Tidbits, Musings and Stories from the Table
Here is a collection of calammites and charmming moments that give an insight into the Italian culture and its culinatry traditions.

Ventracina da Vasto
I once heard one person say to another, with a final thrust of the verbal sword as their discussion over ingredients and preparation of a local specialty became more heated, "what do you know about food! You come from….... ! "

Ventracina, the pear-shaped salami that the Vasto region is famous for, had recently won a prestigious national award for its excellence. One Saturday morning, as Kersti and I were leaving the Santa Chiara Market, we met an acquaintance that asked us what we had bought. We told him that we bought some Ventracina salami, mentioning its recent national award. He brushed his forehead with the gnarled fingers of someone who was used to hard work, and exclaimed, "MANNAGGIA!"  and said in the no-nonsense way that Italians sometimes have when talking about food, “that award was a very unfortunate mistake. It was given to Vasto by people who know "niente" nothing, about good salami. NOW in my village, we make real Ventracina!"

Renowned as the nobility of Italian salami, the best Ventracina is made in the hill villages outside of Vasto, in the foot of the high mountains of the Maiella massive, where it has been prepared traditionally for hundreds of years. Regarding Ventracina salami, where centuries of experience speak for itself, a native of the medieval Apennine hill villages of Guilmi and Caruncio will scoff at the notion that anyone else knows the proper way of making Ventracina.

Today in these Abruzzo villages, the slaughter of the pigs is still done by local butchers, who cut the best meat from the thigh, shoulder and loin and mix it with chunks of fat from the belly. The meat and fat are mixed with salt, sweet or hot pepper and fennel seeds. It’s then pressed into pig’s bladders that are washed in water mixed with vinegar and salt. When they are stuffed with the meat mixture, the bladders give the sausage its characteristic shape. They are then double tied, coated with lard and hung to ferment and mature for at least three months, ideally in a room heated by an open hearth. As our acquaintance said, “this is real ventracina.” 

Thoughts on Wine: Swirl, Sniff, Sip and Slurp
Wine should symbolize the enjoyment and companionship of a meal, not how accurately you can describe its flavor.  To put the Italian’s casual and knowledgeable attitude to wine in its proper perspective, a friend tells the story of stepping off the school bus after a morning at kindergarten and running up the alley to their apartment. When she saw her mother waiting on the balcony, she cried out, “Mama I’m thirsty!  Vino e aqua!”

Italy is a country where wine is a beverage that accompanies every meal and is expected to be good. I’ve never heard a discussion of the nuances of a wine that was served at the table. If it was exceptional, or came from a friend, the only comment might be “buona,” good. I smile when I read all the influencer articles with recommendations about what to drink and what vintages are in fashion, because they're neither reliable nor relatable to individual tastes.

Besides recognizing wine’s basic chemical components, the question arises, is wine tasting a fact driven science based on data and evidence or a subjective experience influenced by assumptions, opinions and biases? Everyone’s palate is different. Just as important as taste is learning and understanding other cultures. It's learning about geography and climate. It's about learning history, and learning and appreciating the food that it is served with.

One aspect of the discussions about the subtleties of fine wines is an implied boast that says, “I have the financial means that permit me to buy expensive wines.” The obsession with wine and its exclusiveness can be seen as a class marker, as though by spending enough you can buy sophistication. To some it might seem much classier to drink expensive wine with its overtones of the luxury and refinement of chateaus, and aristocratic, dusty wine cellars, rather than other alcoholic drinks, that hint of noisy pubs and rowdy bars.

Wine tasting is always a subject of contention; is it a science, or a subjective analysis? I asked a knowledgeable friend to taste a wine that I brought for a dinner that we were eating together. He sniffed it, sipped it, swirled it around in his glass to aerate it, then held it up to the light to judge its color. He took another small sip, rolled it around against the roof of his mouth, and took a short breath through his nose. I waited for his opinion. Surprisingly, instead of the expected initiated and knowledgeable evaluation of tannin, aroma, balance, body and finish, he asked, “How much did it cost?” It was a modestly priced local red wine, and when I told him what I paid, his only comment was, “It is an excellent wine.”

