Friends of The Awaiting Table Cookery School in Lecce:
These are the people in our neighbourhood.

No one really knows if it’s true or not, but tradition says that some journalist once asked the pope, ‘How many people actually work in the Vatican’?
‘It’s hard to say,’ the pope said, ‘but my guess is that it’s less than half’.
Well, Lecce is sort of like that, only the opposite. How many culinary instructors will you have during your time in Lecce? The answer is just about everyone you meet. The man that sells us flowers never lets us leave without scratching out a recipe for us.

Cesare, the man that delivers our bottled-water through the window of our library thinks nothing of chit-chatting ten minutes about his new favourite vineyard. The old geezers in the barber’s chairs are not talking sports. Not even about politics.
Sauce!
Lecce is a food town, and here are the people you’ll meet.

This is Chris Butler and he knows olives. Don’t let the name fool you- Chris is an Italian citizen and has been working with, teaching about, writing about, tasting and teaching the tasting of high-quality olive oil for longer than anyone else we know. Our olive program, ‘The Contadino, The Cook and The Extra Virgin, is actually a joint venture between Chris’s olive consultation services, and our school here in Lecce, the program growing from a series of talks that Chris and Silvestro gave around The Awaiting Table’s dinner table. And Chris really knows olives, as we’ve said. But aside from his vast knowledge base, what really makes Chris stand out among ‘Flying oil makers’ (Chris works in Italy, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand and North America) is his grass roots approach to improving olive oil quality. ‘Educate the consumer’, he says, ‘and everything else falls right into place’.

This is Elena, who owns and runs the best Bed and Breakfast here in Lecce. ‘We in Italy call it a Bed and Breakfast’ but only because we don’t have another name for it. Imagine staying in a private house, you know, with antiques and nice things, but where you have a normal person there to see that you’re happy. We do have little kitchens in each room but those that come to Silvestro’s school always eat breakfast with the other students each morning, in Antonio’s cafe. You know, un cappuccino and a pasticiotto. It’s the best way to start the day, just like we do here in Italy. My mouth waters if I think about it too much’, she says, laughing. She comes to dinner often and we tend to grill our fresh sausages out on her 4th story garden terrace come Wednesday nights.

This is Simona, our artistic guide and something of a local celebrity. She has been proudly introducing Lecce to the non-leccesi for longer than she’d ever care to admit. ‘Most of what I do is explaining a place through its architecture. ‘What was life like here in Lecce when x was built’, that sort of thing. Of course this is nothing knew, even if many from New World countries find this a radical approach to learning, if only because they don’t have the buildings around them on a daily basis to study. But I think the general public is starting to look at food like that now too. ‘What does a dish mean?’ Why did this group of people eat this or that? Sure, you can say, ‘because they were poor’, but this is the Mediterranean , everyone used to be very, very poor, often until very recently. Sicilians were just as poor but their food is very different. Northern Pugliesi were poor too, but their food is very different. Why? Food can be more than just delicious and nutritious. It can be fascinating, anthropologically.

This is Gracious Antonio, likely the sweetest man you’ll ever meet. He owns and run our café where we meet for coffee every morning. He also happens to make what is likely the best cappuccino you’ll ever have, the best hot chocolate and the best granita too. He simply wouldn’t do something if he wasn’t excellent at it. Take his espresso: he actually keeps the cups under boiling water, grinds the beans fresh once an hour and even listens to your conversation, anticipating a natural pause before he starts his machine, ensuring that you’ll have a perfect cup of coffee in front of you, every time. ‘I can always tell the cooking students right away’, he says, his bar towel in constant motion. ‘They’re always just delighted to see me and they know my name, something I don’t get even from my own wife’, he says, laughing. ‘It’s strange to think that on the other side of the world right now there are people who already know me from something called ‘a web site’. But sure enough, in walks Silvestro and a few students and the first thing they say is, ‘Antonio’. The world is a pretty magical place’.

This is Big Show, although many call him Andrea (apparently Big Show is a professional wrestler, a reference to his gargantuan size). He and his father, Mimmino, sell salumi, which is another way of saying, Things Preserved Through Drying. Big Show sells capers, olives, anchovies, cheese, salami (not the same thing as above) and salt cod, all ingredients that are still preserved in salt, long after the advent of refrigeration. Salting draws out the moisture, stopping any bacterial activity, which always needs water to thrive, (which, if you think about it, is not too different from why scientists always are searching for water on other planets).

