The Stinco Story

Years ago, shortly after I first moved to Italy, I decided to take a long hike with my wife and a friend. We went to an area that was new to us near the Malga di Bresimo. A malga is a high mountain dairy farm and they are common in these parts of the Italian Alps.

To get to where our hike would begin, I had to take a very windy road that ascended into the Adamello Brenta Dolomites after we made a brief stop at the Alta Garda Castle in Bresimo for some site seeing and pictures. The scenery was spectacular all the way. Suddenly, I realized we had cleared the tree line as we had passed the 6,600 foot mark.

Many miles on and at a higher altitude, we parked the car and did some hiking. After a couple of hours we made our way up to the malga on a steep, well-worn path. I had actually never visited a malga so I really didn’t know what to expect. We looked around a bit at the cows when a voice broke the still of the mid-day heat. “Avete fame?” We turned around and there was a man beckoning us into a part of the malga I hadn’t seen. It soon became clear that this man was asking us if we wanted lunch.

We went into a small room with a few tables and sat down. The same man immediately arrived at our table and asked us again if we wanted lunch. We all choked-out a “si” in unison and off he went. I thought it strange that he didn’t take our order and the lack of conversation was a bit baffling. I asked another patron at a nearby table how things worked at a malga for lunch. He laughed and seeing that we were Americans explained: “Qui da noi, mangiamo un piatto fisso.”

Okay, I got that. There was no menu and lunch entrees were fixed each day by the proprietor. It was simple enough and I liked the idea immediately. Then came the food. The obligatory basket of bread was presented first followed by a plate for each of us containing a whole stinco. What, you ask, is a stinco? Without all of the Tirolean drama that usually accompanies the explanation, it is simply a ham hock. It is also known hereabouts by its German name, haxe.

These were full-sized ham hocks, meaning it was a hell of a meal by any standard. As I began to inquire about what to drink, a liter of Teroldego wine was plopped down on our table. Now, I thought, this is living!

Fifteen minutes passed as we struggled to consume all of that meat. I had noticed that the wine was gone but when I turned my head for a moment to speak to our friend, another liter appeared. Not being ones to shy away from hospitality or wine, we began pouring anew.

Another twenty minutes lapsed and we were just getting to the stinco bone when boom! Another liter of wine appeared as if by the hand of God. I must interject here that at that elevation, a small bit of wine goes a long way. We cautiously moved our way through the third liter, keeping an eye open all the while for that wine porting man of the malga. Finally, he did indeed appear again with another liter in his hand. “Basta!” I spewed. Feeling that maybe I’d hurt his feelings, I explained that three liters of wine for three people on a hot day at over a mile high is, well, just too much!

As we paid our bill, the malga owner explained that lunch at a malga was an all-inclusive affair; all you can eat and drink. The error, in fact, had been mine by not calling a time out earlier in the proceedings.
Remember that I said the road was windy? I instantly decided that I could not and would not drive down the mountain with that much wine in my gut. I proposed that the three of us sleep it off in a meadow. I pulled an old U-Haul felt blanket from the back of my station wagon and laid it out under the hot Tirolean sky. I didn’t even have to explain further. My wife and our friend joined me instantly and we slept a good three hours. I would have probably slept into the night except that loud snoring ensued on either side of me. When it finally became too much to bear, I jumped up and said, “Let’s go!”

I remember this story very well. It came back to me this morning when my wife and I bought a stinco at the market. We laughed together at the memory from years ago. Yes, we would have our stinco for dinner but this time with just a couple of glasses of wine.

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