Sleeping with the Fishes: Dreaming of Sicilian Food

When I asked my B & B host, Angelo, to recommend a good trattoria, he responded confidently, saying, 'In Sicily, you cannot find bad food.' I may have been fortunate with my choices of restaurants but none of the meals I had disappointed me. Only half of those venues I visited were recommended by locals; as for the others, I simply took steps of faith.

Grilled swordfish rolls: a Sicilian classic

Any serious study of food history cannot afford to omit consideration of Sicily. Mithaecus of Siracusa, who lived during the period when Sicily was under the Greeks, is credited as the author of the first known cookbook in the Western world. After the island became the first Roman province outside the Italian Peninsula, Sicily served as Rome's breadbasket as the island's fertile soil and ideal climate enabled it to produce wheat for the empire. Interestingly, after Byzantine Sicily fell, it was the Arabs conquerors who introduced the technique of drying pasta for preservation purposes to the Sicilians. This early form of pasta became a staple for the island and it was soon exported to the mainland. I suppose that, being in a land where such historical culinary developments have taken place, one could do worse than to trust Angelo's words.

At the Ballaro` Market

Many traditional dishes of Sicily, the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea, unsurprisingly involve seafood. Walking along the slippery cobblestone streets at the Ballaro` Market in Palermo, the numerous market stalls selling seafood do not fail to attract a visitor's attention. The evocative, unmistakable smell of sea; the stalls vibrant and alluring appearance throughout the day, embellished with the myriad colours of the seafood on sale and enhanced by the warm, temperature of the light emanating from the bulbs above; stall owners yelling in macho tones the fishes available for the day; large swordfish heads placed upright, the sparkling eyes on them watching customers intently while their erect positions gave an appearance of readiness to impale market thieves; fresh mussels arranged meticulously and secured in netting as if they were disposed to stealthy escape attempts. These were but a few observations of what seemed like a typical stall hawking the products of the sea. The Catania fish market offers a similar sight but with twice the ebullience (and chaos).

When I ordered mussel and clam soup as a starter, I was expecting something similar to clam chowder. I was astonished when this huge portion of shellfish arrived - and only as a starter!

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

On my way to Monreale on a public bus in the morning, I was an unfortunate victim of an intimidation-cum-pickpocketing attempt by four men. I will not go into the details but being cornered by four individuals who were larger than me (their puffy coats adding to their stoutness) in a foreign place left me shell-shocked and it was probably appropriate for my destination to have been the famous Monreale Cathedral with its magnificent frescoes. I must say that travelling on my own and facing such a situation for the first time, I struggled to leave the experience aside and focus attention on the beauties of the place. It didn't help that I could not be entirely sure about the men's intentions as if their main goal was to pick my pockets, they did such a ghastly job! In the evening, with the memory of the incident still etched vividly in my head but not wanting the men to have the satisfaction of marring the quality of my Sicilian experience, I decided to cast my lingering fears aside and ventured out for dinner.

Pasta with sardines

I entered Trattoria Ai Normani, not too far away from the Norman Palace in Palermo. There were no customers at the point in time. It was half-past-six in the evening, way too early for dinner in Italy. For a Singaporean not accustomed to winter, the early sunset was consistent in bringing out tummy rumbles when the clock struck six. The waiter, an eager beaver, was certainly surprised at my premature visit but broke the silence of the trattoria with warm welcome. Deciding to select pasta con le sarde, literally 'pasta with sardines', one of Sicily's signature pasta dishes, I asked the waiter for a recommendation for the second main dish. He rushed into the kitchen and, less than a minute later, rushed out and listed a few meat dishes. I can't remember what I chose then, but having made the selection, I unfolded the serviette, placed it on my lap, readying myself for the meal.

All of a sudden, a middle-aged man wearing a most endearing moustache popped into the dining area with a plate in his hand and on it, lay a raw whole fish about the length of a hand. He began enthusiastically introducing the fish in rapid-fire Italian and recommended that I tried it. The name of the fish escapes me, just like many of the words did when they were fired at such breakneck speed. Faced with a hearty display of spirit from the chef (I began noticing photographs of him hung on the wall), I couldn't say 'no'. After I had scarfed up the pasta, the chef brought the grilled fish in on table trolley. He squeezed some lemon juice on the fish and asked whether I would prefer him to do the deboning of the fish. Not wanting to create a mishap to follow the one in the morning, I left the deboning to his dexterity. He drizzled olive oil and sprinkled herbs on the fish before serving it.

