Raccolta di Castagne, pranzo, teatro
This morning, I woke up ready for a lazy day. Not gonna happen. An early email from our neighbor back home notified us that there are signs of a mouse in the house. There's never "a" mouse. This is one of my nightmares. When I think of my reaction, I see a hundred cartoon balloons surrounding my head, with EEK!!!! inside every one of them. What now?
I got dressed, went upstairs, made coffee, and shortly afterward, the phone rang. (Joe's still in his bathrobe).
"Want to go to the vigna?" Elena asked, "We are at the front door".
I love nothing more than lounging in my pj's, but I've learned my lesson over the years. There is no planning here; only action. Be ready.
So Joe stayed home while the women, including Giovanna, and kids drove to the vineyard house. We collected the ripened chestnuts, which fall to the ground after they open, making them easy to harvest. We also gathered the caliceddi, which I just learned are friarielli, the wild, slim version of cima di rape. I thought I'd messed up my garden this past summer, but these plants look just like what I grew (and sadly tossed). Lastly, we gathered pears and grapes.
After harvesting and peeling off layers of clothes, we sat in the sun, ate pears, and watched the kids play. Matteo was especially rambunctious today; my hair is a mess and I lost an earring due to his whirligig hands, but he was asking for me to join him in play before the vigna visit ended.
Back at home, I sat with Joe for a while before we got called down to lunch. Before we sat down to eat, I helped Giovanna out on the terrazza. She was cleaning the calciceddi for dinner, so I grabbed some and started trimming. This was always Nonno's job.
Giovanna was in a small fury. Evidently her son had said he'd invite her over for lunch, but she wasn't home (she has a well-used cell phone). She went on, worked up now and breaking into Sicilian, then caught herself. She wound down and asked in Italian, "Conosci i narcisisti?" Um, yes. Yes, Giovanna, unfortunately I do. But her tempesta was brief, she's grateful for today and for our gathering of friends, and soon we were laughing. But I'd like to kick her son in the culo, Ettore's new favorite word. Doesn't every little boy get a kick out of saying "butt"?
Mariella, who's finally had time to grieve Nonno, has been a placid version of her normally vivacious self the past few days. Although that didn't stop her from preparing a beautiful lunch.
Pasta e sugo to start, then caliceddi e salsiccia, polpettone con speck, and cotolette. Wine. Fico d'india, our harvested grapes, Fernet Branca, and those pistachio-chocolate almond-y biscotti again.
More time after lunch, searching for ways to get to Molise, but time was crunched. We need to leave for the theater, Teatro Stabile in Catania, to see War and Peace. Yep; in Italian. Mariella is staying home.
I dressed up in silk, sparkles, and heels, pulled my messy hair into a bun, and put on my makeup. One minute to spare; Carmelo and Marisa are arriving to pick us up.
Marisa is my favorite of the Sicilian Girls. She's always percolating! That means bubbly, without the annoying personality traits of someone described as "bubbly". She asked if we're ready for Tolstoy, because this will be a mattone -- a heavy brick! We said we're up for the task. Joe read War and Peace last summer, whereas I gleaned the AI synopsis online this morning.
It was a long play, but an expertly crafted one. Stunning stage sets. I imagined an old vinyl 33rpm LP played at 75rpm speed. That's what it's like listening to the actors in Italian!
After the play, Carmelo drove us to meet the other friends for pizza. It was the usual cross-contamination of conversation up and down the table. Our pizzas arrived, and Marisa was one of the first to clean her plate. When Dino, the pizzaiolo came to the table to ask if all was good, Marisa said, thoughtfully: Yes, the impasto is good. Good flavor, consistency, and char on the crust. But this is €8 (...!...) -- can't you put more of each ingredient on top. He gave a friendly but brief response, and got called away. I turned to Marisa to ask, did I understand correctly? You're breaking his balls about the pizza (that she finished)? Yes! For this much money, I want to taste the ingredients! Brava, I said. I'm glad you're not a timid customer! She then flagged Dino over, telling him I thought she was right. Dino went full Sicilian in his monologue. The crust begins four days before you eat it. I create it, tend to it, then cook it. The ingredients need to be a delicate balance with the impasto; you have too many of them, and now your crust is soggy! "Si crea vapore così," I guessed. ""APPUNTO!!" Dino raised his hands heavenward to say. I saw his point; more vegetables, mushrooms, etc., will create steam.
We covered several more topics on the estrogen end of the table; Joe got a few words in edgewise with the guys (not an easy task), and all in all, it was a great day.
Although I'm a little sad for Giovanna and Mariella, and I am incredibly stressed out about the mouse. I owe my new neighbor, big time.
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