AUNTIE PASTA; Easy Sicilian Fish Dish

CHIAVARI, Italy – It’s been a busy week with little time to cook. After having used a PC for about 20 years, I have just changed over to a MAC which is good but it has meant spending a lot of time trying to figure things out. 

 Fish Market in Sicily

Fortunately I found some PC classes on the internet that answered most of my questions, like how do you copy and paste on a MAC. Elementary for sure, but when you don’t know, you don’t know. As it turns out it is pretty much the same process as on a PC, now if I could figure out where or what the delete command is - oh well, by the end of the week i should be a MAC Pro pro and be able to get back to my life.

With no time to shop, let along cook, I decided to raid the freezer and take out  a fish dish, an old Sicilian recipe that I had prepared a couple of weeks ago. Then I boiled some rice and abracadabra! lunch was ready.

Cherry Tomatoes

Freezing the fish didn’t alter its texture at all, which is what I was afraid of since the fish was frozen to start with. You can use any white fish for this recipe, which is super simple and practically fool proof. I use codfish because I like it, especially for this recipe which needs a fish you can taste through the tomato sauce. This recipe feeds two people, for four people, just double it.

One trick I learned from a cook down in Tuscany was to pre-cook onions in the microwave until they are soft.  You have to add a little water to them, unlike other vegetables i.e. broccoli or carrots, because onions don’t contain water and they will burn.  I don’t know if there is a real name for this recipe, but I call it Sicilian Fish in Tomato Sauce.

Tomato Sauce

Sicilian Fish in Tomato Sauce

2 frozen codfish filets

1 can of peeled cherry tomatoes (or any type of peeled canned tomatoes)

¼ cup (more or less) water

1 clove of garlic (peeled and crushed)

1 onion, roughly chopped and partially cooked in microwave

1 teaspoon of capers (in brine)

1 teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon of oregano or marjoram

In a frying pan, sauté the onions and garlic until the onions are completely cooked. If the garlic turns brown, discard it, and turn the heat under the frying pan down. Add the can of tomatoes, juice and all, and the water. You can also add a little dry white wine instead of the water if you want. The fish will not complain. 

Let the tomatoes cook for a few minutes, about 5 minutes, and then add the frozen fish. They do not have to be defrosted. Cover the frying pan and let it all cook until the fish is soft. Add the capers and the oregano and let cook for another 5 minutes or so until the fish is thoroughly cooked. 

At this point you can turn off the heat and let it sit until you are ready to eat. Actually the longer it sits the better it is, even overnight is not too long – in the refrigerator of course. Just let it cool to room temperature before you put it in the refrigerator.

Serve hot over rice or cous cous, spaghetti or curly pasta, I think even mashed potatoes would work. 

This is a recipe my mother used to make, but instead of adding capers she added raisins and it was just as delicious. If you don’t have capers and you do have raisins, you might want to try her version.

LIFE: Cefalu', The Lore and the Lure

 

Cefalu', Sicily

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL day in November when I stepped off the train in Cefalu’. Pots of petunias and geraniums were growing on every window sill and balcony, and the palm trees that shaded the train station were so perfect they looked like they were made of marzipan. The sun was shining, it was calm, it was peaceful. People were strolling by, they smiled. I knew I was a long way from home.

I had always heard that Sicilian time was different from Milan time. Now I know it’s true. My 550 mile flight from Milan to Palermo took one hour and forty-five minutes. The 45 mile train ride along Sicily’s northern coast from Palermo to Cefalu’ took a little less than an hour. Getting to my hotel from the Cefalu’ train station, a distance of about 10 blocks, took longer than the train ride. 

It was my fault. I made the mistake of arriving at lunch time expecting to find a taxi at the train station. But after waiting for almost half an hour I began to wonder if they even had taxis in Cefalu’ and so I went into the bar to ask. My answer from the offended bar owner was a gruff “of course.”  But when another twenty minutes passed and there was still no taxi in sight, I called my hotel and asked if they could send someone to fetch me. Subito, they said.

