Foraging Aglio Orsino in Fiobbio and Using it Fresh Pasta with Friends

Some meals start in the kitchen. Others start in the woods.

Our day began with a walk near Fiobbio, a small village on the slopes of Monte Misma in the Val Seriana area above Bergamo. We’ve done several hikes in and around Misma. See: A Walk from Albino to Bergamo via Monte Misma, Monte Misma – Just Outside Our Window, and Le Vie di Misma - Trails 511 and 510.

  
Left: Algio orsino (or bear garlic) growing along the Lujo stream.
Center: A walk in Fiobbio, Italy to collect algio orsino (Allium ursinum).
Right: Fresh ravioli stuffed with ricotta and aglio orsino, decorated with pesto made with aglio orsino.

From our friends’ house, we set out on foot toward the Lujo stream, baskets in hand and a clear objective: find aglio orsino (Allium ursinum), also known as wild or bear garlic.

Early spring is the moment for it. In damp woodland, the plant spreads in thick green carpets, announcing itself before you even see it. The air carries that unmistakable garlicky scent. Crush a leaf between your fingers and the smell intensifies instantly; a small chemistry experiment happening right there on the trail.

That chemistry is part of what makes aglio orsino so interesting. In the intact leaf, sulfur-containing compounds like alliin are stored separately from an enzyme called alliinase. When the leaf is cut or crushed, the enzyme converts alliin into allicin, the compound responsible for the sharp, pungent garlic smell. Allicin is powerful but unstable, and when heated it quickly transforms into milder sulfur compounds that soften the flavor.

This detail became important later.

After collecting a generous bundle along the stream, we made our way back, stopping briefly at Ca’ La Stongia before returning to Elena and Matteo’s kitchen. The plan was simple: fresh pasta and whatever we could make from the wild garlic we had gathered.

The kitchen quickly turned into a small workshop. Flour on the counter, eggs cracked into a well, dough kneaded and rolled through the pasta machine. We made two pastas: tagliatelle and ravioli. The ravioli were filled with ricotta and our freshly foraged aglio orsino, and dressed with a pesto made from the same leaves.

But first we did something that might seem counterintuitive for garlic lovers: we boiled the leaves briefly. The reason goes back to that chemistry. Heat disables the enzyme that produces more allicin and breaks down the allicin already present. The result is a gentler flavor—still garlicky, but greener and more rounded. Our friends had tried using the leaves raw the week before and found the result overpowering; a quick blanch made the ingredient much easier to work with.

Cooking together has its own rhythm. Someone rolls pasta while someone else shapes ravioli. Someone tastes the filling and adds a little more salt. Conversations jump from food to walks to whatever else comes up. Hours pass without anyone noticing.

In the end, the table filled with bowls of pasta: ravioli with ricotta and wild garlic, tagliatelle with pesto alla trapanese. Dessert followed—pastiera we brought to share and a colomba waiting on the counter.

It’s satisfying to eat something you’ve gathered yourself, but the real pleasure is the chain of events behind the meal: the walk through damp woods, the smell of crushed leaves, the small bit of chemistry that transforms a sharp plant into something delicate, and the shared work of turning it all into lunch.

Meals that start in the woods tend to taste better.

Photos

  

Left: Chiesa di Sant'Antonio da Padova in Fiobbio, Italy.

Center: Allium ursinum flowers (edible but we didn't use) in our pesto.
Right: Allium ursinum leaves.

 

Left: Fresh ricotta at Ca' La Stongia in Fiobbio, Italy.

Right: Selling pesto algio orsino: not thanks we are making it ourselves!

 

Allium ursinum (aglio orsino in Italian) growing alongside the Lujo (stream).

   

Making ravioli. Rolling out pasta. Making filling with ricotta and bear garlic (parboiled), and putting filling inside rolled out pasta dough.

 

Fresh ravioli stuffed with ricotta and wild garlic. Ready to be boiled and plated with spots of wild garlic pesto and decorated with primrose and violet flowers. 

