The Cesarians
on tour
Breakfast: 5am: The Black Wall Tunnel: Our fearless leader enthuses over what constitutes the perfect sandwich revealing her culinary secrets and confessing that the hamper she had prepared for the trip had to be sacrificed in order to make room for a large vanity case and 6 pairs of shoes. An army may march on its stomach but a band is measured by the quality of its footwear. We dine on hard-boiled eggs and cigarettes as we roll down the A2 to Dover.
Supper: Before a spectacular show at the infamous 1929 club in Rennes we are treated to a traditional Breton delicacy, pizza (in Italy we would become increasingly familiar with this dish) followed by heroic amounts of wine. Later our host David prepares us savory crepes with melted cheese and local jambon before we retire for the evening.
Day Two: Mains d’Oeuvres, Saint Ouen, Paris
Luncheon: We detour some 300km and find a delightful bar in an ‘un cheval village’. We feast on frites and pastis and arrive 3 hours late for sound check but in time for a magnificent beef bourguignon served with rice and salad. Coffee, the concert and heroic amounts of red wine.
Day Three: Tom’s Alpine Retreat
Petit dejeurner: our host provide us with a magnificent spread, fresh fruit, juices, coffee, preserves and croissants that flake like gold leaf and melt like butter. With ample amounts of traveling wine we head to Tom’s Alpine Retreat where our hostess, Marta, prepares a hearty bean curry. It is perfect mountain food and we talk and drink deep into the night.
Day Four: Clandestino, Faenza
Sergio, who is famous for being the fastest cheese maker in the Valley d’Osta (’87,88,’92,2001 and 2007), is roasting a whole lamb for lunch. Sadly we pass on his offer but manage to procure some deliciously flavored Pringles at the local Auto Grill. We meet our tour guide Paolo in Faenza and dine at an exquisite restaurant next to the bar we will later play a show. It is a feast fit for the gods: wild rice salad, pasta, tuna, polenta, lamb and roasted vegetables. Marianna, waitress, bar manager, sound engineer and owner stays up late with us and we drink heroic amounts of red wine.
Day Five: Officina 49, Cesenna
The short journey to our next show allows us the luxury of an extended luncheon. Sufficient measures of red wine accompany a robust risotto.
Supper: heroic amounts of red wine accompany pita type breads filled with a variety of locally pulped produce.
Day Six: La Rama, Ancona
Luncheon: at a local trattoria we feast on buttered ravioli and succulent lamb. Adequate quantities of red wine before we meet up with the boys from Lush Rimbaud.
Supper: Risotto Rustico at the venue, heroic amounts of red wine and some delicious pastries provided by the ubiquitous Federico.
Day Severn: No Fun, Udine
Since some of our number have special dietary requirements tonight’s meal was provided by the Northern Italian Celeriac Association. First prize went to Charlie ‘mange toute’ Finke whose calzone was of alpine proportion and required grappling hooks and a small cable car to conquer its gastronomic enormity. Jan sulked into his humble pizza margarita and drank heroic amounts of red wine. The success of the concert and the intensity of our performance can simply be measured by the reaction of the promoter whom we left close to tears (we also left him the bill.)
Day Eight: Arci Kroen,Villanova di Verona
Breakfast: …of champions, coffee and cigarettes.
Luncheon: Grilled panninis care of Auto Grill
Evening tea: Our tour guide prepares an excellent risotto with sieved tomatoes and mozzarella
Supper: delightful anti pasta followed by beef with tomatoes and polenta, grilled red cabbage and cheese. The customary draught of wine, obligatory concert and grappa ordnaire till dawn.
Day Nine: Casbah, Pergognaga
We rise late and take the cure. A light luncheon prepared by our expert chef of the previous night: meats, cheeses and a refreshing salad sets us up for our 20minute drive to the next gig. We arrive 6 hours later and sit down to a delightful plate of pasta. We drink heroic amounts of red wine and play a show which is both heroic and delightful in equal measure
Day Ten: The March on Rome
We are woken early by our host as undertakings have to be made for those of our number with special dietary requirements. Those of us without special dietary requirements feel less than special and more than hungry. This is later rectified after we march on Rome, imbibe heroic amounts of red wine and dine on spaghetti con vongole. This after all is a night off.
