By Leslie Xavier. See original Italian Notebook article here

Each year during Carnevale, animated giants inhabit the streets of Putignano in Puglia. These allegorical paper-maché creations are approximately 4 stories high! Very much like floats in parades the world over, they gracefully glide down the streets. Hidden Lilliputians guide the animations of these modern Gullivers, barely missing lamp posts and balconies along the route.

Each float is created with a theme that carries a social or political satirical message. One of the favorites was the float addressing the oil spill in the U.S. A diver in a dive suit of stars and stripes paddles and swims amid a very “Finding Nemo” undersea world. At the base of the float a very conspicuous cork bobbles precariously in a “British Petroleum” pipeline.

The parade is highlighted by events such as Tarantella dancing, live music, and a host of people dressed for the occasion. The event is definitely family oriented with a children’s parade during the day and plenty of lively actors and street musicians.

Putignano claims to have the oldest and longest Carnevale, its origin dating to December 26th, 1394, with the transfer of St Stefan’s relics from Monopoli to Putignano. During this transfer of the relics, it is said that local farmers formed a procession with dancing, singing and reciting rhymes, hence the beginning of the Carnevale!

Nowadays the Carnevale in Putignano begins December 26th and ends on Martedi’ Grasso (Shrove Tuesday). The end of Carnevale is marked in a unique way as “extreme unction” is administered by fake priests using a toilet bowl brush and water from a miniature toilet, “priso”. Sprinkling the crowd with “holy water” they bring a close to Carnevale as the bells of the church tolls 365 times.

While other cities such as Venice are mobbed by visitors, amazingly this parade remains off the beaten paths of pit stops for Carnevale. There is a parade each Sunday with the big parade being on Martedi Grasso (March 8th this year), so there is still time to join in the fun!

You can get more information at Carnevale di Putignano.

Zì Giggino

Click to view article at Italian Notebook

In Italy, in cities all around the country, families are foraging through stuffy closets, garages and cellars. They are looking for certain old boxes wrapped with tape and string; once found they carefully place them on the living room floor. Now the ritual of Christmas can finally begin to unfold. Fathers untie the string from around the boxes and gently open the lids to reveal a chaos of cotton. They search delicately with their hands among the various tree decorations until they find what they’re really looking for: the heirloom figurines to be placed in the nativity scenes called presepe. Children watch, anxiously transfixed as each one is unwrapped and dusted. It seems like the reenactment of the adoration of Christ once removed.

In Campania the passion for presepe is taken to the highest of heights. Naples is famous for its Via San Gregorio Armeno, an entire street dedicated to the production of classic and contemporary figurines.
In the tiny town of S. Agata dè Goti my neighbor, zì Giggino, has not been seen for days. Shh! He is putting the finishing touches on his latest presepio.

A diminutive of zio Luigi (Little Uncle Luigi), Zì Giggino is well-known for his nativity scenes. Not happy to simply recreate the manger scene, he recreates the entire town of Bethlehem, designing the scenery, the architecture, the lighting and the plants, all with a maniacal attention to detail.

I never would have known about this had I not found him one summer morning in the garage, surrounded by sheets of cork and bits of wood. He showed me buckets of tiny plastic animals and electrical circuits, bottles of paint and shelves of colored paper that he collects all year round. I asked if he would let me see his next creation in December and then promptly forgot all about it.
But yesterday I thought I heard the squeal of zampognari somewhere inside the building. That’s odd, I thought, what are they doing here? Then I heard a knock on the door and Zì Giggino beckoned me to follow him upstairs. There was his latest masterpiece, being launched into the spirit of Christmas by two friends playing their strident bagpipes.

View on Italian Notebook

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’.

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.