I stayed in from the lake this weekend (on the hottest weekend of the year) for my annual visit to St. Norbert Market.  Was it worth it?  Well the amazing tomatoes that we have sliced thinly onto clubhouse sandwiches or topped with an old balsamic vinegar and chevre, and the tiny cucumbers that we added with fresh mint to our shrimp rice rolls-say yes it was!

I am reminded once again of my favourite read of this spring: Keeping The Feast by Paula Butturini.  I want to share this partial recounting of her visit to her favourite green market vendor:

“On that sunny August morning, Domenico was selling fat round heads of soft Bibb lettuce and wild-looking heads of curly endive.  He had crates of romaine lettuce, whose elongated heads form the base of many salads, and tight little knobs of red radicchio, to add colour.  He had fistfuls of wild arugula, which the Romans call rughetta and use to add a peppery bite to a meal.  He had foot-long bunches of Swiss chard, tiny new shoots of broccoli rabe, bunches of slim scallions.  He had bouquets of zucchini flowers, which Romans stuff with mozzarella and anchovy, dip in a light flour-and-water batter, then deep fry until golden.

He had flat, green broad beans, the kind Romans stew slowly in garlic, onion and tomato.  He had red and white runner beans, which housewives use to fill out a summer vegetable soup, and regular green beans, tiny,  just picked, perfect for blanching and serving with a dribble of olive oil and lemon juice.  Domenico also had the usual array of tomatoes, each with specific uses: tiny cherry tomatoes, so good halved and turned into a Neapolitan-style sauce; meaty, plum tomatoes used for endless tomato-based pasta sauces; salad tomatoes, always slightly green, as the Romans prefer them.  He had Casilino tomatoes too-small, flat, highly creased, with a sunlit, concentrated flavour, favoured by Roman housewives for raw sauces during summer’s worst heat.  He had gigantic beefsteak tomatoes, too, meat for stuffing and baking with rice, potato wedges, oil, and herbs.

That day Domenico was also selling carrots, celery, cucumbers, lemons.  He had skinny frying peppers and fat bell-peppers-red, yellow, and green-which the Romans love to roast and serve with garlic and oil.  He had yellow-and red-skinned potatoes and the tough cow corn that Europeans seem to think people as well as cows can eat.  He hat fat, glossy, black-skinned eggplants, and long narrow white ones with bright markings near the stem.  He had hot red pepperoncini, tiny peppers still on the stalk ready for drying, and several types of zucchini, some a deep dark green, others light and striated, none of them much bigger than an American hot dog, all sweet and free of seeds because of their tiny size. 

He was selling round yellow onions, sweet red onions, and flat white onions.  He had garlic and fennel bulbs, their feathery dark tips a dark, cool green,  He also had eggs, brown-shelled, as the Romans favour them, their shells never quite as clean as a shopper would hope.” 

Kath’s quote: “Farmers are the only indispensable people on the face of the earth.”-Li Zhaoxing

Every once in a while, a book comes into my life that I know will live with me for a very long time.  I had never heard the title or the author until this treasure was gifted to me on Mother’s Day by my son and his wife.

The author, Paula Butturini, is recounting a stretch of time spent in Rome.  The work is non-fiction.  The read restores memories for me of our time in Italy.  I am unable to adequately describe the Italian’s reverence of food although I have attempted it often in this space.  I believe that we are intended (like the Italians and French) to shop daily and then prepare fresh food with urgency.  If this was the case for us in North America I know that our reliance on packaged and processed food would be a thing of the past.  We would enjoy better health and families would once again gather around the dinner table.

The Campo that is mentioned here is the Campo dei Fiori which means “field of flowers”.  It was originally a meadow, then cobble-stoned in the 1430’s.  It was transformed into a public market in 1869. 

This is from Paula’s prologue:

“Morning after morning for an entire year, I walked to the Campo before most people were up.  Noisy, hoking, shouting Rome is almost quiet at that hour, and what began as a simple routine soon took on the trappings of a ritual.  I woke up early, dressed, walked out the door and over to the Campo.  I would buy a shiny, plump purple-black eggplant.  Or a handful of slender green beans, so fresh and young, you could eat them raw.  I bought three golden pears, or a heavy bunch of fat, green grapes.  I bought a few slices of Milanese salami, a bit of veal.  I bought a thin slab of creamy Gorgonzola, to spread on crusty, still-warm bread.  I bought milk, yogurt, butter and eggs, and finally the newspapers.  Then I would head home, stopping in the tiny church of Santa Brigida, which lay halfway between the Campo and our apartment.” 

