A Tuscan View - from Umbria

The house

29th May 2007

The house stands solid and square on its own small hill ringed with trees; olives, walnuts, pines and acacias. Behind it a verdant wood, and all around golden, rolling fields and distant mountains. It is an honest country house, the arched loggia being its only real extravagance. The old red bricks saturated with years of sunshine glow rosy in the twilight and swallows dip in and out of the cantinas.
It seems strange now, and a little disloyal, but this house was not our first love. We had a brief and ill-fated flirtation with a melancholy farmhouse in the surreal and haunting Crete Senesi.
Ambrogio Lorenzetti - Allegory of Good Government (detail) 1338-40, Palazzo Publico, Siena
Now I can see it for the disaster it would have been; too harsh a landscape and too remote. But, at the time we were bewitched; a blind love, passionate and ill-advised, and when the sale became too complicated and ultimately the price too high I cried the hot, disappointed tears of an unrequited lover. Another year of fruitless searching followed and then, just as the old wives say, when we were least expecting it we found this house, and it was ‘the one’.

The best thing I ate today;
Pizza a taglio.
The Pompeiians ate pizza, without tomatoes of course, because it took another 1,500 years before the first pomodorini washed up in the Bay of Naples and the fiery Neapolitans claimed them as their own. It is an ancient food, directly descended from the Roman breakfast 'bread with relish'. In its primitive form, it is dough, tomatoes and mozzarella, the topping is sparse, the base thin and scorched with the flavour of the oven. It is a basic peasant food and a beautiful sight to behold.
It is these simple foods. so perfectly made, and the Italians' passion for them that make Italy one of the greatest food cultures of the world. For me the best way to eat pizza is as a street food, no fuss and no cutlery. Buy it by the slice from a 'Pizza a Taglio', the varieties are infinite; from the Roman style Pizza Bianca with onions or zucchini (no tomatoes) to the classic Neapolitana, the oily flavours are robust and savoury. Take your slice (I chose speck and radicchio) wrapped in wax paper to a warm stone step in the shade of a church and eat. If you're lucky the Pizzeria may also sell rough red wine in plastic cups to go with. Perfetto!

Where to get it;
Anywhere where you see the sign 'Pizza a Taglio'.

Putting down roots

25th May 2007

Today we have planted three beautiful olive trees. It is a momentous day, a day for putting down roots. After lunch, two of the olive trees arrived on a truck, along with two very smiley men, a mini crane and a cute little baby digger. It took them just a few minutes to dig the holes that would have taken Marito days. The crane lifts the trees and carefully lowers them into place. A bit of shovelling later and their silvery leaves had merged with the surrounding landscape as if they had always been there. The third new tree to spread its roots into this warm clay soil is my own beloved olive tree.
Tired of fretting about its health in its new (slightly too small) enormous pot, I have decided to set it free. This is quite an emotional event for me, having nourished this tree with paternal ashes. However, considering my father’s love of wildlife, sunshine and la dolce vita, I figure that there is no better resting place than this. The men are happy to dig an extra hole and the crane makes easy work of lifting the tree out of its pot. And so it is planted, it has found a home where it’s grey-green leaves can shimmer in the sun and it’s roots can at last grow deep.
I must say it looks mighty fine standing in the rough grass and we toast it; the girls, Marito and I wet it in with half a bottle of prosecco.

Later there is a loud crashing noise and much commotion outside the front of the casa. It seems that we have forgotten to move the new enormous (now empty) terracotta pot and Maurizio, our uber-cool geometra has reversed his Alfa Romeo into it. Our second pot crashes to the ground in bits.
Marito mutters something rude as we pick up the pieces.

The best thing I ate today:
Mozzarella – The world of Mozzarella is enticing me to try more and more varieties, the subtle differences compel me. I am falling in love with Mozzarella. The best are made from leavened buffalo milk; small ‘uova di buffalo’ or the plaited Teccia, floating palely in pools of their own buttermilk. The same kind of cheese is also made from cow’s milk and is called Fior di Latte, good but with less flavour. Both types should be eaten drippingly fresh to appreciate the subtleties of cool soft whiteness and clean lactic tang.

Where to get it;
Supermarkets, alimentari and markets - everywhere in Italy.

Stamps

21st may 2007

Sometimes everything goes a little quiet here; the builder, the geometra, the man about the well and the guys building the gates haven’t called, no-one is visiting or is about to visit, and the battery on my Black and Decker drill goes flat.
It is at these times that you are forced to tackle the Italian system of bureaucracy. We came out here determined not to be critical of the country that gave birth to the Roman Empire, fostered the Renaissance, made the Word Cup final 16 times (and won it 4 of those times). But there is something peculiar here which seems designed to have you shaking your head and wrinkling up your eyebrows at every official office in the land.

