Zest for Life

Orange-pistachio biscotti

Carson Downing for Midwest Living

In Italy, we stayed in a stone house named Scopeto. We lounged on its wide terrazza and peered into its shimmering woods reputedly stalked by cinghiali,
wild boar. 

It was a dreamy week. We biked hills, strolled vineyards, and floated in the pistachio-green pool. Days, we practiced rolling pasta. Nights, we downed Chianti under the twinkling stelle. 

One sunburnt-orange afternoon, we ventured into the woods and found a stream, a path, and an adorable striped piglet—the bruited cinghiale. Babe was followed by three snub-nosed sibs, who were in turn followed by an enormous snarling beast, all ugly snout, gnashing teeth, and outraged parenthood. 

We froze. Grabbed sticks. And turned to face down the pack. But by then the piggies had skittered to Mama, and Mama had stomped back into the thicket.

We pounded to the villa and jumped into the pool, still in our sweaty vestiti. Baking dry on the deck, we crunched our way through a stack of double-baked biscotti. Crisp with pistachios and bright with orange zest, they made us feel safe, and happy, and terribly Italian.