4.30 is such an uncivilised time to begin the day. We were out the door of Hotel Windsor before 6am to catch our 6.25 train. We sat with our early morning coffees awaiting the announcement of the platform we would depart from, it never came and our early start was delayed by over an hour. We had 13 hours of travel ahead of us, all of our connections looked like they would fall like dominoes and our 8pm arrival in Rome would not be.
We met a few fellow Aussies who were travelling on two trains with us as far as Genova, they, like us, were looking at options and alternatives. JR learned that there was a train leaving for Nice soon, he rebooked us on it and off we went, fellow Aussies too. There was no chance of catching our next connection from Nice to Genova but we learned that there was another Genova train departing only minutes after our arrival. We planned a quick exit and dashed off the platform. It was surely the day for a miracle, the train we boarded as the guard was blowing his whistle for departure was our original Genova bound train that had also been delayed, we were on board and back on track.
As we had boarded in such a hurry, we did not get on in our correct carriage. We had to negotiate our fat suitcases, laptops and backpacks through three carriages, passing disgruntled fellow travellers who were blocking the aisle with their own luggage, some were sitting in the aisles; I would imagine many of these travellers were in the same boat as we and the train carried journeymen and women from quite a few connections. All is never smooth on travel days. When we arrived at our seats, they were occupied by strangers bottoms. We negotiated our rightful ownersip and settled in for a great leg of our journey accompanied by interesting and lively friends. There were older sisters from Marseille en route to Italy for a holiday together to escape the madness of husbands, kids and dogs. One of them gave me a bottle of violet perfume and patted her heart smiling at me. Their limited English and our best French was assisted by a darling Chinese student sitting beside me who had studied French during her 12 months in France, she was on her way to a holiday in Italy too. We all shared treats and stories of life. A girl from the next compartment commented on what a friendly carriage we were. Our babble must have sounded so funny and highly unusual to those not involved.
So, back on track and only one hour behind time, if the train kept chugging along the tracks we would be fine as we had an almost two hour wait until our next train from Genova to Rome. Claudia, our Tuscany and Rome home-exchanger, met us at the station. There was no fear of her missing us and I had wondered during our travels today, what we would look like to her, all dishevelled after our early morning start and 13 hours of travel. Surely we were a sight for sore eyes.
JR spotted her first. She looked typically Italian with light hair and dark tanned skin, she is as slim as a reed and her smile lights up her face and makes her eyes crinkle with kindness. It was so different arriving in Rome accompanied by a local. A taxi was procured for us immediately, after Claudia spoke a few words to the security guy at the taxi rank. In mere minutes we were at her beautiful apartment whose tall, timber doors separated the sanctuary of her home from the busy streets outside. We would return to her apartment for three weeks after spending the next two weeks, beginning tomorrow, at her holiday apartment in Castiglione della Pescaia, a beachside town in Tuscany.
The foyer of her apartment is cavernous and filled with light. The floor and stairs are white and grey marble and in the centre, running floor to the ceiling high above, is a caged elevator I have only ever seen before in movies, I love it. Up four floors we are inside her home floored with glossy, honey toned timber floors. Claudia is so welcoming and shows us around, pointing us all in the direction of our bed for the night before she drives us the two hours to our exchange in Castiglione della Pescaia in the morning. She has prepared a simple Italian inspired dinner. She thinks it is nothing but we are all in raptures. It cements our love for Italian ingredients and the dedication to quality and simplicity they adhere to. Dinner consisted of many little courses. We began with a pasta dish with boconccini cheese, perfectly ripened cherry tomatoes, black olives, salt, and fruity olive oil. It was pure harmony and we have all decided it will be a regular dinner for us during our time in Italy. We had a simple salad of a mix of green leaves straight from her friends kitchen garden, again, only adorned with salt and oil, the balsamic was on the table for those who wished to indulge. There was a plate of slightly leathery bressola, and the most wafer thin and tender whisps of prosciutto crudo which we ate with ripe melon. How blessed we are and as Claudia left the room to answer yet another call or text on her mobile, JR began to laugh saying, “You gotta love home-exchange”. It brings us back to the magic of this concept and the richness it brings to our experiences. Claudia’s friend, Mario, arrives from his work in Romania, he is greying and handsome, warm and friendly. We all realise how much French language we have used and understood. Now, in a strange country surrounded by a new language, we become tongue tied every time we go to open our mouths, English does not come first, French is completely useless, and our Italian, other than culinary words, is practically non-existent. The next few months will be interesting to say the least.
