100 Quails

Back at the house I quickly showered and waited for Gianni to come pick me up to take me to the other side of the island for what I had been told was a very unique experience on the island. The island has only twenty five hunters on it and twice a year they get together to feast on what they have caught. Once again, having fallen into the right circle of friends I was invited to join the festivities. Pasquale, Antonio’s dad is from the town of Barano, which is also where my family is from, however I have not yet met them. The last time I was in Ischia my Aunt told me not to look up the family as they had a fight over the land many years ago and things were left on very bad terms. Following my aunt’s direction I never looked for them. However, this year I decided I would look for them and hopefully have a meal and take some pictures. It is through looking for my family that I developed a relationship with Pasquale. Turns out that he is actually close friends with my uncle and has arranged for us to get together when I return to Ischia in September. I’m not sure why Pasquale has taken such a liking to me, but I can tell you that he has done everything he can to include me in everything the family does, and is always very excited to share the customs and traditions of the island. Today was only different in the way that this is not a custom of the island, but rather of a small select group. I felt as though I was being let in to the inner circle, the secret society; The Illuminati. To say that I was honored to be a part of this would be a gross understatement. After the fifteen or twenty minute scooter ride up into the mountainside we reached the cantina where we would be feasting. As we approached the house it did not seem like anything special, you know the usual large property on Ischia, grapevines leading the way to the house, a large garden running alongside the house, a cantina to make and store the wine, and a simple small house attached for eating, sleeping, and relaxing with the family. Once we entered I quickly found that this was different than any other house I had been to. I had already been told that the only person who does not hunt who is allowed to come to these lunches was Gianni (surprise surprise) so I was a bit reserved as I approached the cantina. Maybe I’ve watched too many mafia movies and had this idea in my head that everyone would be whispering and wondering who the American was. I was pleasantly surprised that I was greeted with nothing but smiles, friendly handshakes, and wishes of warm welcome.

I was we walked into the cantina I was quickly handed a glass of wine and directed to the table with all the meats, cheeses, olives, and bread. As I was picking out my appetizers Gianni told me a little bit about the place we were eating. The guy who lives there, I wish I could remember his name, also runs a small restaurant from his house, but the unique thing about his restaurant, well aside from not having a name, a sign, an address, a phone number, let alone a menu, is that he makes absolutely everything in house.

Gianni explained this, pointing to my plate that the bread was made fresh this morning, the cheese is made and stored in the cantina, the olives are grown on the other side of the hill and then marinated, the meat is from what the guys had hunted and had been cured and dried in the cantina, and most importantly the wine is all from his own grapes, grown, harvested, processed, and aged all right here on his own land and by his own hands. After about a half hour of mingling and sampling the different antipasti we were told to sit down as the first course was about to be served. Outside, under the shade of the grapevines we sat at two tables. The first table, which I was seated at, had twenty of the hunters at it, Gianni, and myself. Just to the left of us was a second table that only had five, and they were clearly the eldest of the group.



One thing that I noticed while sitting there was that this unique and special tradition was not going to die anytime soon. As I looked over at the table with the men who were well into their sixties I then looked to the other end of my table to see the youngest generation of twenty year olds also taking part. Clearly this was something that would be kept in the family and passed down to their children and their children’s children. Shortly after having sat down our first course was served. A delicious pasta (spaghetti) simply tossed in the wonderful sauce that the quails had been cooked in. Next came the first round of quails which had been simmered in large pans with herbs and spices. This was followed by another type of bird that I do not know the name of, but is incredibly flavorful and a little more meaty than the quails. Finally, another round of quails, but this time they were simply seasoned, rubbed with herbs, and cooked on an open wood fire. As the last of the quails were eaten I was told to take a guess at how many quails we had that afternoon, my guess was fifty, but as you know from the title of this entry we had 100 quails. Lastly was dessert and a little time to talk with the boys. Dessert consisted of platters of fruit, a sampling of cakes, gelato, and dessert wines, grappa, and champagne, all of course made in house. As we finished off the desserts the owner opened a special bottle of champagne for the celebratory toast and the festivities continued.





Sitting at my end of the table I tried to explain to the guys closest to me that things like this don’t happen where I come from, and that if it does I am surely not aware of it. I explained how much I love the life in Italy and specifically in Ischia, but more than anything I expressed my gratitude for not only being invited to, but being welcomed so warmly to share in what is a very special and unique celebration. As usual I was told not to thank them, but that they thanked me for having been a part of it, and the fact that I appreciated it and enjoyed it was all the thanks they needed. So after another hour or so of drinking and talking we called it a day. They call it a lunch, but somehow I think there needs to be another name for it. And so it was, back on the scooter heading home at just after six… Just enough time to take a nap and get ready for the dinner Martino had planned for my going away.