August in Italy is “sagra” time when the small towns celebrate with a feast of everything from potatoes to rabbits. Each community features its specialty dish. The format is the same in every town. Rows of tables are set up in the piazza, or along the road in the smallest communities. Families often reserve space at tables but there is always room for the adventuresome traveler and families from neighboring towns. It’s that idle period in farming, crops planted but not yet ready to reap, and everyone wants to party. Wine pours freely, the food is ample and the evening nearly always ends with dancing in the street.

Cepatto’s specialty is soup, their “sagra,” Zuppa sotto le Stelle, (translated, soup under the stars) and the big organizer is Loretta who has a rooster that crows her name–…orehhtaaaaa. The women and older children prepare most of the meal, some portions in their own kitchens, others a joint effort in the middle of the road. This is a family affair and everyone, from the elders to the children, has a part to play. The men’s role is to set up the tables, barbecue the meat, sample the wine and, occasionally, stir the soup.

The day of the “sagra” began with five, flour-covered and laughing women in Elvira’s small kitchen making biscotti to be dipped in vin santo as the grand finale. While the biscotti baked in the large, outdoor brick oven, we joined the men and sampled the evening’s local wine, provided by Roberto, and gave it a thumbs up. The preparation party then moved up the hill and into the street.

There is no piazza in Ceppato, there is only one main road with a few small roads leading off it on the downhill side. This is not a thoroughfare so closing it for the day doesn’t present traffic problems. Leaving it open is not an option as the road becomes the kitchen and the parking lot the dining hall. The chopping tables were out and the soup beans already cooking in a giant aluminum barrel-sized pot. There is a special room for this pot, a large, stone cellar two steps down from the street. On this day, someone was trying to fasten a curtain to the door to let in air and keep out bugs. There is no easy way to do this in a stone wall so the soup room remained open to air and bugs. All day, someone was in that room stirring the soup with a long, wooden stick.

The chopping began. First came onions, potatoes and other vegetables to add to the soup. The real chopping fun came when it was time to make the giant fruit compote. Tubs full of fresh fruit were brought to the tables where the knives were flying and hands were covered with sticky juice. As the bowls piled high with the fruit, strong hands were required to dump the concoction into large washtubs for later serving. Next came the salad. This is where the younger children got involved. Water ran through a stone trough along the wall and there was a lot of splashing and water play in the guise of cleaning the lettuce. More than one little one left with a soaking.

As evening approached, the men, decked out in chef’s hats and aprons started up the barbecue. Soup is Ceppato’s specialty but the barbecued meat is its pride and the men were reveling in its preparation. Many jokes and not a few glasses of wine later, just at dusk, the meal was ready. We made our way to the rows of white tables set up in the parking area along the side of the road. Our names were on the seating chart, sort of–Americans-2. The tables filled, wine was poured, the soup arrived in the hands of the older children and the “sagra” began. On a clear night, under a star-filled sky with our new friends, we celebrated life in the Pisan hills.

You won’t find these “sagra” listed in any travel guides. The dates are erratic, depending upon the whim of the community. What you will find are signs posted along the roads, at junctions, within the small towns, on directional signposts, announcing the date and the food specialty. Look for signs like Sagra del Coniglio, Sagra della Pattata, or, the fabulous, Zuppa sotto le Stelle! of Ceppato. Somewhere, every weekend, in the net of the Pisan hills, there will be a “sagra.” Mangia!