Showing posts with label tomato relish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tomato relish. Show all posts
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Harvest. Monday 14th Septtember, 2009.
As I sit on the terrace with my morning coffee I wonder why on some blue sky mornings there are so many sparrows in the sky and on others there are hardly any at all. Today the sky is filled with their little wings as they dart and dash all over. They tweet and twitter and I am sure if they could they would let out loud whoops of joy.
I cannot stay for long on my terrace this morning, surrounded by next door’s terracotta roof, the olive trees after that, and beyond, the rolling hills. Today is harvest day at Domaine Rocheville, the last family run, independent winery in Nyons, our neighbouring town. We arrived at 9am as arranged and there was not a soul in sight. We drove the steep slopes of the property, lucky we had walked the tracks a few days ago so the lay of the land was like an old friend and we knew where to look for the plots of laden vines. Even so, there was nothing but vines, olive trees and orchards. An hour had passed and by this time the shop at the Domain was open so we returned to ask where the pickers were. A quick call to the bosses mobile and all was sorted, they were just in the next field, the landscape is so undulating and complicated they were hard to see even with their two tractors, one in orangey red and the other in a sky blue but much darker.
There were nine pickers today, industriously working, snipping heavy bunches of swollen grapes from the vines, putting them into big black buckets, and when full, heaving them into the back of the trailers attached to the tractors. One of the tractors was manned by Grandad who is 80 and still takes part in the excitement of the grape harvest. Today there were three generations working the vines. They are a lovely family, the son, now at the helm, eats lunch with his Grandparents every day at the Domain. Today he begins with a carrot salad and diced, purple beetroot. Grandma opens the oven and fusses over her Grandson, serving him a dish of fennel and onion, and a hot tomato relish with golden quenelles which brings back fond memories from Lyon where quenelles are a speciality. We enjoy a quick aperitif, a red wine bottled from the family vat, just for their own use, Grandad offers around a jar of sweet almonds before dolling out his medication at the table, pouring his glass full of the red wine to wash it all down. We leave them to eat in peace.
We return home to eat too and all go back to the Domain at 5pm to catch the end of harvest for the day, it will finish in about fourteen days if there are no problems and no rain. On our return the sun was low and the workers were not as fast as they had been with the freshness of a new work day. It must be hard on their bodies, stooping, lifting all day, they are all happy though.
The tractors pull out of the field at 6.20 pm, filled with purple syrah grapes. The day is far from over, now the wine will be made. Back at the winery, each tractor is backed up to the ‘reception’ with a turning blade in the bottom. The fruit slides from the back of the truck and in swept into the shining blade; AJ finds this part most interesting and keeps wanting to be closer and in between the happenings. We are each given a glass of pure grape juice, “The 2009 vintage!” we are told. It is so pure and sweet you could taste the day’s sunshine within it, its pinky-purple colour was cloudy with just juiced character. From here the juice, skins and all are pumped into a huge vat, the juice is drained from the bottom of this and immediately pumped into another vat. It is blushed with a little red but is separated from the grape skins quickly as tonight we are making rose wine. This wine will be sold in spring 2010.
We thank father and son, Grandad has retired hours ago, his bones will be tired tonight. It’s about 7.30 and they will not be finished until about 9pm or so. It is a long day considering they began at 7am this morning. Such is life on the land. It is not just harvest time that is busy, because this farm produces all sorts of yummies, olives, grapes, cherries, apricots; it is always the season for harvesting, planting, pruning, maintenance, etc, so the work day is always 7am to 7pm.
JR is so happy he has been able to catch the grape harvest in Provence, AJ didn’t think much of the harvest process but enjoyed seeing the start of the wine production, he was allowed to climb the long ladder leading to the tops of the vats so he got to see it all and was right in the thick of things up there.
