This new feature on my blog called “Cooking with Julia” offers a recipe every month for ingredients in season. I’d might as well begin with artichokes, now in their prime, because I love them, probably more than any other vegetable I can think of. Perish the thought of pickled artichokes, frozen artichoke hearts, or the canned variety. You’ll ruin your recipe if you substitute them when the ingredient list calls for fresh. While artichokes can be tedious to clean–what’s required is snapping off the hard part of the leaves and whittling away the tough parts until you get to the tender heart–there isn’t any substitute. With a little practice, you’ll be tearing through the flowers’ armor to the fleshy bracts in no time at all (read the method below). Like me, you just might get hooked on them.

This braising method is how I often cook them, and typical throughout Italy.

May artichokes arriving at the Capo market, Palermo. Photo: Julia della Croce

Braised Artichokes with Garlic and Parsley
carciofi trifolati    – for 2 or 3 people

Recipe from Veneto: Authentic Recipes from Venice and the Italian Northeast by Julia della Croce with photographs by Paolo Destefanis (Chronicle Books, 2003)

juice of 1/2 lemon
3 large artichokes, about 1/2 pound each
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 large clove garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon chopped fresh Italian parsley
1/2 teaspoon chopped fresh marjoram, or 1/4 teaspoon dried marjoram
1/2 to 3/4 cup water
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
freshly ground white or black pepper

Add water to a depth of about 4 inches to a good-sized glass or ceramic bowl (do not use metal), then add the lemon juice. Trim only a thin slice from the bottom of the stem of each artichoke to remove the dark skin. Pare off all the dark green skin on the stem. (The flesh of the stem is tasty.) With one hand, pull off the tough outer leaves until you reach leaves that have tender, white areas at their base. Using a serrated knife, cut off the upper, dark green part of the inner leaves; leave the light greenish yellow base. The inner rows of leaves are the tender part you want, so be careful not to cut away too much. (If you decide to use baby artichokes, keep in mind that they are more tender, thus there will be fewer tough, outer leaves to remove.) Cut the artichoke in half lengthwise and, with a small knife, cut out the hairy choke and any other tough, inner purple leaves. As each artichoke is finished, immediately put it in the waiting lemon water to prevent it from turning brown. (Once cleaned, the artichokes can remain in the lemon water in the refrigerator for up to 24 hours.) When all of the artichokes have been trimmed, drain them and pat dry. Place each artichoke half, cut side down, on a cutting board, and cut lengthwise into slices 1/4 inch thick.

In a large saucepan, warm the olive oil and garlic over medium heat and sauté until the garlic is softened, between 1 and 2 minutes. Add the artichokes, parsley, and marjoram and stir with a wooden spoon to coat the artichokes with the oil and garlic. Pour in the 1/2 cup water and bring to a boil. Add the salt and pepper to taste, reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook until tender, 10 to 15 minutes; the length of time will depend on the freshness of the artichokes. If the artichokes seem to be drying out, add more water. If you think there is too much liquid once the chokes are half-cooked, remove the cover and cook over medium heat until some of it evaporates. Be sure to stir to prevent sticking.

Taste and adjust with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

Enter Palazzo Lanza Tomasi and the Duchess of Palma's cooking school

This is no ordinary palace because the duke is no ordinary duke. He is the cousin and adopted son of Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, the childless 11th and last Prince of Lampedusa, who wrote Il Gattopardo (The Leopard), the celebrated book about the decline of the Sicilian aristocracy at the time of Garibaldi’s conquest and the beginnings of modern Italy. The duke, the author’s adored and charming heir, was the inspiration for Don Fabrizio’s nephew in the novel, the dashing young hero, Tancredi (played by Alain Delon in the 1963 film by Luchino Visconti). Published in 1957, The Leopard is considered to be Italy’s finest novel and the best historical novel of the 20th century.

The Lanza Tomasi palace facade overlooking the sea in Palermo

Nor is the Duchess an ordinary duchess. She gives cooking classes in the palace kitchen, which begin as every proper Italian cooking lesson should–early in the morning at the market, to procure the best and freshest ingredients.

The Duchess buying fish with one of her students

The Capo market is the oldest in Palermo. Its stalls are laden with seafood strange and familiar, fresh from the morning catch and luminous in the morning light.

A plethora of local fish

Among the mysterious foods are  cucuzza squash, their long, curly tendrils reaching out as though asking to be made into Palermo’s signature tenerumi soup with “picchi-pacchi” sauce.

At the Capo market, artichokes next to tenerumi, the leaves and buds of the elongated "cucuzza," squash, used in Palermo's signature soup.

