To begin with, happiest of Halloweens to those who celebrate it! Italians don't, or rather didn't until recently, though it is now catching on fast, especially among adults. Pumpkin carving has not yet caught on, though the reason is primarily economic: Pumpkins, which aren't native, are expensive (a small one for 20,000 lire, which is about 10 dollars). Once the price comes down we'll certainly see more of them, and in the mean time we do have Ossa dei Morti, the bones of the dead people make for November 2, which is the Italian Memorial Day. The pic of the week, on the other hand, is a shot of Cividale in Friuli.

Don Camillo's Italy: Things have changed!

Mention Italian literature and most people think Dante or Boccaccio, while those who enjoy prose may think of Manzoni instead; he was a delightful stylist and had a way with similes that few have equaled: "Giving him a look of the sort one might give a dentist who's reaching into one's mouth with pincers to extract a bad tooth..." There are of course many other writers, and few were as successful as at capturing the flavor of an epoch as Guerreschi was with his Don Camillo stories, which feature the never-ending battles between Don Camillo, the indomitable parish priest, and Peppone, the Communist town mayor. An irresistible force versus an immovable object, and the results are delightful.

They're also supremely suited to the silver screen, so it comes as no surprise that Rizzoli decided to do a series with Gino Cervi as Peppone, Fernandel as Don Camillo, and Guerreschi providing Jesus's voice. The first came out in 1952, followed by several more, and they're now shown on Italian TV at least once a year. Small wonder; they're great fun: The communists call the conservatives reactionaries, while the conservatives accuse the communists of having a direct line to Stalin, and though the two factions are in constant battle they respect each other as individuals, and when the going gets rough, they all pull together. The films, in other words, mimic the books very well. They also open a window, as it were, onto an Italy that no longer exists: No antennas on the roofs or TVs in the houses, hardly any cars or motorcycles (lots of bicycles), and lots of packed earth, even in the town square. Everybody walks, and when the town notables go someplace, on foot, they have a following, also on foot. Phones are enjoyed by some but not all, and radios are enough of a rarity that people still set their watches by the bell in the town square. And the people are dressed in work clothes of a sort one now only sees out in the country, worn by members of the elder generation, who are also the only people whose accents (Romagnolo in this case) are still as thick as those of the characters in the film -- 50 years of TV has diluted the accents of the younger generations considerably.

Contrast this with modern Italy, where asphalt has flowed throughout almost every town, with cars, motorcycles, and scooters stuffed wherever one can find a place, people ride to the corner store, rooftops bristle with antennas and satellite dishes, most everyone has a cell phone so family members and friends can keep track of each other as they zip around, everybody's dressed according to the latest fashion, and the kids all speak the same jargon from one end of the country to the other. It hardly seems the same place.

Is it better? Certainly in terms of creature comforts; My father ran an excavation in the town of Murlo, south of Siena. The first year (1966) there was water, but you had to pump it from the well in the town square -- if you wanted hot you heated it on the stove -- and there were three privies for the whole town; as you might expect there were chamber pots. The phone and the TV were both in the bar, which was about a mile down the road in the neighboring village. By 1970 there was running water, from a spigot outside the gate, there were some television sets, and there were bath rooms in the houses -- but in many one flushed by pouring a bucket of water into the bowl. By 1975 all of the houses had plumbing, and since then the majority have been bought by Sienese who have transformed them into pleasant country homes, often by removing everything within the outer walls rebuilding from scratch. They have air conditioning, heating, and all the other comforts one could ask for.

Murlo was (and is) a tiny hilltop town. What about larger cities? Even the older, poorer neighborhoods did have water, electricity, and plumbing by the 1950s. But this doesn't mean things were rosy; the apartment my parents bought in a working-class neighborhood in Florence had a toilet but no shower or tub, and if you wanted to wash your hands you went to the kitchen sink. Nor did it have hot water until my parents installed it (they also put in a shower; the previous residents instead used the bagni comunali, or communal baths). Things were similar in the other apartments on our street, and this explains why those who could moved into newer housing with better amenities during the 60s and 70s; the landlords subsequently rented their vacant properties to students and foreigners, creating an extremely cosmopolitan neighborhood. And now new people are buying into the area and renovating.

