Amate il pane

I found myself thoroughly enjoying the daily walks to the local panetteria in the wee hours of the morning, knowing that in just a few moments I would have fresh, delicious bread to bring home. It is not merely a staple in the Italian household; it is a celebrated and honored food. It is sustenance for the belly and for the heart.

Below is the poem written on the front of the brown paper bag from the panetteria. I've translated it for my English-speaking family and friends.

Amate il pane                   Love bread

Cuore della casa                Heart of the house

Profumo della mensa             Smell of the dining hall

Gioia del focolari              Joy of the home

Onorate il pane                 Honor bread

Gloria dei campi                Glory of the fields

Fragranza della terra           Fragrance of the land

Festa della vita                Feast of life

Rispettate il pane              Respect bread

Sudore della fronte             Sweat of the brow

Orgolglio del lavoro            Pride of work

Poema di sacrificio             Poem of sacrifice

Non sciupate il pane            Don't waste bread

Ricchezza della patria          Richness of the country

Il piu' santo premio            The most blessed prize

Alla fatica umana               Of human effort

Valerie xoxo

A list. Of the Sicilian variety.*

1. V- Today I had the best peach of my life. My tastebuds didn't even know what was happening. Seriously, I wish I could take a picture of the flavor to share with you. Sweet, fresh, juicy- a perfect, beach time snack.

2. V, S, J - "Mmmmm!" This is the basic gist of what we say every evening when we pass a certain field ten minutes outside town. It's a field of wild grass that gives off a scent extremely similar to maple syrup. You can only smell it at night, when the air pressure drops.  If we could find a way to bottle the scent and take it back to NJ, we would. Then we would quit school and set up a stand so that people from all over could come and smell it. Millionaires, we tell you, millionaires.

3. S- My favorite time of day is when the sun is low in the sky and casts its rays over the land. I'd like to sit under an olive tree and witness the passing of time as the sun sinks behind the mountains.

Photo credit: Stephanie

4. V, S, J - We've come to appreciate the stories and mannerisms of several wizened people. Things these people have in common: They are old. And cute. Really, really adorable in the way that they speak (some with gravelly, low voices and others with bursting, strong laughs). These lovely men and women told stories of their lives from the 30s and 40s as they experienced life under Mussolini's regime. Some men wove in tales of working the land, while one woman smiled sweetly as she remembered the first time she made eyes at her future spouse from across the piazza during a traditional festivity. We listened with great reverence and admiration as they relayed moments of hardship, times of laughter, and expressions of profound love. 

5. J- I want my own balcony. S and V- So she can sing, and sing and sing and sing. And singggggggg! And honestly, we wouldn't mind. As proud sisters who love to hear her sing, it was a true joy listening to Jen perform karaoke to the song "I Hope You Dance" in the piazza. She received a thunderous applause. = )

Jen prepping for a private performance in campagna.

*We wrote this post last week in Sicily. From here on out, however, we are writing our blog entries from our lovely American home. Our last week in Sicily was chock-full of adventures and visiting. With such busy days and a mishap with Val's computer (it crashed), we had to delay the posts. So stay tuned as we continue to share our Sicilian experiences.

Valerie, Stephanie, and Jennifer xoxo

Reaching New Heights

What a view! This is what I see from our balcony every morning when I wake up. Straight up the mountain, a little to the left, there is a black opening that you can barely see. I had always thought it was just a crack in the rock. However, I later discovered something quite interesting. 

 

My cousin Giovanni took us to see the view of Cattolica Eraclea, which happens to be my Nonno Joe's hometown. From the top of the mountain we could see this quaint little town surrounded by other beautiful mountains. Not only did I feel like I was on top of the world, but it was wonderful to see the view through my grandfather's eyes.

We drove up the mountain and Giovanni stopped his Jeep. Here we are standing on the mountain, way above the town. We walked for awhile along a winding path. Then I stood in awe as I was now about to enter the same black opening that I saw as a tiny crack from the balcony. I discovered that it wasn't just a crack, but it was actually a grotto.

This photo shows Giovanni and me entering the grotto. It seemed dark and mysterious until we all got inside. Our eyes adjusted after a few minutes. We all sat on the steps for quite awhile and played with our echoing voices. It was fun to yell at the top of our lungs and know that no one could hear from the outside. It was a nice cool place to take a break from the scorching heat. We were amazed at the beauty of our surroundings and the grandness of the mountain. It's amazing to think that we were actually inside, hanging out. I'm sure that the people who lived nearby many years ago would come here for some relief from the heat as well. 

Giovanni then took me deeper 

into the cave. At first, 

I didn't know what to expect and it was difficult to grip the stone with my feet to find balance. Then, I got used to the dips and bumps in the stone and I was able to walk without clinging onto him. We stopped midway and he pulled a piece of rock off the wall of the cave as a souvenir to remember the experience. It was a spectacular moment as I was standing in a dark, cool cave inside a mountain. As we kept moving further into the mountain, I began to see light. Not only was this a grotto, it was also like a tunnel. This tunnel was a short little passageway that allowed you to go to the other side of the mountain.When we got to the other side, we stood and took in the beautiful scenery of the land and water. I clung onto Giovanni as we climbed around the bumpy, rocky mountain. I felt like I was going to fall off because it was so steep! We climbed all the way around the mountain and returned to the other entrance. My sisters and mom were surprised to see us appear outside of the entrance of the grotto.

Now when I look outside the balcony in the morning, I find my spot in the mountain and smile to myself, knowing that I have reached new heights.

