Italy is just to the south of Switzerland. As I’ve mentioned before, I find it amazing all you have to do is cross the Alps and you enter Oz. A different language, different architecture, different climate, in short, a different culture. Italians are different than Swiss.
Ben had an aunt who was Italian by birth. Although she lived in Switzerland longer than in Italy, everything about her screamed what I think of as typical Italian. From her somewhat raspy voice with a beautiful accent to her figure and completely positive attitude. The woman always had a smile on her face.
My First Visit
Of course I had heard about her before I met her. I learned that she was from a small rural town called Cucigliana in Toscana. Cucigliana lies between Pisa and Florence and they called it ‘centro del mondo’ [the center of the world]. I always imagined that she grew up in a town similarly depicted in the 1950s ‘Don Camillo’ films. A small and charming place where everyone knows everyone.
Shortly after Ben and I were married we were invited to his aunt’s and uncle’s. They lived in Basel but had a little getaway in the country with a magnificent view of a lake. I was looking forward to seeing the place because Ben had told me it was like a botanical garden. I was also looking forward to dinner because he said she cooked really well, too. I wasn’t disappointed in either point.
Dinner
Shortly after we arrived with Ben’s parents, who were also invited, we sat in the living room and chatted. Ben’s aunt brought in a huge plate of cold cuts to nibble on and disappeared back into the kitchen. After a while she said dinner was ready and we all migrated to the dining room.
Ben’s aunt then brought a huge bowl of pasta into the dining room. It smelled and looked so good. I remember thinking ‘Ben was right, this is so Italian’. There was a lot of laughing and talking in Swiss German and Italian, both of which I understood little. I concentrated on the pasta and had a huge helping and then gladly took seconds. Man, that hit the spot.
After she cleared the dishes I thought I have just enough room for some delicate Italian dessert. To my surprise she didn’t bring dessert when she came back in, she brought the main course! There was some special kind of meat along with vegetables. Amazing. Oh no, I had no more room left. Honestly, how I got through the rest of the meal, I’ll never know. After the main course she brought out the cheese along with some pears. That was a combination that I had never had, but like the rest of the meal, was fantastic.
That was a tough way to learn pasta isn’t necessarily a whole Italian meal. I now know Ben’s aunt had made a typical, classic Italian meal. She had started with the appetizers, known as ‘antipasti’. Her first course, ‘primo’ was pasta followed by the main course, ‘secondo’. She had chosen cheese and fruit as the dessert, ‘dolce’ and of course there was an after dinner drink ‘digestivo’.
The Garden
The after dinner walk though the garden was welcome, to say the least. We walked around looking at all the beautiful flowers that were in bloom. While we were talking she cut a flower here and there or pulled out some long grass. When it was time to leave she gave us a beautiful, huge, homegrown bouquet to take with us.
Every time we visited them, be it at their getaway or in Basel, we always came home with a bouquet of flowers. I don’t know how she did that, even in the winter when basically no flowers are in bloom. She would just go out into her garden and come back with a fantastically arranged bouquet.
Italian Style
Years later, after her husband died, we invited her to stay with us for a couple of days. I had a potter’s wheel and she loved art. She arrived ‘Italian style’; with one suitcase and about 6 or 7 bags ready to get her hands dirty.
I’m sure I by no means wowed her with my cooking abilities but we had a good time. At least I was able to return some of her generosity by teaching her to throw pots on the wheel.
When she got ready to leave, again she had her many bags and one suitcase. We took her to the train station. Before she boarded we asked her how she would manage to get home in Basel with all her baggage. To our surprise, she smiled her huge Italian smile and with a twinkle in her eyes said ‘You can always find a sap to carry bags for you’.
Sap, indeed. I don’t believe her. All you need is the warmth and endearment of an Italian and the world will fall to your feet.
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