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 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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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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Among the most commonly consumed nightshades, the eggplant is a favorite among market-goers.

 
Celebrated for their varying shapes and colors, these versatile vegetables (technically fruits) are rich in anti-inflammatory anthocyanins and the essential trace element manganese, which is important to bone formation. They are also full of fiber. 

 
It's no wonder they've taken a foothold in Sicilian cuisine. But there would be no pasta alla Norma, pasta 'ncasciata, or eggplant Parmesan without the arrival of the Arabs in the ninth or tenth century, says Clifford Wright, a James Beard award-winning author of 19 books on cooking, food, history, and politics. His latest tome, An Italian Feast: The Celebrated Provincial Cuisines of Italy from Como to Palermo, features more than 800 recipes from the 109 provinces of Italy's 20 regions.

 
We recently discussed the eggplant's fascinating history and how its perception and use have evolved over the centuries.

 

 

What is your background, and how did you become interested in Italian food history?

I began cooking in 1967. I'm part Italian [with family from Pago Veiano in the province of Benevento in Campania]. My mother cooked Italian-American food; it was my home food. I also worked in restaurants whose chefs were Italian, and lastly, I often traveled to Italy and loved the food.

 

How did the eggplant first arrive in Southern Italy, and what were the initial reactions to eggplants?

Although most botanists believe southeastern India is the place of origin of the eggplant, and some botanists make a case for China, as well as the Malay peninsula, the place of origin is still unknown. Nikolai Vavilov identified the mountains of central and western China and its adjacent areas as the place of origin and India as the center of origin. It seems clear, though, that India is, at least, a secondary area of origin. The cultivated eggplant appears to be an improved form of either S. insanum or S. incanum, both of which are native to India.

 

What is the history of the eggplant?

Arab agriculturists brought the eggplant to the Mediterranean from Persia and perhaps from the Arabian Peninsula in the ninth or tenth centuries. The Arabs seem to have discovered the eggplant already growing in Persia shortly after their conquest of that country in 642 A.D., although several ancient Arabic names for the eggplant seem to come directly from other Indian names, indicating that the plant may have arrived in the Arabian Peninsula in pre-Islamic times. 

The Arabs have long been fond of eggplant, and medieval Arabic cookery manuscripts always have many recipes. Although eggplant was initially treated with suspicion, it soon became a favorite vegetable. In fact, the medieval Arab toxicologist Ibn Waḥshīya (circa 904) said it was fatal when eaten raw. 

Sicily was one of the first places in Europe where eggplant was grown after being introduced by Arab farmers. They were grown in Spain by the tenth century, although the first clear reference to them in Sicily is from 1309, where they are called melingianas and are grown in a garden along with cucumbers and a kind of gourd (squash).

Although the eggplant was once called "mad apple" (mala insana) because it was thought to produce insanity, this expression is not the etymological root of the Italian and Sicilian words for eggplant, melanzane, and mulinciana, respectively. 

The Italian and Sicilian words derive from the Arabic word for the plant, bādhinjān, with the addition of the initial "M." 

There are numerous recipes for eggplant from thirteenth-century Spain. This is notable because eggplant was a relatively new vegetable in Europe, and this is an early date for its being common.

Tortilla de berenjenas, an eggplant puree tortilla from Seville, is a recipe from the thirteenth-century Arab-Andalusi cookbook of Ibn Razīn al-Tujībī, the Kitāb faḍālat al-khiwān fī ṭayyibāt al-ṭacam wa'l-alwān.

 

How did the perception of eggplant change?

The eggplant probably began as an ornamental in gardens as it was thought to be poisonous. Slowly, it became a Sicilian favorite. 

 

What's a favorite traditional Sicilian dish that prominently features eggplant?

Certainly there is eggplant Parmesan. Although also popular in Campania, it is typically Sicilian.

 

For further insight and eggplant recipes, check out Clifford's books, A Mediterranean Feast, An Italian Feast, and Mediterranean Vegetables, available at cliffordawright.com or through your favorite online bookseller. 

 

 

 

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At the back of my Sicilian grandfather's impressive rose and vegetable garden, there stood a cage where, at the end of summer and early autumn, you would find enormous squashes hanging from the trellised roof. Nonno would pick these sometimes five-foot-long fruits, called cucuzzi, and bring them in for Nonna to prepare in a stew. 

A similar cucuzza dish was recently cooked on an episode of PBS's The Great American Recipe by finalist Marcella DiChiara, aka @BostonHomeCooking, who says she's "just a Sicilian girl trying to demystify and simplify the art of cooking."

Marcella and I sat down to chat about her Great American Recipe experience and the Sicilian art of growing and cooking cucuzzi. 

