sweet like a honey bee

though apparently Sicilian api are a lot harder to handle than their Italian counterparts.  Wilder.  A bit excitable.  Which is why the honey they produce is so much more delicious than any other in the rest of the counrty.  Daniella told me this at the Cafe Sicilia in Noto.  

I took a day trip there yesterday because I had heard that the pastry chef, Corrado Assenza, created fabulous treats.  The best in Sicily reviews said. And they were.  When she realised that I was writing an article about the cafe - Daniella proudly bought me cake after biscuit after chocolate.  Even two balls of ice-cream - one; lemon and saffron, tasted like late afternoon sun, the other: montezuma chocolate, was flavoured with cinnamon, candied orange and almonds and flecks of pure, mexican chocolate. Almost as good as being there.   All this was rounded off by a blood orange granita and a glass of ice cold, home-made, lemon/lime flavoured moscato. Created in the 'old method'.  It was like drinking joy.

And then the honey - ginger, white pepper, bergamot, orange.  Made by the excitable bees.  Flavoured by Corrado in his laboratory.  Magnifico. I washed all this down with a coffee, and thanked Daniella for taking such great care of me.  "No", she said "thank you - for me this is a joy".  And I know she meant it.  

I headed off to Modica - higher up in the mountains in search of Sicilian Chocolate.  The province of Ragusa is apparently the only place in Italy where the cacao plant is grown.  

The chocolate is cooked at a lower temperature than commercial varieties (113 degrees) for 30 minutes. As a result the sugar doesn't melt leaving a grainy consistency.  I went to  Antico Dolceria Bonajuto - well known in the province - to try it out.  And I didn't love it.  The chocolate was crunchy and granular and resembled something that had been melted in the sun and reconstituted.  I had better luck at a co-operativo down the hill.  They were making and packing the chocolate by hand and insisted I try it.  Still granular - but gorgeously rounded and bittersalty. I kept a bar.    

I had two hours to kill until the next bus came so I wandered up the 200 odd stairs to the cathedral of San Giorgio.  Regal, beautiful but fraying at the edges.  A little past it's prime.  But, as I sat watching, two young men began to deck the church out in pale, soft, cream roses for an evening wedding.  Hundreds and hundreds of roses.  Bowls, sprays, balls, arrangements, bunches, centrepieces:  it was breathtaking.   As the sun started to set behind the mountain, the grand old building softened and sighed: and it seemed a perfect place for two youngsters ('the daughter of a famous man') to start their married lives.    

Then I missed the bus.  Or he missed me.  He drove into the parking lot, accelerated and drove right out again. With me running behind in my flipflops, waving my arms and shrieking "stop stop" (in English, go figure).  Not my finest moment.  

It took me two busses and four hours to get home.  Accelerating wildly in and out of deserted towns to the radio station's all-night tribute to Michael Jackson.  We arrived back at 10.30pm and the shuttle had stopped.  So I had to walk the half hour from the bus station into town.  Took a shower and suppered on a glass of wine, cheese and stale bread.  I should have been exhausted and crabby - but I wasn't.  Because, despite the 'buss'-up; for me it was a joy.

Roadposting - Garda to Ortigia

Arrive in Ortigia after 4 fab days spent with Manu and Sue at Lake Garda.  We stayed at a B+B called La Tinassara which boasted the grumpiest manager since Basil Fawlty. He refuses to allow his guests to take sugar in their coffee.  He won't help carry baggage.  Surely a reflection on the way he sees life - though the irony is unmistakable.  Apart from Giuseppe's various nonsensenses, Tinassara  was a lovely place to stay - cool, rustic rooms, simple surrounds and pretty central.  We battled to get a really great meal - and the service was pretty much lackadasical wherever we went.   Save the place where I got food poisoning from the vitello tonnato.  That host was genial and welcoming. The subsequent genuflection in the bathroom was not.  But I recovered and we added it to the list of things to laugh about. A list that was long and varied - no sense of the 20 years that had passed since we we were all last together.

My apartment in Ortigia, which is the old centre of Syracusa, is in a small alley off Via Giudecca.  Which, as the name suggests, was the Jewish ghetto in Syracusa.  My block is one of the safest in the city - 3 Mafia Capos live here.  Right over the alley from me.  And I hear them having dinner each night.  Big, loud, rambunctious meals.  One of the Capos is a woman.  She inherited the job from her eldest son who had followed his father and two brothers to an early grave - by way of the job.  Apparently she runs her branch of 'la famiglia' with an iron hand.  Though she won't tolerate women being picked on.  One local legend has it that she returned a handbag, stolen from an elderly English woman by two locals on a Vespa.  And not a thing was missing.

The mafia are apparently moving into more legitimate pursuits - some call them 'mafia bianca' - the white mafia. Though apparently, rather like Mae West - they tend to drift.

I have spent the last two days walking around Ortigia.  There is an fabulous cathedral here - moved from Syracusa mainland to prevent it from being sacked by the Visigoths.  My landlord Kevin, a retired lawyer from LA, took me on a 4 hour tour last night.  It was fascinating - he knows the entire history of this island. The cathedral was adapted from a Grecian temple dedicated to Minerva.  So you have classic Grecian columns lining the outside of the cathedral - 24 in total - which were transported onto Ortigia on barges specially designed for the purpose.  (I should mention that Archimedes lived here - so there was some precedent.)  Yet the inside of the church is all Roman Catholic.  I love the pragmatism of it all.

I haven't experienced any of the fabled Sicilian machismo here except for a moment at the market the other morning.  I was buying tomatoes from one stall when the owner of the stall next to me started to hiss - rather like calling a cat.  I ignored him and he grew louder and louder.  Suddenly I heard a voice yelling at him in Italian and turned to find an elderly lady, complete with osteoporosis, stick and shopping basket, telling him to stop immediately.  He stopped immediately.

Tomorrow I am going on a day trip to three villages that are considered foodie destinations.  I am taking the bus.  Daniella at the ufficio turistico was horrified to hear I was hiring a car.'Perche?',  she asked 'take the bus, we all do'.

So you'll find me at Piazza Archimede at 7.30am tomorrow morning waiting on the #20 if you want to join me.  Failing that - watch this space.