A new food for dinner!

This week our local fruit and vegetable market stall was displaying a strange red and white vegetable that we'd never seen before.

We were told it was a traditional vegetable of the Treviso area and "molto buono".

So we bought two of the colourful things, promising our stall lady that we would do as she recommended and cut it in half lengthways, fry it in butter, then serve it drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

The next evening, I placed the halves in a frypan and watched as the pretty colours turned brown and the leaves softened.

It was bitter to taste even though I had drizzled it with sweet balsamic vinegar...but the bitterness was rigorous and delicious!

A subsequent internet search revealed that the strange vegetable was a "Rossa di Treviso", a type of radicchio that originated in northern Italy and dates back to the 16th century.

(http://www.innvista.com/health/foods/vegetables/chicory-and-endive/)

 

 

 

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A tree or two...

For those of my readers who think that I have completely forgotten how to write, finally here's a post...

I hope you will forgive my silence when I tell you that I've been exhausted settling back into Italy, re-acquainting myself with friends and contacts, ensuring that our car is legal in terms of car tax and roadworthy obligations and trying to remember how to speak Italian!

Late winter also happens to be the time to be working in the paddocks, cutting blackberry, pulling weeds, pruning, shaping, preparing, fertilizing and planting.

So...we've also been doing all of the above and today capped our efforts off with the planting of 35 new trees!

We planted 26 hazelnut trees in the hazelnut grove, 5 new fruit trees in the orchard (3 cherries and 2 persimmons) and 4 new gooseberries in the gooseberry patch.

The sun has now gone down on our "crops" and we are sitting in our lounge chairs in front of a blazing fire, wondering how we're going to get upstairs to bed in a couple of hours...

Above: The hazelnut grove

Above: The orchard

Above: The gooseberry patch

 

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Winter days that aren't so perfect

After enjoying lots of perfect winter days, we are now experiencing some not-so-perfect ones!

It is cloudy, misty, dreary, damp...need I say more...

On the "bright side" (no pun intended), these sorts of days are almost-perfect because they give us guilt-free time to sit inside with the kitchen fire warming our backs and good books in front of us.

Unfortunately, necessity dictates that my "good book" for today is the Italian road code, which (of course) makes this almost-perfect day once again a not-so-perfect day...

 

 

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Winter days

The winter days here always seem to be perfect.

We are having overnight temperatures below zero, early morning frosts, then days where the sky is such a clear blue that I just know the alps will be visible from the hills around us.

One day this week, I arranged to meet a couple of friends to do an 8km walk across a ridge between Rochetta Palafea and Montabone, about 10 minutes away from home.

We met at 11am, rugged up appropriately for a walk in 5 degrees and set off. There followed a glorious couple of hours in which we walked and talked and stared at the alps, which lined 180 degrees of the horizon.

Exhilarated and not wanting to hide myself indoors on such a perfect day, I decided to use the afternoon to tackle my first big pruning job: the wisteria vines.

We have 2 wisterias: a 200 year old one that covers the pergola at the front of the house and a 10 year old one that covers the front of the fienile. Neither has been pruned for a few years and I have been anxious that they've been looking ragged rather than the sculptured works of art that they could be.

I am never sure what I'm doing when I'm pruning. No matter how many books I read or websites I surf, I never feel as if I'm doing the right thing.

I start to get lost when I read words like "old wood", "new wood" and "scaffold" and have totally lost it by the time I get to "prune down to 5th bud".

So today I reverted to Living in Italy Rule Number 1: "Do as the Romans do" (otherwise known as "Copy thy neighbour")!

Luckily, our neighbour has already pruned his wisteria and a casual wander past his vine revealed that he has retained the larger branches, cut the long curly bits off, cut the seed pods off and left the flower buds.

No need for fancy pruning words.

So, enter ladder, choppers, clippers, shears...and sunhat, of course!

I tackled the younger wisteria first and finished it within an hour.

