Deberio, Ivo’s friend, welcomed us into his winery and art gallery. The clay brick walls and dirt floor made it much cooler than the outdoors. There were a variety paintings hung. He brought us to the side room where the table was adored with a hand stitched cloth. There was a basket of sliced bread and a plate of cheese. He held a decanter near a barrel. Deberio opened the tap and let some spill onto the floor. It’s tradition to offer some wine back to the earth. Deberio poured a clear colored vernaccia (ver na chee ya) wine into our small shot glasses. I misunderstood the serving size and gulped my sample. Both Ivo and Deberio fixed their eyes on me. “You are suppose to sip this wine.” Ivo explained. I wanted to shrink with embarrassment. “It’s a delicacy.” Ivo gently pointed out to me. “Deberio owns one of only three or four wineries that still produce vernaccia.” I breathed deeply and offered my sincere apology for being so rude by swigging the specially made wine.

Deberio recovered quickly from his shock and filled my glass with a tan colored sample. It was from a barrel that has aged for three years. Ivo taught us more about vernaccia. “To make this wine you need to use chestnuts and oxygen in the barrel. A yeast forms.” Ivo motioned with his hands as he talked. “The vernaccia changes with time. It needs just the right amount of humidity and temperature to age properly.” This sample had a more distinct taste with a wooden richness. Of course, I sipped this glass so I was able to interpret the flavors much better. (eye roll at myself)

Deberio brought out a leg of ham, prosciutto, that had been hanging and began to slice off thin strips to share. “Grazia” (thank you) I helped myself to some bread, cheese and ham to ease the effects of the wine. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or be rude anymore than I already had. This was an intimate lunch shared with friends. I relished in meeting locals and concentrated on minding my manners.

Next was from a barrel that had aged nine years. It was much darker brown. The aroma was grainy. Sipping it (as I had learned) gave a sensation of the liquid dancing across my tongue. It tingled! But it wasn’t just the alcohol, it was a combination of rich flavors of the grapes and chestnuts. “This is a wine kept for years and taken out for special occasions: weddings, celebrations and festivals.” Ivo informed us. “Deberio doesn’t sell his wine. He has it as a hobby to share with friends.” Having Deberio freely welcoming us and allowing us to sample his vernaccia was truly touching! We were both so honored!

Chuck asked about the guitar leaning on top of the barrels. Deberio took it down, gave it a sniff, “Unusual smell” he commented to Ivo who interpreted for us. Chuck tuned it and played “Wagon Wheel.” A group of men had been traipsing in and out of the back door into the large room next to us. They all stopped to listen to Chuck’s song. They had covered a long table with white butcher paper. Then they set plates and bowls at each spot. A huge bowl of pasta was brought out and passed around the table. They gestured to invite us to join them.

Wow! This was incredible! We were welcomed by this close knit club. (I thought we’d just eaten lunch.) One of the men had brought red wine in a large water bottle. It was passed as well. Ivo introduced us to the assembly of Sardinian friends. With Ivo’s translation, photos on our phones and acting out charades we learned about each other. Marco loves fishing, so we shared pictures of Chuck’s boat and maps showing the size of the Great Lakes. When we recited the temperature range in Michigan, they were all wide eyed. We described our rustic cabin and the tee pee that Chuck had assembled on his own. These men were impressed.

I was the last one with pasta in my bowl. I didn’t want to be rude again, but Ivo cleared away our dishes. “It’s ok.” He assured. There was a bustle of conversation and a ruckus at the back door. On a tray was a roasted suckling pig carried proudly by the chef. I had learned from Anthony Bordain’s show that this was a delicacy in Sardinia. They had slaughtered and cooked this piglet for Chuck and I. It was a generous offering. The piglet was sliced up with shears and passed around. I had a piglet leg.

