Friday, December 24, 2010

Acquaviva delle Fonti

Ciao tutti! As many of you know, Emily and I are back in the US now, Emily's project finished (somewhat), we ran out of money (more than somewhat), and so the 1st part of our Italian adventure is finished....BUT there may be a sequel coming soon, so stay tuned for that!

Anyway we were so busy getting everything ready to come back for the last month or so, we've got a big backlog of things to post about. This is one of my favorites...

About 2 weeks ago, we took the night train and headed south to Bari, the capital of Puglia. Once in Bari, we then took a bus to a little town about 20km away called Acquaviva delle Fonti.



What's in Acquaviva, you ask? Well, it's where my family comes from, the home of the Venturas. That's right, as much as I don't look it, my great-grandfather Giovanni actually comes from this southern Italian town. It's in the countryside surrounded by olive groves, and is a beautiful place, very small and completely untouched by tourism.









As we learned at a Slow Food event we attended a few months prior in Torino, Acquaviva delle Fonti is most famous for the sweet red onion (cipolla rossa) it produces.


The first night we were in Acquaviva there was a Christmas fair in the center of town, all the locals came out.


It was also a "sagra," or festival, of a food called pettole - fried bits of dough, and panzerotti, dough filled with mozzarella and tomato. On the recommendation of the local barista, we got our pettole at the Senior Center and washed them down with some homemade vino primitivo wine. Those old timers really know what they're doing with cooking the traditional foods, the pettole were delicious...


But as delicious as they were, we weren't in town to eat the local doughballs. We were on a mission - to find some Venturas.

And as it turned out, we only had to wait a few hours. At the senior center, I told one of the guys about our mission, and he called over one of the several Venturas that happened to be in the room. Apparently, in Acquaviva you can hardly toss a pettola in the air without hitting a Ventura. Checking into the hotel that evening, the proprietor shared the name, too. After conversation we discovered we weren't related, but he still was happy to give us a "Ventura discount."

After a night of real sleep (the night train was a little rough), we headed in the morning to visit with Lina.


Lina has lived in Acquaviva all her life, and is a friend of our friend Anna's mom Teresa (who we stayed with in Sicily). Lina knew about our Ventura quest, and had done some research of her own. In fact, she had met a Ventura while waiting at the doctor's office, and called him up to come meet with us.

Before long we were sitting in Lina's living room sipping coffee with Costantino Ventura and his wife Maria. Since there are so many Venturas in Acquaviva, we weren't sure if we were actually blood relatives - but it only took them about 15 minutes to declare that regardless, we were family now. They were definitely not joking.



When they asked us what we were doing for lunch that day, we replied that we didn't have any plans and would probably just find a place in town to eat. The look of concern on Maria's face said it all. New family members eating alone, no less at some random restaurant? It simply isn't acceptable in Italy.

So, before we knew it we were in Costantino and Maria's home, being treated to an amazing dish of pasta e fagioli. The Venturas have a son and a daughter, Domenico (Mimmo) and Rosa, who we got to meet as they all eat together every day. Here's Rosa modeling some of Acquaviva's famous red onions:


It was a wonderful lunch, and we were thinking it couldn't get much better. Only, as it turned out, because we had no idea what was in store for us the following day.

But before I get to that, I have to tell you about what we did after lunch. We decided to go down to the town comune, which is like a central town office that keeps all the records.


I'd previously quizzed my family and done some research on an Italian genealogy site, so we had the names and approximate birthdates of my great grandfather, his wife, and his father. Details of his brothers and sisters and other precise information were sketchy, so we wanted to see if the comune could help us track it down.

Costantino was nice enough to go with us. Here's a pic of the two of us talking to the town clerk...


If you can believe it, they had several books just of Venturas. And without very precise information, it wasn't an easy task to find my relatives. For example, my great-great-grandfather's name was Eustachio. Sounds to us like an unusual name - but Eustachio is also the name of the patron saint of Acquaviva. So, you can't imagine how many Eustachio Venturas were on the books. Don't even get me started on Giovanni!


Long story short, the clerk couldn't find all of my great-grandfather's information in her book of Venturas. "It might have gone missing when the records were digitized," she told us, "it wouldn't be uncommon." She found some names that looked like they matched what I knew of his siblings, but we couldn't tell for sure. She asked me if I was sure he was from Acquaviva, and I started to wonder myself.

What if my research had been wrong, and he was from somewhere else? I'd been treating Acquaviva as if it were a special place, but if my family wasn't really from there, it would lose the magic and just become another (still beautiful) small town in the countryside. I started to panic a little.

What if (gulp) Giovanni was actually from Milan?

Then I panicked a lot.

What if we were COMPLETELY wrong, and Giovanni was actually from (double gulp) FRANCE???!!!???


