November 30, 2001
This morning I was thinking about home and about here. So much is good and comfortable in both. Home is mac-n-cheese, Thanksgiving, and years of shared memory / experience that color every conversation. Here it's the flush of learning new things, triumphing over self-imposed obstacles (like being afraid to speak Italian to Italians), getting to know new people, experiencing a different life. From the time you think about crawling out of your crib when no one is around, your life is made up of choices that take you places Do I turn left or right, say yes or no, move here or stay put? Every choice is another life. Where would turning left have taken me? What if I had said yes? What if I had never left town? It's all possibilities. Every path takes you somewhere, while offering an array of new choices. It's enough to make you stay in bed. Every time I leave this hill and make my left turn to go into Umbertide, I think, what if I'd gone left? What if I went through Pierantonio instead? I don't because Pierantonio is on the superstrada and I have an aversion to the cars that exit at 80 mph. But, what if I did? What wonderful thing awaits me in Pierantonio?
What wonderful thing awaits you in Pierantonio? Or in Nutley/Mission Street/St. Paul/Waltham/Tempe/Roebling? What if you drove to work by a different route eyes wide open, alert to your surroundings? You might see something that intrigues you or answers a need you've been wrestling with (cheap upholstery)you might have an epiphany. Any of those are worth a detour and a few minutes with autopilot shut down, aren't they?
I'm a little fired up can you tell? Perhaps I will create an ashram here and become a guru. Or a corporate coach preaching to the disaffected. On the other hand, maybe I've had too much sugar this morning.
November 25, 2001
A lazy day. Recovery from gluttony and exertion. Indulged in a slide of pumpkin pie for breakfast, then made soup from our glorious turkey carcass. Fixed a sumptuous dinner of leftovers. (Its always better the day after.) The snow is gone, except for a few pockets in the shade, but the chill remains. I'm inspired to step out a bit. This week I'm going on an excursion to a local nursery with Elisabetta. Moreover, I think I will visit Perugia or maybe Chiusi. Its time to come off the hill and see something new.
Last night I was talking with Katherine's husband, Lenny. He is a writer with a teleplay he is itching to have staged. HBO was interested but demanded too much control. Now he is pursuing the idea of a local reading, and perhaps a full production on stage. He's going to send me a copy of the script. It would be fun to work on I'd get to flex the theater muscles a bit.
November 24, 2001
1p.m. -- The first snow! Last night big wet flakes started coming down around 9pm. In an hour or so everything was covered with heaps of white frosting. I was up at dawn and got some good pictures. It's the first snow I've seen in years Martha and I took a walk up the hill with the dogs after breakfast. The countryside was beautiful the white icing softening and accentuating different shapes. The contrast of colors our pink climbing rose softly blanketed the red rose hips against the white the spiky green ginestra suddenly standing out against the rounded shrubs and leaves. All that pillowy white -- a novel change autumn oranges and browns. As the sun rose, the dripping of the snowmelt became evident. On the hills in sun, it was golden autumn again, with trickling rivulets and more mud. Time to hit the kitchen and begin our slightly deferred Thanksgiving.
Midnight -- The turkey was a 16lb monster. Never having worked with a centigrade oven, I was not sure if my calculations to convert from Fahrenheit would work out. Plus, I don't usually trust my own figuring. I checked and re-checked, plotted the timeline of the turkey and all the side dishes. Temperature, time, and coordinations... Figures, drawings, lists and tables around clock, thermometer and table settings. My jottings look like Michelangelo's notebooks. Add to this people's varying cooking advice. Ack. Martha and I chopped celery and onion (sedano and cipolle) for the stuffing a boatload of stuffing some for the bird and some for a separate dish. I stuffed the turkey, shoved butter and sage under the skin of the breast and drizzled the bird with olive oil to even my odds of a moist turkey. The pan was dressed with some celery and onion to flavor the drippings, and I tucked sprigs of fresh thyme and sage tucked under the wings and the legs. The turkey was better accessorized that I was. Thus was it sent to the oven. So, 4 hours left to queue up a few side dishes and get ready for company. I sliced, chopped, shredded, sautéed, folded, glazed and simmered the day away. At 4 p.m. people began arriving, and by 5, the house was full of purposeful movement and idle conversation. Everyone brought something a vegetable, a dessert, appetizers. The spread was impressive.
