A simple tale. A morning in the life of “me” during the summers of my childhood.
I stood there rubbing the sleep from my eyes, as I watched my grandfather prepare our early morning breakfast. The kitchen was typical for a old farmhouse: huge wooden beams and tile ceilings; thick stone walls and ornate wooden furniture. In the corner by the back door there was four foot high terra-cotta vase full of extra virgin olive oil. Just outside the door were rows of freshly watered basil plants in different size pots. There were braids of garlic, strings of onions, and bouquets of bay leaves hanging from the beams. My Grandmothers’ fresh tomato sauce was already puckering into a thick simmer on the stove, and it would continue to perfume the house for several hours to come before lunch. A small passageway off the back of the kitchen led to an old wine cellar, housing rows of oak barrels full of red wine, white wine, Vin Santo and Grappa. It was such an incredible harmony of aromas. The familiar smells that I had come to expect, and now miss.
My grandfather was now looking at me, smiling. He held an old wooden tray with two plates of fried tomatoes on toast and two piping hot mugs of english tea with milk and sugar. He made the best breakfast ever. It was our little routine. We took our food outside and sat under the pergola overlooking the valley. The pergola was covered with vines. The leaves were a rich green color, broad with a sharp mediterranean smell. Nestled in amongst the leaves you could already see clusters of shy, young virgin grapes. In just three months they would weigh down all plump and sweet. Boastful, and ripe for the picking.
On one side of our table there was a towering rose bush rich with white roses. On the other side there was a family of fig trees and rows of flowering Lavender plants. Skirting all the way around the 12th Century stone Farmhouse were pots of geraniums; red ones, pink ones, white ones and yellow ones. The place smelled like heaven. The place looked like heaven. An english breakfast with a tuscan view. Sitting there with my grandfather sharing such a peaceful moment, it was heaven.