The marketplace is a spectacle, noisy and alluring, the colorful vendors (“abbanniate”) calling out to you, trying to seduce you with their beautiful food.

Dried bean seller ("abbanniate") at Palermo's Capo market

The “abbaniate” are part of the market spectacle and well used to having their pictures taken. Here’s my favorite “abbanniate,” the salt fish seller.

Selling capers, preserved anchovies and salt fish

By the time you’re done shopping you can’t wait to return to the palace kitchen for a lesson in the local cooking. But first you’ll stop in the lush palace garden that overlooks the sea, shaded by palms, filled with flowers, and scented with jasmine, wisteria, and bougainvillea. Here, the Duchess will pick the herbs you’ll need.

The Duchess picking bay, basil, mint and parsley in the terrace garden

Finally, even the cooking class is not ordinary. After a four-course Sicilian meal is prepared, the Duchess invites her students to eat lunch with her and her entire family, the heirs of the ancient Lampedusa line. You can chat with the Duke and Duchess and their family while ancestors’ portraits look on from the palace walls.

The dining room facing the sea. Here's where the Duchess's family gathers for lunch when there are enough guests.

If you know the Luchino Visconti film based on The Leopard, you can all but see Burt Lancaster as the lion-like Don Fabrizio at the head of the table, breaking the golden crust of the timballo, macaroni pie, its mists wafting delicious aromas.  Now, it is the Duchess of Palma who presides at the table.

Last touches on the timpani (molded macaroni) and fusilli with pistachio pesto

This day, macaroni with a pesto sauce made from the famous local Bronte pistachios was on the menu, followed by the swordfish bought during the  morning’s excursion, roasted and flavored with garlic and the garden mint.

Buying the famous local "Bronte" pistachios for the pistachio pesto at a shop near the palazzo

For dessert, gelo di limone, lemon jelly made from the fruit of palace garden’s own lemon trees. A refreshing finish to a wonderful meal.

Making lemon jelly in the palace kitchen

After lunch, the Duchess brings you on a tour of the palace, which is full of reminders of the book–an ancient telescope on the terrace, portraits of ancestors, even popes and family members who became saints. The full-length portraits are, on the left, the Duchess’s Spanish mother-in-law and the baby, Giuseppe, the duke’s brother.  Now 87, he  joins the family table. The woman on the right is one of the duke’s aunts, his father’s sister.

One of the sitting rooms, lit with Murano chandeliers.

Gioacchino Tomasi  has reassembled his father’s library. “He didn’t have many books,” he says. “Just six thousand, but he knew them well. A bit like Montaigne.”

There are books in Italian, French, English, German, Russian, and Spanish, which Prince Giuseppe Tomasi read over and over again.

While you are reading The Leopard you learn more than you could ever glean from travel guides about this pungent land that is both harsh and beautiful.  While much has changed in the 151 years since Sicily became part of Italy, you will find that much hasn’t. There are still the “baroque towns and orange groves … undulating hills… [and] indigo smudges of sea;” the wind blowing steadily, “moving myrtles and broom, spreading a smell of thyme” as described by Tomasi.

A timeless Sicilian landscape

And there is still a great cuisine, arisen from ancient traditions, which you can learn about at the palace school and sample at this legendary table.

A cooking class with the Duchess

Nicoletta Polo will be your guide to Palermo, arguably the most colorful city in Italy, to the palace and its generous kitchen. She gives hands-on classes with market tours (Cooking with the Duchess), and has tastefully restored apartments within the palazzo for paying guests (Butera 28).

Such an experience is not had every day.

Italian Fast Day Salad with Potatoes, Hard-Cooked Eggs, Asparagus, Tuna, Capers Photo: Nathan Hoyt

This one is a composed warm salad of creamy boiled potatoes, canned tender Italian blue fin tuna filets, hard-cooked eggs, and asparagus. Italian tuna, called ventresca (stay tuned for a future  post about this as yet under-appreciated delicacy), comes from the belly or underside of the prized fish. It’s light pink, moist, and delicate in comparison to the dry white meat albacore variety that is packed for the American market. If you can’t find it or it’s not in your budget, substitute good quality Italian tuna packed in olive oil, which is also moist and delicious–avoid tuna packed in water, it’s too dry and tasteless for this recipe.

