After a tour of the estate, languorous farm-to-table lunches are served up to visitors by his partner Annarella: platters of grilled radicchio and fried courgette flowers, peppers slow-cooked in garlic and breadcrumbs, biscuits laced with wild rosemary and white pepper to balance the sweetness of an almond liqueur digestif.Īnd with each dish comes an insight into Sicily’s idiosyncratic culture. “The story goes that everyone wanted this island for its strategic position,” Fabio said, referring to the long list of foreign powers (Greeks, Arabs, Normans and Spanish, to name a few) who’ve ruled Sicily in the past, “but in my opinion, it was really conquered so many times because of its fertility.”įabio began restoring his grandfather’s abandoned fields back in 2004 – hacking away at brambles, grafting indigenous crops onto damaged tree stumps and re-roofing dilapidated buildings to create the haven of regenerative agriculture that Three Farms Island is today. Yes, we have beautiful beaches and classical sites, but this is really an agricultural island, a paradise for fresh produce.”įrom these layers of limestone and red clay come the stars of Sicilian cuisine – citrus, olives, capers – as well as lesser-known yet ancient residents such as carob, its leathery pods made into everything from a substitute pasta flour to a medicinal syrup, and mulberry, another popular granita flavour. “This,” he declared, scooping up a handful of pale red earth, “is the soul of Sicily.
TastemakersĪ couple of miles outside Noto, down country lanes lined with dry-stone walls and prickly pears, organic farmer Fabio Santuccio was tending to his orchard of bitter orange trees. But to see the real Sicily, you must head for the hills.
All of which are as delightful as they sound. First-time visitors will typically head to the thronging food markets and Arab-Norman architecture of the capital city, Palermo, Syracuse’s classical temples or Taormina’s aquamarine waters, perhaps venturing up Mount Etna’s slopes and sipping sweet wine in Marsala’s sea breezes. Sicily’s tourist hotspots cling to the island’s Mediterranean coastline, of which there is some 600 miles. “My wish is that when you open the door of Caffè Sicilia, you’re really opening the door to Sicilian culture, which is to say our natural ingredients, our countryside, our heritage.” He was, of course, referring to the fertile plains of Val di Noto, which encompass the south-eastern third of Sicily. “This area has been growing the best almonds for centuries,” he told me when I stopped by on a “Perfect Pairings” itinerary arranged by Scott Dunn. He uses the locally grown Avola variety – which has a higher fat content than the dried Californian version most of us will have tried before – and peels them fresh from their hard green shells, before blending, boiling and freezing. So, how does he conjure two simple ingredients into a dish of unparalleled creaminess, smoothness and delicate, almost floral sweetness? There’s no sorcery at play, Corrado insists – it’s all down to the almonds. It is devoured with blissful smiles by nonnas and bambinis alike at the café’s pavement table. Pale and glistening, the iced dessert is served in small bowls alongside pillowy, demerara-crusted brioche rolls for dunking. But the greatest triumph of this fourth-generation chef-proprietor – the dish that has drawn foodies from five continents to the Sicilian hilltop town of Noto – is the granita. Heaped in the glass-fronted counters at Caffè Sicilia are marzipan fruits of pinch-yourself realism, iced tiny sugar-dusted biscotti studded with nuts, and featherlight almond flour sponges named Pan d’Iblei after the nearby mountain range. A sort of alchemy occurs when Corrado Assenza combines almonds and sugar.
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