Lindsay Marie Morris

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

 

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

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

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

 

 

Tell us about your background and connection to Sicily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

Describe those colors.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Which Sicilian desserts should everyone experience?:

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

What do you hope readers take away?

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

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

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

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

 

>>Get your copy of Sicily, My Sweet 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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