The Inspector Montalbano’s series of books and his favourite dishes were the brainchild of the Sicilian director and author Andrea Calogero Camilleri, born 6 September 1925; died 17 July 2019.
The entire nation is in mourning: RAI 1 news, the state broadcaster, dedicated 80 per cent of its time slot to this news; writers, intellectuals and the highest representatives of the Italian state have expressed their condolences. Even his arch-enemy, Matteo Salvini, minister of the interior and leader of the xenophobic Northern League party — with whom Camilleri had several heated exchanges over the years — has paid tribute to the popular Sicilian writer.
The paragraph above is from an article published in The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald on July 20. It is written by Barbara Pezzotti, a lecturer in Italian Studies at Monash University. She is the author of three monographs dedicated to Italian crime fiction and has extensively published on Andrea Camilleri.
Camilleri is the author of numerous books, but in Australia he is perhaps best known for his Montalbano novels and has become one of the most-loved crime fiction writers in the world.
His books have been published worldwide and translated into 32 languages, including Catalan and Gaelic. The highly successful television series, inspired by Montalbano’s books, became an international success and was broadcast in Australia by SBS. The series’ depiction of beautiful Sicily has undoubtedly encouraged many travellers.
Following the death of Andrea Camilleri last week, a relative from Ragusa, Sicily, sent me an article from Ragusa News. This online publication covers news and interest stories from the Ragusa Province and nearby towns, including Vittoria, Modica, Comiso, Scicli, Pozzallo and Ispica.
The article is called Domenica a pranzo onoriamo Camilleri con la pasta ‘Ncasciata (On Sunday for lunch let us honour Camilleri with pasta Ncasciata).
The house on the beach where Montalbano lives in the series.
Sunday lunch is still an important family occasion in Sicily and Pasta ‘Ncasciata is a Sicilian version of oven baked pasta; it is one of Montalbano’s favorite things to eat. It is prepared for him by his housekeeper, Adelina.
In his Montalbano series, Camilleri describes almost every dish that the character consumes, all of which are traditionally Sicilian.
Marzipan fruit.
Sicily has many variations of Pasta ‘Ncasciata, each with distinct ingredient combinations. The most notable is from Messina, and the recipe in this article appears to be the Messinese version. It is made with commercial, short-shaped pasta layered with tomato meat sauce, mortadella or salami, fried eggplant, caciocavallo cheese, salami and hard-boiled eggs.
Sicilian Cassata.
Apart from Pasta ‘Ncasciata, Montalbano has other favourites, which I have also written about in my blog and first book, Sicilian Seafood Cooking.
In Sicilian this squash is called a cucuzza and in Italian I will call it a zucca lunga (long squash), which is what it is, a long serpent like squash. The tender leaves and tendrils of this plant are called tenerumiand I have written about these previously because both are typically loved by Sicilians and commonly used to make a refreshing summer soup (it could also be classified as a wet pasta dish).
The zucca tastes a little like zucchini (from the same family) and like all squashes it is a summer crop.
As a vegetable, this very long, pale green marrow is rather bland, but to a Sicilian it is referred to as delicate; it is the combinations of flavours that give this soup the unique, sweet, fresh taste – Sicilians say the soup is rinfrescante – refreshing and will reconstitute balance in the body.
Unless you live in Sicily you are unlikely to be able to purchase these. Do not despair if you do not know a nice Sicilian who grows this produce – you can use zucchini and a greater amount of basil to make a similar soup – it will not be the same, but very pleasant.
According to Giuseppe Coria in Profumi di Sicilia, the origins of the simple soup are probably from Ragusa and the southeastern part of Sicily. Here it was (and maybe in some households it still is) made only with boiled squash, its leaves, broken spaghetti, salt and pepper and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.
According to Coria, it is the people from Palermo who embellished the soup by adding garlic or onion, tomatoes and basil. And this is how I have always cooked it and eaten it in various homes in Sicily.
It is not surprising that this is a soup much appreciated by Inspector Montalbano, the principal character in Andrea Camilleri’s books that have also been made into a successful television series – the stories are set in this very region.
