Lindsay Marie Morris

Driven to rejuvenate Pezzolo, the Sicilian community her parents once called home, Mariagrazia LaFauci founded Trinacria Theatre Company in 2016. While the company's shape has changed, its focus on community building, placemaking, and intercultural exchange has remained in a way that defies convention. 

Unlike most theater companies, Trinacria doesn't perform in theaters. Instead, they've been known to take over piazzas, terraces, and even soccer fields to perform pieces rooted in tradition as well as original productions. 

I had the opportunity to speak with Mariagrazia, who also serves as Trinacria Theatre Company's artistic director, to learn more about its important work and what she hopes audiences will take away. 

 

 

What inspired the creation of the Trinacria Theatre Company?

In the summers, I spent most of my life going back and forth to Pezzolo because my family lived there. 

Around the time I was getting ready to graduate college, I started thinking about doing a project to help the village. Sicily has gone through a real diaspora, with many people leaving and many businesses going under. 

In 2008, the year I graduated high school and went to college, the last bar in Pezzolo slowly shut down, and life screeched to a halt. Nobody had a place to meet up. That kind of really important cultural community space was just gone. I saw the population plummet after that. 

Then, there was a really massive storm here in 2009 that really impacted people, and actually, quite a few people died in Giampilieri Superiore, which is the next town over, and a lot of homes were destroyed. 

All of that together was just terrible and devastating. When I graduated from college, I started looking for opportunities to do a fellowship or something that would let me give back to this community. In 2016, I started the theater company here in Pezzolo to do that. 

 

How did the company evolve over the years?

It's gone through many different iterations. In 2016, it started out with just an all-volunteer cast out of Boston and New York City. I held auditions in both places and found this group of actors. We were like, "Okay, let's go do this. Let's spend four weeks in Sicily and create a piece of theater about it."

It was such a beautiful piece, called La Storia di Colapesce, based on a local myth that's really closely connected to Messina. We toured it around Sicily and brought it back to the U.S., where we did it in Boston and New York. 

Then there was a year gap because I went and did my master's during that year. But when we came back, I was sort of like, "That was beautiful, but how do we expand beyond just dropping a bunch of people here, doing a show all on our own, performing it, and then leaving? How do we make this a community event and space?"

So, we started to play around with this festival format, where we did workshops and storytelling circles. We put on an exhibit by a local artist, created pieces, and featured these local theater companies. Then it was like, "Oh, there's something here."

 

Since then, there's been more of a festival format to it all. And so it's gone through different iterations. Sometimes, we do create shows; sometimes, we don't create shows. This year was an open residency, which we've done twice now, where we just look for artists, they apply, and then we bring them in for residency. They get to kind of use the time and the space to create on their own independently, and then they share that in the festival afterward.  

 

Tell us where you perform.

We don't use traditional theater spaces at all. We use piazzas, streets, and abandoned spaces wherever we can find them. This year, we held events on a terrace and a soccer field. 

I love theaters. I genuinely love them and will always love sitting in a seat, the lights going dark, and all the bells and whistles that come with it. But I think that space can be intimidating for people sometimes if it's not the kind of space you regularly engage with. Sometimes, it can feel a little bit like you're going into the temple or church of a religion you don't belong to, and you're kind of like, "When do I sit? When do I stand? What are the rules? What do I say?" And that feels intimidating for people. 

We take it from that context and just plunk it into, "This is your piazza. If you're going to answer a phone call, your kid's going to run across the piazza, or you're talking in the corner, we can't stop you, but we will also put on a show for you. So, if you also want to sit and watch that, great." It's a very different vibe.

 

How does that unconventional style translate to your performances?

Necessity is the mother of invention. We've got no stage, we've got no lights, we've got no speakers, we've got nothing. How are we going to put on the most incredible show possible? So, you take a show like Colapesce, which will take place 80% underwater and also in a volcano, and all of these things that are completely impossible to stage. How are you going to do that with absolutely zero lights, sound, set, or props to indicate we're underwater? It was like, "Cool. We have our bodies and voices. We have some music that we can make using these three instruments that we brought. Let's do it. What are a million different ways that you can make someone look like they're swimming when they're not really swimming?" And so that was how our first piece was made. It's very physical, it's very playful, it's very silly at times. 

 

How does communal living during the residency foster creativity?

The artists who come here always live together in a shared house, sometimes even shared rooms, depending on the number of people and what they've agreed to. 

For me, it's two things. One is Italian households. They're intergenerational. There are often a lot of family members. I've got my aunt, who lives five minutes down the road, and I'm probably at her house eating dinner two to three times a week. Communal meal times are so important; that family connection is so important. It's part of Italian culture. It would be weird if we didn't all eat together as a company. I always make sure you're living together or sharing meals together. And then, often, what comes out of that is people who find these points of connection. 

One of the other things I do as part of the residency is each artist leads a morning warmup. They get a chance to present their practice in some way. And the people who come here are some visual artists, some of them are writers, and some of them are theater majors. They all go at it from such different angles, but they get this morning of "Hey, you're going to engage with my creative practice today, and that's going to set you up for whatever it is that you're going to do for the rest of the day, or how you're thinking."

So, these really wonderful synergies come out of that often where somebody says, "What you did today really resonated with me. I didn't realize that you did that. I want that in my piece. Can you help me? Can we collaborate on this?"

These cool little collaborations naturally and organically emerge, or people just bring wild talents, and suddenly, you figure out that this person can play a kazoo in this piece. 

 

What impact did the pandemic have on the company?

It was tough. We had decided to do the open residency for the first time that year. We'd chosen four really incredible artists, but obviously, they couldn't come to Sicily that year. 

What was really miraculous was they all waited the two years that it took for us to finally be able to travel again. And so they came in 2022, which was amazing.

It was a tough year. I had been living in London up until that year. In February, I found out that we'd gotten an Arts Council England grant to do a research and development period on a show we'd been creating called the Hades & Persephone Project.

We'd gotten this amazing grant, and I had these incredible actors ready to do it. Then, the pandemic shut the whole thing down. So, I got to go back to London in 2021, and we were able to use those grant funds to do the project.

One of the really cool things that happened during the pandemic was we created an audiobook. We took the Colapesce story we created in 2016 and turned it into an audio story. We had music, and we did all the sound effects.

During the pandemic, many people said, "Oh, Shakespeare wrote King Lear during a pandemic." But I had this feeling: We have to take care of ourselves first. We can't just be creative when things are hard just because we've suddenly got time and space to do it. So, it was also important to put the brakes on and make sure that everybody was taken care of first and foremost. 

 

How has your work bridged cultural gaps?

One of the things I am most excited about is seeing some of the folks here who really want to get involved. For example, there's this wonderful young woman who doesn't live in Pezzolo, but her grandfather, Stephano, does. Her name is Giada. Giada speaks beautiful English. She's going to go to school for translation. 

She's 18 years old but is so put together, articulate, and smart. She has come in and done translations, gotten involved with the performances, and taken on many directing roles over the years. It's been cool to see her develop this way. 

Her grandfather, Stefano, was an incredible artist. He works with wood. He used to work a lot with steel, but he'll find beautiful pieces of twisted olive wood, and they'll turn into an octopus lamp or something incredible like that. A lot of people in Pezzolo didn't know that he had this incredible museum of his work in his house. And so he started featuring his stuff and putting it out there during the festival.

The two of them are a really great example for me. Every year, somebody has this incredible connection with Stefano, where they wind up at his house every day working in his shop, having coffee with him, helping with a piece, and putting his stuff on display. It's this wonderful interaction. 

I feel like these micro-interactions happen all over the village when we're doing this residency.  

 

How else have you involved the community in your shows?

Whatever we do has to involve the community in some way. And so when I'm looking for artists, I'm looking for artists who have some sort of a community focus to their work. I tell them that it can be part of the process, especially for the open residency where they're creating their own pieces. It could be part of the final piece of what you perform, but in some way, you have to engage with this community and have them be a part of what you're doing, which isn't always easy. Sometimes, people just want to sit back and be audience members. 

So it's about finding people like Giada and Stefano who really want to be up on the stage, in the audience, and in the crowds. Finding ways for people who don't often go to museums or theaters to feel like they can engage is such an interesting artistic challenge.

Sometimes, it can be a really low-stakes engagement. Instead of sitting back, you'll be walking around and following the narrator. Last year, the piece that we built went through the whole village. It took you through a tunnel, and there were calls and responses to it and things like that. Some of those can be really low-stakes ways to engage, and some can be really high-engagement. 

We had this one incredible artist, Heloise Wilson, who is just so phenomenal. She did this whole storytelling workshop. With the stories told through that workshop, she created these beautiful little posters that were put up around town with snippets of the stories, photos, and images. Then, she created a chorale piece that members of the community performed. She crafted this beautiful Greek chorale poem using their words, and they performed it as part of the festival. They did an amazing job, and she guided and facilitated that.

 

Your pieces tap into folklore and mythology. Tell us about a particularly inspiring one.

My brain immediately goes to the story of Mata & Grifone, the last full theater piece we created last year. We created this piece based on the Hades & Persephone Project. The story of Hades and Persephone is the most well-known outside of Sicily, but here in Messina, Mata and Grifone is the best known.

It's the story of these two giants. Mata is a Sicilian princess, and she's white. Grifone is a Moorish conqueror, and he's black. This is set during the time when Sicily was an Arab Emirate and had been conquered by North African Islamic conquerors. And so the two of them see one another and fall in love. Her father objects, and he locks her away in a tower.

Her father would only accept it if Grifone converted to Christianity, which he did for them to be married. And so the two of them become the rulers of Messina.

They're now the pagan deities of Messina.  Every summer during Ferragosto, these massive paper mâché statues of these two giants parade through the streets.

