Sicilian wheat, a smattering of tastes

The Sicilian flag shows Medusa's head, with ears of wheat alternating with the three legs that some say represent the three corners of Sicily. One source says that the Gorgons (Medusa was one of three) represented the destructive aspect of Athena. Perseus cut off her head and presented it to Athena who wore it on her shield. Thus the presence of Medusa on the Sicilian flag shows Athena's protection of  the island.

The three legs show up in symbolism elsewhere in Europe and throughout the world, so  they may represent other qualities as well. In 1082, the Normans who invaded Sicily took the three legged-symbol back to the Isle of Man, which then used it (just the legs) for its own symbol. Another interpretation of the three legs is that they represent the Greek name for Sicily, trinakrias, Sicily adopted the flag in 1282; its red represents Palermo, and  the yellow stands for Corleone, the two major cities of the time on the island.




Wheat has been one of the glories of Sicily since its Greek days, and possibly before. A couple of years ago, a friend guest-blogged here about Gold from Sicily. Since that  time, I've had the good fortune to visit Sicily and see a bit of that history and present day myself. Although we went in September and missed seeing the wheat fields in their glory, we had ample chance to sample Sicilian cuisine. From pastas to pizzas, from elaborate cakes, to memorials of martyrs, to daily breads, we saw and tasted wheat in many forms. Here are a few.



Pastry shop in Catania, with elaborate cakes.


Cannoli, with pistachio and strawberry jam decor.



Baker in small shop near the waterfront, Catania.



Breads for sale at the Catania market, September 18, 2013.



Pizza for lunch in Ortygia (Siracusa), from Cafe Professore, eaten outdoors on a square (September 18).


Cafe Professore -- everything you could want in an Italian cafe on a hot day -- a shady spot on the square, good pizza, cold drinks, gelato, and air conditioning inside for a brief respite from the sun's heat.


Ruins of the temple to Apollo, just down the street from the Cafe Professore.


Sfinciuni, the Sicilian version of pizza (recipe and more detail here). Alice at the Hotel Trieste sent us to a bakery nearby to get this. This one is stuffed with broccoli, and a bit of onion and mushroom.


The wrapping paper for the sfinciuni.


Bread for dinner in Catania, September 18.



Spaghetti with cherry tomatoes and basil, Catania, September 18.


The house wine, at Vineria i Picasso.

Hotel Trieste, Catania, Sicily

View from our balcony at the Hotel Trieste, looking west, about 5:00 p.m., Catania, Sicily.


I had never heard of Catania before deciding to visit Sicily with my husband, daughter, sister and her husband. We flew from Rome, mid-September, to this city of 400,000 people (center of an area of 800,000). Our home-town Anchorage, has about 325,000, and the whole state of Alaska has just over 700,000. And yet, we'd never heard of Catania, although the people there had certainly heard of Alaska.

Another difference -- Catania's been there since about 900 B.C.E., making it close to 3,000 years old. Although people are likely to have been living in the Anchorage area for that long, the first permanent settlement was in 1915, not even 100 years ago.


Plaque on a building across the street from the Hotel Trieste.  The Trieste building dates from the late 1700s.



View of the hotel from the street. Note the graffiti, ubiquitous in Catania, as it was in Greece and much of northern Spain. One awning says "Hotel Trieste," and the one above it says "Hotel Mele." The sign at street level has both names. That garage door will be rolled up at night, and tables and chairs for a bar will come out onto the street.


A view of the gates for the Trieste and the Mele. Every place we stayed in Italy had a set of iron gates at the entrance to the property, then a locked entrance to the hotel or apartment building, and then a locked door for the hotel room. It felt secure, but a  little odd.


The quiet street comes alive at dusk, with "American bars" up and down its length. By day, when you walk down the street, you see some shop windows, doors to houses, and roll-down metal garage doors, graffitied or plain. At night the doors roll up, the bar owners carry out tables, chairs, movie screens/monster TVs, and sofas. Italian bars are usually open all day, selling coffee, liquor, beer, and food. American bars exist for the sole purpose of drinking, watching sports (or maybe Simpsons, while waiting for soccer), and socializing; they never open until dusk.



 The street in front of Hotel Trieste at 10:30 p.m. [This was a night with no soccer game, so no TV out front.]


The "hotel," like a number of places we've stayed in Spain and Italy, is just seven rooms on one floor of a building. At least one other hotel, the Mele, shares the building, as do a number of apartments. The owners, Alice Bianchi and Guiseppe Koenraadt, would like to expand soon.

They found us a guide for Mt. Aetna, recommended bakeries, served us a local liqueur on our last evening, and took care of us in every way. One could not ask for more gracious hosts, better English, or more knowledgeable guides.

The local liqueur, Amaro dell' Etna [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amaro_(liqueur)], that Guiseppe and Alice served us on our last evening at the Trieste. Wikipedia describes amaros (amaro is Italian for "bitter") as liqueurs made with herbs, bark, roots, flowers, and other ingredients. We can tell you that it was sweet, powerful, and delicious.


Hotel Trieste owners, Alice Bianchi, Guiseppe Koenraadt, and the twins (nearly 4).



On the ground floor of the hotel, inside the tall iron gate, is a paved area or parking. This is one of the cats that made their home there, under or atop the cars.