My Dear Readers,
It’s been a while. Mama mia.
To tell you the truth, I have a number of posts almost ready, but after writing my little life story, I wasn’t sure where to go from there. Since I have a rather random collection of interests, and a limited amount of wisdom, I don’t want to waste your time with a lack thereof. But, you have cart blanche access to the delete button, so I’ll say my piece, and you can read and enjoy, or not. Deal?
I thought I’d have a go at recapping the wonderful trip to Europe my husband and I took this past summer, and share some recipes. Most of you have followed my travels on Facebook, but good times are worth retelling, no? (And the recipes are definitely worth trying, imho.)
This past September, we spent about two weeks traveling in England, France, Spain and Italy. It was a delightful, magical tease. Not nearly enough time in each place, just enough to make me fall in love and wish for more.
Today I’d like to share my little taste of Italy with you.
As the plane neared Naples, I felt already at ease, the seats full of warm, chatty, animated Italians. A pretty, young gal in French braids beside me tried to converse in her dancing cadence, while I smiled and nodded, (the universal response of the clueless) and tried to tell her “non capisce.” But she kept talking, so I kept smiling and nodding. Stephen made-do quite nicely with his fluent Spanish as he sat beside a friendly gentleman with a broad smile, chiseled features, hazel-brown eyes that twinkled as he spoke, with weathered, expressive hands, so much like my dad. He was a fellow mechanic, with an olive grove on his land in Puglia, -the best place in Italy! in his opinion.
As we waited to disembark, I explained to my fellow passengers in my best, bad Italian, that my Nonna was from Pomegliano de Arco, five miles from Mt. Vesuvius, and that I wanted to see her house and the area where she grew up. They smiled and nodded, all familiar with the area, and with the handmade ravioli I told them she made by the heaps for every special dinner of the year. They seemed pleased that I make it, too, by hand, in honor of the old way.
They chuckled as I told them of the echoing family names, each a flip flop of the previous, Alessandro Dominic the father, Dominic Alessandro son #1, Alessandro Dominic son #2…. Oh yes, that was typical, they said.
An astounding, great fortress greeted us, the Castel de Nuovo. We stared in wonder at the massive, stone walls, and as we walked, we came upon an excavation sight where a sunken Roman ship had been found, they were digging around to preserve it as a museum.
We poked around the noisy city while swooning over some scrumptious gelato, forest berry and chocolate and coffee, finding delightful, under-appreciated troves of ancient artwork in floor mosaics and ceilings before hopping on our boat to cross over to Sorrento.
Sorrento…
Tall, stone houses draped with flowers and vines, with majestic cliffs setting the background, and the deep, teal blue sea splashing the black, rocky coast beneath. The city bustled with traffic and throngs of people. A satiny-red Ferrari with its deep, throaty purr wrapped around me on the artfully-laid stone street, and vanished from view.
We found a restaurant, one of a multitude of pizzerias, but a real gem, a few paces down a corridor into a lush, green, quiet outdoor seating area, where we feasted on perfect pizza with a crispy, crackly, chewy crust, and pasta, aldente, with a light, fresh, lemon cream sauce with clams, still briny from the morning surf and a refreshing white wine, with gracious service and enrapturing views.
Quickly, we ran to the museum of Sorrento Coreale just minutes down the street. I changed into my purple shiny dress, gave my hair a quick brush through, and donned my great-grandma’s pearl bracelet. We hurried to our seats and passed with a smile and nod to the tuxedoed gentlemen waiting in an adjacent room, whom I soon discovered were the Tre Tenores, waiting to step in and fill the night with magic. A piano, violin and cello began with a lovely prelude. One by one, the masters entered, and raised the roof with their amazing voices. Each different, each beautiful. Quiet, soft whispers, of thoughts and dreams and unspoken feelings; deep, soulful cries of passion, love; mournful sorrow and pain.
The ladies’ man, Alessandro Fortunato, offered his hand to a sweet lady in a white dress, danced and twirled with her to the music as she smiled delightedly. On went the music, and a few songs later, he marched down the center isle as he sang, knelt down in front of me, took my hand and sang, then kissed my hand and winked as the audience applauded and chuckled. A fairy-tale moment incarnate.
We had to leave early to catch the last bus to Praiano, but still the night was full of loveliness as we wound around the tight bends, the lights glittering in rows up and up and back and around all the way up the steep hills, like a giant Christmas tree all aglow. We stopped by our little “home” for a few nights, right beside the water, where the moon cast a shimmering, gleaming path down the Tyrhennian Sea.
Our hostess left fresh roses on the table, a bottle of local Limoncello, and a note that wished us a lovely holiday.
The trees, oh my! Lemon, orange, fig, olive, pomegranate… Not to mention cheery little gardens full of ripe tomatoes and mint and squashes. As we walked down the narrow corridor past the small stone homes to the water’s edge, the scent of spaghetti sauce simmering and pasta cooking greeted me from a dozen mama’s kitchens, and misted my eyes over with the wonderful nostalgic squeeze of coming home to supper.
Strange, isn’t it, that a place you’ve never been can feel so like home, because it was, in a way.
