Joe Ray

Saturday, October 30, 2010

HALLOWEEN IN THE MOTHERLAND WITH THE WOLFMAN

Fueled on gelato and strong espresso, I take a sunset run through town and down into the canyon. Past the chapel dug into the canyon wall and west toward Modica. Nobody but the goats go beyond the shepherd’s farm.

I forget how wild it is out here. There are pomegranate plants, boughs bent with plump, almost-ripe fruit, wild herbs, particularly a form of sage that’s got a near-fruity smell and cactus full of prickly pear are everywhere. Dried carob beans litter the ground, thistles dot the trail and an owl-like bird I’ve never seen flies out of the trees and toward the sun.

I come to my turnaround point, legs nicked from the thick, high tufts of grass and turn on Green Day. The right music makes you feel like you’ve got rockets on your feet. I go as fast as I can the whole run home, thinking I’m going to lose it on a rock and they’ll hear the pop of my ankle echo down the canyon. Instead, I grunt, snort and make animal noises all the way back - who’s going to hear me? It’s the best run of the year.

Past the shepherd’s place, I pass a teenage couple, the air thick with hormones and perfume.

Staring at me, she shrieks “L’uomo lupo!”

Wolfman!

I howl obligingly.

Back in town, the sky purple after the sunset, noisemaking fireworks detonate in the air. Pigeons scatter into the air and school kids in uniform play soccer in a church square. A pair of widows dressed in black walk toward me and say good night to each other and turn in opposite directions, giving the scene an unintentional symmetry.

I’m back in the Motherland. It’s time to eat.

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

| More

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Catalan Christmas Wishes, By Way of Sicily

As a holiday card, I had this odd idea of setting the camera on the tripod and hefting the lit Christmas tree so all you’d see would be my arms and jeans, with Guido’s painting in the background. Luckily, I remembered the Catalan Christmas connection with La Boqueria Market, which regularly graces the front page of many newspapers here on the 25th.
It also makes a much nicer photo.

Time for a Turkey.

(No, not me, the one in the oven.)

Ho, Ho!

Joe

P.S. - For a Christmas-esque message of peace from Guido, click here.

| More

Friday, June 19, 2009

Taming Ogres

PALERMO - Dad can be very good at bonding with the locals. His eyes might glaze over with a museum guide or, say, me when I get going about food, but give him someone salty in a tweed cap or a tour bus driver and in five minutes, they’ll be sharing a bag of sunflower seeds with Dad telling the joke about the drunk twins from the County Cork.

In Palermo, this happens with Sicily guide Jean Paul Barreaud, the man who introduced me to pastry chef and gelato god, Santi Palazzolo, and spoke my favorite Motherland quote: “Sicilians eat like ogres.”

Their bonding subject was instant: Palermo traffic.

“I like your car Jean-Paul, are those claw marks on the bumper?” Asked Dad.

“The only pedestrians with untouchable rights are pregnant women,” replied Barreaud, not skipping a beat. “Everyone else is fair game.”

I couldn’t tell if Dad, a true road warrior, was terrified or agog in admiration for the Palermitans, but I can say that he never took the wheel and after returning home, he wrote a lengthy email thanking me for driving.

Barreaud brought us to U Zù Caliddu, a former smuggler’s safe house in the hills above Palermo run by a sprawling family that includes a grandmother in the kitchen and a four year old playing soccer in a Spider Man costume in the dining room.

There’s a 15-euro fixed-price menu that could put even the hungriest ogre under the table, but it’s also a great way to get a handle on family-style Sicilian. The antipasto includes great examples of the sweet and sour caponata, roasted ricotta and a pizza cousin called ‘old man’s face’ – a square and thick pie with a cheese-laden red sauce that Dad promptly got all over his shirt.

Seemingly from nowhere, the guide pulled out a bottle of miracle stain cleaner that he sprays on Dad’s shirt.
Barreaud looks at me and smiles, “He’s becoming Italian!”

U Zù Caliddu – MAP
C/ del Piano dell’ochio
Torretta (PA)
091 8983913

| More

Monday, June 15, 2009

Sicilian Street Theater

PALERMO – Mom and Dad are gone and I have Palermo to myself for the morning. I walk behind the Teatro Massimo in the city center, find a bakery where fresh, hot, ricotta-laden pastries come out of the back room just as I enter.

