Lindsay Marie Morris

Stop. Before you toss those jack-o-lantern scraps, consider saving them for a classic Sicilian pumpkin recipe. Believed to have originated in Palermo's popular Vucciria market, zucca in agrodolce (sweet and sour pumpkin) is a simple seasonal side dish that's sure to impress your most discerning supper guests. 

Blogger Sarah Kearney of White Almond Sicily has a lovely rendition of this flavorful pumpkin recipe. 

We chatted about her connection to Sicily, what inspired this dish, how to select the perfect pumpkin, and excellent zucca in agrodolce pairings. 

 

 

Tell me about your background. What is your connection to Sicily?

My parents were English, and I was born in the UK and grew up in an area in South London where there were a lot of Italian families. I went to school with many Italian-descendant children, and their birthday parties and invitations to their homes were always so fascinating and fun. I just loved sitting around the big family table eating pizza, pasta, and gelato, receiving lots of Italian warmth and hospitality. As I grew up, I knew that I wanted to visit Italy. Whilst other children my age were filling scrapbooks with photos of their favorite pop stars, I would be dragging my parents to our local travel agent to pick up travel brochures so I could cut out the photos of Italy and create my own Italy travel brochure. 

In 2005, I read a travel article in a fashion magazine about Taormina in Sicily. With my love of all things Italian and my husband's love of The Godfather movies, Sicily seemed like our kind of destination. So, after some research, I booked a weekend getaway to Taormina, and as soon as we saw the volcano Mount Etna from our airplane window, we knew we had already fallen in love with the island. Two years later, we bought our Sicilian home in Giardini Naxos, a seaside town nestled between the slopes of Etna, Taormina, and the Ionian Sea. 

 

How did your life change?

Coming from London, we are used to a fast-paced life, and over the past 17 years, we have learned to live life the way the Sicilians do. We learned to shop more locally at our local butchers, fish shops, and bakeries instead of using supermarkets and buying our fruit and vegetables from markets. Our taste buds changed with the fresh produce we were buying. 

We joined the evening passeggiata along our seafront with our dogs. In the beginning, we used to zoom along, overtaking the locals, but now we take our time like the Sicilians and maybe stop at a bar for an aperitif or coffee or sit on the seawall eating a gelato. A five-minute walk to the seafront can turn into an hour's walk with locals stopping to talk to us. In Sicily, we have made more friends than we ever have in London, and we have been adopted by many Sicilian families, who see us as one of them now. 

 

What inspired you to share the recipe for Sicilian sweet and sour pumpkin?

In 2014, I started to write my blog, "White Almond Sicily," and a friend from London came to stay with us. It was his first visit to the island, and we discussed how not many English people visit Sicily or know much about its beauty, food, and culture. Thereafter, I started writing about our new life in Sicily, the places we visited, and the people we met. I decided to also share recipes for popular Sicilian dishes that our new Sicilian friends had made for us. 

We now divide our time between London and Giardini Naxos, and my favorite seasons are spring and autumn when the island boasts an abundance of delicious fruit and vegetables. Autumn is a wonderful time of year to stay in Sicily with the grape harvest to make new wine, olives are harvested to make olive oil, trees are heavy with apples, prickly pears are in season, and there are food festivals that celebrate hazelnuts and walnuts. It is also the season for hearty meals like stews and risotto, with the most popular use being seasonal vegetables like pumpkins. 

You will see pumpkins at markets or on the roadside piled up by local farmers on their three-wheeled Ape vehicles, a bit like what you see with watermelons in summer. I love Halloween, so I always like to carve a pumpkin into a lantern, which gives me the perfect excuse to use the leftover flesh to make Sicilian sweet and sour pumpkin. 

 

Can you tell us more about the historical and cultural significance of this dish in Sicily?

Like a lot of vegetable dishes in Sicily, pumpkins were used in poor times to replace meat, and the pumpkin was used as an equivalent to liver. The dish is thought to have originated in Palermo in the famous Vucciria market. 

The rich aristocratic families would buy expensive liver, which would be fried and marinated in a sweet and sour way and then garnished with fresh mint. The poor could not afford the meat, so instead, they bought slices of pumpkin, which was cheap, and cooked it in the same way. 

The dish was known locally as o ficatu ri setti cannola (the liver of the seven taps), which refers to seven taps at the seven fountains located near the market where the street vendors selling the pumpkins would be daily. 

 

Do you have any personal stories associated with making or eating sweet and sour pumpkin?

We usually drive from London to Sicily with our dogs, and after three days of traveling, on our first day back home in our Sicilian house, our neighbors always visit bearing gifts, usually food. It is quite often that we will return home and have a delivery from what we call "the lemon fairy" and find a bag full of lemons hooked onto the door knob of our front door. Last year, a neighbor gave us a crate of persimmons, which I made into a delicious jam, and of course, he was given a jar, much to his delight. 

I can remember the father of one of our friends, who owns a big plot of land on Etna, arriving at our house with the biggest pumpkin I had ever seen. I could hardly carry it. Of course, I used it to carve a Halloween pumpkin and made a sweet and sour Pumpkin with the remains. There was so much that I was able to preserve it in empty jars to bring back home to London. 

I first tried this dish in a Sicilian restaurant in London, which was owned at the time by Enzo Oliveri, a well-known Sicilian chef from Palermo who now lives in the UK. It was Enzo who first told me how to make the dish in a similar way to another popular Sicilian dish, caponata. 

 

What tips do you have for selecting the best pumpkin for this recipe?

In Sicily, I always trust the vendor to choose the best pumpkin for me, but when in London, I always look for firm and smooth pumpkins that feel heavy for their size. Then, I know that there is plenty of flesh inside, and I avoid any pumpkins with cracks or bruises. We do not get pumpkins in London like those in Sicily; the ones in Sicily have a unique taste from being grown on fertile volcanic soil. 

 

How do you balance the sweet and sour flavors in this dish to achieve the perfect taste?

I use one tablespoon of sugar and two tablespoons of vinegar for the agrodolce (sweet and sour) taste. Sicilians tend to use white vinegar for this dish, but I like to use red wine vinegar. It gives the pumpkin a ruby-colored hue that makes the dish look a bit more exotic and gleam like Sicilian jewels. 

 

What other traditional Sicilian dishes would you suggest pairing with sweet and sour pumpkin?

In Sicily, this dish is usually regarded as a side dish or used as part of antipasti paired with other delicacies like caponata or melanzana parmigiana, together with local cured meats, cheeses, olives, and sun-dried tomatoes. As a side dish, we enjoy it with grilled meats or salsiccia, a Sicilian sausage made with coarsely chopped pork and usually containing fennel seeds. 

 

Can you share any common mistakes to avoid when preparing this dish?

It is all about getting the balance of the sweet and sour correct. Too much vinegar and the dish can become acidic. Too much sugar will make it hard to savor all the other flavors. Always leave the ingredients to mingle. You also need to add finely chopped fresh mint to garnish, as this brings out the flavors like a tastebud explosion in your mouth. Mint is a very typical ingredient in Sicilian cuisine from when the island was under Arab rule. 

 

What feedback have you received from readers who have tried this recipe?

This recipe is mostly viewed in autumn months, and most of my blog followers love that it is a lesser-known Sicilian dish to create and try. It is particularly great for children as all kids enjoy carving a Halloween pumpkin, so it is a great way to introduce this vegetable into their diet. 

 

What do you hope readers take away from your White Almond recipes?

My philosophy is to share the delights of Sicily through its culture and food using my own experience of living on and traveling around the island. I love that I can share recipes that I have learned locally with readers, who can then recreate dishes that they have tasted whilst in Sicily when they return to their own home kitchens. 

 

 >>Get Sarah's zucca in agrodolce recipe here!<<

 
Photo by Sarah Kearney

 

 

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Cooking Italian doesn't have to be complicated. In fact, some of the best dishes are among the simplest, featuring fresh, seasonal ingredients and key pantry staples. Unlike certain cuisines with complex sauces and overwhelming techniques, Italian cuisine is just as approachable as delicious.

That idea inspired Domenica Marchetti's latest cookbook, Everyday Italian, her eighth book on Italian cooking. Domenica, who has a ninth book on the way, has Abruzzese roots and a home in Abruzzo. The region formerly known as Abruzzi just so happens to have been part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, so it's no wonder many of our cooking traditions are shared. 

Domenica took time out of her busy schedule of writing, teaching, and leading culinary tours to chat with me about her influences, favorite techniques, must-have staples, and what she hopes readers will take away.

 

 

Tell us about your background.

I am based outside of Washington, D.C., in Northern Virginia. But we also have a little house in Abruzzo.

 

I grew up spending my summers in Italy on the Adriatic coast of Abruzzo. We had a beach house there for many years, and that's really where my love for Italy just grew. I was spending all that time there.

My mom was from Chieti; her mother was from the city of Atri, which is also in Abruzzo. Her dad was actually from Perugia in Umbria. Her family stayed in Abruzzo. 

On my dad's side, his parents came from Italy. His mother was from Isernia in the Molise region, which is attached to Abruzzo, and his dad was from Fondi in the Lazio region, which also includes Rome. But my main attachment is to Abruzzo because I spend a lot of time there. 

My mom was a wonderful cook. Like many Italians, she came to the U.S. in the 1950s. She was kind of in love with post-war America and ended up meeting my dad on a blind date in New York City and staying.

When she got married, she taught herself how to cook because she grew up in a family with a cook. So she didn't need to learn anything when she was growing up, but she loved cooking and was a fantastic home cook. So she's really my number-one kitchen muse.

 

How did you get into food writing?

My background is in journalism. I went to Columbia Journalism School and was a newspaper reporter before becoming a freelance writer. So, when my kids were little, I transitioned to freelance writing and reinvented myself as a food writer because that's what I was interested in doing. 

I used my connections in newspapers and magazines to start freelancing. And then that eventually led to books and cooking classes and doing book tours. More recently, with COVID, I started teaching online. I also do occasional culinary tours in Italy, which I've been doing for about a decade.

 

You've been to Sicily. Describe your experience.

It's been quite a few years, but I have been. We had family friends from Sicily who lived in Rome, but they also had places in Palermo and the coastal town of Mazara del Vallo.

It was before I was a full-time food writer. I remember walking through a citrus grove in this family's yard and just being completely enchanted.

I grew up in central New Jersey, and we didn't have those there. 

Of course, there are all the sweets and confections, the cannoli, the marzipan, the sweet ricotta, and the stuffed treats, and it's just such an incredibly flavorful cuisine.

I also remember the first time I had pasta with eggplant, which was basically pasta with tomato sauce and fried eggplant on top. I can't think of anything simpler, but it was absolutely delicious.

I was thinking about these assertive flavors in Sicilian cuisine: the fish, either dried or tinned or even fresh, the sardines, the anchovies, the swordfish, the tuna, and then the vegetables, the peppers, eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, artichokes, winter squash. I mean, just all of the colors! 

One of my favorite cookbooks on the food of Sicily is this book by Anna Tasca Lanza, The Heart of Sicily. It came out in the early 1990s, and I was in Los Angeles, of all places. My husband and I were coming back from our honeymoon, and his mom lived in California. We were walking around L.A., and we happened upon this cookbook store. Anna Tasca Lanza was there signing copies of her book. This was before the cookbook craze, so nobody was there except those who worked in the bookstore. So we sat down, chatted with her, and bought this book.

Outside of my mom's cooking, this book has been such an inspiration to me because it really did introduce me to Sicilian cuisine. In the introduction, she talks about the many cultures that passed through Sicily: the Greeks, the Romans, the Arabs, the Normans, the French, and the Spanish.

She said all those conquerors and the wayfarers made an imprint on Sicilian cuisine without altering its basic character. The main element of Sicilian cooking has always been the sun. And that is so true if you think of the way they sun-dry tomatoes, the way they make the tomato paste, estratto, by spreading it out under the sun, the way they sun-dry vegetables like eggplant and zucchini and then preserve them in oil. The sun just brings out the colors and the flavors of all these vegetables and foods. And I really think that quote encapsulates Sicilian cuisine beautifully.

 

You highlight some of those techniques in Preserving Italy.

My grandmother from Abruzzo used to sun-dry sour cherries so that she would do the same thing. She would dry them in the sun until they were half-dried, not completely shriveled. She would put them in jars with brandy and sugar. She would make these boozy preserved cherries. 

That really was the impetus for Preserving Italy because I wanted to recreate those sour cherries. In the introduction, I tell how when my sister and I were little after our grandmother passed away, there were still a few jars of those cherries in the pantry. My mom and her sisters—she had three sisters—were very, very parsimonious about doling out those cherries. And they made them last for years.

The only way we could ever get cherries was if we told them we had cramps. When we had cramps, we were allowed to have a little spoonful of these really alcoholic, boozy, sour cherries. And then they were gone. 

Years later, the more I started getting into Italian food, the more I thought about the foods I grew up with. So, I wanted to recreate those cherries. 

Living in northern Virginia, it's very humid, so I can't sun-dry anything without it turning into mold. So, I did a version of oven-drying the cherries and then giving them a long marinating in spiced, sweetened alcohol.

There are other things like candied citrus peel, which is one of my favorite things to make. I always make it for the holidays because it's got so many uses. For one thing, it just makes your kitchen smell wonderful when you're cooking down orange peel and then cooking it in syrup until it thickens and nicely coats the fruit. You let it dry, then roll it in sugar, and you've got this wonderful confection that you can dip in chocolate or mince and put into cakes and cookies or use as a garnish for cannoli.

 

All these wonderful traditions are preserved throughout Italy. I mean, Italy has so many foods that grow well, such as hazelnuts, pistachios, almonds, and vegetables. There are just countless ways of preserving them.

 

Abruzzo was part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, so there are likely shared food traditions.

I think that's absolutely true. What's interesting about Abruzzo is that it is central, but because it was part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, it is identified with the South, and a lot of its cuisine is associated with the South. 

I liken it to the Missouri of Italy. Missouri is kind of the gateway to the Midwest, but you think of it a little bit like the South. It's kind of in the middle of the country, but it's a little bit west if you think of Kansas City, Missouri. So it's got all these different cultural influences.

I feel like Abruzzo is the same thing. But yes, because it was part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, I do believe it does have strong ties with southern Italy. So, some of the same foods are prepared in similar ways, like peppers. The cover recipe for Preserving Italy is peppers preserved in olive oil, which I absolutely love. They basically get a bath and sweet and sour vinegar brine with capers and garlic, and then you drain them after they've marinated a good long while in this sweet and sour brine, and then you top them off with olive oil and just pop them in the fridge. You don't even have to can them. And they're just such a wonderful thing to have around either to put on pizza or crostini or as a side to roast chicken. 

 

That's a very Sicilian thing, actually, this idea of sweet and sour, they love their agrodolce. They do it with fish; they do it with vegetables. One of my favorite treatments for agrodolce is winter squash, the zucca agrodolce, which is a Sicilian dish. It's thinly sliced pumpkin or winter squash, fried with olive oil, and then just sort of plunged into a sweet and sour vinegar dressing or brine and other vegetables. You can do that with eggplant with caponata, but I really love it with the winter squash.

 

My mom used to make that when I was growing up. It was a Sicilian dish, but she really liked it, so she used to make it, and that remains one of my favorite dishes. A couple of years ago, I ended up making a winter squash version of caponata instead of eggplant, but with the celery and the tomato, and it was so good. 

I really love the sweet-and-sour tradition of Sicilian cuisine. One of the things that Anna Tasca Lanza points out in her book is that the Arabs who came over introduced the planting of sugarcane to Sicily. Ever since then, Sicilians have had a sweet tooth. So they like the sweet and sour, and also all of the sweets and confections, too. I think they can thank history for their sweet tooth.

 

In Everyday Italian, you share must-have Italian staples. Which are specific to Sicilian cuisine?

When I think of Sicilian cuisine, the first thing that comes to mind is nuts. They have the wonderful Sicilian almonds from Noto. And if you've not tasted a Sicilian almond side by side with, say, a California almond, you might not even know there's a difference. But there's a real difference. If you taste a good Sicilian almond, you understand almond extract all of a sudden because some people don't necessarily like almond extract; they find it bitter and strong in flavor. But if you taste a Sicilian almond, you will taste a tiny bit of that aroma from almond extract, and you understand what almond extract is. It really has that almond flavor. 

I occasionally splurge on Sicilian almonds. I buy them online. Last year, my daughter used Sicilian almonds to make these almond crescent cookies for Christmas. She's not as big a fan of the almond flavor as I am, so she doesn't ever use almond extract, but she used these Sicilian almonds.

 

We tasted the cookies fresh from the oven, and I asked, "Did you put almond extract in these?"

She said no. And it's because she used these Sicilian almonds.

Pistachios, too. If you take the time to peel them, they have this incredible green color. And that rich, nutty, sweet pistachio flavor or pine nuts, which are very Sicilian and buttery. 

For other ingredients, I think of capers, capers and caper leaves, brined capers, and salted capers with those punchy flavors.

Then there are anchovies, bottarga (the dried tuna roe), and colatura (the liquid from preserving the anchovies). All of these really strong flavors contribute to the richness of Sicilian cuisine.

There's vinegar, of course, and herbs. When I think of Sicilian cooking, I immediately think of mint. We were talking about winter squash and agrodolce; mint is the herb you sprinkle in that. 

 

What advice would you give to home cooks?

I would just say that it's pretty easy. Italian food is all about ingredients. And I know people have said this before, but it's not like trying to master fancy French sauces or overly manipulated food or trying to transform one thing into another. It's really about giving ingredients the best expression you can give them so that their own flavors shine. 

I would say the most important thing is to choose good ingredients that are the best you can afford. It's worth it because you really understand Italian cuisine. It doesn't have to be overly complicated. 

I mentioned pasta with eggplant. It's really just a simple tomato sauce made with either fresh or canned tomatoes, fried seasoned eggplant, and good-quality pasta. When you're buying pasta, buy the best you can afford. The same goes for good olive oil.

Be open to different ingredients and flavors. You will be successful if you work with high-quality ingredients and have reliable recipes. 