There are variations on how this soup is made: some add a generous sprinkling of pecorino cheese at the end (as in Palermo); others add red chillies during cooking. Diced potatoes are also common in some parts of Sicily.
The next day, we ate the leftovers as a cold soup; it was just as good….and as traditional. It is summer after all.
INGREDIENTS
zucca lunga siciliana (mine was about 25 cms long)
1 large spring onion, sliced
2-3 tomatoes, roughly cut
3 cups of vegetable broth (I used a broth cube, optional) or water
fresh basil leaves, a good handful
salt and pepper
extra virgin olive oil,
1 cup of spaghetti (broken in small pieces)
Cut the zucca in half, get rid of the seeds and cube it.
Chop the tomatoes.
Sauté the onion in some olive oil for about 1 minute, add the zucca and continue to sauté for another 2-3 minutes.
Add the tomatoes.
Season with salt and pepper, add 2 cups of the stock, cover and simmer for about 10 minutes. Add the tenerumi, the rest of the stock and some of the basil; bring the contents to the boil.
Cook the pasta in the same pot; add the pasta and cook it until it is al dente.
Add more basil, a drizzle of your best extra virgin olive oil and serve.
I appreciate this soup’s fresh taste and only sprinkle only a few chilli flakes on top (or black pepper and I definitely do not use grated cheese; my Sicilian heritage is not from Palermo.
Those of you who have been to Ragusa Ibla will recognize these shots. The baroque church is that of San Giuseppe, a much loved saint in Sicily (not as much loved as San Giorgio who is the patron saint of Ragusa and has a church which is much larger Duomo- cuppola in photo above- more beautiful and not far from this one).
March 19 is the Feast of San Giuseppe (Saint Joseph), which in the Northern hemisphere coincides with the spring solstice. This feast day is a major religious celebration in Sicily.
San Giuseppe is the patron saint of pastry cooks and among the many celebratory dishes are special breads shaped in varying shapes and sizes. On this day pulses are also eaten in many parts of Sicily; some of you may be familiar with maccu made with dried fava beans, which is especially common in southeastern Sicily. Several of these present day traditions have developed from very ancient origins – both legumes and wheat are considered to be seeds of life and are metaphorical foods from pre-Christian times.
In many parts of Sicily there are banquets to celebrate the feast of Saint Joseph, which coincides with the end of Lent, a period of fasting in the Catholic liturgy. But it is also a celebration of the end of the fast imposed by nature – this was more so before the days of fast travel and transport or refrigeration when the provisions kept from summer over winter were depleted by this time of the year.
In some communities especially in small villages large altars and tables are built and filled with large quantities of local cuisine: fish dishes, cooked vegetables, breads, many sweets, but no meat is prepared. Once, in many Sicilian towns and villages the food was also shared with the poor.
One of the recipes cooked on this day are the Sfinci di San Giuseppe. The translation to fritters doesnot necessarily sound very appealing, but maybe if I tell you that they are made from the same dough used to make Pâté à Choux or Bigné or creampuffs, you may be more enticed. They are fried rather than baked.
If you have ever made cream puffs you would know that the dough is cooked before being baked. For making the sfinci a little sugar is added to the mixture.
There are many recipes to make Choux Pastry and the following recipe works pretty well:
eggs, 4 large
water,1 cup (230 cc)
unsalted butter, 4 tablespoons (55 g)
salt, a good pinch
plain flour, 1 cup (140 g)
sugar, 1 tablespoon
oil, to fry the batter (I use extra virgin olive oil for everything- but not my best olive oil which I use to dribble on hot food or salads)
Place water, salt and sugar in a saucepan (large enough to hold all of the ingredients) and bring the water to a boil. Add the butter.
Remove the pan from the heat and add the flour all at once. Beat the mixture immediately with a wooden spoon and work quickly. Stir till the dough is smooth – the flour and water will form a ball and no longer stick to the sides of pan. Allow the dough to cool for about 10-15 minutes, but stir it often to allow the steam to escape and to cool at a greater rate.
