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10/18/2006 Archived Entry: "Trouble in Bari"

I was feeling so much better about Bari until the moment I was attacked.

I told my group, the 15 people on our first annual “Italian Roots Tour,” to be extra careful while walking around this big, beautiful, very old city, the capitol of the southern Italian region of Puglia (Apulia): Don’t wear flashy jewelry. Keep your bags close to your body, preferably strapped on. Stay alert.

But when we met our guide and she saw one of my group with his back pack on his chest, she scolded him. She seemed insulted. She told us that in her 16 years of being a guide nothing bad had ever happened. Bari was a safe place, she assured us.

I foolishly believed her. We all did. But just as we were walking toward our bus at the end of our lovely day, past the cathedral dedicated to St. Nicolas, literally seconds after I remarked that I felt better about Bari after the guide said what she did, a man jumped off the back of a motorcycle and tried to grab my bag. The strap had broken so I had the bag clutched in my arm. When he couldn’t take it from me – I may be fat and middle aged, but I still have some strength -- he pushed me to the ground and continued to pull. I clutched harder. He didn’t get it. As local people gathered to watch, he finally gave up. Then he jumped back on the cycle and sped off with his accomplice. Unbelievably, they actually circled back, perhaps to try again. By then, I had caught up with the group that I had been shepherding toward the bus. My pants were dirty. My knee was scuffed. But I still had my bag. And my dignity. I’d won.

Thinking back, I should have never believed a word that guide said. While we were touring the church dedicated to St. Nicolas, otherwise known as Santa Claus, she told us that the modern image of Santa with a big white beard and red costume was the invention of the Coca Cola company in 1954. Not to embarrass her, I whispered to her on the side that this wasn’t true. But she insisted. “I’ve read this, and every guide in Bari says this,” she said. I pointed out that I was born in 1947 and by then Santa was already the fat red Santa we know and love. And then I turned to Agnes Salvan, the 89-year-old matriarch of the Filardi family whose ancestral town we had visited a few days before. “Aggie, was Santa around in a red outfit when you were a child?” I asked. “Most certainly,” she said. But the guide kept insisting that we were wrong.

Other than the misinformed guide in Bari -- who also, by the way, should have flunked Guide 101 because she never waited for the whole group to gather before she began her schpiels -- the Italian Roots Tour was wonderful. Our visit to Accettura, in the province of Matera (in the region of Basilicata) was thrilling for everyone, even those of us not related to the Filardis. Aggie, travelling with her daughter and son-in-law Lynn and Carl Mann, and her nephew and niece-in-law Stephen and Judy Ness, met several cousins, including the town priest, and found out from the town’s historian, a relative by marriage who did a full genealogical report, that her grandfather’s family were always prominent citizens of the town. Indeed, the mayor of Accettura greeted us at town hall, along with other town dignitaries. We found out that the Filardi family were masons and that they built houses with a distinctive construction that you can still see on many buildings -- alternating courses of brick and stone. We also learned that the family has a genetic propensity to be prematurely gray. Indeed, Aggie had a gray streak when she was young.

We had a grand lunch in the Garden Restaurant (yes, said in English, and set in a garden … well, more a forest), and a simple, delicious dinner at a local trattoria, La Pezzola. Most interesting of all was that we got a taste of what life is like in a small Italian village. Sadly, this one, at the top of a mountain, surrounded by forests in remote Basilicata, is dying. Young people cannot find work. There are children in the school, but most of the people are old – an average age of 70, we were told.

After Accettura, we went to Matera, the city itself, and stayed in a very chic hotel, Hotel Sant’
Angelo, built into sassi, the caves that make Matera a UNESCO World Heritage site. That means it is landmarked, so to speak – preserved for posterity. Matera is where Mel Gibson filmed his movie “The Passion of Christ” because the caves make Matera look vaguely like Jerusalem. In the early 1950s, the prime minister of Italy visited Matera and was appalled that people were still living in caves (the word sassi means “stones”). He called it a national shame and forcibly moved most of the population out and put them in new low-cost housing.

