Monday was a normal day in Pontelandolfo. The school lobby was open so we could vote in the Regional Election. With “what party” and “who” I was to vote for jotted on a note in my pocket, I raced around the rain drops. It was teeming and in 15 minutes the polls would close.
(For those of you who wondered why I had the “what” and “who” jotted on a note, there were six candidates representing six parties. All wanted to be Regional President. I can barely remember my own long Italian name. You had to know the name of the candidate so you could print it nicely on the paper ballot.)
Cursing the rain and hobbling up slick steps without a guardrail leading into the school, I looked up and raised a fist at my dad.
JFG started us getting out the vote before we could drive.
He had ingrained in me the absolute need to vote in any and all elections. Deluge be dammed. I stopped in the foyer, shook the water out of my hat and opened my tessera votare to see where I had to go. District 3.
District 3. How is it possible that the district I lived in so many years ago. The district filled with ardent supporters that made sure my dad would be successful in Flagtown, Hillsborough and the County was the same district I’d vote in here?
Ciao Midgeee! Salve Midgeee! And as it had happened years ago in a different District 3, the home town chattering began.
I voted and dashed out.
Barely making it to the car, I was convulsing with sobs. Tears ran down my face. Jack, who didn’t go inside to vote kept touching me and asking what was wrong.
Angie Dorsa. Mc Cray, Mc Hugh, Doyle, Johnny G – my dad. My bigger than life dad who was an iconic election figure. That’s what was wrong. After hearing the first poll worker bellow “Midgeee,” all those old Democrats came to life for me. I could see them, feel them, hear them in the District 3 of yore.
Click and feel the moment. Midge “raw”coming to you from her Fiat.
Wild Boar – Cinghiale. They dig up crops, scare the bejeeezus out of tourists, and imagine this – one year ago the Italian army was sent in and told to shoot to kill. The ugly critters, found even in the streets of Rome, were or may have been carrying African Swine Fever which threatened the pazzilion dollar prosciutto industry. Some of the wild bad boys may have been getting a little too close to the gentile domestic sow. Sigh – isn’t that always the way.
Here in Pontelandolfo, we may not like their big ugly tusks charging at us but we do love the rich sauce you can make with the meat. The amazing steak and well, the general incredible taste that only free ranging, wild things can give us. 🎶 “Wild thing, you make my taste buds sing!” 🎶
Growing up in rural agrarian Somerset County, New Jersey, venison, wild turkey, peasant and other wild critters often graced the table. My dad told me that in the dark days of the depression, ground hog – which tastes remarkably like pig when made in tomato sauce – was often part of Sunday pasta day. My nonna told me the horror stories of picking buckshot out of teeny tiny sparrows or maybe they were black birds. When a flock flew over my nonno would hauled out the shotgun and BAM. Wee birds for dinner. I remember cleaning buckshot out of peasants and that wasn’t fun. But a family has to do what a family has to do.
Here in Pontelandolfo, we still have subsistence farmers who grow and process vegetables, raise animals for milk and meat and, gulp, remind me of my grandmother. They are kind, hardworking and loving people. We’ve integrated into the village’s rural lifestyle. Nope, I haven’t planted a thing except words on a page and a good will smile. Since, everyone thinks that because I spend my time at a desk, poor Jack will die of starvation, we are often recipients of parts of harvests and hunting. NOW YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING…
Thanks to a wonderful hunter, a giant chunk of cinghiale found its way to my freezer. Jack and our summer guests would not starve. Unless I was hosting a party for our contrada (neighborhood), there was too much to use for one meal. I put on my 4-H Cooking Club farm girl brain and thought – I know me thinking seems like an anomaly – but Shazam an idea. Yes! I would divide the meat and create three freezable dishes. Stew, pasta sauce and meatballs – all freeze well and will make Jack a happy cena.
