The meal had taken several hours and the tiny restaurant had filled up while we ate. It appeared that the meals were paced so that everyone finished at about the same time. Then out came the desserts and grappas. It was indicated that we should help ourselves and pass things along to the next table. Everyone was slightly drunk and overfed, and there were many gestures indicating that we were not able to eat any more, but most of us sampled a little nonetheless. We had absolutely no idea what this would cost, and we now waited with some apprehension for the check. It was presented to us along with a wrapped package of desserts to take home. The cost was forty Euros per person. Not bad for what was certainly our most memorable meal. When we later tried to remember all of the different dishes we had eaten, we recalled at least seventeen.

The week had flown by, and suddenly it was Friday, our last day in the farmhouse. We traveled to nearby Siena, having saved the best for last. In the heart of the city is the huge town square, Piazza del Campo. It is surrounded on three sides by busy cafes, and its center was crowded with tourists relaxing on the slanted brick pavement, soaking up the warm rays of the sun. The fourth side is dominated by a tall bell tower, Torre del Mangia, flanked by a Gothic town hall and museum. We climbed to the top of the tower, where we were rewarded by spectacular views of the city’s sprawl of red tile roofs for which we imagine the color Siena was named. We also had a good view of the monumental Duomo (Cathedral) and the surrounding hills in the distance. We then visited the beautiful white and black marble Duomo and were amazed by the inlaid marblework on its floors, as well as its impressive frescoes. The adjacent museum held even more art treasures.

When we returned home in the late afternoon, the decision was made to cook dinner in the open hearth. Paul and I foraged for wood while Fred planned the meal. The guys started the fire, and I was sent to the garden for rosemary to season the pork we planned to roast. I searched the entire garden but could not find any rosemary, which we knew to be a staple of every Italian garden. I returned empty-handed, and Fred went to look for himself. He also returned empty-handed just as Sergio pulled up to the house. Fred called out to him, “Sergio, dove il rosmarino?” Where is the rosemary? Sergio answered that it was in the garden. Fred explained that we couldn’t find it, so Sergio good-naturedly indicated we should follow him as he strode off in the garden’s direction. There, he indicated the eight foot tall hedge that surrounded the garden. It was rosemary!

Naturally, we had picked the hottest day to cook with a huge indoor fire. Sergio laughed at us as we kept moving the table further and further away from the fire, until we were nearly outside, which we would have been if we thought the huge table would fit on the tiny porch. We soon had a delicious meal of spaghetti with fresh herbs, roasted pork, and vegetables from the garden. We even had the wonderful desserts which had been sent home with us the previous night.

As we sadly said our goodbyes to Sergio and Maria, we felt that we couldn’t have chosen a better place. We each knew that the memories of our week on the Tuscan farm would last forever. We had seen the town of Asciano as it had been for the past several hundred years, and I knew it wasn’t likely to change much in the future, so that years from now if we return, it will be much the same as we left it.

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