San Diego Celebrates its 87th Festa della Madonna Del Lume
My grandparents came to the U.S. from the fishing village of Porticello, which is currently hosting festivities revolving around the legend of the Madonna del Lume, patroness and protector of the sea. The centuries-old celebration culminates in a grand procession of a legendary painting of the Madonna from Chiesa Di Maria Santissima Del Lume through the streets before it is loaded onto a fishing boat and paraded on the sea to a sacred shrine.
While my grandparents settled in Milwaukee, a contingent of Porticello immigrants settled in California—mainly in San Francisco and San Diego, which have continued the tradition of Festa della Madonna del Lume and are each hosting events this weekend.
I recently featured San Francisco’s celebration. To learn more about San Diego’s Festa, which takes place on Sunday, October 6, I reached out to Giuseppe Sanfilippo, a first-generation Italian-American and currently the President of the Madonna del Lume Society of Our Lady of the Rosary Parish in San Diego’s Little Italy.
Giuseppe’s parents were born in Sicily and came to the U.S. from Porticello. We discussed how San Diego’s Madonna del Lume Society started and impacted his personal life and connection to his Sicilian heritage.
Tell us how San Diego’s Madonna del Lume Society started.
The Madonna del Lume Society in San Diego was established in October 1937 by the families of Sicilian fishermen who originate from the fishing village of Porticello, Sicily. The Feast of the Madonna del Lume shares quite visibly with our community a tradition and a profound story of faith and hope. It is a story of the powerful intercession of the Madonna on behalf of a group of Sicilian fishermen who were tormented and cast off course by torrential storms at sea and faced the tragedy of perishing at sea.
These seafaring men, although experienced at sea, were frightened, unsure, and desperate for guidance and safety to return to shore and embrace their families and community once more. It was in these moments of grave darkness and fear that God answered the faithful prayers of these fishermen, who had humbled themselves in complete trust and devotion to God. God answered their prayers with a glowing light illuminating the dark sky above.
As the wise men once followed the guiding star over Bethlehem to visit our newborn savior over 2,000 years ago, the Sicilian fishermen gratefully recognized and received God’s blessing and answer to their prayers. They faithfully followed the glowing light shown above to guide them safely home again.
Upon returning safely home, the fishermen continued to follow the mysterious guiding light above to a grotto near Porticello. Exploring the sea cave, they found a slab of marble bearing the Madonna’s image. They carried it into town, but twice, it mysteriously returned to the grotto. The community decided to leave the image of the Madonna at the grotto and build a church on the spot to protect it. It is fervently believed in Sicily that the lives of hundreds of fishermen have been saved by the intervention of our Blessed Maria Santissima del Lume, Our Most Holy Mother of Light, the guardian and patroness of fishermen.
To this day, we continue to celebrate and honor the Madonna del Lume for her guidance and intercession in guiding fishermen safely home and into Christ’s light. This story is for fishermen, but it is truly a story for all of us, wherever we are on our journey in life. It is a story of a return home, and it is also a story of a return to faith, a return to God.
How many times in our lives, especially in these current times, have we been lost, confused, uncertain, or fearful? “Lost at sea,” so to speak. Whether we are fishermen at sea, laborers on land, or workers at home, this story gives each of us hope that there is always a light, no matter how dark, and there is always faith, no matter how hopeless our situation is. This remembrance of the Madonna del Lume shows us how powerful Our Most Holy Mother’s intercession is on our behalf as Christ’s ambassador of light to each of us.
When some of the original fishermen began immigrating to the United States, they brought their traditions with them. They formed Madonna del Lume societies in Boston, Milwaukee, San Francisco, and San Diego. The Madonna del Lume Society of San Diego was first stationed at St. Joseph Cathedral on Third Avenue before moving to Our Lady of the Rosary in 1938. Today, the Society has reached over 250 members and continues to grow and preserve the traditions of those first fishermen.
Each October, over the last 87 years, after a solemn High Mass, a faithfully devoted group of men and women, old and young alike, and a young queen representing the Society, walk in a procession with the Vara of the Madonna del Lume from the OLR Church to the Embarcadero. There, the clergy sprinkles holy water on the boats, blessing all of the fishermen and praying for their protection from harm. He also asks for abbondanza in the catch. For the last 20-plus years, we have also had fireworks, a tradition carried from Porticello to celebrate the Madonna.
Today, in Porticello, Sicily, the Festa della Madonna del Lume is also still thriving. The Festa spans the full first week of October each year, and the entire municipality participates in the procession of La Madonna with fireworks and veneration of La Madonna at the original church of Madonna del Lume.
Traditionally, on the Monday of the feast, the sacred painting of the Madonna is taken down from the altar of the village church and processed throughout the town and its port. Devotees pack the sanctuary, hoping for an opportunity to touch and rub the painting on its way to the street to possess its healing and protective powers. It’s a moving moment to experience.
This beautiful religious and cultural celebration has been passed on to many of our members through their families’ Sicilian Catholic heritage and many years of community collaboration to keep this special tradition alive and vibrant in San Diego. Many members have learned from a young age about the purity, grace, and strength of our Most Holy Mother as our protective, loving, and most powerful ambassador of Christ in the midst of a challenging and often chaotic world.
How does the Society engage with the broader community in San Diego?
We are one of several Marion Societies of Our Lady of the Rosary. We have joined together as one during the OLR Festa and have one procession. We are also active in the Italian American community and events that occur throughout the year.
How has being part of the Madonna del Lume Society impacted your personal life and connection to your heritage?
I have a strong connection to the Madonna del Lume, and it has inspired me to be a true Catholic. I believe in the Catholic Faith and our Lord Jesus Christ, praying through the intercession of our Blessed Mother.
What do you hope participants take away from Festa della Madonna del Lume?
Our Blessed Mother is the Light of the World who prays for us and leads us closer to Christ so that our children and youth find their way in life. This leads us all to God’s grace and eternal life.
Michela Musolino: A Sicilian Heart, A Global Stage, and the Birth of ‘Folk-a-Billy’
Memphis-based Sicilian-American singer Michela Musolino has toured the world, performing in medieval castles, ancient temples, New York City landmarks, and national folk festivals. She’s recorded traditional and contemporary Sicilian folk songs and roots music. She’s even branched out into something she calls “Sicilian folk-a-billy.” But no matter where she stands and how she sings, her heart remains in Sicily.
“I really feel like I got my start in Sicily,” Michela says. “I probably performed more in Sicily in the beginning than here. Nobody knew who I was here, but in Sicily, I had already performed at festivals and temples. They welcomed me so beautifully. So, I always feel that even though I performed a lot in New York for many years, Sicily was more like the home for what I do.”
Michela and I recently chatted about her traditional Sicilian-American upbringing and how that shaped who she would become. She shared her favorite venue, experience, and what inspired her foray into “Sicilian folk-a-billy.” And because Michela’s a walking encyclopedia of Sicilian folk music, we discussed the people and traditions that shaped the songs she sings today.
Tell us about your background.
My family is Sicilian. I have one grandpa who is from Calabria, so I’m one-quarter Calabrese. My other grandparents are Sicilian. My mom’s dad was from Borgetto, which is about 40 minutes away from Palermo. My mom’s mom was raised in Palermo by a Palermitano father, but she was actually born in Argentina. My grandmother’s father took her back to Sicily when she was young so she could be raised. Her mom died when she was young, so her father took her back to Sicily so his family could raise her in Palermo, and she grew up in Palermo. And my dad’s mom was from a town in the province of Agrigento called Ribera. I still have a lot of family there. My grandpa was born in Reggio Calabria, a town called Calanna.
How did you get started?
I have always been very enamored with my heritage. My mom and dad always talked about our family history and told us all the stories of our family.
My dad was a big fan of American music, especially American country music, Italian-American artists, and Italian music. So we heard a lot of music in the house.
I grew up hearing Sicilian, hearing the language, because my parents, aunts, and uncles all spoke that to my grandparents.
When I was all grown up and married and out of the house, I took a workshop for folk dance in New York City, and the people who were running were in the folk company, I Giullari di Piazza, and they asked me to audition. The director of the company, Alessandra Belloni, asked me to audition. They needed extra people in their theater company. I auditioned, and I remember coming home and telling my dad, not even that I was auditioning for the show or anything, but that I was studying folk dance and frame drumming.
He said, “Well, it’s good. You should study drumming because that’s your tradition. That’s what women do.”
It was strange hearing that from my father because he was not very big on defining women’s roles. He was very progressive and open. And I said, “What are you talking about?”
He said, “Your grandma used to drum.”
I said, “Wait a second….”
He said, “Your grandma had a drum.”
“As a matter of fact,” he says, “when your grandma came here when she was a young woman, she brought a drum with her. And your great grandma, when she was in Sicily, was known for her dancing.”
So these things are in us. Then it’s been this wild ride. It’s still a wild ride every day, just doing something I love: working with music.
What is it about Sicilian music that drew you in?
I just adore Sicilian music, and it’s been interesting because I’m exploring it from all different aspects and doing all different things to create things with this music. And when I try to do different projects, they only go so far. When I try to do projects outside of Sicilian music, they only go so far. And I was involved in some projects up until about last year, and there was veering off the path of Sicilian music, and all of a sudden, all these things started to happen. All these opportunities for other creative projects or other performances came all at once. It was like Sicily pulled me back. We’re not done with you yet.
