Perfect Day of Pasta,
by Susan Fish
"Wherever I go, I love to see how
people live, and cooking and eating are among the best
ways to be part of someone's ordinary life. Dave and I
were excited to go to Italy for the food every bit as much as the
art. We decided early on that we were interested in taking a cooking
class while we were in Italy - to be able to bring skills and taste
home with us. We looked at all sorts of classes in Florence - we
could spend our whole time abroad studying how to be chefs (and
spending our children's inheritance as we went!) Finally we discovered
The Accidental Tourist www.accidentaltourist.com
and it sounded like a great fit: for a very reasonable price,
they would pick us up in Florence, drive us to an old farmhouse,
teach us how to make pasta and feed us the pasta as part of a Tuscan
lunch, before driving us back to the city.
Perfetto, as they say.
That it would be a great fit was confirmed when
I sent an email to book our spaces in a class, and the enthusiastic
response was: Canada! We love Canada! If you bring us maple syrup,
we will trade it for our olive oil.
Our kind of people indeed!
Majla, the brains behind the
operation, picked us up in her car and drove us to an ancient farmhouse
("Most of the house is over a thousand years old, but
the kitchen is only 850 years old," she explained,
while we swallowed our New World tongues in shock.) En route, we
talked about our families, our soccer-loving sons and why she encourages
her son not to play soccer ("It's like a religion here - they
end up as underwear models!")
She pointed out the lack of suburbs around Florence, how the line
between city and country was abrupt. She talked about the care that
has been taken by small villages to prevent urban sprawl that could
destroy the land they depend upon for their olives. Passionate
about preserving a culture and its food, Majla herself
returned to Italy after a decade in the United States when she inherited
a house with a tower. Now, after eleven years of
juggling her business and her family, her enthusiasm has not diminished.
She talked about the lower rates of depression in Italy, about how
Italians mix work and pleasure - and how her business was an example
of that.
She told us about real Italian olive oil - how
the best of it is hand picked from steep slopes, pressed within
48 hours of picking, never heated (even though that increases the
yield dramatically) so that the taste and healthful properties remain
intact. She says that the olive oil we will take home with us is
never sold overseas, that there is never enough even for the local
families. All this we learn while negotiating winding woodland roads
where fields and groves fall away from us into beautiful sunlit
valleys.
We arrive at the ancient farmhouse
and are greeted by its owners and their cat, who pounces each time
the wind rustles the grass. Our fellow pasta-chefs-in-training have
opted for the full day with the Accidental Tourist and are not yet
back from the morning wine tasting. Majla sets us up at a stone
table outside where we can watch the clouds stream past the hilltops
and trace the road we have come from. She brings us a bottle of
fresh red wine, two tumblers and a plate of bread drenched in olive
oil and salt. She apologizes for starting late but we have not a
single regret as we eat and drink the most delicious simple
meal.
Finally the others arrive and we meet Alex, our
young teacher. A musician by night, Alex shares tour duty with his
father, which enables them both to stay in the region that is home
to them. We begin to realize how important place is to Italians.
We slip into the cool basement of the farmhouse
and don aprons. There are ten of us: four Canadians, two British,
and four Americans. Alex walks us through each step (I am sworn
to secrecy about the process. And really you must go and
try it yourself.) with good humour and good teaching. We
laugh and make friends. Our first accomplishment
is to make spinach-ricotta-parmesan ravioli and
then we use the rest of our dough to make fettucine.
Alex says we are quick learners.
Majla takes our pasta upstairs on trays to Christiana,
the lady of the house and a cook among cooks. (A recipe
she sends me later of one of the dishes she made for us says of
basil, "For God's sake, do not use dried basil."). We
talk and sip more wine from brilliant mismatched turquoise glass
tumblers. We find seats around a large oval table that takes up
much of this "new" kitchen. Christiana and Alex start
us off with a zucchini frittata and a cauliflower
dish as antipasti. There is much debate about which
one is better - and no clear winner. This is followed by
squares of pizza, and then comes our pasta: the fettucine
has been tossed with the lightest tomato sauce, with a
hint of olive oil and hot pepper, while the ravioli have
been cooked and then rolled in butter melted with sage leaves.
We are magnificent chefs - with Christiana's additions. Alex takes
orders for coffee and brings us tiny cups of espresso while Majla
passes us bowls of homemade tiramisu.
We all bow down to Christiana who smiles. She
loves to cook and loves having her cooking appreciated.
Majla shows us gifts that have been sent to Christiana by her fans
around the world. Christiana may appreciate the rasp the most, but
I liked the little statue of Barack Obama.
On the way back to the city, I tell Majla
we won't possibly be able to eat supper. She says that everyone
always says that, but she suspects we will. She wants to know later,
wants me to tell her when I email her some maple recipes (in exchange
for Christiana's recipes she promises me). We pick up a couple of
slices of pizza on our way back to where we are staying, but that
night I am still too happily full to take more than a few bites."
Dave and Susan Fish |
