Mugello 2011: Pasta, or How to Speak Italian

I just watched the MotoGp race at Mugello on TV.  Last year I was lucky enough to watch from Tribuna Poggio Secco.

Below is an essay I wrote about the B&B where we stayed during last year's race weekend. It is called  B&B Alla Corte di Carla and was by far the best place we stayed in Italy.

You can look at photos from the track here.

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B&B Alla Corte di Carla

B&B Alla Corte di Carl

Pasta, or How to Speak Italian

“Inglese.” That’s what the neighbor said when she introduced us to Carla, our host. I’d spent months teaching myself to speak Italian, but to Carla and the neighbor, I spoke English. Carla didn’t.

Carla smiled and summoned her son Alessio to help us settle in. He asked if we would be dining with them. We hadn’t planned to, but it was late and we'd driven all day so we said “yes”. We would eat out tomorrow.

Between my bad Italian and Alessios decidedly better English, we settled on a time and arrived to find that we were the only guests. This was a relief. We were road weary and not feeling sociable.

The wine from the family keg was welcome, as was the bruschetta that arrived soon after. The tomatoes were perfect, the bread was perfect, everything was perfect. Then the pasta came. It was perfect. When Alessio asked if we wanted more I greedily accepted. Todd made a polite, but futile, attempt to decline. It's not easy to say no to pasta in Italian.

Carla brought the pot and started scooping. Todd gestured no more. She smiled and kept scooping until the pot was empty. Not wanting to offend, and because it was perfect, we ate it all. When she drilled an index finger into her cheek we responded in kind, with nods and smiles. We knew that this gesture meant “delicious!” We didn’t know that parents use it to encourage their children to eat.

Dinner lasted for hours. We lingered after desert, drinking and talking with Alessio. Todd asked, “Alessio, how do you stay so skinny?” He just shrugged. We decided the secret was the digestivos, so we were sure to drink plenty of Grappa.
We never did go out to dinner. More guests eventually arrived, and we were happy to share meals and Grappa, but always felt more connected to our hosts. On our last night, after making our way through 8 varieties of pizza, Alessio asked Todd if he wanted more, adding, “It’s like pasta.”