Sicilian Quotes

“All Sicilian expression, even the most violent, is really wish fulfillment: our sensuality is a hankering for oblivion, our shooting and knifing a hankering for death; our laziness, our spiced and drugged sherbets, a hankering for voluptuous immobility, that is, for death again; our meditative air is that of a void wanting to scrutinize the enigmas of nirvana.”
― Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, The Leopard

“One encounters in the streets, late at night on the evenings of fetes, the most strange and bizarre passers-by. Do these nights of popular celebration cause ancient and forgotten avatars to stir in the depths of the human soul? This evening, in the movement of the sweaty and excited crowd, I am certain that I passed between the masks of the liberated Bythinians and encountered the courtesans of the Roman decadence.

There emerged, this evening, from that swarming esplanade of Des Invalides - amid the crackle of fireworks, the shooting stars, the stink of frying, the hiccuping of drunkards and the reeking atmosphere of menageries - the wild effusions of one of Nero's festivals.

It was like the odour of a May evening on the Basso-Porto of Naples. It was easy to believe that the faces in that crowd were Sicilian.”
― Jean Lorrain

“He swirled his drink and stared off into the crowd, terribly satisfied. “Have you ever seen a face so weirdly symmetrical? Put our man Luca Catenacci on a poster for…Sicilian cologne. Those genes? With the whole Vitelli-Marzano thing you’ve got going?” He issued a low whistle. “Unstoppable.”
― Abigail C. Edwards, And We All Bled Oil

“Muse usually gestured like an amphetamine-fueled Sicilian who's nearly gotten clipped by a speeding car.”
― Harlan Coben, The Woods

“Madre Carmela's favorite nuts were almonds. Not only did she like the way they tasted the best among all nuts, but she loved the flavor they imparted to Sicilian desserts from cakes to biscotti, and her favorite of all, Frutta di Martorana- the perfect fruit-shaped confections made from pasta reale, or marzipan, which required plenty of almonds. Who would have thought that the base for an elegant, regal dessert like marzipan came from such a simple ingredient as the almond?”
― Rosanna Chiofalo, Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

“But what really intrigued Gianni was the one dessert that all of his friends had been baffled by- the cassata- a Sicilian cake, originating from Palermo and Messina, that consisted of sponge cake dipped in liqueur, layered with ricotta cheese and candied peel, and covered with a marzipan shell and icing; candied fruit in the shape of cherries and slices of citrus fruit topped the cake.”
― Rosanna Chiofalo, Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

“We wandered the entire length of the street market, stopping to buy the provisions I needed for the lunch dish I wanted to prepare to initiate l'Inglese into the real art of Sicilian cuisine.
I took l'Inglese around the best stalls, teaching him how to choose produce, livestock, game, fish, and meat of the highest quality for his dishes.
Together we circled among the vegetable sellers, who were praising their heaps of artichokes, zucchini still bearing their yellow flowers, spikes of asparagus, purple-tinged cauliflowers, oyster mushrooms, and vine tomatoes with their customary cries:
"Carciofi fresci."
"Funghi belli."
"Tutto economico."
I squeezed and pinched, sniffed, and weighed things in my hands, and having agreed on the goods I would then barter on the price. The stallholders were used to me, but they had never known me to be accompanied by a man.
Wild strawberries, cherries, oranges and lemons, quinces and melons were all subject to my scrutiny.
The olive sellers, standing behind their huge basins containing all varieties of olives in brine, oil, or vinegar, called out to me:
"Hey, Rosa, who's your friend?"
We made our way to the meat vendors, where rabbits fresh from the fields, huge sides of beef, whole pigs and sheep were hung up on hooks, and offal and tripe were spread out on marble slabs. I selected some chicken livers, which were wrapped in paper and handed to l'Inglese to carry. I had never had a man to carry my shopping before; it made me feel special.
We passed the stalls where whole tuna fish, sardines and oysters, whitebait and octopus were spread out, reflecting the abundant sea surrounding our island. Fish was not on the menu today, but nevertheless I wanted to show l'Inglese where to find the finest tuna, the freshest shrimps, and the most succulent swordfish in the whole market.”
― Lily Prior, La Cucina

