Do you know what a Sagra is? Don’t be shy if you don’t. I didn’t know what one was either.
A ‘Sagra’, specifically refers to a local Italian Village Festival. In Britain, we’d probably refer to them as Agricultural shows or Country Fayres or some such, but here in Italy, these’ Sagras’, are always associated with, Surprise Surprise, the celebration of a Food stuff or item of local produce. During the summer, banners of all types start appearing advertising these events, which usually last a week or so. There is a Sagra to celebrate every conceivable type of delicacy, from the Snail Festival at Fossa del Lupo, the Bull festival at Tuoro, the Frog festival, the Salted Cod Festival, the Wild Boar Festival, the Onion Festival (a famous one), the Pig Festival at Piana, which includes a free shuttle from the car park to the event in a trailer pulled by a tractor, and which has its own special song entitled ‘Il Ballo del Maiale’ and which is repeated on a reel and is so insidiously irritating that you find yourself humming it as you swish yourself off to sleep at night. Big GRRRRRR.
Actually I LOVE Sagre. They are so earthily local, so retro kitsch, so old fashioned. Such immensely good bountiful fun.
You arrive in the early evening at a dusty clearing or sports field in a village called WHYWOULDANYONELIVEHERE, where a cluster of tents have been erected. Easily the biggest tent or building (if the Sagra is a well organised one) is the Kitchen One, billowing smoke and occasionally belching out staff ( usually local volunteers from the Parent or Grandparent Brigade), sweating profusely under the stress of having to cater nightly for 100s of people. You queue at the entry kiosk, and pay your entry fee, and are then given a tick box menu, which you have to choose from, all of whose dishes celebrate the foodstuff of the Festival. It’s a myriad of choice I can tell you, as you swither between tagliatelle or pici or some other creative pasta shape, served with frog sugo, or boar chunks, or salted cod ragu. You can add in any extras, steaks or salads or chips or what have you, and a choice of proper puds, and of course, litres upon litres of the locally brewed wine.
You are given a ticket with a number on it and wafted away with gusto to a large area of plastic tables and chairs. Here you pick your way through the throng of gluttonous eating and drinking, through large and raucous groups comprising every family member, from the rabble of children through to cousins, aunties, uncles, neighbours, grannies, grandads and dogs. Eventually, you will find the table with the corresponding number to your paper ticket, and shortly after, an inexperienced local teenager or grumpy elder will bring you paper tableware, knives, forks, water and the umpteen litres of wine you unwittingly ordered in an enthusiastic fashion from the kiosk at the entrance. See. Method to the Madness.
Surprisingly promptly too, your food will arrive on a large tray overflowing with sumptuous fare, and yes, even the salted cod ragu or the frog fricassee or the wild boar stew will be sublimely and unexpectedly delicious. You’ll have had a glass or two by then, and suddenly the evening will be transformed into a marvellous affair. You’ll be swapping jokes with the grinning locals at the table next to you, playing football with the kids, giggling like a schoolgirl with the local nonne (grandmas) and admiring their sequinned outfits ( Italians Love a sequin or a spot of glitter), and coyly accepting the requests to dance the ballo liscio ( traditional ballroom dancing of foxtrots and tangos and waltzes) from the Local Silver Foxes on the look out for a romantic summer liaison. Omar Lamberti, or some other crooner, wearing a tight fitting outfit splendid with sparkles, will woo you through the summer night, until, Cinderella like, the moon will disappear from the silvery canopy of stars above you and you will trip off tipsily to bed.
Who doesn’t love a Sagra?
It’s a gloriously uplifting Community affair, that promises the best of local Living.
To hell with stuffy tourist tours. Live Like a Local.
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