The other night and again this morning as Jack and I sat at Bar Elimar, I realized something was different. The vibe was different. The sun was still shining and the piazza dogs were still smiling at Jack. (Jack tends to drop things off his plates on purpose, hence the smiling dogs.) The silence hit me. The piazza was empty. I mean, not literally empty, but fewer people were lingering over coffee. We easily got a table in the shade. It is still August but summer season is over. The Pontelandolfese who returned to their roots have flown off. For some reason, I found this quiet period depressing. I, who hate crowds and backpacks, actually felt sad that there were less people out and about. Perhaps, I too am entering a new era or turning back the clock to a time when I couldn’t function unless there was a crowd to sap the energy from. Brrrrrrr. This is sounding too contemplative.
Snap out of it! This is the perfect time to be here in Pontelandolfo. The air is crisp. The sweat has stopped pooling under my boobs and the mosquitoes have stopped using my bare legs as a buffet. It is a pleasure to sit here, stare and sip my cappuccino.
Midgeeee! Tutto posto? Cheerily said a couple of men as they passed by our table on their way into the bar. Maria, the ever efficient barista/waiter knew exactly what we wanted without our asking. The silent piazza was still home for us. Full or empty we belong here.
Jack, who takes a nap every afternoon, dragged my tired, pajama clad butt off the couch at 9:00 PM and told me to get dressed. It was time to head to the piazza. How many nights in a row could I drink, eat, drink, watch performances and go to bed at 2:00 AM???? Hell, I’m 73 years young and pride myself on my “youngness” but even I in the prime of my third act can’t go out every night for an entire month. (Jack said I am exaggerating it is only seven to ten days. Feels like a month to me.)
During August, Pontelandolfo becomes an arts and entertainment hotspot. We do compete with other towns for the crowds but our Folk Dance Festival can’t be topped. Gruppo Folk Ri Ualanegli, our internationally acclaimed folkloric dance company, produces a festival that brings in dance companies from around the world. This group takes our dance heritage seriously. One of the big draws on the opening night is our junior company. Children as young as three and four stamp, twirl and dance the dances of their ancestors. Click Here and check out the photos and video on their FaceBook page. This year dancers from Mexico, Serbia, Poland and other parts of Italy danced on the outdoor stage in Piazza Roma. Incredible. Absolutely magical.
The August nights also resonate with music and movies. Comicron 2022 – 7th Edition, a three night festival of short comic films, is an annual event. Created by celebrated film director Ugo Gregoretti, it provides young film makers with an incentive see comic shorts as an art form. Check out the Pontelandolfo entry, Il Re dell’Oblio written and directed by Gianluca De Michele and featuring my cousin – Valerio Mancini!
You thought the festival was only a week? Actually, the official Pontelandolfo festival is about a week long. Notice, the other villages enticing us to leave our couches and venture forth. During the month in Pontelandolfo other events pop up . Who could resist this musical night –
I challenge you to join me next year and see every event! Here is the drill, we get to the piazza – If I am still walking – at about 8:30 PM and hunker down in our reserved table at Bar Elimar. Bar Elimar is directly across from the stage so we get great seats, food, drinks and conversation. Often, I leap out of my chair, being careful not to spill my Campari Spritz, and race into the crowd to get closer to the stage. At about 1:00 AM we walk up the hill to our car and head home. Now we are too jazzed to go to sleep. Repeat. We repeat this lifestyle for a bunch of days. Next? Sleep for a week.
Today, I am drinking water at my usual table and staring at the piazza. Tonight will be another late night. Maybe, I’ll head home, take a lesson from Jack and zzzzzzzzzzz. And you – rest up and get your body here next August!
So excited – Next Stage Press just released my Eastern Woodland Native American Play – “Many Snows Ago” in September! Elementary School teachers will love it. “Mamma Mia – La Befana?!” comes out in the fall. Don’t forget to pick up a copy of my book about life here, “Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos.”
” Why, I just put one foot in front of the other and keep on smiling.”
