The food of the Mediterranean: classic and delicious

The last cookbook story I wrote was about my introduction to Chinese cooking — my TV relationship with Chef Martin Yan and my plunge into the complicated world of Chinese cuisine as taught at the California Culinary Academy.

I love Chinese cooking and I still do it a lot but there came a day when I admitted to myself that my heart is really in Mediterranean cooking. It's the style that comes naturally to me and I'm never happier when I have good olive oil, garlic, tomatoes, oregano, basil, anchovies, and a wedge of Parmigiano Reggiano sitting on my counter, awaiting their instructions.

I first went to Spain back in the 1970s. Life was very different then. Food and cooking and eating had not evolved in Canada to where it is now so encountering the sights and smells and tastes and the food in Spain was much more exotic then than it would be to travellers today. In restaurants, all the tables had cruets of oil and vinegar and as soon as you sat down, even before a menu, you were served a beautiful crisp salad which you dressed yourself — just a toss with that beautiful olive oil and vinegar and what a salad!

All the food was memorable but the tapas custom soon becomes everyone's favourite. Because the Spaniards don't sit down to eat dinner until 10:00 p.m., they need a little something to tide them over and that's where the tapas come in — delectable small servings of delicious foods, hot or cold, mostly but not exclusively eaten with the fingers or speared with a toothpick.

They're usually eaten standing at the bar with a glass of wine. There's a vast display behind the bar and the bartender will hand you a small saucer and you choose your own — in some cases, the bartender will serve you. I remember small plates of potato salad dressed in a very egg-y, lemon-y mayonnaise and of course, plates and plates of seafood: shrimp, scallops, calamares, mussels, sardines. And bites of chicken, chorizo, serrano ham, meatballs. Chunks of roasted peppers, cauliflower, mushrooms. And more varieties of olives than you knew existed.

Part of the enjoyment of that kind of eating is the atmosphere — the noise and excitement and the crowds. But the food is so good, you do want to duplicate it.

Years after I was first in Spain, Valerie gave me a cookbook for my birthday:

It's a cookbook of glossy pages and beautiful colour photos. It demands that you head to the kitchen and start cooking. I've made many snacks from this book but as I'm looking at it now, I realize happily, I still have a lot of recipes to enjoy from this one. On my list.

I had already been converted to Italian cuisine, long before my first trip to Italy. Italian does seem to be at the top of the pecking order of cuisines — although I suppose the French and the Chinese would dispute that. Italian chefs — Lidia Bastianich, Mary Ann Esposito, Nick Stellino, and many others — dominate PBS cooking shows and the Food Network. And non-Italians occasionally become famous for leaning toward Italian cooking: Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray of London's River Café, and Jamie Oliver — just to name a few.

I have lots of cookbooks devoted to Italian cooking but what could beat this one:

Dan gave me this one and any book that has the number 1000 right on the cover has to be taken seriously. One thousand is a lot of recipes. The titles of all the recipes are in Italian — there are translated sub-titles — and some of them take me right to hillside village streets where I've never been: salami and caper tart; sausage and prosciutto with potato, pork with tomatoes and onions, liver soufflé, saffron pancakes with mussels.

As with the tapas book, I still have plenty of recipes to try out of this one.

I'm afraid I complain quite a lot about being in a cooking rut but it looks as if it's my own fault. A quick trip through either of these books should solve that.

Backstage at the Vatican

When we were in Rome, it took us a few days to get up the nerve to call the priest whose number we had brought with us from Halifax. Our parish priest at that time was Italian and when he heard we were going to Rome, he insisted on giving us the name and number of one of his former professors who now worked in the Vatican Secretariat of State. He said his old friend would be delighted to meet us and would show us around the Vatican.

We called him on a Saturday, just before noon. We explained who we were and named our priest and Father L. instantly treated us as if we were old friends and told us to come right over. He said he had a couple of hours before he had to be somewhere but he'd be happy to give us a tour. He told us to go to the Bronze Door and they would tell us what to do then.

The Bronze Door

We went in through the very impressive doors and gave Father L.'s name to the Swiss Guards on duty. We were directed toward a small office to be issued visas because we were, of course, leaving Italy and entering a separate city-state. We knew that but somehow, we hadn't thought about it when we left the hotel because we hadn't brought our passports.

Fortunately, we all had ID and we had Father L. awaiting us so we filled out all the forms and we were admitted. We were given precise directions and we found ourselves climbing a flight of marble stairs and it dawned on us: we were inside Vatican City.

I have always been interested in behind-the-scenes details. I like being backstage in theatres; this past summer in London, I liked being inside Buckingham Palace and hearing how preparations are made for public events. I didn't expect secret details in the Vatican but I enjoyed seeing things that weren't on anyone's regular tour.

We made our way to Father L.'s office and he was warm and friendly and welcoming. The tour was informal and informative. He pointed out priceless art as we strolled along the corridors. Once, he waved his hand casually toward a large painting and said, with Italian flourish, "Raphael." There were antique maps along the walls of one corridor and paying attention to our origins, he made sure he pointed out Nova Scotia and some of the misconceptions of the early map-makers.

We walked along one corridor on our way to the outside and he gestured down the hall and said, "That's where the Holy Father lives." It was summer and he wasn't there but it seemed kind of exciting anyway. When we were outside, he showed us the various locations where the Pope would meet heads of state when they came visiting. As we walked from one courtyard to another, he said that we were just behind the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican Museums and he pointed out damage to the back walls that he said would collapse if they weren't soon fixed. I think he was exaggerating. I don't expect to watch the news one day and see that a wall of the Sistine Chapel had collapsed!

Because Father L. was so hospitable and his tour was so interesting, we didn't stop to take photos. I'm sorry now that we didn't but it probably would have seemed a bit inappropriate – like being shown around someone's home and snapping pictures in every room.

We did take this one, on a terrace right near Father L.'s office.

Maybe we'll get to take pictures the next time.