AUNTIE PASTA: Pucker Up

Picking lemons on the Amalfi Coast

SARONNO, Italy - It’s summer in Saronno. There is plenty of sunshine and the trees in park cool the soft breezes that pass through my apartment windows and balconies. Life is easy. On my kitchen table there’s a big basket stacked with lemons that I bought at the market this week. Some are smooth, bright yellow ovals, the picture perfect type from Sicily, while others are twice as big and knobby with thick mottled yellow skins typical of the lemons from the Amalfi Coast. They are called Sfusato Almafitano.

The origin of lemon cultivation on the Amalfi Coast has been lost in the annals of time, but most certainly lemons were one of the treasures of the Republic of Amalfi before the year 1,000. In its heyday the Republic traded textiles and precious stones with the countries of the Middle East, and it has been verified that one of the things they imported were small, yellow fruits called lemoncello de India. The local farmers began to cross pollinate the lemoncello de India with the bitter oranges that grew in the area. Over time, centuries actually, this cross pollination resulted in the Sfusato of Amalfi sitting in the basket on my kitchen table today.

The Italians believe whole heartily in the health benefits of lemons. In addition to being a rich source of vitamin C, they believe fresh lemons help combat stress, stimulate the immune system and are a cure for the common cold. They may be right.

The Amalfi Coast

The Sfusati grow on the steep terraced hills along the Tyrrhenaian Sea from Positano to Vietri sul Mare, a territory of no more than 700 acres. With their exceptional aroma and flavor, they are widely used in the local cuisine. The house specialties at Ristorante Donna Rosa in Positano include an antipasto of raw artichokes with lemon, caramelle of fresh pasta filled with lobster and lemon, and ravioli with lemon and ricotta.

And it’s not just the lemon juice and pulp that is used. At Albergo Ristorante Bacco in Furore, they still follow the ancient tradition of cooking food in lemon leaves. Some of the dishes they offer are grilled smoked provola wrapped in lemon leaves, rabbit roasted in lemon leaves and home-made tagliolini in lemon sauce. But other than being a principle ingredient in the kitchen, Sfusato Almafitano are the basis of that delicious, sweet liqueur, limoncello that is enjoyed after dinner during the warm summer months.

Ravello, on the Amalfi Coast

In surfing the web this morning I found this video of Miami chef John DiRicco making limoncello in his kitchen. I liked his straight forward approach and thought you might like it too. My only point of contention with Chef DiRicco is that here in Italy small glasses of limoncello are sipped and savored after dinner, not thrown back as he does on the video but, to each his own.

http://www.savory.tv/2009/04/08/chef-video-recipe-limoncello/

LIMONCELLO

12-16 lemons, preferably organic and unwaxed

1 bottle Everclear alcohol (or good grade vodka)

1 bottle of water (use the Everclear bottle)

1-1 ½ cups sugar

It takes about 30 to 45 minutes to do the initial preparation (mainly peeling the lemons and shaving out the bitter white pith.) You can also do the prep work gradually, doing two lemons at a time and tossing them in the alcohol, until all of the lemons are done. The peels should ferment a minimum of three weeks.The more of the white lemon pith that you leave, the more bitter the limoncello will taste.

The type of sugar affects the color of the limoncello. For John’s “limoncello naturale,” use a darker raw cane sugar.

If you can’t get a hold of Everclear, you can use ½ Grey Goose vodka and ½ Absolut. For a poor man’s version, strain cheaper vodka though your Brita pitcher 3 or 4 times.

Store your limoncello in the freezer.

It should be completely liquid. If it’s slushy, you used too much water.

And here’s a recipe for Lemon Risotto with Sautéed Shrimp I found at: cooksrecipes.com

Lemon Risotto with Shrimp

LEMON RISOTTO WITH SAUTEED SHRIMP

1/4 cup, divided use2 tablespoons olive oil

1/4 cup finely chopped onion

1 tablespoon freshly grated lemon peel

1 1/2 cups uncooked Arborio rice or other short-grain white rice

4 cups warm water

2 tablespoons dry white wine

1 tablespoon lemon juice

3 teaspoons vegetable base or instant bouillon granules

1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese

8 ounces medium raw shrimp, peeled and deveined

1 teaspoon finely chopped garlic

1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 teaspoon grated lemon peel

1. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in medium saucepan. Add oil, onion and lemon peel; cook for 2 to 3 minutes or until tender. Stir in rice; cook for 1 minute. Stir in water, wine, lemon juice, bouillon and pepper. Cover; cook gently over medium-low heat for 30 to 35 minutes. Stir in cheese; stirring occasionally.
2. Melt remaining butter in medium skillet. Cook shrimp over medium-high heat for 3 to 4 minutes or until pink. Serve shrimp over risotto; sprinkle with Gremolata.
3. For Gremolata: Combine 1 teaspoon finely chopped garlic,
4. 1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh parsley and 1 teaspoon grated lemon peel in small bowl.

