AnimaMundi

Under Alba

The commune of Alba is the wine center of the Piemonte wine province. A very large percentage of DOC Italian wines are produced here. Under the streets of Alba is the renowned Pio Cesare winery. Alfonso, On The Wine Trail in Italy, takes you through the Pio Cesare winery. It's pretty remarkable that all this exists unseen beneath the streets of Alba. Speaking of old pitchers, I swore, to whom I forget, that Alfonso told me that he was bringing me back a case of 1997 Pio Cesare Barolo Ornato. It must be that he just has neglected to mention the sacred wine to me after making it alive through the week that was. Or maybe it's still in transit. Italians are on a different meridian. Eco turf: post the Prime Meridian. Although, he could have mentioned it to me and I could have forgotten that he mentioned it. Highly unlikely. Pio Cesare 1997 Barolo Ornato, non.   

NYC

Looking forward to a spending a few days in NYC next week. After laying in a bluestone walkway and preparing and planting the garden, I need some urbanity. Some of the food and wine places, most with vowel endings, that I hope to visit include: Sullivan St. Bakery, Buon Italia and 9th St. Espresso (both in Chelsea Market), Malaysia, Cacio e Vino, is-there-life-after-Il Buco, Melampo Imports, Ceci Cela, Pearl Oyster Bar, PJ Wines, Todaro Brothers, Elyssadido.   

The Vegetable-Herb Garden

"May your garden, like mine, give you "Victory" over the high cost of fresh vegetables as well as the joy and good health that come from living close to nature." Jim Crockett "Crockett's Victory Garden, 1977.

My next door neighbor spends close to $500 a year on a lawn service. That's not including mowing. That's just for the treatments. The American suburban lawn. After I mowed a small section of our shrinking lawn yesterday, I yelled over to him that it only cost me $12 to mow this time! I prefer to put my sweat and some compost into my garden from which we can reap some fruits during the spring, summer and fall. Yesterday, I finally planted mesclun mix (Canadian @$9/lb in spring), Bibb lettuce, Cos/Romaine lettuce, scallions and cilantro. I had been waiting on a rototiller man, but I couldn't delay any longer. The growing season is too short in upstate NY. For the past 12 days it has been unusually warm and dry for April, but today brought a cold soaking rain. Warm and under lights, I have three varieties of tomatoes, hot and sweet peppers, culinary herbs. My shallots are outdoors freezing their bulbs off hardening themselves to the cool nights. Bush haricot vert and chives should just about round it out for the 12x20 ft plot that I have worked for 25 years or so. I remember my grandmother refusing to let my cousin use a rototiller in her garden. This was many years ago when tillers were not that common. My grandmother's garden had running water, pear trees and chicken coops in the back. It was not a small garden, but it was well fertilized with manure. She fed at least six households with fresh vegetables, fruit, eggs and chickens. I venture to guess that it was maybe 10-15 the size of my small bit of fertile land. I don't know the exact reason why she refused a tiller in there, but I suppose it was new fangled and that was enough. But you know, she was right. Turning my garden over by hand does a more thorough job than a rototiller and does not compact the soil. Like the old farmer's saying: "Plant corn when the oak leaves are as large as a squirrel's ear."

Mother's Milk or Ruminate On This

The treatment of milk and its consumption has been a source of debate for years. A local restaurant sent me a newsletter a while back and in it they told why they buy their milk products from Meadowbrook Farms in Clarksville, NY, one of the only remaining family owned dairies in NY State. The flavor of the milk is the primary reason that we only use their heavy cream when we make ice cream. Here's another reason:

"To make things worse, milk is now routinely 'homogenized' to prevent the cream from separating from the milk. This involves the fragmentation and pulverization of the fat molecules to the point that they will not separate from the rest of the milk. But it also permits there tiny fragments of milk fat to easily pass through the villa of the small intestine, greatly increasing the amount of denatured fat and cholesterol absorbed by the body. In fact, you absorb more milk-fat from homogenized milk than you do from pure cream!"

