Il Ceriolo

16/03/2024

È vero però eh!… 🤭 🤭😂😂😂😂

Buongiorno, buona giornata a tutti 🤍❄️

03/02/2024

15/12/2023

31/12/2018

Happy New Year

Stay tuned for our 2019 Tour
October 27 - November 3

25/07/2018

Habaneros are ripe😁👹

01/12/2017

Norma’s Turkey

Everybody likes a shaggy dog story, right? Ok, you were warned, here we go. Hang on, it might be a rough ride.

Last Tuesday after my driving lesson (that’s a whole n’other stream) we were in the Bar Marò having a cappuccino with our friend Norma and her husband. Norma mentions that she has ordered a turkey from the butcher, but things have changed and she doesn’t need it any more. What to do? No problem, Bob and Harriet pipe up and say “Wow, really? We’ll take it”… Ah, impetuous youth.

So, we go over to the butcher and discover that the smallest turkey he could get weighs 17 pounds. Great. More fun, right? We call our Italian friends and say, “Hey, we’re making an authentic American Thanksgiving dinner. What to come over on Thursday?” Turns out Thursday isn’t good for anybody, so we set the date for Sunday night instead.

This should be easy. We already have the turkey, right? Here’s the menu
Deviled eggs
Turkey
Stuffing
Mashed potatoes
Sweet potatoes (with marshmallows)
Green beans
Pumpkin pie
Cranberry sauce
Fennel and orange salad
Dinner rolls
I wanted to add ambrosia, but Harriet vetoed it ☹
What could possible go wrong?

Let’s start with the cranberry sauce. Look up “cranberry” and you will find that the Italian translation is “mirtillo rosso”. Rosso is red, so what’s a mirtillo? A blueberry. Ok, a red blueberry, sure. Upon closer investigation, what the Italians think is a cranberry is actually a red currant; basically, nothing like a cranberry. But not to worry, sugar, water, currants; boiled to soft crack, some orange zest and all is good (or at least ok). One down.

Now the sweet potatoes. We searched every market. Nothing even close. Then we met Grace (Maria Grazia) in a restaurant in Sinalunga. She lives outside Marciano, and tells us that there’s a market in Monte San Savino that always has them. Great, off to Monte San Savino. Fearlessly driving up into the town (think medieval streets, two feet wide) we discover the they are putting up the Christmas lights, so here’s a giant cherry picker blocking the street. Lots of interesting hand gestures and some yelling later; yes, this market does have sweet potatoes (which they refer to as “American potatoes”, go figure). We also buy a nice orange squash, that looks something like a pumpkin, for the pie.

Surprisingly, we also find the perfect dinner rolls. Someone must have ordered them by mistake, Italians never eat bread like this.

It’s now late Wednesday afternoon and we think we have all the ingredients. Thank goodness we aren’t actually having the dinner on Thursday!

On Thursday we go looking for a few pieces of missing equipment; a roasting pan big enough for the Turkey, pie pans, a potato ricer, turkey baster... After a few false starts, we find a store in Arezzo that has everything. This is exhausting! We take Friday off.

Saturday, we start the heavy prep.

Turns out that Italian Condensed Milk is not quite the same thing as the Evaporated Milk the recipe calls for; result is sweet potatoes that are a little too sweet and pumpkin pie filling that looks more like soup.

Also, the Italian marshmallows we found come in cheerful pastel colors, which I thought was cute until I discovered that they are also flavored (pink are strawberry)! The white ones are the only ones we can use. There are just enough of them (barely). I had to cut them up with kitchen shears.

Finally, everything that can be done ahead is done.

Sunday dawns cold and clear.

Now to the turkey. We unwrap it and notice something odd sticking out; a feather. Seems as though the plucking wasn’t quite as thorough as one might expect. Fortunately, the toolbox is stocked with needle-nose pliers so after half an hour all is good.

Next, we figure out that the roasting pan won’t fit in the upstairs oven. Not to worry, the downstairs oven is bigger; but, the turkey doesn’t want to sit up straight. A trip to the local Walmart equivalent yields a flat rack made for cooking in the fireplace, that I’m able to MacGyver into a workable roasting rack by cutting off the handle and bending it in the middle. Whew, disaster avoided. Famous last words.

It’s now 4:00 p.m. Dinner is at 8:00. We fire up the downstairs oven and after about five minutes all the lights go out. Whaat? Call our friend the electrician (named Fusi, really). He says the oven is toast. What to do? Call our friend Antonella who lives just down the road (and is invited to dinner) and ask if we can borrow her oven. She’s ok with it, so we pack up the turkey and I drive it down the road.

Antonella and Luigi are very uncertain about the turkey. They have never cooked (or maybe even seen) a thing like that before and have serious reservations. I assure them that everything will be fine (fingers crossed behind my back).

Back at home, we discover that the downstairs cooktop doesn’t work either (it’s gas so this is a real surprise). Everything will have to be cooked upstairs and carried down. Harriet is melting down. I need a big drink.

