Bittersweet Symphony
The Italian isle of Sardinia is full of contrasting tastes, surprising flavours and a passion for food that is both exciting and confronting. Kendall Hill embarks on a culinary odyssey to discover the island's best dining.
The chef is not happy when we arrive at Pani e Casu restaurant on the outskirts of the Sardinian capital, Cagliari. Pierpaolo Mameli is storming around the converted farmhouse and ranting expletives, Gordon Ramsay-style, before halting at the open window of the kitchen to bawl: "Don't put dog food by the front of the restaurant!"
His mood only worsens when we take our seats at a simple wood table inside and I ask for some white wine.
"Vino bianco?" the signor erupts, and all eyes swivel to the cowering foreigner. "It's bad for the digestion! It damages the liver, the heart!" Reinforcing his point, he grabs his left forearm in his right fist and thrusts it at my face in an aggressive gesture which, as my guide and interpreter Alberto Pala reluctantly explains, translates to "F--- you!"
This is not the warm hospitality I'd been led to expect in Sardinia. But as I discover on my journey around this seductive Italian island, my reception at Pani e Casu is not the norm. Even Signor Mameli proved a bit of a charmer in the end (more on that later).
The previous evening I received a less volatile welcome at Dr Ampex, a fine restaurant located at the foot of the Pisan castello that watches over greater Cagliari's 500,000 inhabitants. Typical of Sardinia, Dr Ampex has no menu; host Rita Di Pucci serves whatever is fresh from the kitchen. We received a local take on pigs in blankets – warm prunes swaddled in prosciutto – and a basket of pane carasau, Sardinia's trademark bread.
A procession of carpacci followed – tiny polpette meatballs, snails in garlic butter and gianchetti, whisper-light whitebait fritters laced with spinach. Next came pasta: spaghetti with sliced artichoke, salted ricotta and bottarga, the incredible sun-dried mullet roe that is to Sardinia what caviar is to Russia.
As I reached for a swig of vermentino (a white wine), I asked Alberto how it can be that Sardinians – some of the longest-lived people in the world – can consume such vast amounts of food.
"It's a riddle," he conceded.
In the weeklong culinary odyssey that follows, I fail to solve that riddle. Alberto and I criss-cross the island in late May, so our route is festooned with oleander and scented by Spanish broom. We pass thousands of nuraghi, ancient dry-stone fortresses, admire dramatic granite cliffs, visit Roman ruins, Romanesque churches and decaying castles. We explore the interior – home to the fertile campidano plains and the peaks of the Gennargentu massif. And, until recently, to kidnappers. Sardinians were once famous for ransom kidnappings, a practice dating back to the 15th century. (It seems to have died out in the 21st.)
Despite the myriad attractions of this Mediterranean outpost midway between Africa and mainland Italy, our journey's focus is food. This is an island, after all, where baking bread is an artform; where beachgoers in Cagliari snack on spaghetti ai ricci – spaghetti tossed with sea-urchin roe and where, less appetisingly, mountain shepherds make the fly larvae-infested pecorino called casu marzu, also known as "maggot cheese".
There is a kind of culinary alchemy afoot in Sardinia that seems to transform the ordinary into extraordinary experiences. Sardinian-American chef Efisio Farris captured this in the title of his book Sweet Myrtle and Bitter Honey. Here, wild myrtle is distilled into the stickily sweet digestif mirto, while the local honey is sweet at first taste but becomes pleasantly bitter afterwards. Armed with recommendations from the Sardinian-born Sydney chef Giovanni Pilu, owner of the award-winning Pilu at Freshwater (and whose recipes appear on these pages) on the city's northern beaches, I charted a culinary course around the island.
THE NORTH-EAST
Sardinia's north is best known for the Costa Smeralda, colonised by the Aga Khan in the 1960s as a playground for the ultra-rich. The expense of staying here counts me out, so I take a room at the Hotel Gallura and wait for the jetset to come to me.
The hotel, in the port city of Olbia, is the domain of 72-year-old Rita Denza, its Michelin-starred chef and proprietor. On the Saturday night we dine there, the subtle green-and-gold hued dining room buzzes with the rich and famous, including a lady that Signorina Denza – she has never married – identifies only as "Mrs Swarovski" (some surnames need no explanation).
Despite the heavyweight crowd, it is Rita Denza's cooking that steals our attention. On our table sits a dish of fruity, jam-like paste – the signorina's fig mustard – which is to be enjoyed with a wedge of brie drizzled with bitter honey. I would be happy savouring this quixotic mix for the rest of the evening, but our hostess thrusts a skewer into our hands by way of a starter. It is a delicious, juicy, aromatic frittura of prawn wrapped in basil.
