Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Check your oil, sir?


It is that time, once more, to check your oil. Your olive oil, that is.

When I was showing three Bostonians around Sciacca, they asked about getting oil. Being as the bed and breakfast they were staying at was owned by the owners of one of the good fantoie (oliofici) (olive oil makers) in town, we went there and they got some oil.

When I told my friends in Nicolosi about the fresh oil, and the three liter cans, they asked me to go back and get some more for them, and bring it to them when I visit this weekend.

I have learned a lot, maybe too much, about olive oil since living in Sicily. I think that most of what I have learned is true. First of all, some folks charge a premium is their olive oil is squeezed from pitted olives. My oil mavens all tell me that this process does not improve the oil at all. Then there is the holy grail about cold pressing the oil. Again, I am told it does not make a difference in taste. First press, I am told, is as good as last press. And the pressings all happen at the same time. Originally, when olives were pressed by weight, first press was the oil that ran out of the olives 'over night' before any pressure was applied. That was also the so called 'cold press'. That technology is, I am told, similar to crank starting cars now. It might have been great at the time, but folks do not do it anymore, nor do they have the equipment or know how to do it anymore. Finally, there is a man in neighboring Sambucca who is selling his 'estate bottled' oil, some of which is from a tree that is, reportedly, 360 years old, for a premium, indeed a super premium price in the US. Good for him, however, once again, the age of the tree does not impact the quality of the oil (so I am told).

What matters, and is rarely talked about in the states, is the freshness of the oil. Oil, to be good, must be less than 18 months old. Being as olives are harvested and pressed once a year, that basically means to be good, the olive oil must be within a year. After a year, my friends use their old oil to start fires in their wood fornos.

Virginity is another hot topic. Who knows the difference between virgin olive oil and extra virgin olive oil. I do, I do!! It is simply based on acidity. The less acid, the more virgin. There are three grades of olive oil - Extra virgin, virgin, and regular plain old olive oil, called lampara here, because it is good mainly for burning in oil lamps. Within each grade, there are sub grades ranked one to five, but these are usually not printed on labels, and the least acid oil is almost too rich to use, so is often mixed with virgin oil to bring it to extra virgin acidity levels.

Having said all that, I went to the frantoia to get some oil for my friends. I hesitate to say this, but it was not as fresh as it might have been. The olives were picked yesterday, despite threatening clouds. It could have been fresher, I suppose, if they were picked today.

They were brought in this morning, where they were washed and processed, but still, they were yesterday's olives. But I suppose that I can not have everything! After washing and processing, the beautiful green-gold Sicilian oil pours out of the stainless steel trough into plastic buckets, where it is then weighed, and put into large stainless steel containers, carefully tested and labelled in terms of origin and grade.

It is great to watch the owners of the olivetti's (olive orchards) watch carefully as their olives are processed. Of course they take enough oil with them at the end of the process to take care of their needs and the needs of some of their friends before leaving the rest with the fantoia to sell. And a year's supply for a family of four here is somewhere between thirty and forty kilos of oil. That is a lot of oil, as far as I am concerned. (and yes, here they measure oil by the kilo, not only by the liter.)

Anyway, the oil is then put in bottles or cans, in this case by hand rather than using the bottling machine, and ready for the customer. This oil is labelled D.O.P Mazara, which indicates to me it is one of the highest qualities of extra virgin olive oil one can buy.

Wait a second, is that Calogero, the waiter from La Vela in the picture with the bottler and one of the brothers who owns the Fantoia (and yours truly)? It certainly is. He has changed jobs, and gone from being the best waiter in Sciacca to working his butt off at this fantoia. Good for him. It was great to see him again. You may remember him as the guy that Fran kept taking pictures of with his arm around various nieces. La Vela still serves the best fish dishes in town, but I have missed him when I have gone there.

At any rate, for those of you lucky enough to get some of the oil I am taking to Jacque this weekend, this is how it got there.

Love is in the air


Yes indeed, love is in the air. I am not talking about me. I am talking about my wonderful friends Angelo Gambino and Franci (Francesca) Bianci. On October 15th, I was honored, yes truly honored, to be a guest at their wedding in Palermo.