They're known as the ancestors of all Messina people because we're all said to have descended from them. They had so many kids together. I love this story so much, first of all, because it's the story of this interracial couple on an island where I think xenophobia and racism are quite present today.

Also, Sicily itself has an incredible multicultural background. It was Arab for 200 years. It's been Spanish, French, Greek, and everything in between. There are so many cultures. It's a continent and island, and that's where we come from.

At a time where now we're facing these really harsh lines drawn, politically, especially for people who are refugees or who are emigrating from the African continent into Europe through Sicily. Seeing the really beautiful presence of these two lovers, who are the ancestors of all Sicilians, reminds us that this is where we all come from. 

There's a harshness to it, a difficulty to it. Grifone had to give up a part of his cultural identity and religion to be with this person. So it's complex, it's nuanced, and it's celebrated throughout Messina.  

 

How do you ensure your productions remain authentic and respectful to other cultures?

It's always about talking to people authentically and respectfully. If it's always rooted in a truly excellent intention, "I believe that your story is worth telling, and it's worth telling with honesty, respect, and integrity."

You're always approaching it with that lens. I'm part of this group called ITDS (Indie Theatres Dismantling Supremacy). We're this cohort of artistic directors of small independent theaters that came together in 2020 to talk about how our organizations exist in a world where there's white supremacy, and there's oppression. There are all of these systematic things that we all have to deal with, and we all have to consider how they show up in the worlds where we're working. 

Something about showing care and kindness to the people you're around is so simple. When you take that care and kindness and implement it into the systems you're building—because we're all building systems—to function or survive and be sustainable, we have to systematize certain things. But when that kindness and that care are embedded in you, it's a part of what you do. 

I think we've never approached it without the angle of, "We do this because we love these people, and we're going to listen to these people and listen to these stories, and we want to involve you and not force you into being involved if that's not what you want." We always bring it back to kindness, which has been a much more powerful driver than I think I would've ever thought it was.

 

What do you hope audiences take away?

There are different parts of an audience. There's the local audience, the Pezzolo people. And I think what I really want them to leave with is, "I live in a place that is capable of producing great art and great beauty."

Every day can be activated, brought to life, and turned into something beautiful if you just apply a creative lens to it. And the place where I live is capable of being that spark and being activated into that beauty. 

 

 

 

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When I was growing up, holiday gatherings with my Sicilian family meant that everyone brought a favorite dish to add to supper. In addition to giardiniera, bean and tomato salad, and pasta, we could always expect trays of Italian cookies. A favorite was the tetú, a dense, chewy chocolate cookie with a light glaze. 

 

Traditionally served on All Saints' Day in Sicily, these so-called "sweets of the dead" are a hit any time of the year. Our family includes them on Christmas cookie platters, and they frequently show up on Sicilian wedding cookie tables.

 

I was thrilled to find a recipe for this classic Italian cookie on Alexa Peduzzi's Fooduzzi.com. Alexa's recipe is inspired by her Nana's. Her twist? They are plant-based. 

 

Alexa and I discussed her background and the significance of the tetú (or, as Alexa says, "to to"). 

 

 

Tell me about your background. Where is your family from?

We're from all over the boot! One of my great-grandpas was from L'Aquila, my great-grandma was from Calabria, and I had some family up in Schignano on Lake Como. 

 

What does your heritage mean to you?

When I was a kid, I actually thought everyone was Italian because celebrating that part of my heritage happened all of the time and just seemed so normal and universal.

 

I'm really proud to be Italian, largely because we're a big food family. So being Italian (to me and my family) means black olives on our fingers at dinnertime, homemade pasta swirled into savory sauces, and simple desserts like these to tos.

Walking into an Italian grocery store (like Penn Mac in the Strip District in Pittsburgh) is always the best sensory experience for me; the scent of cheese, olives, and oils smells like my childhood!

 

What are to tos, and how/when are they typically served?

At their core, to tos are chocolate cookies with a simple vanilla icing. They're crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. I think there's a similar version of these cookies floating around called "meatball cookies," which is very accurate given their look before they're iced.

I'm from Pittsburgh, and the "wedding cookie table" is a very important part of our culture here. So, I saw them a lot at weddings growing up. Now, we mostly have them at Christmas, and I look forward to them every single year.

 

What is the significance of this recipe for you?

These are, hands down, my favorite cookies. 

Yes, they're delicious, but this recipe is one that I always consider "our family recipe." I've never really seen to tos anywhere else, but I always look forward to them at family gatherings. 

To tos are a simple chocolate cookie, but they're so much more than that. When I bite into them, I'm always taken back to the weddings I attended, the birthday get-togethers we had, and the visits with family that included these cookies.

They're as much a memory as they are a recipe.

 

How is this recipe different from the traditional version?

My Nana's version of this recipe is very similar to mine; mine uses vegan butter instead of regular butter. I tried to keep my version as close to the original as possible, considering the original has been my favorite treat for over 30 years! 

I'm not really sure that my Nana would have really understood my desire to make to tos plant-based, but making this recipe always makes me feel close to her, even with my tweaks. 

 

What do you hope at-home cooks and bakers will take away from your recipes?

I hope they're able to take one of my recipes and say, "Wow, this tastes great, and it's plant-based," rather than something like, "This tastes great for a plant-based recipe." 

I'm plant-based because I love animals, and I figure if I can satisfy my body with foods that don't require them, I should. 

I don't believe that there's one universal way of eating for every person, but I hope my recipes show people who are interested in plant-based options how simple, tasty, and uncomplicated they can be. 

 

What is your goal with Fooduzzi?

My goals have changed so much over the years! I started Fooduzzi almost 10 years ago, and when I first started, my goal was to take it full-time and work for myself.

That said, I soon realized that I'm a terrible boss for myself! So, it's very much a hobby and a hub where I share the recipes that I love at the moment. I'm not actively creating new recipes; I'm now sharing more of the recipes I've started making and truly love.

 

 

 

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New Orleans is renowned for its cuisine. But when it comes to several of its most iconic dishes, some credit should go to the area's Sicilian transplants, says Louisiana historian Laura Guccione. 

"If you think about something like shrimp creole with tomatoes in it, a lot of people have said that it definitely has a Sicilian influence," says Laura. "And if you go to a restaurant here, a lot of places have stuffed artichokes on the menu. That's definitely directly from Sicily."

Curious about the Sicilian origins of Louisiana's plants and foods, the Delgado Culinary School graduate pursued a master's in urban studies at the University of New Orleans. Her graduate thesis evolved into two New Orleans history book manuscripts, one on St. Joseph's Day and the other on Sicilians and Creole Cuisine, both currently under peer review by LSU Press. 

I caught up with Laura to learn more about how Sicilians colored New Orleans's rich history. She shared some of the more surprising food contributions and how Sicilian corner stores promoted what's become known as New Orleans cuisine.

 

 

What is your background?

I'm a native New Orleanian but grew up in the suburbs. My father's a hundred percent Sicilian. His story is interesting because his father was born in Louisiana, but in Lettsworth, Louisiana, which is north of Baton Rouge and sugar cane country. His grandfather did not like it here, so they went back to Sicily. So, my grandfather was an American citizen. He was born here but was raised in Sicily. He came back as a teenager at 17 and then lived in New Orleans. I still have direct cousins in Sicily because his brother stayed in Sicily.

My mother's family is from the very beginning of New Orleans. They're a Creole family, also Scots-Irish. 

I grew up here, worked in the service industry for about 30 years, tending bar, and then decided to go back to school after Hurricane Katrina. 

I went to culinary school, but I soon realized that as much as I loved restaurants, food, and cooking, I was really more interested in history. So, a few years later, I went back to get my master's degree from the University of New Orleans.

 

How did the challenges Sicilian immigrants faced influence their culinary contributions?

Sicilians assimilated quicker than most places, so I think it's harder to see what they've done. They immediately spread all over the city, including on the West Bank, uptown, downtown, and outside of New Orleans, because many of them came to work the sugarcane fields. 

They were basically migrant workers. They would come here, spend time in Louisiana, then go to Chicago and go up to where other things were being harvested. 

They went back and forth, which contributed to agriculture. Many Sicilians had small farms outside of New Orleans, almost within the city limits. 

What happened with the Sicilians is that they contributed a lot to Creole cuisine. It's not as obvious as an actual dish, with the exception of the muffuletta and a few other things that are obviously Sicilian.

They were changing cuisine here because what they were growing was what they were familiar with. They were coming back and forth so they could bring seeds and plants. They were going into the field of producing, growing, producing, and distributing fruits, vegetables, and even oysters and fish. 

In the history of recipes, you can see that as more and more Sicilians come here, you see a change in what's being used. For example, everybody talks about the trinity [onions, bell peppers, and celery]. Paul Prudhomme was the first one to start using that. I talked to his sous chef recently, and he said Paul only really cooked with celery once he got here. Where does celery come from? It comes from Sicily.

 

A lot of old gumbo recipes barely have anything in them. Through the years, you see more onions; you see more celery and peppers. Because what do they eat in Sicily more than anything? Peppers, onions, celery, and tomatoes.

 

What's a surprising Sicilian contribution to New Orleans cuisine?

If you look at the history of the poor boy, it was created by the Martin Brothers. But they went to their Sicilian baker neighbor to have the bread made. 

Baguettes from France are long and skinny with pointy ends. They went to their neighbor and said, "We need to change this because we want to make these sandwiches, but we don't want to lose that end. We want something rounder and wider."

So Sicilians and the Martin Brothers created this loaf of bread that is now synonymous with the city.  And what do people come here for? Poor boys.

 

Another contribution is the muffuletta. Can you describe its creation?

No one will probably be able to prove how it really started. There's Central Grocery and a place a couple of doors down called Progress. They both said that they created the muffuletta. Progress is gone, so it's pretty much accepted that it was created at Central Grocery. 

