Since December is the time of year when most Italians start preparing for the challenges of digestive overload, it would be difficult not to mention one of the most treasured products of our region: il torroncino (or small nougat) of S. Marco dei Cavoti.

There are two schools regarding the origin of the word torrone. References to it can be found as early as 100 B.C. in ancient Roman when it went under the name of “cupedia”, a term used to describe greed and lust for fine or delicate foods. Some say the word torrone comes from the Latin verb torréo, rrés, rrùi, stum meaning to roast, toast or tan, referring to the process of toasting the hazel nuts which are a prime ingredient in nougat. Others believe it stems from the word turùnda meaning flat loaf, cake or bun typical to the Mediterranean. Be that as it may, this exquisite delicacy made of honey, egg white, hazel nuts and almonds is a coveted treat that draws young and old to S. Marco dei Cavoti every year for the Festa del Torrone in December.

Nougat is made by slowly stirring honey in a double boiler over a low flame. At the same time a light caramel mixture is made with sugar and water, while egg whites are beaten until firm. All the ingredients are then mixed with the honey and nuts, then rolled onto a table sprinkled with powdered sugar after which it is cut into pieces.

The nougat of S. Marco dei Cavoti was developed in the 19^th century by cavalier Innocenzo Borrillo and is particular because it is cut into bite-sized pieces and covered in rich, dark chocolate. It was a favorite of the Bourbon King of Naples Ferdinando I, but made its way quickly to the tables of popes and nobles all over Europe. The Borrillo family’s tiny jewel of a store still exists today.

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It all depends on what you’re looing for.

If your idea of a vacation is a place full of people, a whirlwind of activities and outlet shopping malls, this is not the place for you.

If, on the other hand, you are looking for somewhere quiet, far from the madding crowd, yet within easy access of Rome, Naples, Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast, then this is the place for you.

Mesogheo (pronounced me-SO’-gheo) is a marvelous bed & breakfast inn, surrounded by lush centuries-old olive groves at the foot of the Camposauro mountain in the province of Benevento. It started as a renovated farmhouse for its owners Fabrizio and Lucia. On the ground floor they opened a small restaurant which offered Lucia’s creative cooking based totally on local produce and food sources. With small intimate rooms and a well-stocked library, the atmosphere was at once subdued yet warm and friendly, ideal for making and meeting friends. Their guests were so taken with the location that they were reluctant to leave and always asked if they had rooms. They therefore decided to build three isolated ‘dependences’ with 10 drop-dead gorgeous rooms (all ensuite with fireplaces) and added two swimming pools.

The area is perfect for pleasant walks and excursions. Among the rolling hills, vineyards and olive groves it is easy to tour the medieval towns and cities as well as the major tourist sites. It is also a stone’s throw away from the thermal baths of Telese.
A stay at Mesogheo makes for a very special kind of vacation. Nothing is imposed but everything is at your fingertips: good food, good company, relaxation, culture and extraordinary beauty.

Visit Fabrizio and Lucia’s website at www.mesogheo.com to read more and see pictures of this extraordinary estate.

For those who live in big cities where the hum drum of daily life lends a certain anonymity to our thoughts and actions, a visit to the lovely town of Sessa Aurunca to see an important religious celebration can take on the feeling of a fantastic and surreal voyage. The period leading up to Easter is full of fascinating appointments, even for those who do not follow the religious rites. Sessa Aurunca boasts an ancient tradition which is cherished by its inhabitants who, on the night of Good Friday, take to the streets in confraternities which follow ancient symbolic routes through the town, chanting solemn and devotional hymns. If you follow the procession it is impossible not to be drawn - whether you are a believer or not - into the medieval atmosphere which feels at once sacred and pagan.

The night is beautiful; the villagers and visitors stroll along the crowded streets, greeting one another and jostling to find the best places to view the procession, the most fortunate looking on from balconies of the first-floor appartments. The procession is headed by the brothers of the confraternity who intone a particularly odd and resonating chant. Following them, in the distance, you can see the statues representing various moments of the Passion of Christ being carried on the shoulders of the other members, all are dressed in long black, hooded robes. They are followed by men women and children bearing torches and candles. The statue bearers have a characterstic gait, taking small steps and oscillating from side to side. They stop in the larger squares which are illuminated by huge bonfires made of olive branches leaping to enormous heights. The occasion is not a happy one; the hymns, the intonations, the rosaries commemorate pain, but somehow the overall feeling is not sad. Seeing the animation of an entire town coming together to maintain an ancient custom becomes an equally important act of cultural identity.