 

Tagliatelle was also made and served with pesto alla trapanese.

Four Small Reminders in Late January

Late January can feel washed out, as if the world has been reduced to a narrow grayscale palette. Add to that the current state of the world and you might even say we are living in near-monochrome. On a winter walk today, everything around us seemed muted: sky, ground, even the air itself.

 

 

And then, along the path, four small interruptions in the monotone: a crocus pushing up early through the brown leaf litter, Liverwort (Hepatica nobilis) in its soft purple, a Primrose (Primula vulgaris) glowing impossibly yellow and teasing spring, and the layered fans of a Trametes versicolor mushroom on a stump in an almost perfect psychedelic display.

Colorful yes, and also reminders. The world isn’t actually colorless, even when it feels that way. Sometimes it just takes a few bright spots to pull you back to your senses and the spectrum that’s still around us.

So here they are—four small flashes of color from a winter walk. A brief reminder that even in late January, something is always stirring.

Lanzarote: Notes from a Brief Botanical Infatuation

Two Worlds, Two Climates ~ Group 1: Plants Seen Out and About ~ 

Group 2: Patterns from the Jardín de Cactus ~ Why These Plants Stayed with Us

Left: Plants we saw out and about on Lanzarote.

Right: Plants we saw in the Jardín de Cactus.

We can’t help it. Plants call to us to have their photos taken. You could call it travel-induced plant euphoria. I guess changing your biome wakes up one’s senses. And Lanzarote certainly counts as a biome change. A big one.

The last time we felt this moved by plants was in Japan in May 2025. We wrote about those in Temples and Shrines, Gardens and Connection to Nature in Japan.

A few days on this volcanic island and suddenly we had enough plant photos to justify at least one composite image of plants. But then we stepped foot in the beautiful Jardín de Cactus | CACT Lanzarote where we proceeded to snap hundreds of more photos. The best of the cactus garden photos are in the second composite image.

Two Worlds, Two Climates

For the climate nerds (we see you, because we are you):

• Lanzarote → BWh hot desert climate + dry Macaronesian ecoregion
• Bergamo → Cfa humid subtropical climate + temperate mixed forest ecoregion

We had to look up Macaronesia. Didn’t even know the term. The Canary Islands, Madeira, Azores, and Cape Verde are all part of this biogeographical region. Naturally, our first reaction seeing the word Macaronesian was to confuse it with the country Micronesia. How ignorant we are in geography! But now we’re obsessed, because this little chain of islands out in the Atlantic is home to plants you simply don’t see elsewhere.

While standing on Lanzarote, you can almost feel the ecological isolation. The island is small — only about 50 km by 20 km — and dry. Very dry. Depending on where you are, annual rainfall averages somewhere around 100–200 mm a year. Bergamo gets five to six times that without even trying. No wonder Lanzarote plants have attitude.

The island of Lanzarote doesn’t have the kind of tall peaks—think 1500 meters and above—that force moist trade-wind air upward to form clouds and rain. Without that orographic lift, most of the moisture simply passes by, leaving Lanzarote in its famously dry state while neighboring Canary Islands with higher mountains capture far more precipitation. For more about Lanzarote, see Lanzarote - In the Layers.

Group 1: Plants Seen Out and About

In this category, we include plants you can easily see in gardens, along roadsides, and even on beaches.

Phoenix canariensis

The Canary Island date palm. Native, iconic, and everywhere — and if you’re from a place where palms are landscaping luxuries, seeing them casually lining roads feels like cheating.

Euphorbiaceae Running the Show

By far, the family we saw the most — both in the wild and later in the cactus garden — was Euphorbiaceae. Lanzarote seems determined to make sure you notice this. Two members of this family:

• Tabaiba dulce (Euphorbia balsamifera) The official plant symbol of Lanzarote. It’s an endemic shrub perfectly suited to the island’s dry slopes and lava fields. Knobby looking, architectural, and somehow both tough and delicate. A sort of botanical embodiment of the island itself.
• Poinsettias (Euphorbia pulcherrima) It amazes us to see these grown outside while I struggle to keep ours alive through January. Some people vacation to relax; we vacation to be humbled by horticulture.

