Every year between November and February, the tradition to “far xo el porseo” (referring to the preparation of pork meat in Venetian dialect), still continues. At that time, pancetta, coppa and sopressa are prepared for drying, an authentic patrimony to food, and an expression of regional culture in the constant search for the purity of what we consume.
Sopressa, in particular, continues to be an important element in the gastronomy of the Venetian farmer due not only to its nutritive value but also to the fact that it is tasty and being aged, is easily digestible. What was once the only means to preserve meat, over the centuries has become a deep-rooted tradition, and one that promises to endure for the centuries to come.
Among the sopressa produced in the Veneto region, that of the Vicenza province, and especially in the area of the Pedemontana (area in the foothills of the Dolomite Mountains), has reached a level of excellence. The climate of this area with its dry winds provides ideal conditions for the drying of meats with a minimal amount of salt rendering the sopressa meat sweet.
Sopressa is made with pure ground pork meat to which only salt and pepper are added. The meat is mixed and then tightly stuffed into natural casings. The sopressa are then pierced to allow air to escape and set to dry first in a dry and not too cold location, then are transferred to a humid environment (such as a wine cellar) for a year. Throughout this period, the sopressa must be periodically cleaned of muffa (mold) with vinegar.
In the Veneto, sopressa is an important part of life around the table. It is eaten in the morning with cheese for breakfast on most farms, at pranzo as a first or second course, and at dinner or after dinner among friends. During the summertime on Sundays, close friends gather at mountain malghe (farmhouses) to eat fresh cheese and sopressa and share the afternoon together in deep conversation.
There is a story that I hear every winter when it comes time to make sopressa (Venetian salami). It goes like this.
It is the beginning of December and in catechism class one day, the priest teaching the class asks Giovanni, the son of a farmer, what the most important time of the year is for all devout Catholics. “Winter”, he answers. Correct says the priest, “But why?” he asks, expecting the child to answer."Because it is Christmas season and on Christmas Day we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ". Instead, Giovanni joyfully answers, “Because the best day of the year is the day we make salami from “Ciccio” (a moniker for a pig) and every winter we make salami.”
Indeed historically and even presently, in most of rural Italy, this day is a day of great celebration for the swine is the symbolic celebration of the moon and its lunar cycles. In the past, the sacrificing of swine and the making of salami was not only symbolic, but also had a distinct purpose; to provide meat and substance for the whole family the entire year and most especially during the cold winter months. In those days if you were not a nobleman, just having food to feed your family was a cause for celebration. Today, the celebration is more a celebration of an age-old tradition, a day the family spends together preparing the meat that they will enjoy together all year.
It was a short time since my move to Italy when the big celebration day arrived. Having always come to Italy during the summer, I had never before encountered any traditional winter festivities. The moon that day was just right "in crescita" (rising) and at five-thirty in the morning the farm was already bustling. The cows had to milked and fed before everyone arrived at seven, and the macellaio (butcher) was already on his way. The early morning passed and I chose not to leave my room. I could not bear the thought of what was happening that morning to “Ciccio”. How could anyone choose to be a butcher, I thought. I had no desire to even meet the man. Never before had I related the food I ate to the fact that an animal had been sacrificed to provide this food. I was so distraught that I thought about never eating again or or at least becoming a vegetarian. I found no consolation in tradition and sat in the room miserable for hours.
After much reflection, I realized that I was composed of spirit and matter and that my body had to be nourished in order to live. I was not simply a spiritual being and therefore required not only spiritual food but also food that nourished my material being. Whether I consumed a simple vegetable or a piece of meat or fish, I realized that I was nourishing myself with something that was once alive. Was not nature purposefully designed to allow for this balance? If a seed is planted and it does not die, it does not give birth to a plant. If an animal does not die how can it provide nourishment for other animals in existence or for that matter,human beings? Once again, in this instance, I was reminded that the universe has purpose in everything. There is always balance, always a positive and negative. With these thoughts, I finally managed to go and join the rest of the family in their celebration. I now understood. The day was indeed a day to celebrate, a day to celebrate life.
I helped stuff the last of the casings with meat and learned to tie each sopressa with string before carefully covering them with mesh. The salamis would have to hang several days before putting them into the cellar to age for a good year or better.
When a year had passed and it was time to open the first sopressa Maurizio had to tease me as he always does just a bit. He dangled a piece of sopressa in front of me and jumped away as I went to grab it from his hands. “Mi aiuti l’anno prossima? (Will you help me next year?), he asked “o passerai tutta la mattina in camera?” (or will you spend the whole morning in the bedroom?). I smiled and we both laughed as we enjoyed our sopressa and fresh bread with a great glass of wine huddled in the warmth emitted by the wood-burning stove of the kitchen. It was certainly a Delicious Moment to remember in many ways.
Note: With abundance of sea salt from the Italian coastline, preserving meats have always been a part of the Italian tradition and was especially important in the years following the plague and those of exploration.
