Altari nei vicoli fedele ...

via Fontana, 21

The altari dei vicoli fedele are meticulously crafted devotional 'street' altars created by the women of the Centro Storico; and on via Fontana, in front of my house in particular, are the most elaborate and important in the village.

Nonna Rosina davanti Teresa's tabacchino

   In Italy, in the months of May & June, in the few weeks just following Easter, there are a series of high holy Sundays on the Catholic liturgical calendar: the Ascensione di Nostro Signore, Pentecoste and the season finale, Corpus Domini ... All of which have their high masses and long processions that, in Calitri, walk right by my door on via Fontana.  

Vescovo on via Fontana

    Not by my door as in out on the street and across from my door ... I mean by my door as within an inch of it. 

My house fronts a very narrow passage of via Fontana. The whole procession of pole bearers and crest carriers, priest and his retinue, dozens of men in blue capes of the Confraternita dell'Immacolata, and then the little ladies of the lane chanting their Catholic mantras as they atone for one of the high holy days of the liturgical calendar, will nearly invade my kitchen as they walk by.

Big guy, in front of my door...little ladies above

On Corpus Domini in particular, the outdoor altars of immaculate white bedsheets, hand embroidered lace linens, and vintage heirlooms are arranged along stone walls & between doorways, festooned with fresh flowers, shafts of wheat, candles and single electric bulbs, in honor of the Procession of the Blessed Sacrament. 

'The procession passes. The dogs bark.'

A lapsed Catholic, I knew nothing of any of this until I got here....and it really doesn't end there...By June 1st, the Tredecina di Sant Antonio has already begun.

Filomena's Ravioli

Aurecch k'at

Gravaiul'

  If you live in New York, I know what you're thinking. That these ravioli came out of a Star box, frozen, bought in some deli-case on Staten Island, in Queens or the Bronx.  Nope.  They are the real made-by-hand-starting-at-5-in-the-morning deal with ricotta so fresh it was probably still warm when mixed with an egg, a bit of salt and tiny flecks of the secret Calitrani ingredient that never made it into any recipes in my mother's kitchen though tons of it could be found invading every corner of our Stewart Manor backyard. 

Mint.  

And let me tell you, they are totally devine.

       

   Now I can't say that I was there in the moments these plump pillows of delectable dairyness were made, even though I live just down the street, but I was there the moment they were delicately lowered into the rolling water and watched with a child's eager anticipation as they slowly floated to the top. Bobbing and swaying, they were gently turned with the wooden spatula to the right. An art in itself, as you try not, dare not break even one.

  And the sauce? If you look closely there are two different plates of ravioli shot, and yes both of them were mine, and yes I went for seconds - they were both placed in front of me on a Sunday; albeit a few weeks apart. One week some were made, on a whim, into half moon shapes, and the others left as the lovely round pillows as the week before, nearly half their size; they were in the end smothered with very different red sauces.

Il sugo as they call it here - vanquishing forever those annoying Italian-American arguments of  'is it GRAVY? or SAUCE?' (I mean really) of the first plate above had a distinct anisette flavor from the seeds of wild fennel rolled into the cotechino, and little else. With one forkful I was transported to the moon. The second plate below was standard issue ragu, a sauce a bit heavier in flavor given the braciole, vitello and pork. 

   Filomena made a few other shapes of pasta that morning to toss in just for kicks. I guess she had nothing else better to do at 5am. They are Cats Ears or Aurecch k' at and Scialatiel. Or as we used to call them, and my favorite when I was a little girl - fusilli.  To eat like this on any given Sunday? I am one lucky girl.

    More about the mint; I have enjoyed it on grilled eggplant and dressed in a tender green bean salad both at relative's tables in Calitri, but in ricotta ravioli only in Filomena's kitchen.  Another reason to think there is no Italian cuisine; only individual Italian cooks. 

C'era Una Volta - Presepe Vivente

Casa dei Poveri

I thought I would flash back to a Presepe Vivente from a few years ago in classic B/W.  It was Christmas 2006, my first in the town, and the Centro Storico was alive with adults and kids preparing for the annual live manger scene played out in a cavernous cave on via Alfonso del Re. Hundreds of people from around Irpinia travel to Calitri each year to snake through the natalizia dressed narrow streets of the old village to view the Holy Family nestled deep inside the grotto filled with hay, kept warm by their sleeping animals, among other offerings ...

The manger's donkey hesitates...

Boys in costume

Falengami

      Along with the live manger - complete with the visitation of the 3 Kings - empty houses stone grottos and rooms are dressed out in late 19th century scenes; the butcher the baker and the candlestick maker ... with Calitrani playfully playing the costumed parts. There are baby angels caroling to the live Baby Jesus ... chestnuts roasting, traditional singing and dancing, plenty of imbibing and eating that continue 

all through the night ...

C'era una volta ... 

 The Presepe Vivente is nearly an Italian national tradition that has touched many small mountain villages and is always a wonderful time.  Tanti Auguri di Buon Natale from Calitri

Come. Visit. Vi aspetto!

Il Brachetto di Girolamo Caruso

Girolamo Caruso pausing to talk with L'Americana about his Brachetto

Of deep grottos & red wine, it's a man's world...but they don't mind a certain breezy American woman stopping bye every now and then to taste their wares.  

It was a mild October evening. I happened to park my car on via Concezione just outside the red cantina door near via Fontana. The aroma of must meant the fruit was being crushed, so I poked my head in to say hello. Girolamo Caruso and friends were making their wine, taking turns hand cranking the press, clink t' clink t' clink, as the crimson elixir trickled down the spout...

Il Brachetto di Girolamo is clear dry and, well, quite close to perfect. It has just a hint of the sparkle that spumanti offers without being too sweet. It's fruity, even a little breezy...frizzante. 

Calitrani men are notoriously quiet and shy around breezy American women. But somehow Girolamo and I made it fun. After all it was the vendemmia. TreRota's were buzzing up and down the vias and vicolos hauling the vineyards luscious bounty, with smiling happy men. Ever ridden in the cab of a Ape? It's a bit tight. You need to be comfortable with the old guy driving or it could get embarrassing... zio Giovanni was my first. Generally only the wives are given the honored and very narrow spot (there is only one rickety bench seat) and sometimes not even then. The joke goes, or went, that some wives were made to ride in back, but I don't believe it.

      In Campania wine producing is an ancient passion, and the crushing of the fruit is still a pretty primitive affair in the deep tufa grottos around Calitri. Stained hands work the presses, plastic basins and jugs hold and pour the wine. But it is a labor of love by and for men, for most Calitrani women rarely drink wine. Unleashes the passions of lovers, they say. Enough said. 

I kept shooting. And Il Bracchetto di Girolamo and friends kept flowing ...