My host didn’t have a need to sound sophisticated. Like many men of his generation, his grandfather, according to family tradition, placed a drop of wine on his tongue while he was still an infant implying, “this drop is as important as the holy water that the priest will anoint you with at baptism.”

His advice was, “judge the wine by what you enjoy and its basic components. Everyone’s palate and expectations are different,” he explained. “If you like it, it is good.”  A lesson: the price is not always related to quality.

However, one useful aspect of understanding and appreciating wine is knowing how to pair the qualities of a specific type, with the food that it is being served, enhancing both. Drink your wine without pretense. More than anything else, it should symbolize the enjoyment and companionship of a meal, not how accurately you can describe its flavor.

Prosecco in the Maternity Ward
There always seems to be something new to discover about Italian cultural traditions and etiquette. A baby is a gift to everyone.

I’ve always been in awe of the festive way that Italians observed birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, and the plethora of Saint’s days, holydays and holidays that dot their calendar. I found out, that even a maternity ward could be a place for a celebration, and that the focus on family, friends, and food was written into the Italian DNA.

I was in for a surprise one evening when we came to the hospital to visit a friend who had just given birth. It was the first time we had done so in Italy, and we were expecting there to be a subdued calm, with only a few other visitors. But this was Southern Italy and not Sweden, and instead of being greeted by a nurse at the reception desk, urging us to put on shoe guards and sanitary robes over our street clothes, we were ushered into a brightly lit room with a folding table laden with snacks and cold cuts set along one wall. A lively gathering of well-wishers and relatives were enjoying the food while saluting the newborn and his tired mother, who I’m sure, just wanted to sleep. 

A Wine for the Moment

Ai Scalzi literally translated from Italian means “barefoot,” and is the name of a trattoria overlooking Canal Grande in Venice.  I sat at a table under its awning and jotted down a story about shoes that was inspired by its name and some childhood memories. I was resting my tired feet after a long morning of sightseeing and had slipped out of mine.

The waiter, who a half hour before, had served me cappuccino, saw my note pad, smiled, and asked me what I was writing, and said that, “I was remembering my childhood and musing about shoes.” Explaining the restaurant’s name, he said, “Ai Scalzi is the right place to think about shoes,” and added, with a subtlety that I couldn’t interpret, “shoes are like a window to the heart” as though I was at an ashram meditating, and not a Venetian restaurant sipping a cappuccino.

“May I bring you something else” he offered, and added with Italian grace, “Now that it is almost noon, perhaps you would like Prosecco?”  Who would say no to viewing the canal life of Venice over the rim of a chilled flute of its famous sparkling wine.  I was enjoying a moment in the sun without shoes, and Prosecco is a wine for the moment.

Ask for a Recipe But Don’t Expect a Quick Answer
Discussing a recipe or the food that was served was often a vortex that pulled in everyone.

Not long ago, I was at the table with friends eating a first course of “cachio e uovo,” egg, bread and Peccorino cheese rolled into balls and cooked and served in a light tomato sauce. Always curious, and wanting to learn, I asked about the consistency of the bread that was used in the mixture. After a lively half hour  discussion with contradicting opinions, my friends couldn't reach a consensus as to which bread to use, let alone how coarse or fine it should be grated which proved my point that recipes were like family heirlooms, and differed not only from region to region, or village to village, but from family to family.

Cheese and Fish?
Nothing should overwhelm the fish!  And nothing can mitigate the cultural blunder of destroying the delicate taste of freshly caught fish with cheese.

