Down Home

Even during a crisp November, the Alabama air was cool and humid. The skies were often grey and the ground, a wet looking brown. A sense of melancholy hung on the bare trees like something was missing.

Sitting on Aunt Siddy's porch 1980's

It took two hours to drive from Albertville to Ashland in Clay county.

Every Sunday we hitched the wagon and off we would go. (Well, at least that's what it felt like.) It was a given and the thought of it made me nauseous. A small child's love-hate of something that had to be done: curvy roads, travel away from home, but knowing that love and good food was at the end.

Highway 77 is a two-lane road, running through rural countryside and small towns. We stopped in Rainbow City religiously for a soft swirl ice cream. We passed church after church with billboards professing the second coming and often hilarious quotes like, "Gossip is like an old shoe, everything wears out except for the tongue", and "America needs a faith lift." We passed large land holdings with cattle and played cow poker. Coca-cola was my drink du jour and kept the carsickness at bay. So did listening to country music and gospel on the radio.

Where do you find Ordinary Magic?

The Chhatra Sagar luxury tent village, India: Tasting Royal Rajasthan

"Another incredible place! They took Ann Coffaro and I on a guided bird walk. I saw one hundred and twenty new birds in India. My favorite was the Bee-eater. Talk about birding in style! A porter to carry the scope and refreshing drinks on a tray at the end of the trail." 

~ Tara O'Leary, India 2012.

Each time I visit India, I find myself slipping between the veils of past and present, of luxury and the ordinary. I am reminded how thin the line is between the extraordinary and the everyday.  Devi Garh is my favorite hotel of the program, an 18th century palace fort that royally commands the valley and looks out over the Aravalli hills. Bo-chic in style, its modern interiors are minimalist, austere five-star elegance, a bit "Indian Zen."

The surrounding natural landscape offers solace. The colorful village below, with intermittent baby blue houses, offers charm. I learned the motive for this brilliant color is two-fold: the paint keeps insects away and also praises lord Krishna. On my first visit to this divine place, I left the fairy tale world of the palace hotel, the bathtubs filled with rose petals and airy verandas, and went for a walk in the village down the hill.  Barefoot shop owners sat before scales on old wooden counters or on the floor. Some were turbaned, some not. We nodded hello to each other as I passed. Women carried food or water jugs on their heads, gliding gracefully in their saris, as vibrantly colored as the fruits and vegetables spread out on blankets and carts. The village astrologer sat on the corner, dressed in red next to a sky-blue wall, waiting for a consultation. Carts of vegetables displayed local varieties with names like "Lady Fingers" and "Gentleman's Thumbs." I followed some of the women through a doorway and found an old man making the terra cotta pots used to store cool water. With white hair and beard, he stooped and twirled his wheel with a stick. Once it got going to the speed he was happy with, he threw some clay in the middle and started molding. Three small pots were produced within minutes:

Devi Ghar Village Potter

These are the moments I cherish. Easing into the pace of local life and discovering the artfulness of a simple, age-old skill. Watching an old man's hands shape clay into pots, or the hands of the women easing the pots onto their heads, calling their little ones to follow down the road. So often travel to a faraway spot reminds us to appreciate the magic of everyday life. The finer elements of this particular program always bring me back to the simple pleasures that lend soulfulness. 

We invite you to join us, in Rajasthan this February. 

With love, 

Peggy

Afternoon Apertivo at Cibreo.

At Cibreo Caffe, alcohol is served in varying degrees of strength throughout the day, but never without food, and rarely does a Florentine order more than one drink.

There are morning aperitivi before lunch and evening aperitivi before dinner. The Italians are modest when it comes to drinking, as if there are unspoken cultural rules. There’s only one thing worse than wine for the liver…and that’s the wind.

‘Il vento fa male il fegato!’ A mother yells to her children to button up, "The wind is bad for the liver!" 