Fran and I met Angelo on our trip to Istanbul. He was the guy that kept giving me the elbow to get in line to get on the bus to go to the airplane in Palermo as we were leaving. Of course I was not giving him my elbow in return. All good fun. He was also the guy who reclined his seat so that it would break my knees on the flight to Rome, where we changed planes for Istanbul. At the time, we had only been in Italy for five months, so I did not have a full range of curse words to use with him, but I used what I could.

He is also the guy who, when we got to Istanbul, found out that people did not speak Italian, and asked if he and his friend Marco could tour with us, so that we could act as translators. The most fun was watching Angelo bargain. He would change from Dollars to Italian Lira to Euros to Turkish Lira in seconds. If the merchant offered in Turkish Lira, Angelo would counter in Euros. If the merchant then countered in Euros, Angelo would come back with dollars. When it got close, Angelo had a pat line. 'I am Italian. Yes, I am Sicilian. Yes, I am from Palermo. Yes, my name is Gambino. Yes, I am mafia. Now give me a better price.' The line was great, but it rarely worked. When the sale was done, Angelo always had the merchant throw in a little something as a gift - a key chain or a pin or whatever. It was a great trip, and after coming back, we developed a fast and close friendship, and I almost feel like a member of his family now.

Speaking of his family, I should at least show you a picture of them. That is his mother on the left, and his dad, whom I did not get a really good picture of, on the right, getting ready to go to the wedding.











This is a picture of his brother Claudio, and his sister Antonella. Antonella is pretty enough to be a model, or a letterina on one of the Italian quiz shows. She got married last year to Massimo, who seems like a great guy. That was a big fancy church wedding. Angelo and Franci's wedding was a small municipal affair, and they will probably have the big church wedding in the fall.

Of course we can not forget Franci's family, whom I met for the first time at the wedding. They had apparently heard much about me, and were pleased to meet me finally. Of course I had also heard a great deal about them, and it was wonderful to share the occasion with them.

After the wedding, we went to a bar for coffee and a snack, and that evening we got together for a really wonderful and festive meal near Piazza Gaspari in Palermo. It was truly a wonderful time.

Above I mentioned that I was truly honored to attend this wedding. There were only 12 people at the wedding, at 14 at the dinner in the evening. Everyone else was a member of the families; a parent, a brother or sister, an in-law, or a niece. I was the only one that was not biologically or matrimonially a part of the family. And yet, everyone did make me feel a part of the family. That is a great feeling of honor.

The Gambinos are truly special people. They were helpful when Fran was ill in the hospital, bringing her some things she needed, and they have been helpful to me since then. I see Angelo about once a month, and he and Franci have visited me here for weekends several times.

Once again, I am truly blessed to have friends like them, and I wish them tanti tanti tantissimi auguri as they walk on the path to wedded bliss.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Naples, Bella Napoli

Another title for this may be Stampa, Paga, Copia, Stampa, Paga, Copia, Encora.

And this is not just about Naples. But the beginning of it is. And American Bureaucracy.

When I was in Sorrento with Mike and Wendy, I took a morning to train into Naples, visit the American Consulate, and apply for a renewal of my passport. Because I needed to keep my old passport, I would have to return when my passport was ready. I expected it to take a month or two (or three or four), being as the passport office has been flooded after the new regulations passed.

To my surprise, when I got home from Vienna, there was a message on my answering machine telling me that my passport was ready and waiting for me at the consulate. Thinking I had little better to do, I arranged to take an overnight ferry to Naples, and then either fly back or take a ferry back. I opted for one of the 'comfortable airline lounge chairs' for the ride over. Big mistake. I arrived tired and not as clean and bright as I would like. This was overlooked by the folks at the Consulate, and I had my passport in a matter of minutes.

HOORAY FOR THIS AMERICAN BUREAUCRACY. (at least we do some things right).

I decided to play tourist for the rest of the day, and get a cabin on the ferry returning to Palermo that evening. It was basically a game of finding ways to spend time. Having had luck with Hop On Hop Off bus tours in the past, I took the tour of Naples. I was constantly and consistently struck with how bad everything looked. Yes, some views of the Bay of Naples and of Vesuvius were spectactular, however, everything close up looked grungy. Even the empty fishing boats had rings around them where they had gone through the waters with a load of fish.

