The humble sardine is one of the ocean’s most sustainable seafood choices.
Sardines are small, oily fish that have been a staple coastal communities for centuries and should be celebrated.
This post explores why sardines remain one of the ocean’s most sustainable seafood choices. It celebrates their history, flavour and environmental value, from Australia’s well-managed fisheries to Sicily’s cultural traditions and classic recipes.
SARDINE FISHING IN AUSTRALIA
In Australia, the native Sardinops sagax (often called pilchard) thrives in well-managed fisheries, particularly off South Australia especially from Port Lincoln . The fishery uses purse‐seine nets (rather than bottom trawling) and catch‐limits/quota management are in place These stocks are carefully monitored under strict quotas and have Marine Stewardship Council (MSC) certification for sustainability. Recent surveys estimate healthy biomass levels, confirming that Australian sardines remain both abundant and responsibly harvested, a shining example of how science-based management can keep a fishery plentiful. Most of the catch in South Australia is used for fish feed (e.g., for tuna aquaculture) rather than direct human consumption.
Sardines are also fished off the Western Australian coast (Fremantle) and south coast (Albany).
SARDINE FISHING IN SICILY
Across the world in Sicily, sardines (Sardina pilchardus) are deeply woven into the island’s culinary traditions. Salted sardines are packed under sea salt and in oil and freshly grilled catches are served along the coast. However, the picture in the Mediterranean is more complex: while Sicilian fishers have worked these waters for generations, scientific assessments show local sardine populations face pressure from warming seas and high fishing intensity.
Syracuse, fishing boats
Ongoing research projects in Sicily are focused on restoring balance and ensuring future sustainability, reflecting both the cultural importance and ecological fragility of this common fish. A more accurate statement would be that they are culturally important, under study for sustainable management, but stocks may be under pressure.
SARDINE FISHING IN TRIESTE
As a child I lived in Trieste, on the northern Adriatic, sardines (sardoni in local dialect) have long been a staple of everyday cooking and seaside culture. They’re enjoyed most often crumbed and fried (sardoni impanai), grilled, or marinated with onions and vinegar in the Venetian-style in saor.
Trieste, Ponte Rosso
The shallow, nutrient-rich Gulf of Trieste has traditionally provided plentiful sardine and anchovy catches, though supplies today fluctuate with the season and fishing conditions. Despite this, sardines remain a defining taste of Triestine cuisine and a link between the city’s Central European character and its Adriatic setting.
TALE OF THREE REGIONS
Together, these regions tell a story of contrast and care: in Australia, sardines represent a model of modern, sustainable abundance, while in Italy, they embody heritage and a need for careful stewardship.
Many Australians are put off by the bold flavour of anchovies, but they are a quick-to-prepare, endlessly versatile and nutritionally beneficial food. The Italian recipes are steeped in cultural history and tradition, resulting in numerous preparation methods including raw and marinated, soused, baked, sautéed, fried, as part of pasta dishes, simple grills, canned and salted. The humble sardine remains a delicious, nutrient-rich, and environmentally conscious choice.
Some photos are from my book: Sicilian Seafood Cooking. Photogarpher Graeme Gillies, Stylist Fiona Rigg
I use the tender hearts of Italian bitter greens — radicchio, chicory (cicoria), and curly endive (indivia riccia) to make a leaf salad that’s cleansing, refreshing, and slightly peppery.
While these vegetables are at their peak in winter, I am using them well into spring.
Bitter greens are a broad, diverse family of dark, leafy vegetables and cruciferous plants known for their assertive flavour. As well as the vegetables mentioned above, thinkcime di rapa, rocket (arugula), kale,cavolo nero, mustard greens, and watercress. Each has its own flavour and character.
In Italy, bitterness is appreciated and celebrated. Italians have a profound appreciation for sharp, bracing flavours – from consuming artichokes and the extensive range of bitter-leaf-based contorni (side dishes) and primi (pasta, risotto and soups) that showcase the depth of this taste in their cuisine. There is the enjoyment of downing espresso coffee and savouring the complex herbal flavours of amari (the iconic range of bitter-sweet aperitivi and digestivi).
“L’amaro è un gusto da apprezzare.”(Bitterness is a taste to be appreciated.)
Bitter greens do more than add flavour and have long been prized for their medicinal qualities. They stimulate the digestive system, activating enzymes and encouraging bile production – the age-old remedy for sluggish digestion. But beyond their health benefits, bitterness plays an important culinary role: it cuts through richness, brings balance to a dish, and pairs beautifully with bold or fatty ingredients.
When preparing these greens, I usually set aside the tougher outer leaves for cooking and reserve only the pale, tender, subtly bitter leaves from the inner hearts for raw salads.
The tougher outer leaves go well cooked: sautéed with olive oil and garlic, stirred into brothy soups, or wilted gently with legumes, they lend a slightly bitter edge that deepens the flavour of everything around them. Chicory or curly endive, either on their own or mixed, are excellent paired with beans – cannellini, borlotti, or even lentils. I pan-fry the greens in olive oil, flavour them with garlic and often add a couple of chili peppers or a few anchovy fillets for depth of flavour. The result is a rustic, homely and satisfying dish that makes a good entrée, contorno (side) or a simple main. It is also good when folded into a bowl of soup.
The inner, pale, tender leaves have visually attractive vibrant leaves. They offer crunch without overpowering intensity.
