Just when you think the heat has taken its final toll on the countryside, when the trees are wilting with thirst, when the high grasses are nothing but a tinderbox, when you can’t stand another day of brutal sunshine, the rain finally arrives.  Soft and gentle, it soothes and cools and relieves your anxiety, giving way to a physical feeling of release and renewal.   People here describe it as sense of grace.  When you live in southern Italy it’s easy to see the ties between the people, their land and livelihood, natural and supernatural phenomena, and religion.  Events that are promoted by the Church are often tinged with a little paganism, such as in the food festivals that take place throughout the year: there is the cherry and apple sagre at S. Agata dei Goti, the wheat festival at Foglianise, even the mushrooms are feted at Cusano Mutri; all these crops are anxiously awaited and their bounty celebrated.  A case in point is the Festa dell’Uva at Solopaca.

Solopaca is a small town (population just over 4000) located at the base of the Taburno Mountain and has been known for its wines since the 12th century although its origins date back to pre-history. Like many towns in Campania, it was invaded by the Normans after the fall of the Roman Empire.  In the 15th and 16th centuries it came under the rule of feudal families such as the Monsori, the Lagonesse and the Caraccoioli.

Grapes and wines represent the mainstays of the local economy, so this is a really important event.  Mayors from all over the region are seated on a raised platform strategically placed before the main church, accompanied by the city’s police force carrying their colorful municipal banners.  Solopacan’s parade along the main street in period costumes, solemly pacing ahead of the sbandieratori (flag throwers). There are brigands and pulcinellas, peasants playing the putipù, kings, queens and damsels, gayly defying the brooding clouds that are gathering over the mountain tops.

Hundreds of people line the streets, young and old, eating sausages, broiled corn and ice cream, waiting to see the giant floats as they pass by (which will then procede to Naples to be displayed the following day).   But they all have one thing in common: they are completely covered and carefully inlaid with grapes: green, gold and black.  First come the various wine producers with their logos interpreted as mosaics of grapes.  Then comes the triumphant Madonna, elegantly cloaked in black and gold (grapes).

Then follow the bigger floats with subjects running from political satire to television shows.  My favorite had a sign boasting, “Non farti prendere dal panico, futtite ‘na bottiglia e Aglianico” (”Don’t get yourself into a panico, relax and drink a bottle of Aglianico”).

I enjoy participating in these events where the sacred and profane intermingle quite naturally.  A nun strolls with a woman in excruciatingly tight pants; priests and politicians pose amicably in front of the church. Life is too damn short and everyone wants to enjoy the last summer sun… as Winter is just around the corner.

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!)

For the past ten years the amateur theater group in the little town of S. Agata dei Goti, has been masterfuly directed by my next door neighbor, the retired comedy actress Hilde Maria Renzi, has put on a play in neapolitan dialect by Eduardo de Filippo. This year’s offering, Fortuna con la “F” Maiuscola, débuted inside the courtyard of the town’s 17^th century episcopio, or bishopric, and was filled to the brim with men, women, children, and local dignitaries. In its 11^th season this is such social a high point that the show is prolonged for four days, allowing the whole town to see the show. Tickets are free.

But who could have forseen that this year Italy would be still be in the European Championship playoffs?! For days people were talking of nothing else. The local bars had set up improvised screens with big white bed sheets. At 8 p.m. people were already arriving, armed with chairs, flags and anxiously tooting their whistles. As I walked towards the outdoor theatre, I wondered if there would really be anybody willing to forego the excruciating excitement to see an old Eduardo de Filippo play…

At 9 o’clock there were 10 old women sitting in a sea of empty green chairs. However, in dribs and drabs, slowly but surly more and more people began to arrive. By 9:30 the episcopio was practically full: women of all ages had decided to come to the theater, leaving behind their husbands and sons to watch their soccer team.

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

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Scauratielli or scauratieddi is a delicious dessert recipe that is a favorite among children and adults in the Campanian inland. All you need to do is watch Antonietta Rotondo, of the Terre di Conca agriturismo (working farm/culinary center/ongoing organic food extravaganza..yes an Italian Note coming soon). You’ll be hard pressed to see her with anything but a smile on her face as she prepares any regional dish of delicacy in general, and this recipe specifically:

Ingredients for 10 people:
1/2 liter of water
500 gr. flour
(This recipe can be made with more or less flour and water as long as they are used in equal amounts)
a pinch of salt
½ glass of marsala, port or strong wine
1 clove
1 stick of cinnamon
Grated rinds of 1/2 lemon and 1 orange
40 gr of sugar (optional)

Place all the liquid ingredients, sugar, citrus rinds, clove and cinnamon in a pan and bring to a boil for 2/3 minutes in order to fully release the flavours. Remove from the heat and slowly add the flour and salt, mix lightly and turn onto a wooden board. Mash out any lumps with a fork or pestle and then kneed the dough until soft.

Take a small amount of pastry and roll into lengths of 10cm and 1 cm in diameter. You might want to moisten your hands with a little oil to avoid the dough from sticking. Shape into the characteristic form (the two ends crossing over in the middle to form a loop…see fotos).

Fill a deep pan with oil and bring to a boil. Deep fry the raw scauratielli for 2/3 minutes and drain well on paper towels.

Fill a separate bowl with a mixture of sugar and cinnamon powder. Dip the hot pastry into this mixture and serve on a bed of lemon leaves.

Recipe by Antonietta Rotondo for Terre di Conca

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In the tiny town of S. Agata dei Goti where I live, Bocce is my preferred spectator sport. It is based on the most primitive and mesmerizing of athletic concepts: to aim and hit a target. Every afternoon, as the evenings become longer, from early Spring to mid-Autumn, small groups gather at the covered outdoor alley on the edge of town to spend a few pleasant hours chiding each other and showing off their playing skills. Although the game might look deceptively easy, I have come to admire these men (aged 50 – 90) and their various throwing techniques and the incredible accuracy they achieve.

Also known as ‘skittles’, Bocce is the precursor of modern bowling. Originating in Egypt, the game was first documented in a tomb painting dated 5200 B.C. and shows two boys playing with shiny stones. The game was introduced to Italy by the Greeks in 800 B.C. and the Romans took to it with a passion, introducing the concept of spherical balls, by first using coconuts and eventually carving them from olive wood.

During the 14^th century Bocce was banned in many countries as Europe’s monarchs realized that the game was distracting the population from more serious occupations such as military training. The aristocracy however did not seem to have to obey these laws and it is rumored that Sir Francis Drake refused to stop a game of Bocce while England was being invaded by the Spanish Armada. He is said to have grumbled “First we will finish the game, then we will worry about the Spanish.”

The general gist of the game is that players have two bocce balls each. A smaller ball called a pallino is launched first and contestants attempt to throw each bocce ball as close to it as possible. There are a number of ways to launch the ball: softly to get as near to the pallino without touching it; hard, to whack an adversary’s sphere out of the way; bouncing, to overcome a rival’s placement…

I love to watch as the men gather at the far end of the court after each round, arguing in dialect over whose bocce is closer to the pallino. After a heated discussion a tape measure inevitably appears and the most accurate shot is often only a matter of a few millimeter’s. Then, laughing, they all start another round…

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