"My stomach speaks fluent Italian"

Speaking my still rudimentary Italian, I stumble constantly, grateful to the very generous souls I encounter who continue to be so kind and encouraging. Italians, in my experience, are like that. It is humbling and not a bad thing at all to be in the shoes of a foreigner, to understand at least this aspect of their struggles.

Once I have apologised, I have a go-to phrase that instantly puts smiles on faces:

“Ma… la mia pancia parla l’italiano fluentemente!” (“But… my stomach speaks Italian fluently!”) And it does. I am very thankful to the many Italians who migrated to Australia, grew vines, set up restaurants, educated our palates and turned our tea-drinking nation to coffee. Not to mention pasta, risotto, pecorino, radicchio – and vin santo with cantucci!

So it was a wonderful coincidence that just a couple of days after I arrived here in historic Anghiari, Tuscany, food stalls sprang up all over the village for ‘I Centogusti dell’Appennino’ (the hundred flavours of the Appennines). Ooh yeh.

Yesterday I hesitated about buying some buffalo mozzarella inside the stall above (did I really want 500g for 10 euro – almost $17?). After sampling it last night, today I left my apartment armed with one phrase I had practised for the mozzarella man:

“La migliore mozzarella della mia vita!” Undoubtedly, the best mozzarella I have ever eaten in my life — so fresh, flavoursome and just a tiny bit salty. Tomatoes are brilliant here too, so I put those two things together, along with a pesto dressing (couldn’t find any fresh basilico) for a version of caprese salad for dinner.

My lovely apartment in Anghiari is on top of the 14th Century wall that encircles the historic centre of the town. Each day of the ‘mostra mercato’ (market exhibition), I can hear the sound of chestnuts tumbling in a metal cylinder as they roast over a fire below and the fragrance wafts up. I’ve never really appreciated chestnuts (a bit like uncooked chickpeas to me), but plenty of people are enjoying them.

I don't love all Italian food, of course (just nearly all of it), and usually never order cream-based pastas but today I panicked, thinking I should hurry up and order. It was lunchtime and I had decided to eat out. 'Truffles' seemed like a good idea, but the tartufo tagliatelle came in a heavy cream. I have been eating Italian for more than 40 years and really should have known better.

Before the mostra finishes I might go back to the cheese man you can see below as I do love a goat cheese. And besides, the little goat is saying, "My cheese, no cholesterol." But I don't think I want any more tartufo, grazie.

Since arriving, I have been warmly greeted by people I came to know a little when I stayed here four years ago – Valter, who organised my accommodation for me; Giulia and Matteo, who run my favourite restaurant, La Cantina del Granduca; handsome Gennaro, who runs the Caffe Garibaldi; Vasco, who I can find at that same caffe any morning; Angela, the newsagent; and my dear friends Carlo and Armando — such lovely gentle men.

I have been very sad to have missed my old neighbour, Giorgio. I had always thought I would see him again when I returned to Anghiari as we had a nice friendship, but sadly he'll never know. He died in June this year, his friend Vasco told me, on Vasco's 88th birthday.

Meet Moka – the Minx?

Still sort of on the subject of food, let me share with you a very cute tale that was used as a translation exercise in the language school I attended in Sicily.

After some trial and error, I have discovered the coffee order that works best here for my taste is “un cappuccino con doppio espresso, per favore” – strong enough, not too much milk – and I love to go out for coffee in the mornings because it is such a local ritual (usually for men). I can often find someone who wants to chat or I just watch the passing parade.

But I also want to watch my budget, so I have coffee in my apartment on other days. The kitchen there only has one of the tiniest versions of those espresso makers — the (usually) silver ones with a top and bottom that screw together. I had never imagined before that one this little would be sufficient — but I am now converted. I get two satisfying little coffees out of it, and add milk that I have heated in a saucepan. Perfetto!

So… to the tale we were given at the language school. It was in the voice of a cartoon character called Moka (see illustration). “We Moke [as the translation goes] live in the homes of all Italians and have a special characteristic: the older we get, the fitter we feel and we make delicious coffee,” says Moka.

She hates soap and dishwashers. She explains how she works, and how the first person to get out of bed is the one who fills her stomach with water and puts her on the stove until “When I'm ready I call him with my slightly low voice and he immediately recognises my scent”.

Placed in the middle of the table, Moka says she feels just like a queen. The family even takes her on holiday and “Non possono vivere senza di me!” (“They can’t live without me!”)

And now, neither can I.

Buona giornata, everyone. Have a lovely day. And thanks for reading. xx

The view from my apartment for the next two months.