Use inner leaves from:
1 small head of radicchio, 1 small bunch of cicoria and 1 small head of curly endive (indivia riccia).
I have at times replaced one of the vegetables with witlof , rocket or watercress. I like frilly endive, dandelion leaves also, and puntarelle… when I can get them.
Preparing Bitter Greens for Salad
Trim & Clean
Remove any tough or damaged outer leaves—save these for cooking. Trim the stem end just enough to loosen the head without it falling apart.
Separate Tender Leaves
Gently pull apart the pale, inner leaves—these are the most delicate and best for salad.
Soak & Rinse
Soak the leaves in cold water for 5–10 minutes to remove grit and revive their crispness. Rinse well.
Dry Thoroughly
Use a salad spinner or clean towel to dry leaves hold dressing better and keep the salad vibrant.
Optional: store in the fridge
For extra crunch leave the washed leaves in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.
I play around with salads. Here are some Optional Additions that works well with these bitter greens:
Fresh Fruit: Orange segments, firm persimmon (vanilla type), pear, or apple slices. These add sweetness to balance the bitterness.
Nuts: Toasted walnuts or pine nuts bring crunch and a rich, nutty depth.
Cheese: Shavings of Parmesan or crumbled Gorgonzola add creaminess and umami.
Protein: A few good quality anchovy fillets, soft-boiled or hard boiled eggs, grilled chicken, or white beans make it more substantial.
Extra Colour and Flavour: Thinly sliced fennel, roasted beetroot, or edible flowers like nasturtiums elevate both presentation and taste.
I use a simple dressing – extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice or /and good quality wine or sherry vinegar, sea salt, cracked pepper.
Pizzaiola (or alla pizzaiola) is a traditional, rustic Italian cooking style that uses simple ingredients from Naples, in the Campania region of southern Italy. It’s about simmering meat, typically inexpensive cuts of beef or veal in a rich tomato-based sauce seasoned with garlic, olive oil, parsley, and oregano.
The term pizzaiola comes from pizzaiolo, meaning “pizza maker,” and refers to the similarity between the sauce used in this dish and the classic Neapolitan pizza sauce. Both share basic ingredients like tomatoes, garlic, oregano, and olive oil that became iconic toppings after the 18th century, when tomatoes were fully integrated into southern Italian cuisine.
Carne alla pizzaiola is a perfect example of cucina povera – the “cuisine of the poor” – no-fuss cooking where simple, inexpensive ingredients are changed into flavourful meals.
The Meat: Tender or Tough. Quick Cooking or Slow Cooking?
Thin slices of beef (1cm)—such as fettine di manzo—are ideal for quick cooking. Cuts like Scotch fillet, porterhouse, or rump are tender enough for short simmering times.
But pizzaiola is also a great way to cook tougher cuts like blade steak, shoulder (spalla), or round (girello). I recently made it with topside and have used this cut of meat in previous times and after a longer, slow simmer, the meat became tender in the sauce.
Pizzaiola: Seasonal Variations
One of the joys of pizzaiola is how adaptable it is to the seasons:
Winter (with canned tomatoes):
I prefer to sear the meat first to add depth of flavour. Then, I gently cook garlic (sometimes whole cloves) in olive oil, add the canned tomatoes and oregano, and simmer the sauce for 10 minutes before adding the meat and parsley.
Summer (with fresh tomatoes):
When tomatoes are ripe and flavourful, I don’t sear. I combine raw meat with peeled, diced fresh tomatoes, herbs, oil and garlic right from the start—no pre-cooking. It’s lighter and fresher.
I often add sliced potatoes (just like my mother did). If using quick-cooking meat, slice potatoes thinly; for longer cooking cuts, slice them thicker so everything finishes together.
Classic Carne alla Pizzaiola (with Potatoes)
Serves 2
Ingredients:
2–4 thin or medium-cut beef slices
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
400g tin crushed or peeled tomatoes, cut into chunks
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp dried oregano or 3 tbsp chopped fresh oregano
Salt & cracked black pepper to taste
2 tbsp chopped fresh parsley
Optional: 3–4 medium potatoes (Desiree or Sebago), peeled and cut into thick slices.
Instructions:
Heat olive oil in a large frypan over medium heat.
Add sliced garlic and cook gently until fragrant—don’t let it brown.
Sear beef steaks for 1–2 minutes per side to brown lightly.
Distribute potato slices (if using) between the meat.
Add tomatoes, oregano, salt, pepper, and parsley over the meat and potatoes.
Cover the pan, lower the heat, and simmer for 15–20 minutes (or 40-50mins for tougher cuts), turning steaks once. The sauce will thicken and the meat will become tender.
As you would expect I have written about Pizzaiola in a previous post:
When Massimiliano Gugole from SBS Italian Radio invited me to share a recipe on the morning show, I didn’t have to think twice—I chose stuffed artichokes. They’re my favourite way to prepare this elegant and flavoursome vegetable, and with the first spring artichokes just arriving at the Queen Victoria Market, the timing couldn’t have been better.
Over the years I’ve experimented with all sorts of fillings – minced meat (like mixture for polpette), ground almonds with ricotta, pan-fried breadcrumbs with egg, lemon zest and pine nuts, anchovies with black olives, but I always come back to my favourite mix: breadcrumbs, parsley, a touch of garlic, grated parmesan (if I am trying to emulate Northern Italy) or pecorino (as in Southern Italy), and good olive oil. The mixture is gently tucked into the centres before the artichokes are simmered in stock, white wine, and bay leaves.
