A Farmstay in St. Croix

Taverna Romana Monti To be clear, Lucia, the gruff proprietress, and her husband, Tonino, an older man of few words, do not want you here. They will do everything they can to dissuade you from waiting for a table. Ignore their pleas and stick it out—normally it takes no more than 20 minutes. When you finally gain entry, you'll see what all the fuss is about: The small space is unassuming, but in spite of the owners' shtick, it's incredibly inviting. Beyond the simple cork walls, the smells of simmering sauces waft out from the kitchen. Once you have a table, Lucia changes her tune entirely: Now you're part of the inner circle, not one of those suckers waiting outside. If you're lucky, it will start raining and you can hunker down for the better part of the afternoon. This is the rare trattoria where you are welcome to eat, drink, and eat some more with no regard for the time—or the growing line. Best dish: Rigatoni cacio e pepe. Ask for it with spaghetti instead of rigatoni so the sauce sticks to the pasta better; they're usually happy to make the switch. When the bowl arrives—drizzled in olive oil, with black pepper and a small mountain of freshly grated pecorino cheese—stir the ingredients together until you're left with the most delicious take on mac and cheese you've ever tasted. Via della Madonna dei Monti 79, 011-39/06-474-5325, rigatoni cacio e pepe $9.50, closed Sundays, cash only. Armando al Pantheon Pantheon Next year, Armando's will be celebrating its 50th birthday, which is saying something for a restaurant in one of the most trafficked piazzas in Rome. The atmosphere is on the romantic side of classic; walls are decorated with paintings, some lovely, some less so. Armando's sons currently own the place, and you'll see them every night, Claudio in the kitchen and Fabrizio working the front of the house. Pressed tablecloths and mood lighting elevate Armando's beyond your typical trattoria, making it a favorite for special dinners. And while the menu has all the traditional staples, the most popular items are somewhat fancier: duck with prunes, guinea fowl, and pasta dishes that steer more toward mushrooms, truffles, and earthy, woodsy flavors. Best dish: Tagliolini al tartufo. A bowl of fresh pasta comes topped with a generous helping of rich black truffles from Abruzzi or Umbria and a touch of olive oil. It's normally served as a first course, but nothing on the secondi list will be more delicious, so feel free to make it your main. Salita dei Crescenzi 31, 011-39/06-6880-3034, tagliolini al tartufo $27, closed Saturday nights and Sundays. Osteria Qui Se Magna Pigneto Romans like their restaurants bright, and Osteria Qui Se Magna, which roughly translates to "Here you eat well" in Roman dialect, is one of the most intensely lit. It may look like a cafeteria when you first walk in, with red-and-white-checked paper tablecloths and daily specials written in marker, but the place is packed every night with young families and artist types in ironic glasses who aren't too thrilled that you've discovered their little secret. A dedicated family operation, the restaurant is known in the neighborhood as Da Valeria despite the fact that Valeria's son and daughter, Paolo and Pina Zecchino, currently own it. The recipes, however, remain precisely as they've always been. Best dish: Pasta alla mafiosa. This is a heaping bowl of rigatoni corti tossed with tomato sauce, eggplant, and creamy ricotta. Don't make the beginner's mistake of eating it as it's presented: The pros know to mix it all until the ingredients melt together into a gooey sauce. Via del Pigneto 307A, 011-39/06-274-803, pasta alla mafiosa $8.25, closed Sundays. Da Lucia Trastevere Da Lucia is on one of those Roman streets that you see in movies: a tiny cobblestoned block with 500-year-old palazzi; laundry hangs out of the windows, and lightbulbs sway overhead. You half expect to see Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck dining at an outdoor table. In other words, this place is all charm. Da Lucia is hardly a secret (you'll see plenty of guidebooks on the neighboring tables), but unlike many trattorias, the food hasn't