A Tuscan View - from Umbria

Machiavelli

24th November 2007

Machiavelli spent a few nights, they say, at Castiglione del Lago, a beautiful little walled town on the shores of Lake Trasimeno, 15 minutes drive away from us. It juts out into the lake, in a shape that resembles the uvula at the back of your throat. No-one seems to like that analogy, but it is reasonably accurate and I'm sticking with it.

The view from the fort onto the lake at Castiglione Del Lago

Anyway, he stayed at the fort and, coincidentally, we live (and my children go to school) in the same Comune. So, with Machiavelli firmly in mind, I offered my voluntary services to the teachers at the school, expecting nothing more that a polite rebuff whilst, at the same time, hoping for a little more credibility when, next year, I offer an after-school Art club.

That was two weeks ago.

Today I found myself reading an English version of Charles Dickens', 'A Christmas Carol' to 53 eight year olds and 4 teachers in a tiny classroom, and more nervous than in any of my 15 years teaching Art in England. I have to help prepare them for their Christmas play and, because of my big mouth, also have to get stuck into the set decoration as well. Fortunately, in Italian schools the last day of term is Christmas Eve, so there is exactly one month to do it... what could possibly go wrong?

The stupidest thing I did today;

Bad one today.

I am a single dad/mum this week and one of my more peculiar duties was to sew the elastic on two new pairs of ballet shoes for the girls. All was going well until I was discovered by, none other than, our manly builder in mid-stitch!

There was nothing I could do - no amount of manly posturing or grunting could get me out of this one. Ten months of careful image-building lost in a single 'moment of madness'. He's probably still shaking his head now, though to be fair, I did a pretty good job with those bits of pink elastic and he may have been secretly impressed by my fine motor skills.

Driving in Italy - a guide.

21st November 2007

I love Italians.
They are so kind, friendly, generous and forgiving.
So there has to be a dark side, and there is.
There is a madness inside every Italian, a madness which rears its ugly head each time he or she gets behind the wheel of a car. There is a serious side to this (see the death toll every year on Italian roads) but I prefer to focus on the more mundane aspects which affect your average foreigner on an average day on an average Italian road.

Some tips;

1. Do not say 'thank you' ever, it is a sign of weakness. If you do they will either think you're waving or you're weird.
2. If someone flashes their lights as though to 'let you in', do not be tricked, they are really saying, 'get out of my way!'
3. If you dare venture into the outside lane of a motorway do not let your mirrors deceive you, there will be someone there, someone so close behind you they may as well be in your back seat. They will also be flashing their lights (see above).
4. Do not stop to allow a pedestrian to cross (especially at a pedestrian crossing), they will think you are either an old friend or just weird.
5. Depending on your region of Italy, traffic lights can be any one of these three things; instruction, advice or just Christmas decorations. Be aware.
6. You must use your mobile phone at all times, otherwise other road users may think that you can't afford one.

In order to ensure the safety of both me and my family, I drive the type of car Arnold Schwarzenneger would be proud to own, but I drive it like a nun. It's a strange combination, unless you like musicals, but it seems to work, so far.

The stupidest things I did today;
1., 3. and 4.

Previous life

17th November 2007

In my previous life I would have liked to have been present at the illustrious gathering in Rome in 1546 during which Cardinal Farnese asked his bearded bumptious friend Giorgio Vasari to assemble a " catalogue of artists...". Perhaps I could have been the slightly faded courtesan in the shadows, dressed in second-hand silk with a whisper of ermine. I would have leaned in with naked curiosity as the conversation took its turn and Vasari paused to draw the breath that would exhale his magnus opus, 'The lives of the most excellent painters, sculptors and architects' - more comonly known as 'Vasari's Lives'.

Painted ceilings in Vasari's house, Arezzo

Born in Arezzo, Vasari initially trained as an artist and was very successful, but he obviously became so much more than that - in fact he became what Malcolm Gladwell calls a 'connector' with his finger on the very pulse of his day - a kind of impresario, remembered for his rather pedestrian painting and his innovative architecture, but most of all for his unique insight into the art history of the Renaissance.

His biographies are full of juicy snippets of gossip and, although many of his anecdotes have the ring of truth to them, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd made them up either and, frankly, I don't care. He is hugely opinionated and biased, but that's what makes him so readable. Love him or hate him, in the world of the Renaissance, it's hard to ignore him.

Vasari mada a fortune and bought himself a small palazzo in Arezzo "with enough space to make some beautiful vegetable gardens". We went there to have a look. The house is lovely; frescoes by his own hand, a visual ode to himself, and why not?

The Loggia in Arezzo, by Vasari

I'm glad he's not around to see the rather sorry state of his vegetable patch, though...

The best thing I ate today;

Coniglio alla porchetta (rabbit - don't tell the girls!)

Controversial I know, but I like a bit of rabbit. Growing up in the Norfolk countryside, it was something we ate quite a lot. I remember the excitement of my grandparents arriving on Christmas Eve, their car loaded with presents, and a seasonal Rabbit Pie for supper.

