Sicily Scene

Here is my personal pick of last week's Italy Magazine articles:

For my Patti Chiari column I wrote about our lovely Castello di Donnafugata in Ragusa Province.  This is not the Donnafugata mentioned in Il Gattopardo or the one in Marlene de Blasi's book!
Our blog of the week was Napoli Unplugged.  Do take a look at it because I am sure you will enjoy it as much as I do.
Our final summer romantic film set in Italy had to be a golden oldie so we looked at September Affair, a weepie with an improbable plot but great actors and a real tear-jerker of a theme song.
Italians, it seems, are rebelling against paying for supplementary services in hotels and, like me, many of them find minibar items to be overpriced.  Let's all rebel together!  In my opinion you can never have enough cookery books and here is one that I am determined to add to my collection, especially as the proceeds will go to the L'Aquila Earthquake Relief Fund.  My Dad [who was not religious] always said that if you wished to worship God, it made sense to do it among the most beautiful of His creations so I would love to see this tree cathedral near Bergamo. Finally, in the news section, we have two police tales:  the first made me chuckle and I loved this heartwarming story of a life saved by the swift actions of a blogger and the Catania police.  Let us hope that the young man concerned is receiving the help and support he needs now. 
I shall be participating in the Bloggers Unite World Suicide Prevention Day event tomorrow.

On Saturday I made this casserole of pork, peppers, potatoes and plums.  The recipe comes from the September Italian edition of La Cucina Italiana.  I decided I wanted to make it with golden plums and it turned out very well:

Our local rosticceria has reopened after a month's holiday and it is so good to catch the aroma of freshly made arancini wafting along the street again.Look what a nice trayful of focacce, arancini, traditional soft, Modican pizza and pasticcio you can get for €7.80 - just right to share with a friend for supper:

A twitter message from the wonderful Women's Library in London last week reminded me of the time I held, in their reading room, a volume which may have been Mary Wollstonecraft's own copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.  I also spent some happy hours in that room reading Simone de Beauvoir's Letters to Nelson Algren.
There is something miraculous about holding any book - an experience which I hope future generations will not entirely abandon for the ebook - but when the book is a fine, hardback volume that pleasure is doubled.
Last week this tome, La Nascita di Roma [The Birth of Rome] was available at just €2.90 plus the price of one of a range of newspapers and magazines.  It is such a joy to hold and to look at and I am so looking forward to reading it when I have time.

I shall not be able to afford the other volumes in this series, which will be offered at a still reasonable but more realistic price. All the more reason to make the most of this one!

It was great to meet my new friend Caryn, from Connecticut, and her husband and mother , whose parents were from Sicily, for lunch at the Osteria dei Sapori Perduti yesterday. Caryn found this blog and then searched for me on facebook.
We had the house antipasti



which included arancini, focacce, bruschette [above] and caponata [below]:







These were followed by the local sweet ravioli:



Then Caryn and her husband had chicken scaloppine



while Caryn's mother had pork spezzatino:



These came with potatoes cooked in the oven with capers:




I had traditional coniglio stemperato [ rabbit braised with capers, olives, garlic, celery and carrots]. Yes, there are potatoes in there, too.


For dessert, we had cannoli, because you just have to when you visit Sicily.  It would have been churlish of me not to join in, wouldn't it?



Our friend the singing accordionist was there:


Look closely at Caryn's brooch, which she wore especially for me!



Do visit Modica again, Caryn and family!  Cincin!

We are leaving Italy this evening to visit the France of the existentialists:

A Dangerous Liaison by Carole Seymour-Jones

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


"What did you do in the war, Sartre?"



Two years ago when I was in hospital I reread de Beauvoir's "Prime of Life" and it occurred to me that she and Sartre had rather an easy war. Now Carole Seymour-Jones, in this double biography, explodes the myth that the couple were prominent in the Resistance and we learn that they did very little indeed. It was Albert Camus who put himself in danger by publishing clandestinely, while Sartre and de Beauvoir attended only one committee meeting of the underground newspaper "Combat". What is more incriminating is that Sartre wrote nothing against the laws of Vichy France and the famous articles he is supposed to have written for "Combat" were actually penned by de Beauvoir.

Resistance and collaboration are difficult subjects and, since none of us knows what we would do under occupation, perhaps the golden couple of existentialism cannot be blamed for what they did not do.

More shocking for a whole generation of women, perhaps, is de Beauvoir's bisexuality and her abuse of her position as a teacher when she seduced female students. Her compliance in Sartre's affairs - the two had a pact whereby they were both free to take other lovers as long as they told each other - is well known. In acting as procuress for her "intellectual partner" and making friends with his lovers, she was, after all, following a tradition set by many a "maîtresse en titre" but we are talking about the "mother of feminism" here!

