Tag: food

Listen to the sounds of Italy. And beer.

Oh dear Heavens, it is Oktoberfest time in Umbria. And you know what that means! Actually, considering, you know, WW2 and all, I guess I’m surprised Oktoberfest gets much of a celebration but, yes, Pellicano’s Restaurant has a month of fun planned for you here in Pineta.

CHIESA MADONNA DELLA SBARRA, PANICALE, Umbria—ok, work with me and know that I Am The Low Tech Guy – in a high tech world. But, I like to get right in over my head and get fun digi toys and I have a new one here in Italy with me now. It is a tiny, thumb sized recorder that records, plays MP3s and like a regular thumb drive it can transfer files up to 500 megs! What Ever a meg is. Anyway, after a dinner at the Burnt Goose in Paciano, Wiley and I arrived at a concert, late, slipped into a side pew just inside the door, waved furtively at Steve and Jules in the back row. They must have come in almost as late as we did. We snapped a couple photos, don’t worry, no flash and then started this test recording of the concert. It starts out a bit scratchy, but I tried to edit it for hours and said, you know, that will be another day. It gets fairly nice if you advance it just a bit.

The concert was in the baroque church at the end of our street and this bit of of the concert is a piece of the ever popular ”Le Sonate di J.S. Bach per cembalo e violino” I did not know the word cembalo but it sounds quite a lot like a harpsicord to me. See what you think.

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF PIZZA?

PINETA, UMBRIA—Oh dear Heavens, it is Oktoberfest time in Umbria. And you know what that means! Actually, considering, you know, WW2 and all, I guess I’m surprised Oktoberfest gets much of a celebration but, yes, Pellicano’s Restaurant has a month of fun planned for you here in Pineta, just outside Castiglione del Lago.

Pellicano’s is where we first fell to the gastronomic low of having French fries for a starter course ahead of the pizza course. We keep saying Oh we’re on vacation. Lets live a little. Ok. Declasse. But these are seriously good fries. So good we don’t ask how they make them but surely they can’t be this good tasting and still good for you. And they come to the table so fast its like mental telepathy. Think the thought, barely verbalize it, and in seconds you are eating your words, in what feels like one fell swoop.

I really can’t think what first got us in the door the first time here. Other than we do drive by it going back and forth to Castiglione del Lago. Its right on the edge of the road in full sight with throngs of people eating outdoors at covered picnic (peek-neek) tables in the summer, and a full rigged, actual ship in front of the door all year round. On the weekends the road itself becomes an extension of their parking lot as it is packed with young revelers in the upstairs music lounge. Not quite crazy enough, brave enough, young enough to aspire to going up to The Jackel on a Saturday night.

The first time we went in Pellicanos I am quite sure we were all the way inside the doors before we realized it was a Scottish pub. Surely, we wouldn’t have knowingly gone into a Scottish pub in the heart of our beloved Umbria? But, yes. Yes, we did and yes, there really is Tennent’s Lager on tap. Which, strangely is beer. Which is not the national drink here. I think it is usually considered that stuff made out of the grapes we drive by all day long. But the beer is here and it is flowing out of the spigots at a prodigious rate.

So the whole thing seems totally wrong and out of context but it is a fun and guilty pleasure to go there and pagans that we are, no trip to Italy is complete without a Pellicano’s fix for us. And the woodburning oven pizza is thin and crisp and consistently great and creative choices. And Choices! Pages upon pages of Choices. One time I ordered the extra spicy sausage pizza named The Serpent and imagine my surprise when it came shaped like a snake with cunning olive eyes.

