Late on a brisk December night we are leaning over the railing of Lecce's ancient Roman amphitheater, looking down past the tiered stone seating to a manor farm, or masseria. Below, on what was once an arena for feats of hunting, flagstones now lead from a flat-roofed stone farmhouse to a tidy vineyard and a kitchen garden growing a healthy stand of fennel.

At a table outside the front door a woman slices orecchiette while her husband sweeps the stones on the terrace. Gnarly olive trees dot the farm, one with a ladder reaching into its branches, and a young boy watches over a sleeping lamb.

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