The commentary on the tour bus did not help, pointing only to the glorious past of Naples, and not to anything that was new and modern. The buildings surrounding the port were in sad shape, and the only modern buildings seemed to be ugly, cookie cutter financial centers or chain hotels. So sad.

We were told that Virgil loved Naples so much he wanted to be buried there. I wonder what he would think today.

As I got on the ferry, my heart was gladdened to see the tubes waiting to loaded on the boat to built more windmills, to make Sicily more energy self sufficient, and with a lighter carbon foot print. Now there is a piece of progress I can support.

But let me skip ahead a bit. When I got home, there was another message. I was to go to the Questura's office. My stampa stampa, paga paga had paid off, I thought. My permisso was ready, I thought.

Well, no, it seems that it had been returned from Agrigento, and the Agrigento office now wanted a new copy of my financial information (I was told a statement from Banco di Sicilia with a balance of over one euro would be sufficient), a new copy of my health insurance card (I pointed to the old one in my file, and although my card has not changed, they could not use the old one), and a copy of my sixteen page deed to my apartment - which will continue to have Fran's name on it until we get through that bit of bureaucracy (and again I pointed to the copy they had, but they needed another copy).

So I collected the copies they needed, and perhaps without too many more stampa stampas, I will be able to have an up to date permisso. Who knows.

Naples may not have been as pretty as beautiful Sicily, but the American bureaucracy in Naples is at least faster than the Italian bureaucracy in Agrigento.

Eva Marie

When I went to Vienna, I met Eva Marie. We consider ourselves cousins, and it is about time I met this wonderful woman. Let me explain the relationship. She is the daughter of my mother's first husband's brother. Simple. Unless you try to think about it.

Eva Marie's father was Jewish, and they left Vienna to settle in Switzerland, however the Swiss would not let her father, Otto Kallir, open his art gallery there. So he tried again in Paris, but things got hot in Paris, and the family came to the US in 1939 when Eva Marie was 14. They did so because my mother and father pledged their farm as collateral in case the Kallir family became a drag on welfare budgets. That was not to be the case. After having had a successful Gallery in Vienna near St. Stephan's Cathedral, named Gallery St. Stephan, his gallery in Paris was called Gallery St. Etienne. When he finally opened his gallery in New York City, it was again called Gallerie St Etienne.

In Vienna, he had done a lot of work with Schielle and Klimt, and he brought some of their works, along with some Picasso's, to his gallery in New York City. Then he discovered and promoted an elderly artist from upstate New York (I think), who signed her paintings Grandma Moses. He did not do badly in the world of art. His grand daughter Jane Kallir still runs Gallerie St Etienne on 57th St.

Eva, who was brought up Catholic, returned to Austria. She started work with SOS Kinderdorf, a special home for Jewish War Orphans, and then for War Orphans in general. She went on to do social work with marginalized people, and actually started one of the early half way houses, or assisted living houses, for the mentally and emotionally, and perhaps life challenged people in Vienna. The house is still operating.

Eva is a wonderful, caring, and kind person. I sometimes wonder if people like her, if they hired a PR firm to give them a big boost, would get Peace Prizes, or Sainthoods. She really seems the type who deserves such.

Here is to you, cousin Eva Marie. I am not only glad to make your acquaintance, but I am proud to do so as well.

The Albertine

When Fran and I had visited Vienna before, we spent our museum time at the Kuntzhistoriche Museum (wonderful, full of European masters, and other works too numerous to mention), Museum Square, where they had a great exhibit of Schiele landscapes, as well as some modern conceptual art, that did not really float my boat down the Danube, and the Secession museum, where Klimt did a great mural, and were there was indeed some better conceptual art on display. Jane Kallir from Galerie St Etienne in New York City told us that we had missed a good bet by missing the Albertine, her favorite museum in Vienna, and as she deals with a lot of Viennese art, here advice is usually good.

