Domhnall O’Donoghue bonded with his Italian partner’s parents through the magic of food.

Walking along the Royal Canal, a heron — soaring across the still waters — drew my attention to an apple tree being looted by mischievous boys. The sight amused me because that same day in my Italian for Beginners course, I learned the expression, “I bambini mangiano le mele” — “the children eat the apples”.

Despite being in a relationship with an Italian for nine years, shamefully, I’ve only started learning his mother tongue. Not for us to communicate — Gabriele, a translator, commands a grasp of English better than most natives — but to allow me to converse with his parents when next in their home city of Venice.

Until now, during our visits, I’ve called upon my acting skills to express myself, notably mime — using flailing hand gestures to demonstrate my mood or whether I was finding the Venetian climates too hot. Now, thanks to my daily Italian lessons, I will, at least, be able to tell them that “the children eat the apples” or “the woman drinks the water”.

But that’s not to say Gabriele’s parents and I haven’t achieved a meaningful bond over the years — the opposite, in fact. How? Using one of the greatest gifts provided by Mother Nature: food.

BELLISSIMO!

Gabriele’s mother, Luisella, a retired accountant, is a virtuoso in the kitchen, and with few words spoken between us, I’ve developed an understanding of her family’s life and the local culture through the dishes she prepares.

Scattered across the Venetian lagoon are 118 islands, of which Lido — where she and her husband, Franco, live — is the largest. However, Luisella grew up on the nearby island of Sant’ Erasmo — affectionately christened the Garden of Venice, thanks to its abundance of produce, including asparagus, tomatoes, grapes, courgettes and plums. The verdant island even holds an annual festival for purple artichokes.

Growing up there, Luisella learned of the importance of food — and its ability to unite Italian families — and soon, she became skilled at rustling up dishes worthy of Michelin stars. In addition to vegetables and fruits, Sant’ Erasmo is known for its wild duck, which Luisella’s family regularly share with her. However, she credits her late mother-in-law, who lived in the Swiss and Italian mountains, for teaching her an appreciation for meats like veal, rabbit and pheasant — all of which I sampled there for the first time.

When they visit the mountains, Franco forages for beautiful ingredients, including porcini mushrooms, which Luisella later puts to good use in the kitchen. They also return to Venice weighed down by produce from their family’s farm — eggs, cheese, butter and salami made from their pigs.

But as you’d expect from an islander, Luisella specialises in seafood — with the assistance of her husband, of course. Franco regularly ventures out to Lido’s beaches when there’s low tide to gather mussels and clams — so fresh, you can taste the Adriatic Sea in every mouthful. (Incidentally, lido is the Italian word for beach.)

Much to the delight of my sweet tooth, Luisella also excels in desserts — especially, Tiramisu, the coffee-flavoured delicacy, which Gabriele once explained was created in the Veneto region. The name directly translates as “pick me up” — the perfect description of any meal in Luisella and Franco’s home.

FIRST COURSE

Not that every dining experience in the Bianchi-Citon residence has been incident-free. The first evening I met Gabriele’s parents, I was oblivious to the structure Italian meals take. Following a refreshing aperitivo, Luisella presented us with a mountain of risotto, replete with Franco’s freshly caught clams. I wasted no time and greedily devoured my serving.

By way of ingratiating myself to my hostess, I accepted a second and third portion — believing there was no higher praise than asking a cook for more of her efforts. I’d have taken a fourth but the buttons on my trousers, clinging on for dear life, advised against it.

“Allora, secondo,” Luisella announced, rising to her feet. I turned to Gabriele, a smirk etched across his face.

“Please tell me a ‘secondo’ is nothing more than tea or coffee,” I whispered. Before he could reply, Luisella re-emerged from the kitchen, carrying a ceramic pot filled with guinea fowl on a bed of mixed vegetables. It was a belly-busting way to learn that Italians’ primo courses like risotto or pasta are only the warm-up act for the main event! Somehow, I managed to finish the secondo — thanks in no small part to its scrumptious taste.

While the downside to Luisella’s cooking is an ever-expanding waistline, an extra few pounds is a fair exchange for receiving such delicacies and insights into the Venetian way of life. And if I can continue with my Italian lessons, I’ll be able to tell her as much when we next meet.

Failing that, we can always discuss why “the children eat the apples” over a digestif.

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