Describe your experiences in the different types of venues.
It sounds kind of cliche, but I find each venue and experience more enriching than the last, even if it’s not the same. Let’s say maybe one venue is a beautiful theater and it is full, or another venue is a very small locale. Each show has its importance and its connection, and it has its meaning. But the thing that I think had the biggest impact on me is that I feel it, and it really charted my course, something that had a huge, huge influence on me because, to this day, I’m still living the repercussions of it. It was when I performed in the temples in Sicily, and I did that for several summers. I went to a festival by chance.
I was there to do some research and to work with some musicologists, and I had my daughter. She was very little then, and I had to change the course of my trip; I thought I was going to just go see my friend, Alfio Antico, perform in Selinunte. And when I got there, yes, Alfio performed that night, but it was in the evening dedicated to the memory of a Sicilian singer/songwriter by the name of Pino Veneziano. And I fell in love with the music that they were playing.
By then, Pino was already deceased by a number of years, but they were playing his music that night. I remember my daughter falling asleep at the concert, and I walked back. I was talking to the people in the Pino Veneziano Association, and I said, “Listen, I’m a singer. I’m from New York. I’m friends with Alfio. Look, he’s on my album.”
I pulled one of my albums from my bag, and I’m trying to carry my daughter in one hand while she is asleep. I love this music. What can I do? I want to sing it.
They’re like, “Here’s the album; just sing it.”
So, from that night, I met friends of mine who are still my dear friends that I would go back to see. Just going back to those temples and doing that year after year after year became a big turning point in my life. But it’s also a big part of my life. And it was strange for me because this summer, I was in Sicily, and I was very, very busy on the other side of the island.
I spent time at the foot of Etna, and it was a beautiful experience, but it felt weird. I was apprehensive about going because I’d become so used to being in the protective embrace of these temples for years.
Even when it wasn’t summertime, and I wasn’t performing, I’d be there. I would go, and I still had to visit the temples. I still talked to my friends and visited my friends in that area. So, that venue had a profound, profound influence on my life. And as I said, from that experience, going back there summer after summer created lifelong friendships, collaborations, and a richness of music I discovered.
I was able to do a lot of research, and I feel that it’s still ongoing. Those temples, even when I wasn’t on that part of the island, were somehow still impacting me. I feel that what I achieved on the other part of the island I would’ve never done if it wasn’t for all those experiences I had in the temples.
You’ve developed a style you call “Sicilian Folk-a-Billy.” What inspired that?
What happened was quite simple: I moved to Memphis. I finally had the opportunity to get out of the Northeast. I wanted to leave the Northeast forever. I never quite felt like I was going to stay there, but circumstances in life kept me there. Then, I had the opportunity to move, and I knew I wanted to come south somewhere. I wound up in Memphis because I had heard that a lot of artists were moving to Memphis from other parts of the country. I heard that a lot of artists from different genres were moving to Memphis and not just artists making Memphis music or American blues or soul music, but all different genres. And I looked at it, I said, “You know what? Memphis, I like it.”
So I came here, and COVID was still kind of a thing. It was 2021, so venues weren’t really open. And I had to do a few concerts from my house, things that would be broadcast up in New York. So, I used Memphis musicians. And I wanted to make an album. I talked to somebody down here who was producing, and they said, “Well, we just did a Christmas show in your house. Why don’t we do the Christmas album?”
We had been using Memphis sounds and different things. We used rockabilly, American country music, blues music, a little bit of blues, a little bit of soul, a little bit of swing.
We took mostly Sicilian traditions and added a little bit of Americana, and I felt it was going to be a good way to start off here in Memphis. It’s a good way to show the movement of music, how music comes from one culture to another, and how music transfers with the immigrants.
It’s like, I’m Italian-American coming to Memphis. How does the music change now with me? So that’s kind of where that developed.
It was almost organic, letting the musicians here contribute their ideas and sounds. In fact, most of the musicians, except for one on the album, are Italian-American. I didn’t plan it that way. It just happened.
The fiddle player, Alice Hasen, who is not Italian-American, shows up, and she says, “I was trying to listen to different kinds of Sicilian music and Southern Italian music so I could get an idea of what to play.”
We’re like, “No, no, no. We want to hear your style. We want you to play. You got the arrangements, but we want to see what you’re going to add to it.”
So that’s kind of how we came up with the Sicilian folk. It’s not rockabilly; it’s folk music but a little bit of everything. My first album here was just my homage to Memphis. So that’s where that came from. I guess you could say it was pretty much just the collision of these traditions with Memphis sound.
Let’s talk about those folk traditions from Sicily.
You start listening to songs in their most basic form, which we have, let’s say, the most basic arrangements that we have documented or the oldest unadulterated field recordings. When I say unadulterated, I mean the field recordings that are the oldest we have and the field recordings that are the most untouched by pop music or anything like that. You can hear the influences. You can hear the melodies, and you can hear the progressions, even the note progressions of things that are Greek, Arabic, or Spanish. For example, you can hear certain things that sound like Spanish. So, all the music reflects the different cultures that occupied Sicily.
I’ll give you an idea. There’s a song attributed to the fishermen who fish coral. It’s a jumble—like a new language made up of Neapolitan and Sicilian lyrics. When the fishermen discovered these coral beds in Sicily, they brought the coral fishermen down from Naples because they had the skill. They taught the Sicilian fishermen how to fish this coral and worked side by side. They came up with their own language.
So, in this song, you have a mixture of the two languages, the Neapolitan and the Sicilian, and some of the chants you hear. People will say, “That sounds very Middle Eastern.”
Even some of the instruments that we play, some of the old forms of instruments that are very basic with minimal strings, are very Middle Eastern. They all filtered in through the great migrations. And if we get really into the diasporas and how they float about, you can start seeing some traditions. You can start seeing similarities to India when the Roma people came through from India.
Music is a historical document because you can hear that in the melodies, chord progressions, structures, and song structures. You can hear that and say, “Oh yeah, this is very much like Spanish,” or “This is very much Middle Eastern.” We share some rhythms with North Africa, too. That kind of stuff. It’s just a blueprint—a blueprint for history.
You spoke about fishing. Tell us about the songs of the tuna fishermen.
I’ve recorded a version of one of the cialome they would sing for the matanza. Those are really fascinating songs. They try to trace a lot of the words like cialome.
They say, “Well, it could possibly be Arab.” But they think it even predates the Arab invasion. That is a tradition that’s really buried in antiquity. They can’t pinpoint where that exactly started. That’s how ancient that tradition is. And it’s a beautiful tradition because it’s much deeper than just the hunt of the tuna. It was very much something that was obviously connected to the cycle of the seasons because it was the fish’s mating season when they were coming through, and humans were attuned to this. And it wasn’t just that they killed the fish; these chants they used all had a purpose.
Some were used to pull up the nets, and some were used to pull the boats out of the water.
The one I sing is very fun. They talk about a young girl, and it’s an homage to that beautiful young girl. But in a lot of the fishing chants, they say things like, “God bless the earth and sky. God bless the sea. God bless the tuna that’s giving its life for us.”
There’s such a visceral connection and a very close connection between humanity and the animal kingdom in this. And there’s this show of reverence. A bounty that year meant they would survive, and they were grateful that God had given them this bounty.
They were also grateful to the tuna who sacrificed their lives. And it’s actually a very brutal tradition. But life was very brutal. We forget that.
We look at the matanza and say, “Oh, it was so horrible, these men clubbing these fish to death and butchering these fish.” But that was probably the least brutal thing that was happening to those people in their lifetime at that time.
Out of that tradition for work came these beautiful songs because they needed a rhythm. These men, groups of men (dozens and dozens of men) had to work together. So, the best way to work in unison is to create a melody that everybody can maintain. So there’s a lot of that in this tradition of music where these beautiful, beautiful traditions have evolved out of necessity.
So, the necessity for survival, the necessity to work together, and the necessity for recognizing your blessings all came together and created these beautiful songs. We have these songs not only because they were recorded in the 1950s when Alan Lomax went through Sicily and recorded but also because the tuna matanza ended around the 1980s, so we still had people who were singing.
There’s still a lot of mystery involved in that. But I don’t think they could have that tradition without music because of the necessity, again, of how these men had to work together.
It creates community. And that’s something that I try to always mention in my shows, too, that this music comes from the traditional community. It was a time when everybody sang. We all made music together for a lot of reasons. But it comes from a very communal place. And I think that’s one of the reasons why it’s so well received: it is something that we all share, and it’s something that we can all share, and it’s meant to be shared and enjoyed together.
What do you hope your audiences and students take away from their experience?
I just want them to have a wonderful connection with Sicily and a discovery of Sicily. I would divide the audience into people who have a connection and have some roots in Sicily and those who don’t. They have similar experiences, but not necessarily always the same. For some people in the audience, this is the first time they’ve ever heard Sicilian music. So, I want them to understand that there is a huge body of music. There’s a huge patrimonial tradition that is just waiting to be explored and understood. And I want them to feel like they’re part of it. That’s the most important thing.
When they have roots in Sicily, I want the same for them. But I also want them to understand that this is your heritage and tradition and belongs to you. It is part of you, and it will always be part of you, and it’s a really good thing to have as a part of you. It’s something that is solid, lasting, and good. There’s nothing negative about it.