The story goes that Central Grocery sold the bread, which, if you go to Sicily, the muffuletta is just a round bread. Sometimes, people would serve it hot with olive oil and fennel seeds on it, but it's just bread. It's not a sandwich in Sicily.

Central Grocery had the bread and all the pieces; they would sell the salami, cheese, and olives in the big barrels and bundle up stuff for the men to go to work. 

One day, they said, "Why don't we just put it all together and make this easier?"

 

That's an example of a Sicilian-owned grocery store having an impact. What is the history of these stores?

At one point, probably in the early 1900s, maybe even heading into the mid-1900s, most of the grocery stores were owned by Sicilians or their children. They tended to be on a corner, and you didn't have a major grocery store, so that's where you probably got everything. You probably knew the people. And then there are lots of stories where the Sicilian families would let people buy on credit. So, there was definitely dependence upon the neighborhood, and the neighborhood depended on the grocers, who sold everything from flour to clothes.

Mandina's Restaurant and Napoleon House both started off as grocery stores. Most of these places started off as grocery stores, became bars, and then became restaurants. 

The story with Napoleon House is that the owner at the time said, "We'll make some sandwiches." And then it just evolved from there. Now, it's probably one of the most famous restaurants in the world.

 

What is your goal in writing about Sicilian-New Orleans cuisine and culture?

I really just want to shine a light on what I feel is a somewhat neglected history. I want something that could be used as a reference later. It's like all this work I'm doing is not just for me but for posterity. 

 

 

 

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Sicilian folk music, ranging from lullabies to harvest songs, has served as a cultural backbone for centuries. A fusion of Greek and Byzantine hymns, Arabic Maqam, and Spanish styles, the island's unique sounds were recorded and cataloged by American musicologist Alan Lomax as part of his Italian Treasury: Sicily.

 

Lomax recorded the voices of peasants, shepherds, salt and sulfur miners, cart drivers, and fishermen and uncovered music related to festivals, dance, religion, and storytelling. In doing so, he also introduced the sounds of Sicily's traditional musical instruments, many of which I highlight along with video performances below.

Ciaramedda

Native to rural Sicily and Calabria, particularly in the province of Messina in Sicily, the ciaramedda or ciaramèddha consists of a goatskin bag, a blowpipe that inflates the bag, two chanters (the part of the bagpipe used to create the melody) that are typically made of fruit wood or heather wood, and two or three drones, which provide the harmony.

 

 

Friscaletto

Once commonly played by shepherds, the fiscaletto or friscalettu is similar in appearance to the recorder that most American schoolchildren are taught to play. But instead of plastic, it's typically made of cane, featuring a hollow cylinder with seven holes in the front and two holes in the rear.

 

Marranzano

Colloquially referred to as the "jaw harp," a name that originates from jeu-trompe, the French word for trumpet, the marranzano or marranzanu is similar to instruments found throughout Asia. Italy's first marranzani can be traced to the 16th century, and there's evidence of its use in Sicily and Sardinia in the 18th century. Giuseppe Pitrè's Canti popolari Siciliani (Sicilian Folk Songs) was published in 1870. Since then, this circular metal instrument has become a part of Sicilian folk tradition.

 

 

Tamborello

Whether it originated in western Africa, the Middle East, Greece, or India, most scholars believe that the tambourine was one of the first instruments created by humans. It dates as far back as 1700 BC, roughly within the New Stone Age or Neolithic Period. Called the tamborello in Italy, this percussion instrument was traditionally made of stretched skin over a wooden frame. In Sicily, it's typically played during tarantella dances.

 

 

Organetto

A diatonic-button accordion (not to be confused with the piano accordion), the organetto is played throughout Italy, particularly along with the saltarello dance.

 

 

 

Putipù

The putipù or cupa cupa is a friction drum composed of three key parts: a bamboo reed, a drum membrane, and a cylindrical sound box. The sound is made by rubbing a wet hand on the reed, which vibrates the membrane. Drum tones vary based on the size of the sound box and the thickness of the membrane.

 

 

 

 

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Among the cornerstones of rural life in Sicily was the tradition of using and maintaining a public oven. It was a practice born from necessity. Because few rural people had their own ovens throughout Italy's history, communities would rely on one that was communally shared. 

 

Ancient Rome once hosted a vast network of at least 500 public ovens, which spread throughout Europe from the 14th to the 19th centuries. Citizens would bring dough to bake bread together in the community oven, which was a place where the rich and poor would bake side-by-side, stories would be swapped, and relationships would blossom.

 

It lasted until after World War II when most people purchased their own ranges and baked in their own homes. Much was gained in convenience, but was something lost in shedding this ancient practice?

 

Several people have asked that question, which has led to the creation of community ovens across the United States.

 

Vermont art teacher and former librarian Jen Burton and her friend Mark Woodward, a former state legislator, founded the Johnson Community Oven in 2017.

 

A family-friendly place where locals have gathered to communally dine on fresh-baked pizzas, the oven is primarily supported by donations and grants. Elmore Mountain Bread, Jasper Hill Farm, and Foote Brook Farm have all contributed food. And residents have donated building materials and wood. The oven has served as a glue, further connecting people in this town of just over 3,000 people.

 

Jen and I recently sat down to chat about how she and Mark got started, what goes into running a community oven, how it's used, and how the Johnson Community Oven ties to public oven tradition.

 

 

What exactly is a community oven?

I guess it doesn't have to be the same thing everywhere, but in Johnson, it's an oven that sits on town property and is available for anyone in the community to use. You need to sign up with the town, fill out a form, and say when you'll use it. Hopefully, you will get a little bit of training from an oven volunteer. Often, people will reach out to someone on the oven committee, and committee members will run the oven for their event.

 

There's a community pizza night that happens for about eight weeks each summer. The oven committee, along with other volunteers, organizes and hosts it. The pizza is free—by donation—and the committee often gets grants and other donations to supplement the cost. 

 

Tell us how you got started.

My stepmom and her partner built an oven in their backyard, and they sometimes fire it up and invite people in the neighborhood to bring their own baked goods, like bread and other things, to bake. I knew about that, and then I heard a piece on Vermont Public Radio about an oven in Norwich, VT. It had been there for a long time, and somebody had just started using it to bake bread once a week. People would sign up for a loaf of bread.

 

Mark and I both independently heard that story. He kept talking about how he wanted a bread oven in town, and I decided to take action.  

I did the groundwork to get the approval from the town. I had to defend the idea at a select board meeting, where everybody grilled me with questions for an hour. A big question was where to put it; there was a lot of conversation about that.

 

Once we had the approval, we hired a local mason to build it. People contributed stones and other items to be built into it, which added another aspect of community involvement. That was Mark's idea and turned out to be pretty cool.

Describe the oven and the space where it's located.

It's a big stone wood-burning oven, probably about six feet across each side, and it sits in a 12 x 16 structure. It's on a green in town next to an elementary school. In the summer, we have a Tuesday night live concert series there. So, the oven is kind of an extenuation of how we use that space in town.
 

How many pizzas can you fit in there at a time?

About three pizzas can be cooked at once. On a good night, they've made up to 90 pizzas for people in just a few hours, so they really crank out the pizzas. They do a great job.

 

How else is the oven used?

It's been used for birthday parties, retirement parties, and a few fundraising events. The library has started to collaborate with the oven committee on pizza nights. They've been providing some activities and music.

 

How has the use of the Johnson community oven changed?

It was built in the fall of 2017. We didn't use it much that winter, but we started to use it more the next summer. Initially, it was a free-for-all, with everybody bringing toppings and everybody making pizza, including kids. It was nice—messy but nice.

 

Then COVID happened, so we couldn't really do it that way anymore. The committee worked together to formulate a new plan in which just a few people made the pizzas, and nobody else was around. A pickup system was developed where we would tell people online what would be available that day, and they would come to pick them up.

We started to give people whole pizzas in boxes, and they would pick them up and leave instead of hanging around the field. Once COVID started to abate, people started to come onto the field again and spend more time with their neighbors. We had more volunteers helping with the baking, but this core group of people was still doing all the work, like making and cooking the pizzas.

 

Just this year, they started to open it up again and have more people come in, with more people bringing ingredients. And now it's a bit back to being more of a community-involved event.

 

I think people like it to be more participatory, and I think the people running it appreciate not having all the pressure on them. Also, there tend to be just one or two people who cook the whole time because that is more of a skill, but I think a wider range of people are coming in, bringing things in, and making the pizzas.

 

You talked about pizza. What other dishes can be made in the oven?

Richard Miscovich's book From the Wood-Fired Oven is a really great resource. I took a class from him to learn more about using ovens, which was really helpful.

 

I still love his onion recipe. He just put onions in a pot and put them in the oven; they're one of the best things that comes out of the oven.

 

But I've made bread, cookies, and garlic knots in that oven. The nice thing about the oven is that after the high temperatures of the pizza cooking, you can use the lower temperatures to do other things in it. So there's a cycle to it where you can cook at the high heat with certain things and then cook other things at the lower heat. People don't take advantage of it in that way as much as they could.

 

How does this oven tie to public oven tradition?

NPR's Shankar Vedantam has talked about how food really brings people together, so a lot of the reasoning behind doing it was based on that. It just felt like there needed to be something to bring different factions of the town together.

 

It's something that has been a central component of a community for hundreds or maybe thousands of years. Some towns only had one oven, where people would come to cook, so everybody would see each other there and have to cooperate.

 

So, part of the foundation for wanting to build it was to build something that would bring people together and make them work together toward a common goal.

 

In Vermont, we have Town Meeting Day. It's a cultural phenomenon. It's one day when people come to vote on their town budgets. It's an interesting thing that I don't think many other states, if any, have.

 

We have a potluck on Town Meeting Day. The oven is right next to the elementary school, where the town meeting is held. Over the past few years, people have made pizza for the potluck.

 

How would you describe the experience?