Then I realized that I was being ridiculous, my irrational fear could never be true just going by my love for salami and the large amount of hair beginning to sprout from my ears as I get older. Just kidding to all you Frenchies reading this, I'm sure you've heard it before though.

Anyway, as there was apparently no other option I resigned myself to being unsure about my relatives, and we thanked the clerk and left. Besides, Emily reminded me, we had been adopted by some Venturas!


We spent that evening hanging out with them, in fact. Costantino's son Mimmo took us all around the local area, he is a super nice guy and is into motorcycles too so we got along famously. Coincidentally, Mimmo had the exact same year, type, and even color of motorcycle that I have at home.

Even more coincidentally, when talking with Mimmo we told him that we knew about Acquaviva's red onions because we'd seen the stand at an October Slow Food event in Torino. We'd met the stand worker, and he apparently had a shop in town that we were planning on visiting. What would the name of the shop happen to be, Mimmo asked? Nardulli, we replied, after the owner Angelo Nardulli.

Turns out Mimmo was the godfather to Angelo's child.

But of course he was, how silly of us! Things are like that in southern Italy...everyone knows everyone, and it's all about who you know.

We paid Angelo a visit with Mimmo, he was quite shocked as well that the strange foodie Americans he met two months prior in a city 500 miles away were now in his hometown, with one of his best friends, who was now calling them family. Maybe he thought it was a hidden camera show or something.

Here's a pic of the three of us together outside of Angelo's shop. That's Mimmo in the middle:



After Mimmo brought us back, it was about dinnertime. As you can probably guess we didn't have to wonder about our plans that night...Rosa had called up some friends, and was taking us out to pizza with them!

We had a great time, enjoyed some delicious pizza and went out to an "American Bar" afterwards. Here's a pic of us with Rosa and her friend Paolo, and then another one of the rest of the group including Michele (in the middle) who would also come to visit us the following day...



Honestly, how could things have gotten any better? The next day, we found out.

Starting out the day at the Cheers-like cafe where the barista now knew our names (because we'd been there more than once), we chatted with him over cappuccini and brioche. He knew about our Ventura quest, and asked how it was going. Really, is there a better business strategy than actually getting to know and care about your customers?

But I digress. After saying our buongiornos, we headed next door to look at some shoes as replacements for the trusty black leather pair I'd brought that was now a little worse for wear after the carless Italian walk-a-thon that our life had become. The store was right across from the cathedral, smack dab in the historic center of town. Stepping in we immediately met the extremely gregarious owner, Gigi, who had a penchant for referring to himself in the 3rd person and was shamelessly flirtatious with Emily.

Gigi animatedly informed us that we were in the oldest calzolaio (cobbler) in Italy. Founded in 1885. Maybe true, maybe not, but trust me you don't argue with Gigi.

Regardless, I was thinking about something else, because I knew that Giovanni Ventura was born in about 1896. And if the shop was founded in 1885, it meant that I was in the cobbler where my great-grandfather probably bought his shoes (really, it's a pretty small place). How could I resist a pair of boots? Here I am modeling them, with Gigi at my side. I'm smiling pretty big here - Gigi had just glowingly pointed out to us a big picture on the wall of him, in a Speedo, holding out his arms in an embrace to the camera. He proudly exclaimed, "Ecco Gigi al mare!" (Here is Gigi at the beach!) And no, I'm not kidding...


Wasn't kidding about the shameless flirtaciousness, either...here's a pic he insisted on with Emily. Clearly he's happier than in the photo with me. I'm mildly suspicious he slipped her his phone number.


After the Gigi experience, it was almost lunchtime. But, as the comune was right next door (did I mention it's a small place?), we popped our heads in again to ask one more question about ol'great gramps Giovanni.

Boy, were we surprised. In what seemed to me like a scene out of a movie, the clerk upon seeing us gave a look not of what-is-it-now boredom, but rather of interest, confusion, surprise, and destiny all mixed together.

"I thought you'd left already. Wait here a second. After you left yesterday I did some additional research on your family."

Huh whaaat? You did what? You pored over the town's historical records on your own time, to search for more details on my relatives, just out of curiosity?

Yep, she sure did. Not entirely out of pure curiosity, we learned, as she at one point had thought there was a chance SHE was related to us. Turns out she'd had a Ventura in her family somewhere along the line, too, which at that point didn't surprise us.

We weren't related, she told me. Which she illustrated by pulling out a large paper upon which she had mapped out basically my entire Italian family tree. Names. Birthdates. Marriages. Immigration records. Deathdates. It was all there, and it was unbelievable. I got to see the original birth record of great-grandpa Giovanni, as it was recorded in the town's ledger in 1896. Can't really explain what a cool feeling that was.