I was feeling stuffed when the waiter came in to introduce the desserts on offer. These were all lined up on a trolley table. He went through each of them until he came to the cannoli when he simply said, 'And yes, you know all about cannoli.' Named after the tube-shaped shell which usually contains a rich filling containing ricotta, all Godfather fans would have been acquainted with this classic Sicilian pastry dessert through the famous line 'Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.' I was particularly intrigued by the Sicilian pear which looked like a cross between a guava and a dragon fruit, positively lethal. I elected to try the Sicilian chocolate mousse cake but the chef, who had come out of the kitchen to observe his waiter's advertising capability, instructed the waiter to let me try the cannolo too. Placing his hand on his chest while smiling heartily, he appeared to indicate: 'Leave the cost to me. Take the cannoli'.

Chocolate mousse cake and cannolo

After serving the dessert, the waiter asked me where I was from. When I told him that I was from Singapore, his immediate reply was: 'Cina (China)?' When I shook my head, he quickly made another guess: 'Giappone?' It was déjà vu; I had the exact same responses from two different post office tellers! When I told him that Singapore is a small country in Southeast Asia, he gave me a quizzical look and then said, 'Anyway, you are most welcome to Parlermo!' I departed before the place started to fill with other diners. As I walked towards the exit, I told the waiter that I was very satisfied with the meal. The chef rushed out of the kitchen and shaking my hand, thanked me and cordially bade me farewell. The decision to grab my time in Palermo by the horns had paid off.

Purple Heaven

I was also thrilled to discover that Sicily is the birthplace of Pasta alla Norma, a tomato-based pasta dish with eggplant, basil, and ricotta. Its origins lie in Catania, where the composer Vincenzo Bellini was born, and the dish is named after his most famous opera. I remember learning how to cook it several years back from an Italian cookbook a friend gave me but I was excited to try one prepared in Sicily itself. I usually prefer cream-based pasta dishes but my first mouthful of Norma, at La Tavernetta da Piero in Siracusa, sent me to purple heaven. The rigatoni was cooked perfectly al dente and the tomato puree combined well with the eggplant and basil to form a rich, delectable sauce. Being infatuated with eggplant (known as 'brinjal' in Singapore), I was to savour the dish thrice during my week's stay in Sicily. In fact, halfway through eating my second plate of pasta alla Norma, I decided that, should I have a daughter, I will name her 'Melanzana', Italian for 'eggplant', 'brinjal' or 'aubergine'. The Italian translation is certainly more charming than the latter terms.

Pasta alla Norma served in an aubergine!

Speaking of eating like a horse, Giuliano, my host in Catania, told me that horse meat is one of Catania's most popular dishes. It was difficult to believe at first! I decided to have it as a second dish, or secondo piatto, and was pleasantly surprised by its texture. Judging from the muscular build of the animal, one would imagine horse meat to be tough but the steak I had, served medium rare, turned out to be as tender as a beef steak served in similar doneness. Lightly-marinaded with salt, thyme and olive oil, one was not distracted from the steak's natural flavour.

The frustrating thing about travelling alone is that you're inevitably limited to the variety of dishes you can savour. If you have a travel companion, the both of you could order two different dishes and each one could sneak a mouthful from the other's plate. However, I must admit that I often allowed my sense of gustatory adventure to get the better of me and succumbed to ordering at least two different courses. My taste buds would be satisfied but, like the consumed dishes on my first mouthful, my stomach threatened to burst with flavours. Travelling solo, mealtimes often witnessed the insatiable desires of my tongue exceed the capacity of my stomach. I was so inspired by the food I had in Sicily, I couldn't help but purchase a cookbook for Sicilian cuisine (I opted for an English translation as fire will be involved). 

