Tinnirumi - Grandma's Cure-All For the Heat

“Tinnirumi” are the leaves and shoots of a long pale summer squash particular to Sicily. From heat-stroke to a hangover, they are said to cure whatever ails you during the hot season. I am not built for the heat, and spend the whole summer swooning about, nauseous from the humidity. My first summer in Palermo, one of my husband’s coworkers at the botanical garden, sensitive to my “problems of acclimatization,” gave me a bunch off tinnerumi. Most vegetables grown here are also grown in California, but I had never seen these before. “How do I cook them?” I asked. He admitted that his mother always prepared them for him, and that he had no idea. When I asked my husband what to do with them, he had a similar story. It should be no surprise, then, that I got the recipe from my mother-in-law. 

Pina is in her mid-eighties. I only see her a few times a year but we speak nearly everyday around 11. The conversation rarely wavers from clarifying wether I come from England, South Africa or Australia (she never identifies me correctly as American) and finding out what we are eating that day.  When I told her I had a bunch of tinnirumi but I didn’t know how to prepare them, she got very excited. “Oh in America there are no tinnerumi? They are very detoxifying and full of salts and minerals. Very good for you in the summer.” Here is her recipe:

To make tinnirumi, first, strip the leaves, buds and tendrils from the stem, rinse them in a colander under cold water and chop them coarsely. Then, dissolve 6 salted anchovy fillets in olive oil in a large pot over a medium flame. Add a few squashed garlic cloves, and saute them until they turn golden. Next, add the tinnirumi, a 500g can of peeled tomatoes and salt and pepper to taste. Thin the soup with some water and let it simmer until the tinnirumi are tender. Meanwhile boil 350g of of broken spaghetti. When the pasta is al dente, drain it and add it to the tinnirumi. This pasta is served tepid with a drizzle of raw olive oil.

When my husband came home I proudly presented him with my creation. “What’s this?” he asked. When I told him I had made the tinnirumi, he laughed. “This really is pasta asciutta!” Pina had forgotten to tell me that tinnerumi is served as a soup. The bristly leaves should become slippery and create a fragrant green broth. Instead, mine were still rough and the cold pasta stuck together.

Easter Lamb 3 Ways

The Sicilian blend of Catholic and pagan traditions hold an anthropologic fascination for me, but for my Italian partner they are part of an over-dominant Catholic culture he would like to be free of. More often than not we stay at home on the Saints’ days or take a walk on the abandoned streets to appreciate a quiet moment in this otherwise hectic city. Easter is the one holiday we both don’t want to escape. Though the preceding week is full of processions, passion plays, and women in black loudly mourning Christ’s death, Easter and Easter Monday are bacchanalian feasts even us pagans can get into.

The saying goes “Natale con i tuoi, e Pasqua con chi vuoi,” or "Christmas with your parents and Easter with whomever you wish". Although most people spend the day with their family anyways, there are always a few friends at the table. Sicilians have a knack for making their guests feel like they did their hosts a favor by coming instead of vice-versa.

Easter lunch is a formal meal usually composed of a first course of pasta al forno (a cross between lasagna and spaghetti-o's) followed by oven roasted lamb. The high point of the meal, however, is dessert. Along with giant chocolate eggs with prizes inside and marzipan lambs, a cassata is a must. Emblematic of the Sicilian love of excess and drama, its made up of layers of eggy sponge cake alternated with sheep’ milk ricotta studded with chocolate chips. Pale green stripes of almond paste line the sides, and baroquely ornate curlicues of candied fruit decorate the top. The word cassata comes from the Arabic qas’ah, the name for the large terracotta bowl used to shape this triumph of gooey sweetness. One of the island’s many conquerers, they are responsible for bringing sugar to Sicily along with their taste for the cloyingly sweet.

I must confess that for me, the cassata is overshadowed by my great love for almond paste. I’m not alone in my devotion, in Sicily its called pasta reale or royal dough. Though it can now be found year-round, it makes two traditional appearances. For I Morti on November 1st, its moulded into brightly colored fruits that are given to children by their dead ancestors. The sticky dye gets all over you hands and gives a chemical aftertaste to the sweets. For Easter, children receive lambs with tinfoil haloes sitting on pistachio grass. I prefer them to the fall fruits because the lambs aren’t colored. Special plaster forms are sold by pastry supply shops, but if you loved play-dough as a child, its more fun to shape the lamb yourself.

