Thowback Thursday: The Mystery Caller

A few years ago, we rented a villa near Nerja on Spain's Costa del Sol. The villa was about a kilometer up a country road which petered out to little more than a dirt track. It was a beautifully serene, peaceful and quiet location... most of the time!

Once we were treated to a local farmer moving his flock of goats from one field to another. It seemed so quaintly rural to see a herd of goats, with their bells jangling. Being a townie, I don't get to see that sort of thing often, so I loved hearing the bells from time to time throughout the day and night.

The owner of the villa had a several Yorkshire Terriers, among them a li'l old nearly deaf chap called Lugi (pronounced Loo-ghee). When he walked his dogs, inevitably Lugi would lag behind or wander off and we'd hear the owner calling "Loooooooooo-GHEE! Looooooooo-GHEE!". It was great to hear that those dogs were getting a good amount of exercise, even late into the evening.

There were a disturbing number of sirens, though. We assumed that they were down in Nerja town, but somehow they seemed closer. And Nerja really isn't that big a town, so for the emergency services to be called out so often it must have been quite a lot rougher than it seemed. When we visited the town during the day, and even in the evening for a meal, it really seemed quite sedate, but those sirens were going off at all times of the day and night.

We saw Miguel, the owner of the villa, most days and although he spoke no English, we worked out that his Catalan and Simona's Sicilian were quite similar and by speaking their own dialects, they could easily be understood by each other. He was a generous guy and helpful too. The villa had a huge outdoor barbecue which we were struggling to light one day; not only did he help us to light it but he gave us some beautiful courgettes, corn and aubergines from his smallholding to put on the barbecue.

One day Simona mentioned to him that there seemed to be a disproportionate number of sirens for such a small town. Miguel seemed surprised at first, but then his face was a picture of sudden realisation: there really weren't that many sirens, but Miguel had another pet, a Myna bird, who loved to imitate the sirens which would pass every once in a while on the main road above the property. And the goats bells from their occasional trips down the lane. And, indeed, Miguel himself calling for his poor deaf old dog.

Granita

Ahhhh... Granita!

Similar to a sorbet, but slushier and grainy; accompanied by a Sicilian brioche, it's the perfect summer breakfast.

You can get granita all over Italy, but only in Sicily do they serve it with brioche. Sicilian brioche is slightly different from French brioche; not quite as sweet, nor as buttery so it's lighter and fluffy with an open texture, similar to bread.

Here, it's de rigueur to dunk. Regardless of the flavour of the granita (and there are many, coffee, lemon and strawberry being the most common, but you can often find chocolate, almond and blackberry reasonably easily), it's infinitely improved by being carried to the mouth dripping, gloriously, from the soft, absorbent brioche.

Coffee and chocolate granite (the plural of granita) can be served topped with thick, freshly whipped cream and it's an exquisite combination.

Today we tried a place at the top of the Corso in Ispica, which had been recommended by Simona's Mum. By the time we arrived, the breakfast rush had already finished and there was no coffee granita left, so I took the opportunity to try the chocolate version. It was dark and rich, tasted strongly of cocoa and was neither too sweet nor too bitter. The cream complimented the robust, powerful cocoa flavour beautifully and the brioche was excellent.

This sort of breakfast doesn't break the bank, though: for two granite, both with cream, two brioche and two coffees (espresso, of course) we paid €7.20. Espresso here is usually about €0.70, so a granita with cream and brioche probably came to €2.90 per person. To put that in perspective, that's £2.45* or $3.90*

*According to the exchange rates at the time of writing.

A Giarratana

Today we're visiting friends of the family who live in the hilltop town of Giarratana.

We leave Ispica to drive through dry-walled countryside dotted with ancient olive trees. Some of the dry stone walls have been built or restored recently; they're immaculately neat and white. This stone yellows with age so it's easy to identify the pristine new walls. The countryside is flat here, with straight roads and low vegetation. There are houses here and there; some new-looking, others old and tumbledown. Every so often we pass a very grand old house with an imposing front gate.