Overall, it's been a positive experience for the town. I think a lot of people really do like it. It's a very positive, family-friendly experience.

 

 

 

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A classic Italian soup, traditionally made from vegetable scraps and paired with beans and sometimes pasta, minestrone is the perfect first course for a Sicilian supper. There are a variety of ways to prepare this meal starter, but I was drawn to a recipe by Nadia Fazio of Mangia Bedda.

 

Nadia's blog reflects her quest to transcribe all of her mother's classic recipes. It has an even deeper meaning for her now that their mother has passed. 

 

I sat down with Nadia to discuss her Sicilian-Canadian upbringing, the origin of Mangia Bedda (and its name), the right way to make minestrone, and the art of shelling your own beans.  

 

 

What's your background?

I'm Italian-Canadian. Both my parents, however, were born in Sicily. They are actually from the same little town in Sicily (Naso in the province of Messina). My father emigrated to Canada in 1954. My mom, after they got married, came here and joined in 1959.

 

What was it like growing up Sicilian Canadian?

My siblings and I grew up with all the typical Italian traditions that they brought over from Sicily. It's interesting because it appears that when people came here from Sicily, it was sort of like time froze. They maintained the exact same traditions, with regard to food and family, that they practiced in Sicily. 

 

I grew up with the typical Sicilian foods, all the traditional foods, all homemade from scratch, especially at this time of the year, all of the preserving, making the tomato sauce and all the different vegetables, the beans, and roasting the peppers and the eggplants and all of that.

 

I grew up surrounded by that, and I think my memories of my childhood and my parents are all, for the most part, actually centered around food, and I didn't appreciate it at the time. I really did not appreciate it.

 

I remember being dragged to a local farmers market in Montreal, and I found it so drab. I mean, I was a kid. It was boring, and it's one of my favorite places today.

 

Another memory that stands out is going to a farm outside of the city to get fresh milk (probably unpasteurized at the time) so that my mom could come home and make ricotta with it.

 

Tell us about your project, Mangia Bedda.

I started this blog almost 10 years ago as a little part-time hobby. It slowly grew and evolved, and I realized that my mission was really to transcribe all of my mom's recipes so that they wouldn't be lost. Most importantly, I wanted to write them down and get the correct quantities of ingredients because whenever you speak to an Italian nonna about how much flour goes into a recipe, it's as much as needed.

 

I started going to my mom's home to prepare one recipe at a time, watching her make it and stopping her at every step. "Wait, Mom, I've got to measure. I've got to weigh; I've got to write down how much it is." So that's what I did because I wanted to make sure that I had my favorite recipes. And that's even more dear to me now. I'm so grateful that I had the opportunity to do that.

 

I lost my mom a year ago, actually. So I am ever so grateful that I had that opportunity to do that because I have the recipes, not only for me, but I see how much they're appreciated by the types of comments and feedback I get from my readers, who are so happy that I took the time to document them. They share these memories of growing up with these recipes and are so happy that there's a place where they can get them.

 

Where does the name of your blog come from?

Bedda means my pretty one or beautiful one. And that's of significance to me because when I was little, I only met my nonna twice in my lifetime. She lived in Sicily, but I remember I was two years old when I met her, and apparently, I didn't want to eat. She always said those words to me, "Mangia, bedda," to coax me to eat.  

 

What does this minestrone remind you of?

The first thing that comes to mind is memories of this time of year, specifically because this was when my mom made huge batches of minestrone, and she had all the vegetables from my dad's garden. So, if I look at all the ingredients and the recipe, the celery came from the garden. The tomatoes came from the garden. The zucchini and the green beans came from the garden. Oh, and some of the greens, I put in fresh spinach that's easily accessible, but you can use any greens in the garden.

 

I remember my mom making huge batches. She would freeze it before adding pasta and put it into freezer bags. She had a freezer full; we used to have the deep-chest freezer that we had in the garage at the time. She would take out a bag at a time and cook it up for us.

 

So, what exactly is minestrone?

It's an Italian vegetable and bean soup. The key component is that it's vegetables and beans. The beans are always present. Usually, they're Romano beans, but they could be white beans. It's just a medley of vegetables cooked down with these beans. There's a tomato base, and in my mom's case, it was always fresh tomatoes from the garden.

 

Usually, pasta is added to it as well. It's usually a small shape, like a ditalini. It could be small shells or elbow macaroni. Another typical addition would be taking spaghetti and breaking it up into small pieces. We call this spaghetti "sminuzzati." That was very, very common. In fact, sometimes, my mom might've even mixed pasta.  

 

How do you flavor your minestrone?

Most minestrone soups are made with plain water, which is the classic way. But you could use chicken stock or vegetable broth if you want.

 

The herbs are also important—fresh basil, parsley, and thyme. You could add flavor with bay leaves. In just about any soup, I always add a couple of bay leaves.

 

I also add Parmesan rind. I think that makes such a big difference. If you want to stick to using plain water and not some kind of broth, just throw in a Parmesan rind, and I think it's fantastic. It gives a lot of flavor. And, of course, I always serve it with Parmesan cheese. Having minestrone or anything with pasta without cheese is hard for me.

 

Another thing you could add just before serving is a nice drizzle of olive oil. Olive oil on top adds tons of flavor.

 

What did your mother add that was unique to this recipe?

In our house, it was always made with freshly picked vegetables from our garden because, as I said, my mom made large batches. At this time of year, my parents often headed out to local farms and picked their own vegetables to supplement what we had. We could get more tomatoes, more zucchini, and so on.

 

I should add that the beans used were not dried beans that you just bought and soaked from the grocery store. They would always go out and get fresh beans. I actually did this recently. I went to a local farmers market and got a huge 20-pound bag of beans in their pods.

 

There was a lot of time spent shelling these beans at this time of year. They were the beans that we shelled ourselves. She also froze bags full of these beans to make pasta fagioli as well during the winter months.

 

What do you get out of that experience of shelling your own beans?

Oh, it connects me to my mom. When I was a kid, I was always trying to find a way to get away from these tasks. And my mom didn't force me. She let me go out and play and wouldn't hold me to these tasks. But for the last few years, I made sure to head out with my mom every year to get those beans. So we spent time the last few years sitting here, actually in my backyard, bonding while we were shelling the beans and chitchatting and talking about family and so on. So it's really special. I'm glad that I had the opportunity to do that. And now I do that with my husband and my daughter. It's just continuing that tradition.

 

What do you hope readers will take away from your recipe?

What I hope readers will take away is a few things. I think, first of all, the importance of preparing a simple, healthy meal from scratch with fresh ingredients for themselves and their family. I want to show them that it's really not that difficult to do so. Also, the importance of preserving family food traditions and passing them on to the next generation.

>>Get Nadia Fazio's minestrone recipe here.<<

 

 

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Dance and folk music are the heart and soul of Sicilian tradition, connecting people and introducing others to the region's rich heritage.

 

For 39 years, Amici Italiani (Italian Friends) of Rockford, Illinois, has shared and preserved culture through folk dance. With both adult and youth troupes, the group performs traditional Quadriglias, Saltarellos, Mazurcas, Tarantellas, and Codigliones, all carefully researched as members of the Italian Folk Art Federation of America.

 

I recently chatted with Amici Italiani Director Bea Giammarese Ricotta, whose family came from the Sicilian towns of Aragona and Bagheria. We discussed her start as a founding member, the memories she associates with Italian folk music and dance, her favorite dances, Amici Italiani's traditional costumes, and her most rewarding performance.

 

 

How did you get started with Amici Italiani?

I was one of the founding members. We had a wonderful person named Shirley Martignoni Fedeli, who, with her husband, Gene, decided to start the Italian dance troupe.

 

The newspaper printed a small article that said, "If you're Italian and you want to dance the Italian folk dances, call Shirley."

So, my mom saw it, and I might've just graduated from college. And she said, "You like to dance. Why don't you call?"

 

I did, and Shirley sounded really nice, so I went. That was pretty much it.

 

I have to laugh because I was such an idiot back then. On the first day of dance practice, I showed up in a legit dance skirt and tights while everybody else wore sweatpants and shorts.

 

We were the founding members, and we brought in a dance instructor from Milwaukee's dance troupe, Mario DeSantis, who has since passed.

 

He taught us a couple of dances a year, and then we went from there.

 

I was a dancer for a million years, and then I became the instructor, and I did that for a number of years. I loved that. Then I got pretty old. When you can't do a hop, that's pretty bad. Your knees don't like you anymore. When our director retired, I became the director.

My two daughters are in the troupe. One of my daughters is one of the dance instructors. We have two: a male and a female dance instructor.

 

So, it's a family thing. They grew up in the troupe. And I'm going to tell you a secret: Every time I hear this beautiful Italian folk music, I'm telling you the people I lost in my life who came from Italy and are no longer here; in those few minutes that the song is playing, they're back, and it means so much. I'll never get tired of any of that music because they're alive all over again and all the good memories and all the love is still there.

 

What memories do you associate with that music and dancing?

We had relatives who emigrated here in the early seventies, so they came later than my mom. They were all grown. Most of them had kids already. And in the summer, they would have these little get-togethers in their backyards and they had a trellis with the grapes growing over. And they hardly had any lawn in the backyard because they planted tomato plants, rows and rows of these plants.

 

I remember seeing the moon, and there were lights that they had strung above the trellis. And whenever somebody went in the house, they brought out other platters of food.

 

When I was young, we would have wonderful family gatherings. My zio, my cousins Carl, Iggy, Frank and Mr. Spoto, a close friend from down the street, played instruments. They would bring out their instruments after we'd eaten and visited, and they would sing.

 

Sometimes, the ladies would dance together. Those evenings were magical. I mean, my dad passed away when I was very young, so it was not easy. But because of all this wonderful stuff, I really feel like my childhood was enchanted.

