Palermo Peccati

Mountains and sea, Mountains and sea, Cobblestone and crags, Sicilians and me. Al' anima trovato.
- Giacomo Barrington

"Un taglio e un barba costano quanto?" I ask the elderly Sicilian barber in my broken Italian. He looks at me confused, as though no-one has ever asked before. "Tredici?" he half answers, half questions. I wasn't about to argue with him on price; it would cost at least three times as much at home.
I sit down to the best shave of my life and a quick "back and sides". Sitting next to me is a man with damaged vocal chords; either that or he's looking to perfect his voice for the next Palermian community theatre Puzo-palooza. I knew I wanted to get a shave in Sicily, but I didn't realize it would be so easy to find this kind of place. Whether or not any of these guys have ever been involved in anything criminal, they all act like made men.

Sicilian men greet in an extremely tender (and yet manly) way. They don't touch each others hands or body, but walk over to the acquaintance and lean, presenting a cheek. The man opposite leans over and a touch of one cheek to another occurs (kissing noise optional). Then of course, they begin to argue.

The Hotel Firenze is a hotel in Palermo with a colourful group of people you will assuredly make friends with. There are two terraces, a kitchen, one dollar beers, and it costs about 20 bucks canadian a night. It is located in the very centre of Palermo. Walking around Palermo you find a lot of neat squares and markets. My new friend Diane lovingly calls them "Bourdain-worthy". Too right she is. Fluorescent-lit markets serve freshly grilled fish next to picnic tables in front of the neighbourhood depanneur. The only condiment is a bowl of limes. It's the least you'll pay for food in Italy and it's probably the best dining experience too. The ambiance immediately puts you at ease.

Carts peddle pizza alla Siciliana. It has a thick and doughy but surprisingly light crumb. Mammoth portions of the pizza are baked in the morning and then piled up onto carts and spread out around the city. The slices are coated in a salty tomato pesto. When you order a slice, the man opens his cart to where a griddle is hidden, drizzles some olive oil and then fries both sides of the pizza. Yeah - it's pretty cool.

Sicilian cuisine is no bullshit cookery: to the point, delicious, eat it or don't. Nobody seems to bother with lots of ingredients or new takes on old classics. The way it is done is just fine. Why move the airport? It's been behind those mountains next to the sea-shore a long time. who cares if it makes pilots nervous? It's character building. The Don doesn't have a problem with it. Do you have a problem with the Don?

Case Pan Cà Meusa are everywhere- a Palermian classic. These "restaurants" serve one thing. You walk in and you ask for "uno, per piacere" What they're serving, translated into Italian (from Sicilian) is panini con la milza. A man standing in front of four ingredients combines them on the spot. He tongs thinly sliced calf's spleen out of the lard bath it simmers in onto a fresh sesame seed bun, adds a knife's-end of unrefined sea salt, and hands it to you next to a bowl of lime slices.

The milza panino is really excellent. I'm not just saying that because it's such an exciting way of using the whole beast, but because it is REALLY good. It becomes so tender from being a confit and loses whatever- well- undesirable flavours it may have previously contained. When garnished so simply and freshly, almost like fish, it transforms the thing into a snack suitable for all occasions. I'm craving it now as I write. I know! I'm craving spleen! weird.

Sicilian cuisine isn't dominated by the savoury though, as this is where the canolo was born. If you go to Sicily I only have one recommendation, save yourself for one particular canolo. Don't just buy one right away. Casa del Brodo is a very reasonably priced trattoria that serves an amazing canolo. It's mammoth, as is the tradition. It isn't "chalk"-full (mind the pun) of icing sugar though. It's light, whipped ricotta with the consistency of just-underwhipped cream stuffed into a freshly fried cookie and coated with shaved dark chocolate. It's a timeless restaurant so don't worry, you've got one lifetime to visit.

Casa del Brodo is so named after Tortelini con brodo - the Sicilian wonton soup. It really is exactly the same as wonton soup except for the shape of the dumplings and the addition of mirpoix to the broth. It's a really nice dish after a long day of walking.

I found something I fell in love with that apparently is not a common dish - or at least an internet search proves useless. For my generation, if it isn't on Google, it's make believe of the most obscure variety. It's called crochina di fragole: an extra crisp, sort of thin rice-crispy crust, filled with sweet whipped ricotta and sprinkled with wild strawberries - so perfect. The same incredible bakery has a pastry that is sort of like a jelly roll. Instead of jelly though, it's rolled with Nutella. It's coated with dark chocolate, capped with cream, and dipped in pistachios. Who are these people? Did I make them up?

This is my last morning in Italy. It may also be the final moment in my selective assimilation of its culture. When I woke, I dressed and walked to the nearest caffè. With one heel on the pole at the foot of the bar and opposite fist on hip, I ordered my usual morning fare. I proceeded to laugh at whatever the other old Sicilians had chosen to laugh at this morning. I ordered an arancino for the road and went on my way.

Arancini are a bit like suppli. They are deep fried rice balls but also so much more. Instead of mozzarella (and sometimes along with mozzarella) the ball is stuffed with a beef and vegetable ragu. The tomato is thus in the filling and not the rice which helps to give a sense of contrast between the layers, and it's breaded and fried in the shape of an orange, thus the name arancino. The new shape and size definitely makes it a more substantial snack, less of a one bite fritter - more a fourth meal of the day.

In the bus on the way to the airport I had much to reflect on. My time in Italy now seems like a dream, one that I awoke from with a new outlook and perhaps some new skills. As the ocean twilight reflects on the distant sky, the sea-worn Palermian houses crawl up the mountain like fireflies against the morning darkness. I have learned to enjoy watching people wake. It's like you're watching the true progression of time in the most human of terms.