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".

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!

  

I Vanniaturi

Mobile shops are not a thing of the past in Sicily. Local merchants ply their wares around every town; their small vans billowing over with fresh, local produce. And when I say local,  I mean it: the produce was probably grown within about 3km of where it's being sold. For the vanniaturi to travel further would be counter-intuitive; why drive further, wasting petrol, when the customers in the nearest town have the same Euros in their pocket as those in a town 20km away?

 

The Ape (pronounced "app-peh") - a small, three-wheeled truck which is a typical sight in both town and country in Italy - seems custom-made for this purpose. Vanniaturi (pronounced van-nya-TOO-ree) affix loud-hailers to their Apes, from which they announce their stuff. In fact, vanniare means 'to shout' in Sicilian.

 

Readers in Liverpool will know that the vendors of the local newspaper, The Echo, each have their own, unique call; one shouts "eeeehKO-KO-KO", while another calls "E-ko....E-ko". London's Evening Standard vendors have a similar racket going on.

 

Similarly, Italian Vanniaturi all have their own calls, usually in dialect and very often difficult to understand. Part of the reason for the incomprehensible calls, of course, is so you have to go out and see for yourself what they're selling - and what great quality it is!

 

Today Ispica's vanniaturi was touting seafood (not that it was obvious at first). Sicilians often have quite soft consonants; Simona explained that "BOO-pee-BOO-pee!" was actually "Puppi" (the Sicilian for Octopus - the Italian being polpo or polipo). "alaMAAAAree-alamarETTee" was Calamari, Calamaretti (squid, small squid). And just to push home the point that he had octopus, he was also shouting "poh.LEE.poh!".

Arriviamo in Comiso!

Comiso airport, in the province of Ragusa, Sicily, was a US-controlled NATO airbase until about 20 years ago. Since then, the Sicilian people have eagerly been awaiting its reincarnation as a civilian airport.

We chose to fly to Comiso for a few reasons (novelty, I'll admit, was probably one), but primarily because Ryanair were running flights there from Stanstead for a comparatively reasonable £85pp or there abouts. That's reasonable when compared to BA's Gatwick-Catania fare which has been steadily increasing recently (we considered ourselves lucky, at Easter to find flights on that route for 'only' £225pp).

As we disembarked, crowds of people were pressed up to the windows of the arrivals hall observation deck, eager to catch a glimpse of their loved ones descending from the plane. Once we had cleared passport control and visited the baggage carousel we headed out to the arrivals hall to an excitable crowd. Ours was the only plane arriving and it wasn't even full; the were far too many people here! The feeling of this being an event was almost tangible. But of course, the first time you go to a newly opened airport IS an event. Rather than having to search for someone willing to drive out to the airport to meet family members returning from their journey to London, everyone wanted to come along for the trip! The result was that that there were probably three or four times the number of people waiting as passengers on the flight.

Aeroporto Civile di Comiso is so new you can practically still smell the paint. It doesn't even seem to have a 'bar' (coffee shop) yet, however if you arrive hungry, the little panineria outside will be a welcome sight.

Getting into the Sicilian groove ahead of time.

We don't fly to Sicily until tomorrow, but this morning for breakfast (well, ok, maybe it's more like brunch) we decided to start to acclimatise with a frittata di zucchini e cipolle (that'd be a Spanish Omelette with courgette and onions... Although I'm not sure why we specifically call it Spanish Omelette here). For an extra touch of Sicily, we had a tomato on the side, seasoned with salt, pepper, oregano and a little extra virgin olive oil.

Granted, though, Italians wouldn't eat that with toast and a "lovely cuppa chaaaaaaaar!"