I usually serve them as a main, with vegetables cooked in the same pot. Because the artichokes need to stand upright (their stems trimmed at the base), I often nestle potatoes around them – they hold everything in place and soak up some of that exquisite, unique flavour.
potatoes used to hold artichokes upright
Whole potatoes can be added simultaneously with the artichokes, and other spring vegetables such as peas and broad beans can be added approximately 15 minutes before the artichokes are cooked. Asparagus also makes a welcome addition and will need less cooking. Additionally, I enjoy poaching eggs in the stock, adding protein for a better balanced meal.
I also ensure that good bread is placed at the table to soak up any remaining rich cooking juices. A spoon doesn’t go astray with friends either, although this does not follow Italian etiquette.
In this post I will translate the Italian podcast but also include photos of the preparation of the seven artichokes I cooked for friends in my largest fish kettle a couple of weeks ago.
The Translated Podcast
“All Italians know how to cook artichokes,” says Marisa Raniolo Wilkins. But if you need some inspiration, here is a traditional, tasty, seasonal recipe, along with a few valuable tips for an excellent result.
“My favourite way to cook artichokes is the simple method my mother always used,” says Marisa Raniolo Wilkins, author of the blog All Things Sicilian And More.
“My maternal grandmother Maria (originally from Catania but who lived in Trieste for several years) also cooked them this way,” Marisa told SBS Italian, recalling how her grandmother used the same mixture of breadcrumbs, parsley, garlic, grated cheese, and a drizzle of olive oil to stuff her sardines, tomatoes, and artichokes.
“I like to serve artichokes as a main dish; they’re too fiddly to eat as a side,” she says. Listen to the recipe from the author of All Things Sicilian And More.
Ingredients (serves 6) • 6 artichokes • 100 g (1 cup) dry fresh breadcrumbs (made from good-quality bread, 1–2 days old, crust removed, finely chopped) • 2 tablespoons chopped parsley • 2 tablespoons grated cheese (Parmesan is fine, but in Sicily, pecorino is more common) • A drizzle of extra virgin olive oil • 4 cups stock (vegetable or chicken, stock cube is fine) • 1 cup white wine • About 1 cup extra virgin olive oil • A few bay leaves
Marisa Raniolo recommends placing the artichokes in acidulated water as you prepare them — add the juice of a lemon to a bowl of water.
Preparation Choose and clean the artichokes carefully. Cut off the stems so the base is flat — they need to stand upright in the pot, which should be the right size so the artichokes fit snugly and stay upright.
Peel the tough skin from the stems, cut about 1 cm from the tips of the artichokes, and remove the tougher outer leaves. Check for the choke in the centre, which is more common in mature artichokes.Choke is fieno/barba in Italian and hay and beard in English; one has to love the Italian language!
Drain the artichokes from the acidulated water. With your fingers, gently open the leaves, especially in the centre. Sprinkle a little salt, pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil between the leaves.
Mix the stuffing ingredients together and fill each artichoke.
“In Australia, artichokes are still considered exotic and perhaps difficult to prepare. But once you know how to clean them, they’re simple to cook,” says Marisa.
Place the artichokes upright in a pot. Put the stems between the artichokes and drizzle with more extra virgin olive oil.
I often like to press pine nuts into the stuffing.
Add the stock or water to about 2 cm below the top of the artichokes. Pour in the wine, add the bay leaves, and the rest of the oil.
Cover with a lid and cook slowly for about an hour.
You can also add peas, broad beans, and/or potatoes.
“I often add potatoes to help keep the artichokes standing, and they’re very good,” Marisa explains. “Potatoes can be added straight away, while peas and broad beans should go in about 15 minutes before the artichokes are done.”
Below, market in Sicily. Artichokes are always sold with long stems because stems are delicious.
This is the process for preparing the artichokes explained with photos.
The Cleaning:
the stalks need to be strippednotice how I remove the tough leaves leaving the edible part on the artichokethe stems have been trimmed and the artichokes are kept in the acidulated waterthe tops have been trimmed and the leaves need to be eased apart to make room for the stuffing in the centre
The Stuffing
The peeling/stripping of the stalks
Stuffing the artichokes
the artichokes are placed in the stock and wineready for cookingartichokes sitting in a fish kettle
I was recently invited to join the morning program on SBS Italian Radio Live, where I had the pleasure of discussing winter vegetables with hosts Massimiliano Gugole, who is based in Sydney and Andrea Pagani is based in Melbourne.
Living close to Queen Victoria Market, I’m fortunate to have a daily view of the bustling sheds and open-air car park from my balcony. The market is where I shop and where I’ve sourced fresh produce for as long as I have lived in Melbourne. Before that I lived in Adelaide and I also lived close to the Adelaide Central Market.
Quality ingredients, especially seasonal ones, are central to my cooking.
During the live broadcast, I noted that alongside typical winter produce, stalls are still offering late-season peppers, eggplants, and zucchini, mostly grown in warmer areas like Mildura. But what I was most excited about was the fennel – crisp, aromatic, and at its peak right now. Also in abundance are mushrooms, radicchio, witlof, chicory, and of course, the winter brassicas.
I was particularly pleased to find and cook the season’s first globe artichokes.
