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)

For the past ten years the amateur theater group in the little town of S. Agata dei Goti, has been directed by my next door neighbor, the retired comedy actress Hilde Maria Renzi, who worked for many years with neapolitan author and actors Eduardo and Peppino de Filippo.

The plays are held inside the courtyard of the town’s 17^th century episcopio, or bishopric, and are always filled to the brim with men, women, children, and local dignitaries. Now in its 11^th season, this event is so well-loved that the show is prolonged for four days which allows the whole town to see it. Tickets are free.

This year’s offering, Fortuna Con la “F” Maiuscola (Fortune With a Capital “F”) was due to début on June 22nd.

But who could have forseen that Italy would still be playing in the quarter finals of the European Championship on June 22nd?!  By 8 p.m. people were arriving at the local bars, armed with chairs and flags, anxiously tooting their whistles, seating themselves in front of improvised screens made of big white sheets.   As I walked towards the theatre, I doubted if anyone would forgo this excitement in order to see an old Eduardo de Filippo play…

At 9 o’clock there were 10 old women seated in the audience, wading in a sea of empty green chairs. But slowly, in dribs and drabs, more people arrived. By 9:30 the episcopio was reasonably full. Full of women who had decided to come to the theater, leaving their husbands and sons to watch soccer.

As the lights went down an old woman looked around and chuckled to her friends: “It looks like we’re all widows for one night!”

It’s been three years since we moved to the Sannio and as memories of the big city fade, an ever-increasing regard for the process of Nature unfolds before me. While walking my dog I welcome the morning dew. I smell the earth, sense the weather and delight in the taste of fresh fruits and vegetables appena colti. Springtime is luscious in every sense: there is a promise of good things, in the greenness of the grass, the budding fruit trees, the climbing pea stalks and the sweet smell of jasmine.

Cantine Aperte takes place on the last Sunday in May and is a perfect occasion to appreciate all this in a single day and to learn what makes the wines in this area so special. For me and the wines of the Sannio, it is the roses…everywhere.

This might seem like a feeble attempt at waxing poetic, but it’s basically true. The oenological reality of this territory is still one of small, single-estate producers that heralds back to a time when families lived off the land and worked their orchards. And so it was that before the advent of metal wire, farmers used their fruit trees as a support for the grape vines. And since the different crops were hand-picked it was easy to harvest (for example) the pears without damaging the grapes and vice versa.

It is wonderful to see the vestiges of this tradition in the Sannio which is why a well-made Aglianico will taste of wild berries, violets, walnut and tobacco and a good Falanghina will speak of apples and almonds and the presence of jasmine and roses.