From a fierce tribe

On street corners, as well as in the many local produce markets, wild foraged veggies are dominant alongside HUGE chartreuse heads of broccoli. Fennel seems to be the dominant weed on the island, in these parts anyway. Artichokes are in bundles with their two-foot long stalks. Dandelion greens are tied in bundles by some wiry grass. The greens are cut at the ground level leaving the root to send up another round.


It’s early spring. The almond trees are in bloom…as well as a huge array of wildflowers. Lemon yellow primroses cover hillsides. The hillside on the edge of town is terraced and offering an abundance of veggies. The whole place is a hillside. Stone steps connect crossroads to assist in the climb. The street drops away so quickly in some places that what is street level at the curb is two steps down at the building (that being in the newer parts of town only a couple hundred years old). The third floor of my building is at street level in the back. The old town has sidewalks that are about two feet wide. Just enough space for a person to walk with their bags and not be run down by miniature cars hurtling down narrow streets.

I’m practicing my hard disdainful Sicilian look…the look my mother would give me if I dared lay something on her dining room table. On the street no one says “Buon Giorgio.” If they look at you at all its with suspicion and hardness. We are a fierce tribe.

The grocer lady and the butchers are my salvation.

She is intrigued by my purchase of dandelion greens, potatoes, cannelini beans. Her approving look says, “Ah! You know what to do. You are one of us.”

I boil some potatoes reserving the water for broth.
Sauté a bit of onion and add the greens to wilt. Add potatoes, cannellini beans, and lots of olive oil. Eat with a hunk of sweet semolina bread. Glass of Nero D’Avalo.

When I finally get some euros I will stop eating like a peasant.

Maybe.