For example, maybe you don't know too much about artichokes and think it takes a lot of work to peel them. Once you've done it, it's like anything. You just roll up your sleeves and do it, and it becomes easier. So, if you happen to find good whole artichokes in the market, don't shy away from them. Buy them. Find either a video or a description. You'll see that the more you do it, the better you get at it. It's just a process, a learning process, and don't be daunted because Italian cuisine and its essence really is simple.

 

>>Get your copy of Everyday Italian here!<<

 

 

 

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It was a sunny afternoon in downtown Los Angeles, and my mother, sister, niece, husband, and I stumbled on a building called the Italian Hall. There, we saw a sign for the Italian American Museum of Los Angeles (IAMLA). As we are all Italian Americans, we found this fortuitous. So, we popped in and toured the museum's collection, an eclectic mix of fun facts and fascinating exhibits connected to Italian heritage.

 

As a Los Angeles transplant from Milwaukee, I don't often encounter such connections. Sure, there are some fabulous Italian restaurants, and Venice has canals. But I rarely have the opportunity to celebrate my Italian roots in the City of Angels.

Thanks to places like the IAMLA, I now know that Los Angeles is home to the fifth-largest Italian American population in the United States. 

Awareness of such lesser-known facts and her interest in her own Italian-American identity led the IAMLA Executive Director and historian Marianna Gatto to co-found the museum, which opened its doors in 2016.

 

"When I started working on this project twenty years ago, people would say things like, 'There are Italians in Los Angeles? Los Angeles had a Little Italy?'" Marianna says. "Now, I hear people saying, 'Italians helped shape Los Angeles.'"

 

Marianna, author of the recently published The Italian Americans of Los Angeles: A History, shared with me what inspired the founding of the IAMLA, her approach to curation and research, challenges she's faced, where she sees the museum headed, and advice for those who wish to pursue a museum career. 

What is your connection to Sicily?

My Sicilian family came to the United States in 1897. They were from Lucca Sicula in the Province of Agrigento. Like many Sicilians, they came following Italy's unification as the economic situation in the Mezzogiorno (Italy's south) worsened. Following the American Civil War, there was a labor shortage in the southern United States, and Sicilians were recruited to work in the fields and fisheries. My great-grandfather, his son, and scores of others from Lucca Sicula were among them. 

 

What inspired you to co-found the IAMLA?

There were two key events that served as a catalyst for my work with the museum. My earliest inspiration can be traced to my childhood. From a very young age, I was aware that I was Italian American, but growing up in an exceptionally diverse part of Los Angeles where Italian Americans were a small minority, I had to search far and wide for a mirror. The opportunities to explore my italianità were few. I began to question, what is my place in Los Angeles and what is my place among Italian Americans? Do I have one?  

To answer that question, I began devouring any book I could find on Italian American history. There were none about Italians in Los Angeles. I remember going through the indexes of volumes on Italian American history in search of 'Los Angeles' and in books about Los Angeles in search of 'Italians.' I sought answers from my father, but the information he shared often left me with more questions. Unlike most of the Italian Americans I read about, our family did not enter the U.S. through Ellis Island. My Sicilian side came through New Orleans and worked as agricultural laborers before continuing west to Colorado. At my grandmother's urging, they moved to Los Angeles, which was then still a suburban Eden, in 1948. I was thoroughly confused. What kind of Italians were we? 

When I was an undergraduate in college I learned about the Italian Hall, a building on the edge of downtown Los Angeles that had been constructed in 1908 and had served as a gathering place for Italian Americans during the first half of the twentieth century. I was floored. Italian Hall demonstrated that Los Angeles did indeed have an Italian American history with roots that stretched deep into its soil. A group known as the Historic Italian Hall Foundation was raising funds to rehabilitate the building, portions of which had languished after being vacant for decades, with the goal of resurrecting it as an Italian American community center. When I visited the building for the first time, my heart skipped a beat. I said aloud to the building's ghosts, to the pigeons nesting in the rafters, "This needs to be a museum, and I want to be the director." Well, years would pass before that dream materialized, but it did.

So, you could say that my second inspiration was the building itself, Italian Hall, and the history it speaks to, that of the two-hundred-year history of Italian Americans in Southern California. The building was my muse, the impetus for my research. After visiting it that day, I set out to discover and document the Italian Americans of Los Angeles, a group whose influence and contributions are felt throughout the region yet, until recently, received little recognition. The idea that a community so integral to the Los Angeles metropolis could be forgotten absolutely baffled me.

 

What are some highlights from your involvement with the museum?

Next year marks my twentieth working on the museum project, and there have been many high points, low points, and in-between points. Opening our doors was a huge milestone. Witnessing how our work has brought people together and enriched so many lives has been really rewarding, as has meeting some truly special people. Last year, the IAMLA won a prestigious award for Woven Lives, one of the temporary exhibitions I wrote and curated that explores the experiences of Italian American women told through needlework. This exhibition is slated to travel to the East Coast.

The IAMLA has also dramatically expanded its free public programming, and seeing how the arts and educational experiences we offer enrich resource-starved communities is also incredibly rewarding. Many of our youth visitors have never been to a museum or attended a live theatrical performance before. There have been other times when we have rejoiced after receiving an important grant or donation. 

 

How do you approach curating exhibitions representing the Italian American experience in Los Angeles and the West?

Our visitors are incredibly diverse; over 80 percent are not of Italian extraction. Our goal is to make history engaging, relatable, and relevant to all who step through our doors or access content online. We are cognizant of how we present information in order to appeal to different learning styles, educational levels, and age groups, and heavily utilize technology, interactive experiences, and storytelling. On any given day, you will see K-12 field trips, families, and senior and special needs groups visiting, and we want all of them to walk away having learned something. We emphasize universal themes, attempt to make connections with current events, and encourage visitors to draw upon their personal experiences. 

We follow the same approach with our temporary exhibitions. The IAMLA presents two new and original temporary exhibitions each year. They cover a variety of topics, from Italian American inventors to Pinocchio as a cultural icon. Each exhibition is accompanied by a variety of free educational programming, and it's through these events that we create a dynamic space that keeps people coming back. 

 

You recently published The Italian Americans of Los Angeles: A History. Tell us about the research that went into that book.

The research for the book brought me to archives and to cemeteries, to people's homes and businesses; I poured over volumes of documents, scrutinized endnotes, and hunted down unpublished manuscripts. The book is a survey of Italian Americans in Greater Los Angeles from the time of the first Italian settler's arrival in 1827, before there was an Italy and before California was a state.

This is the first comprehensive auto-history of Italian Americans in the City of Angels. It looks at subjects ranging from Italian pioneers and foodways to faith, entertainment history, anti-Italianism, and the arts. It includes many rare images, and like the museum's exhibitions, it is designed to be accessible and relatable, whether or not you are of Italian extraction or hail from Southern California.  

 

What challenges have you faced in preserving and promoting Italian American history, and how have you overcome them?

In the early days of the museum project, there was a crisis in awareness. Italian American history is often conceived as primarily an East Coast phenomenon, and numerically speaking, the majority of Italians did indeed settle in New York and Northeastern and Midwestern urban areas, but there are a number of other Italian American communities that are also worth studying and understanding. Los Angeles has an Italian American history that dates back nearly two centuries, but it has seldom been examined by Los Angeles historians or Italian American historians.

Many Italian Americans were struggling to achieve upward mobility during a time when the emphasis in America was on consensus and assimilation. The decades during which laws passed to prohibit Italians from coming to the United States and when Italians were portrayed as radicals and anarchists were followed by World War II years when the United States was at war with Italy. Italian Americans—Italo Angelenos—stopped speaking Italian and deemphasized their Italian-ness. The older generation was often reluctant to speak about their experiences, and if history and culture are not transmitted, what happens? It is often lost. My work as a historian has centered around unearthing this history.

There have been a number of challenges over the past two decades, but we have kept going. Perseverance has been an essential part of overcoming. 

 

How do you see the museum evolving, and what projects or exhibitions are you most excited about?

In the years that follow, I see the IAMLA continuing to expand in our physical location and our reach. Long before the pandemic, before virtual offerings became more commonplace, we presented considerable content online. We are also collaborating with other institutions to bring exhibitions and programs to various parts of the country. I see the IAMLA expanding its direct services to the public. Many of the people who visit the IAMLA come from resource-starved communities. Admission to the museum is free, and the overwhelming majority of museum programs—concerts, workshops, and other events—are also free. Serving as a resource for communities that often lack access to arts and cultural experiences gives me tremendous pride. The IAMLA is a museum and it is also a vehicle for bringing together communities and helping narrow the opportunity gap. 

On the heels of the IAMLA's very successful exhibition about Italian American jazzman Louis Prima, we will be opening a new and original exhibition on Italian American inventors and innovators that I'm particularly excited about. The exhibition examines the work of nearly one hundred inventors, from Enrico Fermi's work on the nuclear reactor and Robert Gallo, who discovered HIV as the cause of AIDS, to Teressa Bellissimo, who created the Buffalo chicken wing and Bernard Castro, who devised the convertible sofa. We will be presenting some great programming in conjunction with the exhibition.

 

What advice would you give someone pursuing a career like yours?

Prepare yourself for a lot of ups and downs, and try not to get discouraged during the downs. It's all part of the process. Strive to be a lifelong learner. The world changes more quickly than ever, it seems, and adaptability is key.

 

What do you hope people will take away from a visit to the museum?

In recent years, some of our leaders have determined that history—as well as the arts and other subjects—are "non-essential." The results are frightening. I hope people will take with them a greater understanding of the many people that make up the American mosaic and that these little blocks of knowledge will foster the development of a more informed and compassionate nation.

 

 

 

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New Orleans is renowned for its cuisine. But when it comes to several of its most iconic dishes, some credit should go to the area's Sicilian transplants, says Louisiana historian Laura Guccione. 

"If you think about something like shrimp creole with tomatoes in it, a lot of people have said that it definitely has a Sicilian influence," says Laura. "And if you go to a restaurant here, a lot of places have stuffed artichokes on the menu. That's definitely directly from Sicily."

Curious about the Sicilian origins of Louisiana's plants and foods, the Delgado Culinary School graduate pursued a master's in urban studies at the University of New Orleans. Her graduate thesis evolved into two New Orleans history book manuscripts, one on St. Joseph's Day and the other on Sicilians and Creole Cuisine, both currently under peer review by LSU Press. 

I caught up with Laura to learn more about how Sicilians colored New Orleans's rich history. She shared some of the more surprising food contributions and how Sicilian corner stores promoted what's become known as New Orleans cuisine.

 

 

What is your background?

I'm a native New Orleanian but grew up in the suburbs. My father's a hundred percent Sicilian. His story is interesting because his father was born in Louisiana, but in Lettsworth, Louisiana, which is north of Baton Rouge and sugar cane country. His grandfather did not like it here, so they went back to Sicily. So, my grandfather was an American citizen. He was born here but was raised in Sicily. He came back as a teenager at 17 and then lived in New Orleans. I still have direct cousins in Sicily because his brother stayed in Sicily.

My mother's family is from the very beginning of New Orleans. They're a Creole family, also Scots-Irish. 

I grew up here, worked in the service industry for about 30 years, tending bar, and then decided to go back to school after Hurricane Katrina. 

I went to culinary school, but I soon realized that as much as I loved restaurants, food, and cooking, I was really more interested in history. So, a few years later, I went back to get my master's degree from the University of New Orleans.

 

How did the challenges Sicilian immigrants faced influence their culinary contributions?

Sicilians assimilated quicker than most places, so I think it's harder to see what they've done. They immediately spread all over the city, including on the West Bank, uptown, downtown, and outside of New Orleans, because many of them came to work the sugarcane fields. 

They were basically migrant workers. They would come here, spend time in Louisiana, then go to Chicago and go up to where other things were being harvested. 

They went back and forth, which contributed to agriculture. Many Sicilians had small farms outside of New Orleans, almost within the city limits. 

What happened with the Sicilians is that they contributed a lot to Creole cuisine. It's not as obvious as an actual dish, with the exception of the muffuletta and a few other things that are obviously Sicilian.

They were changing cuisine here because what they were growing was what they were familiar with. They were coming back and forth so they could bring seeds and plants. They were going into the field of producing, growing, producing, and distributing fruits, vegetables, and even oysters and fish. 

In the history of recipes, you can see that as more and more Sicilians come here, you see a change in what's being used. For example, everybody talks about the trinity [onions, bell peppers, and celery]. Paul Prudhomme was the first one to start using that. I talked to his sous chef recently, and he said Paul only really cooked with celery once he got here. Where does celery come from? It comes from Sicily.

 

A lot of old gumbo recipes barely have anything in them. Through the years, you see more onions; you see more celery and peppers. Because what do they eat in Sicily more than anything? Peppers, onions, celery, and tomatoes.

 

What's a surprising Sicilian contribution to New Orleans cuisine?

If you look at the history of the poor boy, it was created by the Martin Brothers. But they went to their Sicilian baker neighbor to have the bread made. 

Baguettes from France are long and skinny with pointy ends. They went to their neighbor and said, "We need to change this because we want to make these sandwiches, but we don't want to lose that end. We want something rounder and wider."

So Sicilians and the Martin Brothers created this loaf of bread that is now synonymous with the city.  And what do people come here for? Poor boys.

 

Another contribution is the muffuletta. Can you describe its creation?

No one will probably be able to prove how it really started. There's Central Grocery and a place a couple of doors down called Progress. They both said that they created the muffuletta. Progress is gone, so it's pretty much accepted that it was created at Central Grocery. 

The story goes that Central Grocery sold the bread, which, if you go to Sicily, the muffuletta is just a round bread. Sometimes, people would serve it hot with olive oil and fennel seeds on it, but it's just bread. It's not a sandwich in Sicily.

Central Grocery had the bread and all the pieces; they would sell the salami, cheese, and olives in the big barrels and bundle up stuff for the men to go to work. 

One day, they said, "Why don't we just put it all together and make this easier?"

 

That's an example of a Sicilian-owned grocery store having an impact. What is the history of these stores?

At one point, probably in the early 1900s, maybe even heading into the mid-1900s, most of the grocery stores were owned by Sicilians or their children. They tended to be on a corner, and you didn't have a major grocery store, so that's where you probably got everything. You probably knew the people. And then there are lots of stories where the Sicilian families would let people buy on credit. So, there was definitely dependence upon the neighborhood, and the neighborhood depended on the grocers, who sold everything from flour to clothes.

Mandina's Restaurant and Napoleon House both started off as grocery stores. Most of these places started off as grocery stores, became bars, and then became restaurants. 

The story with Napoleon House is that the owner at the time said, "We'll make some sandwiches." And then it just evolved from there. Now, it's probably one of the most famous restaurants in the world.

 

What is your goal in writing about Sicilian-New Orleans cuisine and culture?

I really just want to shine a light on what I feel is a somewhat neglected history. I want something that could be used as a reference later. It's like all this work I'm doing is not just for me but for posterity. 

 

 

 

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Sicilian folk music, ranging from lullabies to harvest songs, has served as a cultural backbone for centuries. A fusion of Greek and Byzantine hymns, Arabic Maqam, and Spanish styles, the island's unique sounds were recorded and cataloged by American musicologist Alan Lomax as part of his Italian Treasury: Sicily.

 

Lomax recorded the voices of peasants, shepherds, salt and sulfur miners, cart drivers, and fishermen and uncovered music related to festivals, dance, religion, and storytelling. In doing so, he also introduced the sounds of Sicily's traditional musical instruments, many of which I highlight along with video performances below.

Ciaramedda

Native to rural Sicily and Calabria, particularly in the province of Messina in Sicily, the ciaramedda or ciaramèddha consists of a goatskin bag, a blowpipe that inflates the bag, two chanters (the part of the bagpipe used to create the melody) that are typically made of fruit wood or heather wood, and two or three drones, which provide the harmony.

 

 

Friscaletto

Once commonly played by shepherds, the fiscaletto or friscalettu is similar in appearance to the recorder that most American schoolchildren are taught to play. But instead of plastic, it's typically made of cane, featuring a hollow cylinder with seven holes in the front and two holes in the rear.

 

Marranzano

Colloquially referred to as the "jaw harp," a name that originates from jeu-trompe, the French word for trumpet, the marranzano or marranzanu is similar to instruments found throughout Asia. Italy's first marranzani can be traced to the 16th century, and there's evidence of its use in Sicily and Sardinia in the 18th century. Giuseppe Pitrè's Canti popolari Siciliani (Sicilian Folk Songs) was published in 1870. Since then, this circular metal instrument has become a part of Sicilian folk tradition.

 

 

Tamborello

Whether it originated in western Africa, the Middle East, Greece, or India, most scholars believe that the tambourine was one of the first instruments created by humans. It dates as far back as 1700 BC, roughly within the New Stone Age or Neolithic Period. Called the tamborello in Italy, this percussion instrument was traditionally made of stretched skin over a wooden frame. In Sicily, it's typically played during tarantella dances.

 

 

Organetto

A diatonic-button accordion (not to be confused with the piano accordion), the organetto is played throughout Italy, particularly along with the saltarello dance.

 

 

 

Putipù

The putipù or cupa cupa is a friction drum composed of three key parts: a bamboo reed, a drum membrane, and a cylindrical sound box. The sound is made by rubbing a wet hand on the reed, which vibrates the membrane. Drum tones vary based on the size of the sound box and the thickness of the membrane.

 

 

 

 

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Sundays of my youth were spent with my Sicilian grandparents. We'd gather in the kitchen to enjoy Nonna's afternoon supper. And at the center of the table, we could always look forward to her fresh-baked bread. Typical of Sicily, this bread was made with semolina, coarsely ground durum flour. She'd roll her loaves in sesame seeds, which added depth to the already nutty flavor. 

 

As a bread-baker myself, I have attempted to recreate Nonna's recipe, but apparently, I hadn't found the right recipe. My bread was too flat. 

 

That was before I stumbled on a semolina bread recipe on Marcellina in Cucina. This pane Siciliano was gorgeous, golden, and looked just like Nonna's. I just had to reach out to blogger Marcella Cantatore to learn more. 

 

 

Tell us about your background.

