A Perfect Lunch
On a Perfect Day
The kids were cranky and didn’t want to go. We had been traveling through the Piedmont region of Italy, visiting winery after winery, and by the time we set out for one last stop, the children had had enough and were begging to do anything but sit through another boring winery and vineyard visit. But we had an appointment and needed to keep our commitment, so we stuffed them in the back seat of our little Italian sedan and whined our way up into the hills.
What we discovered completely changed the mood. The farm was beautiful in that somewhat chaotic, living way that real farms are beautiful. Our host jumped off an old tractor, fair-skinned and red-haired, wearing a torn white T-shirt, smudged with the work of the day and looking more like an organic farmer than anyone’s polished idea of an Italian vigneron. Around him was a lively mix of people from all over the world, drawn there by wine and a shared belief in conscientious farming. Best of all, there were children everywhere, speaking different languages but sharing the one that mattered most: joy.
The kids ran off together, jumping onto an old horse carriage, some playing horse, pulling the carriage while others rode on top. It looked risky, but the kids were giggling, figuring out how to communicate as laughter overcame the language barrier. The adults walked the vines, talked farming, tasted wine, and eventually gathered for lunch beside the barn. There was a big pot of lentils, bread, salad, and wine. Our kids, who were not exactly lentil and salad enthusiasts in those days, followed the lead of the other hungry children and dug in as if it were the best thing they had ever tasted.
What stays with me most is what happened around the table. The meal was simple and modest, but it carried a quiet magic. People from different countries, speaking different languages, found themselves at ease with one another over lentils, bread, and wine. The bright, fresh, slightly chilled wine did what the best wines do: not call attention to itself, but make everything around it more vivid. It sharpened appetite, softened the distance between us, and turned a table of strangers into companions. By the end of lunch, it felt as though we had all been speaking the same language all along – and the kids did not want to leave.
Rob Sinskey
