Savour the Sannio is happy to announce the inauguration of a new regional park in the Sannio: Il Parco Regionale di Roccamonfina. The area of the park is delimited by the sloping hills of the extinct volcano of Roccamonfina and incorporates the towns of Sessa Aurunca, Teano, Conca della Campania, Galluccio, Tora, Piccilli, Marzano Appio and Roccamonfina itself. The park highlights a little-known treasure trove of nature, history, art, culture, agriculture and culinary traditions.

The park’s president Raffaele Aveta writes, “This is a first step towards giving the territory of Roccamonfina the visibility it deserves. Visitors from all over the world are invited to embark on a journey through our medieval towns and hamlets, our soaring chestnut groves and the collective memories of our people as well as to taste the extraordinary food and wines that are typical to this territory. This is the best way to safeguard the fertile yet fragile ecosystem of this volcano”

The next step will be the establishment of a farmer’s market where people can come on weekends to buy the local varieties of fruits and vegetables directly from the producers. This initiative is hosted by Eco-chef Berardino Lombardo on his beautiful estate of Terre di Conca. “In an age of globalization and massification, it is important for both consumers and producers to have a place where the unique heirloom varietes that are indigenous to this area can be seen, tasted…and saved from extinction. “

A lot has been said about olives and most of it has to do with extra virginity.

So imagine my surprise and shock to discover that olives actually have sex! Well, not the olives… But let it suffice to say that having never considered the intimacy of olive trees, I was flabbergasted to discover that olive trees are either male or female.

So how does one go about distinguishing the machos from the maidens? First of all the male trees are bigger, stronger, have more vegetation and are a darker shade of green; the females are slimmer and more silvery in color. You can also tell the sex of the trees sex by the shape of their fruit: the male olives are longer and pointy whereas the females are more rotund. Is this starting to sound familiar?

The correct proportion of males to females is one in ten (which doesn’t seem fair) but then pollination occurs by means of the wind.

I am however, deeply disappointed. Is there nothing sacred anymore? My perception of olive groves - with those wise, ancient and austere beings - has now been shattered forever!

(After this article was published on Italian Notebook I received an email from a reader who sent me THE FACTS about olives.  Many varieties of trees are actually self-pollinating: the trees produce two kinds of flowers;  one containing both a male and female organ and the other with  only a  stamen.    However, I have heard the male vs. female version so many times from local oil producers here in Campania, that I guess ours must be the latin lover variety!)

ferragosto m 1. (il 15 agosto) August holiday, Feast of the Assumption, August ‘Bank Holiday’ 2. (periodo) August holidays pl. August holiday period.

The days preceeding and following Ferragosto are the longest and hottest of the year and mark a ritual moment of italian idleness. August 15th represents the acme of physical and psychological wellbeing: you’re feeling good because you’ve left behind work and worries, yet ahead there’s still more holiday to savour. Anxieties are put aside and all attention is brought to bear on this moment of pure stress-free laziness. In Campania this means big family get togethers with food, wine and song and I have rarely seen people have such a good time.

This year Federico and I were on the opposite side of the idleness spectrum as we were helping cater the big Ferragosto buffet lunch for 100 people at Terre di Conca. The day was crowned with beautiful weather and people began arriving as early as 10 am in order to take advantage of the sun and swimming pool. Toddlers were playing with the cats who were in turn getting in the way of the chefs. Friarielli, portulaca and zucchini flowers were being brought in from the fields and the batter for the deep-fried pizzelle was rising. Federico and Peppino (the singer) were setting up the sound system.

Hunger struck at one o’clock and the buffet began. There was a brief moment of tension as everyone surged toward the buffet table, but this group of old customers knew that Berardino served more food than anyone could possibly eat so the atmosphere was easy going and everyone actually lined up like Brits at a taxi stand! First came the fried antipasti: pizzelle (puffed salted pastry filled with tomatoe sauce and basilico), zucchini flowers, portulaca (a green weed) and friarelli (small green peppers). People ate, drank and relaxed while listening to Peppino sing nostalgic songs by Fred Bongusto and Andriano Celentano, accompanied by tasteful recorded arrangements.