A wide, paved sea walk passes in front of my hotel. It is lined with wooden benches that are shaded from the sun by palm trees and massive bushes of flowering bougainvillea. If I turn right and walk for 10 minutes I will be in the center of Cefalu’. If I turn to the left and walk for as far as I can see, I will disappear into the side of a mountain. It is a glorious day, the sea view is breathtaking, all is forgiven. I turn right.

 

 Cefalu, Sicily

Cefalu’, with a population of about 14,000, is built in the shadow of a colossal rock cliff. Thousands of years ago there was a Sicanian settlement on that rock cliff, and it is from them that Sicily gets its name. When the Greeks arrived in the 8^th century BC, they called the island Trinakria (triangle), and for them it was the land of opportunity, a place where a man could make his fortune. Their Little America.

Apparently it was everyone’s Little America, for in its 3,000 year history Sicily was invaded and dominated by the Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Greeks, Romans, Goths, Saracen Arabs, Normans, Swabians, Angevins, (whose rule sparked the War of the Sicilian Vespers), the French and the Spanish.  Some of them more than once. In turn, each conquering power did its best to erase all signs of the civilization before it, and for the most part they were successful. But some traces have survived, and along with them colorful legends like this one: 

In the 12^th century, when the Normans ruled this land, King Roger II encountered a terrible storm at sea as he sailed from Naples back to Sicily. Fearing for his life, he vowed to build a Cathedral wherever he landed. That turned out to be the fishing village of Cefalu’. By his order construction of the Cathedral began in 1131. Little did he know that in less than a hundred years, the Normans would be defeated by the Swabians and lose control of Sicily. There are parts of that legend that are true. The Cathedral was started in 1131 and the Swabian Hohenstaufen dynasty did come into power in 1194. As for the rest, who knows.

 

 Piazza Duomo, Cefalu, Sicily

Today tall palm trees flank wide stone steps that lead to the door of the majestic Cathedral that King Roger ordered to be built. The front of the Cathedral is like a scene set for a Verdi opera, a spectacular theatrical entrance created long before Verdi was born. In front of the door there is a wide terrace called a “turniali”, and the guide books say that space was once used as a cemetery. The guide books also say the cemetery was created from soil brought from Jerusalem which contained a substance that caused the rapid mummification of corpses. Is it another legend?  No idea. All I know is my feel feet funny when I stand on it, but then again it could just be my imagination.

In front of a nearby café-bakery a group of tourists are milling around the outdoor tables trying to decide whether or not they want to sit down. They’re not quite sure where they are or why they are here, but they like it. Sicily is a tough tour they tell me, too much history, too many curlicued buildings, too many crumbling sites; it all kind of runs together after a while. And everything is too baroquely complicated. Even the food. Yesterday they were served an eggplant, olive, caper and celery salad and pasta with sardines and ferny green things. It’s not like any Italian food they have ever seen before. And don’t I think the ricotta stuffed, chocolate dipped pistachio sprinkled cherry topped puffy pastries in the café are a bit much?

Then they spot a young guy dressed in well worn jeans and a baseball cap, leaning against a crumbling wall selling freshly caught squid from a small wooden box strapped to the back of his motor bike. With a hand rolled cigarette clamped between his thin lips he looks like he’s auditioning for a Fellini movie. 

How is it the police allow this, the tourists want to know. Doesn’t the town have a Department of Health and Hygiene? I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know. He seems pretty relaxed so I have to think he does this all the time.  And then, out of nowhere, the sweet fragrance of oregano and tomatoes floats by on a sudden breeze. Someone somewhere nearby is making pizza. In that instant I’m five years old again and back in my grandmother’s kitchen. I leave the tourists to their tour and follow my nose and my memories. 

As I walk along Corso Ruggero, the town’s main shopping street, a group of kids are going into the Teatro dell’Opera dei Pupi. I go in too. I love Sicilian puppet shows. The puppeteers are the last of the old story tellers and singers who once roamed the streets of Sicily recounting the tales of hard fought battles between the Arabs and the Christians during the Middle Ages. The stories they tell are highly idealistic accounts of chivalry, honor, justice, faith and love. And it amazes me, in this age of iPods, game boys and fast moving television cartoons, how still the kids sit with their eyes wide and mouths open as they watch Norman knights lift papier mache swords to do battle against the Saracen Arabs. 