I'm the owner of Marcellina in Cucina and the second child of Italian immigrants Anna and Enzo. My mother, Anna, was from Reggio Calabria, Calabria, and my dad was from Piacenza, Emilia Romagna. I grew up in a traditional Italian immigrant family. We grew a lot of our food and cooked everything from scratch. I learned to cook by just watching my mother and father in the kitchen. There were no recipes, but I wanted to record our family recipes and those of others, so I started my blog.

 

How often do you travel to Italy, and have you been to Sicily?

I have traveled to Italy three times, and I plan another trip in the next year or two. I've been to Sicily, but not extensively. It's a beautiful place, and I will spend more time there next time.

 

What is your connection to this recipe?

This recipe is a traditional Sicilian bread but also very similar to the bread in my mother's hometown, Reggio Calabria. Reggio Calabria has many similarities to Sicily due to its proximity. At home, I wanted to recreate the bread I ate there, so I searched for recipes and tested them until I adapted this bread from Carol Field's book The Italian Baker.

 

Why semolina and why sesame seeds?

This is a traditional Sicilian bread that you'll find in all Sicilian bakeries and many southern Italian bakeries. Semolina is hardier and resistant to spoilage, so it was the flour used for bread for the common people who were poor and couldn't afford bread made with soft white flour. Semolina flour lends a beautiful yellow color and delicious flavor to the bread. Sesame seeds are much loved in Sicily and add extra flavor to bread. Plus, I adore sesame seeds!

 

Can you tell me about the shape of this bread and others?

The shape I have used in this recipe is called occhi, which means eyes and looks a little like eyeglasses. Another shape that you'll find this bread in is mafalda, which is like a snake zig-zagged back and forth, with the remaining length of dough laid over the top of the zig-zag. Sometimes, the dough is just zig-zagged without the extra dough laid over the top. In this case, it's known as scaletta or little ladder. 

 

What is the connection to Santa Lucia?

Santa Lucia is the patron saint of eyes. The swirled S shape, which is a little like eyeglasses, is a traditional bread shape made to commemorate Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy). However, this is not the bread eaten on the Feast of Santa Lucia in Italy; it's a whole other story!

 

When is this bread served, and what are some popular Sicilian recipe pairings?

This bread can be served with any meal. Its flavor goes particularly well with cheese, sausage, and salami.

 

Tell me what you hope readers will take away from this recipe.

I hope readers learn a little about Italian and Sicilian culture and enjoy this deliciously different bread. 

 

>>Get Marcella Cantatore's pane Siciliana recipe here!<<

 

 

 

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Among the cornerstones of rural life in Sicily was the tradition of using and maintaining a public oven. It was a practice born from necessity. Because few rural people had their own ovens throughout Italy's history, communities would rely on one that was communally shared. 

 

Ancient Rome once hosted a vast network of at least 500 public ovens, which spread throughout Europe from the 14th to the 19th centuries. Citizens would bring dough to bake bread together in the community oven, which was a place where the rich and poor would bake side-by-side, stories would be swapped, and relationships would blossom.

 

It lasted until after World War II when most people purchased their own ranges and baked in their own homes. Much was gained in convenience, but was something lost in shedding this ancient practice?

 

Several people have asked that question, which has led to the creation of community ovens across the United States.

 

Vermont art teacher and former librarian Jen Burton and her friend Mark Woodward, a former state legislator, founded the Johnson Community Oven in 2017.

 

A family-friendly place where locals have gathered to communally dine on fresh-baked pizzas, the oven is primarily supported by donations and grants. Elmore Mountain Bread, Jasper Hill Farm, and Foote Brook Farm have all contributed food. And residents have donated building materials and wood. The oven has served as a glue, further connecting people in this town of just over 3,000 people.

 

Jen and I recently sat down to chat about how she and Mark got started, what goes into running a community oven, how it's used, and how the Johnson Community Oven ties to public oven tradition.

 

 

What exactly is a community oven?

I guess it doesn't have to be the same thing everywhere, but in Johnson, it's an oven that sits on town property and is available for anyone in the community to use. You need to sign up with the town, fill out a form, and say when you'll use it. Hopefully, you will get a little bit of training from an oven volunteer. Often, people will reach out to someone on the oven committee, and committee members will run the oven for their event.

 

There's a community pizza night that happens for about eight weeks each summer. The oven committee, along with other volunteers, organizes and hosts it. The pizza is free—by donation—and the committee often gets grants and other donations to supplement the cost. 

 

Tell us how you got started.

My stepmom and her partner built an oven in their backyard, and they sometimes fire it up and invite people in the neighborhood to bring their own baked goods, like bread and other things, to bake. I knew about that, and then I heard a piece on Vermont Public Radio about an oven in Norwich, VT. It had been there for a long time, and somebody had just started using it to bake bread once a week. People would sign up for a loaf of bread.

 

Mark and I both independently heard that story. He kept talking about how he wanted a bread oven in town, and I decided to take action.  

I did the groundwork to get the approval from the town. I had to defend the idea at a select board meeting, where everybody grilled me with questions for an hour. A big question was where to put it; there was a lot of conversation about that.

 

Once we had the approval, we hired a local mason to build it. People contributed stones and other items to be built into it, which added another aspect of community involvement. That was Mark's idea and turned out to be pretty cool.

Describe the oven and the space where it's located.

It's a big stone wood-burning oven, probably about six feet across each side, and it sits in a 12 x 16 structure. It's on a green in town next to an elementary school. In the summer, we have a Tuesday night live concert series there. So, the oven is kind of an extenuation of how we use that space in town.
 

How many pizzas can you fit in there at a time?

About three pizzas can be cooked at once. On a good night, they've made up to 90 pizzas for people in just a few hours, so they really crank out the pizzas. They do a great job.

 

How else is the oven used?

It's been used for birthday parties, retirement parties, and a few fundraising events. The library has started to collaborate with the oven committee on pizza nights. They've been providing some activities and music.

 

How has the use of the Johnson community oven changed?

It was built in the fall of 2017. We didn't use it much that winter, but we started to use it more the next summer. Initially, it was a free-for-all, with everybody bringing toppings and everybody making pizza, including kids. It was nice—messy but nice.

 

Then COVID happened, so we couldn't really do it that way anymore. The committee worked together to formulate a new plan in which just a few people made the pizzas, and nobody else was around. A pickup system was developed where we would tell people online what would be available that day, and they would come to pick them up.

We started to give people whole pizzas in boxes, and they would pick them up and leave instead of hanging around the field. Once COVID started to abate, people started to come onto the field again and spend more time with their neighbors. We had more volunteers helping with the baking, but this core group of people was still doing all the work, like making and cooking the pizzas.

 

Just this year, they started to open it up again and have more people come in, with more people bringing ingredients. And now it's a bit back to being more of a community-involved event.

 

I think people like it to be more participatory, and I think the people running it appreciate not having all the pressure on them. Also, there tend to be just one or two people who cook the whole time because that is more of a skill, but I think a wider range of people are coming in, bringing things in, and making the pizzas.

 

You talked about pizza. What other dishes can be made in the oven?

Richard Miscovich's book From the Wood-Fired Oven is a really great resource. I took a class from him to learn more about using ovens, which was really helpful.

 

I still love his onion recipe. He just put onions in a pot and put them in the oven; they're one of the best things that comes out of the oven.

 

But I've made bread, cookies, and garlic knots in that oven. The nice thing about the oven is that after the high temperatures of the pizza cooking, you can use the lower temperatures to do other things in it. So there's a cycle to it where you can cook at the high heat with certain things and then cook other things at the lower heat. People don't take advantage of it in that way as much as they could.

 

How does this oven tie to public oven tradition?

NPR's Shankar Vedantam has talked about how food really brings people together, so a lot of the reasoning behind doing it was based on that. It just felt like there needed to be something to bring different factions of the town together.

 

It's something that has been a central component of a community for hundreds or maybe thousands of years. Some towns only had one oven, where people would come to cook, so everybody would see each other there and have to cooperate.

 

So, part of the foundation for wanting to build it was to build something that would bring people together and make them work together toward a common goal.

 

In Vermont, we have Town Meeting Day. It's a cultural phenomenon. It's one day when people come to vote on their town budgets. It's an interesting thing that I don't think many other states, if any, have.

 

We have a potluck on Town Meeting Day. The oven is right next to the elementary school, where the town meeting is held. Over the past few years, people have made pizza for the potluck.

 

How would you describe the experience?

Overall, it's been a positive experience for the town. I think a lot of people really do like it. It's a very positive, family-friendly experience.

 

 

 

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A favorite among Sicilians but lesser known in the U.S., the artichoke's celery-resembling cousin, the cardoon (also known as artichoke thistle), is typically harvested after the first frost. That's when the otherwise bitter leafy green vegetable stalks are at their sweetest, says Westfield, Massachusetts, gardener Chrissy Saraceno.

 

She and her husband, Greg Russian, tend to a half-acre garden and run the Galaxy Gardens YouTube channel to educate aspiring gardeners and homesteaders.

Chrissy was inspired by her grandparents, who came to the U.S. from Melilli, Sicily, in the 1960s. Both had green thumbs and her grandmother gardens to this day. 

Chrissy sees growing cardoons as a way to connect with her Sicilian roots, and she shared more about growing and cooking this unique, tasty vegetable with me.

 

 

Tell us about Galaxy Gardens.

Galaxy Gardens came up through the pandemic. Because I do a lot of gardening, my family kept asking me questions. Eventually, I was like, "You know what? I'm going to put it all in one spot for you, so if you have questions, I have some videos to refer you to so I don't have to keep repeating myself." 

I really enjoy providing free education, so I've continued it. I'd really love to get into consulting in the future.

 

Describe your garden.

We're on about half an acre. Our main raised garden bed area is about 20 feet by 40 feet large. We have 16 raised beds. They're each six feet by three feet and about 11 inches deep. And then we have since foodscaped the rest of our property. So, right around our house, we have horseradishes, gooseberries, and valerian. We've added a couple more beds, and we're about at capacity for our property right now. But it's been really nice since we purchased a home to be able to actually foodscape our property. We have a small orchard in the back as well, and we have some chickens, too. It's been a very involved project the last few years, but now we're fully set up and really just have to worry about maintaining nutrient levels. 

 

What is a cardoon?

A cardoon is in the artichoke family. However, it grows in stalks rather than producing the flower head that you harvest with artichokes. It loves nitrogen; it's a very slow grower. It tends to stay very small until about August or so, and then it'll go through a big growth spurt. So you'll get three- or four-foot tall plants that just keep going until it gets too cold out. And if you wait for the first frost to come and harvest, they tend to be a bit sweeter and slightly less bitter than if you harvest it when it's still warm. 

 

Full-size cardoons. Photo by Galaxy Gardens

 

How did you start growing cardoons?

I really wanted to push our gardening zone limits on our property, which is in a Zone 6B area. Obviously, we get snow here in Massachusetts, but different parts of the property tend to stay warmer than others. 

Over the years, my goal has been to experiment with all these different types of foods and just see what grows best here. I originally wanted to grow artichokes, but artichokes just don't last. Sometimes, we get early falls and a cold snap in September, and cardoons are a little hardier.

 

Why do you like growing them?

Honestly, the easiest, lowest-risk, and highest-reward thing you can grow is garlic. And second to that, now that I've grown it for several seasons, are cardoons. 

If you try lettuce, you can look at it the wrong way when it's a seedling, and it will wilt on you. Cardoons are hardier. They're more forgiving. You just set them and forget them.

They are great if you just want something that's passively growing on the side, and you don't need to give it too much attention until it gets around harvest season. And it's a beautiful landscaping plant. My brother and his wife have it right on the corner of their house. It's this huge, sprawling bunch right now.

You can use the plant not only for landscaping purposes but also so that at the end of the year when you're going to be taking out or cutting down your landscaping plants anyway, you have food for your table.

 

How do you grow and harvest this vegetable?

You can start them inside in April, move them outside, and they'll grow all summer. I harvest them around October or November, and they do okay, even on frosty mornings. 

 

You harvest it like you do celery, where you can cut them at the bottom.

 

We grow the spineless variety. When you harvest it and clean it up, it's very stringy. So it's kind of like stringing beans: You just need to pull the one big string off of it. 

The spineless variety is more tender. After you clean up all the leaves, you just need to prepare it to eat, and you don't have to worry about any really tough textures on it. 

 

Preparing cardoons post-harvest. Photo by Galaxy Gardens

 

What part do you eat?

The main stalk. When you finish processing, it looks like celery. It will grow in bunches, and as you separate the stalks from each other, you just go to the point where it's still thick and malleable, and you can remove the leaves. It has a fuzzy coating, but you can peel that off very easily. So then you'll end up with a four-foot plant with about a foot to a foot and a half stalk in the entire bunch. We grew about 12 plants last year. After processing, we ended up with two gallons of stalks to use. 

 

Can cardoons be eaten raw?

I wouldn't recommend it! To be safe, once you have them harvested and processed, you would just boil them for about 15 to 20 minutes with some lemon juice and salt added to the water. And then, of course, blanch them and add some ice water to stop the cooking process. You can use them from there.

 

Boiling cardoons. Photo by Galaxy Gardens

 

What do they taste like?

The stalks taste like the most tender artichoke you've had. It's just a different texture that you're dealing with. They're sweet and almost a little bit nutty. Pine nuts would go very well with them. 

When you cook cardoons, they really maintain that sweet flavor. It really comes through in anything that you make with them.

 

Blanched cardoons. Photo by Galaxy Gardens

 

What are your favorite ways to prepare them?

I actually have some left over from last year. I was hoping to make a leek-style soup with them, but my go-to is just to batter them. You could bake or fry them and make a nice dip to go with them. It's a really good appetizer. 

 

What advice do you have for someone new to growing cardoons?

Start them inside. It depends on where you live. I have tried directly sowing them, and they actually like more water than you might expect. Cardoons do best in very fluffy and moist soil. By the time they come up, we have chipmunks and squirrels stealing them. So we start them inside. They're very easy. You can directly sow them in a cup, and they sprout within a day or so. We use LED lights that keep things pretty warm. They'll sprout in a couple of days and usually get between six and eight inches tall. But the plants themselves, once they get between two and four leaves, tend to stay there for even a month or two when you start them inside. By the time they're ready to go outside, they're pretty easy to transplant. You don't have to worry about breaking the roots. They're pretty hardy. 

Once you transplant them, you can see where the stalks are already starting to come out. Just stick them so they are standing straight up in the ground and make sure they're well watered. They may wilt slightly in the sun if you are too fast with transitioning them outside. But once they're transplanted, they take a week or so to get established, and they'll grow a little bit more over the next month. They pretty much stay there until about August or September. Then, they decide to take off and continue with most of their growth. 

 

What do you hope people take away from your gardening videos?

Gardening is a lot of work, but it's only as difficult as you make it for yourself. I think a lot of people lack the confidence to experiment with what they're growing. I hope they can see that we are just two regular people. There's nothing too special about the process that we're doing. They can try that at home.

 

 

 

 

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Round-shaped ricotta-cream pastries topped with a nipple-like cherry, the minne di Sant'Agata take the cake among Sicily's most sensuous sweets. But within these so-called breasts of Saint Agatha, you'll find not only chocolate and candied orange peel but also a tragic story.

 

The cakes are named after Agatha of Sicily, who lived and died as a martyr in third-century Catania. At 15, Agatha took a vow of chastity. When she rejected the advances of Roman prefect Quintianus, he had her reported as a Christian, for which she was tortured. Men stretched her on a rack and tore her flesh with iron hooks, burned her with torches, and whipped her. As if that weren't enough, her breasts were torn off with tongs. She survived because, as tradition tells us, St. Peter the Apostle appeared to heal her wounds. Eventually, Quintianus ordered his men to burn her over hot coals. Today, Agatha is honored as the patron saint of rape victims, wet nurses, and breast cancer patients with a February 5 feast day. 

"When people see these cakes and how they look like breasts, or they see breasts in the name, they laugh," says South Carolina baker Patrizia Boscia. "When I explain the story, they stop smiling or laughing, and they become curious and listen. I want to show them that it's not just a funny, pornographic pastry that Italians created; it's a celebration of martyrdom."

Patrizia came to the U.S. from Castellammare del Golfo about 40 years ago and got her Ph.D. in sociology. She taught in New York, Florida, and South Carolina, where she eventually retired from teaching and reinvented herself as a baker. In 2018, she launched Sweet Bites of Italy, taking orders online, catering, and selling at farmers markets.

The minne di Sant'Agata is one of Patrizia's more popular sweet treats. It has special significance to her, which we discussed along with the pastry's origins.

 

 

Describe these cakes and their historical significance.

The cakes are dome pastries, and there are two versions. One is made with pastry dough, and the other with Italian sponge cake. Inside is a very nice filling made with ricotta, candied orange peel, and chocolate chips. Then, they are covered with a thick icing layer—all white. Inside, they are very soft. They're very tasty.

 

They are related to St. Agatha. There is a mixture of history and traditions (or fantasy, in a way). St. Agatha came from a rich family, and it was around 200 years after Christ, a period of very ferocious Christian persecution.

 

A prefect had come to force the population to return to the pagan state and forget their Christianity. He saw this young girl who wanted to become a nun, and he fell in love with her. He tried to convince her to marry him or have a relationship with him. She refused. So, the situation escalated. He became increasingly violent, and he asked his men to take her, and she was put in prison, and then she was tortured.

 

The minne di Sant'Agata are not the original anatomical sweet typical of Italy or Spain. The Greeks created this kind of anatomical breast in honor of a goddess for a particular feast, and they made it with sesame seed and honey.

It is unclear when this anatomical sweet got translated into the religious feast of Saint Agatha. But it is not really so strange because, in Italian—especially Sicilian—pastries, there is often this strange mixture of sensuality—pornography in a way—and religion. If we think of the cannoli, they were a symbol of man's virility.

The strange thing is that these pastries were made by nuns in the convent. Nuns were the ones who really developed Sicilian pastry cuisine. They sold pastries to support themselves and their orphans.

 

But the breast in Italy is not a symbol of sexuality as much as we consider it today. Breasts are a symbol of fertility, motherhood, and nutrition. 

 

What does this cake mean to you personally?

