Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: Traces of history

Spello will live long in our memory, I think, as it was where we ate one of the most memorable Sunday lunches we've ever eaten, albeit quite by accident.

We had attempted to book lunch for today at a recommended restaurant close to home, but with no success: the restaurant we tried is frequently booked out well in advance and today was another fine Sunday with families in long lunch mode so bookings had to be made much earlier than our attempt.

So, we forgot about lunch, and just planned to eat wherever we landed: which is our usual modus operandi when this happens.

We landed in Spello after a beautiful sunny morning ooh-ing and aah-ing over the Perugian countryside scenery all around us, which is a magical mix of villages with church spires poking from the tops of hills, long groves of olive trees, and cedars in long lines along a road, or the horizon. It is such a beautiful part of Italy, Umbria: gorgeous pockets everywhere.

Spello happens to have a history that involves the Etruscans, one of the earliest inhabitants in this part of Italy: a civilisation we are specifically hunting down this trip to learn more about. It is not known exactly how the Etruscans came to occupy the parts of Umbria and Tuscany that we are visiting, but it is theorised they might have come from the near East of modern-day Europe and happily traded with the Greeks and others along the coastlines here. They had a big influence on the Romans who followed in these parts, leaving them many words -- 'Rome' is Etruscan -- along with their alphabet, which they acquired from the Greeks and passed on to the Romans: along with olive trees, togas, and the arch.

So, they left a big mark on modern day Italy, though their presence was so long ago.

We were just about to enter Spello by an interesting old crumbling town gate which had two side arches specifically for pedestrians, and a larger central arch for carts: one of many medieval gates that still survive here, when we sighted a Locanda, like a traveller's inn, to the right of the square outside the city walls. The smells wafting from it were delicious, and as it was close enough to lunch, and they could found find us a spare seat, we were offered a menu.

Italian food places are interesting. Many cafes and bars we come across in small towns and cities--too many--serve an assortment of sameness that is completely unappetising to all of us: cold arancini, slices of ready-made pizza, ciabatta with dried salumi and a slice of cheese cut hours ago. The staff don't even assemble stuff, they just remove it form a cabinet, warm it if asked, and there is no cooking involved. We avoid them. We would rather pick up fresh bread at a bakery and assemble our own with market fare than bother with any of these.

Italian breakfasts, too, are sometimes disappointing these days. Standard breakfasts at a cafe are sweet buns or a thick cold slice of bread with tomato topping served with your cafe, or expresso: eaten standing at the counter, or while heading out the door. Many of our overnight stays come with breakfast included. These breakfasts are nearly as unappetising as the ready prepared lunch spots we avidly avoid. Typically they are pre-packaged products laid out like a buffet: often with sweet buns in cellophane that sit out on a bench for days, even weeks, maybe even months. If the guests before you have not eaten them they still remain. Sometimes a small hard plain toast is offered with an indefinite due date. Rarely packaged bread: but when that is offered the same loaf is presented on the same board day after day--but at least, if you are desperate, you can toast the lack of freshness away. But, many breakfasts, too, we are leaving largely untouched.

Fresh baked croissants, or today's freshly baked bread rolls, seems to be a French thing. These no longer appear on our breakfast tables in Italy: though they used to in the past. Many breakfasts have become standardised: industrialised.

Even buying for dinner--attempting to find a single onion, or any single vegetable at a supermarket, has become a challenge, as most come in large pre-packaged portions. This is even happening with market fare, so we walk right past these offerings until we find what we need. If we can.

As compensation, though, coffee, everywhere, is divine. I order espresso in Europe and have not been disappointed yet. Though the others, who order cappuccino--though rarely after lunch to avoid the tut-tutting--would often prefer their coffee served hotter. Mine is always delicious.

So this lunch in the Locanda was a surprise and a delight. Given our past experience we chose things that sounded different but regional, and that would take some effort in the preparation. We asked for, and they were delighted to prepare, a kind of degustation of their local fare, which came out as separate courses. And was all so delicious that we did not even take time to photograph the food so that we could try to replicate it at home some time.

We ate so well. Eggplant layered with burrata cheese and the softest tomato jam as puree, a handmade Umbrian strangozzi pasta, so called because of its resemblance to shoelaces, topped with the famous black truffle from Norcia which is but an hour away; char-grilled chicken -- which clarified for me once and for all why Jamie Oliver insists on using blocks of wood, fired outdoors topped with a raw metal grate, to cook his favourite meats. The meat has to have that edge of char which we never seem to manage at home, flavoured with the irresistible smokey tang of the wood; and a thick long-simmered rich pork ragu over polenta -- the waiter encouraged us to include this and we are so glad we did. Everything tasted sublime and now, our only challenge is how are we ever to reproduce it at home; as we will want these flavours again, and again.

All topped off with the local delicious Montefalco wine made from the Sagratino grapes growing on the hills all around us.

This Sunday lunch made up for the disappointments we have had over many of our breakfast and lunch options: truly memorable.

After which we wandered the very pretty town of Spello for the afternoon: famous for its art and flowers, as any of its medieval little side lanes can attest: all so well maintained and decorated. The local salumi seller had even made a work of art of his sausage hanging, in a frame.

And in another lane a tailor in the 1800s chanced upon some exquisite frescoes hidden under a thin coating of plaster on his workshop walls. Around seven hundred years ago these were painted by two artists from a nearby village to decorate the walls of this little oratory used by the Brotherhood of the Flagellants of St Ann. The work is gorgeous.

Up, up, up we went, working off our lunch. With pink and white stone churches all the way and beautifully tended homes, many of them quiet today: tho' some where the inhabitants were stretching their Sunday lunch well into the afternoon, for we could hear their jollity.

From a belvedere at the top we could look over the marshes that the Etruscans tried to tame: reclaiming land, digging canals to direct the water into the Tiber. Their work was later carried on by Roman war veterans who after good and faithful war service under Emperor Augustus were given this town for their duty, and the continued canal-work was integral to their livelihood here. Traces of that history and their effective drainage work still remain.