One of the most joyous periods in my life was the month I spent in Venice last year. The desire to return engulfs me, but unfortunately, it is not feasible financially or practically. However, residing in York presents an opportunity for a Venetian adventure.
I begin at Exhibition Square, a renowned piazza in York that may not match the magnitude or splendor of St. Mark’s Square, but it does feature a plastic topiary lion. Though it lacks wings like the Venetian Republic’s emblem, it shows promise. I visit the York Art Gallery cafe in the square and order an espresso al banco (at the counter), which costs significantly less than the €7 price tag at Florian’s, the ornate Venetian establishment founded in 1720. Wishing the topiary lion a buona giornata, I venture to the nearby minster to make a comparison with San Marco. After careful observation, I conclude that our resident peregrine falcons surpass their stolen Byzantine horses: York 1, Venice 0.
Unfortunately, canals pose a fundamental hindrance to this pursuit as York does not have any. My husband facetiously suggests that some of the potholes in the Clifford’s Tower car park are as large as canals. However, there are two rivers – the Foss and the Ouse. While I cannot find a gondola, rowing boat, or contact information for the individual from my school who sailed a giant pumpkin down the Ouse, York’s City Cruises offers motorboats for hire. These small vessels allow me to replicate the carefree spirit of Venetians as they effortlessly navigate the city’s side canals, sporting shades and padded jackets while managing their phones. My husband carries out the duties of a pilot without actively looking or using his hands to steer, exactly as a true Veneziano would (“Use any other body part”). Meanwhile, I sit back and revel in the experience. Tina, our boat, provides a fresh perspective on my hometown. Along the Grand Canal (Ouse), there is more activity than I initially anticipated – narrowboats, rowers, diligent workers fixing various issues, and even the river cruise boat honking and gesturing at my husband to get out of its way. There is even a river bus service similar to a vaporetto, albeit with only one route, once a day. From this vantage point, the city presents an appealing view, except for the urine-stained concrete walkway by the Panda Mami Buffet, which maintains its usual appearance of a crime scene rather than one from an elegant Donna Leon mystery featuring Commissario Brunetti indulging in an ombra and lamenting corruption. Unfortunately, the boating experience is slightly dampened by torrential rain. Jack from City Cruises informs us that they are even expecting flooding – acqua alta! – soon.
Medieval guilds played vital roles in the histories of both Venice and York. Hence, I decide to visit the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall to immerse myself in some historical context. The merchants adventurers were traders, similar to their Venetian counterparts. While the hall may not boast Tintorettos or Titians, it does showcase a flashy silver apple corer and a magnificent timbered ceiling. I do not recall these features from the school dance I attended here in the early 1990s, but perhaps that is due to the impact of several pints of Bacardi.
Concerning Venetian cuisine, it is disappointing that I cannot locate Venetian cicchetti (appetizers) or tramezzini (overstuffed sandwiches) in York, regardless of how diligently I search and how much I am willing to pay. Instead, I head to Alessandro Venturi’s pasta place, called Spaghetti Junction, situated in York’s hipster quarter on Bishopthorpe Road. Behind a curtain of red, white, and green, the back room exudes the ambiance of a miraculous cannaregio trattoria one stumbles upon when lost, famished, and squabbling. Although Alessandro is originally from Rome, he finds Venetian cuisine fascinating due to its Jewish and Byzantine influences. He skillfully prepares steaming bowls of the Venetian classic, bigoli in salsa. Bigoli are plump, handmade wholewheat strands, although Alessandro refers to them as “Roman-style bigoli.” They are served with a sauce of creamy, caramelized onions in which salty anchovies or sardines dissolve, accentuated with a sprinkle of cinnamon as a nod to Venice’s spicy history. Although fish is not a usual part of my diet, I occasionally indulge on trips, and I am delighted I do so here. The dish is delightful – a perfect balance of savory and sweet, brimming with wholesomeness. Will Alessandro incorporate bigoli into his menu of Roman classics? Probably not. “Introducing traditional Italian food to British people is not an easy task,” he remarks. “York remains old school.”
Regrettably, York market no longer offers an abundance of fresh produce; instead, it is inundated with “prosecco o’clock” plaques and mobile phone cases. I can imagine Venetians expressing similar sentiments about the Rialto. However, York’s fishmongers continue to thrive, bustling with customers seeking crab claws and kippers. Harrison’s fruit and vegetable stall showcases beautiful bunches of prezzemolo (parsley). While no one can provide me with an artichoke, Sheila’s Greengrocer tempts me with plump black cherries. I purchase some to enjoy on Lendal Bridge since it is prominent and white. While savoring the cherries on the riverbank, I am interrupted by a clamor of beeping. Once again, it is the river cruise boat – I have unwittingly occupied their jetty. I cannot linger for too long, as York’s aggressive geese, who possess a similar disposition to Venetian seagulls, might come after me.
The rain shows no mercy. Although I am wearing an elegant blouse and fashionable shoes to honor the Italian tradition of la bella figura, I am entirely drenched and shivering, emanating a vibe reminiscent of “Dirk Bogarde expiring in a deckchair in Death in Venice.” The memory of Katharine Hepburn’s eye infection, acquired from falling into a Venetian canal during the filming of Summertime, also crosses my mind. However, I know precisely how to lift my spirits – it’s aperitivo time! The Star Inn the City boasts a magnificent terrace facing the river, which, given the current weather, I enjoy alone, aside from a resilient Scottish couple donning cagoules. I secure a table with a waterfront view and order Venice’s most successful export since Marco Polo – an Aperol spritz. Cincin!
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