I had never seen them in the part of Sicily where I lived, but when I started to research them and what they represented, I associated them more with the victimization of women. Even though the martyrdom of St. Agatha was not expressed in terms of gender violence, they are associated with the victimization of women and the courage of this lady who, despite everything, refused to bend to the advances of this guy because she wanted to maintain her dignity and she wanted to become a nun. So, in a way, for me, it's a symbol of women's resistance and courage. And that's what I emphasize every time I serve them.

 

What do you hope people take away from these pastries?

I want them to realize that there is a story behind Italian cuisine, especially traditional cuisine.

When we talk about traditional Italian pastries, sometimes it's confusing. Traditional doesn't mean that I need this amount of flour, for instance, or that I must strictly follow a recipe. It's not so much related to the menu as to what Italian cuisine is still attached: a ritualistic nature, a different nature, and a diversity of different regions. This is what traditional is to me.

I want them to understand what makes Italian cuisine different, the fact that it's still attached to events, the history of Italy, and the religion of Italy. 

 

 

 

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Autumn is pumpkin season, even in Sicily, where you can find several savory and sweet recipes. One of these is pizzuliato, a creamy pumpkin soup perfect for chilly fall evenings. 

 

I caught up with Carmen Pricone of The Heirloom Chronicles blog, whose twist on the classic recipe was inspired by her Sicilian mother-in-law. 

 

 

Tell us about your background.

I'm an Italo-Australian with a deep love for traditions and Italian food, and I am the author behind The Heirloom Chronicles blog. I'm passionate about cooking, gardening, and sharing recipes, along with the family memories that come with them.

 

The blog is really a blend of the regions that shaped me: my husband's family was from Sicily, my family is from Basilicata, and I was born in Piedmont before we moved to Australia in 1970—all tied together by the thread of tradition.

 

Many migrants to Australia, like my in-laws who arrived in the 50s and my family in the 70s from regions in southern Italy, brought with them many traditional recipes, all rooted in the seasons. If you had a patch of land in the garden, whether at the back or front, every square meter would be converted into a vegetable patch. Seasonal crops translated to hearty meals, most coming together ingeniously and without a written recipe.

 

What is your approach to recipes?

The idea of taking humble, seasonal ingredients and transforming them into tasty dishes perfectly captures my approach to cooking. I remember growing up spending hours in the garden with my parents. I had a fascination with what was planted after weeks of germination from seeds, knowing this would eventually form part of our meals. 

 

Creating seasonal dishes using the fruits and vegetables we grew is a way of life that resonates with me and many of my readers. Today, I strive to live more sustainably by cultivating my own little garden using seeds saved from my parents' crops, learning from their way of preserving abundance, and being a strong advocate for locally sourced produce.

 

What influence has your mother-in-law had on your approach to recipes like this one?

While my parents inspired me to grow my own fruits and vegetables and keep meals simple, my mother-in-law taught me the art of ingredient composition. This comforting pumpkin soup recipe, called pizzuliati, uses basic ingredients, but the way they come together creates a rich blend of flavors. Each ingredient plays its role, elevating the others. Thought, care, and love went into making her dishes, and that is a part I will always treasure and try to replicate in my cooking.

 

What did this pumpkin soup represent for your husband's Sicilian family tradition?

Everything was prepared with love, likely around the kitchen table, with family and casual conversations. So when my late husband would request this dish, I knew it carried with it a deep sense of nostalgia. As you read through the recipe, there are snippets of memories told.

 

How have you modernized this recipe?

Pizzuliato is a Sicilian dialect name that comes from the word pizzico (pinch), which describes how the small granules are formed using semolina and water. When I'm time-poor, I have been known to use risoni pasta, which would be considered a more modern substitute. I have also made it using rice.

 

Are there regional variations of pumpkin soup in Italy?

Yes, Italy, including Sicily, has a number of regional variations of pumpkin soup, each with its own local twist and name. While pizzuliati is specific and not widely known, pumpkin soups are popular in different areas, often influenced by local ingredients and traditions. A few regional variations include:

• Zuppa di Zucca Siciliana: In Sicily, pumpkin soup might feature local ingredients like wild fennel, almonds, and sometimes even seafood like shrimp, reflecting the island's Mediterranean influence. It often has a slightly sweet and savory flavor profile due to the combination of pumpkin and a touch of sugar or honey.
• Zuppa di Zucca alla Toscana: In Tuscany, pumpkin soup is often combined with cannellini beans and rosemary, giving it an earthy and hearty quality. The soup is usually quite thick, with a drizzle of high-quality extra virgin olive oil.
• Crema di Zucca alla Veneta: In the Veneto region, pumpkin soup tends to be creamy. It sometimes includes potatoes for extra thickness and Parmesan cheese for richness. It's often flavored with nutmeg or cinnamon for a warm, aromatic touch.
• Minestra di Zucca: In Lombardy, the soup is more rustic and simple. It is often made with sautéed onions, garlic, and a bit of sage. It might include rice or even small pasta, making it a comforting dish for colder weather.
  
  

Each region of Italy puts its own spin on pumpkin soup, incorporating local produce, herbs, and traditional cooking methods that make the soups unique to that area. My mother-in-law's pumpkin soup is steeped in tradition, most likely from her town of Vittoria, in the province of Ragusa, Sicily.

 

What specific memories or stories do you associate with making or eating this soup with your family?

I never made this soup with my mother-in-law but learned her recipe through her recounts. This labor-of-love meal would have taken her a good part of her afternoon. It was a dish she knew we all cherished, including her young grandchildren at the time, and a weekly draw card during those winter months.

 

Can vegans or lactose-intolerant people omit the ricotta?

Yes, this dish can be modified to suit vegans or lactose-intolerant people. The ricotta does add creaminess, but it is just as flavourful without. I have known to process a cup of chickpeas, adding that creaminess and thickening the soup.

 

What do you recommend serving with the soup?

This pumpkin soup is a complete meal on its own due to its substance; however, some garlic or herbed crostini would complement it well.

 

What do you hope at-home cooks will take away from this recipe?

With a recipe like pizzuliati, I hope at-home cooks will take away an appreciation for simplicity and the deep flavors that can come from fresh, local ingredients. Traditional Italian recipes like this one are about respecting what's in season, highlighting the natural taste of each component, and enjoying the act of cooking itself.

Pizzuliati, and other rustic dishes like it, are less about following strict rules and more about connecting with the ingredients—adjusting seasoning to taste and adding your own twists based on what you have on hand. It's also about creating a meal that brings comfort and can be shared with loved ones, embodying the spirit of Italian home cooking: a celebration of food, family, and community.

 

>>Get Carmen's pizzuliati recipe here!<<

 

 

 

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Bulbous and green with antennae-like leaves, the kohlrabi almost resembles a cartoon alien rather than the brassica vegetable that it is. Also called German turnip or turnip cabbage, this cultivar of wild cabbage is not typically found in supermarkets. Instead, it shows up at specialty grocers or farmers markets. 

 

Kohlrabi, which ranges in color from pale green to purple, can be eaten raw or cooked, from its broad leaves to its hearty stems and bulbs. My Sicilian grandmother used the whole vegetable in soups and stews; she ate it frequently in Sicily.

 

Kohlrabi has been eaten in Italy since at least 1554, when Siena-born botanist Pietro Adrea Mattioli wrote that the vegetable had "come lately into Italy." Not long after, kohlrabi spread to North Europe and was being grown in England, Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain, Tripoli, and parts of the eastern Mediterranean.

I recently stumbled on a blog post by Marisa Raniolo Wilkins of All Things Sicilian and More about the ways kohlrabi is eaten in Sicily. 

 

I reached out to Marisa, who is based in Australia, to learn more about her background and experience with this vegetable. She shared her reflections on kohlrabi's significance in Sicilian cuisine and her favorite kohlrabi recipes. 

 

 

Where is your family from in Sicily, and how did you end up in Australia?

My Sicilian background is a blend of two Sicilian regions—Catania and Ragusa—and enriched my very different life in Trieste. My mother was born in Catania but moved to Trieste when she was just five years old. When she was fourteen, life for my mother changed when my grandfather died, prompting part of her family to return to Sicily, primarily to Augusta, while she chose to stay with her eldest brother and his wife in Trieste. One other brother also remained in Trieste.

 

My father met my mother while stationed in Trieste during World War II. They traveled briefly to Sicily, where they married in Catania before returning to Trieste. Although the war had ended, Trieste remained in political and military turmoil through what was, for all intents and purposes, a civil war. And during her pregnancy, my mother felt unsafe. So, in the last weeks of her pregnancy, my parents caught a train to Sicily, and I was born in my paternal grandparents' home in Ragusa. A few weeks later, they caught the train home to Trieste, where I grew up, and remained until we came to Australia.

 

Our family was deeply connected to our Sicilian roots, spending summers in Sicily and welcoming relatives who visited us in Trieste. My maternal grandmother would stay with us for a month, filling our home with the scents and flavors of her Catanese cooking, especially seafood. My mother's family has always been tied to the sea, whether in Catania, Trieste, or Augusta, and much of my culinary knowledge about fish comes from her family. My fondness for eating fish partly contributed to my book Sicilian Seafood Cooking (now out of print).

 

When I was eight, we sailed to Australia, driven by my father's spirit of exploration. We went directly to Adelaide, which was chosen as a city reminiscent of Trieste's size rather than a larger city like Sydney or Melbourne. Despite our new life, we continued to make regular trips back to Italy, both to Trieste and Sicily, further deepening my appreciation of my heritage. As an adult, I made regular trips to Italy and explored many other regions—and other countries.

 

I feel fortunate to have been exposed to regional Italian and Sicilian cuisines with all their variations. Traveling to different countries and living in Australia have exposed me to the wealth of multicultural cuisines that are evident in this country. My knowledge, experiences, and opportunities to make connections between cuisines have enriched my understanding and appreciation of Sicilian cooking and its flavors. Sicilian cuisine remains unique due to its historical influences, ingredients, and methods of cooking. 

 

What inspired you to write about kohlrabi's role in Sicilian cuisine?

My inspiration to write about kohlrabi and its role in Sicilian cuisine stems from the memorable family tradition of cooking this vegetable in Ragusa, my father's hometown. 

 

The significance of kohlrabi in his family went beyond cooking this vegetable. Kohlrabi was a centerpiece of family feasts that brought everyone together, including the buying of the vegetables, the preparation, and the sharing of the cooked meal with the family. 

 

Regarding the purchasing of the vegetable, my father's two sisters (my two aunts) and one cousin who lived on different floors of the same building purchased their vegetables and fruit from a trusted local traveling ortalano (seller of fruit vegetables), who came around every morning—excluding Sunday—with his van. Each time I visited my Sicilian aunts in Ragusa, I had this unique experience where the squawk of the ortolano was heard from the street below their apartments, announcing his arrival. When it was in season, the leafy bunches of kohlrabi were such prized produce.

 

Out would come their purses and their baskets tied to the end of a rope, and they'd go to their balconies where they questioned the ortolano in detail about the quality of his produce. If satisfied, they lowered their baskets, which he filled. They hauled them back up, examined the contents, and only then, if convinced, lowered their basket once again with the money tucked inside it. Then, the aunties would make special requests for the next day, entreating him to visit them first so that they had the best produce. Sometimes, they traveled down to the van in their slippers and dressing gowns.

 

Then, there was the preparation of the kohlrabi. I have particularly fond memories of one of the Ragusa aunts, a remarkable cook who implemented the cooking and eating of this special dish. She is a champion pasta maker and ensured there was fresh pasta for family gatherings. The kohlrabi dish always featured a distinctive pasta known as causunnedda, the regional Sicilian name for this short pasta shape. The atmosphere of these family gatherings was gratifying. There was laughter, stories, fondness for the family, and the pleasures associated with sharing the meal and eating something delicious.

Kohlrabi are called cavoli in Sicily; in Italian, it is known as cavolo rapa. Cavolo is the generic term for some of the brassicas; for example, cavolo verza is a cabbage, cavolo nero is Tuscan cabbage, cavolo rosso is red cabbage, and in Italian, cavoli are cauliflowers. (Just to confuse things even further, Sicilians call cauliflowers broccoli.)

 
In the Ragusa family, they referred to the whole dish as causunnedda. I am assuming this was the abbreviation of causunnedda chi cavoli (Sicilian), causunnedda with kohlrabi.

 

How can one forget and not celebrate these memories?

 

The Ragusani are known for their straightforward, flavorful dishes, which focus on local produce, rich meats—especially pork—and seasonal vegetables. This emphasis on simplicity has profoundly shaped my understanding of cooking, showing me that the best meals often come from the freshest ingredients and heartfelt traditions.

 

Spending time with my father's family, particularly with this aunt, has further deepened my passion for Sicilian cooking. She has been a treasure trove of knowledge, eager to share recipes and techniques, knowing how much I cherished my heritage. Through her stories and guidance, I've come to appreciate the intricate web of flavors, customs, and memories that define Sicilian cuisine—making kohlrabi not just a vegetable but a symbol of family connection and culinary history.

 

How significant is kohlrabi in Sicilian cuisine compared to other vegetables?

Kohlrabi's significance in Sicilian cuisine may be modest compared to more popular common vegetables like tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, or green leafy vegetables (this includes wild greens). 

What is unique in the cooking of this vegetable is the emphasis placed on the kohlrabi leaves, often considered more valuable than the bulb itself. They are sold in bunches; the bulbs are smaller than I have found in Australia, and there are many leaves. There are purple-colored kohlrabi and light green. What I experienced in Ragusa were the light green ones, whereas in Syracuse, they were an attractive purple with some green. In Australia, at least in Melbourne, where I live, I have only seen green ones.

 

Purple kohlrabi. Photo by Marisa Raniolo Wilkins

 

How does kohlrabi use vary regionally?

While my mother's side of the family excelled in their own culinary traditions, I didn't encounter kohlrabi in her family. Instead, it was in Ragusa that I truly came to appreciate its significance.

In Sicily, as in other parts of Italy, kohlrabi is often simply boiled, drained, and then presented as a cooked salad, dressed with a generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, a sprinkle of salt, and either lemon juice or vinegar. This method, while straightforward, showcases the humble quality of the ingredients.  

In the fertile region of Acireale, just north of Catania and rich with the volcanic soil of Mount Etna, kohlrabi takes on a different role. Here, it's not just a simple side dish but a flavorful dressing for pasta. The vegetables (bulb and leaves) are boiled and drained, and the cooking water is preserved to cook the pasta. The drained vegetables are sautéed in hot oil with garlic and chili that creates a vibrant dish that might also include a splash of tomato for added depth. I recently contacted my cousin in Augusta, just south of Catania, who said that she follows a similar method but enriches the depth of flavor with anchovies during the sautéing process, illustrating the creativity inherent in Sicilian cooking.

What sets Ragusa apart is how the Ragusani relatives have a distinct way of cooking it. They use homemade causunnedda, but they also add fresh pork rind to the water while cooking the kohlrabi, infusing it with the rich flavor of the homemade broth. 

The causunnedda is then cooked in this flavorful broth, which transforms it into something delicious, turning a humble vegetable into a celebration of local flavors and family heritage.

In my mother's family, broth is typically made with chicken, veal, or beef—never fresh pork. This stark contrast highlights how regional traditions shape our understanding of food. These traditional methods and unique techniques not only enrich the dish, but also weave a narrative of family, community and culture. 

 

What is your favorite way to prepare and enjoy kohlrabi?

My favorite way to prepare and enjoy kohlrabi is a blend of tradition and creativity inspired by both my Sicilian roots and modern culinary trends. Here in Australia, kohlrabi has sparse green leaves, which is a departure from the leafy bunches I remember from Sicily. When I do come across kohlrabi with its leafy greens intact, it becomes a richer experience.

 

I treat the leaves much like I would cook cime di rapa or broccoli in a classic pasta dish with the greens and bulb sautéed with garlic and a little chili. Often, I have had to buy bunches of kale to increase the number of green leaves. Recently, my cousin in Augusta shared a brilliant tip of also adding anchovies while sautéing the vegetables. I do this often when I am preparing other vegetables, and it makes sense to do this with kohlrabi. I am looking forward to trying this.

 

Of course, I've also embraced contemporary ways of preparing kohlrabi, especially with exposure to how it is prepared in other countries. I like it in crisp salads or rich soups, showcasing its versatility. But there's something profoundly satisfying about returning to those old Sicilian traditions, reminding me of family meals where ingredients and preparation were cherished. Each preparation tells a story—of the past, family, and the flavors that unite us across time and distance.

 

What do you hope readers will take away from your recipes?

What I hope readers will take away from my recipes is a rich tapestry of connection, nostalgia, and inspiration. For those who have traveled to Sicily, I would like them to remember their culinary adventures and the vibrancy and beauty of Sicily.

 

For readers unfamiliar with Sicilian cooking, I hope to introduce them to its unique flavors and traditions, exemplifying how it diverges from the more commonly known Italian cuisine and its regions.

 

Many of my readers are second-generation Sicilian Americans who cherish the recipes and stories that connect them to their heritage. I hope my recipes spark memories of family gatherings, the aromas in their grandparents' kitchens, and the warmth of shared meals. Sharing these recipes would be very rewarding if they not only valued those memories, cooked those recipes, and also passed on the traditions to the next generation.

 

Cooking becomes more than just a task; it transforms into a celebration of culture and history. Therefore, most of all, I would like to inspire curiosity about Sicilian cuisine and to motivate them to explore its diverse ingredients and techniques. Cooking Sicilian recipes should increase understanding of the broader regional variations within the cuisine of Italy. 

 

>>Get Marisa's wet pasta dish with kohlrabi recipe here!<<

 

 

 

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Following a Mediterranean diet is associated with a lower risk of heart failure, particularly in women. So says a recent review published by a group of European scientists, including researchers at Sicily's University of Palermo and Kore University of Enna. 

The results suggest following such a diet could benefit women, who research shows tend to develop heart failure later in life than men. They are also more likely to experience heart failure with preserved ejection fraction (otherwise known as diastolic heart failure). 

While women with heart failure tend to live longer than men, they experience lower quality of life during those extended years. Perhaps eating more fruits, vegetables, seeds, nuts, and vegetable oils (and fewer meat and dairy products) can help women reduce their risk and avoid unnecessary suffering. 