Artichokes
Chef Piera Pagnoni confirmed the richness of the winter harvest – cabbages, cauliflowers, fennel, broccoli – though she pointed out that these aren’t always children’s favourites. Her advice? “There’s always a secret weapon: cover it with béchamel, add a little Parmesan, put it in the oven… and everyone loves it.” Spoken like a true cook from Bologna, where pasta and comfort go hand in hand.
Later in the program, Chef Gianmarco Pardini from Sydney joined the conversation and reminded us that this is also a great season for fish: “The water is colder, so the fish eats more and becomes tastier.”
During the program, I remembered and shared a recipe that holds special meaning for me – a cauliflower dish my Sicilian grandmother from Catania used to prepare. It’s simple, seasonal, and a wonderful way to celebrate the best of winter produce.
One of the most flavourful and dramatic ways to cook cauliflower comes from my grandmother Maria, who was born in Catania. This dish is called Cavolfiore Affogato in Italian, and Vruòcculi Affucati in Sicilian, meaning literally “smothered/ suffocated cauliflower”. It refers to the way the cauliflower is slowly simmered in red wine and olive oil, gently compressed so that it softens into a layered like tortino (pie/cake/mould).
The wine not only deepens the flavour but also gives the cauliflower a lovely rose-coloured tinge that is especially noticeable if you use the classic white variety of cauliflower. The yellow cauliflower has an even more striking result.
Cauliflowers are now available in many colours but while purple or green versions are very attractive raw, they tend to lose their colour when cooked.
To cook
The method is quite unique. The small pieces of cauliflower are layered in a pot with anchovies, onion, pecorino, olive oil, and sometimes black olives. It should be 3-4 layers. It is then pressed under a weight as it cooks slowly on the stovetop.
To compress it, cover the layers with a piece of baking paper cut to shape, place a heat-safe plate on top, and add a weight. When you select the plate is important to that the plate is smaller than the size of the saucepan so as to leave a space around the rim to allow evaporation of the contents.
As a weight, I usually use my stone mortar, but a smaller saucepan partially filled with water works just as well. The aim is to gently press the layers down while the wine and oil simmer slowly.
As it cooks, the liquid gradually evaporates. What remains is a flavoured, cohesive “cake”(like a tortino) that can be sliced.
I use a pan with a heavy base to distribute the heat gently and I often use a piece of baking paper on the base to avoid sticking or use a non-stick saucepan. If needed, a spoonful of water can be added during cooking, but with low heat and a well-made pot, it’s rarely necessary.
Vruòcculi Affucati is perfect as a side dish, especially next to something bold in flavour. It’s traditionally served at room temperature, and lef tovers are even better the next day.
Ingredients
1kg cauliflower or broccoli (white or yellow preferred)
1 large onion, thinly sliced
50–100g pecorino, thinly sliced
4–5 anchovy fillets (or more if you like)
1 glass of red wine
¾ cup extra virgin olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
Salt, if needed
10 black olives, pitted (optional)
Method
Lightly oil the base of a deep saucepan. Line it with baking paper if you like.
Add a layer of cauliflower, then top with onion, anchovies, pecorino, pepper, and olives (if using). Repeat for two more layers, drizzling with olive oil as you go. Make sure the top layer is just cauliflower.
Press the layers gently with your hands. Pour the red wine over the top and finish with a final drizzle of oil.
Cover with baking paper or foil cut to size, then weigh it down with a plate and something heavy.
Cook on the lowest heat for 30–40 minutes. You’ll hear it begin to sizzle when the liquid has evaporated.
Allow it to rest before turning.
And of course I had written this recipe on my blog years ago and it has different photos to this post:
Inverno, cosa comprano e cosa mangiano italiani e italiane d’Australia?
I make braised fennel very often, so often, in fact, that I’ve never bothered to write a post about one of the ways to enjoy this vegetable in a fragrant broth.
Of course raw fennel is marvellous too, but fennel can be cooked in various ways and here is the recipe.
Preparing fennel is a straightforward process, and I employ the Italian culinary technique known as ‘cucina all’occhio’. This technique entails making intuitive decisions based on culinary expertise and knowledge.
Although there is no specific recipe, here are some general guidelines that I find helpful:
I always include herbs like parsley, fresh bay leaves, and minced garlic. If I have rosemary, thyme, or tarragon, I might add one of these too. Sometimes I add a little butter. This enhances the sauce and makes it velvety.
sectioned fennel with fronds and herbs
I always braise with stock – chicken or vegetable, that I stock in the freezer and I always add a splash of wine. That’s a northern Italian touch, not Sicilian.
If there’s some Cinzano Extra Dry vermouth that I have around, I’ll use that instead of the wine, especially if I have used tarragon. I’ve also used Pernod, which of course enhances the aniseed flavour. The ratio is simple: about 1 part alcohol to 8 parts stock.
PROCESS
Use a saucepan with a lid that fits the fennel snugly and allows enough room for liquid.
Clean and prepare the fennel: Cut off the stalks and discard them. Save the younger fronds—the wispy pale green ones.
I like to keep the leaves of the bulb intact as they cook, so I only trim part of the tough core. Then I cut the bulb into quarters.
Heat a little extra virgin olive oil in the pan. Lightly pan-fry the fennel quarters until lightly golden on both sides.