Stamps are the key to success in Italy. You have to buy them to put onto each document you sign, and you get them from the tobacconist (unlike bus tickets which you get from the bar).
I carefully collected all the documents I thought I needed to apply for residency here, and went and sat in the queue with my ticket last Wednesday morning. Unfortunately I now need to go to Rome with my Marriage certificate and all our Birth Certificates to get them officially ratified, translated into Italian and stamped at the British Embassy. I then need to take these documents to the Prefecture of Police in Perugia to be officially checked and stamped as legal documents, and then I can take them, and all the other pieces of paper with stamps on, to the Comune to be stamped and to allow the application process to begin.
Fortunately my Black and Decker drill only takes an hour and a half to recharge.

The Stupidest thing I did that day;
Forgetting that Italy were very lucky to get to the finals on at least three of those occasions.

Olive tree v Fiat Panda

18th May 2007

This morning I am splashing water onto the old worn terracotta floor in the girl’s bedroom, mopping and wondering. Wondering how many work-sore feet have padded these rough, cool tiles? Who else has slept in these high beamed rooms and what secrets have fallen between the cracks? Within these walls people have been born and people have died. They’ve drunk wine, laughed, cried, made love and made pasta.

My musing is disturbed by a loud crashing noise and much commotion outside the front of the casa. Delio (or Elio, not sure which), who turns out to be an eighty year old former inhabitant, who has come to shoot the breeze with mio marito, has reversed his Fiat Panda into the beloved olive tree. Not much damage to the tree (or to the Panda), but the enormous pot is smashed to bits.
Good job we’re in Italy, land of enormous pots.

Best thing I ate today:
Pasta sauce with chicken and courgettes

Whilst practising quick and easy lunches for prospective art courses, I rather successfully cooked this up. Make sure you don’t overcook the courgettes or add too much cream, the idea is to keep it light and fresh-tasting. (This makes enough sauce for two people)

1 chicken breast, chopped into very small pieces
1 small onion and 2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 courgette, finely grated
1 teaspoon of good stock granules
2 or 3 tablespoons of single cream
A splash of white wine or vermouth

In a proper frying pan, sweat the onions and the garlic, add the chicken and stir. (The idea is not to colour it too much.)
Add the courgettes and stir vigorously.
Add the cream, stock and a splash of white wine or vermouth, I prefer vermouth.
Let it bubble-up for a few minutes.
Add a handful of coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley and tip the whole lot into some (hopefully) al dente pasta.

Where to get it ;
make it yourself!

The fabulous fabbro boys

3rd May 2007

fabbro nm. blacksmith.
Once we had decided that we needed a ‘cancello’, suddenly I was aware of gates everywhere. It seems the Italians like a bit of ironwork; from the elaborate curlicews of the palazzi lanterns , decorative torch-holders and rings for tethering horses, to the gleaming new electric gates of the modern villas there is a plethora of wrought iron everywhere you look.
Marito and I career around the countryside, taking photos of ‘gates that we like’. We both like the old ones, his taste more simple and austere, mine suffering from illusions of grandeur and lusting after gates with intertwined rusty initials, crests and crowns. For once I am persuaded that ‘less is more’ and we settle for simple gates with curved tops and, just for me, some arrows.
Outside a house with some particularly fine railings marito asks the owner if he can recommend a ‘fabbro’, and he can.
Inside the foundry there is smoke and a ferrous smell mixed with some kind of powerful male pheromone. Then, through the sparks, I spot the ‘fabbro boys’, their huge blackened hands are hot and dry, and for some ridiculous reason I am blushing as we shake. In their tiny office, marito, fabbros and I talk gates. They show us portfolios of gates they have made, and we show them the photos of gates we like. Of the 20 or so photos we show them, they know them all, and have made most of them. They know their stuff these boys, they’re artisans.

Old gate.

They agree on the design and they agree to let the gates rust naturally, rather than spray them with the pale grey anti-rust paint that is so prevalent around here. They agree to make our gates. Outside in the yard we shake hands again, the ‘fabulous fabbro boys’ are smiling their handsome shiny faces slicked with soot, blue-eyed and brown-eyed brothers.