suffered. The menu is simple, with the ever-present selection of pastas and meat dishes; the antipasti are the real reason to come. On a nice night, be sure to ask for a table outside, and then start with the pecorino e miele (cheese and honey) or alici al limone (anchovies with lemon juice) and a bottle of vino rosso della casa. The owner, a bald man known simply as Uncle Ennio, is as likely to scowl at out-of-towners as he is to send over a tiramisu on the house. Don't take it personally—it's all part of the show. Best dish: Spaghetti alla gricia. A bowl of warm spaghetti is piled high with freshly grated pecorino cheese, cracked black pepper, and several chunks of salty, perfectly fatty pancetta. Vicolo del Mattonato 2B, 011-39/06-580-3601, spaghetti alla gricia $11.50, closed Mondays, cash only. Da Tonino al Governo Vecchio Piazza Navona It's hard to find this place. For one thing, it has a couple of monikers: Da Tonino, Trattoria di Antonio Bassetti. Also working against you is that if it's not lunchtime, you're likely to walk right by its nondescript glass doorway. Plan to arrive in the early afternoon, when a small, smartly dressed crowd queues up outside, and be prepared to wait a little while. The restaurant isn't much bigger than a dorm room, and after half a dozen trips, we've still never seen an empty table. Businessmen, politicians, and local merchants pour in for a bowl of pasta and a carafe of the house red wine. The tables are packed together; the owner, Antonio Bassetti, barks orders to his waiters; and the whole place hums with a steady flow of hungry Romans, most with napkins tucked into their dress shirts. Then, suddenly, by 3 p.m., only a few stragglers remain, one or two tables of non-Italians. If Antonio starts to look at you funny, that's why: Lunch is over, and he's ready to go home. Best dish: Rigatoni all'Amatriciana. Done al dente, the rigatoni here is as good as any in the city. All'Amatriciana is a mildly spicy tomato sauce with pancetta, a classic Roman dish. The other specialty of the house is rigatoni alle melanzane, pasta tossed with eggplant, tomato, garlic, and olive oil. Via del Governo Vecchio 18–19, 011-39/333-587-0779, rigatoni all'Amatriciana $9.50, closed Sundays, cash only. ROME NEIGHBORHOODS 101 Trastevere Several years ago, Trastevere was considered off the beaten path by Roman standards. But the remove had its own appeal, and the neighborhood became a destination unto itself. Still, Trastevere maintains its characteristic charm: late-night bars, yapping dogs, and old-school Italian mamas chatting to each other from their windows. Get there: Tram 8 from Largo di Torre Argentina to Piazza Mastai. Piazza Navona While Piazza Navona proper is dominated by tourist shops and caricature artists, things are far more authentic just a few blocks away. For example, via del Governo Vecchio, the street Da Tonino is on, has vintage clothing stores, jewelry boutiques, and tiny wine bars—and not a caricature artist in sight. Get there: Bus 40 or 64 from Roma Termini to Largo di Torre Argentina. Pantheon Yes, that's a McDonald's over there, but don't let it get to you. This neighborhood, smack in the heart of the city, revolves around an undeniably stunning 2,000-year-old church, and even the tour groups passing through can't detract from the sheer beauty of it all. Get there: Bus 40 or 64 from Roma Termini to Largo di Torre Argentina. Monti Just behind the Colosseum, Monti is characterized by tranquil, ivy-covered palazzi and quiet, hilly streets. In the warm-weather months, the sidewalks fill up with well-dressed Italian families out for an evening stroll and young children playing soccer in the piazza. Get there: Metro Linea B from Roma Termini to Cavour or walk the seven minutes. Pigneto Originally home to railroad workers who lived here while building the tracks that now run into the middle of the city, Pigneto later inspired Italy's finest filmmakers, like Pier Paolo Pasolini and Roberto Rosselini, who filmed here. Today, it's probably the least touristy pocket of Rome—full of art students, documentary filmmakers, and the cafés they frequent. Get there: Bus 105 from Roma Termini to Via Casilina.

