The Sicilians I've known can be divided into two categories: those who
are intensely proud of being Sicilian and those who prefer to distance themselves
from that fact. It's easy to tell the two apart at the stove. The individuals
of the first group expound at length on the virtues of the local cuisine,
holding veritible seminars on "territory cuisine", while those
of the second group incorporate local ingredients into a more international
style of cuisine with a cosmopolitan flair. It's definitly worthwhile to
get to know them both.
Imagine the charm of an ancient tuna-fishing village, the fishermen's tiny
houses contrasting with the residences of the local noblean's castle. Imagine the excitement at being invited to lunch at the home of Baron Pietro
Bruno di Belmonte, respectfully referred to as Don Pietro by friends, one
of the few Sicilian members of the Accademia Italiana de la Cucina. I don't
mean to brag, but I swear to you that walking into the village of Capo Passero,
not far from Noto and Modica, is like walking into a scene of Visconti's
"The Leopard".
The baron's speciality is Mousse di Tonno alla Bruno di Belmonte. The "Last of the Leopards" nobly gives the impression
of not being able to break an egg. To compensate for this shortcoming,
there are the servants. The baron is the brains behind it all, supervising
the preparation of the mousse, making sure only locally caught and processed
tuna is used. The true secret of the dish is, however, the Burgio.
In Sicily, in search of a wine unique on the face of the Earth.
The Burgio renders the baron's mousse absolutely inimitable, in spite of
the recipe I have extorted from him. This red wine is a product of the family vineyards, one that the baron has never considered marketing. A nobleman's luxury. Don Pietro possesses a bottle of vintage 1885; a red 110-years delightful strong liqueurous wine, which I watch being wasted on the kitchen. We common mortals can make do with a vintage Marsala, even though the mere mention of it makes the baron grimace.
A change of scene: Seen from a distance, Modica is magic. Its picture-postcard charm appears to be a fissure of light in the side of the mountain. Seen from within, it is a labyrinth, a thousand stairways leading the way in a never-ending series of ups and downs. We're searching for the Trattoria delle Torri, (via Nativo 30-32. Modica, ph: 0932-751286 Closed Mon.), recommended by don Pietro "since we are determined to acquaint ourselves with the popular cuisine."
The chef/anthropologist from Modica
"Have you got a table?"
"First you ought to ask me what kind of food I serve."
A man cut on the style of the ancient Greeks, a tiny man of few words, extends this rather severe welcome. He is Beppe Marone, speaks only when spoken to, but lights up when given the chance to explain about how "any given people can be read by its cuisine". No fancy mousse here but instead a tasty fennel salad with bottarga and oranges and home-style swordfish medallions.
Sensing an interest in Sicilian cultural history, Beppe produces "impanatiglie": sweets made of pastry filled with chocolate, beef, dried figs, jam and almonds. He explains that they were born out of neccessity to provide conserved food for nobles travelling around their immense country estates.
Once you get him going, this anthropologist-turned-chef will unlock the gates to Sicily' s inland regions.
We return to Capo Passero complete enthusiasts. Don Pietro greets us with a real treat!
He produces a small book of parchment pages hand-written by one of his great-uncles which is full of curious
details regarding Sicilian cuisine. For instance, did you know that "Pasta alla Norma" is called
that because a musician once claimed it contained all the harmony of Bellini's opera? Well, I didn't, and what a coincidence Bellini
was pure Sicilian, from Catania.
