This Thing of Ours
Try to imagine a place more Italian than Sicily. Perhaps a tower in Pisa, or some ruins in Rome. You might think back to Florence’s Classical-inspired buildings or the tiny byways at odd angles throughout Naples. But Sicily conjures up something quintessential. It’s Bourdain drinking Negronis and bitching about whatever. It’s Robert DeNiro’s Vito Corleone in The Godfather, Part II returning to have his revenge at last. It’s pasta and cannoli, fried calamari and eggplant parmesan.
I visited Sicily last in 2005, now nearly a generation ago. I flew into Palermo, where they promptly lost my luggage, leaving me to wait in the airport for four-and-a-half hours for it to turn up (a lack of working bureaucracy seemed to permeate that “High Berlusconi” Era of Italy). It was October, and the summer was barely hanging on by a thread. The maestral wind had yet to begin blowing in earnest, but the tomatoes were bountiful and dizzyingly aromatic. A hat was required in the afternoon sun, as was Bourdain’s favorite Mediterranean tipple.
I was there to visit someone. And like a good Italian-American boy of twenty, it was someone to whom I was not related, had never met. Her name was Anna, and she was an old friend of my godmother. I was expected to see nonetheless because she practically was family. (a sentence which makes absolutely perfect sense if, and only if, you are Italian). I arrived at her apartment building in one of those tiny byways of Agrigento, where the Roman ruins are located. It’s far away from the dark volcanic shadow of Mount Etna, on the south-central coast of the island. On a clear day, you can see the coast of Tunisia.
Anna was elderly even back then. Getting around her smallish apartment wasn’t an easy task. But it was Sunday, and she had a guest coming. There was a plate of hot and cold antipasto, pasta with sauce, fish with vegetables, and desserts - definitely desserts. The kind of desserts you think you’re getting at Mike’s Pastry when licking that blue-and-white cardboard box will have the same effect on your palate. We watched a Sunday variety show on television, and I took a nap in the spare bedroom after dinner underneath a silver crucifix glinting in the dying daylight. When it was all said and done, I got into a car driven by her next door neighbor and made it back to my hotel. Sitting on my lap throughout the drive was a bag Anna had given me for my godmother - canned snails which, all credit to the TSA agents at Newark International, I absolutely smuggled into this country.
Sicily is a lot of different things, because it has been a lot of different things. So many Mediterranean empires, from the Phonecians to the Fascists, have criss-crossed its rugged, irregular triangle. If you were Sicilian and took one of those at-home genetic tests (which, I don’t recommend you do for a lot of ethical-medical reasons), you’d find a DNA map that stretched throughout Asia Minor, Saharan Africa, the Middle East, and maybe even the Caucasus steppe.
Like most European places with high rates of immigration, we see Sicily through the lens of that diaspora. Sicily conjures up images of checkerboard tablecloths upon which sit heavily sauced baked pastas and abundant fried goodness. Now, don’t get me wrong. Sicilians love a good tomato sauce, put plenty of cheese on their parmigiana di melanzane, and have been known to fry a calamari or two in their time. But Sicily is a place where you’re likely to find offal meat in your street vendor panino, a just-from-the-pier seafood salad sprinkled with fresh hand-torn herbs and lemon wedges, or the ubiquitous caponata - a soft sauté of seasonal vegetables amicably blended with acid, oil, salt, and slathered atop crusty, sesame-flecked bread. Italian-American cooking would look exactly that to a Sicilian - foreign.
You can create a close representation of true Sicilian cuisine at home. The recipe I’ve chosen today demonstrates the flavor profiles that are prominent in this island’s cooking: fresh, seasonal, and balanced. The ingredients are readily available in your local grocery store or Italian speciality market.
Table Thirteen ~ Pasta with Eggplant, Fresh Tomato, and Ricotta Salata
Ingredients
1 lb., long pasta such as tagliatelle or bucatini
1 cup, olive oil
4 small or 2 medium eggplant, unpeeled and cut into 1” cubes
8 plum tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped
3 cloves of garlic, sliced
10-12 basil leaves, hand-torn
⅓ cup, ricotta salata cheese, grated on the large holes of a box grater (see note)
Recipe
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. When the water reaches a boil, add the pasta, stirring occasionally until al dente (soft enough to digest, but with a distinctly toothsome “bite” in the noodle).
Meanwhile, heat the 1 cup of olive oil on medium-high in a large heavy bottomed pot capable of holding the whole meal.
When the oil reaches frying temperature, about 325 degrees, add the eggplant cubes. Fry, stirring frequently, until they are very soft and golden brown, 8-10 minutes.
Remove the eggplant with a slotted spoon to a platter lined with paper towels to drain.
Lower the heat in the olive oil to medium low. Add the garlic and tomato and fry quickly until the garlic is lightly colored (but not browned) and the tomatoes have softened, 3-5 minutes.
Drain the pasta thoroughly and add it to the tomatoes and garlic. Add the eggplant into the pot and sprinkle with the basil leaves. Stir to combine.
Pour the contents of the pot into a large serving dish. Serve immediately, each bowl sprinkled with a generous amount of the ricotta salata.
Note
Ricotta salata is a firm cheese that has been salted to add both texture and flavor. It crumbles or grates easily, and is perfect for snacking with crackers and charcuterie, or for adding atop your favorite Italian dish. It is available at most finer grocery stores and at any North End salumeria.
Wine Pairings
Bloody good Frappato. Fresh, flinty, and elegant. Balanced acidity with an earthy flair. This is such a beautiful expression of Sicilian wine.
Azienda Agricola, COS, Nero di Lupo
Cherries, anise, and a little bit of dirt. The juiciest Nero d'Avola ever. Put a little chill on it and enjoy!
Palmento Costanza, Mofete Etna Bianco
A nose full of seawater and papaya, a mouthful of silky, clean acidity. It's somehow both creamy and mineral driven. RE-FRESH-ING AF.
Medium bodied and gorgeous. Soft and floral on the nose, beautiful acidity on the palate. Round and silky with a long finish that is slightly picante. This wine is a serious eye-opener.
