Lindsay Marie Morris

On our last trip to Sicily, my cousin handed us some oranges to take with us on our bus ride from Porticello to Catania. It wasn't until later, when we peeled them, that we discovered these weren't our typical, orange-fleshed oranges. In fact, they were Taroccos, blood oranges with ruby red flesh hidden beneath an orange-colored peel and a taste reminiscent of raspberries.

 

One of three popular arance rosse, the Sicilian-grown Tarocco is actually Italy's most popular table orange. Sweet, seedless, and easy to peel, it also has the highest vitamin C content of the world's oranges.

 

Citrus fruits, including bitter oranges, were introduced to Sicily as part of the Muslim conquest in the 9th century. However, sweet oranges did not arrive until the late 15th or 16th century when Italian and Portuguese merchants brought their trees into the region.

 

Starting in the 18th century, Sicily became known for its blood oranges, which also include the Moro and the Sanguinello.

 

The vibrant flesh color of these oranges comes from the presence of anthocyanins, pigments found in flowers but less commonly in citrus fruits. It's activated when the fruit is exposed to low temperatures during the night and early morning, and the often tougher skin can take on a darker hue than that of more common oranges. 

Sicily's blood oranges are protected under PGI (Protected Geographical Indication) certification and grow in the provinces of Syracuse, Catania, and Enna. 

Tenuta Serravalle, a company based in Mineo, just over 30 miles southwest of Catania, is a leader among the specialized growers of PGI blood oranges.

The Grimaldi family has run the farm since the 19th century. Today, it's managed by descendant Gerado Diana, who holds a degree in dairy science from Texas A&M University. A proponent of sustainable agriculture in Sicily and active in several industry groups, Gerardo serves as president of the PGI Sicilian Blood Orange Consortium.

 

Gerardo and I recently spoke about his farm, blood oranges, and orange-derived products.

 

 

Tell me about the history of your farm and how it's changed.

They once cultivated rice on our land. This shows how the situation with climate change is very strong. The water was always less and less. Now, our core business is PGI blood oranges production and wheat. We produce wheat that is very resistant to drought and oats. But the main business is oranges and all the products we produce with the oranges, like honey made from the orange flower. My wife is a lawyer, but for the past five years, she's provided hospitality to the people who come and visit the farm. 

We are mainly trying to improve upon what our ancestors did. What is very interesting is how all the people and generations have spent their time here making improvements and developing different farming systems. You really understand what people mean when they say that the land is not yours but is of your son. 

When so many people work so hard to leave you the soil, this makes you understand how you need to behave and respect nature, cultivation, and the effort that goes into agriculture.

 

Tell me about your oranges.

PGI blood oranges grow in a certain area, which is out of 34 small cities in three parts of the region of Sicily: Catania, Siracusa, and a small portion of Enna. We have very different temperature variations in these areas from day to night. So, in February, it can be 20 degrees during the day minus 2 degrees in the early morning. 

 

These three varieties of blood oranges—Moro, Tarocco, and Sanguinello—become red to protect against the cold.

 

Our oranges are PGI (Protected Geographical Indication), which is different from our neighbors because we follow some rules. We need to respect the soil; we need to respect the bees; we need to save water; we need to behave with the people who work with us. So, it's a different way of cultivating. So this is why we always say that PGI products are more guaranteed for the consumer rather than other products.

 

How have you adjusted your practices to deal with Sicily's current drought?

In the last two years, it has been a continuous pain because we didn't have 40 millimeters of rain on the same day, which is needed for the irrigation of the plants. We have implemented new technology, so it's all drip irrigation. We also have a machine that monitors the soil's humidity level.

 

Describe your agricultural practices.

More than 600 families of bees help pollinate our oranges. Then, there is the drip irrigation. All the oranges picked for the market and for the table of the European family are picked by hand. Although we are in 2024, no machine works as well as the human hand.

 

Where are your oranges distributed?

We sell 50% of our PGI oranges in Italy and the rest throughout Europe. 

 

How are your oranges used?

I imagine we have 232 ways of using oranges because there are orange jams, ice creams, and granitas. Some whiskeys are made with oranges. Then there is the special recipe in Sicily, the salad with oranges and onions, which is very good. Some research shows that blood oranges are very good at fighting depression. 

 

What is your favorite way to enjoy oranges?

I'm very simple, so I like to peel my oranges in the morning when I'm on the farm, when it is cold, and when you can smell the smell of nature.