Pantano Thanksgiving Menu
Appetizers: Smoked Salmon, bruschetta, cheese, homemade pickles and olives
Beverages: Red and white wine, Prosecco, mulled apple juice
Dinner: 
Roast Turkey with bread stuffing and gravy
Roast Turkey with bread stuffing and gravyFresh from the garden red cabbage with applesCreamed onionsStuffed artichokes Brussels sprouts with shallots and toasted hazelnutsMashed potatoesOrange-glazed sweet potatoesCranberry relishDessert: Homemade pumpkin pie with whipped cream
Homemade pumpkin pie with whipped cream Mango FoolCookies and biscottiAfter Dinner: Grappa, Limoncello, Mandarino, Vin Santo
We had a lively crowd lots of laughter. Bits of conversation in Italian and English snippets of translations, questions about recipes, plans to get together again. It was a long day and a lot of fun. The turkey was perfect crispy brown on the outside and moist inside. Martha and a small crew did 90% of the clean up. The dogs and cats had a little feast of their own at the end of the evening. Then, we all slept soundly.
November 22, 2001 - Thanksgiving
Was really tired and out of sorts today. Haven't been over-exerting, so heaven knows why. Made corn fritters for breakfast, breaking into my limited supply of maple syrup. (Hint for the holidays). Took a nap. The hunters were out so it was not a quiet nap. Went to the supermarket for the last Thanksgiving supplies. Being an American holiday, Thanksgiving cuts no ice here. So, our celebration is Saturday, when everyone has the day off. I'm expecting a troupe of Americans, Italians, British & Canadians. Found everything I needed. Came home saw a lovely cerise sunset that induced me to kick my sour mood. I chose the Eagles, really loud, and cantered about the house singing Witchy Woman, Takin' It Easy, and Lyin' Eyes. You can't beat cheesy music from your teens to make you feel good against your will. That did it. Felt right with the world.
I'm trying to get organized. Figured out how long the turkey will take and which bowls and pots need to be reserved for what. I think that 15-ish people will be coming. My table seats 8 comfortably. We'll haul another table in and hope that the spirit of the day (and the food) make up for tight quarters. Tomorrow, I'll walk the hillsides in search of juniper, firethorn berries, olive branches, sambuca berries and rose hips to use as decorations. I got all Martha Stewart and made a small swag of oak leaves, acorns and rosehips for the window. Now its berries for color and table decorations.
November 15, 2001
Winter is coming. The wind has that nip to it that says haul out the long johns and put on your gloves. The rains came this week and, since I'm on a hill, the wind really whipped around. It was wailing and moaning outside and sneaking down the chimney flue. A couple times, I thought someone was in the house. (I've never lived with a chimney, or on a hill.) The animals were jumpy. They've been sticking close to home and honestly, so have I. Bundled in fleece and corduroy, with hot tea and a book, one never need think about the outside world.
I've begun my "creative" routine. Every morning I write a minimum of three pages... some stream of conscious thoughts, character studies, ideas... some exercises from one of the books given to me. (Thanks, Jen Kerr!) One of the many things I hope to accomplish this year is to reconnect with my creative side. I can't day I wasn't creative at KPMG, but it wasn't the kind of creative work that sustains you. More like "how do I get this through the system?" So, this month I am working on consistency... write every day and don't worry about what you write. Just go with it. I find I am full of leapfrogging ideas... and have a notebook and my journal to capture everything from descriptions of people I've met to floor plans for a workroom to recipes to lists of things to do while I am here. Please don't think I am a bundle of ideas and energy. Some days I am on fire. Other times, I read all day and yawn a lot.
