Etna Wine Forum by day, Jazz Club by night
Joe got upstairs first, and thankfully, he made a pot of drip coffee. I will need it. I showered and fancied up for the wine event.
First, a stop at Elena's. She looked elegant in her tailored grey sheath, pink Chanel jacket, and towering beautiful heels.
She and I went with the boys to Mariella's. Nonno was sitting outside, so I went out to visit with him, and the boys followed. They are at the age of sibling battles, and I see a lot of young me in Ettore. I, too, endlessly tormented my sister when we were little.
There was one ball with two boys fighting over it, so, obviously, I had to be the basketball hoop. I made my arms into a circle. Who will get the most points? Take turns and see! This actually worked. Next, my splayed legs were a soccer net. Ettore liked playing goalkeeper and Matteo likes kicking the ball. That worked as well. But when Ettore pretended to be a Witch, riding Mariella's broom, all hell broke loose. Ok boys--let's have you ride together as if it's a Harry Potter quidditch broom. That did not work, and the broom became a sword.
Elena walked onto the terrace. I had told Joe to meet us at Mariella's. Elena asked, "Where's Joe?!" I said I told him I was coming down here. She said, "What the hell?" and threw back her head, laughing. "Ah, you Americans. I love that expression!"
"Whatever," I replied.
"Exactly. Whatever!"
She and I have a pet peeve when people use this expression. Whatever... what?! Such a dumb response. We joke about it.
It's a bright, sunny, and hot day, which is perfect for a wine tasting event. I finally located Joe. He and I walked to Villa Favare, as Giuseppe and Elena were still settling the boys.
When they met us there, Elena brought us to the sindaco, Mayor Bonano, explaining we're Americans in love with Biancavilla, and are trying to buy a house here. Elena suggested we do testimonials for Biancavilla, and make St. Paul a sister city. I said then I want a key to the city.
The wines were varied and incredibly top shelf. Little Biancavilla has seven producers itself; others are from Parco Etna, and a few more are from surrounding areas. Carricante and Catarrato, two of my favorite grapes for vino bianco, have a huge presence. Nerello Mascalese, Nero d'Avola, and Etnaen red blends hold their own as stars. I'm pleasantly surprised. Many of the wines are biologico (organic), as well as qualifiers for DOCG status, but several producers admitted they won't go through the bureaucratic bullshit just for those labels. They know what they're producing, and it's good. That's their mission. Indeed, these wines are worth a spin, and I'm looking into getting some sent home. I may buy a case of the bollicine along with an assortment of other wines, as it puts most prosecco to shame.
By the way, two producers I spoke with said/warned that if they ship to the US from here, they will not put in additional sulphites. That closes an age-old argument. The wine you buy here is different than the Italian wine one buys in the US, even if it's the exact same label.
I tasted a number of wines; each sip totalling a medicine dropper's worth. I dumped the rest of each pour, and moved onto another wine to sample, and so on. By the end of my rounds, I may have had one glass in total. Joe, on the other hand, does not believe in wasting all that wine left from the pour.
It was time to wrap things up at the wine event. Vincenzo and I headed toward the exit. Joe decided to stay a while longer, so Vincenzo and I had a nice walk and a lovely chat together on the way back to the house. Sergio, who we met at the wine tasting, joined us for dinner.
Once inside, the aroma of Mariella's Sunday sugo filled the air. First course, pasta con sugo, then chicken cutlets with roasted potatoes. Another meat course of falso magro (which Joe's family calls fazzomoggie, and they add hard-boiled eggs), made by a local butcher, who Vincenzo calls "Il Michelangelo della carne;" the Michelangelo of meat. Vincenzo was so impressed with the butcher's technique, he made a video of the process. It is a beef tenderloin rolled with cheese, prosciutto, spring onions, then the roll is covered in strips of pancetta. We make a similar braciole at home, which is cut and grilled, but falso magro is cooked as a roast, in the oven and, unfortunately, is served with what we'd call gravy. If you know me, you know I'm not a fan of that or mashed potatoes or turkey, basically ruling me out of Thanksgiving dinner.
