10:27am Wednesday 2nd December 2009
By Michael and Peggy Hunt
Autumn sort of arrived in October, but it was still warm and despite the dusk descending earlier each evening, we were still eating most of our meals outside. The news was full of the drought affecting the many of the crops ready to be harvested including a prediction of a disastrous olive harvest. Water was being diverted from domestic supplies to irrigate the fields as a priority each day but most places, including us, have a reservoir for fresh water to ensure we do not run dry during these times.
Remembering how cold the winter had been the previous year we decided to invest in some carpets to cover the tiled floors but the areas we wanted to cover were too big for the local suppliers. We tried an importer who specialised in Iranian and Turkish carpets, they were just too expensive, for an investment or an historic villa they would be perfect but… Eventually we found, by accident, a company on the internet advertising free delivery to the U.K. and they had rugs in all sizes, so we emailed to ask how much more it would be to export to Italy. We were astonished to get a phone call from Philadelphia, U.S.A. They delivered all over the world free of charge, all VAT, duty and customs fees were also included too. We ordered one 4mx3m and two 3mx2m with non slip underlay, all matching, to cover the centre floor areas. This still left a metre of tile all the way around to walk on, and the at the same cost as one rug would have bought here. They were delivered in one week, and what a difference they made!
To celebrate we went to the chestnut festival in Piagaro, south of Lake Trasimeno with good views in daylight. Having been advised we queued for the communal meal in the village hall as soon as we arrived, leaving the open workshops, stalls etc for later. We were shown a bench table and given a menu showing the different courses, all involving chestnuts. Chestnut and mushroom soup, mixed bruscetta platter and other choices, followed by polenta with mushrooms and chestnuts, pasta’s with ragu including some chestnuts. Meats and vegetables, desserts, wines and water. You paid for what you wanted when the server returned and although served on disposable plates it all tasted very good and was very reasonable. We wandered around the market stalls selling pellet stoves, works of art, candy floss, hot chestnuts, jewellery, toys and clothes. Some people had opened the store rooms below their houses to display the local craftwork, carpentry, lace, embroidery, a miniature railway and antique methods of telling the time. The glass museum was open with guest glass blowers from Rome showing their trade and offering their wares for sale.
Having the travel bug we also went to Cetona, about half an hour away to see if we could spot the beautiful people. Versaci and other famous people who own a lot a property in the town and environs and we’d hoped to spot a few, no such luck but we discovered an eccentric artist who is well known in Italy. Looking for a spot to eat we wandered through the open palazzo, that looks a bit like Bath but in miniature, and saw a very large tabby cat sunning it’s self on a doorstep. We went to pet it and as we did so the door opened and we all but fell inside. The owner caught our arms and seemed delighted to see us and pulled us inside. He owned the lower floor and basement of the grand palace and had converted it to show off his contemporary works. There were paintings in the Andy Warhol style of women, things that used neon lights, others that hung suspended from the ceiling that twirled and reflected light and pulsed, all extremely clever but not our taste or pocket. At one stage we passed a magnificent pair of wooden doors which I admired greatly. “It is my home” he said propelling us thorough the portals. We entered an open space of white with contemporary furniture scattered throughout. He gave us the tour of his home and it was beautifully restored. The high light was the bedroom, which is where we though we’d never see daylight again, as he showed us an Iron Maiden sitting at the foot of the bed. During the tour he had mentioned his wife, but we had no idea if she was out or deceased and as there was no sign of the lady we dreaded the answer, he opened the metal woman and instead of 8” long spikes and a body we saw a plump red velvet cushion inside. He said this was where he contemplated in the womb of a Madonna ‘women’ for his works of art. We made our excuses about lunch. Thanked him for his wonderful tour and praised his work and fled.