We might not have the same heritage, but we all have the same human emotions and can relate to that. I’ve had people come up to me after the show and say, “I don’t know any Sicilian. I don’t know what the heck you’re saying when you’re singing, but I felt everything.”
If I can give people that feeling of belonging, that feeling of being understood and heard, then I think I’ve succeeded.
I have always felt that I wanted this for Sicily as well. I want Sicily to be understood. I want people to understand that, yes, Sicily is beautiful. Yes, the food is fantastic. But Sicily is so much deeper than that. She’s been around a long time, and she’s not going away. And she’s got a lot to offer. There are so many aspects of Sicily that are so rich, and we can look at that.
Alileo Wines: Bringing Sicilian Tradition to Sustainable Boxed Wine
Antonio Bertone arrives at our interview wearing a sweatshirt that reads, “Boxed Wine Is Not a Crime.” He hopes this slogan will stick and help people choose more sustainable boxed beverages like his Alileo Wines.
Cofounded by Antonio and his wife, Alexandra Drane, the Boston-based boxed natural wine company produces award-winning West Coast Sicilian varietals in partnership with Bertone’s family in Sicily and imports them to the United States, where they are distributed in Massachusetts, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Texas.
Antonio shared what inspired Alileo’s creation, what makes his wines unique, and why boxed wine.
What is your background?
My father emigrated from Molise, and my mom emigrated from Partanna, Sicily. When I was in the second grade, my parents decided to move us back. My sister and I were born here in the United States.
My mom was very homesick. She was the only one from her family that left and came to America. My dad’s entire family ultimately ended up in the States.
So, we moved back, and I did my second to fourth grades of elementary school in Sicily and all my summers. Then, after my dad passed, my mom kind of moved back for half the year, so she would do June to December in Sicily and then December to June back in the U.S. That went on for 30 years until she passed.
What inspired Alileo’s creation?
We were in COVID lockdown, and my mom was battling cancer. I think she felt this fear or sadness that once she passed, the connection to Sicily would start to degrade or disappear because I’m the last one left in America, representing the Sicilian side.
So, my wife and I started talking about starting a wine company with our cousin Rosario, a winemaker in Sicily.
Over the years, we have always joked about it at the dinner table and about how nice it would be. We all enjoyed those conversations in the kitchen. My kids got into it; they were like, “That could be so cool.”
We came up with the name and the product’s USP. We started it, kicked into making-things mode, and worked with some designer friends in London to design the packaging. We started getting ready for the first shipment, and then my mom passed. The first shipment, our first 40-foot container, actually arrived on her birthday the following year. So it was pretty magical that the wine has this eternal connection to her.
What’s been your goal with Alileo Wines?
For our wine, we wanted to make a low-intervention, natural wine. We wanted to make something that didn’t have junk in it and sugar and all the crap that gives you headaches. And we wanted to bring a younger audience into wine.
Wine is as old as time. The simpler the wine-making, the better, in my opinion.
Your wine is low-sulfite. Why is that important?
You’re dealing with a low-intervention wine, which has a greatly reduced amount of sulfites in the wine. The grapes themselves produce a certain amount of sulfites, and for you to get some sort of shelf life, you have to work with some form of SO2. So we keep ours at the bare minimum, which is around 55 parts per million. The standard natural wine is 150 parts per million. Commercial wines are in the four hundreds and five hundreds, which sometimes causes people headaches and some of the negative side effects of wine.
Why did you choose to box your wines?
I come from a consumer products background. As a marketeer, I’m better against the grain than I am with the grain. Sustainability is a key discussion to get a younger audience interested.
Sicily’s on fire right now; it’s still 40 degrees Celsius daily. So it’s important to put your money where your mouth is and act in a more sustainable or responsible manner.
In my previous careers, I always drove toward a more sustainable point of view. In our product creation, our ambition is to be a B Corp, and the box in and of itself is way more functional. Once you open a box, the wine’s still good for 30 to 45 days. Transport costs are a fraction. Think about the overall energy it takes to make a glass bottle rather than just a cardboard box and a bladder.
People are like, “Boxed wine?” The rest of the world is fine with the format. It’s just in America and weird days at college, slamming Franzia that has forever created this stigma. So we’re here to change it.
How does your wine compare to other Sicilian wines?
I think my cousin has a special gift. When you hear about natural wines, people start to think funky and weird. And no knock to the really experimental winemakers, but we’re making a commercial product. We’re using grapes that are synonymous with our side of the island.
Our most popular wine is zibibbo macerato, a skin-contact wine made out of a grape that’s usually used to make dessert wine. Our zibibbo is very dry tasting and drinks super lovely, all because of Rosario and his skills.
I come from farmers. My mom’s side of the family were all grape and olive farmers. My dad was a farmer before he came to America. He had livestock. He had sheep, horses, and cows. So we ate incredibly well. Even though we had no money, we never knew that we didn’t have any money. Because we basically produced all the things that we consumed. So to make something that’s as simple but delicious and has its own profile and point of view, I think suits us.
What are your future plans?
We launched boxed water as well. We were doing a lot of popups, and it was interesting to find the format. Single-use plastic, under a certain measurement, is being banned in a lot of communities around the oceans.
Right now, we’re in five states. Funny enough, we don’t sell in Italy. Next year, we will start selling in six European countries.
We’re trying to grow and occupy a place in the wine retail channel that serves good food. We really want to have a good connection to good cuisine.
What experience do you hope people have with your wines?
I hope they’re enjoying themselves, eating something nice, and having a nice conversation. That’s the overall goal: bringing people together.
Restauranteur’s daughter and former restaurant owner Suzanne Lo Coco doesn’t recommend people get into the restaurant business.
“You need a lot of raw talent, and you need to be willing to put in all that time and hard work and long hours and miss weddings and parties and everything else and have your hands burned several times over and still work through a shift,” she says.
She’s done all that and then some, having run the popular La Fornaretta in Pasadena, California, for nearly ten years before new landlords purchased her lease in order to repurpose the building. She also watched her father’s challenging rise from immigrant to successful owner of Lo Coco restaurants.
Still, despite their mother’s misgivings, Suzanne’s sons, Gian Luca and Gilberto Di Lorenzo, have carried on the tradition at La Fornaretta in Newcastle, California. And Gian Luca has invited Suzanne to join him in a new pasta-making venture he’s started with her brother Frank.
“I feel very complimented that they asked me to do that,” Suzanne says.
There will undoubtedly be more stories to tell for this Washington resident, who recently published the deliciously entertaining memoir Secret Dough. Drawing from the wit and wisdom of her late father, Giovanni Lo Coco, Suzanne shares her journey to self-discovery flavored with Sicilian traditions, relationship drama, and humorous stories. She’s even thrown in a handful of recipes to savor between page turns.
Suzanne is what we call a paesana. Giovanni came to the U.S. from Porticello, Sicily, the same village as my grandparents, and Suzanne has returned often.
We sat down for an entertaining chat about Porticello, the book’s namesake dough, her writing inspiration, balancing personal and professional life, her favorite Giovanni aphorisms, and what she hopes readers will take away.
What are your memories of Porticello?
The first time I went there, I was a baby. My parents drove across the United States and took the Michelangelo ship to Napoli and then to Sicily. They were there for two months, and I have absolutely no recollection of this trip whatsoever.
When I was 10, I returned with my dad for two weeks. When we got on the plane and took Alitalia from San Francisco to Rome and then Rome Palermo, he ordered me my own bottle of Asti spumante as soon as the plane lifted off the ground.
And he says, “This is an Italian plane, and now you are in Italy. The air… It’s not America anymore. The air doesn’t belong to anybody. Now we are on an Italian plane, so we are in Italy. You can drink with your papà.”
The flight attendant didn’t even bat an eye. He brought me my flute and bottle, and I drank that whole thing. Then, I crashed for several hours.
Every day when we were in Sicily, we’d drive from Palermo to Porticello and hang out. And everything is kind of mind-blowing to an 11-year-old who has only ever been in America, and all of a sudden, you’re in Sicily.
I remember that at that time, there were a lot fewer cars and less traffic. And there were still women laying out those giant pieces of plywood propped up on sawhorses used to make tomato paste.
I remember swimming in the sea with my dad every day and him diving for ricci, sea urchins. I couldn’t believe how long he could stay underwater! His cousins made pasta con ricci with his catch.
I remember going to the open fish markets—those giant swordfish on display made such an impression on me. Every town had its own frutta e verdura guy and fresh fish stand. And then, just randomly, there’s this popup with a very round man under the tent tossing fresh octopus into these giant vats of boiling water with lemon halves bobbing around on the top. There are no women, just men at the counter that is set up with beautifully painted ceramic plates, lemon wedges and salt shakers. They are all spouting off in Sicilian, yelling and talking all at the same time while eating their octopus.
My dad stuffed things in my mouth throughout that whole trip. He stuffed a piece of octopus in my mouth, and I was horrified. They cut into the brains and that brown mushy stuff… Oh my God! I just remember swallowing it whole.
I remember the first time I had pane e panelle, and then I had to have it every day. I just loved the arancini and eating ice cream every day.
So, for me, when the plane lands in Rome… Sure, you’re in Italy, and you’re excited. But when the plane flies into Palermo, I feel like I’m at home. It really does pull on your heartstrings to go there, to be there—the sights, the smells.