 

Of course, at weddings, they would always play the music. And as a kid, that was amazing. You'd get out there and dance. You didn't know what you were doing, but nobody cared.

 

Tarantella dances are popular at weddings. Which is your favorite?

They're all from the southern region and Sicily. But each one has a different flavor to it. And people really loved to watch them.

 

We always call the Neapolitan the main Tarantella here. You could do it with as many or as few people as you want. We dance this as a call dance so you can follow along.

 

We have Cantania's, which I love. Catania's Tarantella is totally different.

 

Some are just crowd-pleasers, and I don't know why. Some use tambourines, some don't. There's a Tarantella that only uses five people, and the movements are very together.

 

I tell the troupe that we're not Rockettes. This is a chance to show your personality. But there are some dances where you have to be more rigid regarding doing the same thing. So those are amazing for us. 

 

How do you get the audience to participate?

We've been hired to dance at weddings just to do what we call the main Tarantella, the Neapolitan one. But we get the bride and groom in there. We get Uncle Toto. We don't know who we're dancing with.

 

The difference between that and all the others is that it's a call dance. So, we have one person who calls the dance, and if he makes a mistake or does something we haven't practiced, you just do what he says—just follow.

 

That makes it really fun. And he says he calls it Italian, so it's really beautiful to hear those words.

 

How do your troupes ensure the traditions remain?

We are really committed to the authenticity of these dances. If we change something, it would be that we can't quite make a transition with a dance step, so we add a hop or something like that. But it does not change the integrity of the dance, which is so important to me.

 

Even the costuming has a lot of tradition. We don't use nylon fabrics; we use cotton and cotton blends, which are authentic to what they used to wear. They might get a little more "wrinkly", and need to ironed more often. But it's important.

 

I saw a dance troupe with young ladies in fishnet stockings. I thought, "Oh my God, no Italian father would've let their daughter leave the house like that."

 

I don't know what they were thinking. We try to be as authentic as possible. 

 

Tell us more about your costumes.

A woman from Pittsburgh put together a book of Italian clothing. We would pick our costumes from the book and recreate everything.  

 

We would take that and find a seamstress out here who could design and sew it. Now, we have a couple of dancers who can sew, which has been very helpful. 

 

We purchase what we can. We found some companies online that like to recreate historic items. I know they're recreating things for Comic-Con or whatever. I don't know why they're making these costumes, but we can pull a shirt here or a skirt there, and it is what we want. We will hem it, and it just makes it a lot easier for our seamstresses.

 

How has the local community in Rockford responded?

They love them. I love being out somewhere where they're clapping with the music. And when we have a chance to dance with the groups and the audience, I love seeing them get up there.

 

We will do the Tarantella with them. We'll also do the Scopa (broom) dance. Everybody gets a partner except one person. It's typically one of our guys, and he has to dance with the broom. And at some point, while he is dancing, he'll yell, "Scopa!" and he'll throw it, and everyone has to switch partners.

 

We've done that with crowds, and they do a great job. When locals see us in costumes, they stop us and ask if we can pose with them.

 

What do you hope audiences take away?

When I introduce a dance, I will tell a little bit about it and the area where it originated. So, we're trying to teach them about Italy and the dances. We want to entertain them and disseminate some of our history.

 

The story of the Tarantella involves a tarantula. I used to bring a tarantula to performances so that the audience could see it. And I'm telling you, any child in that audience could probably still tell you about the Tarantella because they remember the tarantula. The adults remember, too.

 

I share the history of the dances and tell them where they come from. We have two dances from Sicily that the Moors brought over, and I love to tell people about them. The dances and music are different, but now they're Sicilian dances and songs.

 

What has been your most rewarding experience with Amici Italiani?

There have been a few, but a real favorite of mine was in 1994 when we were invited to dance at the opening ceremony of the World Cup in Chicago to represent Italy.

 

We're out there, and there are cameras all over. We're dancing. It was so exciting and wonderful.

 

It was at Soldier Field. We ended the performance on the 50-yard line.

 

I was on such a high, and then I heard that my then-husband and his relatives in Italy were watching because everybody loves soccer in Italy. And somebody said, "That's Joe's wife." Crazy. Just crazy.

 

Dancing connects us so much. Granted, they remembered me there, but it was the dancing that connected everybody.

 

My kids have been dancers since they were bambini. They did the youth troupe, and now they're in the adult troupe. They're not the only ones who have stayed in it so long. It keeps us all connected.

 

 

 

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Antonio Bertone arrives at our interview wearing a sweatshirt that reads, "Boxed Wine Is Not a Crime." He hopes this slogan will stick and help people choose more sustainable boxed beverages like his Alileo Wines. 

Cofounded by Antonio and his wife, Alexandra Drane, the Boston-based boxed natural wine company produces award-winning West Coast Sicilian varietals in partnership with Bertone's family in Sicily and imports them to the United States, where they are distributed in Massachusetts, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Texas. 

Antonio shared what inspired Alileo's creation, what makes his wines unique, and why boxed wine.

 

 

What is your background?

My father emigrated from Molise, and my mom emigrated from Partanna, Sicily. When I was in the second grade, my parents decided to move us back. My sister and I were born here in the United States. 

My mom was very homesick. She was the only one from her family that left and came to America. My dad's entire family ultimately ended up in the States. 

So, we moved back, and I did my second to fourth grades of elementary school in Sicily and all my summers. Then, after my dad passed, my mom kind of moved back for half the year, so she would do June to December in Sicily and then December to June back in the U.S. That went on for 30 years until she passed. 

 

What inspired Alileo's creation?

We were in COVID lockdown, and my mom was battling cancer. I think she felt this fear or sadness that once she passed, the connection to Sicily would start to degrade or disappear because I'm the last one left in America, representing the Sicilian side. 

So, my wife and I started talking about starting a wine company with our cousin Rosario, a winemaker in Sicily. 

Over the years, we have always joked about it at the dinner table and about how nice it would be. We all enjoyed those conversations in the kitchen. My kids got into it; they were like, "That could be so cool."

We came up with the name and the product's USP. We started it, kicked into making-things mode, and worked with some designer friends in London to design the packaging. We started getting ready for the first shipment, and then my mom passed. The first shipment, our first 40-foot container, actually arrived on her birthday the following year. So it was pretty magical that the wine has this eternal connection to her. 

 

What's been your goal with Alileo Wines?

For our wine, we wanted to make a low-intervention, natural wine. We wanted to make something that didn't have junk in it and sugar and all the crap that gives you headaches. And we wanted to bring a younger audience into wine.

 

Wine is as old as time. The simpler the wine-making, the better, in my opinion.  

 

Your wine is low-sulfite. Why is that important?

You're dealing with a low-intervention wine, which has a greatly reduced amount of sulfites in the wine. The grapes themselves produce a certain amount of sulfites, and for you to get some sort of shelf life, you have to work with some form of SO2. So we keep ours at the bare minimum, which is around 55 parts per million. The standard natural wine is 150 parts per million. Commercial wines are in the four hundreds and five hundreds, which sometimes causes people headaches and some of the negative side effects of wine. 

 

Why did you choose to box your wines?

I come from a consumer products background. As a marketeer, I'm better against the grain than I am with the grain. Sustainability is a key discussion to get a younger audience interested. 

Sicily's on fire right now; it's still 40 degrees Celsius daily. So it's important to put your money where your mouth is and act in a more sustainable or responsible manner. 

In my previous careers, I always drove toward a more sustainable point of view. In our product creation, our ambition is to be a B Corp, and the box in and of itself is way more functional. Once you open a box, the wine's still good for 30 to 45 days. Transport costs are a fraction. Think about the overall energy it takes to make a glass bottle rather than just a cardboard box and a bladder. 

People are like, "Boxed wine?" The rest of the world is fine with the format. It's just in America and weird days at college, slamming Franzia that has forever created this stigma. So we're here to change it.

 

How does your wine compare to other Sicilian wines?

I think my cousin has a special gift. When you hear about natural wines, people start to think funky and weird. And no knock to the really experimental winemakers, but we're making a commercial product. We're using grapes that are synonymous with our side of the island. 

Our most popular wine is zibibbo macerato, a skin-contact wine made out of a grape that's usually used to make dessert wine. Our zibibbo is very dry tasting and drinks super lovely, all because of Rosario and his skills. 

I come from farmers. My mom's side of the family were all grape and olive farmers. My dad was a farmer before he came to America. He had livestock. He had sheep, horses, and cows. So we ate incredibly well. Even though we had no money, we never knew that we didn't have any money. Because we basically produced all the things that we consumed. So to make something that's as simple but delicious and has its own profile and point of view, I think suits us. 

 

What are your future plans?

We launched boxed water as well. We were doing a lot of popups, and it was interesting to find the format. Single-use plastic, under a certain measurement, is being banned in a lot of communities around the oceans.

Right now, we're in five states. Funny enough, we don't sell in Italy. Next year, we will start selling in six European countries. 

We're trying to grow and occupy a place in the wine retail channel that serves good food. We really want to have a good connection to good cuisine.  

 

What experience do you hope people have with your wines?

I hope they're enjoying themselves, eating something nice, and having a nice conversation. That's the overall goal: bringing people together. 

 

 

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Memphis-based Sicilian-American singer Michela Musolino has toured the world, performing in medieval castles, ancient temples, New York City landmarks, and national folk festivals. She's recorded traditional and contemporary Sicilian folk songs and roots music. She's even branched out into something she calls "Sicilian folk-a-billy." But no matter where she stands and how she sings, her heart remains in Sicily. 

"I really feel like I got my start in Sicily," Michela says. "I probably performed more in Sicily in the beginning than here. Nobody knew who I was here, but in Sicily, I had already performed at festivals and temples. They welcomed me so beautifully. So, I always feel that even though I performed a lot in New York for many years, Sicily was more like the home for what I do."