The Day the Comedy Died: Saying Goodbye to Robin Williams

A Robin Williams fan, having placed her flower on Williams' Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in tribute to her departed hero, declared that 11 August 2014 was 'The Day the Comedy Died'. Growing up as a boy, Robin Williams was someone I deeply admired for his comic genius. One of the first movies I watched was Aladdin, in which Williams expertly breathed life into the Genie. I remember watching Mrs Doubtfire a couple of times and even though many have adjudged it, at least in terms of its storyline, to be a mere carbon copy of Dustin Hoffman's Tootsie (1982), Williams made the titular character his own. Good Morning Vietnam! also deserves a mention as Williams juggles his comic talents and an impeccable command of serious drama admirably in this film set during the harrowing Vietnam War. I even remember enjoying his less renowned films such as The Fisher King, Jumanji and Patch Adams and I was always amazed by the brilliantly versatile comedic actor he was. I'll admit that, at one point, he was my favourite silver screen actor and I went through a phase attempting to catch every movie he's ever been in. I even got hold of his late 1970s TV series, Mork and Mindy, where he actually plays an alien!

As a teenager, I got into his more serious films and although I came to develop issues with the film's muddled philosophy, Dead Poets' Society was an inspiration to me and I would be lying if I said that the movie played no part in my decision to become a teacher. On a less sophisticated level, the film was, to me, a bastion of educational idealism and I've to admit that I still think about how I can inspire my students like Mr. Keating did (I'm afraid to say that, for now, the only way I can make students stand on the table is to make them do so as punishment).

I read about his struggles with drugs during the early 1980s (his friend, the comedian John Belushi, died of drug overdose in 1982) but to me, because of his roles on film, Robin Williams was someone I've never ceased to, on a personal level, associate with an inexplicable innocence and a youthful idealism. In a way, the idea governing the famous line 'the day the music died' in Don McLean's 'American Pie' echoes in Robin Williams' death. Even as he struggled for critical and commercial success during his later years, I always had this feeling that, considering his talents, success was only a movie away. Hearing about his death this morning though, put these hopes to bed. It's as if a jolly avuncular figure, who spent a lot of time with you during your childhood and who's left a deep yet amorphous impression on you, has passed on. It's going to take a while for many of us who grew up watching Robin Williams' films to get used to the fact that he is gone from this world. 

Shola Ameobi: Redefining 'Legend'

'You put your left foot in,
You put your left foot out,
You put your left foot in,
And you shake it all about.
You do the Ameobi and you turn yourself around,
That's what it's all about.'

It was on a train from Durham to Newcastle on match day where I heard a few young Geordies singing these lines to the tune of ' The Hokey Pokey'. When I first started supporting Newcastle in 2001, Shola Ameobi was being touted as the 'next Alan Shearer'. A decade or so later, songs like these are being sung about our Nigerian-born but Newcastle-bred striker (the aforementioned song would sound ridiculous if you replaced 'Alan Shearer' with 'Ameobi'). Needless to say, Shola did not become the next Shearer (players of Big Al's stature are, after all, simply inimitable) but not many Geordies will disagree with me when I say that the big man has become a cult hero in his own right. Although he never turned out to become a prolific goalscorer, he did score many important ones over the years. Many may not remember this but he equalised against Barcelona in the good ol' days when we were in the Champions' League under Sir Bobby. He maintained a pretty good goal-scoring record in the Championship (before being hit by injury) which helped us win promotion at the first time asking. And of course, his goals against our fierce rivals Sunderland (only Newcastle great Jackie Milburn has scored more against our neighbours) have accorded him the nickname 'Mackem Slayer' on Tyneside. I was at the Tyne-Wear derby at St. James' in 2012 and recall how his late equaliser sent the Toon Army into raptures. The 50,000 or so home fans went absolutely bonkers; I ended up hugging everyone within a one-metre radius. Shola, a staunch Christian, was a player who had admitted to struggling with a lack of aggression and he is known to sections of supporters by the moniker 'Bambi'. When on the field against the team in red-and-white, however, he was the Incredible Hulk. Besides his goals, I believe that Shola's loyalty to the club and his attitude on the pitch (with the exception of a few matches where his horrendous performances may only be explained by possibly having consumed too much Newkie Brown Ale; he was clumsier on the ball than Joe Biden is with a microphone) were attributes which the Geordie faithful came to cherish. Fans would praise him at times and curse at him at others but I've not met a Geordie without a soft spot for the man. It was great to see him score a goal in his final home game. And I think a handful of fans must have chuckled when he appeared to talk himself into getting sent off in his last game for the club. It was as if he wanted to leave the Northeast with a statement to the fans indicating that his problems with aggression (or a lack thereof) were a thing of the past: 'Call me "Strolla". Call me "Carl Cort" [Sir Bobby used to call him that by mistake]. Call me anything. But DON'T call me "Bambi".' At the announcement of his departure, Shola was the only player in black-and-white who was around when I first supported NUFC. It will be strange not seeing him don our famous colours next season.

