Palladian Days and al Covo Nights...

First, last night's eating. I received an email from Susan, a friend in New York, suggesting some restaurants in Venice. Two hours later, we sat down to an astounding meal at al Covo, located near the Arsenale. Looking at its Internet rep, I see it's one of those places tourist snobs avoid because it's full of tourists. (Hint: If you're there, it's not a secret.)

We loved it. I had the best fritto misto ever, so light you could forget that it's fried. I wavered over that and the soft-shell crab, so the waiter just combined the two, which was sweet of him. We had the vongole appetizer, billed to me as "the best on the planet." While I loved its distinct addition of squash blossoms, I still insist that Ira makes the best vongole on Earth. (Maybe I'm biased!)

I haven't even started on the desserts, home baked by the Texan-twanged co-owner, a little lady originally from Lubbock who combined charm and considerable talent with sugar. My pear and prune cake with sweetened pine nuts was so good, I'm going to have it again when we go back on Sunday. Ira's chocolate cake was good old-fashioned cake, not the drippy monstrosity you see in every fine restaurant nowadays. (Doesn't anybody cook a cake anymore?)

OK, enough about that meal, though I'm strongly suggesting it will show up on my top ten restaurant list at the end of the trip. On to Palladio, (Ira's favorite architect).

Villa Foscari, otherwise known as La Malcontenta, was our first stop, next to the lovely Brenta river, which is groomed like a canal. My pictures weren't fantastic today, because it was, overall, gray. Plus, it's difficult to take pictures of houses with a standard tourist setup. Go to the linked websites; you'll see beauty galore.

I should mention our tour guide, Rita, from Avventure Bellissime. She was so charming, but it was the preparation she put into it that impressed me. Ira knows his Palladio, so she really had to work to earn his respect. But she gave us printouts, kept us entertained, and generally behaved more like a trusted host than a guide. I hope she keeps us in mind on her next trip to San Francisco so we can repay some of her warm generosity.

Her next suggestion smacked of genius. She took us for lunch in the mountain town of Asolo, a favorite haunt of Eleanora Duse, Robert Browning... and I think Hemingway went there too. We ate at Il Bacaro, a small place that Rita has been going to since she was a child. As she said, "in a way I am sharing a part of my personal life." Charming. We ate upstairs with a large group of gregarious Italian tourists who were certainly in fine fettle, if not the finest fettle. We just had a simple pasta meal with mushrooms, but in season and delicious. It was just one of those small meals that still fill your heart as well as your stomach.

Villa Barbaro and Villa Emo will just have to wait. I've simply got no time left. There's eating to be done. I took lots of notes and have stories about the derivation of grotesque and the phrenological surprise of Palladio's reburial... but there's no time.

Opera and good weather tomorrow. Plus another trip to al Covo. Take that "locals only" restaurant snobs!