Erica De Mane

The Villa Oplontis, in Torre Annunziata, Campania.

Recipe below: Ciambotta with Summer Herbs

I didn’t come from a religious family. I came from a vague one. I don’t believe my parents thought it through enough to reject Catholicism or claim atheism. The subject just never came up. If they contemplated those big questions, they never shared it with us. They were busy going out to dinner and throwing cocktail parties, which was fine with me. But when I was about four years old, they were busted.  My grandmother got wind of the fact that I had  never been baptized, and the holy water hit the fan.

So off I went to a church, with my parents’ close friends Billy and Reggie Passarelli as my sponsors. I don’t think any photos of the occasion exist, but Billy and Reggie always dressed with style, so I’m sure my mother approved, at least on the fashion front. According to Billy and Reggie, I screamed to the priest, “No shampoo!,” but I guess I got one anyway. However, the sacrament doesn’t seem to have soaked through. I never felt one Catholic pinprick, but the ritual did give me the opportunity to get to know two wonderful people, my godparents. And they took their role seriously, in their way. I never got a religious lecture from either of them, but I got a lot of attention, and they bought me a for real diamond ring. I couldn’t believe it. It’s an elegant art deco thing that I began wearing at about 12, and it’s still on my finger today.

The Passarellis later lived in the house in Rye, New York, where my mother had grown up and where I lived until I was about six. My parents sold it to them when we moved to Long Island. It was a cute two stories in what was then known as Double Rye, meaning one Rye for the Irish, another for the Italians. It was only a few blocks away from Playland, and I have eerie memories of the screams let out by evening riders of the Wild Mouse, a fast and swooping roller coaster. I now wonder if that contributed to my lifelong anxious nature.

During a few summers, when I was in junior high or thereabouts, my sister Liti and I would spend a parent-free overnight or three with my godparents in that little house. They were sophisticated but a tad goofy. “Aunt” Reggie resembled Diana Ross, Italian-style. She dressed in short skirts and shiny, low-heeled pumps and was really skinny. She had an artichoky haircut in ever-changing colors (wigs?), and of course she smoked. “Uncle” Billy was super cute, with round dark eyes and an elegant Roman nose. He reminded me of a swarthier version of Perry Como. At the time of one of our visits I was painting day-glo portraits of women with serpents for hair. Billy was interested. He suggested I add black, which I did to good effect. It provided depth, but also made those idiotic colors even sharper, which at the time I felt was an awesome achievement. Reggie thought I should henna my own hair, so I went ahead with a brilliant maroon shade to mostly rave reviews. They were attentive and inquiring, they drove a convertible, and they seriously seemed to like us. But, of course, they didn’t have to live with us full-time. I often wondered what that would have been like.

Billy loved to cook, especially at the height of summer, when the superbness of his Italian guy vegetable garden was in full force. For Billy, this meant only one thing—ciambotta. He made a kind of wild-man version, using a big iron pot he’d hoist onto his outdoor grill. This was not the ciambotta I was familiar with, a vegetarian stew of tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers. It was a crazy mix that also included string beans, potatoes, chunks of corn on the cob, zucchini, basket wine, pecorino cheese rinds, and lumps of pork sausage. He’d ladle it out hot, into deep bowls, sticking pieces of grilled bread into each serving. This was a Neapolitan-American concoction of the highest order, and it was fabulous.

I’ve written about ciambotta twice before on this blog, offering two different recipes, one topped with baked eggs. Neither included corn or sausage. That was Billy’s department. A feature of many of my recent recipes is an abundant use of fresh herbs. Right now, in high August, my garden is thick and fluffy with herbs of all types. So here, my new ciambotta is not flavored with a scattering of dried oregano, like my mother would have used (I can’t remember what Billy used; fresh basil, I think), but rather reflects the aromas of my tangled, fragrant garden. I’ve added summer savory early on so it opens up with the heat. Then I throw in Thai basil and marjoram at the end. The ciambotta accepts all these new flavors gracefully.

Billy Passarelli recently passed away. A sad turning point for me. This recipe is dedicated to my godparents. They may not have brought me closer to God, but they added a lot of soul to my life.

Ciambotta with Summer Herbs

(Serves 4)

Extra-virgin olive oil
1 small chunk  pancetta, cut into small cubes (about  ½ cup)
3 red summer scallions, chopped
2 small inner celery stalks, chopped, plus a handful of celery leaves, lightly chopped
½ a red bell pepper, cut into small dice
½ a fresh red peperoncino, minced
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
A few large sprigs of summer savory, the leaves chopped
4 little new potatoes, peeled and cut into small cubes
1 medium eggplant, unpeeled, cut into small cubes
2 medium zucchini, cut into small cubes
Salt
¼ cup dry Marsala wine
3 medium, round summer tomatoes, peeled, seeded, chopped, lightly salted, and left to drain over a bowl in a colander for about 20 minutes (save the tomato water)
½ cup light chicken broth
A handful of Thai basil leaves, lightly chopped
A few large marjoram sprigs, the leaves chopped
Freshly grated pecorino cheese (I like pecorino Toscano or Sarde for this; you want something rich but not as sharp as Romano usually is when bought in the U.S.)

In a large pot, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the pancetta, and let it crisp. Add the scallion, celery, bell pepper, peperoncino, garlic, and savory, and sauté until everything is fragrant and softened, about 4 minutes. Add the potatoes, the eggplant, and the zucchini, season with salt, and sauté about 5 minutes longer. Pour in the Marsala, and let it boil away. Add the tomatoes and the chicken broth. Let cook at a low bubble, partially covered, until the vegetables are all tender, about another 20 minutes. Add the herbs and the celery leaves. The ciambotta should be thick but not stiff, so add a little tomato water, if you need to, to correct the texture.

Serve hot, with  a drizzle of fresh olive oil and grated pecorino on top.