After my dad retired, he spent half the year in Sicily. He happened to be there when he passed away, so we buried him there. Now, when I go to Sicily, I feel like I am visiting him. I’m so happy that he introduced us to this magical island and that it is part of our lives.
Tell us about your family. When and why did they leave Porticello for California?
My grandfather Gaetano Lo Coco was a professor of philosophy, but he was also, I guess, very instrumental in local politics and trying to advocate for the fishermen. His father was a fisherman.
My grandfather used to own the land where Solunto is. It was full of olive and citrus orchards, climbing up the mountain behind Porticello. He was not a businessman or materialistic in any way—he was a true philosopher.
Before selling the land, my dad’s dream was to build a pizzeria and nightclub at the top of the mountain. My grandfather did not support this idea, which was very upsetting to him. For this reason, he decided to leave for America to pursue his dream of owning his own business. Funny—eventually, someone opened a pizzeria atop that mountain and became very successful!
When my father left, he ended up living with cousins for a couple of months in San Francisco’s North Beach, where he had to teach himself English. He worked three jobs, seven days a week, both lunch and dinner shifts at various Fisherman’s Wharf restaurants.
He met my mother about a year after he came to the States. They ended up getting married very quickly and starting a family. Shortly after they married, his cousin Domenic, whom he had lived with, recommended, “Giovanni, if you could come up with a really great pizza recipe, you will be very successful.”
Domenic planted the seed in his head: “I need to come up with a pizza recipe.”
After a visit to Jackson, California my dad fell in love with the town, as it reminded him of scenes from old Western movies he had grown up with. So they moved there and opened their first pizzeria. That’s where his secret dough recipe was born.
Let’s talk about the significance of that dough; it’s what you named your memoir.
So, there is a whole chapter on that in the book.
My parents divorced in 1977, maybe ’78. Afterward, a gentleman named Eugene deChristopher came into the restaurant. He had been eating Lo Coco’s Pizza in Marin County. He actually first approached my uncles, and they sent him over to my dad. So, he came into the restaurant in Pleasant Hill.
So Eugene comes to the restaurant and tells my dad, “This is a great product, and I think we can do something with it. Have you ever thought about marketing it like this or that?”
Initially, my dad thought, “Well, maybe we should open up franchises.”
At the time, you had places like Pizza Hut and Shakey’s and this and that. But still, if you go in and order a pizza, it’s going to take some time. You can’t get a pizza at the same time as a hamburger, right?
But my dad thought we could cut some of this production time in half by having a crust that’s already half-baked and ready to be topped. He came up with this idea to speed up the pizza process.
He originally thought, “We’ll start with universities and make all these really small, self-serve pizzerias.”
The idea evolved from there.
Then Eugene said, “Well, we could package it. And then what about selling it in grocery stores?”
They created a company that was originally called PizzAmore.
Meanwhile, they are still in the developing phase, coming up with packaging ideas and reaching out to different companies for meetings. Eugene is sending in his son all the time, who hangs out at the pizza counter and watches night after night. One night, he was watching my dad make pizza and asked, “I don’t understand, Giovanni; how do you get those bubbles on the crust?”
My dad, with his thick accent, responded, “That’s the boboli—the cheese—it melts on the crust and makes the boboli.”
The Boboli chapter of my book illustrates the “origins” of the pizza shell and the partnership between my father and Eugene. The company has since sold many times, and we wish them well.
What inspired you to write your memoir?
I was in my first marriage, and we were going through a very rocky time. Someone gave me Ruth Reichl’s book Comfort Me with Apples, and it really inspired me.
I thought, “I have stories like this!”
So, I started writing, having been inspired by her books and also just as an outlet. And I always enjoyed writing.
I always enjoyed creative writing classes and writing term papers in school. I enjoyed the whole process of crafting a good story. Growing up in the restaurant business, one is naturally groomed to become a storyteller.
I interviewed my dad a lot when I started that process over twenty years ago. But this book is not that book. I did finish that. Many years later, I went back to school, and with all the required writing and reading, I sharpened my skills.
A couple of instructors had pulled me aside and said, “Do you do a lot of writing? I have to tell you, it’s really a pleasure reading your papers.”
I went back to school at 42 years old. I had an AA degree, but it still took me four years to get my BA.
I was raising kids and working, so I couldn’t take a full load. I’d take three or four classes at a time.
Two years into school, I divorced but continued working at the restaurant until I got my degree. A few months before graduation, I met and started dating Stuart, who I eventually married. After we married, we moved to Tahoe and bought these two little houses. We lived in one of them, and I rented the other on Airbnb. Early on, one of my first guests was Cheryl Angelina Koehler, from the Bay Area, who was the publisher, editor, and designer for Edible East Bay Magazine.
Having had many false starts on writing a book, now that I had the time, I once again started dabbling in writing. I held so many stories in my head. I said, “I really want to do this.”
So when Cheryl checked in, my mind went immediately to” I’ve got to meet this lady!”
But something about having her land on my doorstep ignited this hope and excitement within me.
I thought, “Somehow, this lady is going to help me in this process, to get this going, and to get this moving in the right direction.”
I was dying to say something to her, but I didn’t know how to approach the subject of my writing. Finally, just as they were checking out, she asked, “Can we meet your dogs?”
We got into this conversation, and I asked Cheryl, “You’re from the East Bay. Well, do you go to Lo Coco’s?”
We got into this discussion about Lo Coco’s and then into a discussion about my dad. When I get into Giovanni Lo Coco’s stories, I become very animated. I mean, there are so many good stories. He really was such a unique character.
She says, “That is pretty incredible. You should really write down some of these stories. Just start writing. I would love to help you. You can send me what you have, and I’ll read it over.”
I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Of all the places in Tahoe she could have rented, this was the one. It was a sign! I needed to finally write and try to publish my memoir.
It took me months. I wrote about four chapters and then sat on them for months. I didn’t have the nerve to send them to her, and I didn’t think they’d be good enough.
Finally, my husband was like, “You’ve got to send this to her. Just send them. What do you have to lose?”
I sent her what I had, and she encouraged me to keep going. I continued sending bits and pieces and then decided to hold off until I finished the book.
After three years, I forwarded her the final chapters, and she said, “Oh my God, you finished!”
That really excited her, and she went through it. Then suddenly, our process and our relationship shifted, and it really turned into a writer-editor relationship.
Tell us about your book’s cover.
Well, as you can see on the cover of the book I sent Cheryl, I wanted to incorporate a lot of these articles. It was her brilliant idea to plaster them all over the book in a collage-type way. That basically makes up the cover. And then I wanted to include an “I like Lo Coco’s Pizza” pin on there.
Whenever my father’s restaurant was written up, they always wanted a photograph of our Lo Coco’s special, which was pepperoni, artichoke heart, green onion, and anchovy, because it was such a pretty pizza—just aesthetically, it’s just the colors.
So, I said it has to be the Lo Coco special on the front. So, last spring, I went into my boys’ restaurant and made a pizza. My husband, who is actually a professional photographer, took the picture of the pizza.
There are many old family photos peppered throughout the book. They help tell the story.
You sprinkled pearls of wisdom from your father throughout the book. Can you share a couple?
Each chapter starts with something that my father used to tell me, using sayings or dictums instead of telling you straight what you need to do, like “You always leave the taste of honey in the mouth,” meaning don’t burn bridges.
Or “Be stupid inside and smart outside.” My dad was of the philosophy that the world was out to get you, so you need to stick together.
How do you balance life’s personal and professional aspects in your storytelling?
When I knew this book was complete and we were going to launch, I was overcome with a panic I did not expect to have when I started this process. It had been a pipe dream for so long, and now it was really happening. I was second-guessing myself. Maybe it’s not good enough; maybe people will hate it; maybe my family will be upset.
This book is so different from my first few attempts. I was sort of all over the place—mingling dad stories with my own stories. After reviewing some of my work, my sister commented, “I don’t hear your voice.” She asked, “Is this about Dad, or is this about you?”
I didn’t have much confidence in telling my story. I never even thought about that. But then I thought, well, actually, there is a lot to say and a lot to tell.
I didn’t write the book to bash anybody, and I don’t bash anyone. But sometimes, people, including myself, are not shown in a good light because if you’re writing a memoir, you can’t just talk about the good things; that’s not realistic. Life is messy.
What do you hope that people take away from reading your book?
Well, I hope it humors and entertains people, and I hope it’s relatable. I hope it reminds people to treat themselves with more kindness and forgiveness. We all have dark periods in our lives; we make mistakes. I strived to be very authentic and offer readers an intimate glimpse into the life of a Sicilian-American restaurant family. I introduced intriguing, fun characters, like my immigrant dad and my ex-husband.
There are so many misunderstandings about Sicily and Sicilians, and I hope this book helps Americans gain more appreciation for this place and its people whom I love so dearly. Finally, I hope that Secret Dough inspires people. As illustrated in the book, one can walk through a lot of crap and still come out smelling like a rose.
I hope it makes people laugh and feel many emotions. It’s just a good, fun read.
Cultivated since ancient times and even believed to be the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, the fig occupies a special place in Mediterranean history and tradition.
Recognized for its bulbous shape with a small opening, the ostiole, at its base, the common fig is the edible fruit of the ficus carica—a flowering plant species in the mulberry family.
While figs hold a special place on Sicilian dessert tables, they’re rich in potassium and calcium, which benefit bone health. The fruit even provides significant amounts of iron, potassium, and magnesium.