Sold.

Outside, a helicopter whoops mysteriously. I down my coffee and head outside with breakfast to see what the fuss is about.

The theater has moved outdoors.

“You can’t stand there,” says someone who I’ll later realize is a plainclothes policeman.

Twenty-odd mobsters have been rounded up and, one by one, under cover of the helicopter and an impressive line of carabinieri cars, they are escorted out of a special police station, down a set of stairs and into a waiting car.

Wives and grandmothers dissolve into tears and collapse to the sidewalk. News crews and families are pushed around. Tragedy! Comedy! Italians have a particular capacity for making the serious look ridiculous.

Some of the cons come out of the door and pause at the top of the stairs with a look of dread. Newbies. Others grin and give a handcuffed wave with a look that says, ‘Don’t worry honey, I’ll be outta the clink in a couple of days.’

One guy has a plastic bag that looks like it’s stuffed with a three-day supply of pasta and cannoli.

I pop the last bite of pastry, take a nervous picture of the chaos and wander toward my gelato.

Da Carlo is as fantastic as ever. I have scoops of yogurt and cantaloupe gelato in a brioche capped by a beautifully not-too-sweet whipped cream.

Later, I wash it down with a standup coffee at Caffé del Moro where the barista blurs the line between man and machine.

Without looking, he flips a clean espresso cup from the top of machine to his other hand, waiting for it next to the portafilter. Steam rises from the used grounds in the knockbox.

I ask if I can make a photo and while his machine gurgles, he sizes me up with a look that says, ‘Why bother?’ combined with ‘I don’t care.’

“Fa,” comes the response. Do it.

I’ll miss this city.

Caffé del Moro - MAP
Via Giovanni Da Procida, 3
Palermo

Gelateria Da Carlo - MAP
Corso dei Mille, 72
Palermo

| More

Friday, June 05, 2009

Sicilian sex food

RAGUSA, Sicily

I thought Ciccio Sultano was the only Sicilian serving sex food – the kind of stuff that makes you want to forget you’re in a public place, vault the table and make a meal out of your date.

RRROWWW!!!

One of the things I like about Chef Francesco Cassarino and his Ragusa restaurant is that he’s not afraid to do pizzas that tend to be in the 5-10 euro range on a menu that also includes a 58 euro tasting menu; both are great values, but it’s rare to see someone with the guts and skill to do it all right.

Naturally, Cassarino is a product freak and his menu lists four types of olive oil, six salts and five kinds of pepper. Apparently, we both share a dislike for Peugeot pepper grinders (no coarse grind) but he’s ordering a special German grinder normally used by scientists to extract the most from his peppercorns. Until then, he uses a mortar and pestle crushing pepper to order.

One of the first plates with a tasting menu is an index card-sized slice of fat from a Spanish pata negra cured ham atop a similar-sized thick slice of lightly-smoked beef carpaccio with Maldon salt and specially-imported Szechuan pepper so fresh that it actually fizzes in your mouth.

Everything happens at once: textures and flavors, smoky, salty and slippery, fizzy and raw.

Damn these public places. I want to vault the table.

Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio MAP
via P.Nenni 78
Ragusa
http://www.caravanserraglioragusa.com/

| More

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

The death of Pizza Otto

Ragusa, Sicily

Whenever I’m in the Motherland, Francesco, my good pal and stalwart guide, humors my quest to find the best pizza in Sicily.

There’s some good stuff in the south where he’s from, strong examples in Palermo and more unique, thicker pies in Trapani. We ignore the question of ‘what is real Sicilian pizza?’ and just go with our taste buds.

In the end, we got to the point where, instead of calling places by their names, we’d just call them by their score on a ten-point scale. The place in the hotel down the hill with Speedy Gonzales on the takeout box? Pizza Sette. The seaside place? Sette Punto Cinque. Reigning southern champion? La Contea in Modica, where a pie with rocket, cured wild boar and parmesan (a combination that tends to send me over the moon with glee no mater in which state I find it) which earned it the Pizza Otto title.

