Savoring Sicily

Cassandra Montalvo

Traveling halfway around the world, one might be compelled to compare Sicily to the United States, as horrifying as that may seem. But where they might share the same sense of combined cultures and religions living somewhat peacefully in one land, Sicilians know this ten-fold. Never really being able to share an identity with its conquering countries, Sicilians developed their own sense of being, same as Americans, yet on an island hardly 1/16 that of the states.

Our first full day in Sicily was jam packed with historical and mythological stories of the island, sights that could not be matched with anything in the world and a preview to the amount of work we were going to have to put into the trip. Not only were we amazed daily with stories and tales of conquering armies and myths about the land but we got to experience it all as well. Sometimes it felt like all we did was walk or hike to out destination. Sicily is very mountainous. No place is easily reached without climbing a steep hill or thousands of stairs. Luckily, we were rewarded almost every night by a luscious feast. Our first night, we went to a seafood restaurant in Palermo.

Because of the long day, and not being used to the terrain, we were all pretty ravished and exhausted when we were ushered into our personal dining area. A bottle of wine, two bottles of water and a basket of bread greeted us at each table of six, a standard at the restaurants we attended. The wine was white, the label naming it a table wine. It was to accompany our “fish feast” as my table later dubbed the meal; every course, from antipasto to the main entrée, had a type of fish or sea creature.

Even if it was supposed to be the “cheap” wine, I could only assume that a table wine was a more common type of everyday wine, it was still very flavorful and went down incredibly smooth. This would be possibly why my table managed to consume over 7 bottles. The color was golden and light as was the flavor which had a hint of fruit. It all helped to bring together the flavors from the fresh octopus and squid salad with shredded vegetables, to the sardines marinated in oil and vinegar, to the steamed crawfish and whole baked fish. The fruity flavors of the wine brought out the wonderful spices and mingled well with the saltiness of some of the dishes.

In combination of the people I was sitting with, the giddiness of eating such a good meal, and the bottles of wine that we went through, (that the entire group went through) the walls that had been there between the people in the group, the tightness and reserved silence that had been blocking everyone from opening up vanished. It was not only my table, which was easily the rowdiest. We dubbed ourselves the “kid’s table” because we were the only table that was students only. At one point, while waiting for yet another bottle of wine for a seemingly endless meal, we began an impromptu drum circle, using whatever we could find to create a drum beat. The entire room, as well, was alive with chatter, the occasional table erupting into laughter.

My favorite part of the night, after we had all eaten more than our fill and drank multiple bottles of wine, was the ride home. The entire bus (including Giovanni, our bus driver) was singing along at the top of our lungs to classic Dean Martin and Louis Prima. Singing seemed to be quite a pattern during the week especially after the day was ended and we gathered for dinner.

Spending most of our time traveling on the bus, we were able to see much of the Sicilian landscape, when we weren’t napping between towns. The lemon and oranges groves, the endless premature olive fields that we pasted helped make the transition to this magnificent country complete, leaving any shred of American culture back where it belonged: in America. One thing that I’ve never experienced in America (and most likely will never again), was to dine in the side of a mountain.

Instead of forcing us to eat at a pizzeria that the travel agency had assigned for lunch, our tour guide, Rosa and my professors had a much better idea: to feast at Rosa’s son’s restaurant, a short drive from Siracusa, where we spent the morning. The entire group was excited for this excursion because we had all befriended Rosa at this point and was eager to meet her family, beginning to feel like she was a part of ours. The restaurant, Café Niro, is owned and operated by her eldest son, Salvatore. The location, however, made it incredibly impressive. Carved out of the side of a mountain, Café Niro is as fully functional as any restaurant making it a fabulous experience, not easily topped.

We filed into the restaurant, eager and anxious to begin the meal. The room held a large U-shaped table set up for our group and combined with the atmosphere it seemingly transporting us to a different time. Like we were all nobles, feasting with royalty. The room was large enough to comfortably seat all of us, small enough so that it could be just us. Like every restaurant, we visited, red wine greeted us in a ceramic jug and a basket of sliced bread sat expectantly between the matching place settings, begging to be enjoyed. Before the majority found their seating, wine already began to flow freely. The lights from above gave the burgundy a lovely shimmer, as if it contained gold. It never seemed to faze us that wine was always there. Every time we sat down to a meal, a container of wine was waiting. And the supply seemed endless.

My dining companions for the afternoon were some of the newly befriended “Hartford kids” (the nickname that was bestowed upon the art students that were joining us for sketching and watercolors). One student, Tony, who by the end of the trip referred to himself as “The Great Wino,” gave wonderful detail about the wine he was so readily consuming.

“ Wow, you can taste the grapes. Almost like you can taste the individual grapes with each sip,” he said smacking his lips with pleasure.

Not being able to drink red wine, myself, I felt left out. And incredibly thirsty, water was barely served. But as Tony went on to describe the deep reddish-purple liquid; my imagination picked up on some choice details. At one point I could almost taste the unique individual flavor of each grape as it meshed with the others in each individual sip and longed to enjoy something as fresh as that.