 

Can you describe how you've diversified your product line with honeys and jams? 

My wife [Mariarosa Magnano di San Lio] had the idea. I'm very grateful to her. 

Bees are the best indicator of how you run a farm because if the farm is healthy, the bees are healthy. Honey is very important to us; it is basically a way for us to reach new markets. 

My wife makes the jam we produce from our fruit without sugar; she adds honey, which is much healthier.

We have sold our honey to people as far as the Philippines. It is really nice to think that the honey from a small town in Sicily goes so far. Lots of people call, and they say they immediately need the honey. They say, "I need it now."

This makes you feel that there are people who appreciate the quality and are also willing to wait one week for their product. We don't use Amazon; our honey leaves the farm and directly reaches the house of the person or family that has bought it.

 

You give tours. What can visitors expect to see?

It's an old house on top of a hill. To reach the house, you have more than one kilometer of dirt road, all surrounded by oranges, especially blood oranges. Then, there are some wheat and hay fields, and we have nine donkeys near the house. The oldest of them is more than 30 years old, and we keep them because they help clear brush so we can prevent fire and erosion of the soil. 

 

It's as if time has stopped for the house. Then you see the technology on the oranges, which I think is a good mixture of modern and old, between technology and tradition.

 

What can people take away from their experience at your farm and with your products?

We would like them to understand how important nature and farming are for the whole community. Hopefully, they will understand all the work that goes into growing fruit.

 

 

 

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An essential ingredient in many Sicilian recipes, the humble-looking caper packs a hefty dose of umami in a compact package. Typically found jarred and floating in brine in the U.S., these grayish-green shriveled-up buds are harvested from the Capparis spinosa bush (also called Flinders rose), a perennial plant with fleshy, rounded leaves and white or pinkish-white flowers. Producers also sell caper berries, the plant's large seed pods, and caper leaves. 

To learn more about capers, I caught up with food/wine travel consultant, private chef, and writer Linda Sarris (aka @TheCheekyChef). Linda leads frequent tours to Sicily's island of Pantelleria. There participants get a first-hand look at caper production and even visit a caper museum. Linda also shared her favorite caper recipe: caponata.

 

 

What is your background?

I'm a Greek American who moved from New York City to Sicily. I've been living full-time in Palermo for about eight years.

 

I started a food and wine travel company here because I was working as a private chef. And then, when I moved to Sicily, I had to reinvent myself a little bit. Not so much private cheffing work here, especially for an American, but I've written two travel guidebooks for Moon Guides, which is part of Hachette. And so I write about travel in Sicily and food. I organize some week-long trips and retreats throughout the year, usually in Sicily in the Aeolian Islands in the summertime and Pantelleria, usually in spring and fall. I also do a market tour in Palermo. So, lots of different things, but always food- and wine-travel related.

 

What drew you to Sicily?

I ended up here. I got a scholarship to work in Sicily after attending a cooking school in New York, and then I just fell in love with the place. So, I came here in 2011 and have been studying Sicilian food since then. 

 

Let's talk about capers. What is your interest in the plant?

I like meeting farmers or producers and learning about the products we use in cooking here. As I'm working in tourism, I want to be able to talk about the culinary culture here. I need to know what the items are, how they're made, and how they're grown.

 

I think the plants are incredible, and you see a lot of them in the places where I often travel for work. So, in the Aeolian Islands, Salina is a famous place for its capers, followed by Pantelleria,  the island off the coast of Trapani. So those are the two most famous, although you do see them growing around a lot of the Mediterranean areas.

And then, producer-wise, I've met a lot of people who just cure them at home for their own use. And I've always worked closely with La Nicchia, which is a big producer in Pantelleria. They have always been at the head of developing new and caper-related products. They were probably the first ones ever to sell caper leaves in a jar. They do freeze-dried capers and caper powder. They sell seeds. They're always kind of innovating with new things they can do. 

They opened a caper museum in Pantelleria. When I bring guests there, we visit the museum, do tastings, and learn about the process because capers were such a big business for that island.

And so I've always been excited about the plant and how we use it in cooking. It's always one of the main things people bring back from Sicily because it's such a specialty ingredient, travels well, isn't super expensive, and is better than what they might find at home.

What exactly is a caper?

The part that we eat as the caper is the unopened bud of the flower of the plant. It's a really incredible plant. They are pruned when you're cultivating them, but usually, they grow wild in the cracks of the road and come out of walls.

