If you hear food vendors at a Sicilian market shouting bastardoni - big bastards – don’t be offended.  They’re just hawking their wares, which are autumn prickly pears from cactus plants. 

The wild and wonderful food markets in Sicily are a blast to shop in and we always look forward to buying a case of bastardoni.  These are the fattest, most succulent fruit of the cactus plant, harvested in the fall in eastern Sicily.

The smaller variety of prickly pears, sometimes known as agostani for the fact that they ripen in August, are generically known as fichi d’India - Indian figs. They do not come from India nor have any relation to figs, which goes to show you that you can name things any way you want, but what’s important is eating them. 

The bastardoni are the most highly prized prickly pears because they are bigger and juicier, and are a result of cutting off the first cactus flowers in late spring, a procedure known as the scozzolatura.  This results in a second flowering of the cactus plant.  The fruits then ripen in the fall during the rainier season, which produces juicy plump fruits.  

Cactus plants were often grown as a sort of fence between neighbors in Sicily, and the prickly pear fruits were a handy thirst-quenching  treat when working in the fields.

According to a Sicilian legend, the practice of the scozzolatura began because of a feud over property lines between neighboring farmers.  In a fit of anger, one farmer cut off the flowers of his neighbor’s cactus, in an attempt to destroy his neighbor’s prickly pear crop. Instead, the cactus bore fruit later in the season, and the prickly pears were much larger and juicier than normal.  Soon the practice of the scozzolatura became widespread, and this “bastardized” version of prickly pears was born.   In some areas of eastern Sicily, there are now cactus plantations that are irrigated, which produce the beautiful bastardoni found in Sicilian markets through December.  

If you want to try eating bastardoni, the first step is to peel it, or better yet, get someone to do the peeling for you.  The peel is studded with fine prickly spines that like to imbed themselves in delicate flesh, and can be an uncomfortable nuisance for days.  Many Sicilian restaurants serve seasonal fruit including prickly pears, so you can let the waiter peel and you just taste.   

Cutting back the peel, you’ll be surprised by the color of the prickly pear fruit, which can be deep yellow, pure white, or a stunning crimson.  The fruit has a slight floral  fragrance reminiscent of citrus, and a very mild flavor, like a pear with an identity crisis.  The juicy pulp is punctuated by an enormous number of seeds that Sicilians simply swallow. It is not a fruit to everyone’s taste, but big bastards seldom are.

Read similar stories:

Magical Mandrake Plant in Sicily

Taralli Making in Puglia

Looted Silver Returns

There are many patron saint festivals in Italy, but few can top the festival of San Sebastiano – St. Sebastian – in Sicily. 

San Sebastiano is most often depicted as a young martyr tied to a post, wearing only a loincloth, and bearing a strangely serene expression for someone who is stuck through with arrows.  Shooting him with arrows was actually the first attempt at killing him for his Christian beliefs, and after being nursed back to health, he went off to harangue the Roman emperor Diocletian for persecuting Christians, and was promptly clubbed to death.  So, a serene but belligerent martyr he was.

San Sebastiano is the patron saint of the Sicilian town of Palazzolo Acreide, about a 40 minute drive from where I  live in eastern Sicily.  I had heard much about this festival and finally the timing was right, so off I went with Emanuele & friends in tow.

The two most intriguing things about this festival are the “sciuta”, Sicilian for the “exit” or when the San Sebastiano statue on a gilded cart exits the church, carried on the shoulders of an army of men dressed in white and red.  I was told that there was much fanfare and it was “molto, molto bello.”   I’m used to the Sicilian’s fondness for exaggeration, and figured it would be similar to many festivals I had already seen.  Boy, was I wrong.  

The second intriguing thing, that borders on the bizarre, is that little babies, who are often stripped naked – apparently this is to echo the nudity of San Sebastiano – are offered up to the saint’s statue as a kind of blessing to protect them.  The babies might wear a necklace bearing banknotes that are pinned to the outside of the cart, but donations of coins are also accepted. 

Join in the celebrations as these pictures depict how the festival of San Sebastiano unfolds.

