Tasting the Earth

This entry is dedicated to my two favorite Italian American farmers: Anthony Caltabiano Jr. & Sr. and their distant relatives, who I am sure I met today. (The Caltabianos taught me to taste the earth, and then the green bean, an experience with food I will never forget!)

This morning, Grandma Caltabiano's 3rd cousin helped me choose my eggplant, zucchini, apples, spinach, sage and oregano plants, onions and tomatoes. As the money exchanged and she was about to hand me my bags she told me to wait (in a demanding but sweet tone) and she started adding a maripoix to my bag: 1 carrot, 1 celery stick, assorted herbs (lots of Italian parsley). I tried to offer her some more money but she wouldn't accept it! I think I've made a friend.

It helps to come to the market before everyone is open (I had been awake since before the first cargo van arrived, waiting, with my cup of coffee, like it was Christmas). It also helps to choose the stalls on the side streets because you know there is a premium to have a place in the square. Those people don't have to be nice to customers.

Markets have got to be my favorite places to visit while traveling, anywhere. Not because I love to shop (I don't) but because I love the characters involved-such showmanship on every one's part, both buyers and sellers. They are the same in every country-with minor nuances. This market is every Saturday in the square outside my window. The caravans have incredible awnings that make the square one giant patchwork tent by 8am.

I'm making several trips, the first was for my veggies, before the other vendors were even set up. The second time around, I purchased basic necessities for living the next two months with a clean face and hair (ever tried figuring out which product to purchase when the packaging is in a language you don't know? Lets hope some of them are all purpose!)

Third trip, was my most delicious, the calamaro (or calamari as you Americans like to call it). Tre, gratzie! I'm almost sure he asked me if I wanted them cleaned but I declined, what and take all the fun out of it?! The raw calamaro is for tonight's dinner and then I ordered some of the fried, which was just coming off the fire at 9 am. I'm here to tell you that fried calamari for breakfast is delicious. Next door to the fishmonger is the formaggio maker and then the butcher, where chickens are rotating on the spit as he takes orders for slices of the already roasted pig that is sprawled out in front of him on a giant cutting board. Belly down and feet (hooves?) still attached, who wants the snout? How about the right buttock, with or without, the leg attached?

Eating my calamari on the steps of the piazza, I feel like I won't need to apply lipgloss any time soon. I'm people watching, actually, I'm old, Italian, men watching as the square is full of them congregating in groups of four. Ah ha! Just figured out where the women are. They are shopping in the market, one piazza over, while the men are avoiding it at all costs! Isn't it wonderful? Men and women are all alike, everywhere.