“No, but really what do you do? I mean it’s not like a vacation, or is it like a super long vacation? What do you do every day?”
Hmm, what do I do on a typical day in Pontelandolfo. Let’s take today. Just what did I do today. First I carried the laundry bag down the stairs, separated the lights and darks and then I did a load of wash. I used to wash our clothes by hand – no really – the first year we lived here every single day I would wash what was dirty from the day before an hang it outside to dry. I felt like I was part of village life. After that early morning chore, I would walk to Piazza Roma and see laundry flopping in the breeze all over town. Of course, that worked amazingly well when we were here in the summer. One Christmas, my sheets froze on the line. My fingers froze getting the frozen sheets. The dining room was draped in damp sheets. The dryer was delivered the next day. But today, the sun is shining and it is going to be hot, so just like all over Italy, the clothes are happily hung on the line. Here is breezy example.
Next stop, Piazza Roma for a cappuccino and a visit to Dr. Palumbo. Nothing tragic, I just needed a prescription refilled. A prescription that will cost me next to nothing in a copay. Seeing our primary care doc meant climbing the three flights to his office. I consider it exercise. Huffing and puffing as I entered the waiting room, I wheezed out, Buon giorno, Chi è l’ultimo? The person who is last in the cue raised a broken wrist. I sat down, caught my breath and then as I waited my turn, caught up with local gossip . After arriving sans an appointment – no one makes an appointment – I waited less than I wait to see my primary NJ doc. Hello Margarettttt, smiles Dr. Polumbo. Yup, without a nurse putting a file in a pocket with my name on it he knows who I am. He prints out the script, I say grazie and I’m off.
Down the steps and across the piazza to Farmacia Perone to fill my meds. That is always a pleasure. The entire family of pharmacists always seem to be smiling, offer a little chit chat, at laugh at my reaction to the low low prices. I grab my drugs, say ciao, buona giornata, and I’m off.
A quick dash into the Ferramenta where hardware store owner Nicola smiless broadly as he says Buon Giorno Midge. Of course I immediately forget how to say low energy fluorescent lightbulb. We both laugh and he points to the ligtbulb display. I get one and raced back to Bar Elimar for Jack who is now on his forth espresso.
Home for a quick change into a bathing suit and pool wear. We were off to spend the day at Queensley Country Resort. This place is a scant 10 minutes from our house and always makes me feel like my book Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos was picked up by HBO and I’m in LA. (Did you see how I just slid that plug in?). It is a truly glamorous place. Today, I swam laps in my not glamorous black tank suit. Everyone else was in a bikini. Everyone else was LA thin. After lunch, yes they serve lunch with real flatware. You can order a glass of wine and sit at a cloth covered table. Jack had his usual Caprese Salad and I had an l’insalatatone – big green salad with tuna. Don’t shrug your shoulders and sigh – you wanted to know what a typical day was like. This was my day.
Though there was some excitement today. We met a fairly large groups of folks from England. One couple of the group own a house in Compolattaro – the village next door to Pontelandolfo. Gerry and Jane plan on doing what Jack and I do – six months here and six months there. Listen up folks, there are houses for sale and this isn’t a bad place to perform your third act.
Speaking of acts, while I was at the pool a Facebook Messenger text popped up on my phone. It was Gene Kato from Next Stage Press. NO, THIS REALLY ISN’T A COMMERCIAL – THIS REALLY HAPPENED TODAY! Gene had done the dummy for the front and back covers for the play of mine he is publishing next. (He has already published two, “Many Snows Ago” is number three and this fall he is also publishing “Mamma Mia La Befana?!) So from the pool, like some hotshot millennial, I called Gene and we talked about the cover. OMG – what a day! Third acts like this are simply fabulous dahlink.
Tonight we are going to Sesto Senso for dinner. Who can cook after a day like this? I will be too tired to write about dinner – which starts close to 9:00 PM. Just know it will be yummy. Oh, and thank you for asking about my day.