 

The plants that are actually thriving the most are the ones that are not cultivated and planted by people. It's really like a bush but has these long crawling vines. And the cool thing is that the season is really long, so the more you pick them, the more they'll produce. And you can actually pick the buds that are the capers from April until almost September or October.

 

The plant produces a lot. And so we usually sell here in Sicily, two different sizes, really tiny ones, and kind of a bigger one that's almost ready to open up into the flower. You'll see the whole progression of how it grows just on one vine, which is kind of cool. So you'll see the little buds in the leaves, bigger buds, and flowers. Once the flower opens up, the fruit of the caper grows out of the flower. And in English, we call it a caper berry or, in the Sicilian dialect, cucunci. It looks like an olive on a cherry stem. That's the fruit. And that's where all the seeds are. So what usually happens is birds eat that, travel around, and make new plants with the seed.

If you don't pick the bud, it opens to the flower. If you remove the flower, it goes back to making buds. But if you let the flower open, fruit comes out. It usually depends on what product you want, how quickly you pick it, and what level you let it develop. 

 

How are capers typically prepared?

What we eat is not just straight off the plant. It has to be preserved, and usually, that involves sort of pickling it. So, either in a brine or a saltwater pickle or just packed in sea salt, which is what most people in Sicily do. It's usually just covering them with salt, rotating the batches until they lose some of their bitterness, and removing the liquid that comes out. Eventually, they could be preserved for eating, but you still have to soak them before you eat the ones packed in salt.

 

Most people here preserve and save and eat the buds of the flowers, the caper, and the berry. More recently, some companies have been curing the leaves as well. It's not as common. Maybe you would see that in someone's house, but that's not a very common thing you'd find in a store. But the same thing is packed into salt and maybe put under vinegar or oil in a jar.

 

Why are capers an important part of Sicilian cuisine?

I think they represent the earthy and even bitter and salty flavors that people like here. Capers grow wild and can be foraged food, so maybe that's why they became so popular. It was something people could pick without having to buy ingredients like that. We use them in so many different ways here, but I don't think just adding a caper makes a dish Sicilian.

 

How are capers used?

What's nice is that they can be used in everything—vegetable dishes, meat, and fish. And now we start to see them more in desserts. In Pantelleria, a few gelaterias make chocolate caper and oregano gelato. Then, on Salina, they do candied capers, which I don't see anywhere except on Salina, and that's really delicious. They put them with cannoli instead of chocolate chips at the end. It looks like a chocolate chip, but it's a candied caper.

 

People think the flavor of caper is salty, but it's only salty because you have to process it that way. But the ones in Pantelleria are very earthy and floral, so you can have capers in a dessert because it's not necessarily salty. It's caper flavor. It's not salt.

 

They're very versatile. We use them in a ton of recipes. They're a staple pantry item that most families have at their house. Most people will cure them for themselves.

 

What are your favorite caper dishes?

I like caper pesto because you can really taste the flavor. When you're going to use the capers in larger quantities, you do have to soak them, not just sprinkle them through a dish.

 

Capers tend to be in every single tomato salad. And in other parts of the Mediterranean, it's a staple—the tomato salad with capers in it. In Pantelleria, they have a typical salad made with potatoes, oregano, olives, and capers. It's in caponata, which is one of the most famous dishes of Sicily.

I like experimenting with some of the new things like caper powder. Caper leaves are a really beautiful way to apply garnish on top of fish. The seeds are interesting, and the caper berries are, too. They're beautiful as a little snack on a charcuterie platter. But they're really nice in cocktails, too, as a garnish instead of an olive in a martini or gin and tonic. 

 

How do you use caper powder?

I put it on roasted vegetable dishes, such as pumpkin or eggplant, and I use it on fish as well, just as a little sprinkle. Depending on how you make it, it's kind of earthy and a little bit salty.  

 

When you tour caper farms, what do you hope participants take away?

That there is a lot of work. One of the things that makes it more expensive is that they're all picked by hand. They're picked in the warmest months of the year, so spring through summer. The people who pick them, too, have to pick them while kind of crouching down. So it's physical work. And usually, they get paid per kilo that they pick. Historically, it has not been a great job to have because it's a lot of work and paid very little. But that's also why the little capers cost more than the big ones. It's more work to pick them; even if they're not priced by weight, they're priced by quantity.  