“Do you not know? No Sicilian will wear underwear for five months. It is just too hot. Oh, the day in September when you have to put on your underwear!”
― Philip Hensher, The Emperor Waltz

“Su piazza Giachery batte il sole, quel pomeriggio. È giugno inoltrato, ed è da aprile che non piove. Lo scirocco è stato impietoso sulla città sin dall’inizio del mese, portando solo sabbia, rossa e densa e irrespirabile, mai una nuvola carica d’acqua per dare sollievo alla terra. Nonostante il vento oggi si sia calmato, il cielo è di quel colore malato, quel giallo itterico e opaco che lo scirocco porta con sé. Manfredi lo fissa quasi sbigottito, ovviamente la sua prima notte di nuovo al mondo deve per forza essere una serata del cazzo, di quelle in cui non è mai davvero notte, perché il rossore dell’aria rende l’atmosfera viola e cupa e si riesce a malapena a respirare, masticando sabbia fra i denti a ogni boccata.”
― Chiara D'Agosto, Vento di Scirocco

“A sua madre piaceva quella foto, probabilmente è per questo che papà la tiene incorniciata così in bella vista. I tempi in cui erano una famiglia, e c’era lei a tenerli insieme. Cerca di non fissarla, mentre apparecchia la tavola, altrimenti sentirebbe la felicità di quell’immagine ritorcerglisi contro. È colpa tua d’altra parte se non esiste più. Guarda cosa hai fatto a questa famiglia, Manfredi. Quasi si aspetta che sua sorella un giorno trovi le palle per dirglielo in faccia.”
― Chiara D'Agosto, Vento di Scirocco

“Avevano deciso di vedersi direttamente davanti Di Martino 3. “Tre” perché il locale, storico ritrovo palermitano della periferia triste dell’era del sacco della città, era stato incendiato e ricostruito tre volte, fino ad adesso. Le motivazioni intuibili. Il posto, in questa sua terza versione anni duemiladieci, non era altro che un locale ampio, mal illuminato, con una cucina al coperto e tanti tavolini con la tovaglia di carta sotto un gazebo di plastica, riparo per la pioggia e per il sole, a seconda della stagione. Nonostante l’aspetto sempre più trasandato, quello di come se i proprietari si fossero ormai rotti i coglioni di mettere dell’impegno in una cosa che tanto fra un po’ verrà distrutta, il cibo da Di Martino è sempre una garanzia, sin dalla prima apertura. Panini giganteschi, grondanti ogni ben di Dio, frittura asciutta e sporca, come ogni palermitano la gradisce. Proprio quello di cui ha voglia, tanto non gli fa male mettere un po’ di carne sulle ossa.”
― Chiara D'Agosto, Vento di Scirocco

“It is, without a doubt, the most delicious orange I've ever eaten. Notes of raspberry give it a tartness and complexity that leave the classic supermarket navel orange in the dust.
"It's sunshine. It's bittersweet. It's perfect. My god," I say, gasping. "I think I just fell in love. I'm going to have a civil partnership with an orange."
Leo, who has been fairly quiet for the last half hour, leans forward onto his elbows. "They're not for everyone," he says, taking a segment. "Very fleshy, delicately juicy, and not obscenely sweet."
"Fleshy?" Luca says, tipping his glass toward us, playing with his mustache.
"Delicately juicy?" I say, raising an eyebrow. I expect Leo to feel embarrassed, but instead he shoots Luca a cheeky grin, eyes buzzing with mischief.
"Seriously, Olive," Luca says. "For me, the orange is so special to Sicily. We juice it, we ice it, we bake it, we zest it. It's an aperitif, a pasta dish, a dessert. It's the color of sunset on the outside, and a bleeding heart inside.”
― Lizzy Dent, Just One Taste

“And this is Isabella's nonna's, made with the whole Moro orange from her grove--- pulped into the mix and no dusting, no glaze. Plain."
"You mean perfect," says Isabella, scolding Luca.
There was no doubting Isabella's would win. The pulp added something even softer and more luscious to the crumb. If the cake we had yesterday, warm from the oven, was divine, this was magic.
"I told you," says Luca. "The orange."”
― Lizzy Dent, Just One Taste