Italian Fast Day Salad with Potatoes, Hard-Cooked Eggs, Asparagus, Tuna, Capers

Serves 4

While the salad can be dressed with extra-virgin olive oil and good red wine vinegar like its French cousin, salade niçoise, nothing beats the luxurious texture and deliciousness of homemade mayonnaise dressing and I encourage you not to deprive yourself of the pleasure. If you haven’t made home-made mayonnaise before, it will be a revelation.

for the home-made mayonnaise dressing:
2 organic egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon or to taste, fine sea salt
3/4 cup safflower or grape seed oil mixed with 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
finely ground white pepper to taste

*Note: All the ingredients and equipment used for making the mayonnaise must be at room temperature.

for the salad:
1 pound fingerling, Yukon Gold, or Red Bliss Idaho®potatoes
3 eggs
1 bunch tender asparagus in season
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 can (6-1/2 ounces) imported Italian tuna, packed in olive oil,* drained and gently flaked
2 tablespoons thinly slivered red onion, soaked in cold water and drained
1 tablespoon small capers, drained and rinsed in cold water

*as blue-fin tuna is an endangered species, substitute albacore, bigeye, yellowfin, or skipjack, pole-caught and troll-caught, packed in oil

First make the mayonnaise:

1. Put the egg yolks and half the salt into the bowl of an electric mixer and beat at medium speed until they are pale yellow and a thick, creamy consistency.

2. Add the combined oils drop by drop, beating constantly. Stop adding the oil every few seconds while you continue beating until you see that the oil already added has been absorbed completely by the egg yolks. It is crucial not to add too much oil at once or the mayonnaise will not emulsify. Turn off the mixer occasionally and use a rubber spatula to scrape the inside so that all the ingredients are thoroughly combined and absorbed. Continue adding the oil in a thread, beating all the while, until the mixture becomes quite thick. Add the remaining salt, lemon juice, mustard and pepper. Blend to combine thoroughly. Check for salt. Use immediately, or cover and chill. Homemade mayonnaise will keep for a week in the refrigerator.

Note: If the mayonnaise separates, bring the broken mayonnaise and other ingredients to room temperature. Break one yolk into mixing bowl and whisk in the broken mayonnaise tablespoon by tablespoon until the mixture is cohesive, then add in a bit of the vegetable or olive oil, or whichever oil you used for the recipe, to set the mayonnaise.

For the salad:

1. Put the unpeeled potatoes in a pot with enough cold water to cover and bring to a boil over high heat. Immediately reduce the heat to medium and cook until tender when pierced with a sharp knife, about 20 minutes. Drain and when cool enough to handle, peel the potatoes and cut them crosswise into ¼-inch thick slices. If using Red Bliss, there is no need to peel.

2. In the meantime, place the eggs in a saucepan with cold water to cover and bring to a boil. Cook them for a total of 15 minutes from the time they are placed on the stove. Drain and shell them while they are still warm so that they will slip out of their shells easily, then allow to cool before cutting crosswise into ¼-inch thick slices.

3. Remove the tough lower stalk of the asparagus. Fill another saucepan with water and bring to a boil. Add the salt, then the asparagus. Boil, uncovered, until tender, about 7 minutes. Drain, refresh in cold water, and set aside. It is best if they are still warm when dressed.

4. In a salad bowl, preferably of clear glass, layer first the potatoes, then the tuna, onion, asparagus, and eggs in that order, spooning a little mayonnaise on each layer before arranging the next one. Spoon more mayonnaise on top and scatter with the capers. Serve warm, or within 2 hours of preparing.

Disclaimer: This recipe belongs to Julia della Croce and was adapted for the Idaho Potato Commission’s Potato Salad promotion. The author was financially compensated for her participation.

A splash of balmy genuine aged vinegar, like aceto balsamic di Modena, will do wonders for a beef stew. Photo by Celina della Croce

After I finished off producer Piero Catalano’s bottle of Suavis, the aged vinegar from Sicily’s desert island (“The Other Face of Balsamic” [December 15 post]), a small flask of Modena aged balsamic vinegar took its place in my cupboard. Unlike the Suavis, a souvenir from my September in Trapani (I drank it as a cordial, an “amen” to the day, blissful thimbleful by thimbleful and it was gone by January), aged Modena balsamico can be more easily replaced. These days, it’s sold in most self-respecting food specialty shops that carry Italian imports. So a generous trickle could be spared for the stew.

Casano Vini Marsala producers in Marsala, Sicily. Photo courtesy of Casano Vini

Actually, I made two versions of the stracotto, one with beef, another using veal; the first fortified with red wine and the aged balsamic vinegar, the other with dry Marsala–both were superb. Like the balsamico-spiked stracotto, the Marsala version, too, was sparked by my recent trip to Trapani and visit to Casano Vini, in the port city after which that often misunderstood wine is named.