First step, get out a big knife and divide the hunk. Based on no knowledge of boar anatomy, I think it was a thigh or butt. I grabbed one of my nonna’s giant stainless steel bowls – yes, I brought a few to Italy – tossed in leftover red wine, wine vinegar, apple cider vinegar and herbs. Why, you are wondering did I use a mix of vinegar. Simple, there was a little bit left in a few bottles. I also added diced garlic, fresh rosemary on the stem, thyme, pepper and salt. Plopped in the meat, covered it and left it in the refrigerator for two days. I think twice I remembered to flip it around.
Truth be told, I then had to succumb to google. Did I wash the meat after the marinade? I did. Did I mention, I throughly washed the meat before I dropped in the melange of acids. I’m glad I washed it. An important lesson was learned. Leaving boar in vinegar for 48 hours means it is tender and tastes like a hint of vinegar. Next time it will just be red wine.
I looked at the three big pieces of meat which were now no longer red. WHAT DID I DO? I was planning on taking one third to our friendly butcher and asking him to grind it. When I got there the first words were – in very marginal Italian – did my marinade wreck the meat?! He laughed. The meat absorbs the acids and changes color. I promised him some meatballs. He smiled at that too.
Cinghiale Balls!
There is something meditative about squishing a mixture of meat, grated cheeses, breadcrumbs, raisins, oregano, salt, pepper, basil and eggs through your sanitized hands. Because the meat wasn’t very fatty, I used more cheese and eggs than one might usually. Actually, I scooped in extra bread crumbs too. I ended up rolling about 30 balls this size.
Meanwhile on the stove, my giant stainless steel pot was hosting slow cooking freshly diced tomatoes, onions, garlic and green/red pepper. I wanted the fresh stuff to break down before I added jars of passata ( homemade tomato puree graciously left on my veranda.) In went the passata plus a couple of store bought cans of diced tomatoes. I was trying to fill the giant pot and freeze enough sauce for decades.
To make the sauce really rich, I have learned to add a mirepoix. Carrots, celery and onion were diced to almost a paste in my blender. That went into the pot then I stirred and waited. When it started to bubble, I very carefully placed each of those boar balls in the pot. Lid went on and I let the ragù slow cook for a few hours. The meat balls gave it not a gamey taste but a savory taste that one wanted to go on forever.
I could eat this sauce everyday!
I made enough sauce and meat balls for three of us to have a substantial meal. Nestled in my freezer are now three containers of sauce and balls for the future. Yummy. I thank the hunter who share with poor starving Jack.
We will talk about the stew another day. I am hungry and need to forage for local cheese,wine and bread.
Sigh, I can see the steam floating up from my perfect cappuccino at Cafe Style. My wallet is thrilled that we can go to Bar Elimar for a scrumptious homemade lunch and spend a scant €15 for two people. Jack’s nose is yearning to smell the bouquet of the featured wines at Ponte Simone. We both have saved up our pennies for a night out at Tãwa, the glorious sushi restaurant, in Piazza Roma.
Do I sound homesick? I am, I am! Soon we will be back home in Pontelandolfo and I can’t wait.
Will we see you there? In 2025 we have two incredible opportunities for you to become a part of our village. Cook in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo – May 17th to the 24th or September 6th to the 13th! This yummy program has been bringing smiles to the faces of culinary adventurers since 2016. (Not bragging, but last year we got a tourism award.) Check out the videos on the website – lots of food, laughter, and community. Then register and join the fans.
Follow your Creative Muse to Pontelandolfo
Our newest adventure is literally literature. Toss your laptop in a bag and participate in our 2025 Writers’ Refuge in the Sannio Hills. This Writer’s Retreat runs from June 21 to June 28th. Authors can soak up the atmosphere and work on their craft with Amy Scott of Scott Editorial.
All of the adventures start with a bar crawl. ‘Midge, Midge,” you are thinking, “a bar crawl is soooo sophomoric.” Nah! It is anything but sophomoric. What an incredible way to explore different parts of the village, meet locals and gain an understanding of village life.
Our very first group of writers joined the village in 2024. Playwrights organized by the New Jersey non profit – Write Where You Are. They wrote. They flourished. They conquered.
Duh! How could I forget. Bam! I did forget. Yesterday, January 6th I was in Piazza Roma trying to get to the doctor’s office first thing. He was closed. WHAT – the farmacia was closed. What is going on?