Now Midge, shouldn’t that be “Italian Writers Rock?” Hmm, well it could be but then it wouldn’t be the creation of the energetic Wendy Ridolini. Wendy lives in Bisenti, Abruzzo and is committed to helping authors find their voices, get published and market their work. She is the visionary behind the September Creative Writing Retreat in Abruzzo and Sunflower Publishing which provides editorial and business publishing solutions. Her by-line as a book critic can be found in a variety of English language Italian magazines. How come I didn’t know about these magazines! Why haven’t I been subscribing to Italy Inside and Out, Abruzzissimo magazine or Lucca news.org?
Wendy goes out of her way to identify authors who live in Italy and/or write stories set in Italy. Are you wondering how we met? She found me! WHAT? How can a critic and podcaster just find you? Gulp, I guess that means I am an author who lives in Italy, writes stories set in Italy and blatantly self promotes anywhere I can! One day I received an email from this women, Wendy Ridolini, I didn’t know telling me about herself. She produces the video podcast Italy Writes and was asking if she could interview me about my book Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos. Wow! I googled her and saw all she did and who she wrote for and sent back a resounding YES! The “Harriet the Spy” in me had to know why me. The easiest thing to do is just ask. So I asked Wendy how she found me. This is what she said,
“Things just appear in my Facebook feed, you just somehow popped in there. What worked for me was the title Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos. This must be a crazy woman who wrote a crazy book because it had a crazy title. I had to meet her.”
I guess all those totally silly TikTok videos and instagram posts really worked! The evening before the interview my PR pal Kathy, via FaceTime from New Jersey, made sure my room was set up, the lights were good and the large poster of my book cover was prominently placed. Being anal, I refreshed my aged brain with the answers to questions that I thought Wendy might ask and went to sleep feeling prepared. BOOM! RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! CRASH! Cripes what is happening to our house? Those were the sounds that woke me up at seven A.M. the next morning. The destruction workers that my landlord had contracted to pull down the tottering garage attached to our house and more specifically my office had started.
“TODAY!: I shrieked, “it has been months and they are starting today??” My theatre head kicked in and almost overcame my memoirist panicking head. I raced all over the house searching for a small space that didn’t rumble and tremble. Pal George in the Netherlands got the hysterical FaceTime call – “Does this room work – how does it look – &^^%#,” I said before I said hello. We settled on a small closet sized space with no electricity. The only light on my soon to be made up face was from a window. It had to do. Finish reading, then watch the video and tell me what you think.
Turn about is fair play so a week or so after that interview, I called Wendy to get more information about her writer’s workshop. I love the camaraderie of being around other writers and was trying to figure out if I could go. (Sadly, when I saw the dates I realized I was already booked on a Viking River Cruise.) The all inclusive price for the workshop was so cheap, that I have to keep my eyes open for next year. Rates are based on the room size in the lovely Casa delle Rondinelle in Bisenti, Abruzzo. The cheapest price for single occupancy is £1150 or if two people share the room £625 each. That’s $1403 and $762 dollars – for room, food transfer from the Pescara airport, workshops with super authors, yoga classes, Italian language class, one on one sessions with editor Amy Scott and more goodies.
Wendy has assembled a sterling group of authors to conduct master classes. She said, “There is nothing like talking to someone else who has been on a journey and discovering it may have taken months and years to get that book out there – and that could be inspiring”. Quoting the distinguished author Sue Morecraft, “Forty years to become an overnight success!”
Some of the featured authors include memoirist Cathy Rentzenbrink and short story author Katherine Mezzacappa – shh don’t tell – she writes under a bunch of names – including erotic fiction – then again, why shouldn’t she! Midweek, Angela Petch will do a workshop on research for a historical fiction novel. Elizabeth Buchan, who has worked both sides of the table – first for publishers and then as an author – will share her unique experience. I give up! There will be numerous guest authors in different genres. What a fabulous week and I can’t go. To find out more –
I asked Wendy for her back story. How did she get into the author business. Turns out is it the family business. She and her husband Duncan Watts moved to Abruzzo in 2009. Wendy taught English and life was lovely. Then Boom Crash snd Shake the enormous earthquake that leveled Bisenti totally destroyed their home. Her husband wrote an account about the destruction of houses during an earthquake in Bisenti. They put a caravan in the olive grove and lived there for several years. It was there Watts wrote his first book, Olives and Earthquakes.