If you step on the branches, caper plants stop producing. It kind of grows out from the root like little spider legs on the ground, like a starburst. And the people have to pick them with their legs spread out, and they're leaning over and reaching. It's just physically a little difficult to pick.

 

That's why it's harder to cultivate them yourself. Because once you put people in the field on top of them, the plant's not willing to give you as much.

 

Caper resources

• For Sicilian travel inspiration, follow @thecheekychef on Instagram.
  
  
• Sign up for Linda's free mailing list to learn about upcoming food/wine programs and retreats in Sicily with The Cheeky Chef.
  
  
• Interested in visiting Pantelleria? Here's your insider guide.
  
  
• Capers from the Sicilian island of Pantelleria can be shipped to your door. Buy them from Linda's favorite Italian food importer, GUSTIAMO, and enjoy 10% off of your entire purchase with the discount code: cheekychef

 

Linda's favorite caper recipe: caponata

 

The noble dish was originally made with a fish called capone (no relation to Al), a small type of mahi-mahi, which gives it the now outdated name caponata. As many Sicilian dishes evolved and were modified for the masses, they changed to cheaper peasant dishes that typically used eggplant. There are variations of this recipe from town to town, from family to family, and sometimes it is made with artichokes in the springtime instead of eggplant, red pumpkin in winter, or even with apples. 

My recipe is adapted from cooking with my mentor Fabrizia Lanza, the research of eating every version of caponata in sight, and other tips and tricks I've picked up along the way.

 

I snuck in a few bits of chocolate to thicken up the sauce as an homage to the tradition of chocolate-making in southeastern Sicily in the town of Modica. In the province of Trapani, it is often topped with toasted almonds, and the tomato is optional. The secret is cooking each ingredient separately and then mixing them together in the end to marry all of the flavors.

 

• INGREDIENTS
• 1 small red onion, sliced
• 1 eggplant (dark black/purple Italian aubergine, which is oblong or teardrop-shaped) cut into 1-inch cubes
• 2 stalks of celery, sliced into small bite-sized pieces
• 3T. extra virgin olive oil
• 1/4c. red wine vinegar
• 2T cane sugar
• 1t high-quality tomato paste (estratto in italiano)
• 1/2c. pelati (whole, peeled canned tomatoes), roughly chopped
• 1/4c. Sicilian green olives, pitted and halved
• 1T capers packed in salt (the best ones come from the Sicilian islands of Pantelleria or Salina), soaked in warm water, then squeezed dry
• 2T. unsweetened chocolate, chopped into small pieces to easily melt down
• black pepper
• vegetable oil to deep fry
• sea salt to taste if needed

RECIPE (serves 5)

Blanch the chopped celery in heavily salted boiling water (without a lid) until bright green but still crunchy; strain out and shock in ice water before setting them aside for later.

 

Deep fry the eggplant cubes until they are dark brown (not burned, but much more than just golden). Allow the eggplant to float on the oil, and when they are finished frying, blot them on a few layers of paper towel to absorb the extra oil. Frying the eggplant helps it keep its shape and not turn your caponata into a mushy pâté.

 

In a shallow pan, sauté the red onion with some EVOO on medium-low heat until softened. 

 

Add the red wine vinegar, sugar, and tomato estratto to pickle the onions and create a thick agrodolce sweet-and-sour sauce. Add the pelati, give it a stir, and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes.

 

Season with black pepper, but do not add salt. 

 

Throw in a few chocolate bits (this is my secret) and let them melt into the sauce to give it some creaminess.

 

When cooled down, toss the fried eggplant in a large bowl with the sweet-and-sour onion/tomato mixture, adding the prepped capers and olives (these two ingredients should never be heated). 

 

At the last moment, mix in the celery to keep its green color. 

 

Check seasoning and add additional sea salt if necessary.

 

The olives and capers can both bring additional salt to this dish, so be careful with your seasoning.

 

Serve as a room-temperature side dish or on toasted bread as an appetizer. Caponata will taste even better the next day.

 

 

 

 

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A fixture of Milwaukee's Bay View, Pietro's Pizza has been serving pies since 1973, when Sicilian baker Filippo Tarantino finally saved up enough to open its doors, 14 years after he arrived in the United States. He named it after his son Pietro, who still now owns the popular business. 