We sipped red wine from the Domain with our dinner tonight, two varieties of red which JR chose. AJ had a sip or two of both, comparing their nuances and discovering the force of red wine on his young palate. After dinner we sliced some aged Comte fromage for him to discover how it changed the taste of the wine. I think he will grow to appreciate good red wines just like his Dad.
I cannot stay for long on my terrace this morning, surrounded by next door’s terracotta roof, the olive trees after that, and beyond, the rolling hills. Today is harvest day at Domaine Rocheville, the last family run, independent winery in Nyons, our neighbouring town. We arrived at 9am as arranged and there was not a soul in sight. We drove the steep slopes of the property, lucky we had walked the tracks a few days ago so the lay of the land was like an old friend and we knew where to look for the plots of laden vines. Even so, there was nothing but vines, olive trees and orchards. An hour had passed and by this time the shop at the Domain was open so we returned to ask where the pickers were. A quick call to the bosses mobile and all was sorted, they were just in the next field, the landscape is so undulating and complicated they were hard to see even with their two tractors, one in orangey red and the other in a sky blue but much darker.
There were nine pickers today, industriously working, snipping heavy bunches of swollen grapes from the vines, putting them into big black buckets, and when full, heaving them into the back of the trailers attached to the tractors. One of the tractors was manned by Grandad who is 80 and still takes part in the excitement of the grape harvest. Today there were three generations working the vines. They are a lovely family, the son, now at the helm, eats lunch with his Grandparents every day at the Domain. Today he begins with a carrot salad and diced, purple beetroot. Grandma opens the oven and fusses over her Grandson, serving him a dish of fennel and onion, and a hot tomato relish with golden quenelles which brings back fond memories from Lyon where quenelles are a speciality. We enjoy a quick aperitif, a red wine bottled from the family vat, just for their own use, Grandad offers around a jar of sweet almonds before dolling out his medication at the table, pouring his glass full of the red wine to wash it all down. We leave them to eat in peace.
We return home to eat too and all go back to the Domain at 5pm to catch the end of harvest for the day, it will finish in about fourteen days if there are no problems and no rain. On our return the sun was low and the workers were not as fast as they had been with the freshness of a new work day. It must be hard on their bodies, stooping, lifting all day, they are all happy though.
The tractors pull out of the field at 6.20 pm, filled with purple syrah grapes. The day is far from over, now the wine will be made. Back at the winery, each tractor is backed up to the ‘reception’ with a turning blade in the bottom. The fruit slides from the back of the truck and in swept into the shining blade; AJ finds this part most interesting and keeps wanting to be closer and in between the happenings. We are each given a glass of pure grape juice, “The 2009 vintage!” we are told. It is so pure and sweet you could taste the day’s sunshine within it, its pinky-purple colour was cloudy with just juiced character. From here the juice, skins and all are pumped into a huge vat, the juice is drained from the bottom of this and immediately pumped into another vat. It is blushed with a little red but is separated from the grape skins quickly as tonight we are making rose wine. This wine will be sold in spring 2010.
We thank father and son, Grandad has retired hours ago, his bones will be tired tonight. It’s about 7.30 and they will not be finished until about 9pm or so. It is a long day considering they began at 7am this morning. Such is life on the land. It is not just harvest time that is busy, because this farm produces all sorts of yummies, olives, grapes, cherries, apricots; it is always the season for harvesting, planting, pruning, maintenance, etc, so the work day is always 7am to 7pm.
JR is so happy he has been able to catch the grape harvest in Provence, AJ didn’t think much of the harvest process but enjoyed seeing the start of the wine production, he was allowed to climb the long ladder leading to the tops of the vats so he got to see it all and was right in the thick of things up there.
We sipped red wine from the Domain with our dinner tonight, two varieties of red which JR chose. AJ had a sip or two of both, comparing their nuances and discovering the force of red wine on his young palate. After dinner we sliced some aged Comte fromage for him to discover how it changed the taste of the wine. I think he will grow to appreciate good red wines just like his Dad.
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