When "Weeds" Go International

Some plants we saw are not native at all — but show up so often that you start thinking they belong there.

• Rumex lunaria (family Polygonaceae) A known invasive on Lanzarote — though the story is more complicated. Recent genetic work shows that most individuals on the island descend from plants originating on El Hierro, suggesting a human‑mediated introduction rather than natural dispersion (2023 phylogeographic study). Local oral history claims it was brought to northern Lanzarote in the early 20th century, possibly the 1930s, as a drought‑tolerant forage plant (Bernardos et al.). Botanists didn’t formally record the species on Lanzarote until 1970 (Per Sunding) (research summary), but by the 1980s it was already spreading across disturbed volcanic slopes, including inside Timanfaya. Today it is often treated as a “translocated native” — a plant native to the Canary Islands but introduced to this particular island by people, now behaving invasively in fragile terrain.
• Nicotiana glauca (family Solanaceae) Tree tobacco — a plant we spotted in abandoned lots, roadside edges, and dry ravines. It isn’t native to the Canary Islands; N. glauca originates from South America. It was introduced globally in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, often as an ornamental shrub, and quickly naturalized in warm, arid climates where it thrives on disturbance. In the Canary Islands it is considered an alien, naturalized species, spreading easily through volcanic soils and human-altered landscapes (GBIF). Fast-growing and drought-tolerant, it has become a familiar presence on roadsides and in the forgotten corners of Lanzarote.

Lichens in a Desert?

Yep. Lanzarote has surprising lichen diversity. In Timanfaya we were especially struck by pale crusts and branching gray forms. One of the species associated with volcanic substrates in Macaronesian islands is Stereocaulon vesuvianum, a lichen well adapted to harsh, mineral-rich lava fields. It looks ghostly and delicate, yet survives where most plants never would.

The lichens are pioneers. They begin the long, slow process of turning rock into something resembling soil. By breaking down volcanic surfaces through chemical weathering, trapping dust, and building up tiny bits of organic matter, they quietly prepare the ground for whatever comes next.

They’re the first hint of what might someday become something lush. Not soon, not quickly, not on any human schedule — but lichens are the patient opening act that makes future plant life possible.

Names of plants in the composite image:

• Row 1
• Foliose form of lichen on lava perhaps Ramalina.
• [Amaranthaceae] Suadea vera
• [Anacardiaceae] Schinus molle
• [Apocynaceae] Stephanotis floribunda
• [Araucariaceae] Araucaria heterophylla
• Row 2
• [Arecaceae] Phoenix canariensis
• [Asparagaceae] Agave americana
• [Asparagaceae] Dracaena drago
• [Asteraceae] Launaea arborescens
• [Boraginaceae] Cordia sebestena
• Row 3
• [Crassulaceae] Sedum morganianum
• [Euphorbiaceae] Codiaeum variegatum
• [Euphorbiaceae] Euphorbia balsamifera
• [Euphorbiaceae] Euphorbia pulcherrima
• [Moraceae] Ficus macrophylla
• Row 4
• [Myrtaceae] Psidium sp.
• [Polygonaceae] Rumex lunaria
• [Solanaceae] Nicotiana glauca
• [Vitaceae] Vitis vinifera - Malvasia volcanica
• [Zygophyllaceae] Zygophyllum fontanessii

Group 2: Patterns from the Jardín de Cactus

The cactus garden is a lesson in geometry. It’s also a lesson in humility: you think you’re photographing a plant, but what you’re actually photographing is the pattern it creates. Spirals, ribs, shadows, and repeating forms. Barrel cacti arranged like green dominos. Opuntia pads making accidental abstract art. 
And everywhere, that stark contrast: bright green against black volcanic lapilli.

The garden is curated, sure, but still very much in conversation with the wild landscape around it. Stand in the right spot and you see a cactus rib echoing a terraced volcanic slope behind it. Or vice versa.

