Wednesday, May 28, 2008

I Would go Anywhere to Hang out with the Italians, Especially the Neapolitans.

The ANNOTICO Report

 

Why are Italians so much more Fun to be with ???

The Roving Feast: A taste of Campania in Chicago

San Francisco Chronicle - CA, USA
Marlene Speiler, Special to the Chronicle                                                                                                                                                     &n bsp;                             Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Am just back from Chicago, having been summoned by my buddy from Naples, Manuela Barzan.

Manuela, head of the body that promotes all things Neapolitan abroad, is a force of nature, an unstoppable bundle of energy: hard-working, indefatigable and incredibly entertaining.

Along with a group of mozzarella makers, there would be tomato growers, vintners, olive farmers and artisanal pasta makers in town to promote Napoli and its specialities at a food trade show. I already knew many of them from my visits to Campania, the region in which Napoli is located as the center of government. Did I want to join them? Manuela suggested I could help explain the recipes in English while chef Arturo Iengo cooked.

To tell you the truth, I would go anywhere to hang out with the Italians, especially the Neapolitans. I had long ago decided that the Neapolitans are sort of uber-Italians, especially the tomato-y, olive oil, mozzarella way of being Italian. The talking with the hands way of being Italian. The gathering around the table and engaging in life emphatically way of being Italian. Remember: Sophia Loren is from Naples.

But I was also excited because I had never been to Chicago. It had been a long and difficult winter. My spirit was languishing. The combination of seeing the Windy City combined with a whole posse of Neapolitans was too much to resist.

It's this ability to feel things strongly, happy or sad, that makes me connect so strongly to the Neapolitans. Like them, I feel things strongly. They remind me of my family when I was a child, of the earlier generation of European Immigrants.

They laughed, they cried, they ate, they drank, they danced and sang. They turned complaining into an art form. They were interested in everything around them. They felt life strongly; because of their suffering, they appreciated the good things.

And every opportunity to get together was an opportunity for a big, festive meal. Family, food, and endless talking was what the previous generation passed along to me. And I rediscovered this life energy in Napoli and its people.

During our five days in Chicago, they spread the word at the trade fair. I joined them for dinner each evening at a different Italian restaurant. They brought their own supplies: mozzarella, olive oil, canned tomatoes.

The day before they left Italy, their mozzarella had still been milk inside a buffalo. Now it was deliciously fresh and milky, chewy in that way that cheeses made from pulled curds are. Sometimes they sent a plate of mozzarella over to lucky diners sitting near us in the restaurant of the day, dazzling Midwesterners with the hospitality of the gesture, making them very happy as they ate their way through the tender cheese.

One of life's joys in Napoli is tomatoes, and though spring in Chicago is far too early for tomatoes, not to worry: Campania cans the most delicious tomatoes, San Marzano, rich and meaty, with the deeply mineral flavor of growing on the slopes of Mount Vesuvio, as well as tiny cherry tomatoes from Irpina with a bright and vivacious flavor. We had a tomato grower in our contingent and he brought enough canned tomatoes to fuel a red-sauce tour of Chicago. Which is exactly what we did.

We even had our own chef, Arturo Iengo. At one restaurant, he made the most amazing dish of paccheri, a pasta much like a huge rigatoni, a shape special to Campania. Paccheri means "a slap;" it's named for the way that the cooked pasta slaps itself onto the plate. Its fat, round shape means that lots of sauce gets trapped in the inside, and its subtly rough exterior means that sauce clings to its outsides, too, rather than slipping off.

The pasta we brought was from Gragnano, a city whose very name means "grains," a city long dedicated to pasta making, a city in which pasta is a way of life. It really is superb stuff. And did I mention it had the most divine lardo (cured fatty pork) added? The fat melted into the tomatoes, making it as rich as it was savory.

I left Chicago dancing, singing, feeling happy. I must return, and return soon. So many things I didn't see, didn't do, didn't eat. Of course, I felt as if I had spent five days in Napoli.

Next time I'll be all about Chicago - the architecture, ethnic neighborhoods, famous restaurants, and of course, dawgs with the works. But I'll miss my Neapolitans; I can't imagine Chicago without them....

 

 

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