Un giorno nella vita

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I guess I'm at a bit of a blogging crossroads. Life here is great, but it's simple and I'm enjoying that most of all. Especially contrasted with the constant in your face and up-to-date New York world in which I was living. So how many times can I write about all the caffè I've been drinking and the pasta I've been eating without becoming repetitive to the point where the audience is lost? What did I do today? I was up by ten, drank a coffee, watered the lemon tree, watered the pool. Amanda and I rode our bikes to the baker to buy bread for lunch and by then it was noon, so we stopped at a café for a couple spritz aperol (prosecco spritzed with mineral water and aperol liquer).

Plenty of people blog about the same thing all the time. My friend Zack writes about all the baseballs (how many now Zack, 3,101?) he's collected. But each ball comes with a story about who threw this one or who hit that one or what fancy trick he used to pick up a ball 20 feet below. The same-- every peach I've picked comes with a different story: yesterday I pulled one off the tree and the whole stem came with it (bad) but today I modified my technique and took only the fruit (which is very good).

OK, so it hasn't been all harvesting and caffeine. Last Wednesday we were invited to a friend's vineyard where he was hosting a benefit for leukemia research. It was attended by about 500 people. Dinner was three courses served on the grounds of the vines and we joined a table that included the vintner's father (a vintner himself) and brother. We nibbled on pane and monatsio cheese (the region's specialty) before we were served the pasta dish: semolina gnocchi ai fumicato (smoked) con pancetta and orecchiette alla puttanesca. The main course, veal medallions in a cabernet franc reduction with potatoes, looked good, but since I don't eat beef I politely declined. Immediately, though, I was served another plate of the veal and declined and this went on three or four more times until I placed my hands on the table in front of me. The vintner’s brother called over the head caterer and asked him to prepare a different plate for me. Moments later, another waiter returned to our table and, though she knew the plate was for me, pronounced with exaggerated theater: "un piatto vegetariano". All heads at the surrounding tables turned to see who was causing the chef so much grief as I raised my hand to accept the plate overwhelmed with an obscene amount of potatoes and montasio cheese. It was too much to eat so I had to push it around, like I was six years old trying to hide my vegetables.

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Comments

[phil]

Dropping everything and going to Italy is definitely the best idea you've ever had.
Ohhhhhhhhhh, we have got to trade places! Italy looks awesome. I am sitting in an office with no windows staring at a computer screen with no escape from the piped-in muzak (currently: Madonna's Lucky Star) waiting for the day to end. Woe is I.