Giorno undici

Home stretch…

Today marked the beginning of the 3rd and final leg of our trip.

We spent the morning with Johnny touring around the Lazian countryside. We began by visiting a larger more commercial (by their standards), cheese-maker. He and his sons run a small meat and cheese shop that seemed quite the happening place while we were there. Their claim to fame is that their cheese has been to outer space. Story has it that they met an Italian astronaut and sent him up to the international space station with some of their Pecorino. Sounds a little far-fetched but they had the framed newspaper article to prove it!

Their cheeses were great as was their fresh ricotta, but very different than yesterday’s. They pasteurize their milk prior to cooking it again (re-cotta (cooked)) and it seemed to take some of the sheepy-ness out of the cheese. I hate to admit it but by 11 a.m., I was on my 2nd glass of wine and that would set the tone for the rest of the day.

Post mid-morning snack, we managed to find an olive grove that was mid-harvest (olive growers don’t like to harvest during or just after rain). An old wives tale has it that it’s the easiest time to spread disease. Anyhow, this producer, was a joint effort of two brothers and their father who looked like a really swollen character from a Tin Tin novel. Their little farm was prized with best Olive oil by Slow Food just 2 years ago. We helped harvest one tree with the little sand rake-like contraptions hooked up to compressed air, which slapped the olives off of the trees onto netting that they laid on the floor. Fun and interesting for about 5 minutes but seemed like really back-breaking work. I think I preferred picking them by hand.

Post pick, we returned to Casperia to Johnny’s drinking club for an overwhelming spread of local meats, cheeses and of course wine. Shaved fennel with citrus, pine nuts and bottarga (dried fish roe), assorted pig meats, and cheeses of varying degrees of stinkyness. One we decided, smelled and tasted like jockstrap, but it was nothing a little local honey couldn’t cure. After all this, it’s no surprise I found myself napping (passed out) again in front of the fire place for 2 hours midday.

Around 5, we hooked up with Paola. She is another one of these unbelievably talented people that grow some of their food, press their own olive oil and even make their own wine (not a good thing in this case. It was a merlot & nebiolo blend that tasted like cranberry pomegranate juice with alcohol and tiny grains of tannic sandpaper that mucked around my gums with every sip) Being the polite alcoholic that I am, I drank a good deal of it with a smile on my face.

Her agriturismo looked more like an animal rescue from outside (I counted at least 7 dogs and 4 cats) but one look at her kitchen and I knew she meant business. All white marble, oversized prep-table in the middle surrounded by all the culinary gadgets one would need to produce serious food. We made 4 pastas, classic ricotta and spinach ravioli, a chestnut and ricotta ravioli, potato gnocchi with a veal and pork flavored tomato sauce, and pici cacio peppe, which is officially now after having had it twice on this trip, my favorite pasta. This one is stretched by hand like giant rubber bands, and then rolled and then stretched some more, until you end up with misshapen, long, rounded noodles. The dish itself is simply great with Parmegiano and cracked black pepper. Only a little bit of pasta water was used to make the “sauce.” The dish is simplicity at its absolute best. We also made a braised chicken dish with her farm’s chickens (no, I did not slaughter it) with stewed tomatoes, olives and peppers. It too, while not the most visually appealing dish, was bursting with flavor.

Needless to say, we completely overate, but my new 4-5 lbs is simply sympathy weight for my pregnant wife.

Tomorrow, we leave the country side for the “mean” streets of Napoli.

World’s best pizza and espresso, here I come…