Lindsay Marie Morris

Director and food stylist Victoria Granof is well aware of America's love affair with Italy. It's something she shares, but one region of Italy particularly inspires her—and it's not the one at the tip of your tongue.

 

"I get so frustrated when people start talking about Tuscany," she says. "I mean, Tuscany is really nice—really nice. But Sicily is more my style; it's so different from any other part of Italy. People just think it's mafia, mafia, mafia. And it's so much more than that. I am on this mission to show people the Sicily that I love and that it's fabulous and different from the rest of Italy."

 

One of Victoria's obsessions is the aesthetic beauty of Sicily's famous sweets, which inspired her latest project, Sicily, My Sweet: Love Notes to an Island, with Recipes for Cakes, Cookies, Puddings, and Preserves.

Victoria and I recently sat down for a conversation where she shared her surprising Sicilian connection, her favorite recipes, what she learned working with photographer Irving Penn, the fascinating and sustainable way Sicilians make cannoli, and what she hopes book readers will take away. 

 

 

Tell us about your background and connection to Sicily.

My father's side of the family is northern Italian, and on my mother's side of the family were Sephardic Jews from Spain before the Spanish Inquisition.

We always thought we originated in Spain and landed in Turkey for the last 400 years. But the language, dialect, and food that we took with us, as well as a lot of the traditions, were not Turkish. 

When I went looking for my roots and to feel a connection, I went to Turkey, and it was like, "Oh, this is nice, but this is not home."

It wasn't until I read an article about Maria Grammatico, who owns a pastry shop in Erice. She said she was getting older and was afraid that none of the younger generation wanted to keep the tradition of Sicilian pastry alive because it was just dying off. All they wanted to do was move to a big city or out of Sicily and do something else.

I was really drawn to this because I was a pastry chef then, and I thought, okay, I'll go, and she can teach me. So that's what first brought me there, and I felt this really strong connection as soon as I went. 

Fast-forward to maybe five years ago, when all my family did our DNA and found out that we're Sicilian—57% Sicilian. Then I started really researching it. 

Spain wasn't Spain as we know it now at that time. It was the Spanish empire, which included a lot of South and Central America and from Naples down through Sicily. 

That's where we started from, who knows how long ago, but we were in the Sicily of Spain. And so there are still traces of the dialect in what we brought from 500 years ago, just like Sicilian Americans whose families came here a hundred years ago or 200 years ago with that same dialect, they will be speaking that same dialect for another 300 years. That's what they brought with them, and that's what gets passed down through the family. 

 

Is there a recipe in this book that has special personal significance?

I think everybody's grandmother makes biscotti Regina, the cookies with the sesame seeds. I remember my grandmother had a cookie tin of those on top of her refrigerator. Honestly, now that I think about it, it was kind of rusty inside. Those cookies probably took years off our lives!

When she died, I remember taking the cookies off the top of the refrigerator and thinking, "These are the last ones she's ever going to make with her hands."

I had one in my freezer for the longest time. Then we had a power outage last summer, and everything had to go. I forgot that the cookie was in there, so it went with it. It's very heartbreaking. 

 

You were a pastry chef and now a food stylist. How did that influence this book?

I had to go against all of my pastry-chef training, make it approachable and easy, and simplify it for home cooks. So, that part didn't come into it other than I love making pastries. 

The book's aesthetics were really important. In the end, two publishers were interested in it. (There were others, but these were the two that I was considering.) I went with Hardie Grant Publishing because they were willing and eager to have me not only design the book but also guide its aesthetics. 

I worked with a designer in Sydney, Australia, on the book design. When I saw her very first designs, I was like, "Oh my God. I love this so much."

Then they went through a couple of iterations, but just the colors! It was really important for me to have those colors in the book and on the book. It wasn't those earth-tony Tuscan things, so people would really understand that Sicily is different from the rest of Italy, period, and why it's so fabulously different. So the color had a lot to do with it—the graphics, the photographs, everything. 

 

Describe those colors.

I used pinks and greens and oranges and blues: the colors in the tile work and those on houses. There are pink houses in Sicily and raspberry-colored houses in the country. And I just love that color. So a lot of that; not millennial pink, but a lot of that kind of Sicilian country house/raspberry pink and the green of pistachios, I really leaned into that. And the orange of orange peel and yellow of lemons—just the colors in the ingredients, really. 

 

You worked with the late Irving Penn. How did he influence you?

I worked with him for 10 years. The funny thing was that I met the Vogue photo editor at a party, and it was a very short, cordial conversation. I handed him my card, and that was it. 

Then, a few months later, he called me and said, "Mr. Penn is looking for a collaborator. And I remember meeting you at the party, and you were very reserved and quiet, and that's what he likes. That's the vibe he likes, so I think it would be a good match."