I think the dogs really accept me now. As I was reading today, Mentuccia came up to me, loudly burped and threw up on my foot. Its a sign of trust... I am glad people don't do it. In addition, Tigretta keeps bringing her little lizard and mouse snacks in to eat with me... usually within a couple feet of where I am working. The crunching is unnerving.
November 11, 2001
Went on a hike with Franca Fubini, a friend of Martha's from Perugia. We crossed the road over to Pantano proper -- all of 3 blocks on a hillside -- and found a trail headed up the hill. It was quite a good hike. We ended up walking up and more than half way around the hill. Along the back side, it overlooks the big golf course project at Antignola (a joint venture between Prada and Benetton). They've built a Robert Trent Jones course and are working on the casettas surrounding it. A large impressive castle hovers above on some stage of renovation as a resort/spa destination. Overall, very much like the places we booked for events at KPMG. Your basic partner/manager meeting locale. Scary. I'm so familiar with the style... but so ambivalent about it being here. The valley they are nestled in is beautiful. Rolling hills of autumn foliage, the bright green of the course... the old stone casettas. It sounds great... then you remind yourself that this area does not have huge water reserves. This sprawling course is going to need a lot of water in summer. It just seems out of place somehow.
Franca and I hiked above the road and along the logging roads. Mushrooms were sprouting; acorns were all over the ground... We found a trove of porcupine quills and could not imagine what had scared the poor thing enough to part with so many at once. Franca's dog Cosi was with us. Cosi is a foundling... a lost hunting dog who was lucky enough to find a compassionate owner. A very sweet tempered dog, but Cosi is still quite wary and timid. Franca says it is what kept her alive. I'm afraid if I lived here for any length of time, I'd have a pack of dogs in no time. These creatures are not pets... they're tools of the hunting trade and treated as such. It's distressing to see. We found one in the woods when we were hiking. Alone, frightened and painfully thin. So frightened of us that he struggled to his feet, howling with his tail between his legs, and limped off. He made sure to stay well away from us. Franca wanted to get a look at his collar, to get the owner's phone number, but the dog would not let us approach. After following him for about 30 minutes, we felt like we were harassing the poor thing, and broke off our humanitarian pursuit. We felt bad... I consoled myself that the dog was near houses (and the golf course) and could scavenge successfully. It made me feel good about Cosi finding Franca.
We bushwhacked our way back over the hill. Actually, we thought we were on a trail but it petered out... so there we were, following boar trails through the brush... tripping over juniper tendrils, fighting off wild roses, using the ginestra and oak sapling to hold, ourselves up on the muddy hillsides as we searched for the trail below. At one point, it hit me that I had not eaten breakfast... there was this deflation... the "oh my, I have no fuel left. My feet feel far away and heavy. I want a cup of tea and big soft chair now." (I'm very consistent with attempting strenuous activity with no food or water.) This is why the thought of Everest never draws me. I'd be up there and suddenly turn to my Sherpa guide, "Geez... ya know I didn't eat anything today." Sally has shared many an apple and bagel with me. She knows.
We made it home... Before, we came across a field that looks back to my hill. The first thing I saw was a line of shrubs, maybe 4-5 feet high, covered with deep blue fruit... like large blueberries or tiny plums, touched with that sheen that make them look frosted. I can't describe this as it should be seen. And yes, I forgot my camera. After I'd gotten over my delight at the plums, I noticed a line of rosa canina... the wild roses... behind them, draping brilliant red fruits over the plums. Then just behind, a stand of pale orange trees, slightly down a rise so there was this incredible layering of color that rose before us... the glistening blue, the vibrant red, then this soft orange. It was gorgeous. I was kicking myself about the camera... then I remembered. The picture is never as good as the sight. One of those ephemeral moments. Once you capture it, its lost. Better it lives in my memory... slightly enhanced by passion (and lack of nourishment). Once you see something like that, its like the first fresh tagliatelle with shaved truffle. You never forget.