 

 

What is your background?

My parents were both born in Sicily. My mother is from Siracusa, and my father is from the Province of Catania, a really small town right outside of Catania called Palagonia. My dad did not come to this country until much later in life, in his early thirties, maybe very late twenties. My mother came when she was 10.

My mom speaks perfect English, but my father, Luigi, not so much. They live in Connecticut, which has a pretty large population of Italians, particularly Sicilians. 

I've been an avid cook my whole life. I've no formal training whatsoever. 

 

You were a finalist on The Great American Recipe. Tell us about that experience.

I made it to the finale, which was really exciting. One of the last dishes you make before the finale is something called "Your Recipe DNA." And it's supposed to be a dish that literally defines who you are both culturally and spiritually.

So, for me, there was absolutely no question that I was going to make cucuzza. And I was probably, in the same token, going to be introducing many, many people to this idea of this gourd. 

Most people don't know what it is. It's not found anywhere in groceries or even at most farmer's markets. It's not found. And really, the only way you can come across cucuzza is if you grow them or you have an uncle or grandfather who grows them. 

I knew the culinary producers would not be able to find a cucuzza for me. They told me, "I'm sorry, you're going to need to come up with an alternative dish. This isn't going to work for us." We don't know what that is, and we can't find it. 

So I said, "If I can get my hands on one and have it shipped, may I use it?" 

They said, "Good luck finding one."

This was in October, so we were at the end of the growing season. I called a million places, and I found J. Louis Liuzza of Liuzza's Cucuzza Farm in Independence, Louisiana. I messaged him on Facebook. He next-day air-mailed the most beautiful cucuzza I've ever seen in a wooden crate to the show. 

I was so happy that I was able to prepare this dish on national television, which was really a really unique opportunity and a really sort of proud moment for me culturally from my perspective of growing up with this food, which, to me, is just synonymous with love and health and healing and history and simplicity. I mean everything that you would think of when you think of Sicilian culture; I just can't think of a better representation in one food that sort of encompasses all of that.

 

What cucuzza dish did you make on the show?

I made a classic cucuzza stew with broken spaghetti, tomatoes, potatoes. I really wanted the essence of the squash itself to stand and speak for itself without overcomplicating it. Because to me, even though there are myriad ways you can prepare cucuzza, this was the way that I remembered it as a kid. And so I wanted to make sure that I kind of did that process justice just by presenting it in its simplest form.

 

How was your cucuzza recipe received by The Great American Recipe judges?

Well, I made one of the judges, Francis Lam, cry. Tiffany Derry, a restaurateur, has been to Sicily, so she had heard of it but never tasted it. Tim Hollingsworth, a famous chef from L.A., had never had it either.

It was greatly received. I won that round. 

The show is not a cutthroat competition. It's really more about showcasing how food connects us in America because we are a melting pot. We are made up of so many different cultures and so many different traditions. And food is sort of that common denominator. Even though we all have different traditions and flavor profiles, it's what kind of brings us all together. 

I think the way I expressed my excitement for the cucuzza and the joy it brought me, that storyline… They liked that. 

 

How did you land on the show?

I was contacted by a casting agent out of L.A. who happened to stumble across my Instagram. They were looking for different pockets in different regions of the country to ensure that they had good, well-rounded representation. My Instagram handle is @BostonHomeCooking, and they were trying to check that New England box. So it just happened to be really good luck.

 

You say you geek out about cucuzzi.

People laugh. So many people have tasted cucuzza for the first time because of me. It's just my love language. It's weird. I know it's a weird obsession, but I do love it.

 

Do you grow your own cucuzza plants?

I did this year, yes. 

Every year, I go on this pilgrimage to find cucuzza somewhere. Somebody's got to be growing it. One of my uncles, one of my cousins, whoever it is. But because we live in New England, and this is a very sensitive squash that requires a lot of heat and a good setup, some seasons they would yield a lot and others they wouldn't.

I was just so tired every year of begging to people for their cucuzzas. So I just decided that I was going to just grow them myself. Fortunately, I had an excellent growing season this year. I think I yielded six, and I still have two more on the vine, which is a lot for the space that I allotted. 

 

What's your cucuzza-growing set-up?

I used netting initially for the vines to climb, just to facilitate the climbing. There's a couple ways you could do it. You do not need anything fancy. You could grow snake squash on the ground. 

It does not need to be elevated. The only reason why people do that is because it grows straight. When it's on the ground, it's really going to be formless, and that's when you get a lot of those spiral ones. 