What’s not to love? It’s no wonder many gardeners choose to grow fig trees.
“It’s a plant we’ve been connected with for a really long time, which is why people become so fascinated by it,” says One Green World Nursery Manager Sam Huber. “We share a deep, rich history with it, and it’s such a unique plant that comes in many forms. It’s exciting to find one that thrives in your area. And it’s fairly easy to grow, too.”
Oregon-based One Green World sells a variety of so-called Mount Etna Sicilian figs, including the Sangue Dolce and the Natalina. They also sell a fig called the Chicago Hardy, which is originally from Sicily but easily takes root in colder areas in the northern U.S.
Sam and I recently had a chance to chat about all things Sicilian fig-related.
Tell us about One Green World.
The nursery was built on extensive plant exploration and searching the world. With the advent of the internet and the availability of so much information, more varieties and cultivars are available than ever before. We’ve been continuing in that tradition, looking for new things both here and abroad.
You grow Sicilian figs. Can you share more about your offerings?
The lines of where things developed and whatnot are a little bit blurry, but there’s a loose grouping of a certain type of fig, a smaller purple fig with a red interior that just gets called the Mount Etna figs. It’s very similar to the ones people have been growing for a long time in Sicily. There, they’re grown at 1,000-2,000-foot elevation—so high in elevation that those varieties do well for more northern growers. It’s been super cool to see how they thrive in Sicily, of course, but also here.
They’re just really wonderful. Everybody likes different things. I really like the dark, jammy figs with the red interior. Sicily also grows a white one that’s more of a honey fig. And, of course, there are just wild ones growing everywhere. The fig has just naturalized around much of the Mediterranean and California.
Figs have two crops: the breba crop, which ripens on previous years’ wood, and the main crop, which is on new growth. Etna figs have been such a winner for folks in more northern climates because they may have a touch more cold hardiness.
In Oregon, we don’t typically get cold enough to have killing frost that would kill off wood on our fig trees. Because they ripen the main crop really early, it’s on the new growth. But there’s a fig called Chicago Hardy, which is just another Mount Etna type that was found in Chicago and hardy enough to withstand some winters there.
What’s unique about them is you can have them get frosted back really hard, or people will do extreme things to overwinter them on places like the East Coast, like cut them back really hard. Some people will even tip them over and bury them, and then the trees still shoot out new growth and produce figs that year. Because the main crop grows all on the new growth, all you need is something that’s sending off new growth because they ripen so early and don’t need as much heat coming from a higher elevation place. It makes it a good, reliable one for folks who are more on the fringe of where figs would otherwise grow.
What are the ideal conditions for growing Sicilian fig varieties?
The Mount Etna ones, in particular, are adaptable. But if it gets wet in the fall, the fig will just split. Generally, it’s a dry summer climate that helps all figs thrive.
It’s similar to where we grow grapes in the world. The Mediterranean climate of wet, mild winters and then pretty warm, dry summers concentrates the flavor and prevents the fig from splitting.
The fig isn’t actually a fruit; it’s this weird inside-out flower. So it’s very different when it’s ripening. It’s very easy for it to split if there’s too much water or after it’s been dry. When you get a big heavy rainfall, you’ll sometimes see that little eye of the fig, the ostiole, split open.
So fig trees generally need a dry climate with enough heat units; you need a good bit of warmth to ripen most varieties. We’ve been searching for ones that do well in cooler climates, but typically, if you’re in California, they can ripen way more than we do in Oregon. It needs a dry summer and a mild winter—not so cold that it kills off the tree. Because below zero, they get pretty damaged.
Which regions are best for growing Sicilian figs?
Oregon’s Willamette Valley will probably be one of the best spots outside of California, which is just the ideal fig-growing region in the country.
Most parts of the continent don’t have the dry summer that we do. But people grow them on the East Coast; there are many old fig trees on the East Coast because people brought them when they were emigrating. That’s encouraged growers there to continue finding hardy varieties.
It’s a classic story: People who sneaked a fig tree in with them. And so that’s why you have all these various trees of unknown origin that were planted by immigrants way back in the day and are still surviving. Then, people go and clone those that proved themselves in harsher climates.
What are some ways to enjoy figs?
Certainly, fresh eating is one of the best ways because it’s one of the more fragile perishable fruits when they’re perfectly ripe. But once your tree’s really cranking, there are more figs than you can just eat fresh.
Aside from fresh eating, people make jams with them and make dried figs. Drying figs is one the best ways to preserve them so that you have those carbohydrates and sugars for wintertime.
People get creative, doing just all sorts of weird things. There is a brewery in Texas called Jester King, where they could not get enough figs. They used them to make fermented beers with all these different fruits thrown in.
The possibilities are somewhat endless. People make concentrates and different syrups from them, but I feel like jams and dehydration for dried figs are probably the most common.
What do you want people to take away when they buy a One Green World fig tree?
Above all, we just want people to be successful in their gardening. Planting a tree is a pretty big commitment. They’re not super cheap, and you have to dedicate water and energy to keeping them alive.
During the COVID pandemic, when all these people started getting into gardening, people would come to us having never grown any trees before. And they’d always want to grow peaches, nectarines, and apricots, some of the most delicious, tasty fruits you can grow. But those, in particular, do poorly here. And so we would always say, “Why don’t you try growing a fig, a persimmon, a grape, or something that’s just a little easier and better adapted for our part of the world?” I feel like we’re often telling folks just to learn to love the things that really want to grow well here.
Aside from just really wanting people to succeed with their gardens and grow something that they’re going to find success with and be really happy with in terms of it being reliable, easy, and delicious, there are so many stories attached to all these things, as there have always been with plants. It’s just a cool way to preserve stories, whether they are more recent or older ones. And for us, too, it’s like a botanical journal. When we’re on these trips and collecting things or doing road trips around California, they really encapsulate a time period for us.
Fig trees have deep origin stories; maybe that was the tree from the Garden of Eden. We’ve been intertwined with this plant for a really long time.
Amici Italiani: 39 Years of Preserving Folk Dance Traditions
Dance and folk music are the heart and soul of Sicilian tradition, connecting people and introducing others to the region’s rich heritage.
For 39 years, Amici Italiani (Italian Friends) of Rockford, Illinois, has shared and preserved culture through folk dance. With both adult and youth troupes, the group performs traditional Quadriglias, Saltarellos, Mazurcas, Tarantellas, and Codigliones, all carefully researched as members of the Italian Folk Art Federation of America.
I recently chatted with Amici Italiani Director Bea Giammarese Ricotta, whose family came from the Sicilian towns of Aragona and Bagheria. We discussed her start as a founding member, the memories she associates with Italian folk music and dance, her favorite dances, Amici Italiani’s traditional costumes, and her most rewarding performance.
How did you get started with Amici Italiani?
I was one of the founding members. We had a wonderful person named Shirley Martignoni Fedeli, who, with her husband, Gene, decided to start the Italian dance troupe.
The newspaper printed a small article that said, “If you’re Italian and you want to dance the Italian folk dances, call Shirley.”
So, my mom saw it, and I might’ve just graduated from college. And she said, “You like to dance. Why don’t you call?”
I did, and Shirley sounded really nice, so I went. That was pretty much it.
I have to laugh because I was such an idiot back then. On the first day of dance practice, I showed up in a legit dance skirt and tights while everybody else wore sweatpants and shorts.
We were the founding members, and we brought in a dance instructor from Milwaukee’s dance troupe, Mario DeSantis, who has since passed.
He taught us a couple of dances a year, and then we went from there.
I was a dancer for a million years, and then I became the instructor, and I did that for a number of years. I loved that. Then I got pretty old. When you can’t do a hop, that’s pretty bad. Your knees don’t like you anymore. When our director retired, I became the director.
My two daughters are in the troupe. One of my daughters is one of the dance instructors. We have two: a male and a female dance instructor.
So, it’s a family thing. They grew up in the troupe. And I’m going to tell you a secret: Every time I hear this beautiful Italian folk music, I’m telling you the people I lost in my life who came from Italy and are no longer here; in those few minutes that the song is playing, they’re back, and it means so much. I’ll never get tired of any of that music because they’re alive all over again and all the good memories and all the love is still there.
What memories do you associate with that music and dancing?
We had relatives who emigrated here in the early seventies, so they came later than my mom. They were all grown. Most of them had kids already. And in the summer, they would have these little get-togethers in their backyards and they had a trellis with the grapes growing over. And they hardly had any lawn in the backyard because they planted tomato plants, rows and rows of these plants.
I remember seeing the moon, and there were lights that they had strung above the trellis. And whenever somebody went in the house, they brought out other platters of food.
When I was young, we would have wonderful family gatherings. My zio, my cousins Carl, Iggy, Frank and Mr. Spoto, a close friend from down the street, played instruments. They would bring out their instruments after we’d eaten and visited, and they would sing.
Sometimes, the ladies would dance together. Those evenings were magical. I mean, my dad passed away when I was very young, so it was not easy. But because of all this wonderful stuff, I really feel like my childhood was enchanted.
Of course, at weddings, they would always play the music. And as a kid, that was amazing. You’d get out there and dance. You didn’t know what you were doing, but nobody cared.
Tarantella dances are popular at weddings. Which is your favorite?
They’re all from the southern region and Sicily. But each one has a different flavor to it. And people really loved to watch them.
