My parents braved the vicissitudes of empty-nest syndrome the
way any sensible, seasoned couple might: by amassing a perky pack of Yorkshire terriers to regenerate their dwindling
family. Dad bought Lili, the matriarch
of the pack, during one of his late-autumn business trips to London and, like so many Brits, she
immediately took to the knolly Roman countryside where my parents live. Her cheerful disposition would have more
than sufficed to gain my parents’ love and devotion, but much to their
grateful delight, she also turned out to be a buona forchetta with whom they could share their love of good food.
Straight away she shared my father’s fondness
for grilled abbacchio and steak al sangue, but would also not disdain the
bollito misto or lightly-seasoned pasta
offered by my mother. She enjoyed the
freshly-laid eggs the local farmer brought over on spring mornings and the
stewed rabbit my mother served on chilly, fall evenings. Given my harried and impecunious lifestyle at the time, I was hideously envious of her.
If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the way
to empty-nesters' hearts is through their dog’s stomach. So to please my parents, my brother, sister,
and I got in the habit of bringing Lili edible treats whenever we’d visit. The rawhide dog bones I’d bring from the
States never made the grade; she’d sniff them briefly and turn away in
befuddlement. I got used to being in the
dog house with both her and my parents on the first few days of each of my
visits. On the other hand, she loved the
sweetbreads and organ meats my sister brought over from her butcher in Trevignano and whenever Fay’s car pulled up into the
gravel drive way, Lili’d dive for the door, her tail and ears as upright as
exclamation points, my parents eager on her paws.
It was probably a good thing that when Lili had her first
litter my parents decided to keep one of the pups, otherwise who knows what
kind of monstrous ego she’d have developed as the sole recipient of my parents' lavish attention. And when her daughter, Spookie, had her own litter, they decided to keep two
of those pups as well – Pedro and Macchietta. And all four of the little beasts buone forchette. Indeed, feeding them turned out to be quite a
challenge.
Through trial and error my parents had discovered that all
four enjoyed bollito misto and
grilled meats, whereas no unanimous consent could be obtained from them for any
other dishes. Lili and Spookie enjoyed sautéed
liver, but the other two turned up their pointy noses at it. Pedro enjoyed veal spezzatino but whenever it was served all that could be seen of
Macchietta were his hairy pantaloons disappearing under one of the beds. Macchietta enjoyed small stuffed meat rolls
called involtini but Spookie didn’t
like the egg stuffing. Eventually, a standardized doggie menu for dinners was established, in which beef and chicken bollito misto was served one evening with
grilled meats served on alternate evenings.
On grilled meats evenings, my parents’ cooking and serving
tasks were quite simple, but on the bollito
misto evenings things got a bit more complicated. The liquid in which the chicken, beef, and
vegetables are boiled must be regularly and meticulously skimmed so that the
resulting broth does not accumulate unpleasant flavors, and cooking times are
critical – both undercooking and overcooking destroy flavor and texture. Once cooking is complete, the meat and
vegetables must be drained and cooled prior to serving.
For many years, each evening at about 5:30, my parents would
start preparations for the doggie dinner and two hours later, they’d be done
and the dogs would be licking their whiskers. Only then would my parents consider their own dinner.
Apparently, this diet was good for the dogs because Lili lived
to the ripe old age of 16 and Spookie 15. Pedro died when he was 10 of a congenital heart problem. Macchietta is still padding around their
house, though his near toothlessness means he's eating more boiled and less grilled meats these days.
5:17:45 PM 
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