When first arriving in town, we are met with a line of bancarelle, stands selling an assortment of stuff, from straw hats to ward off the hot sun to cheap plastic toys made in China to entice the hoards of children into pestering their parents.  Sales are slow.

But we are looking for tradition and folklore, and soon we find it outside the church steps.  There is a cart selling cuddure, ring-shaped breads that celebrate the wheat harvest in August.  Bakeries donate these breads to the festival, and the money from purchases goes to finance the celebrations. 

Soon a band starts playing and a parade starts, and the festive atmosphere heats up. 

Finally a few loud firecrackers announce that the sciuta is happening soon, and everyone squeezes into the piazza in front of the church.  The sun is fierce and tensions are high – I argue with a tall guy who pushes in front of me, and he agrees to squat so that I can see over his head.  And then the sciuta begins.

The first moments of the sciuta are electrifying.  Some of the men who will help to carry the statue call out with arms raised exhorting San Sebastiano to come out of the church.  Just as the cart reaches the doorway a series loud explosions are accompanied by violent sprays of ‘nzareddi, colored paper ribbons.

The continued explosions are deafening and the church is obscured in a swirl of colors and smoke, while people shout and raise their fists in the air.  I’m in the midst of a psychedelic bombardment, and as the crowd surges forward, I lose Emanuele in a whirl of colors. My heart is pounding,  my hands are shaking and it’s hard to keep the camera still. 

 Finally the colors part, the smoke clears and we can see the cart of San Sebastiano!

I follow the cart as it is carried through the town, and babies are held up to receive the blessings of San Sebastiano, who becomes their protector.  Sometimes the babies are stripped naked, mimicking the nudity of the saint.  As they are lifted up to the heavens, the crowd rejoices, Viva San Sebastiano!  I’m swept up in the soaring energy.

Not all the babies are as thrilled as the spectators.   I almost feel like crying, too.

As the statue of San Sebastiano heads down a side street, the piazza is suddenly overrrun with children frolicking in the ribbons of paper, while a priest and other devotees walk solemnly through the riot of colors.  A few diligent workers are busily dumping buckets of water on little fires that have sprung up in the paper ribbons. 

All in all it was one of the most emotional patron saint celebrations I’ve witnessed in Italy, an exuberant but exhausting experience.

I find Emanuele & friends, and babbling excitedly like children, we head off to lunch.

 Read similar stories:

Horses Bedecked in Flowers

San Giuseppe Food Auction

Huge Onion Festival

The festival of San Sebastiano takes place on August 10 in Palazzolo Acreide in eastern Sicily. but other festivities go on for a week.  Check the website for a calendar of events.

All four referendums – including the repeal of nuclear power - passed in an historic vote in Italy on June 12 and 13, 2011, with about 55% of voters participating. With the Italian system requiring a quorum of at least 50% + 1 of eligible voters, this is the first time in 16 years that a referendum has passed in Italy.  Initial tallies show that  all 4 referendums passed with an overwhelming majority of over 95% of participants voting to repeal the existing laws.

The 4 referendums were to repeal laws put in place by the Berlusconi government and repealed the decision to build nuclear power plants on Italian soil, privatize public water utilities and allow private water companies to recoup their investments by billing consumers, and last but not least repealed the “legitimate impediment” law that allowed a prime minister and other government ministers to postpone any court proceeding while in office. The “legitimate impediment” law was considered by it’s detractors as a law made by Berlusconi for Berlusconi, given that the controversial prime minister is currently a key figure in 4 separate court trials with charges ranging from corruption to child prostitution. The referendum victory comes on the heels of two important victories in local elections in Milan and Naples, where alternative left parties won the mayoral seats, and is seen as a further weakening of Berlusconi’s coalition.

The pro-referendum campaign “Vota Si” – Vote Yes – overcame many obstacles including the government’s decision to put the referendum to the vote in a time period when many Italians could be away from home on summer vacation and unable to vote, to trying to negate the nuclear power referendum by instituting a 1-year moratorium on building nuclear power plants. This was overturned in court and the referendum went forward.

Referendum victory celebrations are expected all over Italy, and I personally popped the cork on a bottle of Ferrari spumante to celebrate this important victory for democracy that hopefully will signal the eventual disappearance of the Berlusconi government.