After 50 years, the housing has deteriorated badly and the caves don’t look so bad anymore, especially now that it is possible to bring electricity, running water, and a modern sewage system to them. The government will now pay 50 percent of the cost of renovations to sassi, provide the necessary services, and give a 30-year, low-cost lease to anyone willing to make the investment. We were told – this time by our excellent, well-spoken guide – that there is a waiting list to do this. Hotels seem to get preference, as the city is trying to encourage tourism. Matera is a prosperous town, with beautiful shops and a gorgeous main piazza in the center of its 17th to 19th century section above the sassi. Until recently, the town was a center of upholstered furniture manufacturing. Now, however, as is the case in so many sectors of the Italian and European economy, as well as in the American, China is doing it cheaper. To sustain Matera, the city needs to find new work. Mel Gibson’s movie has helped somewhat, which is why someone has spray painted “Grazie Mel” on some rocks in the sassi, a vandalism that our guide rightly denounced. She said that local people are glad the movie has brought tourism, but they would much prefer the town be appreciated for its own unique self.

Matera has also recently been put on the map by a story about Basilicata in Gourmet magazine written by Evan Kleiman, a Los Angeles based food writer and chef who also broadcasts on National Pubic Radio. She recommended a restaurant, Le Lucanerie, which I had enjoyed enormously before her story came out. This time, however, I think being written up in Gourmet has given the owner the wrong idea, and his food has turned a little too contemporary for my taste. It was good, but not as good or as typically Materese as before.

After Matera, we did a tour of Puglia, going as far south as Lecce, then driving back north through trulli country, the towns of Locorotondo, Alberobello, and Martina Franca. In Martina Franca we we had a particularly good meal at Da Lisi, a kind of restaurant that is typical in this part of Puglia. It is attached to a butcher shop and features only meat – no pasta or other primi, as Italians call the first, usually starch course. Among the several meats we ate, all cooked in a wood-burning oven, were little veal rolls (actually meat from yearling animals that is between veal and beef) stuffed with seasoned ground veal and prosciutto. They were called bombette because of their round shape, and they were cooked on skewers. When I get back to New York I will develop a recipe for them for my new book on southern Italian food.

The trulli are conically shaped, stone farm buildings, and our group got to stay in rooms built in ancient trulli at Il Palmetto, a swank hotel-resort with swimming pool, tennis courts, and a restaurant. in the countryside of Locorotondo. They got to enjoy the gorgeously appointed rooms, some of which are suites complete with living room/dining rooms and kitchenettes, but our time there was too short to enjoy all the amenities because the next morning we were off to Bari, then Trani. Trani is definitely a place to see – a gorgeous seaside city with a 13th century castle and cathedral, not to mention elegant shops .

We returned here to Tenuta Seliano, Cecilia’s farm-inn, by way of Barile, where we stayed in yet another chic hotel, Locanda del Palazzo. In Barile, we visited the Paternoster winery, which produces Aglianico del Vulture, a wine that is gaining international attention, and we ate in the hotel’s restaurant, which is becoming famous for how it reinterprets traditional local dishes for contemporary tastes.

Speaking of what the Italians actually call “recreated cuisine,” our last stop was in Nusco, in the province of Avellino, where we went to my favorite contemporary restaurant in southern Italy, Locanda di Bu, owned by my now good friend Tonino Pisaniello and his wife Genni. Tonino was featured in the September Bon Appetit magazine, and so he is drawing new customers from the states.

I suppose I have gone on long enough, but I think I should leave you with a new recipe. This is something that we are making in our classes this season. Besides being delicious, and showing off the local, sublime ricotta made from water buffalo milk, it is so easy it is embarrassing. I haven’t yet made it with our supermarket ricotta, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. I would, however, drain the ricotta in a strainer for at least several hours or even overnight. For those of you who have access to it, use the firmer type of ricotta. It is more or less easily found in New York City markets. I know I can buy it, in Manhattan, at Di Palo on Grand St. and Mulberry, at Agata and Valentina on First Ave. and 79th St. In Brooklyn, you can find firm ricotta at D. Coluccio on 60th St. and 12th Ave. in Bensonhurst. You can get firm cow’s milk and sheep’s milk ricotta, but buffalo milk ricotta is more difficult to obtain.

Spuma di Ricotta
(Ricotta Mousse)

Serves at least 8

14 ounces firm ricotta
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
2 egg yolks
3 tablespoons grappa
1 cup heavy cream, whipped

In a food processor fitted with the metal blade, combine the ricotta, sugar, egg yolks, and grappa. Process until perfectly smooth.

In a bowl, whip the cream until it holds firm peaks.

Fold half the cream into the ricotta, then the second half.

Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Serve in small glasses or bowls, garnished, if desired, with a wafer cookie.