Tonight’s special was interesting, maybe not up there with the Serpent, but still fun. This American tourist found himself telling the black t-shirted Italian waitress that he wanted the German braut and French fry Okoberfest pizza special. And the beer special to go with it please. The pale, pale German ale: Paulaner Oktoberfest Bier. What a head it had on it. What a Magic Moment, overall. Ah yes, we are living “la dolce vita” now. Just made me want to climb up an Umbrian hilltop with a few hundred friend, hold hands and start singing ”I’d like to buy the world a Coke, and teach it how to sing”

And come to think of it, that is how we ended the night. By the time we got our stuffed selves back to Panicale we felt the need for a forced march around the town walls, twice, and then we made a stop at Aldo’s for a Coke to help ”digestivo un po” all this World Cuisine. One more lap and then it was home – to think about what we’ve just done. And promise never to do it again. Until the next time.

WILEY’S FIRST LONG TERM VISIT: AND FIRST IMPRESSIONS

The blur began with finishing university in London (Yes, I have the papers to prove it!!). And coming home to Maine for SeeYouInItaly boot camp, and now I have landed in Italy again to ––– well–––to begin!

CENTRAL UMBRIA — Well, let’s see . . . where do I begin? Is today Wednesday? I have to admit the past couple of days– the past week– the past few months have been a blur. But now that blur is slowly starting to become a dream! The blur began with finishing university in London (Yes, I have the papers to prove it!!). And coming home to Maine for SeeYouInItaly boot camp, and now I have landed in Italy again to ––– well–––to begin!

Last week here was a crazy week full of cell phone buying, unpacking and learning how to drive here, there, and anywhere else, my mother and I could think of. But on Monday, lessons finished, and after dropping my mother off at the airport, I officially dropped down the rabbit hole.

First off, driving the three hours back from Rome by myself, with my father’s words firmly in my head ”When you pull out onto a road you are not pulling out onto a road in Maine, you’re pulling out into OMIGOD! ” Well, lucky for me I avoided all ’omigod’ situations on the way back, and only had a little bit of traffic and rainfall! And I have to say, it felt good, pulling into Panicale in my little car, heading to my little house, and knowing I got there on my own. I came in and made myself a big celebration dinner– pasta with pesto (and Italian gods don’t kill me– but I put a little Tabasco sauce in it too– my version of something old, something new,?!) also had some of the great farm fresh ricotta that the Spannocchia girls brought us from their tenuta outside Siena, mmmm was that nice, and yes Mom if you’re reading this, a green bean and tomato salad! Then at about 10:30 crawled into bed and passed out– talk about big girl!!!

GREEN HONEY. AND DATING HABITS OF BLUE HAIRED UMBRIANS

Yesterday I woke up facing blue skies outside my the window and my first day alone– what to do, what to do? Work? Well that would seem like the right thing to do, but luckily I was saved from my own good intentions by our friend Celia, from San Diego. Celia found a house on SeeYouInItaly several years ago, and today was looking for some company– and some BEES!! Sounded like good enough fun to me; so, met Celia in the piazza at noon and promptly got sidetracked!

It’s Orfeo that’ll do it every time. After a brief hello, Celia told him about her quest for a particular hand cream made from bee products – that quickly led to Orfeo running into his house, grabbing his car keys, and leading us down the hill to his friends ”they have the best honey– you don’t need to go to Chiusi! You come to them”!
And so we went and arrived at a large house on a little road off the main hill to Panicale where an older woman was sorting through a basket of freshly picked mushrooms– soon her husband had made his way out, and we had small plastic spoons of honey in our mouths– then slow and heavy steps outside heralded a surprisingly young son (and bee keeper) just as a daughter, grandmother and grandchild came driving in– and in all this mayhem we managed to come away with two jars of lovely dark honey!

After our nice little detour we headed over to Chiusi where Celia’s friend and owner of a fantastic restaurant in the old city, Simoneta, greeted us warmly, handed us wine and quickly saw to preparing us food. No real ordering. Melanzane was the vegetable of the day– so I heard that word being said, other than that– Celia knew what she was doing, so I just sat back and let her. After meat starters, pasta, and a warm bean and tomato salad– all superb– we rounded out the meal with pecorino and honey (surely to keep with theme) . . . Man oh man it was a feast!