 The Mighty Christian Soldiers

The story the puppet masters recreate is how the Normans conquered Sicily in 1061. What they don’t tell is what a sophisticated civilization the Normans found, and how they sought to imitate the Arabic architecture, government structure, literature, and especially the food. Many of the ingredients for the meal the tourist were talking about were brought here by the Saracen Arabs, including eggplants, artichokes, pistachios, sugar cane, lemons and oranges, saffron and the flaky shells for the over-the- top pastries in the bakery. Even the oregano perfuming the pizza that drew me away from them was brought here by the Arabs.

Back on the street after the puppet show, the seductive lure of the Baroque architecture teases with its excesses, making me want to know more. While Sicilian Baroque does include many of the Baroque characteristics found in Italy and other European countries, it is also different in the use of grimacing masks and adorable grinning putti, all created with a grandiosity not found anywhere else. But who did all this? Who bent and teased those bars of iron into the decorative, elaborate balustrades? Who decided if 10 grinning and grimacing faces were enough, or should it be 20?

I’m slowly coming to the realization that for me there can never be enough Sicily. It’s the real Siren calling to me to surrender, give up Milan and move south. Johann Wolfgang Goethe once wrote that without Sicily, Italy leaves no image on the soul, Sicily is the key to everything. And at this moment, as I stand and look around, I couldn’t agree more.

There are many things to see in Cefalù, historic sites, all neatly listed, categorized and rated by level of interest in any travel book worth its salt. But it’s not the sites of Cefalù that I remember but the feeling of the place, the quick smiles and conversations with shop keepers eager to exchange impressions and share stories. It’s difficult not to feel the weight of the centuries of history and tradition that surround me. Understanding it however, could take a lifetime.

AUNTIE PASTA: Lovely Lasagna

CHIAVARI, Italy – For my entire life, at least up until the time I moved to Italy, I thought lasagna was large, flat noodles, meatballs or sausage or both, ricotta cheese, rosy red tomato sauce and parmesan cheese all stacked in layers and baked in the oven. Then I moved to Liguria and found that lasagna can be something entirely different.  In Liguria it is still made of large flat noodles but it isn’t red, it’s green, and there isn’t a smigen of ricotta cheese or meat in it.

 Lovely Liguria

But that was only the beginning.  As time went on, not only did I discover green lasagna, but I discovered there was lasagna that wasn’t even called lasagna even though there was no doubt that’s exactly what it is.  It seems every area in Italy had a variation on the lasagna theme and their own special name for it. 

For example, in the nearby region of Marche and in some areas of Umbria they make lasagna not with meatballs or sausage, but with chicken livers, sweetbreads, bone marrow, calf brain, beef or truffles and sometimes Marsala wine. And even though technically it is lasagna, they don’t call it lasagna they  call it vincisgrassi.  In Emilia, more specifically the city of Bologna, they make the type of lasagna I’m most familiar with, and it’s just called lasagna. They don’t put ricotta cheese in it though, just a layer of white sauce called béchamel.

 

 La Marche's Vincisgrassi

But sometimes, even if a dish is called lasagna, it would be difficult to pick it out of a lasagna line-up. Take ‘white’ lasagna for example. There are over 215 variations of ‘white’ lasagna including lasagna with zucchini and béchamel sauce, lasagna with ricotta, lasagna with ricotta, pesto and spinach and lasagna with artichokes and cheese and lasagna with eggplant and artichokes. 215 variations! It’s enough to make you want to reach for the phone and order a pizza.

It isn’t until you get down south in Campagna and Sicily that lasagna starts to look like the lasagna I grew up with, well almost. It’s true that there is no béchamel in the pasticcio di lasagna in southern Italy and fresh ricotta cheese is in, but then they take it one step further and add hard-boiled eggs, semi-hard cheeses like provolone and vegetables and stuff which throws my recipe for a loop. 