I wanted mine straight though. I had a vision in mind, and so I used some netting. What I did was I took one of my kids' old soccer nets that they were no longer using, cut it into pieces, and hung it down from the top of a pergola. It kind of grew up from there, and then it grew so out of control that it was over the fence, well into my neighbor's yard. He's the nicest guy and very tolerant of my hobby.

I think my biggest one was almost four feet long, and it was hanging in his yard. He had no idea what it was. As a thank you, I'm going to make him and his wife a pot of cucuzza stew just to say thanks. 

You said your father grew cucuzza plants when you were a kid.

My dad had a very elaborate, thriving garden and still does, but because they spend time in Italy, he can't really go too crazy. 

To the cousins and family members that I have in Italy, getting excited about cucuzza would be the equivalent of getting excited about a piece of gum. They're just like, "Okay, calm down."

"It's not that deep," my son says.

 

It is to me!

My daughter is 15, and I've made it my life's work as her mother to teach her how to make this dish because I am scared that this will sort of get watered out of our cultural identity. 

For me, it's very important to make sure that I continue those traditions with her and to emphasize how important it is for her to do the same.

 

Where do you get your cucuzza seeds?

So, my dad brought me some Sicilian seeds, but to be honest with you, the best seeds I got were from my contact in Louisiana. My dad's are this monochromatic lime green—nothing special, but the three-tone from Louisiana… It's almost like tie-dyed or tiger-striped. I've never seen it in Sicily, and neither has my father. 

 

How long does a cucuzza take to harvest?

I indoor plant my seeds in April. They sprout very quickly. Within two weeks, they're about six to 12 inches tall. From there, once they can sort of stand on their own, I then plant them in ground or in my raised garden bed. And it's a very quick growth in terms of leaves and vines, but the cucuzza themselves didn't start growing until July.

It's all temperature-dependent. Our summers don't start to get very hot in New England until mid-July, and the cucuzza is a very heat-loving plant. Once you get past the six inch mark, you're past the danger zone. You'll get 30 or 40 little ones that are maybe four or six inches, and they'll die on the vine, shrivel up, and die. 

If you are having problems producing at all, it might mean that you don't have any insects pollinating for you. So you can self-pollinate. You can take a Q-tip. Or if you're really rustic, you just rip the flower off and [rub the male and female flowers together]. I did that for a few flowers, but most of the ones that grew, I didn't have to do.

It sounds intimidating, but it's really not. You've just got to water them every day, and you to have a good hot summer, which is why Sicily is the perfect island to grow them on.

 

Is there a secret to growing a bountiful cucuzza harvest?

There's all kinds of wives tales about what you should add to your soil. My dad is adamant that he takes the old espresso grinds from his coffee machine and then sprinkles them into the soil, which I did that. I have no idea if that really does anything. I also use manure just to sort of naturally fertilize and that's it.

 

How do you store cucuzzi after harvesting?

They don't all come out at once. They're very scattered in terms of the rate of growth and production. I prepare one almost immediately, and then a week later, another one will be ready to pick, and another. So it is spread out.

The best way to maintain your stash would be to cut it, peel it, and blanche it. Then drain it, airtight it, and then freeze it. 

 

What's the texture and taste of cucuzza versus zucchini?

I always have the hardest time describing cucuzza to people. It's not like a zucchini. Zucchini, to me, does not have a sweet undertone at all. This does, and it's almost like the texture and consistency of what you'd have if you were to cook a cucumber.

Zucchini has a very distinct, almost earthy flavor, whereas a cucuzza, to me, tastes like candy.

My kids are like, "Do you know what candy tastes like?"

Maybe that's the wrong word for them. But when I say that, I just mean the sweetness. You really don't have to do much in terms of enhancing it.

 

What are some ways to cook cucuzzi?

The classic way is just the stew, which ironically is a soup essentially, and nobody would ever think that you would eat soup in the summer, particularly in Sicily, when it can be upwards of 110 [degrees Fahrenheit]. But they do. It's like this weird exception where they just eat it in the summer. 

 

What I've been learning from some cucuzza Facebook groups is that down south, they marry it quite often with shrimp, which is something I had never done or thought to do. They almost do a jambalaya-type dish.

 

I like it fried, just straight-up fried with a little balsamic vinegar, and then obviously the pasta. I make different versions of it. I'll add sweet potatoes just to give it a different flavor profile. 

 

When you share your love for growing and cooking cucuzza, what do you hope people take away?

I hope people are open to the idea of connecting to produce that is so indigenous to such a small island and appreciate its uniqueness because it is not plentiful where we are here in the United States. I want them to appreciate it in a way that you wouldn't necessarily give a regular vine vegetable. It's really a marvel.

 

>>Get Marcella's Cucuzza stew recipe here!<<

 

 

 

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