Actually, the reason there is still an orciaia at Capezzana is quite interesting:
Growing olives and making oil is extremely labor-intensive: the trees must be pruned after the harvest and fertilized, and then come spring and into the summer months the ground cover must be kept from running wild, while the trees must be treated to prevent outbreaks of various parasites, and if it's damp or worse yet rainy the treatments have to be repeated more frequently. Then comes the harvest, which must be done quickly and by hand, followed by the pressing, which must again happen as quickly as possible, because the olives begin to deteriorate from the moment they are picked. Considering the returns, which are 10-15% by weight -- 100 kilos of olives will yield 10-15 kilos, or about 10-15 liters of oil -- it's a great deal of work for not that much return, even at the prices quality oil can fetch.As a result, the Contini Bonacossi family considered olive oil to be a secondary crop, and while the harvest was done following the rules to the letter, also because it takes place after the grape harvest, when the field hands are free, pruning and such came after tending the vines. In other words, grass did grow up around the trees between mowings, and though the trees did all get pruned, not every tree got pruned every year.
Then the family had a brilliant idea: Why not establish a cooperative to make the oil? They would supply the trees, and the press, while those who joined, initially mostly retired farm hands, would tend the trees and harvest the olives, and they would split production 50-50. It has worked out better than anyone expected, with the trees responding to the considerably better care they now get (Filippo Bonacossi tells me that people stop by at all hours to tend the trees entrusted them) by producing more, and better quality olives than they ever had before. Production is up, Filippo is planting more trees, and the children of those who initially signed up are signing up too.
And where do the orce come in? While they were originally used to store the estate's olive oil, they now are used to store the shares of the individual members of the cooperative -- it is easier from an administrative standpoint to keep people's shares separate than it is to put them into tanks and tell the members they have x% of tank y. Quality, you wonder? Steel, with an inert atmosphere is much better that terracotta urns with wooden lids, but the members of the cooperative pick up their oil quickly.And where does the Contini Bonacossi family's share go? Into steel tanks, and then, quickly, into bottle and on to the shippers, because their olive oil is in hot demand.
The Americas in Sardegna
This year at the Salone del Gusto the Regione Sardegna organized a conference on the influence of the Americas on Sardinian cooking, and I attended, expecting to hear about peppers and tomatoes, and perhaps potatoes and corn. Instead they talked primarily about prickly pears and beans, and it was quite interesting.For me a bit of a surprise, too, because the Italian term for prickly pear is Fico D'India, or Indian Fig, and I had always assumed the India mentioned was the Asian Subcontinent, not Columbus's Indies, i.e. Central America.
But they are from Central America, and had a profound influence upon the topography and agriculture of Sardinia. Not as food, though Sardinians, like those in other parts of Europe where the prickly pear was introduced, do eat the fruit (unlike Mexicans, they never did think to eat the paddle-like leaves), and also transform it into tasty marmalades and sapa, a sweet fruit concentrate.
Rather, they took advantage of the ease with which prickly pears grow under arid conditions, and replaced the stone fences traditionally used to mark the boundaries of the fields with imposing prickly pear paddle palisades. Which did require pruning, because prickly pears are invasive if not kept in check, but that also captured moisture and returned some of it to the ground during the drier seasons, thereby helping the other crops to grow.
A fence that supplies both food and moisture isn't at all bad, and if you drive through the arid parts of Sardegna you'll still see prickly pear fences. Nor are they obsolete; the same ability to capture moisture that made them important in the days before irrigation is important now that groundwater is becoming scarcer and the costs of pumping water are increasing.
Corn? It was introduced in more humid areas of the island, and used to make popcorn, polenta, and also cornbread. Potatoes were instead introduced late, in the 1700s, and heavily promoted by both the clergy and the functionaries of the Savoy government, though they didn't become popular until people figured out what to do with them (early attempts to use them to make bread were less than successful). Tomatoes? They were introduced in the 1700s, and though we now tend to think of them as being used fresh, or at the most canned, before the development of canning and refrigeration a significant portion of the crop was dried and stored.
After these brief mentions, we came to beans, which are culturally quite interesting. Since commercially raised white and dark beans are readily available and have been for quite some time, one might have expected to find them in people's fields throughout Sardegna. But this is not the case; botanists who did studies of the beans grown in the fields and vegetable patches of small farmers found that most of the beans being grown are genetically quite distinct from those preferred by agribusiness.
And quite diverse; beans are original to a large swath of land extending from Mexico to the Andes, and as one might expect given the size of the source area, there are differences from place to place. Andean beans tend to be larger than Mexican beans, and also have different genetic markers in their proteins. About 70% of the beans found in old Sardinian bean patches can be traced to the Andes, and the remaining 30 to Central America; the researchers suspect, and it would make sense, that the farmers who first planted the fields selected Andean beans because of their larger size.
Of course the beans have not remained unchanged since their arrival in Sardegna; they have to the contrary adapted to the local terroirs, and now present an astonishing variety of shades and hues. To further complicate matters, the researchers told us that in many cases beans that look quite similar are genetically distinct.