This is Mauro, who comes to the school for dinner often. Mauro is insane about two things, his home town of Salerno, and the mozzarella produced there, which he brings with him after each trip back to visit his family. ‘Why would I go out to eat? I come to Silvestro’s’, he says. ‘I’m still not very good at making fresh pasta but I really excel at eating them’. He’s working on his English and likes to sit next to those working on their Italian. Especially if they’re female.

This is Fabio Nocco. He and his brother, Alessio, sell us the majority of our wine that we consume at the school and indeed we tend to visit their shop during most weeks, just to chit-chat and see if there is anything new to try. The story of the changes in wine making in the Salento can be told in their shop, and not just in the wines themselves, but in the division of labour. Pippi, their father, sells cheap beer and bulk wine by the glass out front of the shop, which caters mostly to construction workers and college students. His sons sell high-quality, truly world—class wines in back. They read voraciously, meet with vendors and constantly taste towards keeping themselves informed: the boys simply are the local authorities. That this change came in a single generation tells you a different story than the one perceived outside of Italy- that Italy has always been a consumer of high-quality wine.

This is Sandro the butcher, who is absolutely fascinated by our school, and how we work hard to revive recipes on the verge of becoming lost. Roast a whole lamb? Sandro wants to know about it, know what you roasted it over, and how far away was the flame. Roast a whole pig? He wants your stuffing recipe (mostly chopped pancetta, raw fennel and lots and lots of black pepper). Not long ago we asked for some ground mutton for a sauce to dress our orecchiette. We noticed as we were telling him the recipe that he was grinding twice as much as we asked for. The next day we compared tasting notes. ‘Superb’, he said, smacking his lips in remembrance. ‘Those are flavours I haven’t tasted since I was a little boy’.

This is Chuck, who doesn’t spend as much time at the school as he would like. ‘I’ve known Silvestro for pushing 20 years and have visited him in, what, five different Italian cities over the years. Lecce is still my favourite. I recently turned the big 4-0 and even decided to celebrate my birthday here at the school, and further south at the castle. From what I remember, I think we all had a great time, and anyway, liver damage is treatable anyhow. The thing about this part of Italy , is that no matter where I go in Italy , Italians are always impressed that I spend so much time in Puglia . Apparently it’s the really cool region now days. You can’t open a food magazine anymore without reading about Puglia . Yeah, me. Hip and trendy. Who knew?’

This is Ermanno, who keeps us in both excellent, high-quality, free-range chickens and the local rabbits, which are justifiably famous for the flavour they acquire from a life-long diet of savoury Mediterranean herbs. ‘My very first job when I was a teenager was slaughtering rabbits. Now I still sell the same ones, from the same farm. I always ask my wife to cook more rabbit- I love it so much- but she always puts her foot down and says that once a day is enough. She’s from two towns over’, he says, as if that explains it all. He’s also brothers with Sandro the butcher, and the son of Giovanni the other butcher. Those still needing a diagram of their family tree will be provided one on request.

This is Romana, who just may be the sassiest and sexiest fish-monger in the entire world (how many fishmongers do you know that can gut fish while in heels, fallen spaghetti-straps and skin-tight Capri pants, while bantering with customers, bossing around her all-male staff and stopping a box of live octopuses from escaping?!) ‘ Lecce is perhaps the best strategically-situated city in all of Italy , fish-wise. Yes, it’s not on the coast, that’s true. But better than that, it’s between two. And historically it’s always been an aristocratic city. It’s the best of both worlds. Historically we’ve always had well-trained cooks, and two different seas to pull from. Really, even before something even decides to wiggle underwater, you have some cook somewhere in Lecce planning how to cook it’, she says, in a howl.

This is Luca, who sells us our bread, but sometimes too, flour for our fresh pasta. ‘Monday is my favourite day of the week, especially if Silvestro’s students are coming in. They’ll never have seen a loaf of bread so big. I don’t really speak English too well but I always understand the same when they always say, ‘Surfboard, Surfboard’.

This is Pina, whom everyone always loves. Pina has the local habit of asking your intended use for everything when ordering from her market stall, which can be off-putting to those that don’t know better. ‘A kilo of peppers’, you’ll say.’ ‘For what’, she’ll ask. ‘For making la peperonata’, you say’. ‘Ah, then you definitely want these, say, over these. They’d be much better. Cost less too’. Yep, everyone loves Pina. And no, you can’t take her home with you.