Easter Monday, known as Pasqueta, is entirely devoted to meat. Sicilians head up either to the mountains or to the beach where they have the grill hot by 10. Though you can usually find coils of aromatic sausage with fennel seeds, cross-cut pork ribs and breaded slices of strip-steak, the protein of choice is still lamb. At the beginning of Spring, they are young, and fatty from the abundance of lush green grazing material to be had (the ricotta is at its best for the same reason). Lamb chops and cross-cut mutton shank are grilled over the remains of an olive wood fire until they are well done. salmoriglio sauce, a mix of salt, pepper, lemon juice and oregano, is basted on directly with a piece of fresh rosemary while the meat cooks. I’ve never been to a Pasqueta where people sat down to eat. Instead whoever is hungry burn there fingers picking lamb chops directly off of the grill, hence their name scottadito, finger-burning. Pieces of toasted crusty bread are used as a plate and everything is washed down with strong Sicilian wine. Meanwhile those who need to “encourage “ their appetite take a hike, sing songs and chat until they have room to eat some more.

Those of us who are ecologically minded might be horrified by the idea of a holiday devoted to stuffing yourself with as much lamb as possible. It should be remembered that traditionally Easter is the end of Lent, 40 days without meat or sugar. Before the Second World War, this was one of the few days in which the poor would allow themselves a bit of animal protein, their diet was vegetarian out of economic necessity. Chicken and beef were luxuries for the very rich, the rest of the populace depended on sheep and goats for their meat as well as their cheese. Sicilians still remain highly seasonal. Naturally, everybody shifts towards lighter fare as the summer bounty of fruits, vegetables and tuna arrives and ricotta and meat are no longer at their best. Easter excess is a way to use up these winter ingredients while they are still at their peak.

And now, some recipes:

Manlio’s Oven Roasted Lamb

My husband has a genius for simple dishes, using a minimum of ingredients but exalting their true essence. This is the meal he wooed ( and won) me with.

Serves 6-8

4 lb. young lamb cut into regular pieces with the bones
4 large sweet onions
3 sprigs fresh rosemary
1 tbsp. dried sage
extra-virgin olive oil
white wine
sea-salt
pepper

1. Cut the tips off of the onions and chop them into into sixths. If your lucky enough to have them, put the lamb’s gizzards apart. Put the rest of the meat in a large roasting pan and coat it with just enough oil to coat it.

2. Break up the rosemary by hand over the pan and season the lamb with salt, black pepper and the sage. Spend a good five minutes massaging all of this into the meat.

3. Add the onions, and give everything one last shake to distribute them evenly and coat them with oil. The pan should be quite crowded, otherwise the contents will burn.

4. Put it into a hot 500 F oven for 15 minutes and then turn it down to 375 and cook for another hour. Give the contents a stir every 15 minutes and if the pan gets to dry (the onions are burning instead of caramelizing) add a little white wine or water.

5. Add the gizzards for the last 15 minutes. When the lamb is done, the pieces should be fork tender and the onions should have practically dissolved into a creamy sauce.

Lamb Scottadito with Salmoriglio Sauce

Scottadito means finger-burning. If you eat these chops like the Sicilians do, straight off the grill with a crusty piece of bread toasted over the hot coals and dribbled with a little sauce, you’ll see why.

Serves 6

2.25 lb. small lamb chops
1/2 cup cold-pressed extra-virgin olive oil
a hefty pinch of dried oregano
juice of two lemons
1 crushed garlic clove
Salt and pepper to taste
a few sprigs of rosemary

1. Heat up the grill, preferably using wood coals.

2. Mix the olive oil, lemon juice and seasonings together in a bowl, rubbing the oregano together briskly with your hands as you add it.

Grill the lamb chops dribbling the salmoriglio sauce over the meat every so often, using the rosemary sprigs as a basting brush. Italians like to cook lamb until its well done. The fattier the meat, the more I agree with them.


Agnello di Pasta Reale with a Pistachio filling

for the pasta reale:
12 oz whole blanched almonds
14 0z granulated sugar
5 tbsp. water
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp almond extract

for the pistachio paste:
8 oz unsalted shelled pistachios
8 oz sugar
1 tbsp. orange-blossom honey
4 tbsp. water

For decorating the lambs:
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 tbsp. cinnamon
cloves
bits of candy, and dried fruit

Grind the almonds and sugar in a food processor until you have a fine powder. Add the rest of the ingredients and continue to process them until you have a smooth paste. Form a ball, and cover it in plastic. Let it rest in the refrigerator over night.

Grind the pistachios to a slightly grainier consistency with 2 tbsp. of the sugar. Dissolve the sugar and honey in 4 tbsp. of water and heat over a low flame until the syrup is at the soft-ball stage. Mix in the pistachios.

3. To make the lambs, dust your work surface with some of the the powdered sugar/ cinnamon mix. Flatten out a piece of almond dough, covering it with some pistachio paste. Roll it back up, creating a tube with almond outside and pistachio inside. This is the lambs body. Use more bits of almond dough to create the lambs head, and legs. Follow your fancy making a flock of tiny lambs or one giant agnellone. Use two cloves for eyes and whatever other bits and pieces you like for the nose, mouth and inside of the ears. Place your creations on tinfoil covered pieces of cardboard, dusting them with the cinnamon powdered sugar, and letting them dry out over night. Store in an airtight container or covered in plastic wrap.