IN REFLECTION:
From the old moon, comes a new moon, from a seed comes a plant and from death comes a new birth, a birth charged with spiritual purpose. As human beings, however, our purpose is not always obvious. We must discover it from within, while continuing to nourish both our spiritual and physical aspects while we search. Complacency in either aspect halts our progress and denies us from reaching our true bliss by temporarily throwing us out of balance with the universe. That sense of imbalance can manifest itself in illness, depression, frustration and desperation, all negative reactions. When in this situation, remember that our experiences are actually given to us for a purpose; to allow us to recognize our situation and to make the necessary changes for correction, putting us once again in perfect harmony with the universe. Each imbalance is an invaluable experience just as each negative, becomes a positive. With both, we go one step more towards our full enlightenment much in the same way the moon moves one phase each day towards full illumination. The path is difficult but when we finally arrive at our full moon, we have truly found our bliss, and can truly celebrate our life.
A NEW APPROACH:
Each of us is born with a special purpose. Some of us, like Mozart, find it very young. Some of us find it in our twenties; others find it along the road to middle age. Some finally find it in their golden years and others finally discover it on their death beds. There are some of us who never discover it at all in this lifetime and must repeat the cycle in order to find it. The choice is ours. However, if we choose to ignore it and go about our daily life indifferent to the awareness, we are denying ourselves of who we truly are.
Take the time to find your purpose by reflecting on the purpose of all around you. Remember that nothing is by coincidence and nothing is by mistake. There is purpose in every insect, every flower, every animal, every experience, every decision, every event and every moment in your life. In the universe’s infinite wisdom, why should there not be purpose for you?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
RADACCHIO (Red Chicory) - TRUTH
For a special recipe using Radicchio or for a Spiritual Exercise to learn the value of truth, comment with your e-mail address.
RADACCHIO (Red Chicory) - TRUTH
The cultivation of the radicchio began in the 1500’s in a small town outside Venice in the Veneto region of Italy. Production of this vegetable steadily grew and in the 1900’s it was the principal product of local markets. Rich in fiber, mineral salts and vitamins, this red vegetable is considered an optimum digestive that aids in the proper function of the liver, kidneys and intestines.
Radicchio Trevigiano has a rather curious production process. Initially, the chicory is planted at the end of June. Towards the middle of November, the small plants are gathered, complete with roots, tied together in massive bunches of 15-20 plants, covered with black plastic and are placed in a deep cement tubs. Within these tubs, warm water flows at a temperature of 12 degrees Celsius. After approximately two weeks of forcing the plant, a sprout has formed. The bunches of chicory are then transferred to a warm, humid location to complete their maturation. In the past, farmers used the stables for this phase of production. The conditions were perfect.
There are two types of Radicchio Trevigiano, the precoce (early) available as early as October or the tardivo (late) available from the end of November to February. The later is considered much more of a delicacy. Related varieties that lack the flavor and texture of the Radicchio Trevigiano are the Radicchio di Castelfranco, di Chioggia and di Verona.
In Italy, one of the greatest aspirations a to which a daughter-in-law can ever look forward, is to become, in the eyes of her husband, equally brava (skilled) as her mother-in-law in the cooking department. It doesn’t matter whether she has been professionally trained in the culinary arts or not, whether the love of cooking ran in her family or not, or if she has cooked for some of the most important people in the world. Mamma always knows how to cook everything better than her daughter-in-law. What is so unique about what Mamma does that none of the rest of us can do? That is a question, I am afraid, that can never be answered. It just is and always will be in the Italian home.
I came into this marriage considering myself an excellent cook and one who had a wonderful knowledge of international cuisine. My years as a Pan Am stewardess working the first class galley while traveling all over the world, had exposed me to just about every type of cuisine possible. I loved cooking, everyone knew it, and that is why most every time I arrived at the Pan Am hanger for briefing, I was the one who got assigned to the First Class galley. I never complained. I loved it! It was simply glorious cooking gourmet meals from scratch for some of world’s most important people!
My background and preparation in Italian cuisine was especially exceptional. All my friends would rave over my meals in "the States". My interest in cooking began early. I remember hanging over my Nana’s stove for years, watching, smelling and tasting. Everything I learned from her I knew wasn’t just home cooking. It had come from a pro, from Nonno (my great grandfather), who was a chef in Italy before coming to the United States. He taught her just about everything that she knew, and I guarantee that she was an excellent student. Ironically enough, back here in Italy, that still was not enough to bring me up amongst the ranks of culinary achievers.
