How Il Campo/Cucina Began

When I went to my family’s second home in a small Tuscan hill town last fall to research a book on the village’s beautiful way of life, I had no idea that I would soon get involved in the birth of a new kind of Tuscan cooking school.

It all started with a contadino named Guido. Guido is the grandfather of a young woman who came to California to visit us last spring. Federica, a brainy and beautiful young woman from the village where my family has a second home, told us stories every night about her grandfather Guido’s campo (meaning “field”) that was the source of nearly everything her family consumed. From Guido’s campo came all of the family’s vegetables, fruits, nuts, meat, poultry, eggs, olive oil and wine. In addition, Guido had paid for Federica’s five-year university education with compounded cash from the sale of some cows years before. That campo, combined with Guido’s hard work and devotion to the rhythms of the land and its seasons, had paid big dividends for his family and created the foundation for a way of life that cannot be bought at any price in the great cities of the world.

After spending three weeks with Federica in America, I was determined to go back to Radicondoli as soon as possible to spend time with Guido at his campo and learn what I could about his way of life. And within weeks I was there.

One thing about this village that has always impressed me is the unbelievably delicious food made in the local kitchens. Whether it’s the pizzeria, the central bar, or a private home, the standards remain consistently high. Butter and sage topped gnocchi that melt in your mouth, tomato and pine nut drenched ravioli filled with fresh local sheep’s milk ricotta and nettles picked in the fields that morning, handmade pappardelle noodles dressed in a rich ragu made with wild boar from the mythic oak forest of the Colline Metallifere, heavenly tiramisu golden with the eggs of local hens. I knew what it was like to eat in Radicondoli, but now I was determined to get in behind the scenes and find out HOW this food was made.

My dear friend, Giovanna Hipting, who owns a wonderful little shop in the middle of town and is called by many a visitor the Saint of Radicondoli, took the time to set up appointments for me with village women. She then went with me to the meetings to translate instructions delivered in Italian that was way too fast for my baby language skills to comprehend. Soon I was getting cooking lessons in the inner sanctum of Radicondoli—its private kitchens. The first thing I learned—and this was from Federica’s mother Laura Castellini, who is an amazing cook—is that no one in this village uses a recipe, and it is next to impossible to get anyone to write one down for you. It’s not that they are trying to keep it a secret—they just don’t know how to explain what they are doing; it would be like asking them to explain how they breathe. And if you insist, they will try to tell you but inevitably leave out a critical ingredient or step.

I decided to get to the bottom of it and take notes as they cooked. I was still thinking at that point I would make lists of ingredients and steps and soon have a wonderful collection of recipes. But it wasn’t that simple because something else was going on that I had never before considered. Over the course of the month, I realized it wasn’t as much WHAT they were doing as HOW they were doing it that made their food just burst with flavor! This really was not a cucina that could be taught in a cookbook—it needed to be learned in vivo, at the source.

I was perhaps halfway into my month-long immersion tour of village gardens and kitchens when Giovanna floated an idea. We were up in her family’s third story apartment resting after a satisfying lunch lunch cooked by her mother-in-law when she said to me in a prophetic tone, “Marlane, why don’t we start a cooking school?”

Much to my amazement, I heard myself answering, “Why don’t we? The cooks of Radicondoli can be the teachers!”

Then the ideas started to flow. Emanuela could teach us how she works with what’s growing in her garden or being caught on her father’s boat in the Mediterranean to prepare a stupendous repertoire of seasonal menus. Tommaso could teach us to make his light-as-air pizzas. Giovanna Porcu could teach us to make handmade ravioli with cheese from her family’s sheep farm. Clizia could teach us the secrets of cucina povere, the art of turning the simplest of ingredients into a culinary masterpiece. Of course, each one of these cooks has a battery of delectable dishes, from lasagna with nettles and ricotta to pork loin stuffed with wild fennel. Wouldn’t it be fun to learn their different techniques and kitchen secrets? Wouldn’t it be fun to go to a cooking school hosted by a village?

We decided to give it a try. I sent out an email to a few of my friends, who passed the message along to their friends. We received an immediate, overwhelmingly enthusiastic response from people all over the country. Two advisory groups came in May and June, and we had a blast. As I got to know the people who had come and their reasons for making the trip, I realized that the success of this cooking school was rooted in a shared nostalgia for a way of life that is not only missing in most of America, but which is fast disappearing even from Italy—a culture built around community and homegrown, homemade foods enjoyed with family and friends. Il Campo/Cucina is so much more than a cooking school—it is a doorway into the past, an immersion into a living, breathing way of life that is fundamentally different from our own, and from which there is an abundance to learn, to harvest, and bring home. And I hope that those who come will take Il Campo, “the field,” home with them and create their own little piece of paradise wherever they go.

Marlane Miriello, Co-Founder, Director of Il Campo/Cucina

To learn more about Marlane Miriello, CLICK HERE .

To learn more about Giovanna Hipting, CLICK HERE