One in an occasional series of interviews–with wannabe Italians or expatriate Italians–who try to “live Italian” wherever they are.

I was born and grew up in the shadow of the Duomo in Florence until, at the age of 30, I was imported to Wisconsin as a souvenir by my American wife, who was living in Florence. I remember seeing her one day crossing Piazza Santa Croce and thinking she was the cutest girl ever–and I still do. So here I am in Milwaukee. Next year will mark my 30th in the U.S. which means I’ve had three decades of training and working on the “bella vita.”

La vita é bella? Yes of course la vita é sempre bella,  but one needs to work at it and make sure that every day there are reasons to feel that the “…vita é veramante bella…” I think one needs to know how to pause (. . . in your head at least if you cannot otherwise) and appreciate the small things that bring Italy closer. Things which remind me I am not that far anyway, things which allow me to detach, disengage, slow down.  It can be a caffé at the right time, a quick call to a friend, reading the news or listening to radio from Italy. Working at a university, travel is something which happens and I make sure it happens enough so I can visit Italy and reset my system. The most important things are not things at all, but rather a state of mind.

Q: Living “Italian”. . . Is it a good lifestyle or the best lifestyle?

A: I do not think it is a good life style (living “Italian” in Italy is stressful.) I do not think it is the best one (I am sure there are healthier ones.)  I think it is the only one.

Q: Why?

A: Because to vivere “Italian” implies (as for other Mediterranean societies) many social interactions during the day. These casual extemporaneous connections–some good,  some bad–are the condiments that add some spice to life. Even superficial chats with strangers at the bus stop, at the newsstand, or at the market are opportunities to give an “emotional valence” to what would be otherwise  routine. Sharing personal stories and family problems with friends, colleagues, and neighbors is a way of lessening the burden. After all, the word privacy in Italian does not exist.

Q: What does “living Italian” in the U.S. mean to you?

A: Being able to switch. Switching from living the U.S. life in the U.S. to the Italian life in the U.S. and to the Italian life in Italy.  Accepting that change is inevitable after so many years in the U.S.  Switching can last seconds or days. The secret is to switch without becoming schizophrenic. Feeling out of place or misplaced sometimes is okay.

Q: What nurtures your Inner Italian?

A: Being able to talk on subjects with Italian friends without being considered critical, offensive, politically incorrect, crude, rude, or insensitive because of the different cultural values.

Q: What Italian movie, or movie set in Italy, do you most like? Why?

A: Tea with Mussolini. Possibly not a great film, but my mother had a small part in it at 82 years of age. The plot was reminiscent of her life in many ways.

Q: If you could live in one place in Italy for the rest of your life, where would it be and why?

A: Anywhere where olive trees grow.

Q: Last Italian meal. . .what would it be?

A: The company would be the most important ingredient of the meal. The setting would be the second. The food would be the third. And if I could do the cooking with my friends, I would be in heaven already.

* * *

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Linguine al limone is a silken melange that complements grilled summer seafood.

She had me at “limone.” That’s because lemon is perhaps the best flavor on the planet.

When Sara posted a comment longing for a recipe for chitarra al limone she ate in Sulmona, she set me on a delectable sleuthing mission.

Sara wrote:

Sulmona’s where I had maybe the best pasta dish of my life…but I can’t remember the name of the restaurant. The dish was chitarra al limone, unlike any I’ve had before or since. I’ve tried several recipes, but nothing comes close. When I asked the owner for her secret, she said “limone!” I said, I know…and what else? She smiled and said, “solo limone, signora.”

She’s going to her grave with the secret. I thought it might be that they used that panna that comes in little tiny cartons and doesn’t need refrigeration, but I tried it and that wasn’t it. The secret’s still in Sulmona…

When I asked Sara for more description, she offered this:

It was very very light and I don’t remember that it was creamy, buttery or eggy. It was as if essence of lemon and very little else coated each strand… I’ve tried just olive oil and lemon with a touch of cream but that just wasn’t the same.