Most Italian recipes are deceptively simple, and a decent cook may bend the culinary rules a little, but should be careful about blatantly breaking any of them, or being too creative. As we navigated through the lavish array of courses one evening and came to the primi piatti, the first course, consisting of a delicate “pasta al triglie e zucchini,” pasta with mullet and squash, I was curious about what gave the sauce it’s silky consistency and asked, “was there parmesan in the recipe." The person alongside me said, "NO, NO, NO," as though it might have been forbidden to mix cheese and fish by some well-known national edict. "A cook never mixes fish and cheese,” she said. “Cheese will destroy the delicate flavor of the fish.”  I accepted her opinion, without argument.

I knew the rule. Cheese overpowers the delicate, subtle, taste of the sea, and in the case of fish, “mare and terra” are not blended. But trusting my palate, I thought that despite tradition, my host might have quietly stretched the rules a little.

Campanilismo – Local Pride
There is a pronounced local loyalty and pride among Vasto’s residents. They consider themselves, firstly, Vastese, secondly, Abruzzese, and thirdly Italians, in that order.

On my travels through Italy, I’ve learned that the way in which food is prepared is regional and that there is an immense pride in the local cuisine. It doesn’t matter where you come from, you regard your village or town as having the best meats, or cheese, hams, oil, wine or bread.  Italian cooks have a tendency to believe that the way they prepare food is the right way and are often critical of recipes from another region or town” There is a term for that loyalty, campanilismo, (campanile = bell) that symbolizes pride in the place of your birth. Roughly translated the expression means, comradery that comes from going to the same church, or living within hearing distance of its bell.

Everyone is an Expert
Italy is a country where even the weather is described in culinary terms.  A friend said, “There is a little snow today, like a sprinkling of parmesan over the pasta.”

Don't be surprised if you find dog food that is pressed into the shape of penne rigate, or when a taxi driver, while making normal small talk, gives you a lecture on the evils of overcooking pasta, or which prosciutto was best, or which regions had the best oils and cheeses. Everyone seemed to be an expert on food and how it should be eaten, and they revealed their knowledge willingly. When you meet a friend or acquaintance, they can talk as readily about one of their recent culinary experiences as the weather.  However, I’ve found that discussing food is a subject where no one agrees, and where no one answer is the right one.  Not only do recipes differ from region to region, and village to village, but from family to family. 

Balsamico di Modena
Good food and good stories follow each other.

We ate and chatted, warmed by the fire in the stone hearth and by the wine. Franco reminded us that the risotto we were eating, was a dish from his home region Reggio Emilia in Northern Italy, where the best risotto rice was grown. If you are from Emilia Romagna, you take its gastronomic delicacies seriously.

To spark the conversation, he implied among this group of Southern Italians, that nowhere in Italy, meaning the civilized culinary world, could the food equal that of his native Modena, and the towns and villages of the Po River valley. He gave as an example balsamic vinegar, one of Modena's many delicacies that has deep roots in the gastronomic tradition of the region.

He described the first distillation when the juice from choice grapes is concentrated. Then he elaborated on the annual transfer of the must, painstakingly filled into smaller sized casks of oak or acacia as it was reduced over the years and the decades, due to the slow dissipation of vapors through the pores of the wood. The "acetaia" as it is called, is aged not as you might imagine, in a sheltered and regulated wine cellar, but in the attic under the eaves exposed to the changing temperatures of the seasons. As the volume of the liquid decreases, its density and fragrance increase until it reaches puberty after twelve years and can legally be titled “tradizionale,” but sixteen years of aging is preferable, and after twenty-five years it is darkly thick and syrupy, superbly mature, and can be titled “extra vecchio”.  "You don't rush balsamico" he said.

Once, as a parting gift on our way home, Franco handed me a small bottle of balsamic vinegar from his family’s production that had been aged for several decades. With the wink of someone who might have had balsam vinegar coursing through his veins instead of blood, he admonished, “ be careful this balsamico is worth more than your airline ticket.”

Tortellini - Modena or Bologna?
Pasta is the heart of the Italian culinary culture, and tortellini is the heart of the pasta culture in Emilia-Romagna.