So, we're doing much better on the comfort scale. But what about popular spirit? Depends where you happen to be. In the sprawling housing tracts that surround major cities things can be very grim -- perhaps not on a par with the ravaged inner city neighborhoods in the US, but bad enough that you won't want to visit alone, especially at night. But smaller towns and the more traditional neighborhoods of larger cities have changed less; people still look out for each other, and do step in to give a hand when it's needed, while volunteer organizations are quite effective in providing short and long term aid of all kinds. Both Don Camillo and Peppone would be pleased.

Thoughts on the harvest, and the importance of autochthonous varietals.

Moving towards wine, 2001 has been a strange year. As has happened a number of times recently, the spring began quite early, and the buds were already forming by the beginning of April. Then disaster struck throughout much of Central and Northern Italy, in the form of heavy frosts that killed the buds of vines and fruit trees over large areas. Low-lying vineyards in Tuscany were especially hard hit, and though some of the vines did put out new shoots after they thawed things did not look good. They were looking better by late summer, and in early September Bruno Ceretto, one of the owners of the famed Ceretto winery in Alba (Piemonte), gleefully announced another banner harvest was in the making -- though lack of rain had reduced the harvest, the grapes were top quality. He shouldn't have tempted the fates, because a week later it began to rain, and we've been having rain off-and-on ever since. It came late enough that it didn't compromise everything; those in the south, who harvest before those further north, were relatively unaffected, as were those in Central Italy who grow early-ripening varietals (e.g. whites and some of the cool climate French varietals, for example Pinot Noir). Also unaffected were the producers in warmer microclimates, for example Montalcino (home to Brunello), whose vintners are reporting an excellent harvest. Chianti Classico, on the other hand, has had problems, as has Chianti Rufina, and the same holds true for the Barolo/Barbaresco production zone and Valpolicella, while a friend who lives in Friuli tells me that many vintners there simply left their red grapes in the vineyards because the rains had ruined them. So what does this mean for the 2001 vintage? Wines from Rome and points south should be good to excellent, as will some central and north Italian wines, especially those from early-ripening varietals. But many of the more renowned Central and Northern reds will be of uneven quality; the wines from producers whose vineyard exposures guarantee early ripening will likely be considerably better than those of people whose grapes ripen later.

While we're on the subject of wines, I recently attended a conference dedicated to Italian autochthonous varietals -- vines native to the various Italian regions. It turns out Italy has more than 3000 grape varietals, which is more than any other country in the world. Of these, most are very local strains that simply grow in people's vineyards; they go into the local blend and that's that. About a thousand are instead planted and grown intentionally, and of these thousand about 500 have been studied and catalogued. About 50 of these 500 account for the bulk of Italian wine production. The remainder represent a terrific opportunity; while it's true that many are nondescript and wouldn't be missed, it's just as true that some have tremendous potential and are simply awaiting discovery. For example, Donatella Cinelli Colombini is best known for her Brunello di Montalcino. However, the villa she lives in is outside the Brunello production area, so she has begun to experiment with Foglia Tonda, an old varietal that was discarded by the farmers following the phylloxera outbreak a century ago because it was less productive than Sangiovese and more difficult to grow. It has taken her several years to bring her Foglia Tonda vineyard into production, but the results are most impressive, especially considering the youth of the vines: There's tremendous power and concentration, and as the vines enter into maturity in a few years' time finesse will arrive as well. In a similar light, Sagrantino, an Umbrian grape and wine produced around Montefalco that is now attracting world-wide attention, was completely unknown outside of Umbria until Arnaldo Caprai began to experiment with it about 15 years ago. The same holds true for Teroldego Rotaliano, an obscure red grape from Trentino; Elisabetta Foradori began growing it with care about 15 years ago, and now both she and other producers who have followed her lead are earning awards for their Teroldego Rotaliano.

