The Wasps' Nest

By Patricia Winton

The area of Rome where I live was dubbed Nido di Vespe (wasps’ nest) by the Nazis during World War II because it housed a major network of partigiani, the guerrillas who engaged in sabotage and other anti-Nazi activities. The Germans ultimately swept through with a mass roundup on April 17, 1944—seventy years ago yesterday.

By the beginning of 1944, Rome was in chaos: the allies were marching from the south; troops had landed at Anzio; the king had fled; the Italian government had surrendered to the allies; the Jewish ghetto had been swept and many of its citizens sent to Auschwitz. The Nazis were in control. Against this background the partigiani stepped up their activities in central Rome, culminating in an attack near the Spanish Steps in which 33 German soldiers were killed. The Nazis retaliated with a massacre on March 24, 1944 with 335 Italian men killed—ten Italians for each German, plus five for good measure.

On April 10, Easter Monday, a partigiano shot three German soldiers at point-blank range in a trattoria near Cinecittà. For the Nazis, this was a last straw. At 4 AM on April 17, German troops blocked all access to this neighborhood, known as the Quadraro, going house to house and rounding up about 2000 men between the ages of 16 and 60. Half of these managed to escape, but 947 were transported to concentration camps where they were forced into hard labor. Known in Italy as the Schiavi di Hitler (Hitler’s slaves), in Germany they were called Volunteers for Germany. About half of these men died in the concentration camps. The event is known as the Rastrellamento del Quadraro (the Raking of the Quadraro). It was the second-largest Nazi roundup in Italy after the Jewish ghetto in Rome.

Each year, there is a commemoration. On this, the seventieth anniversary, there are several days of events, including concerts, releases of a new book and a video, art exhibitions, and others. Yesterday, I went to a wreath-laying ceremony. A group of local dignitaries, military leaders, and citizens—some representing families of victims of the rastrellamento—assembled near the spot where the detained men were initially held. A military band played the national anthem. A couple of aging men held banners.

Then with little fanfare, we all marched to the nearby Parco del 17 Aprile 1944 where a monument honors the victims. On the way, we passed a newly painted mural of giant wasps on their nest. The mural proclaimed, in English, “You are now entering free Quadraro.”

The band had scurried to the park by bus while we marched and reassembled, performing again. The wreath was positioned in front of the monument, and representatives of various levels of government spoke. A man from one of the affected families laid a bouquet.

I feel honored to live in a neighborhood with such roots.

Next week I’ll continue with a post about my visit to Sicily.

The Scents of Sunday

By Patricia Winton

Yesterday was the official first day of spring at my house because I left the doors to my terrace open all day. I marked it by doing what my Italian neighbors call Easter cleaning—that is, spring cleaning. I worked at a leisurely pace by doing a task (or part of one) then retiring to the terrace to read a chapter (Elizabeth Zelvin’s excellent Voyage of Strangers). Sitting on the terrace gave me an olfactory tour of my neighbors’ homes.

On this first day of daylight savings time in Italy, I charted my neighbors’ waking hours by the aroma of espresso wafting through the Rome air. I imagined that I could hear the hiss as steam rose in each caffeteria (the stove-top espresso maker that graces Italian kitchens) and the gurgle of the last drop of coffee entering the pot. People rose at different times throughout the morning, and the coffee ritual repeated itself with each awakening. I drank my own cup before any of my neighbors stirred, and found myself making a second round before too long.

After placing all movable furniture (chairs, small tables) onto non-movable pieces (bed, sofa), I returned to the terrace for another chapter. This time, someone was roasting peppers; the tang tickled my tongue as I contemplated what dish the cook planned. Nice fat noodles with sausage and peppers, perhaps. Or a very traditional side dish combining the peppers with roasted eggplant and zucchini. Whatever, it made me wish I had more than half a red pepper in my fridge.

Retuning to the matter at hand indoors, I plugged in the vacuum. After sweeping through half the apartment, I went back to the terrace. This time, I sniffed someone baking a chocolate cake. That’s a rare smell. Usually for Sunday pranzo, people visit a pastry shop—in years past, one of the few businesses open on Sunday. Traditionally, the treats from a pastry shop are wrapped in paper (proclaiming the identity of the shop) and tied with a ribbon. It common on Sunday mornings to see people scurrying through the streets with this precious cargo. But this week, a luncheon table in my building carried a homemade cake.

Finished the vacuuming. When I retired to the terrace this time, I was blasted with the heady scent of that most traditional of Sunday dishes—chicken roasted with potatoes and seasoned with rosemary and garlic. My fingers slipped over the chicken skin as I imagined rubbing it with olive oil. The prickle of the rosemary needles tickled by fingers in my imagination. Alas, while my cupboard held potatoes and garlic and my terrace a pot of rosemary, I had no chicken.

After being enticed by the scents of my neighbors’ kitchens, I entered mine and made a sandwich from leftover pork roast (studded with garlic and rosemary) accompanied by a glass of freshly squeezed blood orange juice. No aroma to reveal myself to the neighbors. I settled on the terrace again, munching my sandwich and getting back to Diego and Rachel (Elizabeth Zelvin’s characters).

