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Stella = Star. 

Stella Ricci is the premier baker and chocolatier of the Sannio and a very entertaining woman.  I had the opportunity to watch her give a fascinating lecture/demonstration on the making of Babà and Sfogliatelle, two of the many pastries that are now legendary in Campania.

Babà are Campania’s version of cupcakes.  Made with flour, yeast, eggs, sugar and LOTS of butter, these mini cakes look like little upside-down chef’s hats.  The dough is whisked energetically for almost half an hour, and is turned out only after it makes a slapping sound in the beater. 

Then comes the interesting part. The extra kneading of the dough is performed by taking a handful of the mixture and throwing it - much like a yo-yo or paddle ball - into the air and catching it again. After this motion is repeated a few times it is then spezzato, or broken off, just like mozzarella.  The dough is pinched through the top of the hand and dropped into little individual baking tins.  After cooking and cooling, the babà is soaked in a syrupy mixture of hot water, sugar and rum, then squeezed dry like a sponge.  This is how it is sold, but once home it is doused with additional rum before serving.

The dish originated in Lemberg in the 1600’s, when it was known as kugelhopf.  The story goes that the deposed king of Poland Stanislas Leszczynska, tasted the dessert while exiled in France.  He found the cake dry and threw it off his plate in disgust where it landed in a puddle of rum that was on the table.  He watched as the cake soaked up the liquor and decided to taste it again.  He was so delighted with the result that he named it after his favorite story-book hero, Ali Baba, and it  eventually became know simply as ‘babà’.

(based on this original article)

Wikipedia defines transhumance as the “seasonal movement of people with their livestock, typically to higher pastures in summer and to lower valleys in winter”. Until fairly recently, cattle-driving along the Apennine mountain paths or tratturi was a tradition that had been going on long before Romulus or Remus met up with mamma wolf.

There were four main highways: the Aquila-Foggia, the Castel di Sangto – Lucera, the Centurelle – Montesecco and the Pescaseroli - Candela, or Regio Tratturo.  From the hilltowns of the Sannio, the mountain path of preference was the Regio Tratturo, or royal track, which wound its way down to the huge plateau known as the Tavoliere della Puglia.

Since time immemorial and until as late as the 1970’s, it was uncommon to house animals in barns during the winter, because it meant large investments in buildings and fodder.  Instead, in late autumn, between the third week of October and S. Martino (November 11th) millions of cows, sheep and horses, together with their pastori, or shepherds, swept south along the ancient mountain paths.  The trek began at the full moon and took 12 days.  Horses and cows had better eyesight and could continue through the night, but the sheep, though better protected from the cold, did not have good night sight and were held in temporary pens that were set up each evening.

The cattle path was wide 60 neapolitan paces (sessanta passi napolitani) and there were rigid laws governing passage.  Overtaking was forbidden; one herd could not pass another, possibly to avoid the mingling of herds, but more probably to avoid a rush for the best land, which would have further tired the animals, many of which were already pregnant.

Cattle-driving was a tough life so is no longer in vogue and most of the tratturi themselves are slowly disappearing under man-made mountains of concrete.

“E vanno per tratturo antico al piano;
quasi per un erbal fiume silente,
sulle vestige degli antichi padri.”
D’Annunzio, I pastori

Click here for the original article by Miti Vigliero

How the Ruzzola, or Tumbling, Came to be the Official Form of Entertainment at Carnival in Pontelandolfo.

Once upon a time in the Middle Ages, the wealthy Baron of Pontelandolfo had a  passion for gambling and would find any pretext for a good game as long as it was loaded with substantial stakes.

On the last Sunday of Carnival he was having a late-night card game with his farmhand Pasquale: it was a tense competition with victory often changing sides. In the end, dawn saw Pasquale the winner of two farms and pasture hills.

Taking no notice of the change of ownership, the Baron’s cows continued grazing happily on what was now Pasquale’s land.  Pasquale complained to the Baron about the trespassing, “I think, since I’m feeding your cows, I should be entitled to a share of the cheese from their milk!”

“You wish!” the Baron retorted, “They are grazing on grass that was grown before you won the land, therefore it’s still my grass.”