Among the dishes that follow is a salad of thinly sliced squid with cherry tomatoes and zucchini, and an impressive potato salad dressed with olive oil, preserved lemon, parsley and chives and studded with supple, pinky-orange mussels. There is no meat on the menu tonight, only fish. This is Rita Denza's point of difference: "This is homemade cuisine, but it is not typical," she explains. "Fish is not typical of Sardinia."
On an island whose inhabitants retreated to the interior to escape invaders (Romans, Vandals, Phoenicians, et al), the sea was ignored for centuries. Signorina Denza has reclaimed the coastline and its bounty. She is also reviving traditional Sardinian recipes from the interior. She would like to write a book, she says, and open a school to pass on this culinary heritage.
"I worry about losing the traditions of Sardinia," she says.
In Efisio Farris's aforementioned cookbook, he says of Sardinians: "From the moment you sit down at our table, the important thing is not how much we serve you but that we welcome you by serving the best of what we have." Such generosity is in evidence at Casteddu, an agriturismo near the east-coast resort of San Teodoro.
Casteddu's farmhouse has been in chef Antonio Arru's family for three centuries; the oak trees that shade it predate the house by another two centuries. True to Farris's word, the moment we set foot in the dining room, Signor Arru produces a platter of porcini mushrooms – some almost as big as a giant's fist. He harvested five kilograms of them that morning and they will grace our meal tonight.
In their first incarnation, they appear as a salad of shaved raw fungus seasoned with pecorino and drizzled with a green olive oil whose hue contrasts brightly with the porcini's chalky flesh and chocolatey cap. In their second guise, they are finely sliced, dipped in seasoned egg and breadcrumbs, fried then served piping hot alongside fritture of eggplant, zucchini and capsicum. The flavours are brilliant.
Mushrooms are not the only highlight. There are broad beans with ham and mint, surprisingly sweet and succulent wild boar, the signature Sardinian milk-fed pig porceddu arrives on a bed of myrtle leaves, and there is a hearty zuppa gallurese, a peasant meal of stale bread and grated casizzolu (like provolone) steeped in veal stock.
Mid-feast, the restaurant's nine tables empty as we all head outside to stretch legs and stomachs and inhale cool evening air scented with star jasmine. Antonio takes a break from the kitchen, too. I ask what it was like to grow up in such an isolated yet idyllic place. "It was like a dream," he says, recalling how his mother used to bring water from the stream behind the house, and how, when electricity first came to the neighbouring village of Padru, his family would gather under the old fig tree to watch street lights transform the night "like man-made stars coming to life on the horizon".
Antonio and his wife Tiziana have run the agriturismo since 1986 and, like Rita Denza, he pines for the past. The advent of mass tourism means that in summer San Teodoro's population can swell from 3000 to 100,000, and he often prepares dinners for 100 beneath the aged oaks. Crowds are good for business, sure, he says, "But I prefer the old days. It used to be that only the rich came here, but now it has become an industry."
THE NORTH-WEST
The resort city of alghero was conquered by the Counts of Barcelona in the 14th century and it remains an outpost of Catalan culture. Locals speak a distinctive Catalan dialect, and street signs are bilingual, posted first in Catalan, then Italian.
Tonino Demartis grew up here and used to dive for lobster in the sea in front of La Speranza, the landmark restaurant he opened 42 years ago just south of Alghero. The star attraction on the Catalan-influenced menu is local lobster, whose flesh is clean and sweet due to meadows of Posidonia oceanica, or Neptune grass, which filter the coastal waters in the area. Perhaps because of this unique selling point, he has copyrighted his spaghetti with lobster infused in a sauce heavy with tomato and garlic.
"Because of the Posidonia, everything is pure," Demartis says. The dish is the restaurant's drawcard; the previous Sunday 53 Danish tourists visited and everyone ordered spaghetti all'aragosta.
Alberto and I do not. We choose a simpler preparation to better appreciate the crustacean's famed flavour. A waiter brings a platter bearing two live lobsters and asks which one we'd like. I choose the smaller of the two and it is spirited to the kitchen to be boiled for 20 minutes in salted water then doused in a dressing made with part of the head, lemon, red-wine vinegar and garlic. We eat half each and the flesh is subtle and pleasant but, to be honest, not amazing. I doubt Demartis would take offence at my critique. Despite building his reputation on it, he admits: "I don't like lobster. I much prefer grilled fish."