To Market, To Market

By Patricia Winton

A Winter Day at the Market

One of my favorite pastimes in Italy is shopping at the markets for food. Rome has dozens of markets scattered throughout the city. The best known, Campo di Fiori, is an outdoor market in the center of Rome. While locals do shop there, it’s a tourist spot as well and has prices and products targeting the out-of-town crowd.

There’s another tiny street market in the center near Via Margutta, Gregory Peck’s street in Roman Holiday. In this tony neighborhood, tourists pass by on the the parallel Via del Corso and Via del Babbuino, missing out on one of the best sites and experiences of the city.

Dressed Puntarelle

When I first came to Rome, I haunted the markets all over the city, getting off buses to visit a new one. I learned a great deal about Italiann, food then. On one of these excursions I first encountered puntarelle, a special Roman dish made from a type of chicory. The leaves must be stripped from the stems, the part that’s eaten, and I watched a man using a special tool for the job. In my own market, I find bags of cleaned puntarelle, but so far, I haven’t seen anybody cleaning it. The stems are dressed with garlic, anchovies, olive oil, and white wine vinegar.

During my first year in Rome, I shopped with a little old man and woman who were only licensed to sell eggs. I bought four at a time, and they wrapped them in brown paper. After I had been buying from them for several months, the woman whispered, “Vuole delle fragole?” Fragole are strawberries, and I thought buying some a good idea. She took me to the trunk of her car, shielding the view with her body and placing me in line to do the same. Inside, she revealed some stunning small purple grapes. She was selling them without a license and making them available to good customers. I bought some; they were good. That’s how I learned that some grapes can be called strawberries, too.

During the fall and winter months, proprietors of vegetable stands cut vegetables to make minestrone mix. The mixture varies from stall to stall, but it will include root and leafy veggies. Sometimes it will include onion or shelled beans; sometimes not. It’s great to take a kilo home, mix it with some stock and a bay leaf, and let it simmer while I work. And lunch is ready.

I haunt just one market these days. It’s a five minute walk from my home, and I think it’s one of the best markets in the city. Covered, with heating and air conditioning, Il Mercato Tuscolano III feeds me. About 60 stalls spread throughout the hall, and unlike some markets I know, no stalls remain unused.

Entrance to My Market

One stall sells many varieties of mushrooms, another sells 20 or more varieties of fresh pasta. The center of the hall holds a stall selling fresh buffalo mozzerella. Branching of from that are many vegetable and fruit stands. Fresh eggs? Several stalls sell them. One woman sells “exotic” items. She sometimes has sweet potatoes or plantains.

You can buy a slice of pizza if you’re hungry or a cup of espresso in the corner bar. And in case you have other needs, you can buy paper towels or a spool of thread, get your shoes repaired, or pick up fresh flowers.

A couple of times, I’ve taken friends visiting Rome to the market—sometimes making lunch from our purchases. Everybody going with me has been enchanted, so far. Wish you could join me.

I’m off to Sicily in a couple of days. I’ll post from there next week—probably just photos.

August Snow in Rome

By Patricia Winton

It rarely snows in Rome, even in the depths of winter, but it snowed in Rome this past Monday, August 5. The temperatures have been hovering around 36 C (upper 90s F). But on Monday, snow fell outside the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, also known as the Madonna of the Snow. The snow was artificial, of course. People stood outside the basilica in summer clothing awaiting the cool flakes to fall.

The annual event reenacts the Miracle of the Madonna of the Snow dating from the 350s when Pope Liberius dreamed that the Virgin Mary told him to build a church where snow fell. On the scorching night between August 4 and 5, according to the legend, snow fell on the Esquiline Hill. The basilica, one of the five in Rome belonging to the Vatican) was completed in 440.

Another version of the legend holds that a wealthy couple without heirs prayed to the Virgin for guidance on how to dispose of their property. Snow fell on that August 4-5 night, and the Virgin appeared to them in a vision, telling them to build a church where the snow had fallen. According to this legend, they built the basilica. We know them only as “a patrician named John and his wife.”

The Catholic church took no notice to either legend for about 1000 years. The celebration of the feast has had a varied history, celebrated first in Rome only, then in other churches around the world. Today, it’s celebrated as the Dedication of the Basilica.

On August 5, during the celebration of two masses at Santa Maria Maggiore—in the morning and at vespers—white petals float from the dome onto the congregation. Originally these petals were from roses; today, they’re from dahlias. Beginning at 9 PM, a light show illuminates the exterior of the basilica. The festivities continue to midnight. Midway through the show, artificial snow falls on the crowd.

Last year, the truck delivering the snow equipment broke down en route and the event was postponed to Ferragosto (August 15—one of Italy’s premier holidays). Just thinking about the snow can cool you down on a sweltering August night.

