Sunday is a special day in Italy. And Sunday lunch is one of our favorite activities of the week. It is a day when families get together and spend hours at the table. Old people ambling in on canes and walkers, children in their Sunday best, with dolls and toys in tow. It’s sort of like Easter dinner and Thanksgiving all in one. But it happens every week.

It is a joyous occasion for a tourist to watch. Families all dressed up, relaxing and enjoying one another’s company completely. Conversation flows nonstop. And it comes from all ends of the table. Parents, the middle generation, are engaged for sure. But they seem to do a wonderful job of engaging the grandparents. The children get into the act, too, mostly on the older generations’ terms, talking and carrying on but, for the most part, under control. When and if they cross that fine line, Italian family justice is brought to bear, often in the form of the back of the hand. Justice is swift, terrible and effective and resolves any problem of noise, attention hogging or poor manners.

It is striking just how long the typical Italian Sunday lunch goes on, at least at a restaurant. Parties arrive some time after noon, dressed as though they have just come from church. They talk, eat, drink, get up for a smoke, sit, eat some more, laugh, play and generally smile for several hours, departing in the late afternoon haze. It is a therapeutic activity, a cleanse that appears to leave all involved relaxed and ready to face the rigors of the week ahead.

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We have witnessed dozens of these special Sunday lunches from across a crowded restaurant, anonymously enjoying the atmosphere and vicariously joining in the fun of others. So it was all the more special to enjoy Sunday lunch in the company of our friends the Ribiginis – Gerardo and his wife Assunta and their son and daughter Federico and Claudia. We, too, had our extended family in tow – our twin sons and daughter, the twins’ school friends Mike and Chase, our oldest dearest friend Frances, who now resides in Rome and our Italian daughter-mother, Wendy. It was finally our opportunity not just to observe, but to experience the Sunday lunch phenomenon.

And to make it all the more special, we assembled in nearby Bevagna, in our favorite local restaurant, le Delizie del Borgo, run by our good friend Simone.

Sunday did not disappoint.

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We arrived a few minutes late for our reservation, which for us was a little early. The crisp cool air felt a little more like Fall than the early days of Spring, but the clear blue sky, the gentlest of breezes and the occasional songs of birds announced a rebirth rather than a decay. Still, this time of year, as Winter, even in its mildest form is being shaken off, gives an odd kind of feeling, a tentativeness that only later gives way to a certainty that life is once again springing forth. These last days of Winter/first days of Spring are a sort of no man’s land. In just a week or so there will be no mistaking that Spring has arrived and the melancholy of these days will quickly be replaced by the heart pumping anticipation of warmer weather, fresh bounty from the land and thoughts of the endless possibilities that life has to offer.

We are greeted warmly at the restaurant by Simone and his crew, having been here only a few days earlier after our visit to Calcata. Simone, who understands the cycles of nature as well as anyone we know and whose cooking highlights that which is fresh and seasonal, has earlier bemoaned this period, where there are few fresh ingredients, the Winter root vegetables not yet replaced with fresh Spring offerings. Nonetheless, his Wednesday lunch has done admirably well with what the land has had to offer. We are hoping he can once again work his magic on this Sunday afternoon.

Our large group snakes through the restaurant to the large table at the rear, next to the fireplace where Gerardo and family have already arrived. Also seated are Frances and Wendy and after welcomes are exchanged all around and cheek kissing is completed we sit. And the feast begins.

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Simone is indeed a mago, or wiseman and he needs no input from us to know what to serve. First appears a pair of plates with sliced meats, a staple here in Umbria. Prosciutto, salame, and other cuts of cured pork – capocollo, lomba, and others, each cut distinguished by the part of the pig from whence it came. Plates of local and other cheeses. It is a warmup course, the culinary equivalent of doing stretches before launching into your exercise routine.

Next comes a battery of small plates – a raw, sliced artichoke salad (artichokes are one of the few vegetables in season right now), dressed with a little lemon and salt, toasted bruschetta topped only with local olive oil pressed just a few months ago and sprinkled with salt to accentuate the grassiness of the oil. Then comes one of Simone’s signature dishes, bruschetta with liver pate. Simone’s pate is one of the very best we have eaten but despite our friendship with him he refuses to divulge his secret recipe. Our oldest son, who spent the Fall helping in Simone’s restaurant has learned the secret but he, too, refuses to spill the beans. We are reduced to returning to le Delize over and over to enjoy it. C’est la vie.

Next is a bowl of sautéed snails, local and fresh as can be. Snail jokes erupt around the table as Italian and American communicate seamlessly (mostly because our Italian friends speak such excellent English). Simone then surprises with a soup of ciccherchia, a grain that is cooked hard and served in a savory broth.  Even the Italians among us found this new and interesting.  Then another new dish, a small mound of toasted bread and soft cheese topped with truffle then papered with the thinnest slices of potato, resembling a tiny igloo which is baked in the oven. The combination of flavors, each one simple and robust, highlighted by the unusual and appealing crispiness of the oven baked potato slivers is outstanding. This dish is a keeper.

Scrambled eggs with truffles, another of Simone’s signatures marked the beginning of the end. And with the presentation of the final dish, homemade gnocchi with a subtle sauce of saffron, truffle and butter, we had successfully navigated the Simone culinary obstacle course. Another meal at Simone’s. Another memory.

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But the meal was not over, for in addition to Sunday lunch with the Ribigini family we were celebrating Assunta’s birthday. So out came an enormous white cake, a pan’ di spagna with a sauce of pureed strawberry, whipped cream, zabaglione and fresh strawberries (fortunately another fresh item these days). The cake was accompanied by our best rendition of Happy Birthday/Tanti Auguri, sung bilingually, a little English here a little Italian there. And what birthday celebration would be complete without a little prosecco, opened tableside with a sword removing the top of the bottle?

Watching the joy on Assunta’s face as this fuss was made over her birthday was indeed a treat. But the celebration of her birthday was, as they say, simply icing on the cake. As Winter turns to Spring, this Sunday lunch allowed us to renew and refresh our bonds of friendship among one another. Sunday lunch is truly a thing that the Italians got right and it is a simple joy to be part of it.

Ci vediamo!
Bill and Suzy