 

A longtime member of Milwaukee's Italian Community Center who also served multiple terms on ICC's board of directors, Pietro co-hosted the public radio program Italian Hour with his sister, Enrica Tarantino-Woytal, for 25 years. He also served as the liaison between the Italian Community Center and Chicago's Consulate General of Italy and was part of the Comites, the Committee of Italians Abroad. In 2019, he earned the rank of Cavaliere dell'Ordine della Stella d'Italia, one of Italy's highest civilian honors. 

 

Pietro is what we Sicilians would call a paisano. He hails from the town of Porticello, where my grandparents grew up and where I still have family. We recently discussed how Pietro ended up in Milwaukee, his memories of Sicily, and, of course, pizza.

 

 

Tell us about yourself and how you ended up in Milwaukee.

I was born in Porticello and attended school there. When I was 15 years old, I came to the U.S. in 1969.

My father had already lived in Milwaukee for 10 years, working for Grebe's Bakery. He came here in 1959 on a labor contract visa. He was a master baker in Porticello, with his own bakery not too far from the tobacco store.

 

Some of my family on both sides, on my father's side and then on my mother's side, had been in Milwaukee. Actually, my grandfather on my father's side was here in 1895 and left in 1905. He was here for 10 years. Then, my grandfather, who was on my mother's side, was here from 1922 until 1933. So there were some roots here, and my great aunt lived there. That's why he came here.

 

In Milwaukee, my father also worked at Angelo's Pizza, where he was the dough maker. He used to go there every day from noon until two or three to make their pizza dough. Then he would come home, have a cup of coffee, hop on the bus again, and go to Grebe's Bakery. He started working around 4:30 in the afternoon.

 

Tell us about your memories of Porticello.

Porticello? It's a dream. When you live there, you don't know what kind of treasures you have. It's just like when someone is free and doesn't know what freedom is until they go to another country where they've been controlled. You know what I mean? That town is a gem.

 

When I return, I always go to the old side, not the new one. And a lot of people ask me, "How come you're hanging around the old portion of town?" Well, that's where my memories are. That's where my youth was. That's where I used to walk with my grandfather. That's what I played with the other kids. We used to play around in Punta Santa Nicolicchia. 

 

So that is Porticello. It's a sweet place. It's a dream. I mean, all of Sicily is like that. You look to the right, and there is water; you look to the left, and there are mountains. And the beauty is that within 10 minutes of traveling, there is so much diversity. That's unbelievable. You go from flowers all the way up to pine trees and then on top of the port to those ruins at Solunto. One does not know what you have until you leave.

In Porticello, at night, you can open your windows, close your eyes, and hear the waves hitting the rocks. You don't need to have the TV on. You don't need to go to the nightclub for heavy music. Nature is to be appreciated. And then, of course, fresh fish comes there daily. And you can eat that fish. You can actually eat fish at eight o'clock that were caught maybe at four or five. So when you cook it, it's still alive. So that's the beauty of it.

 

You know what? You can take me away from Porticello, but you cannot take Porticello away from my heart.

Unless you are an immigrant, you really don't know the feeling of going away from the way life was. It's my culture, even though I've lived in America for 55 years now.

But Milwaukee is part of my life as well. 

 

Let's talk about Milwaukee.

Milwaukee has been good to the Italians. Milwaukee is a good community: nice, quiet, clean. They accept everybody—Milwaukee's good, period. And you know where the Italians went? Most of it went to the east side, and the other portion went to the Bayview area. We went to the Bayview area.

I've done a lot in Milwaukee. I went to school, I got my degrees, I did numerous jobs, and I made sure that the pizza place stayed open in order to hit 50 years. Right now, it's 51 years.

 

What are some of the ingredients and techniques that reflect your father's legacy?

The dough is the main thing. And I had to master that because with my dad, he never measured anything. It was just a little bit of this, a little bit of that. So it was very difficult. But I had to learn and ask questions because making dough is very difficult. You have to check the temperature and humidity, which tells you how much yeast or the temperature of the water you have to use. You need to know what kind of flour you need, even though it's the same brand. So you have to be careful.

 

That's the main thing that my father mastered. After all, when my father was a baker, it's not like nowadays, where you dump your dry ingredients in the mixing bowl and have the water that's already been measured, and you're done. They'd make their own yeast, what they call lievito madre. I remember my father used to go at 11 o'clock at night to do that. 

 

What's your signature pizza? 

I'm dealing with an American clientele, so the pizza we sell the most is cheese, sausage, mushrooms, and onions. But my father's signature was sfincione.

 

We make sfincione for the Italian Golf Invitational. And I make it every year. 