So, for 10 years, I had to keep my mouth shut and not chat. It was a little bit torturous from that point of view. But you know what? I learned the economy of everything. There was nothing extra in anything. None of his output, none of his persona, none of his words, none of his anything were extra. Everything was essential. So he never had superfluous anything anywhere around him. 

I learned what is important in a picture and what is not necessary. I learned when to stop because several times, he would set up the shot, do a Polaroid, and take a picture. He would do a Polaroid first; if he liked it, he would take the picture, and then we would leave.

We'd be done before lunch. And it was never like, "Alright, let's do some variations," or "Let's do five more just in case," or "Let's see; do we think we have it?" No, after many years, he knew what it took to get a good picture and how to recognize it when he got it. And that was huge. 

It's a practice and a discipline. I'm so grateful for that because I've used it in all aspects of my life, including personal relationships. It's really important to know when to stop.

 

Which Sicilian desserts should everyone experience?:

Well, anybody who hasn't had a really good cannolo is… I mean, forget it!

I learned the last time I was in Sicily that they use bamboo as cannoli-shaping tubes. It was kind of a revelation for me. If you've ever done that with the metal tubes and fried the shells, the first thing it does is sink to the bottom. And then the bottom of the shell gets a little bit darker, which nobody notices, really. And then you have to keep turning them around and everything. With the bamboo, it floats. So not only does it just float and turn around by itself, but it's porous. So it cooks from the inside out and the outside in, and it allows air bubbles to come through and make the dough lighter. It's really an amazing thing. They turn black, but they are used over and over, and it's sustainable.

 

I'm also really obsessed with St. Agatha's breast cakes. I do them a couple of different ways, but the way I really love them is just with the pastry dough, the ricotta inside, and the icing on top. I love those symbolically—and just about anything with almonds and pistachios.

 

Most of my recipes are traditional, but some of them I developed that are just in the spirit of Sicily using Sicilian ingredients. I have shortbread cookie recipes, and one has sun-dried tomatoes and anise seeds. It's treating the tomatoes like dried fruit because that's what they are. Then, the other one has dried figs and oil-cured olives in it. It's really treating the olives and the tomatoes like the fruits they actually are. And it's really, really good. You could just keep the rolls of the dough in your freezer and then slice and bake it as you need it.

 

What do you hope readers take away?

I want them to appreciate this on so many levels. I want them to open their eyes and minds and appreciate Sicily for the multicultural, fabulously weird, and delicious place that it is.

In the book's introduction, I really talk about how if you go to other parts of Italy, they look like postcards. Everybody brings the same pictures back from Rome. There I am, throwing the coin in the Trevi Fountain. There I am in front of the Coliseum. They're all the same pictures. And the takeaway is the same. You can go to those places passively. You can just observe.

But what I love to say about Sicily is if you are there, you're in the game—not just enjoying it passively. You're not just looking at it. You're experiencing it. And some of it is funky, and there's garbage on the side of the road. There's some funky stuff there. But it's worth it because being there is such a heightened sensory experience. 

After so many centuries of being dominated and controlled by all kinds of different civilizations, people, empires, and all of that, it's just turned into this really strong, strange, wonderfully mixed-up, and beautiful place. It's not in spite of having that history; it's because of the history that it's so great.

 

>>Get your copy of Sicily, My Sweet here!<<

 

 

If you enjoyed this article, consider subscribing to my newsletter for more content and updates!

Cultivated since ancient times and even believed to be the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, the fig occupies a special place in Mediterranean history and tradition. 

Recognized for its bulbous shape with a small opening, the ostiole, at its base, the common fig is the edible fruit of the ficus carica—a flowering plant species in the mulberry family. 
 

While figs hold a special place on Sicilian dessert tables, they're rich in potassium and calcium, which benefit bone health. The fruit even provides significant amounts of iron, potassium, and magnesium.

What's not to love? It's no wonder many gardeners choose to grow fig trees. 

"It's a plant we've been connected with for a really long time, which is why people become so fascinated by it," says One Green World Nursery Manager Sam Huber. "We share a deep, rich history with it, and it's such a unique plant that comes in many forms. It's exciting to find one that thrives in your area. And it's fairly easy to grow, too."  

Oregon-based One Green World sells a variety of so-called Mount Etna Sicilian figs, including the Sangue Dolce and the Natalina. They also sell a fig called the Chicago Hardy, which is originally from Sicily but easily takes root in colder areas in the northern U.S.

Sam and I recently had a chance to chat about all things Sicilian fig-related. 

 

 

Tell us about One Green World.

The nursery was built on extensive plant exploration and searching the world. With the advent of the internet and the availability of so much information, more varieties and cultivars are available than ever before. We've been continuing in that tradition, looking for new things both here and abroad.

 

You grow Sicilian figs. Can you share more about your offerings?