Before I came back to the Motherland, Francesco started hinting at a new find: a place he was calling ‘Pizza Nove Plus.’ The ‘plus’ being for the food at Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio (which we’ll get to in another post) hidden in the outskirts of Ragusa.

As a group appetizer, we order a tomato, mozzarella and basil pie. The sauce is sweet and acidic, the crust crisp and soft with wood-fired flavor. Plus, there’s milky sensuality from the mozzarella and a crisp, fresh bite from the basil.

Pizza Otto was dethroned in one bite.

Later, after a full non-pizza meal, I get edgy, thinking that I might not be back here for a while.

After the cheese course, I find chef Francesco Cassarino wandering the floor and ask for another pizza.

Full to the gills, everyone at the table stares at me funny until it shows up, but Francesco dutifully has a slice.

The pie has a sort of flight path: “This won’t change my life,” I think over my first bites, but then the Parmesan and cured meat sweeten and begin working together.

I look over and Francesco has broken his fork-and-knife protocol and eats his pie with his hands. He pops the last bite of crust into his mouth with an ‘I-told-you-so’ smile.

Then he asks for another slice.

Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio MAP
via P.Nenni 78
Ragusa
http://www.caravanserraglioragusa.com/

| More

Friday, May 29, 2009

Bianchetti Bingo

PORTOPALO DI CAPO PASSERO, Sicily

“Francesco – let’s grab my folks and get dinner on the ocean. You know that place I went for pizza at this place a couple years ago… in one of those towns at the southern tip of the island…you weren’t there…know the place I’m talking about?”

I fear for my memory when I’m older.

Strangely, he knew. Or thought he did. Maybe we’re both doomed.

In any case, the place we went – La Giara – was much better than the one I could only vaguely remember.

The good stuff comes first – we get fish called neonatu if you’re Sicilian, bianchetti if you’re Italian and gianchetti if you’re Ligurian (it’s big up there, too.)

Three names for a fish that’s as long as my thumb is wide? Turns out there are many species that can fall into the neonatu category – the baby form of anchovies, sardines and many other fish lumped into a group known as pesce azzurro – the veal of anchovies.

Until this night, I couldn’t figure out what the fuss was about. Bianchetti are often breaded individually, fried up and served on a plate – in Barcelona, they pay through the nose for this stuff – but being so tiny, their delicate flavor is overwhelmed by breading and fry oil.

Here, they make fritters out of them. Little balls of little fish where the outside stays nice and crunchy – that good fried-ness – and inside, you get sweet, delicate fish flavor. Realizing there’s only one left, Mom and I briefly glare at each other, but I realize I should be a good Sicilian boy and defer with a grunt.
…
We also have an octopus carpaccio – which almost seems like a contract between chef and customer that says, “You trust us and we’ll do it right.”

They do. Serving it on a bed of rocket and spiced up with red pepper flakes, Mom, who prefers everything she eats well done has several bites.
…
Wine worth noting: 2006 Sicilia by MandraRossa using the fiano grape. The father/uncle of the Planeta clan LINK, shows the grace and restraint of a proud patriarch.
…
The pasta (a bit more photogenic than fried fritters) is honest and good. At the end of my meal, I make a note – ‘There are thousands of places like this in Italy, and we’re lucky every time we eat in one.”

La Giara MAP
Portopalo di Capo Passero (Along the port.)
Sicily
+39 0931 843217
Closed Monday

| More

Sunday, May 24, 2009

The Brother From Another Mother

ISPICA, SICILY

To prepare for the cookout, Dad sits with the English-Italian dictionary to figure out the first thing he’d like to say upon meeting our gregarious host, Guido: ‘Your are my brother from another mother.’

Guido, my pal Francesco’s uncle, was born with the gift of making whoever he’s with feel like they’re two peas in a pod and this day was no different. He lent me his daughter’s scooter the first time I lived here and though I only have what the French would call notions of Italian, language never seems to be a barrier when talking with him.

My parents came to Sicily on vacation to learn about the Motherland and our family history here – Dad’s maternal grandparents emigrated from the tiny town of Altavilla Milicia in the early 1900s – and being together in the place where our ancestors were from is a potent emotional experience connecting us with the past and each other.

