Better Than a Bouquet of Flowers

I got to see this as my morning wake up message from the old neighborhood. Megan is my oldest son John’s age and getting married this fall. Knowing how expensive weddings are, and that guest lists get abridged, I never expected an invite, but this gal has had my heart since she was 4 years old. I love her!

It’s been a rough morning. I feel as if I were hit by a truck. A head cold is trying to pound it’s way through my eyeballs. 

But it’s a sunny day. Late morning, we walked to Artigiana and had a Sicilian breakfast—Granita and Brioche. We each got the chocolate-almond combo. I followed mine with a caffe.

After this stellar sugar:fat ratio, I wanted to walk “the loop” back home, hoping to absorb some Vitamin D on this sunny day. 

Along the way, we noted some of the bus routes to Catania. Buses are super comfortable here; they’re as if riding on La-Z-Boy loungers to your destination. I want to get into Catania, which is an easy enough drive, but parking is a different story.

As we circled back to via Trapani, I saw Mariella & Vincenzo’s friend Filippo, walking toward us, deep in thought. I always enjoy him. His smiling nature is infectious.

“Ciao, Filippo!”

It took him a second to put us into context, then warmly greeted us, shaking his head over the tornado tragedy in Mississippi yesterday. I was grateful he didn’t mention the Nashville shooting. I went to bed distraught over it, and am still so angry. I digress. We chatted a few minutes with Filippo, and continued on.

I’ve been on a quest for wild asparagus, asparagi selvatici, but every time I’ve stopped into an ortofrutta, they’ve said è appena finito—it all just went. 

We stopped into the ortofrutta/salumeria near the house. As soon as I walked in, the owner went behind the counter, pulled out a bouquet of wild asparagus, and handed it to me!! I had just asked yesterday (again)!!

He told me how to cook it, suggesting an almost-frittata; just enough egg to glue it together. First boil the asparagus, after snapping off the woody part of the stems. A little old man, another customer, challenged the recipe. An animated discussion ensued. The customer was questioning the eggs. Just asparagus with eggs (*wtf*)? (Mind you, this whole time, the old man didn’t move a muscle other than his thumb, index, and middle fingers, ever so slightly in the mano a borsa). 

The vendor said of course they’re good many ways, but if you want the optimum experience, sauté Funghi di Ferla (which I love) with garlic, olive oil, and black pepper. Add the parboiled asparagus to the pan. Whisk the eggs and pour in just enough to hold it together. But this is too wet, the old man said. No, no, you turn it, you give it a dance! It’s not a lot of eggs! Eh, the old man said, and then that’s finished? No parsley? 

At this point, the vendor wrapped up our goods, I paid, and on the way out the door, he handed us a bouquet of parsley. Clean it and snip some on top right before it’s served. I love this life.

Good day with Ettore, making fresh-squeezed orange juice and discovering he likes the chocolate Kind bar I had packed for the plane ride here.

At one point, he wanted a drink of water. Joe said, “And what do you say?”, meaning, “water, please”, but Ettore, in an exasperated fashion, said in a monotone voice… I know, I know; three words in English before I get some!” I’m a taskmaster.

Then at 6 pm, he just up and left, saying he’s going to Nonna’s. Mariella was in the hallway; he must’ve heard her. She and Agnese we’re fine with taking him to Mariella’s. She had a Hulk costume for him. Wow, the Incredible Hulk! I said. Mariella and Agnese looked at me blankly. Hoolk? I tried again. That was correct.

I’m jotting this, getting ready to prepare my asparagi selvatici, but Joe just brought me a glass of wine. 

Ahh. Cold medicine.

With grilled pork chops and a salad, this was a delicious first course.