Michela and I recently chatted about her traditional Sicilian-American upbringing and how that shaped who she would become. She shared her favorite venue, experience, and what inspired her foray into "Sicilian folk-a-billy." And because Michela's a walking encyclopedia of Sicilian folk music, we discussed the people and traditions that shaped the songs she sings today. 

 

 

Tell us about your background.

My family is Sicilian. I have one grandpa who is from Calabria, so I'm one-quarter Calabrese. My other grandparents are Sicilian. My mom's dad was from Borgetto, which is about 40 minutes away from Palermo. My mom's mom was raised in Palermo by a Palermitano father, but she was actually born in Argentina. My grandmother's father took her back to Sicily when she was young so she could be raised. Her mom died when she was young, so her father took her back to Sicily so his family could raise her in Palermo, and she grew up in Palermo. And my dad's mom was from a town in the province of Agrigento called Ribera. I still have a lot of family there. My grandpa was born in Reggio Calabria, a town called Calanna.

 

How did you get started?

I have always been very enamored with my heritage. My mom and dad always talked about our family history and told us all the stories of our family. 

My dad was a big fan of American music, especially American country music, Italian-American artists, and Italian music. So we heard a lot of music in the house. 

I grew up hearing Sicilian, hearing the language, because my parents, aunts, and uncles all spoke that to my grandparents. 

When I was all grown up and married and out of the house, I took a workshop for folk dance in New York City, and the people who were running were in the folk company, I Giullari di Piazza, and they asked me to audition. The director of the company, Alessandra Belloni, asked me to audition. They needed extra people in their theater company. I auditioned, and I remember coming home and telling my dad, not even that I was auditioning for the show or anything, but that I was studying folk dance and frame drumming. 

 

He said, "Well, it's good. You should study drumming because that's your tradition. That's what women do."

 

It was strange hearing that from my father because he was not very big on defining women's roles. He was very progressive and open. And I said, "What are you talking about?"

 

He said, "Your grandma used to drum."

I said, "Wait a second…."

He said, "Your grandma had a drum."

"As a matter of fact," he says, "when your grandma came here when she was a young woman, she brought a drum with her. And your great grandma, when she was in Sicily, was known for her dancing."

So these things are in us. Then it's been this wild ride. It's still a wild ride every day, just doing something I love: working with music.

 

What is it about Sicilian music that drew you in?

I just adore Sicilian music, and it's been interesting because I'm exploring it from all different aspects and doing all different things to create things with this music. And when I try to do different projects, they only go so far. When I try to do projects outside of Sicilian music, they only go so far. And I was involved in some projects up until about last year, and there was veering off the path of Sicilian music, and all of a sudden, all these things started to happen. All these opportunities for other creative projects or other performances came all at once. It was like Sicily pulled me back. We're not done with you yet.

 

Describe your experiences in the different types of venues.

It sounds kind of cliche, but I find each venue and experience more enriching than the last, even if it's not the same. Let's say maybe one venue is a beautiful theater and it is full, or another venue is a very small locale. Each show has its importance and its connection, and it has its meaning. But the thing that I think had the biggest impact on me is that I feel it, and it really charted my course, something that had a huge, huge influence on me because, to this day, I'm still living the repercussions of it. It was when I performed in the temples in Sicily, and I did that for several summers. I went to a festival by chance.   

I was there to do some research and to work with some musicologists, and I had my daughter. She was very little then, and I had to change the course of my trip; I thought I was going to just go see my friend, Alfio Antico, perform in Selinunte. And when I got there, yes, Alfio performed that night, but it was in the evening dedicated to the memory of a Sicilian singer/songwriter by the name of Pino Veneziano. And I fell in love with the music that they were playing. 

 

By then, Pino was already deceased by a number of years, but they were playing his music that night. I remember my daughter falling asleep at the concert, and I walked back. I was talking to the people in the Pino Veneziano Association, and I said, "Listen, I'm a singer. I'm from New York. I'm friends with Alfio. Look, he's on my album."

I pulled one of my albums from my bag, and I'm trying to carry my daughter in one hand while she is asleep. I love this music. What can I do? I want to sing it.

They're like, "Here's the album; just sing it."

So, from that night, I met friends of mine who are still my dear friends that I would go back to see. Just going back to those temples and doing that year after year after year became a big turning point in my life. But it's also a big part of my life. And it was strange for me because this summer, I was in Sicily, and I was very, very busy on the other side of the island.

I spent time at the foot of Etna, and it was a beautiful experience, but it felt weird. I was apprehensive about going because I'd become so used to being in the protective embrace of these temples for years. 

Even when it wasn't summertime, and I wasn't performing, I'd be there. I would go, and I still had to visit the temples. I still talked to my friends and visited my friends in that area. So, that venue had a profound, profound influence on my life. And as I said, from that experience, going back there summer after summer created lifelong friendships, collaborations, and a richness of music I discovered. 

I was able to do a lot of research, and I feel that it's still ongoing. Those temples, even when I wasn't on that part of the island, were somehow still impacting me. I feel that what I achieved on the other part of the island I would've never done if it wasn't for all those experiences I had in the temples. 

 

You've developed a style you call "Sicilian Folk-a-Billy." What inspired that?

What happened was quite simple: I moved to Memphis. I finally had the opportunity to get out of the Northeast. I wanted to leave the Northeast forever. I never quite felt like I was going to stay there, but circumstances in life kept me there. Then, I had the opportunity to move, and I knew I wanted to come south somewhere. I wound up in Memphis because I had heard that a lot of artists were moving to Memphis from other parts of the country. I heard that a lot of artists from different genres were moving to Memphis and not just artists making Memphis music or American blues or soul music, but all different genres. And I looked at it, I said, "You know what? Memphis, I like it."

So I came here, and COVID was still kind of a thing. It was 2021, so venues weren't really open. And I had to do a few concerts from my house, things that would be broadcast up in New York. So, I used Memphis musicians. And I wanted to make an album. I talked to somebody down here who was producing, and they said, "Well, we just did a Christmas show in your house. Why don't we do the Christmas album?"

We had been using Memphis sounds and different things. We used rockabilly, American country music, blues music, a little bit of blues, a little bit of soul, a little bit of swing.

We took mostly Sicilian traditions and added a little bit of Americana, and I felt it was going to be a good way to start off here in Memphis. It's a good way to show the movement of music, how music comes from one culture to another, and how music transfers with the immigrants. 

It's like, I'm Italian-American coming to Memphis. How does the music change now with me? So that's kind of where that developed.

It was almost organic, letting the musicians here contribute their ideas and sounds. In fact, most of the musicians, except for one on the album, are Italian-American. I didn't plan it that way. It just happened. 

The fiddle player, Alice Hasen, who is not Italian-American, shows up, and she says, "I was trying to listen to different kinds of Sicilian music and Southern Italian music so I could get an idea of what to play."

 

We're like, "No, no, no. We want to hear your style. We want you to play. You got the arrangements, but we want to see what you're going to add to it."

So that's kind of how we came up with the Sicilian folk. It's not rockabilly; it's folk music but a little bit of everything. My first album here was just my homage to Memphis. So that's where that came from. I guess you could say it was pretty much just the collision of these traditions with Memphis sound. 

 

Let's talk about those folk traditions from Sicily.

You start listening to songs in their most basic form, which we have, let's say, the most basic arrangements that we have documented or the oldest unadulterated field recordings. When I say unadulterated, I mean the field recordings that are the oldest we have and the field recordings that are the most untouched by pop music or anything like that. You can hear the influences. You can hear the melodies, and you can hear the progressions, even the note progressions of things that are Greek, Arabic, or Spanish. For example, you can hear certain things that sound like Spanish. So, all the music reflects the different cultures that occupied Sicily. 

I'll give you an idea. There's a song attributed to the fishermen who fish coral. It's a jumble—like a new language made up of Neapolitan and Sicilian lyrics. When the fishermen discovered these coral beds in Sicily, they brought the coral fishermen down from Naples because they had the skill. They taught the Sicilian fishermen how to fish this coral and worked side by side. They came up with their own language. 

So, in this song, you have a mixture of the two languages, the Neapolitan and the Sicilian, and some of the chants you hear. People will say, "That sounds very Middle Eastern."

Even some of the instruments that we play, some of the old forms of instruments that are very basic with minimal strings, are very Middle Eastern. They all filtered in through the great migrations. And if we get really into the diasporas and how they float about, you can start seeing some traditions. You can start seeing similarities to India when the Roma people came through from India. 

Music is a historical document because you can hear that in the melodies, chord progressions, structures, and song structures. You can hear that and say, "Oh yeah, this is very much like Spanish," or "This is very much Middle Eastern." We share some rhythms with North Africa, too. That kind of stuff. It's just a blueprint—a blueprint for history. 

 

You spoke about fishing. Tell us about the songs of the tuna fishermen.

I've recorded a version of one of the cialome they would sing for the matanza. Those are really fascinating songs. They try to trace a lot of the words like cialome.

 

They say, "Well, it could possibly be Arab." But they think it even predates the Arab invasion. That is a tradition that's really buried in antiquity. They can't pinpoint where that exactly started. That's how ancient that tradition is. And it's a beautiful tradition because it's much deeper than just the hunt of the tuna. It was very much something that was obviously connected to the cycle of the seasons because it was the fish's mating season when they were coming through, and humans were attuned to this. And it wasn't just that they killed the fish; these chants they used all had a purpose.

Some were used to pull up the nets, and some were used to pull the boats out of the water.

 

The one I sing is very fun. They talk about a young girl, and it's an homage to that beautiful young girl. But in a lot of the fishing chants, they say things like, "God bless the earth and sky. God bless the sea. God bless the tuna that's giving its life for us."

There's such a visceral connection and a very close connection between humanity and the animal kingdom in this. And there's this show of reverence. A bounty that year meant they would survive, and they were grateful that God had given them this bounty.