I WANT A VACATION FIRST, COOKING SCHOOL SECOND Spain At Catacurian, two hours southwest of Barcelona, guests gather in a fourth-generation stone home turned boutique hotel to learn Catalan cooking and explore nearby vineyards and monasteries. catacurian.net, three-night package with food, lodging, and classes from $1,359 per person. Nova Scotia The typical weekend at the Trout Point Lodge involves a visit to an oyster farm and a lobster wholesaler, several hours of cooking instruction, wine tasting, and plenty of time in front of the fireplace. troutpoint.com, two-night package with lodging, all meals, and classes $781 per person. I COULD EAT ITALIAN FOREVER Italy Why go to Italy to learn from two Americans? Because Ashley and Jason Bartner, the latter a former New York chef and devotee of the Slow Food movement, host their school, La Tavola Marche, on a 250-acre farm near Urbino in central Italy. latavolamarche.com, half-day class $149, double rooms from $102. I HAVE A NEED TO KNEAD San Francisco During the three-day Wood Fired Oven Baking course at the San Francisco Baking Institute, students will create homemade pizzas, breads, and rustic tarts in the school's open-flame oven. sfbi.com, three-day course $598 per person. I'M OBSESSED WITH DIM SUM Hong Kong At Martha Sherpa's Cooking School, students wash, chop, pound, and marinate just like sous-chefs in a professional kitchen. The payoff? You'll cook restaurant-quality Chinese with equipment that's already in your kitchen. marthasherpa.com, full-day class with lunch from $200. I'M NO NOVICE, BUT I'M NOT EXACTLY READY FOR LE CORDON BLEU New York While New York City's International Culinary Center caters mostly to pros, visitors can sign up for a one-, two-, or three-day course. You'll create tapas, handmade pasta, bagels, or French classics like moules frites or croissants. internationalculinarycenter.com, one-day classes from $150. I'D LIKE THAI FROM MY KITCHEN, NOT A DELIVERY GUY Thailand Sompon Nabnian introduced the world to Thai cooking schools 17 years ago, and today backpackers and foodies alike still gather at his Thai Cookery School in Chiang Mai to learn to make delicacies like tom yam soup and Penang curry. thaicookeryschool.com, beginner classes from $31. FORGET ENTRÉES, I'M ALL ABOUT DESSERT France At Valrhona, France's famed chocolatier, aspiring pastry chefs can choose from one of two campuses (one near Versailles and the other outside Lyon) where they'll join a two-day program on luxury chocolates and pastries. ecole.valrhona.com, two-day course from $379 per person.

READERS' TOP QUESTIONS How do I find a reputable school? Well, it turns out that it's not as straightforward as you'd think. Unlike hotels or even voluntourism organizations, the best of which are vetted by respected agencies, cooking courses are often one-offs, run by people you've never heard of. There's no global clearinghouse or accrediting agency, and as a result, basic Web searches can be more confusing than productive. The best place to start is the official website of the country or region you're interested in visiting. Tourism bureaus often evaluate and approve culinary courses along with other travel resources. Visitbelgium.com, for example, devotes a page to 12 top schools around the country, including one in Brussels with a weekly class taught in English and a name that says it all: Mmmmh! British Columbia's website, hellobc.com, lists 10 well-established cooking schools, searchable by region. (Interested in harvesting local greens on Vancouver Island or grilling lamb in the Okanagan Valley wine country?) For now, the closest thing to a clearinghouse is cookingschools.com, which is owned by the job-hunting specialist Monster. It caters to food-service professionals seeking serious semester-long programs, but some of the listed schools offer weekend or one-day classes appropriate for travelers. This is also a good time to tap into social networks for more under-the-radar listings. Foodie forums on chowhound.com and epicurious.com are good places to seek recommendations. Similarly, tripadvisor.com has a surprising number of cooking school threads (last count: 1,260). Finally, keep an eye out for foodtrekker.com from the International Culinary Tourism Association. The site will launch later this summer and is slated to include a global guide to cooking courses, culinary tours, and farm-to-table dinners. How will I know if a school fits my needs? You just have to ask the right questions: (1) Is the class in English? Sounds obvious, but if you find yourself