Frijias make great ricotta

A little rain makes the sun seen to shine even brighter when it finally comes out. Scilla is beautiful today - about 70 degrees, bright sun and a light breeze blowing off the sea. I woke up to the sound of the ocean, and opened my eyes cautiously, saying a silent prayer for the sun that was amazingly answered. Not just because it is obviously more spectacular in the sun, but also, I still have all this wet laundry and I'm not about to trek to Reggio di Calabria with a bag full of wet clothing, though I do see the comedic potential in such a venture.
There were other people at breakfast today (or, morning piece of bread and cafe), which was exciting. Germans and Russians staying just the night before heading over to Sicilia today - they certainly picked a beautiful day for it. It's funny what curiosity a single American female arouses. I had to stop and give directions to three different groups of people today, mistaking me for a local as I chatted with the adorable old lady down the alley, who spends most of her day leaning out the window and yelling "ciao". She's probably about 4'11", with gray hair and wisdom and smiles etched on her face, and every day she says something to me that I absolutely do not understand. I smile and laugh and say Si, si. She probably thinks I'm an idiot. I met a couple from Malta, who, after a few minutes, realized that none of us spoke Italian, and wished me a great trip when I get to their country, as I walked them down the harbor to the spot they were looking for. The adorable French people I saw earlier just emerged from La Pirata, which I recommended they try. They just waved up to me on my balcony and told me it was "molto bene", and applauded, though simply saying so was not enough. As they walked away, I yelled "arrevederci!" at them as the woman looked up, and waved back, yelled in heavily accented French, "Ciao, bella italiana!". My heart just melted. People are so surprised to learn that I'm here, on purpose, for several days by myself. It's not as lonely as you would think - sometimes, especially for someone as talkative as me, it's important just to sit quietly and really see, instead of just taking a quick look.
Last night for dinner I went down to La Pirata, a small local place next door. The food was spectacular - anyone who even has a slight shudder when thinking about anchovies would change their mind in a second if they tried these.
The simply called "alici" on the menu were one of the best things I have ever eaten.
Fresh, huge anchovies - not a bit salty or fishy, and not a single thread-like bone, fileted, drizzled with olive oil, tons of pepperoncini and chopped parsley, with a squeeze of lemon...I literally ate every morsel, using my bread to mop up the intensely flavored oil that remained. As a main I had a local pasta called pacciere de pesce spada e melanzane. Pacciere, my comical waiter explained in broken english, means "slap" in the local dialect (we figured this out by his dramatic pantomime of slapping himself across the face several time) - and is a loose, round pasta as wide as a lasagna - like a floppy rigatoni. The sauce was slow simmered chunks of swordfish and soft pieces of eggplant with whole tomatoes, huge capers, meaty green olives, and just a hint of garlic and handfuls of fresh parsley. I ate it in a matter of minutes. I'm not normally a huge fan of fish and pasta, but the swordfish certainly holds its own in a dish like this - typical Calabrian food. It's simple and intense. Spicy and flavorful, it doesn't make apologies, only using -at most- 8 ingredients. Maybe we just overdo it so much in America with seasonings and cooking technique that our palates are numb from it all. Stepping back and eating simple food, prepared well, using fresh ingredients really lets each flavor shine.
Today, I walked up the cliff to the town center of Scilla to hunt down a bank and some lunch. It's beautiful and shabby at the same time - staggering cliffs and the sea in the background, combined with graffiti, crumbling, abandoned houses and stray cats calling for your attention. I found a small market where I bought some mortadella and some local cheese - soft, but with the piquant taste of a blue or gorgonzola - just without the marbling - and the signora literally made me take a piece of bread. Roaming around for the next few hours, I found that there are more fishmongers in this town then people on the street - but the fish, proudly displayed - are amazingly fresh. Clear eyes, shimmering, vivid skin, and the beautifully subtle smell of seawater. I found another store and stopped to buy a lemon - one as big as my hand. The men inside, in a mixture of bad french and italian (on my part) and bad english (on theirs) were charming.
Starting off, they commented on my Calabrian face, and after my usual amount of explaining, one of them mentioned he knows the Frijia's and Cirriani's in Curinga. He said, making muscle gestures, the Frijia's are very strong and make very good ricotta, as though the two are inseparably tied. The lemon, the owner insisted, was a gift from him to a beautiful Calabrian girl, and we chatted for almost an hour. Like a three year old, he made me repeat names in Italian of products in the store, and lamented the lack of Calabria food in New York (he has never been there, but he is certain there is no Calabrian food). He roared with laughter as I pushed my nose up in a snobby gesture when we were talking about French cuisine. They walked me back to the main street, wishing me buona fortuna with my studies, and a buon viaggio for the rest of my trip. "A good girl," he said, with a satisfied nod. Clearly, I was a little teary and grinning ear to ear as I made my way back down to Chianalea. You cannot make these priceless experiences up. It's like being in a movie.
Lunch was fantastic. I sat out on the balcony and with some bread from yesterday made a panzanella salad - chopped tomatoes, onions and parsley, dressed with salt, lemon and pepperoncini infused olive oil.
The mortadella and the cheese were more then enough, and I now have the makings for a simple panino for the train to Reggio tomorrow.
I sat on the beach for a while watching some crazy hang-gliders float above the rock like birds. Met an American (!!) doing business in Reggio. It was nice to speak English with someone, even for only an hour. Another man, Tony, and his son Matteo and nephew Rocco heard us talking English, and as they are from Niagra Falls, invited me to take the evening passeggiata with them. Everyone in Italy takes this nightly stroll around town, just walking, saying ciao to friends and relaxing before dinner. Rocco lives here, and Tony was born here but left to raise Matteo and his other children in Canada. Coincidentally, Rocco's family owns Bleu de Toi, the place I ate my first night. He explained a lot about the town - the giant cranes on the boats that the fishermen use to spot swordfish in the distance, and the lack of money in Calabria that leaves much of Chianalea in disrepair. Rocco said that when the fishermen are unable to spear any squid, they put little sticks of dynamite in the water and blow them out then catch them. Now THAT is modern ingenuity.
It's funny how so many Americans can trace their ancestry here, but when asked, "Where in Italy is your family from?", they shrug, attesting that it doesn't matter, they are Italian as they eat their "galamad" and "mutzarell". I'm so lucky I can be in an area that my ancestors were, and that even a few generations down, they still know that I am from here. Tomorrow, I go to Reggio, where my gram told me that her mother - my nonna - used to go shopping. It's thrilling to think you are walking down the same streets are your family did before you, and gazing at the same beaches and rocky mountains that they once did. Covered in cactus and scraggly brush, sprinkled with a few brightly colored wildflowers, the hills of Calabria are jaw dropping. But, as a testament and a poetic reassurance of the sturdiness of the people here - their stubbornness and "hard heads", their culture, its reassuring to see that even beautiful flowers can grown on the rock.
It's nice to know where you are from.