Supper 4: Spaghetti con Fave alla Liana

I have just planted the fave (broad beans) a little late I know, but they are tonight safely tucked up in the warm terra. Planting them I thought of the delicious suppers we will have next Spring and I have a particularly memorable recipe to share.

When we first came to this Marche hill town I would stop on the way down the hill and speak to my lovely neighbour Liana who was often in her orto (allotment), a steep well organised patch with spectacular view of the mountains. However she was never gazing at the vista instead was busy with her work tending her peach trees, olive trees, apricot trees, lettuce, cabbage and vines that she and her husband grew. Her fave were tender and luscious.

One day, as we were talking, she pulled handful of green pods from her plants and pushed them into my arms for me to take home. So that early June evening I cooked some spaghetti, threw Liana's fresh beans in at the last minute and served stirred with a little olive oil.

It was one of the most delicious suppers we have eaten here and everything to do with Liana's fave, her knowledge, her generosity. I am not sure I ever told her how much it meant to us and I dearly wish I had as her orto is somewhat overgrown this year. She died suddenly this summer, much too soon. We miss you, Liana. Thank you for all the fave beans and for inspiring me to dig this Italian earth and plant my own.

ghianda

It is the weekend the querce (oaks) are turning. They hold their leaves longer than other trees and so their autumn is more visible. The road has been a carpet of ghiande (acorns) for a while. I met a woman the other day, brightly clad in a turquoise and pink floral apron, gleefully gathering them into a bucket. For my maiale (pigs) she smiled. I imagine for pigs they are a treat. I am overjoyed when an acorn takes root, finding a tough little oak tree with two tiny leaves. But whatever the season it is the timeless certainty of our oaks that quietly astounds me every day as I pass them by. Sergio is right. These old ones are protected. We must nurture the new ones.

being on televisione

If someone had told me eight years ago when I first walked into the piazza of our village, if someone had said then, Signora please will you speak about our village on televisione, tell the world how much you like it, I would have politely, in my faltering Italian, declined. But things change. And of course eight years later on Saturday evening I spoke, in slightly less faltering Italian, to the man from Rai 3 televisione about how we had found ourselves in paradise. I know spilling the beans was not in the original plan (our Italian village) but then nor is a declining population and I have long ago made it my mission to invite like-minded people here and encourage Italians to return. Thus the village will stay alive and the local economy thrive.

However the best thing of all was the excitement the whole shabang created in the community. Ma perche siamo stati al televisione? (But why were we on television?) asked an elderly woman whilst buying her bread the morning after our limelight. There followed a noted silence, most unusual in the grocery shop. I suggested it would bring more people to Mauro's shop so he could sell more bread and thereby take Luciana, his wife, on holiday. I don't want a holiday she replied, I want a new car.

And most wonderful was the delight of my neighbour Angela (she with the moody hens) whose husband Sergio, a retired farmer, spoke so passionately about the need to protect the young oak trees in this landscape. The message we sent out live to the world was clear. We have a lovely village, wonderful food, a perfect climate, an exquisite theatre, beautiful trees. What more could one need? We invite you friends, foreigners, family, neighbours; stay here with us and look after it.

Bless these olives

Everyone is out there today picking their olives. The harvest is early this year, but they are ready. I love everything about olives; the silver green trees, the way they ripple in the wind, the purple-dark olives they bear, the oil we will make, the putting them in the sack with salt to draw the bitterness, then into the jars with garlic and herbs to serve to our friends next summer. And I am so fond of this time of year, gathering things in, a sprinkling of snow on the mountains, woolen jumpers on, air cold, yet temperature almost 20 degrees at noon. Bless the olive trees and this glorious day.

The winter sun in Fermo

I like nothing more than walking in the winter sun across the piazza in Fermo, being wrapped up warm, squinting in the low morning light, cold air on my cheeks, the feeling of civilization around me and beneath my feet. It is a beautiful place, with kind people, good food, breathtaking buildings and I am so pleased to be involved in the search to find intelligent tourism and cultural investment for this elegant little Adriatic town.

Supper 3: Tagliatelli con tartufo nero

I think I have fallen under the spell of truffles. Yesterday at the annual celebratory festa in Amandola we bought one of our very own. There they all were, precious little ugly black and white jewels from the woods. Sam chose it and we brought it home. He chopped it finely and within moments there it was, stirred into the steaming pasta, filling the kitchen with its bewitching aroma. We were seduced in seconds. And eating it was another thing entirely, so delicious, transporting us to a perfumed world of forest, earth and oak tree.

Supper 2: Tagliatelli con tartufo bianco

I have been travelling these past days and on coming home to Le Marche we were invited to a birthday supper with some dear friends at our favourite local ristorante. Amongst the delicious food that came before me was a small bowl of tagliatelli onto which the cook grated before my very eyes slithers of white truffle. There are no words in English or Italian that describe the delicate earthy delight of this most sensual supper. This is what you do:

Acquire from expert truffle hunter who has just returned from mountains one tartufo bianco.
Buy some freshly made tagliatelli.
Boil water. Add salt. Cook tagliatelli a few moments until tender.
Drain. Stir in little butter, or oil if you prefer.
Onto this grate your white truffle in slithers the size of rose petals.
Eat immediately.