With a genuine desire to please and make my husband happy, (my grandmother always told me that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach), I mistakenly tried and tried to replicate the dishes my husband grew up with and those that he particularly loved. In spite of his usual tenderness and affection, when it came to meals, the comments were always, “E’ buono, ma Mamma lo fa cosi” (It is good, but Mamma makes it this way). If that had not done enough damage, he would go on to analyze each dish and point out every aspect that would make it different from Mamma’s version. It could be as big a thing as too much garlic, which he claimed he has trouble digesting, or as small a thing as too little salt. (Let me interject that Italians are nuts about salting their dishes and I personally find it at times somewhat excessive). That statement would usually be followed by “Chiedi alla Mamma come si fa” (Ask my mother how to make it), which would infuriate me even more.
I was married, lovingly preparing a meal for my husband (something in which I took great pride), and it seemed that no matter what happened, I would always wind up being frustrated. I had never had any intention of competing with my mother-in-law over anything, certainly not her cooking. Didn’t my husband understand this? He was usually so sensitive, but why was he so stubborn when it came to this? The answer is culture. For Italian wives, it has been like this for generations. It is a given, and my husband was no exception. I had to find another way to approach the problem.
One day a thought came to my mind. Even though I did not want to admit it, I subconsciously was indeed trying to compete with my mother-in-law for my husband’s approval. The fact was that I was bucking centuries of culture that went along with it. I asked myself why I had even tried to make the exact same dishes as my mother-in-law. There were certainly enough variations of those same dishes that I could come up myself and be successful at them. Besides which, I needed my own culinary identity here in Italy, my own truth. So, I made a decision. From now on, I would joyfully and lovingly serve my husband and his family my own recipes.
My first attempt at this new way of thinking was on my mother-in-law’s birthday. I invited the whole family for dinner. One of my husband’s favorite dishes is pasticcio and I must admit that my mother-in-law really does make an exceptional version that is rich with cheese, mushrooms, ragu (northern Italian style tomato sauce) and béchamel sauce made with fresh milk from the farm. I decided to make my own a version of pasticcio. Everyone loved radicchio, a vegetable that marries extremely well with sausage due to it bitterness and it was in season, why not? A radicchio and sausage pasticcio seemed like a great idea.
Everyone was seated at the table, peacefully sipping wine, when I exited from the kitchen with the sizzling pasticcio and set it down on the table. The moment of truth had come. I just wanted to cringe thinking about how my new recipe would be received. “Cos’e?” (What is this?) were the first words out of my husband’s mouth. “E’ una ricetta mia” (It’s my recipe), I responded, “Vedrai” (You’ll see). I could see the anticipation in my husband’s face as I scooped up each serving, careful not to waste even a drop of the luscious cheesy béchamel sauce that enveloped each piece and placed them on each plate. “Buon appetito” (good appetite), I said gleefully, as we all dug into our plates for the first forkful. I was hoping for the best. The instantaneous look of approval on my husband’s face said it all, but more importantly, I can still remember his words, “Mia mamma fa un pasticcio eccezionale, ma Tosa, sei brava anche tu” (My mother makes an exceptional pasticcio, but my little girl, you are equally talented). For me, that moment was everything. I had succeeded, I had broken the barrier. Everyone seconded his sentiments including my mother-in-law who said she never would have thought of combing those particular ingredients to make pasticcio.
From that day on, things have changed a lot. The analyzing has stopped and there is a new level of appreciation for everything I prepare. Only once in a while, there is a slight slip, and someone asks for the salt shaker. We all look at each other and laugh, knowing all well, that what makes all our meals so special, is the love that is put into each of them. In the end, this experience helped me not only to create my own culinary identity but also my own truth. Now, each time I eat pasticcio, I recall that Delicious Moment of triumph and recall how each of us grew from it. .
Note: "Tosa" is used by a husband to his wife as a sign of affection. It means “little girl” in Venetian dialect.
IN REFLECTION:
Probably all of us are guilty of trying to compete for someone’s attention or approval at some point in our lives, and during that process, became entangled with sentiments of anger and frustration. We see this most often in children who constantly fight and compete with their siblings for the attention of their parents. I can honestly say that there are probably no parents in the world, who have not become overwhelmed at some point with the constant and unending quibbling that goes on between their children. What is so strange is that essentially, siblings absolutely adore each other. Have you ever noticed that heaven forbid one of them should get hurt, they are all around crying. You can count on there almost always beings deep remiss especially when a competitive punch for attention winds up causing pain. Yet the competition continues and the remiss is always short lived. I see this constantly with my nephews who swear they won’t fight again, lecture after lecture, but the next thing, you turn around, and they are at it again. Isn’t it amazing, that as adults, we still have not figured it all out? We fall into the same trap, competing and setting ourselves up for the same anger and frustration we had when we were children.