The best thing I ate today;
Pinola gelato – I love gelato and I love pinola, what more can I say except that in the land of good ice-cream, the more you try the more you get a feel of what is good and what is very good, and this is very, very good.

Where to get it;
Chiusi citta – Tip, look for the sign that says ‘artigianale’ unless you want a magnum.

Gates

2nd May 2007

It was rather a difficult decision to put a pair of gates at the front of the house, because we blend into the landscape and that, in itself, is a wonderful thing. But, having lived in cities and suburbs all my life, I also feel the need to establish boundaries; not to keep people out, or to keep the children in, just to mark the place.
In fact I imagine the gates will probably remain open all the time which makes them seem like a peculiar way to spend our money but, nevertheless, the other day I found myself in this blacksmith’s workshop, a huge place full of people who clearly had to know what they were doing.
Sparks flying everywhere, an old Alsatian sniffing suspiciously at my trouser leg, I managed to make myself look like I too knew what I was doing and strode purposefully into the office. Unfortunately all gates made in Italy are unique and so you have to make loads of really important decisions whilst trying to remain credible. I desperately looked around the room searching for inspiration (I imagine rather like Kaiser Soze must have done in The Usual Suspects) until I saw a picture of one that looked about right, casually pointed to it, and now we have ordered it to be made for us.

They didn’t want a deposit, they didn’t tell me how long they would take, and I’m not even sure if I left my phone number, but they seemed like remarkably cool young lads so I’ll just keep driving by their workshop slowly in the hope of catching their eye and finding an excuse to check on progress.

The stupidest thing I did the other day (at the blacksmith’s);
I asked them if I could take photographs of some fantastic rusty metal things in their yard, which seemed to instantly destroy my credibility, just when I thought I’d got away with it!

Montepulciano revisited

21st April 2007

Back in Montepulciano, and who can resist a ‘cappuccio’ (which seems to be what they call a cappuccino in these parts) in the Antico Caffé Poliziano, named after a renaissance poet who was obviously a big hit in Montepulciano (there is a palazzo named after him too). You won’t find any frescoes here though this is a rather decadent Art Nouveau tea room. With sumptuous upholstered banquettes, little marble tables and views from it’s pretty balconies that sweep across the Val di Chiana this is surely a place to indulge youself a little.
I once spent several hours in this elegant, Liberty style café while marito negotiated the finer points of the purchase of our casa with a wily estate agent across the road. The affable staff pretended to understand my terrible Italian and kept the children supplied with little titbits well beyond the call of duty. The coffee here is sublime and an aperitivo of your choice is beautifully presented on cute little trays with lots of lovely nibbly things.

The best thing I ate today;
It has got to be the ‘cappuccio’. This is my main addiction and I am a bit fussy about it. Aromatic, rich and smooth, its foaming top must be creamy and made with latte fresco, not UHT. Most importantly it must be hot and, surprisingly, sometimes it’s not in Italy. Maybe this is because they like to knock it back in one. I prefer to sip and linger perhaps in a nice café like Poliziano where they make it just right.

Where to get it:
On tap, practically everywhere in Italy.

Bella sorella

20th April 2007

My bella sorella has been staying for a few days and today we went to the lofty town of Montepulciano with it’s glorious array of renaissance palazzi and churches. We went in search of good wine and we weren’t disappointed. Up and up the narrow streets we went, pausing only for a few tastes of wild boar salami on the way. The tall one is learning a poem for school and our ascent is accompanied by the repetitious strains of ‘Nel cielo le nuvole giocano…..’, which is quite charming, to begin with. At last we reach the theatrical Piazza Grande, pass the mellow stone lion and griffin well and go into the dim interior of the Palazzo del Capitano where promising smells of must, cork and ageing wine envelop us.

First we try a Vino Nobile 2002. Dad, God bless him, was a wine importer so his girls have always been partial to a little ‘swirling and slurping’. Then we try an Avignonesi Vino Nobile Riserva 2004. A well remembered tip from Dad, “if a wine tastes good, don’t spit it out!”
We don’t.
After a few more sips we decide on 2 cases of Riserva, one for us and one for sis. She’ll be paying excess baggage on that then.

Best thing I ate today:
Avignonesi Vino Nobile di Montepulciano DOCG Riserva 2004. One of the classic Tuscan wines. Sip this wine and roll the soft sensual flavours around your mouth. Sun baking on dusty white roads…ripe fruit falling from the tree. Sip this wine and feel glad that God invented the grape.

Where to get it;
Some good supermarkets and enotecas but by far the most civilized place to procure it is Palazzo del Capitano, Montepulciano.