Follow official results

I have had great success making a colomba pasquale – Italian Easter dove cake – in a round pan, which is not the traditional shape but it tastes delicious.  The colomba, or dove, is a symbol of peace, and there are cake molds available in a dove shape. Lacking just such a cake mold, I tried shaping the dove free-form, which looked like a pretty good imitation of a peaceful dove before I put it in the oven. But once it was baked, it ended up looking like a turtle hit by a car. It didn’t bake evenly either, so I’ve gone back to the round pan - it makes a perfect cake and I can be peaceful while it’s baking. 

While not difficult to make, the colomba needs plenty of rising time, so do this when you are planning to spend the good part of a day at home.

Start by mixing warm milk, yeast and some flour with a teaspoon of sugar to make a sponge, and let it rise until doubled, about 30 minutes.

Next mix eggs, lemon and orange zest, vanilla and melted butter, then beat in the sponge. Add more flour to make a soft dough, and turn out on board to knead until smooth. Add sultanas or raisins. (Many colomba recipes call for candied fruit, which not everyone likes, so I eliminate it and add sultanas).

Place the dough in a buttered bowl and leave to rise until doubled, about 1 hour.

Fold the risen dough over itself several times and place in desired cake pan – I used one large springform pan, or you can make 2 smaller cakes or 2 traditional colombe dove shapes.

Cover and let rise until doubled, 60-90 minutes. Do not be impatient – complete rising will reward you with a beautiful light cake.

Now, for the part that makes this cake so good – the crunchy almond glaze. Note: The quality of the almonds is of utmost importance here. I use the excellent pizzuta almonds grown not far from where I live in eastern Sicily. (Pizzuta almonds from the Mastri San Basilio farm can be found in specialty shops around the world, and are top quality.)

In a food processor, grind whole almonds with sugar, then blend in egg white and cornstarch. Carefully spoon the almond glaze over the risen dough, being careful not to press on the dough and deflate it. Scatter whole almonds over the surface of the cake, and sprinkle with confectioners sugar.

Bake in preheated oven until cake tester is clean, covering top of cake with aluminum foil if almond glaze begins to get too dark.

This is a soft, fragrant cake that does not keep for more than 3 days- but surely you will have eaten it all by then! And I see no reason why this cake has to be made only at Easter – it is wonderful with morning coffee or afternoon tea.

For the complete recipe, go to Italian Easter Cake.

For similar stories:

San Giuseppe Food Auction

Sicilian Broccoli Pasta

A little bit of rain does not keep the bidders out of the piazza in Santa Croce Camerina, a small town in southeastern Sicily that is known for its lavish St. Joseph’s day celebrations. Sure there are processions, but food is the centerpiece. 

Walking three blocks from the parking lot, there are cooking smells pouring out of kitchen windows, with sugar laden desserts, aromatic tomato sauce, and yeasty breads mingling into a thick food fug. By the time I reach the piazza, I’m dizzy.

My goal is the food auction, which starts at 9.30 am, and continues for most of the day, with a break for lunch, presumably to attempt to consume some of the huge quantity of goods purchased at auction.  Just the cheese table alone is a sight to behold as it groans under the weight of 20 kilo loaves of caciocavallo, heaps of freshly made provola, and wheels of pecorino studded with peppercorns.  And cheese is just the beginning.  There are cases of strawberries, eggplant, fennel and oranges, hand-picked bunches of wild asparagus and mustard tops, and baskets of citron that look like huge knobby lemons, and are eaten in thin slices dipped in salt. 

I am invited back stage at the auction to survey the goods, and find baskets of the prized carob-tree mushroom, carefully frozen in the fall and now fetching a handsome price.  There are innumerable piles of San Giuseppe festival breads, in traditional shapes decorated with flowers or shaped like St. Joseph’s cane.  While I am busy surveying the abundance of produce, a burlap bag at my feet begins to move and I am cautioned not to step on the (live) rabbit.  Someone hands a whole pork thigh to the auctioneer, and then a fellow shows up with his young son and a live baby goat.  The goat, being frisky, is quickly moved to the front of the auction line.  Rather than being sad about parting with it, the young boy is obviously  proud of the fact that a man immediately bids on it.   After parting with 30 euros, the man wrestles the goat into his car, and drives away with a baa.