Add eggs one at a time, stirring each egg completely into the dough before adding the next. (The dough should be pliable but not be runny).
Heat some oil to frying temperature – there should be sufficient oil to nearly cover the level tablespoonfuls of dough, which will be dropped into it.
Fry only a few at the time or the sfinci will broil rather than fry. Turn each sfinci once or twice until they are golden brown and have swelled in size.
Variations:
Some Sicilians eat them warm and coat the sfinci with honey, others use a sprinkling of sugar and cinnamon.
Some allow them to cool, split them open and fill them with pastry cream or with whipped ricotta flavoured with a little sugar and cinnamon. In some parts of Sicily they are called Zeppole.
If you have watched the Inspector Moltabano television series, you will recognize the building that was used as the police station; it is in Ragusa Ibla. To the right of the building you can see the corner of the Chiesa di San Giuseppe (church of). Some of my male Sicilian relatives are posing for the photo. They live in Ragusa.
Sedano rapa is celeriac, and whenever I buy one at Melbourne’s Queen Victoria Market, someone invariably asks me: “What do you do with it?”
The same thing happens when I buy cavolo nero, cime di rapa, artichokes and, occasionally, fennel, lthough fennel has now become familiar enough in Australia to attract fewer puzzled looks.
Celeriac is certainly not a beautiful vegetable at first sight. Knobbly, rough-skinned and often trailing roots, it looks rather unpromising. But underneath that rugged exterior is dense, creamy-white flesh with a fresh celery fragrance and a flavour that is earthy, slightly nutty and much more delicate than its appearance suggests.
It is also remarkably versatile. Celeriac can be eaten raw or cooked, boiled, mashed, roasted or turned into soup. In Italy, sedano rapa is particularly associated with the north, although, as I discovered through my own family, it was certainly not unknown in Sicily.
Sedano rapa, or celeriac, may look rather unattractive before peeling, but beneath the knobbly exterior is firm, fragrant white flesh. As you can see, the leaves are like celery.
When Is Celeriac in Season?
Celeriac is a cool-weather vegetable. In Australia it is generally at its best from late autumn through winter, with good supplies during July and August, but I have also found it to be available well into October. In Italy and elsewhere in the Northern Hemisphere, its season extends broadly from autumn into early spring.
Whenever possible, I buy celeriac with its leaves still attached. Fresh, green leaves are a useful indication of freshness, but there is another reason: I use them.
The stronger outer leaves can flavour soups and stocks, while the small, tender leaves from the centre can be added to salads.
We Italians, or at least this Italian, do not like throwing useful food away.
How to Prepare Celeriac
The first task is to deal with that intimidating exterior.
I always buy my celeriac with leaves, this is an indication of how fresh the bulb is. Cut away the root end and peel the celeriac generously with a sharp knife, removing the rough skin, knobs and crevices. Once the rough exterior is removed, celeriac is dense, smooth and creamy-white, with a distinctive fresh celery taste and aroma.
Celeriac discolours quite quickly when exposed to air, much as an apple does. If I am serving it raw, I therefore prepare it last and dress it immediately with lemon juice or another acidic dressing.
Celeriac the Triestine Way
In Trieste, we used to eat sedano rapa bollito e in insalata – boiled celeriac dressed simply as a salad.
The celeriac was peeled, cut into large pieces and boiled in salted water until tender but not falling apart. Once drained and cooled slightly, it was dressed with extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice or vinegar, salt and pepper.
There is nothing elaborate about it, but this kind of simple preparation is typical of so much Italian home cooking: good produce, cooked appropriately and dressed without disguising its flavour.
It can be served warm or at room temperature and makes an excellent accompaniment to meat.
Celeriac in Northern Italian Cooking
Celeriac is much more familiar in the cooking of northern Italy than it is in many southern regions, and traditional preparations vary considerably.
