monthly emails: marzo 2022

Any other month, I usually would have shot for an email within a few days of the start of the month so as to at least attempt some form of a schedule. Alas, here we are ten days into April and I've just now had a moment to breathe, take in the sun, sit, and write.

Happy spring to you all - at least we have spring coming in gracefully here. The magnolias were the first to tease us with their bright pink and white buds, only rivaled by the bursting cherry blossoms which seem to have blessed Bra with a spring floral snow. The animals at the San Michele home are now free range - the cats, Brando and Julio, the dog, Franco Bombo Shelby (more about him in a moment), the chickens, and the two sheep, Dolly and Renato. They're in a frenzy over the fresh green grass, dandelions, and insects that now cover our yard.

I'm just now sitting on our patio watching sunset as I type this. The weekend was spent recuperating from a study trip to Croatia. Last night's sauna, this morning's tea, and this afternoon's dose of sun and water(side...the local river is less appealing to the average swimmer) have set me up for the rest of this week, not to mention all the laundry I managed to wash and dry in just two days. For surviving and thriving on nearly two weeks of a rigorous gastronomic and sensory-filled itinerary, it's been both welcome and strange to return to some sort of normalcy, including our new rescue Terrier named Franco Bombo Shelby from the Puglia region of Italy. While Ghiotto has been (mostly) trained, he's happy back at his family's farm chasing chickens and lollygagging in the woods. Gianmarco took on FBS after a friend of a friend reached out. His name was quite the decision - first Bombo because he was rescued by military firefighters in the region, then Franco because Gimmo likes the name, and Shelby because he's a Peaky Blinder, of course. Franco "Il Bombo" Shelby is his wrestling alter-ego, though he is yet to be doing any stage appearances.

Franco Bombo was much surprised by my return, as I brought a plethora of smells from the Istria region of Croatia on my luggage, including goats, sheep, horses, other dogs, oysters, prawns, fish, orchards, farms, dusty museums, boutique hotels, and our collective class scent after countless rides on our touring bus, among a mosaic of others I've since forgotten in the overload.

The days were spent spectacularly - I am still processing, but perhaps a highlight or two might shed the beauty of the experience from the littlest moments to the grand scheme of things. I'll do my best to provide snippets, anecdotes, one-liners that might best paint my impressions.

"Tony" of Tony's Oyster Shack (he jokingly says in a thick Croatian that is his "adult film name" for tourism) shucks mollusks and oysters over a stainless steel processing pan. As he speaks, I'm distractingly taking a sip of the sparkling Malvasia wine our tutor brought to accompany our oyster tasting. As I turn back, he asks for my hand as part of the presentation - a slip of the knife, a press on the side of the oyster, and out a watery fountain of grey lands on my hand, dripping over my palm lines. Another hand, another fountain of white, both now dripping, he remarks to our class, "Oyster babies. Thousands of oyster babies."

Sitting on the dockside waiting for our ferry back to the mainland from Cres, I'm dangling my feet over clear blue, aquamarine, and teal water. It sloshes on the cement and rusted chain used to anchor something off across the way, maybe nothing at all, or maybe once a while ago it did. The glassy water reveals slightly distorted sea cucumbers, black rocks, beer cans here and there, anchovies, and sunken boat parts. From the side of a dinghy a white watery ghost floats towards us. Laced in complementary blue, the jellyfish seems to notice us sitting there, dangling our feet. It makes a graceful u-turn and returns to the wider expanse of the ferry port.

Out of their home and work studio, a man who looks like a far too realistic idea of a Wisconsinite walks out onto his patio to address us. As the tutor turns over to welcome him, he jumps right into the routine of how he and his wife make essential oils. Their house is not a farm, although they have a roost and a pen for an alarming amount of territorial birds (my least favorite kind). Rather, their house and garden is planted just so - like a house and garden. Yet each plant is harvested for their business. Rosemary bushes line the driveway heading in, juniper trees are surrounded by beds of lavender, St. John's wort is planted in pots next to pots of succulents and pothos vines. It's all very humble and wholesome.

I'm avoiding stepping in sheep shit when I finally make it to our gathered circle for the lamb slaughter. By the time I look up, he has lifted one onto the table and shown the knife he has used since he was a kid. It's a swift move across the lamb's neck, it's fluffy fur blocking the more visceral part of this moment for our eyes. His hand is over the muzzle when he cuts, his other hand dropping the knife and moving to hold and comfort the lamb as it bleeds out. It's not violent, but it's not peaceful either. It was knowingly watching death, knowing we had eaten lamb the two days prior and would likely again on this trip. It was knowing that this is but one way of committing this act, and probably one of the kinder ways to do it, by the hand of the one who helped raise and care for this lamb.

...I hope my photos speak to this experience. I was lucky, along with a handful of my classmates, to have attended, as the week prior a wave of COVID had passed through and hit our class in particular. While my second (maybe third) stint with COVID was mild, others suffered some rough pains and symptoms. We're all glad to have been able to attend and enjoy after negative tests...we just brought a lot of tissues with us!

Before this study trip took center stage for the month, however, March was quite busy! Coursework covered tastings of sake and matcha green tea, food psychology and food and public health, and a few parties here and there...a film night at San Michele (Star and Barb Go To Vista Del Mar), a St. Patrick's Day Super Saturday Party for the Six Nations final day and St. Patrick's Day, and a fun-filled London weekend with Callum and my friend Marisa. We dined at Silo London, went sightseeing, and frequented a local pub...or two...or three. Shortly thereafter, our class was hit with COVID so quarantine came and went, luckily only missing two days of classes and having the rest of our time off until our study trip.

I finish this email from our first course in the Latin American and Caribbean Cuisine course, hosted by Luciana Bianchi. I highly recommend you give her a search - amazing how we are gifted with such incredible, talented, and intelligent professionals! There's hardly a day that goes by where I'm not in a moment - at a cafe, on the terrace, driving around town with Gimmo, hanging laundry on the line, leaving Whatsapp audio messages - that gives me a strange sort of floating moment of recognition that I am where I am.

I hope you'll take a gander at the photos from this past month and are enjoying this album as it grows. I send warm wishes and salutations to you and your loved ones, and hope you find little moments of Italy wherever you are ;)

Con amore