Tranquillo, come domenica mattina


When Lionel Richie was with the Commodores one of their first big UK hits was a song called, Easy, a soulful ballad with the lyric, ‘Easy, like Sunday morning’. Now the translation into Italian may not be literal, and my using tranquillo rather than facile (easy) keeps the sentence within the original meaning.

Why am I referencing Mr Richie and his co-musicians, well because it’s a lyric that perfectly sums up a sunny Sunday here in La Bella Italia.

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This week, Sunday starts with avid activity in the olive groves as farmers finish the last of their pruning. Compressors hiss and odd shaped pruning tools buzz like contented honey bees. In the midst of this activity there’s no real sense of urgency, unlike on weekdays when they work at full pelt before disappearing at lunchtime, today they prune a little and chat a lot.

People arrive in cars and park up and stroll along the lane, two men arrive, their animated conversation a contradiction to their ambling gait, they’re walking their dogs that have large bells attached to their harnesses meaning as they pass through the groves it sounds like farmers moving their goats.

By midday all of this activity ceases and the land around falls quiet again, I’m potting up some pumpkins from a seed tray when Antonio drives past, he waves as he passes the house and calls out, ‘Buona Domenica.’ (have a nice Sunday). A few minutes later, I take my time shaving and making sure my hair is pointing up and to the left; a throw back from my 70’s punk music inspired youth and why the locals affectionately call me, Sonic; a future post maybe. Now I’m ready to go to lunch.

We drive to our favourite restaurant and luckily as we’ve forgotten to book for Sunday lunch they have a couple of spare tables. Jimmy ushers us to a table while Luca fetches wine and water. Despite the restaurant being full there’s no  sense of urgency;  unlike weekdays when they can turn a table around in 40 seconds so as to accommodate the waiting workers that arrive in their droves.

It’s Sunday so the menu of the day contains a lot of fish dishes, from salmon to sea bass and trout. We order and quickly the primi arrive, I have chitarrina alle vongole and O.H has orecchiette broccoli e gorgonzola. At first I’m wishing I’d chosen the creamy blue cheese sauce, but after shelling the clams I’m soon digging into my garlic and parsley infused shellfish pasta. We eat  at a leisurely pace, after all,  è domenica and there’s no rush.

BB16Seconda for the both of us is stinco, or rather to use the plural stinchi. Stinco is a pork shin similar to a lamb shank in the UK that is roasted in the oven. We also have potatoes and green vegetables and again take our time. We finish with coffee then pay the €20 bill – honestly two courses, with coffee, water and a litre of wine for the same price as a Big Mac meal in
the UK. So if you’re in the area drop into… actually maybe I’ll not give you the name and address of the restaurant, just in case one Sunday you take the last table and I’ll have to eat elsewhere.

We arrive home and chill out in the sun with a bottle of Peroni as the dogs laze at our feet as we’re being, ‘easy, like Sunday morning’ regardless of it being past 14.30.

 

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