In my case, what triggered the sense of competition was the fact that something near and dear to me, my cooking, a skill I knew I excelled at, was being challenged. It was being challenged not by my mother-in-law, but by someone I love and adore, which made it worse. I was hurt not only because I was being criticized, but also because I felt a sense of failure, a lack of appreciation for my efforts. So, without thinking, I set myself right up for frustration and anger not only towards my mother-in-law, but also my husband. Criticizing him for his insensitive approach would have worsened the situation and created needless tension between us. I knew his insensitivity was not intentional, but more a cultural issue. Luckily I was able to catch myself from falling deeper and deeper into this trap and was able to find a solution. With it, the unofficial culinary competition ended and once again, in the ambiance of my small kitchen and through another Delicious Moment, I was able to reflect on my own truth and the self-realization it took to keep me on my path.
A NEW APPROACH:
Catch yourself when you begin to take on too much of that competitive spirit. It’s great if you’re playing soccer, or tennis, or any other competitive sport. Leave it all on the playing field, for that is where it belongs, and only there. And in the workplace, some may ask? Think about it, the answer is quite obvious. I am sure each of you can come up with at least one incidence where too much competition in the workplace created anger, backstabbing, cheating, and an abundance of other negative elements. Really, why should you need to compete with anyone over anything? You are your own truth, your own soul and your reality belongs to you and no other. Your merits are not measured against others, but against your own potential in reaching light and peace.
Instead of letting the sense of competition overwhelm you, the next time, stop, think, and find another road to a accomplish that same goal. You’ll find that the new road will take you there a lot faster.
Radicchio Trevigiano has a rather curious production process. Initially, the chicory is planted at the end of June. Towards the middle of November, the small plants are gathered, complete with roots, tied together in massive bunches of 15-20 plants, covered with black plastic and are placed in a deep cement tubs. Within these tubs, warm water flows at a temperature of 12 degrees Celsius. After approximately two weeks of forcing the plant, a sprout has formed. The bunches of chicory are then transferred to a warm, humid location to complete their maturation. In the past, farmers used the stables for this phase of production. The conditions were perfect.
There are two types of Radicchio Trevigiano, the precoce (early) available as early as October or the tardivo (late) available from the end of November to February. The later is considered much more of a delicacy. Related varieties that lack the flavor and texture of the Radicchio Trevigiano are the Radicchio di Castelfranco, di Chioggia and di Verona.
In Italy, one of the greatest aspirations a to which a daughter-in-law can ever look forward, is to become, in the eyes of her husband, equally brava (skilled) as her mother-in-law in the cooking department. It doesn’t matter whether she has been professionally trained in the culinary arts or not, whether the love of cooking ran in her family or not, or if she has cooked for some of the most important people in the world. Mamma always knows how to cook everything better than her daughter-in-law. What is so unique about what Mamma does that none of the rest of us can do? That is a question, I am afraid, that can never be answered. It just is and always will be in the Italian home.
I came into this marriage considering myself an excellent cook and one who had a wonderful knowledge of international cuisine. My years as a Pan Am stewardess working the first class galley while traveling all over the world, had exposed me to just about every type of cuisine possible. I loved cooking, everyone knew it, and that is why most every time I arrived at the Pan Am hanger for briefing, I was the one who got assigned to the First Class galley. I never complained. I loved it! It was simply glorious cooking gourmet meals from scratch for some of world’s most important people!
My background and preparation in Italian cuisine was especially exceptional. All my friends would rave over my meals in "the States". My interest in cooking began early. I remember hanging over my Nana’s stove for years, watching, smelling and tasting. Everything I learned from her I knew wasn’t just home cooking. It had come from a pro, from Nonno (my great grandfather), who was a chef in Italy before coming to the United States. He taught her just about everything that she knew, and I guarantee that she was an excellent student. Ironically enough, back here in Italy, that still was not enough to bring me up amongst the ranks of culinary achievers.
With a genuine desire to please and make my husband happy, (my grandmother always told me that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach), I mistakenly tried and tried to replicate the dishes my husband grew up with and those that he particularly loved. In spite of his usual tenderness and affection, when it came to meals, the comments were always, “E’ buono, ma Mamma lo fa cosi” (It is good, but Mamma makes it this way). If that had not done enough damage, he would go on to analyze each dish and point out every aspect that would make it different from Mamma’s version. It could be as big a thing as too much garlic, which he claimed he has trouble digesting, or as small a thing as too little salt. (Let me interject that Italians are nuts about salting their dishes and I personally find it at times somewhat excessive). That statement would usually be followed by “Chiedi alla Mamma come si fa” (Ask my mother how to make it), which would infuriate me even more.
I was married, lovingly preparing a meal for my husband (something in which I took great pride), and it seemed that no matter what happened, I would always wind up being frustrated. I had never had any intention of competing with my mother-in-law over anything, certainly not her cooking. Didn’t my husband understand this? He was usually so sensitive, but why was he so stubborn when it came to this? The answer is culture. For Italian wives, it has been like this for generations. It is a given, and my husband was no exception. I had to find another way to approach the problem.
