Sicilian and immensely proud, Marco Alagna is one of a select group of talented vineyard owners supplying Jamie’s Italian.
“I have five children, the four I share with my wife…. and the fifth? My vines.” Meet Marco, the proudest vineyard owner I have ever come across. Presiding over one of the SetteSoli vineyards with a fine toothed comb, eighty five year old Marco is a force of nature. As we bump along the dirt tracks of Menfi’s vine-loving land, Marco ceaselessly regales us with tales of his vines, seemingly unaware that, here in the back, we are relying solely on each other’s own body bulk to hold us in place around each sharp corner.
Flanked by fig trees, we grind to a halt at the foot of Marco’s vineyard. Our somewhat
shaken limbs are soon forgotten as we cast our eyes over the faultlessly linear vines, seemingly extending into infinity. “He tends these
completely by himself” his granddaughter Mariella explains proudly. This, to us, seems completely impossible. There is not a leaf out of place, the soil between each row is tilled to perfection. “Surely he has some help?” we question, unable to hide the complete bafflement on our faces. “Nope. He did once but the vines they planted were not completely parallel. He couldn’t bear to see his babies like that.” Safe to say that ‘artistic differences’ forced the workers to part company and, similarly, ‘artistic perfection’ has led him to work alone ever since.
Reluctant to be torn away from this slice of golden paradise, we were appeased by the
promise of a seemingly compulsory wine tasting on our return to Mariella’s family home. “You simply must come… my brothers are beautiful are they not?” she enthused, pulling out the family photos back in the car. It appears Sicilian pride extends further than the realms of alimentation. Unmistakably English, our red-cheeked reserved response was one of “yes, well, they do look like lovely people.” We had a lot to learn. One thing we had come accustomed to in Sicily was, however, that a journey home in Sicily is rarely direct. There is usually a Nonno or Nonna to visit or, on the more fortuitous occasions, fresh produce to pick up from a kindly neighbour. We were in luck. Our off-piste diversion took us into the heavenly realms of fresh ricotta, still warm “from sheep’s milk of course, don’t even consider buying ricotta from any other animal.” I love this about Sicilians; to most, cow’s milk or even goat’s milk ricotta is equally good, but sheep’s milk ricotta is what they eat here in Menfi, so to them it is unequivocally the best. It would be mistaken to categorize this as arrogant, to me, it is merely yet another display of intense regional pride “why would I go on holiday? I live in Sicily!”
GROWING GRAPES FOR JAMIE OLIVER
In the first of her articles for the Cucina section, editor Pippa Cole shares her surreal encounter whilst travelling around Sicily with a friend.
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