This has been a quite a week for giving my sense of smell a workout. Earlier, Ray Lamothe of Tuscan Enterprises was showing me around his operation, a tour which ended with him lifting the lid off that big vat of DOP Tuscan olive oil you see over there to the right and encouraging me to stick my schnozola in there. Holy Mackerel, you get your nose anywhere close to that vat when it’s open and it will be surrounded by a profoundly friendly “profumo” of cut grass, tangy herbs, and everything you might like about the color green in nature. Don’t bother sticking your nose anywhere near the industrial goop you find in the supermarket. We’re talking two entirely different things here. If you really want to get close to this olive oil, you can rent one of Ray’s apartments, like Casamonti Karen he’s fixed up on the property. Then you’ll have a kitchen, a bedroom, and access to the fine wine and olive oil Ray produces as well as all the stuff he makes from his Cinta Senese pigs. You can’t beat that. Trust me.
Then, if you’re in Italy in November, you must go to a truffle fair. Yes, truffles are expensive, especially the best, the most intense, the white winter truffle (although they’re probably cheaper than you think). I like to go to San Miniato, because the good stuff is in tents. The tents keep the “profumo” of the white winter truffles inside. You could swoon. (There are pills for that, but going to a cafe for a quick glass of red wine works as well.) You cheapos can buy some truffled salami or mortadella to chew on if you don’t want to stuff your pockets with the real thing. And lunch with truffles is available everywhere you turn during truffle fair weekends.
The final thing any self-respecting food lover must not leave Italy without smelling is the profumo of the active aging of real, traditional, aged for at least 12 years, balsamic vinegar. You can do what we did, and go to the little Balsamic Vinegar Museum in Spilamberto or, as the Italians say, Museo del Balsamico Tradizionale. It’s just 4 little rooms and a space where you can see a movie on the process of making Balsamico Tradizionale, but when you hit the barrel room, where the stuff is actually aging in progressive barrels of different woods, you’re gonna swoon again. Intense. Like the truffles. Like the olive oil.
Go. Just go.
(Can you imagine these barrels in the attic of your house? That’s where it’s made, usually. I mean, when the stuff is actively working, as it does in the summer when the bacteria are actively transforming the wine must, it’s gotta be one of the great things in the world to wake up to.)