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09/26/2007 Archived Entry: "History, Trapani, and Couscous"

Trapani is not only a city, but an entire province on the westernmost side of Sicily, one of nine on the island. The province also includes the smaller city of Marsala, which has a pretty and well-preserved, mainly Baroque-style historic center. It has a thriving sea-salt industry (as does the city of Trapani itself), and it is where the fortified wine by the same name is made, as in Veal Marsala, which, by the way, you can get prepared better in New York than you can in Marsala.

Off the coast of Marsala is Mozia, an island that was a Phoenician stronghold and where on-going archeological excavations continue to make revelations about these mysterious people. On the very day I was there, archaeologist Lorezno Nigro, a charming, handsome and very proud man, unearthed the corner of a temple he is digging around, verifying that it was oriented toward the constellation Orion, and at the same time proving his theory that the walled body of water in front of the temple was not a harbor, as has been previously thought, but a pool of sacred fresh water. My partner, Bob Harned, who has advanced degrees in archaeology and ancient Near Eastern languages, was beyond thrilled to be there and see the ancient dust fly.

Mazara del Vallo is also in Trapani. We spent only one night there, but it appears to be a lively town. In any case, besides a historic section of narrow winding streets, these days boasting a gallery housing a Greek bronze of an ecstatic, dancing satyr unlike anything ever found elsewhere, it has throngs of young people and their motor bikes congregating in the modern town center. It is often said to be the most important fishing town in all of Italy, and it has a very large Tunisian population that works the fishing boats.

If you remember, I mentioned in my last diary entry that Trapani is quite close to North Africa and that it was a Phoenician stronghold, along with the rest of western Sicily, beginning at about the same time that the Greeks were colonizing eastern Sicily and the rest of southern Italy. That would be about 800 B.C. To this day, there is a divide in Sicily. The easterners consider themselves better than the westerners because they were colonized (hence civilized) by the Greeks, not colonized by the Phoenicians.

The Phoenicians, great seafarers and merchants, came from the area we now call Lebanon. They don’t have the greatest reputation. Their priests, both male and female, practiced prostitution in their temples. It was a sacred rite. They sacrificed their children to their gods. To their credit, however, they created an alphabet that became the basis for Greek and Latin. On the other hand, they mainly wrote notes about their commerce, so we don’t know much about them beyond what I just mentioned. Oh yes, they knew how to navigate at night, using the stars and constellations as guides. That’s one reason why Nigri’s discovery of the temple being aligned with Orion is so important.

Many centuries later, even after the Romans, Sicily was conquered again, this time by the Arabs in 827 A.D. That’s when they landed in Mazara del Vallo, where you can still see churches with domes, indicating that they must have once been mosques. The Arabs controlled Sicily until the Normans (from what is now more or less northern France) conquered them about 250 years later. Muslim influence continued, however, because the next great empire was headed by Frederick II, a German-Norman raised in Palermo under the auspices of the Pope, who was very tolerant of his Muslim (and Jewish) subjects. (Or was he just a wise politician keeping his kingdom quiet? There is some debate.) Naturally, the papacy didn’t like that. Several popes excommunicated Frederick.

Why is the food maven recounting all this history? Because food is one of the last vestiges of any culture that remains obvious. Language is absorbed into new language. Mosques are transformed into Catholic churches. The columns of Roman temples are incorporated into churches. And Sicilians are still using pine nuts and raisins in their cooking, adding cinnamon in places you wouldn’t expect, and intensely sweetening desserts as they do in Arab countries. Sherbet was invented by the Arabs and Sicily is known for its frozen desserts, and we can also credit the Arabs with teaching the Sicilians how to dry pasta. There was plenty of fresh pasta in Italy before the Arabs, but not dried. Finally, and most to my point, they are still eating couscous in western Sicily. Often spelled cus cus in Italian, it is one of Trapani’s signature dishes, although most typically it is made with a base of fish, instead of meat, as it is in North Africa.

