Authenticity: It's The Real Thing

Authenticity is an ephemeral thing. It's like grasping air, the goal always falls short of the reach. What is the longing for and what does it mean?

“It increases your cancer risk by 30%”

“What does?” I asked suddenly tuning back in.

“Wood-smoke. Had to keep the windows closed all day.”

“Oh, all the octogenarians around here will be concerned to hear that.”

Same guest was earlier extolling the virtues of wood-fired pizza, “the authentic way.” Personally I relish those perilously carcinogenic charred edges: the frisson of risk and derring-do! But trust me, you can achieve this in an electric oven, although the flavour will lack the gorgeous phenolic smokiness that wood imparts.

It got me thinking about what a slippery customer authenticity is though. In a world scraped flat by the rollers of corporate juggernauts – where you can get the same Pizza Rut pizza in identical surroundings in Dagenham, Delhi and Dubai – the soulless sprawling tentacles of uniformity are driving a search for authenticity. It's certainly a theme that crops up in the literature and attracts people to Tuscany and Umbria. Even Italians refer to this region as 'old Italy'.

Authenticity is an ephemeral thing. It's like grasping air, the goal always falls short of the reach. What is the longing for and what does it mean? Is it simply harking back to some apocryphal past? Those who extol the virtues of the simple contadini life, presumably aren't thinking about rickets, tuberculosis and high infant mortality? Paradoxically, these bucolic romances exist alongside and within the Tuscany that is a magnet for the wealthy. The buzz this week is that Hugh Grant is moving to Anghiari. Oh hum.

A few years ago I remember seeing an article in The Observer Sunday Supplement about Tuscany. The pictures were fantastic. Boulevards of cypress trees, clouds of lavender, old stone farmhouses decorated with cobs of corn, long tables dressed in blue gingham. It pushed every 'Tuscany' button, evoking some pastoral convivial idyll. Last year English guests Phil and Cath told us they bought Italian produce from Fattoria La Vialla Organic Farm & showed us a very beautifully and expensively produced brochure which was sent to them along with gift packaged samples. I recognised the place from the Sunday Supplement and then I realised it was less than half and hour from us! A PR drive that saw features in foreign broadsheet papers? Elaborate brochures? Introductory gift packs? I was suspicious. This outfit could not possibly be Italian! We had to go and see for ourselves.

First thing I noticed on the car park were the rustic carports created out of branches with bamboo and broom roofs. That and the fact that they were rammed with German and Dutch registered cars. It was buzzing. There was a maitre'd directing visitors. This place clearly had it's act together! Very un-Italian. Then, in spite of my diminutive stature we were greeted in ..... German! We caused a bit of a kerfuffle by replying in Italian - our German not being up to much. She switched to Italian.

We were directed through to the outdoor café past a great mushroom shaped haystack and a 1940s pick-up truck so highly polished and manicured it was clearly a prop. Hens bobbed and begged for crumbs around the café tables. The scene before me was that Sunday supplement spread. Theme-Park Tuscany. Or so I thought.

Donkey Oaty

We had a walk around the olive groves where the air was heavy with the fragrance of thyme and lavender along the paths. The groves had modern piped irrigation systems and, looking into the buildings, there were stainless steel mills and storage tanks only thinly disguised by the ubiquitous dried broom and bamboo. There was a serious business here. We passed the long tables set for lunch on the terrace of a large attractive farmhouse and stood on the steps looking down the wide gravel path lined with cypresses. It was a delight to chance upon a couple of grumpy mules taking dirt baths – straight out of Don Quixote! Then we wended our way back to the café through great clouds of lavender. This place was so charming. It couldn't be for real.

Cypress Boulevard

Back at the café we had a light lunch to sample the produce. The Olive oil was to die for. The depth of colour, cloudiness and the sharp peppery notes told me this was a first pressing. No doubt about it's credentials. The bread was heavenly – it had that authentic smokiness with a robust crust and soft close textured interior. (For a second I grasped the meaning of authentic, then it slipped away.) The spelt salad and the dips made the meal complete. My friends ate the very substantial amount of pecorino with a look of ecstasy. I swept the crumbs from the table bringing a flock of friendly hens rushing towards us. Maybe it was the sun, or the scene or even the light refreshing vino bianco or a combination – but my cynicism was overthrown. We headed for the shop and bought everything we'd eaten... in industrial quantities!

