Why do Sardinians eat such horrible bread?

This is our last stop in Sardinia for this trip. It’s a spacious modern apartment overlooking the valley town of Muravera, not far from the sea, and about 30 kms from Caglieri airport for our departure on Tuesday.  There is a swimming pool, up about 600 granite steps behind the building.  The pool is about twice as long as our bath at home, but is graced with an urn which spills water forever into the blueness of the teeny tiny pool.  (The photo on bookingdotcom is accurate but deceptive at the same time).  

We opted to get here from up the coast by driving inland through the mountains - the geomineral national park - the drive was really spectacular.  The rocks of Sardinia (as mentioned the other day) are really old and complex in such a small space, so the landscape varies quite dramatically in short distances.  

At one point we drove through the road-junction village of Gairo - all unexpectedly modern. Then we found Gairo Vecchio just a few hundred feet further down the hillside, totally abandoned, every roof crashed in, only the church looking habitable (and glossy too).  For some reason everyone had fled this place, and not too long ago. A man in a little café across the valley told us it was all due to a flood in 1951… the ground had become unstable. The move to the new village was complete by about 1970. 

Each village and town has a distinct character - some seem very open and hospitable, some seem sullen and closed. Some apparently have no cafés or restaurants despite being quite large places. We searched for lunch at Escalaplano but all the activity was in a small square with a very loud music festival going on, so we headed on, and eventually found a place called Mistral, in the middle of nowhere. I think they must have big parties there, discos etc, but we were the only customers at first. The guy showed us two old stone flour mills. The grain was poured in from a bottle or tank on the top, and a donkey did the work.  I have no idea how old these were. He spoke too fast for me to get it!

  

The place was really spacious inside, huge in fact, but we sat outside on the terrace… no menu, we talked our way into a simple lunch of such exquisite taste and finesse, it will rank as one of the greats.  

  

  

He brought a variety of cold meats (‘prosciutto’) on a large plate of carasau bread, accompanied by a basket with what I would call real bread - the best we have had in Sardinia - sourdough, I think, artisanal, handmade, slow.  In fact, this is the only decent bread we've had in nearly a fortnight. There were two sorts of cheese, and then he brought some of the famous maggoty Sardinian cheese, with live maggots…. (we ate it too, v powerful salty strong taste). He brought the stomach of a goat with a different cheese packed into it… and then a little portion of fegatini (liver) cooked with chilli pepper and sage, and served with some delicious lentils, and then a salad.  By this time three men had sat themselves at another table, and then a couple who arrived on a spectacular white Goldwing motorbike.  Meanwhile little cats prowled about, goats bleated in a pen nearby, and a small free range pony grazed the thin grass beside our terrace. A line of shrubs was alive with bees.  It’s hard to describe how wonderful it was, as this was not really ‘cooking’, but everything was just delicious and perfect. All this, with water, came to 27€.   It just goes to show, you CAN find excellent bread here. They do know how to make it. But for some reason they choose to buy really horrible tasteless dry dull stuff. Why?     

  

I have been meaning to say, it is usual to hear people greeting each other in Latin: Salve!  ‘Buon giorno’ is more formal.  (This reminds me of how in Austria, earlier this year, we learned that people don’t say ‘Guten Tag!’ but ‘Grosse Gott!’)  Because Sardinia has a robust dialect of its own it’s not always easy to understand any of what is said, but French is a good useful go-between language. That tends to be the Langue d’Oc, of course, so ‘pain’ (bread) is ‘penn’.  

The village or town of Muravera is one of those with dozens of winding back streets, especially up the hillsides…  This is a screenshot from the satnav earlier in the day....

We walked into the main road (Via Roma) to find provisions. The church doors were open - lusty singing could be heard (and vibrant church bells this morning too). There were lots of young people about, children doing cartwheels in the shade, young girls smoking in bars, groups of youths laughing loudly…. We had a drink, watched a mass of bats wheeling over some trees in a small garden, and I drew the view up a tiny street leading to the mountain.  

Luckily no mosquitoes invaded the flat in the night, but one very loud hornet came to explore - especially interested in my Juice Plus+ capsule jars - and then buzzed off again.  

And now, just a moment ago, this creature (what is it?) has come to sit on the bathroom terrace door...