And why are we still finding these old cultivars in the fields despite the flood of modern commercial seeds? Because people become attached to them; the plants that were grown by parents and grandparents become a link to them, and therefore modern-day farmers continue to plant them. In other words, the fields become a link to childhood, and to those who have gone before.
And what influence did beans have on the Sardinian diet? While they were and are an extremely important source of protein, and in this sense had a major impact, they had a considerably smaller culinary influence because they simply replaced other legumes the Sardinians had already been using.
Winding down, a couple of recipes
Minestra di Fagioli, Finocchetto e Patate, Bean, wild Fennel and Potato Soup
This is a Sardinian recipe, and will be quite filling. In addition to beans it includes wild fennel, of which one eats the fronts, and in this case I don't think I would substitute bulb fennel, because the result won't be quite right.
- 2/3 pound (300 g) freshly shelled beans
- 2/3 pound (300 g, or two bunches) wild fennel fronds
- Slightly more than a half pound (250 g) potatoes
- 1/2 pound (225 g) plum tomatoes (canned will work)
- 1/3 pound (150 g) dry short pasta (ditalini, and whatever else suits your fancy)
- A ham bone, or a 1/4 pound (100 g) slice of pig rind
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- Freshly grated Pecorino Sardo (in its absence use Pecorino Toscano or a mixture of Pecorino Romano and Parmigiano, as Pecorino Romano on its own would be too salty)
- Salt and pepper to taste
Rinse the fennel fronds, pad them dry, and chop them. Peel and dice the potatoes. Blanch, peel, seed, chop, and drain the tomatoes.
Heat the oil in a soup pot, sauté the tomatoes for a minute, and as soon as they begin to wilt add the beans, fennel, potatoes, and ham or pig rind. Add a 2 1/2 quarts (2.5 l) of water, cover, and simmer for at least two hours.
When the time is up remove the ham bone or pig rind, check seasoning, stir in the pasta, and continue to simmer, stirring occasionally lest the pasta stick and burn, until the pasta is cooked. Serve at once with grated pecorino on the side.
A wine? White, and perhaps a Vermentino.
A variation: instead of fresh tomatoes, you can use 1/4 pound (100 g) dried tomatoes, plumped in warm water and then finely chopped.
Gallina Farcita di Verza e Grana, Hen Stuffed with Savoy Cabbage and Grana Cheese
Italian bird stuffings tend to be firmer than those I encountered as a child in the US, and in many cases include meat. This is instead cabbage-based, and will be a nice option for a festive meal. It does require a boned bird; you can either bone it yourself, or have your butcher do it for you. If you have the butcher do it, have her give you the bones (especially the neck) too.
- A young chicken weighing about 3 1/3 pounds (1.5 k)
- A head of Savoy cabbage
- 3 garlic cloves, peeled
- 4 fresh sage leaves
- The needles from a 4-inch (10 cm) sprig of rosemary
- A pinch each ground nutmeg, ground cloves, ground cinnamon, and paprika
- An egg
- 2 cups (100g) freshly grated Grana Padana or Parmigiano Reggiano
- A glass (200 ml) dry white wine
- 1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon (60 g) unsalted butter
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- Salt and pepper to taste
Wash the chicken neck and put it and the bones from the carcass in a pot with water to cover. Bring it to a boil, season lightly with salt, and simmer for an hour or more to obtain a concentrated broth. Filter it into a bowl, through a sheet of paper towel put in a strainer to remove the fat.
While the broth is simmering, remove and discard the outer leaves of the cabbage if they are dinged or wilted, bring a pot of water to a boil, salt it, and boil the cabbage for 15 minutes. Drain it, let it cool, squeeze out the moisture, and chop it finely with the garlic.
Heat half the oil in a broad saucepan and sauté the cabbage and garlic mixture for 5 minutes. Let it cool and transfer it to a bowl. Mix into it the cheese, egg, spices, and season to taste with salt and pepper.
Stuff the cavity of the chicken with the mixture and sew the openings shut with needle and thread.
Set your oven to 360 F (180 C). While it's heating, heat the remaining butter and oil in a flame-resistant casserole with the sage and rosemary and brown the bird, turning it carefully to make certain all sides color. Sprinkle the white wine over it and cook over a brisk flame until it has evaporated, and then transfer it to the oven. Roast it for an hour, basting it every now and again with the concentrated broth (what you don't use will be a perfect addition to a soup or stew).
Cut the chicken crosswise into half-inch slices and serve it with a crisp red wine -- I might be tempted by a Chianti Colli Fiorentini.
This time's proverb is Sardinian: Ai ricchezzas accudinti i s'amigusu - Wealth draws friends.
Kyle Phillips
Editor, The Italian Wine Review
http://www.italianwinereview.com
Want to comment? Drop me a line at Kyle@cosabolle.com
PS -- Please forward this to anyone you think would enjoy it! If you would like to read past issues (nothing in them really gets stale), you'll find them on the IWR site, through http://www.cosabolle.com.
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