Dedar cushion launch
Sometimes we get to put down our pens, notepads, and cameras and celebrate a new product or collaboration. Italian textile house Dedar hosted a colorful evening at their Bergdorf Goodman installation to officially launch their new, first-ever retail product line.
Owners, and siblings, Caterina and Raffaele Fabrizio celebrate their new venture.
I previously provided a tiny sneak peek of Dedar’s new cushions on Facebook, but I love the bright, saturated colors of the mix-and-match pillows. They are made from 100% cotton satin Tabularasa fabric with a variety of available trim options. Available only at Bergdorf Goodman, the cushions range from $250 for a 10″ by 16″ lumbar to $375 for a 20″ square.
We’ve featured Dedar’s to-the-trade fabrics and trim in the past, but I like that these are an easy way to accessorize on your own, still using high quality fabric. And I think I’m not the only one. Another fan:
Categories: color, Design, fabric, fabrics, Home, Italy, shopping | Tags: Bergdorf Goodman, Caterina Fabrizio, cushions, custom, Dedar, Raffaele Fabrizio, retail, textiles
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Sicilian Time (Don’t Wait up for Me!)
Villa Nicetta, Val Demone, Acquedolci municipallity, Sicily: www.villanicetta.it/england. All photographs by Julie Maris/Semel
One of Villa Nicetta's outbuildings-turned-guest room
When our van finally turned down the long, narrow drive of c.-17th-century Villa Nicetta, the race was on. Which would sink first—the sun or me? Day one in Sicily as a guest of the Italian Government Tourist Board’s “Sicila Natura” (eco tours of the island’s vast nature preserves) was drawing to an end. Or so I thought.
Welcome to Sicily, where nothing occurs according to clockwork. Thankfully. The ancient island, I soon discovered, moves to more arcane rhythms. Tip to travelers: Lose the lockstep and embrace the sway. There’s magic in motion.
Only too happy for release from the van and the refreshment of a shower, I passed on dinner, which would have required another hour’s van ride, each way, to and from the restaurant. Instead, our Italian hosts conversed with the villa’s managers, then assured me of “something light” to assuage my hunger. Hunger?? A five-course lunch at Ristorante Il Grande Pino in Sant’Agata (www.ilgrandepino.it) easily could’ve tided me over till touch-down at JFK the following week. See why?
Butterfly of swordfish with caponata (Farfalla di pescespada con caponata all'antica)
Homemade squid-ink pasta (strozzapreti) with prawns and beans
Mediterranean white fish with fresh bread, tomatoes and basil
Pistacchio flan on vanilla cream
We had starters on the patio before moving inside for a first course of piccolo aperitiva con crudo di pesce. In Texas we call it ceviche. I'll just call it D-lish. Sorry, no picl
So instead of bussing up to eat MORE, I opted out to absorb the beauty of this working farm, starting with the grape arbor outside my room.
These beauties hung from the arbor just outside my door. I love Sicilian snacks.
All kinds of critters on the farm—sheep, horses, chickens, guinea pigs, tortoises, friendly dogs.
There was a lot to absorb. The Aeolian Islands, for example, beckoned from across the Mediterranean, which sparkled at the horizon.
Jet-lagged and showered, I was ready to settle in with a book when summoned by the villa’s managers for my “something light.” I joined them in the villa’s slightly newer (18th century) restaurant, originally built as a mill. Its rustic ambience was set by the massive but sculptural original millstone, which maintains a place of artful honor as the focal point of the large space—empty, but for me that evening. “Something light,” turns out, meant a tableful of platters…an extravagance…a feast…an embarrassment of riches, with my hosts hovering. Fresh ricotta from the sheep I’d been visiting; chargrilled squash plucked fresh from the garden; ditto that for the caponata, vegetable toppings on the wood-oven-cooked pizza, and plates of assorted veggies both fresh and grilled; olive oil pressed from last year’s harvest from the grove outside….You get the picture. As I finally pushed away from the table, the 30-something daughter-in-law of the manager, Italian-English dictionary in hand, suggested we “run on the beach.” Why not?
So instead of crashing as planned, I rode with my new friend and her husand in their Fiat to Acquedolci, where we strolled the boardwalk and watched the surf break in the moonlight. (At this area, the Mediterranean is called the Thyrrenian Sea.) We stopped at a cafe across from the beach for a granita al limone (refreshing!) and some chic-Sicilian-people-watching. My friend’s mother and father and her two young children joined us. I don’t speak Italian, and my espresso mates spoke no English, but we communicated—through laughter with an occasional hit from the It-Eng dictionary.
When I returned to the villa, things were quiet. My journalist colleagues were back from their dinner and sound asleep. I have no idea what time I went to bed—only that it was past midnight. I was on Sicilian time, loving every minute.