In Verona, for example, celeriac is made into substantial soups with borlotti beans, onion and carrot, enriched with meat stock and fresh pork sausage. This is the sort of hearty, sustaining food that makes sense in the colder climate of northern Italy.
In Piedmont, celeriac also appears in lighter soups made with broth and served with good bread and grated cheese. The way they present it is very much like a French onion soup.
And then there is one of Piedmont’s most distinctive dishes—bagna cauda.
Raw Celeriac with Bagna Cauda
I particularly like celeriac raw, and its crisp texture makes it an excellent vegetable to serve with bagna cauda.
Bagna cauda, literally “hot bath”is the famous Piedmontese warm sauce traditionally made with anchovies, garlic and olive oil, with butter appearing in many versions. Raw and lightly cooked vegetables are dipped into it at the table.
Celeriac is ideal for this dish as its fresh, strong flavour complements the salty richness of anchovy, butter and garlic. It is also crisp and aromatic, making it perfect for dipping into warm Piedmontese bagna cauda. Cut it into batons, rub it with a little lemon juice to keep it white.
Celeriac and Apple Salad
My preferred method of consuming celeriac is raw in a salad. This is not a traditional Italian recipe but one I personally enjoy.
I julienne the peeled celeriac and combine it with apple, then dress everything immediately with extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice, salt and freshly ground black pepper. The lemon adds freshness and helps prevent both the apple and celeriac from turning brown.
From there, the salad can take several directions.
Red Radicchio
Radicchio adds colour and pleasant bitterness. Watercress is another favourite addition, and rocket works well too. A little egg mayonnaise can make the salad richer and turn it into something more substantial.
The contrast is what makes it so appealing: crisp celeriac, sweet-tart apple, bitter leaves and a sharp lemon dressing.
A fresh celeriac and apple salad with radicchio – the lemon dressing adds zing while helping to keep the celeriac and apple pale.
Other Ways I Cook Celeriac
Celeriac also responds beautifully to cooking.
I make it into soup, sometimes on its own and sometimes combined with potato. I also mash celeriac with potato, adding butter and cream for richness, or extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice for a lighter, more Mediterranean version.
It can also be roasted. Cut into chunks or wedges and tossed with olive oil, it develops a sweeter, nuttier flavour and crisp golden edges while remaining soft inside.
And boiled celeriac, simply dressed with good olive oil and lemon or vinegar, remains one of the easiest and most satisfying ways to eat it.
A Sicilian Connection
Although sedano rapa is much more closely associated with northern Italian cooking, it also has a place in my family’s Sicilian memories.
My father spent his youth in Ragusa before moving to Trieste. He remembered his mother boiling celeriac and dressing it simply with olive oil. Apparently, my grandparents also grew it at their mulino, a water mill near Ragusa Ibla.
The countryside surrounding Ragusa once housed numerous water mills, constructed along waterways to facilitate the movement of water for wheat grinding. These places were part of the agricultural life of the region.
My grandparents’ mill was also a place where they kept their dogs and cultivated a few vegetables.
When I visited Sicily as a child, we went to the mulino often. During the hot summers, it was somewhere to walk to and escape for a while from their apartment in the city.
That old mulino became part of my memories of Ragusa.
Years later, while watching an episode of Inspector Montalbano, I saw Montalbano going to a restaurant in an old mill. For a moment I was convinced I recognised my grandparents’ mulino. My relatives in Ragusa soon disappointed me: it was not theirs.
So much for my moment of television fame by association.
The Mulini of Ragusa
On a later visit to Sicily, I visited another old water mill that had been restored and brought back into use. Once again, grain was being stone-ground there, this time producing high-quality flour from organically grown wheat.
There was something satisfying about seeing an old agricultural structure working again for the purpose for which it had originally been built.
And perhaps that is why a celeriac can lead me so far from the vegetable itself.
I may begin with a knobbly sedano rapa at the Queen Victoria Market and a stranger asking, “What do you do with it?” But food has a habit of carrying memories with it—from a simple salad in Trieste to my grandmother’s kitchen in Ragusa and an old water mill in the Sicilian countryside.
