SICILIAN PÂTÉ

Pâté is not much found on the Italian table although a chicken liver pâté is sometimes served on crostini or bread as an antipasto. There is also the black Umbrian pâté, the recipe for which I gave some time ago at the end of this post. [It comes to you courtesy of Linda and Chiara.]

In Sicily, however, food producers are becoming more aware of the potential tourist trade and some attractively packaged pâtés are being produced.

Today I decided to try this vegetable version which is called Paté Ibleo. Mr T in the salumeria said it contained our ragusano cheese, potatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, onion, garlic and wild fennel plus sugar, olive oil, herbs and spices but when I tasted it I knew that there had to be an extra ingredient which was giving it a definite "kick". Upon reading the label, I discovered that it must be the grappa!

ELUANA'S MIRACLE?

I have just been helping a private student gather information on the Eluana Englaro case and the fact that she had been set this task is an indication, I think, that this heartbreaking yet very political story is not going to drop out of the Italian headlines any time soon. I am aware that the background to the story, and Eluana’s death, have been reported in Britain but for those of you who do not know of it the situation is as follows:

Eluana was left in a persistent vegetative state following a car accident in 1992, when she was 19. After 9 years, her father asked for her feeding tube to be removed so that she could die naturally, a request which was denied by two courts. In July 2008 the Milan Court of Appeal decided that Eluana’s father had the right to have the tube removed. This decision turned very much upon the fact that Eluana had apparently stated that she would not wish to be kept alive in such circumstances. There was an immediate outcry from the political Right and the Catholic Church. The nation was said to be split more or less fifty-fifty over what would be the moral and humane course of action. Then the Italian Parliament took the case to the Cassazione, the Final Court of Appeal, on the grounds that the Milan Court ruling would change existing legislation. The appeal was rejected. In November the High Court stated definitively that Eluana’s father could have the tube removed, again to resounding criticism from the Vatican. Prime Minister Berlusconi then issued a decree which would have forced doctors to continue treatment. However, President Napolitano refused to sign it. Eluana had by then been moved to a private hospital in Udine to have the feeding stopped and there she sadly died, earlier than expected, on February 9th, just as Parliament was debating new legislation based on the Berlusconi decree.

Since then, all sorts of outrageous allegations have been flying around, the Pope has referred to the case indirectly and the country continues to discuss it. This article from the British journal The Economist concludes that the situation shows us two aspects of modern Italy: Berlusconi’s attitude to the judiciary and the considerable power of the Catholic Church.

My own conclusions would be slightly different: Firstly, whatever Berlusconi’s political motives might have been , he is a right-wing Catholic and we must expect him to react as such. Pointing to shortcomings in his private life would only provoke the reaction, “What has that got to do with it?” here. Secondly, although I am not a Catholic – indeed, I am not anything that I can define for you with regard to religion – I do see the Catholic Church as a safeguard in cases like this. Thirdly, the fact that nearly 50% of those polled thought that Eluana should have been allowed to die naturally shows that attitudes are changing, for this would not have been the result even a decade ago. And finally, from my discussions over the past week or so I would say that Italy is very much a country that still believes in miracles. Sometimes they do happen and perhaps, for Eluana, there was one on February 9th.

CHICKEN WITH APPLES AND LARD D'ARNAD

Some of you may remember the lard d'Arnad I mentioned here before Christmas. Well, it came into its own tonight wrapped around chicken, for that is not overcooked chicken skin you see on the top, but crisped-up lard d'Arnad. No other fat or oil was needed.

First, I should explain that lardo to an Italian cook means strips of a fatty salume such as this. The nearest thing to lard as we know it in the UK is strutto.

This recipe came from my beloved Cucchiaio d'Argento and it may not look much, but the taste was superb and the cooking aromas were of the type that you would want to come home to on a winter's night. I've used a very small chicken for this - the smallest you can find here - but you can, of course, use a larger one. Assuming it is clean, you just season it all over [use coarse seasalt, please!] and then stuff it with minced-up apples. As you know, I am all for dishes that create little washing-up and if you mince the apples with a hand blender rather than a processor you will have hardly any to do. Then you wrap 4 - 5 long, thin slices of the lardo* around the chicken and secure it with kitchen string. Sling it in a roasting tin and bung it in a hot oven for an hour or so. Now the fun bit: after 20 - 30 minutes the white part of the lardo will just melt and you can start basting the chicken with this. Being me, I thought all that lovely fat would be a bit of a waste at the end so I chucked some thinly sliced potatoes [I never peel them!] in around the chicken. As lard d'Arnad is seasoned with rosemary, I added some of the fresh herb to the potatoes with seasalt and black pepper. I garnished with some slices of fresh apple and these taste darn good, too, with a little of the basting fat on them. Don't forget to give everybody some of the crispy lardo!

