Summer 2017

At the end of my all too short stay in Tuscany I had decided to climb to the 16th century monastery on the hill overlooking the Villa where we had spent the past couple of weeks. The weather had been beautiful, early summer sun with warm days and cooler nights. From the tree lined avenue below, the monastery was perched in the rock strewn hills above. The structure, imposing as it was, overlooked a vast tract of the country side. Having the purpose as a watch tower for the Villa below when it had been the residence of two popes during the 17th century. I myself was sleeping the papal guards accomodation, cool terracotta floors and low ceilings high above the dusty road below. On my first evening I had been locked in the estate all alone. Alone, there was an almost ear shattering silence as the evening approached. That evening I had wandered through the classically Florentine gardens, and olive groves of the estate. Having been told the approximate location I managed to walk the original tract of the Paleo horse race before it had been moved to cobble stones of Sienna. But I still wanted to climb the hill to the monastery. According to the staff at the Villa the resident monks used to climb the nearly three hundred and fifty steps on their knees and in doing so paying penance to god to absolve their sins.

Half way up I myself was paying my own penance on my feet, let alone my knees. The tract was well worn and broken in places with native vegetation encroaching. Looking down, breathing rather too heavy for my liking, having spent far too much time with a bottle of Montalpacino the previous evening. I found myself standing in a mass of wild thyme, it grew from every single crack and crease in the roughhewn stones. Strangly recalling the novel “My family and other animals” by Gerald Durrell. Even though based in Corfu rather than Tuscany, it, along with Felicity and Richard in the BBC series “The Good Life”, had strangly shaped my world view on food. Now standing on the side of a Tuscan hill with the most amazing view stretching before me underneath an abandoned catholic monastery the food of Italy kind of made sense. The smell of wild thyme at this moment was what Tuscan food was about. A connection to the natural world, food from the earth. The simplicity of it all. Literally taking what is in front of you and eating it. Everywhere I looked in Tuscany there were vegetable gardens, fruit trees and olive groves. People grew and ate what they could, not what was in fashion or on the cover of a perennially glossy food magazine. If it didn’t grow there you didn’t eat it let alone need it. This was slow food, not the food on demand paradigm of industralised agriculture.

The week previous I had been shopping in the market in Siena, looking for avocados, at the bequest of a client. Having found five rather poor looking specimens I asked the women if she could get more. I was casually informed that there wouldn’t be any until next month as they where brought in mainly for Americian and English tourists, and as no one around here eats them, and thus she won’t be getting any more in. My offer of a higher price was off handedly dismissed. It was the same with fish. The further away from the coast you went the supply of fish gradually dried up.

So, what if I couldn’t find avocados because the food I did find was stunning, the bread, oil, vinegar, salt, vegetables and meat. The markets and supermarkets were bursting with amazing produce and the coffee. The coffee was deep, black and strong. Walking through the streets of Sienna we passed stunning espresso bars, just a bar, no chairs or tables to stand at and enjoy a quick shot. There were several blends of coffee to choose from, all listed in Italian and thus ordered expertly by my chef and host, Jacob. On the street outside we passed beautiful pastry with delicious cakes and local almond biscuits. This is what I love about Italian food, the naturalness and joy of it.