Wendy edited the book and got it ready to launch. Duncan loved writing so much that he kept writing, under the nome di plume – Jack Lench. Zap, Wendy was pulled into the publishing business. I love this so much and I have so much experience now on self publishing, I wanted to do this for a job! A career was launched! Things are working out, the Caravan may feel lonely because they left it behind an moved into a fabulous home.
Wendy’s next interview is with Rhys Bowen! I am soooo jealous! I’ve read everyone of Bowen’s book. Wendy will be talking to Bowen (Janet Quin-Hardin) about “the Tuscan Child” and “The Venice Sketchbook.” Can’t wait to hear that interview.
Tis the season to enjoy the fava beans that miraculously appear at my door. Didn’t I just write about fava beans – anybody remember? Here in Pontelandolfo spring has more than sprung fresh produce. Gardens are lush and fava beans are growing everywhere. In two days they will disappear. That means peel them, cook them and eat them while you can. Yawn, sigh – again. I hate to yawn over free food that is full of vitamins, minerals and protein. More importantly, I’m told by local fava lovers, regularly eating fava beans may boost your immune system.
As I sat down to free the beans from a hundred pods, my cousin Carmela texted and announced that at 3:00 PM she was coming for an Aperol Spritz. She wouldn’t come alone. Yikes, aperitivo time is snack time. What do I have that could pass as a snack? Fava beans? I googled fava and found that people make spreads out of them. After reading a few recipes, I tossed my iPad aside and started experimenting. Here is my latest creation.
Peel a bunch of beans.
Toss them in water and boil them until the outer skin looks wrinkled. (About 5 minutes.)
Burn my fingers peeling off the wrinkled outer skin. You would probably wait until they cooled.
Look around for stuff to toss in the blender with them.
I had a beautiful “sweet onion”, garlic and tons of spices. First thing tossed in the food processor – what you thought I’d use a mortar and pestle – was half an onion. VVVVVVVRRRRRooom, my eyes were tearing but the onion was squished. How much garlic? Jack and I believe a head of garlic is the perfect amount for any dish. Since I was only making about a cup or two of dip, I tossed in two cloves. VVVVRRRRRooom. Done. Next the fava. VVVVVRRRRRooom – what the heck? It looked like some yucky chopped up yuck. Olive oil! Of course! I added some fresh local olive oil and looked around for herbs. Salt, pepper and – I had saffron! Saffron.
It smells OK but needed something. Something? Hot pepper? No, I hate super hot stuff. Then I saw the bowl of fresh lemons on the counter. Boing – of course – that would punch it up. I squeezed in half a large lemon and gave the food processor another spin.
Did I ever admit that I am a cook who never remembers to taste what I am cooking? Well, I won’t admit it now. I put the mush in a pretty bowl, surrounded it with taralli and crostini. Divine. Hmm, I wonder what it tastes like?
Cousins Carmella, Annarita and pal Maryann showed up for Aperol Spritz and lady language. “Midge, tu hai fatto vellutata!” Vellutata? Would it be crass to look the word up before I made the drinks? My green mush was apparently something quite chic! Vellutata!
After everyone had a sip of their Spritz – or was it a glass – we dipped into the vellutate di fava. OMG – it hinted of guacamole! Maryann, who is also American, said we needed Doritos or tortilla chips. There are no tortilla chips to be found but San Carlo makes a spicy little corn horn. My green mush was delicious! What a discovery. We drank, laughed and ate all the green mush – I mean vellutate di fava.
Oh, on a practical note. Carmella told me I didn’t have to peel and cook all the fava. I should freeze some for later. No, no, I said. On line it said you had to blanch them, toss them in an ice bath and generally spend too much time in the kitchen. She shrieked with laughter. Here in Pontelandolfo, women just toss the beans still in the pods in a zip lock bag. Work out all the air and toss them in the freezer! Damn! Who knew! Just another Monday in Pontelandolfo.