Now for an anecdote before I close. I was at St. James' Park in 22 December 2012 for the home game against a struggling Queens Park Rangers. It was the last game before Christmas Day. I remember walking up the snow-covered walkway to the stadium and having worn a layer too few, I sat in my seat shivering for most of the second half. With each passing minute, the fans' impatience grew as both teams struggled to fashion meaningful chances. When our gaffer elected to take striker Papisse Cisse off, replacing him with Shola, boos could be heared ringing from the terraces. A female supporter in front of me, in a shrill voice (it was so unpleasant that I can remember the sound to this very day), chanted, 'You don't know what you're doing'. The fans had no idea why our manager would replace our main striker - admittedly, Cisse was struggling with form - with someone with a less than encouraging record, with a player who had so little pace, he could, when in possession of the ball, slow a game down the way Thatcher's closing of the mines retarded the economy of the Northeast. You need to see the way Newcastle fans respond each time he manages to get past a player to understand what I mean. The fact that we hardly react (that's if we do not laugh, and we only do when we can afford to, i.e. when we're leading by three goals or more) when he trips over the ball speaks volumes. It seemed that for many of the fans, the substitution transformed the impatience into sheer resignation. In the 81st minute, however, Shola expertly side-stepped a defender and, with his left, placed the ball beyond the reach of the goalkeeper and into the bottom-corner. I can still recall the reaction of the crowd. The previously sedated stadium sprung into life like the eruption of a dormant volcano. Those very fans who were jeering his entrance joined the chorus in singing 'Oooh, Shola Ameobi'. It proved to be the winning goal. As I left the stadium, David, a lifelong fan who I had the pleasure of being seated next to for a number of home games and with whom I still keep in touch via email, said these indelible words to me: 'It's funny how one kick of a ball can change the entire festive mood.' That year, Shola helped to give many Geordies a merry Christmas.

(Photo taken from http://www.nufcblog.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/Shola-Ameobi.png)

Good-bye, Ca-baye

'Don't sell Cabaye. Yohan Cabaye. I just don't think you'll understand. For if you sell Cabaye. Yohan Cabaye. You're gonna have a riot on your hands!' In Lisbon, wherever there were inebriated Newcastle fans, we heard these lines being sung to the tune of Billy Ray Cyrus's 'Achy Breaky Heart'. You'd hear the song at the clubs and pubs where members of the Toon Army gathered to drink and dance the night away. You'd hear it resonating in the Estadio da Luz (Benfica's home stadium). You'd even hear it at the hotel lobby! Terence and I would join in the chorus. The words testified to the importance of our beloved 'frog on the Tyne' to the team. Today, Newcastle United sold him to Paris Saint-Germain.

In my opinion, Cabaye's one of the best midfielders we've had during my twelve years as a Newcastle fan and he proved to be an absolute bargain at a mere £4-4.5 million. A player with a marvellous footballling brain, he made many a defence-slicing pass for the likes of Cisse and Ba to latch onto. Not to mention his own ability to score important goals. My personal favourite is the wonderful free-kick that doubled our lead when we played the then-still-mighty Manchester United in January 2012. We ended up winning that game 3-0. It was the first time I had watched our team beat the Devils. Equally crucial is the fact that he's an incredibly hard-worker, constantly chasing opponents down, and he's a player you'd look to when you needed someone to lift the team after it goes a goal down. The statistics certainly don't lie when they highlight the difference that his presence makes to our performances (and results). Sadly, the Newcastle United today is no longer the ambitious club fans saw during the Keegan and Robson eras and I, for one, am not surprised at the fact that he's elected to move on (he had never concealed his desire to move to a club where he could play Champions' League football). The news inevitably disappointed me, as it would any Newcastle fan, but it's the loss of the player, rather than the player himself, that's upset me.

Thanks for the memories, Yohan. For the 100% you always gave during your performances in black-and-white and for the times you helped to send St. James' Park into raptures. It was a privilege to have had the chance to watch you play the beautiful game live. Needless to say, female supporters will now have one less reason to watch the team.

(Photo taken from http://www.nufcfans.co.uk/2012/10/yohan-cabaye-newcastle-united-rumours-manchester-united-personal-trainer/)