Traveling to Europe in deep winter there’s always the chance of waking to find the world looking as if a bag of icing sugar has exploded overnight, with freshly fallen snow covering an otherwise ordinary city scene and lending even the dreariest courtyard a fairy-tale charm.
And having grown up in the Southern Hemisphere, being caught in a flurry still leaves us giggling like fools or fascinated by icy crystals caught in our hair. Even if crossing a pavement feels like stepping onto an ice rink without skates, there is pleasure in having no choice but to take it slow.
For the most part though, daylight hours are limited, and skies are grey. Like a peacock stripped of its radiant fan of feathers, a European winter removes layers of distraction in the most beautiful of cities: the bustling outside seating at a café, dappled sunlight in a public park, the summer-holiday spirit of locals.
When the soul of a place is laid bare, what it comes down to is human connection: the friends who take you under their wing and share their day-to-day or the host who understands exactly what you need when your language skills aren’t up to the task. As happened when we stumbled into Bar Royal in Alba.
It was late, we’d narrowly escaped running out of fuel due to a hire-car complication, and we were cold, lost, and hungry. The host of this neighbourhood café greeted us like regulars, listened to our patchy Italian, responded warmly in his mother-tongue Italian, and promptly showed us to a table. Then he delivered two glasses of Nebbiolo, and a plate piled with aperitivo snacks. We will never forget how good that moment tasted.
It happened shortly before Christmas, when the airline lost our baggage and we arrived at our accommodation with just our rucksacks and the clothes on our backs (which felt strangely fitting since we were staying in the roof space of a converted barn). On hearing of our plight, the owner immediately offered me a pair of candy-striped pyjamas and Brandon a cold beer.
The following evening, her daughter knocked on the door with a plate of home-baked biscuits, some greenery, and a brass candlestick candle holder to fit our single candle for celebrating Christmas eve. (The irony – our careful planning in bringing a knife along made no difference since it was packed in a suitcase!)
It happened at a food market when the woman at a butcher counter embraced our attempted Google translation (‘brodo fatto in casa, per favore?’) and called to her colleagues at the other stalls, sending out the message like ripples in a pond, asking if anyone had house-made chicken broth so we could treat a cold without committing to a whole capon and trying to fit it into the tiny pots in our rented kitchen.
And it happened again and again in the most unexpected of places. This was our first trip in a while, and above all we learned the value of kindness, from a simple, friendly smile from the deli assistant dispensing fresh pasta, to an apartment rental host who equips a kitchen thoughtfully, anticipating a cook’s needs, and making it easier to prepare a special meal in an unfamiliar space.
We learned how much of a difference it can make when you are far from home – especially in winter, and especially when it’s from a complete stranger. Looking forward to more kindness in the world, and to sharing what we learned about food, wine, and cooking, as 2024 unfolds.