We always call the Neapolitan the main Tarantella here. You could do it with as many or as few people as you want. We dance this as a call dance so you can follow along.
We have Cantania’s, which I love. Catania’s Tarantella is totally different.
Some are just crowd-pleasers, and I don’t know why. Some use tambourines, some don’t. There’s a Tarantella that only uses five people, and the movements are very together.
I tell the troupe that we’re not Rockettes. This is a chance to show your personality. But there are some dances where you have to be more rigid regarding doing the same thing. So those are amazing for us.
How do you get the audience to participate?
We’ve been hired to dance at weddings just to do what we call the main Tarantella, the Neapolitan one. But we get the bride and groom in there. We get Uncle Toto. We don’t know who we’re dancing with.
The difference between that and all the others is that it’s a call dance. So, we have one person who calls the dance, and if he makes a mistake or does something we haven’t practiced, you just do what he says—just follow.
That makes it really fun. And he says he calls it Italian, so it’s really beautiful to hear those words.
How do your troupes ensure the traditions remain?
We are really committed to the authenticity of these dances. If we change something, it would be that we can’t quite make a transition with a dance step, so we add a hop or something like that. But it does not change the integrity of the dance, which is so important to me.
Even the costuming has a lot of tradition. We don’t use nylon fabrics; we use cotton and cotton blends, which are authentic to what they used to wear. They might get a little more “wrinkly”, and need to ironed more often. But it’s important.
I saw a dance troupe with young ladies in fishnet stockings. I thought, “Oh my God, no Italian father would’ve let their daughter leave the house like that.”
I don’t know what they were thinking. We try to be as authentic as possible.
Tell us more about your costumes.
A woman from Pittsburgh put together a book of Italian clothing. We would pick our costumes from the book and recreate everything.
We would take that and find a seamstress out here who could design and sew it. Now, we have a couple of dancers who can sew, which has been very helpful.
We purchase what we can. We found some companies online that like to recreate historic items. I know they’re recreating things for Comic-Con or whatever. I don’t know why they’re making these costumes, but we can pull a shirt here or a skirt there, and it is what we want. We will hem it, and it just makes it a lot easier for our seamstresses.
How has the local community in Rockford responded?
They love them. I love being out somewhere where they’re clapping with the music. And when we have a chance to dance with the groups and the audience, I love seeing them get up there.
We will do the Tarantella with them. We’ll also do the Scopa (broom) dance. Everybody gets a partner except one person. It’s typically one of our guys, and he has to dance with the broom. And at some point, while he is dancing, he’ll yell, “Scopa!” and he’ll throw it, and everyone has to switch partners.
We’ve done that with crowds, and they do a great job. When locals see us in costumes, they stop us and ask if we can pose with them.
What do you hope audiences take away?
When I introduce a dance, I will tell a little bit about it and the area where it originated. So, we’re trying to teach them about Italy and the dances. We want to entertain them and disseminate some of our history.
The story of the Tarantella involves a tarantula. I used to bring a tarantula to performances so that the audience could see it. And I’m telling you, any child in that audience could probably still tell you about the Tarantella because they remember the tarantula. The adults remember, too.
I share the history of the dances and tell them where they come from. We have two dances from Sicily that the Moors brought over, and I love to tell people about them. The dances and music are different, but now they’re Sicilian dances and songs.
What has been your most rewarding experience with Amici Italiani?
There have been a few, but a real favorite of mine was in 1994 when we were invited to dance at the opening ceremony of the World Cup in Chicago to represent Italy.
We’re out there, and there are cameras all over. We’re dancing. It was so exciting and wonderful.
It was at Soldier Field. We ended the performance on the 50-yard line.
I was on such a high, and then I heard that my then-husband and his relatives in Italy were watching because everybody loves soccer in Italy. And somebody said, “That’s Joe’s wife.” Crazy. Just crazy.
Dancing connects us so much. Granted, they remembered me there, but it was the dancing that connected everybody.
My kids have been dancers since they were bambini. They did the youth troupe, and now they’re in the adult troupe. They’re not the only ones who have stayed in it so long. It keeps us all connected.
Victoria Granof Redefines La Dolce Vita with Sicily: My Sweet
Director and food stylist Victoria Granof is well aware of America’s love affair with Italy. It’s something she shares, but one region of Italy particularly inspires her—and it’s not the one at the tip of your tongue.
“I get so frustrated when people start talking about Tuscany,” she says. “I mean, Tuscany is really nice—really nice. But Sicily is more my style; it’s so different from any other part of Italy. People just think it’s mafia, mafia, mafia. And it’s so much more than that. I am on this mission to show people the Sicily that I love and that it’s fabulous and different from the rest of Italy.”
Victoria and I recently sat down for a conversation where she shared her surprising Sicilian connection, her favorite recipes, what she learned working with photographer Irving Penn, the fascinating and sustainable way Sicilians make cannoli, and what she hopes book readers will take away.
Tell us about your background and connection to Sicily.
My father’s side of the family is northern Italian, and on my mother’s side of the family were Sephardic Jews from Spain before the Spanish Inquisition.
We always thought we originated in Spain and landed in Turkey for the last 400 years. But the language, dialect, and food that we took with us, as well as a lot of the traditions, were not Turkish.
When I went looking for my roots and to feel a connection, I went to Turkey, and it was like, “Oh, this is nice, but this is not home.”
It wasn’t until I read an article about Maria Grammatico, who owns a pastry shop in Erice. She said she was getting older and was afraid that none of the younger generation wanted to keep the tradition of Sicilian pastry alive because it was just dying off. All they wanted to do was move to a big city or out of Sicily and do something else.
I was really drawn to this because I was a pastry chef then, and I thought, okay, I’ll go, and she can teach me. So that’s what first brought me there, and I felt this really strong connection as soon as I went.
Fast-forward to maybe five years ago, when all my family did our DNA and found out that we’re Sicilian—57% Sicilian. Then I started really researching it.
Spain wasn’t Spain as we know it now at that time. It was the Spanish empire, which included a lot of South and Central America and from Naples down through Sicily.
That’s where we started from, who knows how long ago, but we were in the Sicily of Spain. And so there are still traces of the dialect in what we brought from 500 years ago, just like Sicilian Americans whose families came here a hundred years ago or 200 years ago with that same dialect, they will be speaking that same dialect for another 300 years. That’s what they brought with them, and that’s what gets passed down through the family.
Is there a recipe in this book that has special personal significance?
I think everybody’s grandmother makes biscotti Regina, the cookies with the sesame seeds. I remember my grandmother had a cookie tin of those on top of her refrigerator. Honestly, now that I think about it, it was kind of rusty inside. Those cookies probably took years off our lives!
When she died, I remember taking the cookies off the top of the refrigerator and thinking, “These are the last ones she’s ever going to make with her hands.”
I had one in my freezer for the longest time. Then we had a power outage last summer, and everything had to go. I forgot that the cookie was in there, so it went with it. It’s very heartbreaking.
You were a pastry chef and now a food stylist. How did that influence this book?
I had to go against all of my pastry-chef training, make it approachable and easy, and simplify it for home cooks. So, that part didn’t come into it other than I love making pastries.
The book’s aesthetics were really important. In the end, two publishers were interested in it. (There were others, but these were the two that I was considering.) I went with Hardie Grant Publishing because they were willing and eager to have me not only design the book but also guide its aesthetics.
I worked with a designer in Sydney, Australia, on the book design. When I saw her very first designs, I was like, “Oh my God. I love this so much.”
Then they went through a couple of iterations, but just the colors! It was really important for me to have those colors in the book and on the book. It wasn’t those earth-tony Tuscan things, so people would really understand that Sicily is different from the rest of Italy, period, and why it’s so fabulously different. So the color had a lot to do with it—the graphics, the photographs, everything.
Describe those colors.
I used pinks and greens and oranges and blues: the colors in the tile work and those on houses. There are pink houses in Sicily and raspberry-colored houses in the country. And I just love that color. So a lot of that; not millennial pink, but a lot of that kind of Sicilian country house/raspberry pink and the green of pistachios, I really leaned into that. And the orange of orange peel and yellow of lemons—just the colors in the ingredients, really.
You worked with the late Irving Penn. How did he influence you?
I worked with him for 10 years. The funny thing was that I met the Vogue photo editor at a party, and it was a very short, cordial conversation. I handed him my card, and that was it.
Then, a few months later, he called me and said, “Mr. Penn is looking for a collaborator. And I remember meeting you at the party, and you were very reserved and quiet, and that’s what he likes. That’s the vibe he likes, so I think it would be a good match.”
So, for 10 years, I had to keep my mouth shut and not chat. It was a little bit torturous from that point of view. But you know what? I learned the economy of everything. There was nothing extra in anything. None of his output, none of his persona, none of his words, none of his anything were extra. Everything was essential. So he never had superfluous anything anywhere around him.
I learned what is important in a picture and what is not necessary. I learned when to stop because several times, he would set up the shot, do a Polaroid, and take a picture. He would do a Polaroid first; if he liked it, he would take the picture, and then we would leave.
We’d be done before lunch. And it was never like, “Alright, let’s do some variations,” or “Let’s do five more just in case,” or “Let’s see; do we think we have it?” No, after many years, he knew what it took to get a good picture and how to recognize it when he got it. And that was huge.
It’s a practice and a discipline. I’m so grateful for that because I’ve used it in all aspects of my life, including personal relationships. It’s really important to know when to stop.