Le Triglie

Everything has its season in Palermo, including fish. In the winter, when rainstorms block the boats from going out, the pickings can be slim. Now that spring is here and we've had a week of good weather, my fishmonger's stand is brimming over with mackerel, sardines, squid, sea bream, swordfish, lobsters, crabs, sea urchin, neonata (fish spry) and red mullet.

Red mullet, or triglie in Italian, is a fish I'd never seen in California. These attractive little fish have a sweet flesh that is good grilled, fried, cooked in parchment paper or in a light sauce. Depending on their size, buy 2-3 fish per person.

Yesterday I made Triglie alla Palermitana

for 4 people you need:

8 triglie (cleaned and scaled)
1 can diced tomatoes
2 carrots
2 celery stalks
2 cloves of garlic
red pepper flakes
olive oil
1 glass white wine
salt
a large saute pan with a lid

Chop up the garlic, and dice the carrots and celery. Saute all three over a medium flame in olive oil for a few minutes before adding the tomatoes, a pinch of salt, a pinch of red pepper flakes and the wine. Let the sauce bubble for another few minutes before adding the fish. Turn down the heat to a simmer, cover the pan and cook for another 10 minutes. Dust the fish with fresh chopped parsley before serving.

Happy Woman's Day

March 8th is International Woman's day. Like most Americans, I had completely forgotten until I ran into this little boy selling the traditional mimosa bouquets Italian men give to their wife and daughter.

The common name for the acacia in Italy is "mimosa," taken from another genus in the same family with a similar flower. These "real" mimosas are responsive to touch, closing their leaves in response to any environmental change such as a strong wind, a fire or even a gentle caress. Its easy to see how the mimosa came to symbolize the classic female virtues of modesty and sensitivity (not the virtues the suffragists who instituted the holiday at the turn of the 20th century would appreciate!). The hardier and more vigorous acacia became a stand in for Women's day because its more fragrant flowers bloom in early spring.

Mura delle Cattive

Porta Felice leads into piazza Santo Stefano, built in 1823 after an earthquake destroyed the church previously occupying the site. In the northeastern corner of the piazza, a flight of stairs leads up to the “mura delle cattive, a public walkway above the Foro Italico. While Palermo’s high society took there constitutional below, the city’s bereaved widows used this more private walkway. Protected from the wind and with a lovely view, it is one of Palermo’s most romantic nooks. Every time I pass through, I find a young couple kissing. Like the widows, they must appreciate the walkway’s privacy.

A walk through the Kala - part 1

Spring is finally here, and Fora and I are trying to get at least a couple walks a week in. We're still sticking close to home though. In my next posts, I will take you through our quarter, the Kalsa, going over a bit of history on the way.

The Kalsa is one of Palermo's oldest zones, dating back to when the city was under Arab rule. After they took over in 830, the original walled city was to small for the ever-growing population. A second citadel called al-Halisah meaning the pure or elected, was built in 937 to house the city's government and officials.

I'm fond of the Kalsa for many reasons. On the whole, it escaped the post-war development appropriately known as the "rape of Palermo," (more on that later) because the area was to poor to be profitable. Instead, real renovation began in the 90's under the Mayor Leoluca Orlando with a focus on reinforcing neighbourhood identity and tourism. Its a slow process with up years and down years. Though some of its splendor from better day's has been restored, many buildings still look as if they've been blasted yesterday...a look not totally without its own charm.

Porta Felice

Let's start with Porta Felice, one of the two portals into the Kalsa, where Flora and I took a walk the other day.

When the Spanish viceroy Mercantonio Colonna built a new walkway outside the city walls in 1580, and extended the Cassaro (now corso Vittoria Emanuele) to the sea in 1581, a new entryway was needed to connect the two. Palermo’s senate had named the walkway (now known as the Foro Italico) after the viceroy, and so it seemed only logical to name the portal after his wife, donna Felice Orsini.

Although Colonna laid down the first stone in 1582 with much pomp and circumstance, real construction didn’t begin until 1584 and was suspended a few months after when he left! Nothing more was done until 1602 when the current viceroy, the duke of Feria, delegated the project to the Senate’s architect, Mariano Smiriglio. After his death in 1636, the architect Pietro Novelli finished work on Porto Felice in 1637.

During the second world war, a bomb destroyed the right pilaster. Though it was later restored, many of its finer decorative elements were lost.

