By now, after a sharing a full day together under the influence of heady vino and spicy antipasti, our group was beginning to bond. That night, I fell into bed, tired but exhilarated by the rhythm of this Tuscan escapade and by the familial grace of Silvano and Marietta who lavished attention on us like fond relatives. A gardener tends the vines at Villa Delia. Thursday morning flashed by as we watched Marietta prepare seemingly complicated specialties with perfect simplicity. At noon we rode up a winding hill to the tiny, walled Etruscan village of Lari.
Olives are spongy.
They absorb flavors. Near the sea, they grow salty. Inland, they taste of thyme or fennel. We loved the clean palate of the extra-virgin olive oil produced at Villa Delia. Later, after a festive lunch in a celebrated trattoria in the village of Fauglia, we downed bottles of local Chianti with dozens of antipastos and cooled off on the terrace with chill snifters of limoncello liqueur.