Elena wants to replicate a Thanksgiving dinner again. I said it's hard, because the ovens here aren't large enough to roast a whole turkey. Maria Teresa asked if we cooked them ripiene (stuffed). I explained how families each have their own recipes for stuffing. I prefer rice, mushrooms, pancetta, onions, the way my mom made it; Joe's family uses a bread stuffing with poultry spices and ground beef. But at my mom's Thanksgiving table, the turkey was down at the neglected end. Mom and grandma would make ricotta-spinach stuffed shells, meat lasagne, roasted acorn squash rings, half prepared simply with olive oil and a dusting of black pepper, with the other half having centers filled with grandpa's homemade sausage and cheese, broccoli cooked with onion, olive oil, and peperoncino flakes, an insalatone with the usual lettuce, tomato, onion, but also chick peas, carrots, celery, oregano. Mom made whole baked sweet potatoes, but because Uncle Joe couldn't face another one after the Army, she prepared the token mashed potatoes and gravy. Occasionally we'd have sausages and whatever vegetable looked fresh that November. My friend, Chuck Abrams, saw this display back in the 90s, and it was the first time I heard someone voice the letters "O.M.G." He asked if he could be a guest at our table on Thanksgiving! Although we all had a taste that day, the lonely turkey mainly functioned as something to be sliced and used for lunches for the next million weeks. The stuffing, however, was enjoyed on Thanksgiving Day.
In today's times, we have an equally Satyricon spread at my sister's house, and my beloved brother-in-law takes two things I despise -- turkey and smoked flavor -- and combines them to make something I like. At least enough to take a few bites.
Although I'm always offered grappa or Fernet Branca after dinner, it is pretty much understood this is guy gathering juice. Rosalba had gifted Vincenzo a unique grappa last Christmas, and that came out with the Fernet Branca. Joe helped himself to a second serving of it, following a day of wine tasting and wine at lunch, so, from the kitchen, when I didn't see him at the dining table, I assumed he went upstairs. Elena took me by the elbow to show me this:
"Next time you come alone?" she laughed.
I was groggy, but it's such a gorgeous day, I texted Sleepy Joe and said that I'm taking a walk. I wanted to hit the Chinese store, and though it's Sunday in a small Sicilian town, Elena threw her hands up, saying, "Chinese store is always open!" Good. I have some Halloween project ideas, and need supplies.
Although it's in the 80sF, there still exists a veil across Etna. I enjoy the views, regardless.
Walking home, I passed the popular playground park, where parents/grandparents are there with the kids, villagers get water from the automated pump, and teenagers gather to steal glimpses of the girl crowd from the boy crowd, and vice versa.
I think the boys pictured above were hopeful. The cologne they're wearing is not subtle, but at least it's not Axe.
I got to enjoy the beginnings of a pretty sunset, setting Etna's exterior on fire, on my way home. Then I was delighted to spot the little dog I grew accustomed to greeting each day over the years. I was worried something happened to him!
I started to relax on the sofa, when suddenly I remembered that we are attending a jazz concert tonight!
I told Joe I'd be downstairs, freshening up and figuring out what to wear. Shortly after that, Vincenzo called to say let's go! He wore a blazer, Mariella was in a pretty outfit and pearls, so my long dress and heels fit right in.
The ensemble is, coincidentally, the same one we saw last year. Vincenzo couldn't believe it, as he said he's only seen this group one time. But Joe found last year's video, and sure enough, it's them.
We met up with Pina, Marisa, Elise, and their respective husbands. They all greeted us warmly, and the somewhat stern Pina even told me I look beautiful! Marisa went crazy with hugs that we're joining them in Toscana, but I could tell Pina felt snubbed that she's just now hearing about it. She said, anyway, she has two new grandbabies, and will have her arms full, rocking them. I said that is so lucky; if I had a choice to spend a weekend with grandbabies or being in Toscana, I'd choose my grandbabies any time. Me too, she said. And smiled.
Although the musicians are talented, and the female vocalist has a lovely voice, something does get lost in translation. In any case, I thought they had a great sound; I'd only suggest the vocalist make a better effort on ending her songs. The final strains start trailing as a kite on a gentle wind, but whose string gets wrapped under a garbage truck and hooked around the bumper.
Of course, there was food at intermission: pizzette, mini cannoli, mini calzone and arancini, with soft drinks and water.
After the concert, we did the Sicilian goodbyes out on the sidewalk, meaning we were there a solid 20 minutes after "leaving," but we got to meet the ensemble's drummer, who had performed excellently.
Hugs, thanks, and buonanotte to Vincenzo and Mariella as we went upstairs to hydrate a little, then crash.
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