I walked into our house at about 9:30 AM and there on an end table near the “Jack chair” sat a bright read sack filled with candy. Turning, nestled in the chair I always curl up in, I spied a second red sack. More candy! Then it hit me – La Befana was here. We must have both been very good. Besides candy, both our bags included a bottle of an adult beverage.
Grazie La Befana (or bestie pal Nicola who tiptoed in with the stash). Growing up in rural agrarian Somerset County, New Jersey, LaBefana was not part of the landscape. The first time I heard about this sprightly old woman who brings candy to those who are good and carbone to the wicked was about 20 years ago. I saw, in an Italian book store, what I thought were kitchen witches. Or simply strega, like the witches of Benevento. Picking one up and glancing through the accompanying book I realized that La Befana was as important a part of the Christmas story as the three kings. She never did find the baby Jesus but every Epiphany she searches for and finds Italian children all over the world.
Her determination, working against the odds of her life, great choice of tattered togs and fearless nature has endeared her to me. It has been an interesting journey following the Epiphany celebrations. In Venice a cotillion of gondolas float by, each piloted by La Befana. In Alghero, Sardegna we saw La Befana effigies hung on very light post. In Rome’s Piazza Navona, one can find La Befana making appearances. Urbania, in the region of Marche, purports to be the official home of La Befana. (I think the woods behind our house in Flagtown, NJ were really her home. Just kidding.) Every year folks come to Urbania and watch La Befana fly down from the town’s bell tower.
Morcone, my other favorite paese in the Sannio Hills, had an incredible calendar this January. La Befana, on stilts, paraded down the street followed by musicians sporting traditional instruments. There was a marvelous mercatino.
Did I mention the elves?
The most astounding thing that happens in Morcone is a living nativity – Presepe Vivente. It is the best community involved theater I have ever seen. After wandering through the historic center redone as Bethlehem, one walked down to a huge field to see Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus find shelter. The three kings are there but La Befana never made it. I made the following video in 2018. Every year the spectacular gets better and better.
I was so taken with the fable that one year I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and – if I do say so myself- a charming contemporary play featuring this feisty character leaped into the page.
Mamma Mia – La Befana?! weaves the ancient Italian Epiphany tale, La Befana, into a contemporary American setting. Could the fun loving sixty-something Nonna from Florida really be the thousands of years old scruffy old woman who on January 5th delivers gifts to the good children and coal to the bad? The answer becomes evident as Nonna/Befana uses her holiday magic to find her lost and injured granddaughter, Mary.
Shazam- the magic continues- Mamma Mia La Befana?! Was published by Next Stage Press. It is a perfect piece for a theater’s or school’s holiday season. Just as La Befana zaps around the world, I would be thrilled to see this play zoom to a theater near you.
Share this play with a pal.
Auguri! May 2025 be a happy, healthy and creative year. I know La Befana will never leave you coal.
This year we are celebrating the holidays in the Sannio Hills of Southern Italy. The house is ablaze with lights. Thanks to our talented landlord, there is even a 20 foot tall Italian flag that seems to billow in the breeze. Inside, with the pellet fire roaring and a single malt to sip, I’ve been ensconced in a comfy chair binge reading a series by Carlen O’Connor. The books set in a small Irish village made me realize that village life, wherever your village is, has a similarity. People taking care of each other. Holiday events filling calendars. Decorations making every village even more beautiful. Scents of baking, prepping and bubbling fill kitchens. The shops are stocked with “must have” new goods and their instagram feeds are bursting with photos. We are blessed to live in such a village.
Is everything perfect? Nah. That charming roaring pellet fire is our boiler. That means freezing or filling the pellet stove with 30 pound bags of pellets, cleaning the pellet stove and dragging the ash vacuum outside to empty; cursing at the error 12 on the freakin’ pellet stove; searching for that wool sweater that we (Jack) swore he left here; and of course seeing mountains of baccalà in every market and enough delectable sweets to keep me lying on the couch binging holiday movies for weeks. Sounds terrible – not! Yes, there is snow on the mountain peaks. Yes, the wind is whipping in the Sannio Hills. Yes, our cheeks are rosy. AND YES this little village is full of happiness, good cheer and enriching our lives.
