AN ITALIAN MEAL

DINING IN ITALY

What an enormous topic: dining in Italy!

Everyone needs to eat, whether you're a resident or a tourist; it's a basic element of life. But there is something about dining in Italy that can elevate this simple transaction into a thing of beauty: it is the concept of ordering food as a conversation, not an order.

We spent four days at LA VILLE DEL COLLE, just outside Monte San Giovanni Campano, in Lazio. We were having meetings and appointments to finalize the purchase of our new home, so we were in and out dining at the hotel, in cafes, and once a picnic from a deli in Arpino as well.

The manager, Andreas, would arrive at our table in the evening and say "What would you like tonight?" If we knew specifically, we would say, but more often that not he would suggest something that maybe had come in fresh that morning, or was a contrast to what we had had before. He might simply say "Fish? Rice? Pasta?"

It's a bit like casting a play. The agent negotiates the star players, and then the rest of the cast is hired to support the stars. The key words 'rice' or 'fish' would be sent to the kitchen and then the chef would get busy, and something plainly cooked and utterly delicious would appear quite quickly on our plates.

I don't, however, want to give the impression that you can just waltz into any Italian restaurant, anywhere in the country, and start demanding whatever you're in the mood for. Of course it doesn't work that way. If there is a printed menu, then read the menu, and respect the plan that the chef has in store for you. If you have read up on the regional specialities in the area you're visiting, then that arms you with more information on what to expect, and also helps you to avoid items that you might find unappealing.

When I first arrived I stupidly specified salmon, knowing full well that it was likely to be farmed salmon and really not an Italian kind of thing. If I wanted salmon on this occasion, I might just as well have stayed in Wiltshire. By the end of the visit we were completely in the hands of the kitchen, and when we were asked "Fish?" we just said "yes", knowing that it was going to be amazing, and different, and beautifully cooked. Sometimes it was perfectly grilled gamberetti, ( a large crustacean), or a delicious terracotta-coloured risotto with a rich tomato-based fish sauce and flakes of fish. The swordfish was new for me: meaty, tender, grilled and presented on a bed of radicchio, next to more gamberetti, and a slice of bream.

Ask for "pollo" and you might get a fresh fillet of boneless chicken breast, pounded flat, plainly grilled, and served with a wedge of lemon. Honestly, if you are travelling with fussy children, I do believe you can banish the word 'nugget' from your vocabulary, as lovely, plainly cooked fresh chicken will be a steady diet for the toddler brigade. Chicken is seen on menus more often in some regions than in others, Lazio being one of them.

Expect to have, at the very least, two courses, as Italian meals are served a la russe (in courses) as opposed to a la francaise (altogether at one time). Try not to tinker with this method too much, as the composition of ingredients, and the order in which they are presented, is part of the fun, and the artistry, of Italian cuisine. I came in one evening and asked for pasta with grilled vegetables. I was advised to have the pasta course first, and then the main course second, with grilled vegetables as a side dish. salad as a side will be readily available and can be an insalata misto (mixed green salad with vegetables) or insalata verde (green salad).

When preparing a pasta course, the size and shape of the pasta will be determined by the other ingredients in the dish. If you were going to have a light sauce and a thin angel hair pasta, then big chunky grilled vegetables would weigh it down and spoil the dish. In the autumn, a rich wild boar ragu would need a chunky, substantial pasta shape to support it, and would sit awkwardly on a bowl full of dainty grains of orzo.

A PROPER ITALIAN LUNCH

One day we went out to lunch: a proper Italian lunch. We were entirely in the hands of our Italian-speaking friends and the chef.  

                                                  

Upon arrival at IL CICLOPE, near Arpino, we were greeted by the sight of a large ramshackle shack, with dubious wooden walls, and mostly taken up inside by a large wood-burning fireplace. A bronzed and elderly gentleman grinned at us as we arrived: he was in charge of grilling. Beneath a thick stone, shelf-like hearth lay his black, portly, ancient labrador, snoozing on her bed under the warmth of the fire.

Our table was close to the indoor kitchen, in a smart yellow building, the doorway hung with the traditional curtain of long plastic beads in order to deter insects. Soon the hostess arrived, and after much hugging and kissing and chatting with our friends, the serious business of ordering began. Lamb was suggested (star player), or maybe pasta (co-star). Pizza is a popular selection for that wood-fired oven, but only in the evenings. 'Pasta with wild mushrooms' was discussed briefly, but maybe not to be ordered in the month of May. Truffle, here, is typical, and readily available, fresh and in oil. It's smoky, dense, pungent essence makes a star player out of anything it touches.

As we settled into our seats under the trees, plates appeared with antipasti, the Italian equivalent of hors-d'oeuvres. These were not fiddly little things balancing precariously on Melba toast. They were hearty, small-portioned offerings designed to accompany the large glass jugs of red and white wine which descended on our table. Antipasti wake up the taste buds, and focus your attention on the meal at hand. Several at this restaurant, were dough-based, or with potato. Offerings will be different in other parts of the country. Some were like small cubes of vegetable tarts. There were cubes of sauteed cabbage with ham, and stuffed grilled peppers. We tasted a bowl of crunchy deep-fried dough rings, which  are popular at the village fetes which criss-cross the country throughout the year. Cubes of potato cakes were light and fluffy.

It seemed as though the chef, in the kitchen, would send out some offerings, then look in the 'fridge for inspiration, and then create yet another plate of tasty morsels to be sent out; there must have been about six plates of antipasti in the end, before we headed onto our main.

A large platter of green salad sailed in, fresh and lightly dressed. A bowl filled with slices of the local bread, chewy and dense, was wrapped in a clean cloth.

The pasta course, a beef ragu on a bed of wide noodles (pappardelle),was rich, pungent, and fresh, served with a long-stemmed glass heaped high with grated Pecorino Romano. We were all completely full after only two courses, and yet still managed to squeeze in a generous dollop of tiramisu, and several small glasses of cherry ratafia, before we reluctantly piled into cars and drifted off.

Everybody you meet in Italy seems to know about, and understand, food, and be interested in what is being served. In many countries, music and sport bring people together. In Italy, I would add food to the list. An appreciation of the joy of cuisine, and seasonal food, and sharing a meal with friends, gives a connection to others, and a connection to the earth, which is a truly life-enhancing element of la dolce vita.