Enough!

grandslamsmith

So I'm cooking (for the first time) with my Brother-in-Law's Nonna in the family 'cucina' in Taranto, she's 82 and as Italian as they get, Joe Pesci's Mum in Goodfellas would be a good approximation. It's Easter, a hooooooge deal in Southern Italy and the kitchen I find myself in feels like it's preparing for war. In something of a haze of kitchen activity I find myself in the roll of 'Under-Commis'....the addition of the word 'Under' to the official term of Commis I think outlines my position in this vast kitchen brigade which is populated by Aunties, Sisters, Mothers, Sisters-in-Law and assorted female acquaintances and Cousins. This is the scariest kitchen I have ever been in. Firstly because I am, after all, nothing more than the token male in an explosion of female culinary insanity and secondly because these women are ‘the real deal’, this is Cucina Italiano of legend and folklore....it's f*cking incredible.

]This will last the better part of a week, it's a veritable maelstrom of food preparation, arguments, fights, make-ups, hilarity and head swimmingly marvelous eating...I'm little more than a passenger on this particular wave and my only way of surviving it is to let it carry me through to whatever end there might be. Swimming against this particular gastronomic, hedonistic and surreal tide is futile.....and to be honest not something I want to resist anyway!

It’s 10am and my brain has been reduced to a pulp already. I feel drunk with the sheer frenetic hive of activity going on around me. Huge wooden tables have been drafted in from neighbours and are now creaking under the weight of fresh vegetables, breads and smoked meats. Giant vats of pre-cooked sauces have arrived from 'Auntie this' and 'Auntie thats' - and are now allowing their aromas to mingle with the heady fragrances of the wild fennel and lavender that waft in from the garden. In symphonic (or smell-o-phonic) terms this is Philharmonic……Garlic has taken the baton as conductor in this orchestra, it is omnipresent and gently caresses every other aroma along. Fresh Rosemary and Oregano are providing the deep bass strings rumbling alongside the brass section of bubbling polpetta reminiscent of a molten lava pool. But the Hail Mary of the piece comes in the form of the swaths of fresh basil, leaves as big as your face, strewn somewhat lazily around. It’s familiar and perfumed scent accented by a subtle sting of lemon on the air. Hard cheeses and fresh breads provide the occasional warm crunch signature wrapping themselves around me in a gastronomic duvet. This requires a strong constitution, it would be to easy to allow this drug to take hold and reduce me to a giggling mess in the corner which every fiber of my being is screaming for me to do……

On several occasions I'm required to chop, grate, pulp, stir, run, lift, wash, wipe and open at Nonna’s command as she deftly manipulates her platoon of chattering Italian women from the giant family table in the centre of the kitchen. Nonna’s hands won’t get dirty but her tongue will as instruction and chastisement are barked out in equal and constant measure. One kitchen section is chopping fresh tomatos by the basket full, their crimson flesh being deftly reduced to almost a paste by delicate olive coloured hands wielding knives as small as my own pinky finger. The pasta production table outside is producing Orecchiette at break neck speed, 3 ‘masters’ roll, push and flick these small ear shaped pieces of dough into little mounds on their pasta board ready for the ‘collector’ who disappears them into a smaller kitchen in preparation for their salty water bath. This pasta will be served with nothing more than chopped chillis and oil and will form the basis of the pasta course which will also feature Spaghetti Al la Funghi and the flat pasta square ‘silk hankerchief’ served with a sparse smattering of a parmigiano heavy pesto.

Now, on a few occasions, my bravery runs away with itself and I stop to ask direction, firstly from Cousin Vicki who directs my enquiry to ‘General Nonna’ with a swift, annoyed flick of her head as her arms are buried deep in yeasty bread dough. “ How much Nonna”….. “basta, basta”! is always the reply delivered in a ‘it’s up to you lad, but get it wrong and your arse is toast, capisce’!

‘Basta, basta’ or ‘Enough, enough’.
“How much salt should I put in”?
“Enough”.
“How much garlic should I peel”?
“Enough” .
“How much Grappa should I spike your coffee with?”
“What….?”
“Nothing”.

There’s a big assumption here. The assumption being that I should know how much enough is. Now this is all well and good coming from a Cucina Italiano veteran who has been cooking food, feeling food, eating food for so long that she probably has the power to manipulate it using only her mind at this stage. I doubt if Nonna went to Catering College or scribbled down every recipe particular she ever came in contact with. No, Nonna’s cooking is tactile it was/is by feel and by touch, by trial and by error…free style if you will. The more you cook and the longer you have been cooking the more cooking becomes about instinct, awareness and reaction and less about solidly followed recipe instructions. This seems to serve Italians very, very well, in fact it seems to serve most Meds very well and they live longer than we do!

Basta!!!

Slam

S.R.F.C.

Great post! Do you do much writing? I love the way the Italians treat food, that pretty much sums it up, nice one.

Darkginger

That was tremendous. I was sitting here, head rested on hand - which is scented with tonight's supper of garlic and chilli prawns over a basic bruschetta made from yesterday's bread - and it was like I was there in the 'cucina' with you. More please!

johnnycee66

brilliant piece of writing! started the day for me, thanks

Beruthiel

I want General Nonna to teach me how to make proper fresh pasta!

ToxicPaddy

Fantastic post.. I can only imagine what its like.

The closest I have come to that is an Italian chap I know from just outside Milan who was brought up on traditional Italian cuisine all freshly cooked and never ever ever eaten as left overs.. what's not eaten there and then in thrown out and they start all over again.. no packets, tins or frozen anything, its all fresh out of the supermarket or farmers market in the town..

He's an amazing cook and the simplest of food comes out of his small apartment kitchen tasting like it was created in a Michelin starred restaurant..

I would love to experience something like that.. Count yourself lucky OP , scenes like that are dying out in all but the most rural areas of southern Italy..

shrapnel222

great post. i could smell it all from here!!!

bizarrely though, your post doesn't show up on the black skin. i have to highlight your post to be able to see it?

Faith

shrapnel222 wrote: »

great post. i could smell it all from here!!!

bizarrely though, your post doesn't show up on the black skin. i have to highlight your post to be able to see it?

That happens when something is written in Word and pasted in. It should be fixed now.