 

What do you hope your customers will take away from their dining experience?

Well, first of all, it's very fresh. I mean, I make dough every day right now. I use the freshest ingredients that I can. The vegetables and sausage are fresh, too. I get it delivered every week. Nothing is pre-cooked.

After being in the same location for that long, I've built rapport with all the people in Bay View. Some of the customers are the grandkids of the people we served when we started.

 

You have that kind of relationship with the clientele; that's the best thing, the human side of it. It's fantastic. It actually helped me grow. That's why I love Milwaukee as well.

 

 

 

 

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A symbol of the city of Catania and typical of Sicilian cuisine, pasta alla Norma is the perfect eggplant dish. The recipe is simple, marrying tomato and eggplant with basil, garlic, and sometimes red pepper flakes. It's bound to convert eggplant haters to aubergine aficionados. 

Christina Pirello of PBS's Christina Cooks: Back to the Cutting Board was in the eggplant-hater camp—until she tasted so-called melanzane in Sicily. 

Christina, who also leads food tours of Puglia and Sicily, adds lentils to her twist on this Sicilian classic.

 

She took time out to share the history of pasta alla Norma, how to prepare eggplant, and what she hopes you'll take away from her plant-based, protein-packed aubergine recipe.

 

 

Tell us about your background. Where is your Italian family from?

The Italian side of my family is from Castelemare di Stabia, a bayside town outside Naples. They came from the poor side of town, as most of our ancestors did. My nonna, Elena Cordasco, was the youngest of seventeen (yup, seventeen). They came to America in groups and she was in the last group at 13 years old.

 

My nonno, who I adored, Girardo Stabile, was one of seven children and came to the U.S. when he was 16. They met when my nonna was 16, and they didn't know each other in Italy, even though they were from the same town. They married and had three children: my mother and her sister and brother.

 

We were always with my nonni. They lived either upstairs or next door, so they were a constant in my life, as were my nonna's nine sisters. I loved to be with them and my mother in the kitchen. My family always yelled as a way to communicate, but I noticed in the kitchen that they sang, laughed, and worked symphonically together smoothly, with no issues. That was what I wanted.

 

Describe your experiences in Sicily. What left a lasting impression?

My husband is Sicilian on both sides of his family, as far back as he can trace, so our experiences there often revolve around family. His aunts and cousins are all amazing cooks. I guess the most lasting impression is that the food in Sicily is pure magic. The simplest ingredients, cooked fresh with great olive oil, create feast after feast. I was not a big fan of eggplant (I know it's blasphemous) until I had it cooked for me in Sicily. The tomatoes are little pieces of heaven, and the oil is like gold.
 

Why didn't you like eggplant, and what changed that?

As a kid, my Neopolitan family used eggplant all the time, and I just did not care for the texture of it. When I traveled to Sicily and saw and tasted what they did with eggplant, my mind was changed, and I fell in love with it.

 

What is the history of pasta alla Norma?

It was named in honor of the native of Catania, Vincenzo Bellini, the composer of the opera Norma. It is said that the Italian writer Nino Martoglio exclaimed, "This is a real 'Norma!'" meaning a masterpiece (like the opera) when he tasted the dish. However, the name was not dedicated to this dish until decades after Martoglio's death.

 

Where did you encounter the best pasta alla Norma dish?

Ah, this makes me laugh, as I think the best Norma is mine! I add red lentils to the sauce to make it thick and rich-tasting, and I love it. That said, my husband's late Aunt Pina made a great Norma. There was just something about the way she cooked that lent a delicacy to this hearty dish.

 

What inspired you to create your particular version of pasta alla Norma?

I wanted to make the sauce thick and rich, and of course, we wanted to add protein, as we are both active. Since red lentils break down easily, they were the perfect solution.

 

How do you ensure the eggplant remains tender and not too oily when cooking?

I soak my eggplant in salted water and rinse it well before cooking. This not only removes the alkaloid "solanine," making the eggplant easier to digest, but it also makes it more porous, so you don't need to bathe it in oil as you cook, and it still comes out richly flavored.

 

What do you hope readers will take away from this dish?

I would like people to realize that you can, in fact, make a perfect pasta dish…one that is good for you, delicious, and gives you all the nutrition you need. You can break with tradition and create a new dish that honors tradition as well.