Gastropoda has a link to an article in Harper's that shows to what extent the dairy industry will go to prevent you from drinking raw milk.

"By any rational measure, this world belongs to microbes. They were mastering the subtleties of evolution three billion years before the first multicellular organism appeared. They continue to evolve and adapt in a tiny fraction of the time it takes us to reproduce once. They flourish in polar ice caps, in boiling water, and amid radioactive waste. We exist only because some of them find us useful. Ninety percent of the cells in our bodies are bacteria. The entirety of human evolution has taken place in an environment saturated with microbes, and humans are so firmly adapted to the routine of sheltering allies and rebuffing enemies that the removal of either can devastate our defense systems."

“They’re Tryin’ To Wash Us Away.”

The lyrics and origin of "Saint James Infirmary" are the cause of much dispute. Ambiguity and uncertainty surround the song like a diaphanous veil. There have been subtle and not so subtle changes to the song. The song is organic and therefore alive, not some museum piece in the Smithsonian. A death has spawned many versions and live-ly debate. Rob Walker's one-song-centered site, the only such site that I know of, bears this out. This is part of the allure of the song, not to mention the timeless unforgettable melody of the mournful dirge. Similarly, Randy Newman's "Louisiana 1927" has become a folk song in much the same way. Though, there's not much ambiguity here. Since the Federally built levees collapsed in August 2005, this song has taken on an aura that can not be denied. We all saw it on television. Bodies floated through the streets of a major city. It is branded on the country's forehead forever. In the Lower 9th Ward, 1,200 people out of 14,000 (8.5%) are back.

Today, I read Mark Folse's take on the first weekend of this years Jazz Fest. Mark knows his music and I always look forward to his posts that are musically bent. Yesterday, he stopped by Ashley Morris' grave in St. Louis Cemetery #3 before he went to Jazz Fest. The Hot 8 Brass Band played at Ashley's jazz funeral. They played St. James Infirmary, dirge first then an uptempo repeat on the way home. Dineral Shavers, a crack snare drummer for the Hot 8, was shot and killed December 28th 2006. Ashley, on snare, had been part of the Silence is Violence march on Perdido Street in Januray 2007. Following a string of acquittals, the person suspected of shooting Shavers was acquitted the day before Ashley's funeral. The song is always there.

"This is the life. You know what they’re eating in Houston right now? Quiznos.” — Ashley Morris while sharing a meal from Dooky Chase's with a friend

"remembrance descends from the tongue to the heart and from the heart to the soul"

The Glitter and Glamour

In the myopic vision of most people, wine salesmen and educators have it pretty good. They get to travel around the country and internationally, meet all sorts of unique characters, drink fine wines, dine on luscious food. But the perks come at a high price. There are a lot of grueling hours of schlepping, driving,  preparing etc. that in no way resemble the pleasures and perks of the high notes. Alfonso On-The-Italian-Wine-Trail Cevola recounts his last trip to Vinitaly and the following week from hell back in the USA. NB Reading this post causes extreme exhaustion

Aime Cesaire

Aime Cesaire died today at the age of 94. I first learned of this anticoloniast poet and politician from the music of Martinique, particularly the group, Malavoi. Malavoi has produced some of the most beautifully rhythmic music that I have ever heard. The classic Cuban and Haitian string orchestras that toured the Antilles had a significant influence on their sound that is still unique on the planet.

Information That Thinks For Itself

"You can’t talk about the serious and the comic separately and still be talking about life, any more than you can independently discuss hydrogen and oxygen and still be talking about water.” —Peter DeVries

As for Maud Newton, maybe the merger is not merging well or just maybe they have merged the hell of out everything.

Photo: Artifice/Eternity

Tin Chefs

Shuna Lydon has a remarkable post on chef owners who work the line. The energy and extreme dedication evident in his written words are amazing. This should be printed and tacked up on the walls of kitchens everywhere.