At 6:00 I go back to Antonella’s to check on the turkey. It’s showing 180-200F; somewhat over-cooked, but it should be ok. I give the bird it’s final ride, back to the house.

If you’re finding this exhausting to read, good. You know how we felt.

Final prep, stuffing and sweet potatoes into the (upstairs) oven, to be followed by the two pumpkin pies (fingers crossed again). Boil the green beans and Bob’s your uncle.

8:00 p.m. Guests begin to arrive. A couple of the women go upstairs to find Harriet, while I inform the rest that it’s an American tradition to start off with an aperitivo and start the prosecco flowing. About 8:30 I get the go-ahead and make the announcement, “tutti a tavola”… Hoping for the best.

There is, of course, a happy ending. The turkey is moist and flavorful and everything else is pretty much as you would expect. Even the pumpkin pies bake to an acceptable consistency.

Our friends are really impressed; finally, something truly “American”. Especially when they figure out that the magic in in the “miscela di sapori”, a perfect bite with turkey, stuffing, gravy and a bit of “cranberry” sauce. Very un-Italian.

Overall, a grand success, and totally worth the effort. Can’t wait until next year.

Thank you Norma, (I think).

31/08/2017

It’s good to know that there are still some things you can rely on. The plumber finally showed up today to fix the irrigation system (it’s not that, because plumbers cannot be relied upon, as we know); but – wait for it – the weather forecast is for rain, starting tonight. So glad I didn’t wash the car…

Life here at the Villa has fallen into a comfortable pattern; get up, work on the house, clean the pool, water the yard (by hand), go to bed. There are breaks of course for the occasional bowl of pasta, bistecca fiorentina or glass of wine, and on Friday, the Friday Market.

By now, everybody is so used the weekend “farmers market” that it’s not a big deal anymore. But here in Italy (as recently as 1960) it was a big deal, and it was the real deal; farmers from the countryside around the town would bring in what they had to barter or sell to the towns people. Livestock, chickens, cheese, fruit and vegetables; the whole banana. My Italian teacher can still remember it.

Of course, it’s not like that anymore. Now there are fancy trucks filled with perfect looking produce (or terrible cheap clothes) that fold up at the flip of a switch and move on to the Saturday market in the next town. Except for one, that is.

There is an old couple who come to the market in their Ape with vegetables in wooden trays that are uglier and taste better than anything else in the market (the vegetables, not the trays). The old woman will also give you recipes, if you ask her. There is just this one little corner of history and tradition still working.

I thought you’d like to know.

06/08/2017

Here’s a little something for those among you who don’t yet have enough of Italy in your life.

This is the sixth day in a row that the high temperature has exceeded 40C. On Wednesday, it got up to 42.7C. I said I wouldn’t do this anymore, but here it is: 108.86F! Madonna!

Since the maledetto plumber never did show up, (I’m waiting for the new plumber now) I’m spending my days alternately watering the plants and lounging in the pool. Too hot for anything else. The only good news is that it gets back down to around 17C or 18C at night, so it’s barely possible to sleep. All the restaurants are serving alfresco, and nobody shows up until 9:00.

I did manage to accomplish a few things during the week; I bought 3 pair of shorts and a pair of flip-flops at Marino Fa Mercato. Got the shorts for €5 each, marked down from €54.50 (it's that kind of place). I’m signed up at the Autoscuola to study for my Patente (Italian driver’s license) and for a series of 24 Italian lessons.

This would occupy a lot of my time, but after my second class, the driving school closed for three weeks. It’s August, and in Italy pretty much nothing moves during August. I’m starting to understand why.

There was a bit of excitement on Wednesday after my driving class. I went out, got in the car and drove off down the hill… At the bottom, I discovered there were no brakes! It’s a pretty steep hill but fortunately there was nobody at the bottom. Long story short, I limped home with the emergency brake and back over to the mechanic the next day.

It’s odd that certain things work really well in Italy, while others (plumbers, for example) don’t work at all. Getting your car fixed is one of the things that works really well. When I took the car in, the mechanic offered me a ride home, and it was ready the next day. Cost, €110.

Well, I’m ready for a break in the weather. Maybe buying the shorts will work, like washing the car. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Live the dream.

27/07/2017

25/07/2017

Tuesday, July 25

Back to the grind. 😉 Yesterday was pretty much a complete failure; the pool guy didn’t come to fix the vacuum, the plumber didn’t come to fix the irrigation system and the contractor didn’t come to give me an estimate for air conditioning the bedroom. And, of course, nobody called. This is pretty much par for the course, but usually they aren’t so well coordinated.

So, I had no choice but to sit around in the garden drinking wine and smoking ci**rs. Poverino. On the upside, I found a case of our ’09 that’s quite drinkable (a number of bottles were oxidized, but apparently not all.)

Today it was cooler. I don’t think the temperature went above 25 (77F. Anybody remember when we were all going to convert to the metric system?) For the last three days there have been dark clouds in the north, thunder and lightening and about enough rain to fill a thimble. Hopefully there’s a trend here somewhere. I got the car washed today. If that doesn’t do it, nothing will. Wish I’d thought of it sooner.

