February 5, 2012
Winter in Pozzallo, Sicily–all the way down at the tail end of Italy.
Alone under a black sky.
Beached. Marooned.
Missing the glint of the sun.
‘N the bob of the sea.
Know the feeling?
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February 1, 2012 Buscemi, Sicily. Who is crying? And why? Please leave a comment if you have a hunch and I will in return leave you a happy face if you’re close.
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. January 20, 2012 I went to a dinner party not long ago at the dark and windswept edge of what locals call the Sea of Africa. The Sicilian host served a salmon antipasto. Then out came a tasty tomato-and-white-wine pasta followed by chicken involtini and perfect roast potatoes. Elegantissimo. For dessert he tore open a package of chocolate supermarket cookies and passed the box around the table. A cute and quirky grand finale. Something about it said “We are famiglia.” Here’s an idea for a slightly more elegant dessert that I’ve also had here. It’s almost as simple. Buy a good cheese or two (Gorgonzola, Parmigiano, or goat cheese, for instance). Pair the cheese with a dollop of interesting honey (maybe something more upscale than the plastic bear?). You could add a fig or a date or a few pear slices if you’re feeling fancy. Serve with Sicilian moscato, port, or another round of wine.
Do you have a simple dessert recipe to share? 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.
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