Then came the fresh, oven-baked pasta made with tomatoes, eggplant and hard-boiled eggs. A few teenagers returned to the pool to top up their tans and Peppino shifted gear to more rythmic pieces. Husbands and wives, grandfathers and grandaughters, mothers and friends began dancing, embraced in each others sense of belonging. By the time the roasted meats arrived people were ready for more food and wine. Desserts were served at around four pm followed by cold watermelon, chilled prosecco and provolone cheese. Peppino took out his guitar and sang the classic neapolitan songs: Mare Chiaro, Turna a Surriento, U Sarracino…

With work over, the staff started to enjoy themselves with a bit of wine or beer and accompanied Peppino, singing off-key into the microphone. The evening came to an end when Berardino carried his assistant over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and jumped into the pool.

There may be many problems facing this country but, grazie a Dio, Italians still know how to seize the moment. Carpe Diem.

(Thank you Dorothy for two of the pictures!) 

It’s time that I introduced you to Sabra, our german shepherd, seeing as she is such a big part of our lives.

Sabra came to us two and a half years ago. We were about to start a new chapter in our lives and moving to the country meant that I could finally have a dog, a BIG dog. My friend Rachel called to say that she had met a young couple who had a giant german shepherd pup that they were trying to find a home for. I liked the sound of ‘giant’; the more dog the better, I always say!

We spoke to the owner and Kaya (as she was named) was delivered into our arms one fine morning in November … torn from her mother, miserable, dishevelled and covered in her own vomit.

Soon however she was comfortably settled into our home in the Sannio. She grew quickly (and remembering that she was going to be a ‘giant’) we decided that it would be better to give her some proper schooling. I had read Jen Fennell’s “The Dog Listener” and began a search on the internet for an amischien trainer in Campania. Lo and behold I found a school located at the foot of Mt. Vesuvius. It was unforgettably named ‘Happy Snout’.

Federico, Sabra and I went to school for six months and it was the best decision we ever made. We studied how to become pack leaders (which basically means learning how to ignore bad behavior and reward the good behavior of your dog). It was difficult at first but the results were rewarding.

Sabra eventually grew to become a normal-sized, german shepherd mix and she is a real beauty. Whatever she lacks in size and breeeding is more than compensated by her outstanding temperment and intelligence. She has been instrumental in making the insertion and weaving of our lives into the tapestry of S. Agata dei Goti a seamless success. I have become known as ‘la signora col cane’ (the woman with the dog) and when I go out alone, the first question I am inevitable asked is “ma signora, dov’è Sabra?” (”so where is Sabra?”)

All over the world it is common for people to have a nickname. But in S. Agata dei Goti, the phenomenon became so widespread over time that many people actually forgot their neighbor’s real last names and knew them only by the nicknames! Mario Rossi, (our town’s accountant) who has had to do with just about everybody, showed me a list he has been compiling over the years. The names usually define a physical trait or a person’s habit or line of work. They are often funny and sometimes derisive. Here are a few (if you would like the full list of over one hundred, contact me) :

A - Acchiappacani (dog catcher), Affitto (rent), Aiza a capa, Assassino, Avucatiello (lawyer)

B - Babà (after the famous Neapolitan rum cake), Baccalà (stock fish), Battilocchio (eyelash beater), Bellu Uaglione (handsome man), Braciola (pork chop), Brigante (brigand)

C - Cacaglia (stutterer), Campusantaro (grave digger), Carciuoffolo (artichoke), Carnacotta (cooked meat), Chiancarotta (broken hip), Collamuorti (funeral helper).

D - Dentepazzo (crazy teeth), Duca (duke), Daziario (tax collector)

F - Fuchista ( the person who sets off fireworks), Ferracavallo (horse-shoe maker) , Ferraciuccio (donkey-shoe maker), Fetuso (stinky)

G - Geluso (jealous), Giudice (judge)

I - Ianara (witch), Iettatore (a person who brings bad luck), Imbianchino (wall painter)

M - Mezzarecchia (half an ear), Mazzacane (dog killer)

N - Nasone (big nose), Ncopp casa (on top of the house), Nirone (Blacky)

P - Petone (fart), Pisciapoco (little pisser), Parlachiano (soft spoken)

Q - Quattuocchi (four-eyed)

R - Ricciulillo (curly), Ricuttara (ricotta maker),

S - Scassato (broken), Scuparo (street cleaner), Sinnaco (mayor), Strunzillo (little shit), Stuorto (crooked)

V - Vorpe (fox)

Z - Zizzella (flat-chested), Zizzona (buxom)