 Spinach and Ricotta White Lasagna

In ancient Rome, 100 years before Christ was born, there was a dish that was kind of like lasagna, called Lasana or lasanum which come from the Greek word “laganon” and means large, flat sheets of dough cut into strips.  The Romans cooked their lasana with vegetables and cheese.  It took a few centuries for some unknown someone to realize the advantage of creating layers of pasta and putting stuff between them.  Apparently that happened sometime around the year 1300.

I would be derelict in my duty if I didn’t tell you that there some historians claim the Romans got the recipe from the Etruscans. What does seem to be true is that the pasta the Etruscans and Roman’s ate was not like the pasta we know today.  The Roman lasagna may have looked different and tasted different but it was made from the same wheat flour we use unlike the Etruscan version which was made from spelt, an ancient type of wheat also known as dinkel wheat, or hulled wheat.

Not only that but there seems to be some truth to the story that it was the Arabs who were making pasta and eating it long before the Etruscans, Romans or Italians came on the scene. They even invented ‘dried’ pasta, which is what we all buy today and to prove it there is proof of this in a cookbook entitled  "Ibn 'to Mibrad" written in the year 800. There is also a recipe in that ninth century cookbook for ‘rista’ or noodles seasoned with cooked lentils, which is exactly what I’m making for lunch today. But as usual, I digress so let me get back to lasagna.

 Lasagna alla Genovese

Time has moved on and today lasagna has become a symbol of Italian cuisine in the world. Today’s recipe is – I can’t say my favorite because the truth is I like almost all of the versions, but let’s say it’s one of my favorites, lasagna al pesto all Genovese. I chose this recipe because it isn’t as well known as many of the others, it’s easy and if you like pesto I think you’ll like it.

Lasagna with Pesto alla Genovese

Serves 4

1 lb lasagna noodles, cooked

Pesto

Béchamel sauce

Approx. 1 cup grated parmesan cheese

Salt and pepper Q.B.

Olive oil to grease baking pan

Cook the lasagna a few at a time, in boiling salted water for no more than 2 minutes each. Remove them from the boiling water with a slotted spoon and lay them to dry on clean cloth, being careful not to overlap the strips.

Prepare a classic béchamel with butter, flour and warm milk, and add a sprinkle of nutmeg and salt when its cooked. Let cool slightly, the stir in pesto. You can make it half pesto half béchamel but personally I think it’s better if there is just slightly more béchamel.

Heat oven to 190 degrees C/375 degrees F. Lightly grease a 25/35 cm/ 9 x 13 inch baking pan and spread a little béchamel and pesto mix on the bottom. Then alternate layers of lasagna, béchamel/pesto mix and grated parmesan cheese. Finish with a layer of béchamel, top with a few pieces of butter and an even sprinkling of parmesan cheese.

Bake for 30 minutes, let sit out of oven for at least 10 minutes before serving.

Marcella Hazen’s Bechamel Sauce

(about 1 2/3 cups of medium-thick sauce)

 2 cups of milk

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick butter)

¼ teaspoon salt

Sprinkle of nutmeg

Directions

In a medium saucepan, heat the butter over medium-low heat until melted. Add the flour and stir with a wooden spoon until smooth. Over medium heat, cook until the mixture turns a light, golden sandy color, about 2 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the milk in a separate pan until just about to boil. Add the hot milk to the butter mixture ¼ cup at a time, continuously whisking with a wire whisk. When you’ve added ½ cup of milk you can then add the rest and whisk until very smooth. Bring to a slow bubble and cook until the sauce is as dense and thick cream.  Season with salt and nutmeg, and set aside until ready to use.

Note: if you make béchamel ahead of time and refrigerate it, it will firm up. The best way to bring it back to a useable consistency is to slowly warm it in the upper half of a double boiler. If it’s too thick, just thin it out with a little (very little) warm milk until it is the consistency you want.

This recipe was adapted from The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazen (Alfred Knopf New York 1992).