Marsala (perhaps), May 18, 2010—
PERHAPS, SAY I, because we had a certain amount of time finding this place, recommended by various guidebooks. An agriturismo is a farm-bed-and-breakfast usually offering also dinner if you arrange for it, and the dinner is almost invariably a family-style affair. This place is a perfect example. We're surrounded by grapevines: the Grillo varietal, which makes a fine dry white wine, excellent to accompany fish; and which is also the principal constituent of Marsala, about which more in a moment.
For dinner we had three simple courses: pasta, fish, dessert. But it was excellent, as good as any dinner we've yet had in Sicily. In the first place, the pasta was revelatory:
fusilli in pesto Trapanesi, which we already knew about, but which had never offered anything this interesting, gratifying, and intelligent. The pesto is made of tomatoes, garlic, basil, and almonds; and they are all chopped or, rather, minced, not pounded; and the result is not at all cooked, but mixed into the hot drained pasta.
And tonight's version was fortified with the addition of, I'd say, for a platter containing enough pasta for two very hearty eaters, the crumbled-up bits of perhaps two, three at the most, local
brutto ma buoni, local style: macaroons made not with hazelnuts but with almonds, and sugar of course, and baked quite dark. So the pasta had a sweetness and a crunchiness; the tomatoes and garlic retained their individuality, the basil leaves were so fine and pungent I thought they must have been
mirto, that small-leafed myrtle I like so much (but which is local to Sardinia, not Sicily). This was really a fabulous pasta; you can be sure we'll be making it often at home.
There followed good-sized sardines, each say as big as my hand, marinated in vinegar, breaded, and deep-fried, served with lemon. The point here is to have good-tasting and fresh sardines, good vinegar, and a deft hand at the deep-fryer: all that fell completely into place.
I don't particularly like strawberries, but it happens there's a race of strawberry local to this part of Sicily, big but not at all woody, red red, sweet, and fragolic, if you know what I mean; we flopped them into the sugar-bowl and ate them gladly.
Oh and the wine: from the vineyard here, made by the cook's husband, with whom a long conversation about wine,
terroir, globalism, industrialization, and what Marsala is supposed to be: closer to a fine Sherry than the sweet fortified stuff we usually think of:
Grillo, 2009; Marsala (dry)
Baglia Vajarassa, Contrada Spagnola 176, Marsala (Spagnola); tel. +39 09239.80264