I've returned half a dozen times since. I will never make my own Olive & Caper Sugo again – because I've got about 12 jars of theirs in my pantry! The Torbolone Organic Red Wine costs €5 a bottle but tastes like it should cost twenty. And I've since discovered that it is in fact Italian owned although to be honest I don't think I encountered a single Italian on the front line. Belgian, Dutch and German yes. Italian no. My friend in our village, Irene used to work there and tells me they do employ Italians.

Olive Oil Barons

I recently read Extra Virginity: The Sublime & Scandalous World of Olive Oil by Tom Mueller which gave me an insight into the economics of olive oil production. Leave aside the corruption scandals which have dented the reputation of Italian oil; the markets are flooded with intensively farmed Spanish, Turkish & Greek olive oil which depresses the price to a level where people think twice about paying the price for the small production stuff. In Tuscan shops you see Greek and Spanish oil at €4 or €5 a litre sitting next to one literally from down the road at €11 or €12. The Spanish in particular have invested heavily in intensive cultivars and sophisticated storage. The Spanish oil you buy might be more than a year old and produced largely by machines. In contrast, the Italian oil will be labour intensive and fresh. You can taste the difference. Then it suddenly dawned on me. Fattoria La Vialla is successful because of the theatre they built around their products. The products work because the whole package pulls in the punters. An authentically modern way to preserve some authentically good tastes and traditions.

If you like Breakfast In Tuscany, you might like my poetry blog: Crackle & Drag

The Italian Shop-Keepers Manual

Picture the scene. Subbiano Post Office, 12 noon January 31^st 2013. Flyers in the Soviet-style foyer declare deadlines and events weeks, even months out of date. Almost obscured by a leaflet display there's a yellowing funghi collection price list. You can buy a years licence for €16. Visitors can buy the privilege for about 300 times the price at €15 a day! Bizarre. Never heard of anyone popping down to the post office before going off to woods to get dinner. Above the heads of the assembled (it's not really a queue) a three and a zero clunk noisily into place. 3.30am 25 Settembre, Giovedi reads the digital clock. What? Perhaps I've just slipped backwards through a tear in the fabric of space-time. I'm not sure what year it is.

After about twenty minutes wait, during which the throng mill around and swan about but never actually get closer to the counter, it dawns on me the date and time might just be an indication of when its expected we'll be served. You know, like the call centre robots who say, “Your call is appreciated and will be answered in twen-ty sec-onds”. How do they know? But that would be too much like service culture. It barely exists here. Of course I don't mean that toothy-grinned assistant who says, “Hi, how are you today?”. (Paul deploys the acerbic, “I'm insincere, how are you?”) across the Atlantic. I mean some happy medium and a little human warmth.

Volterra: Roman Amphitheatre

Perhaps the shiny new drinks and snacks machine installed since my last visit is a nod to customer care. Crisps, chocolate, water & iced-tea are available so that nobody should succumb to hypoglycaemia or dehydration during the purgatorial wait. Too bloody obvious to install a stamp machine and cut the queue by half. Is it a symptom of the new Euro-crisis shaped reality here? Monti solutions should ring bells with the British. Get your state industries to start earning. McDonald’s in hospitals and nurseries: fine. That's progress. Bugger mission drift. Anyhow, I don't want to go all political on you because when we reached the counter we wrapped up our bill paying business inside about thirty seconds. The lady smiled and wished us 'Buona giornata'. Redeemed!

Public or private, I'm not partisan. In fact I'm an equal opportunity grouch. Business consultancy could be huge here. Except nobody can be bothered. For what it's worth – and this is probably as good as you'll get from Mary Portas – I offer it free, una volta solo! From experience:

Look open: This means having the lights on and the door unlocked. It's amazing the impact this will have on your profits. I've lost count of the number of places I've started to walk away from only to watch somebody walk in. I know it saves money on the electric bill, but so do low energy light bulbs!