The seaport city of Marsala, along the coastal road of Trapani province: photo courtesy of Trapani Cambio di Commercio

Like Piero’s farm on Pantelleria island, the Casano cellar is a family affair. Founder Antonio Casano started making Marsala in 1940 and his daughter and heir, Giovanna, and her family still do, growing the grapes in fields that flank the sea and the Trapani salt flats; picking and hand-drying two varieties for Fine- (aged one year), Superiore- (aged at least two and up to four years for the Riserva), and Vergine- (minimum five years; over ten for the Riserva) category Marsalas.

Casano Vini vineyards on the sea in Marsala, Trapani region. Photo courtesy of Casano Vini

The Fine is generally used for cooking. Naturally, I asked Signora Giovanna how she plies Marsala in the kitchen. Her answer: “Una spruzzatina di Marsala ci mettiamo di pertutto,” “We put little splash of Marsala in everything.” “Everything,” by her account, spanned anything from ragu to the expected veal scaloppine, sausage and peppers to swordfish, strawberries, and a profusion of sweets from gelato to tiramisù.

Casks of Marsala aging in Casano Vini cellars. Photo courtesy of Casano Vini

That said, perish the notion of so-called “cooking wine” as Americans have come to know it. Somewhere, somehow, a long time ago, mass-produced, cheap Marsala was “sold” to Americans by public relations people as specifically “cooking wine”–a term synonymous with that bottled horror stocked by supermarkets that can no more be cooked with than swigged. The American spin on Marsala is so pervasive that Signora Casano’s daughter-in-law, Simona, described their Fine “cooking wine” as she decanted it into our goblets.

Daughter-in-Law, Simona Casano works in the family business. Photo by Julia della Croce

“But why do you call it cooking wine?” I asked, flummoxed. “Because that’s what the Americans call it,” she said, suggesting that such a label elevated, as it would do in Italy where, for example, in Piemonte, another land of noble grapes, a beef rump might be braised for three hours in an entire bottle of Barolo.

Marsala DOC Photo courtesy Camera di Commercio Industria Artigianato Agricoltora, Trapani

In fact, Marsala once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sherry, Port, and Madeira as one of the great fortified drinking wines of the world. In cooking, quality wine produces quality results.

Here is my recipe for stracotto. It can be varied in endless ways. Use beef, lamb or veal; red wine (for beef or lamb) or white (for veal); flavor with thyme and parsley instead; include mushrooms or not. Lamb loves it all (though not all at once). Stracotto is made all the more luxurious with a simple swirl of genuine, thick aged balsamic vinegar (don’t mistake the watery, commercial fast-made so-called balsamic vinegar for the right stuff) after cooking (beef), or by saturating the meat (veal) with dry Marsala after browning.

———————————————————————–
Stracotto

Long-Simmered Stew with Cinnamon and Cloves
Serves 4
Adapted from Italian Home Cooking: 125 Recipes to Comfort Your Soul, by Julia della Croce (Kyle Books, 2010)
Copyright Julia della Croce 2011

The slow cooking method results in butter-tender meat and plenty of intoxicatingly rich, winey sauce, making stracotto ideal to serve with bread, steaming polenta, or puréed potatoes. If you procure genuine (and pricey) balsamico, resist the temptation to add too much–two tablespoons is just right; more would sweeten far too much. To preserve its striking flavor, don’t cook it–turn off the flame before you stir it in.  Alternatively, for veal stracotto, use veal shoulder steaks, with or without the bone. Trim excess fat and cut each steak in half. If there is a bone, include it, as it will add flavor to the sauce and be sucked for the marrow like a miniature osso bucco. When using veal, substitute dry Marsala for red wine–no balsamico at the end.

3 pounds stewing beef, trimmed of excess fat, cubed (or substitute the veal)
5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 ounces pork fat back, cut into matchstick strips
2 onions, chopped
5 large cloves garlic, smashed
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon minced fresh marjoram, or ½ teaspoon crumbled dried marjoram
1 cinnamon stick
½ teaspoon ground cloves
3 carrots, cut into dice
3-inch strip of lemon zest
1½ teaspoon sea salt, or to taste
freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons tomato paste
¾ cup good quality, full-bodied dry red wine, such as Chianti (substitute dry Marsala if using veal)
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 tablespoons genuine aged aceto balsamico (balsamic vinegar) if using beef only–if using veal, omit the balsamic

1. Use paper towels to blot the moisture from the surface of the meat well.

2. In an ample Dutch oven with a wide pan surface, warm the olive oil over medium heat and add the fat back; sauté until lightly browned, 2 to 3 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer it to a dish and set aside. Add the beef to the pan and brown it on all sides, about 12 minutes. Transfer the beef to the dish with the fat back. Wipe the pan with a paper towel.