We paddled around in a 2-man kayak, taking in the fabulous views of the rocky, blooming coastline, marveled at the “blue grotto”, a gorgeous turquoise with flashing diamonds of sunlight.
After we returned our boat, sun-kissed and hungry, we stopped at a breezy, alfresco bar which served us the most refreshing lemon granita, salty munchies and delicious, local beer in view of the sparkling sea.
In the late evening of the next day, a church just 1/2 a mile down the street, full of candles flickering to a host of saints with flowers and incense and reverberating bells, held a service of some sort, I couldn’t tell what. We passed by, smiling, to families of multi-generations, grandpas and grammas clustered together, moms and dads with little ones, as they sat late into the night, chatting, playing, being together. Ah, the joy of community, where everyone knows everyone and their aunty, and faith and food and friendship are shared through the seasons and generations, binding together the culture and values and whatever is precious to a people for centuries of time.
The last day, we rode the bus through thickly congested streets and around tight curves, the drivers greeting one another as they passed, way too close, shaking their hands and fussing at the traffic blocking them on into Positano, yet another beautiful town, and back again to Sorrento.
I so badly wanted to visit my Great-Grandma’s home, but by the time we got even close it was dark, so I wouldn’t be able to take pictures or even see it well. As we got closer, it was apparent she’d left for good reason and never went back. I’d never seen so much graffiti in all my life, or so much trash on the street (except for third-world countries I’d gone on mission trips to), and the people looked generally sad and hard, as though life were a painful struggle for them, as I know it was for her.
I rather regret not having tried just a little longer, but maybe some day I will try again.
At 16, she boarded a ship in steerage, sailed to Boston, and never again set foot on a boat, and didn’t speak of Italy much. How hard life was, but how much joy and nurturing she gave others. She raised four good children, good produce, and cooked good food, like so many Michelin-star Mamas. She died at age 94 when I was 14, and how I wish I would’ve taken time to hear any stories she was willing to tell, although she wouldn’t tell much.
But I cook. I recreate that edible love, those homey memories I cherish from my childhood, with flour and eggs, worked and kneaded into silky smooth sheets of pasta with my large, strong hands, like hers, while I hum and sing the old songs, “O Sole Mio”, “Come Back to Sorrento”, and “Funiculi Funicula”.
I brown pork, beef, sausage, onions and garlic in olive oil, and add wine and tomatoes and basil and let the sauce simmer for hours and hours, filling the house with ravishing aromas. I call my family and often friends to the table and smile into their eyes, and create a moment in which to make memories. Food is heart and soul, it is the gift of God and land and loving hands. It is what I have to remember the beautiful old country wherever I am.
Here is the recipe for our family’s Neapolitan Meat Sauce. Of course, there are many variations, but this is ours, and it is very similar, (only better, if I may dare say?!) to what I ate in Naples one evening at a very nice, busy restaurant. My Nonna and the great-aunties in Italy taught my mom the process when she was a young bride visiting the old country, too, 38 years ago.
It takes a bit of time, but cooking this is such an aromatic, therapeutic experience, you will enjoy every minute. Put on some Dean Martin, sing along to “That’s Amore!” donn an apron, and breathe it all in.
Not to mention it makes such a huge batch which freezes wonderfully for quick meals thereafter. Enjoy!
Marini Family Spaghetti Sauce
1 small Beef roast (2-3 lbs.)
1 small Pork roast (2-3 lbs., or a couple pork chops)
1 lb. Italian Sausage, hot or sweet or both
1 lb. ground beef
2 onions, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, smashed, peeled and minced
Olive oil (about 1/4 cup)
1/2 Cup red wine
3 28 oz. cans crushed tomatoes
1 28 oz. can tomato puree
1 28 oz. can finely diced tomatoes
1/4 cup tomato paste
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
1/4 cup dried basil
3 bay leaves
2 Tbsp. Salt
2 tsp. freshly ground pepper, or to taste
2 Tbsp. brown sugar or molasses
Put all canned tomatoes into a large pot. (Rinse the cans out with a little water, about 2 cups total, and add to the pot). Add Parmesan, basil, bay leaves, salt and sugar or molasses. Heat on medium heat until simmering.
In large skillet, heat 2 Tbsp. olive oil on medium heat until shimmering and very hot. Brown beef and pork roasts on all sides; remove from pan and add to the pot with tomatoes and seasonings. Add sausage to pan, brown for about 5 minutes, until well colored on two sides. Remove from pan and add to pot. Add 2 more Tbsp. olive oil to skillet, add chopped onions. Saute, stirring frequently, until brown and caramelizing, about 8-9 minutes, then add garlic, saute another 1-2 minutes. Add red wine, let cook 1-2 minutes, until the alcohol evaporates. Season with 1 tsp. salt and fresh ground black pepper. Scrape into tomato pot.
Cover and bring sauce to boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to low, uncover, and let simmer for about 4-5 hours until the roasts are very tender. Turn off heat and let cool. Add a little water if it is too thick, allow to simmer longer if it is too thin. Taste and adjust seasonings. When slightly cooled, remove roasts from sauce, slice thinly to serve.
Mangia! Buon Appetito!