Thursday, March 10, 2011

fight on Filicudi

How do I pack for this one? Bolt-cutters? Black belt? Bib?

Early next week, I leave for Italy, heading for home ground on that remote island north of Milazzo, Province of Messina: Filicudi. My people have been there for a long, long time; lived there, worked in orange trees, grape vines, wheat fields and on the sea for thousands of years (Phoenicia-Phoenicus-Bonicus-Bonica). Built homes and families on rusty volcanic soil, on steep hillsides and mountain tops and along the black rock coasts.

There's a house there, my father's house, that someone is trying to steal from us. Someone who was like a son to my parents, like a brother to me and my sisters. Now I'm headed there, by plane and train, bus, ferry and hydrofoil, to take it back.

As it turns out, the story unfolds in Italy, so this blog will include adventures in food and wine. I'm really writing to my family — my sisters, our children, our grandchildren, and my guests at Tappi (the little Italian joint that keeps me occupied in Twisp, Washington) who are my extended family. Besides breaking into the garden gate (the bolt-cutters) and maybe coming face to face with the brooding bastard grabbing our property (I'm brushing up on my Taekwon Do hand/foot defenses), I'll be ducking through the doorways of some of my favorite restaurants, trattorias and pizzerias and seeking out new experiences in food and wine.

You're invited along. I'll post whenever I can as long as I have internet access; on Filicudi where there is no computer hookup, I'll Tweet. You can find me through the Tappi website, www.tappitwisp.com.

My writing skill is flabby, so thanks in advance for your patience and persistence slogging through my knee-deep ramblings.

John

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