For more information, I reached out to Saint Camillus International University of Health Sciences Associate Professor of Geriatrics and Internal Medicine Nicola Veronese. 

In his previous role as Senior Researcher of Geriatrics and Internal Medicine at the University of Palermo, Dr. Veronese was part of the team that performed this latest systematic review and meta-analysis of the effect of the Mediterranean diet on the incidence of heart failure. He shared more about heart failure and which components of the diet contribute to its heart-healthy benefits. 

 

 

Why did you and your colleagues embark on this review?

Heart failure is among the most common causes of hospitalization, particularly, but not only in older people. We have in mind other cardiovascular diseases, but very little is known about heart failure, particularly in terms of prevention. So, we started with the idea that the Mediterranean diet has a protective effect on several medical conditions. But, the knowledge of its effect on heart failure was limited, so we decided to do this work.

 

What is heart failure?

Heart failure is a common condition where your heart has difficulties regulating normal blood pressure or blood for your system and organs. It is a common cause of hospitalization. There are better medications compared to some years ago, but they're not able to solve the problem; they are only able to reduce the symptoms of heart failure.

 

How does heart failure affect women and men differently?

Our research tried to highlight this important topic because gender differences are highly supported in cardiovascular research. We don't have any reason for these epidemiological findings. You are told about this without being able to find a precise mechanism. However, the research suggests that, for example, the Mediterranean diet's effect was stronger in women than in men. This is probably due to hormonal changes or differences mediating the interaction between a Mediterranean diet and the risk of heart failure.

 

Women may also adhere to the Mediterranean diet more than men because, in Europe, they cook more frequently than men, particularly in families. They're probably better positioned to tailor foods to be more Mediterranean. 

 

What components of the Mediterranean diet contribute to its heart-health benefits?

First, olive oil is like gold in Italian kitchens. It has a lot of anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties. Second is the fact that you limit practically all animal fats. Fish offers strong cardiovascular heart disease protection compared to meats like beef. Finally, the Mediterranean diet is a spiritual attitude to follow with your family. This is very important to decrease anxiety, depression, and your risk of heart failure or other cardiovascular diseases. 

 

What were the limitations of your review?

They are observational studies, so we did not put an intervention of, for example, one group with a randomized diet and the other with low fat. There is also somewhat of a selection bias. First, you are including people who are not adhering to your reality. Second, we observed that the Mediterranean diet sometimes was not reported. It is somewhat unrealistic to think that today, you'll have practically the same diet in 10 years. Maybe today, you will eat animals, and in 10 years, you will become vegan. This is an important limitation, of course, but it is related to the fact that these are observational studies. 

 

What do you hope people will take away from these findings?

I hope they gain some knowledge about how important the Mediterranean diet is for this disease. Unfortunately, heart failure is less known compared to other cardiovascular diseases, metabolic disease, or diabetes. However, it is a very important condition. Knowing that the Mediterranean diet can decrease your risk of heart failure is important not only from an epidemiological point of view but also as an attempt to try at least to follow a Mediterranean diet. 

 

 

 

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A classic Italian soup, traditionally made from vegetable scraps and paired with beans and sometimes pasta, minestrone is the perfect first course for a Sicilian supper. There are a variety of ways to prepare this meal starter, but I was drawn to a recipe by Nadia Fazio of Mangia Bedda.

 

Nadia's blog reflects her quest to transcribe all of her mother's classic recipes. It has an even deeper meaning for her now that their mother has passed. 

 

I sat down with Nadia to discuss her Sicilian-Canadian upbringing, the origin of Mangia Bedda (and its name), the right way to make minestrone, and the art of shelling your own beans.  

 

 

What's your background?

I'm Italian-Canadian. Both my parents, however, were born in Sicily. They are actually from the same little town in Sicily (Naso in the province of Messina). My father emigrated to Canada in 1954. My mom, after they got married, came here and joined in 1959.

 

What was it like growing up Sicilian Canadian?

My siblings and I grew up with all the typical Italian traditions that they brought over from Sicily. It's interesting because it appears that when people came here from Sicily, it was sort of like time froze. They maintained the exact same traditions, with regard to food and family, that they practiced in Sicily. 

 

I grew up with the typical Sicilian foods, all the traditional foods, all homemade from scratch, especially at this time of the year, all of the preserving, making the tomato sauce and all the different vegetables, the beans, and roasting the peppers and the eggplants and all of that.

 

I grew up surrounded by that, and I think my memories of my childhood and my parents are all, for the most part, actually centered around food, and I didn't appreciate it at the time. I really did not appreciate it.

 

I remember being dragged to a local farmers market in Montreal, and I found it so drab. I mean, I was a kid. It was boring, and it's one of my favorite places today.

 

Another memory that stands out is going to a farm outside of the city to get fresh milk (probably unpasteurized at the time) so that my mom could come home and make ricotta with it.

 

Tell us about your project, Mangia Bedda.

I started this blog almost 10 years ago as a little part-time hobby. It slowly grew and evolved, and I realized that my mission was really to transcribe all of my mom's recipes so that they wouldn't be lost. Most importantly, I wanted to write them down and get the correct quantities of ingredients because whenever you speak to an Italian nonna about how much flour goes into a recipe, it's as much as needed.

 

I started going to my mom's home to prepare one recipe at a time, watching her make it and stopping her at every step. "Wait, Mom, I've got to measure. I've got to weigh; I've got to write down how much it is." So that's what I did because I wanted to make sure that I had my favorite recipes. And that's even more dear to me now. I'm so grateful that I had the opportunity to do that.

 

I lost my mom a year ago, actually. So I am ever so grateful that I had that opportunity to do that because I have the recipes, not only for me, but I see how much they're appreciated by the types of comments and feedback I get from my readers, who are so happy that I took the time to document them. They share these memories of growing up with these recipes and are so happy that there's a place where they can get them.

 

Where does the name of your blog come from?

Bedda means my pretty one or beautiful one. And that's of significance to me because when I was little, I only met my nonna twice in my lifetime. She lived in Sicily, but I remember I was two years old when I met her, and apparently, I didn't want to eat. She always said those words to me, "Mangia, bedda," to coax me to eat.  

 

What does this minestrone remind you of?

The first thing that comes to mind is memories of this time of year, specifically because this was when my mom made huge batches of minestrone, and she had all the vegetables from my dad's garden. So, if I look at all the ingredients and the recipe, the celery came from the garden. The tomatoes came from the garden. The zucchini and the green beans came from the garden. Oh, and some of the greens, I put in fresh spinach that's easily accessible, but you can use any greens in the garden.

 

I remember my mom making huge batches. She would freeze it before adding pasta and put it into freezer bags. She had a freezer full; we used to have the deep-chest freezer that we had in the garage at the time. She would take out a bag at a time and cook it up for us.

 

So, what exactly is minestrone?

It's an Italian vegetable and bean soup. The key component is that it's vegetables and beans. The beans are always present. Usually, they're Romano beans, but they could be white beans. It's just a medley of vegetables cooked down with these beans. There's a tomato base, and in my mom's case, it was always fresh tomatoes from the garden.

 

Usually, pasta is added to it as well. It's usually a small shape, like a ditalini. It could be small shells or elbow macaroni. Another typical addition would be taking spaghetti and breaking it up into small pieces. We call this spaghetti "sminuzzati." That was very, very common. In fact, sometimes, my mom might've even mixed pasta.  

 

How do you flavor your minestrone?

Most minestrone soups are made with plain water, which is the classic way. But you could use chicken stock or vegetable broth if you want.

 

The herbs are also important—fresh basil, parsley, and thyme. You could add flavor with bay leaves. In just about any soup, I always add a couple of bay leaves.

 

I also add Parmesan rind. I think that makes such a big difference. If you want to stick to using plain water and not some kind of broth, just throw in a Parmesan rind, and I think it's fantastic. It gives a lot of flavor. And, of course, I always serve it with Parmesan cheese. Having minestrone or anything with pasta without cheese is hard for me.

 

Another thing you could add just before serving is a nice drizzle of olive oil. Olive oil on top adds tons of flavor.

 

What did your mother add that was unique to this recipe?

In our house, it was always made with freshly picked vegetables from our garden because, as I said, my mom made large batches. At this time of year, my parents often headed out to local farms and picked their own vegetables to supplement what we had. We could get more tomatoes, more zucchini, and so on.

 

I should add that the beans used were not dried beans that you just bought and soaked from the grocery store. They would always go out and get fresh beans. I actually did this recently. I went to a local farmers market and got a huge 20-pound bag of beans in their pods.

 

There was a lot of time spent shelling these beans at this time of year. They were the beans that we shelled ourselves. She also froze bags full of these beans to make pasta fagioli as well during the winter months.

 

What do you get out of that experience of shelling your own beans?

Oh, it connects me to my mom. When I was a kid, I was always trying to find a way to get away from these tasks. And my mom didn't force me. She let me go out and play and wouldn't hold me to these tasks. But for the last few years, I made sure to head out with my mom every year to get those beans. So we spent time the last few years sitting here, actually in my backyard, bonding while we were shelling the beans and chitchatting and talking about family and so on. So it's really special. I'm glad that I had the opportunity to do that. And now I do that with my husband and my daughter. It's just continuing that tradition.

 

What do you hope readers will take away from your recipe?

What I hope readers will take away is a few things. I think, first of all, the importance of preparing a simple, healthy meal from scratch with fresh ingredients for themselves and their family. I want to show them that it's really not that difficult to do so. Also, the importance of preserving family food traditions and passing them on to the next generation.

>>Get Nadia Fazio's minestrone recipe here.<<

 

 

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It was late afternoon when our bus rolled into Catania. After checking into our hotel, we wandered over to a cafe across the street, which proudly advertised "Sicilian Bruschetta." 

 

My Sicilian family never served bruschetta. Growing up in Wisconsin, it was just something I'd find at a hip trattoria. So I assumed this menu item was geared toward American tourists, who pronounce it "broo-shetta" instead of the Italian "broo-sketta." 

 

Still, I was intrigued. What made this bruschetta Sicilian?

We ordered a plate, and it was delightful: sweet Sicilian tomatoes, fresh basil, crunchy caper berries, roasted garlic, and just the right amount of olive oil and vinegar. It was a celebration of Sicilian culture on crunchy, toasted bread.

 

But I wondered. Was bruschetta really Italian? Where did it come from?

 

For one thing, it probably didn't originate in Sicily. There are some who say that the Etruscans invented bruschetta; it was a way of dressing stale, saltless bread. Or perhaps it was the Ancient Romans. Either way, the appetizer has likely existed nearly as long as olive oil, according to the late James Beard Foundation Lifetime Achievement winner and Italian cooking writer Marcella Hazan, who wrote about bruschetta in The Classic Italian Cookbook. As for the name, she explained, "bruschetta comes from bruscare, which means 'to roast over coals.'"

 

I recently stumbled on a YouTube video of another Sicilian bruschetta recipe. Produced by Francesco Elia, aka Tortellino, this recipe starts with good-quality bread: a fresh-baked pane nero di Castelvetrano loaf made from tumminia durum, which, like bruschetta, has ties to Ancient Rome. According to Francesco, this was also the go-to bread during World War II when other flours were harder to come by. 

 

Francesco mixes his toppings—tomato, basil, garlic, salt, and pepper—with extra virgin olive oil and vinegar. He lets the mixture sit and marinate for several minutes to let the flavors blend. During that time, he bakes the slices until the edges are golden but not too crispy. 

 

I contacted Francesco, a Sicilian born in Catania who now lives in the United Kingdom, to chat about this popular antipasti offering, its preparation, how to keep bruschetta crispy, serving etiquette, and what makes a recipe Sicilian.

 

 

What is Sicilian bruschetta?

It can be as simple as olive oil, oregano, and pepper or as sophisticated as looking almost like a pizza. It doesn't really matter. But the fundamental basis is the way you cook the bread. 

As long as the olive oil is good, especially if it's new, that is a form of bruschetta. You can have hot bread, bread under the grill, or sometimes even bread on the barbecue. You get a lovely charcoal and smoky flavor.

People add oregano, for example, to give a little bit of a pizza flavor, along with garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella. It's a bit like a pizza to an extent.

I also included some balsamic drizzle in my recipe, which is incredibly tasty. I did that because that's what I was used to doing here in Sicily. So I'm calling it a Sicilian bruschetta because that's how we used to eat in my house. It's generally an appetizer as well. It's a form of a starter. 

You can dip it with olives and sun-dried tomatoes on the side. And that is more cultural nowadays, of course. But in the past, it was very much about survival because it was something you could do very easily, and you could get by just by eating bread, olive oil, and tomatoes.

Is there a proper way to prepare the basil?

I think basil is okay as long as you don't cook it. Basil is an incredible herb. I always put it at the end of my dishes. If it's a hot ragù, for example, you will see me adding the basil at the end because it releases lots of flavors. I do that with most of my herbs.

 

It doesn't matter if you crush it, chop it with a knife, or do it with your hands. People say that if you chop with a knife, it loses its properties. I think it's rubbish. Personally, it's so minimal. The whole thing doesn't matter. The most important thing is to leave it to marinade because if you leave it for 20 minutes or 30 minutes to marinade with the olive oil, you will see that it will release its lovely flavors and taste incredible. That is an ingredient that is not in the original bruschetta. It is part of the evolution of bruschetta because basil obviously goes really well with most things, especially with tomatoes.

 

How do you ensure that your bread will be crispy rather than soggy when adding the toppings?

What I do is I put mine under the grill, and I do not put the mix until I'm ready to eat it. Generally, I tend to serve it hot. So if I am entertaining, for example, and I've got guests coming, I will do the bruschetta bread under the grill and then call everybody at the table. They sit at the table, and I'll get it out of the oven, and it's hot and crispy. Then, I'll have the little pot of my marinade in the middle. Then people can help themselves and then eat it straight away. And because between putting it on the bread and eating, it's pretty much a couple of minutes, it stays crispy. However, if you were to do it earlier and leave it on the bread, it would get soggy because the bread would absorb the olive oil. It will taste okay but not the same because you will lose the crunchiness. So, if you want to retain the crunchiness between spreading the marinade and eating it, just a few seconds.

What is the traditional serving of bruschetta?

There isn't one really. I think in Sicily, you have the bread in the middle of the table, and you help yourselves. That is generally how food is consumed in Sicily. It's more about the warmth and the family fun of fitting together rather than the etiquette of having to have it on a plate that becomes very un-Sicilian, so to say. I'm sure some people do that, but it's not how people generally eat in a household; in a family, you put the food in the middle of the table, and people help themselves.

 

What makes a recipe Sicilian?

What makes it really Sicilian is ingenuity and making it do with what you have. Sicilians are very good at using their imagination to make anything they have in the fridge. That is why Sicilians have come up with so many different recipes: because their imagination is really great, and from very little, they can make something very, very big. And the best thing is that Sicilian food is the simplest food. And that's why bruschetta is so great because it's very, very simple. You will find that even the most acclaimed pasta dishes in Sicily have only a few ingredients but are incredibly delicious. The same applies to a lot of pasta, for example. There are only a few ingredients, maybe three, four, or five. 

The reason is that the fewer ingredients you have, the more you can taste what the meal is about. And so if it's about the mozzarella, then you can taste the mozzarella. If it's about the tomato in a recipe, then you taste the tomato. 

The true Italian and Sicilian dish is simple cuisine where you can eat something, identify what is in it, and appreciate a blend of flavors without something being overpowering. A lot of Sicilian food also has garlic, but I will only put one little clove because I don't want it to be overpowering. 

And that is where Sicilians are good at making something work from very, very little.

 

Sicilian bruschetta recipe

 

 

Preserving Sicily's Bread-Making Tradition

 

 

 

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Director and food stylist Victoria Granof is well aware of America's love affair with Italy. It's something she shares, but one region of Italy particularly inspires her—and it's not the one at the tip of your tongue.

 

"I get so frustrated when people start talking about Tuscany," she says. "I mean, Tuscany is really nice—really nice. But Sicily is more my style; it's so different from any other part of Italy. People just think it's mafia, mafia, mafia. And it's so much more than that. I am on this mission to show people the Sicily that I love and that it's fabulous and different from the rest of Italy."

 

One of Victoria's obsessions is the aesthetic beauty of Sicily's famous sweets, which inspired her latest project, Sicily, My Sweet: Love Notes to an Island, with Recipes for Cakes, Cookies, Puddings, and Preserves.

Victoria and I recently sat down for a conversation where she shared her surprising Sicilian connection, her favorite recipes, what she learned working with photographer Irving Penn, the fascinating and sustainable way Sicilians make cannoli, and what she hopes book readers will take away. 

 

 

Tell us about your background and connection to Sicily.

My father's side of the family is northern Italian, and on my mother's side of the family were Sephardic Jews from Spain before the Spanish Inquisition.

We always thought we originated in Spain and landed in Turkey for the last 400 years. But the language, dialect, and food that we took with us, as well as a lot of the traditions, were not Turkish. 

When I went looking for my roots and to feel a connection, I went to Turkey, and it was like, "Oh, this is nice, but this is not home."

It wasn't until I read an article about Maria Grammatico, who owns a pastry shop in Erice. She said she was getting older and was afraid that none of the younger generation wanted to keep the tradition of Sicilian pastry alive because it was just dying off. All they wanted to do was move to a big city or out of Sicily and do something else.

I was really drawn to this because I was a pastry chef then, and I thought, okay, I'll go, and she can teach me. So that's what first brought me there, and I felt this really strong connection as soon as I went. 

Fast-forward to maybe five years ago, when all my family did our DNA and found out that we're Sicilian—57% Sicilian. Then I started really researching it. 

Spain wasn't Spain as we know it now at that time. It was the Spanish empire, which included a lot of South and Central America and from Naples down through Sicily. 

That's where we started from, who knows how long ago, but we were in the Sicily of Spain. And so there are still traces of the dialect in what we brought from 500 years ago, just like Sicilian Americans whose families came here a hundred years ago or 200 years ago with that same dialect, they will be speaking that same dialect for another 300 years. That's what they brought with them, and that's what gets passed down through the family. 

 

Is there a recipe in this book that has special personal significance?