Then I turned my attention to the older vine. After an hour of effort I had barely made an impact to the vine itself but I had somehow created a thick pile of prunings beneath it!

As dry seed pods, baked by the day's warmth, crackled and popped under my feet, I was again reminded to stop and appreciate the bright winter sun shining down on me...

 

 

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Old nails and ash

Our fireplaces are happily chugging away burning all the old rotten wood from our fienile renovation last year.

On one hand it's great to see the old wooden rafters go up in smoke in such a useful manner...but on the other hand I feel sad for the old nails that we find in the ashes afterwards.

While I feel a slight guilt to be the one who is discarding these relics, I feel no such guilt over the ash that we regularly clean out of the fireplaces.

In fact, Stu and I compete for the ash.

He wants it for the vegetable garden. I want it for the roses.

To avoid a major domestic situation, we've had to negotiate...so we've now agreed to take it in turns.

As I sit and watch this evening's kitchen fireplace glowing, I am reminded yet again to be thankful for our simple life.

 

 

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Home again!

After a wonderful 3.5 months in Australia, we arrived back in Italy a few days ago.

Our re-introduction has been surprisingly smooth.

All of my concerns that I'd somehow lost every single Italian word I ever knew evaporated when Stu forced me into town on our first day back.

In no time at all, we were talking to our fresh pasta maker, then to the ladies on the fruit and vegetable stall at the market, then to our bakers and butchers.

The next day we focused on heating and car maintenance which again had us out there talking, first to arrange a pallet of pellets, then to check a strange clunk in the back of the car.

We are now cosied up in our loungeroom, happy in the knowledge that our pellet fire will continue to burn for another few weeks and that our car needs a little attention but isn't dangerous to drive!

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We are away...but you can still read about what we're up to!

We are away from our beautiful Italian home for a while...but you can still join us on my other blog, which is dedicated to a 5 month minimalist lifestyle in Australia!

Go to www.minimalmeblog.wordpress.com

See you there!

 

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Artists in Italy!

On our recent tour to Roccaverano, Calosso and Santo Stefano Belbo (see previous post), we had the pleasure of the company of two highly respected Australian artists...

EUAN MACLEOD

"Born in New Zealand, Macleod moved to Australia in 1981 and won the prestigious Archibald Prize* for portraiture in 1999. His celebrated paintings and drawings feature in the pre-eminent public collections throughout Australia and overseas". (http://www.artistprofile.com.au/yfte-euan-macleod/)

*The "Archibald Prize is awarded annually to the best portrait, 'preferentially of some man or woman distinguished in art, letters, science or politics'". (http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/prizes/archibald/)

Above: "Self Portrait/head like a hole", winner of the Archibald Prize 1999, by Euan Macleod

STEVE LOPES

"Born in Sydney in 1971, Lopes trained in the UK, USA and Australia and has had over 20 solo exhibitions across Australia and the UK since 1996. He is a frequent finalist in national awards and was selected for the Salon des Refuses** in 2012. He is represented in important national and state collections". (http://www.artistprofile.com.au/yfte-steve-lopes/)

**The Salon des Refusés is an Australian art exhibition which shows some of the rejected works from the Archibald Prize for portraiture and the Wynne Prize for landscape & figure sculpture". (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salon_des_Refusés_(Archibald))

Above: "Asher Keddile", selected for the Salon des Refuses 2012, by Steve Lopes

 

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On tour again!

A good friend and I recently organised a local tour for some visiting friends from Australia.

Since our area is known for its wine, hazelnuts and robiola cheese, we try to include at least two of these in any tour we organise.

The recent tour included a visit to a goats cheese farm and factory, then visits to two wineries, one large and one small.

We met at a pretty stone village of Monastero Bormida, where we had a coffee while we waited to be met by the goat cheese farmer.