Now the townfolk of Pontelandolfo could look forward to a good, hot blooded battle between the two factions.  To add insult to injury the lord had a big wheel of cheese hung on Pasquale’s window. The farmer, furious but clever, and not wanting to stir up turmoil, challenged his opponent by saying, “What began as a game should be resolved with one: I shall wait for you tomorrow in the square!”

The following morning, surrounded by a shouting crowd, the two men started what was to be a decisive cheese-tumbling tournament.  According to the legend the game never ended and it is said that their ghosts appear in the nights of Carnival, still playing!

The Origins of the Game

There are clues to possibly very ancient origins of the Ruzzola: an Etruscan fresco in Tarquinia’s Tomb of the Olympiad, shows an athlete in the act of swinging a “disc” that looks much like a cheese.
Even Galileo took an interest in the game: in his Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems there is a quotation from Aristotle about the rotating motion and speed of ruzzole.

The Game as it is Played Today

Since 1861 the players gather and start the course of some 700 metres beginning at the main square, to Palazzo San Rocco and back, throwing their wheels of cheese.
These can weigh from 6 to 35 kilos and are swung using a rope called a zagaglia, which wrapped  around the perimeter of the cheese and the player’s wrist.  The team that uses the least throws, or cùlp wins.

Although today the game is properly organized in a Federation, its peasant origins make it popular in many regions of Italy; often the cheese is replaced by a wooden disc, which is cheaper and lighter.

©Mitì Vigliero

Read the published article at Italian Notebook

On the day of my visit to the sanctuary of S. Lucia in Sassinoro, I had an experience so glorious in its absurdity that it had to be documented and shared.

While admiring the inside of the church of S. Lucia in Sassinoro, my host Giovanna pointed out the last-minute preparations being made for a wedding that was to take place shortly: the bride and groom’s seats and pew had been padded with white satin drapery; the central aisle carpeted with a white runner and strewn carefully with orange rose petals.  Bouquets of yellow flowers decorated the pews on either side of the carpet, creating a strong visual perspective towards the magnificent, suspended cross with its incredible, rocky backdrop.

As we walked out into the dappled sunlight I began to say my goodbyes, but my eyes were drawn to a strange apparition on the far side of the courtyard, standing directly opposite a white marble statue of Padre Pio.  Like the glimmering image of St. Michael in the dark grotto of 1600, a young man stood, emanating a blinding light.  I had to blinked twice to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

He was olive-skinned and decked from head to toe in shades of cream and white.  A diamond-studded clasp closed the lapels of a jacket made out of what seemed to be upholstery fabric; a smaller pin glinted at his throat in place of a tie.  While the unhemmed pants billowed out over his cream-coloured boots, a jauntily-held white cane brought my gaze back to ruffled shirt-cuffs peaking out from the jacket sleeves.  The whole thing was topped off by a top hat studded with sequins.

Could this be St. Barnum or Bailey, I wondered, or was it a character out of a Savoyard production of Gilbert & Sullivan? The total effect was of a ring-leader at a circus and I watched, tranfixed, to see whether he would pull a rabbit out of his hat.

“Oh my God” I gasped, “It’s the groom!”

Two considertions broke into my mind.  What kind of person could have suggested this bizarre outfit and had the young man had to pay for it?

At that moment the bride’s entourage pulled up at the the gate below, cars piling up behind the  10-meter limousine which huffed to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.  Out spilled a cresting wave of white tulle.

St. Lucia is the patron saint of the blind and this girl must have been a long-standing member of the congregation because the lenses of her glasses were thick as bottle-bottoms. Her father - also dressed in white, but with an interesting shade of purple shirt and tie – helped her out of the car and proudly led her up the stairs.  Not to be outdone, her mother wore a red strapless gown while her aunt videoed the procession from behind in a tight-fitting black dress with a striking cleavage.  Someone at the top of the steps shouted down to the bride as she bravely navigated the stairs that she was lifting her dress too high for decency…

The riotous assembly regrouped in the sunlit churchyard, as the four-year-old bridesmaid augustly took her place behind the couple and holding the end of veil in her tiny hands.

The statue of Padre Pio, unperturbed by the garish show, calmly blessed everyone as they entered into the shadows of the church.