Milan: New Friends and Bottling Wine

An energetic pedestrian street in Milan.

Milano:  Vincent and I met people in our neighborhood and through the church.  Vincent was a devout Catholic and during our marriage I accompanied him to church. I was raised Episcopalian but I’ve always been a doubting Thomas or a questioning Kate.

One new friend was slim, dark-eyed Anna who gave me Italian lessons twice a week while her little boys were napping.  I spoke French.  Spanish was my minor in college.  As another romance language, it was relatively easy to pick up Italian.  When the children woke up, I tried a few words on them.  They rolled their eyes and giggled.

We met Carla and Camillo at the beginning of our stay.  They were in their 50s and took us under their wing.  Their large apartment took up the corner of a building.   French windows opened onto a wide terrace that extended the living space.  One side contained an outdoor sitting and dining area shaded by an awning.  Ficus trees and flowering plants grew in profusion. The other side was the kitchen/laundry area where pots of herbs flourished under clothes lines.

Marie-Juliette on the terrace.

Living with Carla and Camillo were Carla’s mother, la Mama, and her Uncle, lo Zio.  We were often invited to their house for a simple meal or a culinary extravaganza.  Both Carla and Camillo loved to cook and they invited me over to participate or observe.  I remember learning about Baccalà, which is a dish made from salted cod.  They liked to make their own pasta and created a variety of delicious sauces. We made brandy-spiked Tiramisù and creamy Zabaglione. As a neophyte housewife I had much to learn.

A fine dish of Baccalà

Creamy Zabaglione

This picture was taken several years later when we visited Milan with the children:  Carla, Charles, Camillo, la Mama, Marie-Juliette, lo Zio and me.

In the Spring when Marie-Juliette was about 5 months old, we all went on an adventure into the countryside to buy wine at the cousin of a cousin’s vineyard.  We stopped in a village and bought crusty peasant bread, salami and cheese.  We continued on through the rolling countryside covered with spring-green vineyards. Our destination was a farm at the foot of a hill.  We were met by two short, thin men with sinewy arms and tanned faces.  Their welcoming smiles revealed browned, crooked teeth.  After some small talk we headed into a cave where the wine was stored.  For the next couple of hours, we tasted wine, ripped off a piece of bread, tasted wine, chewed a slice of salami, tasted wine, bit into a chunk of cheese.  There was a great deal of conversation about the vineyards, the wines and life.  

I had Marie-Juliette in tow so I was in and out of the cave and I didn’t want to drink too much. We had brought the stroller and I walked up and down the road enjoying the day.   After much deliberation, we bought several types of wine.  The owner filled large plastic containers with the chosen vintages.  At home, these were stored underground, in Carla and Camillo’s basement.  We were waiting for the propitious moment to bottle the wine.  There had to be a period of dry weather and a full moon.  When the perfect day arrived we went over to their house in the evening for a quick supper.  Then we all got to work in the large bathroom off the laundry.  The plastic kegs were put in the tub.  Working as a team we rinsed bottles, siphoned wine into them, plugged in the cork and slapped on a label.  It was a memorable evening.

Siphoning wine from plastic containers.

La Mama or Lo Zio were probably babysitting Marie-Juliette during this event. They were superb nannies. Often la Mama would stroke the bridge of Marie-Juliette’s nose with her thumb and forefinger.  The goal was to create a nose with character like Caesar Augustus or Marcus Aurelius. Heaven forbid that she develop a small up-turned nose when she grew up.

La Mama and Marie-Juliette.  La Mama does have a nose with character.