The Albertine had a show that tried to connect, historically, the work of the impressionists with that of the more modern artists, such as Picasso. A pretty straight forward format, and seemingly an easy show to hang. At least that is what I thought when I walked in. Fran and I both loved the Impressionists, as well as the works of Picasso. However, even with the endless list of Impressionist Museums and shows we had gone to, I was not prepared for what I saw.

I am posting no pictures of this show on the blog, as I would not defame the art that I feel now must be seen in person. But it must be seen in person.

The first room was full of Monet. I remembered the Monet exhibit we went to in San Diego, after visiting the zoo there. This had not as many works, but well chosen, and hung with an idea of flow, an idea of history. The museum was divided up into fairly small rooms, and walking through, there were only a few artists represented in each room.

I was overwhelmed. Usually I tend to walk fairly quickly through museums, spending time with only a few paintings. This time, I kept being told to slow down. The paintings held me, took my breath away, took away my sense of time. I stopped. I sat down. I stared at paintings. Twice, guards came over to ask me if I was alright, as I was overcome to the point of tears.

Four hours later, when I got to the room full of Picasso's, I was emotionally exhausted. Words can not do justice to the feelings that I felt there. The beauty was overwhelming. The emotions of the painters, and even the colors, to these partially color blind eyes, the care with which everything was done.

It was the only art I saw in Vienna this time. It was not enough. It was too much.

Vienna

About a year ago, my sister was at a meeting in Prague, and took a side trip to Vienna, where she visited 'cousin Eva Marie'. Both Jane and Eva Marie encouraged me to make another trip to Vienna, not that I needed a lot of encouragement, as Fran and I had loved what we saw when we were there for three short days four years ago. So I made reservations and went up for four nights. What a wonderful city.

Eva Marie and I were in touch with each other as I planned my trip, and I was able to find a reasonably priced hotel right in the downtown area. The public transportation system is so well marked and easy to use, I had no trouble making it from the airport to my hotel. Then I was able to wander around a bit to see things like the strange statue to the left, and get acclimated to Vienna.

Eva Marie had asked me about my tastes in music, and she was able to get me the last ticket that was available for a Philharmonic concert. Vienna seems to be a city of music and art, and every night there are Mozart and Strauss concerts going on. However, the Philharmonic is in some ways special, and plays a wider variety of music. I was fortunate enough to be able to hear them play Schuman's Fourth Symphony and Beethoven's Sixth (Pastoral). What beautiful music. What a great conductor. What a marvelous French Horn player. What a wonderful, intimate concert hall. How delightful. The folks I sat next to apologized for not being able to speak with me in English better, and I just smiled and told them that I was the visitor, and should be able to speak to them in German, so it was my fault. They seemed tickled with that response.

The second night, I attended an organ concert at St. Stephan's Cathedral. I did not take pictures there, as the lighting was not sufficient, but the concert was good. It was not just organ, but also a trombone quartet and a large mixed choir. The conductor of the choir had done the arranging of the music, and it flowed well. Again, I got into a conversation with the couple next to me, and again they apologized for not having enough English to converse well, and again were pleased when I admitted it was my problem in not having German enough, not theirs.

During the day, I spent time wandering the areas that Fran and I had seen on our previous visit, and visiting the Albertine Art Museum. That will get it's own space.

Vienna was truly a city of music, and a city of art. In my wanderings, I found a man knowledgeable about the local jazz scene, and I was able to bring back a few great CDs by Viennese players of whom I had not heard.

Finally, I did follow one of my German friend's advice, and ordered Kaiserschmarm'n for desert once, after having eaten a wonderful but rather large schwien schnitzel. Just a word of advice. If you want that for desert, don't eat dinner first, or you will never finish it. It was wonderful, but far too much.

Saved from Starvation

The first weekend of October, I was enjoying a truly quiet day here, when all of a sudden Totò, my neighbor arrived with a friend of his. They were here to work, which is pretty unusual for Totò, however sometimes he does come to get away and not be bothered.

At noontime, he called me over and wanted to know what I was going to do for pranzo. I really had no idea. He introduced me to his friend, Francesco, and said they were going out someplace to eat. Fine with me, I was getting tired of salad for one meal, and some sort of panino for another meal, with fruit as snacks. Not tired enough to make me want to do some real cooking for myself, but tired nonetheless.