3. Add 2 more tablespoons olive oil to the pan and stir in the onion, garlic, bay leaves, marjoram, cinnamon stick, cloves, carrots, and lemon zest. Sauté until the vegetables are lightly colored and aromatic, about 6 minutes. Return the beef and the fat back to the pan, season with salt and pepper, and stir. Sprinkle the flour over the meat. Stir in the tomato paste mixed with a little water, then the wine and enough water to barely cover the meat. Cover and cook over low heat until the meat is tender, about 2 hours. If the meat is still tough, cook longer (grass-fed beef may need as much as 3 hours). Add water as needed during cooking to prevent the meat from drying out and to ensure plenty of tasty pan juices. Stir occasionally. A good rule of thumb is to keep the liquid at half the height of the meat.

4. When the meat is done, turn off the heat; remove the bay leaves and lemon zest. Stir in the balsamico, if using. Taste for seasoning and serve.

Olive tree in winter, Spoleto, Umbria. Photo by Clarisse Schiller

Put them together for the quintessential Italian New Year dish, lenticchie di capodanno (lentils for the new year). Lentils, round and copper-colored, should remind you of money; pork shouts fatness and increase. And the olive oil? Nectar of the gods. “A drop of olive oil on the head, a drop of wine on the lips” remembers writer Bill Marsano, was an infant’s blessing in Italian households. It anoints the breasts of monarchs at their coronations and marks the foreheads of the dying in their final breath of life. In your food, it’s no less a benediction.

New Year is an antidote to the retreat of Christmas, time to toss out the old and bring in the new. Not long ago people threw everything from cracked plates to broken bidets out their windows. Cars zoomed around Rome in their usual traffic frenzy, brooms tied to their front tires to prevent them from being shredded by all broken china on the streets. Wherever you are, it’s a giddy night. Safer to get yourself some lentils (if you can find the tiny, plump Casteluccio lentils from Umbria, all the better) and sausages and get to work in your kitchen whipping up some tasty good luck grub for New Year’s day.

Note: Thanks to my friend, Clarisse Schiller, for the photos of her land in the Umbrian hills.

Before moving on to the recipe, a shot I took of Casteluccio lentils, stewed, at the Umbrian olive oil estate and agriturismo, Frantoio Marfuga, Colli-Assisi-Spoleto.

A “thread” of the oil goes on top of the lentils at serving for a burst of its clear, uncooked flavor, some of which is lost in cooking.

New Year Lentils with Roasted Sausages

for 6 to 8 people

2 cups dried brown lentils
2 bay leaves
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil plus more for drizzling
2 large cloves garlic, bruised
2 celery stalks with leaves, minced
1 large carrot, peeled and minced
1 large onion, chopped
3 tablespoons tomato paste
sea salt to taste
freshly ground black pepper to taste
6 Italian-style sweet pork sausages

1. Pick over and rinse the lentils in cold water. Put them in an ample pot with the bay leaves and cold water to cover by 4 inches.  Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until not quite tender, about 15 minutes. Skim off any foam that forms at the top. Turn off the heat. Drain the lentils and set them aside, reserving their liquid.

2. In a large skillet warm the olive oil. Add the garlic and sauté over low heat until it is nicely colored but not brown, about 2 minutes. Add the celery, carrot, and onion and sauté over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally until softened, about 10 minutes. Stir in the drained lentils. Dilute the tomato paste in a few tablespoons of some of the lentil cooking liquid and add it to the pan, stirring to distribute. Now add enough of the lentil cooking liquid to cover by about an inch. Simmer until the lentils are tender but not mushy, about 15 minutes, adding more of the lentil cooking liquid as necessary to keep the lentils moist: the consistency of the stew should be loose but not watery. When the lentils are cooked, pluck out the bay leaves and turn off the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste. Cover and let  stand while you cook the sausages.

3. To cook the sausages, preheat a broiler and roast them until they are nicely browned all over and cooked through. Alternatively, fry them in a heavy pan on the stove top.

4. Transfer the lentils to a wide serving dish. Drizzle with additional olive oil to taste. Slice the sausages and arrange them over the mound of lentils, or keep them whole if you have one sausage for each person.  Serve hot.