Day Eleven: Sinistre Noise, Roma
We take in the sights, pizza and a modest drop before our evening meal which although most pleasant is more north African than Italian but when in Rome etc…
Day Twelve. Cantina Mediterraneo, Frosinone
We say arrivederci to our gentile host Michele but not before Suzi knocks up a substantial breakfast. A sophisticated blend of the traditional English and classical Italian sits well with us as we navigate Rome’s one-way system. You simply can’t see the Coliseum too many times. Ah, there it is again!
Supper: we locate tonight’s venue. Quaintly nestled in the heart of a closed industrial park in Italy’s answer to Kettering tonight’s meal reflects our environs. Intimidating amounts of meat and brutal quantities of red wine. In turn our show reflects this. A trend is developing; a pattern appears to be immerging.
Day Thirteen: Partyzan, Cosenza
Breakfast: Grilled panninis care of Auto Grill
Elevenses: Grilled panninis care of Auto Grill
Luncheon: Grilled panninis care of Auto Grill
Afternoon tea: Grilled panninis care of Auto Grill
Dinner: Pringles
Supper: After a powerful show in a modern theatre, dramatic amounts of red wine, we feast on a pizza the size of a tennis court
Day Fourteen: Goldoni, Brindisi
Having discovered that most restaurants here tend to close for lunch we are lucky to happen upon one that bucks against this trend. Some extraordinary anti pasta is cleverly offset against a seafood risotto with extra tentacles. Pleasant measures of white wine, an invigorating drive and we arrive in time to take ice cream on the front before a sublime supper of pasta con fungi e insalata verde. The show is a success but too much for our drum tech and clarinetist, Alison. Adriatic quantities of vodka and she’s kicking bins up Brindisi high street. Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Day Fifteen: Isotterranei, Copertino
We are joined after our pre concert supper and post concert drinks by some representatives of the local mafia concerned, it appears, that tonight’s pasta was not served ‘all dente’. We swap cigarette lighting techniques and go our separate ways. They promise to ‘visit’ again; we toast them with stoic amounts of red wine.
Day Sixteen: Mono Spazio Bar, Pescara
Don Dario, food critique of the Hersham Enquirer flies in accompanied by Our Number One Fan. Supper is a jolly affair. It is good to be surrounded by a less intimidating ‘family’ tonight and the show reflects this.
Day Seventeen: Zuni, Ferrara
Don Dario has a ferocious apatite for grilled panninis care of Auto Grill and we stop a record 9 times so he can try all varieties. Paolo, our tour guide, has checked himself into a drying out clinic en rout and we toast him with chronic amounts of red wine whilst gourmandising over a spread befitting our last Italian date.
Day Eighteen:Crossing the border
We bid friends and Suzi farewell and head north to Lake Como where we blow most of the tour funds in a spectacularly expensive restaurant that served us a less than spectacular supper. Perhaps it is only that we leave this sublime country tomorrow and our palates would be mute had even the president’s best chef cooked on this evening of reflections and digestions. We call for more wine.
Day Nineteen: Musikvertribe Mascotte, Zurich
Breakfast: nougart
Luncheon: Toblarone
Dinner: Pringles
Supper: Cheese with holes in and alpine amounts of Swiss wine which is crisp, clean and fresh to the taste - as are tonight’s audience.
Day Twenty: The retreat to Dunkirk.
With funds almost extinguished we begin the long haul home. Our fearless leader finds in the glove box a single hard-boiled egg. It is a symbol of our journey. In the immortal words of Sir Paul (and landmark Wings album of the same name) it seems as if we all have indeed gone “Back to The Egg”