We discussed possible places to eat in Sciacca. It had to be in Sciacca, because Totò and Franco had to get back to work soon. Totò had his favorite place, Franco had his, and I had mine. We set out in my Punto convertible, with the top down of course (another beautiful day), and went to the first place. Closed - no sign, no reason, no food. Well, that took care of Totò's suggestion. Then we went to La Vela. Closed. A sign said they were on vacation. Things were getting better. At least we knew why. That took care of my suggestion. Then we back tracked to another place, and back tracked to closed, no sign, no reason, no food.

I remembered that there was not going to be market on this Saturday because of a large festa scheduled for the evening in Piazza San Michele, so I suggested Badia Grande, near Conte de Luna Pizzeria. Franco and Totò both liked the place as well, but being locals, they did not know about market being cancelled. We drove up, found a place to park with no problem, go to the door, and ....and....and they were open.

Ah, a good meal. Over a delicious pranzo I learned that Franco was an art teacher at the art school in Sciacca, and he was working with Totò to possibly change professions to geometer, which is what Totò does, which seems to be architectural drawings. He showed me some renderings he had done for a developer who is building houses near here, and his work is impressive.

It was great to have lunch with the two of them, even though I think Totò really invited me because he thought he would get his picture in the blog again.

Monday, October 01, 2007

Cibo megghiu

My friend Maryellen posted a list of her ten favorite Sicilian foods on her blog. It was a pretty good list, and she invited comments. Of course I commented with my own ten favorites. I thought it was a pretty good idea. So I am going to do the same thing on this blog, however I will change my list fairly drastically from what is posted on her blog in the comments area. To view her blog, just click on the link at the right side of this blog.

So, without further adieu (I had to add one more language to the Italian cibo and the Sicilian megghiu (best), here is my ten best list of the ten best foods in Sicily.

1a and 1b Eggplant, either thinly sliced, coated with bread crumbs, and fried in garlic and other spices, or fried in chunks, served over pasta, as prepared by Ignatzia Marchese Ficalora.

2aGood Sicilian bread, baked at Paneficcio Americana by Calogero or in Paolo's wood fired forno.

2b Pane Cunzatta, which is very fresh and hot Sicilian Bread, sliced lengthwise, slathered with Sicilian olive oil, local tomatoes, local anchovy, salt and pepper, either from the twins at Paneficcio Americana, or by Ignatzia on bread baking days.

3 Fresh ricotta cheese, swimming in ricotta broth, with a side of olives and Sicilian bread, and of course local wine, as served at the La Montagna by Pietro Colletti, in Caltabellotta.

4a Risotto al Forno as prepared by Lili Vitale.
4b Risotto in orange and shrimp sauce prepared by Antonino Bentivegna at Hotaria del Vicolo.

5. Cozze (Mussel) soup as prepared by Anna Grisafi.

6. Ribera oranges grown by Toto's uncle near Punto Verdura.

7. Orichetti with shrimp and calamari red sauce as prepared by Fillippo Leone at La Vela.

8. Arancini stuffed with carne (a sauce of ground beef, tomato sauce, and peas) made by the mothers of the adults served by Agape.

9a and 9b Sausage or tuna in a pink sauce, with a pasta chosen to complement whichever it is, made by Phillipina Mancuso in Pietraperzia.

9.5 Pizza made by Emilio and Marierosa in their wood forno just below me. All types.

10. Gilda's sfingi.

There, that should be ten.

If you had not already noticed, these are all dishes that are not only typically Sicilian, but the cooks are all friends of mine, folks that I love and that love me. That is what makes the eating so wonderful. It is indeed the best!!

And yes, please do add your own suggestions. I can always use more friends' houses to eat at.

Roma, the Infernal City


We spent only one night in Rome when Woody and Jane and Mike and Wendy arrived, but we returned after six nights in Florence for another four nights, and indeed, four days as well. Our hotel (Smereldo) was conveniently close to Campo di Fiori and Piazza Navona, as well as to good bus connections. Of course we had to take a walk through the almost ever present market at Campo di Fiori, and Mike led us on a forced march to the Collesium and Roman ruins area. We also got to see the balcony from which Il Duce made so many of his great and stirring speeches to the people.