Later, as we strolled back to the car, more likely waddled, I noticed a very interesting difference between Chiusi and Panicale– In Chiusi all the benches and door stoops were filled with women, all sitting and chatting, fanning themselves and petting cats, well, as anyone’s who’s visited Panicale knows, in our town this sight is very unusual, it’s the men who take up the benches– but in Chiusi no men were to be seen– am I seeing a dating show? Umbrian Bench Dating, I really think I’m onto something here!

While at Simoneta’s we had discovered the bee shop that Celia had been told was 3 km away was really an hour away– uh oh . . . However! On Sunday I had been to Cetona for the first time with our friends Peter and Shiranee—and at the base of a particularly striking church piazza I had noticed a very strange word–Apinare? I had asked peter–Ah. he said, To do with bees . . . . hmmm well, Cetona was only a touch away and also has a great pottery shop– so, no harm in checking right!

After directing Celia where to go (yeah I remembered! See I can do this Italy Stuff!) We walked into the main piazza in Cetona, a lovely long piazza, very different from a lot of places around this area, and made our way up to the Apinare e Erbologist. It was a small shop with loads of goodies! And a father daughter sales team, who once deciding we were there to buy turned out to be very knowledgeable and very helpful . . . and although they didn’t have exactly what Celia wanted, we both came out ladened with plenty of unneeded stuff! I myself some bee pollen, royal jelly, and some ear candles! Like I said, totally useless, but incredibly fun!

Then we headed back to Panicale, where we caught the last of the sunset– and then onto dishes, and finally unpacking– yes it isn’t all glamour I’m learning!

SOUNDS OF SILENCE. GOOD NIGHT, UMBRIA

And it’s a funny thing, I’ve gone to sleep in empty houses before, but I think there are normally 3 things that can go through someone’s head alone in the dark, the first, being am I safe, well the doors are locked, the windows shut– and oh wait, I’m in Panicale– so check that one off the list. The second, it’s an old house– are there ghosts? Well I distinctly get the feeling that there is no other inhabitant in the house, so that’s alright, but it is strange, not eerie, but strange– there is no noise, none whatsoever, the sound of a buzzing insect can actually make you jump as you read in bed. And if the window is open, there are sometimes voices that find their way in, but it is very serene, but strange– I’m used to wood houses– I’m used to sounds you have no idea what could be making them– I’m used to living in a creaky house in Maine on the side of a noisy highway with four other people—and let’s admit it guys, we’re all pretty loud! Not to mention living in a five person flat in London– talk about loud! And now, suddenly, I’m in bed surrounded by thick stone walls, a sleepy town, and my own thoughts. But somehow it is not a lonely experience– maybe it’s the circular shape of the city or seeing my parents’ touches on every wall or even remembering that on any given day this house has the potential to become Party Central, but it feels like a hug. A great big Italian Nonna hug! And sleep comes very easy.

Today I am Actually Doing Work!! Yeah, it’s all going well, with breaks to do dishes and sweep and weed the garden, and chase the cats! We have two new kittens, one black and one white that have decided that our garden is their home, truth be told I’m assuming they were born here–and yes they are cute– cute as newborn kittens, but, no, our garden is not their home, which is something that not one of the town’s cats understands! And on any given day can be found asleep on our garden posts or in the lavender. Now our cause is really not helped by the fact that our neighbors —we suspect– are throwing food into our garden for them. Now, we could be wrong, but finding a large bone on the stairs doesn’t really help their case! So you can probably find me every few hours running around like a mad woman, chasing a kitten that is too small for you to see from the street– I was always good at first impressions! But apparently I am good at mimicking the action because today at Linda’s market I was able to mime out the whole thing to Linda and the Lillianna and tell them all about the kittens and all the cats, and it was nice to get some sympathy– and know that when all else fails charades work in any language– and in Italy they especially enjoy a little descriptive song and dance!

So that’s where I am now– about to make some nice soup in a bag– they really are great! Watching a Beatles video on German MTV– and trying to figure out what the message my Italian phone just sent me actually means! So we shall see, we shall see, but there is a flamingo sunset on the horizon, and warm stone steps underfoot and although my Italian isn’t anywhere near communicable, a smile will get you far in Umbria, and I have one at the moment that I just can’t seem to wipe off my face.