Guido’s wife Pina and Francesco’s mother make a feast that includes roasted peppers, sautéed mushrooms and grilled meat a go-go and I’ve smuggled an entire jamón Ibérico – black hoof and all – through customs as a gift from our family to theirs.

Today, however, food (very tasty food at that) was simply a way to bring us together and I’d trade every amazing Sicilian restaurant meal for this one feast.

Being made to feel like family can be as important as finding the real one.

| More

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Mom, The Fox and The Jew’s Harp

CASTELBUONO, SICILY

PRELUDE

Driving through Sicily, Mom asks if there are many foxes roaming the island – a question completely out of left field, and as likely a subject as if she had a sudden interest in stock quotes.

FOOD

Dinner at Nangalarruni in Castelbuono is a snapshot of Sicilian cuisine. A starter salad of blood oranges and pearl onions is served with thin slices of tobacco-smoked pork, sprinkled with salt flakes and dappled with olive oil and deeply-flavored musto cotto from 1987. The dish shows a native love for sweet and savory, reverence for history and an inventive playfulness. Much of that can also be seen in the following course - a bread pie served next to a big, comma-shaped swirl of ricotta cream.

It’s at this point in the meal where chef Peppino Carollo, who I’ve blogged and written about, sits down one table away to have dinner with his brother on a quiet Monday night. Staying undercover would have been nearly impossible, not to mention really awkward. Besides, it’s hard to braise a wild boar shank (our next course) in 10 minutes.

Instead, we talk. The brother is in town from Rome to hunt mushrooms with Chef in the hills above town – Nangalarruni may mean ‘jew’s harp’ but the restaurant is a mushroom-lover’s heaven and the walls here are covered with paintings of fungi and pictures of Chef and friends after successful mushroom hunts.

Who’s manning the kitchen while chef is having dinner with his brother?

“He’s young,” Chef says of sous-chef Giandomenico Lammonica, but it’s not hard to understand why he is Carollo’s right-hand man – Lammonica has a mushroom farm above town that he tends to as a hobby.

A several-course tasting meal at Nangalarruni is a bargain at 30 euros and the great wine list has gentle prices, perhaps owing a bit to Chef’s wife running two small wine shops in town.

FULL CIRCLE

Walking back after a late-night stroll through town, a fox appears in front of our door.

…

When in Castelbuono, stay at the Casa Ilaria B&B. It’s hidden, quiet, beautiful, spacious and run by gracious owners. It’s also a steal at 30 euros per person per night.

Casa Ilaria
Piazza Tenente Schicchi, 5
Castelbuono
+39 0921 676268
http://www.casailaria.it/

| More

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Wild Roses

RAGUSA IBLA, SICILY

We took my friend, almond and olive oil producer Francesco Padova, to lunch at Ragusa Ibla’s Il Duomo restaurant – not an easy feat, considering Sicilians’ amazing hosting skills. It was a great way to see what chef Ciccio Sultano’s been up to – more a check on concepts than a critique.

Chef, who I’ve written about previously, came out to say hello and explained a few dishes, but was almost completely knocked out by a cold.

Highlights from the tasting included fusilli lunghi alle rose – long fusilli supporting rockfish fillets, a bed of fennel and a tiny skewer of sautéed fish liver. The fish was firm, the fusilli floppy, the fennel … feral – at least in the ‘wild’ and more alliterate sense of the word. The liver? That just melts on your tongue.

The secret weapon, however, is in the sauce: rose water. Light, like you’re smelling perfume without drinking it, and, as Sultano says, a wink at Sicily’s history, where it showed up as a luxurious ingredient.

Rose water shows up again at dessert, this time in the sorbet accompanying a ‘pistachio couscous’ dessert. The dish is playful in concept – couscous being another wink at Sicilian history – but serious in execution, giving it a divine, cake-like quality.

At 100 euros including wine, the tasting menu is a splurge but still a great value.

Il Duomo MAP
Via Capitano Bocchieri, 31
Ragusa Ibla, Sicily
+39-0932-651265
www.ristoranteduomo.it

| More