Puglia's Prime

She scrunched up her face, then rubbed her thumb against her fingers to say "caro" (expensive). She then suggested a couple of local places where we could eat well and not pay much.

We followed some of her recommendations, and were glad we did.

That night we went to Il Sagittario, a large place lit up like an airport and hopping at Puglia's dinner hour -- after 9 p.m. The appeal was not the food -- although they served us a generous mix of antipasti and pasta -- but the theater. At tables of big Italian families, children my son's age drank red wine, young men gathered in front of a big-screen television for the Juventus-Liverpool soccer match, and the nonsensical English-language menu translations included such gems as "Tear her" and "Points to the juice." The bill for all three of us, with a good bottle of Puglian wine, came to about $45.

At lunch the following day, we ignored reason and dropped about $140 at one of those places revered by gourmands. Il Poeta Contadino (The Peasant Poet) in Alberobello is set in an ancient vaulted stable, a bit overdressed with coral pink table linens, silver knife rests, a soft background and one tuxedoed waiter.

What arrived on our plates -- some of it delivered by chef Marco Leonardo -- was exquisite, starting with an array of appetizer purees made from such ingredients as fava beans and eggplant. His orecchiette alla Pugliese, earlobe-shaped pasta made with turnip greens and cherry tomatoes in this version, was so light it seemed to have a quarter of the heft of the pasta from the night before.

But there was something strange about the place. For one thing, we were the only people there. It was low season, and not many locals spend that much on lunch. On the walls were several years' worth of Wine Spectator awards for "one of the best wine lists in the world." So I figured it was a good idea to ask the waiter for a good producer from whom to buy wine.

Puglia rivals Sicily as Italy's largest wine region, albeit with a long-standing reputation for producing lots of thin, acidic wine by the tanker. In recent years, the reality has changed for the better. We found several rich, spicy, dry red wines at restaurants throughout Puglia at a fraction of the price of comparable Chianti Classico.

"There's a place not far from here, a father and son . . . " the waiter began in Italian, explaining that this local winery made some of the most delicious wine in Puglia. It was -- according to his taste, of course -- even better than the very nice and reasonably priced half-bottle of Puglian wine from Salice Salentino that we were now finishing.

Later that week I stopped by the winery, met father and son, and tasted the wine.

It was barely drinkable. But I bought some anyway -- at less than $3 a bottle, it was a cheap souvenir.

Confection of a Town

Lecce is the prettiest city in Puglia, but like most cities in this part of Italy, the old town is ringed by unfortunate architecture and depressing housing blocks. The historic center, with its great plazas and Roman amphitheater, became a theatrical set for exuberant stone artists who worked the soft white Lecce stone in the wealthy days of 16th- to 18th-century construction. Angels, demons, animals, fruits, flowers and figures adorn the grand churches and palaces. The city's most magnificent building, the Basilica Santa Croce, looks more like it was carved in confectioner's cream than rock.

Speaking of sweets, some of the most prized dolce in town come from the cloistered Benedictine nuns at the 12th-century convent of San Giovanni Evangelista. Buying some, however, is not easy. First you have to go to the convent and wait for one of the sisters to appear at the iron-grated window through which the public is greeted, and then be patient. The sisters move to a clock that's apparently not of this world, and we spent most of a morning placing an order, being told to return and waiting to buy a half-kilo of that day's specialty -- marzipan treats.