Village life and Pontelandolfese have warmed my soul. Nicola makes sure the too heavyfor me to even drag bags of pellets are near our door. Lina arrived with enough homemade pasta for me to freeze for Christmas Day. Adele dropped everything when I had a WHOA was that an earthquake vertigo attack and quickly got me into see a specialist. Our car was in the shop for 7 days – don’t ask. Alessio has turned his free time into “drive Midge wherever she needs to go time.” Other people hearing through the village network that our car was on the fritz, offered to drag our butts wherever we needed to be.
Starting with the December 8th lighting of the Christmas lights in Piazza Roma, we have been out and about enjoying the season. Pontelandolfo, as I’ve bellowed from the rooftops before, is full of creative and energetic folks who produce events, art, and cultural happenings. Check out the calendar –
This holiday season enjoy your village, wherever you are. Spread the good cheer, love and peace that warms the hearts of others. Buon Natale! Buona Feste!
PS. La Befana arrives during epiphany bringing candy or coal to Italian Children throughout the world. Take a peek at the play I wrote. It is available through Next Stage Press. Mamma Mia, La Befana??!!
One blustery Saturday night, the theater in Pontelandolfo was full. Men and women of all ages braved the cold to see a production developed by two amazing women, Michela Delli Veneri and Fiorella De Michele. Posters for Conto su di Me – Libere e Vivere had been zapping around social media and tacked up everywhere. I had no idea what to expect. The one thing I did know, was that Michela and Fiorella, both powerful women, would present something professional and relevant. Nestling into my seat, I looked around and noticed the hand made signs surrounding the space – My Body My Choice”, “Non Una di Meno”, “no è no” “Girl Power “.
Women Can Do Anything
Reading the signs triggered a response this 75 year old woman didn’t anticipate – sadness. Silently, tears dribbled down under my glasses. Didn’t we march for these same thoughts and rights when I was a girl? How many generations of women need to be treated like chattel? How long will society allow the minimization of women? Suddenly, I realized I was going to be in for a roller coaster ride of a production.
The multi media event was well developed and staged. This wasn’t a pound the idea on your head lecture but a thought provoking presentation that coupled actresses with real psychologists. The theme – Economic Abuse of Women. When I heard that, I thought equal pay for equal work or how to crack the glass ceiling. After seeing the performance I realized, economic abuse by one’s partner is horrific on both an emotional and physical level. Frankly, I was embarrassed that I had never realized holding back and controlling money was a form of abuse. I should have realized it. Having grown up in house full of tears, shouts and begging for love. Money, or the lack of it, was an embarrassing topic. My parents separated when I was about 11. Dad was caught “in the cookie jar” and mom was – well not very stable. Being the obnoxious child in our family, it was my job to go and “ask” my father for money. Mom, my sister and I were often just making do. My lack of patience and pushiness may be learned behavior. I learned how to be tenacious. One event that crushed me was my eight grade dance. After my asking dad for the money for a new dress and getting turned down, I was decimated when my younger sister came home from school crying and told me that a boy in her class whose mom was a ‘good pal’ of my dad’s just got an expensive train set from our father. I didn’t call it economic abuse – I was 14 – but after seeing this show, I realized that causing that kind of pain is indeed a form of abuse.
The staging was interesting. An actress would enter the set and tell their story. Then, the psychologists would either interact with the actress or talk about the case. The psychologists were wonderful performers in their own rights. I felt as though I was part of a group session and was throughly engaged. One scene that obviously tugged on my heart opened with a mom and son going to see a therapist. As the little boy was in his session, the mom shared her grief at not being allowed to use any money – money her husband earned – to pay for the boy to participate in a traditional dance company. Obviously the mom didn’t have money of her own. The arguments that the boy witnessed included screaming, pushing and threats. The husband would not give up a penny for this child to join the other children in the village and dance. Yes, they could afford it. He controlled the money – period. That seems like such a small thing but the impact on both the mom and the child was incredible. The dad was so controlling. The money was being withheld as a method of controlling and punishment. Damn, I had been there.
