I didn’t take my camera with me for our quick little day trip into Montepulciano, a trip in which the single most notable part was the absence of car sickness on my part. I am incredibly sad about this (the lack of a camera, not the nausea) because we stumbled across something meaningful to me on a multitude of levels-- a store full of hand forged copper pots called Rinomata Rameria Mazzetti. It made the metalsmith geek in me absolutely giddy and it made the soup maker in me literally squeal.
“Oh my Gaaaaaaaawd. It can’t be!” I said in my best American Tourist accent to Bossy as we passed a window lined with copper bowls, vessels, fondue makers, baptismal fonts, you name it. There were repousséd copper sheets made to be used as house numbers in shapes of grapes and what I’m assuming is Bacchus (this is a wine region, after all), tiny butter and milk warmers and ladles. Basically, if I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have hugged the nice Italian lady whose husband’s family have been coppersmiths for five generations, purchased 90% of her inventory and then bought a ramshackle Italian stone villa to house it all. I could momentarily imagine a whole new life created around this Tuscan kitchen... luckily for me, I don’t have the available balance (or the pot rack) to do such a thing.
Anyway, Mom, Dad, Secret Admirer(s): if you’re reading this give the nice Italian lady a call; though she doesn’t speak much English, she’d love to meet your Visa card, and I’d love a giant rondelle to make soup for 25 when I get home (2 mm thickness of the copper, please).
I woke up this morning, back in LA and all about the jet lag, by the sound of the DHL dude at my door. I wasn’t expecting anything, and when I saw there was a box for me from Italy, I couldn’t have been more surprised and delighted. I was even more excited, still, when I saw the return address from Montepulciano...
In the box, the most beautiful, gigantic, hand-forged copper soup pot I have EVER seen, compliments of my mom, Tiny Dancer.
I burst into tears, unable to even compose myself as I called to thank her.
Here’s a picture of the pot that now has a permanent home on my stove:
It’s so beautiful I don’t know what to do with myself. Thank you, Mom!!!