the ancient version of the revolving restaurant

Archeaologists in Rome have uncovered what they believe is a revolving banquet hall in the emperor Nero's Golden Palace. "The purported main dining room, with a diameter of over 50 feet (16 meters), rested upon a 13-foot (4-meter) wide pillar and four spherical mechanisms that, likely powered by a constant flow of water, rotated the structure," says the New York Times.

The palace was the ancient Roman version of the Aaron Spelling mansion--sprawling and flashy. From thecolosseum.net:

The area of the property was 985 feet long by 295 feet in width or depth. Among the other things there was an amphitheatre, a market, and bath-gymnasium complex, served by an aqueduct 75 Km (50 miles) long. Baths were served by a flow of both salted water and sulphurous one from the Albulae springs. Upon the Caelian Hill there were beautiful gardens, zoos, woods and parks where cattle roamed . There were hundreds of statues, grottoes, nymphaeums, porticoes painted with romantic landscapes; multiple waterfalls flowed all over. The lake - where the Colosseum was later built - was surrounded by woods and fake sea villages, and it was so big that ships could manoeuvre in it. The rooms of the palace were decorated with rare stones and mother of pearl; in the banquet rooms the guests were inundated by flowers and perfumes from the ivory ceilings (R. Lanciani, Rovine...). One of the most famous of these rooms featured a circular roof painted with the stars and the planets, that revolved mechanically imitating the movement of the stars.

The Golden Palace, or Domus Aurea, as it is also known, was one of the more obscure and enjoyable sites I remember touring in the city. It was right when I was leaving Rome--I went with my stepmother and sister, pitching it to them as something few tourists bother to visit. (I let them go to the Vatican on their own--after dealing with the crowds in the Sistine Chapel, I wasn't eager to do it again.) I seem to remember the guides saying that after Nero's death the emperor Vespasian actually had it covered up with dirt to erase all traces of Nero's profligacy. I can't find a reliable source for this online, but I like the idea of an entire palace sealed up for thousands of years. At any rate, the structure is completely underground (quite near where I lived in Rome, in a much more humble abode), and they've only excavated a small percentage of it, even though its existence has been known of since the Renaissance. Raphael and other artists used to rappel down into the darkened rooms to take a gander at the wall paintings.

It's quite an eerie feeling to head into the cave-like rooms that are open, and even in the height of summer a jacket or scarf is a good idea as it can get really chilly. The rare stones and mother of pearl are long-gone, but some of the wall paintings still exist, and the scale and size of the rooms offer a sense of the building's grandeur.

the end of the season

Lifeguard stations in a jumble, ready for storage.

I haven't done much to tie in the last couple of posts to Italy--but surely the appreciation of fiori, giardini, e il lago is molto italiano?

favorite summer spot of 2009

As you may have figured out, my favorite spot this summer is a section of the lakefront bike path that is actually a little detour off the main path. It is a narrow, gravel stretch between the Sydney Marovitz public golf course and the lake. I like it because it runs right next to the shore, there are weeping willows and the sound of crickets and cicadas in summer, and the traffic on Lake Shore Drive seems very far away.



At either end, various section of land are fenced off for butterfly and bird sanctuaries, or to let it to back to its original prairie nature. A field of pink, purple, and blue flowers at the north end attracts not only butterflies and bees but a surprising cross-section of the public--men on bikes, couples out for a stroll--who stop to admire the view of the blooms.




Sailboats gently sway in the harbor as the golden, early-fall light wanes.

Wistful signs of the end of summer . . . but fall has its own pleasures.

(PS: I just figured out you can click the photos to view extra-large versions of them.)

lake and sky

Spent the weekend on the beach in Michigan, where the landscape is perhaps not so different from that of the northern French coast. (Certainly the weather, which was freakishly cool for August, felt northern.) There are even vineyards . . . and lots of old barns and houses along the back roads.




For food, though, we went pretty much all-American--grilled skirt steaks and s'mores one night, plus frozen custard and cheeseburgers for lunch one day. We did have an Italian flavor on the second night, with me making a great amatriciana sauce out of fresh tomatoes (N.B., in my version, I do not use garlic--I like to have the bacon-y flavor right out front). The grocery store even had pancetta--they were well set up for us city folk.

The lovely little cottage we stayed in was well-stocked with vintage cookbooks and other books about food. I picked up this one (you may know Ludwig Bemelmans better as the author of the Madeline books) and read it all weekend. Now apparently out of print, it's a memoir of his life as a waiter and eager gourmand in Europe and the U.S. in the middle of the 20th century. It put me a very pleasant Continental frame of mind, for which I was very grateful.

corniche

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We had a few really lovely, golden, late-summer days here. Maybe I was in a French mood from watching this movie the night before, but driving along North Lake Shore Drive to work in the morning reminded me of Cannes--something about the combination of the road, the trees on the median and the park to the left, and the sun glinting off the water and the gently swaying boats in the harbors.

It's somewhat odd that given how much the lake is a part of the city--and how huge it is--that we don't have more of a coastal culture. Of course, there are probably many people who spend every weekend on their boats or at the lakefront and would strongly disagree. I wish I knew more of them!

Blogging reminds me daily how pathetic my photography skills are--at least for this one I have the excuse that I was driving at the time. Please use your imagination!

mussels

Tried out a new recipe for steamed mussels last night from this book on a friend. Although the recipes have French flair, this one respects the Italian culinary ideal of the best ingredients, simply prepared. This is what went in it:

mussels
olive oil
garlic
chopped chili peppers
white wine
tomato sauce


I made a salad from green leaf lettuce using an olive oil, vinegar, and anchovy dressing from a Mario Batali recipe that is supposed to be for puntarelle, which is probably out of season and even in season would be hard to find here. Of course with mussels you have to have frites--in this case baked, chunky-style--and aioli, which I buy because the last few times I have tried to make this mayonnaise-like condiment, it hasn't worked out. This is one of the few recipes where I have to admit defeat.

Mussels are really easy to make and inexpensive too, about $5 a pound (a pound per person is generous). I suspect us non-coastal Midwesterners find the idea of preparing them intimidating, especially when recipes refer to the de-bearding process (removing the seaweed-type substance that comes out of the shell). But the ones at Whole Foods are already de-bearded--just give 'em a good rinse. Then you put them in a pot with the ingredients, steam for about six minutes, and that's it.

The whole meal cost less than $35. (I don't think I've ever gotten out of Whole Foods for less than $50).

old stone

Rome is a bunch of old stones piled on top of each other throughout the centuries--marble cannibalized from ancient monuments to gild Renaissance palaces, rocks heaved in from ruins to plug holes, buildings built on top of older buildings built on top of even older structures. You look at an ocher-colored wall and try to wrap your mind around the fact that it has been the backdrop for events both historical and mundane for hundreds or thousands of years before you existed. For a moment the concept of time seems ridiculous--"How is that even possible, that I am here and they are not?" And then your brain rights itself and you accept the reality of time again, because you have no choice.

This stone wall along the lakefront bike path probably measures its life in decades, but how many kisses, scraped knees, and tantrums (it is right next to a public golf course) has it seen?