Umbrian Pears in The Big Apple

These people research Renaissance paintings of fruit –“Natura Morta” – (interestingly, we talk about “Still Life paintings”, Italians say “Dead Nature” paintings. Ugh.) and they try to find trees that still bear that fruit today. Sometimes, there will be one tree in all of Italy left. Or worse, just someone’s memory of one.

Have you seen The New Yorker? Big, engaging article in Sept 5th Food Issue about our corner of Umbria. Very interesting story focused on the people who have a Folk Traditions Center just outside nearby Citta’ di Castello. Article is called “Renaissance Pears. Saving the fruits of the Medici”. They research Renaissance paintings of fruit –“Natura Morta” – (interestingly, we talk about “Still Life paintings”, Italians say “Dead Nature” paintings. Ugh. Who was the copywriter on that one?) and they try to find trees that still bear that fruit today. Sometimes, there will be one tree in all of Italy left. Or worse, just someone’s memory of one. Before the war there was tons of diversity, now there is much less. Everyone moved off the farm and into the city after the war.

The founder, Livio Dalla Ragione, was a decorated partisan hero during the war and a well known Roman artist after the war. Today, his daughter from Perugia runs the center and works the orchard of hundreds of trees herself. They also rescue ancient tools and other vestiges of rural farm life. But it sounds like their real passion is rescuing the fruit that is quickly going extinct in Umbria in the last 40 years. They say they want to save not only the tangible symbols of those days gone by, — but the actual smells and tastes as well. Today everyone eats the same boring two kinds of apples and three pears etc that they find at the supermarket.

I was very taken with the article and the concept and I’m definitely planning on going in October to see Livio and his daughter’s collections. Yes, i know this is a photo of my entire pomegranate harvest last September. It is holding a place for a photo from the Dalla Ragione’s orchard when I go there in October.

Ok, that’s the cultural and agricultural news for now. Tune in tomorrow for a complete list of Fall Activity in Umbria!

Secret Life of Plants.

Having maybe solved the Great Australian Skin crisis, (see previous episode) Denise and Carla and I are free to discuss figs and some of the fine points of Carla’s recipe for fig marmalade. Until that reminds me — I have a new batch on the stove

As Midge and Wiley get ready to head over to Umbria, I look back on our trip last September. Stories that I had not shared here yet. Just to give you a taste of what kind of unplanned adventures a traveler could expect to have on any given fall day in Umbria. Part two of three parts

PANICALE, UMBRIA — Having maybe solved the Great Australian Skin crisis, (see previous episode) Denise and Carla and I are free to discuss figs and some of the fine points of Carla’s recipe for fig marmalade. Until that reminds me — I have a new batch on the stove — literally as we speak — and YIKE — have had for several hours! Hate to leave the sun and fun of the piazza but do rush home, turn off the long suffering jam and give it a stir or two.

While I’m there I’m home, I’m strangely transformed into something like a serial plant killer. I’m taking big fig prunings and runamuck wisteria’s cuttings and frantically chopping them all into tiny bits and stuffing their mutilated parts into garbage bags, so I can sneak them into the town dumpsters with the trash. My friends here say that is a big no no, but what the heck else are you to do? Their consistent sage advice? Just dump it in the country. But I’m not so sure about that. I keep on bagging.

I’ve really been after the wisteria. This is one tough plant. It is bending the iron rods holding its frame work up. The iron rods. One is almost ”C” shaped. So I cut that offending branch and pulled miles of connected vine out afterwards. Can’t even tell where I was working and cutting, as it is such a big healthy robust and aggressive plant. The trunk is fully as big around as I am. The contractors cut it right to the ground, to be able to put a crane in the yard to work on the house. I was crushed. The next year they had to cut the wisteria off to the ground again as it was threatening to be The Wisteria That Ate The Three Story Tall Crane.