Look interested: Yeah, I know it's a drag to look up from facebook and say hello but hey, we're customers and in England we know best. I'll tell you now, I once had to mime toilet tissue in Turkey so you got off lightly with mine for washing line. How on earth did you think I meant soap powder? Really, you shouldn't roll your eyes and gesticulate wildly. The minimum standard in this category is don't look hostile. Refrain from glaring at the back of the shop with your arms folded like a Russian shot-putter on testosterone. It's menacing. How was I to know the matches rule? It obvious the only place you can buy them is the Tabbachi and not the hardware. Stupid me! Don't laugh your customers out of the shop. And don't shadow your customers around your ambitiously priced antiques emporium so they can smell your breath mints. English folk do not like the two metre exclusion zone breached!

Display your hours and stick to them: Sure I know Thursday is your closing day (wait a minute, I was here last Thursday!!) because it says so on the door. Why does it always say when you are closed? Never your opening times. Am I supposed to intuit them? Innovative I know, but trust me it will expand your customer base. For a start I might come back if I could be sure you'd be there. And why, if you do display them, are they so arcane? Morning: 09.37 – 12.49 Evening: 15.32 – 19.44. Eh? What's wrong with half nine to half twelve and half three to half seven or eight? And it's no good when I show up at half three if you saunter up at five o'clock and the only explanation is “arrivo!” as I'm pointing to my wrist.

Tell folks what you sell: This can be done with a simple sign saying something like Giuseppe's Electrical Goods. (NB. You should only say 'electrical goods' if that's what you actually sell.) I know this is harder for some businesses like the one that sell pots and pans and, you'll never guess... tights. Unless it's customary and there's a specific local word for such retailers, what you need to address is mission drift! It's tights or pots and pans. Up to you. Be aware that Italy has a reputation for style and flair. Design awards might be a way off, but changing displays occasionally is a good indicator that the premises are not abandoned! The minimum standard to aim for here is to clean windows and remove all the dead flies. Anything else is a bonus.

Put prices on stuff: An English person will not ask what something costs but simply assume it's too expensive. I know it gets in the way of price flexing (American=astronomical, Northern European=Pushing it a bit, Italian=Nearer the market value but holding out for more). At the end of the day you will sell more stuff if you remove the ambiguity! To those almost permanently closed shops with a scribbled mobile number on a scrap of paper taped to the window, I say get real. You'll rarely get a call, but if I should leave two messages on your voice-mail and a send a text about a particular item displayed; it's good manners to reply!

Actually have a member of staff present if you are open: I waited. I drummed my fingers a bit. I whistled a happy tune and fielded enquiries, “Mauro non c'è” (Mauro's not here). His trade-mark D&G glasses were there on the counter and so were his car keys. So was the till and all the stock. Turned out Mauro had gone for a chat with the pharmacist. Nothing urgent or important, just to chew the fat. A friend of mine turned up for an appointment with the bank manager only to be told that he wasn't there, “but I've made an appointment and come into town by car”, he remonstrated. “He's down at the caffè” the teller nonchalantly explained, “so you can go and see him there.”

Tenuta Savorgnano Pool

Finally restaurant owners. I know you will protest. Pot, kettle, black and all that. I know I sprinkle Italian prepositions around sentences randomly, I know I use the compound perfect when it should be the imperfect. Subjunctives? You must be kidding. I know. You don't have to tell me. Message received. But cousin Giorgio who did your English menu isn't as fluent as you think he is. For a start he sounds like Bhorat on acid and interestingly speaks the English of google translate. You paid him in pizza I guess? Never noticed the barely contained squeal when folks order Munchrooms Tagliatelle or Rubbits Breast? The 'large slice of dry bread' just doesn't sound very appealing, but I love your bruschette! Ever wondered why you just can't shift those Tepid Hypocrites? And what about the waiter who had the hottest buns? Turned out it wasn't an outrageous claim! My advice in these matters? Don't change a thing. It had me snorting and shrieking.