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‘After reading this, I feel the glow of those burnt-umber fields, the taste of the wine, the food. more importantly, I feel the generosity of the people. This memoir is an Italophile’s dream, the book of a luminous dream come true.’
Jay Parini
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Central Italy's countryside, where "Everything was small to the measure of man," beguiled them; there "reigned the gentle Tuscan light, and silence, and a calm." They became contentedly sated by "pranzo," the four-course daily meal that resembles in quantity "our average Thanksgiving dinner," and decided to buy a farmhouse, to put down roots in the idyllic Tuscan hills.
Their enchanting dream was a challenging task. Mate spoke no Italian and was woefully ignorant of the vagaries of an agrarian existence. Nonetheless, he set about his search for their perfect home with a Quixote-like zeal, undaunted by a real estate agent cum undertaker who stored his listings with names of the recently departed in a shoe box. A parade of touted homesteads in abject disrepair didn't discourage him. Collapsed fireplaces and gaping roof holes were the norm. Mate zigzagged his way across unfamiliar terrain, following unmapped rutted paths, bouncing over rocky roads until he found his utopia, "a structure with perfect rhythm." La Marinaia The Sailor's Wife. Once that purchase was accomplished, attempts to have utilities turned on introduced him to an implacable, inscrutable Italian bureaucracy. It was explained that there are an almost infinite number of regulations in Italy, " . . . many dating from Roman times, some contradictory, some incomprehensible."
Settling in also meant becoming a part of the nearest town, Montepulciano, "built for humans not for cars, so the main street was just wide enough for conducting daily affairs, evening promenades, and small festive processions." The couple delighted in exploring closet-size shops run by often absent, usually amiable owners. Their nearest neighbor welcomed them with fresh goat cheese covered by a large fig leaf, and they attempted to improve their Italian by watching Telegiornale, the local televised news an "Italian version of reality, a flexible amalgam of fresh headlines, old footage, and clips from Steve McQueen movies."
More than an enthusiastic tribute to the ever astounding beauties of the Italian countryside, "The Hills Of Tuscany" is a paean to the pleasures of the palate as Mate describes in rapturous detail ravioli stuffed with ricotta and wild mushrooms, crostini spread with tuna and capers, rabbit ragu "spicy with tomatoes" plus a legion of dishes bathed, basted, stir-fried, swathed in or caressed by olive oil. He is also unreservedly passionate about the local wine, "wine as robust as the clay," "wine with a deep complexity that tingled all the taste buds."
Today, Mate lives with his wife and young son at La Marinaia, tending his olives and vineyard. It is there, he writes, that "we learned to live and enjoy life as the Tuscans do piano, piano, con calma." Slowly, slowly, with calm. The author's enthusiastic prose is infectious. His word pictures are captivating, as he unveils a Tuscany that is both serene and seductive. "The Hills Of Tuscany" is an invitation to follow your dream . . . especially if it leads to Italy.
- Gail Cooke
Alright we get the picture! The food here is good for Christ's sake!
Everything was over-described to the point of parody. At one point he couldn't even hose down the brick patio without going into a paroxysm over the earthy smell of the wet bricks permeating the entire house.
There was one hilarious moment when I thought the village was burning down. He launched into a typically purple bout of rhetoric using phrases like,
'I expected to see the dark town with faint lights against the sky, but instead saw the lower part of town ablaze with orange fire. The houses and the towers were black against the light, and some houses glowed, others were swept with flames, and the flames shot through the belfry of the steeple and the bell hung a stark black ....'
A bit later it is revealed that it was only the moon rising and it was a kind of orange colour.
I have read numerous such books about Italy and feel this one is just as worthy as... Read more
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