I think everybody's grandmother makes biscotti Regina, the cookies with the sesame seeds. I remember my grandmother had a cookie tin of those on top of her refrigerator. Honestly, now that I think about it, it was kind of rusty inside. Those cookies probably took years off our lives!

When she died, I remember taking the cookies off the top of the refrigerator and thinking, "These are the last ones she's ever going to make with her hands."

I had one in my freezer for the longest time. Then we had a power outage last summer, and everything had to go. I forgot that the cookie was in there, so it went with it. It's very heartbreaking. 

 

You were a pastry chef and now a food stylist. How did that influence this book?

I had to go against all of my pastry-chef training, make it approachable and easy, and simplify it for home cooks. So, that part didn't come into it other than I love making pastries. 

The book's aesthetics were really important. In the end, two publishers were interested in it. (There were others, but these were the two that I was considering.) I went with Hardie Grant Publishing because they were willing and eager to have me not only design the book but also guide its aesthetics. 

I worked with a designer in Sydney, Australia, on the book design. When I saw her very first designs, I was like, "Oh my God. I love this so much."

Then they went through a couple of iterations, but just the colors! It was really important for me to have those colors in the book and on the book. It wasn't those earth-tony Tuscan things, so people would really understand that Sicily is different from the rest of Italy, period, and why it's so fabulously different. So the color had a lot to do with it—the graphics, the photographs, everything. 

 

Describe those colors.

I used pinks and greens and oranges and blues: the colors in the tile work and those on houses. There are pink houses in Sicily and raspberry-colored houses in the country. And I just love that color. So a lot of that; not millennial pink, but a lot of that kind of Sicilian country house/raspberry pink and the green of pistachios, I really leaned into that. And the orange of orange peel and yellow of lemons—just the colors in the ingredients, really. 

 

You worked with the late Irving Penn. How did he influence you?

I worked with him for 10 years. The funny thing was that I met the Vogue photo editor at a party, and it was a very short, cordial conversation. I handed him my card, and that was it. 

Then, a few months later, he called me and said, "Mr. Penn is looking for a collaborator. And I remember meeting you at the party, and you were very reserved and quiet, and that's what he likes. That's the vibe he likes, so I think it would be a good match."

So, for 10 years, I had to keep my mouth shut and not chat. It was a little bit torturous from that point of view. But you know what? I learned the economy of everything. There was nothing extra in anything. None of his output, none of his persona, none of his words, none of his anything were extra. Everything was essential. So he never had superfluous anything anywhere around him. 

I learned what is important in a picture and what is not necessary. I learned when to stop because several times, he would set up the shot, do a Polaroid, and take a picture. He would do a Polaroid first; if he liked it, he would take the picture, and then we would leave.

We'd be done before lunch. And it was never like, "Alright, let's do some variations," or "Let's do five more just in case," or "Let's see; do we think we have it?" No, after many years, he knew what it took to get a good picture and how to recognize it when he got it. And that was huge. 

It's a practice and a discipline. I'm so grateful for that because I've used it in all aspects of my life, including personal relationships. It's really important to know when to stop.

 

Which Sicilian desserts should everyone experience?:

Well, anybody who hasn't had a really good cannolo is… I mean, forget it!

I learned the last time I was in Sicily that they use bamboo as cannoli-shaping tubes. It was kind of a revelation for me. If you've ever done that with the metal tubes and fried the shells, the first thing it does is sink to the bottom. And then the bottom of the shell gets a little bit darker, which nobody notices, really. And then you have to keep turning them around and everything. With the bamboo, it floats. So not only does it just float and turn around by itself, but it's porous. So it cooks from the inside out and the outside in, and it allows air bubbles to come through and make the dough lighter. It's really an amazing thing. They turn black, but they are used over and over, and it's sustainable.

 

I'm also really obsessed with St. Agatha's breast cakes. I do them a couple of different ways, but the way I really love them is just with the pastry dough, the ricotta inside, and the icing on top. I love those symbolically—and just about anything with almonds and pistachios.

 

Most of my recipes are traditional, but some of them I developed that are just in the spirit of Sicily using Sicilian ingredients. I have shortbread cookie recipes, and one has sun-dried tomatoes and anise seeds. It's treating the tomatoes like dried fruit because that's what they are. Then, the other one has dried figs and oil-cured olives in it. It's really treating the olives and the tomatoes like the fruits they actually are. And it's really, really good. You could just keep the rolls of the dough in your freezer and then slice and bake it as you need it.

 

What do you hope readers take away?

I want them to appreciate this on so many levels. I want them to open their eyes and minds and appreciate Sicily for the multicultural, fabulously weird, and delicious place that it is.

In the book's introduction, I really talk about how if you go to other parts of Italy, they look like postcards. Everybody brings the same pictures back from Rome. There I am, throwing the coin in the Trevi Fountain. There I am in front of the Coliseum. They're all the same pictures. And the takeaway is the same. You can go to those places passively. You can just observe.

But what I love to say about Sicily is if you are there, you're in the game—not just enjoying it passively. You're not just looking at it. You're experiencing it. And some of it is funky, and there's garbage on the side of the road. There's some funky stuff there. But it's worth it because being there is such a heightened sensory experience. 

After so many centuries of being dominated and controlled by all kinds of different civilizations, people, empires, and all of that, it's just turned into this really strong, strange, wonderfully mixed-up, and beautiful place. It's not in spite of having that history; it's because of the history that it's so great.

 

>>Get your copy of Sicily, My Sweet here!<<

 

 

If you enjoyed this article, consider subscribing to my newsletter for more content and updates!

Director and food stylist Victoria Granof is well aware of America's love affair with Italy. It's something she shares, but one region of Italy particularly inspires her—and it's not the one at the tip of your tongue.

 

"I get so frustrated when people start talking about Tuscany," she says. "I mean, Tuscany is really nice—really nice. But Sicily is more my style; it's so different from any other part of Italy. People just think it's mafia, mafia, mafia. And it's so much more than that. I am on this mission to show people the Sicily that I love and that it's fabulous and different from the rest of Italy."

One of Victoria's obsessions is the aesthetic beauty of Sicily's famous sweets, which inspired her latest project, Sicily, My Sweet: Love Notes to an Island, with Recipes for Cakes, Cookies, Puddings, and Preserves.

Victoria and I recently sat down for a conversation where she shared her surprising Sicilian connection, her favorite recipes, what she learned working with photographer Irving Penn, the fascinating and sustainable way Sicilians make cannoli, and what she hopes book readers will take away. 

 

 

Tell us about your background and connection to Sicily.

My father's side of the family is northern Italian, and on my mother's side of the family were Sephardic Jews from Spain before the Spanish Inquisition.

We always thought we originated in Spain and landed in Turkey for the last 400 years. But the language, dialect, and food that we took with us, as well as a lot of the traditions, were not Turkish. 

When I went looking for my roots and to feel a connection, I went to Turkey, and it was like, "Oh, this is nice, but this is not home."

It wasn't until I read an article about Maria Grammatico, who owns a pastry shop in Erice. She said she was getting older and was afraid that none of the younger generation wanted to keep the tradition of Sicilian pastry alive because it was just dying off. All they wanted to do was move to a big city or out of Sicily and do something else.

I was really drawn to this because I was a pastry chef then, and I thought, okay, I'll go, and she can teach me. So that's what first brought me there, and I felt this really strong connection as soon as I went. 

Fast-forward to maybe five years ago, when all my family did our DNA and found out that we're Sicilian—57% Sicilian. Then I started really researching it. 

Spain wasn't Spain as we know it now at that time. It was the Spanish empire, which included a lot of South and Central America and from Naples down through Sicily. 

That's where we started from, who knows how long ago, but we were in the Sicily of Spain. And so there are still traces of the dialect in what we brought from 500 years ago, just like Sicilian Americans whose families came here a hundred years ago or 200 years ago with that same dialect, they will be speaking that same dialect for another 300 years. That's what they brought with them, and that's what gets passed down through the family. 

 

Is there a recipe in this book that has special personal significance?

I think everybody's grandmother makes biscotti Regina, the cookies with the sesame seeds. I remember my grandmother had a cookie tin of those on top of her refrigerator. Honestly, now that I think about it, it was kind of rusty inside. Those cookies probably took years off our lives!

When she died, I remember taking the cookies off the top of the refrigerator and thinking, "These are the last ones she's ever going to make with her hands."

I had one in my freezer for the longest time. Then we had a power outage last summer, and everything had to go. I forgot that the cookie was in there, so it went with it. It's very heartbreaking. 

 

You were a pastry chef and now a food stylist. How did that influence this book?

I had to go against all of my pastry-chef training, make it approachable and easy, and simplify it for home cooks. So, that part didn't come into it other than I love making pastries. 

The book's aesthetics were really important. In the end, two publishers were interested in it. (There were others, but these were the two that I was considering.) I went with Hardie Grant Publishing because they were willing and eager to have me not only design the book but also guide its aesthetics. 

I worked with a designer in Sydney, Australia, on the book design. When I saw her very first designs, I was like, "Oh my God. I love this so much."

Then they went through a couple of iterations, but just the colors! It was really important for me to have those colors in the book and on the book. It wasn't those earth-tony Tuscan things, so people would really understand that Sicily is different from the rest of Italy, period, and why it's so fabulously different. So the color had a lot to do with it—the graphics, the photographs, everything. 

 

Describe those colors.

I used pinks and greens and oranges and blues: the colors in the tile work and those on houses. There are pink houses in Sicily and raspberry-colored houses in the country. And I just love that color. So a lot of that; not millennial pink, but a lot of that kind of Sicilian country house/raspberry pink and the green of pistachios, I really leaned into that. And the orange of orange peel and yellow of lemons—just the colors in the ingredients, really. 

 

You worked with the late Irving Penn. How did he influence you?

I worked with him for 10 years. The funny thing was that I met the Vogue photo editor at a party, and it was a very short, cordial conversation. I handed him my card, and that was it. 

Then, a few months later, he called me and said, "Mr. Penn is looking for a collaborator. And I remember meeting you at the party, and you were very reserved and quiet, and that's what he likes. That's the vibe he likes, so I think it would be a good match."

So, for 10 years, I had to keep my mouth shut and not chat. It was a little bit torturous from that point of view. But you know what? I learned the economy of everything. There was nothing extra in anything. None of his output, none of his persona, none of his words, none of his anything were extra. Everything was essential. So he never had superfluous anything anywhere around him. 

I learned what is important in a picture and what is not necessary. I learned when to stop because several times, he would set up the shot, do a Polaroid, and take a picture. He would do a Polaroid first; if he liked it, he would take the picture, and then we would leave.

We'd be done before lunch. And it was never like, "Alright, let's do some variations," or "Let's do five more just in case," or "Let's see; do we think we have it?" No, after many years, he knew what it took to get a good picture and how to recognize it when he got it. And that was huge. 

It's a practice and a discipline. I'm so grateful for that because I've used it in all aspects of my life, including personal relationships. It's really important to know when to stop.

 

Which Sicilian desserts should everyone experience?:

Well, anybody who hasn't had a really good cannolo is… I mean, forget it!

I learned the last time I was in Sicily that they use bamboo as cannoli-shaping tubes. It was kind of a revelation for me. If you've ever done that with the metal tubes and fried the shells, the first thing it does is sink to the bottom. And then the bottom of the shell gets a little bit darker, which nobody notices, really. And then you have to keep turning them around and everything. With the bamboo, it floats. So not only does it just float and turn around by itself, but it's porous. So it cooks from the inside out and the outside in, and it allows air bubbles to come through and make the dough lighter. It's really an amazing thing. They turn black, but they are used over and over, and it's sustainable.

 

I'm also really obsessed with St. Agatha's breast cakes. I do them a couple of different ways, but the way I really love them is just with the pastry dough, the ricotta inside, and the icing on top. I love those symbolically—and just about anything with almonds and pistachios.

 

Most of my recipes are traditional, but some of them I developed that are just in the spirit of Sicily using Sicilian ingredients. I have shortbread cookie recipes, and one has sun-dried tomatoes and anise seeds. It's treating the tomatoes like dried fruit because that's what they are. Then, the other one has dried figs and oil-cured olives in it. It's really treating the olives and the tomatoes like the fruits they actually are. And it's really, really good. You could just keep the rolls of the dough in your freezer and then slice and bake it as you need it.

 

What do you hope readers take away?

I want them to appreciate this on so many levels. I want them to open their eyes and minds and appreciate Sicily for the multicultural, fabulously weird, and delicious place that it is.

In the book's introduction, I really talk about how if you go to other parts of Italy, they look like postcards. Everybody brings the same pictures back from Rome. There I am, throwing the coin in the Trevi Fountain. There I am in front of the Coliseum. They're all the same pictures. And the takeaway is the same. You can go to those places passively. You can just observe.

But what I love to say about Sicily is if you are there, you're in the game—not just enjoying it passively. You're not just looking at it. You're experiencing it. And some of it is funky, and there's garbage on the side of the road. There's some funky stuff there. But it's worth it because being there is such a heightened sensory experience. 

After so many centuries of being dominated and controlled by all kinds of different civilizations, people, empires, and all of that, it's just turned into this really strong, strange, wonderfully mixed-up, and beautiful place. It's not in spite of having that history; it's because of the history that is so great.

 

>>Get your copy of Sicily, My Sweet here!<<

 

 

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Dance and folk music are the heart and soul of Sicilian tradition, connecting people and introducing others to the region's rich heritage.

 

For 39 years, Amici Italiani (Italian Friends) of Rockford, Illinois, has shared and preserved culture through folk dance. With both adult and youth troupes, the group performs traditional Quadriglias, Saltarellos, Mazurcas, Tarantellas, and Codigliones, all carefully researched as members of the Italian Folk Art Federation of America.

 

I recently chatted with Amici Italiani Director Bea Giammarese Ricotta, whose family came from the Sicilian towns of Aragona and Bagheria. We discussed her start as a founding member, the memories she associates with Italian folk music and dance, her favorite dances, Amici Italiani's traditional costumes, and her most rewarding performance.

 

 

How did you get started with Amici Italiani?

I was one of the founding members. We had a wonderful person named Shirley Martignoni Fedeli, who, with her husband, Gene, decided to start the Italian dance troupe.

 

The newspaper printed a small article that said, "If you're Italian and you want to dance the Italian folk dances, call Shirley."

So, my mom saw it, and I might've just graduated from college. And she said, "You like to dance. Why don't you call?"

 

I did, and Shirley sounded really nice, so I went. That was pretty much it.

 

I have to laugh because I was such an idiot back then. On the first day of dance practice, I showed up in a legit dance skirt and tights while everybody else wore sweatpants and shorts.

 

We were the founding members, and we brought in a dance instructor from Milwaukee's dance troupe, Mario DeSantis, who has since passed.

 

He taught us a couple of dances a year, and then we went from there.

 

I was a dancer for a million years, and then I became the instructor, and I did that for a number of years. I loved that. Then I got pretty old. When you can't do a hop, that's pretty bad. Your knees don't like you anymore. When our director retired, I became the director.

My two daughters are in the troupe. One of my daughters is one of the dance instructors. We have two: a male and a female dance instructor.

 

So, it's a family thing. They grew up in the troupe. And I'm going to tell you a secret: Every time I hear this beautiful Italian folk music, I'm telling you the people I lost in my life who came from Italy and are no longer here; in those few minutes that the song is playing, they're back, and it means so much. I'll never get tired of any of that music because they're alive all over again and all the good memories and all the love is still there.

 

What memories do you associate with that music and dancing?

We had relatives who emigrated here in the early seventies, so they came later than my mom. They were all grown. Most of them had kids already. And in the summer, they would have these little get-togethers in their backyards and they had a trellis with the grapes growing over. And they hardly had any lawn in the backyard because they planted tomato plants, rows and rows of these plants.

 

I remember seeing the moon, and there were lights that they had strung above the trellis. And whenever somebody went in the house, they brought out other platters of food.

 

When I was young, we would have wonderful family gatherings. My zio, my cousins Carl, Iggy, Frank and Mr. Spoto, a close friend from down the street, played instruments. They would bring out their instruments after we'd eaten and visited, and they would sing.

 

Sometimes, the ladies would dance together. Those evenings were magical. I mean, my dad passed away when I was very young, so it was not easy. But because of all this wonderful stuff, I really feel like my childhood was enchanted.

 

Of course, at weddings, they would always play the music. And as a kid, that was amazing. You'd get out there and dance. You didn't know what you were doing, but nobody cared.

 

Tarantella dances are popular at weddings. Which is your favorite?

They're all from the southern region and Sicily. But each one has a different flavor to it. And people really loved to watch them.

 

We always call the Neapolitan the main Tarantella here. You could do it with as many or as few people as you want. We dance this as a call dance so you can follow along.

 

We have Cantania's, which I love. Catania's Tarantella is totally different.

 

Some are just crowd-pleasers, and I don't know why. Some use tambourines, some don't. There's a Tarantella that only uses five people, and the movements are very together.

 

I tell the troupe that we're not Rockettes. This is a chance to show your personality. But there are some dances where you have to be more rigid regarding doing the same thing. So those are amazing for us. 

 

How do you get the audience to participate?

We've been hired to dance at weddings just to do what we call the main Tarantella, the Neapolitan one. But we get the bride and groom in there. We get Uncle Toto. We don't know who we're dancing with.

 

The difference between that and all the others is that it's a call dance. So, we have one person who calls the dance, and if he makes a mistake or does something we haven't practiced, you just do what he says—just follow.

 

That makes it really fun. And he says he calls it Italian, so it's really beautiful to hear those words.

 

How do your troupes ensure the traditions remain?

We are really committed to the authenticity of these dances. If we change something, it would be that we can't quite make a transition with a dance step, so we add a hop or something like that. But it does not change the integrity of the dance, which is so important to me.

 

Even the costuming has a lot of tradition. We don't use nylon fabrics; we use cotton and cotton blends, which are authentic to what they used to wear. They might get a little more "wrinkly", and need to ironed more often. But it's important.

 

I saw a dance troupe with young ladies in fishnet stockings. I thought, "Oh my God, no Italian father would've let their daughter leave the house like that."

 

I don't know what they were thinking. We try to be as authentic as possible. 

 

Tell us more about your costumes.