Summer of '42

Here are two photos of my parents' wedding in the spring-summer of 1942, just before my father was shipped to Fort Devens, MA, Florida, Denver and then overseas. As a member of the Army Airforces in England c.1943 or 1944, he flew in a B-17 photographing bombing runs. I remember looking at some of these photographs when a young boy. I will always remember seeing the hairline. After my mother died in 1974, my father began gathering photos of my mother and him into albums. I don't believe he had good memories of those bombing runs and he probably destroyed the photos. He never talked about the war much and I never asked. After the war he never flew again. Although he would rave about certain Sicilian foods, he would not fly to Sicily when he got the chance after retiring. Now I know why. These pictures were taken at The Knickerbocker Cafe in Westerly, RI. The top left photo of the cake cutting has on the right seated, my very religious and gracious godmother, my mother's cumarra, Amelia Turrisi. On the left is my mother's youngest sister, my aunt Anna and in front of her my cousin Bob. The photo on the right is my mother with her sisters in front of The Knickerbocker Cafe. Left to right: my aunt Celena, my mother Louise, in front my aunt Anna, aunt Antoinette, aunt Rose.

"Monsters Of The ID"

Monsters of the id
No longer stayin' hid
And terrors of the night
Are out in broad daylight

No need to knock on wood
Don't stop to say a prayer
It won't do any good
They're multiplyin' in the air

Creatures of the deep
Are going without sleep
And phantoms of the dark
Have their own place to park

No need to lock the door
They're sprouting through the cracks
They're making room for more
They're deputizing maniacs

Prehistoric ghouls
Are making their own rules
And resurrected huns
Are passin' out the guns

No need to cause a fuss
Don't go and make a scene
They know what's best for us
They're fightin' fire with gasoline

The creatures from the swamp
Rewrite their own Mein Kampf
Neanderthals amuck
Just tryin' to make a buck

And goblins and their hags
Are out there wavin' flags
Oh, when will we be rid
Of monsters of the id

Monsters of the id

Mose Allison

Aldo's Moving On Up, Hits Club Chien Homepage Slideshow

Aldo (#1 of course) is one of the French bulldogs pictured in Club Chien's "Oh Balls!" slideshow.

Suspect Device on Ashley Morris' Jazz Funeral

Greg Peters, creator of some fine comics on Louisiana politics, reflects on Ashley Morris' jazz funeral. If this doesn't touch you, then you should probably look for a hear transplant.

HT Your Right Hand Thief

Not OK in NOLA, but...

The media darlings have moved on from New Orleans. CNN's 360 has done another 360. The Pope is in Yankee Stadium not knowing when to stand or sit down. Come to Papa. The Italians are in a knee deep funk after years of unbridled prosperity. The Italian wine industry is being pummeled. A ride in the country costs $50 and rising. Over $700 billion in Iraq. Enough positive uplifting blather. Then, I learned today from the great pianist Lee Shaw about Adams Piano of Kingston(?). They sent PIANOS to the schools and musicians of the city of New Orleans. Random acts of kindness amidst troubling signs from all sides of the arena.

There are continuing stories from New Orleans that can break the hearts of the most hardened arteries.

Suffering from mental illness and obsessed with the Passover, Alvin Thomas met his end quietly in his parents' abandoned home. Sometime during the night on March 15, Alvin Thomas crumpled onto his cold porch floor, where he lay, alone, behind a locked wrought-iron door embossed with oak leaves and acorns.

On the other hand, Aaron Neville has just moved back to New Orleans. Although he said that the New Orleans he knew is just a memory now, there are flickers of life in the Lower 9th Ward.

H/T Poppy Z. Brite

Notes From The Underground

In NOLA, Mark Folse from the underground:

Part One-

“So long live the underground. I already carried the underground in my soul.”
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from the Underground

Part Two - Hey, white boy, what you doin’ uptown? 