Note: The lentils can be made 2-3 days in advance of serving. Roast the sausages just before serving.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! ….. FELICE ANNO NUOVO!

Piero Catalano’s sun-dried tomatoes and other local products on the shelves in his Trapani shop, KusKus. The most precious item is his vinegar.

Since then he has picked all of his grapes, cooked them down to a dense mahogany-colored juice, pressed the must and decanted it into chestnut wood barrels. After 12 years of aging the vintage ambrosia he learned to make in his younger days from the legendary vinegar masters of Modena, Piero’s Sicilian-style nectar will be born and baptized Suavis. As with aceto balsamico tradizionale–a far cry from the commercially-made doppleganger that has flooded the American market, to call it vinegar is to mislead you. It’s thick, sweet and deliciously tart, not sour and thin.

This is the grape, zibibbo (botanically, Smyrna, the prized vine of the ancient Greeks), ripening in Piero’s vineyard; they’re used for the table and wine-making as well as vinegar.

Gaetano, a neighboring  contadino and  maestro of grapes shows the harvesters how to pick and stem.

Piero’s workers help with the harvest; on a clear day, you can see Africa from this island.

But the comparison stops there. Unlike balsamic from the temperate north, Piero’s vinegar is from a wild island that is thrown 62 miles off the southeast coast of Sicily and only 44 miles off the coast of Africa, the hottest spot in Italy. The land is literally baked by the convection-hot Scirocco that blows in from the Sahara desert in July and August and is drier than the rest of Sicily. The torrid heat, hot wind and paltry rainfall form the grapes, concentrating a flavor already dense and rich from the volcanic ash. All this makes for a sweeter, fuller, sunnier, more potent elixir than a chillier climate could produce.

Spreading the grapes out to dry in the sun.

Most of all, the extraordinary vinegar is a reflection of its maker, a chef who honed his nose and craft; and of his wife, Francesca, and their grown son, Simone, who help plant and prune, trellis and trim, pick and crush the grapes.

After a long, hard day in the fields…

… returning home together

Such aged vinegar is made with more care than many fine wines. It’s precious and it’s pricy, meant to anoint, say, spring’s wild strawberries, a crusty grilled steak, or, silky gelato, drop by drop. For the initiated, the vinegar is da bere, “for drinking,” from a small cordial glass as a digestive.

The grapes dry in the blazing heat for ten days, going from green to purple; they’re turned periodically for even exposure to the sun…

The fruit sugars have become concentrated but the grapes, now nearly raisins, are still plump…they’re ready.

The dried grapes are  pressed delicately.

The resulting “mosto,” grape must, is simmered in the open air for 30 hours to make a thick, dark reduction; then it is skimmed and strained…

…and transferred to chestnut barrels to evaporate.

During aging, and decanting every six months to a succession of smaller and smaller casks the vinegar reduces to a rich, thick and glossy mahogany-colored syrup, at once sweet and tart.

Imagine. It takes 440 pounds (200 kg) of grapes to make 100 liters of pressed must. That cooks down to 60 liters of finished pure grape juice. A dozen years to condense and mellow before 4.05 liters of the syrup is ready for bottling. Yield? A mere forty 3-ounce bottles of precious Suavis.

Twelve years later, a unique  aged vinegar, Suavis Neropantelleria l’Altra, “The Other Face of Balsamic” is finally the perfect flavor and texture

Problem is, outside the borders of Trapani province, where Piero plies his trade, there is no Suavis–yet.  Remembering that he had branded his rare elixir “The Other Face of Balsamic,” I dared not ask if we could substitute…balsamico (the real and aged variety), say, for trying our hand at his signature dish and jewel-in-the-crown of all his recipes, stracotto con Suavis (extra-slow-cooked braised beef with the aged vinegar)? I put the question to him in a general way, not in person, but by mail. I needed his blessing. The suggestion, I think, fell on his ears with no less impact than a bomb blast. He wrote back,

…I tell you that Suavis is superior since it’s born from the noble zibibbo grapes of Pantelleria. I say this not from the perspective of self-interest but with logic. Have you ever seen the grapes they use in Modena? And in what season they make the vinegar? In Pantelleria we make our Suavis with the help of the sun, with volcanic earth.”

It was heresy to ask. Of course south is not north, and Sicily is not Emilia; Pantelleria is not Modena, and Suavis is not balsamico. I have not heard from him since.

Still, when not rotating his barrels and drawing the dregs–or making stracotto con Suavis–Piero is busy sending out photos of his “new babies.”