A woman from Pittsburgh put together a book of Italian clothing. We would pick our costumes from the book and recreate everything.  

 

We would take that and find a seamstress out here who could design and sew it. Now, we have a couple of dancers who can sew, which has been very helpful. 

 

We purchase what we can. We found some companies online that like to recreate historic items. I know they're recreating things for Comic-Con or whatever. I don't know why they're making these costumes, but we can pull a shirt here or a skirt there, and it is what we want. We will hem it, and it just makes it a lot easier for our seamstresses.

 

How has the local community in Rockford responded?

They love them. I love being out somewhere where they're clapping with the music. And when we have a chance to dance with the groups and the audience, I love seeing them get up there.

 

We will do the Tarantella with them. We'll also do the Scopa (broom) dance. Everybody gets a partner except one person. It's typically one of our guys, and he has to dance with the broom. And at some point, while he is dancing, he'll yell, "Scopa!" and he'll throw it, and everyone has to switch partners.

 

We've done that with crowds, and they do a great job. When locals see us in costumes, they stop us and ask if we can pose with them.

 

What do you hope audiences take away?

When I introduce a dance, I will tell a little bit about it and the area where it originated. So, we're trying to teach them about Italy and the dances. We want to entertain them and disseminate some of our history.

 

The story of the Tarantella involves a tarantula. I used to bring a tarantula to performances so that the audience could see it. And I'm telling you, any child in that audience could probably still tell you about the Tarantella because they remember the tarantula. The adults remember, too.

 

I share the history of the dances and tell them where they come from. We have two dances from Sicily that the Moors brought over, and I love to tell people about them. The dances and music are different, but now they're Sicilian dances and songs.

 

What has been your most rewarding experience with Amici Italiani?

There have been a few, but a real favorite of mine was in 1994 when we were invited to dance at the opening ceremony of the World Cup in Chicago to represent Italy.

 

We're out there, and there are cameras all over. We're dancing. It was so exciting and wonderful.

 

It was at Soldier Field. We ended the performance on the 50-yard line.

 

I was on such a high, and then I heard that my then-husband and his relatives in Italy were watching because everybody loves soccer in Italy. And somebody said, "That's Joe's wife." Crazy. Just crazy.

 

Dancing connects us so much. Granted, they remembered me there, but it was the dancing that connected everybody.

 

My kids have been dancers since they were bambini. They did the youth troupe, and now they're in the adult troupe. They're not the only ones who have stayed in it so long. It keeps us all connected.

 

 

 

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Olive oil may be a staple in Italian cooking, but baking with olive oil has become popular in recent years. 

 

Sicilian grandmothers are likely shaking their heads. After all, Mediterranean people have long used olive oil as a fat for sweet and savory recipes. It's been used to prepare food since at least the 4th century B.C.

 

Baking with olive oil adds moisture and can heighten the flavor of baked goods. It's also better for your heart, says the American Heart Association, which recommends choosing healthier fats like olive oil over saturated fats like butter to lower your cardiovascular risk.   

 

Blogger Stephanie Mormina is a baking-with-olive-oil believer. I recently stumbled on her lovely Sicilian citrus olive oil cake recipe, and I just had to learn more. 

Stephanie's father hails from the town of Cattolica Eraclea in the Province of Agrigento. Being half Sicilian has influenced her love for citrus fruits, which she says pair nicely with olive oil when baking. 

We chatted about her lovely cake recipe, its inspiration, and how baking with olive oil affects texture and taste.

 

 

What inspired your Sicilian citrus olive oil cake?

It's actually a combination of different recipes I found online. I was attracted to it because you can add whatever citrus you want. I like to add a combination of orange and lemon. And then, in my zest, I'll sometimes put in a little bit of lime because lime has a different flavor. It takes you in a different direction. And it looks pretty in the glaze when you have a little fleck of green along with the orange and the yellow. The great thing about any olive oil cake is that not only does olive oil go extremely well with citrus, but it's also a cake that remains moist for a very long time. 

 

Why is olive oil used in some Sicilian baking?

They had many olive groves there and just used what they had. They weren't using much animal fat, at least in my dad's family, because they ate vegetables most of the time. They were eating more peasant food. So it was lots of vegetables, olive oil, whatever was available.  

 

How does olive oil affect texture and moisture?

It is a little more dense, but in a pleasant way. It is more moist and less crumbly than a butter cake or a cake. And it holds the moisture for days. It'll be fresh for much longer than a traditional cake.

 

How does olive oil affect the taste compared to vegetable or canola oil?

Canola keeps things neutral. But in a cake with citrus, you don't mind a little bit of flavor, but you still need to be careful what olive oil you choose. 

I like to choose one with a milder flavor. I don't choose the ones that are very full-bodied, thick, and peppery. I stay away from those, even for texture, because if your olive oil is too thick and heavy, it will bring down the cake. Olive oil cakes are already a little flatter, in my experience. 

 

I use Tunisian olive oil. It's not Italian olive oil, but it is the best because it has the olive oil flavor without being overpowering or too heavy. 

 

What do you hope at-home bakers will take away from your recipe?

I want them to appreciate the flavor of the olive oil in conjunction with the other ingredients, especially citrus. I have to say that the flavor combination is just perfect. Again, one of the benefits of having that moisture is that it has a prolonged shelf life. 

I know that it's not really used in traditional baking. It's more of a European thing, and I hope people start using it more in baking.

 

 

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Cultivated since ancient times and even believed to be the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, the fig occupies a special place in Mediterranean history and tradition. 

Recognized for its bulbous shape with a small opening, the ostiole, at its base, the common fig is the edible fruit of the ficus carica—a flowering plant species in the mulberry family. 
 

While figs hold a special place on Sicilian dessert tables, they're rich in potassium and calcium, which benefit bone health. The fruit even provides significant amounts of iron, potassium, and magnesium.

What's not to love? It's no wonder many gardeners choose to grow fig trees. 

"It's a plant we've been connected with for a really long time, which is why people become so fascinated by it," says One Green World Nursery Manager Sam Huber. "We share a deep, rich history with it, and it's such a unique plant that comes in many forms. It's exciting to find one that thrives in your area. And it's fairly easy to grow, too."  

Oregon-based One Green World sells a variety of so-called Mount Etna Sicilian figs, including the Sangue Dolce and the Natalina. They also sell a fig called the Chicago Hardy, which is originally from Sicily but easily takes root in colder areas in the northern U.S.

Sam and I recently had a chance to chat about all things Sicilian fig-related. 

 

 

Tell us about One Green World.

The nursery was built on extensive plant exploration and searching the world. With the advent of the internet and the availability of so much information, more varieties and cultivars are available than ever before. We've been continuing in that tradition, looking for new things both here and abroad.

 

You grow Sicilian figs. Can you share more about your offerings?

The lines of where things developed and whatnot are a little bit blurry, but there's a loose grouping of a certain type of fig, a smaller purple fig with a red interior that just gets called the Mount Etna figs. It's very similar to the ones people have been growing for a long time in Sicily. There, they're grown at 1,000-2,000-foot elevation—so high in elevation that those varieties do well for more northern growers. It's been super cool to see how they thrive in Sicily, of course, but also here.
 

They're just really wonderful. Everybody likes different things. I really like the dark, jammy figs with the red interior. Sicily also grows a white one that's more of a honey fig. And, of course, there are just wild ones growing everywhere. The fig has just naturalized around much of the Mediterranean and California.

Figs have two crops: the breba crop, which ripens on previous years' wood, and the main crop, which is on new growth. Etna figs have been such a winner for folks in more northern climates because they may have a touch more cold hardiness. 

In Oregon, we don't typically get cold enough to have killing frost that would kill off wood on our fig trees. Because they ripen the main crop really early, it's on the new growth. But there's a fig called Chicago Hardy, which is just another Mount Etna type that was found in Chicago and hardy enough to withstand some winters there. 

What's unique about them is you can have them get frosted back really hard, or people will do extreme things to overwinter them on places like the East Coast, like cut them back really hard. Some people will even tip them over and bury them, and then the trees still shoot out new growth and produce figs that year. Because the main crop grows all on the new growth, all you need is something that's sending off new growth because they ripen so early and don't need as much heat coming from a higher elevation place. It makes it a good, reliable one for folks who are more on the fringe of where figs would otherwise grow. 

 

What are the ideal conditions for growing Sicilian fig varieties?

The Mount Etna ones, in particular, are adaptable. But if it gets wet in the fall, the fig will just split. Generally, it's a dry summer climate that helps all figs thrive.

It's similar to where we grow grapes in the world. The Mediterranean climate of wet, mild winters and then pretty warm, dry summers concentrates the flavor and prevents the fig from splitting. 

The fig isn't actually a fruit; it's this weird inside-out flower. So it's very different when it's ripening. It's very easy for it to split if there's too much water or after it's been dry. When you get a big heavy rainfall, you'll sometimes see that little eye of the fig, the ostiole, split open. 

So fig trees generally need a dry climate with enough heat units; you need a good bit of warmth to ripen most varieties. We've been searching for ones that do well in cooler climates, but typically, if you're in California, they can ripen way more than we do in Oregon. It needs a dry summer and a mild winter—not so cold that it kills off the tree. Because below zero, they get pretty damaged.

 

Which regions are best for growing Sicilian figs?

Oregon's Willamette Valley will probably be one of the best spots outside of California, which is just the ideal fig-growing region in the country. 

Most parts of the continent don't have the dry summer that we do. But people grow them on the East Coast; there are many old fig trees on the East Coast because people brought them when they were emigrating. That's encouraged growers there to continue finding hardy varieties.

It's a classic story: People who sneaked a fig tree in with them. And so that's why you have all these various trees of unknown origin that were planted by immigrants way back in the day and are still surviving. Then, people go and clone those that proved themselves in harsher climates.  

 

What are some ways to enjoy figs?

Certainly, fresh eating is one of the best ways because it's one of the more fragile perishable fruits when they're perfectly ripe. But once your tree's really cranking, there are more figs than you can just eat fresh. 

Aside from fresh eating, people make jams with them and make dried figs. Drying figs is one the best ways to preserve them so that you have those carbohydrates and sugars for wintertime.

People get creative, doing just all sorts of weird things. There is a brewery in Texas called Jester King, where they could not get enough figs. They used them to make fermented beers with all these different fruits thrown in.

The possibilities are somewhat endless. People make concentrates and different syrups from them, but I feel like jams and dehydration for dried figs are probably the most common.

 

What do you want people to take away when they buy a One Green World fig tree?

Above all, we just want people to be successful in their gardening. Planting a tree is a pretty big commitment. They're not super cheap, and you have to dedicate water and energy to keeping them alive. 

During the COVID pandemic, when all these people started getting into gardening, people would come to us having never grown any trees before. And they'd always want to grow peaches, nectarines, and apricots, some of the most delicious, tasty fruits you can grow. But those, in particular, do poorly here. And so we would always say, "Why don't you try growing a fig, a persimmon, a grape, or something that's just a little easier and better adapted for our part of the world?" I feel like we're often telling folks just to learn to love the things that really want to grow well here.

Aside from just really wanting people to succeed with their gardens and grow something that they're going to find success with and be really happy with in terms of it being reliable, easy, and delicious, there are so many stories attached to all these things, as there have always been with plants. It's just a cool way to preserve stories, whether they are more recent or older ones. And for us, too, it's like a botanical journal. When we're on these trips and collecting things or doing road trips around California, they really encapsulate a time period for us.  

Fig trees have deep origin stories; maybe that was the tree from the Garden of Eden. We've been intertwined with this plant for a really long time. 

 

 

 

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For 89 years, San Francisco's La Società di Maria Santissima del Lume has organized Festa delle Madonna del Lume, a grand celebration/memoriam patterned after the original held in Porticello, Sicily.

In addition to serving as a Sicilian-American festival dedicated to Porticello's patroness, the event honors fishermen who were lost or perished at sea. 

Sicilian-American Brianna Dorio Wraa's grandfather was one of those lost. His daughter, Brianna's mother, was just 11 years old when his fishing boat was caught in a swell, and he disappeared off the coast of one of the Farallon Islands. A few years later, the then-teenager found comfort and fellowship within La Società di Maria Santissima del Lume and began attending the group's annual Festa. It's become a family affair. 

Last weekend, Brianna proudly stood before her community for the second year in a row, wearing the crown of Festa della Madonna del Lume Queen. For her, it was an honor and a way to pay tribute to her grandfather's memory. Next month, it will be 50 years since his disappearance. 

Following the festivities, I caught up with Brianna, who is pursuing a degree in communications studies with a minor in human resources management at the University of Nevada-Reno, to chat about the significance of the event, how she became Queen, and her fondest Festa memory.  

 

 

How did you become Festa Queen?

For me, it was a little different than normal. My family has always gone to the Festa della Madonna del Lume, and we always saw the queen and the princesses, and everyone wanted to be that. 

Knowing that it was coming up on 50 years with my grandfather's passing, I wanted to do something to honor his memory more than just going to the event. So, I reached out to Rose Cannizzaro, one of our co-presidents.

She said this was great because many people in my generation aren't really focused on preserving the tradition. They usually have younger queens—middle school to high school-aged range—which is great, but when they're finished, they still have a bunch of school left. There's only so much you can do when you're a kid. 

But as an adult, I knew that I wanted to preserve this. I want to make sure that tradition continues for as long as possible. I know it means so much to my family. There are so many people for whom it means so much.

When I joined the committee last year, I immediately started running. A couple of months after I joined the committee, they were having a fundraiser. We got raffle baskets, and we got the centerpieces done. And they were impressed that I was able to get so much done in such little time. Rose and Antonia San Filippo-Ferretti are not only co-presidents of the organization, but Antonia was also the queen and maiden director.

Both called me on a three-way call, and they said, "We would be honored if you were our queen." It was definitely a surprise. I said, "Oh my gosh, I'd love to; I'd be honored."

This organization is special for two reasons. One reason is to honor the Madonna and the very religious aspect. The other side is to honor the fishermen like my grandfather, who were lost at sea. It just meant a lot to be Queen. 

I was able to find girls to be maidens for the court. I've expanded the court, so now we have six maidens. (Last year, we had three maidens.) And we already have girls talking about joining next year. It's nice to see that progression.

I think the committee was just so impressed that I was able to do so much being so young and being so dedicated already that they were like, "This girl is the perfect example of what it means to be dedicated, to honor our organization, and to portray our organization in a great way."

 

What are your responsibilities as Queen?

I actually changed the way that Queen is thought of. In the past, it was really just for the events and to have a young representation there. So, there weren't really any roles associated with it before I came in. And I set things in stone for the future in a way because, besides being Queen, I am still on the committee and go to the monthly meetings we have. I also am one of the fundraising chairs. So, I work with Antonia to find sponsors for our events.

I try to get the word out. I am the person who runs our social media, our Facebook and Instagram. I am also a co-director of the court. I am super involved, and I will stay involved. And especially with next year being the 90th year, it's really a huge year for us. 

 

What does Madonna del Lume mean to you personally?

People always talk about how Madonna de Luma shone the light down on the fishermen to help bring them back home. The Madonna can mean so many different things, but for those from fishing families, that's the most heartfelt part. Part of the reason some people come is because of the fishermen who never made it back. I grew up hearing my mom's stories. She was 11, so you know what's happening at that age, but you don't at the same time. I remember her talking about how, in the case of my grandfather, he was just going to show his friend and his friend's son how to do his line of work on a new boat. He was a drag fisherman. 

A swell just came, and it was too big for the boat they had. The Coast Guard searched 24/7 for two weeks, and then, after those two weeks, they called it off.

It was hard. My grandmother was a stay-at-home mom, and she was a widow at 32. She had to not only take care of her children but also compose herself in a way after losing the love of her life.  

Our organization is super-small compared to Porticello's. The entire procession is huge and so focused on the Madonna. I think our organization finds a way to do both.

There are many ways to pray to the Madonna because she is the Mother of Light. It's not just about fishermen returning to shore. It's also about when there's so much darkness in your world, and you need a beacon of light or that light at the end of the tunnel mindset. She is that.

A woman from one of the families associated with our organization went through several miscarriages, and a family member prayed to the Madonna. After they started praying to the Madonna, she got pregnant and was able to conceive and carry to full-term a child. 

I know it means so many different things for so many different families. That's something that's great about the organization: It could mean so many different things, but we all find our way back to the light at the end of the tunnel, in a way.

 

Can you share a special memory from a past Festa?

Next month is going to be 50 years since my grandfather was lost at sea. I actually had a wreath made in honor of him and surprised my mom with that. And she absolutely had no clue. 

For the past month, we have been running around doing a bunch of different things to get ready for this Festa. She kept saying this year, "I need to get a wreath made. I need to get flowers. I need to do this. I need to do that. I need to do all these things."

Because I'm in Reno, I flew on Thursday night and had Thursday and Friday, and then the Festa was on Saturday and Sunday. So there wasn't really a lot of time to get flowers or make a wreath. I remembered someone I know, a beginner florist, and I asked her. She had never done a wreath before, and she was like, "I can try, but I've only done bouquets." And I was like, "Anything is better than nothing at this point."

So we worked together, and it turned out amazing. My friend Gracie came in on Saturday to spend the day with us, and I was like, "Hey, on your way to my house, can you pick up this wreath I had made from my mom? It's a surprise."

I knew my mom was so stressed and worked up. On Friday night, she said, "I never got flowers. I never got a wreath made." And she was really upset about it. 

Then my mom walked into the living room Saturday morning, right before we were about to leave, and she saw the wreath and said, "Wait."

She turned to my friend and said, "Did you make this?" 

Gracie said, "No, Brianna had it made. I just picked it up." My mom started bawling. 

Obviously, you don't want to make your mom cry, but in a way, I think the rush of emotions just hit her. 

There were also a lot of overflowing emotions just because this is something I've always wanted. Being Queen of this organization, representing this organization, and representing my family have always been very important to me. 

Usually, they have the outgoing queen crown the incoming queen. But last year, because they found out my family's history and that my mom had recently just finished radiation for breast cancer and had missed the year prior, they asked my mom, "Do you want to crown Brianna?"

There's a picture of her crowning me in Saints Peter and Paul's Church. Those are two memories that I'll definitely always have.

 

What do you hope to share with the broader community?