Fluff and cuteness aside, rabbit is, surely, a healthy and a free-range (or wild) ethical choice. Its mild, slightly gamey flavour is flattered by the oily aromatics of shrubby Mediterranean herbs as well as the aniseed flavour of fennel.

For lunch in Arezzo today, I chose 'Coniglio alla Porchetta' (roasted with fennel and squashed cloves of garlic). No veg, just a dish of spikey rucola which, with its peppery twang, creates a perfect pairing.

Where to get it;
Osteria Saraceno, Arezzo

Tip - It's called 'alla porchetta' only because the fennel is usually used to flavour pork - there's no pork in this dish.

A hollow victory on Armistice Day

11th November 2007

There are games in football where there is only one possible outcome; (save for the occasional freak giant-killing) where one team is so much stronger, cleverer and well resourced and the other is small, weak and craves only a little peanut butter or cheese. Such was the case with me and the mice.

Problem is that, whenever I watch a game like that, I instinctively want the little guy to win, despite the odds. Such is the case with me and the mice.

The final score seems to be 7-0 to me and yet the victory is a little hollow.

Man of the match.

So, to cheer myself I have decided to photograph the sky, as in the Autumn the skies seem to get much more interesting. I normally hate photographs of skies, clouds and sunsets etc. and, as one of my more cynical friends was quick to remind me, “So what? The sun sets all over the world, we’ve all seen a sunset”

True, but the difference for me is that, in my first few months here, it’s one of the things I have noticed most, being used to seeing the sky just directly overhead in an overheated city. So I took two yesterday and a couple the day begore, and here they are.

The stupidest thing I did today;
Well, it seems a little quiet in the house these days – no more scratching noises – and I’m sure they did a good job with those little bits of food that fell behind the oven –now I’ll have to do that bit of cleaning myself. And, one day, when they work out how to get the address of this blog, my children will call me to their bedroom for a quiet word...

Beams, boots and beans

9th November 2007

Now that the new/old walls are starting to ‘grow’, you can almost begin to see what the apartments in the old stables under the house might become. I squint and then close my eyes, trying to conjure up images of cool, clean, furnished spaces with new shutters thrown open onto shady terraces planted with lavender and pots of basil, the sound of laughter, wine being poured and enticing aromas wafting from the kitchens.
But it’s still difficult.

For a few days now we have had no builders here as they are rushing to finish replacing a roof while the skies are still blue. Valiantly, despite wearing two pairs of trousers and an unfashionable top, mio marito works on. He has cleaned and restored the old steels in the more ‘modern’ apartment and they gleam with an industrial shine. He has also uncovered a beautiful internal arch in the more rustic, beamed apartment. He works alone, only appearing for plates of pasta, the odd espresso and to check the head count behind the oven.

The best thing I ate today;

Zuppa di Farro e Borlotti

As a kind of mid-week treat, if we have both been working (because I do help – sometimes), we occasionally go out for lunch. The place of choice would be described, in England, as a ‘builders caff’ or a ‘greasy spoon’. The food is cheap and the tables are wipe-able, no cloths, no candles. There are usually 3 dishes on offer for each course and no written menu. The waitresses have attitude and it would be a very brave ‘muratore’ (bricklayer) who asked them to repeat the choices or lingered over his decision. They want to feed you, and feed you fast.

The soup is thick and swampy, the Borlotti beans a rich brown, the colour of the newly turned earth in the surrounding fields, its taste is earthy too. The farro has a nutty ‘bite’ and in its depths the subtle, rounded heat of peperoncino. Savour every steaming spoonful and wipe the bowl clean with a ragged crust of saltless Umbrian bread.
This is Italian soul food.

Farro, know as ‘spelt’ in English (a bit like pearl barley), is a type of hard wheat grown in Umbria and Tuscany and used in the distinctive soups of this region.

Where to get it;
Bar Pineta, Panicarola

Tip; The dress code is strickly builders boots and overalls.

6 manly ways to catch a mouse

7th November 2007

6 manly ways to catch a mouse;

1. Hope it dies of natural causes over the next couple of days.
2. Try, once again, to convince either the deaf cat or the stupid dog to be interested.
3. Give up and buy a friendly mouse trap, at considerable expense.
4. Throw the friendly mouse trap away as I can hear the mice looking at it and laughing.
5. Buy two proper mouse traps, cheap and nasty.
6. Wait, assuming that my education and qualifications will be enough to outwit both the mice and my children, all of whom will be very cross if they stumble across them.

3 reasons why our first olive harvest may have been a bit pathetic;

1. Too much sun in May, or not enough rain.
2. Olive fly has swept through this area.
3. We only have 4 olive trees.

Our olive harvest - 2007

3 reasons to have bought new safety glasses;

1. My 'look' was recently described as 'a bit Sangatte'
2. Price tag of €5.20
3. They make me believe I look a bit like Bono.