Lower the heat, add the stock and wine (or vermouth/ Pernod), the herbs, and a bit of minced garlic. The liquid should come about halfway up the fennel.
Cover and braise gently until the fennel is tender but still holding its shape.
If there’s too much liquid at the end, just remove the lid towards the end of the cooking process and let it reduce a little.
Of course, fennel is also great when it is simply baked… I just include it on the baking tray with potatoes (and other vegetables), but here are a couple of other cooked fennel recipes:
When planning a trip to Sicily, I always recommend visiting the island’s ancient open-air markets. The merchandise, the sellers who enthusiastically promote their produce in vibrant Sicilian, and the shoppers create a captivating experience.
I have seen Guttoso’s painting of the Vucciria Market hanging in the Palazzo Chiaramonte Steri, but it is also on the cover of one of my books: Il Libro D’Oro Della Cucina e Dei Vini Di Sicilia, by Pino Correnti.
Wandering through the open air markets feels like stepping into a living museum of food culture. But when you reach the meat section, don’t be surprised to see all parts of the animal on display—intestines, organs, heads, and feet.
Everything is used to the fullest and there is always something to discuss with the sellers.
While reading about offal, I came across the term il quinto quarto—the “fifth quarter.” It comes from Roman butchering traditions, where an animal is divided into four quarters: two forequarters and two hindquarters. What remains—the head, organs, feet, blood, skin, and scraps—is known as the fifth quarter. In English, we call it “offal,” though that word doesn’t quite carry the same cultural meaning.
This is the tripe vendor in Palermo who was delighted to share information about the various types of tripe he offered: washed and unwashed tripe. He also explained how the type of pasture the animal grazed influences the tripe’s flavour, with the most favoured variety being the one that originated from the most preferred pasture.
Historically, prime cuts were sold to the wealthy, while the so-called undesirable parts were left to poorer families. For those who raised and slaughtered their own animals, selling the meat was a necessity—they cooked with what was left. But this kind of cooking, known as cucina povera, led to a rich tradition of creative and nourishing dishes. Across Italy, these parts became integral to local Italian cuisine, cooked in traditional ways. Examples include: fegato di vitello (calf’s liver), fegatini di pollo (chicken livers), trippa (tripe), piedini (trotters), coda alla vaccinara (oxtail stew from Rome), animelle (sweetbreads), lampredotto (cow’s fourth stomach, loved in Florence), and milza (spleen), especially famous in Palermo.
Nowhere is this tradition is more alive than in Sicily, where nothing from the animal is wasted. Every bite carries a story, a memory, and a deep respect for what the land and sea provide. In the markets—especially around Palermo’s Ballarò and Vucciria—you see how Sicilian cuisine reflects centuries of conquest, hardship, and resilience. But above all, it reflects respect. For ingredients, for animals, and for tradition.
In Palermo, one of the most iconic Sicilian street foods is pani ca meusa—veal spleen and lung simmered in lard, served in a sesame roll.
Another vendor might be ladling out hot frittola, a traditional Sicilian street food made from leftover bits of meat such as cartilage and other offal. These are boiled, pressed, often fried in lard, and then served hot in paper cones.
You’ll also find stigghiola—lamb intestines wrapped around spring onions, grilled and seasoned with olive oil, lemon, and parsley.
In rural areas, especially around Easter, families prepare minestra di agnello, a rich soup made with lamb heart, liver, and lungs, simmered with wild herbs and foraged greens. This is similar to the Greek Easter soup magiritsa, and both reflect the themes of rebirth, sacrifice, and renewal tied to the Easter tradition.
Another favourite is budelline—lamb intestines sometimes stuffed with breadcrumbs, mint, and garlic, or simply grilled. Crisp on the outside, juicy inside.
Then there’s trippa alla siciliana, tender strips of cow stomach stewed in tomato sauce with mint and a bit of cheese.
In the southeast, around Catania and Ragusa, you might come across zuzzu, (and gelatina) a cold meat jelly. I presented the recipe for Zuzzu as a podcast on SBS.
Below is a photo of the hot stock rich with collagen being poured over the meat.
But the finished product can look like this:
Zuzzu is made from the pig’s head, ears, and skin—similar to coppa di testa.
From land to sea, the same Sicilian resourceful approach applies.
On the Egadi Islands, especially in Favignana, every part of the tuna is used—a tradition dating back to the Arab influence and the ritual mattanza, or tuna harvest.
The most famous and better known delicacy of tuna is bottarga—salt-cured tuna roe, shaved over pasta or served in thin slices with lemon.
But there’s more from the tuna. These can be found in Trapani and Milazzo:
Mascione – The tuna’s cheek, tender and rich, grilled or preserved in oil.
Ficazza – A cured tuna salami made from trimmings, bold and spicy.
Curubedda – A coarser version of ficazza, cured and sliced.
Tarantello – A prized cut between the belly and back, usually preserved.
Busunagghia – Gelatin-rich meat from near the spine, slow-cooked or cured.
Sicilian cuisine embodies the historical and cultural heritage of the island. Whether sourced from the land or the sea, every component of an animal plays a vital role, contributing to its unique flavour profile that deserves recognition.
I’ve long been familiar with caciocavallo cheese and ’nduja, but I always enjoy discovering new things about food and produce.
Being Italian I enjoy the endless journey through traditions, family stories, unique regions and small producers who put their heart into every ingredient. Researching Italian food is discovering a world inside every dish.
