Linguine with red peppers, fresh tomatoes and capers alla Favignana
By ROSALIE HARRINGTON
On a little island off the coast of Sicily several years ago, my cousin Alba introduced me to caper picking. It was a beautiful day on Favignana, warm enough to go for a dip, a delicious treat in early November. The air was perfumed with the scent of wild flowers and the breeze from the Mediterranean was the most refreshing air conditioning one can experience.
“Perfetto,” Alba declared as she returned to our cottage from an early-morning bike ride with a handful of capers, eager to get me to return with her to the caper patch and do some serious picking.
We were sitting under the grape arbor at the table of the outdoor kitchen. She had expected me to be excited upon seeing what she had gathered – and she was correct. Fresh-picked foods grown in a perfect climate are the biggest factor that makes Italian cooking so sensational – that and the fact that Italian chefs know how to properly respect the great ingredients by staying out of their way.
So, to me, loving fresh-picked foods is part of being Italian. After all, I had learned to “pick” from the time I was a toddler, spending Sunday afternoons with my grandparents who taught me the delights of picking in the wilds: mushrooms, dandelions and berries were right there, begging to be claimed!
And that was just the edible stuff. There was moss and bayberry and kindling and anything else that could quickly be transformed into arrangements for the holidays. Picking and gathering food was the highlight of our picnics, and it started as soon as the first robin was spotted and ended around the first frost.
“Andiamo,” Alba demanded. “We go, OK?” It took me all of 10 seconds to get my sneakers on, and arm-in-arm we were off. We walked about 20 minutes and there were the bushes bursting with “caperi.” In 15 minutes we plucked this staple of the Mediterranean out of its home and into our baskets.
According to “Craig Claiborne’s Food Encyclopedia,” capers, which grow wild around the Mediterranean basin, have been used as a condiment for several thousand years. Capers are the picked buds of the caper bush – if left alone they would become a flower. So there we were, picking and chatting on this luscious day on the banks of the sea, a few steps from our cottage.
“I luve these leetel frooetes (fruit; she pronounces every vowel carefully and clearly) that are served in America on thankeeng you day, we do not ave these in Italia,” mused Alba as she picked, her mind wandering back to her visits to my side of the Atlantic. “Oh, you mean cranberry which we serve on Thanksgiving,” I replied. “Si, Si,” she acknowledged with excitement. I loved our chats in broken English and broken Italian. Somehow, the lack of conversational Italian doesn’t matter so much in Italy. It is very easy to understand this language that is based on smiles, gestures and feelings.
After a colazione ( breakfast) of fresh figs that had been gathered the year before and preserved as jam before being spread on day-old bread, along with the morning ritual of espresso served in bowls with hot milk, we biked to the center of the village. We wanted to meet the incoming fishing boats so we could pick the best shrimp, squid, octopus and other delectable choices. We chose a firm white fish, similar to swordfish, and some calamari with lots of tentacles.
After a bike ride and swim at one of the picture-perfect beaches, we headed back to our cottage. As my relatives prepared the outdoor table for mealtime, I prepared lunch with my cousin Augusto’s help, referring to him as my sous-chef. Alba and her sister Anna made a green salad and placed the local olive oil and wine vinegar on the table in cruets. Italians use the best oil and vinegar or lemon for a perfect dressing.
Augusto lit the outdoor stove, put on the pasta pot and cut up some fresh tomatoes, some onion and a red pepper, some chopped garlic and flat leaf parsley. I chunked the firm white fish and sipped on some vino tavola with Augusto, as we clicked our glasses – a kiss, a hug and a salute. The last thing to go in the pan was our capers, the ones we had picked that morning. The rest of the capers were preserved under salt for me to smuggle home. “A tavola,” Alba announced before adding, “Come to the table.” She loved to speak first in Italian and then in English, proudly, to show that she was learning the language. More clinking of our glasses and more vino followed as we chatted about what flavor of gelato we would have – after our siesta, of course.
I feel the connection to my beloved Italian family when I make a dish we have cooked together. The capers packed in salt are long gone, but the memories are forever.
Linguine with Red Peppers, Fresh Tomatoes and Capers alla Favignana
Fire up the pasta pot; cook 1 pound of linguine.
Pour a few tablespoons of olive oil into a saute pan and sweat 1 chopped small onion and a few cloves of chopped garlic.
Cut up 1 red bell pepper and some flat leaf parsley; saute for a few minutes. If you can tolerate it, add a little dried hot pepper flakes, swirl around for a few minutes and then add 4 chopped fresh tomatoes and a sprinkle of sea salt; saute for another 10 minutes.
Raise the temperature and add 1 pound of white fish cut into 2-inch chunks; brown slightly all over.
Sprinkle a little fresh rosemary over the dish.
Hit the pan with a little vino tavola and swirl around to allow the flavors to marry and the alcohol to burn off.
The last thing to add is a handful of capers, rinsed briefly to remove the salt.
Drain the linguine well and toss with cooked ingredients.
Serve with chopped fresh basil and pass the Parmesan, if you like.