I do not have a problem with Sartre's womanising or de Beauvoir's acceptance of it but I do have a problem with the fact that the greatest "anti-bourgeois" of his time took the very bourgeois step of setting his women up financially and that de Beauvoir did not rail against this.

The second major point on which the couple can legitimately be criticised is, of course, their tardiness in condemning the post-war actions of Stalin: fêted by the Russians, they fell into every trap set for them: protagonists of their time, perhaps, but startlingly naive.

I had never understood de Beauvoir's relationship with her adopted daughter, Sylvie Le Bon but much is clarified here. It seems that the adoption was contrived mainly so that Le Bon could become de Beauvoir's literary executor, a decision which de Beauvoir' s sister understood.

Interestingly, Le Bon says that de Beauvoir never had an abortion, though of course the writer famously signed the "Manifesto of the 343" stating that she had. The extent to which de Beauvoir was pilloried after the publication of "The Second Sex" shocks even today.

All in all, then, a fascinating and timely biography of a couple who changed the thinking not only of their own generation but of generations to come. De Beauvoir emerges as less likeable than before but I admire her none the less: her feminism was based not upon ranting or hatred of men but upon intellectual rigour and that leaves her forever enthroned as "the mother of feminism". De Beauvoir once said of Sartre that he was "the writer who never lets you down". For me, it is de Beauvoir herself who never disappoints and continues to sustain me today as she did forty years ago.

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Hazelnut and mandarin:

The English International School, Modica has a new blog.  We'll be adding information, grammar and vocabulary explanations, exercises and news as the school year gets under way.  Do take a look.

Wales and Italy meet in this delightful clip:

Katherine Jenkins e Mattio Rossi - Con te partirò

The weather has broken and there is thunder as I write.  It is, of course, Persephone and her mother ensuring that Sicily remains fertile. OK, she's supposed to come in the spring but I believe she comes in autumn as well.
I realised today that in one matter one I remain resolutely British and it is this:  I cannot adopt the Italian habit of just waiting for the rain to stop before venturing out, for I remain convinced that if it rains, it's going to rain all day. Thus out I "boldly go" and I was the only fool walking around at 12.30 pm when our magnificent drainage system caused a minor flood.  I swore at every driver in both Italian and English as I was mercilessly splashed on my way to the supermarket.  [I can never understand why drivers can't slow down in the rain in any country.  What do you all have against pedestrians who are having a harder battle than you with the rain?]
On to Raffaele's where the carpets have been put back on the floor.  It isn't cold but it is, after all, September and some of the bars are already clearing away their ice cream.
The first fichi d'India have appeared and soon they will be abundant, like this:



I miss that first chill in the air that you get in Britain and I miss autumn leaves.  But I love being able to open the windows and balcony doors all day even in December and January and I don't miss dangerous, icy pavements!
Andrea Bocelli - Les Feuilles Mortes

Casa Natale di Luigi Pirandello
Here is my personal pick of last week's Italy Magazine articles:
Let's kick off with a story that Simi liked, about the dog lifeguards that patrol Italy's beaches.  She wants to learn to jump from a helicopter!  Still at the sea, how would you feel if you went bathing and found a Roman cargo boat? 
Interior Minister Roberto Maroni caused much outrage last week when he promised that Italy would be even tougher than the French on the Roma.  ["Roma" is a term often used by the Italian media and politicians to refer to Romanians as well as to the nomadic peoples of Europe.]  The issue is still being hotly debated.
I decided I would like to see this festival but no way would I take part!
For my personal Patti Chiari column, I continued the story of how books brought me to Sicily.
I hope you enjoy these stories.

Just over a year ago, before Italy "shut down" for the summer, I showed some women students Jenny Joseph's poem Warning.  I wanted to leave them with something pleasant, they were linguistically ready to read such a work and I think that women from all cultures can relate to the poem.  Warning was voted Britain's favourite post-war poem  in a 1996 BBC poll. 
It's always nice when students remember a cultural insight you have given them so I was delighted when, just before this year's recess, a student from the same class brought me an article about the poem from D. La Repubblica delle Donne, a Saturday supplement for the newspaper's women readers.  The article's author laments the fact that there is no Red Hat Society in Italy and wonders why.
I think the answer is quite simple:  you will have no trouble getting an Italian woman to wear a red hat, but you will never, ever get her to wear a purple dress with it.

This is for my Mum, who died seventeen years ago today.  As I grow old myself, I look back and am constantly amazed at the physical energy she had when she was older than I am now.  Dad and I, who knew mental energy better, didn't understand the extent to which her determination to push herself physically was an expression of love. But I understand that now and I wish I could tell her. I also wish I could say, "Bloody hell,  I'm sixty, Mum and I need you."


For almost two years after Mum's death, music of any kind would make me cry and I tried to avoid it. Then one day when I was working at home this track was played on the radio and I sobbed as I had never sobbed before. After that, music became a solace for me again. I think a lot of women remember their mothers when they hear this song and for me, it says it all:




For Violet Rosamund Eggleton, 19.10.1917 - 31.8.1993 -  the wind beneath my wings.

