Today is market day in Fivizzano. The drive east was spectacular. A light rain was falling, but the Alpi Apuane were covered in snow. I would have liked to say “dusted” because the word is all the rage and sounds nice, but the craggy marble mountains were covered with a think blanket of the white stuff.
Of course, the market suffered. Our favorite vegetable guy didn’t show up. Our own garden out back has given in to the frost, so it wasn’t unexpected that a vegetable guy wouldn’t have enough goods to bring to market.
But we were able to buy some cavolfiore, cauliflower, from a stall with rather slim pickings. I don’t know if I’ll oil ‘em up and roast them in a searing hot oven for 5 minutes or steam them, mash them just slightly with a fork, then saute them in hot olive oil with garlic and anchovy—my favorite and a lusty pasta sauce when you need one.
In any case, there are always silver linings to these bad weather clouds. A smaller turnout at the market meant that there were more zeppole at Bar Ricci. In fact, the Ricci was awash in zeppole. Zepole are a sort of fried doughnut filled with cream (in Ricci’s case) with cherries on top and a dusting of powdered sugar to mark you as a zeppole man (or at least your moustache).
Martha had a ciocolato caldo, hot chocolate, with her zeppole. But there was a choice to be made. She had to decide whether she wanted it lisce or piu solido more solid, “like we like it in Italy.” When Martha answered, “piu solido” Stefania beamed, “You’re really Italian! We have to make it weak with more milk for the British,” she confided.
How can someone pass up a steaming cup of properly made chocolate? In Italy, it’s darn near a drinkable pudding. A small espresso spoon should stand up in it. It’s rich and tasty. Water it down (well, milk it down)?
No, grazie.
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