THE SOUTH-WEST
Navigating the traffic of cagliari is not for nervous drivers. An anxious Alberto manoeuvres through the confusion and says: "Italian drivers must have six eyes – two at the front, two at the back, and one on each side." The capital is compact, thankfully, and we exit without incident and speed towards Sant'Antioco, one of two islands off the far south-west coast.
We plan to catch the ferry to San Pietro, famous for its tuna since being settled 300 years ago by Ligurian fishermen from Tabarka, now part of Tunisia. But a detour to catacombs beneath the 6th-century church of Sant'Antioco puts paid to that. Our guide insists we can't leave without learning all of the church's many "secrets", including an exhaustive monologue on the entire year's religious festivities. We miss our ferry and don't get to San Pietro until the restaurants have stopped service, including Da Nicolo, the island's finest seafood eatery.
THE SOUTH
Having missed out on da nicolo, there's no other option than to visit the owner's son. Luigi Pomata trained with his father then worked at Le Cirque in New York and with Marco Pierre White in London. Pomata's eponymous restaurant is in downtown Cagliari but the menu reflects San Pietro's hybrid culture – our first course is vegetable couscous (casca) made in a tagine and a Genovese pasta with cherry tomatoes and parmesan.
Luigi takes charge of secondi, delivering a chunk of tuna that he boiled in salt water. The flesh, which comes from a seven-year-old fish, is vibrant red, chunky and satisfying. When we finish, he returns with a second fish, this time a pale pink. It is today's cut, part of a 200kg fish he butchered just hours ago. It is moist and tender, the flavour brinier but less complex than the older cut. To me it tastes like a very decent bit of fish, but Luigi sets me straight: "When it is young it is too fat," he says. "It's like a red wine – if you drink it too young, it sticks in the throat."
On the same plate as the fish are three small orbs of similar-coloured meat. I ask Luigi what they are and he replies, "Men eggs." Sensing I have no idea what he means, he explains, "The sperm. It's very good." As he is standing by expectantly, I have no choice but to try the men eggs and he is right, they are good. They taste just like tuna, which is a blessing.
EPILOGUE
In d.h. lawrence's sea and sardinia, which chronicles his 1921 trip to the island, he says the landscape enchanted him but the locals "won't give you a crust of bread". Sardinians may be reserved, but once at their table you will experience their innate hospitality. Certainly this was my experience: Rita Denza plied Alberto and I with sweets and honey, Tonino Demartis gave me a recipe book, and after our epic meal at Dr Ampex, Rita di Pucci embraced me like we were old friends.
Even cranky old Signor Mameli eventually came round. After he repeatedly yelled at me to "Stop writing! Eat!" (excellent advice), he finally softened when he saw me eating with my fingers and waving a piece of veal to make a point.
"Look!" he cried. "He's just like a Sardinian now!"
Guide to Sardinia
GETTING THERE
British Airways flies daily to London Heathrow. From there, transfer to Gatwick Airport (National Express Airports coach services, $43). British Airways flight 2592 flies direct from Gatwick to Cagliari on Tue, Sat and Sun; britishairways.com
WHEN TO GO
Late May to late September – the island's tourist industry largely shuts down in winter.
USEFUL ADVICE
One week's compact car hire costs about $430. We booked our car with Maggiore at webcarhire.com, and can recommend both companies.
Allow plenty of time to drive between cities in Sardinia. While the distances do not look vast (Sardinia is about the size of Tasmania) it is very mountainous so interior and coast roads can be slow and winding.
If you're planning to visit in the peak summer season, book all hotels, restaurants and car hire in advance. Sardinia's tourism infrastructure is limited and tends to fill up fast with sun-seeking Europeans.
WHERE TO STAY
CAGLIARI
T Hotel
Via dei Giudicati; thotel.it; doubles from $260.
OLBIA
Hotel Gallura
Corso Umberto 145; +39 078 924 648; doubles from $85.
ALGHERO
Angedras Hotel
Via Frank 2; +39 079 973 5034; www.angedras.it; doubles about $170.
WHERE TO EAT
Pani e Casu
Via Mogoru, Elmas; +39 070 216 691; dinner for two $85.
Dr Ampex
Via San Giacomo 35; +39 070 658 199; dinner for two $85.
Hotel Gallura (details above)
Dinner for two $240.
Luigi Pomata
Viale Regina Margherita 18, Cagliari; +39 070 672 058; dinner for two $100.
La Speranza
La Speranza Beach, near Alghero; +39 079 917 010; lunch for two, $70-$140.
Casteddu
Via Nuoro 12, Padru; +39 078 945 910; dinner for two $100.
|