 But the Aperitivo? Io adoro! It is my early evening meditation.  A crisp divine white wine, poured into a tall crystalline glass. It comes to the table, not with pattatine (Italian potato chips cooked in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt), which I love, but with pizzette, tiny pizzas only big enough for a bit of sauce and a few capers. They come on a long plate with shiny black olives, and thin fried crisps of chick pea crackers laced with garlic. Bright yellow pepper pickles show up occasionally in a small white bowl, looking like a present from someone’s affectionate aunt.

Fabio, the owner of Cibreo, loves the advanci. He never throws anything away. Whatever is left over is used brilliantly, or at least pickled.

During the summer I acquiesce to gin and tonic or to the negroni, a strong alcolico forte! ma buonissimo. "Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker." Allegria to the rescue, forcing any sense of negative emotion way beyond the front lines. Two would be deadly and most unladylike, though to me, nothing is more civilized than a proper aperitivo. It 'opens' the appetite and stimulates digestion. The monks invented strong liquors as medicine, to be taken before and after meals. I to bow to the Italian brethren for making this ritual one of the best ingredients for la dolce vita.

Florentines flow in and out of the bar. They greet each other casually, one looking more fine than the next. People-watching here is like flipping through a fashion magazine, but better. It’s alive.

Florentine style is understated, chic. This is not Hollywood. There is no bling. But there’s balance. It’s what you call "taste"—an eye for quality and detail. It also doesn’t hurt to be drop dead gorgeous with olive skin refined as Michelangelo’s sculpted marble. Though not all Florentine's are or have been good looking. One look at Dante or the Medici and you understand the gene pool, yet, it's safe to say they were intelligente da morire. The character and the way Florentines carry themselves- so confident, intelligent and interesting, comes from centuries of sophistication.

I for one, do not come from such a background, unless I was here "once before." But I do feel at home here, un Fiorentina finta, a pretend Florentine. Especially inside my "uscio e bottega."

pasta with oil-cured tuna, capers, red onions, tomatoes and basil

Feeding large parties that also include a gang of hungry Italian musicians is challenging. With one small kitchen, a few large pots and a lot of volanta..(willingness), I cook pasta for the masses with as much 'gusto' as possible. Gusto also means 'taste'. Italians are tough critics, so one can't mess around when feeding them their favorite food. I have to invent, but stay within reason.

One of the most Italianissima summer pasta dishes is pasta con tonno e capperi (tuna and capers). It's lovely to add thinly sliced red onions and cherry tomatoes as well. It's an instant one dish meal, with plenty of protein and flavor. As you can see, the sauce is uncooked and therefore, perfect for transferring from the kitchen to your table 'al fresco'.

With the overfishing of tuna, I have a moral decision to make when thinking of this dish. I choose a very good quality, specially selected tuna preserved in oil (in a large red tin) from Spain. I know the story of the Sicilian matanza. I am aware of present-day practice and over fishing that keeps certain fishes from being sustainable all over the world. Tuna was king of fishes. Smart. Plentiful and meaty. Catching and preserving it in oil has kept many island people alive for centuries. Now it's not allowed. There are quotas. It has also been a staple for Americans. That's more tuna than certain schools can generate. I don't buy tuna in America, nor do I choose it in a sushi bar against my will. Especially fresh.. I adore it in many ways..mostly raw. Here is a good article with more info on just how the Spanish are approaching the situation.  Sustainable Tuna debated on Spanish TV.

I do choose to use tuna once in a 'blue moon'; of which there was one this August. I took the liberty to make a beloved Italian favorite and the crowds jumped for joy. It's not the Italians fault that we are losing our resources. There has historically been respect and ritual in these Mediterranean waters. They took only what they needed. Tuna is nutritious and one fish can feed a family for days. The fact that it's a fish that can be preserved is another bonus.

Here is the recipe I made up in the countryside of Montifiridolfi, a tiny Tuscan town not far from San Casciano, a half hour south of Florence in the heart of Chianti. It fed 45 people amply in 95 degree weather. They took a 2 hour hike in the heat afterwards, but they weren't hungry.