Bono

The stupidest thing I did today;
See above.

A near perfect day

6th November 2007

Thankfully my declaration of Winter has proved to be a little premature and, as sometimes happens, the Gods conspire to throw together the makings of a near perfect day; blue skies, russet trees, the low mellow sunshine of Autumn - and Arezzo antiques market.

Arezzo Antiques Market - (1st weekend of every month)

This compelling jumble of tat and treasure is more of a spectacle than a place to procure a crafty bargain. We go with friends who claim to be on the lookout for large wooden rosary beads, “You know, big ones like the chief monk would have used”. We, on the other hand, are determined to buy nothing, steely in our resolve. It doesn’t last long, of course, and within the hour we are haggling over the price of an unfeasably large retro fan. Luckily, we are being tutored in the art of haggle by a ‘grand master’ and, after a flash of the cash and a strategic interlude (during which we visit San Domenico to discuss tactics under the gaze of Cimabue’s strikingly beautiful and asemetric crucifix) we return to the stall and clinch the deal. Kerching!

Crucifix by Cimabue in San Domenico - Arezzo

Arezzo is such a classy town, it was recently voted one of the best places to live in Italy (by Italians) and I can see why. Despite being full of Renaissance goodies it still manages to be alive and hip and trendy.

It was also home to the effusive artist/architect/writer Georgio Varsari, the ‘Nigel Dempster’ of the Renaissance and anyone who has a real interest in this period really must read his ‘Lives of the Artists’ (Volumes 1 and 2). They are sometimes acerbic, sometimes gushing but always fascinating - a bit like an historic ‘Hello Magazine’.

I say this was a near perfect day because, to make it perfect, you should really remember to book a table for lunch. We didn’t.

The Best thing I ate today;

Roast Pumpkin Risotto

I make this risotto a lot at this time of year and it’s very comforting; savoury, sweet and full of Autumnal goodness.

OK, this is more of an idea than a recipe because I’m sure most of the people reading ‘The best thing I ate’ have some idea how to cook.

A quantity of pumpkin depending on how many people you are feeding. Chop it into cubes and simmer half of it in a little stock until soft and then puree it. The rest, roast in the oven with olive oil, some branches of thyme and a sprinkle of sea salt.

Meanwhile, make a white risotto, with onions, garlic, white wine and stock and, just before it is ready, stir in the pumpkin puree with a slug of cream (or not) and lots of parmesan cheese. Just before you serve it add a handful of rucola and stir again. Serve with the roast pumpkin and thyme piled artfully on top.

I’ve also made this with small wedges of red onion roasted along side the pumpkin and served it without the rucola. Although it may seem like a pain to cook the pumpkin in two different ways, this risotto is all about texture as well as flavour. So give it a try.

Where to get it;
Make it yourself

Walls

31st October 2007

Trying to explain to a bricklayer that you don’t want straight walls is a conversation you don’t want to have in a foreign language. He probably assumed the real meaning was lost somewhere in translation, and it probably was, however, despite a fair bit of inexplicable muttering from both of us, we are getting what we want, we think.

As an antidote to the new/old walls palaver at the house, and as I seem to be (in the words of a familiar but forgettable song from the 80’s) ‘always running around, trying to find, certainty’ I went off to do a little research about some rather more beautiful old/old walls, in fact fresco paintings by one of my favourite Renaissance painters, Piero Della Francesca.

Piero is one of the greats, not just because of the ease with which he seems to achieve harmony, balance and concord in his paintings, but also in that his figures are all strikingly beautiful, whatever they happen to be doing. His most stunning fresco, the Madonna Del Parto, is in a little hill-top town about an hour north of here, and I have seen it many times, but nearer to us is the fabulous town of Arezzo, and in Arezzo is Piero’s fresco cycle, ‘The Legend of the True Cross’ painted around the altar in San Francesco.

The fact that it almost surrounds you on its three sides and having to crane your neck to follow the story from the Death of Adam to the Restoration of the Cross to Jerusalem means that you are drawn right into this colourful and captivating story and perhaps explains why they only allow you half an hour at a time for each visit.

Detail from The Legend of the True Cross - not my photo (not allowed).

The most magically theatrical part is the Dream of Constantine, set at night in a beautifully lit tent with the angel appearing in bizarre perspective holding a tiny cross of light and pointing with her little finger at the sleeping Emperor. It is truly breathtaking and is worth the entrance fee on its own.

Sadly, but reassuringly, many parts of this fresco have been lost over the years to earthquakes, damp and nearby building work, so my return to our crumbling house and to the builders, still seemingly uncertain about what they were doing, made it all not seem quite so bad.

The stupidest thing I did today;
Asking my wife what that funny noise was, coming from behind the oven in the kitchen. Our deaf cat and stupid dog having shown no interest whatsoever, I am now obliged to assume the role of ‘man of the house’ and deal with whatever is lurking there.