One day a thought came to my mind. Even though I did not want to admit it, I subconsciously was indeed trying to compete with my mother-in-law for my husband’s approval. The fact was that I was bucking centuries of culture that went along with it. I asked myself why I had even tried to make the exact same dishes as my mother-in-law. There were certainly enough variations of those same dishes that I could come up myself and be successful at them. Besides which, I needed my own culinary identity here in Italy, my own truth. So, I made a decision. From now on, I would joyfully and lovingly serve my husband and his family my own recipes.
My first attempt at this new way of thinking was on my mother-in-law’s birthday. I invited the whole family for dinner. One of my husband’s favorite dishes is pasticcio and I must admit that my mother-in-law really does make an exceptional version that is rich with cheese, mushrooms, ragu (northern Italian style tomato sauce) and béchamel sauce made with fresh milk from the farm. I decided to make my own a version of pasticcio. Everyone loved radicchio, a vegetable that marries extremely well with sausage due to it bitterness and it was in season, why not? A radicchio and sausage pasticcio seemed like a great idea.
Everyone was seated at the table, peacefully sipping wine, when I exited from the kitchen with the sizzling pasticcio and set it down on the table. The moment of truth had come. I just wanted to cringe thinking about how my new recipe would be received. “Cos’e?” (What is this?) were the first words out of my husband’s mouth. “E’ una ricetta mia” (It’s my recipe), I responded, “Vedrai” (You’ll see). I could see the anticipation in my husband’s face as I scooped up each serving, careful not to waste even a drop of the luscious cheesy béchamel sauce that enveloped each piece and placed them on each plate. “Buon appetito” (good appetite), I said gleefully, as we all dug into our plates for the first forkful. I was hoping for the best. The instantaneous look of approval on my husband’s face said it all, but more importantly, I can still remember his words, “Mia mamma fa un pasticcio eccezionale, ma Tosa, sei brava anche tu” (My mother makes an exceptional pasticcio, but my little girl, you are equally talented). For me, that moment was everything. I had succeeded, I had broken the barrier. Everyone seconded his sentiments including my mother-in-law who said she never would have thought of combing those particular ingredients to make pasticcio.
From that day on, things have changed a lot. The analyzing has stopped and there is a new level of appreciation for everything I prepare. Only once in a while, there is a slight slip, and someone asks for the salt shaker. We all look at each other and laugh, knowing all well, that what makes all our meals so special, is the love that is put into each of them. In the end, this experience helped me not only to create my own culinary identity but also my own truth. Now, each time I eat pasticcio, I recall that Delicious Moment of triumph and recall how each of us grew from it. .
Note: "Tosa" is used by a husband to his wife as a sign of affection. It means “little girl” in Venetian dialect.
IN REFLECTION:
Probably all of us are guilty of trying to compete for someone’s attention or approval at some point in our lives, and during that process, became entangled with sentiments of anger and frustration. We see this most often in children who constantly fight and compete with their siblings for the attention of their parents. I can honestly say that there are probably no parents in the world, who have not become overwhelmed at some point with the constant and unending quibbling that goes on between their children. What is so strange is that essentially, siblings absolutely adore each other. Have you ever noticed that heaven forbid one of them should get hurt, they are all around crying. You can count on there almost always beings deep remiss especially when a competitive punch for attention winds up causing pain. Yet the competition continues and the remiss is always short lived. I see this constantly with my nephews who swear they won’t fight again, lecture after lecture, but the next thing, you turn around, and they are at it again. Isn’t it amazing, that as adults, we still have not figured it all out? We fall into the same trap, competing and setting ourselves up for the same anger and frustration we had when we were children.
In my case, what triggered the sense of competition was the fact that something near and dear to me, my cooking, a skill I knew I excelled at, was being challenged. It was being challenged not by my mother-in-law, but by someone I love and adore, which made it worse. I was hurt not only because I was being criticized, but also because I felt a sense of failure, a lack of appreciation for my efforts. So, without thinking, I set myself right up for frustration and anger not only towards my mother-in-law, but also my husband. Criticizing him for his insensitive approach would have worsened the situation and created needless tension between us. I knew his insensitivity was not intentional, but more a cultural issue. Luckily I was able to catch myself from falling deeper and deeper into this trap and was able to find a solution. With it, the unofficial culinary competition ended and once again, in the ambiance of my small kitchen and through another Delicious Moment, I was able to reflect on my own truth and the self-realization it took to keep me on my path.
A NEW APPROACH:
Catch yourself when you begin to take on too much of that competitive spirit. It’s great if you’re playing soccer, or tennis, or any other competitive sport. Leave it all on the playing field, for that is where it belongs, and only there. And in the workplace, some may ask? Think about it, the answer is quite obvious. I am sure each of you can come up with at least one incidence where too much competition in the workplace created anger, backstabbing, cheating, and an abundance of other negative elements. Really, why should you need to compete with anyone over anything? You are your own truth, your own soul and your reality belongs to you and no other. Your merits are not measured against others, but against your own potential in reaching light and peace.
