Back in our little fishing village, the garden blooms. Is there anything sweeter than spring? We kitties feel the softness in the air, we smell the sage and lavender and lemon flowers (I sit in the lavender for hours, just sniffing their perfume—of course, where I really like to sit is in my drug patch of catnip, now in all its glory, just for my kitty-rolling spaced-out pleasure).
But my next-favorite place to loll is in the fava bean forest that has appeared while we were gone. Mama had no idea when she (actually, we) planted them for the first time that she’d come back from Rome to a plethora (great word, no? I just love words–this one means lot os pleths, haha) of what are also known as broad beans. Does that mean that only women can eat them, or is that from the shape and size of the ones in our garden—HUGE and BROAD. Yesterday mama measured one as I lay stretched out on the sunny terrace and it was almost as long as I am! Mama cooks them with toasted sage, garlic and olive oil and I get a few drops of olive oil on my food…extra virgine, just like me!
Even the biggest ones are tender and delicious. Who says a kitty can’t be a gourmet? I’m always in the kitchen with mama when she cooks, which is at least twice a day and we all eat together with the pleasure of our company (which is more than I can say about a lot of families nowadays who eat all over the map at any time they want and no one talks or myows at the table because their ears are stuffed up with sound buds or whatever those things are and they are twitting or tweeting or whatever it is that more and more humans do morning , noon and night).
So, to move on (I get off the subject sometimes), I picked a couple of choice beans for myself and mama showed me how to shell them (I just ripped their throats out in my usual fashion and voilá, works every time) and when her back was turned, I jumped up on the outdoor table and hacked off a generous piece of that incredible pecorino cheese that mama brought from Rome. Man, you have not lived until you’ve had those two together…raw fave and slightly salty cheese. Of course, I use parmigiana sometimes, but it’s just not the same.
Uh, oh…she’s left the cover off the pecorino and went upstairs to get something.
This blog can wait…