Marco guided our 4 cars up the narrow winding roads to his farm at Roccaverano. He then walked us to his goat shed and we watched as a shepherd brought the goats in from the paddocks. There were approximately 100 goats of all colours and sizes and Marco explained that some were segregated because they had been selected to appear at the Roccaverano cheese festival the following week. After watching some boisterous interplay between the goats and admiring Marco's prize billy goat, we wandered back to the farm buildings where the cheese is made. On the way we saw several pigs and a few donkeys. The tiny formaggeria could only take a third of our group at a time so our tours through there took some time. Marco showed us several robbiola rounds: one fresh, one aged and one coated in paprika. At the conclusion of the tour, Marco invited us into his old stone barn for a tasting where we savoured all 3 types of cheese. It was truly delicious and we quickly understood why all of Marco's produce is sold directly from the farm.

"Robiola of Roccaverano has very antique origins; testimonials date back to the celtic times and Its name recalls both the latin 'robium' (as reference to the reddish colour of the outside part of the paste) and the town of Roccaverano in the Asti province where this cheese originated.

Robiola of Roccaverano is the only Italian DOP cheese which can be produced exclusively with goats milk. It can also be made with cows or sheeps milk but at least 50% of the milk must be goats milk to be defined as Robiola of Roccaverano.

Robiola of Roccaverano is a fresh past cheese, maturation depends upon the milk microflora alive and present in the milk, exclusively processed raw without any added fermentation."

(Translation from http://www.robioladiroccaverano.com)

We said a very grateful goodbye to Marco and headed to a small hilltop stone village called Denice where we had a nice slow lunch before driving to the wine growing region of Calosso.

At Calosso we visited La Canova, a fairly large family vineyard with a large selection of all types of wine including spumante, whites, reds, sweets, grappas. After touring and tasting, we drove to Santo Stefano Belbo where we dropped into Beppe Marino, a familiar small winery which produces quality wines.

The day was hectic but joyfilled and relaxing...

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Clearing paddock 5

Over the last 5 years, we have been slowly "discovering" our land amid the jungle here.

A few years ago we "freed" paddocks 1, 2 and 3 and this year we "found" paddocks 4 and 5!

This week we have spent quite a few hours in paddock 5, cutting cane and clearing a row of bent trees that hang over the house. Although it's only a small area, it's important that we keep it tidy to allow better air circulation around the house and have a clear firebreak.

Our objective is to remove the blackberry, retain the tall acacia trees and encourage smaller birch and oak seedlings. We want to get it to a condition which will allow us to add it to the regular mowing/whipper snippering program.

Today we found several wild roses and we can only assume that these flowers grew at the end of each row of grapevines when the paddock was a glorious vineyard. Unfortunately, blackberry and other creepers had smothered this year's canes so we had to cut them back but I am confident that these roses will throw more canes next year.

After all, it seems only logical that (if they are still surviving after 50 years of neglect), they will thrive again in the new broad sunlight that will bathe the paddock in Spring...

Above: Stu clearing

 

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The best harvest for many years?

We live in a most beautiful area. The hills are high and rolling. The roads are narrow and winding. The slopes of the hills are covered in grapevines, rows of parallel green patterning the earth.

We've watched the farmers all year...pruning, lifting, tidying, cutting and generally tending their vines. We've watched the skies anxiously for them, worried that too much rain, wind or hail might ruin the crops in one foul sweep.

Vendemmia is always a special time...but this year there has been an extra buzz about the place, a frizzon of excitement and anticipation. After two very dry months during the July/August heatwave and no damaging storms, this year's harvest is proving to be bountiful.

Wine makers are saying that initial sampling of the grapes and their juice promises the sweetest wine for many years...

With such joy hanging in the air, we love to see slow tractors on the roads pulling heavily laden carts...

 

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Hair trauma

Those of you who know me will know that I have a "hate" relationship with my hair.

Hair has always annoyed me, simply because it keeps growing. Having to go to the hairdresser is a gross inconvenience and a waste of my precious time.

