In the tiny town of S. Agata dei Goti where I live, Bocce is my preferred spectator sport. It is based on the most primitive and mesmerizing of athletic concepts: to aim and hit a target. Every afternoon, as the evenings become longer, from early Spring to mid-Autumn, small groups gather at the covered outdoor alley on the edge of town to spend a few pleasant hours chiding each other and showing off their playing skills. Although the game might look deceptively easy, I have come to admire these men (aged 50 – 90) and their various throwing techniques and the incredible accuracy they achieve.

Also known as ‘skittles’, Bocce is the precursor of modern bowling. Originating in Egypt, the game was first documented in a tomb painting dated 5200 B.C. and shows two boys playing with shiny stones. The game was introduced to Italy by the Greeks in 800 B.C. and the Romans took to it with a passion, introducing the concept of spherical balls, by first using coconuts and eventually carving them from olive wood.

During the 14^th century Bocce was banned in many countries as Europe’s monarchs realized that the game was distracting the population from more serious occupations such as military training. The aristocracy however did not seem to have to obey these laws and it is rumored that Sir Francis Drake refused to stop a game of Bocce while England was being invaded by the Spanish Armada. He is said to have grumbled “First we will finish the game, then we will worry about the Spanish.”

The general gist of the game is that players have two bocce balls each. A smaller ball called a pallino is launched first and contestants attempt to throw each bocce ball as close to it as possible. There are a number of ways to launch the ball: softly to get as near to the pallino without touching it; hard, to whack an adversary’s sphere out of the way; bouncing, to overcome a rival’s placement…

I love to watch as the men gather at the far end of the court after each round, arguing in dialect over whose bocce is closer to the pallino. After a heated discussion a tape measure inevitably appears and the most accurate shot is often only a matter of a few millimeter’s. Then, laughing, they all start another round…

Go to original article

A very dear, but absent-minded friend called the other day to ask if I would accompany him to Padula, a small town pressed into the Apennine mountains between Naples and Salerno where he had left his watch at a local B&B. Thank heavens, because otherwise I would probably have never visited the Vallo di Diano.

Located here is the magnificent Charterhouse of S. Lorenzo, better known as La Certosa di Padula. It is one of the biggest and most extraordinary ecclesiastical buildings in Europe, yet one of the least-visited in Italy. It is immense; the building and grounds cover an area of over 250,000 sq. meters!

Founded by Tommaso Sanseverino in 1306, it was most likely built for strategic and political reasons: through feudal organization, the Charterhouse allowed this French order to maintain a strong influence over the entire area. Apart from the lay brothers, the monks, or Certosini, had no contact with the outside world and visitors were not welcome. An exception was made when King Charles the V stayed there in 1535, on his return to Naples from Reggio Calabria. Legend says that the monks prepared an omelette for the emperor and his retinue made with 1000 egg.

Click to view original article

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.

Click to view original 

In conjunction with Italian Notebook.

At the daily markets in the Autumn it seems that apples are everywhere; all kinds of them, big, bright, and juicy; pretty much alike, right? Wrong! Granted, some are red or yellow, sweeter or tarter, etc. Then . . . there is the annurca, the little one that looks like someone forgot in the back of the refrigerator.
Not many people know about this little jewel from Campania. An ancient variety (first mention is by Pliny the Elder!), the mela annurca is small, unattractive and unpretentious, but of delectable sweetness and unbelievable fragrance. Harvested in September while still green, mele annurche are then laid out in fields that have been prepared with ‘alleys’ of hay or sawdust. These rows are then covered with black netting set on poles to retain the extra warmth from the winter sun. Every 10 days the apples are turned by hand and after a couple of weeks the fields become a sea of yellow, green, gold, and pink, until eventually the apples turn a lovely ruby red on all sides.

While most apples mature happily even in the dark, the annurca apple requires space, light and an added human touch. For this reason they are more expensive than other varieties. However the annurcha apples will keep through the entire winter. They are perfect for baking, jams and many extraordinary liqeurs. . . not bad for the ugly duckling of the apple world.

From October to December Annurca apples are celebrated in local festivals at Benevento, Maddaloni and S. Agata dei Goti .

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.