Soon we're at the outskirts of Modica; a stretch of modern shops and outlet stores. We stop at Bar Fucsia (meaning fuchsia, but awkwardly pronounced FOOK-sya). As well as being a bar (which, here, is closer to a coffee shop than the British concept of a bar) Fucsia is a pasticceria, selling sweets, pastries, cakes and biscuits. We intended to take some cakes or biscuits to the friends we're visiting, but when we enter we see a huge fridge of semifreddo. Literally "half cold", semifreddo is a desert layered with sponge cake and creamy and luxurious Italian "gelato" (which is so good that we do it a disservice to translate it merely as "ice cream"). The semifreddo catches our attention and we take half a block (about 800 grams - roughly a pound and three quarters - for just €7.50!)

From Modica, we head uphill. The terrain starts to undulate, roads become winding and the dry stone walls more numerous but older. The vegetation is taller here, giving the countryside a wilder, more unkempt look. But dry stone walls tame the hillsides into terraces and this area is brimming with olive trees.

The higher up the mountain we go, the more trees there are, including pine and other evergreens. This feels a world away from the arid coastal areas we've stayed in this week.

As we enter Giarratana, we are greeted by the Chiesa Madre (Church of The Mother) rising above the houses. The streets feel narrow because they're lined with houses, but there's plenty of life here, despite the chill in the air. It was quite warm and very humid down by the coast, even though it's October, but Giarratana is about 500m (1,700 feet) above sea level and it's at least 10℃ cooler at the moment.

Giarratana is a small town; just around 3,000 inhabitants, but at least twice a year the town swells as the whole province comes to partake in one of the regular events here, both the major events being in August.

First is the Sagra della Cipolla (festival of onions). Giarratana is famous for giant, flat, sweet onions. They can easily reach 30cm or 40cm (12 to 16 inches) in diameter.

Then, on 24th August is the festival of the patron saint of the town - San Bartolo (Saint Bartholomew) - when a huge charity auction is held in the town square. It happens that 24th August is my birthday. People here are often named after the saint on whose festival day they are born, so Simona sometimes jokes that I would be Bartolina had I been born in Sicily. I haven't been here on my birthday, yet, but one year I hope to come to the Festa di San Bartolo.

In Italy... well in Sicily... well in Ispica...

The phrase "In Italy... well in Sicily... well in Ispica..." has become an in-joke between the two of us, because often when talking about something from her own culture, Simona starts the explanation of how things are done, or what things are like with that phrase. Italy is so regional that the foods, culture and customs can be very different from one town to another.

Nowhere is this difference more clear than with food. Food is so important in Italy; it's more than simply sustenance, it's a way to show hospitality, acceptance and love.

Many foods which are now reasonably universal around Italy (indeed the world!) started as regional specialities. Prosciutto, for example, is widely known as Parma ham because it originates from Parma in the cool north of Italy. It couldn't be made in the south of Italy, say in Calabria, because the weather is far too hot to be hanging great chunks of dead pig around the house - it'd be rancid in no time. Bolognese sauce, as its name suggests, originates from Bologna and pesto sauce was originally from Genoa.

Each region of Italy has its own cheeses (although some may have the same names), for example the delicious, sweet yet salty sheep's milk cheese, Pecorino (pronounced peck-or-REE-no) has three main types: Pecorino Sardo from Sardinia, Pecorino Toscano from Tuscany and Picurinu Sicilianu from Sicily. Naturally, a Sardinian will claim that their Pecorino is the best, a Tuscan that you can't beat theirs and a Sicilian wouldn't need to tell you that the Picurinu is the ultimate Pecorino cheese because it should be obvious.

Arancini (pronounced aran-CHEE-nee) in Sicily are tennis ball-sized, pear-shaped balls of rice filled with sauce usually with cheese, chunks of boiled egg and perhaps even ham in the middle, coated in breadcrumbs and then deep fried. The Romans have their own sausage-shaped version called supplì (pronounced soo-PLEE).

There are also regional specialities which have stayed very, very regional. One example is Modican chocolate which is only found in Modica in the province of Ragusa in Sicily. You won't generally find it in Rome, Milan or even Palermo, if you want to try it, you'll just have to take a trip to Modica to get some.

Un po' di pranzo (a spot of lunch)

About 10km along the coast from Messina to the west, surrounding a lagoon where locals farm mussels and clams, is the town of Ganzirri. On the limb of land which separates the lagoon from the sea is an unassuming-looking family-run restaurant called Trattoria del Lago. Simona's uncle took us there for lunch before we headed back to Ispica.

