We were hot on a restaurant recommendation from our relatives. They heard about it from the owners of their holiday rental accommodation, Pietro and Maria. There’s no way one would stumble across it, tucked as it is in the hills of Sardinia behind Cala Gonone. So we trundled along behind them. But we were going first to Pietro and Maria’s holding on the ridge of one of the hills.
The vegetable garden was riotous with produce. I wandered around, finding little fellows…
and stopping to inhale the comforting, muzzy aroma of sheep.
We were also tracing the origins of the wine and grappe we had been swilling. It begins here…
and moves into the shed.
Forget the images of fulsome, bare-footed Italians stomping the grapes for your wine, this is the real go.
It seemed like Pietro was entertaining the idea of drinking all this that night, such was his generosity to us.
And so to taste. Cin cin, Pietro.
We could have stayed sipping wine and telling yarns as the sun slanted over the farms and valleys around and below us but our restaurant beckoned.
We followed our family as they wound through to another valley then darted into a steep and narrow driveway. At the top, we parked in a large yard. A young girl met us at the doorway to her house, cradling a cat. I wondered if we had lost our way and had come to ask directions. However, her family – parents, older sister and brother – soon appeared and lead us through the house to a dining room and terrace. We opted for the latter for obvious reasons.
The local bread upheld its end of the bargain by appearing in large amounts. We chowed down on it and olive oil as we awaited our meals. The pizzas were enormous, almost overflowing their huge plates. Seeing them, I was glad I had chosen a less stomach-capacity-challenging, traditional soup. It turned out to be something of a surprise.
That cloud just kept rolling in at one end
and wisping away at the other so its size never changed
– rather like the never-ending supply of Sardinian bread and wine.