Making bread and grilling bacon

I have new car now that I’m renting, the size of a premature mosquito. My car has a very particular French suspension which is quite nice when it works, but it is not nice at all when it doesn’t work. It feels a bit like being a basketball on the home stretch of the last chance for making it down the court before the buzzer sounds. In precious moments the ball tends to hit the wood a little harder and bounce a little higher I think.
All the food fit in the back since there is only me in the front, so no drama. The ladies didn’t come back until almost 8 o’clock from Montelpulciano, Montelcino, Val D’orcia and Pienza. They were even able to slip in gregorian chanting by eating a sandwich on the run and resisting the copper shop. I made a red sauce with garlic and fresh basil for their return, finished with a dallop of mascarpone and a shred of Grana Padano. For breakfast I grilled fresh pancetta (versus cured) over the hot coals of the morning fire in the fire place that stretches from floor to ceiling. The night before I had started a focaccia, which has a fantastic crumb if you let it rise in the refrigerator overnight.
I miss my Ferdinand. I long for him like the earth longs for water when it has forgotten to rain.

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