Kath’s quote:  “When I was alone, I lived on eggplant, the stove top cook’s strongest ally…. “-Laurie Colwin

When I joined the Foodbuzz Blogging Community I had to fill out a foodie profile and I was asked where my favourite restaurant in the entire world was located.  This proves to be a very daunting task whether you are a world traveller or just trying to think back over the thousand of restaurant meals that you’ve likely enjoyed in your lifetime.

After much deliberation I choose Cumpa Cosismo in Ravello Italy.  It is said to have been Jacqueline Onassis’ favourite restaurant when she vacationed in the area which I understand was frequently. 

The cafe is a little off the beaten path, that is to say not off of the main square.  But the reason why it was hard to find is that it is known simply as Nettie’s to the locals, after notorious Chef/owner Netta Butone.  Her traditional recipes are simple and exquisite.  Nettie knows her stuff-she personally brings the laden platters to the table and then you don’t see her again until she presents you with the cheque.  

Every once in a while, I attempt to recreate her anti-pasta which is a selection of local vegetables.  Hers was cauliflower, diced zucchini, swiss chard, peppers, eggplant a bit of soft cheese. 

For mine,  I separately saute or grill a number of favourites in extra virgin olive (use your best stuff here) and one or two in black truffle oil for variety.

For a couple, I’ll add freshly chopped garlic or fresh basil -but just use what you have on hand and keep it very simple. 

A tip I learned about the eggplant, is that after lightly grilling you stack it, so that the steam in the veggie will continue the cooking process.  To serve, I take each eggplant slice and roll it into a tube. The platter can be served hot if you are entertaining at home or cold if you are taking it to a friend’s. 

Kath’s quote:  “I feel a recipe is only a theme, which an intelligent cook can play each time with a variation.”-Madame Benoit
 

Bon apetito!

“You are never alone if you have a good book.” so said by my maternal Grandfather.  The love of reading was passed along to me through my Mom.  I would be embarrassed to bring kids home after school because the house would be a mess and my Mom would be there with her nose in a book.  But now I look back and think-I turned out pretty well in spite of being raised in an untidy house but where would I be without my books?  My habit is so excessive that I have to read library books as I could never support my habit financially or with the space to store them.  I often read two books of fiction a week and have another of non-fiction on the go as well. 

I am just about finished a non-fiction account of a writer raising twin newborns in Rome where he and his wife are on a study grant. “Four Seasons in Rome” by Anthony Doerr combines many of my loves in one tidy packet-the written word, apartments with balconies and green shutters,  BABIES and the most amazing food!

This is his account of shopping for fresh produce:  “The vegetable stand we buy from is isolated in a little convergence of alleys in between the hardware store and the bakery, called Largo Luigi Micelli.  The sisters who run it are stubby-fingered and wear gumboots.  “Buongiorno,” they say, every time we arrive.  “Dimmi.”  Tell me.

Most days a son helps them, eager and grave in his apron, periodically bringing a hand to his upper lip to confirm the existence of his downy mustache.  The three of them educate me in winter produce: one type of cauliflower white as cotton, another purple as dusk; sheaves of young leeks with mud still packed in their roots; basins of squash; tiny, spherical potatoes like miniature moons.  Frost, they say adds flavour to the leaves of kale; winter radicchio should be brushed with oil and grilled on warm coals.  There is fennel, in bright, reedy piles.  Crinkly, soft cabbages.  Mountains of radishes.  There are eggplants in rows and eggplants in heaps; indigo, violet blue, some so purple they are black.

The leeks are bundled like debarked, nascent trees; the red-leaf lettuces are aloof and silent; they burn like torch flames.  Especially in wet weather the market is luminous.: the air slightly smoky, the stalls seemingly huddled together against the chill, the emerald piles of spinach, the orange pyramids of carrots, a dozen tattered umbrellas gleaming with beads of rain. ”

Ah the markets of Italy….. 

