Home Grown

Ron's freshly-picked asparagus, steamed and then half of them whizzed up to make the sauce, and some tips kept whole, served with pine nuts and decent olive oil and the whole delicious lot washed down with a juicy 13.5º Barbera d'Asti.

As Happy As A Pig in.....

Mrs Combo is an excellent cook. Sometimes there is a local agriturismo* which asks her to help out in the kitchen. This they did last Sunday as there were two christening parties going on at the same time. This event let me stroll for an hour or so in the sunlit uplands, marvelling at God's grace and love.
I had been down to Genoa for the day for the footie. Coming back up on the train Mrs Combo rang and said "Look tesoro, I haven't been able to cook anything for this evening so Stefi (the owner of the agriturismo) said why don't you come straight here and eat with us?" "OK" I replied dutifully.
When I arrived it was chaos. Children running riot, toys all over the lawns, male relatives in their smooth suits with their shirt collars undone and the ladies in fine dresses with excellent decollete on display. It was hot and they had eaten and drunk very well. Now the kitchen was preparing puddings. Stefi shoved a plate of deep fried courgette flowers, salami, tomatoes, fresh broad beans and fresh bread in my hand and said "Look Ron, don't eat here with us in the kitchen standing up. Why don't you go into that dining room as they've all finished and have gone outside. You can eat there. We've cleared the tables of the plates but I think there's some wine left. Let me know if you want a coffee. Sorry about this but you can see how it is..."
As I walked into the room and closed the door behind me I felt my eyes prick with tears. I put the plate of food on the nearest table and sank to my knees. I bowed my head and prayed out loud. "Thank you God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so very much."
There were undrunk bottles of wine everywhere. All had been opened but very few had been finished, most had hardly been touched. That's Italians for you. They somehow don't see the need to finish every drink that is on offer. Can't see it myself, but still. There was an excellent local white, cortese, and a wonderful Monferrato Rosso (a blend of barbera, cabernet sauvignon and good old merlot), both from decent producers.
I sat at table and tucked my napkin into my collar. Clean glass. Thank you very much.
Heaven.

*An agriturismo is a working farm which will have a restaurant and accommodation. They (are meant to) serve only food and wine that they produce themselves. Usually good value.

Ham it Up

After a fairly exacting weekend with The Intrepid One what better way to wind down than with a tasting of fine prosciutto crudo* at a local vineria. There were four different types, all sensational, each from a pig with a bloodline bluer than The Duke of Edinburgh's. Everything was washed down with decent local fizz. Apologies for the glass of water, can't think what that was doing there.

*Parma ham for you slavering Brits, although three of them weren't from Parma but from Tuscany. As if I care.

Good grub

Just about recovered from Fred's visit; he certainly made a big impression with the locals. There was a lot of wine taken. And I thought I thought I was the one with a drink problem!
Anyway, I must try and look forward. Mrs Combo has a cousin who is a real peasant (in the nicest sense of the word). They are virtually self-sufficient, living a truly bucolic existence, seemingly unaware that their house is falling down around them. I had a 'phone call this morning telling me to pop by as they had gone mushrooming yesterday. These little beauties were duly thrust into my hands; they have a name in local dialect, something like pinerung. Whilst there hasn't been the rain followed by a hot spell that is needed for a classic mushroom season, apparently if you know where to go, then they can be found.
I washed them, sliced them, finely chopped up a handful of parsley and a clove of garlic and chucked everything in a frying pan with a little oil. Bingo! Delicious, washed down with half a bottle of Cabernet Franc out of the 'fridge. I had to prepare this one for luncheon whilst Mrs Combo was at work as she isn't too keen on the smell of funghi. I once put her in hospital for three days after some unfortunate mushroom selection. Live and learn I say.

Only in Italy

Only in Italy would someone spend hours and hours replicating the contents of that tin box that everyone has lurking in a damp part of their garage. In chocolate.

Summertime snack

The sun has finally started to shine after weeks of rain, so to celebrate this and the concomitant arrival of the first broad beans, Mrs Combo and I tucked into a favourite antipasto hereabouts and if anyone knows of a more heavenly combination than twice-peeled broad beans and local salami, they can sod off. Sluiced down with the first tasting of Smooth Tony's Pinot Grigio (bottled when Fred was here, dribbling over his Welsh bint) straight out of the 'fridge. Fan-sodding-tastic.