Summer in Sicily

 I am waking each morning wanting to be back, to open the door of our little farm house and to breathe in the fragrance of figs, green, earth and distant sea, to say good morning the skinny cats mewing at my feet for sweet milk from the cereal bowls. I want to be thinking about what to wear to the beach, where I left the sunscreen, how long we have until it gets too hot to bear, to wake and be in Sicily again.

Two weeks we've been back and I am mourning, my moment in the sun was all too short and Sicily spun some magic on me; her promise of an elemental life, made steady by the ocean, kept true by the rugged rocks, glowing fine with fresh fruit straight from the trees.

Old men still buy their picking ladders from the back of a truck on a dusty Sunday road, fine wine is grown then sold in plastic bottles from great vats in tiny shops that offer you a glass with your tuna and artichoke panini, a man selling onions the size of melons sleeps in a hammock hung between lamp-posts in the mid-day heat, caramel-skinned gods and goddesses of all sizes and ages flaunt their bodies with grace and ease, sipping espresso at the beach cafe.

We stayed on an organic farm, our hosts, Fabio and Annarella, welcomed us into their lives with immediate and natural abandon and we spent many evenings under the stars with them and their friends and family eating pasta and drinking wine then limonchello, the children playing happily outside as cicadas and Euro pop from the kitchen radio soundtracked our conversations.

Our Sicilian friends were philosophical about their lives, hoping to join young idealists like themselves together with an intricate and ever-expanding bridge of land-care, organic farming, intimate agriturismo, musical happenings, pop-up restaurants in mamma's kitchens and modern art. I was in awe of their energy and their motivations seemed less fuelled by ego than an authentic longing to partake in the unique opportunities that economic and spiritual realities offer them.

Cooking with food that has been ripened under the sun, picked and sold within days and without packaging and micro-managed marketing was refreshing. I couldn't get enough of my small blue-tiled farm kitchen, getting herbs, lemons and figs fresh from the garden, splashing Fabio's incredible olive oil on everything. Even Lidl in Sicily was a revelation - chunks of their smoky panchetta made their way into my pastas, they sold increadibly cheap but good wine, fresh raviolis and fat wedges of Grana Padano, the fruit and vegetables were restricted to seasonal and local supply, and, heaven! Italian tuna in olive oil sat beside saffron and tapenades. And that was the budget supermarket.

Here's some snaps and a recipe, that quite frankly should only be produced on Fabio's farm with figs from his tree and oil from his olives after a day at the beach with some Avola red to hand, but failing that, make sure the figs are ripe and soft and your oil is the best quality you can afford.

Prosciutto con melone  - sweet melon sits beside soft salty ham, perfect with chilled wine in a nutella jar

Annarella's salad with cherry tomatoes, fine sliced garlic, roast red peppers, basil and olives - dress with olive oil and salt

Fig, rocket and Grana salad
(Cooking for Italians is a bit daunting, like trying on swimwear with Giselle, but Fabio's mamma coo-ed appreciatively at this salad I made one night. It was a gratifying moment.)

A few handfuls of rocket
3 figs, sliced
shavings of grana padano
fabulous olive oil, white balsamic and salt to dress

that's it.