Why These Plants Stayed with Us

Lanzarote overwhelmed us with its scenery. After the initial wow moment(s), you start to slow pick out plants and understand their niche. Each plant showing you how life adapts to dryness, wind, and volcanic dust. And once you start noticing, you can’t stop. The layers of Lanzarote are discussed in the post, Lanzarote – In they Layers.

It’s a kind of travel shift: suddenly, we’re comparing our own region’s plants to those here, thinking about ecoregions and rainfall, and remembering that the planet arranges itself in patterns we barely pay attention to.

And maybe that’s the joy of travel: you leave home for a few days, you come back with too many plant photos and a renewed respect for humidity and horticulture.

If we ever get our poinsettia to survive winter in Bergamo, we’ll consider it a victory. But Lanzarote? Lanzarote doesn’t even break a sweat.

For more plant-related wanderings, see:

• Temples and Shrines, Gardens and Connection to Nature in Japan
• Sintra in Three Days - Plants and Patterns
• Selected Plants from Our Iceland Trip

Bergamo Wall Plant - Valeriana rubra

  

Valeriana rubra in and on walls in Bergamo, Italy. Left via Sudorno. Center via Beltrami.

This is our 15th plant in our list of wall plants seen in Bergamo, Italy. A wall plant is one we've seen growing in and on walls in Bergamo. So what you might say. Well, we are living (1) in a walled city that was a Venetian defensive system built between 1561 and 1588, and now designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since July 2017. There are over 6 km of mostly uninterrupted (2) wall surrounding the city. Add to that countless walls inside the upper city – as is typical of Italian cities – and you have a lot of surface area for plants.

(1) We technically live just outside the upper (walled) city but spend a lot of time going in and out of the upper city.

 

(2) It took us several years to realize that the part of wall that is missing is where Via Costantino Beltrami (here) leaves the upper city. (The street is name for the Italian explorer who is reported to have discovered the headwaters of the Mississippi River.)

The plant on the wall in this post is Valeriana rubra (syn. Centranthrus ruber), which is part of the Caprifoliaceae (honeysuckle) family. Common names of Valeriana rubra included red valerian, kiss-me-quick, fox's brush, and Jupiter's beard. In Italian it’s referred to as Valeriana rossa. One thing about the Italian language is that many common names of plants echo in some way the scientific name. In English, it’s less the case.

A list of our wall plants we've seen in Bergamo thus far:

• [Caprifoliaceae] Valeriana rubra - Red valerian
• [Papavero] Papaver rhoeas (post) - Common poppy
• [Campanulaceae] Campanula poscharskyana (post) – Serbian Bellflower
• [Plantaginaceae] Antirrhinum majus (post) - Common Snapdragon
• [Crassulaceae[ Sedum palmeri (post)
• [Crassulaceae] Sedum album and Sedum dasyphyllum (post) - White Stonecrop and Corsican Stonecrop
• [Papavero] Fumaria officinalis (post) – Earth Smoke
• [Brassicaceae] Aubrieta deltoidea - Purple Rock Cress and Iberis sempervirens - Evergreen Candytuft (post)
• [Geraniaceae] Geranium robertianum (post) - Stinking Bob
• [Asteraceae] Erigeron karvinskianus (post) - Mexican Fleabane
• [Aspleniaceae] Asplenium ceterach (post) - Rustyback Fern
• [Aspleniaceae] Asplenium ruta-muraria (post) - Wall Rue
• [Aspleniaceae] Asplenium trichomanes (post) - Maidenhair spleenwort
• [Urticaceae] Parietaria diffusa (post) – Pellitory
• [Plantaginaceae] Cymbalaria muralis (post) - Pennywort

 

Valeriana rubra in and on walls in Bergamo, Italy.

Bergamo Wall Plant – Papaver rhoeas (Poppy)

  

Poppies (Papaver rhoeas) in Bergamo, Italy - growing on walls.