Even though everything is about being Sicilian and Italian, we are inclusive of everything else. I will also say that even though we love our traditions and keep to them as much as possible, it's so great to see us expanding. And I know that next year, being the 90th year, it's going to be our biggest year yet.

We've already talked to different organizations about creating an entire gallery for next year. It is going to be really exciting to share all the past photos and commemorate the fact that this has been happening for 90 years. We've always been a smaller organization, and it comes together. We love our traditions, but we also love creating new traditions.

 

 

 

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Restauranteur's daughter and former restaurant owner Suzanne Lo Coco doesn't recommend people get into the restaurant business.

 

"You need a lot of raw talent, and you need to be willing to put in all that time and hard work and long hours and miss weddings and parties and everything else and have your hands burned several times over and still work through a shift," she says. 

 

She's done all that and then some, having run the popular La Fornaretta in Pasadena, California, for nearly ten years before new landlords purchased her lease in order to repurpose the building. She also watched her father's challenging rise from immigrant to successful owner of Lo Coco restaurants. 

 

Still, despite their mother's misgivings, Suzanne's sons, Gian Luca and Gilberto Di Lorenzo, have carried on the tradition at La Fornaretta in Newcastle, California. And Gian Luca has invited Suzanne to join him in a new pasta-making venture he's started with her brother Frank.  

 

"I feel very complimented that they asked me to do that," Suzanne says. 

 

There will undoubtedly be more stories to tell for this Washington resident, who recently published the deliciously entertaining memoir Secret Dough. Drawing from the wit and wisdom of her late father, Giovanni Lo Coco, Suzanne shares her journey to self-discovery flavored with Sicilian traditions, relationship drama, and humorous stories. She's even thrown in a handful of recipes to savor between page turns. 

 

Suzanne is what we call a paesana. Giovanni came to the U.S. from Porticello, Sicily, the same village as my grandparents, and Suzanne has returned often.

 

We sat down for an entertaining chat about Porticello, the book's namesake dough, her writing inspiration, balancing personal and professional life, her favorite Giovanni aphorisms, and what she hopes readers will take away.   

 

 

What are your memories of Porticello?

The first time I went there, I was a baby. My parents drove across the United States and took the Michelangelo ship to Napoli and then to Sicily. They were there for two months, and I have absolutely no recollection of this trip whatsoever.

 

When I was 10, I returned with my dad for two weeks. When we got on the plane and took Alitalia from San Francisco to Rome and then Rome Palermo, he ordered me my own bottle of Asti spumante as soon as the plane lifted off the ground.

 

And he says, "This is an Italian plane, and now you are in Italy. The air… It's not America anymore. The air doesn't belong to anybody. Now we are on an Italian plane, so we are in Italy. You can drink with your papà."

 

The flight attendant didn't even bat an eye. He brought me my flute and bottle, and I drank that whole thing. Then, I crashed for several hours.
 

Every day when we were in Sicily, we'd drive from Palermo to Porticello and hang out. And everything is kind of mind-blowing to an 11-year-old who has only ever been in America, and all of a sudden, you're in Sicily.

 

I remember that at that time, there were a lot fewer cars and less traffic. And there were still women laying out those giant pieces of plywood propped up on sawhorses used to make tomato paste.

 

I remember swimming in the sea with my dad every day and him diving for ricci, sea urchins. I couldn't believe how long he could stay underwater! His cousins made pasta con ricci with his catch.

 

I remember going to the open fish markets—those giant swordfish on display made such an impression on me. Every town had its own frutta e verdura guy and fresh fish stand. And then, just randomly, there's this popup with a very round man under the tent tossing fresh octopus into these giant vats of boiling water with lemon halves bobbing around on the top. There are no women, just men at the counter that is set up with beautifully painted ceramic plates, lemon wedges and salt shakers. They are all spouting off in Sicilian, yelling and talking all at the same time while eating their octopus.

 

My dad stuffed things in my mouth throughout that whole trip. He stuffed a piece of octopus in my mouth, and I was horrified. They cut into the brains and that brown mushy stuff… Oh my God! I just remember swallowing it whole.

 

I remember the first time I had pane e panelle, and then I had to have it every day. I just loved the arancini and eating ice cream every day.
 

So, for me, when the plane lands in Rome… Sure, you're in Italy, and you're excited. But when the plane flies into Palermo, I feel like I'm at home. It really does pull on your heartstrings to go there, to be there—the sights, the smells.

 

After my dad retired, he spent half the year in Sicily. He happened to be there when he passed away, so we buried him there. Now, when I go to Sicily, I feel like I am visiting him. I'm so happy that he introduced us to this magical island and that it is part of our lives.

 

Tell us about your family. When and why did they leave Porticello for California?

My grandfather Gaetano Lo Coco was a professor of philosophy, but he was also, I guess, very instrumental in local politics and trying to advocate for the fishermen. His father was a fisherman. 

 
My grandfather used to own the land where Solunto is. It was full of olive and citrus orchards, climbing up the mountain behind Porticello. He was not a businessman or materialistic in any way—he was a true philosopher. 

 

Before selling the land, my dad's dream was to build a pizzeria and nightclub at the top of the mountain. My grandfather did not support this idea, which was very upsetting to him. For this reason, he decided to leave for America to pursue his dream of owning his own business. Funny—eventually, someone opened a pizzeria atop that mountain and became very successful!

 

When my father left, he ended up living with cousins for a couple of months in San Francisco's North Beach, where he had to teach himself English. He worked three jobs, seven days a week, both lunch and dinner shifts at various Fisherman's Wharf restaurants.

 

He met my mother about a year after he came to the States. They ended up getting married very quickly and starting a family. Shortly after they married, his cousin Domenic, whom he had lived with, recommended, "Giovanni, if you could come up with a really great pizza recipe, you will be very successful." 

 

Domenic planted the seed in his head: "I need to come up with a pizza recipe."

 

After a visit to Jackson, California my dad fell in love with the town, as it reminded him of scenes from old Western movies he had grown up with. So they moved there and opened their first pizzeria. That's where his secret dough recipe was born.

 

Let's talk about the significance of that dough; it's what you named your memoir.

So, there is a whole chapter on that in the book.

 

My parents divorced in 1977, maybe '78. Afterward, a gentleman named Eugene deChristopher came into the restaurant. He had been eating Lo Coco's Pizza in Marin County. He actually first approached my uncles, and they sent him over to my dad. So, he came into the restaurant in Pleasant Hill.

 

So Eugene comes to the restaurant and tells my dad, "This is a great product, and I think we can do something with it. Have you ever thought about marketing it like this or that?"

 

Initially, my dad thought, "Well, maybe we should open up franchises."

 

At the time, you had places like Pizza Hut and Shakey's and this and that. But still, if you go in and order a pizza, it's going to take some time. You can't get a pizza at the same time as a hamburger, right?

 

But my dad thought we could cut some of this production time in half by having a crust that's already half-baked and ready to be topped. He came up with this idea to speed up the pizza process.

 

He originally thought, "We'll start with universities and make all these really small, self-serve pizzerias."

 

The idea evolved from there.

 

Then Eugene said, "Well, we could package it. And then what about selling it in grocery stores?"

 

They created a company that was originally called PizzAmore.

 

Meanwhile, they are still in the developing phase, coming up with packaging ideas and reaching out to different companies for meetings. Eugene is sending in his son all the time, who hangs out at the pizza counter and watches night after night. One night, he was watching my dad make pizza and asked, "I don't understand, Giovanni; how do you get those bubbles on the crust?"

 

My dad, with his thick accent, responded, "That's the boboli—the cheese—it melts on the crust and makes the boboli."

 

The Boboli chapter of my book illustrates the "origins" of the pizza shell and the partnership between my father and Eugene. The company has since sold many times, and we wish them well.

 

What inspired you to write your memoir?

I was in my first marriage, and we were going through a very rocky time. Someone gave me Ruth Reichl's book Comfort Me with Apples, and it really inspired me.

 

I thought, "I have stories like this!"

 

So, I started writing, having been inspired by her books and also just as an outlet. And I always enjoyed writing.

 

I always enjoyed creative writing classes and writing term papers in school. I enjoyed the whole process of crafting a good story. Growing up in the restaurant business, one is naturally groomed to become a storyteller.

 

I interviewed my dad a lot when I started that process over twenty years ago. But this book is not that book. I did finish that. Many years later, I went back to school, and with all the required writing and reading, I sharpened my skills.

 

A couple of instructors had pulled me aside and said, "Do you do a lot of writing? I have to tell you, it's really a pleasure reading your papers."

 

I went back to school at 42 years old. I had an AA degree, but it still took me four years to get my BA.

 
I was raising kids and working, so I couldn't take a full load. I'd take three or four classes at a time.

 

Two years into school, I divorced but continued working at the restaurant until I got my degree. A few months before graduation, I met and started dating Stuart, who I eventually married. After we married, we moved to Tahoe and bought these two little houses. We lived in one of them, and I rented the other on Airbnb. Early on, one of my first guests was Cheryl Angelina Koehler, from the Bay Area, who was the publisher, editor, and designer for Edible East Bay Magazine.

 

Having had many false starts on writing a book, now that I had the time, I once again started dabbling in writing. I held so many stories in my head. I said, "I really want to do this."

 

So when Cheryl checked in, my mind went immediately to" I've got to meet this lady!"

 

But something about having her land on my doorstep ignited this hope and excitement within me.

 

I thought, "Somehow, this lady is going to help me in this process, to get this going, and to get this moving in the right direction."

 

I was dying to say something to her, but I didn't know how to approach the subject of my writing. Finally, just as they were checking out, she asked, "Can we meet your dogs?"

 

We got into this conversation, and I asked Cheryl, "You're from the East Bay. Well, do you go to Lo Coco's?"

 

We got into this discussion about Lo Coco's and then into a discussion about my dad. When I get into Giovanni Lo Coco's stories, I become very animated. I mean, there are so many good stories. He really was such a unique character.

 

She says, "That is pretty incredible. You should really write down some of these stories. Just start writing. I would love to help you. You can send me what you have, and I'll read it over."

 
I couldn't believe my good fortune. Of all the places in Tahoe she could have rented, this was the one. It was a sign! I needed to finally write and try to publish my memoir.

 
It took me months. I wrote about four chapters and then sat on them for months. I didn't have the nerve to send them to her, and I didn't think they'd be good enough.

 

Finally, my husband was like, "You've got to send this to her. Just send them. What do you have to lose?"

 

I sent her what I had, and she encouraged me to keep going. I continued sending bits and pieces and then decided to hold off until I finished the book. 

 

After three years, I forwarded her the final chapters, and she said, "Oh my God, you finished!"

 

That really excited her, and she went through it. Then suddenly, our process and our relationship shifted, and it really turned into a writer-editor relationship.

 

Tell us about your book's cover.

Well, as you can see on the cover of the book I sent Cheryl, I wanted to incorporate a lot of these articles. It was her brilliant idea to plaster them all over the book in a collage-type way. That basically makes up the cover. And then I wanted to include an "I like Lo Coco's Pizza" pin on there.

Whenever my father's restaurant was written up, they always wanted a photograph of our Lo Coco's special, which was pepperoni, artichoke heart, green onion, and anchovy, because it was such a pretty pizza—just aesthetically, it's just the colors.

So, I said it has to be the Lo Coco special on the front. So, last spring, I went into my boys' restaurant and made a pizza. My husband, who is actually a professional photographer, took the picture of the pizza.

There are many old family photos peppered throughout the book. They help tell the story.

 

You sprinkled pearls of wisdom from your father throughout the book. Can you share a couple?

Each chapter starts with something that my father used to tell me, using sayings or dictums instead of telling you straight what you need to do, like "You always leave the taste of honey in the mouth," meaning don't burn bridges.

 

Or "Be stupid inside and smart outside." My dad was of the philosophy that the world was out to get you, so you need to stick together.

 

How do you balance life's personal and professional aspects in your storytelling?

When I knew this book was complete and we were going to launch, I was overcome with a panic I did not expect to have when I started this process. It had been a pipe dream for so long, and now it was really happening. I was second-guessing myself. Maybe it's not good enough; maybe people will hate it; maybe my family will be upset.

 

This book is so different from my first few attempts. I was sort of all over the place—mingling dad stories with my own stories. After reviewing some of my work, my sister commented, "I don't hear your voice." She asked, "Is this about Dad, or is this about you?"

 

I didn't have much confidence in telling my story. I never even thought about that. But then I thought, well, actually, there is a lot to say and a lot to tell.

 

I didn't write the book to bash anybody, and I don't bash anyone. But sometimes, people, including myself, are not shown in a good light because if you're writing a memoir, you can't just talk about the good things; that's not realistic. Life is messy.

 

What do you hope that people take away from reading your book?

Well, I hope it humors and entertains people, and I hope it's relatable. I hope it reminds people to treat themselves with more kindness and forgiveness. We all have dark periods in our lives; we make mistakes. I strived to be very authentic and offer readers an intimate glimpse into the life of a Sicilian-American restaurant family. I introduced intriguing, fun characters, like my immigrant dad and my ex-husband.

 

There are so many misunderstandings about Sicily and Sicilians, and I hope this book helps Americans gain more appreciation for this place and its people whom I love so dearly. Finally, I hope that Secret Dough inspires people. As illustrated in the book, one can walk through a lot of crap and still come out smelling like a rose.

 

I hope it makes people laugh and feel many emotions. It's just a good, fun read.  

 

>>Get Secret Dough here!<<

 

 

 

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Antonio Bertone arrives at our interview wearing a sweatshirt that reads, "Boxed Wine Is Not a Crime." He hopes this slogan will stick and help people choose more sustainable boxed beverages like his Alileo Wines. 

Cofounded by Antonio and his wife, Alexandra Drane, the Boston-based boxed natural wine company produces award-winning West Coast Sicilian varietals in partnership with Bertone's family in Sicily and imports them to the United States, where they are distributed in Massachusetts, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Texas. 

Antonio shared what inspired Alileo's creation, what makes his wines unique, and why boxed wine.

 

 

What is your background?

My father emigrated from Molise, and my mom emigrated from Partanna, Sicily. When I was in the second grade, my parents decided to move us back. My sister and I were born here in the United States. 

My mom was very homesick. She was the only one from her family that left and came to America. My dad's entire family ultimately ended up in the States. 

So, we moved back, and I did my second to fourth grades of elementary school in Sicily and all my summers. Then, after my dad passed, my mom kind of moved back for half the year, so she would do June to December in Sicily and then December to June back in the U.S. That went on for 30 years until she passed. 

 

What inspired Alileo's creation?

We were in COVID lockdown, and my mom was battling cancer. I think she felt this fear or sadness that once she passed, the connection to Sicily would start to degrade or disappear because I'm the last one left in America, representing the Sicilian side. 

So, my wife and I started talking about starting a wine company with our cousin Rosario, a winemaker in Sicily. 

Over the years, we have always joked about it at the dinner table and about how nice it would be. We all enjoyed those conversations in the kitchen. My kids got into it; they were like, "That could be so cool."

We came up with the name and the product's USP. We started it, kicked into making-things mode, and worked with some designer friends in London to design the packaging. We started getting ready for the first shipment, and then my mom passed. The first shipment, our first 40-foot container, actually arrived on her birthday the following year. So it was pretty magical that the wine has this eternal connection to her. 

 

What's been your goal with Alileo Wines?

For our wine, we wanted to make a low-intervention, natural wine. We wanted to make something that didn't have junk in it and sugar and all the crap that gives you headaches. And we wanted to bring a younger audience into wine.

 

Wine is as old as time. The simpler the wine-making, the better, in my opinion.  

 

Your wine is low-sulfite. Why is that important?

You're dealing with a low-intervention wine, which has a greatly reduced amount of sulfites in the wine. The grapes themselves produce a certain amount of sulfites, and for you to get some sort of shelf life, you have to work with some form of SO2. So we keep ours at the bare minimum, which is around 55 parts per million. The standard natural wine is 150 parts per million. Commercial wines are in the four hundreds and five hundreds, which sometimes causes people headaches and some of the negative side effects of wine. 

 

Why did you choose to box your wines?

I come from a consumer products background. As a marketeer, I'm better against the grain than I am with the grain. Sustainability is a key discussion to get a younger audience interested. 

Sicily's on fire right now; it's still 40 degrees Celsius daily. So it's important to put your money where your mouth is and act in a more sustainable or responsible manner. 

In my previous careers, I always drove toward a more sustainable point of view. In our product creation, our ambition is to be a B Corp, and the box in and of itself is way more functional. Once you open a box, the wine's still good for 30 to 45 days. Transport costs are a fraction. Think about the overall energy it takes to make a glass bottle rather than just a cardboard box and a bladder. 

People are like, "Boxed wine?" The rest of the world is fine with the format. It's just in America and weird days at college, slamming Franzia that has forever created this stigma. So we're here to change it.

 

How does your wine compare to other Sicilian wines?

I think my cousin has a special gift. When you hear about natural wines, people start to think funky and weird. And no knock to the really experimental winemakers, but we're making a commercial product. We're using grapes that are synonymous with our side of the island. 

Our most popular wine is zibibbo macerato, a skin-contact wine made out of a grape that's usually used to make dessert wine. Our zibibbo is very dry tasting and drinks super lovely, all because of Rosario and his skills. 

I come from farmers. My mom's side of the family were all grape and olive farmers. My dad was a farmer before he came to America. He had livestock. He had sheep, horses, and cows. So we ate incredibly well. Even though we had no money, we never knew that we didn't have any money. Because we basically produced all the things that we consumed. So to make something that's as simple but delicious and has its own profile and point of view, I think suits us. 

 

What are your future plans?

We launched boxed water as well. We were doing a lot of popups, and it was interesting to find the format. Single-use plastic, under a certain measurement, is being banned in a lot of communities around the oceans.

Right now, we're in five states. Funny enough, we don't sell in Italy. Next year, we will start selling in six European countries. 

We're trying to grow and occupy a place in the wine retail channel that serves good food. We really want to have a good connection to good cuisine.  

 

What experience do you hope people have with your wines?

I hope they're enjoying themselves, eating something nice, and having a nice conversation. That's the overall goal: bringing people together. 

 

 

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