Night blooming Umbrian flowers in our Panicale gardenWiley calls to tell me she is on her way home as she does everyday when she starts her inter-town hilltop hike. On the way back, she finds black berries on the side of the road and knows all their berry names now because she has a page of hand written school notes about just that subject. She takes that page out of her notebook and folds it up into a basket and gathers the berries to bring home. Berry poetic Wiley. She learned the basket-folding trick on Italian Kid Tv the other day.

We had lunch on the terrace, and now we are multi-tasking. Watching clothes dry. And figs ripen. At the same time! Sigh. Did i mention I’m in love? With a garden. All true. After a bit more of this post-lunch loafing, I attend to my little green friends for a couple hours, weeding and organizing, shaping climbing roses on the pergola etc. and notice it is getting hotter and hotter, but there is such a delicious September breeze that you’d hardly notice. Eventually, I do need a cool down moment and I give the ”beach chairs in dappled sun!” alert to Wiley and we plunk down and read beach novels off into the early evening when the sun sets behind Montepulciano. Not long after that magic moment, the giant Bella della Notte plant unfurles a raft of new, white, trumpet-sized flowers. You know the best part? We didn’t even PLANT that plant. It just showed up in our garden and now is as big as a Fiat car. As unplanned, but as welcome, as our days in Panicale.

A day in the life: a Friday in Umbria

San Feliciano is Right smack on the lake. Boats tie up along the park and then there is one small street faced with one seafood restaurant after the other. We like Settimino’s there but today we are so going to sit in the park under an umbrella and watch the world go by. There is a nice stand with all kinds of food, bathrooms, and oh, my God look at the Gelati.

PANICALE, SAN FELICIANO AND BEYOND — Don’t want to waste this one sleeping so I ducked out quietly and headed to Biano the Barber’s hair cut and gossip salon. I saw him yesterday – almost finished with a client – and I said, give me two minutes. Came back and he’d given me two minutes but he’d given the chair to a guy who was positively gloating to have aced me out of the chair. I win I win. His smile seemed to be saying. So, that was yesterday. I pouted and determined to be first in line today. Now, where is that silver haired rascal?

While I’m waiting for him, I get to watch the town come to life. It is only 8 AM but it is already a hot one in the sun of the spot I’m guarding. In this corner of the piazza there is nothing but sun right now. Being Friday, there market is in town and big trucks are unfurling tent awnings off all sides and setting up racks and racks of stuff I can’t imagine buying. Tshirts and dresses, mud boots, hose clamps and flashlights. Mostly clothes related things.

There goes Andrea from the restaurant on his new new Bee Emmay Vooo. BMW to you. That is him in the photo on his restaurant balcony later in the day. A grocery truck stops in front of me and the driver loads his groceries into a tall wire rack with wheels. And then pushes it, noisily up the cobblestone street. Street is too small for his truck. Its about a block to the store. He really has to lean into it. I did that one time for our friends in the store and it is a picturesque way to break your back or bring on a heart attack. Hey, this guy is young and he does it several times. No fat on him anyway but wow what a workout.

Uh oh, big tall friendly guy in swim trunks and a tshirt is strolling my way, aimed right at Biano’s door. MY Biano’s door. the one I’m staking out. The iron gate is up and usually that means he’s open. He smiles and points at the door and says Chiuso? I shrug Sembra. Closed? Seems to be. He walks off and a couple minutes later returns with long arm draped around diminutive Biano. Am I aced out again? But no. Fabrizio (the tall guy in trunks) and I both tease Biano about being late and then we launch into the cutting of the hair. Hour minimum chair time.
Fab, as he says Americans all call him, stands right by my chair during the process and we just all have a fine chat. Wicked nice guy, low key, engaging. He leaves and Biano quickly says, Harvard MBA, third largest cement company in the world, his company, lives in Cairo, digs classic cars, has the best racing green Jag and some other fun stuff. The guy in the swim trunks? Just when you think here we are, tiny town stuck up on its hill in the middle of Umbria.

