March 4, 2012
What is she thinking, she of the Blue Curlers?
And where are his thoughts, he of the White Undershirt?
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February 9, 2012 He was sitting in the piazza in quaint little Monterosso Almo, Southeast Sicily, out in front of a bar. I like your beret. Did you get that in France? He pulled it off his head to study it, revealing a thick mop of hair the color of sheep’s wool. No, no. It is from Siena. Siena? Si. Siena, Siena, he muttered. Tanti anni fa. So long ago. Ah! (I could think of nothing better to say.) The man got very quiet and a faraway look came into his eye. I slipped into the bar for a coffee. When I came out, his eyes were still on the horizon and his cigarette unlit.
*** Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily. ***  Monterosso Almo (the lower part of town)
January 26, 2012 They are the charmingest of men, with a hint of mischief. Not that I have a wandering eye or anything. Sicilian men favor cigarettes, cool sunglasses, and brilliantine. Many accessorize with gold and maybe a crucifix, or a corno–horn amulet–to ward off the evil eye. When my sister Linda visited Sicily for the first time, she took a look around and her jaw dropped. “We should be Hollywood scouts! Take these pretty boys to Tinseltown!” “Linda,” my Sicilian friend–a divorcée–replied, “Are you insane??” Dear Reader, I’ll let you be the judge.  Scicli  Ferla  Siracusa  Ferla  Catania  Noto  Giarratana  Ragusa Ibla *** You asked for this, girls. Hope you enjoyed it! For more, see Beauty Boys of the Polizia or Sicilians in Speedos. Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily. January 15, 2012 Who is this guy? What’s in his arms? I screech to a halt.
What’s in his arms is a bundle of dreams. But I don’t care about that yet. I just want to know what he’s picked alongside the road because Sicilians are always picking stuff alongside the road, and dammit, I wanna know how to survive on wild edibles, too. It’s fennel. I breathe in the sweet licorice-y scent. “It grows wild year round in Sicily,” Alfio says. “I make pizza with fennel, and pasta con le sarde. Come on over sometime and I’ll make you pizza.” Right there on the road, with my emergency lights flashing, Alfio (pet name for Alfredo, he says) recounts his life and his dreams. He’s an out-of-work chef. Italy’s economic crisis has hit Sicily hard. But Alfio hopes to open a macrobiotic restaurant, a fancy-pants one, with a Mediterranean twist and plenty of fennel. “Non vedo l’ora” I say, I do not see the hour (meaning: “I can’t wait”), and climb back into the car with a sprig of fennel pressed against my nose. Good luck, Alfio! *** Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily.
January 10, 2012 My husband died a month ago, the woman says.  @J Huizenga Do you know how long we were married? Fifty-four years. You are surprised? Yes, because nowadays such a long marriage is rare.  @J Huizenga And do you know why? Because people today are egoists. They think only of themselves. They want what they want. How did Paolo and I stay together for 54 years? I cooked him whatever he wanted. If he had a hankering for spaghetti carbonara, I made it. And Paolo never ever complained about anything I cooked.  @ J Huizenga Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily. |
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