-Jennifer xoxo

 

Buzzing with Spontaneity

This morning, I had the purest and sweetest honey I have ever tasted in my entire 22 years of life. It might have been due to the fact that I was eating the honey right from the honeycomb. 

I attribute this experience to my live-in-the-moment cousin Giovanni, who took us on a detour from our beach outing (anyone notice a pattern here...) to visit a honey factory last week.

All ready for the beach, but a bee-utiful pit stop was incredibly nice!

August is a slow month for honey factories, mainly because it is very hot for the bees and their peak working season is spring. In fact, the owner of the factory, Giuseppe, was slightly reluctant to let us in for these very reasons. However, he graciously opened his doors to us and we drove through the iron gate and onto the premises.  

As we approached the rows and rows of boxes, which each contained a bee family working on its own honeycomb plates, I had to remind myself that I am not afraid of bees. This thought slipped away the moment that Giuseppe opened one of the boxes and removed one of the honeycomb plates covered with at least 300 bees, including the queen bee. He advised us all to remain calm and quiet, so we would not disturb the busy workers.

For an hour, Giuseppe explained in Italian the entire honey-making process, while he casually rested the honeycomb plate on his knee.

This is the plate with the queen bee, aka La Regina.

Some interesting tidbits I learned:

• The queen bee can lay over 2,000 eggs per day during the spring and summer months, which helps to replenish the workforce.
• During spring and summer, worker bees live up to 4-6 weeks. They literally work themselves to death!
• The women do all the work... not surprising. To clarify, the worker bees who produce the honey are all female. The only purpose of the male (aka drone bee) is to mate with the queen...and then they die. Ha ha.
• If a bee from one family ventures into the hive of another, it is instantly killed.

Giuseppe even took us inside the warehouse and showed us all the machines that he uses to process the honeycomb into honey for the average consumer. 

The more I learned about honey bees, especially their highly organized society with such intricate cooperation and communication, the more I admired and respected these creatures. I mentally thank them for my delicious breakfast of unprocessed and sweet honey to go with my brioche. It's delicious!

Giuseppe even gave us an entire honeycomb plate to take home! Stephanie took this great picture.

A huge thank you goes to Giovanni for taking us to the factory. An even bigger thank you goes to Giuseppe for having a big heart and sharing his expertise with us. 

After the impromptu tour, we stood around talking about various things -- Giuseppe's horse named Stella that hangs out right outside the factory in the shade, the new-born pups that were wandering around looking for their mother, and of course family. Oh yeah, we found out that we are related to Giuseppe. What a lovely surprise. 

Such cuties!!

- Valerie xoxo

The Essence of Almonds

Almonds. Mandorle. They are just as much a part of life here as bread and olives. Although it is a short walk to the market to buy some almonds already peeled and shelled, there is simply no need to do so when our cousins have land teeming with almond trees. Instead, we drive up the mountain and pick almonds right from the tree. Not only have Jennifer, Valerie, and I tried our hands at picking, cracking, and peeling the almonds, but we’ve also become campanuole in the process – as we’ve learned how to prepare our own glasses of almond milk. 

Before I describe the delectable process of creating almond milk, I’m going to take a moment to describe the almond itself - a most ancient nut. The almond is nestled inside two layers. The outermost layer is a soft, fuzzy peel (like that of a peach, but slightly thicker). It is a pale greenish-yellow tinged with a faint spot of red. Typically, this covering is opened when the almond bud is ripe, which occurs in the month of August (how lucky are we!), so it is easy to peel off. The next covering is a grainy brown shell that’s as indestructible as a hardhat. While in the countryside, we had the cool experience of taking a rock to these hard shells. And what is the reward for peeling and smashing and working meticulously with your fingers to break aside the grainy shell? A sleek brown nut with a cream-colored inside. A sweet little treasure nature goes through great lengths to protect.

While we on our way back from the butcher’s shop in Agrigento (a more detailed post about this to follow), I stopped at a bar, much like our cafés, for a quick drink with my mom and my cousin. This is one of my favorite things about Europe- and in particular Italy. These places with marble or granite countertops, and maybe a table and chairs, allow a person to take a break from their busy day for a gelato or caffé. While there, I noticed a sign that said “latte di mandorle D’Avolo”  D’avolo? Like Diavolo? Devil Almond Milk? Almond Milk of the Devil? Whaa?

Nope. I asked and was told Avolo is a place. Almond milk. The homemade variety.

My cousin Giovanni ordered us a glass and I sipped the sweet stuff while he asked how it was made. The next night we cracked enough almonds to try it ourselves.

Giovanna, our other cousin, pulled out a quaint little notepad full of recipes and she explained to me the old way of making almond milk. The instructions required the grinding of almonds into powder-like dust by hand. I imagine that lots of stories were shared during the hours of grinding almonds. But because it was late at night when we started this process and in the interest of time, we used a food processor. Only a key difference of a few hours, but without any compromise of flavor. 

So, when we had a nice sized bowl of almonds, we boiled them in water for about five minutes. Then we peeled off la pelle, the skin, placing the whitish nuts on another dish. After peeling, we put all of them in a blender and added water. Then, Giovanni ran the thickened liquid through a strainer-type machine to concentrate it. 

We put some of the concentrated deliciousness into a glass, poured in water, stirred, and with a sprinkle of sugar and essence of almond, we finished! Almond milk. And it was buonissimo!

- Stephanie xoxo