The lines of where things developed and whatnot are a little bit blurry, but there's a loose grouping of a certain type of fig, a smaller purple fig with a red interior that just gets called the Mount Etna figs. It's very similar to the ones people have been growing for a long time in Sicily. There, they're grown at 1,000-2,000-foot elevation—so high in elevation that those varieties do well for more northern growers. It's been super cool to see how they thrive in Sicily, of course, but also here.
 

They're just really wonderful. Everybody likes different things. I really like the dark, jammy figs with the red interior. Sicily also grows a white one that's more of a honey fig. And, of course, there are just wild ones growing everywhere. The fig has just naturalized around much of the Mediterranean and California.

Figs have two crops: the breba crop, which ripens on previous years' wood, and the main crop, which is on new growth. Etna figs have been such a winner for folks in more northern climates because they may have a touch more cold hardiness. 

In Oregon, we don't typically get cold enough to have killing frost that would kill off wood on our fig trees. Because they ripen the main crop really early, it's on the new growth. But there's a fig called Chicago Hardy, which is just another Mount Etna type that was found in Chicago and hardy enough to withstand some winters there. 

What's unique about them is you can have them get frosted back really hard, or people will do extreme things to overwinter them on places like the East Coast, like cut them back really hard. Some people will even tip them over and bury them, and then the trees still shoot out new growth and produce figs that year. Because the main crop grows all on the new growth, all you need is something that's sending off new growth because they ripen so early and don't need as much heat coming from a higher elevation place. It makes it a good, reliable one for folks who are more on the fringe of where figs would otherwise grow. 

 

What are the ideal conditions for growing Sicilian fig varieties?

The Mount Etna ones, in particular, are adaptable. But if it gets wet in the fall, the fig will just split. Generally, it's a dry summer climate that helps all figs thrive.

It's similar to where we grow grapes in the world. The Mediterranean climate of wet, mild winters and then pretty warm, dry summers concentrates the flavor and prevents the fig from splitting. 

The fig isn't actually a fruit; it's this weird inside-out flower. So it's very different when it's ripening. It's very easy for it to split if there's too much water or after it's been dry. When you get a big heavy rainfall, you'll sometimes see that little eye of the fig, the ostiole, split open. 

So fig trees generally need a dry climate with enough heat units; you need a good bit of warmth to ripen most varieties. We've been searching for ones that do well in cooler climates, but typically, if you're in California, they can ripen way more than we do in Oregon. It needs a dry summer and a mild winter—not so cold that it kills off the tree. Because below zero, they get pretty damaged.

 

Which regions are best for growing Sicilian figs?

Oregon's Willamette Valley will probably be one of the best spots outside of California, which is just the ideal fig-growing region in the country. 

Most parts of the continent don't have the dry summer that we do. But people grow them on the East Coast; there are many old fig trees on the East Coast because people brought them when they were emigrating. That's encouraged growers there to continue finding hardy varieties.

It's a classic story: People who sneaked a fig tree in with them. And so that's why you have all these various trees of unknown origin that were planted by immigrants way back in the day and are still surviving. Then, people go and clone those that proved themselves in harsher climates.  

 

What are some ways to enjoy figs?

Certainly, fresh eating is one of the best ways because it's one of the more fragile perishable fruits when they're perfectly ripe. But once your tree's really cranking, there are more figs than you can just eat fresh. 

Aside from fresh eating, people make jams with them and make dried figs. Drying figs is one the best ways to preserve them so that you have those carbohydrates and sugars for wintertime.

People get creative, doing just all sorts of weird things. There is a brewery in Texas called Jester King, where they could not get enough figs. They used them to make fermented beers with all these different fruits thrown in.

The possibilities are somewhat endless. People make concentrates and different syrups from them, but I feel like jams and dehydration for dried figs are probably the most common.

 

What do you want people to take away when they buy a One Green World fig tree?

Above all, we just want people to be successful in their gardening. Planting a tree is a pretty big commitment. They're not super cheap, and you have to dedicate water and energy to keeping them alive. 

During the COVID pandemic, when all these people started getting into gardening, people would come to us having never grown any trees before. And they'd always want to grow peaches, nectarines, and apricots, some of the most delicious, tasty fruits you can grow. But those, in particular, do poorly here. And so we would always say, "Why don't you try growing a fig, a persimmon, a grape, or something that's just a little easier and better adapted for our part of the world?" I feel like we're often telling folks just to learn to love the things that really want to grow well here.

Aside from just really wanting people to succeed with their gardens and grow something that they're going to find success with and be really happy with in terms of it being reliable, easy, and delicious, there are so many stories attached to all these things, as there have always been with plants. It's just a cool way to preserve stories, whether they are more recent or older ones. And for us, too, it's like a botanical journal. When we're on these trips and collecting things or doing road trips around California, they really encapsulate a time period for us.  

Fig trees have deep origin stories; maybe that was the tree from the Garden of Eden. We've been intertwined with this plant for a really long time. 

 

 

 

If you enjoyed this article, consider subscribing to my newsletter for more content and updates!