Mediterranean Pt 3

The next stop on what was quickly becoming our gastronomic tour of the Mediterranean was Sicily.  Home of the cannoli and the Mafia.  I wasn’t sure what to except when we got there.  All I could picture in my head was a bunch of really mean goombas all wearing Gucci suits and dark sunglasses.  Boy, was I wrong.

We docked in Messina and were promptly shuffled on to a bus headed for Taormina.  It is a quaint old hilltop commune whose origins date back to sometime B.C.  Once there, you enter in to the town through and old stone archway.  First stop, the first place I can find that sells cannolis.  And I didn’t have to walk far.  Taormina is known to tourists for two things: cannolis and its close proximity to Mt. Etna.  So, there were two basic types of shop.  Those selling little trinkets made out of lava rock from the volcano and pastry shops, which had fronts that looked like this.

So, we stopped and got a cannoli.  Sicilian cannolis are similar to the cannolis I was raised on, but better than I could have ever imagined.  For those of you who don’t know, a cannoli consist of tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet, creamy filling usually containing ricotta cheese (or alternatively, but less traditionally, sweetened Mascarpone).  The filling is blended with some combination of vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, Marsala wine, rosewater or other flavorings. Some pastry chefs add chopped succade or chocolate chips. They are typically made in several varying sizes, from the "cannulicchi", no bigger than a finger, to the fist-sized proportions typically found in Piana degli Albanesi, south of Palermo, Sicily.  The ones we got had a small amount of succade mixed into the filling, but no chocolate, and were middle of the road in size.  These were the best cannolis I have ever had.  The shell was fresh, flaky and crunchy, yet did not shatter upon first bite.  The pastry seemed to be resilient against the usual sogginess of the filling, not like most of the ones you can get in the States.  The filling was velvety smooth, rich, and creamy.  I never knew any kind of cheese could be so sweet.  I could have sat there eating these sweet Sicilian treats all day.

After the wife had to pull me away from getting another one (and thereby possibly ruining my appetite for more treats to come), we headed down the pedestrian street to check out the rest of the city.  It was an overcast rainy day, so we dashed in and out of several store fronts.  Coincidentally, shopping makes me thirsty.  So, we stopped to get a beer.  We found a nice and somewhat busy outdoor café right next to the main entrance to the town.  We grabbed a table right next to the street, and ordered two beers.  Here is what we got.

Two beers, aptly named Baffo D’oro, or the “Golden Moustache”, and three tiny plates of food.  Something about the name of the beer and the fact that I had facial hair seemingly amused our waiter, as he put the beers down, pointed to the label, looked and me, and began to laugh.  At first, I thought he may be playing a joke on me and that the beer was going to be horrible.  It was, in fact, rather refreshing.  It was slightly bitter, but very malty, which balanced the final flavor of the beer very well.  The dishes we received were extremely crunchy (probably several day old) seasoned croutons, some sort of Sicilian style “bar mix”, and the greenest, briniest olives I have ever tasted in my life.  And, in fact, the only olives I have ever actually enjoyed eating.  I know.  I’m Italian so I should LOVE olives, right?  Well, my family stems from the Calabria region of Italy, which is a stones throw across the straight from Sicily.  And these are Sicilian olives.  So, I like the olives of my ancestors.  And they paired great with the croutons.  The slightly crunchy outside of the olive popped between your teeth releasing a rush of salty, almost tart liquid into your mouth.  At first, it caused me to pause mid chew and actually ask myself “Do I really like the way these taste?”  After a few more, I was certain. Yes, I liked them.  So, I polished off the rest of them, and ordered more (with a few more rounds of Baffo D’Oro, of course).  We sat there eating olives, drinking beer, and waited out a rainstorm.  Then, we grabbed a few more cannolis (with pistachios this time) and a cappuccino before heading back to the ship. 

As we left the port of Messina, we cruised past their patron saint, Madonna della Lettera.  Standing tall in all her glorious splendor, she states "Vos et ipsam civitatem benedicimus".  She even seems to follow you with her hand as you leave port.  It was a beautiful end to a beautiful day.