Instead of letting the sense of competition overwhelm you, the next time, stop, think, and find another road to a accomplish that same goal. You’ll find that the new road will take you there a lot faster.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
BASILICO (Basil) - FULFILLMENT
For a special recipe using Basil or for a Spiritual Exercise to learn the value of fulfillment, comment with your e-mail address.
BASILICO (Basil) - FULFILLMENT
The name basil (Ocimum basilicum) is derived from the Greek word basilikos which means the “herb worthy of a king”. However, its regal origins are uncertain.
Basil has always been considered sacred. In fact, according to legend, a basil plant sprouted at the base of the cross after Christ’s crucifixion and was gathered by the Empress Elena, mother of Emperor Constantine who scattered it throughout the world. Thus, the reason for the numerous varieties found in the Middle East, Asia, Europe and Africa.
In ancient Egypt, basil was used together with other aromatic herbs for sacrificial offerings as well as in a medicinal application.
In spite of its therapeutic value, there has always been superstition surrounding the basil plant. The Greeks and Romans believed that basil had to be planted with incantations in order to grow. While during the Middle Ages, basil was considered a defense against the evil powers of the monster “Il Basilisco”.
Today, basil is an important ingredient in the Italian kitchen where it realizes it maximum expression. Basil from the region of Liguria is particularly appreciated for its unique and intense perfume and delicate taste.
Basil is an herb used profusely throughout Italy. One could say that basil is to the Italians what vanilla and cinnamon are to the British. Ask anyone in the world to identify an herb with Italian cooking, and nine times out of ten, basil will come up as the response.
Traditionally used strictly for seasoning tomato dishes, pastas and soups, Italy’s new innovative cuisine based on traditional principles, has introduced this versatile herb in recipes such as “Lemon and Basil” sorbet.
For some reason or another, basil was never an herb prevalently used in our kitchen as children. I remember my grandmother, Nana, putting a few leaves into her tomato sauce, but other than that, very little. This was surprising for a Sicilian woman whose husband’s family had immigrated to Sicily generations back from Genova, a Ligurian city famous for its “Pesto alla Genovese”.
The first time I met Isabella through a friend of mine, I was enthralled by her outgoing personality, her strong convictions and her love of Italian history. She was a sophisticated woman with a unique elegance about her that was striking and an inner peace that enhanced her physical aspects. She had been widowed at a young age and had raised her daughter virtually alone, her dear mother being her only other source of assistance. But for her mother, traveling, to Venice by train on a regular basis was difficult, and though Isabella would be ecstatic during her visits, I noticed that they became less and less frequent.
Marriage is what originally brought her to Venice from Genoa, her husband being a Venetian by birth. Like everyone I know who lives there, once in Venice, she became caught up in its magic. Though after the loss of her husband she really had no reason to stay, the “Jewel of the Sea” as the city is affectionately called, held her as if she were magnetized to its hull.
Isabella had lived in Venice now for a good part of her life and she was an unbelievable source of information on Venetian history with its abundant twists and turns. We never walked through a campo (a tiny piazza found throughout Venice) without her telling me a story about what had happened there or why it was so famous. Before long, and despite our friendship being still in its infancy, I had commissioned her to help me escort my clients through this mesmerizing and mysterious city. It might have been my own Venetian roots that constantly drew me to Venice, but I’d like to think that it was also Isabella, who made my time there so special.
One particular morning, I arrived in Venice rather early. We had organized a lavish dinner for a group of fifty in the private palace of a Count and Countess and there was still a lot to do. The company that would provide the gondolas that would take the group to and from the party had not yet confirmed the number of people that could be carried in each, and we awaited last minute news on this as well as other details. By six in the evening, things were pretty well under control and it would not be long before the festivities would begin.
The dinner went beautifully and without a hitch, and by the time we reached Isabella’s home, we both realized how absolutely exhausted we really were. We had been on our feet all day and the last stretch from the Frari stop on the vaporetto (Venice’s public water bus service) to the house had exhausted us.
It was one in the morning and neither of us had eaten a thing all day. We were both tired but also starving, and in spite of the hour, Isabella headed straight for the kitchen. “Posso aiutarti? (Can I help you?), I asked, knowing all well that only one person could fit in her kitchen at a time. She of course said no and instructed me to open a bottle of white wine that she had brought back from Liguria on her recent visit. It was a white from the Cinque Terre, an area famous for its wines and cultivated from vineyards that literally clung to the sides of the cliffs. How they can ever harvest those grapes is still a wonder to me.
It was only a matter of minutes before a steaming dish arrived to the table. The perfume was exquisite. My mouth began to water as I analyzed how the pesto genovese had delicately coated each crevice and ridge of the pasta shells while the pignoli (pine nuts) that adorned it, danced among the fine streams of Ligurian olive oil that had turned green with the crushing of the basil. We has been around food all day, but this, in its simplicity, seemed to top everything else we had prepared.
