We moved then, to Tuscany. Ah, Tuscany! we remember you well. We have been before--it draws you bac --but each and every time my breath catches at its beauty.
Cypresses are the stand-out feature where we have our next stay. They march in perfect pencil thin green lines up over hills, deep into the valleys and along ancient and new driveways, clothing the terrain. There are big fat cypress trees that tell a tale of maturity; and thin achingly slender slivers, newly planted, that will be around much longer.
Our home is in the grounds of a thousand year old monastery started by a group of monks following in the footsteps of San Galgano, a young man, very much like St Francis of Assisi, who ended up following his own vision and finishing out his life with a band of followers many of whom lived, worked and prayed on the very land where our luxury apartment now sits: now one of twenty or so magnificent homes that look north, south, east and west, over land the monks used to tend.
Our first day here we lit our wood fire, our only heating source, and warmed our lovely abode. We explored a tiny chapel out our back door, and found a recommended restaurant for a lazy Sunday lunch, where we planned to spend the entire afternoon. And we did. And it was another truly memorable lunch that just went on and on. We ate simple fare, made magic in the hands of the kitchen staff at this humble little restaurant in the tight back lanes of Asciano: L'Angola della Sfizio -- Angel of Whimsy: which I think means 'we will cook whatever you wish'. And cook it divinely. Bruschetta with simple toppings: pomodoro fresco, lardo, olio d'olive, radicchio -- that tasted sublime.
We wonder all the time what about this food makes this special magic? It remains a mystery to us. And the Tuscan wine, too, is so special. Yet, we can use similar ingredients and get nowhere near this level of artistry with food and flavour. Then came various kinds of pasta with sauces; so delicious we will never be able to replicate them: truffle, artichoke and parmesan pasta; pici with bacon and cherry tomato, pappardelle with wild boar. Each taste was followed by a long moan of delight: but everyone was doing the same, so we were in good company. Then, a dessert trio to die for, and a coffee to follow that could not have finished the meal more exquisitely. The coffee in Italy is perfection.
We rarely order pasta, we think it too easy a dish. We figure we can make it ourselves with minimum effort. But when we eat like this, we realise we know nothing. We may never be able to make pasta sauces this delicious if we live another lifetime.
We come home to a log fire and time: which we normally never have enough of. On one of the shelves we found two books in English: Francis Mayes Under the Tuscan Sun and Bella Tuscany. Both I have read before, but years ago so they are now upstairs in the bedroom for a reread, where the shutters overlook the glorious rolling hills bedecked with cyprus, olives and vines.
And in the evening glow I am almost sure I see monks, bending, working, low to the vines. Quietly.
 |
| The simple astonishing beauty of Tuscany |
 |
| Our home was a thousand year old monastery |
 |
| Now home to twenty or more luxury holiday apartments |
 |
| Our apartment in the renovated Monastery grounds |
 |
| Cyprus, olives and vines from our deck |
 |
| Where the monks tended their vines |
No comments:
Post a Comment