It was interesting for me to note that the folks who get all dressed up in their gayest outfits, so that they can look like gladiators, actually do face death every day on the job. Indeed, this is a picture of one smoking a cigarette as he is trying to get people to take his picture and give him a Euro or two. I kept thinking of my brother, who brought his banjo all the way to Italy, in hopes of playing it in from of the Collesium to also make a Euro or two. I think he actually succeeded in that endeavor. Ah well, tourists never cease to amaze me.

Of course we had to go to the Vatican, even though Benidictus XVI was out of town for the weekend. I met Gaspare Marinello there, who had a meeting with the lay group that is sponsoring the project in Tanzania, and then waited for the Pope to play Jack in the Box from his balcony, but instead they had huge screen TVs set up so one could see him do the same thing from his country residence.
St. Peter's still looks like the copy that is in Montreal, Qc, which I suppose should not be very suprising.

For anyone wanting to visit Rome, and stay in the area in which we stayed in, I feel like I must highly recommend Hostaria Costanza in Piazza Paradiso. It indeed was paradise, with wonderful food and attentive service. If your guide book suggests Il Pompieri, which ours did, I would strongly suggest you look elsewhere. While the service was not very good, the food was almost evil in its poor preparation. We almost had to call il pompieri to come and put out the acid burning in our stomachs afterwards.

No visit to Rome would be complete without seeing the Trevi Fountains. They are indeed spectacular. If one throws a coin over their shoulder into the fountain, it insures one that they will return to Rome someday. For whatever reason, I did not throw a coin in.

After a wonderful time in Rome, Jane and Woody headed back to Westchester County to get back to work. Wendy, Mike and I took a train down to Naples, and then the Toonerville Trolley on to Sorrento. We really like the high speed train, which got us to Naples in less time than it took the slow train to get us to Sorrento from Naples. I was able to get into Naples one day to try to renew my passport (I will have to go there again to pick it up when it is ready), and Mike and Wendy visited nearby Pompei. The highlight for me was seeing the drum seller.


Toscano

Ah, Tuscany, every tourists dream? Well, yeah, it is really pretty.

For one of the days we were in Firenze, we hired a driver to take us out into the countryside. The driver was named Alessandro Bravi, and Bravi was BRAVISSIMO. He knew what he was doing, he gave us information, found a wonderful place to eat, and a wonderful place to buy wine.

Indeed, our first stop was at a small production cantina which sold only their own chianti's and other wines, and only sold them direct from the cantina. Each of us ended up ordering a case or so of the delicious red wines that they make in the region. The cases shipped to the US are going under the name of ceramics, as wine can not be sent like that.

With a pleasant buzz on, Sandro took us to the town of San Gimignano. It is known as the New York City of Tuscany, we were told, because of what looks like a bunch of skyscrapers. Actually, they are medieval towers that were built to keep the wealthy safe from attackers. It was a real tourist town done right, with limited traffic, shops galore, and enough space for everyone. I particularly liked the side streets, where one could wander and wonder at the peace that must be the town when the tourists are not about. I also could not help but laugh at the locals, sitting in folding chairs under an archway in one of the main squares. One was even busy having lunch as they watched the tourists.












From there, we went to the tiny medieval village of Montegeggironi. What a beautiful small town. There were a few shops. The town was completely surrounded by the old defensive walls, that seemed to keep both invaders of a different era as well as too many modern day tourist invaders out. At first, one wondered what they had to protect. With Sandro's help, we discovered what it was. Trattoria Pozzo de Montegeggironi. Now I am not a fan of the food of northern Italy. But this place was great. The best meal the whole trip. Oh my oh my oh my.

Finally, we left for Siena, nearly falling asleep in the van with our fullness. Siena was as beautiful as ever, with its wonderful expansive town square, and its startlingly green and white Chiesa Madre. Que Bellissima! A wonderful excursion. Bravo Bravi, Bravissimo!!