On Thursday the 17th it was warm enough to sit outside with our breakfast.
I had the reddest strawberries ever, grown without pesticides in this eco-friendly area of the island. I also had a huge cup of Americano coffee. A normal coffee only reaches a third of the way up in an expresso cup and, as a result, is quite strong and bitter. One gulp and it's gone. The Americano, on the other hand, is a pleasant "lungo," which you can enjoy as your leisure.We chatted with American Justin and British Toby sitting at the next table, both working as sommeliers in Munich and here on a working trip. Justin, who is from Chicago, studied to be a classical base player and switched to wine because he felt he could use the training he had received from studying music and harmonies. Fascinating.
Victor chose to stay in his room to work and Oswaldo and I headed out to find the saline fields on Sicily's western side.
We made a stop as we turned the island's southwest corner, and had an Aperol, sitting on sunny windblown corner looking at the choppy sea.
Going up the west coast road the wind picked up and colorful kites flew across our vision. There were also windsurfers whizzing by, all going too fast to get a good picture.
Further along were the salt field with their old mills, and in the distance we could see Erice, where we'd just been. The wind was fierce when we got out of the car and we quickly turned around to return to Marsala for the Easter procession.
As we got closer to the historic center, which lies behind massive gates, parking became a problem. We finally managed to get rid of the car and joined the festive crowd, already lining the streets of the procession. We didn't see much of the city, since we were concerned we wouldn't be able to get out, and waited patiently with the locals, until, in the distance, we began to see colorful robed figures moving and heard a slow drum and a piercing horn.
Soon a tall white-robed figure appeared, gesticulating and turning to the men surrounding him - Jesus and his disciples. He passed us making loud declamations and then sat on the floor and enacted passing the last evening and night with his men.
Then came a group of beautiful women and this was when the procession stopped in all directions we could see.
A veteran of carnivals, Oswaldo commented that they would not get high notes for "evolução." Apparently they were waiting for a group further behind, which had become separated. Eventually they got going again and we stayed a little longer to see the horses that had shown remarkable control and patience.
Then we headed home to pick up Victor who was getting ready to eat. We'd decided that we'd had enough of all this fancy eating and went around the small coastal town of Portopalo, where nothing was open, and then went to provincial Menfi, where we found the Ristorante Il Sipario, a simple place with pretty awful paintings of sultry ladies on the wall, but with a pleasant middle-aged couple in charge. They served us fresh mozzarella di bufalo and heavenly warm caponata. I tried and loved spaghetti a la Norma and Oswaldo chose his favorite, Spaghetti ai Frutti del Mare. Victor ate Braciole, thin slices of meat rolled up with cheese and herbs, which, the owner said in his strong Sicilian accent, had cooked for more than two hours in the tomato sauce to acquire the right flavor. He also lamented that it was too early for the local sun-ripened eggplants and thus the caponata was good, but not perfect! As far as we were concerned, it all could not have been better. I tried a new dessert wine - not sweet, but with a light taste of herbs - called Zibbini,
and we were inspired to dance to one of the old songs playing in the otherwise empty restaurant.
Oswaldo had room for an almond dessert - que ninguém é de ferro.
No comments:
Post a Comment