Giorgio, Paolo and Francesca or How I Learned About Pisans, Olive Oil and Sulfites

During a vacation in Italy a few years ago, I heard someone say the people of the present day Tuscany couldn't get used to being a part of the European Union. They felt uncomfortable being called Europeans. In fact they hadn’t accustomed themselves as yet to being Italians. After all, the unification of Italy happened only in the 1860s. Tuscans are reputedly still living in the city-states of the Middle Ages. Each city, such as Florence, Pisa, Siena and Lucca, fiercely retains its unique identity.

After visiting Florence and Siena, we booked a guided tour of Lucca with a superb guide named Paolo. The city, birthplace of Puccini, was surrounded by a fortressed and imposing wall wide enough for strolling and bicycling. 

Paolo explained the illustrious history of the Lucchesi who had fought trade wars with Florence and Siena as well as Pisa. He told us that the enmity between the city-states of the Middle Ages still exists.

He told us how the crafty citizens of Lucca had beaten back the more powerful armies by their superior intelligence and wit.

The hero of this period was one Castruccio Castracani, who was so cunning a ruler, he served as the model for The Prince, the book Machiavelli wrote to educate Lorenzo de Medici in the art of civic dominance.

The next day we travelled to Pisa and there was the same guide but this time his name was Giorgio. He explained that it was a matter of strict government tour guide licensing so we didn't take the matter any further.

It was a fine tour. For me, while Lucca was love at first sight, my feelings for Pisa took longer to warm. It was difficult getting past the clichés of the town’s most famous sight. I learned to appreciate the Cathedral and Baptistry, the Arno River and the little still Medieval squares.

Pisa had been the dominant Tuscan city-state through much of the Middle Ages but had declined when the course of the Arno changed and cut off access to the sea.

He didn't mention the war with Lucca, but we heard about the Florentines who stomped all over the entire region about the same time the Renaissance began. 

In the afternoon we went with a group to the Fattoria Il Poggio, a vineyard and olive farm. It was on a hill covered with grape vines. Under the shade of olive trees, tables were set out for dining.

Our hostess and guide Francesca, who exuded youthful Italian charm and style, met us. She led us through the vineyards, explaining the ancient ways of planting and harvesting still very much in use at the fattoria. 

Someone asked how they could tell which vines were to be harvested and which needed to be left to grow stronger.

"Do you think we’re stupid?" she bristled, "We keep records.  Do you think we are like the Pisans who are the garbage of this earth?  Who wouldn’t know a ripe grape from a fig?”

That’s when I figured out we were in Lucca again. (The town was called Monte Carlo but obviously it was a part of Lucca. Good thing I didn’t ask.)

Wow! Pisa really is still the eternal enemy of Lucca.

Francesca didn't stop there. “As my Nona always said, ‘Better a dead body in your bed than a Pisan at your doorstep.’”

She described the purity of the local vintage, which would never - I repeat, never - be exported to the USA because it would be contaminated and made indigestible by the addition of sulfites.

Some fool mentioned that he thought all wines had sulfites. 

“Ha! Those are natural sulfites. You Americans are so worried about things lasting a long time in the stores you add so many sulfites to preserve the wine you end up destroying it.  That kind of wine gives you headaches and makes you drunk. Our wine is pure. It is good for your health. It will never go to the United States.”

I wanted to raise my hand and mention that it wasn’t anyone here personally committing this atrocity. But I wasn’t that dumb.

This lady should have been a teacher because she had us in the palm of her hand, quivering in fear lest we ask the wrong questions or in any way annoy her.

And as far as olive oil goes, only cold pressed was meant for human consumption, excluding Pisans, I assume.

"You use olive oil in America, I hear, but you probably buy Berio, sold by that traitor to Italy. Don’t mention that name Berio to me" she almost shouted. "That man cares only for money. He sold out to Nestle, a Swiss company! A Swiss company!” she fumed. “They go so far as to substitute oil from Africa and Turkey and dare to label it Italian. You think it’s all Under the Tuscan Sun, don’t you? Total rubbish made for you Americans.”

Did I mention that she was slim, blond and quite lovely?

"You Americans," she continued, "You are nice people but you don’t know how to eat. You put everything in the refrigerator - even olive oil!  And if it’s got that Berio on the label I tell you right now: put it in the garbage. " (Next to the Pisans, I mused.)

Oh you are right about that, we all agreed silently, fidgeting guiltily for being Americans who put sulfites in wine and don’t value olive oil properly.

Now came the time for us to return to those lovely tables under the olive trees. The ones that were straight out of Under the Tuscan Sun.We all sat together a little nervous, awaiting our next lecture.

It didn't come. Instead, we were taught to eat. Italian style.

The long table held bottles of light white wines and a selection of more full-bodied reds, all produced at the fattoria.

Baskets of crusty bread  sat next to  bottles of the Fattoria Il Poggio’s olive oil - cold pressed and certainly extra virgin. We were told to dip the bread in the oil. It was absolutely delicious. Especially with the cold white wine.

A plate of olives and prosciutto was passed around. Then came bruscetta, followed by homemade pasta that looked like pieces of lasagna noodle covered with a lovely Bolognese sauce, (I reminded myself to check out that city’s relations with Lucca.) and lots of glorious cheese. We had advanced to light red wines by now.

After a while a Bibb lettuce salad arrived and then a platter of cannellini beans in olive oil next to roasted ribs, sausage and chicken. A full bodied red accompanied these courses.

The bottles kept arriving and we kept eating and drinking and getting happier as people are wont to do under such circumstances.

Dessert was Vin Santo with biscotti for dipping. Finally the grappa came out. The instructions for proper ingestion were to drink without breathing. By that point it was a snap.

After at least a bottle of wine apiece, we became quite convivial and best friends forever.  But no one was actually drunk. Nor did anyone have a headache. Could it be the lack of sulfites?

 

I left a total convert to extra virgin olive oil and wines without sulfites. Actually, I never have kept olive oil in the refrigerator.  And I shun the Berio label but it’s really tough finding a wine that doesn't contain added  sulfites.

I liked Pisa though, especially Giorgio, or whatever his real Lucchese name was.

I really do remember, I just don’t want to blow his cover.