Our
guest today is Ren Finch Mattioli. Born in Cape Town, Ren studied in
Switzerland and worked in London before moving to Sardenia when she was 21.
Later, in Rome, she worked in the international film industry and met her
husband Luca Mattioli. After a few years in Milan, they found a small stone
house in Maremma (in Tuscany) and moved. With the help of two builders, they
did the restoration themselves. She started a small artisan knitting company
with a bevy of country women who knitted, crocheted, and embroidered the
products she sold. She and Luca produced olive oil and enjoyed the life of the
locals. Returning to Rome, she started a cooking school featuring a trip to the
local market, hands on pasta making, and a jolly lunch. She’s now back in
Tuscany where she maintains a vegetable patch and forages for mushrooms. The
following excerpt from a memoir she is writing describes the housewarming of the stone house.
Once the restoration or building of
a house in Maremma was finished, two members of the local community, dressed up
as a bishop and priest, performed a rather pagan ritual of “baptism.” This was
the beginning of our joining the local community of this small medieval
village.
The stone house in winter |
It was wintertime, and we organized
the housewarming party following local tradition. The men, experts in roasting pigs,
chose a big one from a friendly farmer. This of course, took a few weeks
because the animal was hung—always done when the weather was cold.
The cooking was done in an outdoor
stone fireplace filled with wood where the meat roasted for many hours. The stuffing
was rich with the liver, herbs, garlic, and chili pepper so that everyone got
some of this delicacy when the meat was cut into slices. The local bakery provided
delicious unsalted Tuscan bread and cookies made with a sweet wine called vin
santo (a Tuscan speciality).
We chose round wheels of aged cheese
from the farmer renowned for the best. And ordered liters of deep red wine from
another producer. These arrived in 10-liter green glass bottles loaded in a
cart hitched to the back of a tractor. The villagers quivered with delight in
preparation for the fun.
The roast pig |
We invited friends from across Italy
and found rooms for them here and there. In addition, we invited all the
builders, the plumber, the ironmonger, the marble carver and their respective
families. In fact, we told the whole village there would be open house for all.
The house wasn’t finished but it was
perfect for everyone to wander upstairs and down and to use the old stable on
the ground floor—now converted to a huge kitchen—as a dance floor and buffet
for the food and wine. The house nestled just below the village’s medieval wall.
Groups of people came down the lane, each and every one with a gift of some
homemade cake, or bottle of wine, or preserve. The Maremmani are extremely
generous and almost never let you leave their homes without pressing into your
hand some delicious homemade something whether it be olive oil or fresh eggs or
fruit.
The "priest" and "bishop" |
At the appropriate time, our two
friends appeared in full crimson and black regalia in the garden, chanting
and reciting their idea of a baptismal “blessing.” They threw water all over
the place. Thus, the house was well and truly baptized, and we invited them to
share the feast.
We’d had a huge barbecue made from a
petrol drum cut in half, like they do in South Africa, and some kind men spent
hours toasting bread to rub with garlic and olive oil and grilling sausages.
These men bided their time telling huge lies about their hunting and fishing. I
imagine that the sizes of the wild boar became as big as rhinos and the fish as
big as whales as the night went on.
Being the hostess, I had to exhaust
myself dancing with each of the men in turn because they felt it a way of
paying me a compliment to whirl me around. Luca, as the host, was luckier in
that his role was to see that everyone’s glass was full and that the bishop and
friends were happy.
At the height of the fun, we heard a
loud crash coming from upstairs and ran up to find our friend the bishop
looking very upset in his now creased robe. He lay in agony and held his hand,
moaning in pain. “You won’t believe me,” he said, “but, I was standing still,
talking to my friends, and I fell heavily down to the floor without having even
moved.”
“Yes, yes,” said his friends. “We
swear.”
We wrapped the throbbing wrist and
put the whole episode down to too much of the joys of Bacchus. A few days later
when I bumped into him in the village, he said he would never perform the
ritual again. He felt it was a sign of divine providence that made him fall
while standing perfectly still. And forever after, there was a broken tile on
the spot where he fell to remind us.
The stone house in summer |
What a wonderful way to celebrate a labor of love - and a good way to make friends with your neighbors, too. Thanks for sharing your story with us. Such a beautiful house!
ReplyDeleteI met Lucca & Ren on my first trip to Italy which played a strong part in my decision afterwards to move there for awhile to experience life abroad. I will always be glad I made that decision. This was 22 yrs. ago. Because of them I was fortunate to feel never feel alone and they showed me what it's like to really live the Italian lifestyle. This meant learning about farm to table, (now in vogue)an appreciation for nature no matter what it throws at you, taking time for real conversations (dinner lasted for hrs.)song, laughter & real friendship. All of which took place in their lovely stone house they made home to all who entered.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing! What wonderful memories for you, and what a great story for us to read.
ReplyDelete