Part Three- Up From The Underground

Here's what got Mark started on his Orphic thing. In a city that has given birth to American music as we know it, it is fitting that Orpheus, whose mother was Calliope, is Mark's god of choice here.

"Miracle at St. Anna"

Spike Lee's latest film "Miracle at St. Anna" (release date October 2008) was scored by Terence Blanchard, the New Orleans trumpet player who provided the music to "When The Levees Broke."

"The music in my films is part of the bedrock," Lee said. "It has a very integral part in what makes up a Spike Lee Joint, the same as the cinematography, the acting, the editing, the production design, the costume design. Music is one of those pillars that holds a movie up."

Yeah, New Orleans

It's all true and they need more people to visit and give them a hand in return. For what? If you don't know, don't go.

The Olympic Torch

Hitler and Nazi Germany were such masters of modern hypnotic advertisement that I had swallowed the fantasy that the ancient Greeks brought the flaming torch to Olympia to herald the start of the first games. According to Leni Riefenstahl's 1938 film "Olympia", an homage to the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games, the origins of this ritual are told.

"Never before had a lighted torch been relayed from a Greek temple in Olympia to an athletic competition, let alone by thousands of runners trying to keep it from being extinguished. So Riefenstahl creates the myth the Greeks never got around to telling, creating a filmic counterpart to the opening of Wagner’s “Ring,” in which an entire world gradually emerges from elemental fragments. The camera begins by surveying a misty landscape of ruins, of shattered pillars and overgrown grasses. Restless and circling, the camera reveals a Greek temple standing amid the stones. Heads and the bodies of Greek statues appear in an eerie erotic landscape. Under the sensuous caresses of Riefenstahl’s lens, a naked discus thrower comes to life, polished stone becoming muscular flesh. Another athlete prepares to throw a javelin, its trajectory leading toward a bowl of fire. Lighting the Olympic torch, another nude acolyte triumphantly raises it aloft like Wagner’s Siegfried displaying his sword."

The Rangers Are Winning, At The Moment

With the NHL playoffs underway, I had always sought out the in depth analysis of Professor Ashley Morris. He was amazing in his detailed knowledge of the game, the players and its history. He was particularly adept in his knowledge of goalies, past and present. My knowledge of the game consists of being able to follow the play of the puck and not much more. If you are into hockey, take a look at this post from last year on the playoff matchups. Professor, I miss your knowledge of the game and the anecdotal tidbits. If the Rangers lose along the way to the Cup, then I go back to reading 4 nights a week.

Grillo From Mozia

In 2000, I visited the small island of Mozia just off the coast of Sicily between Marsala and Trapani. You can walk if the tide is low. It is a strange place with bare traces of substantial Phoenician and Carthaginian settlements long since laid to waste by Dionysius The Elder in 379 B.C. The ghosts of the sacrificed and those slaughtered by the Greeks were palpable. Maybe it was the wind. When wandering the numerous paths on the little island, I noticed some grapevines. So, it was with surprise that I read about a wine made from those grapes. Thanks to the honorable Dionysius of the vine and sprezzatura, Alfonso-On The Italian Wine Trail-Cevola discovered a Grillo white wine there that took him back 20 years.

1998 Ceuso Custera

This elusive, at least to me, Sicilian red wine has earned a reputation and for good reason. The first time I came across it was when I worked a few hours a week in a local wine shop. That was 8+ years ago. The limited stock was gone before I had a chance to taste it. The next time I spotted it was in NYC a few years back. Again, I held back because of the price of a bottle. However, when I came across it a third time in a shop in Great Barrington, MA last week, the charm made me pull the trigger. The Ceuso estate is on the slopes of the temple of Segesta, a secluded spot even though the Autostrada is close by thanks to the Sicilian highway authorities. My father's father lived his simple fisherman life in nearby Drepanon, the "sickle". One version of the myth states that the sickle fell from the hands of Demeter while she was hunting for her daughter Persephone abducted by Hades. This part of the island was originally settled by the Elymians who erected the famous temple here. The amphitheater sits high on a winding road above the dark green pines of the valley where the temple is unobstrusively situated melding with the landscape. The majestic view of the sea from the theater is cradled between mountain tops. Luckily we got there before the buses.