Between the antipasto of buchetta, olives and sun dried tomatoes and the rich risotto loaded with spinach, sausage and seasoned just right with fennel, my small group nicely put away at least four pitchers, enthusiastically looking for more. Everyone must have been enjoying it as well. The one waiter was constantly scurrying back and forth, fervently trying to make sure that all the pitchers were never empty and that everyone had what they needed.

In our last hotel in Taormina we were given the chance to experience different foods and wines from the Eastern side of the island, by Mt. Etna. It’s very interesting to find such sharp differences between recipes and what types of food is served in the three corners of the island. For most tourists it can be unrecognizable, but for those that pay careful attention, they can tell by the way food is prepared and the tastes of the wine how different the regions are in their lives and their ways that history has affected the way that their cultures have progressed. The island have been influenced over the centuries by so many different conquering cultures that it seems impossible that Sicilians from all over the island wouldn’t develop their own styles. Sicilians have a great respect for their history and culture. One example would be in the town of Taormina; the town still uses the same plumbing system that the Romans installed after conquering around 4 or 5 B.C.

After dinner in the hotel one night, a few friends and I were wandering around not really wanting to walk into town but still too wired to go to bed. We heard music coming from downstairs which piqued our interests. Intrigued, we walked into the candle-lit bar, located in the depths of the hotel, and were greeted by a small group of elderly people talking softly in the corner and a golden-skinned woman with deep red hair singing next to a piano being played by a man in a snazzy tuxedo.

As the lounge singer belted out a savvy tune, we surveyed the almost empty room, moving our way to the bar. After enjoying many different wines from all over the island, I was excited to keep tasting as many different labels as possible. I was able to develop a greater appreciation for enjoying wine instead of just guzzling it down like back in the states. Developing a greater knowledge to be able to taste the little differences between wines helps to determine the type of wine needed for certain occasions.

For this night, I wanted to try something a little sweeter, a wine not really to be drunk with dinner but to enjoy afterwards. Looking through the wine list at the bar, I had no idea what to chose. The bartender must have sensed my hesitation because he presented a miniature glass and poured an amber liquid into it. The glass made me think that it had shrunk in the wash because of its perfect resemblance to a regular wine glass, only about one-eighth its size.

The liquid was thick; it moved slowly out of its dark green bottle and slid into the small glass taking its time like it had no where to go. The wine shimmered in the dim light, movingly lazily around the glass, clinging thickly to the sides as it moved around, not wanting to slide back down to join the rest of the wine. The color of the wine was deep amber although the candles most likely helped to enhance the look. Texture is something that I never really considered all that much of an important factor in choosing a wine but after experiencing the dessert wine, I understood why it actually is important. It reminded me almost of cough syrup by the way that it clung to the sides of the glass, but it was the taste that will stay with me for a while.

The sugary sweetness of my first taste filled my mouth giving me quite a shock. It still makes my teeth hurt thinking about it. While it was the sweetness that commanded the drinker’s attention and taste buds, a perfumatic flavor was left lingering. I wasn’t crazy about it but felt guilty for not finishing the wine because the bartender was still standing there, waiting for my reaction. Needless to say, I was rather turned off by the whole dessert wine experience.

The next day we traveled up the mountain from Taormina to a small village, Castlemola, for a wine tasting. Ironically enough, for a dessert wine. The atmosphere of the restaurant was quite interesting, to say the least. When I walked through the doors, the lighting was incredibly dim so I couldn’t see much and my natural gracefulness almost led me right into a long wooden penis that was sticking out of the side of the wall. Well, it wasn’t sticking out of the wall so much. It was attached to a short, stout, wooden statue that was sitting on a ledge indented in the wall. That definitely was just the beginning.

The entire restaurant was covered from floor to ceiling with statues, paintings, and random artifacts that all contained phallic symbols and erotic poses. Even fruits and vegetables, things I didn’t know had a gender were posed to be made to look phallic. Finally giving an answer to all the perplexed and amused faces of our group, our tour guide, Rosa, told us that the restaurant’s décor was based off the idea of fertility.

I’m guessing that the wine we were given to taste was part of the whole idea of fertility, giving that even the food followed suit. We were served in small paper cups and all ushered up the stairs through the restaurant. Walking up the narrow steps the only light that was in the restaurant was coming through the windows so I couldn’t see very well. The wine was almond based, smelling sweet, warm and fragrant, almost pleasant. It reminded me of freshly baked sugar cookies because of its warmth and light scent. This was definitely a big change from the night before, mainly because it was very light in color, almost clear and slid easily down my throat.

Being truthful to dessert wines, it was sweet, a little too sweet for my liking and was too strong of a flavor for what I expected. I enjoyed sipping the small sample but I don’t think that I could’ve brought myself to buy a bottle like so many others did. When it came to what bottles of wine to bring home with me, I went directly to the source, Rosa.

I’m convinced the woman is an expert on everything, because she could always go into such great detail about almost everything she spoke about. Even if she didn’t know something, she must have faked it pretty well because no one ever questioned her. When asking her what good wines to bring home were, she didn’t hesitate.