trying to flambé, dictionary in hand, more than your dessert will go up in flames. (2) Is this course for beginners? You don't want to be bored or, perhaps worse, in over your head with a cleaver. (3) What's the ratio of students to instructors? If it's higher than 6:1, you might not have much of an opportunity to get your questions answered. (4) How long will we actually be in the kitchen? At some schools, you can spend half your time in a tour bus or socializing over cocktails. (5) Will we cook dishes I can prepare at home? If all the recipes rely on an obscure Laotian root or some über-expensive industrial appliance, you might be better off watching the Food Network. What's a good price for a class? There's no easy answer to this one. Prices are determined by the desirability of the location, the level of individual attention, and the celebrity status of the instructor. In other words, they're all over the place. That said, there are general rules of thumb. In Europe, it's rare to find a full-day program for less than $200, and that price can soar in locations like Provence or Tuscany, where a five-hour, five-course meal instructional often tops $350. In the U.S., a short group class (two hours or so, with 12 or more students) costs around $50. At the other end of the spectrum, one-on-one tutorials can climb to $600 a day. In Asia, travelers will find an equally large disparity. An introductory cooking class at the Mandarin Oriental Dhara Dhevi in Chiang Mai is $154 a day, but a similar lesson covering the same curriculum at the Thai Cookery School, 10 minutes away, runs only $31 (thaicookeryschool.com). Are there ever any deals? The short answer is no. Unlike flights or hotels, prices at cooking schools remain pretty constant. That said, one piece of advice still applies for bargain hunters: Buy in bulk. Chef and author Samira Hradsky, who teaches out of her Paris apartment, lowers the price from $250 to $200 a day if you sign up for more than one course (foodunitestheworld.com). Is there anything I should do before showing up? Sure. Consider it your prep work: Read about dishes and ingredients you're likely to encounter, and try out a recipe or two at home. Whether it turns out delicious or dreadful, you'll almost certainly arrive in class primed with questions. When you're there, remember to take notes (it's not the same as reading handouts later). And bring a digital camera too; the visuals will be helpful when you try to re-create the recipe on your own. Finally, consider booking a room with a kitchenette so you can practice what you learn while the lessons are still fresh—and while you have access to all those fantastic local ingredients. EXTRA CREDIT! Key phrases to sweet-talk your instructor. Italy "La ricetta è della sua nonna?" Is this your grandmother's recipe? Thailand "Sai prik ig noy, dii mai?" Perhaps a few more chiles? France "Pourriez-vous me conseiller un bon vin?" Can you recommend a good wine? U.S. "You should be on Top Chef." DRESS CODE DON'TS Four items not to wear on your first day at school. Dangling jewelry: Cuisinarts can be cruel. A sweater: Wouldn't you rather bake the ingredients? Flip-flops: One dropped rolling pin... Chef hat: Don't even think about it.

It was quiet when I stepped into the Farmers Diner in Quechee, Vt. At eight in the morning, the vintage dining car smelled of syrup and grease, just like it should. I slid up to the worn marble counter and planted myself on a red-vinyl stool. The waitress nodded at me, as if to say, "I'll get there when I get there." By the look of it, the Farmers was just like any other New England diner. At least until I picked up the menu. It wasn't that I didn't recognize the food; there were classics like omelets and club sandwiches. It was the ingredients that caught me off guard. Eggs from a farm down the road. Bacon smoked over ground corncob and maple shavings from just north of town. Leave it to Vermonters to turn a blue-plate special green. Across the state, Yankee practicality is blending with back-to-the-land values in the form of diners that promote local foods. On any given day, three quarters of the ingredients at the Farmers come from within a 70-mile radius. Statewide, at least half a dozen other diners are following a similar path. The Farmers Dinerwas my first stop on a four-point greasy-spoon tour of southern and central Vermont (5573 Woodstock Rd. Rte. 4, entrées from $5). From there, I headed south down Route 5, a two-lane road that parallels busy Interstate 91 and hugs the Connecticut River. Rather than speed