Scansano, Festa dell'Uva. Sunday 27th September, 2009.

We arrived at the Tuscan town of Scansano, lying hillside on a strip of land between the slopes of Mount Amiata dn the Maremma coast, by midday. As soon as we arrived we liked it. The town was alive with activity, people were out celebrating the Festa dell’Uva which in English translates to The Festival of the Grape. It was a festival with a small town flavour, it was simple and charming. I realised at the end of the day that I had not heard one other person speak English the entire day. It was lovely to be celebrating at an authentic festival, far from other tourists eyes.

The restaurant that was recommended to us was fully booked so we headed elsewhere, to L’Antica Botte, on AJ’s insistence. They had a deliciously regional menu out front so why not we thought. It was a truly authentic experience and we sat in a dining room filled with fast flowing Italian chatter and even faster flowing Morellino di Scansano, the local and very nice red wine.
AJ didn’t hesitate in ordering the local speciality of parpadelle cingialle, JR joined him. I stole a taste and it was strong with the wild taste of boar, I always find the taste of this particular animal quite strong and distinctive, but I love it. I ordered a wild mushroom and truffle gnocchi, the gnocchi was hand rolled by, Marinella, the owner of the restaurant. Every pillow was as light as a feather, smaller than the ones I make at home. I congratulated her on her deft hand at gnocchi making which probably sounded silly coming from a visiting Australian. AJ was the only one who opted for dessert, a simple and well made chocolate torte Italian style, Marinella’s speciality also. You know when something has just the right balance of sweetness and is a lovely texture on the palate, this ticked all the boxes and was divine.

Back out on the streets we visited the festival’s market place that was too tacky for words with its stalls piled high with assorted handmade dust collectors, needless to say we left empty handed. Up in the old town, private homes had opened their cantinas to the public for the annual celebration. These were often ground floor or even underground cave like rooms, used for family celebrations. Each year they are used as temporary restaurants for the Festival of the Grape. It was wonderful. Each of them offered something a little different but always absolutely regional. Wine was on offer too and as the day wore on sweet dolce began to appear. Arms laden with trays filled with schiaccine fritte for 1 euro a hit proved to be a favourite. They are fried dough, salted and eaten warm. We ate salsiccia sausage barbequed over hot coals and served on the regional bread that is unsalted and very plain. This particular bread is not a favourite of ours at all; in fact I find it quite intolerable. But team it with the saltiness of salsiccia sausage or prosciutto and it is utterly delightful. I finished my indulgence with a marmalade torte, latticed with ribbons of short pastry, it was scattered with golden pine nuts. Happy days.

We were preparing to leave the festival after having such a lovely time together but when we arrived at the main square, the sides of the road were lined with excited onlookers. AJ went to ask a local policewoman what all the fuss was about. He returned saying something about a car and wine but didn’t know when it would happen. Before long the sounds of a marching band (of sorts) arrived and soon after was a cherry picker, holding in its bucket, a king like man wearing a crown of grape vines and dressed in a long cloak. Behind him was a precession of tractors, each pulled a trailer filled with people cheering and singing, handing out bunches of sweet grapes and cups of Morellino wine to the excited crowd. What a way to end the day. Children sang celebratory songs on the back of the trailers while others ran alongside throwing ripe grapes in fun, AJ couldn’t help but to join in too. I wish I was a child again.