“Walls, huh, yeah
What are they good for?
Growing everything!”

Sung to the tune of “War”, an anthem made famous by Edwin Star in 1970. Poppies (papaveri in Italian) - scientifically known as Papaver rhoeas – are a plant you find often growing in and on walls around Bergamo, Italy. In the last week, we’ve resumed our jogs along Via Torni and Via G. Marieni. We stopped to snap some photos because the poppies were so beautiful, and we needed a break.

The walls along the streets via Torni and via G Marieni – on the “backside” of Città Alta of Bergamo – are a good place to find many of the tag: wall plants we’ve covered in past posts. These streets (really think "country lane") remind us a lot of our time in 2007 – 2008 when we lived in Florence and went for walks in the low hills just south of the city, in Arcetri. In those hills, we would often walk by Villa Galileo - Part of an estate called "Il Gioiello" - where Galileo spent the last part of his life under house arrest.

Other than facile evocation of the "War" song because it popped (no pun intended) into our heads (both Wall and War with one syllable starting with W), poppies do relate thematically in that they have become a symbol of remembrance and honor of those that have died in war.


  

Poppies (Papaver rhoeas) in Bergamo, Italy - growing on walls along Via Torni and Via G. Marieni.

 
Via Marieni (left) and Via Torni (right)  in Bergamo, Italy - a nice country lane for a walk or run.

A list of our wall plants we've seen in Bergamo thus far:

• [Papavero] Papaver rhoeas - Common poppy
• [Campanulaceae] Campanula poscharskyana (post) – Serbian Bellflower
• [Plantaginaceae] Antirrhinum majus (post) - Common Snapdragon
• [Crassulaceae[ Sedum palmeri (post)
• [Crassulaceae] Sedum album and Sedum dasyphyllum (post) - White Stonecrop and Corsican Stonecrop
• [Papavero] Fumaria officinalis (post) – Earth Smoke
• [Brassicaceae] Aubrieta deltoidea - Purple Rock Cress and Iberis sempervirens - Evergreen Candytuft (post)
• [Geraniaceae] Geranium robertianum (post) - Stinking Bob
• [Asteraceae] Erigeron karvinskianus (post) - Mexican Fleabane
• [Aspleniaceae] Asplenium ceterach (post) - Rustyback Fern
• [Aspleniaceae] Asplenium ruta-muraria (post) - Wall Rue
• [Aspleniaceae] Asplenium trichomanes (post) - Maidenhair spleenwort
• [Urticaceae] Parietaria diffusa (post) – Pellitory
• [Plantaginaceae] Cymbalaria muralis (post) - Pennywort
  

Hellebore Hike – aka Maresana Hike Again!

   

[Ranunculaceae] Helleborus niger - seen near Maresana Hill in Bergamo, Italy

We had a guest visiting us and thought a hike to Maresana and betyond for lunch at Trattoria del Moro would be nice. (And it was.)

On the way up on trail 553 (from Quintino Alto), we saw white flowers poking out in the brown leaf litter. Hellebores! We are always surprised to see the Helleborus niger in bloom in the downtime of January. This plant is also called Christmas rose or black hellebore. It is an evergreen perennial flowering plant in the buttercup family, Ranunculaceae.

In the wild, H. niger subsp. niger is generally found in mountainous areas in Switzerland, southern Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Croatia and northern Italy. Helleborus niger subsp. macranthus is found only in northern Italy and possibly adjoining parts of Slovenia. Honestly, we don't know which subspecies we are seeing. It's likely niger.

According to the Schede di botanica, the plants pictured here are a little early in blooming. We should be seeing some snow in these hills and it's been unusually dry.

   
[Ranunculaceae] Helleborus niger - seen near Maresana Hill in Bergamo, Italy

  
[Ranunculaceae] Helleborus niger - seen near Maresana Hill in Bergamo, Italy

   
Hiking on Maresana Hill in Bergamo, Italy followed by lunch dishes Trattoria del Moro (Ponteranica).