We were going to be ten or twelve for dinner that evening and sat around the table, preparing the ingredients that eventually would fill a thousand small tortellini. Gianna who has filled and twisted tortellini, the pasta delicacy from Emilia Romagna, since she was a young girl sitting alongside her mother, said to me as she was rolling out the pasta, "Francis, your job will be to cut the squares. Before it was my father’s job, and you like him, understand that a millimeter is a millimeter."  As we sat and worked, Franco, Gianna’s husband, related the legend of tortellini’s origin.

Both Bologna and Modena, claimed to be the home of tortellini, one of the best-known pasta dishes from the region of Emilia Romagna. They couldn’t decide which village it originated in, so as a compromise, unusual as it may be concerning Italian food, they decided that it came from a village between the two towns.  The story is that a beautiful woman, legend has it that it was the renowned Lucrezia Borgia, took a room in the local inn, and as she was dusty and tired after her travels, asked the innkeeper to warm water and draw a bath. After he filled the tub, he closed the door and smitten by her beauty, peeped through the keyhole to watch her undress, but all he could see was her navel. Disappointed at not getting a better view, he went down to the kitchen to continue cooking her dinner. Enchanted by his beautiful guest, he rolled out his pasta dough, filled it and began forming it.  When he looked down at his work, he saw that his fingers had lived a life of their own, and had made replicas of the woman’s navel, the only part of her that was visible through the keyhole.

Cannoli Siciliani
Cannoli is the iconic Sicilian desert known all over the world. But regarding food, everything has a season.

After a day of climbing with friends through the dusty and sometimes dangerous lava fields to reach the main crater of Mt. Etna, we stopped on the way down for refreshments at the snack bar at its base. The sweet, ricotta filled cannoli lined up in a neat row in the chilled display looked tempting. My companion Franco asked the barista how they were, as we were leaving Sicily the next day and hadn’t eaten any of the island’s specialties. This would be an impertinent question in any other place, but quite a normal one in Italy, and especially Sicily. The man answered cordially. “You have asked me, and I must honestly say that I cannot recommend them.” He explained why. "Eating cannoli in the middle of the summer would be a disappointment. Cannoli should be eaten in the spring, he told us, when the sheep are grazing on the newly sprouted grass, and their milk is sweet and rich and makes the best ricotta." While explaining, he began scooping up “granita” the fruit flavored ice that is loved by all Sicilians and said, “it would be my pleasure to treat you to our “granita instead.” It is excellent and is more suited to this warm weather.”

Cappuccino at One O'clock? Or, The Customer Isn't Always Right
What does good coffee need? It has to be made with the correct amount of water, brewed at the right temperature, and made from properly roasted beans of good quality. In the Sicilian town of Corleone, it is just as important to serve the right kind of coffee at the right time of day.

An Italian would never order milky, sweet cappuccino after eleven o’clock, but that deadline wasn’t carved in stone, and in some places, there could be exceptions for tourists who didn’t know any better. But I was in Corleone, in the heart of Sicily, where the inhabitants obviously took their coffee drinking very seriously, and where the threshold for breaking that rule was low. Unspoken rules are a thorny maze for a traveler, and some cultural lessons are learned empirically, that is to say, the hard way. When I ordered a cappuccino at two o’clock in the heat of the Sicilian afternoon, the barista’s facial expression wasn’t one of tolerant understanding for the idiosyncrasies of tourists, or did he take the time to patiently explain to me that civilized people drink spritzers or light beverages after 11 o’clock. Instead, he rolled his eyes and put his forefinger, middle finger and thumb to his head in imitation of a pistol. His eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw tightened when he snarled, “Cappuccino, NOW?” I quickly apologized remembering that this was Corleone where tempers had a reputation for being short. With self-preservation in mind, I didn't need a further explanation and quickly decided that I’d like a lemon soda.

Parmesan in the Soup? 

Unaware of the nuances of correct restaurant etiquette, I asked a waiter once for some grated cheese to sprinkle in the steaming soup he had just brought to the table.  When he said "Assolutamente no" without apology, I asked why. He could have said something snide about tourists or foreigners, or explained some basic culinary rules, but instead, he arched his impressive eyebrows, and said, "the cook will kill me!"  Of course, there was the possibility that he was exaggerating, even if crimes of passion were seen in a different light in the Mediterranean countries, but I got the message.