We take a break from the food auction to check out some of the tavolate – laden tables – set up in private homes, where townspeople playing the part of la sacra famiglia - the holy family- will be guests at a festive lunch, and then take home a tower of homemade sweets.  The  presentations are breathtaking, and I am accompanied by Leonardo, a 15-year old nephew who, like 15 year olds the world over, is perpetually hungry. His eyes are popping out of his head at all the sweets and he whispers, “are you sure we can’t eat any of this?” as his hand hovers over a plate of little cassatelle, ricotta tarts. I share his pain, so hustle him out before I give in to temptation and ask him to grab me one, too. 

Once out in the street we head forlornly back to the auction, and reach the piazza just at the moment they are auctioning off a tray of arancini.  Leonardo gasps and we lunge forward to have our bids heard, and are stunned when no one outbids our screams of “quindici, quindici”!  We are soon the proud owners of 10 arancini.  We waste no time in moving to a corner of the piazza, and giggle gleefully as we each grab an arancino. They are still warm.  The first bite is the point of the arancino, perfectly crusty and not too oily, the rice inside creamy and fragrant. The second bite hits the meaty filling, and a thick string of warm cheese flops onto my chin.  “Buono” I swoon.  “Buonissimo” responds Leonardo. We grin with our mouths full.  Forget the processions-now this is what I call a feast day.

Read similar stories:
Weeds for Cheese-The Caciocavallo Trade
Horses Cloaked in Flowers at St Joseph’s Day Parade

During the Renaissance, the week preceding ash Wednesday (and the beginning of Lent) got the name of grasso – fat, deriving from the festive banquets organized during this period. These banquets were known for rich dishes as well as their abundance of fried sweets (more fat!)  This may be seen as simply gorging before the traditionally low-fat diet of the Lenten period, but it is also true that celebrations involving lots of people made it necessary to prepare desserts that would be quick, cheap and delicious, so frying was a good way to cook lots of sweets for large crowds.  And so the culmination of carnival came to be known as Martedi Grasso, Fat Tuesday.  

Fried sweets that appear in Italian pastry shops and at carnevale festivities include frittelle, little round fritters spiced with anise, and zeppole, made with cooked rice flavored with orange peel, shaped into cylinders, fried and then thoroughly doused with honey adn dusted with cinnamon-a real digestive bomb. Maybe that’s where the tradition of carnevale fireworks comes from?

The most popular sweets found all over Italy for carnevale are chiacchiere, which means chatter or gossip, and every region seems to claim them as their own.  They also change names from region to region. In Tuscany they are called cenci – rags, while in other regions they are known as lattughe - lettuce, both of which roughly describe the sweet’s appearance.  In Liguria they are known as  or bugie - lies, presumably because you never tell the truth about how many you eat.  The recipe for chiacchiere contains a bit of alcohol, which also changes with the region.  In Sicily they use Marsala, while in northern Italy they use grappa.   You can use whatever you have on hand.  A recipe for chiacchiere di carnevale follows below.  

More Italian Recipes

Read Similar stories:

San Giuseppe Tavolata Tradition in Italy

Have Sausage, Will Travel

1 oz (28 grams) butter
2 cups (250 grams) flour
1 pinch baking powder
1 pinch salt
 3 TB (35 grams) sugar
1 large egg + 1 egg yolk
¼ tsp vanilla
1 TB marsala or grappa

Mix together and knead to make a soft dough.  Add a TB of water if necessary.  Let rest covered, for 30 minutes.  Cut into 4 pieces, and work each piece individually through a pasta machine on the widest setting, then folding and putting through again, then resetting the pasta machine to a thinner setting, further reducing the setting until you have a long sheet of thin dough. (The second to the last setting works well for me.) 

Using a serrated cutting wheel, cut the dough into strips about 3 x 5 inches, then make 2 parallel cuts within the center of each piece. Heat a pan of oil (peanut or sunflower) until about 350°F (170-180° C), and drop in a few pieces of dough at a time. Turn with a spatula.  Cook until golden, then drain on paper towels.  Sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar, or if you are really celebrating, drizzle with melted dark chocolate.