Recently, I visited a small restaurant that focuses on Southern Italian cuisine and had two dishes that sparked my curiosity.
The first was a caciocavallo that came from Puglia and not Sicily, as I was expecting. (Below is a photo of the classic shape of caciocavallo)
The second was ’nduja, Calabria’s famously spicy, spreadable salume (small good). It was served warm in a small terracotta warmer, ready for dipping with some house-made warm focaccia. I’d never seen it served this way. At home, I tend to slice it like salame and serve it with some quality bread, in a much more rustic manner.
I find it fascinating how produce reflects the unique identity of each region. It’s all thanks to the geography, animal husbandry, and traditional techniques that shape what we grow and eat. A cheese is the flavour of the land, the animals that graze there, and the those that made it. The caciocavallo, from Southern Italy, has maintained its authenticity despite being mass-produced. Its Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) classification safeguards its unique characteristics.
The ‘nduja, which was traditionally made by hand after a pig was slaughtered, is now mass-produced, but traditional recipes remain largely unchanged.
Naturally, I had questions to ask at the restaurant. Fortunately, a passionate, food-loving waiter from Messina was happy to share his knowledge. What I love most about Italians is how even the simplest ingredients and recipes carry the weight of local pride. Thanks to his enthusiasm, I left with a deeper appreciation for these two iconic Southern Italian specialties and a strong urge to verify everything he told me.
Sometimes all it takes is a chatty, informative waiter to turn a good meal into an even better culinary experience. The list of Italian wines was also very good and again this waiter was happy to share his knowledge.
Caciocavallo
Caciocavallo is produced across several Southern Italian regions: Sicily, Basilicata, Calabria, Campania, Molise, and Puglia. However, I’ve always associated this cheese with Sicily, especially as it is made in Ragusa.
My paternal family roots are in Ragusa (photo above), so over the years I have visited Sicily many times. I developed a strong sense of pride around Caciocavallo Ragusano . This is made from the milk of Modica cows (Modica is a city close to Ragusa) that graze the wild pastures of the Iblei plateau. The cheese is rich and earthy, due to the wild herbs in the cows’ diet. My relatives led me to believe that this was the best caciocavallo, with all others being somewhat inferior. And I believed them.
I have eaten cheese produced by families in the region of Ragusa and, like my relatives, I appreciate caciocavallo very much. The caciocavallo cheeses The cheeses are the classic gourd or teardrop shape and are hung in pairs over a wooden beam (“cacio a cavallo” means “cheese on horseback”). It is appreciated as an aged cheese, but also when relatively fresh.
At the restaurant, I was offered Caciocavallo Podolico from Puglia. This local cheese is made from the milk of Podolica cows, a breed raised in southern Italy. Unlike cheese from Ragusa, Caciocavallo Podolico is aged for up to 36 months in natural caves. The cows feed on wild, aromatic herbs in a different terroir, giving the cheese a bold, intense flavour.
The restaurant served it pan-fried, warm, with a drizzle of honey and chilli flakes. The honey reminded me of how I’ve eaten pecorino in Liguria, not warmed.
Eating the caciocavallo from Puglia broadened my horizons beyond the exclusive patriotism for Ragusa-produced caciocavallo.
’Nduja
’Nduja is a soft, fermented, pork Calabrian salume made with about 30% chili peppers. Cured in natural casings, it remains spreadable because of the high fat content and fermentation.
Over the years, I have incorporated ‘nduja into various dishes and sauces, and have also enjoyed it sliced and served with bread, but I had never encountered it served warm. At the restaurant, it was presented in a unique warmer equipped with a small flame, ensuring a molten state and an opportunity to be scooped up with bread. This presentation is known as ‘scalda ‘nduja‘.
Here are a couple of ideas for enjoying these ingredients at home:
Pan-fried Caciocavallo: pan fry in very little oil thick slices until golden, then drizzle with some quality honey and a sprinkle of chilli flakes. Look for DOP or regional varieties at specialty Italian shops.
Warm ’Nduja: Gently heat a slice in a ramekin in the microwave or small pan and serve with warm bread for dipping.. The restaurant served it with focaccia.
I’ve written other posts, especially about ‘nduja that may stimulate more adventures in the kitchen:
Cicoria (chicory) is of one of my favourite winter greens. This bitter, leafy vegetable is found in markets and greengrocers all over Italy, but is not as commonly here in Australia.
I especially love the open-air markets, where the bunches seem to have a life of their own and carts of wild-foraged cicoria are plentiful.
Cicoria is cultivated and sold in bunches, it is a green vegetable, but sometimes the stalks are tinted red. The cicoria family includes catalogna and puntarelle (also called Cicoria cimata). These are usually used in salads.
To the uninitiated, cicoria may seem like just another bitter leafy green. But in Italy, it holds a much more significant role.
What Is Cicoria?
Cicoria is a catch-all term Italians use for a variety of bitter greens: wild dandelion, catalogna, and puntarelle (which look like cicoria that has started to sprout). In English, it’s loosely translated as chicory, though it includes more varieties than you’d typically find at a greengrocer’s, especially in Australia.
In many parts of the world, chicory is seen more as a medicinal herb or a coffee substitute (in fact, chicory essence was widely consumed as “coffee” when I first arrived in Australia). But in Italy, it’s cherished—an essential vegetable in cucina povera, the humble, healthful peasant cooking that defines much of the country’s food culture.
