A THOUSAND DAYS IN TUSCANY

Another savory slice of de Blasi’s life (A Thousand Days in Venice, 2002, etc.), this one chronicling her move south to a small Tuscan town.

“Three years ago, when I left America to come to live in Italy, it was neither Venice nor the house on the beach that lured me. Rather it was this man, this Fernando. It’s quite the same thing now. We’ve hardly come to Tuscany for the house.” Which is a good thing, for this old stable is far from chic. That’s not the point; they have come there to scrub their lives as if with a loofa, to follow the rituals of rural culture in San Casciano dei Bagni, a place of olive and cypress trees, meadows with sheep and sunflowers and lavender. Food will take center stage: fat and velvety zucchini blossoms; a haunch of boar; pecorino bread; ropes of pasta dressed with green tomatoes, garlic, oil, and basil; all the humble, inspired dishes that make you want to bark with pleasure. Without fanfare, the townspeople can gather in a spontaneous convocation, “whispering gastronomic lore like vespers.” De Blasi faithfully catches San Casciano in all its weathers, evoking its ancient roots (Roman legions tramped through this land), its artistic association (Rafaello and Perugino), and its political leanings (more than slightly red), as well as the wartime ingenuity that remains a wonder half a century later. The inhabitants, each in their own way, tilt de Blasi’s days, making them sweeter and more pungent. One old soul advises on all things San Casciano; another woman makes sure the couple doesn’t get too sentimental as they get evermore romantic. The proceedings entail both comfort and risk: the sun shines pink, and the stone floors deliver a welcome coolness, but the swift passage of time lends an edge with the prospect of death.

An object lesson in living fully from a genuine sensualist unabashed by her emotions.