Simple Italy

Celebrating Your Inner Italian

Is Cinta Senese the World’s Tastiest Pork?

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This article first appeared in the October 2012 issue
 of the award-winning subscription travel newsletter Dream of Italy

By Walter Sanders

Daniele Baruffaldi is a man’s man: bald, barrel-chested and strong. He’s as quick to laugh as he is to roar. Daniele is one of only 60 farmers certified to breed and raise the famed cinta Senese pigs. Cinta refers to the white “belt” marking around the shoulders of their otherwise black bodies. Senese means from Siena. This noble breed has deep roots. It is identifiable in Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s 1348 fresco “Effects of Good Government in the Country” still viewable in Siena’s Palazzo Communale.

Daniele Baruffaldi proudly shows off his heritage breed hogs.

Daniele Baruffaldi and his cinta Senese hogs.

The breed became nearly extinct over the last 40 years when Italian farmers imported the large white breed from the United Kingdom. These hogs grew to maturity quicker and produced leaner meat which was in marketing vogue at the time. The large white was crossbred with the cinta Senese to produce the grigio Senese. It made economic sense: faster growing meant less feed, quicker to market, leaner. “But it doesn’t have the flavor of cinta Senese,” declared Daniele.

Before long, the global population of pure-bred cinta Senese had been, according to Daniele, reduced to only two males and 20 females.

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Golf in Tuscany

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Robert Trent Jones Jr. designed the Bagnaia course in the gentle hills south of Siena.

This article first appeared in the October 2012 issue
of the award-winning subscription travel newsletter Dream of Italy

By Walter Sanders

What could be more fun for a 15-year old ragazzo than to play hooky and tee it up for 18 spectacular holes at the newest golf course in Italy? I provided the perfect excuse for Giacomo Donati Clarke, son of one of the owners of Villa Pipistrelli, to experience the Royal Golf Club Bagnaia.

Designed by Robert Trent Jones Jr. and opened in 2012, the course is a short 8-minute ride from Pipistrelli. It plays to a sporty 6,101 meters (6,672 yards) from the back tees and carries a course rating of 72.1 and a slope rating of 137 from the tips.

Despite the recent success of the Italian Molinari brothers on the PGA and European Tours, young Giacomo, a smooth-swinging lefty, said his favorite player is South African Ernie Els.

We had a blast. I had packed a couple of sleeves of Titleist ProV1 golf balls and shared them with Giacomo. He beamed! But his eyes got even wider when I asked him to pilot the golf cart all day. Italians can’t get a driver’s license until they’re 18, so he jumped at the opportunity to drive.

Giacomo and Luisa Donati.

Giacomo and Luisa Donati.

The course is challenging, the greens are fast. Water hazards feature prominently on five of the holes and it is easy to get distracted by the view of Siena in the hills.

Neither of us threatened the par of 71. I struggled to an 88, and new player Giacomo came in at 109. But I doubt that anyone else on the course that day enjoyed golf as much as we did.

At the end of the round, I gave Giacomo my orange, Titleist-branded golf cap. The last time I saw him, he was still wearing it.

To be continued in our next post: 

An Encounter with Prized Cinta Senese Pigs

At Home in Villa Pipistrelli

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This article first appeared in the October 2012 issue
of the award-winning subscription travel newsletter Dream of Italy

Peaceful Pipistrelli.

The sound of silence is sweet at Villa Pipistrelli.

By Walter Sanders

I finish my meal of prosciutto, salami, pecorino, pane e olio. I grab a notebook and pour another glass of Chianti Classico to bring outdoors. It’s a sunny September afternoon and I choose a spot under a wisteria-covered pergola.

I have Villa Pipistrelli all to myself because I have arrived earlier than the other journalists in my group. Perfection. I become aware of the quiet. No man-made sounds. The silence heightens all my senses. Even the occasional dove calls her mate in sotto voce.

I began to write…focused by the silence.

A bee buzzes by. The sound is almost shocking, electric. I have to stop and write about that glorious interruption.

I linger and watch the valley change muted colors as the sun sets.

I marvel at the surroundings: such places exist only in movies, romantic novels, in dream states after a pleasing Italian dinner.

But Villa Pipistrelli—the country house where I am—does exist. In the days to come, I will learn how intense and liberating Tuscan country life can be.

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Scoppio del Carro

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Image credit: Commune di Firenze

Image credit: Commune di Firenze

Back when I lived in Florence, I experienced the spectacle of Scoppio del Carro (Explosion of the Cart) one fine Easter morning. This centuries-old tradition of is said to have its origins in the Crusades. Thousands now cram Piazza del Duomo for the event.

As the bells peal in Giotto’s bell tower, a rocket in the form of a mechanical colomba (dove), lit by the Archbishop, flies down a wire from the high altar of Santa Maria del Fiore (the Duomo) to the 30-foot-tall 500-year-old cart outside, setting off the fireworks between the main door of the Duomo and the Baptistery.

Because it’s daylight, there’s far more smoke than sparkling lights. I just remember being thankful that
no one caught on fire. Spectators crush up really close to the cart to capture images.

Image Credit: mytuscanjournal.com

Image credit: mytuscanjournal.com

The part I liked most were the chalk-white Chianina oxen with crowns of spring blooms, who pulled the cart through the city streets. Sadly, I don’t have any photos from my viewing so I googled to find some.

I discovered a photo of the Chianina, a perfect crystallization of my recollection of these gentle giants, that led me to an Easter post on My Tuscan Journal, written by Lisa Brancatisano, an Italo-Australian who now lives in Tuscany. Along with a sweet personal report of her father visiting from Melbourne, she shares the tradition of the Scoppio del Carro in words and photos.

Grazie Lisa, e Buona Pasqua a te.

Joyce Heitler’s Inner Italian

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By Joyce Heitler, guest writer

Joyce Heitler in the southern hill town of Piciotta.

Joyce Heitler in the southern hill town of Pisciotta.

Retired from teaching kindergarten in Chicago after 45 years, I, too, have an Inner Italian.

My husband Frank and I went to Italy about 11 years ago with my son- in-law Renato, who was born in Italy, to see his sick uncle in Tuscany. The uncle lived in a beautiful four-story castle with antique furniture.

We decided to learn Italian so Frank looked up schools on the Internet and found a small language school in Pisciotta, about one hour south of Salerno. The photos looked fabulous and we signed up for a three-week total immersion class. After one week, I fell in love with Pisciotta and the people. Being the impulsive person that I am, I decided to buy an apartment there.

Not many apartments were available for sale so when I went to church I prayed that I would find a place. When I left church, a man, who had heard us speaking English, approached us. His name was Agnello, named after the patron saint of Pisciotta. He had worked in New York for 12 years and then moved back to Pisciotta. I asked him if he knew of anyone who had a house for sale and he said, “Yes, me.”

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Italian Icon: La Trattoria

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Trattoria

Combine genuine home-style cooking, many of the amenities you’d find in a white-tablecloth restaurant, and the conviviality of a pub, and you begin to approximate the Italian social fixture la trattoria.

These inviting, affordable storefront restaurants are typically run by a family with Mamma at the stove, son and daughter-in-law waiting tables, and Papa pouring wine—when he’s not charming the clients—behind the case that displays the antipasti, salads, and desserts.

Italian Icon — a person, place, or thing that’s quintessentially Italian