Author: Heidi Lee (Page 70 of 96)

by Peggy Markel

Colors can be seen at night by a full Amalfitana moon. Off to the nearby village of Praiano, suspended between the mountains and the sea, our mouths water as we approach a dimly lit piazza by the small sea port surrounded by cliffs. Colored boats and nets line the shore as old men, looking more like crustaceans than humans, sit around tables playing cards, listening to the sea. They are waiting for calm when they will jump in their boats and paddle out for the catch.

A boy of about eight rides his bicycle, a bit too big for him, around and around the piazza dodging everything in sight. It’s a night for cats. Some friends and I thought we would prowl around as well, for che c’e c’e. “What there is, there is.”

Before we sit down, we talk with Armandino, a serious man, a bit shy, but ‘molto simpatico.’ He owns one of only two small trattorias in the square. From behind the bar, he tells us that he has just prepared an excellent squid sauce–very fresh–and that we should take a walk and come back in 10 minutes.

We decided to follow a railed walkway around the rocky coast of the village. It leads to an African style disco-tech that has a plexiglass dance floor, through which one can see fish swimming around below. Unfortunately, it is the “off-season” so we did not have the opportunity to dance the evening away, suspended over the ocean. It was just as well since my companions, Laura, Sergio, Giocondo, and I were ready for dinner.

Back at Armandino’s, we sat down outside to a very simple table he had just covered in crisp white linen, set with glasses and a bottle of local wine. It was Furore, named for and produced from the next village. It was a light, dry, fruity wine–perfect for our meal. It was a treat courtesy of Giocondo, our host, who was born there.

While we feasted on coral-colored squid in a tasty stew of its own juice over tubetti, Giocondo told us a story from when he was a little boy. Furore is a vertical village, where the home-life is nestled safely between the bustling shore line below and the vineyards above. Everyday, his father and brothers went out in the boats to fish. He would cry, “Let me go!” and his father would say, “No Giocondo, not today.” But Giocondo would cry and cry until his mother finally said, “Let him go.” So, off he would go.

Inevitably, the lull of the boat would put him to sleep. This was not so bad, but the problem was that once he fell asleep his brothers would have to carry him up 200 stairs to the house! Everyday he cried, “Let me go!” and his father would say, “No Giocondo, not today,” but somehow, his mother found a way to convince her husband to let Giocondo go. Everyday Giocondo was lulled to sleep by the rocking of the boat and had to be carried up the 200 steps to the house by one of his brothers.

We laughed about many things between sips of Furore, and bites of our second plate of freshly grilled anchovies and more squid. The night was magic, the waves and moon setting the ambiance of the piazza. We ate the acciughe with our hands, eating their flesh right off the small bones and tossing them to the cats, which held court around our table just waiting for something to drop. Perhaps some boney morsel would fall their way. Something had happened to one of the cats and her top lip was missing, which gave her the strangest, almost Cheshire-like expression.

Armandino fed us fresh melon and torta for dessert, which was an experience equal to the magic of the night. It was moist, flavorful and so deliciously honest that I asked for the recipe. Armadino’s wife, Filomina, humbly came to the door and told us, blushing, in a soft voice, how she had done it. It was Pasticciotto; a traditional dessert of the region (borrowed from the Pugliese) with black cherries and custard.

Recipe for Pasticciotto Napoletano: Pastry Cream Pie with Black Cherries

As if dessert wasn’t enough, Armandino gave us a special digestivo made from wild laurel. Its herbaceous quality was subtle, yet soulfully satisfying, enough depth to cap off a somewhat rustic night in the open air.

Another walk in the moonlight. We were so sated, we had no need for conversation. We listened to the sound of the sea and gazed at the moon’s reflection on the water.

I couldn’t help but picture Giocondo, this content little boy, slung over his brother’s shoulder, dreaming of fishing on his father’s boat.

About Peggy Markel

Peggy Markel is the Owner and Operator of Peggy Markel’s Culinary Adventures. In 1993, she started The Ligurian School of Poetic Cooking (1993–2000), with Angelo Cabani, master chef and proprietor of Locanda Miranda in Tellaro, a small village on the Italian Riviera. For the past 17 years Peggy has traversed the Mediterranean and North Africa, from Elban fishing villages and Moroccan markets to the homes of Tuscan artisans and chefs, furthering her own exploration of culture and cuisine. “For me, a connection to real food is a connection to life.” Peggy’s journeys help people explore the cuisines of Tuscany, Sicily, Morocco, Almafi, and India.