They were also grateful to the tuna who sacrificed their lives. And it's actually a very brutal tradition. But life was very brutal. We forget that. 

We look at the matanza and say, "Oh, it was so horrible, these men clubbing these fish to death and butchering these fish." But that was probably the least brutal thing that was happening to those people in their lifetime at that time. 

Out of that tradition for work came these beautiful songs because they needed a rhythm. These men, groups of men (dozens and dozens of men) had to work together. So, the best way to work in unison is to create a melody that everybody can maintain. So there's a lot of that in this tradition of music where these beautiful, beautiful traditions have evolved out of necessity.

So, the necessity for survival, the necessity to work together, and the necessity for recognizing your blessings all came together and created these beautiful songs. We have these songs not only because they were recorded in the 1950s when Alan Lomax went through Sicily and recorded but also because the tuna matanza ended around the 1980s, so we still had people who were singing. 

 

There's still a lot of mystery involved in that. But I don't think they could have that tradition without music because of the necessity, again, of how these men had to work together.

 

It creates community. And that's something that I try to always mention in my shows, too, that this music comes from the traditional community. It was a time when everybody sang. We all made music together for a lot of reasons. But it comes from a very communal place. And I think that's one of the reasons why it's so well received: it is something that we all share, and it's something that we can all share, and it's meant to be shared and enjoyed together.

 

What do you hope your audiences and students take away from their experience?

I just want them to have a wonderful connection with Sicily and a discovery of Sicily. I would divide the audience into people who have a connection and have some roots in Sicily and those who don't. They have similar experiences, but not necessarily always the same. For some people in the audience, this is the first time they've ever heard Sicilian music. So, I want them to understand that there is a huge body of music. There's a huge patrimonial tradition that is just waiting to be explored and understood. And I want them to feel like they're part of it. That's the most important thing. 

When they have roots in Sicily, I want the same for them. But I also want them to understand that this is your heritage and tradition and belongs to you. It is part of you, and it will always be part of you, and it's a really good thing to have as a part of you. It's something that is solid, lasting, and good. There's nothing negative about it. 

We might not have the same heritage, but we all have the same human emotions and can relate to that. I've had people come up to me after the show and say, "I don't know any Sicilian. I don't know what the heck you're saying when you're singing, but I felt everything."

If I can give people that feeling of belonging, that feeling of being understood and heard, then I think I've succeeded. 

I have always felt that I wanted this for Sicily as well. I want Sicily to be understood. I want people to understand that, yes, Sicily is beautiful. Yes, the food is fantastic. But Sicily is so much deeper than that. She's been around a long time, and she's not going away. And she's got a lot to offer. There are so many aspects of Sicily that are so rich, and we can look at that.

 

 

 

 

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My grandparents came to the U.S. from the fishing village of Porticello, which is currently hosting festivities revolving around the legend of the Madonna del Lume, patroness and protector of the sea. The centuries-old celebration culminates in a grand procession of a legendary painting of the Madonna from Chiesa Di Maria Santissima Del Lume through the streets before it is loaded onto a fishing boat and paraded on the sea to a sacred shrine.  

While my grandparents settled in Milwaukee, a contingent of Porticello immigrants settled in California—mainly in San Francisco and San Diego, which have continued the tradition of Festa della Madonna del Lume and are each hosting events this weekend. 

I recently featured San Francisco's celebration. To learn more about San Diego's Festa, which takes place on Sunday, October 6, I reached out to Giuseppe Sanfilippo, a first-generation Italian-American and currently the President of the Madonna del Lume Society of Our Lady of the Rosary Parish in San Diego's Little Italy. 

Giuseppe's parents were born in Sicily and came to the U.S. from Porticello. We discussed how San Diego's Madonna del Lume Society started and impacted his personal life and connection to his Sicilian heritage. 

 

 

Tell us how San Diego's Madonna del Lume Society started.

The Madonna del Lume Society in San Diego was established in October 1937 by the families of Sicilian fishermen who originate from the fishing village of Porticello, Sicily. The Feast of the Madonna del Lume shares quite visibly with our community a tradition and a profound story of faith and hope. It is a story of the powerful intercession of the Madonna on behalf of a group of Sicilian fishermen who were tormented and cast off course by torrential storms at sea and faced the tragedy of perishing at sea. 

These seafaring men, although experienced at sea, were frightened, unsure, and desperate for guidance and safety to return to shore and embrace their families and community once more. It was in these moments of grave darkness and fear that God answered the faithful prayers of these fishermen, who had humbled themselves in complete trust and devotion to God. God answered their prayers with a glowing light illuminating the dark sky above.

As the wise men once followed the guiding star over Bethlehem to visit our newborn savior over 2,000 years ago, the Sicilian fishermen gratefully recognized and received God's blessing and answer to their prayers. They faithfully followed the glowing light shown above to guide them safely home again. 

Upon returning safely home, the fishermen continued to follow the mysterious guiding light above to a grotto near Porticello. Exploring the sea cave, they found a slab of marble bearing the Madonna's image. They carried it into town, but twice, it mysteriously returned to the grotto. The community decided to leave the image of the Madonna at the grotto and build a church on the spot to protect it. It is fervently believed in Sicily that the lives of hundreds of fishermen have been saved by the intervention of our Blessed Maria Santissima del Lume, Our Most Holy Mother of Light, the guardian and patroness of fishermen.

 

To this day, we continue to celebrate and honor the Madonna del Lume for her guidance and intercession in guiding fishermen safely home and into Christ's light. This story is for fishermen, but it is truly a story for all of us, wherever we are on our journey in life. It is a story of a return home, and it is also a story of a return to faith, a return to God. 

How many times in our lives, especially in these current times, have we been lost, confused, uncertain, or fearful? "Lost at sea," so to speak. Whether we are fishermen at sea, laborers on land, or workers at home, this story gives each of us hope that there is always a light, no matter how dark, and there is always faith, no matter how hopeless our situation is. This remembrance of the Madonna del Lume shows us how powerful Our Most Holy Mother's intercession is on our behalf as Christ's ambassador of light to each of us.

 

When some of the original fishermen began immigrating to the United States, they brought their traditions with them. They formed Madonna del Lume societies in Boston, Milwaukee, San Francisco, and San Diego. The Madonna del Lume Society of San Diego was first stationed at St. Joseph Cathedral on Third Avenue before moving to Our Lady of the Rosary in 1938. Today, the Society has reached over 250 members and continues to grow and preserve the traditions of those first fishermen.

 

Each October, over the last 87 years, after a solemn High Mass, a faithfully devoted group of men and women, old and young alike, and a young queen representing the Society, walk in a procession with the Vara of the Madonna del Lume from the OLR Church to the Embarcadero. There, the clergy sprinkles holy water on the boats, blessing all of the fishermen and praying for their protection from harm. He also asks for abbondanza in the catch. For the last 20-plus years, we have also had fireworks, a tradition carried from Porticello to celebrate the Madonna.

 

Today, in Porticello, Sicily, the Festa della Madonna del Lume is also still thriving. The Festa spans the full first week of October each year, and the entire municipality participates in the procession of La Madonna with fireworks and veneration of La Madonna at the original church of Madonna del Lume.

Traditionally, on the Monday of the feast, the sacred painting of the Madonna is taken down from the altar of the village church and processed throughout the town and its port. Devotees pack the sanctuary, hoping for an opportunity to touch and rub the painting on its way to the street to possess its healing and protective powers. It's a moving moment to experience.

 

This beautiful religious and cultural celebration has been passed on to many of our members through their families' Sicilian Catholic heritage and many years of community collaboration to keep this special tradition alive and vibrant in San Diego. Many members have learned from a young age about the purity, grace, and strength of our Most Holy Mother as our protective, loving, and most powerful ambassador of Christ in the midst of a challenging and often chaotic world. 

 

How does the Society engage with the broader community in San Diego?

We are one of several Marion Societies of Our Lady of the Rosary. We have joined together as one during the OLR Festa and have one procession. We are also active in the Italian American community and events that occur throughout the year. 

 

How has being part of the Madonna del Lume Society impacted your personal life and connection to your heritage?

I have a strong connection to the Madonna del Lume, and it has inspired me to be a true Catholic. I believe in the Catholic Faith and our Lord Jesus Christ, praying through the intercession of our Blessed Mother. 

 

What do you hope participants take away from Festa della Madonna del Lume?

Our Blessed Mother is the Light of the World who prays for us and leads us closer to Christ so that our children and youth find their way in life. This leads us all to God's grace and eternal life.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The biggest event of the year in Porticello, Sicily, revolves around the legend of the Madonna del Lume, patroness of the seaside village and protector of the sea. Since the 18th century, the whole town has gathered for a traditional celebration, which includes a procession of a revered painting of Mary from Chiesa Di Maria Santissima Del Lume through the town before it is loaded onto a fishing boat and paraded on the sea with hundreds of other fishing boats to its sacred shrine. It's the main event of Festa della Madonna del Lume, which begins nine days before the first Sunday in October and features fireworks, food, and festivities. 

For 89 years, San Francisco has held its own two-day Festa della Madonna del Lume, an event started by immigrant women from Porticello, Sicily.

  
Saturday, October 5, includes a Mass at the Fishermen's and Seamen's Memorial Chapel, followed by a memorial flower ceremony at the sea to honor those lost or perished at sea. Sunday, October 6, includes Mass at Saint Peter and Paul Church, a procession from North Beach to Fisherman's Wharf, a ritual blessing of the fishing fleet, and other festivities.

 

Organized by La Società di Maria Santissima del Lume, founded by immigrant Sicilian women in 1935, the Festa is a time for families and friends to come together in memorial, prayer, thanks, and celebration.

