In the Shadow of Etna
Late-night memories of warm bread slathered with creamy ricotta (and recipes, too!)
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As we peered out the front of the car, streaks of red from the Etna lava flows punctuated the inky darkness above us. We sat in the car, under the light of a streetlamp, slathering the warm bread with the smooth, milky fresh ricotta. All I could do was purr with sounds of delight – my mouth too full to form a complete sentence. If there was a heaven on Earth, this had to be it.
I glanced at the clock – it was a little after 2 am. At the time, I had a boyfriend in Sicily whom I had dated for a handful of years. (It was a fun and fiery relationship that lasted until I learned enough Italian to realize that it was a bad idea.) The bakery wasn’t normally open for business at this late hour. Luckily for me, my boyfriend knew the owners and also knew that they would already be hard at work baking their bread for the following day.
A quick call to the owner was all it took for the baker to wait for the rap on the door. As we approached, the lights of the bakery shone brightly amongst the other closed and dark storefronts. At the ready was a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, wrapped in paper and sitting alongside, a tub of fresh ricotta. It always felt like we were doing something completely illegal as, under the darkness of night, the goods were exchanged for a few euros, a handshake, and a smile.
This late-night stop at the little bakery had become a ritual whenever we visited our friends on the slopes of Etna. Vito and Angela lived in the town of Cesarò, a town nestled high in the Nebrodi Mountains in the shadow of Mount Etna. The 90-minute drive from my boyfriend’s house in the seaside town of Giardini Naxos was a study in contrasts. As we wound our way up the side of Etna, the temperate climate of the sea slowly gave way to deep hills and valleys, punctuated by forests of oak and chestnuts. Groves of silvery olive trees nestled alongside terraced rows of grapevines. The occasional sheep herd blocked our path. The green hills and valleys slowly gave way to the sloping sides of the volcano, filled with fertile clumps of volcanic soil and wide-open expanses filled with piles of black lava.
As we neared Cesarò, off in the distance, I would spot the town’s Cristo Il Signore della Montagna (Christ, The Lord of the Mountain) perched on a rocky peak called “Pizzipiturro”. This imposing bronze statue depicting Jesus overlooks and protects the town. His outstretched arms have an arm span of over 23 feet (7 m) and from its perch, provide a breathtaking views across the island. The almost 10,000-pound (4,500 kg) sculpture, created from a single block by sculptor Mario Termini, was so heavy that it had to be set in place with the help of a military helicopter in August 1996.
Visits with Vito and Angela were always a delight for the senses. Their endless smiles and warmth were incredibly welcoming to one who spoke little Italian at the time, let alone the Sicilian dialect. They both spoke non-stop and at the same time, making it nearly impossible for me to follow, let alone understand the conversation. Yet, I was content just listening and smiling, excited whenever a word or phrase appeared that I did understand.
Within minutes of our arrival, friends and family members would appear through the door, as another and another chair was pulled up to the little dining room table. We would all pack around the table as Angela popped up and down, squeezing behind the occupied chairs, returning with platter after platter of amazing food.
And the food! The food was so different up here. The fresh seafood of the coastal towns was replaced by oh-so-sweet pork from the prized black Nebrodi pigs, grilled rings of sausages infused with wild fennel and oregano, blackened vegetables dusted with oregano. The dizzying array of cheeses were infused with the earthy notes of the soil. And the desserts-usually purchased at the local pasticceria-were studded with ‘green gold’, the prized deep green pistachios from the nearby town of Bronte. My ‘Sicilian’ days (and the associated food memories) are forever cemented in my memory.
Almost fifteen years later, in the fall of last year, I returned to Etna, hoping my memories had not been glorified. Well, amen, the food was indeed as I had remembered it - deep, vibrant earthy flavors infused with the wild nature of the volcano. You could almost taste the ash from the volcano in the food and wines. The wines were much, much better than I had remembered, thanks to a relatively recent wine renaissance. The full-body red grape varieties we tasted were Nerello Mascalese and Nerello Cappuccio. The mineral-infused white grape varieties were Carricante and Catarrato. All very fun to pronounce after a few glasses. 😉 (Highly recommend seeking out any of the Etna wines from your local wine shop – they have become a favorite for us!)
Of all the food I remember from my trips to Etna, there was one dish that I was hoping to find – a very simple dish of meatballs wrapped in lemon leaves and grilled. The lemon leaves imparted a delicate lemon flavor to not only the meat but the air as they grilled. On this trip, I had spotted the meatballs in a few butcher shops, already rolled, skewered and ready for the grill yet was unable to find them on a restaurant menu.
On our final day visiting Etna, a Monday, local restaurants were closed so we had to search out a place for lunch. With the help of our agriturismo, we headed to a small trattoria, La Tavernetta, on a dusty side street in the town of Milo. The place was filled with locals, stepping out occasionally for a smoke, large TV blaring above the tabletops. And lo and behold, there they finally were on the menu. My meatballs arrived: succulent, lemony orbs of deliciousness on a plate. What this place lacked in ambiance, it more than made up for in the simple but utterly delicious fare. A shared carafe of local wine, an order of those meatballs and a few hours of people-watching was the perfect way to end our stay on Etna.
Meatballs in Lemon Leaves
I knew when I returned home that I wanted to recreate this dish. I luckily have a lemon tree in a big pot in the house. And I am hoping you do as well - or at least have a friend with a lemon tree! 😊 Do try this at home….simple, delicious, special. (And there is an option to use fresh bay leaves in the recipe if you cannot find fresh lemon leaves.)
Roasted Potates with Oregano and Sea Salt
Because every dish deserves a good side dish! And oregano and sea salt makes these potatoes sing (in Sicilian 😊).
Until next time,
