Bagna Cauda: not Sicilian but delicious and ancestral all the same.
My deep connection to my Sicilian culture comes from all side s on my father’s side. But my mother’s side is Northern Italian, and for another story for another day, this side I am deeply connected to. My mother’s father was the only grandparent I knew, the only one still alive by the time I was born. He was all I had. And he was one of the best people on earth. This part of my ancestry doesn’t require a lot of ancestral healing or reclaiming — it did it’s magic on me as a child, wove it’s medicine within me.
One of the many favorite things my papa Emilio made was Bagna Cauda (he also made incredible amaro, wine, sauces, etc— very different flavors and tastes from the kitchen of my Sicilian father)
But I have been thinking about him a lot and all he passed on to me from spiritual practices, plant medicine recipes and delicious cultural foods. And I wanted to honor him by sharing this. Also, I am OBSESSED with anything anchovy and if your pantry looks like mine— there is no shortage of glass jars of anchovies.
BAGNA CAUDA {from papa Emilio's kitchen}
Emilio Verquera :: my grandpa. What you can’t see is the ceiling of the room he is in— he painted it dark navy blue with golden stars and moons.
My maternal grandfather was my best friend as a child. He was rooted in the old ways of Italy and embodied them in every day. And through this embodiment, he passed them on to me. His garden in the western corner of upstate NY was more like a mini farm of all Italian veggies; eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, radicchio, garlic, onions, artichokes. His hands were always covered in dirt. And his alchemy took place not only in the kitchen, but in the basement using roots and flowers to make bitters and dandelion wine (recipe / process coming soon!).
He was born and raised in a small, remote farming village in the Piedmonte region of Northern Italy, a region that borders France. It was actually called, or owned by France when he was born there. At some point in his childhood the borders shifted, as they do when men and wars take over, and he suddenly became "Italian". His language evolved into a rare romance language called Piedmontese - this is not a dialect but it's own language {there are many languages spoken around Italy that are not dialects - but specific languages to specific villages and regions}. Piedmontese sounded like a mix of French and Italian - and I would love listening to my grandpa when he would speak it.
The life for those in this very rural Alpine mountain region was rooted and ruled by the land under their feet. Fresh air, fresh food, homemade wine, soft cheeses made from sheep and goat milk, grains like polenta instead of pasta, and sauces that were heavier, richer than my ancestral lands from the Sud Italia— but similar to the south as in they were people connected to the seasons of the land. They grew food, raised meat, made cheese and ate well together. There are stories of Sunday meals that lasted 8 hours long- where people actually took little naps at the table between courses because to stay nourished meant to also rest. Gathering around the table for all day feasting was NORMAL - no holiday was needed to do it. It was how families and communities stayed connected, stayed together, stayed aligned with their soil, their food, their hands, their hearts, the phases of the moon. It was how they tended to each other. It was how they stayed alive, survived.
My grandfather moved to the states for good when he was a teenager. He wanted a simple way of life in the new world where he could work hard, make a family, and share his old country ways. He achieved all of these. Though his work, as an artistic mold maker in a bronze factory, eventually killed him from lung cancer- he still lived like a farmer in his small and wild yard. He cultivated his own food, was a devoted family man, with values rooted in what he learned in his alpine mountain village; to go slow, eat well, and love unconditionally.
I had him for 16 years in my life - and every weekend of my childhood I spent with him. We would take long walks, get our hands dirty in his garden, harvest pears and apples from his trees and make sweet cordials and thick sauces with them. We'd eat out on his picnic table under the plum tree in the summer and around his indoor heavy wooden table with the fire going in the cold months. He didn't abandon the eating and old ways of his homeland. He chose to pass those ways on to us, to his children and grandchildren. We would fill ourselves up on Sunday for hours around the table and in the evening we would retreat to a candlelit room where we would hold rosaries in our hands and speak prayers of protection and gratitude to Our Lady - he would chant the hail Mary in his original language. I would lay on the hard wood floor and think "I have the most magical life" - as the candles flickered, as his voice cracked and his oncoming Parkinson's made him sound shaky, at least during the later years of his life.
My grandmother, his wife, died before I was born and my grandfather took on the family role of both strong foundation builder as well as wise magical maker. . He cooked for the entire street he lived on some days. Folks weaving in and out of pre-turn-of-the-century homes and dropping by for a glass of wine and whatever my grandpa wanted to pile on their plate. Most of the people that lived on his street where his brothers and sisters and their families - because when they did immigrate here they chose to stick together, to create their own village American style. South Phetteplace Street in Falconer, NY was a true community held together by food, strong red wine, and Our Lady of Loretto church that stood at the end of their block, and was built by the hands of those in that community.
the little church I grew up saying the Hail Mary in.
Around the Holiday season we could anticipate one specific dish every year called Bagna Cauda, alternately spelled "bagna caoda" or bagnacauda. The etymology related to the Italian root "bagn" meaning "wet or bath". This dish is unique to the Piedmonte region of Italy and has been known as a speciality food there since the 16th century. It's basically a hot dipping sauce that you can dip anything in {but more on that later}. The main ingredient in this dish is anchovies - which I found to be interesting since this region is not a sea faring region. Anchovies are coastal foods. For a region that ate only locally, what was the deal with this famous dish being anchovy based? Anchovies had to be coming in from far away. But when I looked into it, I found out a cool story. This dish was birthed through the successful attempts of the peasants to "trick" the man and bypass unfair and ridiculously high taxes. The region my grandfather lived in was landlocked -which also meant there were no salt mines anywhere - and so they needed to bring salt in......
