Another Saturday, Another Chicken

Yes, this is another installment of life in the Val di Non, Italy. Enjoy!

Here in our little valley, we are somewhat isolated (okay, completely) from the rest of the world. Life here evolves slowly every day and the days all seem to blend into a sort of great Ground Hog Day. Things here are terribly repetitive but life goes on just the same. It’s just that here, we are more paced so to speak. We’d like to think that’s a good thing.

The week goes like this: Sunday and Monday are dead. Everything is closed in the Province of Trento. It’s a medieval custom that is respected by all with the exception of a very few new bold entrepreneurs.  Tuesday sees a crush on the local markets that have been closed since last Saturday. Wednesday is a twin of Tuesday. Thursday brings the afternoon closings (again, custom) but things are starting to change just a bit. It’s always hard to really get anything done on Thursday. Friday is the big day when everyone seems to do all the work they were supposed to do all week. It’s a blur. Then comes Saturday. Ah yes, the gentle caress of the end of the week before the cycle begins anew.

Saturday features a small street market in the neighboring village of Fondo. It’s really no big deal. There is a small truck that sells cheese and salami. There is another that sells verdure (vegetables). Yet another sells plants for the garden when in season. Then, there is the chicken truck. A what? Yes, chicken truck! This is the star of the show so to speak.

Locals line up to secure their pollo in huge numbers. Pre-orders are accepted as this is a very big weekly deal for a population that has endured the week described above. I usually show-up around 11:00 to secure my spot in the queue. I am almost always initially aced-out by a few pushy locals. They shove me aside when the chicken man cries, tocca (who’s next).  If you arrive after 12:30, you are assured of a dried-out beast fit only for canine consumption. I may be an American but I’m not dumb so I come early.

The neat thing about this chicken truck is that it is a giant rotisserie  on four wheels. The advertising on the outside is in three languages including English although the owner speaks zero of this strange tongue. Because I know these folks are actually from the German speaking Bolzano Province, I finally step forward from within the mob and order my fare in Tirolese (low German). “Grüß Gott. Ein halbes Huhn mit Pommes bitte.” The owner’s eyes sparkle a bit. At last he has a customer who speaks his lingo. He gives me a fatter portion of fries and the good half of the chicken. Language ability is a handy tool for a discount or a bigger slice of the pie hereabouts.

We hustle back to our home, some 7 kilometers distant. I yank a cold beer or two out of our refrigerator and head for our garden. The last of the remaining wild forest cats approaches instantly. I give my wife some fries with the good part of the chicken. We toast with our glasses of 8.4% Stark Bier. Yes life is good. It’s another Saturday and another chicken. Grazie Dio per Sabato e pollo.🍺

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