Per chi è abituato alla città che con i suoi ritmi porta ad un certo anonimato, visitare una importante festa o celebrazione in una cittadina come la bella Sessa Aurunca, può contenere le esperienze di un vero viaggio. Il periodo di Pasqua è molto ricco di interesse anche per chi non segua riti religiosi e Sessa vanta in questo campo una tradizione antica ed evidentemente amata dai suoi abitanti: così i Sessani da secoli si riuniscono in Confraternite, e numerosi scendono nelle strade antiche, seguono percorsi simbolici, intonano canti devoti e suggestivi, mentre nel corteo o nel paese è praticamente
impossibile non essere coinvolti nell’atmosfera. Non c’è bisogno di essere un fedele: è una bella serata, di Venerdì Santo, paesani e visitatori passeggiano, si incontrano, cercano un posto favorevole per poter vedere la processione, chi è fortunato ha amici con un balcone
al primo piano. Il corteo è preannunciato dai primi Confratelli che preparano lo spazio nel quale passeranno le statue raffiguranti i momenti della Passione: si vedono già da lontano, lungo la via, insieme alle torce, vengono portate con una tipica camminata oscillante.
Nelle piazze più importanti la sosta è accompagnata dalla luce suggestiva di grandi falò. Non è certo la commemorazione di un episodio gioioso: i canti, le intonazioni, i Rosari, sono di dolore; però l’effetto non è triste: vedere l’intero paese così animato di gente che si incontra e si saluta e mantiene il contatto con abitudini e riti antichi di secoli fa pensare
all’importanza delle nostre identità.

Every year in the outlying province of Benevento an unusual and wonderful event takes place. Like bees honing onto a flower, the men of Pontelandolfo flock to the main square . They come every afternoon, proud and defiant, to challenge one another, individually and in groups, to a grueling contest of…cheese throwing.

La ruzzola del formaggio, once characteristic of rural populations all along the Apennines, is a tradition dating back to the Etruscans as immortalized in the Tomba delle Olimpiade at Tarquinia. A fresco depicts a man launching a large round form, his posture almost identical to those of current day cheese-throwers. Played nowadays almost exclusively by farmers and stonemasons who, during the winter months have more free time, the men show off their strength and prowess by hurling huge forms of cheese weighing up to 34 kg. Since la ruzzolata (ruzzolare meaning literally to tumble or throw) takes place during the shortest days of the year, these men look forward to the event not only as a pleasant pastime, but as a way to earn extra money, by making and taking bets on the various players and contrade, similar to the Palio of Siena. Participants pay an up-front fee of €30,00 plus 1.5 kg. of pork or 1kg. of veal (in lieu of the festivities that takes place at the opening of the tournament).

The object of the game is to launch a form of cheese along an astablished path of about a kilometer through the city, passing twice around the main square and down to the war monument. The man or team that finishes the distance in the least number of throws wins.

To throw the heavy forms, a rigging made of rope called a zaa’glia is wrapped around the cheese and then strapped to the wrist by a brace which is held in place with either duct tape or leather straps.

The winding of the rope around the cheese is a vital part of the ritual and depends on an assistant, who gauges the size and weight of the form. It will be wound, unwound and rewound until the pitcher is sure he has found the perfect grip.

Lastly, the helper stands in front of the pitcher and carefully ponders the road ahead, considering the incline and scanning the pavement for depressions, potholes, or anything that will affect the course of the cheese. Next he takes a few long paces, tracing the perfect trajectory in his mind and then stops, turns around and stands, legs apart, at the exact point where the thrower is to aim. The pitcher lifts the form and gently swings it back and forth, then, with truly awesome strength, heaves it forward while simultaneously pulling back on the rope, sending the cheese spinning along the cobblestones. This process is repeated, first up and then down the street. There is little yelling or shouting… this is earnest business. A form of cheese can cost up to 150 euro, a large sum for the hardworking people of these areas.

There is something especially poignant about this simple, yet manly pursuit. For some reason it reminds me of fairy tales, fables and ancient heros. On Sundays little boys imitate the gestures with tiny forms of cheese, or hold on protectively to their fathers’ jackets as they puff and sweat into the night. This is a place where time has stopped. There are no costumes, no music, no sbandiatori or tourists. In a world where local traditions are slowly dying, here is a town vitalized, with men proud of their identity yet happy to explain the history and nuances of the game. It’s been a tranquil yet inspiring afternoon, well worth the weight!

La Ruzzola dei Formaggi begins January 17th and lasts until Ash Wednesday

A trip to Pontelandolfo to see la ruzzola del formaggio makes an excellent day’s outing from Rome or Naples. If possible, reserve a table at ‘La Pignata’, the cozy family-owned restaurant run by Canadian-born Chef Irene Mucilli (www.ristorantelapignata.com). They have a well-stocked cellar and feature the best local wines of the region such as Mastroberardino, Feudi di S. Geregorio, Antica Masseria Venditti, Mustilli, La Rivolta and Corte Normanna. A full four-course meal with wine costs (on weekends) approximately 35,00 euro per person.

The Roman poet Giuseppe Gioachino Belli wrote a delightful poem on the ruzzolata called Er gioco de la ruzzica, which I am unfortunately unable to translate:

Sta cacca de fà a rruzzica, Dodato,
Co la smaniaccia d’abbuscà ll’evviva,
Nun è ggiro pe tté, cche nun hai fiato
De strillà mmanco peperoni e oliva.

Come sce pôi ggiucà, tisico nato,
senza dajje ’na càccola d’abbriva?
Nun vedi la tu’ ruzzica sur prato
c’appena ar fin de ’na scorreggia arriva?

Co ddu’ pormonettacci de canario,
d’indove mommò er zangue te se sbuzzica,
tu protenni de prennete sto svario?

Stattene in pasce: ggnisuno te stuzzica;
si ppoi vôi vince tu, vva’ a Montemario,
pijja la scurza e bbutta ggiú la ruzzica.