Picnics and Sunday Dinner

In July we enjoyed warmth and sunshine.  Those rainy days where I felt as though I was living in the clouds were gone.  The nursery school closed for vacation and Charles and Marie-Juliette were home for nice, long summer days.  The children were happy to play around the house.  In the afternoon we went for long walks or entertained our new friends.  The children liked to go for picnics up on the top of our hill or into the village for an ice cream treat.

Here you can see the view from the top of our hill.  The children are wearing Breton sweaters knit by their Aunt Laurence. How about the red sweater with a yellow dress.  I rarely wore pants or shorts back then.

Oh oh, Christopher is not concentrating on his ice cream.

On Sundays when Vincent was home, we were often invited to Signor C’s family farm house.  There was a barnyard with farm animals that delighted the children and plenty of hay to jump in.   The stone farm house was ancient.  There was one main room with a large fire place and a long table that was grooved and indented from decades of use.  Usually 20 people or more attended these family gatherings.  Children ran in and out while the women stirred the polenta, risotto or pasta.  Several men manned the fireplace where meat and slices of cold polenta were roasted.  Everyone brought a dish.  Usually there were antipasti (appetizers), prime (pasta), secondi (meat), contorni (vegetables and salads), formaggi (cheese) frutta and dolci (desserts).   All of this was “watered” with quantities of good wine. It seemed that everyone had a cousin with a vineyard to provide a special bottle. 

This is not Signor C's house but the surroundings and the style of the house are similar to what I remember.  This is a farm house in the Veneto, the same general area.

We enjoyed polenta in two forms. Mr. C’s brother-in-law owned a mill that produced polenta flour and he would bring the latest batch to be prepared on the spot.  It required a lengthy preparation and had to be constantly stirred. For northern Italians, polenta was as basic as bread.  And by the way, there was always good bread as well. 

I particularly remember a meal with a thick sauce of mushrooms perfumed with rosemary that was sublime.  I also remember a snail stew.  I love “escargots” the French way with all that butter and garlic.  You don’t taste the snails.  But this was a stew of snails in their juices and it was VERY EARTHY.

Here's a picture of snail stew I found on-line.  It's a great favorite in Nigeria.

We had grilled uccellini - little birds; think sparrows, thrushes and finches.  They were plucked clean and roasted whole.  You could crunch on the tiny bones. 

In America we basically limit ourselves to chunks of red muscle-meat, whole or ground up and cut-up chickens assembled in plastic. Most people cringe at the thought of tongue, brains, sweetbreads and snails.  But I’ve found the rest of the world will eat just about anything if it’s tasty and well-prepared.

Here are the menfolk!

Here are the womenfolk.

Here I am with Charles peaking out.

These people were wonderfully kind and welcoming.  There was lot of talk, joking and laughter. As the afternoon wore on, they would break into song.  We would sing traditional Italian folk songs.