There is a certain authority that comes with age. Especially for a woman in Brindisi. This tough
   old thing is definitely at the top of the pecking order, and may all men cower before her lest she
   remind them shrilly of just how much they used to cry when she pulled down his britches and whapped
   him with the olive twig (that, naturally, is the REAL reason it is a symbol of peace). Her only
   competition may come from all the other wiry old ladies who are her contemporaries - but fortunately
   they form a sort of clique, and together rule the community with a collective iron fist. And
   really, really good baking.