Which Sicilian desserts should everyone experience?:
Well, anybody who hasn’t had a really good cannolo is… I mean, forget it!
I learned the last time I was in Sicily that they use bamboo as cannoli-shaping tubes. It was kind of a revelation for me. If you’ve ever done that with the metal tubes and fried the shells, the first thing it does is sink to the bottom. And then the bottom of the shell gets a little bit darker, which nobody notices, really. And then you have to keep turning them around and everything. With the bamboo, it floats. So not only does it just float and turn around by itself, but it’s porous. So it cooks from the inside out and the outside in, and it allows air bubbles to come through and make the dough lighter. It’s really an amazing thing. They turn black, but they are used over and over, and it’s sustainable.
I’m also really obsessed with St. Agatha’s breast cakes. I do them a couple of different ways, but the way I really love them is just with the pastry dough, the ricotta inside, and the icing on top. I love those symbolically—and just about anything with almonds and pistachios.
Most of my recipes are traditional, but some of them I developed that are just in the spirit of Sicily using Sicilian ingredients. I have shortbread cookie recipes, and one has sun-dried tomatoes and anise seeds. It’s treating the tomatoes like dried fruit because that’s what they are. Then, the other one has dried figs and oil-cured olives in it. It’s really treating the olives and the tomatoes like the fruits they actually are. And it’s really, really good. You could just keep the rolls of the dough in your freezer and then slice and bake it as you need it.
What do you hope readers take away?
I want them to appreciate this on so many levels. I want them to open their eyes and minds and appreciate Sicily for the multicultural, fabulously weird, and delicious place that it is.
In the book’s introduction, I really talk about how if you go to other parts of Italy, they look like postcards. Everybody brings the same pictures back from Rome. There I am, throwing the coin in the Trevi Fountain. There I am in front of the Coliseum. They’re all the same pictures. And the takeaway is the same. You can go to those places passively. You can just observe.
But what I love to say about Sicily is if you are there, you’re in the game—not just enjoying it passively. You’re not just looking at it. You’re experiencing it. And some of it is funky, and there’s garbage on the side of the road. There’s some funky stuff there. But it’s worth it because being there is such a heightened sensory experience.
After so many centuries of being dominated and controlled by all kinds of different civilizations, people, empires, and all of that, it’s just turned into this really strong, strange, wonderfully mixed-up, and beautiful place. It’s not in spite of having that history; it’s because of the history that it’s so great.
It was late afternoon when our bus rolled into Catania. After checking into our hotel, we wandered over to a cafe across the street, which proudly advertised “Sicilian Bruschetta.”
My Sicilian family never served bruschetta. Growing up in Wisconsin, it was just something I’d find at a hip trattoria. So I assumed this menu item was geared toward American tourists, who pronounce it “broo-shetta” instead of the Italian “broo-sketta.”
Still, I was intrigued. What made this bruschetta Sicilian?
We ordered a plate, and it was delightful: sweet Sicilian tomatoes, fresh basil, crunchy caper berries, roasted garlic, and just the right amount of olive oil and vinegar. It was a celebration of Sicilian culture on crunchy, toasted bread.
But I wondered. Was bruschetta really Italian? Where did it come from?
For one thing, it probably didn’t originate in Sicily. There are some who say that the Etruscans invented bruschetta; it was a way of dressing stale, saltless bread. Or perhaps it was the Ancient Romans. Either way, the appetizer has likely existed nearly as long as olive oil, according to the late James Beard Foundation Lifetime Achievement winner and Italian cooking writer Marcella Hazan, who wrote about bruschetta in The Classic Italian Cookbook. As for the name, she explained, “bruschetta comes from bruscare, which means ‘to roast over coals.’”
I recently stumbled on a YouTube video of another Sicilian bruschetta recipe. Produced by Francesco Elia, aka Tortellino, this recipe starts with good-quality bread: a fresh-baked pane nero di Castelvetrano loaf made from tumminia durum, which, like bruschetta, has ties to Ancient Rome. According to Francesco, this was also the go-to bread during World War II when other flours were harder to come by.
Francesco mixes his toppings—tomato, basil, garlic, salt, and pepper—with extra virgin olive oil and vinegar. He lets the mixture sit and marinate for several minutes to let the flavors blend. During that time, he bakes the slices until the edges are golden but not too crispy.
I contacted Francesco, a Sicilian born in Catania who now lives in the United Kingdom, to chat about this popular antipasti offering, its preparation, how to keep bruschetta crispy, serving etiquette, and what makes a recipe Sicilian.
What is Sicilianbruschetta?
It can be as simple as olive oil, oregano, and pepper or as sophisticated as looking almost like a pizza. It doesn’t really matter. But the fundamental basis is the way you cook the bread.
As long as the olive oil is good, especially if it’s new, that is a form of bruschetta. You can have hot bread, bread under the grill, or sometimes even bread on the barbecue. You get a lovely charcoal and smoky flavor.
People add oregano, for example, to give a little bit of a pizza flavor, along with garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella. It’s a bit like a pizza to an extent.
I also included some balsamic drizzle in my recipe, which is incredibly tasty. I did that because that’s what I was used to doing here in Sicily. So I’m calling it a Sicilian bruschetta because that’s how we used to eat in my house. It’s generally an appetizer as well. It’s a form of a starter.
You can dip it with olives and sun-dried tomatoes on the side. And that is more cultural nowadays, of course. But in the past, it was very much about survival because it was something you could do very easily, and you could get by just by eating bread, olive oil, and tomatoes.
Is there a proper way to prepare the basil?
I think basil is okay as long as you don’t cook it. Basil is an incredible herb. I always put it at the end of my dishes. If it’s a hot ragù, for example, you will see me adding the basil at the end because it releases lots of flavors. I do that with most of my herbs.
It doesn’t matter if you crush it, chop it with a knife, or do it with your hands. People say that if you chop with a knife, it loses its properties. I think it’s rubbish. Personally, it’s so minimal. The whole thing doesn’t matter. The most important thing is to leave it to marinade because if you leave it for 20 minutes or 30 minutes to marinade with the olive oil, you will see that it will release its lovely flavors and taste incredible. That is an ingredient that is not in the original bruschetta. It is part of the evolution of bruschetta because basil obviously goes really well with most things, especially with tomatoes.
How do you ensure that your bread will be crispy rather than soggy when adding the toppings?
What I do is I put mine under the grill, and I do not put the mix until I’m ready to eat it. Generally, I tend to serve it hot. So if I am entertaining, for example, and I’ve got guests coming, I will do the bruschetta bread under the grill and then call everybody at the table. They sit at the table, and I’ll get it out of the oven, and it’s hot and crispy. Then, I’ll have the little pot of my marinade in the middle. Then people can help themselves and then eat it straight away. And because between putting it on the bread and eating, it’s pretty much a couple of minutes, it stays crispy. However, if you were to do it earlier and leave it on the bread, it would get soggy because the bread would absorb the olive oil. It will taste okay but not the same because you will lose the crunchiness. So, if you want to retain the crunchiness between spreading the marinade and eating it, just a few seconds.
What is the traditional serving ofbruschetta?
There isn’t one really. I think in Sicily, you have the bread in the middle of the table, and you help yourselves. That is generally how food is consumed in Sicily. It’s more about the warmth and the family fun of fitting together rather than the etiquette of having to have it on a plate that becomes very un-Sicilian, so to say. I’m sure some people do that, but it’s not how people generally eat in a household; in a family, you put the food in the middle of the table, and people help themselves.
What makes a recipe Sicilian?
What makes it really Sicilian is ingenuity and making it do with what you have. Sicilians are very good at using their imagination to make anything they have in the fridge. That is why Sicilians have come up with so many different recipes: because their imagination is really great, and from very little, they can make something very, very big. And the best thing is that Sicilian food is the simplest food. And that’s why bruschetta is so great because it’s very, very simple. You will find that even the most acclaimed pasta dishes in Sicily have only a few ingredients but are incredibly delicious. The same applies to a lot of pasta, for example. There are only a few ingredients, maybe three, four, or five.
The reason is that the fewer ingredients you have, the more you can taste what the meal is about. And so if it’s about the mozzarella, then you can taste the mozzarella. If it’s about the tomato in a recipe, then you taste the tomato.
The true Italian and Sicilian dish is simple cuisine where you can eat something, identify what is in it, and appreciate a blend of flavors without something being overpowering. A lot of Sicilian food also has garlic, but I will only put one little clove because I don’t want it to be overpowering.
And that is where Sicilians are good at making something work from very, very little.
Mangia, Bedda! How Nadia Fazio’s Minestrone Connects Generations Through Food and Memory
A classic Italian soup, traditionally made from vegetable scraps and paired with beans and sometimes pasta, minestrone is the perfect first course for a Sicilian supper. There are a variety of ways to prepare this meal starter, but I was drawn to a recipe by Nadia Fazio of Mangia Bedda.
Nadia’s blog reflects her quest to transcribe all of her mother’s classic recipes. It has an even deeper meaning for her now that their mother has passed.
I sat down with Nadia to discuss her Sicilian-Canadian upbringing, the origin of Mangia Bedda (and its name), the right way to make minestrone, and the art of shelling your own beans.
What’s your background?