ONE GOOD CUP DESERVES ANOTHER

Had coffee once I had it twice I had it once again. totally equal opportunity coffee buyer. My second cup was at Masolino’s and I noted that all the family was there which is rare in the mornings. They’ve all been up till whatever hour closing the restaurant and here they are again. Ran home to tell Midge this is the time to give them the pancake mix. So we ran back bearing Bisquick to go with the Maine Maple Syrup we brought them last trip. What you should know and appreciate is that Italians are pretty blasé to indifferent about food if it isn’t Italian. That is my experience. They are wild and passionate about Italian food. Other foods? Not so much. Well, hey, I like Italian food too but I really need some Morroccan or Mexican or ’Merican Apple Pie every now and then too. Not Italians. Not in my experience. If momma didn’t cook it I don’t need it seems to be the song they sing.
One exception: Maple Syrup. They don’t know what the heck that is or what you are supposed to do with it but if they get a taste of it their eyes light up like Christmas. That was fun and got all kinds of cooking stories going.

COME ON PEOPLE! LETS ACT LIKE TOURISTS!
LETS EAT US SOME GELATI AND WALK US SOME
HILL TOWNS LIKE WE MEANT IT.

And then we got up from our panicale pancake round table discussion and had to really get cooking because Midge needed to see Corciano. Our friend Kiki said that if we had only seen the industrial strength shopping chaos part of Coriano we had missed something. She said the town proper is way up above the commercial sprawl and was really worth the trip. Some times we get all involved in fussing in the house or the garden and forget to be the curious tourists we should be. Resolving to be better tourist in future.

Now, it’s the usual time problem that confronts people shillyshalling about getting long haircuts and drinking too many cappuccinos and chatting on and on: too late for lunch and too early for afternoon shopping. What to do what to do.

Lets head to Corciano (lower right corner of Lake Trasimeno) but stop before that in San Feliciano for a snack to tide us over. San Feliciano is Right smack on the lake. Boats tie up along the park and then there is one small street faced with one seafood restaurant after the other. We like Settimino’s there but today we are so going to sit in the park under an umbrella and watch the world go by. There is a nice stand with all kinds of food, bathrooms, and oh, my God look at the Gelati. JeemenyWhiz! I, I, I, don’t believe that collection of swoops and mounds and ice cream flourishes in every color in the rainbow. So we munched something but our minds we clearly on the gelato prize waiting in that display case. Hugely engaging latin music playing, boats gently rocking at anchor, bikers biking, breeze rustling lightly in the leaves ok, enough of that get me an ice cream cone!

I swear I may only be partially right in remembering how they spelled my new taste treat. Agreto ? di Sicilia. All the citrus of Sicily in one. Pink grapefruit, oranges and lemons. So I had that with cantilope melon flavor. Well! I am a new and better person now. Don’t take my word for the taste or the spelling, get over there and get you some! We must have mindlessly passed the time there, just being, just hanging out for a couple hours. True happiness and hardly any expense. Quiet day in the park. And like I said, it had bathrooms. Always a plus on a tourist itinerary.

I’VE HAD THE BLUES THE REDS AND THE PINKS
Eventually we tore ourselves away and got down the road and up the hill to Corciano. Damd, that town is PINK. Wheeeow. Good pink, pale pink admittedly, but still pink. The stone in every town is a different shade. Our town is more brown. Some like Cortona are golden hued. Corciano is bunny pink. Looks good on it.

Very well kept and pleasant place. And there must be a town bounty paid on pink flowers. Every balcony and doorway was awash in pink geraniums and other fun flowers. They all clearly got the memo. Lots of neutral jasmine too. The whole town is very much of the same fabric and it works. Must have been a bit religiously zealous at some point in time as it was solid covered with churches and bell towers. Now, I’m from Iowa. Well, born in Florida. But FROM Iowa. And if we have two church steeples in town that means we have two churches. Two denominations even. You might have your Presbyterians over here and your gasp oh no you wouldn’t let your daughter marry one of those Methodists over there. Ok, but see, those are two nominally different churches.