(I drank every drop of the Suavis Piero gave me [in a cordial glass, before bed-time] when I left Trapani–now, none left for stracotto. So I’ll keep you posted after trying my hand at the imagined stracotto, alla Piero–alas, without Piero’s recipe, and without his faraway aged vinegar from Pantelleria…)

Vineyards in Pantelleria | photo: Benedetto Pignatti

I don’t think there is a place in the world more ideal than Pantelleria to think of the Moon. And Pantelleria is much more beautiful. The endless plains of volcanic rock, the calm sea, the dammusi (traditional volcanic rock houses) where you can see African lighthouses through their windows on windless nights… the bottom of the sea asleep… an ancient amphora with stone garlands and the remains of some wine corroded over the years… bathing in a vaporous bowl in water so thick with minerals you can walk on it…

–Gabriel Garcia Marquez, describing the Sicilian island of Pantelleria

Some call him the “sea wolf,” but if he isn’t riding the channel between the volcanic island he lives on to his shop, KusKus, on 126 Via Garibaldi in Trapani, Piero Gaetano Catalano‘s feet are firmly planted in the ground of his vineyard and caper plantation.  Despite his many talents–poet, chef, gelato-maker, caper producer, and all around food artisan, he prefers to call himself “L’Acetaio,” the vinegar maker.

“There are experiences you have to have in life,” said Piero Catalano as we sat overlooking the Gulf of Bonagio from my hotel that was once an ancient tuna fishery. He believes that one of these experiences is the vinegar he learned to make as an apprentice in Modena, Italy’s famed vinegar region. But just as you can’t make real champagne anywhere in the world besides Champagne, you can’t make the traditional aceto balsamico di Modena anywhere besides Modena. What you can make under the hot Sicilian sun where Piero comes from is a Sicilian-style “black” vinegar that is even sweeter.

So back home in Pantelleria, a volcanic island that surfaces like a black pearl in the sea between Tunisia and Sicily, he started to grow the indigenous zibibbo grape (the Modenese use Trebbiano for balsamic vinegar) in the mineral-rich dirt.  He picks his vinegar grapes when they are ripe and juicy and then leaves them to dry under the scorching August sun. When they are as nearly as dehydrated as raisins but still juicy, he simmers them in the open air for thirty hours and packs the syrup into a succession of chestnut kegs where it can age and concentrate, unfermented, for 12 years.  In this evaporation process, 100 liters of cooked grape juice reduces 15% every year to yield a precious 6.75 liters at bottling time. Piero explains that Trapani’s sun-filled zibibbo grape has so many different fruit sugars that it doesn’t need five different types of wood casks in which to decant successively as it ages, like Modena balsamic tradizionale does. The result, suavis neropantelleria l’altra, “the other face of balsamic,” as he calls it, is no ordinary vinegar. A cross between traditional Modena balsamic vinegar, red wine must, and saba (sapa), Pantelleria “black” vinegar is honestly well-aged, sweet–almost chocolately, at once potent and mellow.

Piero will tell you that to  know his land, you must drink his vinegar. Later that evening, he placed a bottle of “the other face of balsamic” in front of my plate at the dinner table. “Drink it,” he said. So I poured the thick, ambrosial syrup onto my spoon and it coated my tongue like honey and I swallowed it.  It was not enough and I kept taking more and more and could hardly stop.  He was right. It was an experience to savor.

Vinegar barrels for ageing process

The dining room at Agriturismo Fontanasalsa

If yesterday’s post has left you hungry, here is a description of the excellent lunch I had at the Fontanasalsa agritourism when I visited in the spring. The table was filled with the fruits of the fields and woods nearby–platters piled high with sweet or peppered cheeses and salamis from the countryside, sweet-and-sour eggplant and zucchini compotes, tender glazed veal rolls stuffed with caciocavallo cheese and herbs, and baby cuttlefish coddled in pungent tomato sauce, as tender as they could be. There was hand-made pasta stuffed like a jelly roll with freshly made sheep’s milk ricotta and tender greens, and couscous with seafood in the Arabo-Trapanese style. Sweet ricotta fritters and bowls filled with strawberries large and miniature as sweet as candy, and tarts made from them followed.

Caponata (Sweet and Sour Eggplant)

from Italian Home Cooking: 125 Recipes to Comfort Your Soul (U.S. edition) /Italian Comfort Food (U.K. edition) by Julia della Croce (Kyle Books, New York/ Kyle Cathie, London: 2010)
Serves 4

Caponata is typically served as an appetizer in Trapani. Serve it on lettuce leaves or freshly toasted slices of bread.

