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I am just back from Amelia and I still have the taste of olio nuovo in my mouth: green, spicy with bitter almonds and fresh cut grass. The harvest progresses and there are lots of healthy olives this year. Francesco, Anna and Vincenzo are hard at work in the frantoio in Amelia. It was great to join in the action and spend some time at my favourite place in the world–the olive mill.
More photos and videos from my trip coming soon.
We met Francesco down at Johnny’s one night after dinner. Jazz music was blaring and handsome Amerino men were wandering in and out checking out the Saturday night scene (I have always reveled at the fact that Amelia is a town with loads of good-looking men with few women in sight—I have a few theories on this but no scientific explanation). With the strong perfume of grappa wafting in the air, we began to talk about music.
Francesco mentioned that he had spent the rainy afternoon practicing a piece by Bach on his accordion. He had mentioned in passing that he played in a group but I was curious to know more about my musical olive miller. I asked Francesco how he started playing the accordion, an instrument with a strong tradition in Umbria.
When Francesco was a small child his father took him to a concert of folk music where a popular accordionist was playing. He recalls looking up towards the improvised stage and seeing this musician, larger than life, playing beautiful music there above him. He was enchanted and there was no turning back from there. Francesco told his father of his desire to learn to play this magical instrument; his father listened and proceeded to go out and invest in a concert accordion. Francesco recalls that he was so small that he could barely hold the beautiful instrument and it was not only many years later that he learned how to play it to its full capacity. He told us how the accordion was not considered a conservatory instrument and that he studied with local teachers and pursued a formal musical education despite the accordions folk status.
An accomplished musician, Francesco is part of a group that plays throughout Umbria. Particularly in the summer, Francesco’s group plays at the numerous village festivals, where the young and old come out to ballroom dance in the local squares on makeshift dance floors until the wee hours. As Francesco talks about music his eyes light up and it is clear to me that olive oil not his only passion.
“I don’t want to have lamb! I don’t agree with the massacre of all these innocent lambs just for Easter,” Mario exclaimed. I could not believe what I was hearing! Mario and I have eaten lamb cooked over the coals many times and we had always reclined afterwards with satisfied mumbles licking greasy fingers. My mouth had been watering for months over the possibility of thinly sliced chops with that hint of smoky flavour accompanied by a bold Umbrian red wine (where I live in Piedmont there is no real tradition of cooking over the coals of the hearth, although there is lots of bold red wine).
I was going to have my way or else. After a long lecture on the anthropological symbolism of the sacrificial lamb, I began to work the gastronomic side of the argument for lamb at Easter with a full exposition of possible recipes and accompaniments. It was a hard sell, but the goloso in Mario got the best of him. Eventually my partner in crime gave in: he went out on Saturday afternoon and came home with some beautiful lamb chops from a local butcher.
For me, certain holidays just have to have certain flavours and Easter is all about the lamb. Mario has lit the fire and my stomach is beginning to rumble. I walked into the kitchen and Mario had begun to prepare the artichokes that he was going to fry in last year’s olive oil right over the hot coals of the fire. I reached for a cork screw and took care of decanting the wine…
I arrived on Wednesday evening with the warm spring sun setting behind the green hills and casting a golden light on the hill town of Amelia. People were lighting their fireplaces in preparation for the evening meal and to fend off the chilly night air. The smell of wood smoke wrapped around me, taking me back to the years that I spent here. I felt like I was coming home.
Unfortunately the good weather did not hold; the weather at Easter is notoriously unpredictable and unsettled in Italy and this year the holiday is earlier than usual. This is a particularly bad year–it has only stopped raining for a few brief moments in the last few days. Although this has not made for the most pleasant holiday, it is good for local agriculture. Umbria had a very dry year and a lot of rain is needed to fill up the very meager aquifers. As I look out at the rain, I try to think of the positive effects of all of this water on the olive trees.
All I can do for now is take my place by the camino, stay warm and enjoy Mario’s wonderful cooking alle braccia (all finished with a lovely drizzle of olive oil).