I had been living in Italy for many years when our family friend Eileen came to stay with me one autumn. During my mother’s final illness my “fairy godmother,” as I liked to call her, had come and helped with my mother’s care, and we had grown very close.

Eileen had no children of her own and no travel companion, so after my mother died Eileen traveled with me every year and finally satisfied her dream to see some of the world.

This time, I decided that we should drive around Tuscany, visiting some of the lesser-known small cities and towns of the region. We ended up in Siena, one of my favorite cities, at the time of year when rain followed sunshine in quick succession. These are the ideal growing conditions for porcini (“little pigs” in Italian) mushrooms, Boletus edulis to the mycologists among us.

I had first eaten porcini years earlier and could not get enough of them. The simple way the Italians prepare them is the best way, just roasted in the oven with garlic, olive oil and a sprinkle of fresh parsley. They are so delicious that, in my opinion, they are better than a filet mignon, and much healthier for you, too. In some parts of Italy they are even referred to as “poor man’s steak.” With crusty Italian bread and a glass of red wine from nearby Chianti, what could be more enjoyable?

On this day we found ourselves a restaurant around the edge of the fan-shaped Piazza del Campo in the heart of the city, famous for its summer horse race called Il Palio. The ancient race among the 17 contrade (neighborhoods) is highly competitive, with 10 contestants in full medieval costume on horseback racing around the piazza three times, vying for the prized banner of painted silk to be proudly displayed until the next Palio.

But we were in Siena in the fall, not in the summer when this wild race takes place. We entered the pleasantly appointed ristorante (as opposed to trattoria, meaning the waiters were in uniform and we had linens on the table) and sat down at a table with a good view over the dining room.

I ordered the roast porcini, and my English godmother her usual pollo arrosto (roast chicken). My fragrant dish arrived, and with much audible voicing of my ecstasy I polished it off in a mere moment. My godmother asked if I would like to repeat the dish. She did not need to twist my arm. I beckoned the waiter and placed another order. Again the aromatic dish arrived and by this point I was almost swooning with delight, perhaps somewhat in the vein of the deli scene from When Harry Met Sally. 

When we had both finished our meal, to our surprise the waiter came to our table bearing two digestifs. I told him there had been a mistake, since we had not ordered them. He pointed to a table with two men seated at it and told us, “The gentlemen at the table over there ordered them for you, because they have been so entertained watching you relish your porcini.”

I blushed, but accepted the glasses and raised mine in a gesture of thanks and appreciation to the two smiling men.

How could anyone not love Italy and the Italians after such a gesture? Porcini are just a delicious reason to visit Italy in the fall, even though we all know that it is wonderful to visit Italy at any time of the year.