A Vigne Day, A Taormina Evening

We slept in, logging a couple of nights' sleep in one. We woke up and it was already hot, but the sleep was energizing. I'm loving our new fan.

After a lazy morning of editing wedding photos for the family chat (and drinking coffee), I took a nice cool shower and we headed to the vigne.

We swam and sunbathed and snacked and played with the kids and chatted with the adults. Sometimes I wonder what wonderful thing I did in a past life to deserve this.

Mariella commanded a dry-off; lunch is almost ready!

Already at the table were mozzarella from Napoli, bread, dried caciocavallo, a block of parmesan. Mariella brought out her sugo with Napolitana pasta, a sage leaf shape in pasta form, and harder than al dente. We call this a chiodo, but those outside of Napoli, including my grandma back in the day, call it alla Napolitana. This sugo, Giuseppe Rapisarda explained, gets topped with either grated ricotta salsa or grated parmesan, in addition to a spoonful of cooked crumbled sausage. Optional topping is a slice or two of eggplant seared in a pan. I love it this way.

Second course — grilled sausage, mixed greens salad, more bread.

Dolce — a frozen type of cake with a hint of rum, and tiramisu-flavored gelato, which I skipped, as I'm not a fan of tiramisu. 

We finished with cold fresh figs and plump chilled grapes.

Somewhere between il secondo and il dolce, a heated and loud political discussion erupted. This went long and strong, like a speeding locomotive, and was just about as easy to stop. Had it not been intrusive to do so, I would've captured a video. It brought back memories of Sunday lunches at my grandparents' house. Nostalgia. 

Matteo and I watered the garden and took a little stroll. He's still a monello, but a totally charming one.

After everyone had a riposa, I was walking around with cute baby Giulio. Suddenly, Luisa appeared in a beautiful dress with a red belt and red sandals. We're going to Taormina! Oh! I need to change clothes! Vincenzo said, no, you're fine, but I looked at Rosalba and said I feel like Cinderella in the part where she's cleaning the fireplace. Sweet quiet Gloria chortled out loud. Rosalba suggested I could change clothes and wear what I had on last night. Ok. That was a long silk dress for Lili's wedding! I'm definitely changing! Luisa looked at me and said, you have 30 minutes. She still scares me.

Joe and I flew to Biancavilla, I changed clothes and freshened up, and apparently Giuseppe Greco was in the building, because we were stuck in our bedroom waiting for the elevator door (our only exit). Then, the Ami, a glorified golf cart, doesn't like hills, and slows down. Have you been to Sicily? It's not flat. So we were 40 minutes and some people already left. Luckily, our ride didn't, although Vincenzo tried to make up for lost time. Ettore and Matteo rode with us, and Ettore kept exclaiming the higher and higher numbers on the speedometer. Meanwhile, Vincenzo had the music cranked, and Matteo, sitting on my lap, performed a lengthy, energetic, and impressive air guitar — I mean, I was really taken aback — through several songs. Then, in an instant, he was a weighty sleeping blanket on my lap and shoulder. It was pure heaven. I asked Ettore what's cool in his world now, and he said Nike and Michael Jordan.

We got to Taormina, met up with everyone, and made the passeggiata through town. Rosalba wasn't wrong; many lovely people were in their finest evening wear. I wore a shorter floral dress and chunky heels, feeling somewhat underdressed, but grateful I wasn't in my ash-cleaning attire.

We lost Mariella in the crowd, but met up with Elena and family. I held Ettore's hand as we walked to Mariella and Vincenzo's newest home, a tiny love nest for them, with a grand covered terrace on top, overlooking the sea. Ettore and I talked and actually spent real moments together. Elena, a few steps behind us with Matteo and Giulio, asked him, "Are you enjoying time with Karen?," and both he and Matteo gave a rousing round of yeses. Ok; my heart almost burst, and it wasn't from traversing all the hilly staircases.

At the terrazza, the food was already set out. Pizza, cheeses, charcuterie, more figs and grapes; prosecco, beer. It was a light repast on a warm and gorgeous night.

The long ride home put Mariella asleep, for which I was glad. She must not get much of that. She woke and immediately started telling Vincenzo to slow down!

Back at the vigne, there was a fresh cool breeze. We bid our goodbyes and good nights, got back in the clown car, and landed in our Biancavillan bedroom in no time.

A domani.



























Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Riparo Cassataro

Image
Fields Off the menu pasta Harvester's fire Recycling collection stops traffic I think this is Riparo Cassataro; we may never know. Goats Goat on a fence Another goat I never tire of this volcano I began some wash this morning, after having trouble yet again using the door key, and also with starting the washing machine (it turns out it simply was unplugged). I had fumbled, hitting all the buttons before figuring that out, so once it started, it appeared I put it on the “takes forever “ cycle.  So, we set out this morning to visit a mysterious place, Riparo Cassataro, only 15 minutes away by car, according to GPS. In fact, it was so mysterious, we never found it—or at least didn’t get close to it. This journey (and perhaps the end result) was reminiscent of dragging Laura and Megan through thick and thin to find the mysterious tracks at Clapham Junction in Malta. As Megan says, “pretty snails tho”. We got to an area which looked like a small bastion (oxymoron?) of jutting rock upon...
Read more

Joe's Fatherland and an Abduction

Image
After a strengthening caffè doppio and some cornetti at our new favorite pasticceria, we bid adieu to Tropea and set out to Settingiano, Joe's paternal ancestral home. We visited the town of Settingiano, Calabria, on the mainland; home to Joe's grandparents on his dad's side. We spoke at length with Maria at the caffè bar. She tried calling Francesco Pingitore, who she believes is a cousin, but no answer. He works? I asked. No, no, she assured me. Maria told us, Just go to his house. Down this street, there's a piazetta with a fountain, by the market, just past the parrucchiere. His house is right there. Parrucchiere di Mary?, I asked, having seen it on the way in. No; she's dead, she informed in true southern Italian fashion. The other parrucchiere. Francesco wasn't around. We walked the town, popped into the mother church, took in the scenery, and finally walked toward the car. A jovial man pulled up next to us in his car, Eh, eh; you're walking all over ...
Read more

He’s Off, They’re Up

Image
It seemed as if the three strikes were up, but no; Nikos had another snag trying to leave Italy. He really does fit in here. The Motherland is trying to tell him to stay. After the potential Agrigento stall, the delay in Catania, and his flight cancellation in Rome yesterday, Nikos set off to the airport and arrived 3 hours before his rescheduled flight. Luckily, he had this narrow cushion, since Delta messed up a couple of times. First, he went to the terminal for his flight; Delta said oops wrong terminal, and sent him to a different one. Delta was wrong. Indeed Nikos was to be at the original terminal, from where he had just left. Great—he had time, although, what a pain in the butt. With the flight cancellations yesterday, there was a long check-in line. Nikos finally got to the front of it, and learned that Delta’s promise that his Covid test for the canceled flight would still be ok, was indeed a lie. He had to leave the long line, and get to the back of another very long line fo...
Read more