PS: Here comes a begagraph – that is a paragraph where I beg you to do something. Something so easy it is definitely peasy. This November I would like to fill my calendar with readings of my funny memoir meets travel guide book about living in Pontelandolfo and driving. A reading of Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos would be fun for all of us. Please pitch me to your bookclub, social club, Italian American club, local bar, library or bring me in as a guest to a class. When I am in New Jersey I love being busy. I also love acting out my work. So PLEASE FIND ME GIGS!
Jack and I came home to Pontelandolfo to find a bag of scrumptious fava beans on our door step. Our neighbor, Lina, had left them for us. (You’ve heard me talk about the ever growing and traveling fava bean before. Click if you haven’t.) The beans themselves are nestled in a furry lined pod. I sat down to clean them and realized I was “unmasking” the hidden delights.
As I unmasked the raw beans, I saw each little bean as a person who had been safely ensconced and came home to me unharmed. On May 4th, we arrived in Italy from the unmasked state of New Jersey. Frankly, since Covid was still active, I never felt particularly safe with the unmasking edict. Prior to boarding our flight to Rome, I was thrilled to read that Italy still had some stringent masking travel rules in place. The FFP2 masks remain mandatory on airplanes – as well as other methods of travel. (FFP2 is similar to N95 or KN95 masks.). Every passenger on our United Flight should have read all the Covid rules and regulations.
Of course, there is always someone who doesn’t read, doesn’t care or obviously knows better and can be a pain in the butt about it. “Why do I have to put on a mask?” shrieked the woman boarding the plane a few people behind me. The United employee at the gate was very calm and tried to explain that it was a rule. The loud mouth continued screaming, “we don’t have to wear masks anymore – didn’t you get the message?”
You who know me, know what is coming. I couldn’t bear it another nanosecond and pulling my school administrator stop the riot voice of authority out of my ass turned and bellowed – “It is an Italian law. We are taking a plane to Italy and Italian law supersedes whatever it is you are talking about.” Jack grabbed my arm and pulled me forward.
I mean what is the big deal about a mask? Since we arrived in Pontelandolfo, we have been surrounded by masks. The day we got here, after a short nap – OK from noon until 7:30 PM – we tossed on some clothes and went to dinner at our favorite seafood restaurant, Sesto Senso. Everyone working there was wearing a mask. Patrons wore masks until they got beverages. Tables were more that ten feet apart. No one complained. Masks in the grocery store, masks in the pharmacy, masks at the butchers, masks anywhere groups of people were congregating and no one was bitching.
Back to the fava beans. The little pods protect the beans until they are big, strong and scrumptious. I enjoy being protected by my mask and look forward to the end of Covid and being strong and scrumptious too.
We have all been bombarded with the horror that Putin’s War is promulgating in the Ukraine. Schools, hospitals, apartment buildings razed by bombs. Hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians fleeing for their lives. This atrocity effects each and everyone of us differently. Social media is overflowing with pleas for help and personal stories.
My friend James Martin posted this on Facebook:
“My family (all 4 grandparents) left the Ukraine in the early 1900s to save themselves and their offspring from the terrors we see there now. They saw in their early teens that European Countries had been fighting for Centuries over this beautiful land with an abundance of natural resources and agricultural capacity. They anticipated that the wars would continue. They missed the starvation holocaust (they were farmers also), Hitler’s aggression (he was shipping out train loads of the Ukraine black soil), and now Putin. They left behind their families but never lost touch. My parents, my sister and I, owe them everything. Ukrainians never forget 💙💛🇺🇦.” James Martin
“Ukrainians never forget.” That phrase really got to me. His words brought up a well of emotions and maybe even smacked me on the side of the head. Because, I had forgotten. Forgotten that I am fifty-percent of Slavic Descent. Being raised in Flagtown on the Guerrera compound, my Italian family was there everyday and had such a huge impact on me that I have always just said I was an Italo-Americano. The passion I felt for my Italian side masked the other DNA that was floating around. Until I read Jimmy’s piece and saw what was happening to other Slavic people. Then wham – I remembered.
