At the table

Pam's toes (and Paco's)

Last night Pam and Romano invited us over for dinner. When we arrived, we saw that Pam had shed her snow boots and wriggled into her Animal Farm socks, featuring a donkey, a cow, a pig, a duck, and a rooster on each foot.

We each got a piece of the Parmesan rind that flavored the soup.

Those socks were hard to top, but the dinner she'd put together did so handily. It was the perfect supper for a cold, wet evening: a delicious soup of lentils, potatoes, squash, and leeks, accompanied by homemade bread, several cheeses, and slices of culatello, a variety of cured pork indigenous to the immediate area.













(The Barilla pasta company's web site explains that "the thick fog that rolls off the Po River and the biting cold of the winter give culatello its characteristic sweetness and fragrance." I'm embracing this as a reason not to feel so negative about the current weather.)

There was also a bottle of good red wine from Puglia and, to finish, a crostata made with prune preserves. Like every meal we've had in that house, it was a feast.

A bit of crostata for Paco

Paco, their pit bull-cane corso mix, accompanied the meal with musical whining until, once the humans were fed, he was invited to join us at the table.

He readily accepted.

(Note: He is not on a chair. He's just very large.)

I realize this is regarded as poor dog training, but it's hard to disapprove when Paco's family gets such evident pleasure from indulging him. And temporary relief from his vocalizing.