You are all invited to an Italian wedding feast. Dust off your gladrags and let Angela Petch tingle your taste buds with an extract from the final chapter of ‘Tuscan Roots’.
Extract
The railings on the steps to Il Casalone have been festooned with laurel branches, garlands of white roses and long strands of variegated ivy and Teresa and her friends from the village have been busy for days in the kitchen, banning Anna from the food preparations. The wedding meal and sharing of food is every bit as important a ritual as the nuptial mass. Tables are piled with a feast of colourful, appetising food, spread on freshly laundered Busatti linen. A warm, balmy October has followed a wet summer and so a separate round table is arranged outside on the terrace to hold a whole Parmesan cheese, cut into squares and served with sparkling Prosecco to each guest as they arrive. Teresa and her team have been busy with starters of roast peppers, courgettes and aubergines, pastries with asparagus and artichokes and melting soft cheeses, home-made cappelletti, small hat-shaped ravioli stuffed with chicken breast, lean beef, lemon zest and nutmeg – and tagliatelle, with Anna’s favourite fresh tomato and basil sauce.
And for the main course, Teresa carries in a platter of whole roast suckling pig served with tiny potatoes kept from the ‘orto’, roasted in olive oil and pungent rosemary, a salad of flowers: nasturtiums, borage and marigold petals with young dandelion leaves, wild sorrel and rocket picked by Teresa and her girlfriends from the meadows around the village. And all this is to be washed down with glasses of full-bodied local Sangiovese and Chianti Classico.
End***
The food prepared by the locals, in the Italian Apennines, transcends time and bridges the gap between the generations. I enjoyed ‘the stuffed zucchini flowers, little squares of crostini topped with spicy tomatoes, liver pate and a creamy relish made from dandelion flowers, roasted bay leaves topped with ovals of melted cheese.’ Food is prepared: to celebrate feasts, to welcome people into the home, to celebrate family occasions and to woo.
Read Tuscan Roots, and you will not want to leave the romantic beauty of ‘indigo blue mountains’, or the ruins of Il Mulino (The Mill). You will be impressed with the bravery of the Italian community during the war, and you will not want to leave the blossoming romance. I highly recommend this book! Please read my whole review.
Angela has also published ‘Now and Then in Tuscany’: the sequel to Tuscan Roots.
She has published several stories in People’s Friend and is currently writing her third novel.
About Tuscan Roots
If you like Italy, you will enjoy this novel. A story of two women living in two different times. In 1943,in occupied Italy, Ines Santini’s sheltered existence is turned upside down when she meets Norman, an escaped British POW. Years later, Anna Swillland, their daughter, starts to unravel romantic and historical accounts from assorted documents left to her after her mother’s death. She travels to the beautiful Tuscan Apennines, where the story unfolds. In researching her parents’ past, she will discover secrets about the war, her parents and herself, which will change her life forever.
Angela’s Love Affair with Italy
I live in the beautiful Italian Apennines for several months each year. Such an inspiring location.
My love affair with Italy was born at the age of seven when I moved with my family to Rome where we lived for six years. My father worked for the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and he made sure we learned Italian and visited many places during that time.
Later on I studied Italian at the University of Kent at Canterbury and afterwards worked in Sicily, where I met my husband. His Italian mother and British father met in Urbino in 1944 and married after a war-time romance.
Contact Angela
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AngelaJaneClarePetch/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Angela_Petch
Website: https://angelapetchsblogsite.wordpress.com/
Please see all my extracts at Book Extracts and my website and blog at JessieCahalin.com.
Fifteen miles from nowhere, we saw a faded sign for ‘Fish Shack’. We followed a road to the middle of the beach desert until we reached a decaying old boat that was almost as big as a whale. Yes, and the 
Expecting greasy fish and chips, I was handed plaice and salad with a large cup of builder’s tea. The food was absolutely delicious! The plaice, caught only hours earlier, was cooked in olive oil on a hot plate. The fresh salad had an olive oil and lemon dressing. It was served in a small cardboard box, but they will probably steal this idea on the Great British Menu. And builder’s tea could be the new Pinot Noir. I must confess that I declined the bread roll, but understood that it was a nod to the fishermen who eat this food.
Seizing the moment, we decided to go for a walk on the beach. We were told it was fine to walk on the beach if we didn’t touch the ‘fishing tackle’!! Forget visiting a maritime museum, there were artefacts on the beach such as rusty anchors and abandoned nets. These savvy people are obviously protecting the objects d’art to prevent art galleries and Michelin starred restaurants from displaying them in their gaffs. The food and the setting were perfect: The Fish Shack is indeed a funky little shack. Get yourselves off to the food getaway!
Who knows? Maybe this place will become either the Dungeness Modern Art Gallery or even the Derek Jarman Modern. An art gallery and restaurant without walls could be the new concept of the 21st century. Visit now as in the future you may need a credit card without a limit.
Initially, I complained that it was another rainy day in Wales and it wasn’t worth braving a potential storm. I was happy to admire the colours of the garden from my writing room, but the writing wasn’t flowing. Finally, I put on my walking gear and went to the Brecon Beacons. The beep, beep, beep of my phone was left behind as we drove into the heart of the impressive mountain range.
Always one to admire the cloudless blue sky, I was surprised by depth of the grey sky. I had been adamant that I needed the blue sky for some ‘blue sky thinking’, but I was wrong. I needed the reality of a dramatic landscape to chase away the writer’s block.
We stood in the landscape as the colours were dissolved by silver, grey and bronze tones. We discussed how the scene was changing before us, and how the moving clouds were like the curtains opening and closing on the stage. This made me aware that the weather re-writes the landscape in the same way that a writer changes the shades of meaning in a story.
Feeling relaxed, in our jeans and T shirts, we discussed the merits of the food; each dish looked elegant like a work of art. Much to my husband’s dismay, I started to make notes about the food. The guests on the neighbouring table were intrigued by the notebook. Clearly, I wasn’t a restaurant critic as I was wearing jeans. 
We sipped more of the wine that was so beautifully flavoured with summer fruits that it could have been a soft drink.
More delicious wine was poured into a glass that could happily home several goldfish.
I circled ‘black pudding’ purée several times because I didn’t have my highlighter pen. I do remember that I was offended by the puréed texture but I am a northerner.
Mysteriously, the notebook has splashes of wine and food inside of it but I will keep it as a tribute to the Picasso chef.
We agreed that the spirit of the woman seems to beckon you. From a distance, the sculpture looks like a projected image – prompting: is she real or imaginary? As you approach, the sculpture is flat like the silhouette on a stamp.
I decided this was also a sculpture but others were sceptical. A plaque marked the spot as if to reassure me.
I wonder if you would be able to spot the sculptures that instigated our discussions?
