Meet Antonello Carrucoli
Antonello Carrucoli, born in 1961 to a farming family in Montebuono, a hamlet in the municipality of Sorano, welcomed us into a world shaped by hardship, self-sufficiency and memory. He was born in a hilltop house known as Casa Ciuffoletti, close to the home where he grew up and to which he returned after retiring two years ago. At the time, the house had neither electricity nor running water. Ironically, Montebuono had been electrified in the 1920s thanks to the nearby mercury mines; when the Reto mine closed in 1921, electricity disappeared with it. In Antonello’s childhood, a barter economy still functioned. Pietro Burlandi, from the nearby village of Elmo, travelled from farm to farm with a donkey laden with pasta, salted cod and herring. In exchange, Antonello’s mother offered eggs or piccaie—small broom cages used to trap birds. Antonello’s father caught jays, thrushes and blackbirds in these cages, though his son disliked the food they produced. Jay broth repelled him, and hare was intolerable; only pheasant met with occasional approval. Once taken hunting by his father, Antonello refused to shoot. He was never invited again. Over time, he came to understand that hunting was not recreation but necessity.
Antonello under the porch of his home
Sugar arrived later, with the modest prosperity of the post-war decades. In the 1960s biscuits became a common breakfast, and pasta was eaten daily. Today Antonello is more restrained, avoiding carbohydrates, sugar and milk, though he allows himself the occasional pizza or cappuccino. He is sceptical of the modern food industry and believes that greater awareness of what one eats is essential to good health. The Carrucoli family lived largely off the land. They cultivated vines, olives and vegetables, including large quantities of potatoes. Antonello kept the vineyard for as long as his teaching career allowed, but eventually abandoned it for lack of time—a decision he recalls with regret. In his cellar he still keeps the final bottle of wine, from 2012, labelled simply Ultima. The family also raised pigs; one was sufficient for an entire year. Antonello avoided witnessing the slaughter, prompting his father to joke that he had been “born in Paris”. Sausages with potatoes were a staple, alongside pancetta preserved in oil with rosemary, garlic and bay leaves. There were also sheep—thirty of them—and chicks raised from broody hens. Water was collected from a nearby spring at Casa Tregli. Wild herbs such as chicory and crespigno were gathered seasonally. One of Antonello’s most vivid memories is of toasted bread layered with vegetables and slices of boiled egg. Herbs simmered in a cauldron over the fire; bread was toasted on flat stones in the hearth, soaked in the cooking water, then layered with oil, vinegar, salt, pepper and whatever vegetables were available. Prepared in the evening, the dish was eaten the next day. Another family staple was minestra bugiarda—“liar’s soup”—made with cannellini beans and stale bread soaked in the bean water, seasoned and left to rest overnight. His mother last prepared it in 2005, for his birthday. At the age of twelve, Antonello staged a small rebellion. After long days of shared labour in the fields, it was always the women who remained at the stove while the men rested. He insisted on cooking an egg himself. His mother tried to stop him; he persisted, cooking seven eggs before she relented. The episode marked the beginning of a lifelong passion. Wherever he travels, he seeks out local food first.
.jpeg)
A detail of Antonello's home
His mother cooked by instinct, without measurements, her knowledge inherited through observation. She later shared her acquacotta recipe with the wife of Caino, a Michelin-starred restaurant in nearby Montemerano. Antonello’s grandmother cooked less, but he remembers her panizza, a rustic polenta enriched with sausage, pork fat or vegetables, and fiorita, made from ricotta and stale bread and eaten the following day. Evenings were spent by the fire, lit by carbide lamps, while his father made baskets or pressed fresh honey. Polenta was cut with string, as tradition dictated. Education marked a turning point. Antonello’s great-grandparents were the only literate people in Montebuono; his parents were determined that he should avoid the hardships of rural life. He won his first teaching post in 1980, later qualifying for primary, middle and secondary schools. He earned two degrees, in pedagogy and history, and taught in Pitigliano and Sorano, while conducting historical research and publishing books and photographic works. His interests extend to photography, grafting and construction. His home is filled with objects from a culture of repair and reuse: tools made by his father and grandfather, carpets woven by his mother from sheep’s wool or discarded nylon stockings, and implements designed to last a lifetime.
Antonello's family pictures
.jpeg)
Family photos in Antonello's home
He remembers his mother making fresh pasta—pici rolled with a copper spoon, whose reaction with the dough imparted a faintly tangy flavour. Meals followed the seasons strictly: bean soup during broad-bean season, pea sauce with tagliatelle when peas were abundant. Dislikes were not indulged; if he refused a dish, he went to bed hungry. One exception was broad beans preserved in oil, which he loved. His father ate eggs and pancetta for breakfast before cutting wood. Until the age of 22, Antonello helped load timber onto trucks, earning first 500 lire, later as much as 80,000. Festive meals followed tradition: tagliatelle with walnuts and honey at Christmas; lamb and potato tortelli with mint at Easter; ciacce with honey from a neighbour who owned one of the few wood-fired ovens nearby. Antonello’s wife, Maria Spiga, was an accomplished cook. Her family’s signature dish—“Maria’s sauce”—combines veal, sausages and vegetables in both smooth and rustic forms. Their son Daniele continues the tradition. Antonello himself prefers simplicity, though he enjoys contrasting flavours. His repertoire includes peposo, prepared according to the recipe attributed to Brunelleschi’s workers, and a delicate white ragù with shallots, sage and nepitella. Widowed in 2015, Antonello now divides his time between town and countryside with a new partner. His culinary philosophy is rooted in patience: slow cooking as a quiet resistance to an accelerating world. Novelty matters, but so does memory. In his cellar remain the last bottle of family wine, the final honey from their bees, the last cheese made from their sheep’s milk—kept not for consumption, but as repositories of a life once lived, and carefully remembered.
.jpeg)
Antonello shows a shovel made by his father.