Borders changed so often in Eastern Europe that I am not really sure what country my grandparents came from. Was my grandfather born in Kromyerize, Bohemia or Austria-Hungary or Czechoslovakia or Slovakia? Different historic documents list different places. Family lore has it that Valentine was a multi-linguist and a great chef. Both skills served him well in WWI. He could be from wherever it was better to be from. My grandmother, who died when my mother was only nine or ten, was born in Sobotište, Slovakia or was it really Austria Hungary or Czechoslovakia. She was born in 1898 so it was probably Hungary. As Jimmy said, these European countries had been having turf wars for centuries. The resilient people, with incredible conviction maintained their heritage and homelands.
My Slavic genes have probably provided me with my tenacity and as the Italians say, “testa dura,” hard head. I wish I had gotten to know more about that heritage. Time to fill in the other side of my family tree.
Back to Italy. I reached out to Italian pals to see how Italians were feeling about the war and helping refugees. Gabriella Mancini, the best physical therapist in the world, lives in Milan and reports this.
“ITALIAN AID TO UKRAINE IN ABSENCE OF HUMANITARIAN CORRIDORS
More than two weeks after the beginning of the war in Ukraine, Italy’s response has been impressive. Not only in the big cities but also in the smaller ones, thousands of people took action to send humanitarian aid to the population that remained and, also, to welcome the first refugees who landed on Italian territory in the best possible way. Despite the problem of inflation, rising fuel prices and the absence of humanitarian corridors – as a consequence of this conflict incited by Russia, trucks with tons of food, medecines, clothes and basic necessities departed to reach the Ukrainian border. In particular in Milan, we assisted in the creation of numerous non-profit associations, also led by priests and public figures, who have worked (and still continue to do so) to complete the mission of humanitarian aid for Ukrainian citizens and soldiers. Several collection points are scattered throughout the city. This enables every citizen to easily contribute to help people who have remained separated from their families and their belongings. In order to be able to cope with the immediate emergency of the Ukrainian people, the call on social networks is to donate as much as possible to support refugee reception facilities, hospitals and orphanages. Many pharmacies are working to collect medicines for the first aid of war wounded. There are also many Italian families who are trying to host refugee people with the hope that sooner or later this relentless horror will end. Thinking of the fact that we did not even get out of the Covid-19 emergency and we already have to face another one; it sounds really absurd and in some ways this situation could be even more serious than the pandemic. Probably the truth is that man will never learn from the mistakes of the past.” Gabriella Mancini
This message raced around WhatsApp:
“Stasera alle 20 suoneranno le campane delle chiese. Spegnete le luci delle vostre case finché potete, per dimostrare a Putin che preferiamo stare al buio piuttosto di comprare il suo petrolio o gas. Questa azione si farà in tutta l’Europa allo stesso momento, a Londra(alle 19), Europa Centrale(noi) alle 20, Kyiv(alle 21) e Mosca (alle 22). Per favore inoltrare questo messaggio.“
Translated: Tonight at 8 pm the church bells will ring. Turn off the lights in your homes while you can, to show Putin that we would rather stay in the dark than buy his oil or gas.This action will be done throughout Europe at the same time, in London (at 7 pm), Central Europe (us) at 8 pm, Kyiv (at 9 pm) and Moscow (at 10 pm). Please forward this message.
I don’t know if turning out the lights made Putin think again about his criminal actions but, like singing from the balconies during Covid lockdowns it makes people think a bit about what is happening.
What am I doing? Donating to Doctors Without Borders and allowing my Slavic genes to start talking to the Italian genes. It is time for me to unleash the power of both sides of the Adriatic Sea.
“Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos” takes to the Road! I will be reading excerpts from this, my new book on April 21st at Cafe Brio in Hillsborough, NJ and on April 27th at Rossi’s Bar and Grill in Hamilton, NJ. Reservations a must. E-mail me for details – firstname.lastname@example.org
On May 7th from 2-4pm, the talented illustrator, Janet Cantore Watson, will be representing “Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos” at the Commonplace Reader in Yardley, PA. I’ll be back in Pontelandolfo with Fernando Fiat plotting more tales.
Two days ago it was freezing and I dreaded walking to the car. Yesterday, the weather couldn’t make up its mind. Today, it is so hot outside that I wish some of the summer clothes that are waiting for me in Pontelandolfo were in New Jersey. The weather has been equally weird in Pontelandolfo. Snow. Sun. Sun. Snow. What season is this? These seasonal shifts have my nose running and my mouth hungry for comfort food. It seems like today’s world is tossing us weather bombs we have to skirt around. To mask or not to mask. To wear a coat, hat and gloves or turn on the air conditioner. I decided to break open a bottle of Prosecco, not look out the window and read something light and summery. Better yet, to read something full of pictures of summer fruits, vegetables and great tastes. Slowly I opened An Italian Dish Brings YouNaturallyVegetarian Summer Recipes by Ellen Shick.
Ellen Shick is a foodie after my own heart. She is an Italian American who has researched her roots, walked the paths her great grandparents walked and loves to cook. What makes her even more special is that she too finds her family tree growing in Campania.
Her blog An Italian Dish is chock full of vegetarian recipes that make my mouth water. Ellen has published a number of interesting cookbooks. They can all be found on her blog site. The photos in An Italian Dish Brings You Naturally Vegetarian Summer Recipes brought me back to summer days in Pontelandolfo. Sigh…
When Jack and I are in our little Italian village, I buy what ever fruits and vegetables are in season. The trucks carrying produce and our charming little greengrocer, il fruttivendolo, Fresh Fruits, feature local seasonal produce. There are some imports but they are from points close by like Sicily. That means in the winter you can’t get zucchini. When zucchini is everywhere, my neighbors all can or dry their extras. Yes, you can dry zucchini for the brr of winter. Zia Vittoria, our neighbor, strings it up every summer! When I get back, I should ask her how she stores it.
When we are in New Jersey, even though I know I shouldn’t, I buy vegetables that aren’t in season and grown somewhere far away. That means, in March I can make Ellen’s MarinatedZucchini! I chose this recipe because the accompanying picture just radiated summer to me. I could taste those lush red tomatoes and the bursting with goodness zucchini. Off to Whole Foods I went. I don’t mean to give such a mega corporation a plug but… the fruits and vegetables I get at the one in Princeton are always perfect. My friend Kathy tells me that is not so at the store near her.
With two pounds of zucchini in my shopping bag, I got back and put together this simple yet yummy recipe. The ingredients are: zucchini, fresh basil torn in fourths, garlic peeled and minced, the always popular extra virgin olive oil, sea salt and pepper.
With my favorite Nonna knife in hand, I cut the zucchini into 1 inch chunks, put them in one of my giant pyrex bowls with a lid, added EVOO, basil, garlic, salt and pepper. The recipe said “stir well to coat every piece.” Thinking it would be exercise, I put the lid on and tossed the bowl around. As Ellen suggested, I put the bowl in the refrigerator overnight. That really gave the herbs a chance to meld with the zucchini. The next day I went on to step two. Heat a large saucepan and add the zucchini and all the juices that leached out into the bowl. Sauté it uncovered for 15 to 20 minutes. Stir it and don’t forget it. Jack reminds me I often add something to the stove and race off to my computer. Suddenly, I smell burning and race back. Don’t do that. Watch the zucchini – you may have to add a splash of water to keep it from sticking. Cook the zucchini until it just begins to soften.
Now, this is the part that I had the most problem with. Do I eat it warm, juicy and divine? Or refrigerate the vegetables to have as a salad with those tomatoes that I bought? Hmm, I needed instant gratification. I ate some immediately and called it a snack. The rest I refrigerated so that I could try to copy Ellen’s fabulous photo. I couldn’t.
Thank you to An Italian Dish for bringing a sunny day to this March madness!