When
I spent the summer in Orvieto, trying to decide if I should or could make Italy
my permanent home, I naturally had the chance to eat lots of great food. What
struck me more than anything was the pureness and simplicity of real Umbrian
cooking—three, four or five ingredients, all of which you can taste and
identify, served without muss or fuss, in ample portions and, at the right
trattoria, for a reasonable price. Most everything on your plate is grown or raised
within 20 kilometers of where you’re eating.
People
flock to Mezza
Luna in Orvieto for the carabonara, that wonderfully hearty pasta made of
thick noodles, olive oil, pancetta, cheese and raw egg. You can find carabonara
in many restaurants in Italy, but in and around Orvieto, everyone agrees that
Mezza Luna does it best. It’s a not to be missed experience for anyone spending
a few days in Orvieto. If you can get a table, that is.
Fortunately
an intrepid member of our party made a reservation several days in advance, and
we secured our lunch table for four. I left the ordering to Mario—so long as
there were no organ meats or rabbits involved, I was game for pretty much
anything. We all had carabonara coming as our primo piatto. But something stole my heart long before the pasta
hit the boiling water. Something so simple, yet so divine, as so intrinsically
a part of Umbrian cuisine and culture.
It
was the bruschetta simplice: toasted
bread, olive oil, garlic and salt. I was convinced there was some alchemist’s magic
in that plate.
Little
did I know that, weeks later, a simple piece of toast would work its magic on
me.
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The night before our big date. Yes, yes I did let that man make me a piece of bruschetta. |
The
run-up to my
first date with Paolo was a raucous dinner on some madman’s terrace.
Electric guitars were played. Bottles were thrown and smashed, mostly by the
host. I remember The Doors and Jimi Hendrix blaring from crackling speakers.
In
the midst of this melee, I managed to zero in on Paolo and stick close by. As
we started to eat, I reached for a piece of bread and saw the whole garlic
cloves nearby, but wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Piace
bruschetta?” Do you like bruschetta?
Paolo asked me.
“Si!”
I answered, I’m sure a little too eagerly.
Still,
there I sat with a piece of unadorned bread in my hand.
“Faccio
io?” I’ll do it? he asked.
I
nodded again, like one of those bobble head puppies on the dashboard of a
taxicab.
And
he worked that same magic that I’d tasted at MezzaLuna…he scrubbed both sides
of the toasted bread with the garlic, drowned it in oil, sprinkled it with salt
(and a dose of bedroom eyes) and handed it to me. God damn! How could that taste so good?!
It
was probably a good thing that Paolo and I saved our kissing for the next
night, to give us both time to recover from garlic breath. (Like that would
have stopped me? Yeah, right.)
![]() |
Paolo harvesting olives |
Now,
every November when we harvest our olives, our first meal with the new oil is always
bruschetta simplice. I doubt Paolo even remembers me sitting doe-eyed while he
made me a silly piece of bread. But every time I bite into a piece of
bruschetta, I remember that evening. And as much as I love my bruschetta
simplice, it’s never tasted as good as that first slice Paolo made for me.
Even
if you don’t have a tall handsome Italian to prepare your bruschetta, it’s a
pretty foolproof dish.
The simplest form of this classic
Italian antipasto is a heaven-made
marriage of just a few flavors, and one of the most perfect things
I’ve ever tasted. Americanized
versions of bruschetta add cheese,
tomato sauce (horrors!) and other toppings. But trust me; the beauty of Italian food is in
its simplicity and few ingredients. And this classic bruschetta is
the perfect example.
For bruschetta
simplice, you will need:
- Rustic white bread
- Whole garlic cloves, peeled
- Good quality extra virgin olive
oil
![]() |
Picking olives is hard work! Sara and Nonno Gino take a break. |
- Salt
- Start with thick (1/2 inch) slices
of artisanal white bread – not the kind you buy in the bread aisle at the
grocery, but a rustic, handmade loaf. White
bread really is the best; anything too flavorful will mask the
flavors of the oil.
- If you can, grill the bread over an open flame. In
November, we use our fireplace to toast bread for bruschetta. If you don’t have
a fireplace or grill, use the broiler function in the oven, but keep an eye on
your slices!
- Once the bread is grilled, take a garlic clove and “scrub” it into
both sides of the toasted bread. You’ll see that the clove really
does wear down, like it’s being grated into the bread.
- Set the toasted bread on a plate
and pour the olive oil over it. Don’t
drizzle the bread with oil – drown it! It should be completely
saturated.
![]() |
Our olives, heading into the mill. |
- Sprinkle
some salt across the top, and dig into this fabulous explosion of
flavors.
What a lovely story! :)
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