With this attitude, I generally last about 6 weeks after a haircut before I take to myself with the scissors. I figure that I can never go too wrong; it will never take too long for it to grow back.

This has never been much of a problem in Australia. I butcher myself in the endless hope that I can avoid a trip to the hairdresser, end up at the hairdresser 2 weeks later, the hairdresser notices my foolishness and she/he and I have a good belly laugh over it.

Basically, Australia lets me butcher my hair if I want to; it's my hair and I'll do what I want with it, etc.

Well, it seems that this self-cut (self-harm?) behaviour is completely unacceptable in Italy.

Today I learned this lesson the hard (embarrassing!) way.

I cut the sides of my hair a week ago (the sides always seem to grow faster than the rest so they have the capacity to turn me into a desperate scissor-wielding lunatic earlier than the rest of my hair). At the time, I decided to delay a trip to the hairdresser even longer and be more drastic than normal.

Everything was going well and to plan until, immediately after my scissor job, I noticed that I'd given myself The Triple Stripe treatment on one side. This occurs when one cuts a little too severely and creates three distinct lines where there is no hair at all!

Clearly, immediate rectification was required so I attempted to create The Triple Stripe on the other side.

While this was a sudden and desperate decision, it was not a sensible decision as I now had two sides with bald stripes at different angles. I kept butchering away in a desperate and oblivious manner to make myself (if not actually look better) at least look "even".

Thankfully, many years of such behaviour has left me highly skilled at hiding these sorts of mishaps. For the next 2 weeks, I moussed, gelled and dragged the hair onto my face to hide my new very radical "soccer hero" hairstyle.

After 2 weeks, I decided that the sides had grown enough to fool the hairdresser.

Wrong.

The hairdresser immediately found my botch job.

If I had stripped naked and danced around the salon she couldn't have looked more appalled. I did my usual thing and had a little giggle at myself before realising that she wasn't giggling with me. This was not a laughing matter. She thought I was completely ridiculous! I suspect that, if I had a greater grasp of Italian, she might have told me never to return!

I was suitably subdued. Sorry, I said, I will never do it again.

After she fixed me up, I left the salon thinking that I will never do that again...at least not in Italy...at least not in the next month...after all, 40 years of behaviour is a hard habit to break...

 

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This 6 year old job is now finished...properly...

When we purchased the property 6 years ago, we had a swamp around the back of the house which was contributing to damp within the house. The improvement of this situation was a high priority and, since we were living and working in Switzerland at the time, we had to engage a contractor to do the work.

The scope of the job included digging out the swamp, gluing a thick membrane against the house, putting steel reinforcing down, pouring concrete, spreading sand and laying concrete pavers.

When we finally managed to get to Italy to view the work, we noticed that the contractor had stopped short of the required area by about 1 metre, which meant that the edge of the pavers stopped halfway across our pizza oven!

This has annoyed us for 6 years so a few months ago we decided to correct it.

We started by purchasing another 2 pallets of concrete pavers and transporting them up our little valley. We don't have the most efficient of logistic solutions here. Delivery trucks are too large and heavy to turn around at the house so we ask them to drop off at the beginning of the driveway. Then we attach our unregistered trailer to our car and drive down the driveway. We load the trailer by hand, then unload it by hand when we get back to the house. Grossly inefficient and exhausting but good for our fitness!

This lovely pile of concrete pavers has been waiting to be laid all summer...but a 2 month heatwave has procluded us from doing anything with them!

This week we have had the most glorious days; cool early mornings, sunny later, mid 20 temperatures, no humidity. Perfect for heavy activity.

When you're an amateur, digging and flattening out, spreading and smoothing sand, laying and tapping pavers and measuring levels on two dimensions takes forever! After an 8 hour day, we still hadn't finished and had to return to it the following day. By the end of that day, we had everything laid but had to go back for a third day to build a stone wall to support the path, cut pavers for the edges of the path and concrete the perimeter.