Italians will tell you that bitter greens are “good for the liver”—and they’re right. Cicoria’s natural bitterness stimulates bile production, supports digestion, and nourishes the gut. Like artichokes, another bitter Italian favourite, it’s as healing as it is flavourful.
How I Cook Cicoria
There are endless ways to prepare cicoria, and most Italian recipes begin with boiling or blanching to soften it. That said, I don’t always do this—I often sauté the greens first, then add a bit of liquid, cover with a lid, and let them cook gently.
Cicoria Ripassata
The most traditional—and simplest—method is to boil or blanch the greens, then sauté with aromatics. This is known as cicoria ripassata: after boiling, the greens are “repassed” in olive oil with garlic and chili. Though often credited as a Roman dish, it’s made this way all over Italy. (The chili is optional.)
Boiled Cicoria with Lemon and Olive Oil
Surprisingly refreshing: just boiled cicoria with a drizzle of good olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. Sometimes served with a bit of its poaching liquid, this method is known as rinfrescante—cleansing and hydrating for the digestive system.
Cicoria with Legumes
Bitter greens pair beautifully with creamy beans. Mix cicoria with lentils, borlotti, or cannellini for a hearty side dish—or turn it into pasta e fagioli. I also like spooning cicoria and borlotti over polenta or cooking it with fresh Italian pork sausages and pasta.
Frittate
Leftover sautéed cicoria makes a fantastic frittata. I use all sorts of vegetables as a contorno (side dish) the day before, then reuse the leftovers in a frittata or add them to soups.
Salads
The tender inner leaves of the long leaf cicoria can also be eaten raw. I like mixing the young central leaves into salads with lettuce, rocket, radicchio, fennel, and endive.
Varieties like puntarelle and catalogna are also very popular salad ingredients. Romans traditionally dress puntarelle with anchovy vinaigrette.
Cicoria Ripassata
I often serve this as a contorno (side dish).
Ingredients:
1 large bunch of cicoria (chicory or dandelion greens)
2–3 cloves garlic, smashed
1 dried or fresh chili (or chili flakes)
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt, to taste
Instructions:
Clean the cicoria thoroughly, removing any tough stems and soaking well to remove grit.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Blanch the cicoria for 5–10 minutes, until tender. Drain well and gently squeeze out excess water.
In a wide skillet, heat a generous glug of olive oil. Add garlic and chili, and let them infuse the oil for a minute or two.
Add the cicoria, season with salt, and sauté for another 5 minutes, tossing to coat in the flavours.
Purea di Fave e Cicoria
(Broad Bean Purée with Chicory)
A Southern Italian winter favourite, this dish is both comforting and nutrient-rich. I sometimes swap fava beans for butter beans for convenience—they’re creamy, mild, and velvety. I often serve the purée with slivers of fresh or toasted bread, much like hummus. Try it as an antipasto with a Southern Italian wine such as Malvasia Bianca, Verdeca, or Fiano.
Ingredients:
1 cup dried split broad beans (or whole beans, peeled after soaking)
1 bunch of cicoria
2 cloves garlic
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt, to taste
Instructions:
Soak the broad beans overnight. Drain and peel if needed.
In a pot, cover the beans with fresh water and simmer over low heat until very soft (about 1 hour). Add water as needed. Once cooked, mash or purée with olive oil and salt until smooth and creamy.
Meanwhile, clean and boil the cicoria until tender. Drain and sauté with garlic and olive oil.
To serve, spoon the broad beann purée onto a plate, top with the cicoria, and finish with a generous drizzle of olive oil.
Easter in Sicily is one of the most significant celebrations of the year, where faith, spring , history and culinary traditions converge. And among them, Cassata stands out — not just as a dessert, but as a reflection of Sicily itself: rich, layered, and shaped by many cultural histories.
Ornate cart wheeled through the streets for Processions.
Renowned for its deeply rooted Sicilian Easter customs, the island commemorates Holy Week with solemn processions, ancient rituals.
HOLY WEEK
The Easter period begins with Holy Week, from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, when towns and cities across Sicily are marked by devotion and tradition. Churches fill with incense, music and prayer, while the streets become the stage for solemn processions that have been passed down through generations.
In Enna, celebrations continue even in the week following Easter.
Catania, Santa Agata, lit up .
On Good Friday in particular, statues depicting scenes from the Passion of Christ are carried slowly through ancient streets.
Ancient Rituals and Easter Processions in Sicily
Many of these Easter customs are not only religious but also historical, with origins that may reach further back than Christianity itself.
The religious celebrations continue in the hill town of Enna, one of Sicily’s most renowned Easter centres.
These are photos ‘Albis’ Sunday. celebrated the following Sunday after Easter Sunday. The processions, consist of all-male groups of various ages and sodalities or confraternities from different churches or fellowships. The procession travelled from Piazza Mazzini to the nearby Lombard castle in Enna.
These processions, often accompanied by confraternities in traditional dress, create an atmosphere that is both deeply spiritual and visually striking.
Processions move slowly through the town of Enna.
A priest blesses the surrounding fields during the celebrations, invoking good harvests and favourable weather. This ritual reflects an enduring connection to the land and echoes ancient agricultural traditions.
The Blessing of the fields.
One of the most striking is the procession of fifteen religious confraternities, each wearing distinctive robes and carrying sacred statues.