I decanted the wine for an hour or so. The color is a deep dark black-purple. The nose upon decanting was subtle and reassuring. It sang to me from some ancient well. Maybe the land and its wine tells some of the story of the ancient Elymians and their Carthaginian friends and Greek enemies. I smelled aged depth and solace. I then tasted and smelled blackberries, candied cherries, a hint of cedar. The finish was long, extremely smooth, lingering with fruit, tinged with vanilla oak. Clearly this wine would evolve as it opened up. Tonight we will check in on its reaction to air and light. The Custera proved to be very expansive and has retained a backbone of finesse and balance. The wine was created with the intention of appealing both to traditionalists and those who favor a more international style, thus the addition of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. From what we tasted, I think the blend has aged very well keeping its integrity centered. We had a grilled marinated pork loin with it. Coincidentally, we had some Sicilian blood oranges whose peel and juice went into the marinade, along with sherry, soy, paprika, saffron and olive oil. I boiled down the marinade and reduced it by half. The Custera stood up well to the sweet pork and big marinade flavors. A noble honest wine that evokes the hills and pines around Segesta, one of the most intriguing settings on the island. An ancient call echoing from a sacred site, with more than a whiff of mysterious origins and forgotten tongues.

Never Forget, Ashley Morris is New Orleans

His body is in St. Louis #3 now, but his spirit will continue to fuel the spirit and soul of his beloved city, New Orleans. Ray Shea gave the eulogy in honor of the bigger than life bon homme.

We may Know Da'Sound of UnBroken Belief
as a bucket of tears while da'years go beside us. But We Roll down da'wet stones in da'street by a'little Cafe' named for Our Goddess of Flowahs.

There'da 8-Ball lines up wit'da Lucky-13
Snake Eyes'n'Diamonds Demons'n'Chains
Still, da'Angels Wake for Saint Ann to begin with her Masque made of sorrow
and her Laugh made of sin.

So when I die do please carry me down Royal Streets wit'a Brass Band an'da 2nd Line Beat by'da Court Yards Tru'da Mook d'City and lay me down my soul to sleep

Top photo: Greetings From New Orleans

Hot 8 sending the Professor to the Saints.

Photo: Howie Luvzus'

In Remembrance of Dr. Ashley Morris

Adrastos has posted a moving remembrance of the Professor by John Kelly, the Captain of PAN.

FYYFF--30

This was Ashley Morris in his best rant mode. Let us never forget.

Remember Ashley Morris by helping out his wife and three young children.

Ashley's Fire Will Never Go Out

Right now in New Orleans and through out the vast web of the Internet, there are are many people paying tribute to Ashley Morris, New Orleanian juste, firebrand blogger, husband, kind gentle father of three small children plus a few thousand other things. He was the spirit of New Orleans incarnate. He tried to make the world a better place.

Mark Folse of Toulouse Street:   

"A very few of us rise above that personal level of history, make a larger mark in this life, like elephants passing on the savanna: something monumental moving through the world, a rumbling in the earth and a trumpeting cry, a trail of marks left behind which other men will find in some dim future and say: that is what it was like in that place and time.

Ashley Morris, was one of those few."

Ray in New Orleans:

"His earthly self is going to St. Louis #3 some time next week, the cemetery right behind the Fairgrounds. His soul is going to a righteous place somewhere else. But I have no doubt that every year when Jazz Fest rolls around, if you hang close to that end of the neighborhood, you'll hear an extra drumline coming from somewhere and maybe the whiff of Jameson and a Cubano. You won't be able to see him, but you'll know he's there, drumming like mad and laughing his ass off."