Almost sprayed the grapes today, but discovered that the battery on the sprayer was dead and there was no gas in the tractor. Maybe tomorrow… but, of course, you can’t spray when the grapes are wet so this probably a further guarantee of rain.

Andrea (the pool guy) came as I was writing this, so now at least the pool is clean.

Where did I put my wine glass?

24/07/2017

I had the kind of experience yesterday that can only be had in Italy.

Last Tuesday, when I arrived, my friends Luigi and Antonella had me over for dinner. While we were talking Luigi invited me to an event on Sunday (yesterday). As usual, I either didn’t understand the details or he didn’t provide them, but no problem. I figured it was a dinner.

On Saturday Luigi called and told me to meet them at the pharmacy at 9:30 in the morning. So, not dinner, but a little early for lunch… After about five minutes other people start showing up; all people I know, friends. And they’re dressed in tee-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. Whaat?

About 10:00 everyone (6 couples + me) is there. We all pile into four cars and off we go, caravan style.

As we’re pulling out I ask Luigi where we’re going. “Cesena” he tells me, to play cards. It’s only about two and half hours. It turns out that Cesena is on the Adriatic coast! Check it out. After a stop at the Auto grill for water, in and out, we finally arrive.

Cesena, or actually a suberb, Cesenatico, the old part of town, is a lovely little fishing village / tourist magnet. And it’s hot. It’s so hot you can actually feel your skin start to sizzle when sun hits it. I’m immediately sweating, but enjoying every minute.

Turns out there is no casino, this is actually for lunch. When we get to the restaurant (am I boring you) we have a table for thirteen waiting for us. Mario exchanges a few words with the owner and food starts coming, and coming... cold seafood antipasto, spaghetti del mare, zuppa di pesce, frito misto di mare, pesce alla griglia… Every kind of mussel, squid octopus, crab, eel, scampi, and mystery fish possible, prepared every way possible and all totally delicious! Served family style.

After lunch I’m looking for a place to lie down, but the group has other ideas; we’re going to explore the town. The town is very picturesque, with fishing boats, sail boats, etc. in the canal and all packed with half naked vacationers, riding bicycles and trying to turn the color of coffee beans. After a half hour of trying to find a shadow to stand in we’re off again. On the way home I figure, but wait.

As we’re driving Luigi starts taking about various points of interest in the area, San Marino, San Leo, La Rocca. La Rocca di San Leo… Ok, so we’re going to see La Rocca di San Leo, and this is not spur of the moment, remember we’re in a caravan (still). After about an hour we arrive at San Leo, and there, as promised, is La Rocca; a very impressive, very large medieval fortress. At the top of a mountain. Way at the top. There’s a sign that promises a bus to take you there, but hell, nobody wants to wait for that so off we go. The walkway is at about a thirty-degree angle, rough cement, with a half-dozen switchbacks and I’m in jeans and dress shoes. Did I mention that it’s still 100 degrees?

After a very aerobic climb we arrive at the fortress. This thing is immense, and The Great Cagliostro died there. A fact that all the Italians seem to know and are apparently interested in. So, for two hours we exercise our prepositions; over, under, around and through… The cell where The Great Cagliostro was kept (and died) is very small and hot and hard to get to, but the torture implements used during the inquisition are way cool. Finally, we’re all done and we set off again, almost. First the group finds a faucet in the town square and has a water fight to cool off. It felt pretty good.

Back on the road, Luigi has turned up the air conditioning to 3 (I think as a courtesy to me) but he still has his window rolled halfway down. It’s better than nothing. About halfway back home, Sergio, who is leading the caravan, makes a full 360 at a traffic circle and pulls up in front of a grocery store, with everyone else in tow, wondering why. Luanna wants to get some bread for the morning. The store is closed.

At about 8:30 p.m. we’re back where we started that morning and I’m getting ready say “ciao” and head home. Not so fast. Sergio has announced “everybody to my house for prosciutto!”. So, I jump in the car, adding one more to the caravan, and off we go.

Not only prosciutto, but salami, home grown tomatoes, focaccia, guanciale, wine, limoncello, grappa… need I go on? And talk? The government, hunting, the best wine, the healthcare system (theirs, not ours). Everything but the Pope. I’m listening as hard as I can but still only getting half of it. Better than none I guess.

At midnight everybody has had enough and we all head our separate ways. Just a day in the life of a group of Italian friends.

Have I mentioned how happy I am to be here?

22/07/2017

Big day yesterday. Got the pool open in the morning, but just as I started to clean it the hose popped out of the fitting. Have to do a repair tomorrow. Always something...

In the afternoon Francesca and her entourage dropped in on the way to Don's apartment in town. Much wine was drunk and a good time was had by all. 😜

Later we all had dinner together at Da Muzzicone. Ahh, la bistecca fiorentina!