Word: tuscan
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...Gilbert was going through a painful, sobbing-on-the-bathroom-floor divorce. So she pulled an Under the Tuscan Sun and embarked on a year of travel, divided neatly into thirds like a tub of Neapolitan ice cream. She would visit Italy to explore pleasure, India to study devotion and Indonesia to look into whatever people do in Indonesia ("balance" is her word for it). Then she would write an engaging, intelligent and highly entertaining memoir about it called Eat Pray Love (Viking; 352 pages...
...worked often with Coogan, plays Tristram's Uncle Toby and "Rob Brydon." Much of the film's grace and brass come from their comic kinship, as when they compare Pacino impressions, or discuss the exact shade of Toby's teeth. Brydon suggests "not white," "hint of yellow" and "Tuscan sunset" and finally "soothing": "I think you'd decorate a child's nursery in this color...
...scornful of Don Campbell and his "Mozart effect" empire. "It has to be more complex than that," he says. "We're not doing Mozart a favor to reduce him to an effect." But in this Mozart anniversary year, it seems, anything goes. Just ask Carlo Cagnozzi. He's a Tuscan winemaker in Montalcino, near Siena, who has been piping Mozart to his vines for the past five years. He first had the idea as a young man, when he would bring his accordion to the grape harvest. Playing Mozart round the clock to his grapes has a dramatic effect...
...home in order to understand its character. Last fall, after the harvest in Italy, I stood atop the ruined fortress that looms over the ancient town of Montalcino, the birthplace of Brunello, just 40 km southeast of Siena. From the fortress, I devoured the panoramic view of the Tuscan countryside. In the distance, the grapevine leaves were as colorful as New England's autumnal best. Clumps of olive trees and upright cypresses were shadowed by the brooding Monte Amiata. The whole ambience was distilled in the Brunello I was drinking. Seeing my red-wine-stained teeth, a friend handed...
...home in order to understand its character. Last fall, after the harvest in Italy, I stood atop the ruined fortress that looms over the ancient town of Montalcino, the birthplace of Brunello, just 40 km southeast of Siena. From the fortress, I devoured the panoramic view of the Tuscan countryside. In the distance, the grapevine leaves were as colorful as New England's autumnal best. Clumps of olive trees and upright cypresses were shadowed by the brooding Monte Amiata. The whole ambience was distilled in the Brunello I was drinking. Seeing my red-wine-stained teeth, a friend handed...