September 13, 2010
September mornings are fresh as white sheets snapping on the line. I take long walks up and down stony, ringing steps.
Branches drip with overripe figs. I lean over derelict garden walls and push my arm through tangled vegetation to get at them, then bite into the crunchy redness like you’d suck a juicy orange wedge.
A confession: I didn’t really know a fig from a kumquat until a few years ago (only those gluey Fig Newton atrocities that turned up with some regularity in my school lunchbox). But I love them now. They’re high in fiber and potassium (which will bring your blood pressure down).
Go get figgy, folks! Tis the season. Pair them with a dollop of lush goat cheese and drizzle a blossomy honey on top. Oh, what a nice sticky mess.
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Here are links to other fresh fig recipes from the New York Times:
Fig tart with caramelized onions
Braised chicken with figs
Grilled figs
What’s your favorite way to eat figs?
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September 8, 2010
Throw away your black glasses, guys, and get with the program. White is the new black, at least when it comes to eyewear.
Italians always have the last best word on design, so you can bet these will soon be popular in Peoria.
How Italians love their glasses. Don a pair and voilà: you’re an aviator, Grand Prix driver, star.
Women here are wearing them, too. And you, dear Reader? Maybe you’re already wearing white?
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Here’s Lucy, a reader from Canada, who’s been wearing white for quite some time–she got them at the Dollar Store!!! Way to go, Lucy!
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September 3, 2010
Yes, Sicily has changed me. I hang out my wash, speak in pantomime, keep odd Sicilian hours, wear D&G spectacles, tolerate absurdity. And knock back raw milk.
Not quite straight from a cow, but almost. You situate your empty bottle just so under a teat-nozzle, deposit your cash (80 cents a liter), squeeze START, and out spurts a stream of pearly-whiteness. And this cow doesn’t kick!
 "Just-milked (appena munto) Ragusan milk" I glug the fat sweet stuff right from the bottle; it’s half gone by the time I get home.
Could this be dangerous? Am I really “playing Russian roulette with my health” as John Sheehan, director of dairy-food safety at the FDA claims? Was there a good reason for Pasteur’s discovery?
When I Googled “raw milk” a thousand things came up. I was surprised to find that only 6 US states allow it, that there’s a raging debate in the US, and a raw-milk campaign. “Why is it that in America it’s easier to buy drugs, guns, and political favors than it is to buy a gallon of raw milk?” asks one site.
“Americans are afraid of their own shadows,” someone in Italy said to me recently. Is he right?
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August 30, 2010
I have met the enemy, and he is the cannolo. Not just any old cannolo, but the heart-stopping, moan-inducing ones at Trattoria Al Molo in Donnalucata, on the southern shores of Sicily. I’d like to die eating one of their cannoli. Does this make sense?
What words can describe it? When you sink your teeth through the crispy-light crust, an orange-flower-infused ricotta comes bursting forth, perfuming your entire mouth. Your eyelids grow heavy and you sway like the sea. Even days later, I’m crazy mad with the memory.
This cannolo is slim and delicate, unlike the pipe-bomb cannoli you find in Brooklyn, or Palermo. And by the way, do you know how the cannolo got its name? The dough used to be molded around canna, cane (reeds) such as these.
Sicilian cannoli once protected against evil spirits and symbolized fertility. Now they have their own Facebook page. Hal Licino claims that Sicily’s best cannoli are found on the western end of the island, calling EuroBar in tiny Dattilo near Trapani the “Ultimate Altar of Cannolidom.” Hal, have you never been to Donnalucata?
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PS At Al Molo (an unchic place, 0932-937710) sample the razza alla stemperata (sweet and sour stingray). You know what to order for dessert.
 Chef at Al Molo Click to comment.
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August 25, 2010
Who’s that man with the sweet-smelling basil bouquet?
It’s Ciccio Sultano, local hero, 2-Michelin-star chef at Ibla’s Duomo restaurant! But wait, what’s that strappy thing hanging around his person? Could it be … a purse?
In Sicily, they call them manbags. La borsa, gender feminine, is Italian for “purse.” Men shied away from carrying anything girly-sounding, so they quick coined a new word, il borsello, he-bag.
They’re all the rage. Yesterday I was last in a “line” of five at the post office, and everyone had a purse. (I was the lone woman, pity I had no camera.) It’s curious how what was once taboo has become legitimate, thanks to Italy’s virile soccer players who started the trendy trend.
You can carry a manbag for a stroll in town…
… or for a romp on the beach as fashion accessory to your Speedo.
 
Pretty figo (cool), eh? What do you think they keep in there?
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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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