Kath’s quote:  “There are two Italies…. The one is the most sublime and lovely contemplation that can be conceived by the imagination of man; the other is the most degraded, disgusting, and odious. What do you think? Young women of rank actually eat — you will never guess what — garlick! Our poor friend Lord Byron is quite corrupted by living among these people, and in fact, is going on in a way not worthy of him.”-Percy Bysshe Shelley in a letter from Naples (1818)

tutto cio serve e amore

PS I finished the book late last night and came upon this:

      “When we eat it is like a poem.  Blown campenalla (ruffled edge pasta) with local sheep’s milk cheese, topped with Parmesan and black truffle fondue; Spoleto-style trengozzi (to call these dumplings is akin to calling a Rolls-Royce a golf cart) with tomatoes, peperoncino, pecorino cheese, and parsley;  the loin of a Valerina piglet in a pecorino, pear and Montefalco red-wine sauce; and a hot, wet chocolate flan smothered with orange cream.  

      We close our eyes; we slide the forks out of our mouth’s.  “It’s ridiculous,” Shauna says.”

On this particular day we were travelling from Sicily up half of the leg of the Italian boot to the Amalfi Coast.  The day started at 5 am with a van ride from the cozy home of our friends in Castellammare Del Golfo to the Palermo train station.  Driving in Palermo is so stressful that I was thinking about a big glass of Chianti by about 6:30 am. 

We had a reservation in a first class car and thought we were set.  Unfortunately another family thought the same and we spent most of the day with people who virtually ignored our existence.  Of course there was the language barrier which was our inadequacy not theirs.  But they held boisterous conversations while we tried to sleep, stretched their legs and leaned on us when they wanted to sleep and passed their shared lunch passed our faces when they wanted to eat.  And they were more accustomed to the heat than we were and thought it was just fine in the confined space without the AC.  But D and I always try to make the best of everything and so we spent the hours staring out the window at the Mediterranean, going for walks up and down the train cars and going up on deck when the train was boarded onto a ferry for the crossing from Messina, Sicily to mainland Italy.  

By 4 in the afternoon we had reached our transfer destination in Salerno- a hectic/crazy seaside town and boarded a bus destined for Amalfi. I mistakenly took a window seat and although the vista is “to die for”, I didn’t particularly want to do so in the middle of our second honeymoon.  The hour long leg was extended because now it was almost the dinner hour and we found ourselves in the midst of Italian rush hour.  Amalfi was even more frenetic and we managed to just barely get onto a jammed bus before departure.  Someone offered me a seat at the back of the bus and D was stuck standing next to the bus driving.  “No worries, it’s only a 20 minute trip” our eyes said to each other.  Minutes later a tremendous thunderstorm rolled in and the bus litterally parked on the mountainside.  Once the torrential rain passed we would surely be on our way- but no. 

I had done my research and knew that it was feast day to celebrate the saint of Prairiano’s home church.  What we didn’t know though was that there is only one road in and out of town and that the road that we were planted on was temporarily closed so that the townspeople could enjoy their procession to the church carrying their saint and the ensuing fireworks.  D tried to converse with the bus driver to determine how far from the town we were because now that 20 minute bus ride had taken and hour and a half.  When we finally arrived in town we determined that we had been one mountain curve away and could have walked it in five minutes.  Ah well, when in Rome…..

By this time we were so frazzled that we glugged the champagne that D had arranged would be chilling in our room and set out to find some supper.  Our first choice was a famous place that was very busy and I was so overheated by the humidity and champagne that I insisted that I would have to sit at one of the tables by an open window.  Because they were set for four and we were only two, we were refused and so we declined.  Well the owner was exasperated with us and made his frustration quite known to the rest of this diners. We had created quite the scene.

Our second choice was close and we knew by our research that they served on their rooftop terrace.  But of course, it was closed due to the storm that had just passed but the lovely owner of La Strada could totally see my distress so she pulled a table next to an open window and brought me my own fan! 

We shared a Quarto Pizza and Fusilli with langostino and asparagus.  The taste of the food was amplified by our day’s events, so to describe it as delicious and satisfying is such a gross understatement.  By the time we wandered back to our hotel for a Limonciello our whole psyche had been tansformed.  We were in an ancient town with views of Positano from our window.  The rain had stopped and stars were making their appearance. 

Kath’s quote: “One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” ~Luciano Pavarotti

The complimentary appetizer served that evening at La Strada-I had come to the right place.

Amore.