Directly south of Piedmont is Liguria, a crescent-shaped region hugging the sea. Liguria’s extensive coastline supported not only fishermen but salt-making, and its warmer climate gave it olive oil in abundance. Since Roman times, salt had been tightly controlled and heavily taxed commodity. After all, people could not live without salt, and could not avoid paying the price for it. “Salt roads” were built throughout the empire, guarded to ensure the safe passage of the precious commodity but also to make sure the government got it’s share of the revenue. One such road ran north to Piedmont, where Ligurian traders exchanged barrels of salt for Piedmont’s grain and butter. Human nature being what it is, the traders found away to avoid paying the salt tax. Since anchovies weren’t taxed, they took to packing barrels of salt with a layer of anchovies on top. Then, if the barrel were examined, inspectors would see only anchovies. In this way, salt came to Piedmont with a bonus of salt-cured anchovies on top, which the Piedmontese found a way to use.
So their need for salt and their RESISTANCE to pay the government mass amounts of taxes on it, created an easy way for anchovies to enter the scene and yes, they found a delicious dish to use those anchovies in: BagnaCauda.
My grandfather made his bagna cauda in a large ceramic cauldron {like an old country fondue style} with a flame underneath it from a large candle. It was kept warm all night long. Surrounding this cauldron were cardoon stalks, celery stalks, green pepper, large pieces of green cabbage, and thick slices of chewy baguette bread. Once grandpa would put this out on Christmas Eve, we never left the table. My brothers and sisters and I would go through bread slice after bread slice saturated with bagna cauda. The bread is suppose to be used as a "plate" to catch the drippings. Apparently you take your bread and then a veggie, dip the veggie in the bagna caudaand then put it over the bread to catch what falls. Eventually your piece of bread is soaked with buttery sauce and you eat it and then repeat. But we would dip the bread in as well. Because who doesn't want a buttery, salty dip for their fresh bread? We'd devour it until it was all gone and the scrape the bottom of the cauldron for the last salty bits and drips. When I think of the holy days, the holidays, Christmas... I think of Bagna Cauda. That fishy, fatty flavor mixed with the cool crisp of veggies. I think of my grandpa and how hard he worked at making sure we remembered, that we *knew* that we came from a rich and delicious culture that honored things with deeper meaning. That we came from something more than where he had landed, the American "dream".
Each year beginning around Solstice and into the New Year, I make this warm bath-y dip and gather around it with a nice white wine from Italy or Sicily, cut up fresh raw veggies and some comforting bread. This dish tells a story of the past while utterly seducing the tastebuds with rustic, mystical roots of the village folks in Northern Italy otherwise known as the Ligurians - their original/tribal name and also the most ancient population in the land we now call Italy {but that's for another story}. So you want the recipe? I am so honored to share it. And if you make it... please send a blessing to my ancestor, my grandpa- Emilio Ernesto Guiseppe Verquera. He will no doubt shine a magical blessing back to you. SALUTE!
BAGNA CAUDA
Ingredients:
2 oz anchovies in oil
8 garlic cloves
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 stick of butter
a bundle of fresh parsley
*place your anchovies in a mortar along with the garlic cloves and smash it all up, pestle it together until it becomes a thick paste.
*place your anchovy / garlic paste in a small heavy sauce pan and cook on medium - stirring non stop for a few moments so it does not burn
*slowly add 1/4 cup of olive oil. Stir and cook for another 5-7 minutes, watching the pieces melt and merge together. As this happens, speak your love, your grace, your desires.
*fuse your intentions for this new season and see them become part of the whole
*cook on medium low until it resembles a semi-smooth liquid and all the parts have mostly melted together.
*turn off heat
*add a bunch of fresh, finely chopped parsley and cast a spell for love, protection, purification during this cold winter season.
It'a best to transport into a crock over a flame to keep the liquid warm, otherwise it can become a solid if not eaten quickly. Dip whatever you want in it. Some things I use: whole leaves of cabbage, thick cuts of green and red bell pepper, celery stalks, chunks of fennel bulb, cauliflower, radishes, asparagus, leaves of bitter greens, carrots. Make sure you have your bread - either to dip straight in or use as a little plate to hold below your veggies to catch the oil. You can also use Bagna Cauda as a sauce to pour over a hard boil egg and tomato sandwich or toss it over your favorite homemade pasta. My favorite way to enjoy it is the original way - which is to use it as a dip.
Remember, please make this with love. Think of the ancestors. How hard they worked. How much they traded in. How much they lost. But also, think of their dreams. Think of their laughter and celebration. Think of how somewhere, way back when, humans and earth and sharing the food was all the medicine they needed. Think of how they brought us here, in these times, to revive their ways. We are here to bring them back. To remember. Especially in these times. What if what we are able to make in the kitchen, gifts from them, can become gifts to heal the world? Whatever you make, if you have more than enough, feed who may not have anything. This is the way of our people, as it should be.
xx
MB