Ashley Morris, You Loved NOLA

I was walking Aldo yesterday around noon and I had a strange feeling about death. Every now and then, Ashley used to mention our bulldog Aldo in a comment or email. He knew about that bull-doggednese that was a part of his own unflinching love of his home sweet home. It wasn't a premonition, just a to-the-quick reminder, memento mori. Every morning with coffee in hand one of the first stops on my blog roll is Ashley Morris. You will be sorely missed, Professor. I never got to meet you to share some crawfish and drink. Your love for your family and your city was from the heart. You were a furnace of fire and spit when it came to your beloved New Orleans. Your cussed up rants were the high bar. No one could do it like you, spewing your venom into the faces of the gutless and indolent. Your voice will echo in their ears forever. I can't begin to tell you the amazement I felt whenever you recounted your exploits in life. I would need a few lifetimes to do some of the things that you did in your brief life. You lived, Professor. "Better to die a devil in the fire, than an angel in the wings." Ah man, amen, you were never in the wings. You were always on the frontline. You made me laugh a lot. I thank you for that and salute your soul and wit and cussing. I'll be in that second line to send you off.

Louis Armstrong's "Saint James Infirmary" is playing in da' house for you man. Along with Professor Longhair, Dr. John, Hot 8, Dirty Dozen and...

Video of Ashley and what he was about in relation to blogging and NOLA.

Greg at Suspect Device has put together a fitting photo memoriam to Ashley.

"We need them,

Brands that flare to show us

the dark we are in, to keep us moving in it."---Denise Levertov, "An Interim"

I shed some tears, but I am moving on as you would wish, Professor.

Creole Heritage, Gumbo and The Lower 9th

Slimbolala and his aunt Annou talk about their Creole heritage and gumbo at The Southern Gumbo Trail. This interview is part of the Southern Food Alliance's collection of oral histories of the dish and the people who make it.

The Neighborhood Empowerment Network Association is fighting to save the lower 9th Ward in New Orleans that has been written off by some as too vulnerable to be worth saving. Officials refused to let people back into the ward while other parts of the city were rebuilding. Needless to say this has not rested well with people who have lived their for generations.

NENA has been helping people come back to the Lower Ninth Ward by providing assistance on issues such as securing loans and hiring contractors. Only 1,200 of the 14,000 residents who lived in the Lower Ninth Ward before Hurricane Katrina have returned. NENA hopes that 4,000 residents will come back by September 2008.

Cursing in Uzbeck

The Internets are in a sense a technological Tower of Babel. The translator software leaves much to be desired. Hopefully, it will get better, but the nuances of languages will never be properly translated. Just yesterday, I had a flurry if Italian translations of my post on the 2008 American Wine Bold Awards. In the post I mentioned the current Italian wine scandal brewing over the possible dilution of Burnello di Montalcino, a costly highly revered wine. So, I suspect that was the reason although I might be wrong. In a post or a comment, sometimes I feel the need to curse in another tongue, but I don't have the vocabulary. Maud Newton, a reknowned curser, has the perfect book:

"Some of the more creative ones, in translation: ambulatory torn condom (Maltese, asshole); goldwash (Danish, blow job); speaks in farts (Hebrew, bullshitter); even rabbits attack a dead lion (Latin, chicken shit); you’ve got your ass open (German, crazy); the clown’s kiss (Spanish, menstruation); butt muscle cosmonaut (Dutch, gay); turd beetle (Uzbeck, miser); dead from sawing (Italian, wanker/copious masturbator)."

