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There's a chunk of Planet Earth between the city of Alba (famous for Truffles and Nutella) and the township of Bra - that's right - a TOWN called "BRA!" - on the hilly left side of the Tanaro River, called Roero. The local dialect sounds like bad French spoken by an Italian or else bad Italian spoken by a Frenchman. Roero got its name from an aristocratic family called "Rotari". How the T was lost and how the A become an E and the I an O does not speak well of this noble family. According to the legend, Alfonso, the last scion, was so enamored of the local fermented grape juice that he lost control of his upper lip area... a difficulty compounded after he was punched out for making lubricious comments to Anette Labonne, Napoleon's masseuse. So, close your eyes and imagine ancient hilltop towns, castles, a 275 degree view of the Alps (on a clear day - almost never)... and while you're at it think of vinyards and peach orchards and Chestnut groves... and think of family run restaurants and home made breadsticks... a bright red Ferrari honking at a slow-moving tractor that's pulling a wagon full of freshly picked grapes to the cantina, OUR CANTINA (YOUR FERRARI)... "Bello... Bellissimo... "
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