Silvana da Radicòfani

May, 2009

We step into the small store, a true corner grocer, small, and longer than it is wide. And it carries a little bit of everything a person could need, from fresh deli meats, cheeses, and pasta, to sponges, wine, and dish liquid. As we’re taking everything in, the shopkeeper cheerily bustles in from the back room, and asks if she can help. We tell her we’re there for a few things, not the least of which is pasta to serve with pesto. She immediately recommends, the trionfetti. "They go best with pesto; they’re the right shape for that sauce.” The Ladies look around for other items on the list, and I ask about wine. We want a bottle that would most likely appear on a table in Radicòfani. In a way, cautious as I am, I suppose I’m also testing our shopkeeper to see if she’s going to recommend the expensive wine. I needn’t have bothered. She’s the genuine article, and recommends a $3 bottle of Tuscan red. Her sommelier’s task complete, she introduces herself – Silvana – and then, the games begin in the best possible way. Silvana dives in to advise us on everything they way the locals do it. It’s a guided gastronomical tour.

The Highlights:
Pici, which are very thick spaghetti, are distinctly Tuscan pasta.

Bufala mozzarella has stronger flavor than mozzarella made from cow’s milk.

You don’t need a €12 wine, the €1,50 (our $3 bottle) is welcome at anyone’s table here in town.

There's an annual auto rally coming through town tomorrow. It's a must see.

Silvana takes frequent verbal side trips during our tour, but they’re worth the extra time. First, she can’t help but tell us that she’s impressed four woman friends would just set out on their own for a foreign country. “You must all have very strong astrological signs.” That launches an inquiry into our signs. “Italians are very attentive to the zodiac,” she says. We don’t know if that’s true across the board, but we’re curious as to where Silvana is headed, so we indulge her. At least, I do, since I’m translating the exchange. Cynthia is Cancro, Cancer, and according to Silvana, the sweetest of all of us. Priscilla, Capra, Capricorn, is the toughest, most stubborn of all of us. “Dove vuole arrivare…arriverà,” she says, pounding her fist into her palm. Translated, that means, Priscilla gets where she wants to go, and gets what she wants. Trish and I are both Arieti, Aries, passionate, strong and loyal. So in the first 20 minutes in the shop, we’ve got wine and pasta, and a side of astrology. This is giving “one stop shopping” a new meaning!

And we’re not done yet. We need meats and cheese, and turn our thoughts to coldcuts, salumi. Silvana is eager to ply us with taste samples of everything on offer to help us find exactly what we want: mortadella, prosciutto, formaggio, salsiccia, ulivi, pomodori secchi. First up, formaggio, cheese. Silvana woos our taste buds with five different cheeses, and we choose thick slabs of pecorino toscano and mild parmeggiano. A lovely salami seasoned with fennel nestles in next to them in our basket, keeping company with the trionfetti for tonight. Tortellini will headline on another night.

As we’re wiping crumbs of cheese from our lips, Silvana excuses herself to ring up customers who have quick purchases. When she comes back, Trish asks about the little silhouetted sign we saw earlier, the one of the monk with a backpack. “Ah, quello. That sign marks part of the Via Cassia, an ancient high road dating to the Roman Empire. It connects Rome and what is now Florence. Christian pilgrims traveled it too, with Rome as their destination. Radicòfani is along the ancient route. Pilgrims still come and retrace the way.” In fact, while we’re there, a woman from Germany comes in to buy a couple of bottles of mineral water. Silvana nods toward her as she wraps up a container of sun-dried tomatoes for us, saying as she does, “She's part of a group doing that very thing.” The woman smiles in our direction and we smile back.

After our 90-minute tour of Radicòfani past and present, we’re saying goodbye on a first name basis, with warms hugs, double kisses, photos, and promises to be back for another day’s provisions. We step out into the little piazza, make our way past Fedora’s blooming doorway, under Gina’s window, through the covered alley and back to the main street.

Turning left, we head down the hill to Boutique di Frutta, the green grocer. As is the common practice in Italy, the fruttivendolo – what a great word for the fruits and veggie seller - selects the fruits and vegetables for us, after we tell him the size and number we’re interested in. Joyfully laden with our purchases, we trundle up the hill to the car, adding our own pilgrim footfalls to the Via Cassia.

Driver’s Ed

May 15 ... I slip behind the wheel for our trip to Radicòfani for food and supplies. The fifteen-minute trip is a mini-adventure for me, by virtue of the fact that hill stops, or rather hill starts, present a real challenge to a rookie stick shift driver. In fact, I want to avoid them as much as possible, but we’re in Tuscany, La Toscana, which effectively translates from the Italian to mean beautiful, but oh so very hilly. But I want to help share the driving load. So off, and up, we go. Well almost. I stall three times at the lip where the dirt road from the farmhouse meets the paved road. Each time, the lip and Radicofani recede from view by a few feet. I’m touring Italy in retrograde. The fourth time isn’t exactly a charm, but it gets the job done. I’m Frankenstein behind the wheel. I rev the gas before taking my foot off the clutch, so at least this sounds like progress, and as I ease my foot off the clutch, the wheels spin, gravel flies, the car shoots forward like a dart, and suddenly, somehow, I’m over the lip and on the main road heading toward Radicòfani.

I celebrate while the ladies open their eyes and release their grips on the seat cushions. They must feel like all Tuscan mothers who drive with their children for the first time. There’s very little traffic, so my hope for perpetual motion is essentially granted. There are two stop signs along the way, one on an incline, but I take it as a suggestion on a roll.

There’s something to be said for springtime driving in the Val d’Orcia - words like enchanted, breathtaking, picturesque. Navigating the switchbacks as we climb, I glimpse the valley to my right, and it’s a sight to behold. A stunning green expanse of pastures and farmland rises and tumbles like the playful flocks of sheep that dot them.

Radicòfani is a small medieval hill town that sits atop a mount on the western side of the valley, crowned with the ruins of a fort so strategically placed, it must have shaken the resolve of any invader contemplating a siege. Thankfully, our demands are of a humbler sort. All we want of it is bread, cheese, fruit and dish soap. And we’re willing to pay for it.

Eliana has told us that there’s an alimentari grocer on the main road just outside the town walls. I see it as we approach, and am delighted that it’s on the flat. My glee fades. There’s nowhere to park. Eliana has also told us that there’s another alimentari within the walls, further up. Ah yes. 'within the walls' means very narrow cobblestoned streets, and up means, well, up, on those very narrow cobblestoned streets.

“Well Ladies, looks like we have to go in.”

"Are you sure we can drive through that tight squeeze of a gate, or is it for pedestrians?”

“Can the car even fit?”

“I hope there aren’t any pedestrians.”

"I hope there aren't any other cars."

“We need food. The food’s in and up there, so here we go!”

I guide the car through the opening in the great stone walls, feeling like a magician who’s just stuffed a blue whale into a top hat. We begin the ascent, with no intent of stopping, buzzing past “Boutique della Frutta” on the right, past “Fiori e Piante” on the left, a paneficio on the right, a macelleria on the left, making mental notes as they flash by that yes, what we need can indeed be found here. Up, ever up, the cobbles thrum beneath our wheels, past the curious residents who wouldn’t dare cross in front me, and then, the blessed summit appears in a blaze of sunlight.

I want to get out and plant a flag. I can’t, because immediately the street curves down the other side. The ladies, a bit wide-eyed, just want to get out.