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6-8
Complex
Published 2008
Driving through a small hilltop village in Tuscany, surrounded by leafless chestnut woods and lost, grumpy, cold and hungry, I decided it was time to stop. I chose an empty establishment with pink tablecloths and floral-tiled walls. Once seated I received no menu, and it was clear there was no choice. You ate what you were given. ‘Cinghiale,’ said a stout, short woman, and I nodded. A dark stew was produced from a huge copper pan resting in the glowing hearth. Brought to the table, i