*If you can't get Italian lardo, you could use pancetta or good, fatty bacon. In this case you may need to add a little oil.

WHAT IN SICILY? - 16

Answer in the comments tomorrow.

DOMENICA POETICA - 3

Two short poems by Professore Antonio Lonardo for you this evening. The translations are mine and are published here together with the originals with Professore Lonardo's kind permission:

SPECCHIO

Ho letto
nei tuoi occhi
il desiderio di vedermi;
ho scrutato
nel tuo cuore
la voglia di amarmi;
ho avvertito
nella tua persona
la fame di felicità.
Ed io sono come te!

MIRROR

I read
in your eyes
the desire to see me;
I sought
in your heart
the wish to love me;
I sensed
in your soul
the hunger for happiness.
And I? I am like you!

NOTTE

Nell' utopica
notte dei sogni
tutto è reale
anche l'assurdo;
tutto è facile,
anche l'impossibile;
tutto è vero,
anche l'illusione.

NIGHT

In the utopian
night of dreams
all is real
even the absurd;
all is simple,
even the impossible;
all is true,
even illusion.

- From Le Stagioni del cuore [Modica, 2008].

TEA-TIME TALES

"I am glad I was not born before tea." - The Rev. Sydney Smith

Linda, Chiara and Gino organised a lovely birthday tea for me today and Gina, Carlo, Irma and Venetia came too. Here you see a very Sicilian table set for a very British tea:

Yes, those are Digestive Biscuits you see there. We can get them here and that is fortunate, as if you put half a packet in a plastic bag and bash them enthusiastically with a rolling pin, the crumbs make a fine base for a semifreddo. Served as they are, they surprisingly go down rather well with the Sicilians, once you have explained that although they have the word "Digestive" written on them, they are not consumed because they help your digestion!

There were ham sandwiches, scones, Sicilian honey and British jam, followed by this wonderful lemon curd birthday cake, made by the indefatigable Chiara. The cake decoration of fresh flowers is a very Sicilian touch and here she has used winter jasmine:

One symbolic candle is very tactful when a girl reaches un certain âge, wouldn't you agree?

Gina had brought along these irresistible Sicilian handmade chocs and I can tell you that the strawberry-shaped ones on the left were particularly divine:

All Italians think the British are strange because of the habit of drinking tea with milk, but at this birthday gathering we discovered the true reason why Gina had been unable to get used to it; she'd thought the milk had to be hot! This reminded me of the time I sent a Christmas pudding to another friend here. This friend, an English teacher, hadn't bothered to read the instructions on the pack and proudly served this "unique English dessert" cold and raw to his family on Christmas Day. It was unique, all right! Anyway, this evening Gina had a cup of tea with cold milk and decided it wasn't so bad. [I'm a tea with lemon lady myself.]

The tea and the company were gifts aplenty, but I also received these from my kind and thoughtful friends:

This necklace from Rosa and family - exactly the type of jewellery I like.

These pretties for the balcony from Linda and family.



Beautiful flowers from Gina and family.

And, of course, the outfit from Irma that I mentioned last week.

I am, indeed, blessed and this afternoon I saw a sight I haven't witnessed in four winters. Yes, it snowed! Only for about ten minutes and it turned into rain before it hit the ground, but it was definitely snow. And on this cold night, as I cuddle up to my beautiful, warm doggie, I'll be telling her that there is no one I'd rather spend my birthday or Valentine's night with in "all the widey, woofie world".

NON DIMENTICAR

It's my birthday so no apologies for posting a video of sexpot Patrizio singing Non Dimenticar - another Italian song I learnt as a teenager - with Giada Valenti.

FOODIE FRIDAY

And here are two cheeses that I haven't shown you before:

The first is piacentino ennese, made in and around Enna. It gets its distinctive colour from the locally-grown saffron which is added to it, giving it a slightly spicy taste. The second cheese is a local cacetto, a basic, mild pasta filata cheese. Both of these are very pleasant indeed.