A Rite of Spring

By Patricia Winton

Spring has finally arrived in Rome and with it fava beans, known simply as Le Fave here. You know they’re coming a couple of weeks before they’re available because these notices begin appearing outside shops selling fresh vegetables: This establishment sells fresh fava beans.

When I first noticed these signs ten years ago, I thought it meant everyone was anticipating the arrival of this venerable vegetable. I’ve since learned that there is a rare, though serious, allergy that can be triggered by inhaling the fumes released by these beans, much less eating them. Fortunately, perhaps, the condition is genetic, so you probably know if you’re vulnerable and should stay away from shops displaying the notice. But the signs still excite me because I know the treat will be here soon.

Favas were the only legumes eaten by Europeans prior to explorations of the New World. They have been a mainstay in the diets of Asians, Europeans, Middle Easterners, and North Africans for centuries, and it’s believed that North Africans may have begun eating them as early as 6,000 BC. Known by many names—broad beans, Windsor beans, field beans, or bell beans—favas are a harbinger of spring wherever they’re grown.

In Rome, May 1 celebrations—Labor Day here—include raw fava beans and pecorino cheese. But the real spring treat is vignarola, a medley of vegetables available concurrently as the weather warms: artichokes (just ending the season), favas, and peas. It’s a labor-intensive dish best prepared while seated at a table outdoors, accompanied by a friend and a glass of white wine. You can shell the legumes and clean the artichokes while enjoying the sunshine. When all the vegetables have been preped, move indoors for the cooking.

Vignarola

1 1/2 cups shelled peas

1 1/2 cups shelled and peeled fava beans*

2 large artichokes, cleaned ** and cut into eighths

1 lemon

2 large spring onions, thinly sliced

1/2 head Romaine lettuce, cut horizontally into strips

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1/3 cup cubed bacon (optional)

salt and pepper to taste

1. Heat the olive oil in a frying pan and add the bacon, cooking and stirring until it begins to brown (if you’re omitting the bacon, move to step 2).

2. Add the spring onions; cook until they soften.

3. Add the artichokes, Romaine, salt, and pepper. Stir well and cover. Reduce heat to lowest setting and cook about 10 minutes.

4. Stir in the peas and favas. Cook an additional 15 to 20 minutes, until the vegetables are tender.

5. Serve warm or hot. It can be a starter course or a main dish. It also works well as a sauce for pasta.

  * A video showing how to clean fava beans

** A video showing how to clean artichokes

Roman Artichokes

By Patricia Winton

At this time of year, the giant purple Roman artichoke—known as cimiroli—comes into season. Two regional recipes, carciofi alla romana (Roman artichokes) and carciofi alla giudia (Jewish artichokes), vie for the dinner table. Either may join the Easter feast. The former, carciofi alla romana, requires less work. Both are delicious when well cooked.

I have to admit that I’ve never tackled the carciofi alla giudia (a fried artichoke) because it’s quite complicated. I've savored them at restaurants in the Roman ghetto, however, and they are quite wonderful. If you are interested, you can see a video (dubbed in English) that demonstrates the process.

To make both recipes, first you must clean the globes. (The video linked above gives a good demonstration of how to do this.) In Italy, artichokes are normally sold with a portion of the stem, which is edible. To clean, first prepare a bowl of water with the juice of a lemon along with the two lemon halves. Artichokes will darken your hands, so you may want to rub them with the lemon before you begin.

The first step is to snap off the tough outer leaves. Keep going until you begin to see green edges at the base of the remaining artichokes. Next, cut off the points by taking a sharp paring knife and begin making a horizontal cut midway between the base and tip. Turn the artichoke as you go, cutting deeper and deeper into the flesh until you reached the center. Next, use the knife to peel away the tough base of the leaves you removed earlier. Peel any stem remaining. Put the artichoke in the waiting water. Now choose a recipe, either the one below or the one in the video.

Carciofi alla Romana

4 globe artichokes (cleaned and put to soak in lemon water)

2 clove of garlic, minced

2 tablespoons chopped mint
3 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley

salt and pepper

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
water

Mix together the garlic, mint, parsley, and enough of the olive oil to moisten the mixture. Mix well. (The usual mint used in this dish is mentuccia—Roman mint—but you can substitute other mint if the mentuccia is not available.)

Remove the artichokes, shaking and blotting with paper towels to remove water.

Using your thumbs, stretch open each artichoke, making a little well in the center, and pull apart the leaves without breaking or separating them.

Fill each artichoke with some of the mixture, rubbing the exterior with the mixture as well. Place the artichoke in a large pot.

Pour the remaining oil over the artichokes and add enough water to come half-way up. Cover the artichokes with a large piece of crumpled parchment paper.

Cover the pan and bring to a simmer, cooking over a moderate flame for half an hour.

Pierce the artichokes with a fork to check if they are done. Continue cooking until they are tender, if necessary.

Serve the artichokes at room temperature.

Serves 4.

Join me on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. Next week I blog about my first journey to Italy, a trip fraught with seemingly insurmountable hurdles.