If my soup was supposed to be showered with parmesan, my knowledgeable waiter would have put it out on the table, or in this upscale restaurant, he would have grated it directly into my bowl. If he didn’t, I realized after that, it was best not to ask for it, the reason being that Parmesan or Pecorino would not enhance the other ingredients, but rather, detract from them. My soup was considered to be already seasoned properly, and not in need of improvement. In the eyes of the chef, I was either destroying his preparation, or insulting him by suggesting that the dish that was in front of me needed cheese to improve its flavor.

 Is it Fresh?
The hidden gems are just that, they are hidden.

I went out often with my friends to excellent restaurants in the hill villages or in town, small, intimate places, that didn’t need to call attention to themselves with glossy facades, kitschy décor or advertising. These gems were often hidden behind an unremarkable exterior with no indication that it was a restaurant other than perhaps, a discreet sign and a recommendation from Guide D’Italia over the door.

As often as not, there wasn’t a fixed menu. While the waiter poured Prosecco, the cook might come out and exchange pleasantries with us. He would describe each course that he was serving that day and what he recommended. If fish was on the menu, he gave an account of what were in the nets that morning.

On one occasion, I unintentionally wandered into one of those thorny, culinary briar patches, when I asked the chef, who was explaining what he was serving, how fresh the fish was. Before I finished my question, I regretted my mistake. Eating what came fresh from the sea was part of Vasto’s traditional cuisine, and my friends would never take me to a restaurant that served any other kind of seafood. Instead of considering my question an impertinence, and being offended like a temperamental perfectionist might be, he slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose, and replied with a smile, “if the fish is not flopping around when it comes into the kitchen, it is not fresh.”

Carciofi from Cuppello
Whether you consider the artichoke a vegetable or a flower, it is undisputed for its versatility. In the spring when it is in season, it is an inseparable part of the culinary tradition of Vasto and the surrounding villages.

Every town across Italy has its own regional dishes that represent the very best of local produce and recipes. Try to find out what they are in the region or town that you are visiting. Ask what is in season, and where it is served. 

Regardless of the season, I am always amazed when I travel, whether it’s to a large city or a mountain village, when I stumble upon a festival honoring the region’s produce or delicacies. There always seems to be an event or holiday to celebrate them, or often, the specialties themselves are reason enough to celebrate.

Cuppello is a village a few kilometers inland from Vasto, whose fertile fields are famous for their prized artichokes. The local growers harvest and sell over three million every year throughout Italy, and every April the town’s chamber of commerce celebrate their produce with a festival that fills the streets with both residents and visitors. When artichokes are in season, you can eat pasta with carciofi ragu as well as one of the most popular local dishes, artichokes stuffed with a mix of cheese and eggs, carciofi ripiene. Local restaurants serve soup with artichokes and beans, and in the street stalls during the festival, you can find artichokes in omelets, grilled, boiled, baked or in lasagna or another soup, zuppa di cardo, made from the stems. (Harvest Season – March to April)

Sepino, Roman Ruins and a Memorable Lunch
A good meal will hopefully not only fill your stomach, but give you an experience to look back on with satisfaction. 

We called ourselves “Amici di Ambrosia,” Friends of Ambrosia for a reason. Besides the common ground of our politics and philosophical similarities, we all had a love of food and cooking. We might take a Sunday outing together to a distant mountain village for no other reason than to eat “arrosticini” lamb kebab there, because it was the best in Italy, or travel an hour or two, to a town because the wine or cheese there was exceptional.

I reminded one of the Amici of a trip that we had made together a few years before to Sepino, a Roman archeological site in the mountains on the historical “traturro”, that was one of the ancient trails used for the migration of sheep to their summer pastures. She had difficulty in recalling the day, until I reminded her, that it was there we ate a magnificent “tagliatelli al tartufo" tagliatelli with truffles, and then the memories flooded. The ruins of the ancient settlement were a marvel, but our lunch in the local trattoria, more so.