Finally I wanted to show you my new bread / fruit basket, which I bought from a Moroccan street trader in Acireale. It has a handle which converts into a lid - an excellent idea for the summer.

BROCCOLI BARNEY

As one who adores broccoli but hates cauliflower, I had to smile over this.

Here in Sicily the question is not so much whether broccoli or cauliflower is better for you as whether broccoli is what we know as broccoli in the UK or whether it is cauliflower. Broccoli is usually labelled as such when being sold and I would ask for cavolfiore if I wanted cauliflower, [which I wouldn’t] but it is a word I have never heard a Sicilian utter. Some people refer to cauliflower as broccoli bianchi [white broccoli]. “So why should there be any confusion?” you may ask.

The matter becomes important on Christmas Eve in Modica, when the traditional fare is focaccia bread [scacce] filled with “broccoli”. At least, that is what you are offered and copious amounts are piled onto your plate. It is hot from the oven , the pastry smells wonderful, you take a bite – and discover it is cauliflower. Only very rarely does it actually contain broccoli. This is fine if you like both vegetables, of course, but a social disaster if you don’t. I’ve learnt now to only accept a small piece of scaccia until I am certain.

Quite why the Sicilians insist on calling cauliflower “broccoli” when it is cavolfiore in the rest of Italy I have been unable to ascertain but I suspect it is because the dialect word for white cauliflower is vrucculi. And I am told that it’s always really cauliflower in scacce – unless it happens to be broccoli.

PASTA COI FINOCCHIETTI

This is another of Gina's wonderful pasta recipes and the method is similar to the one used for her pasta con i broccoli. Note that the word finocchietto [not finocchio] is used, as it is essential to obtain wild fennel for this recipe:

Use the stems only of a good bunch of wild fennel. Clean them well and boil them with seasalt to taste. Meanwhile, make a soffrito by softening a little chopped garlic in olive oil. When the fennel is ready, drain it but reserve the water. Cut the fennel into pieces. Put it into the soffrito with a little tomato paste and, if you wish, 3 - 4 anchovy fillets. Add a little of the fennel water and cook for about 10 minutes. Cook the pasta in the rest of the fennel water, drain and mix with the fennel. Do not sprinkle cheese on top; instead, sprinkle on some breadcrumbs which you have browned in a little olive oil [you can prepare these beforehand].

This is Gina's version of pasta alla palermitana, to which sardines are added.

WHERE IN SICILY? - 15

Answer in the comments tomorrow.

CARNIVAL AT ACIREALE

Italian students tend not to believe me when I tell them that we do not, in Britain, have Carnevale as they know it. I do explain to them that we have Shrove Tuesday and that many people still observe Lent, but they continue to pity us for not having February Carnival and the fun that goes with it. It would only confuse them to say that we have processions known as Carnival at other times of the year, as for them Carnival takes place before Lent and that is that. If we look at the etymology of the word, we can hardly blame them: Carnevale - either a corruption of Italian carne levare, the withdrawal of meat or a joining together of Latin carne and vale, a farewell to meat. [As a linguist I favour the second theory.]

Despite the shaking of heads and mutterings of "Gente strana, gli Inglesi" ["Strange people, the English" - sorry, but even the Celts among us are Inglesi here] Modica has no real Carnival tradition. However, the catanese town of Acireale certainly does, so that is where I headed with Rosa and Fulvio yesterday. Indeed, the good citizens of Acireale, not to be outdone by the Venetians, hold their Carnival over two weeks as well and it is reputed to be the best in Sicily.

The floats are divided into three categories: allegorical, flower and miniature. The competition for best float in each of these takes place between the various cantieri [associations of artisans]. This Sunday it was the turn of the allegorical floats to be on show and eventually to parade. The tradition of allegorical floats began in fifteenth century Italy but not until the seventeenth century in Sicily. The tradition of using papier-mâché for these floats in Acireale began there in the nineteenth century.

Before making our way to Piazza Duomo to see the floats we went for a relaxing stroll in the park, from which you can gaze at the sea to your heart's content. My headdress is just what was needed to set off my new hairdo, don't you think?

Now I'll just let you enjoy looking at the floats, as we did, and I'll shut up, for a change, until you get to the end!






