 

>>Get Christina's pasta alla Norma recipe here!<<

 

 

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Emerging in the 19th century, when Sicily's working class would gather nightly to watch puppet shows for entertainment, Opera dei Pupi is today recognized by Unesco as a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of humanity. Generations of marionette puppeteers carried on the tradition, also known as Teatro dei Pupi, performing stories from medieval chivalric literature, Renaissance Italian poems, saints' lives, and tales of bandits, often improvising the dialogue.

 

In its heyday, there were about forty Opera dei Pupi theaters. Today, 10 companies perform in six Sicilian towns. 

 

Times have changed. The COVID-19 pandemic didn't help. But the art continues—thanks in part to Syracuse puppeteer Daniel Mauceri. 

  

For 40 years, Daniel's family has carried on the tradition of building puppets and staging performances. The puppet artist grew up with hands often covered in paint, surrounded by the scent of wood and the sounds of grandfather Alfredo Vaccaro, tinkering away with his utensils.

 

Daniel credits his father, Umberto Mauceri, with nurturing his manual skills, which he uses today in creating and restoring puppets that appear in private homes as well as in international museums. And, of course, there are those puppets reserved for puppet shows. 

 

Performances are geared for all ages, tapping into classical themes and stories as well as new interpretations. The theater caters to all ages and even offers shows in English by request.

 

I recently caught up with Daniel to learn more about his art and adherence to tradition, as well as puppetry's place in modern society. 

 

 

What is your background?

I am originally from Sicily, a land that lives and breathes the tradition of the Opera dei Pupi. I live and work in Ortigia in Syracuse, among workshops and theaters that were part of my childhood and my growth as an artist.

 

What inspired you to continue the family tradition of Opera dei Pupi?

I was born and raised within this ancient art. Even as a child, I knew and wanted to become a puppeteer. Growing up surrounded by puppets and everything that revolves around them has fueled in me a deep bond with this tradition. I felt the need to give it new life, respecting the roots but also adding my personal touch by creating an association that allows me to perform shows and a brand that bears my name, "Daniel Mauceri Arte Pupara dal 1978."
 

What are some of the most difficult aspects of creating these puppets?

One of the most challenging aspects is certainly maintaining the high-quality craftsmanship of each puppet, respecting the precision in the details. Each work requires hours of meticulous work, from the carving of the wood to the painting of the faces to the embossing and chiseling of the armor. Each step is essential to conveying the authenticity and emotion of this work.
 

How do you ensure each puppet maintains the traditional elements while also incorporating your own unique artistic touch?

Respect for detail is key. Each puppet comes out of a studio and still follows the classic canons in realization, such as the use of authentic materials and traditional techniques. However, in the creative process, I add a personal touch, both in the expressions of the paper-mâché faces to give each puppet a personality that distinguishes it and in the creation of the armor.
 

What materials do you use for the puppets?

The puppets are mainly made of pine and beech wood, paper-mâché for the faces of the puppets, and copper, brass, nickel, silver, or bronze (all beaten by hand) for the armor. I find the materials through national suppliers.
 

How has the art of Sicilian puppets evolved over the years, and what role do you think it plays in modern culture?

The art of puppets has changed little in its essence, but today, it has a different value. It has become a cultural symbol that represents Sicily all over the world. In modern culture, puppet theater acts as a bridge between past and present, educating and fascinating new generations.
 

What is one of your most memorable moments as a puppeteer?

One of the most memorable moments was seeing a child's reaction during a performance. His eyes lit up, and at that moment, I realized that, despite modern times, puppet art still has the power to enchant. This same child, now grown up, helps me during the shows by moving my puppets.

What advice would you give someone interested in learning the art of Sicilian puppets?

I recommend studying the tradition in depth and approaching the puppet families with humility. You could also initially take advantage of my workshops on the construction of the puppets. It is important to understand that this tradition tells an ancient story. You have to respect the times and methods of the past, but don't be afraid to add something personal.

 

>>Learn more about Daniel Mauceri Arte Pupara dal 1978 here!<<

 

 

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Late summer to early fall was harvest season for my Sicilian grandfather's garden, where he grew, among other things, five-foot-long cucuzzi (also known as snake squash or bottle gourd) with seeds from Palermo. He'd bring it in for my grandmother, along with some of the leaves they called tenerumi, and she'd cook both in soups and stews. 

You won't find cucuzza in a supermarket. Most cucuzza cooks grow it themselves. I recently spotted cucuzzi hanging from a fence near my home in the San Fernando Valley. 

