chocolate. It's the little things, really.