Fair Fare

Food is a big part of life in Italy. In particular, southern Italians are dedicated food enthusiasts. Protective, proud and fond of their local produce, recipes, delicacies and culinary history it all adds to the flavour of daily life.

This has been clearly demonstrated by two recent events.

One of the adult students in my government class, Enzo, returned after two weeks of travelling to USA. As his first trip he spent considerable time in New York, but also visited Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Buffalo and the Niagara falls.

“So, how was your trip?” I asked as he wandered into the classroom.
His winced, his face registering both his disappointment and distaste, “The food was terrible. I much prefer Italy”.
Somehow I wasn’t surprised, but still the idea of ten days in a city like New York left me wondering what was so bad about the food. “Enzo, New York is a great city, full of international restaurants and food.”
“Yes, but I only ate hamburgers and chips, and steak. I don’t like food with a lot of pepper and …how do you say (I interjected with ‘spices’), yes spices.” Holding onto his abdomen he indicated that spicy food upset his digestive system.

I had once again stumbled across the loyal pasta and pizza Neapolitan, both reluctant and unadventurous to sample new, unknown cuisines that might stretch the palette. I’ve met them before, and in fact I remember that Gigi was himself somewhat unaccustomed to eating certain foreign foods when we first met. He was okay with rather ordinary English and other European foods, but Thai food, Chinese and Japanese cuisine presented the unknown.

Later that evening Gigi confirmed my belief that many Italians are stuck in a bias towards Italian food, to the extent that they won’t try anything that is unfamiliar. And even if they do, they often don’t enjoy the experience. Although it is possible that they come to the table with a closed mind and an inability to experiment, savour the opportunity and take pleasure in something that doesn’t resemble traditional Italian cuisine.

Enzo’s strong, somewhat emotional, response to my question ‘How was your trip?’ certainly summed up the average Italian perspective when they travel overseas. It wasn’t the people, the architecture, cityscapes and landscapes or vibe of the places that he’d visited that made an intense impression. It was the food.

The second situation was the weekend itself. Saturday evening two teacher friends visited, and as we waited for Gigi we enjoyed an antipasto snack of sliced capsicum cooked in olive oil with garlic and capers. As we gossiped I was pleased to see Dana and Jody soaking up the flavoured oil with the crunchy bread I’d picked up at the bakery just an hour earlier, still warm and aromatic. Dinner was pasta e ceci, pasta with chick peas, a classically southern dish, and perfect for the cooler weather.

Pasta e Ceci Recipe
In a saucepan lightly fry a diced onion in a tablespoon of virgin olive oil until transparent
Throw in a 400 gram tin of chick peas, including the liquid
Crumble a stock cube into the saucepan, and stir until dissolved
Add two cups of water and a dash of salt.
Once the water has come to the boil add pasta (small-medium size) and stir through. Use about 500 grams pasta for 4 generous serves.
Add extra hot water if required. As the pasta cooks it will absorb the liquid, effectively cooking the sauce and the pasta together.
Continue to stir to prevent the pasta from sticking.
Add further salt to the soupy mix if required.
Once the pasta is al dente, most of the water should have been absorbed or evaporated, leaving a flavoursome chick pea sauce.
Spoon into bowls, serve with fresh bread.
Serves 4

Variations:
Add a dried chilli for additional flavour
After cooking the onion, add a chopped ripe tomato and chopped parsley
For a thinner sauce, drain the tin and use more water instead

This was followed by a typical green salad. If you go into a restaurant in Italy and order a green salad, don’t expect anything fancy or complicated. You will simply receive a plate of green lettuce leaves, ripped up to bite size pieces, generally already dressed in olive oil and freshly squeezed lemon juice, salted to taste.

Sunday is traditionally a day that involves visiting family for a late, lengthy lunch. Last weekend was no exception, although Rosa and Irene came to visit us at our urban cave. Mid morning we strolled down to the local market, umbrellas sheltering us from the intermittent rain, and bought some supplies for lunch. It is normal for people to shop almost every day here, buying whatever is required for lunch and dinner that day, with a focus on produce that is fresh and seasonal.

Gi called his family and they confirmed they would arrive at about 1pm. At 2.40pm they buzzed, and immediately began complaining about how long it took them to find a park, and then the queue of customers at the patisserie shop.

Gi was cooking and we started eating lunch at 3pm with plates of steaming orecchiette pasta (so called as they are shaped like little ears) ‘alla barese’ with broccoli, chilli, garlic and olive oil. The second course was a local fish (spigola) that Gigi had shallow fried in a glaze of onion, white wine and parsley, accompanied by a green salad. And as always piles of fresh crusty bread.

No longer had Irene put her fork down and she was chafing at the bit to get onto dessert. Her mother managed to persuade her, like you would an impatient toddler, to wait until we’d digested for five minutes and prepared espresso coffee.

They had walked in with the two packages of pastries. Rosa handed one to me explaining that it was something special for me. Irene harbours a particularly keen gluttony for pastries and tends to sit beside the beautifully wrapped package while the savoury courses are consumed.

Unfortunately (for my social integration, but fortunately for my hips and thighs) I don’t enjoy the sweets and pastries in Naples. They come in two sizes, bite sized morsels that look incredibly cute and appealing when on display in the big glass counters in the patisserie, and their larger cousins that require two or three bites. The variety is quite astounding, and for those with little discipline and deep pockets it can be a danger. You choose your pastries, and pay for them by the kilogram. Placed neatly on a shiny cardboard tray they will be lined up like little sweet soldiers before the loaded tray is wrapped up in shiny foil paper imprinted with the name of the shop. Wrapped with some flourish and considerable practice it is then tied up like a gift, a very distinctive and appealing package of desserts.

Gigi and his family, like most locals, can be particularly indulgent and competitive when it comes to who eats what from the tray of pastries. Rosa is always asking me to take something to accompany the coffee at the end of the meal, but I find them simply too sweet, loaded with patisserie creams or flavoured with liquors, to the point of being sickly and excessive. However, in an attempt to include me in the pastry feasting Rosa had specially selected a slice of rich chocolate cake. It was wrapped separately alongside a slice of sponge cake topped with a custard icing and glazed strawberries. They both looked aesthetically pleasing but after several mouthfuls of the chocolate cake I realised it was too rich, one layer of the chocolate sponge soaked in liquor and the icing was heavy and sticky.

I’m not sure why I don’t enjoy the sweets, pastries and desserts in Italy. I think it’s because they are just excessively sweet, lavish and decadent. I’m certainly not averse to a piece of mum’s pavlova, or Mrs Haigh’s passionfruit topped cheesecake, or a generous slice of chocolate mud cake, or Nana’s recipe for apple pie when I’m at home. But there is certainly a difference between the desserts and cakes I’ve grown up with and those that are savoured in Italian homes.

Having finished lunch in the late afternoon, we then prepared to go to dinner. Mascia, the woman who manages Centro Shen, the alternative health association and centre where Gigi works on Tuesdays, had invited us to dinner at the last moment. She wanted Gigi to meet a Chinese gentleman, Yen, who is a Chinese health practitioner and has been based in Naples for seven years. We were joined by his wife and daughter. His daughter has been here for three years and is studying political science at the university. Her Chinese boyfriend is studying International Business in Paris. She expressed her desire to return to China once her studies were completed. Her mother has only been in Italy for a year and spoke very little Italian, her daughter translating the dinner conversation as the meal progressed.

Mascia served pasta with a pesto sauce. Incredibly it was orecchiette, the same type of pasta that we had eaten just hours earlier for lunch. This was followed by a platter that included fior di latte, a cheese that is quite similar to the local mozzarella, deep fried balls of rice with bits of cheese and ham, slices of pie with spinach filling and frittata, an omelette style dish made from left over spaghetti or pasta. This was accompanied by a salad of radicchio leaves, the burgundy vegetable and its bitter aftertaste adding a sharp contrast to the meal.

As Yen and Gigi discussed Chinese medicine, their respective backgrounds and current work practices in Naples the food was passed back and forth.

After clearing away the plates Marcia placed an enormous bowl in the centre of the table and we enjoyed the tactile pleasure of cracking fresh walnuts.

Getting home at midnight I looked back on the weekend of eating, extending and receiving hospitality. While I felt extremely full, we had enjoyed some of the best parts of the Italian culture; good, simple food and friendly interesting company.