I was recently talking to Paolo in the bar and he was recounting the pleasures of his orto (allotment), in particular his delicious pomidori one of which had weighed in at 8.5 etti. Then later Filippo, the mechanic who was fixing my car began telling me, spanner in hand, eyes twinkling, about how nothing compared with the delicate, sweet taste of his home grown pomidorini, and then at lunch time when Sam suggested going to a local restaurant I realised I had been thinking about our own pomodori, that I already had my eye on the ripe ones I was going to pick for lunch. Anticipating their deliciousness I realised part of me had crossed over an intangible line; something to do with belonging to this landscape, everything to do with the taste of i miei pomidori.
Monday, August 9, 2010
i miei pomidori
I was recently talking to Paolo in the bar and he was recounting the pleasures of his orto (allotment), in particular his delicious pomidori one of which had weighed in at 8.5 etti. Then later Filippo, the mechanic who was fixing my car began telling me, spanner in hand, eyes twinkling, about how nothing compared with the delicate, sweet taste of his home grown pomidorini, and then at lunch time when Sam suggested going to a local restaurant I realised I had been thinking about our own pomodori, that I already had my eye on the ripe ones I was going to pick for lunch. Anticipating their deliciousness I realised part of me had crossed over an intangible line; something to do with belonging to this landscape, everything to do with the taste of i miei pomidori.