2008 American Wine Blog Awards Recount

The 2008 American Wine Blog Awards have been announced. However, there has been a call for a recount. There seems to be have been some irregularities in the voting. The voting of the judges appears to be on the up and up, but it is the voting of the public, 70% of the vote, that has been called into question. It seems that people voted more than once using spurious names while casting multiple votes. Are those ground ballot stubs mixed in with that 20 year old Sarmassa Barolo? Some bloggers who were not nominated for any categories were not only disappointed, but somewhat mortified. The wine blogosphere is a very unique one in this vast web of internets. There are endless discussions of points vs non-points. What's the point? There is one site that has a photograph to convey their impressions of a wine. Instead of endless adjectives like pencil lead, asphalt, chicken poop, crushed stone, squirrel fur, clinker, old Life Magazines, these ingenious folks short circuit that baffling lexicon with a visual image. They won best graphics and deserve it. The awards singled out some excellent wine blogs, like Vinography for Best Blog Writing and Good Wine Under $20 for Best Single Subject Blog. As a neophyte, I have come to learn that people can get quite testy over their view of mother nature's product of the vine. The heated arguments often get in the way of, uh, enjoying the wine and food. Another topic that is endlessly dissected is natural versus humanly manipulated wines. Yes, there is a human factor and that should be minimal. Sometimes the wine makes itself, but by and large human beings tweak wines. Believe it or not, most human beings are part of nature, estranged though they may be from the Great Mother's source. Get over it. Some people are named Pope and are therefore 96-points-infallible. Others are called Czarinas, much to the chagrin of certain well intentioned people. The road to Dante's Pizzeria is not paved with a sea of Brunello. 

So, the recount is on. What with the looming Italian wine industry miasma and the questionable voting in the Wine Blog Awards, all bets are off. Who can one trust anymore? Those selling the wine, those writing about selling the wine, those writing about those writing about wine, those writing about subjectivity and/or objectivity in tasting wine, those writing about the wine as it comes from the earth gently coaxed by the artist's hands or, just maybe, trust the wine itself. Eco would have much fun in this arena.

Tom Wark of Fermentation is a honest poker player. He will sort all this out, that is, if there was any funny bizness to begin with. 'A basta.

The 1st of the cruellest month!

 

What is the Sound Of One Tit in a Howling Mouth?

Gastropoda on those wide open loud mouths in restaurants:

"Too bad Citizens Against Breast-Feeding is a media hoax. If this country managed to ban “offensive” public consumption, we could move on to outlawing something truly disgusting: Mickey D on the C train. But I could see a real group forming, one that would actually encourage breast-feeding in restaurants if it shut the howler monkeys up — up to age 12, if necessary. Failing that, my friend Groffoto has an interesting idea for fighting back against oblivious parents whose human larvae are allowed to ruin everyone else’s meal. Their photos should be taken with cellphones and posted in an e-hall of shame. It works for flashers down where the Whoppers go. Why not for parents instilling bad behavior in their spawn? Unfortunately, I was going to say we could call it fulldiaper.com, but that’s taken. By someone selling more crap to the overindulged to keep them too strapped to hire baby sitters."

---

Sfinciuni di San Vito

Carlo Middione's "The Food of Southern Italy" is a well written thoroughly researched cook book. It is loaded with many helpful tips and anecdoctal historical facts that make for great reading. The recipes are simple and flavorful. It is the sun drenched food of Southern Italy. In the book is a recipe for Sfinciuni di San Vito, a Sicilian type of pizza that has a filling between two layers of dough. The filling is made up of some sauteed onion, salami (I used a decent commercial imported soppressata thinly sliced into strips), cubed caciocavallo cheese, black pepper, hot red pepper flakes and some marinara sauce. The first layer of dough is placed in a oiled 9" cake pan or another other round pan. The filling is spread over the dough and topped with the second layer of dough that is drizzled on top with olive oil. Set in a 400 degree oven for a half hour and turnover onto a plate. NB The next time roll out the bottom dough as well as the top, stupid. The wine we had was a 2006 Cusamano Benuara ($17 pre-discount) that is mostly Nero d'Avola with some Syrah. It is one of the better Sicilian reds at this price point. I believe it garnered a tre bichere recently. It was a great match for the sfinciuni, a wine with gripping acidity, backbone strength, ample fruit that finishes smoothly, yet assertively at the same time. It has a glass stopper so watch for that when you reach for the cork screw.