‘Mpanatigghi biscuits are a specialty of the town of Modica in Sicily, and have a long history, as they were first brought to Sicily during the Spanish rule in the 16th century.  In fact, the Sicilian dialect name ‘Mpanatigghi derives from the Spanish word empanada.

If you are wondering how to pronounce this strange word in Sicilian, imagine that you have stuffed your mouth with empanadas, and someone asks you what you are eating – your reply will be remarkably close to the correct pronunciation for ‘Mpanatigghi. Both the Sicilian and Spanish words come from the verb meaning “to wrap or cover with bread dough.”

‘Mpanatigghi are little half-moon shaped biscuits (or cookies) with a thin crust, that are stuffed with a mixture of sugar, chocolate, almonds, lemon peel, egg, cinnamon and vanilla, plus a secret ingredient that is impossible to detect – minced beef!  If anything could be more unusual, these biscuits originally contained wild game.  In case you are breathing a sigh of relief that you are vegetarian, there is also another version that substitutes the meat with eggplant.

If these sound revolting, it is best to try them without knowing what you are eating, and in my experience everyone loves them- it’s only after being told what’s inside that people turn up their noses. It says something about food prejudices, no?

One of the best places to sample ‘Mpanatigghi is the historic Bonjauto Chocolate Shop, in Modica.  This is a favorite stop on our eastern Sicily walking and cooking tour where we taste lots of different chocolate items.  And just for comparison, I recently tried the ‘Mpanatigghi from Casalindolci, which is convenient if you are staying at the Hotel Palazzo Failla, and was impressed with the thin crisp dough and the fragrant stuffing.  Tip: Because non-Sicilians find this sweet to be  unpronounceable, ‘Mpanatigghi are usually ordered by pointing at them.

Read more about culture, traditions and regional foods in Italy:

Avoid the Gift of Death 

Have Sausage, Will Travel

Unesco has included the Mediterranean Diet in its Intangible Cultural Heritage List, and Italians celebrated in Rome with a Maxi-Spaghettata, where free dishes of pasta al pomodoro were served to anyone who happened by.   As happy eaters dug their forks into their plates, the Mediterranean diet seemed quite tangible.

The Mediterranean diet-which revolves around fresh fruit and vegetables, legumes, olive oil, local dairy products, fish, and small amounts of meat-is said to be the traditional way of eating in Italy, Greece, Spain and Morocco. (Italy likes to add moderate amounts of wine to the mix.)

These four countries they will now be required to take concrete steps to promote and protect traditional cooking methods and ingredients. Italians are particularly concerned that low quality copies of their best known foods – including prosciutto, extra virgin olive oil, mozzarella and parmigiano cheese – are being made in other countries and passed off as the genuine article.

This renewed focus on the Mediterranean diet could also help to combat a growing obesity problem. Pudgy children are becoming alarmingly more frequent in Italy and Spain, where kids lead more sedentary lives than previous generations and eat more packaged snacks. I recall that when I first lived in Italy in 1988, the few existing supermarkets had a tiny snack section, and the only frozen foods were vegetables, fish or the classic pizza margherita.  With the onslaught of large supermarkets and TV ads aimed at kids, all that has changed. 

The Mediterranean diet is Italy’s third item on the Intangible Cultural Heritage list -Unesco had already included Sicilian puppet theatre and the pastoral songs of Sardinia as irreplaceable cultural gems.

Nearly 180 cultural treasures have been included in Unesco’s  Intangible Cultural Heritage list in the last two years, encompassing, folk songs, dances religious rituals and traditional crafts, and include the polyphonic singing of the Aka pygmies of central Africa.

Peruse our Italian Recipe Page.

Learn about Regional Food Exchange in Italy

Read about the San Giuseppe Food Auction

Legend has it that San Martino became a monk after serving as a Roman soldier.  On a cold rainy day in  November, Martino was traveling on horseback, and came across a half-naked beggar.  Seeing that the poor beggar was shivering from the cold, Martino took pity on him, and cut his own cloak in half, giving one half to the beggar.  As soon as Martino set off again on his journey, the sun came out and the temperature became warm.  From this we get the "Estate di San Martino" – the Summer of San Martino. 