We talked and ate, then talked some more. We philosophized about the universe; we debated our spirituality and conversed about the destiny of our meeting. We had both had faced difficult times in our lives and had grown from the infancy of those experiences calling on our inner strength to carry us through those same periods of self-doubt and despair. Perhaps it was that same inner strength that we identified within each other that had drawn us together so quickly. Perhaps it was the way in which we faced life. One thing we both agreed upon was that through our spiritual growth, each of us had been able to face and conquer fear and despair, the very emotions that before, had blocked us from a true sense of fulfillment.
It was six-thirty in the morning before I climbed into bed, the footsteps of early risers already clacking against the cobblestone "calle" (walking street in Venice) outside my window. By now, I was not only physically drained but also emotionally drained from the depths of our conversation. My appetite had been more than satisfied and my spirit too. As I started to doze off, I thought of the hours of conversation we had every time we were together and of the Delicious Moments we shared that always seemed to trigger those conversations. I felt blessed to be able to share my spirituality with my dear friend and would miss her terribly once she moved to Milan.
IN REFLECTION:
What is it that keeps us from true fulfillment? Our biggest block is fear. The fear of not being accepted, not succeeding, what others may think, how society and our parents will react, the future, the unknown and principally, the fear of discovering who we really are and our true spiritual purpose.
Almost all the negative forces that exist in the universe stem from fear. How is then, that we welcome fear so readily? From infancy, we are programmed by society and by our parents to meet certain standards, thereby making fear a part of our psyche; to succeed, we must make money, to be accepted by society we must dress, speak and present ourselves in a certain way. To be accepted by others we have to compromise our own beliefs. To go on after the loss of a loved one, we must drop everything and drown in the sorrows of detachment unwilling to face the world alone. To discover who we really are and our true purpose we must thrust aside everything we ever knew. None of this is true.
Negative forces will always exist because the physical world is one of duality, positive and negative, good and bad, and so on. In order for us to grow spiritually, we must be faced with the challenges of the negative and positive for in overcoming these, we automatically embrace the opposite and re-establish balance. Once this transition is complete, we come to understand and identify it as a crucial element in our karmic search for eternal bliss and true fulfillment.
IN NEW APPROACH:
Begin to identify your fears. Then, discover from where they have come. Do they hold any value in your life? Are they stopping you from doing what you truly wish to do and from being truly happy? Are they keeping you from true fulfillment?
If the answer is yes, look deep into your soul and try to understand that it is your fears that are blocking you along your path to eternal bliss. What it simply means is that you have now identified the fact that you need to create balance and harmony in your life. You need to balance the positive and the negative and stop letting fear control you.
Basil has always been considered sacred. In fact, according to legend, a basil plant sprouted at the base of the cross after Christ’s crucifixion and was gathered by the Empress Elena, mother of Emperor Constantine who scattered it throughout the world. Thus, the reason for the numerous varieties found in the Middle East, Asia, Europe and Africa.
In ancient Egypt, basil was used together with other aromatic herbs for sacrificial offerings as well as in a medicinal application.
In spite of its therapeutic value, there has always been superstition surrounding the basil plant. The Greeks and Romans believed that basil had to be planted with incantations in order to grow. While during the Middle Ages, basil was considered a defense against the evil powers of the monster “Il Basilisco”.
Today, basil is an important ingredient in the Italian kitchen where it realizes it maximum expression. Basil from the region of Liguria is particularly appreciated for its unique and intense perfume and delicate taste.
Basil is an herb used profusely throughout Italy. One could say that basil is to the Italians what vanilla and cinnamon are to the British. Ask anyone in the world to identify an herb with Italian cooking, and nine times out of ten, basil will come up as the response.
Traditionally used strictly for seasoning tomato dishes, pastas and soups, Italy’s new innovative cuisine based on traditional principles, has introduced this versatile herb in recipes such as “Lemon and Basil” sorbet.
For some reason or another, basil was never an herb prevalently used in our kitchen as children. I remember my grandmother, Nana, putting a few leaves into her tomato sauce, but other than that, very little. This was surprising for a Sicilian woman whose husband’s family had immigrated to Sicily generations back from Genova, a Ligurian city famous for its “Pesto alla Genovese”.
The first time I met Isabella through a friend of mine, I was enthralled by her outgoing personality, her strong convictions and her love of Italian history. She was a sophisticated woman with a unique elegance about her that was striking and an inner peace that enhanced her physical aspects. She had been widowed at a young age and had raised her daughter virtually alone, her dear mother being her only other source of assistance. But for her mother, traveling, to Venice by train on a regular basis was difficult, and though Isabella would be ecstatic during her visits, I noticed that they became less and less frequent.
