“Fattoria Fibbiano”, my headlights briefly flashed across the peeling white letters painted on an old white barrel as we crossed onto the dirt driveway from the main road. Even in the dim night light I could make out tall, spindly ever green trees, fancifully my memory played through stored images from Gladiator and old paintings of these quintessential Tuscan trees, they lined the entire path. Our Panda’s voice dipped from a peaceful hummmm to a low growl reminiscent of my dog Jasper threatening an passerby as he would stand over his raw-hid bone. We were climbing uphill, so I downshifted to second and squeezed tighter on the accelerator. Climbing, winding, finding that we were surrounded on both sides by rolling hills blanketed in vineyards and olive tree orchards. It’s these moments that you bite your tongue to make what you are seeing is real and not a movie. Little did I know my movie life was hardly beyond the opening credits.
The top of the driveway delivered us to the Vineyard villa estate of Giuseppe, our gracious host for the weekend. Five foot, five inches, gray haired, well dressed, and confident with the new addition of the character the plot begins to take shape. Giuseppe had his wife show us to our room. We followed as she led us to a beautiful, weathered stone building with dozens of green shutters and deep grooved wooden doors. Through one of these thresholds we passed and entered our weekend apartment. I remember thinking how absolutely ideal it was. Full kitchen and dining room, couch, a spiral cast iron stair case to an open bedroom loft, stone tilled bathroom, and ample space in the master bedroom complete with king sized bed and full wardrobe. I might as well had stepped out of it into Narnia, it was that dreamlike I think. No sooner had we dropped our bags off and drooled over our accommodations than we were given directions to the next hill town where we would find a restaurant expecting us for our welcome dinner. We were all too obliging and sped off in the Panda.
Terricciola, “la citta’ del vino” read the sign as we passed into the city limits. Translated it means the city of wine, not to difficult, but this had to be the place. We parked the Panda, pulled open the door to Susanne e Massimo’s and awkwardly told the first person we saw that we were sent by Giuseppe for a welcome dinner. We were returned with an understanding nod and asked to wait a moment. The restaurant was empty except for one other table occupied by an elder priest and his friend. We were seated and immediately shown the best service I have had yet in Italy. Susanne was our host and her husband Massimo was our chef. Together they furnished one of the best meals I have ever had. Susanne served us far too many baskets full of bread as we greedily gobbled each one up, soaking each bite in most delicious olive oil I have ever had. She brought us a bottle of wine and as she poured each glass she explained that it was from the vineyard just down the hill. Of course it was. I can remember looking around the table and seeing John then James then Tami all with the same look of disbelief mixed with ecstasy on their faces. No doubt I mirrored the same. Our first dish was a savory gnocchi dish wish creamy pecorino cheese sauce. One of the finest I have ever had and still it was only the start. Second plate took a little longer to prepare but we were in no hurry and Susanne brought us a second half liter of the delicious vintage. When it did arrive though, I actually began to think thoughts like I don’t deserve anything like this. I am a simple college student, abroad, and on a budget. The most amazing pork cutlet I have ever tasted and roasted potatoes filled our plates. Truly, the pork was so tender and flavorful I thought I was eating a Fillet minon. Susanne told us how desert was simple and that Massimo had just whipped it up that evening. It was all I could do not to accidently laugh in her face. Simple!? I had my doubts to say the least. Sure enough the delicious Dolci she produced were all in elegant Champaign flutes and tasted anything but simple. Sweet whipped cream on top of a chocolate mousse with traces of egg nog, all on top of a soft cake. In typical Italian fashion we had a strong espresso shot to settle our meal. Our friendly chatter was insatious. We oozed over our good fortune and the magic that was surrounding our trip thus far. We had not seen anything yet.
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