Every summer since I was a toddler, my family travels to a small, fisherman village called Pozzallo in Sicily, where my mom’s side of the family originally comes from. And each year, all my cousins, grandparents, aunts/uncles – each from different countries – come together under one roof. With narrow streets and the beautiful Mediterranean sea, it’s difficult not to fall in love with this Italian gem. Aside from it’s unique and lovable appearance, Pozzallo inhabits some quirky (but equally lovable) residents. From the man who howls every day at 12 o’clock on the “corso” (the main street of a town) to the two friendly fishermen brothers who dream of America, Pozzallo almost resembles a story book; the town howler, the adventurers, and so on. Everyone knows each other and each others’ issues, which is both amazing as the community really comes together, but at the same time a little uncomfortable :). As my mom likes to say, “There’s no word for ‘privacy’ in Italian.” Considering everyone knows each other, it’s no surprise that the “Pozzallese”‘s – as they’re called – routines tend to be in sync. In the streets, you hear the light clanking of forks from eating a big plate of spaghetti that nonna prepared for. This, I miss.
I can go on and on about the town, but now it’s time for the food. Let’s go!