I recently caught up with Christina Balistreri, a member of the Society's celebration committee. She and fellow committee members spend countless hours all year planning and preparing for the big event, which takes place the first weekend in October of each year. We chatted about the origins of San Francisco's Madonna del Lume Society and the differences and similarities between Porticello's Festa and San Francisco's. She also shared her hopes for attendees.

 

 

Tell us about your connection to Sicily.

My great-grandparents came to San Francisco from Sicily around 1890. My great-grandmother was an Alitio from Porticello, and my great-grandfather was a Balistreri from Sant'Elia, just down the road from Porticello. Both families carried the traditional profession of pescatore (fishermen) to America, where many settled in San Francisco's Wharf, known then as "Meiggs Wharf," to become fishermen. This profession was passed down through many generations of the Sicilian families that came to San Francisco. During this time, many Sicilian fishing families were concentrated in this area.

 

My nonno (grandfather) was a fisherman here for 59 years. His boat was parked in front of Scomas, and as a child, I would regularly go with my father as he worked on it. I have many great memories of playing on the piers and jumping on and off the different Monterey boats. Sadly, my Great-grandfather Salvatore Balistreri lost his life here on the San Francisco Bay while fishing.

 

Fishing is all our family has ever known. The Sicilian community was a tight-knit community where everyone was famiglia. It is funny because we still connect with each other at many of our events and figure out how we are related. Most of us are convinced we are related in some way or another. 

 

My great-grandmother and her sisters were very involved in the Madonna del Lume Society, helping keep the tradition alive and preserving the ancient tradition the Sicilian community brought when many emigrated here in the late 1800s and early 1900s. The tradition and participation in the Madonna Del Lume have also been passed down for many generations for many of the current committee members. Many of the current celebration committee members come from very instrumental families in the Sicilian community at the Wharf, and some are even direct descendants of the original members listed on the bylaws from 1938. 

How did San Francisco's Madonna del Lume Society start?

It was officially on the books in 1938, but the celebration started in 1935. When they got the organization together, they established the nonprofit religious organization and registered it with the city of San Francisco. The original members were women from Porticello who came here.

 

The instrumental women who established the organization here in San Francisco were Carmela Cresci, Anna Auteri, Margherita Carini, Rosalia Alioto, Teresa Mercurto, Antonia Papia, Maria Crivello, and Paola Sanfilippo. Many of the women's husbands and family members were fishermen here in the Wharf, all from the little town of Porticello. 

 

Today, some of the influential families invested in preserving this tradition include Alioto, Asciutto, Baccari, Balistreri, Battaglia, Cannizzaro, Castagnola, Corona, Cresci, Crivello, D' Amato, Dorio-Wraa, Lavin, Lo Coco, Raineri, Sanfilippo, and Tarantino.

 

This organization is more than just a religious organization; it has a powerful social and cultural aspect that embodies the well-being of all of its members and the Sicilian Community as a whole. 

The first bylaw in the founding documents states, "To promote and encourage a spirit of religion, sociability, and friendship among its members; to celebrate once a year a special feast in honor of the Madonna Del Lume; to gather together for that purpose; to manage and conduct entertainments, picnics, and social gatherings of its members; and to advance their mental, moral, and religious welfare." 

When the Sicilians arrived in San Francisco, there was a lot of strife in Fisherman's Wharf. Many did not speak English, which was hard. It was a really hard life for them to make the voyage from the other side of the world and make a new life here while trying their best to hold on to their culture and traditions. I think the Madonna Del Lume was really instrumental in keeping tradition going, encouraging positivity and a sense of community and belonging. 

San Francisco's Festa della Madonna del Lume is patterned after Porticello's. Tell us about that.

In 1777, fishermen were lost at sea, and they prayed to the Madonna, who shone a light down where they needed it to guide them back safely to the shore. So that's kind of part of it. The other piece is the painting. When the fishermen returned, the Madonna painting was found stuck in their fishing nets. There's another legend about a Jesuit priest, Father Giovanni Antonio Genovesi. The Madonna guided him to paint it as she wanted it. 

 

We have a symbolic relic that we call the "Vara." This relic represents the sacred painting of the Madonna and holds a lot of significance. It is carried on the shoulders of the carriers while music is played with drums. The Vara is processed around Porticello, and everyone tries to touch it and prays to the Madonna. It is a very emotional event where people cry out to the Madonna. The chant is "Viva, Madonna Del Lume, Viva!" It is then placed on a fishing boat, which travels to the Madonna Del Lume altar 15 minutes by boat up the coast. The shrine is beautifully situated on the top of Capo Zafferano, overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

 

In Porticello, the celebration lasts for nearly two weeks. There are daily activities, and the celebration ends with an impressive fireworks display at the port of Santa Nicolicchia. Throughout the year, the local fishermen return from fishing and make generous donations to ensure a grand celebration every October. It's for the Madonna so that she may continue to guide and protect them. So, by the time the year passes, they will have the money to put into this big celebration. It is really big, and the whole town attends and participates.

 

Our committee members have talked about going on a voyage to Sicily together. But it would be hard for us all to go to the celebration in Porticello because we need to plan and attend our celebration here. 

 

Describe San Francisco's two-day event.

Saturday, we have a mass at the Fishermen's and Seamen's Memorial Chapel on Fisherman's Wharf. It's a newer chapel built in 1981. All religions are welcome. On the walls are gold plaques bearing the names of the men and women who have dedicated their lives to the sea and the Wharf. You can also find the names of the founders of the Madonna Del Lume. It is a true gem hidden in plain sight.  

We go there, have Mass, pray, and then go on a ferry boat, the Red and White Fleet. We walk over to the Red and White as a group and embark on our journey, where we honor the lives lost at sea. 

Sadly, only a few active Sicilian fishing boats (mostly Monterey Boats) are left on the Wharf. The remaining " Montereys " fleet comes and follows us, which is really fun. The San Francisco Fireboat joins us, too. We go under the Golden Gate Bridge and stop just on the other side. The priest leads us in prayer, and we have a moment of silence while the names of all those who lost their lives at sea are read out loud. We then say, "Viva, Madonna Del Lume, Viva!" and throw wreaths and loose flowers, usually a lot of carnations, into the water while the fireboat sprays water up into the sky as a horn is sounded. This is a very emotional moment for many members and the attendees. 

 

We take a nice long ride back on the Bay to the docks, passing Angel Island and Alcatraz. It is a time for memory and reflection as we pass through the waters where many of our ancestors spent many years. After we return to shore, the day is over, and we go home and rest for the next day. Many committee members have lunch on the Wharf with family and friends at local eateries, and some head to Saints Peter and Paul Church to prepare for the second day of the celebration.  

On Sunday, members, family, and friends meet at Saints Peter and Paul Church in North Beach for Sunday mass. We have a coronation ceremony in which a queen is crowned for the upcoming year. The existing queen passes off the crown, and then the queen, her court, and the family march around the church led by the Carabinieri (The local Italian police squad). We have a chapter here in San Francisco. My dad's cousin is one; they all dress in official uniforms, including hats and flags. They've got their flags and lead the Vara that carries the painting around the church.

 

When Mass is done, everyone exits the church, stands on the steps for a group photo, and heads down to the hall under the church for the spuntino. We have small bites to eat and prepare for the procession down to Fisherman's Wharf. Once we are ready, we line up behind the float, usually parked in front of the church. We process the Vara and special flags along with a marching band. There is also a cable car on wheels for members and attendees who may have difficulty walking the whole way.

We go all the way down to Fisherman's Wharf, back at the pier, where the Fisherman and Seamen's Chapel is located. The priest blesses the fishing boats remaining there. Members usually leave from there or take the cable car back up to North Beach.

 

In the early evening, we come back together and have a big dinner at the Italian Athletic Club. We have raffle prizes and enjoy a meal together, a big part of Sicilian and Italian culture.  

 

What do you eat?

For the spuntino, we usually have a lot of cookies and cold cuts. So, many of our members will bake homemade recipe cookies and bring them, along with cold cuts and cheeses. They can also make little panini (sandwiches) and little salads. I'm going to make a tomato and onion salad this year and some biscotti or almond torrone, a classic Sicilian dessert. 

 

So, for the big Sunday Family dinner, we'll serve a fixed menu of either beef, salmon, or a veggie. Of course, there's always pasta, antipasti, desserts, cookies, and spumoni ice cream. Food is one of the focal points of our culture, so attendees can be sure they will be nice and full once dinner is done. 

I personally have a very strong feeling about keeping this special tradition going and as close to the original customs as possible. It's hard because our Sicilian community is dwindling here in San Francisco. There are not as many Sicilian families as there once were. We welcome anyone from the Italian community, friends, and family who cherish our traditions and culture. Keeping in the realm of tradition and culture, we welcome anybody to be part of our Festa and enjoy our special tradition. Sharing our tradition, culture, and customs is important, and we are so happy to keep this part of our history alive and teach others about it.

 

What do you hope people take away from participating in the Festa?

The sense of community supporting each other and specifically carrying on the Sicilian traditions and culture, particularly the patron saint of the fishermen. For the Madonna, we carry it on and continue to pray to her for her guidance for the people still in the fishing industry, all the families involved over the years, and most importantly, for those who have lost their lives at sea. 

We hope that people will come to be part of it year after year. We are determined to keep this tradition going and foster its growth. We invite everyone to come, enjoy, remember, and celebrate with us. This unique and rich experience and tradition are very special to us, and we want to share them with everyone. "Viva, Madonna Del Lume, Viva!" 

 

More Information

• Volunteer/Donate/Dinner Ads: bit.ly/MDL_DonateVolunteer
• RSVP for Memorial at Sea / Spuntino / Dinner Dance & Raffle 10/5 and 10/6: bit.ly/MDLfamilydinner
• Membership 2025: bit.ly/MDLmembership25
• Facebook: Madonna del Lume San Francisco
• Instagram: @madonna_del_lume_sf
• Mailing list: MDLnewssf@yahoo.com

 

 

 

 

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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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