 

As is usually the case in a trattoria, there was no menu, just a verbal description of what they have today. This way, you know that the food you are getting is the freshest available, more than likely caught only a few hours earlier. The offerings were simple: either pasta or rice with mussels or clams for the primo (first plate) with fried squid, octopus salad, or a fish similar to swordfish (I didn't catch the name) for the secondo.

 

Simona's uncle recommended that we must also order an antipasto (starter) of Polpette di Pescespada con Salsa Semplice (swordfish meatballs in simple tomato sauce), so good that "When God is pissed off with the world, He sends for a plate of these and afterwards everything is ok again"

I had the Spaghetti con Cozze (spaghetti with mussels) in a delicious tomato sauce. Then Calamari Fritti (fried squid) beautifully tender with just enough bite. I also tasted some of Simona's Insalata di Polpo (octopus salad) which was also delicious. The meal was accompanied by fresh and delicious bread with sesame seeds and washed down with a local red wine "for those in the know" which arrived in an unlabeled bottle with a crown cap. It was very slightly frizzante with a mellow, rounded but robust flavour similar to port.

 

This place is well worth a trip to Messina and the very traffic-heavy drive out to Ganzirri. The food was all superb. As the owner said, it's "cooked as simply as possible to get to the essential flavour of the fish".

No Parking

To say that Messina has a parking problem with parking would be an understatement. The sign in this picture means that cars parked on the side of the road will be towed.

 

Journeying to Messina

We are staying in Ispica, in the province of Ragusa, on the south-eastern point of Sicily. Simona's uncle currently lives in Messina town (which is the name of both the town and the province), so we went for a visit.

 

The drive is only a couple of hours, but the views are incredible. Not least because the central reservations of the motorway are brimming with beautiful but toxic Oleander. The road is inland from Ispica to Avola and then follows the coast past Siracusa, Catania and Taormina to Messina.

 

Mount Etna, brooding and perpetually shrouded in a ring of cloud at her summit, hangs over Catania. Etna is an active volcano and there are times when Catania airport, the main airport for the east of Sicily, is closed because Etna is grumpily spewing smoke, ash and lava.

 

After Catania, the landscape becomes noticeably more rugged. Peaks and foothills hide small towns nestled into the protective embrace of the mountain. Sometimes the first sign you'll see of a town will be its cemetery because they're usually outside the walls of the town.

 

Taormina clings to the side of a mountain, overlooking the beautiful, clear waters of a sheltered bay. Little wonder tourists flock to the area!

 

Shortly after Taormina, the indistinct, hazy outline of the mainland appears on the horizon: Calabria - the toe of Italy's boot! And before we know it, traffic is getting heavier because we're entering Messina.

 

The town is not exactly the jewel in Sicily's crown. There is some beauty here, but Messina seems run down and dirty. It is a port and as with any port there is a lot of through traffic.

 

In 1908, there was an earthquake which devastated the town. Temporary housing was quickly erected and after a few years, funds (and permission) were found to begin rebuilding. The work had barely started when the first world war broke out, halting progress. In the 1920s work continued and so much of the architecture here is in the Liberty style (known elsewhere in the world as Art Nouveau).

 

 

Progress ground to a halt again with the Second World War and restarted in the 1950s. Over a hundred years since the quake however, that temporary housing is still in use; the buildings have been modernised a little and renovated here and there, but they're still the same structures and people live there.

 

The beauty of the town is the panoramic walk, high up by the old city walls, looking out to the harbour, the strait and Calabria beyond.

 

 

We descended the hillside through the grounds of the Montalto Church and headed towards Piazza del Duomo (the Cathedral) The rebuilt clocktower was inaugurated in 1933 with works built by the Ungerer company of Strasbourg and at midday every day it gives a quirky display steeped in the tradition and folklore of the area.

 

 

Two statues - Diana and Clarenza, historical heroines of the city - draw attention by tolling the bells. Then a lion (the symbol of Messina) waves a flag, waggles his tail and throws back his head to emit three fearsome roars. Next up is a somewhat arthritic display from a rooster, which struggles to flap its wings before crowing. As Schubert's Ave Maria plays, a model of Montalto Church rises from what I assumed to be the rubble of the 1908 earthquake, Christ raises his arms to bless the crowd and finally there's a depiction of the legend of the letter sent to the residents of Messina from the Virgin Mary. It scores highly on entertainment value plus, it's all visible for free!