That night, Martino dreamt of Jesus wearing his cloak, and woke up with his own cloak intact.   This sign made him rush off to be baptized and become a Christian.

Besides bringing us this wonderful warm November weather, San Martino has many chores as a patron saint of horseman and horses, of tailors and beggars, of the poor and injured, of barrel makers and drunks, of cured alcoholics, of betrayed husbands – I leave it to the reader to find a thread here. 

And last but not least, San Martino is the patron saint of winemakers, grape pickers and sommeliers, because on the occasion of San Martino’s feast day on Novembre 11, we drink vino novello, the new wine. 

So whenever you taste the season’s new wine, raise your glass in a toast to San Martino.

Read about the Torggellen new wine festival

Shortly after Emanuele’s family came to visit us when we lived in Tuscany, I discovered that I was smack in the middle of the family’s food trade route.

Emanuele’s  sister from Sicily showed up at our house in Tuscany followed by her son Mario, who was lugging her suitcases.  He was as stunned as I was when his mother Elisa opened up the first suitcase to proudly display an enormous quantity of sausage. “We almost missed our train connection for this!” said Mario, incredulous as he mopped his sweaty brow.   Elisa ignored him as she explained to me that these sausages were from Chiaramonte Gulfi, a town near Ragusa, that was known for making the best Ragusan style sausages, spiced with fennel and hot pepper, with the pork left in meaty chunks rather than being finely ground. The sausage is good enough to be honored during an annual food festival, the Sagra della Salsiccia.  Apparently Elisa had thought to transport the sausage festival to Tuscany, as she unfurled a kilometer of sausage and stuffed it in the fridge.

Then the second suitcase was unloaded, and out tumbled Sicilian tarocco oranges, a tart juicy variety that I love.  And bread.  “You brought bread?” I asked dumbstruck.   “Certo!” said Elisa.   “Tuscan bread is insipido”, meaning flavorless, due to its lack of salt. The bread of Ragusa was hard as a rock-more like a weapon than bread- and noting the murderous gleam in Mario’s eye, I scurried to find a safe place for it.

Then Nella, the sister who lived in Piedmont, showed up with huge hunks of gorgonzola – both the piccante and dolce versions- and the stink lingered in the kitchen for days after everyone’s  departure.  There was also a cloth sack containing 5 kilos of just-hulled carnaroli rice,  perfect for risotto.  As Nella rearranged the fridge to fit in the gorgonzola, she anxiously asked if we had procured the 20 liters of  Tuscan olive oil we had promised we’d get from a farmer. “Tranquillo”, said Emanuele reassuringly, “I got 40 liters.” 

Later, when we moved to Sicily, I thought that we were now out of the Sicily portion of the trade route.  But then I discovered that regional food specialties could be different in the next town, so when visiting relatives who lived 90 minutes away, the car was packed with food specialties.   

On one of these excursions, there was an unexpected food bonus.  Mario had brought his mother and her friend to the bus stop in Ragusa, where they were to catch the bus to Catania to stay with relatives.  As usual, Mario’s job was to haul suitcases, little bags, big bags, paper bags and plastic bags, all loaded with food. He unloaded everything, kissed the two of them goodbye, and went home to nurse his backache. 

About 20 minutes later, he got a frantic phone call from his mother, calling from the bus as it sped down the highway.  She’d just realized that they’d left the bag of focaccia at the bus stop!  Mario zipped off in his car to find the bag still there, with a hungry looking fellow eyeing it hopefully.  When Mario lugged the bag home and looked inside, he realized there was enough focaccia to feed an army, so he called his friends and had a huge focaccia festa. 

We began with a solemn toast in honor of the deprived relatives in Catania, to whom these focacce had been intended. Then we feasted on focaccia stuffed with broccoli, with eggplant, with onions and potatoes, with fava beans and ricotta, or slathered with tomato conserve and caciocavallo, and then we lost count.

Read similar stories:  Bartering Weeds for Cheese    or   Huge Giarratana Onions

View Italian Recipe page