On a hot day, there is nothing more satisfying that a plate of this pasta room temp with a glass of cool rose'.

Penne Ragate con Tonno, Capperi, Pomodorini, Olive, cipolla rosa e Parmigiano Reggiano

2- 8 oz   cans of good quality sustainable (Dolphin safe!) tuna preserved in oil.
1            fresh red onion, sliced in half as thin as possible
2            cups of pomodorini (cherry tomatoes) sliced in half
1/2         cup of rinsed capers in salt
1 c         of oil-cured black olives, pitted and roughly chopped (optional)
1 bunch of basil and Italian parsley, chopped fine and set aside.
1/2 c       of Parmigiano Reggiano, freshly grated


1 box    (500 grams) of Penne Ragate of your choice

Chop all ingredients separately and put in an ample bowl. Open the cans and break up the tuna and add to the bowl. Add a generous drizzle of olive oil. 

Heat a generous pot of water, add a palmful of good quality course salt. Bring to a rolling boil.
Add the pasta and cook until al dente, (where only a hairline of white can be seen).

Drain the pasta, preserving a cup of the pasta cooking water. Set aside. 

Toss all ingredients with the freshly cooked pasta in a large serving bowl. If it seems dry or a bit sticky, add a bit of the pasta cooking water, it loosens the pasta nicely. Add most of the parsley
and parmigiano. Distribute all chopped bits evenly. Finish by drizzling a generous amount of extra-virgin olive oil and dash the remaining parsley and parmigiano to please the eyes. 

 On a hot day, there is nothing more satisfying that a plate of this pasta room temp with a glass of cool rose'.

 It's the end of summer, but I think this dish will be a hit at least until the end of September here in 
Italia..! Buon appetito!


 

Photo Recap: Our 20th Anniversary Tour

 

Emily Markel Luebcke, Giulio Picchi, and Graham Markel. Ristorante Cibreo, Florence. June 8th, 2012

Emily and Graham were 12 and 9 when I started. Their sweet natures allowed me to travel back and forth all these years. Emily lived with the Picchi/Vitali family for a semester when she was 15 and Giulio was 13. She now has two children, 4 and 6, and he manages Cibreo as heir apparent. Graham has been under the wing of many chefs since then and happens to be a fine cook with a passion for wine making and traveling the world like his mother.

I founded La Cucina al Focolare in 1992 in Reggello, on the grounds of The Fattoria Degli Usignoli. We focus on traditional Tuscan fare, prepared with three wood-fired ovens. Florentine antiques, Fratellini tables and stone floors give an authentic feel.

Miss Peach And Her Peaches

miss peach and her peaches

The peach tree was laden down with the softest, peachiest peaches you can imagine. Although a small tree, she took the burden of the bountiful crop. It was a Sunday, a good day for making pies. Miss Peach, took her wooden bowl and filled it up with the sweet, downy fruit. It was a better idea than reading. After all, she's only six. And reading is far too serious for a summer day with school already just around the corner. Master Peach agreed.

 For one's first pie, success is important. So, grandmother Peach decided to give a go as a crumble. When one doesn't eat certain things, other things will have to do. A crumble of almond meal, butter and cinnamon will give it a Spanish flair!

  

 Master Peach thought it much more interesting to throw rocks in the pond. 

 

Getting ones hands in the crumble and spreading it around is a fine mess. 

 

Ms. Peach's finished product ready for the oven. 

Voila!!

The Country Girls' Approach to Saving Small Lives

Caroline and I are both Colorado country girls.

She lives in the mountains at 8,000 ft with a magnificent view of the Continental Divide and I live in the countryside at 5280 ft next to a creek that spills into two ponds.

She is a vegan Kundalini yogini and I am not. I eat everything that's good, all over the world, and bend my left elbow more than any other body part. Yet,  I am as interested in saving the world as she is and believe that all sentient beings deserve kindness including the most minute. It is said that even fleas and spiders experience fear and have a desire for happiness, just like the rest of us, so why not follow that creed when it comes to the small creatures that scare us?