Pane ca’ meusa - An emblem of peace between peoples

The article published in the Reppublica last year rewritten in English:

A man, behind an ad hoc kettle that resembles a Caribbean steel drum, fries thin slices of beef spleen and lung in lard. He pulls a forkful up the kettle’s angled side, squashing it with a sizzle to squeeze some of the grease out. Then with a deft flip, he mounds the glistening purple-brown meat on a soft roll covered with sesame seeds. There are two choices. The vastedda is the size and shape of a hamburger bun. The mafalda, for the true meusa aficionado, is a tube of dough folded in on itself several times and is at least twice as big. After a judicious pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon, the pane ca’ meusa is ready to be consumed.

It is said that this quintessential Palermo street food dates back to when the jewish butchers sold their non-kosher innards to the gentiles. By the time King Ferdinand II ran them out in 1492, the Palermitani had developed a taste for this particular delicacy, serving it on a bun covered with sesame seeds, called giuggiulena in the local dialect, from the arabic word giulgiulan. The sandwich is dressed with either a simple squeeze of lemon (panino schietto) or with ricotta and caciocavallo (panino maritato).

The Palermitani hotly discuss wether the best sandwich comes from a street vendor, with his earthier, oilier and more authentic product, or from the more refined and cleaner Liberty-style Foccaceria. Personally, I prefer to taste pane ca’ meusa standing, leaning just a little bit forward so that the grease doesn’t drip onto my shoes. A can of gassosa, a local soda similar to 7-up, gives a much needed boost to my stomach, whose digestive murmurings contribute to the concert of passing traffic, Neapolitan pop blaring from the meusaru’s car, and the almost Shakespearean conversation between the mythical cook and his clients, full of double meanings and play-on-words ranging from questionable jokes to true poetry.

People are often surprised that an American girl eats such things. Honestly, pane ca’ meusa is the perfect synthesis of the Mexican roach coach from my childhood growing up in Los Angeles and the classic American greasy spoon. It reminds me of when I was little, of the sundays I would go visit my Mexican auntie to eat menudo, or when I heard my grandmother tell me about the pickled beef heart and head cheese she enjoyed during her youth in rural Pennsylvania.

These more humble cuts of meat known as offal in English, whose unfortunate similarity to the word awful certainly doesn’t make for good advertising, are in fact real gastronomic treasures that can only be found in small ethnic butcher shops or special ordered. From the post second world war on, organs such as the liver, kidneys, tripe and tongue have been abandoned for pseudo-hygenenic lean cuts of meat pre-wrapped in plastic and styrofoam. Though yuppie versions of traditional dishes have reappeared recently in more fashionable eateries, the trend is based more on the excitement of breaking a taboo rather than on a true appreciation.

Having said this, I hope that the meusaru doesn’t become another victim of globalization – eliminated by stricter commercial and sanitary regulations while Italy tries to conform to the European Union. These street vendors are the guardians and reference points for their quarter. It’s not a coincidence that the famous Focacceria San Francesco was one of the first to react openly to the mafia and refuse to pay the pizzo. In addition, for me, the pane ca’ meusa is an important symbol in this city. It is, in fact, an exquisite creation of the three monotheistic religions; the Jews contributed the organ meats, the Arabs who shared their love of street foods and sesame seeds, and of course, the Christians happily ate everything. Considering the current conflict between these three brothers, today the pane ca’ meusa can be considered an emblem of the splendid results that can be obtained through intercultural exchange and cooperation.

Getting Started

Last spring a journalist friend of mine dared me to write a short piece in Italian on Palermo's original fast-food, il pane ca' meusa, a sandwich filled with thin slices of beef lung and spleen fried in lard. Its better than it sounds, really. The result was surprisingly legible, so much so that his editor published it on the fly in the Repubblica. Here's a link to the original article. Before they offered me anything concrete, their competitor, the Giornale di Sicilia, snapped me up. At least once a month the paper gives me half a page to ramble on, and they put a nice big picture of me next to it. The column is called "Un'Americana a Palermo," a take off on the Alberto Sordi classic, "Un'Americano a Roma."

I never could have dreamed that I would be published in Italian before being published in English, especially since the most common reaction I get when I try to express any concept more complex than what I ate today is a befuddled huh? When I was offered the column, I thought " wow, if I can write in a foreign language I can hardly speak, than writing in my mother tongue should be a breeze!" I immediately planned on publishing a best-seller made all the more alluring by my ex-pat status.

The only hitch was, I spent days labouring over each article in Italian, but never got around to writing anything in English. Well, one person changed all that. May I present you my new muse.



That's right, I've become a mother. I spend the majority of the day nursing my daughter, Flora, and consequentially don't have time to do the dishes, shave my legs not to mention leaving the house. However, I do have plenty of time to sit in a chair and peck out a blog post with one hand while I hold her with the other.