Couscous is related to pasta in that it is made with semolina, milled hard wheat that has a golden yellow caste. In the case of couscous, however, the semolina is not as fine as the flour for pasta or bread would be. It is coarsely ground, with grains about the size of ordinary cornmeal, which is what it looks like. This semolina is mixed by hand with water, which is added little by little, in a large bowl using a circular motion. After only a few minutes, it forms tiny clumps. The clumps of semolina are further separated by rubbing them between the palms. The couscous thus produced is then steamed until it swells slightly and becomes very tender. Actually, not every bit of the couscous comes out as fine as one would want it. The “mistakes,” as one couscous maker called these bigger clumps, are called frascatole, and, because thier size prevents them from steaming properly, they are boiled in well-seasoned broth. In any case, one hopes the broth is well-seasoned.

Once formed, the couscous is put in a pot that is traditionally ceramic, but is not necessarily these days. It is more often made of metal. It’s called a couscousiera, and it has holes on the bottom so that steam can reach the grain and the grain can swell and become fluffy. Under the couscousiera is a pot of simmering water. In North Africa, where couscous is said to be originally a Berber dish, the Berbers being a native people who pre-date the Arabs in North Africa, the steam is often produced by a flavored broth, and the couscous itself is not seasoned. In the case of Trapanese couscous, the steam is from boiling water, but the grain is seasoned before it is steamed. At one time, the two pots were sealed together with bread dough, so that the steam couldn’t possibly escape. It all had to travel through the couscous. A piece of this dough was placed in the couscousiera with the grain. When the bread was done, the couscous was done.

Everyone in Trapani, Marsala, and Mazara del Vallo seasons their couscous at least slightly differently, but the best I ate out of – well, I stopped counting, but I ate many, many. The best couscous was made by Pino Maggiore at his Cantina Siciliana, a small restaurant decorated with antique Sicilian cart parts and local pottery on Via Giudecca, at the edge of Trapani’s historic center. Yes, there were Jews in Trapani, too. Pino steams the grain with sliced onion, basil, parsley, some broken cinnamon sticks, and, of course, he adds salt and pepper. I asked about garlic, which I tasted when I ate it. He never puts garlic in the couscous itself, but there’s plenty in his fish broth.

It takes from one and a half to two hours over steam to get the grain puffy and soft. Then it has to rest before it is blended with some of the broth from the fish soup, which usually includes several varieties of fish, and is seasoned to a greater or lesser degree with tomato paste, tomatoes, or tomato puree. Pino’s broth gets its dark mahogany color and tomato strength from tomato extract, estratto in Italian, stratu in Sicilian dialect. This is concentrated tomato concentrate, meaning tomato paste even further reduced in moisture.

Couscous is always a first course in Trapani, taking the place of pasta or rice or soup. Pino serves couscous in a pasta bowl with, as do many other cooks, but not all, a side boat of broth to add at one’s pleasure,. He puts a few fragments of fish that flavored the broth on top of the couscous, which is usual, too, but I was also served couscous with a whole slice (you might say “steak”) of grouper, and, at the same restaurant, a side dish of harissa, North African hot sauce, also to add at will. This was at a restaurant famous for its couscous, a place facing the port in Trapani. It was an interesting service of the dish, but it wasn’t very good.

A close second to Cantina Siciliana’s cous cous was the rendition at Al Solito Posto (At the Usual Place), a small and stylish restaurant in the modern section of Trapani, off elegant Via Fardella. I am tempted to say it is a place strictly for locals, but I learned after I went that it is beginning to be listed in guide books. You definitely need a reservation. It was fully booked the weekday night I was there, and for good reason. Chef Rudy Basciano does a superior job with the traditional dishes and offers a few with a contemporary twist or presentation. I only regretted that I didn’t discover Al Solito Posto earlier than on the last night of my three-day stay. What I ate was so good I wanted to eat my way through the whole menu. The hospitality and service by his brother Vito in the dining room was every bit as high level, too.

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