Unfortunately, she couldn't let us have the paper, as she didn't want to compromise the confidentiality of the personal information. But after some sweet talking, she could see we were genuine and not some crazy American identity thieves. So she let me copy down much of the information, making sure I didn't write anything she deemed too private.

What she did let me take gave me enough to solidify some of the shaky details I had, like the birthdates of Giovanni's siblings. It was enough to let me know that there are some blood relatives in New Jersey, and to give me a basis for tracking them down. And it was enough to give me the name, and address, of a living relative in Acquaviva. Her house was just a few blocks away, in fact.

But, at this point, we had a serious problem...we were late for lunch with the Venturas! What to do? We thought about it, and decided that knocking on this woman's door out of the blue wasn't the best idea. We could write her a letter, and drop by on the next trip to Acquaviva (we'll surely be back). Besides, we didn't want to miss out on time with Costantino, Maria and the family.

Picking up a small gift, we hurried over to the house. Close to the historic center, casa Ventura is very charming. It was festively decorated for the holidays, one of the things Emily liked most was that they had used an olive branch hung with lights and ornaments as a Christmas tree.


As we entered the kitchen, our jaws dropped. Maria had outdone herself.

Once Rosa, Mimmo, and his girlfriend Antonia arrived, we sat down to an absolute feast. Everything was made from scratch, with the superb local Acquaviva ingredients.

We started off with bay-leaf marinated roasted figs stuffed with roasted almonds, and home cured olives from the Venturas' trees.



Then, we had a pasta dish - orrechiette (little ears) with a nice tomato sauce.


Involtini, or stuffed beef rolls, were next...


And then came, in my opinion, the piece de resistance, the freshest local fish fried over a wood fire in pure homemade olive oil.



That reminds me, though, that I forgot to mention the homemade foccacia, which had also been baked on the wood fire. Words don't do this foccacia justice...


I hope you can tell that we were absolutely stuffed by this point. But then, the apple cake came out. Fresh baked in the fire, too.


Now, during a normal meal, I can show some restraint. When I'm full, I'll politely refuse more, even when at someone's house.

But when the food is this incredibly delicious, when it's been so obviously prepared with love, when there is a whole table of new Italian family around cheering on my eating as if I were the star quarterback at the homecoming game, I'm powerless to resist.

I was like a goldfish in a bowl. The post-dessert fruit and walnuts almost made me go belly-up.



But honestly, it was one of the best and most special meals Emily have had. It was like Christmas/Thanksgiving, times 2, in Italian. I think you can see it on our faces:


After lunch we walked around a bit. Costantino, who is amazingly fit and knows EVERYBODY in Acquaviva, walked with us and took us to the cathedral. When we got there, it was the middle of a wedding. Costantino whispered a few words to a man standing on the side of the pews, and next thing we knew he was unlocking a big gate that led to the closed old sanctuary in an underground room. It was very impressive, especially the altar made of pure silver...




We spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening just experiencing Acquaviva, including one last visit to Lina to thank her and say goodbye. Walking around the labyrinth of stone streets winding among stone houses, it was easy to get a sense of how life had been there for hundreds of years. To the town's credit, in some ways it hasn't changed.

The local dialect, which is quite incomprehensible to outsiders, is preserved and in daily use even by the younger generation. Y
ou still see people cleaning bunches of wild chicory in the streets that they've foraged for in the countryside that day, and will sell at the following morning's market. The old men still gather in the town square each afternoon to debate politics. When people stop at the local cafe, or butcher, or florist, they greet the shop owner by name, and he asks about their family. Because he went to school with their father, and has known them since they were newborns. There's an incredible sense of community, as if the whole town isn't just a faceless sea of people, but is personally known to everyone in it.

To an outsider it can seem closed, and in fact sometimes it is. But through the graciousness of Teresa, Lina and the Venturas, we were able to experience it as if we belonged.

Although we'd only been there a short time, it was hard to leave Acquaviva. But we had tickets for a sleeper train leaving that night, and the Italian rail system waits for no man (or woman).

Being who they are, the Venturas wouldn't let us leave without one last meal - homemade panzerotti, cooked on the wood fire.


They sent us with a big bag of food, too, in case we got hungry on the train (!!!!)
I think really, Maria knows the power of her own cooking. Once you've tried it, you can't just go cold turkey without. We were able to smuggle most of it back to the US, including a bottle of homemade olive oil that awaits our most special salad occasions.


And with that, we said goodbye to the Venturas, who had driven us all the way to the Bari train platform, late at night, in the freezing cold (it snowed that night). They gave Emily a warm scarf, and waved to us from outside as we took our seats in the train compartment. Goodbye for now, at least - we'll definitely be seeing them again, hopefully sooner rather than later.

Ciao Costantino, Maria, Mimmo e Rosa!!! Buon Natale e Buon Anno! Grazie ancora per tutto, ci vediamo subito!!! Un bacio, e a presto.....