February 25, 2010
I met him in the baroque town of Noto.
His name was Domenico Sculli.
“Call me Mimo,” he said.
He spoke good English. “I was boat captain for 42 years. I know whole world. Japan, Australia, Siberia. I lived in South America. Only place I don’t know is China. I came back home for retire. But many friends already gone.”
“Are you happy to be back in Sicily?”
“Look!” he said, sweeping his hand through the air. “Noto is so beautiful!”
I nodded.
He pulled a photo from a worn leather wallet.
“This is how I was forty years ago. You see I was very, very handsome.”
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January 12, 2009
A reader emailed to ask me about Arab influences in southeast Sicily—in addition to the majolica mentioned in my last post.
There are so many leftover traces!
I want to share a personal story.
Do you see the man on the left, in the baseball cap? That’s Emanuele, assistant to my beloved (new) stonemason, Giorgio, the cap-less fellow, who warbles Sicilian love songs as he works, though that’s beside the point.
Here is a typical exchange between Emanuele and me:
Me, shaking his hand: A domani! See you tomorrow!
Him: Se Dio lo vuole, if God wills it.
Me: I think you’ll be able to finish tiling around the bidet.
Him: Se e la voglia di Dio, if it is the will of God.
When I first met Emanuele, I’d just returned from Morocco, where Inshallah, God willing, is a constant refrain. The fact that he used the same refrain astonished me. Curiosity got the better of me and I asked if he was Muslim.
His eyes bulged from their sockets at this suggestion, and his head jerked back on his thick neck (an Arab gesture for no.). Gianna, no! Ma che dici! Sono cattolico! Sono proprio, cento percento, cattolico!”
Scratch a Sicilian, I heard somewhere, and you’ll find a Saracen. Never mind that the two-plus centuries of Arab domination of the island ended more than a millennium ago.
*****
NOTE: There’s a new book written by Alfonso Campisi, Ifriqiyya and Sicily: A Mediterranean Twinning, that retraces Sicily’s Arab history, but I haven’t been able to find it online. For a good summary on Arabs in Sicily click this link to Best of Sicily Magazine.
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December 23, 2009
Happy Holidays, dear Reader. If you’re in southeast Sicily at the moment, the Duomo Restaurant in Ragusa Ibla would be a memorable place for a holiday splurge. It’s formal, festive and fun. Calme, luxe et volupté.
Chef Ciccio Sultano—the only chef on the island with two Michelin stars—is a humble genius.
Il Duomo is just behind Ibla’s curlicued Baroque cathedral and so close to my house I could lob a fat olive from my balcony and hit it. I’ve eaten da Ciccio four times and have always emerged elated, sated.
My sister and I celebrated her birthday there in 2007 with one of the prix-fixe tasting menus. I’ll never forget a plate called Earth, Sky, and Sea—a lemon-sauced antipasto of rare pigeon and plump oysters on a bed of whipped potatoes. Astounding. I felt a little sad about the pigeon and wondered if he was related to the flock of pink-eyed birds that nest in my roof tiles. Chef Himself made an appearance bearing a vibrant tomato sorbet “to cleanse the palate.” Next up: ricotta cheese ravioli in a pasture-green puddle of puréed fava beans. A long parade of goodies ended with carob mousse swimming in ricotta cream and, finally, sorbetto di mandorla, almond sorbet.
In June 2009 I celebrated there with two friends, Rosamund and Roberta. We guzzled a bubbly prosecco so fast that the details of our feast are a bit fuzzy, but who could forget the starter: Sicilian truffle gelato—with black truffles from the Nebrodi Mountains south of Messina—on crostini. I laughed out loud as I picked it up and nibbled it like an ice cream sandwich—crusty-soft and savory-sweet (sounds odd but it was heaven). What kind of a man invents this? Here’s a photo—can you see the gelato peaking out from the crostini and truffle slices?
A few hours into the meal, these gorgeous goat chops stuffed with chickpeas, liver and parsley appeared in front of me:
This was Rosamund’s seafood dish:
My latest meal there, in October, was equally amazing. The grand-finale nearly killed us—a bianco mangiare alla mandorla served together with a sorbetto di pera con mosto.
Chef Sultano is known for his innovate approach to Sicilian cuisine, but the creations are not random. “Sperimentare ma nel solco della tradizione,” he says. Experiment, but within the groove of tradition. His dishes change according to the seasons.
You can find cooking videos (in Italian) on his website, ristoranteduomo.it, including one for pistachio couscous.
Look at this. I couldn’t tell you exactly what it was, but don’t you think it’s an abstract/painterly/sculptural masterpiece?
Closed all day Sunday and Mondays at lunch. Tel. ++39 0932 651265
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December 12, 2009
Girls, would you let this fellow…?
Well, I did. Not only did I let him sell me a melon far bigger than I could ever eat, I let him feed me some. Its November flesh was pinky-orange, perfumed, and so overripe and juicy that I was dribbling like a love-struck fool.
The man could have sold me just about anything—rotten apples, stinking fish, whatever.
When my sister, an Angeleno, arrived in Sicily for the first time several years ago, she took a look around and said, “Very pretty men. We should be Hollywood scouts.”
They’re like stallions, Sicilian men—tossing thick manes and flashing wild black eyes, putting out cigarettes as if they’re pawing the ground with a hoof.
Not everyone is impressed. Seated at a cafe on a Sunday afternoon, while my sister and I murmured our approval of the preening Antonio Banderas-types trotting up and down the street, my Sicilian friends Giò and Rosaria, 30-something divorcees, pulled sour faces. “Horrid!” they cried. “Horrid!”
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November 20, 2009
A Sicilian couple I know—both with espresso-bean eyes and hair black as night—have a young daughter, Ottavia, with yellow curls and sky-blue eyes. “She just popped out Norman,” says her mom. “We were shocked.”
According to Vincenzo Salerno in Best of Sicily Magazine, medieval Normans—mainly knights and soldiers—came to Sicily between 1061 and 1160. Most married Sicilian women.
A thousand years later their blue-eyed genes still pop out like Cracker Jack surprises in the Sicilian population.
I spotted this signore in a hole-in-the-wall barbershop in Ibla. When his Norman eyes met mine, I half-swooned and half-expected to see a suit of armor hanging from the coat rack behind him.
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All photos and text on BaroqueSicily are Copyright of Jann Huizenga ©2009-2015, unless otherwise noted. Material may not be copied or re-published without written permission. All rights reserved.
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