Quite a feast for the eyes, wasn't it? I'm afraid there wasn't time to find out exactly what each float represented, though some are obvious. Several floats were already moving as I took the pictures. However, I can tell you that the float shown in the last three pictures was named Vorrei la pelle nera [I Want to be Black] a reference to Nino Ferrer's 1967 hit, an extraordinary song for its time. The float's theme was the plight of children born in less fortunate parts of the world than Western Europe.

Sabrina Marinangeli - La pelle nera


And now those of you who read to the end get to see the best photo of all:

DOMENICA POETICA - 2

myspace backgrounds

Today, with Professore Antonio Lonardo's kind permission, I have the pleasure of publishing here the whole of Shalom! along with my own translation:

SHALOM!

Shalom!
È il grido
dei popoli in ansia,
è la voce
della coscienza tremante,
è il desiderio
degli uomini liberi.

Shalom!
È il suono
lontano che cresce,
è il desiderio
inconscio di tutti,
è l’eco
diffusa del mondo.

I monti
trattengono il suono,
le valli
lo conservano a lungo,
le case
accettano l’invito,
gli uomini
si abbracciano fratelli.

Si rompe
l’incanto dell’odio,
si spezza
la forza delle armi,
si frantumano
gli interessi dei pochi,
si ritrova
l’accordo completo.

Nello specchio
della coscienza
si riflette l’inconscio;
nel pensiero
dell’uomo
si avvia il dialogo,
nelle masse
dei popoli
sboccia l’abbraccio.


SHALOM!

Shalom!
Is the cry
of those who live in fear,
is the voice
of trembling conscience,
and the desire
of all free men.

Shalom!
Is the distant sound
which is growing louder,
is the unconscious desire
of all of us,
which echoes
throughout the world.

The mountains
hold the sound,
the valleys
guard it through time,
houses accept
the call,
and men
embrace as brothers.

The spell of hate
is broken,
the power of arms
destroyed,
the interests of the few
lie shattered,
and the many
live once more in harmony.

In the mirror
of the conscious
the unconscious
is reflected;
dialogue begins
in the minds of men,
among the peoples
of the world
blooms an embrace.


- From Desiderio di Luce
[Modica, 2005.]

DAILY DOINGS - 20

"I am undaunted in my quest to amuse myself by constantly changing my hair."
- Hillary Clinton

Spring has come to the via Sacro Cuore and even to my balcony:

Simi has decided that printers ought to be for sitting on:

Irma arrived this morning and announced that she was going to buy me something to wear for my birthday [which is coming up]. I thought she meant a scarf or a top, maybe [both of which would have pleased me ] but later it became clear that she meant a whole outfit! She took me to a designer outlet and we both stopped when we saw a certain blue suit. It looked rather on the small side to Irma and to me, but Irma suggested trying it on anyway. I did and guess what? Perfect fit. "Fatto per Lei, signora" [= "Made for you"], cooed the assistants. "Vero" ["It's true"], agreed Irma and "Vero" agreed I, somewhat amazed. I am so grateful to her. Irma, if you are reading this, I think it's fabulous! Grazie, cara amica.

My birthday present to me is this little pile from Amazon:

I know it's a bit late to be perusing Nigella's Christmas, but in December I felt so ill that I didn't have the energy to order it. Besides, buying it now is an act of faith: "There will be a future." In Bed With... is a collection of saucy short stories by famous women authors, the novelty being that we are not told who wrote which one. I've read good and bad reviews of this tome, but I will make up my own mind. I just have to read Barack Obama in English, as I feel a lot will be lost in translation here. How Not to Write a Novel has had good reviews and I am hoping to find some tips for writing in general. Alexander McCall Smith never fails to cheer me up, especially when the story contains Cyril the dog plus Bertie and his impossible mother, so I fell upon The Unbearable Lightness of Scones as soon as I opened the parcel. Finally, Matthew Fort's Sweet Honey, Bitter Lemons is a "must read" for me as it is about his travels in Sicily.

I love the process of obtaining new books, from holding and feeling them, then that first flick-through to writing my name, where I am and the date in every one.

Later I betook me to Orazio's establishment for an image-change in the form of cut and colour. "Something daring", I requested and that is what I got! [I've never had a black streak in my hair before . He says it's for the contrast.] So here is Orazio with his team and here am I. 'Bye-bye, shrinking violet - subtlety is for wimps. I'm 59 next week and fighting!