Sepino is an archaeological site in the province of Molise near the town of Campo Basso. It was once a thriving Roman meeting place on the traturro (sheep migration trail) and its stone paved streets, the foundations and walls of its buildings, majestic gates, masonry work and amphitheater are all well preserved.

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Full Service - A Gas Station Italian Style
Most countries have some really good food, but you won’t find it at a gas station.

It was on an autostrada in the Apennines that I learned how Italians ate when they were on the road, and that they were discerning diners even when they were eating at a rest stop.

Was the Auto Grill we stopped at a gas station, grocery store, or a restaurant? It proved to be all of them. Inside was a microcosm of Italy living up to its reputation as being culinarily obsessed. Lined up along the walls and in the aisles were racks of wine, beer, bottles of olive oil, pasta in all shapes and forms, salamis, sausages, prosciutto crudo, cotto and other salumi, oval balls of provolone, wheels of Parmesano Reggiano, other diverse cheeses, jars of preserved fruits, pickled artichokes, coffee, limoncello, cantucci, amoretti, chocolate, nuts, candy, toys, stuffed animals and electronic paraphernalia.  This ordinary road stop was a composite of an Italian deli, enoteca, souvenir shop, café, and restaurant. And yes, there were also a dozen gas and diesel pumps outside.

Even at a road stop on a mountain highway in Italy, you could always expect to get an acceptable meal. It didn’t matter where or when. In the restaurant, we met travelers standing at the counter taking a hurried cup of coffee and passed a pizzaiolo as he was taking out a newly baked pizza from the oven. We   walked past stacks of freshly made panini with melodious names like Bufalino, Rusticella, and Reginella.

That day the restaurant was serving gnocchi al pomodoro, lasagna, and two different types of pasta with sauce, several vegetable dishes, and if you were tempted, you could choose a chop or steak for grilling from a chilled display. Of course, this was Italy, where if you wanted, wine was served with your meal.

While I was deciding whether or not to take one or both pasta dishes, maybe even a bit of lasagna too, because it looked so good, the woman in front of me who was deliberating with the server about the details of the pasta marinara that was on the menu, asked the cook to come out and show her the brand of pasta they were using before she placed her order.  This was Italy.

Memories 

Pino had been diving for vongole all morning and had brought up three or four kilos, enough for the ten people who were coming for dinner that evening. I came early and was in the kitchen drinking Prosecco and watching Lucia as she steamed them, asking questions, and taking a few from the pot as we talked.  As I ate, their mild taste and smooth, delicate, texture reminded me of the sea that they had come from and my thoughts, maybe with some help from the wine, drifted back to my childhood. I was back gathering shellfish at low tide with my father. I remembered wading through the shallow water and digging my toes into the sand and mud feeling for clams or looking for the little spurt that shot up where the receding tide left the bottom exposed, signaling that there was a longneck buried a few inches below. We took the choicest cherry stones, as the small clams are called, opened them and ate them directly with only sea water as a condiment. We sorted the others after size, clams for stuffing, grilling, steaming and eating on the half shell, and when we returned home, there would be clams for dinner.

Volare

The most well-known Italian song is undoubtably the worldwide hit, “Nel Blu di Pinto di Blu” or “Volare” as it is commonly called. Once while visiting Venice, I heard a gondolier sing a clever remake of it. With a touch of humor, using Italian words that any tourist could recognize, he sang: “spaghetti-oh-oh, lasagna-oh-oh-oh, mozzarella, mortadella, fromaggio, oh-oh,” and so on.  His rich tenor reverberated over the canals, against the walls, and through the stone lined passages, and everyone who heard his verses had a good laugh. Most Italian glossaries had a whole section that was dedicated to the explanation of the most common foods, so he could have sung an opera using their names and never have to repeat himself.