Armed with these clues, I speculated that the dish had to contain cheese, probably Parmigiano-Reggiano, to counter the tartness of the lemon and help create the luxurious mouth feel that she described.  I’m thinking that Sara’s signora wasn’t being coy when she said “solo limone.” To her, cheese is probably just a “given” not worth mentioning.

I consulted the usual reference suspects: Ada Boni’s Italian Regional Cooking, Le Ricette Regionali Italiane (Solares), Artusi’s The Art of Eating Well, The Ultimate Italian Cookbook by Carla Capalbo and Marcella’s Italian Kitchen. None offers a recipe for chitarra al limone. Giuliano Bugialli’s Bugialli on Pasta has a Spaghetti al Limone recipe “from all over Italy” containing quite a bit of butter and cream, more of a lemon- flavored cream sauce than the intense lemon sauce desired by Sara. Michele Scicolone has a Linguine with Lemon recipe in 1,000 Italian Recipes but it’s made with butter. For an Abruzzese dish, I felt that olive oil would be more traditional.

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Octopus salad prepared with fennel, red bell peppers, extra virgin olive oil and coarsely ground black pepper.

Chill rain and high winds aren’t exactly a siren song call to the beach. When Walter and I visited Puglia this spring, the region was experiencing the wettest primavera for scores, perhaps hundreds of years. (The longevity of the record seemed to grow with each subsequent local we met).

While we didn’t get to wiggle our toes in warm sand, we did sample a taste of the sea at Il Vecchio Forno, a very good seafood restaurant in the shore town of Barletta on the Adriatic coast north of Bari.

A gratin of mussels blanketed in breadcrumbs and olive oil.

We savored many courses, all prepared simply from pristinely fresh seafood. Most memorable are a gratin of mussels, fish fritters, fried anchovies, octopus salad, seafood risotto, and a grilled spigola (sea bass) with lemon.

Il Vecchio Forno

Via Cialdini 61

Barletta, Puglia

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Tormaresca vines planted on the Adriatic coast at Masseria Maime in Puglia.

After 26 generations and more than 600 years in the wine business, the Antinori family of Tuscany has expanded its involvement in Puglia. This is a big deal. It certainly got my wine juices going as we received confirmation to visit the new Tormaresca operation at Masseria Maìme in the Salento DOC.

In 1971, Marchese Piero Antinori, helped light the dawn of the super-Tuscan blends with a Sangiovese/Cabernet sauvignon blend called Tignanello. (Piero’s uncle, Marchese Mario Incisa della Rochetta of Sassicaia, first commercially released his fabled super-Tuscan Sassicaia in 1968.)

In the 1990s, the Antinori family invested in Puglia, the heel of Italy, a region that has traditionally been recognized more for the quantity, than the quality, of its wine grapes. A number of economic and terroir factors helped drive the decision. Land prices (especially compared to Tuscany) were inexpensive. Soil conditions and climate were conducive to expanding production of native grape types and some international varieties as well.

Maria Tolentino De Bellis, Tormaresca’s marketing and PR representative, suggested we meet at the San Pietro Vernotico train station. I thought it was odd that we couldn’t just connect at the winery. It didn’t take long to realize that the Antinori presence in Puglia was large - but subtle. Maria drove us up a gravel road marked only by a modest, hand-painted sign that read Vigneti del Sud, “Southern Vineyards,” with no mention of the super-star Antinori name.

The sun is a powerful prescence on the Salento Peninsula.

At the cantina, she introduced us to Giuseppe “Peppino” Palumbo, the CEO of Tormaresca. He was dressed in work clothes and had the sun-drenched, weathered look of an executive who spends more time in the vineyards then he does in the board room.

I asked Peppino about the branding strategy behind the Puglian venture.

“Tormaresca is a fantasy name, a play on the Puglian dialect, and means Tower by the Sea,” he explained. “It’s also an extension of the Antinori philosophy to respect local tradition and original vines, while leveraging technology to improve the results. We respect the past, but we never stop innovating.”