November and the mists arrived along with the incredible sunsets. We could forgive the damp and foggy mornings when we were treated to spectaculars in the evenings. Despite our, and the Commune officials, attempts we had been unable to find anyone willing to pick the olives we rented. Most contracted pickers were booked a year or two in advance and simply couldn’t fit us in. We contacted the owner of the grove we rented and told him that 600 trees were more than we could manage and would he release us from the contract? He agreed but said the harvest was ours if we wanted it. We asked for advise and we were told go to help our friends so you can have some oil and leave the other olive grove to the owner to care for. We organised a new contract to rent to begin as soon as the harvests were gathered. The middle of the month friends contacted us and said picking would start as a soon as the mist lifted next morning. It took us 12 days to pick 150 trees by hand, sorting the leaves and detritus from the nets before putting the olives into the crates for the mill. The remaining trees were contracted and picked using vibrating plastic fingers. This method is quicker but it does put a lot of leaf in the nets.
We arrived 30 minutes before our appointment at the local mill but there was a small bow legged man unloading his Apé, (3 wheeled pick-up utility vehicle used by all the locals, only does 30 miles an hour and looks extremely unstable) parked inside the doors, straight on to the weighing scales. We said nothing but waited. The efficient lady, pulled up her five foot one stature and commanded he take his boxes off the scales. He argued he had an appointment made before ours so he had the right to be next. She pointed out he was late so had forfeited his rights. He asked for the weight and was handed a digital print out and he dragged his baskets off the scales. We stood ours on and caused a second argument. We had the same number of baskets but our weight was greater. The woman pointed out he had more leaves than olives in his creates and leaves were much lighter. It was not enough for the enraged oldster who insisted that his crop be re weighed. So we dragged our cartons off and helped him load his back on. Unsurprisingly, the weight tally was the same as before.
We watched the olives being poured into the stainless steel trough, where they were riddled to eject any leaves and twigs we had missed into a hopper outside. The fruit was passed through a crusher into vats inside the mill. We followed through huge metal doors into a humid, green and piquant flavoured hall. People were toasting bread brought to share and pouring examples of the fresh green and buttery oil onto it. An old man entered with several bottles under his arm and invited us to join them all, waiting for their crop to be processed, and drink his wine and share in the hot bread with oil oozing from it’s crumb. - The gentle camaraderie of all the olive growers sharing a bite and a drink together made the wait of an hour worth it. The mill operator showed us how the fruit, now warmed and macerated, was turned and squeezed to get the oil out and once our containers were weighed he threw levers to ensure only our oil was processed to the waiting stainless steel churn..
We earned 30 ltrs of oil for our labours and the deep green liquid was good enough to drink on its own. We decided to bottle some olives in the oil with slices of lemon, peppercorns and herbs for the next year as well as cooking with it We also made fruit chutney using wine vinegar’s as they don’t use malt vinegar or have anything pickled in the UK style here. We gave some jars to friends and caused quite a stir as they had no idea how to use it so we suggested they eat it with cheese as most thought it a type of jam before we explained.
We chased the geometra, who said the health and safety were sitting on the file but they had hopes that the permission to start the work to create a boiler room to house the bio-mass central heating boiler would be arriving before January.
Then the rain started. It poured. It deluged. It came down in torrents. The drains over flowed the fields, flooding into lakes and the roads washed away and landslides were a common sight. It was the wettest winter season since the 1930’s they told us. Christmas came and it was white, taking us all by surprise as the coldest months are late January to mid February, then it is spring arrives, normally, almost overnight. After 2 years of draught and now the intense rain farmers were talking worriedly about their crops and animals. We started to notice many of our trees looked odd with their top branches curling inwards and bark peeling away from the trunks, spring would show us if they had died or would recover.
Recipe: Soup of bread and cheese ½ kg of cheese, grated or sliced, ½ kg of sliced crusty bread, 1 cup of grated parmesan, ½ - 1 ltr of vegetable stock.
Cover the base of an oven proof dish which has been greased with a layer of bread, top with the grated cheese and a sprinkle of parmesan, repeat until all cheese and bread is used, leaving enough cheese to finish the top layer. Add stock so it almost covers the last layer of bread. Bake in an 350F oven for 20 minutes.
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