down the highway, I chose to take my time, cutting through farmland and passing from one former mill town to the next: Windsor and Bellows Falls (both a little down on their heels), and finally, Brattleboro, a small riverfront city resurrected in recent years by artists and entrepreneurs, as evidenced by the new galleries, brewpubs, and meditation centers set up in old brick storefronts. In many ways, mill towns like these are the reason that diners exist. In the late 1800s, mobile lunch wagons would park outside mills and factories to feed workers on the late shift. They were bawdy places filled with factory men, and in an effort to draw more customers, proprietors began sprucing them up. The wheels came off. The names were feminized to make them more approachable. (Ever notice how many diner names begin with "Miss"?) And the diner as we now know it began to take shape, driven by a handful of manufacturers, such as Worcester in Massachusetts and Silk City in New Jersey, that modeled their wagons after railroad dining cars. Just outside Brattleboro, I pulled up to a picture-perfect example: The Chelsea Royal Diner, a 1938 Worcester lunch car (487 Marlboro Rd. Rte. 9, West Brattleboro, chelsearoyaldiner.com, entrées from $6). Inside, I grabbed a booth beneath the classic barreled ceiling. Like the Farmers, the Chelsea Royal showcases local food: A garden out back supplies fresh greens and tomatoes; omelets are made with eggs from a henhouse on the property. I asked Kristy, a waitress in milkmaid braids, what was good that day, and she told me the peach cobbler had just come out of the oven. "The peaches traveled down from Dutton's this afternoon," she said, referring to a farm stand I had passed earlier. It's tempting to think of Vermont's local-foods movement as just that, a movement. But, really, it's a continuation. Farming (and eating) has always been locally oriented here. Green diners might seem like by-products of our Michael Pollan–inspired times, but they're at least an equal part old-fashioned Yankee practicality. This point was driven home to me at theBlue Benn Dinerin Bennington (318 North St. Rte. 7, 802/442-5140, entrées from $2). I had left Brattleboro that morning and made my way across southern Vermont on Route 9, weaving through pine forests, past the overlook at Hogback Mountain, and through Wilmington, a whitewashed town with flower baskets hanging from the bridges. The Blue Benn, a 1949 Silk City chrome dining car, has been packing in crowds for decades. I settled onto a stool in front of a mini jukebox at the counter. Dozens of signs tacked to the wall touted an eclectic mix of specials—everything from nut burgers to pumpkin-pecan pancakes. I ordered the veggie enchiladas, filled with zucchini, onions, and tomatoes, and topped with Vermont cheddar. The vegetables, the waitress told me, come from owner Sonny Monroe's garden, and the menu changes based on the morning's yield. "When it's cleaning-out-the-garden time, it's gazpacho time," she said. Does it get more Yankee than that? Like Brattleboro, the town of Bennington has witnessed a small rebirth in recent years. I spent the rest of my afternoon poking around pottery and antiques stores and cooling my heels at The Eddington House Inn, an elegant and uncluttered 1857 gray-clapboard B&B (21 Main St., eddingtonhouseinn.com, from $109). The next morning, I woke up to stuffed French toast and a yogurt parfait topped with raspberries, and then set out on Route 7A, heading north through Green Mountain National Forest. At Manchester, I dodged the traffic aimed for the dozens of designer outlets nearby (even in Vermont, you can't wear Birkenstocks all the time) and veered northwest to the off-the-beaten-track town of Castleton. Fifteen miles west of Rutland, Castleton (population 4,000) is not the kind of place you'd visit—unless you're on a diner tour. But I could see immediately that the Birdseye Dinerwas worth the detour (590 Main St., birdseyediner.com, entrées from $11). The gleaming 1940s Silk City car sits on Main Street, just across from the clapboard Castleton Village Store. Inside, a group of Castleton State College kids were eating blueberry pancakes under an art deco clock. I ordered the meatloaf and mashed potatoes and paired it with a summer ale from Otter Creek, a brewery in nearby Middlebury. I asked the waitress if the diner's owner bought ingredients from area farms. "Well, yeah, the eggs and lettuce are local," she said. "But the milk? Um, no, that's from Rutland." I guess in Vermont, 15 miles may as well be 1,500.