November 6, 2001
Big weekend for festivals! Saturday, we (Martha, Elizabeth, her friend Bob and I) went to the Festa di Bosco -- Festival of the Forest -- in Montone. Montone is a walled village built on a high hill with 360 degree views of the valley below. (The better to see trouble approaching in the cantankerous middle ages.) The cobblestoned streets are laid out in an elliptical pattern starting from the main piazza. Small stone stalls line the shopping streets. During festas, local artisans and vendors rent the stalls to display their wares -- hand-caned baskets, woven bottle covers, carved wax candles, ceramics, and linens. Autumn foods were everywhere... roasted chestnuts, roasted corn on the cob, pomegranates, squash, autumn fruits, truffles, wild mushrooms pasta made with truffles and mushrooms, oils infused with truffles and mushrooms, pastes and salsas of, yes truffles and mushrooms. I ate roasted chestnuts for the first time. They were served right off the coals in a paper cone -- a cozy hand warmer on a chilly evening.
For the Festa di Bosco, the stalls were decorated with cornstalks and wild grasses. Branches of orange persimmons and wild berries draped the doorways and tables. The whole evening was redolent with the smell of burning wood and roasting food. We wandered, browsed the alleyways and shops, eventually giving in to the cold and ducking into a little trattoria for dinner. Elizabeth's friend Bob (who owns Olivetto in SF) is here hunting truffles. A very nice, big bear of man. He talked a lot about the business of bargaining for truffles and what the market is like this year. Interesting... very speculative. Rather like tulip bulbs in old Holland.
Sunday, Martha and I returned to Montone to do little Christmas shopping. I picked up beeswax candles and a box of tree ornaments made by artisans near here. Deep yellow wax and lovely detail. Then home for a rest and some yard work. Later in the evening, Melchiorre, Elizabeth and I went to the Truffle Festival in Citta di Castello. Not as autumnal as Festa di Bosco. The tables were set under a white plastic tent with the people so thick around them that the best we managed was a quick look over the shoulders of others. But, the city itself is an interesting place... larger than Montone, and more cosmopolitan. You get a great evening passegio. We grabbed a drink in the square to sit and watch the people -- lots of thin girls in black stretch pants wearing thong underwear, or very very short skirts with boots. There was enough eye makeup going around to convince me it was still Halloween. And then the boys, following the girls, in baggy jeans and goatees. Older women wore woolen suits and shawls... the old men with hats. An elegant nightly affair. I'm told there is good shopping in Citta di Castello... ethnic cooking ingredients, boots (well, that is everywhere seemingly), linens. I shall return.
November 3, 2001
Dinner was a success. People thought Melchiore and I were a longstanding cooking team as we worked so seamlessly together. (Acting is a blessed skill.) As usual, he had jam packed the menu. All simple, well prepared dishes but so many that, even if you only took a bite of each, you would still be ready to pop by the time the entrée arrived.
So, our menu for eleven?
Antipasto with drinks in the library -- Salmone Fumicato, a huge salmon Melchiore smoked at home, sliced and served on dark bread with a parsley leaf and a thin wedge of lemon.
Antipasto at the table -- Peperone Calabrese, red and yellow peppers sautéed in sunflower oil until golden and soft, drained, dried and lightly salted; Carta di Musica con Cremosa, the thin Sardinia flatbread, softened and spread with Melchiorre's homemade soft pecorino; Coratella, the heart of the lamb diced and sautéed with wine, onion and aromatic herbs.
Primo piatti -- Ravioli con ricotta e zafferano, fresh half moon ravioli stuffed with homemade ricotta and saffron; fresh tagliatelle with white truffle and anchovy sauce (very subtle, not strong); and tagliatelle pellegrino, fresh tagliatelle with garlic, parsley and good olive oil.