While we were at it, we laid a whole new path in front of the fienile and re-laid one of 2 stone walls that needed to be elevated.

Tonight we celebrate the end of a job that has taken 6 years.

 

 

 

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Retaining the tastes of summer...

This week our friends Mardee and Mal gave us a bag of figs from their organic trees. Neither Stu nor I had ever eaten a fresh fig but we are now converts!

But we already had a house full of fresh fruit, including 2 crates of organic peaches that we had purchased from a little roadside hut near us!

So I turned to my cook books for inspiration and found several interesting recipes which would allow us to retain the taste of these summer treats and enjoy them in winter.

Over the last few days I have made 4 jars of spiced fig chutney, 6 jars of spiced plum chutney, 10 jars of plum jam and 4 jars of pickled cucumbers!

Even after all this cooking we still have heaps of peaches left over for our bircher muesli during the week...

 

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Dangerous work

My oldest climbing rose is proving unstoppable.

The little plastic tag that was attached to it five years ago stated that it would reach a maximum of 6 feet.

But it apparently doesn't know this...it's at 15 feet and still climbing!

And while I don't have the heart to cut it short of what it believes it can achieve (who am I to destroy dreams!?), it is making pruning quite a challenge...

 

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The painting "expert" leaves a mark

Before Dad started work on the new pergola, he warmed up on garden bed borders.

Behind the house, we have maintained a stack of old timber, hoping one day to do something more useful with it than burn it as firewood!

Enter Dad.

While we were working inside one day, Dad sneaked out to play with the stack of timber. Before long he had pulled down several chosen logs. We had heard dull thumps as they fell to the ground and immediately went out to assist with carting the logs to the garden. Then the three of us spent an hour or two flattening the ground around the garden bed, selecting logs and placing them. We also put a border along the edge of our driveway turnaround area which will now encourage us to create a lawn beyond the logs.

After Dad returned to Australia, I took to a rather huge tin of stain and treated the timbers against wood-eating insects and harsh weather.

The pergola and borders really enhance the property and will last for years...

 

 

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Much more than a "helping hand" from an expert...

For the last two wonderful weeks, my father has been with us.

At 79 years of age, he's a ball of enthusiasm and energy.

During the first four or five years of his life, my grandfather worked on the construction of the coastal railway north of Christchurch in New Zealand. My grandmother had to make do with a very rustic life in temporary bush camps...but those times were always some of her happiest memories. Dad has a similar leaning towards nature and minimalism and I suspect that our simple non-consumerist life here in the valley reminded him of his earliest days.

He was relaxed, happy and very active. He walked everywhere. Fast. He absorbed everything. Sponge. He looked for opportunities to experience something new. Discovered.

But nothing prepared us for his utter commitment to a building project while he was here! Our heating room, which contains the caldaia equipment (used for heating and circulating warm water to our radiators in winter) had started to "move" a few months ago and we needed to shore it up quite urgently. For this purpose, we had gratefully accepted some old roof timber from a friend and we had been storing this lovely old cedar behind the house specifically for this project.

Enter Dad, who took an instant liking to the timber and couldnt wait to "play" with it!

During one hot afternoon, Dad designed a pergola arrangement which will hug the heating room, thus support it. Dad is a professional draftsman and carpenter/builder and he normally uses CAD so it was lovely to see him switch easily to the old-fashioned drafting tools of pencil and paper.

The next day, we dropped into a hardware shop to buy threaded rod, plates, nuts and washers for the building project and early the following morning, Dad, Stu and I were up and ready to work.

Dad was chief designer and tradesman, Stu was a tradesman and I was a labourer.

In a few short hours, I watched (and laboured, of course!) as Dad carried wood, climbed ladders and bent over to measure, saw and chisel like a young thing!

We now have a beautiful and strong framework, which is a lovely reminder of Dad's holiday as well as his capability, enthusiasm and energy...

 

 

 

 

 

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