Sacile Is Where I Call Home

My first walk around sacile was overwhelming. A quaint town 45 minutes north of Venice. Scott, Jim and myself were on our way to dinner. Down three flights of marbled stairs, across the dirt parking lot and a left onto Via Garibaldi.

First, we stopped for some vino at Scott's favorite wine bar, Enoteca "Al 32." Not an unusual routine at 18:00 or any time of the day. I immediately fell in love. The bar is warm and inviting. A not-so-hidden gem.

After a few glasses, we made our way to Celliui Ristozante & Pizzezia, a local restaurant with daily changing menus. Surrounded by canals that flow throughout Sacile, Celliui is located in the center of town with one of the best views of the neighborhood. As we crossed over a small bridge, a group of teenagers in kayaks practiced on Sacile's training course. With the help of the current, they paddled down the canal twisting around check points. First a 180, then a 360 before returning to the beginning of the course.

We arrive to dinner around 19:00. Three tables are occupied by other Americans. I quickly realized we would be frequenting this spot. We sat outside in the corner on what felt like a cliff overlooking the kayakers. To my surprise, the menu was in both Italian and English, and our waitress - the owner's daughter - spoke both. I ordered monkfish with fresh porcini mushrooms and rosemary. I've never had monkfish, nor have I heard of it. I was intrigued. I later learned that it is a terribly ugly bottom feeder or "European sea monster" found in the northwest Atlantic. It was delicious none the less. Fresh! And delicately seasoned with locally-grown mushrooms and wild rosemary found throughout Sacile.

For dessert, I had to try a true Italian tiramsu. I generally dislike any American version, which too often tastes like liquor soaked lady fingers. Served in an ice cream bowl, this dessert looked more like custard than a cake. It had a hint of amaretto and was topped with gram cracker crumbles. Within the first bite I knew Italy was going to be dangerous for my hypoglycemia.

After dinner we returned to Al 32 for more vino. This was my first encounter with the owner, Fabrizio. A tall, middle-aged, Italian man, he was friendly and welcoming. And he knew all about me. Fabrizio is funny. Not in the comical kind of way, but humorous and entertaining. Someone you can chat with for hours. Prececo, an Italian blonde ale, and an hour of nothing but laughs left me tipsy and ready for bed.