These are all vines capable of yielding good to excellent wines on their own. But Italy has an equal abundance of what are known as uva complementari, lesser varietals that cannot stand on their own, but contribute to a blend, say by adding color, floral accents, or roundness. Their importance is difficult to overestimate, and Chianti provides a good example of why: Tuscany's great red grape is Sangiovese, which is capable of terrific refinement and finesse. However, it's also temperamental, and if the vintage isn't letter-perfect can have aggressive tannins or marked acidity, or be lacking n color, or whatever. Enter the uva complementari, which help fill out the Sangiovese; when Baron Ricasoli developed the original blend in the mid-1800s he used Canaiolo, another red grape, to add grace and tame the unruly side of his Sangiovese, and added a little Malvasia del Chianti, a white grape, if he wanted added zest in a wine to be drunk young (no white grapes in the wines he laid down). Some people are still using Canaiolo, though many Tuscan vintners dropped it in favor of Cabernet or Merlot in the 70s and 80s, in part because the French varietals are more consistent and therefore easier to work with, and in part because the French varietals added an international flavor to the wines that helped them penetrate foreign markets. However, in recent years there has been a shift back to other autochthonous varietals, for example ciliegiolo and colorino, both of which provide color, or mammolo, which adds hints of violets to the bouquet (mammolo is Tuscan vernacular for violet).

Why would someone abandon the easy-to-use French varietal in favor of a more intractable Italian varietal? Primarily because though the French varietals generally give good results, with rare exceptions (the Cabernet of Bolgheri comes to mind) the wines made from them are generic -- one can find very similar, equally good French varietal-based or containing wines made elsewhere, often at considerably lower prices. The Italian varietals, on the other hand, are usually quite local, and in some cases grow well only in small areas. For example, Nebbiolo grows well around Alba, in a couple of places in Northern Piemonte, and in the Valtellina. So far, all attempts to produce really good Nebbiolo-based wines elsewhere have failed, and this means that the producers in those regions where Nebbiolo does well have something unique to offer. The international wine trade likes good unique wines, and this gives those who can produce them a means to survive and prosper. With the thousands of Italian varietals still awaiting evaluation, there are certainly many more diamonds hidden in the rough.

Caccioli 'nto Tianu -- Baked Artichokes

Winding down, Mike recently wrote:
I am desperately trying to find a recipe for an appetizer I had at a restaurant many years ago. It was a baked artichoke, stuffed with a filling of bread, olive oil, garlic, black olives, capers and who knows what else! It was served upright on a plate, with the oil and juice from the choke collecting at the base. Do you know of anything like what I described? All of the baked or stuffed artichoke recipes I've found are very different and do not sound anything like what I had before. Any help will be appreciated!

This sounds South Italian, and Pino Correnti has a recipe that is quite similar in his fascinating book, Il Grande Libro D'Oro della Cucina e Dei Vini di Sicilia. He doesn't say haw many it serves, but with 12 artichokes one can expect to serve six or more:

• 12 artichokes
• 2 ounces (weight; 50 g, or 1/8 pound) onions, minced
• 1/2 cup (50 g) bread crumbs
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• A bunch of parsley, minced
• 6 salted anchovy filets, rinsed and boned
• Olive oil, salt, and pepper
• Grated pecorino (optional, and he says he doesn't recommend it)

Remove and discard the tough outer leaves of the artichokes, then trim their points, cut the bases off flat, and put them to soak in salted water for about an hour; while they're soaking trim away the ridged "bark" of the stems, cut them into inch-long pieces, and add them to the artichokes.

Mince the other ingredients that need it, and combine them all in a bowl, seasoning the filling to taste with salt.

Drain the artichokes, spread the petals with your fingers, and slip the filling between the petals with the aid of a spoon. Set the stuffed artichokes in a pan, put the pieces of stem between them, drizzle well with olive oil, and add enough cold water to reach half way up the artichokes. Dust with more salt and pepper to taste, set the pan over a medium flame, and simmer the artichokes for about an hour, adding a little more water to the pan if need be to keep them from drying out.

Enjoy!

More about buying and preparing artichokes
A printer-friendly version of this recipe.

This week's proverb is Tuscan. Chi si cava il sonno non si cava la fame: He who sleeps his fill doesn't eat his fill.

A presto,
Kyle Phillips
Webweaver, About Italian Cuisine

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