In the first half of the 15th century, there were more than three million
sheep in Abruzzo. Today, there are about 450000. In summer, they graze in
the mountain pastures; in winter they move to the grassy lowlands of Puglia.
This seasonal movement of flocks up and down the mountains (called the
transumanza) defined the landscape of Abruzzo. Spring and autumn, the sheep
would graze their way along a network of broad tracks (a hundred meters wide
in places) covering hundreds of kilometers, the shepherds paying for use of
the paths along the way, and thus supporting local economies.
But gradually, over the first decades of the 20th century, it
became more economical to move the sheep by truck and train, and for local
people to use the paths for crops. The sheep economy started to flounder;
the hill villages were abandoned.
Until a few years ago, the collection of houses at the foot of
Rocca Calascio had been uninhabited for many decades. But an enterprising
couple reclaimed two for a bar and restaurant, hoping to entice trade up the
hill. It worked. They expanded, reclaiming more houses to provide
accommodation for walkers and cross-country skiers, some basic and cheap,
some more luxurious. Now a few families have returned and there’s a small
shop, but the village remains un-manicured and authentic.
Since it lies
within a regional park, it may even stay that way.
Rolando, trim and tanned, with iron-grey hair, has a mission
to foster Abruzzo culture. He looks like an arts impresario, but his day job
is cooking and for the restaurant’s Saturday dinner he was doing an Abruzzo
special: pecora (sheep, not lamb) with mountain herbs and potatoes. It’s a
secret recipe, he said, but I’m going to reveal it.
This is what you need: a 35-kilo sheep; two crates of
flat-leaved parsley; a crate of rosemary branches; a few armfuls of just-
gathered mountain herbs (various thymes, sage, some bitter leaves and some
variety of mint); 40 or so carrots; a similar number of onions; a dozen or
so garlic bulbs; a few celery heads with leaves; a litre of oil and more
than a litre of white wine. You’ll also need potatoes (same volume as the
lamb when boned). Boil the beast for two hours in water. Get rid of large
quantities of fat. Boil for another five hours. Remove big bones.
And here’s the clever bit. Take the table, herbs and
vegetables outside and engage some passers-by in conversation about your
struggle to revive Abruzzo theatre. Without comment, hand each a knife, all
the while telling the story of the freezing night in the mountains when you
staged an open-air performance of an obscure play and the actress wore a
dress so diaphanous that the fur-wrapped audience remained shivering in
their seats out of solidarity or lust.
Subtly, without talking, demonstrate how you want the rosemary
stripped, the sage and parsley stalks removed, the carrots peeled. Keep your
story going, by means of digressions, personal histories and tales of meals
enjoyed or prepared for well-known writers and artists, for the three hours
it takes your helpers to reduce all the vegetable matter to several kilos of
finely chopped herb flavoring.
Do not be distracted by the fact that they are
roasting in the sun and now have green hands and watering eyes. In a giant
pan, arrange boned sheep and an equal volume of potatoes in layers with
herbs, dousing of oil and sprinklings of salt. Pour over a liter or so of
white wine. Simmer for two hours.