Caponata at Azienda Agrituristica Fontanasalsa

1 pound Italian eggplants
sea salt
extra-virgin olive oil for frying
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
4 large cloves garlic, smashed
5 celery stalks, strings removed, cut into 1-inch dice
¼ cup Italian capers packed in salt, rinsed thoroughly
¼ cup tart green Sicilian olives, pitted and quartered
1¼ cups crushed tomatoes, or tomato sauce
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar, or to taste
1 tablespoon sugar
freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 tablespoons minced fresh basillettuce leaves or toasted bread slices for serving

1. Wash the eggplants and remove the stem and navel. Leave the skin on. Cut it into 1-inch cubes and transfer to a colander. Sprinkle lightly with salt and place a dish with a weight on top of the eggplant. Place the colander in a clean sink or on a plate where it can drain unhampered for at least 1 hour to give the seeds plenty of time to release their bitter liquid. Pat the eggplant well with clean paper towels to blot moisture and salt.
2. Pour enough olive oil to reach 1 inch up the sides of a frying pan. When it is sizzling hot, add the eggplant and fry until colored and soft, about 5 minutes. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle immediately with sea salt; set aside.

3. In a skillet, warm the 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil. Add the onion and garlic and sauté over medium heat until wilted, about 5 minutes. Add the celery and sauté until colored but still crisp, about 5 minutes. Add the eggplant, capers, and olives to the pan and toss. Stir in the tomatoes or tomato sauce, vinegar, sugar, pepper, and basil. Cook over low heat to meld the flavors, about 10 minutes. Cover and chill overnight to develop flavors.

4. Check for seasoning before serving. Caponata is best eaten at room temperature. Serve on lettuce leaves or toasted bread.

Note: Caponata will keep for 1 week, chilled.

Cheese table at Fontanasalsa

Rotolo di pasta (stuffed pasta)

Tender veal rolls stuffed with cheese and herbs

Delectable Cuttlefish in Tomato Sauce (seppioline in umido)

A Revelation

Tending the olive trees in Trapani province, Sicily

Sicily’s topography is as diverse as its vivid human landscape. Lush, subtropical flora and desert landscapes alternate with stunning coastlines, volcanic archipelagos, rugged mountains and an active volcano (Mount Aetna). Trapani province’s vista is softened with endless carpets of citrus orchards, olive trees and vineyards, and studded with the vestiges of crumbled empires, ruined Moorish forts and enchanting medieval towns.

The fruits of Trapani are many, among them olives, transformed by masters of olive oil into some of the best oil in the world. Three things combine to make this possible: the mineral-rich volcanic soil, single olive cultivars that are indigenous to the area (there are 500 different olive varieties in Italy), and a dedication for making oil that can best be described as a religion. Unfortunately, many Sicilian oils are not exported. One exceptional Trapani label made from these monocultivar olive varieties (biancolilla, cerasuola, or nocellara) that has been able to make its way into American markets is Frantoio Torre di Mezzo D.O.P. (Denomination of Protected Origin) [www.frantoiotorredimezzo.it ]. Another is the Falconero (“black falcon”) D.O.P. label [www.fontanasalsa.it], produced by Dr. Maria Caterina Burgarella, a pediatrician and olive oil producer. Several years ago I visited her working ancestral olive estate and agriturismo (country inn), Azienda Agricola Fontanasalsa (same link as for the olive oil) with restaurateur Tony May and the Gruppo Ristoratori Italiani, a trade association that aims to educate Italian restaurateurs abroad about authentic Italian food. This is not one of those rustic Italian farm holiday places in the countryside. Rather, it is a gorgeous working azienda in the aristocratic Sicilian style about which I can’t say enough. Dr. Burgarella’s excellent Sicilian chef served forth an abundant spread of beautiful local dishes for a taste of genuine provincial cuisine based on the olive oil she makes.  Di Palo Fine Foods on 200 Grand Street, New York, carries Trapani biancolilla, cerasuola, and nocellara olive oils, and also ships.

Biscotti trapanesi at Fontanasalsa Agriturismo are made using olive oil

It was a revelation to me that the Trapanese use extra-virgin olive oil exclusively in baking as well as cooking (much healthier than butter). If that seems like an odd notion, don’ t imagine aggressive olive oil. From the biancolilla olive flows a delicate, light and fragrant oil with the scent of orange and lemon blossoms upon it. The same oil is used for frying fish, making sauces, pastries and sweets or cannoli shells, or drizzling straight from the bottle for finishing dishes or dressing fresh cheese.