Women have historically been afraid of mice. They bring a shrill like no other creature, other than perhaps a snake. Mice are harmless and they don't even bite, but they scurry in such a way that unnerves, darting here and there as if they were about to be baked in a pie.

They are curious creatures and like to flatten themselves and squeeze into tight spaces. They can sniff out the slightest crumb that one has left in a bag, or a suitcase, nibbling their way through expensive leather and make beds out of your favorite heirloom garments. They can pop up anywhere, out of an old hat or that worn-out basket left behind. It's safe to say, they are clever, clever creatures. And social.

I can be sitting at the kitchen table at night, and see one out of the corner of my eye have the audacity to come from some crack under the sink straight at me. Now of course, it's not me he/she wants, but the six course crumb meal I have prepared for them unknowingly under my feet. After a while, I think they pick up on the fact that we country girls perhaps are as harmless as they country mice.

What to do? For soft-hearted women, a mouse trap just won't do. It's excruciating to think of the brutal whack and then the mutilated body. One must resort to live traps. A bit of peanut butter goes in the end, the mouse follows, the little trap shuts and the rest is history. But it doesn't come without a story.

Caroline comes by for an impromptu dinner. We have a nice chat down by the creek while there is still light. We talk about the differences in living by mountains as opposed to water. We appreciate the pink clouds and the rushing stream, then head back to the house for a bite to eat. As I am preparing the meal, I keep hearing this clacking noise.

I said, "It's the mouse trap!"
She said, "go get a bucket with a lid!"
I said, "I don't have a bucket with a lid!"
"Well how do you suppose you were to keep it alive?"
I said, " You just take it like this, drive down the road and let it out."
Caroline says, "No you have to have a bucket with a lid that you poke holes into. Then you put a paper towel in there and some sunflower seeds."
"You have to be kidding me, " I said,  "I have no such thing."

I find a bucket but it has no lid. Luckily, I rummage around quickly and find a container—with a lid—and poke some holes into it, but it's small. There is nothing like the anxiety of thinking you are going to release the trap into a small space with a flimsy cover knowing that the mouse is going to bolt most likely down ones dress or around ones feet. The very thought of it sends a shrill and a dance in one spot! The very thought! "Not in the house! Please! Take it outside!" I prepared the container with slivered almonds and a paper towel. 

Valiantly, this lovely sweet lady, fearlessly and calmly releases the mouse into the container. He did not jump down her dress or escape. Even though there was a slight squeal from her lips, the lid went on fast and secure. We left our captive to brood out of doors and settle into his new temporary home. At least it was clear plastic and he could see out.

After some relief and altruistic success, we came in to have our supper. The night came on, we laughed and talked and then the time came to leave.

"Please don't make me take the mouse."
"What?" I said, "You have to take the mouse! He has to be driven 5 miles away and you are driving 5 miles away! Otherwise, you know they find their way back!"
She said. "I know, you're right. I must follow through. Get the flashlight. We have to see if he's still alive. "
"I don't have a flashlight."
"What if you have a burglar?"
"What am I going to say?? Go away! I have a flashlight!!??"

I found one curiously on my phone, and we ventured into the night to find our captive.  I was worried that perhaps I had not put enough holes in the top. Was he breathing? I shined the light. He barely moved. Oh, I thought. Not enough air. Then we picked up the container to put in the car and he looked at us sleepily. He had made a cozy bed in the paper towel just like Caroline had said. His nuts were gone and he looked at us.. shall I say... affectionately?

It was enough to want to keep him as a pet.

Goodnight Caroline! Goodnight mouse! Drive safely up the mountain!

Not only a life saved...but transformed. I hope he likes the mountains as well as the creek. I wouldn't be surprised if he follows Caroline home. She's so brave. It made me think about bravery. Bravery comes when your commitment to do the right thing is stronger than your fear. Sat Nam Karuna.