I have no memory of what we made for lunch yesterday, just that I had to get really creative with the oven at one point, because everything we made was wanting space in what is really no bigger than the deluxe Easy Bake model that I had in the third grade. It was a good lesson in how to make do. When the power went out I added how to swear like a sailor, which is critcal knowledge to have when the going gets rough, and all was good when the Panna Cotta hit the table. Creamy as milk still warm from the cow, and smooth as a new rose petal. Making the caramel is the essence of life. To get it right you have to boil it to the point of nearly burning, but not quite. There is nothing wrong with setting yourself up with a safety net of an ice bath on the counter, but if you don’t go for broke you end up with a flavor neither here nor there.
The menu is coming back to me: Roast chicken with whole heads of garlic, fresh sage and rosemary stuffed inside, and the whole thing seared on top of the stove before it went in the oven, potato gratin, sauteed escarole, and for a first we had pasta with a cream and tomato sauce, perfumed with basil.
In Assisi the ladies were consumed by the Giottos and enraptured by their guide, hanging on his every word, and unable to contain themselves. The Lord had to come over the PA system with more than one “SILENZIO”. The monks aren’t used to such enthusiasm.
Dinner was at the villa La Macchia. It was a lesson in olive oil and mediaval decor. They all fell in love with the oil man and convinced him to take all ten of them out dancing. Viva l’Italia–he took on the challenge with conviction, and even though it didn’t last long at the bar because the CD player was out of sorts and we had to get up at the crack of dawn to get to Sienna–it was worth it for the limencello shots and photo opportunities.