Pig Party 2013, day two

For those of you who don't know what a Pig Party is, it looks something like this:





For those of you not fluent in wine soaked Italian with hints of Calabrase dialect the discourse goes something like this:

F: some people just want to do a little work, eat some meat and a little fat, even without bread...

A: Yesterday

F: Ah, but Augu, you know I don't understand english.

A: what do you mean you don't understand english.  you understand it when you want to.

F: ah, but, no, I don't understand,.....

A: thank you.  cheers.  All the best

F:  all the best.

Pressed and Dressed and

ready for some pork.

Photos to follow.

There's nothing quite like the sounds of Christmas music filling the house to put a girl in that yuletide spirit.

And my version of O Holy Night on the viola is nothing like Christmas music.

I'll keep practicing in hopes that my playing will one day meet the very high standards of this blog. Until then please enjoy this little bit of holiday cheer brought to you from Italy, brought to me from Denmark (thanks, Mette).


Merry Christmas, everyone.

Maybe I could learn to like it....

The weather in our corner of the world has been beautiful throughout November and December.  Warm, sunny, dry, gorgeous.  Scary gorgeous like we are all just holding our breath waiting for the crappy weather to hit all at once. 

Until then, let's go outside and....

Yep, pick some olives.  No, we didn't pick our own olives.  This year, we went with the professionals.

And I must say, they know how to do it well.

As you all may recall, picking olives in not on my list of favorite things to do.  In fact, it IS on my list of least favorite things to do.  But then these guys

brought us some of this

And we did this

So I agreed to pick olives with them.  By the way, the jar in that photo above is sugar, not salt.  Fresh olive oil, really fresh olive oil, like squeezed yesterday olive oil has a bit of a bite, so some folks like to sprinkle sugar on it.  This is what ligurian kids used to have for a snack when they came home from school.  Beats the shit out of dry jello from the box.

So last Thursday, on one of those gorgeous days we are having, David and I went to Franco's land to "help" pick his olives.  His land has quite a nice view

of the town of Badalucco

Franco and Gino had been picking olives since about 6am,  6am every day for two weeks.  David and I got there about 10am, when there were just 4 trees left to pick.  By noon we were done.  Phew!  That was a lot of work!  Sarcasm.

Franco's land, whilst it has a lovely view, is rather steep.  So after all the olives had been picked, this had to happen

up several terraces to the car.  They were lucky I was there to help with this.  Sarcasm.

After 6 crates of olives were dropped off at the frantoio (olive press), it was time for lunch.

 A light bowl of semin (sp?)...a soup/stew like dish with every vegetable imaginable, beans, and just for fun, pork ribs, sausage, and skin.

By 2.30 we were back at the frantoio to watch the oil making.

I could explain the process but well, go here if you want to read about it.  They do a better job explaining it than I would.
And finally, a little glass (or two) with the owner of the frantoio

 and a toast to Franco's olives.

Stay tuned for the next Franco and Gino adventure when David and Lynn go sailing.