La Sagra della Cipolle

That’s right, I said The Festival of the Onion. Aoi’s boyfriend, Michele, is the owner and head chef of a fantastic restaurant in Perugia. It’s sad that I only know of it, called Alter Ego, now instead of the previous six months I was here; he would have made a killing off of me!

Well, Michele is always looking for a twist on a familiar recipe or even a new dish to serve his customers, hence our little adventure to this festival a mere town or two away (kilometers continue to baffle me). We parked and walked about ¾ of a mile (1.2 km) to the center of this town and joined the crowd in wandering the streets, hanging a left or a right, following the scent of these onions.

I’ll stop here to tell you that I was hesitant about these onions. Everyone had assured me that these were special onions, really particular to Italy and grown with care and love and I came to understand that I should consider myself lucky to be allowed to participate in such an event. Well, still, we were heading to a dinner where we would be ordering 3 different plates a piece, and each plate was showcasing this onion and I was not looking forward to the head and stomach pain that were sure to follow. Of course, I didn’t say anything about that.

In the town there were stands of all different types of vendors: Artists of every variety, trinket tables, antique booths, clothing, balloons, and, lest we forget the cheeses, sausages and this celebrated onion! After struggling our way through a couple of bustling piazzas, we rounded a corner and headed into a square designated for a restaurant being showcased during the festival. La Cipolleria (The Onionery) or something like that. We ate whole grilled onions, onion pate, onion soup, codfish sautéed with onion, spaghetti with diced onion and olive oil, and even dessert pastries and cookies, made with a sweet onion, that were quite tasty indeed!

Walking was a bit tricky after all of that food and wine (did I fail to mention the wine?), but we did make it back to our cars and back to Perugia before 1am. When Aoi and I asked Michele when the next sagra was happening, he informed us that this was the last one of the season. I gave him that “awww, shucks!” look on my face as my stomach settled with a gurgle of relief.

I’m doing what? My brow is furrowed and my eyes are wide. I’m in Perugia. I walked into this apartment and was swept into dinner with Angelo and his friends. There was fine pasta, pineapple, beer, even conversation regarding art and its subjectivity. What a fine welcome back to Italy! I have missed it.

I took three planes, a train, a bus, and made a tiny hike with my luggage. Pietro, a rock-climbing pal of Angelo’s, met me to carry a bag upstairs. I walked into Angelo’s sanctuary and wanted to bend over in relief. What a dream.

He, Angelo, is a conscientious adult in the habit of separating all of his garbage: organics, papers, plastics and metals. He made me dinner in his bathrobe. He has a microwave! It’s a beautiful kitchen--one made to envy. He fetches his herbs from the pots lining the stairwell. He studied agriculture at university and he loves nothing more than to spend hours riding in his tractor (sound familiar?).

There are cherry wood floors throughout the top floor apartment. The sun beams in through the windows each day, and along with it, on occasion, a welcome breeze. The patio, just behind our bedrooms, holds a stone and iron table seating 8 and overhead are grape vines and a Japanese apple tree bearing fruit. I’m dazzled.

Aoi (ooowww-eee, remember?) tells me that Angelo only began preparing my room last week, as in, the room was empty and now there’s a bed and side table, writing desk, and completely finished bathroom with sink, toilet, and shower. He promises me a mirror every tomorrow, but for the time being I am content to use his.

There are two cats (gatto): Prepri, 18 years of age with fluffy grey fur that floats around the apartment throughout the day. He’s hard of hearing, has a bad back, and is seriously lacking teeth. That is to say that he has none! Oh, but he’s so sweet. The other, Margherita, is some breed of cat from Africa. She’s lean and hyperactive with an equilibrium issue. She had surgery to remove part of her inner ear this week, but Angelo didn’t seem to think it was going to go so well. I hope, for his sake, that it did. He sincerely loves his cats.

Ummm, well, I'm fresh out of inspiration for writing at the moment. So I hope this is enough for you to chew on until the rainy cold weather clears up out here and I can post some pictures of this place for you to see...Italian internet would be fussy, don't you know.

Ciao, ciao and ciao, for now.

A dopo (Later!)