Makes 4 servings.

Buon appetito.

AUNTIE PASTA - Festa Siciliana

SARONNO, ITALY - There was a Sicilian festa in Saronno last weekend. For some reason I never seem to know when these special events are going to happen, although by the number of people who were in town that day, it was obvious I was in the minority. It was just by chance that I went into the center to pick up a few things from the soap store and found the Via Roma lined with colorful stands selling everything Sicilian from bread and olive oil to wine, arancine and oranges to brightly painted ceramics and Sicilian puppets.

At the beginning of Via Roma, up near the pink church of San Francesco, a bandstand had been set up and a group of young kids were singing their little hearts out. It’s moments like these, when I find myself unexpectedly caught up in the essence of this Italian life, that I am the happiest. 

It was obvious that the delight I felt turning the corner and finding Sicily was being felt by everyone on the street. There is no denying it, there really is something special about Sicily, something in the intensity of the colors that flash hot and cold against the blue sea, the blue sky and the green trees. Yellow lemons, blush tinged blood oranges, pale green prickly pears called fichi d’India, deep purple eggplant, passionately red tomatoes and chili peppers all play their part in the Sicilian kaleidoscope of flavors and love. Sapore and Amore. And it was not lost on the Saronnese. 

The crowd was at the bread stand. Stacked up on one side were the largest loaves of bread I had ever seen in my life. They were, without exaggeration, five feet long and two feet wide. I would have liked to have seen the oven they came out of. Next to the giants lay torpedo shaped regular size breads made with olives that had been schiacciato, or crushed, and stacked next to them were regular loaves of bread studded with whole green olives. 

I ended up buying two large hunks of the big bread and half a loaf of the whole olive bread. How could I not? They were still warm from the oven. When I got home I saw that the girl who waited on me had ripped off the crustier pointed end of the olive bread, giving me only the tender middle. That was nice of her. 

The arancine at the next stand caught my eye, but I resisted. Arancine and I go back a long way, back to the days when I was in Rome studying Italian and having a hard time adjusting to the rhythm of Roman life. The problem was by the time I got back to the center of Rome where I lived from the Via Nomentana where the language school was, the banks were closed. Dare I say it was before ATM’s were introduced to Italy? That wouldn’t happen for another ten years. As a result I was chronically short of money, which greatly affected my eating habits. Per fortuna there were a couple of bars in my neighborhood where I could pick up a panino or an arancine or two. 

Arancine are rice balls that are stuffed with meat, flavored with saffron, coated with a light, crispy batter and deep fried. The recipe for arancine, along with the art of deep frying food and pastries, was brought to Sicily in the tenth century by the Arabs when the Kalbid ruled the island. Their Italian name comes from the word for orange - arancia, which are typical of western Sicily. The ones I saw yesterday were conical, which indicates they were made by people from eastern Sicily, specifically from the area around Catania. 

I walked down a little further and found a stand selling olives. There were cracked green olives with flecks of hot red pepper, whole green olives, shriveled up black olives shiny with oil and regular black olives. Above the stand the owner had hung half a dozen or so Sicilian puppets. I’m not sure if they were for sale or just decoration.

Another stand was selling Sicilian sweets. Lots of cannoli and honey and nut filled pastries called mustazzola, fried pastries called pignuccata and those delicate rice finger cookies known as zippuli were being sold next to mounds of pale cream colored torrone studded with almonds.

It was all so beautiful to see. For one mad moment I wanted to be Dorothy and start singing somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high, there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby. After a week of heavy cloud cover and unseasonably cold weather it was as if the skies had opened up and a little piece of heaven had come down to give us gray soaked Northerners a little reminder of what wonderfulness lies less than an hour (by plane) south of us. Sicily.


Photos: (1) Ceramic plate with symbol of Sicily, the Trinacria; (2) stand loaves of bread about half the size as those I found in Saronno; (3) Arrancini; (4) tray of cannoli.