Always having worked and maintaining my own bank accounts, it took a while for me to understand the stories of women who were totally dependent upon their partners. Stranded at home without cars, driver’s licenses or any form of recreation that wasn’t blessed by the king of the house put women in dangerous positions. The psychologists brought the truth of this battering home for me.
Media, music, monologues and scenes seamlessly worked together to further the theme. I hope the young women I saw in the audience realized, they are in control of their destiny. I hope the young men in the audience learned that men who promulgate any kind of physical, emotional or economic violence against women are cretins. ( I wanted to use really bad words here about abusive men – FFFFFFbomb ASSSSSSh#$#^$.)
When Jack and I started this Italian life-style journey 10 years ago there were three things we missed about living in New Jersey – our family and friends, Jersey sweet corn and SUSHI. By our second year in Pontelandolfo, we were – ok I was – so jonesing for sushi that I insisted we search near and far for a restaurant. That year the only sushi joint we found was in Avallino and the sushi was not anything we would eat again. Thing sugar rice -yuck. I sighed. I cried and I wished on every star.
The stars came through! Giuseppe Sforza, an exceptional restaurateur, opened a world class sushi restaurant in – wait for it – hear me exploding with joy – in my home town!
Joy!!!!
Tawā, which means tower, sits under Pontelandolfo’s iconic tower and offers a world class experience. We knew it would. Giuseppe had been the proprietor of Landulphi a Latin themed pub. Latin like the language of our Italian ancestors. The menu was in Latin (with pictures), the waitstaff wore appropriate costumes, I mean uniforms, only beer was served and the food was fantastic. It was incredibly successful. A new version is being built in our historic center. But back to sushi. Tawā has been about a year in the making. Giuseppe is a stickler for detain and, even though I begged and pleaded and texted and shouted, he wouldn’t open until every detail was perfect.
Signage to guide you!LA StyleOpening night a grand piano appears in the piazza.
Giuseppe, bless his heart, invited us to the prova. The night the chef and staff practice and get all the kinks out. It was a night to remember. What a gift of goodness. We learned that night that Tawā has a fixed price menu. No, not that plebeian all you can eat kind of fixed price but an opportunity to explore the delectable treats the chef is making daily based on the market and his muse.
We have been gastronomically entranced by the Percorso Tradizionale. Our first tasting was at the prova. We loved it so much we went back one day after Tawā opened to feast again. There were more courses than I could count and I was to busy groaning with happiness to take pictures of everything.
Follow for Sushi!
The wee bowl of white soup was magical. Fish broth with a hint of salsa di soia melded with a whipped egg and steamed, looked like the smoothest of flans. When the spoon pierced the cream, broth oozed up giving my tastebuds a smooth yet soupy feel. It was delightfully decadent. The salad, in the adjacent photo was celery, carrots and seaweed. Whoever sliced the celery into long thin lettuce like strips is a king with a knife. The sesame dressing rocked it.I loved every morsel.
Yes, of course there was sashimi and sushi nigiri. I particularly was impressed with the raw scallops served in the shell and topped with a frothy essence of the sea.
I better stop talking about the food, I am getting hungry and I am not close enough to Pontelandolfo to zip in, sit at the sushi bar, order a glass of wine and the apertivo. But domani!
Tawā is an asset to Piazza Roma. Giuseppe is great at marketing and people will visit our village from afar. I am so thankful to him for providing me with one of the things I miss most about New Jersey.
Literally Italy LLC Stay tuned for our latest venture. Cooking in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo is more than just cooking. Playwrights Retreat is happening now and a Writer’s Retreat is on the schedule for June 2025! Visual artists may be next!
I know, I know you have heard it before but it is true -seriously – it is true. Something here in Pontelandolfo activates creative woo woo and the arts – especially literary arts burst forth with abandon. Yes, of course I have another case in point – Carlo Perugini.