Marriage is what originally brought her to Venice from Genoa, her husband being a Venetian by birth. Like everyone I know who lives there, once in Venice, she became caught up in its magic. Though after the loss of her husband she really had no reason to stay, the “Jewel of the Sea” as the city is affectionately called, held her as if she were magnetized to its hull.
Isabella had lived in Venice now for a good part of her life and she was an unbelievable source of information on Venetian history with its abundant twists and turns. We never walked through a campo (a tiny piazza found throughout Venice) without her telling me a story about what had happened there or why it was so famous. Before long, and despite our friendship being still in its infancy, I had commissioned her to help me escort my clients through this mesmerizing and mysterious city. It might have been my own Venetian roots that constantly drew me to Venice, but I’d like to think that it was also Isabella, who made my time there so special.
One particular morning, I arrived in Venice rather early. We had organized a lavish dinner for a group of fifty in the private palace of a Count and Countess and there was still a lot to do. The company that would provide the gondolas that would take the group to and from the party had not yet confirmed the number of people that could be carried in each, and we awaited last minute news on this as well as other details. By six in the evening, things were pretty well under control and it would not be long before the festivities would begin.
The dinner went beautifully and without a hitch, and by the time we reached Isabella’s home, we both realized how absolutely exhausted we really were. We had been on our feet all day and the last stretch from the Frari stop on the vaporetto (Venice’s public water bus service) to the house had exhausted us.
It was one in the morning and neither of us had eaten a thing all day. We were both tired but also starving, and in spite of the hour, Isabella headed straight for the kitchen. “Posso aiutarti? (Can I help you?), I asked, knowing all well that only one person could fit in her kitchen at a time. She of course said no and instructed me to open a bottle of white wine that she had brought back from Liguria on her recent visit. It was a white from the Cinque Terre, an area famous for its wines and cultivated from vineyards that literally clung to the sides of the cliffs. How they can ever harvest those grapes is still a wonder to me.
It was only a matter of minutes before a steaming dish arrived to the table. The perfume was exquisite. My mouth began to water as I analyzed how the pesto genovese had delicately coated each crevice and ridge of the pasta shells while the pignoli (pine nuts) that adorned it, danced among the fine streams of Ligurian olive oil that had turned green with the crushing of the basil. We has been around food all day, but this, in its simplicity, seemed to top everything else we had prepared.
We talked and ate, then talked some more. We philosophized about the universe; we debated our spirituality and conversed about the destiny of our meeting. We had both had faced difficult times in our lives and had grown from the infancy of those experiences calling on our inner strength to carry us through those same periods of self-doubt and despair. Perhaps it was that same inner strength that we identified within each other that had drawn us together so quickly. Perhaps it was the way in which we faced life. One thing we both agreed upon was that through our spiritual growth, each of us had been able to face and conquer fear and despair, the very emotions that before, had blocked us from a true sense of fulfillment.
It was six-thirty in the morning before I climbed into bed, the footsteps of early risers already clacking against the cobblestone "calle" (walking street in Venice) outside my window. By now, I was not only physically drained but also emotionally drained from the depths of our conversation. My appetite had been more than satisfied and my spirit too. As I started to doze off, I thought of the hours of conversation we had every time we were together and of the Delicious Moments we shared that always seemed to trigger those conversations. I felt blessed to be able to share my spirituality with my dear friend and would miss her terribly once she moved to Milan.
IN REFLECTION:
What is it that keeps us from true fulfillment? Our biggest block is fear. The fear of not being accepted, not succeeding, what others may think, how society and our parents will react, the future, the unknown and principally, the fear of discovering who we really are and our true spiritual purpose.
Almost all the negative forces that exist in the universe stem from fear. How is then, that we welcome fear so readily? From infancy, we are programmed by society and by our parents to meet certain standards, thereby making fear a part of our psyche; to succeed, we must make money, to be accepted by society we must dress, speak and present ourselves in a certain way. To be accepted by others we have to compromise our own beliefs. To go on after the loss of a loved one, we must drop everything and drown in the sorrows of detachment unwilling to face the world alone. To discover who we really are and our true purpose we must thrust aside everything we ever knew. None of this is true.
Negative forces will always exist because the physical world is one of duality, positive and negative, good and bad, and so on. In order for us to grow spiritually, we must be faced with the challenges of the negative and positive for in overcoming these, we automatically embrace the opposite and re-establish balance. Once this transition is complete, we come to understand and identify it as a crucial element in our karmic search for eternal bliss and true fulfillment.
IN NEW APPROACH:
Begin to identify your fears. Then, discover from where they have come. Do they hold any value in your life? Are they stopping you from doing what you truly wish to do and from being truly happy? Are they keeping you from true fulfillment?
If the answer is yes, look deep into your soul and try to understand that it is your fears that are blocking you along your path to eternal bliss. What it simply means is that you have now identified the fact that you need to create balance and harmony in your life. You need to balance the positive and the negative and stop letting fear control you.
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