Even if the Arabs introduced oranges and lemons, sugar and spices all those centuries ago, it is the territory that ultimately decides what grows. We are talking about food from a very special, particular land, especially the volcanic area around Mount Etna (where the mythological Cyclops lived), all the way down the plain of Catania to Pachino where they produce the tomatoes that taste like no others, and the arid groves that produce the most beautiful olives and grapes. And then there is the profusion of fish and shellfish that throughout most of Sicily is prized above meat. Especially swordfish and tuna, which were once abundant around the Straits of Messina but are now sadly overfished, and the beautiful red prawns that come from the cold waters off Mazara del Vallo.
The quantity of traditional recipes that the Sicilians have is enormous, but they are all based on the same set of ingredients. As always throughout Italy, a dish with the same name will be made in a slightly different way in every town, every village and even every house, with everyone claiming the authentic version, but in Sicily these are only small variations on the same simple but beautiful combinations: broccoli and anchovies, capers, sultanas and pine nuts, olives and lemons, oranges and fish, almonds, pistachios and wild fennel, aubergines and breadcrumbs, and in desserts fresh ricotta, candied fruit and peel, and chocolate. Somebody, some day, a long time ago, put certain combinations of these ingredients together in a way that the Sicilians found pleasing, and, like the ancient Saracen olive trees that have stood resolutely on the island for thousands of years, the people have remained resilient in the face of any influences that feel false to the flavours they love.
The whole production of food has a harmony and a natural seasonal rhythm, but above all, there is this idea that what comes from the same land and sea can be put together on a plate. What grows together, goes together, as my grandmother used to say about the vegetables and herbs in our garden in Corgeno. I find it very inspiring as a chef to understand the way ingredients like swordfish, sultanas, breadcrumbs, capers and cheese can come together in something that tastes fantastic – particularly as in most of Italy we have an unwritten rule that you never put fish and cheese together, something that the Sicilians happily do all the time, and that works. The dishes are not about clever transformations, they are about conducting and expressing the taste of the ingredients to the maximum, in the simplest way.
We talk a lot about fusion these days, but in a city like London or New York, fusion means you can have ingredients from different cultures all over the world brought to you, so you can put them together on a plate. In Sicily, that idea of fusion is turned upside down, in that it is the different cultures that have come and gone over the centuries, but the ingredients have stayed still.
Salt, pepper and a knife …
This idea of simple meal-making with a limited set of incredible ingredients has had a big influence on the way I cook. I have always valued simplicity – and anyway the nature of Italian food is to be less complicated than other cuisines – but in Sicily you encounter a true simplicity that I have never experienced anywhere else.
After my visit to Planeta I returned in the summer with the family and we rented a house near Menfi, where we have been spending Easter and summer holidays ever since, close to the sea and the ruins of the Greek temples at Selinunte. Plaxy remembers seeing the place for the first time: dusty roads and tumbleweed; it was like stepping back in time, but we feel so at home there. Everyone has been so sweet and welcoming; and whenever you arrive, people are really happy to see you; and if you don’t go around and say hello to everyone they will be offended. It reminds me so much of Corgeno, because everyone knows the business of everybody else. The first time I went into the butcher’s shop the butcher already knew who I was and where I was staying.
On the first morning I went for a walk into the village in search of ingredients, because when we are there I cook lunch every day, and some times dinner, though mostly in the evening we go out to eat. That walk has now become my daily routine in Sicily. I buy a newspaper and stop for a coffee and maybe a pastry in the local bar, then I buy some vegetables, and usually some meat for Margherita, because she is allergic to fish. I go to one of the ten or twelve bakers to buy some of the beautiful local bread, and then home.
On that first holiday I had no preconceptions about what I was going to cook, and I was in that relaxed holiday mood of not having to organise a restaurant kitchen, or prepare dishes according to a menu. I had no time to build up a larder with spices or condiments, but I had a kitchen full of fresh ingredients – of course, I bought way too much, because I couldn’t resist the boxes of artichokes and tomatoes and peppers – and I had some salt and pepper and a knife. That was it.
In London we live in such an organised way, with so many ingredients at our fingertips, but in a Sicilian village you don’t leave home with a list, you just have to go out and see what there is. It limits you in a way, but it also makes you feel so free and inspired, because it is such a natural way of cooking, and it has become something I look forward to every time I go there. The ingredients are in charge. You see what ingredients you have, and they decide what it is that you are going to cook. This is the Sicilian way.
Very little in this book is complicated, because in Sicily the ingredients are so special, they speak for themselves. If you have been to Sicily you will understand. If you haven’t been to Sicily, then you must go …
Antipasti
Insalata di gamberi ai pomodori