Between Tuscany and Umbria

is a river called the Niccone, which looks more like a stream really , but maybe it’s just waiting for the right moment to swell to its full strength.  Maybe because I am 46 or maybe because I have had a year of certain people wearing some kind of psychodelic crazy glasses that prevent them from recognizing the truth when they see it, and instead of taking the glasses off to improve their vision, they hit the strobe light switch–my own stream banks have busted and my river waters overfloweth.  My moment has come.  

It’s best to eat well when this happens.  You are going to need plenty of reserves for the focus required and energy for the change in taking on the world in a whole new way.

I have a wonderful group of clear seeing, clear thinking students and we have been cooking up a storm.

We started the day with the wind whipping at our door, and scones fresh from the oven.  My group drove off to Cortona to see Santa Margherita, a sweeping view from the public gardens, the monastery of Le Ciele, the commune steps that stretch to the massive black and white clock at the top, and all the lovely shops in between.  Then it was back for rolling out the pasta, making a sauce bolognese, a bechemele, grating thick slivers of Parmigiano Reggiano, braising brand new artichokes with carrots in white wine, butter and herbs, and beating the eggs until they were sweet clouds of creaminess to layer between the lady fingers.


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