Processions move slowly through the town of Enna.
These brotherhoods date from the 15th to 17th centuries, reflecting the strong influence of Spanish rule on Sicilian religious life.
one of the Confraternities.
EASTER SUNDAY AND THE ARRIVAL OF SPRING
After the solemnity of Holy Week, Easter Sunday brings a sense of release and joy. It commemorates the Resurrection of Christ, but it also coincides with the arrival of spring — a season that has always held deep meaning in Sicily.
As winter recedes, the landscape begins to change. Trees bud, flowers appear and the days grow longer. This natural renewal reinforces the deeper symbolism of Easter as a time of rebirth, hope and continuity.
Cassata Siciliana: A SYMBOL OF EASTER AND CULTURAL HISTORY
Easter foods in Sicily are never incidental; they carry memory, history and meaning. Among them, Cassata Siciliana stands as the most iconic — not simply a dessert, but a reflection of the island itself: layered, complex and shaped by many cultures.
With its sponge, sweetened ricotta, candied fruit and marzipan, cassata tells a story of Sicily’s past. Arab influences introduced sugar, citrus and the art of candying fruit. The name cassata may derive from the Arabic word qas’ah, meaning a bowl or basin, referring to the mould used to shape the cake.
The sponge — pan di Spagna — points to Spanish connections. Later, French-trained chefs called monsù refined the dessert in aristocratic kitchens adding elegance and structure. Convent kitchens also played an important role, especially in the development of almond-based sweets and marzipan.
Nuns in Convents also contributed greatly to the development of Sicilian Pastries, especially those made with almonds and Marzipan.
Cassata, as we know it today, is the result of all these influences coming together.
PASTICCERIE (pastry shops)
It is also a cake that reflects Sicily’s love of colour, sweetness and elaborate presentation.
For this reason, cassata is rarely made at home in Sicily. It is usually the work of skilled pasticceri, many working in historic pastry shops that have preserved these techniques over generations. Like many elaborate Italian desserts, it is often left to those who have mastered the craft.
The result is a dessert that is both theatrical and deeply rooted in Sicilian tradition. The classic Sicilian cassata is an eye-catching, baroque-style cake, usually decorated with colourful glacé fruits and candied citrus peel.
The Other Forms of Cassata
There are other versions of cassata.
Cassata gelata – a frozen dessert made with ricotta and sponge cake
Cassata al forno – a baked pastry filled with sweetened ricotta
Cassata al forno is very much like a Baked Ricotta Cheese Cake.
Cassata at Home
While the traditional cassata may appear elaborate, its essence is simple — good ricotta, balanced sweetness and careful assembly. Making it at home is less about perfect decoration and more about understanding these elements and respecting their origins.
Over the years I have made several homemade cassate, sometimes decorating them with green marzipan and sometimes with a mixture of almond and pistachio marzipan.
CASSATA EXPLAINED
The classic Sicilian cassata is made of three main parts. First, there’s a soft sponge cake, often moistened with a splash of liqueur and used to line the mould.
Sponge cake cut into sections to assemble the cassata.
Inside is a rich, sweetened ricotta filling, made with sheep’s milk (sweeter than cow’s milk) and mixed with small pieces of candied citrus and dark chocolate.
The ricotta filling – the centre of the cassata.
Finally, the entire cake is covered with a layer of green marzipan or glassa a smooth glaze of sugar icing, then decorated with intricate patterns and colourful candied fruits.
HERE ARE Simpler and Deconstructed Versions of CASSATA
While the traditional cassata is a spectacular dessert, it is also labour-intensive.
Tastes change, and many people today prefer desserts that are lighter and less elaborate.
For this reason I often prepare simplified versions that use the same classic ingredients — ricotta, sponge, almonds and citrus — but in a more relaxed form.
One example is a deconstructed cassata, where the familiar flavours are layered in glasses rather than assembled as a formal cake. Sometimes I add fresh strawberries, which complement the ricotta beautifully.
These variations retain the essence of cassata while eliminating the complexities of traditional preparation.
Marzipan Leaves Recipe
To garnish these desserts I often prepare simple marzipan leaves, a playful reference to the decorative marzipan traditionally used on cassata.
Ingredients
100 g blanched almond meal
100 g icing sugar
1 egg white
¼ tsp vanilla extract
1 drop green food colouring
Method
Combine all ingredients and knead until smooth. If the mixture is too soft, add a little more almond meal or icing sugar.
Roll the marzipan thinly between sheets of baking paper and cut into leaf shapes.
Reimagining Cassata — Less Formal
These simplified desserts reinterpret cassata in a relaxed way. They retain the characteristic flavours of ricotta, almonds and citrus while being quicker to prepare.
Layered Cassata in a Glass
Place one or two Savoiardi biscuits or sponge cake in the bottom of a glass and lightly brush with Cointreau.
Add a layer of sweetened ricotta mixture, then another layer of sponge or Savoiardi.
Finish with marzipan leaves.
EVEN Simpler
Spoon generous layers of ricotta mixture into large wine glasses.
Add marzipan leaves and one or two dry Savoiardi biscuits that can be used to scoop up the ricotta. Serve the Cointreau separately.
Cassata on the Blog Since 2009
Cassata has appeared frequently on All Things Sicilian and More over the years. If you would like to explore further, here are some related posts:
