"Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra/ Trafitto da un raggio di sole: ed è subito sera."Salvatore Quasimodo
Friday, November 22, 2013
Monday, November 18, 2013
They call it "cambio stagione" here, that time when you pull out your warmer clothes from under the bed, or the bag at the bottom of the wardrobe, when you need to drag out the winter duvet and pack away the summer sheets until Spring. I dread this moment every year for this reason: dust. No matter how well I pack the clothes, no matter how many plastic bags, dust gets there. So I sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. I'm not alone in this - several friends have remarked on having the same problem. This provides some consolation but how, we wonder, could we prevent it. There is not even half this amount of dust in Ireland. It gets places I'd never even think of, like the inner grooves of radiators, collects in dust balls on the lampshade of a terracotta lamp. I've even had to store all my books in drawers - in a chest of drawers! - because their pages are so full of dust. I blame it on sirocco, that nasty south east wind. So forget that tourist brochure image of sunny Sicily - it's all wind and dust for now!
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Azienda to buy some. It was very drinkable and didn’t have that blast between the forehead effect that Nero D’Avola has (on me). A lovely bouquet (as they say), fragrant of blackberries, “like drinking Etna” according to the Azienda website.
Friday, September 6, 2013
As if that wasn’t enough, just when things were getting under control, a table of 14 rocks up: seven huge basketballers and their glamorous lady friends. Plus a 5 year old that our bambino started swatting with the menu. He was very good that night, playing by himself and not getting in the way. My husband got the table together into an L-shape, but then had to get back to the bar. The waitress was still flying out of the kitchen with courses and clearing tables, so it was up to me to take the order. This crowd were from Tuscany, France, Spain/South America and well-used to fine dining – I’d seen them chatting with my husband and thought they might have been fun. I detected the Tuscan accents and the Hispanic Italian. But they were only interested in ordering their food – after all it was going on for 11pm. Don’t these people book? Apparently they called half an hour before but it was so busy that by husband didn’t have time to set the table up for them. What an order. Anti-pasti and primi to come out together, and then primi and secondi to come out together because some wanted a starters and first while others just wanted a second course or starter and second. “You don’t love us,” wailed the cook when I came in waving the order, “This is the order you really didn’t want at this time of the night.” The kitchen had done really well that night, I thought. I had to go back and tell the basketball table there were only two tuna steaks left. “But the guy told us there were three,” protested the basketballer. “Her husband,” corrected another. “The cook’s only got two now.” My brain was too tired by this stage to make suggestions, but one of the girls went for the seafood couscous instead, a good choice. I heard another whisper that the wineglasses and the wine had yet to be brought. Groan. The wineglasses were upstairs and I knew it would take two trips. If you had booked, I wanted to say, we’d have had the table ready and waiting. It is a pain to set an L-shaped table. Sliding placemats and serviettes across the table, sticking knives and forks through people’s conversations, it’s not comfortable for anybody. In the end a gorgeous black basketballer took pity on me and took the cutlery off me and passed it around. As I opened the wine bottles and had them taste the wine, one of the glamorous girls said, “What about the wine coolers?” I smiled sweetly and pointed to the bar counter, where they were waiting. I have only two hands, one thing at a time, I may not be a waitress but I have picked up a few things in my time running this place…My son was upstairs playing DJ and summoned me at this point with his authoritative, “Mummeeee”! We left, holding hands, shortly after, and I still heard a “Scusa!” One of the guys wanted to know if they were going to have to wait much longer. They hadn’t been waiting long at all, I thought to myself. “They are just putting out the food now, I said, “won’t be long.” I smiled, and the guy calmed down, perhaps realizing he was pushing it. It was past my and bambino’s bedtime.
I enjoyed chatting to the customers: out front, there were two girls from near Rome, one of whom ordered a Guinness. But I told her it was bottled and didn’t recommend it. It tuned out she had spent a week in Ireland in August. She loved it and wanted to relive the ‘taste’ of Ireland with the Guinness. The next couple had had an aperitivo – ours is abundant, consisting of three different plates of antipasti bites. They saw the dishes arrive at the girls’ table and asked me if it was also a restaurant. Also? They had thought we only did aperitivi, and were most impressed with the menu – and the chocolate brownie and almond semifreddo which they had for dessert. Upstairs it was chaotic. The covered terrace was full and the room upstairs was getting busy, with a couple sitting on the balcony. As I went to take their order, the waitress muttered that aperitivo could no longer be served as the restaurant was too busy and the three-plate aperitivo blocks the kitchen. The lady on the balcony insisted on having the aperitivo. “This is why we come here, we always have it, and the mna below told us we could have it.” That will be my inconsistent husband, I thought, as the waitress will have been passing on his decision. I recognised the lady and she was somewhat placated by this, and wanted to know who I was. She thought I was just the foreign waitress, I could tell by her indignation. I sent up my sister-in-law to tell her we had a wonderful selection of anti-pasti, seafood-based, and vegetarian. People were arriving by the minute and of course, none of them had booked. We decided I would take the orders (which meant setting tables and bringing water and wine too), while the waitress brought dishes out from the kitchen. My husband had our bambino downstairs at the bar and looked after cocktails and drinks and meeting people. We had no one to babysit as he had to call his mother and ask her to help in the busy kitchen! There was a lovely Chinese couple, Pachamama’s first who have been living in Germany for almost a year. It was nice to meet them as I’m reading Jamie Ford’s “Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet” about a Chinese boy in Seattle. They looked the book up immediately on their Smart Phones. There was a lively international table on the terrace too, all students of Italian on a two week course. An Austrian woman had booked the table. They wanted to speak in Italian to me until we realised that most of them were English speaking. Their enthusiasm when the pepata di cozze (peppered clams) arrived was rewarding. They even took pictures of it. I didn’t get to see them again until dessert, when they were so curious about Grappa that they all wanted to try some. I recommended the Malvasia and Passito, sweet after dinner wines, as I think the Grappa is too strong, but they were in high spirits and wanted to go for it. Lots of fun. My mistake was that I took a couple’s order on the terrace before an inside table for 4. They glared at me and I knew immediately that they weren’t laid back foreigners who would forgive my gaffe. “You’re from Milazzo”? I said, to warm them up. “Nooooo,” they said, “Barcellona”. It’s not a million miles away, just 10, but I indulged their desire for difference. “I teach in a secondary school there,” I said. “I’m a much better teacher than waitress.” I got a few reluctant giggles, as I apologised for their wait. When I went to check on them after their meal they were much more relaxed and even complimented the cuisine. My sister-in-law’s mistake was to pocket an order I gave her to take down to the kitchen and cash desk so that I could get on with taking orders upstairs. She forgot about it and half an hour later asked me where the order was, that no one had a copy of table 5 terrace. My mind went blank. I couldn’t even remember what they had ordered, but I knew they were the nice Umbrian couple whose order I had taken before the Barcellona table. Their food should have been on the table by now, but they still didn’t even have their drinks. Mea culpa? I was sweating by this stage. My husband and sister-in-law were giving me the dirties until I remembered that she had the order. Didn’t take a fizz out of her, she just stuck it on the cook’s order hooks and told him to get it out pronto.
Monday night was pleasant. A lovely group from Ligura were waiting outside in the rain, under the awning, lamenting the weather before we opened. I brought them up to the terrace and they were delighted to be able to sit outside, protected from the rain. One lady said, “We’ve read such wonderful things about this place on internet,” while another admired the décor. It is so nice to see the expectation and anticipation on their faces when customers arrive via tripadvisor. So different to the circumspection and suspicion I’d come to expect in the early days, when we were not yet “established”. Tuesday was mayhem. One of those nights when customers just keep coming and coming. Even before 8pm a couple arrived. I’d gone over early to do some Siae forms, which never got done in the end. The waitress was still setting up things, stacking glasses at the bar. In came “the man from Torino” as I call him, with a ladyfriend. He comes each year in summertime to visit relatives. Tall and tanned, he teaches judo in Torino. He was discussing tables with the waitress when he spotted me. Effusive as ever, he regaled me with compliments, as I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. He’s always delighted to see me, ever since the early days when no one liked me at PM. He was always “my” customer, even though it turned out that he was a distant relative of my husband. That was a lovely beginning to the night, but it just hot hotter and more hectic from then on. The waitress asked me to make a couple of Aperol Spritz cocktails as she doesn’t like making cocktails, while I asked her to get some draught beers as I haven’t had any practice on the new system we have, and I don’t to let the side down. A guy arrived claiming to be an old schoolfriend of my husband, thought he looked much older. He had some funghi porcini he wanted to give him, he said. From the smell of him across the bar counter, I didn’t think it a good idea to buy anything off him, but my husband said he was a well-known mushroom gatherer. Next thing, they’re weighing the porcini mushrooms in the kitchen. I’ve never seen anything like it – they are beasts of mushrooms, the biggest and most I’ve ever seen. Fair play to them for finding them. Ours second cook, and resident mushroom expert, said he took his hat off to them, as he’d been looking for them all week and not found any. It must be the heat, together with the heavy rains that produces such magnificent shrooms.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Back to Sicily after August in Ireland. Back to stuffed aubergines, sweet tomatoes and - torrential rain and mosquitoes galore. Also, Seamus Heaney, our Nobel Laureate, died on Friday, aged 74. On Saturday night we had a Swedish couple in Pachamama. I went to take their order, but instead of the order notebook, I pulled 'The Spirit Level' (my favourite Heaney volume) out of my little waiter bag (they are equally slim). I told the Swedes about Heaney winning the Nobel in 1995 and the man said he had seen it on the news on Friday in Stockholm. So I left them the book of poems to peruse until their food arrived. “You are neither here nor there,/ A hurry through which known and strange things pass/ As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways/ And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.” Seamus Heaney, 'Postscript', from The Spirit Level
Friday, July 12, 2013
I took one order last night just because my son and I were sitting outside when our first customers arrived - all the way from Hawaii. They were full of fun, from the minute I put on Paolo Conte - they loved the music so much they bought his "best of" on iTunes there and then. They ordered a great selection for food, accepting my recomendations of the tuna steak marinated in fresh orange juice and served with pistacchio crust, and the courgette and prawn risotto "al profuno di Sicilia" served with a sprinkling of grated lemon zest. I've just translated the menu into English - but of course, being American English-speakers, they didn't know what courgettes or aubergines were! I should have put eggplant and zucchini in brackets! The chat was great, and on my way home they had just tucked into their starters. "Hope you find your destiny," said Ken, who had been quietly observing all the banter. "We all have one," smiled Alice. What a lovely blessing, I thought, carrying my weighty two year old home, glad I took that order.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Tourist season is here again. So, among all the familiar faces of our regular and not so regular locals, it is nice to see foreigners at Pachamama again. Mio marito was away last week so I was at the restaurant for a couple of hours each evening. A little rusty from lack of practice, I had the waiter nearby to list the specials while I took the order for a group from Ukraine (serious, but appreciative) and a table of Germans, (smiley and appreciative). The highlight was a Spanish-Slovak couple who came back a second night. The Malaga-man has worked in restaurants for years and said, "A lo bueno se vuelve siempre". He complimented us on the excellent, varied menu and added - "There is something of you in the menu - the paella, the tapas, the tinto de verano (Spanish summer wine)". Nice to be appreciated :)
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
In my English class we were talking about the quality of life in Sicily and comparing it to life on a peaceful island off Japan, where life expectancy is long and the people are positive thinkers and never stressed. Some students ventured that Sicilians are often stressed and never happy. The fruit and vegetables and fish are great but some other things are not so great. I saw Marco Tullio Giordano's film "I Cento Passi" last night and needed something to make me smile. On my wanderings this morning this corner in the Borgo gave me hope!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
The mafia killings I mention in my post from last week 'Polifemo's Cave, Ulysses' haunt' did not make national news, except for brief coverage on the day of the first killing. It is remarkable that no TV news report, and no national daily such as La Repubblica or Il Corriere make mention of mafia-related deaths. This is what lead to the furore surrounding Roberto Saviano (of Gomorra fame)when he dared to state on national radio that the 'Ndrangheta' - the Calabrian mafia - were in Milan and indeed had requested the 'pizzo' (protection money) for many big construction projects. Milan, land of the Lega Nord, could surely not be infiltrated by the mafia, said the government. But it was proved wrong a year later when the scandal of the 'pizzo' in Milan broke out. The mafia go where there is money, and there was a lot of money involved in the big construction projects in Milan. At a local level, works began to construct a seaside promenage complete with cycle path, pavement and palm trees along the 'ponente' side of Milazzo. But strangely, proceedings were called to a halt: mafia involvement, pizzo request. Mafia stories make national news when the Italian government is clearly involved. When the judges Borsellino and Falcone were killed in 1992 in Sicily, government representatives attended their funerals, only to be spat upon by the mourning and indignant crowds. Why are local mafia activities not reported on in national news? Some possible answers: Local mafia killings/threats/extortion activities are not of national concern. Their importance or influence is limited to the region in which they occur (Sicily, Calabria, Campania ...) and therefore not to be mentioned in national news. In that way, it can appear that the mafia does not exist. The government can make out that the mafia does not exist and therefore it need not spend resources on investigations. The mafia also prefer it like this, as they are free to get on with their business - which is not confined to the southern regions of Italy.
Monday, February 4, 2013
It's been a hard week. But amidst the daily trials and tribulations there were three undisputed moments of pleasure: on three separate occasions I was complimented on my beauty! Note: I am not so beautiful, I am just foreign. It was the unexpectedness of the compliment that made me extra-happy. The first was the female secretary in an office. She was registering my details and telling me I spoke good Italian and didn't have the typical English pronunciation (no, I'm Irish!)and then she looked me over and exclaimed, 'and to top it all off, you're bellissima!' Well, thank you very much. A few days later I was out for a walk - jogging bottoms, hoodie and cagoule because it looked like rain. A father and son were coming down the laneway and I think the son recognised me, he said hello. I was wondering whether to walk to the left past the son or to the right past the father. The father understood my predicament and said, 'Passa qui in mezzo, walk in between us! Complimenti signora, bellissima!' I was speechless. It must have been my cool shades. The last occasion was in a waiting room where I had left something behind. I went back in and the official who had been there earlier had disappeared. His mate called for him, saying, 'There is a bellissma donna who wants to talk to you ...' Well, you see. These are the moments that would not happen elsewhere that make living here a little bit easier ...
Along Milazzo's western riviera there is a huge cave dug out of the promontory rock on which the castle stands. It's a beautiful spot. Legend has it that this was Polifemo's cave where the one-eyed cyclops tried to kill Ulysses and his crew when they stopped by. The cave was used for storage by the military during WW2 and in the 70s and 80s it was transformed into a discothèque and wedding functions were held there. The houses nearby are mostly holiday homes but some people live there all year round - including the accomplice of Barcellona mafia boss Filippo Barresi. Barresi was hiding out in a house along Via Polifema. Apparently he would go jogging along the seafront at night and no one recognised him with his hat and glasses on. The police tracked him down last week but he has denied being the boss of Cosa Nostra in Barcellona and says he is a simple 'vivaista' - working in a nursery or garden centre. Hmmm... I was reading this in a café in the local tabloid, Gazzetta del Sud. You never find 'La Repubblica' or 'Il Corriere' in cafés in Sicily. I have learnt to do as the locals - to turn to Cronaca Messinese to get reports on local happenings - usually involving gloomy news about pollution from the refinery, uncollected rubbish overflowing on the streets or mafia. Some carabinieri came into the café along with other punters and each noted what I was reading - it was the only paper in the café and I was hogging it. No one ever talks mafia with me. You'd almost think it doesn't exist. But around Christmas time, in Barcellona, there were two old school style mafia shootings - one in a barber's, and one in a café. And last night, a 23 year old ‘shepherd’ was killed in the Barcellona Hinterland, as the Gazzetta del Sud calls it. He was in the mountains near the picturesque village of Montalbano and it appears his only crime was the fact that the Novara Boss was his godfather at baptism… He was out working in the fields and just about to return home at nightfall when they came and shot him in the face at close range.