I’m Italian-Canadian. Both my parents, however, were born in Sicily. They are actually from the same little town in Sicily (Naso in the province of Messina). My father emigrated to Canada in 1954. My mom, after they got married, came here and joined in 1959.
What was it like growing up Sicilian Canadian?
My siblings and I grew up with all the typical Italian traditions that they brought over from Sicily. It’s interesting because it appears that when people came here from Sicily, it was sort of like time froze. They maintained the exact same traditions, with regard to food and family, that they practiced in Sicily.
I grew up with the typical Sicilian foods, all the traditional foods, all homemade from scratch, especially at this time of the year, all of the preserving, making the tomato sauce and all the different vegetables, the beans, and roasting the peppers and the eggplants and all of that.
I grew up surrounded by that, and I think my memories of my childhood and my parents are all, for the most part, actually centered around food, and I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I really did not appreciate it.
I remember being dragged to a local farmers market in Montreal, and I found it so drab. I mean, I was a kid. It was boring, and it’s one of my favorite places today.
Another memory that stands out is going to a farm outside of the city to get fresh milk (probably unpasteurized at the time) so that my mom could come home and make ricotta with it.
Tell us about your project, Mangia Bedda.
I started this blog almost 10 years ago as a little part-time hobby. It slowly grew and evolved, and I realized that my mission was really to transcribe all of my mom’s recipes so that they wouldn’t be lost. Most importantly, I wanted to write them down and get the correct quantities of ingredients because whenever you speak to an Italian nonna about how much flour goes into a recipe, it’s as much as needed.
I started going to my mom’s home to prepare one recipe at a time, watching her make it and stopping her at every step. “Wait, Mom, I’ve got to measure. I’ve got to weigh; I’ve got to write down how much it is.” So that’s what I did because I wanted to make sure that I had my favorite recipes. And that’s even more dear to me now. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to do that.
I lost my mom a year ago, actually. So I am ever so grateful that I had that opportunity to do that because I have the recipes, not only for me, but I see how much they’re appreciated by the types of comments and feedback I get from my readers, who are so happy that I took the time to document them. They share these memories of growing up with these recipes and are so happy that there’s a place where they can get them.
Where does the name of your blog come from?
Bedda means my pretty one or beautiful one. And that’s of significance to me because when I was little, I only met my nonna twice in my lifetime. She lived in Sicily, but I remember I was two years old when I met her, and apparently, I didn’t want to eat. She always said those words to me, “Mangia, bedda,” to coax me to eat.
What does this minestrone remind you of?
The first thing that comes to mind is memories of this time of year, specifically because this was when my mom made huge batches of minestrone, and she had all the vegetables from my dad’s garden. So, if I look at all the ingredients and the recipe, the celery came from the garden. The tomatoes came from the garden. The zucchini and the green beans came from the garden. Oh, and some of the greens, I put in fresh spinach that’s easily accessible, but you can use any greens in the garden.
I remember my mom making huge batches. She would freeze it before adding pasta and put it into freezer bags. She had a freezer full; we used to have the deep-chest freezer that we had in the garage at the time. She would take out a bag at a time and cook it up for us.
So, what exactly is minestrone?
It’s an Italian vegetable and bean soup. The key component is that it’s vegetables and beans. The beans are always present. Usually, they’re Romano beans, but they could be white beans. It’s just a medley of vegetables cooked down with these beans. There’s a tomato base, and in my mom’s case, it was always fresh tomatoes from the garden.
Usually, pasta is added to it as well. It’s usually a small shape, like a ditalini. It could be small shells or elbow macaroni. Another typical addition would be taking spaghetti and breaking it up into small pieces. We call this spaghetti “sminuzzati.” That was very, very common. In fact, sometimes, my mom might’ve even mixed pasta.
How do you flavor your minestrone?
Most minestrone soups are made with plain water, which is the classic way. But you could use chicken stock or vegetable broth if you want.
The herbs are also important—fresh basil, parsley, and thyme. You could add flavor with bay leaves. In just about any soup, I always add a couple of bay leaves.
I also add Parmesan rind. I think that makes such a big difference. If you want to stick to using plain water and not some kind of broth, just throw in a Parmesan rind, and I think it’s fantastic. It gives a lot of flavor. And, of course, I always serve it with Parmesan cheese. Having minestrone or anything with pasta without cheese is hard for me.
Another thing you could add just before serving is a nice drizzle of olive oil. Olive oil on top adds tons of flavor.
What did your mother add that was unique to this recipe?
In our house, it was always made with freshly picked vegetables from our garden because, as I said, my mom made large batches. At this time of year, my parents often headed out to local farms and picked their own vegetables to supplement what we had. We could get more tomatoes, more zucchini, and so on.
I should add that the beans used were not dried beans that you just bought and soaked from the grocery store. They would always go out and get fresh beans. I actually did this recently. I went to a local farmers market and got a huge 20-pound bag of beans in their pods.
There was a lot of time spent shelling these beans at this time of year. They were the beans that we shelled ourselves. She also froze bags full of these beans to make pasta fagioli as well during the winter months.
What do you get out of that experience of shelling your own beans?
Oh, it connects me to my mom. When I was a kid, I was always trying to find a way to get away from these tasks. And my mom didn’t force me. She let me go out and play and wouldn’t hold me to these tasks. But for the last few years, I made sure to head out with my mom every year to get those beans. So we spent time the last few years sitting here, actually in my backyard, bonding while we were shelling the beans and chitchatting and talking about family and so on. So it’s really special. I’m glad that I had the opportunity to do that. And now I do that with my husband and my daughter. It’s just continuing that tradition.
What do you hope readers will take away from your recipe?
What I hope readers will take away is a few things. I think, first of all, the importance of preparing a simple, healthy meal from scratch with fresh ingredients for themselves and their family. I want to show them that it’s really not that difficult to do so. Also, the importance of preserving family food traditions and passing them on to the next generation.
>>Get Nadia Fazio’s minestrone recipe here.<<
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New Study Links Mediterranean Diet to Lower Risk of Heart Failure in Women
Following a Mediterranean diet is associated with a lower risk of heart failure, particularly in women. So says a recent review published by a group of European scientists, including researchers at Sicily’s University of Palermo and Kore University of Enna.
The results suggest following such a diet could benefit women, who research shows tend to develop heart failure later in life than men. They are also more likely to experience heart failure with preserved ejection fraction (otherwise known as diastolic heart failure).
While women with heart failure tend to live longer than men, they experience lower quality of life during those extended years. Perhaps eating more fruits, vegetables, seeds, nuts, and vegetable oils (and fewer meat and dairy products) can help women reduce their risk and avoid unnecessary suffering.
In his previous role as Senior Researcher of Geriatrics and Internal Medicine at the University of Palermo, Dr. Veronese was part of the team that performed this latest systematic review and meta-analysis of the effect of the Mediterranean diet on the incidence of heart failure. He shared more about heart failure and which components of the diet contribute to its heart-healthy benefits.
Why did you and your colleagues embark on this review?
Heart failure is among the most common causes of hospitalization, particularly, but not only in older people. We have in mind other cardiovascular diseases, but very little is known about heart failure, particularly in terms of prevention. So, we started with the idea that the Mediterranean diet has a protective effect on several medical conditions. But, the knowledge of its effect on heart failure was limited, so we decided to do this work.
What is heart failure?
Heart failure is a common condition where your heart has difficulties regulating normal blood pressure or blood for your system and organs. It is a common cause of hospitalization. There are better medications compared to some years ago, but they’re not able to solve the problem; they are only able to reduce the symptoms of heart failure.
How does heart failure affect women and men differently?
Our research tried to highlight this important topic because gender differences are highly supported in cardiovascular research. We don’t have any reason for these epidemiological findings. You are told about this without being able to find a precise mechanism. However, the research suggests that, for example, the Mediterranean diet’s effect was stronger in women than in men. This is probably due to hormonal changes or differences mediating the interaction between a Mediterranean diet and the risk of heart failure.
Women may also adhere to the Mediterranean diet more than men because, in Europe, they cook more frequently than men, particularly in families. They’re probably better positioned to tailor foods to be more Mediterranean.
What components of the Mediterranean diet contribute to its heart-health benefits?
First, olive oil is like gold in Italian kitchens. It has a lot of anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties. Second is the fact that you limit practically all animal fats. Fish offers strong cardiovascular heart disease protection compared to meats like beef. Finally, the Mediterranean diet is a spiritual attitude to follow with your family. This is very important to decrease anxiety, depression, and your risk of heart failure or other cardiovascular diseases.
What were the limitations of your review?
They are observational studies, so we did not put an intervention of, for example, one group with a randomized diet and the other with low fat. There is also somewhat of a selection bias. First, you are including people who are not adhering to your reality. Second, we observed that the Mediterranean diet sometimes was not reported. It is somewhat unrealistic to think that today, you’ll have practically the same diet in 10 years. Maybe today, you will eat animals, and in 10 years, you will become vegan. This is an important limitation, of course, but it is related to the fact that these are observational studies.
What do you hope people will take away from these findings?
I hope they gain some knowledge about how important the Mediterranean diet is for this disease. Unfortunately, heart failure is less known compared to other cardiovascular diseases, metabolic disease, or diabetes. However, it is a very important condition. Knowing that the Mediterranean diet can decrease your risk of heart failure is important not only from an epidemiological point of view but also as an attempt to try at least to follow a Mediterranean diet.
