Almost Italian

The arrival of asparagus at our weekend market is among the first portents of spring, one that always reminds me of my grandfather.

He was always happy to share his recollections of foraging. In particular, he loved to talk about hunting wild asparagus with his brothers (my great uncles) in the hills around their boyhood home in Melilli, Sicily.

Copyright © 2009, Skip Lombardi

Cultivated for millennia, asparagus is native to the Mediterranean and western Asia. Images of both wild and cultivated varieties abound in media ranging from Roman mosaics to Arab manuscripts to Renaissance paintings. Medical, agricultural, and cookery books are full of notes on the virtues and cultivation of the green shoots. A vast array of recipes attest to the widespread, if seasonal, availability of asparagus to both the rich (who enjoyed the produce from their private gardens) as well as to the poor (more likely to have foraged it). Since asparagus seeds are readily dispersed by birds, the plant, which has a high salt-tolerance, took hold in marshy and sandy areas inhospitable to many other species.

In short, asparagus has long been among the prized verdure of the Italian peninsula. It came to North America with the early settlers and was already well established here when the first boatloads of Italian immigrants arrived.

Throughout the Northeastern states, previous waves of British and northern Europeans had labored to dig their asparagus trenches. Meanwhile, the local avian population had played its role in spreading seeds into the wild.

Because asparagus, like virtually all green vegetables (before efficient freezing technologies were available), was a strictly seasonal treat, it was viewed as a delicacy. Italians here tended to prepare asparagus just as they had back home. They enjoyed it boiled, then dressed with oil and vinegar (or lemon juice). They would stir into a risotto or bake it with—or without—eggs (and perhaps a dusting of Parmesan).

Italians revered asparagus for its distinctive flavor and treated it simply. Don Corleone might have said, “They treated it with honor. They showed it respect.”

Though ‘sparaggi is the generic Sicilian word for “asparagus,” when my grandfather, Iannu LaBella, used it, we knew he meant this dish: Scrambled Eggs with Asparagus.

Copyright © 2009, Skip Lombardi

‘Sparaggi is not quite an omlette, and certainly not as a dense as a fritatta. This version seems to be favored by those who emigrated from southeastern Sicily, from the vicinity of Catania and Siracusa. Whatever the origin, it is simplicity itself and certainly cucina casalinga, home cooking.

My grandfather would make his ‘sparaggi on Sunday evenings, especially if we’d eaten either a very large or unusually late Sunday dinner. Around nine o’clock, ‘sparaggi would fill the bill when he needed “just a little something to take the edge off.”

With a depth of flavor and elegance belied by the simple ingredients, my grandfather’s ‘sparaggi is no hash-house scramble, however casalinga it may be.

Ingredients:

Olive oil
1/2 Lb. Asparagus, cut diagonally into 1” lengths & steamed until al dente
4 Large eggs, beaten until frothy
1/4 Cup flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped
Salt & freshly-ground black pepper
Freshly grated Parmesan
2 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped or left as sprigs

Preparation:

Heat a sauté pan over medium-high heat, then add enough olive oil to glaze the bottom. Add the asparagus and season with salt and pepper. Stir and shake the pan until the asparagus is heated through. Add the eggs and parsley and scramble the mixture in the pan until the eggs are barely set. There will be some carry-over cooking when you remove the pan from the heat.

Divide equally between two warmed plates. Sprinkle with a little Parmesan and garnish with parsley. Serve immediately.

Serves two.