Next -- A mixed meat broth to clear the palette and let people rest.
Secondi piatti -- Lamb roasted in their fireplace; served with Insalata Siciliana, a salad of sliced fennel, orange and tangerine sections, dressed lightly with red wine vinegar.
Dolci -- Tiramisu (and he makes a mean one) served with Ananas alla Cinese.
Let me explain the Ananas... You are making a swan, the tail being the pineapple leaves. Take a pineapple and split it lengthwise in quarters. Carefully cut the core from one end until about one inch from the other. Bend that core up to make the neck of a bird and secure with a toothpick. Cap the toothpick with a grape to form a head. Butterfly a tangerine slice and place on the head. Go back to the body, cutting the fruit along the peel edge to free it, and then slice, in place, into thin wedges. Pour a drizzling of lemon cream over the pineapple body and stick a toothpick in for eating the wedges. Voila... you have a pineapple swan with a butterfly fluttering around its head.
Three pasta courses! Lordy, they were ready to pop. Happy, but full, like the boy in Willy Wonka.
November 1, 2001
A full moon on Halloween... can't get much better. The theme of last night's Halloween party was dead rock stars. I don't have many clothes with me, so I went with what I had -- jeans, a flannel shirt and a down vest. Who would you guess? The flannel and the down vest put me squarely in the Seattle scene, so with slight gender bend I became Kurt Cobain. Without the vest, I considered trying for Duane Allman. With the peasant blouse I wore under the flannel, I claimed Joplin. A three-fer. No one was impressed.
Good food (bruschetta, pasta, cakes) and dancing. The band was a three piece with a fiddle that covered America (Horse with no Name), REM (Losing my Religion), and Irish pub songs (Whiskey in a Jar). Lively dancing. Melchiore spun one woman so hard I thought we might have casualties. Lots of new faces at the party, some Italian, some not. I met a fox and a bat 2 very cute local children... blonde with pointed features rather like a bat and a fox. Also attending la festa were 2 Michael Hutchens (one with noose), Mama Cass, 2 Janis Joplins, Dusty Springfield, a medieval courtier, a black widow spider, the devil, and a man inexplicably draped in fruits and vegetables from his garden. I went, I chatted, I noshed, I bailed -- my head full of new people, new conversation, and Italian.
Melchiore mentioned that he had a meeting set the next day with an American restaurateur looking for a personal chef. He asked if I could join him at the meeting. It sounded intriguing though what my roll is (other than fly on the wall) I do not know. The observer role suits -- so why not?
At 10 a.m. I punctually arrived in Niccone to meet Melchiore. Two other folks, Laura and Massimo, were with him. A very nice couple and completely at sea as to why I was joining in. We set out for a house in the hills above Spedalicchio through beautiful stands of chestnut and oak trees. (I wanted to get out of the car and gather some of the prickly casings and long yellow leaves for decoration.)
We settled in at the meeting (coffee for all) and I began to feel a bit odd, like a too large fly on the wall. This was a preliminary business meeting and my role was undefined and I think everyone there, except Melchiore, had some questions. I was introduced as his translator. Ironic, eh? Especially given my recent post office experiences?
There was a lot of to and fro, round and about, on the details -- what they want, what he wants, money, time, etc. Finally, Melchiore proposed to cook a meal for them as a test... tomorrow... and I am the assistant. Whoa. Now my roll is defined. Thank heaven I've seen he and Jan cook together to have a feel for the theater of it all. After the meeting, we went to Nonna Gelsa's for lunch. It was lovely! We practiced our Italian and English on everything from adjectives to grammar "how do you say, what is this, what is the difference between" A good day. Tomorrow will be quite an adventure. This woman owns 3 successful restaurants, one of which is in the Minneapolis/St Paul area (Wild Rice). She seems very nice, if slightly forbidding, as people with particular wants can be. But, c'est la vie, e la vida, esta la vida. There you go.
