My Tuscan Routine
The view from the grounds of Arco al Poggio, our home away from home in the heart of Tuscany. Every morning, even before making the espresso, I would just put on my clothes and wander through the grounds. The early sun hitting my face, I would walk from the driveway past the herb garden and up to the vineyard, quietly mumbling to myself like some gently demented old codger, "this place is too beautiful, how the hell did I get here?"
But here I was, with my lovely wife and dear friends inside, preparing a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, leftover bread, cured meats, yogurt and fruit. I'd make coffee, we'd eat at a leisurely pace, and then finally get into the car and drive to somewhere else just as lovely.
The same daily grind: a morning stroll, a hearty and delicious breakfast, a trip to another ancient and beautiful town where lunch is had (possibly a porchetta sandwich with skin AND bits of liver mixed in), an afternoon beer is drunk, and a five o'clock gelato is consumed with a devotion and gratitude that verges on religious fanaticism.
Then the trip home to prepare dinner and pour a local wine.
Take a look at the gooey white stuff in the plastic container next to the sliced meat. That is stracchino, a fresh cheese that, it seems, holds a very emotional place for every Italian man I know. Having spent a few evenings with the cheese now myself, I understand why. It is mild, but buttery, a little salty and just ever-so-slightly-funky. Its texture is soft, spreadable and just a fraction past solid but a whisper from liquid. Every bite is both comfort and seduction, like being 12 years old and getting a hug from your 17 year-old baby sitter.
A quick internet search will find plenty of these kinds of places in Tuscany. Old, old farmhouses, restored with care and offering a level of pleasure that just can't be had in a hotel. Sure, you might find a more comfortable bed at the Four Seasons in Florence, but you won't get a chance to watch lizards sun themselves while you strain to hear even the slightest sound and realize that you can't. The scene around you is so quiet you find yourself holding your breath in order not to disturb it.
You can build your own fire in your own fireplace, prepare your own meals with fresh, local ingredients, and decide, if you want to, to just stay put and do nothing. And it is rather affordable, less than most decent hotels and much less than fancy ones. You don't have to be wealthy, but you will feel like the richest person in the world.
Our spot was completely safe, with a locking iron gate. Just inside the gate is a fully functioning pizza oven, with charcoal provided. We did not use it, but we all agreed that next time we might. Next time we might also spend less time checking out surrounding areas (as wonderful as they were) and just hang around our little villa, making pizza, drinking Chianti, watching the clouds pass overhead and listening to the breeze through the olive trees. We might not even go on to Rome, or spend time in Florence. Next time we might come straight here and stay until someone forces us to leave.
