Pre-Thanksgiving in Sicily

Elena loves the American Thanksgiving holiday. She's already put in an order with the butcher for a turkey. Ovens here do not have the cavernous openings of US ovens, so turkey is not a popular dish. Maybe also because it's funny tasting and makes you sleepy and gassy? That's what I'd say.

I've been commissioned to make pumpkin pie. Also here:

- No canned pumpkin or fresh pie pumpkins

- No sweetened condensed or evaporated milk

- No pie pans

I've combed the interwebs to discover there's a huge fan club for homemade butternut squash puree vs canned pumpkin, and people are choosing it over fresh pie pumpkin. Hmmm I'm skeptical. But I've been making a long slow go of it, with some in the oven as I write.

There are recipes without sweetened condensed milk, and I've converted a round cake pan into a slanted pie pan ala aluminum foil.

I'm also preparing a bread stuffing (which won't be stuffed), and a rice-mushroom-chestnut dressing that I'll serve as a side dish. Roasted green beans and mushrooms, sweet potato chips, and, if I can find it, acorn squash stuffed with Italian sausage and cheese. These are the foods from my Thanksgivings past. 

My mom always made a great acorn squash dish and wild rice casserole. When my grandparents were living, we had special pasta, such as stuffed shells, and sometimes another pasta. There were lots of Italian sausages present in their variety of forms, and appetizers included imported Italian cheeses, sliced dried sausage napolitana style, our garden harvest's conserva of our version of giardiniera, including grandpa's alcohol-potent grapes, and an insalatone that contained everything but the kitchen sink! My Nordic-American friends vied for a seat at our family's table. I think that's why Thanksgiving now is such a let-down for me. That history is a hard act to follow. Except for my brother-in-law's turkey (taking two things I abhor; turkey and smoked meat, and turning it into something I love), and of course, my sister's pies. Ohhhhh those pies.... she's magic.

Back to mom's wild rice casserole: wild rice is a Minnesota thing. With delivery services, it can be a thing anywhere in the contiguous US. But it is NOT an Italian thing! I was standing in the riso section of the store, long enough for my eyes to start looking like those gigantic swirled lollipops, trying to find regular long grain rice or anything similar. Arborio, red arborio, black arborio, arborio integrale, and.... Basmati? Ok; I was zoned out from choices or lack thereof, and grabbed the basmati rice, which had some red rice flicked in. Again; I'll improvise. I'm getting a feel for how my grandparents must've made concession after concession to adapt recipes from their homeland to the New Country.

But first thing this morning was caffè. Joe and I went to Scandura to start our day with cappuccini e cornetti before I popped into the "other" Decò and later, the market -- neither of which Joe had any interest in attending.

Bulking up for the season

Half of the pasta aisle

I asked a grocer if they had castagne conserva, packaged chestnuts, since I didn't want to roast the fresh ones and spend another hundred hours on a recipe. He looked in my cart, and after a moment and a "Scusa, ma...," politely asked what (the hell) I was preparing? I explained, Thanksgiving dinner; I'm American. In halting English, he asked, "Oh; yes -- it's always the fourth Thursday (Toorsday) of November?" "Yes!"

I found two very sorry looking packages of green beans, took the less evil looking one, and headed to the check-out. I'm roasting them, so hopefully they'll be ok.

These bags are going to be heavy, and I still want to hit the Wednesday market. I'm going to have ape fingers and arms before Christmas.

At the checkout, the cashier flagged my grocer friend over. These beans look terrible. Get some other ones for her. No; he confessed, there is only the other bag and they are also bad. Looking back at me, she said, I'm sorry; there are no good beans. The grocer said, in English, "You cannot serve these for your special Thanksgiving dinner," and took my beans and walked away. 

"Si può trovargli al' mercato oggi?" I asked if one might find them at the Wednesday market. "Penso di sì," yes; she thinks so.

Walking from Scandura. Normally, if asked to choose between them, I'd say that I ally with the sea versus what I call "earth acne". But this biggest zit of all has my heart.

Lugging my heavy bags all the way down to viale di Europa, I entered the bustling market, where people have no problem blocking anyone from passing, with their cluster of chatty friends or baby strollers. 

The forecast said a high of 59⁰F, but that was a bold-faced lie. Now stripped down to my short-sleeved shirt, my jacket added to the bulk of my tote bag, I was covered in a full-on sweat.

But I found beans. And tortorello.

"Come si chiama questo in Sicilia?" I asked the vendor, pointing to the tortorello, "Perchè a Molise si chiama tortorello". What do you call this vegetable here? My family in Molise calls it--

I was cut off. "Non è cresce a Molise. Soltanto qua. Questa parte di Sicilia." So it doesn't grow in Molise; only in this area in Sicily. Another strange secret Sicilian connection to my family. Or, my grandpa befriended a Sicilian-American in the States, and got some seeds from him? We'll never know.

I heard myself grunting involuntarily as I hauled home these heavy bags. I was at the door when Mariella pulled up. She yelled at me. I look sweaty and tired; did I carry those bags from the market? Why didn't I pick up the phone and call her and say Come pick me up?! Ah; Mariella.

Upstairs, I set to cleaning and cooking the squash for the puree, cubing the bread for the stuffing, and cutting the beans and sweet potatoes. I looked at the rice box as I was trimming the beans. What are the ingredients? Basmati rice, red arborio integrale ("red-brown whole grain rice"), and... could it be? I think "la zizania palustris" might be wild rice! Described as "una graminacea selvatica originaria del nord America, ricca di gusto e piacevolmente croccante," translates to "a wild grass native to North America, rich in flavor and pleasantly crunchy". Whaddya know! 

Part way through my endeavors, I texted my sister for her pumpkin pie recipe, and ended up having a nice, long, wonderful call.

Joe and I had a light lunch, followed by the prima panettone and caffè, and then I sat down to write this. Now I'll leave to get three ingredients I forgot! I hope the have them at CRAI; I don't have a long walk in me right now.

******

I did have a long walk in me, and went back to the Decò I visited this morning, to get the few things I forgot.

Nice to know where I can find tripe

and oxtail!

Walking back, it was dark, and the holiday lights glow over via Vittorio Emanuele. 

And this Greek god kiosk always makes me think of my kids.

It can be dangerous, walking down the street. There's no personal peril of violent crime or anything, it's just that you never know when you'll run out of sidewalk and have to step onto the main street!

I timed the walk from Scandura to Rosalba's: 8 minutes; then from there to Rapisardopolis, as Elena calls it: 20 minutes.

I picked up dinner tidbits and started cooking them as soon as I returned. We ate a nice chickpea with chicory premade soup, followed by a thinly sliced filone and formaggio di capri con aromatiche, a soft aromatic cheese, which was strong but good. Next, a tortorello and tomato salad, finishing with cipollata, which I've wanted to try. Meat fat wrapped around spring onions and cooked until crispy on the outside -- also good.

A bit of a clean up, then off to bed. We'll be celebrating Thanksgiving before most of the US tomorrow!

Buonanotte.