I first met Carlo at a Club di Libro di Pontelandolfo meeting. The book club members were part of the villages intelligenza. For me, reading the books and listening to the discussion was like an Italian language seminar. Carlo was not only an articulate participant but he also threw great parties – literary themed of course.
What fun, laugh out loud fun, at the antics of long ago villagers. Those of you who follow me, know that I’ve been studying Italian for a pazillion years. Carlo’s book was the perfect companion to those studies. The stories were interesting, pulled me in and written in such a way that even I could enjoy every – well almost – every word. After that, I was hooked on the canon of Carlo Perugini. HEY Italian teachers – consider his books!
Carlo’s love for Pontelandolfo’s past is evident in his first book, “AUGUST 1861 MEMORIES OF THOSE DAYS.” You have heard me prattle on before about the rape, pillage and burning of our village by the Italian army. Genocide is not fun.
Carlo’s work personalizes that horrific event. During those dark days, someone kept a graphic diary and hid it in the ceiling . A contractor pal renovating that ancient house found the diary and gave it to Carlo. The book first published in 1989 was a resounding success. It is in its third edition today and liberally quoted, mentioned and listed in the bibliographies of other books about the conquering of Southern Italy.
Nessun altro si salverà!: L’affondamento del cacciatorpediere Scirocco nel ricordo del Sergente Nocchiere Michele Perugini – a long title but a gripping memoiresque book. (“No One Else will be Saved.”) It is the tale of Carlo’s father, Michele, who joined the Italian Navy during World War II and was the only survivor of a horrific loss of a ship. The opening chapters – so reminiscent of the stories my nonna told – were so gripping I poured two fingers of scotch and settled down to finish the book in a marathon sitting.
La Ruzzola del Formaggio e altri Racconti is another collection of short stories. I am a sucker for these tales and giggled out loud while reading some of them. The title story reveals the passion Pontelandolfese have for “rolling the cheese.” Everyone who comes to Pontelandolfo and has a chance to see this sport can’t believe that enormous wheels of cheese – big enough to break your leg if it hits you – are careening down our streets amid cheers and curses. Our last group of Cooking in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo participants had a fun filled afternoon rolling the cheese with our local Ruzzola champion.
His list of published works goes on but Carlo Perugini is more than a collection of books. He is also an environmentalist/activist member of Italia Nostra. He is committed to environmental protection. I’ve written about how the Sannio Hills are being inundated with wind turbines while windless Tuscany has none. Carlo is part of the group leading the charge to protect the hills around Pontelandolfo.
He is also a director of the World Wildlife Fund Oasi Di Campolatara and can been seen with school children explaining the pollination process and need for bees. I asked if he kept bees. Of course he does! He is a beekeeper and makes honey. In the spirit of transparency I must tell you he gave me a jar. It was scrumptious.
Besides bees, at Carlos home one can find miniature goats. He actually raises miniature goats. I haven’t asked if he makes goat cheese – that would be too pushy. Though I do love fresh goat cheese.
He has been lobbying for the inclusion of Pontelandolfo and Morcone in the Parco Nazionale del Matese. That inclusion would provide a plethora of benefits for our community. .
Protecting the environment requires understanding the media and how to make a voice heard. Carlo is also a contributor to the newspaper, La Cittadella. The articles are often reprinted and posted.
This incredible author, activist and genuinely nice guy spent his working years as a nuclear engineer. He worked all over the world. India, China, South Korea are just a few of the stops. Clocks in his office have times set for Roma and Seoul. (No he doesn’t glow from nuclear waste only from environmental passion and creativity.)
According to Carl, ” I have been an engineer for all my life and I had the opportunity, for work, to travel all over the world. I have always regarded this as a fantastic experience. Living away from the house where I was born for long periods, I suffered from nostalgia for my small native village in the Matese mountains. So I started writing stories of my village to feel closer to my people.”
We are so glad he did. Carlo Perugini is an incredible example of how the mountain air or our Pontelandolfese DNA has developed an avalanche of artistic citizens.
You too can breathe in our mountain air! Our team is setting up writing and cooking programs now for 2025. Email me at info@nonnasmulberrytree.com for exciting information.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 