This is Italy. Rumor has it that all the churches here have the same label. Very Catholic brand. So how in the world can I stand in one place in a town the size of a strip mall and see seven or eight bell towers? Each one attached to a church-sized and church-shaped stack of stones? Mystery to me. But sweet mystery because it is scenic as all get out. But really. Fund raising must have been a bit less userfriendly than it is today.

PIGGING OUT. UMBRIAN STYLE.
We had to leave sometime. So we did. Someone had been looking for the perfect porchetta sandwich so we remembered that on the way back out of here we wanted to go by one and we would take a photo to show them. Well, now I have the photos but don’t remember who cared. But choices? You bet. Play Pig? Or King Pig? I not sure which of them we liked best – but there were a whole lot of police cars around Re di Porchetta and more streaming in as we went by so I’m betting I would try that one first.

GETTING BACK TO THE GARDEN
Back at home we had a couple hours of pre sunset garden duty. Reading, totally distracted by the changing colors of the long lazy sunset spectacular. How many days can we just go wow, look at that color, did you see those swallows, are they extra bright colors tonight, are the swallows wilder than usual?

But today for the third day running the cherry on the ice cream cone has been the Renaissance flute music wafting, no I mean it, real wafting, over the garden. Its just too, I don’t know, wonderful? for words. It comes and goes out of lower limits of your ability to hear.

One minute very soft but clear and obviously and then it wafts away and you think Did I really hear that? And then there’s more and it is just so nice we had to go check it out at the source which isn’t all that hard as the church is only right over there, a part of a block away.

They were doing a course and some students were inside walking around the Baroque interior lost in their music and every now and then one would step out to a stone bench overlooking the lake, just outside the door, and practice a little piece for awhile and then duck back into joint the group. Even when they were all inside the door was open and we could hear them at some almost subconscious level.

CARLO AND THE CARNIVORE GRAPES OF PANICALE
Then it was to dinner at Elida and Guenter’s. Perfect way to end a perfect day. Picked up some dessert wine like the bottle that we had enjoyed together the other night at a restaurant, and strolled out to their place outside of town. Midge had been there earlier in the day. Cleaning squid? Yes, so she claimed. Here’s my rule, if Elida cooks it, I’m eating it. No questions asked, even if it is squid big enough to have eaten Capt Nemo’s cat. Elida worked over the big industrial range and the rest of us drank her wine and sat in the garden and told lies and watched the chickens pecking whatever they peck in the lawn. And then when the sun had set, we went out on their stone veranda under the grapes with little Christmas lights in them. Strangely and totally wrongly these grapes are somewhat my doing and I’m kind of proud of them in an abstract sort of way. Blind leading the blind will actually work out a certain per cent of the time you might say. This would be one of those times.


Our neighbor Carlo in Maine told me I had to plant some grapes and to raise them right I had to feed them lard. What do I know. I didn’t even want any darned grapes so I didn’t care if they choked on the lard or grew world class Vino Nobile. He kept coming over and bumming beer from me and waving his cane at me till I agreed to DO RIGHT, mind him, get grapes and don’t forget the lard. And. I have serious grapes. Thanks to lard evidently. So, a couple years ago Guenter asked me if I knew anything about grapes and I told him Yes, Lard, Yes. And he, in this land of ancient vines and ancient vintners, took my Iowa/Maine word for it and is presently covered with grapes. Lard. Who knows. So we sat under the extra healthy carnivore grapes of Panicale the Christmas lights twinkled, glasses were filled and clinked, the painted ceramic plates were passed, and we ate some darn stuffed squid. And a potato salad with fish in it. And because we cleaned our plates, we got to have a lovely semi-freddo made with another guest’s fresh apricots. The stars came out, the time went peacefully by and we walked home without saying hardly a word. We were tired little teddy bears. Passing through the gates with home in sight and the tower bells striking twelve I thought You know, I’m pretty happy to be right here right now.