“ Oh, any of the Mt. Etna reds are my favorite. And for white…there is a wine called Glicine. Spelled G-L-I-C-I-N-E. If you can find it, that’s the best that I can think of.” This sent me on my journey, what I like to call Mission: Damn-Near Impossible.

Looking for any red wine was as simple as walking into the nearest convenience store and picking one up. They were absolutely everywhere. The white, however, not so easy to track down. It has to have been the amount of white wine that they produce compared to red. Perhaps the Sicilian rocky terrain is better suited to cultivate grapes for reds. I imagine that the grapes used to produce white wines have a more delicate method of growth.

Tony, for more than half the trip, ranted and raved about “the most magnificent bottle of red that I have ever tasted.” Interest piqued, I asked him what it was. Una Milla Note, was the answer along with the mouth-water description of it peculiar sweetness and pleasantly dry aftertaste. Seeing as how he had found it on the other side of the island, by Cefalu, I wasn’t keeping up hopes to find it in Taormina. Surprisingly enough, it was hidden in the back wall of a generous-sized store, it racks filled with oils and vinegars, and spices for cooking. However, with the price being well over my range, at least 45 Euros for a bottle of 2000, I decided to stick with Rosa’s suggestions.

Determined to bring home something that one wouldn’t be able to find in the states, I set out on the town of Taormina with a friend, Kristen, on the group’s day off, hunting in every store for the specific wine that Rosa had told me. But the town of Taormina quickly grew tiny in my eyes during the search. After hours in virtually every store that sold liquor (and trust me that’s a lot!) I was beginning to believe that she was playing a trick on me.

Feeling disheartened from not being able to find the Glicine, and my feet hurting from walking up and down the cobbled streets, I began to head back to the hotel with Kristen when we came across a tiny store that both one of us hadn’t seen before, and it’s not hard to see why. The store was narrow and tight, backing into a small alley but was lined from floor to ceiling with wines and liquors of all types.

Finally, a store that had the wine that Rosa had spoken of! But, of course, if it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The bottle was six Euros, I happened to only have 5. Luckily, I didn’t have to go home empty handed after all, Kristen was kind enough to lend me the money so that I could buy the wine. For the struggle in finding the Glicine, I was tempted to have a tasting of it. It was meant as a gift for my friend, however, so I withheld, slightly bitter thinking I would not be able to taste the fruits of my labor.

Neither one of my friends that I gave the wine to were connoisseurs in any way, but they enjoyed both immensely. My friend, Rachael, who drinks red wine like it’s going out of style, was pleasantly surprised by the Mt. Etna red. After all that trouble that I went through to track these bottles down, I was almost preparing myself to be showered in compliments of the best wines they’ve ever tasted. Instead I was hit with a curve. My heart dropped when Rachael informed me that her Mt Etna bottle wasn’t any good.

“ When I first opened it, it smelled like vinegar so I thought that the bottle was sour,” she told me, making me so disappointed. Can you imagine carrying a huge bottle of vinegar home for nothing? But things began to look up:

“ Once I let the bottle breathe for a while, it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. So smooth, and delicious, almost fruity…still smelled like vinegar, though.” Either way, I think she really enjoyed it. She and her boyfriend had the bottle finished in no time. My other friend had better luck with her bottle, the Glicine, and I actually was able to try a glass.

Rosa was absolutely right when she said that it was one of the best white wines. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so surprisingly crisp and delicious. It’s rather hard to describe because it wasn’t fruity but it still had a pleasant sweetness to it. What shocked me the most was the fullness of the flavor. While the color was a transparent gold and the aroma suggested a wine that might leave one lacking, the flavor completely caught me off guard. But it wasn’t so startling like it hit you over the head or something. With every sip it snuck up on you and lingered on your palette until about the third sip in. Only then could you appreciate all the hidden flavors of the wine that mingled well with the light aroma.

Sitting there, at home in my living room apartment with my roommates, sipping on Glicine and watching American Idol, something didn’t seem right. The wine, as enjoyable as it was, seemed out of place. Like I had uprooted something so traditional and sacred from Sicily, uprooted an actual piece of Sicily, only to bring it to the states and treat it like everything else; chugging it down with no regard for anything but its alcohol content.

To be clear, I didn’t travel halfway around the world to drink myself silly. My plans there involved absorbing as much of the culture and lifestyles as possible, wanting to experience something other than my same humdrum life in the states. I wished for a fairytale and I got it. For ten days I experience a dream.

We were surrounded by myths and legends, ancient temples and artifacts, yet they mixed so well with people’s everyday lives. We experienced food and wine like no place that I’ve ever been. I doubt any restaurant in America, no matter how quaint, rustic and traditional it seems could capture the true sense of Sicilian culture. A culture that it so complicated it can only be described through tales of conquest and the complex architecture that still stands in every city and farm. Every dish that we consumed was steeped in centuries of different peoples that had inhabited the island at one point, each time bringing a new spin to the way of living. In a way, I’d rather not try to bring it back with me, besides in memory. It’s too precious a thing.

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