But every so often, this Sicilian specialty makes an appearance at farmers markets. That's where Northern California food storyteller Simona Carini encountered her first U.S.-grown cucuzza, a squash she'd only previously seen in Sicily. 

Simona bought that cucuzza along with its leaves and created her own recipe, cucuzza e tenerumi al pomodoro. She shared with me the story behind the recipe and what she hopes readers will take away from her blog.

 

 

Tell me about your background.

I was born and grew up in Perugia, Central Italy, where I spent the first half of my life. I went to school there, my friends are there, and my family is there. At age 30ish, I moved to Northern California. My husband is American.

 

My last name is Sicilian. Carini is an ancient town not far from Palermo. However, my immediate family is not from Sicily. On both my mom's and my father's sides, our family is from Lazio, about 40 miles north of Rome, although my maternal grandmother was from Croatia, from Split.

 

When did you first encounter tenerumi and cucuzzi?

So it was 1980, which historically, for Italy, was a very hard summer. In June, a passenger plane was shot down over the island of Ustica. And shortly after that, there was a bomb in the city of Bologna. That was the year I flew for the first time.

 

We spent a couple of weeks there in this little town not far from Carini, which is called Villagrazia di Carini. And why there? It's because three of my classmates from elementary school were originally from Sicily. And I guess their uncle had a house there. We were basically 17 or 18; there were seven of us. And we hopped on a plane. It was my first flight, and we spent two weeks there. So that was the first time I had tenerumi.

We weren't really cooking, but we were in this small community, mostly of locals. We were not in a tourist place, so they kind of took pity on us because we were without anybody. And so I remember this neighbor bringing over pasta with tenerumi. I asked what it was, and I was told it was the leaves of young zucchini, but that was it. 

Fast-forward. In 2007, I went back to Sicily with my husband, and we stayed in Palermo. We went to the market, and finally, I saw the cucuzza with the tenerumi. However, at the time, we were staying in hotels, so I couldn't really cook anything, but I took pictures.

 

So, for the first experience, we had the kitchen, but we weren't cooking, and for the second, I was cooking, but I didn't have a kitchen. 

Then, in 2019, we were living in Berkeley, and I used to go to the farmers market on Saturday morning. I got there, and it was really funny because there was this group of people crowding around something. And this something was actually cucuzza and tenerumi.

 

They had never seen it. And one of the farm helpers was explaining. 

The cucuzza had been harvested young, so it was shorter, but I bought it, and people were looking at me like, "How are you going to cook it?"

I was like, well, I know in Sicily they make pasta, they make soup. I developed my recipe mostly because I didn't want to make soup. I wasn't interested in trying to make pasta, so I wanted to cook it as vegetables. And so I basically put together what I had—the tenerumi and the cucuzza, tomato from the farmers market, and onion. So that's how I kind of developed the recipe. 

 

What is the history of the cucuzza?

The thing about the cucuzza is that this plant actually came from Africa. It's been in Europe for a lot longer than zucchini. Then zucchini kind of took over. 

 

Can you speak to the idea of consuming the whole plant? 

This idea just speaks to me. It's a little bit like the tradition we have in Italy of using everything.

 

What do you hope that at-home cooks will take away from this recipe and your work?

Things don't have to be complicated, particularly Sicilian cooking. I mean, look at desserts, for example. Sicily has quintessentially decadent desserts if you think of cassata and all that kind of stuff. But the food itself is very simple. They cook fresh fish, they have vegetables, they have fruit, they make wonderful bread. And so I really try to make it so that people are less worried about the end result or if it fits some specific idea or if it is authentic.  

 

The whole thing about authenticity is very difficult because if we look at the history of migration from Italy, people left because they were starving. I mean, not everyone, but there was an enormous amount of poverty. They came from Sicily or, in general, southern Italy; they arrived in New Jersey or New York. 

I remember a friend of mine told me that she could always tell an Italian family because, in the winter, they would wrap up their fig tree. And I understand that everybody has fig trees in Italy; they don't need any care, and the fruit is good. But if you live in New Jersey or New York, you have to be careful about the winter. So what happened is that people had to adapt because they just didn't have the ingredients. So, already, to me, authenticity is not the right way to look at this. It is adaptability, which is how these people try to hold on to their traditions in a place that is completely foreign. And that's beautiful. 

 

>>Get Simona's cucuzza e tenerumi al pomodoro recipe here!<<

 

 

 

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