This is another recipe that I've adapted from a magazine and, even if I say so myself, it turned out to be delicious. The brown rice is probably sacrilege but it does give the dish an excellent colour. I know you are supposed to cook the rice in oil in a separate pan first but it was just too hot to have another flame on!
You need:

olive oil
4 skinless chicken breasts if you are in the UK, where the halves are sold separately or 2 skinless chicken breasts if you are in Italy, where the 2 halves are sold as 1 breast [if you see what I mean].  The breasts should be cut into large pieces.
1 rabbit, jointed
1 onion, roughly chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped1 red, 1 green and 1 yellow pepper, cut into wide strips
2 fresh bay leaves
1 chorizo sausage, cut into pieces [or a  long, dried Italian sausage]
500 gr brown rice
1 large can tomato pulp
1 litre chicken or other light stock
300 gr peas
500 gr green beans, topped & tailed2 sachets powdered saffron [sold in sachets in Italy - about half a teasp per sachet, I guess.]
coarse seasalt, black pepper.

To serve 6 people very generously, heat 5 tablesp olive oil in a deep, wide pan or wok.  Add the chicken and rabbit pieces and brown on all sides.  Lift the meat out with a slotted spoon and put on a plate. Add the onion and garlic to the pan and cook until softened.  Now add the peppers and cook till they are softened, too [about 10 mins.] Add the bay leaves to the pan with the sausage and toss everything around a bit.  Now put in the rice and stir it around a bit, too. Put the meat back in with the tomato pulp, about three-quarters of the stock, the beans and peas. Stir well and season with paprika, the saffron, salt and pepper.  Put the lid on and cook for about an hour, checking now and again. If the dish appears too dry, add the rest of the stock.
Serve straight from the pan.  It was so hot here the day after I made this that I had some cold - and it was surprisingly good.

Riprendetevi la faccia by Barbara Alberti

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


"RECLAIM YOUR FACE"



The novelist, journalist and screenwriter Barbara Alberti was shocked when a female politician who had obviously had a facelift and other invasive "anti-ageing" treatments appeared on Italian television to launch a campaign which would "liberate" Muslim women from the obligation to wear the veil. What scandalised Alberti was the politician's total lack of self-irony and she takes, as her thesis for this book, the idea that plastic surgery is the "western woman's burqa".
Using examples from history, literature, the lives of the famous, her own life and letters from her readers, Alberti demonstrates that women in the West are being denied a fundamental human right - the right to age naturally.
For me, one of the saddest episodes in the book is the true story of a woman of fifty-four who agrees to a meeting with the man she loved at eighteen. The two meet, go to a hotel and the man roughly makes love to her. In the morning she wakes up in his arms and he is looking at her. Then he, who is eight years her senior, says,
"It's the first time I've had an old woman in my bed".
The cruelty of this man is unbelieveable and I cried as I thought of the woman making preparations and going to buy herself beautiful lingerie with a heart full of hope. Reading such an account, a woman d'un certain âge is likely to feel that she has only two choices: if she has the means, to undergo all the age-defying treatments on offer, even at the risk of her life, or to give up the idea of love and companionship with a man forever.
But surely there must be another way? Can we not be who we are? Yes, we can, says Alberti and we must:
"Cambiate età ogni giorno. Siate nonne a quindici anni, fidanzate a ottanta. Ma non siate mai quello che gli altri vogliono.""Change your age every day. Be grandmothers at fifteen or fiancées at eighty. But never be what others want you to be."
I found this a fascinating and thought-provoking book, as subversive as de Beauvoir's The Coming of Age. It is not yet available in English but, sisters, I urge you to demand an English edition!


The Coming of Age


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I was delighted to be able to report this week that one of my favourite composers, Ennio Morricone, will receive the Polar Music Prize in Stockholm on Monday.
I do love Chi Mai, which was the theme for Le Professionel  but also for a largely forgotten 1981 TV series, The Life and Times of David Lloyd George.

Here is my pick of last week's Italy Magazine articles:
If you are going to be in Abruzzo between tomorrow and 5th September, there is a fascinating, traditional festival in Lanciano.
Still in Abruzzo, Nick Calvano told us the touching story of how he traced more members of his family in Vasto.
Then we went to Tuscany for our summer film, Stealing Beauty.  Staying with film, a famous friend of Italy is shortly to return.
I had to laugh at this story, though I don't suppose I would have been amused had I been one of the passengers! One of the saddest stories of the week was this tale of our times and it was also the week in which Italy said goodbye to former President Cossiga.
For my personal Patti Chiari column, I wrote about how books led me, in a way, to Sicily.  This is to be continued.
I hope you enjoy these stories.