Learning How to Eat in Italy

Learning How to Eat In Italy

Around Easter weekend, I was fortunate enough to be invited by the Donati family of Mercatello sul Metauro, in the Marche region of Italy, to visit them at their palazzo, one of several built a few centuries ago on the town’s central square. I was there to witness, among other things, the ceremonial uncovering of the leather Jesus. This leather Jesus (made of animal skin with workable joints!) came to Mercatello in the thirteenth century. Since then He has been annually disinterred on Thursday evening and taken up on the cross for Good Friday.



Atheist is an ugly word, and so I avoid referring to myself as such, though it’s likely accurate. Still, I could not help but be moved by the people like the woman right of frame, who was clearly connected to the simulacrum, identifying with the loss, maybe thinking of a lost husband or son or daughter, flowing in sympathy with this crucifixion fiction.

On Holy Saturday, at Palazzo Donati, nine men of the wining/dining club Accademia del Padlot, got together to make us breakfast. One of them, Gianfranco (below, right of frame), had played in the band during the leather Jesus procession through the streets of Mercatello; another, Luciano, had actually assumed the role of Our Savior, carrying the cross out of the church and into the streets of this small town.



At this breakfast, I noticed that three of the four women in attendance had no more than one or two small bites of any dish. This was, apparently, man food (i.e., it was kind of stinky), and it was not without its challenges.

We started with coradella, which is liver, lungs, and assorted other organs (though I’m not sure if it contained heart, or cuore, as the name implies). I believe this organ meat had a slight spice rub, delicious and typical of Marche. Though this was not easy first meal of the day, the Barbaresco I drank with it was fizzy and acidic and just right to ease the guts into my gut.



Trippa al sugo was intense, basically cow stomach, finely cut, in a tomato sauce. The parm we sprinkled on top provided an excellent counterpoint, balancing funk with funk.



As an intermediate palate-cleanser, we were served orange and fennel salad, which I was encouraged to eat for as we prepared for “a change of taste.”



Fagiole con cotiche is, as Massimo Donati (a HUGE fan of Mexican food) said to me, is “like Tuscan Mexican food.” It was basically red beans and pig skin in a lightly spiced tomato sauce. I ate it all and liked it most of all; even had seconds: it reminded me a lot of pig skin tacos I’ve enjoyed on Maxwell Street.



Our last course was snails with a kind of pesto (it contained basil and garlic, but none dare call it pesto, because that’s Genovese). These were spectacular slugs, although I could tell that the local boys were just waiting for me to freak out, but I didn’t, of course, as snails were really some of the more familiar foods on the menu that morning.



What touched me most throughout this meal was the communion of local folk, having an excellent time, laughing and laughing, glad to have been saved, and saving room for more.

This was one of the truly memorable meals of my life. Like so many great meals, it could not have been bought. Me, and the ladies, were the few non-members of this central Italian eating society who were ever fortunate enough to be in attendance at this gathering of good fellows. I felt extremely, um, let’s say blessed to be there, unsaved but satisfied, full of good food and, much more importantly, good spirits.

Italians have taught me a lot about eating and eating this breakfast reaffirmed the principle that good taste is obviously important but good people at the table are just as important to the enjoyment of the meal.



At several times throughout the breakfast, enthusiastic members of the group broke into song. It was a beautiful thing.

That's fantastic stuff, David. Thanks for sharing.

You're welcome, Mary.

Incidentally, the two guys in the final shot are playing a traditional Italian Easter egg game. I saw it played at several places. Two people take hardboiled eggs in their hands and strike them against each other; whoever's egg remains unbroken is "the winner" and goes up against another person at the table.

Looks like a wonderful experience. Would not eat any of the food but the salad though. Love the old kitchen.

Such a beautiful post David. From 2003-2008, I traveled to Italy for a tradeshow, always around this week, so it was particularly bittersweet to read this. Hoping there are more pictures and stories to follow...

boudreaulicious wrote:Such a beautiful post David. From 2003-2008, I traveled to Italy for a tradeshow, always around this week, so it was particularly bittersweet to read this. Hoping there are more pictures and stories to follow...

Thanks, Jenn (a wine trade show, I'm guessing, right?). And yes, I took about 1,500 pix while there, so more to come.

My first wife was part gypsy from Spain and Romania. They do the hardboiled egg game as well.

David Hammond wrote:

boudreaulicious wrote:Such a beautiful post David. From 2003-2008, I traveled to Italy for a tradeshow, always around this week, so it was particularly bittersweet to read this. Hoping there are more pictures and stories to follow...

Thanks, Jenn (a wine trade show, I'm guessing, right?). And yes, I took about 1,500 pix while there, so more to come.

While it was fortuitously scheduled to coincide with Vinitaly, I was there for this: http://www.cosmit.it/tool/home.php?s=0,2,67,71,75

I am very jealous.

David Hammond wrote:You're welcome, Mary.

Incidentally, the two guys in the final shot are playing a traditional Italian Easter egg game. I saw it played at several places. Two people take hardboiled eggs in their hands and strike them against each other; whoever's egg remains unbroken is "the winner" and goes up against another person at the table.

My family has done Easter egg fights my entire life, just as you describe; no Italians or Greeks (the other major egg-fighting contingent of which I am aware) anywhere in or near our family line, just a bunch of Kentuckians and Hoosiers.

JimInLoganSquare wrote:

David Hammond wrote:You're welcome, Mary.

Incidentally, the two guys in the final shot are playing a traditional Italian Easter egg game. I saw it played at several places. Two people take hardboiled eggs in their hands and strike them against each other; whoever's egg remains unbroken is "the winner" and goes up against another person at the table.

My family has done Easter egg fights my entire life, just as you describe; no Italians or Greeks (the other major egg-fighting contingent of which I am aware) anywhere in or near our family line, just a bunch of Kentuckians and Hoosiers.

Jim, just curious, did you play with colored eggs?

JimInLoganSquare wrote:

David Hammond wrote:You're welcome, Mary.

Incidentally, the two guys in the final shot are playing a traditional Italian Easter egg game. I saw it played at several places. Two people take hardboiled eggs in their hands and strike them against each other; whoever's egg remains unbroken is "the winner" and goes up against another person at the table.

My family has done Easter egg fights my entire life, just as you describe; no Italians or Greeks (the other major egg-fighting contingent of which I am aware) anywhere in or near our family line, just a bunch of Kentuckians and Hoosiers.

My in-laws have done this traditionally on Easter also. They're Swiss and German, and call the action "dumpfy."

David Hammond wrote: ... did you play with colored eggs?

Yes, although not just did ... still do!

Jazzfood wrote:My first wife was part gypsy from Spain and Romania. They do the hardboiled egg game as well.

In Northern Spain, they do the hardboiled egg game with their beer glasses. The loser gets facial slivers and has to buy the next round. The barkeep has a broom always at the ready.