It’s a spontaneous Wednesday afternoon in the streets of Alimena, a commune in the Province of Palermo, Sicily. Out of the 2,000 people living here, the mayor’s wife, Mirola Cefalu, just happens to approach me. She is draped in indigo from head to toe, complete with a fur-collared jacket, loose blouse, and skinny jeans held up by a rose-buckled belt. In broken English, she explains to me that she teaches the language to school children ages 11-14 six days a week. In Sicily, teachers receive one random day off weekly. Today is Mirola’s “free day.”
After engaging with such a friendly stranger, my next interaction involves fresh ricotta. Within a five-minute bus ride from the town’s center, a sheepherder’s cheese factory rests upon a hillside overlooking the greenest valley on the island. The dirt path leading to Joseph’s shack is lined with bushels of rosemary, with a light scent not strong enough to mask the stench of cow manure. Fortunately, the unpleasant aroma does not linger at the top of the hill. The hazy view of Mount Etna in the distance is a blatant tease. She hovers over 600 sheep roaming in the grass below, carrying enough milk to produce seven tons of ricotta per week. I sample the cheese at its fresh, unprocessed state in a few bites–soft in texture, light, fluffy, and very plain, with the appearance of scrambled egg whites.
The quick cheese tasting serves as a true farm to table experience, which continues into lunchtime. At a pavilion in the mountains, a hospitable Italian family cooks a hearty barbeque. It smells like 4th of July. I start off with a delicious chickpea soup that reminds me of my mother’s homemade variations. The broth is light and evenly salted, complimented by a fair ratio of fresh chickpeas. As I sip the sweet red homemade wine in between courses, I picture a woman lifting the bottom of her skirt as she crushes the grapes with her stomping feet. The main meal consists of smoky, grilled sausage that is juicy and savory with the pre marsala cheese on the side. For vegetables, a local wild green called zarki looks like long, thinly sliced pieces of faded green peppers or zucchini with undertones of corn flavor, and the cardoona plant has a fuzzy outside texture with a buttery, grassy taste. The sundried tomatoes are soaked in oil and not too sour, just the way I like them. I am a little dissatisfied with the “poor man’s meatballs”–balls of old bread crumbs covered in pomodoro sauce. They are awfully soggy and remind me of mushy veggie burgers. The sausage ends up being my favorite food, and the grape-juice like wine, consumed in the broad daylight, takes the prize for the best part of the local lunch provided by the bus driver’s family.