What the F*ck is a Sandwich?

It has been 5 days since I arrived at Tenuta Saiano, a vineyard in the Romagna region of Italy, to do a work exchange through WWOOF. My face and neck share a hint of red from a few hours each day spent in the morning sun ensuring that the vines grow properly on the trellises, so that they don’t face certain destruction from a Lamborghini tractor mower. The grapes are still young at the moment, and resemble peas more than grapes. The sun gives them life from above and the scattered thunderstorms that passed through yesterday bring water to the roots below so that by the end of August, they will be ready to harvest. I’ve gotten just a glimpse of what life on a vineyard in Romagna looks like. 

I’ve met a handful of people who will be present throughout my six weeks here, and in a very short amount of time, via conversations about food, I’ve gained a sense for how passionate these people are about the life they choose to live. 

I asked Luca, a 32 year old man who has seen much of the world and gives us our tasks each day, what his favorite Italian food is. San Marino stared at us from a distance and the valley patched with colors of gold from wheat and a green corduroy from vines stretching up hills echoed the silence as Luca pondered his answer. “It is not possible.” He then listed about 10 different foods he loves and why he loves them: because he grows the ingredients in his own garden at home, fresh, requiring patience and constant care so that the quality of what he eats is as good as it can be. He stressed that every food he listed is a piatto, a dish, a dish that requires time, effort and love, and that’s where he says he notices the biggest difference from America. 

“What the fuck is a sandwich?” He asked, although it was more of a proclamation than a question. “This is not a piatto and this is your favorite food!”

A massive grin grew on my face as it dawned on me that I was in a place where the lives and well being of its inhabitants depend on what they are eating. Food is viewed as an art because quite frankly it is.

My friend Spencer appropriately asked him if he likes a panino, which to us absolutely falls under the umbrella of a sandwich. He described why a panino is different. The focaccia is made fresh that day, the mortadella or prosciutto produced within a few kilometers by someone who has dedicated their lives to that craft, and if it has mozzarella it is from a buffalo, the real kind. It’s an assembly of the best things around made with care and intention to celebrate the act of creation itself. It’s hard to argue with him, although Spencer did educate him that not all sandwiches are simply “shit stuffed between white bread” as he described it. 

I went on a jog yesterday and accidentally ended up in an abandoned villa. Nothing about what I’ve seen in the past 5 days carries any semblance to anything I’ve encountered before. Not the beauty I’m surrounded by nor the lifestyle I’ve happily been forced to adopt, and I hope it stays that way, because I want to be surrounded by the passion I’ve seen from these people for the rest of my life. In a short time I’ve been made to feel like it’s something I am severely lacking in.

I’m sitting here writing this, likely imparting the scent of meat onto my keyboard because I’ve just helped turn 1,320 pounds of pork into salami that will cure for at least the next two months. More on that to come, but the point is, Italy is doing something, a lot of things actually, very right.

The Grapes

The Micro-nation of San Marzano across the valley, taken at the abandoned villa

Another view of the valley

Some plums we picked