We jumped into his SUV, and bumped out on rough trails alongside the vineyards. Peppino pointed out some Negroamaro grapes planted with a cordon trained system, as well as some older vines still in the traditional Alberello system — without support.

We headed east until we reached the beach grass and dunes of the Adriatic shore. “The terroir and growing conditions are perfect,” he said.

Back at the cantina, Peppino raved about indigenous Puglian grapes. “Negroamaro is wonderful. Primitivo (identified by enologists at U Cal Davis as the genetic clone of California Zinfandel) is well suited for this climate. And Aglianco, the red grape we grow further north at our Bocca Di Lupo vineyard, earned a 91 from Parker.”

I asked Peppino about two ancient Puglian grape types, Sussumaniello and Ottavianello I had learned about from Cinzia Rascazzo of Stile Mediterraneo.

Peppino looked pleased about the question and smiled. “Yes, we found some growing here and will preserve and cultivate them. We are experimenting with them now to complement Negroamaro and add a little color.”

The time was running late, and I asked Peppino if I could use a phone to call our next stop to let them know I’d be a little tardy.

“Who are you visiting next?” he asked.

“Candido” I answered.

“I have them in my cell phone.” He noticed that I looked a little surprised. “We’re not rivals. We both flow together in the same current of wine, and the trip is easier if we run together, not against each other.”

For a sampling of Tormaresca here in the U.S., pour these two.

Neprica IGT (Negroamaro, Primitivo and Cabernet grapes) I love this super-Puglian which is every bit as intriguing as a more expensive super-Tuscan.

Neprica is an IGT blend of Negroamaro, Primitivo, and Cabernet grapes.

Masseria Maìme IGT (Negroamaro grapes) is spectacular with grilled meats and fish.

Masseria Maime is 100 percent Negroamaro grapes.

Coming next: Our visit to Candido Wines.

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Ciceri e tria, chickpeas with both fresh and fried tagliatelle, is a specialty from Lecce in Puglia.

Ciceri are chickpeas. Tria are tagliatelle, in the dialect of Puglia. Combined, they make Ciceri e tria a distinctive dish from the baroque city of Lecce.

Like the ‘Ncapriata in Two Cooks in Puglia, this recipe comes from Cinzia and Marika Rascazzo, sisters and proprietors of the Stile Mediterraneo cooking program.

“The recipes are the real traditional ones from Lecce,” Cinzia says in a recent e-mail. “We inherited them from my nonna and we teach them at our school.” Nonna ‘Nzina, short for Vincenza turned 95 in May, looks like she’s 70, and cooks every day.

“She is super well,” says Cinzia. “For her, the most important thing is food. She gets mad if my mother does not buy her the best ingredients. She spends the whole day cooking-maybe just four hours for a minestrone!”

Cinzia, who holds an MBA from Harvard University and Marika, a practicing cardiologist, are passionate about passing on their nonna’s culinary legacy and the culture that it represents. “Our cooking is based on which town you are in, which season it is, and peoples’ taste. In general, we never cover ingredients’ flavors,” Cinzia says.

Dried chickpeas soak overnight before being simmered with aromatics.

In preparing Ciceri e tria, the first ingredient required is time. Dried chickpeas are soaked overnight and then simmered until tender with aromatic vegetables. The tagliatelle noodles are prepared from scratch by combining water and salt into golden durum wheat, the hardest type of wheat, which is also high in gluten. Durum is a major agricultural product of the Tavoliere plain in northern Puglia.

After the noodles are rolled and cut, a portion, about one-quarter, of them are deep-fried in olive oil. (These fried noodles make an irresistible pre-dinner nosh sprinkled with salt and Parmesan cheese!)

The remaining tagliatelle are cooked with the chickpeas. (When I tested the recipe, my first batch of tagliatelle turned gummy when I added them to the chickpeas. I had better luck boiling the noodles separately and then draining them before adding them to the chickpeas but this is NOT Nonna “Nzina’s method.) The three elements are stirred together just before serving and garnished with fresh parsley and hot red pepper to taste.

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