A salad of artichokes, from the farmer sitting across from me, and bottarga was served. Bottarga is the salted ovaries of the mullet fish. It’s another Sardinian specialty. It was sliced and added sparingly into the chopped artichokes. We were honored to be treated to these delicacies. Deberio shared photos of salting rows and rows of the bottarga on trays here at the winery. I sat up taller trying to make room for this lovingly prepared platter. The men devoured their cuisine and each had a small pile of bones on their plates.

It was amazing to be immersed in a culture and soak up their language, food and friendship. I’ll tell you, the more wine I drank, the more I understood Sardo and Italian!

Deberio went to the small room and emerged with a small white sack that had been hanging. “This is goat cheese.” Ivo smiled. “They wait until the baby goat fills it’s stomachs with its mother’s milk, then they slaughter it. Right away they removed the stomachs and add rennet. The stomachs are tied closed and hung to age. After several months the milk turns into a fine cheese.” I wondered how they had ever thought of this process, but alas Sardinia is full of resourceful people. Deberio gently sliced the stomach open to reveal a pungent cheese which he spread on a slice of bread and offered to me. “Grazia” I grinned with thoughtfulness. This was unlike anything I’d ever eaten but I was determined to be respectful and gracious. The white, chunky cheese reminded me of the orange bar cheese spread with an extra kick to it. Next they served Chuck a piece. He seemed a bit unsure, but ate it cordially. There was nodding and a feeling of acceptance in the room. The baby goat’s stomach was passed around the table. The men each opened their knives (which were always kept handy in their trouser pockets) and lathered up pieces of bread.

A cell phone rang. The gentleman across from me to my left looked at the screen as he rose from the table. He made a comment which Ivo translated, “The Boss.” Many men rolled their eyes as their wives tend to be an annoyance, especially when they are ‘at the cellar with the men.’

“He says he’s with the guys.” Ivo stated and looked at me with a smirk. “Lean in and say, “HI!”” the group encouraged in Sardo. Ivo translated. I nodded, rose and met the man with the phone as he was walking toward the door. He held out his phone for the joke. “Hello” I said in English and quickly realized my mistake, “Buongiorno!” Laughter and Sardo words abounded inside the cellar walls. Ivo interpreted, “Now we are friends.”

The gentleman returned and asked to take a photograph of Chuck and I, as proof to his wife that I was harmless. Individuals asked if Chuck played sports or lifted weights. Chuck’s stature astounded the group. Most Sardinian men were smaller than ME. (I am five feet, six inches tall.) Chuck’s shoulder width and height made an impression.

Chuck shared a photo of his ninth cousin, Bjornsson, an Icelandic who has placed in strong man contests since 2010. The last two years he’s earned gold medals. The assembly erupted with understanding. Several stood and pantomimed having muscles.

Ivo had promised to take Deberio on a trip to America for his 50th birthday. So this summer they are planning on traveling to New York. We invited them to Michigan as well. Chuck promised adventures of visiting remote islands and inland waterways with locks. Together we revved up plans to meet again.

This platter was presented to me. Being a woman, I was always offered food items first. I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t see utensils. I looked to Ivo. “Oh, you break off a piece.” He instructed. He sensed my hesitation. “It’s a donught. ” The sugar sprinkled treat was delicious! It was sticky, too, so I licked my fingers clean.

Ivo said we needed to go to stay on schedule. I felt that we should help clean up. “No. You are on holiday.” We said our good byes. Ivo guided us down the street.

“I have surprise!” Ivo’s walk had a bounce to it as he led us a few blocks away from the winery. “This is my project.” he beamed. Soon, Ivo will have his own hotel and will guide travelers into a more clear understanding of Sardinia’s culture and history. We would love to return and stay there! We want to investigate the limestone caves and the abandoned mines.

That night my mind swirled. Being honored by Deberio, Ivo and their friends gave me a true connection and insight into people who live across the globe. They have such different customs and languages yet we are truly akin to one another. Their generosity and specialty cooking touched my heart. We were honored to be invited into their winery and take a peek behind the curtain of life in Sardinia.