catania 1: chiosco

Acclimation to Sicily began at the airport in Rome, where for every inch we moved forward in line (it seemed a good chance we might miss our plane), a certain pushy man in weekday attire encroached as if we might let him to cut in front of us in line.  When an agent opened the rope and invited anyone going to Catania to bypass the line, Mr. Pushy shoved past us to get to the counter first.

Along the way to Nick's parents' house from the Catania airport I stared out the windshield, my mouth agape from the gritty seaside beauty of the town and the frightening looming majesty of the snow-capped live volcano in the background.  Etna had erupted just a few months ago (here’s a video) — could this happen during our visit?  I stared all around, taking in the surroundings — but I also did my best to listen to Nick’s descriptions of what we were seeing.  

“You see this wall,” he said, “You see how it’s bent?  That’s because the sea used to go up that high.

“Look at the sidewalks.  You see they’re black?  They’re made of lava.”  (Rollover above photo.)

“Look over there, see that — it’s a chiosco.  They’re only in Catania.  It’s a hangout spot, they have amazing drinks.”

Huh?  Why’s he talking about Costco, I thought to myself — a little spacey and not quite hearing the part about amazing drinks — as I stared at the volcano, noticed the harbor, wondered about the graffiti, watched squeegee guys attacking windshields without permission, and marveled at the details of various 18th century façades.

We drove on and uphill, passing other sights along the way toward the house.  Nick described the food plans he had in mind for our three day visit to his hometown — a visit during which I felt so touched by my friend’s unrelenting desire to share with me as much as possible.  (“Three days is not enough,” he said.  “We need at least a month.”)

And for the third or fourth time during our drive, Nick pointed to another little shack and said, “You see?  Another chiosco.”  

Waking up to this word finally — and realizing that he couldn’t (in Italy) be speaking of the American warehouse store Costco — I asked him, “What’s a chiosco?”

“Have you been listening to me?” he said.

 Uh oh, I thought to myself, Not well enough, I guess.

“Sorry,” I said.  “I’ve been soaking it all in.  Please tell me again.  I’m listening.”

“Chiosco,” Nick said, “is a place where you get fruit drinks and other drinks made with soda water and lemon.  Chioschi are only in Catania.  Nowhere else.”

“That sounds amazing!” I said.  “When can we go?!”

 --

By the time we arrived at Nick’s parents’ house it was late afternoon and we hadn’t had lunch.  There were two types of mozzarella di bufala that Nick had picked up in Campania (the epicenter of the mozzarella world): treccie, braided pieces firm throughout; and nodini, medium size balls with nearly liquid centers.  There was also tomato and basil.  The tomatoes were so firm I worried they'd taste unripe, but they were as sweet as the ones you get during the New York summer.

“Let’s go.  We’ll take the kids,” Nick said, as soon as we were done with lunch.   

“Where to?” I asked.  “To chiosco.”

--

What if you could live in a town teeming with outdoor kiosks that sell the most refreshing and colorful beverages you’ve ever had?  Imagine that these drinks only exist at the kiosks of your town, that they are nowhere else, that some of them are hundreds (as in, 200+) years old, and that some are closed all day and open most of the night but with others the schedule is reversed. 

The town with these places is Catania — a city of many unique foods and beverages — and the drinks I've described are served at chioschi (Italian pronunciation is kee-oh-sko, it means 1 kiosk; or kee-oh-ski, which means 2 or more kiosks).  Only locals go. 

Behold my favorite, the completo — white as an Oreo's filling and made with almond syrup, anise extract, hand-squeezed lemon juice, and cool seltzer from a built-in tap.  The anise arrives as a mere hint, but it's just enough to defend against almond overkill.  The lemon brings it all back to earth with refreshing zing.  As with all of the drinks at chiosco — the strength of the seltzer leaves you pumped up and ready for a workout at the gym.  Or at least another bibite.

While beer and coffee are also options at chiosci (and smoothies and Nutella shakes), these drink spots are about soda — sodas that make  Coca Cola, Fanta, or even the fancy bottled sodas you can find in the US these days taste like factory stuff.  Drink a manderino and despite its high sugar and artificial color (uh, green tangerine?), it tastes like natural fruit — amplified.  Taste a completo and marvel at the strength of its flavors and the under-appreciated mastery of the mixer-man.  Other choices include orange, tangerine, green tangerine, tamarind, lemon & salt, strawberry, chinotto, pineapple, mint, and coffee.  Cost for a drink: one Euro.

By the end of day 1 of our 3 day visit I was obsessed with chiosco.  Julia has since made a "rule" that I'm not allowed to utter the word chiosco.  Chiosco.  Aha!  I can write it.  She's too young to access and read this.

Everywhere we drove I noticed (and photographed) kiosks, shacks, sheds, food trucks, mini pick-up trucks with crates of vegetables stacked ready to tumble, and newsstands (pointing to this place or that, I asked, "Do they have chiosco drinks?"  "No," Nick said.).  When we went to bars for breakfast, I wondered why they don't — along with the standard coffee fare — also make chiosco drinks.  Some of the chioschi looked like they were boarded up for good, closed for years already, but when we drove past them at night they hoppin'.

--

Later that first night, as I steered Nick’s mother’s car through Catania's narrow streets, I witnessed behavior similar to that of the pushy airport man from drivers at every intersection.  They came at us from all directions and and seemed as though they would not stop.  It was a game of chicken.  

Also, we went through red lights.  We were following Nick, we had no map, no phone, no addresses.  If he did it, we did it.  The next day I asked him to please abstain from going through red lights.  He informed me that they were “pedestrian lights.” 

“How can you tell they’re for pedestrians?  All the lights look the same,” I said.  “Don’t worry, I know,” he said.  “Yeah, but how do I know?” I asked him.  “You don’t,” he replied.

And this is the intrigue of Sicily.  You have to know stuff.  If not for the generosity of our host, I doubt I'd have stopped at a single chiosco during our visit.  I wouldn't have known where to get the best rice balls or pizza or octopus salad because none of the top spots were obvious.  But these encounters did occur and it is my duty to report on them here.  This piece is about chiosco — and I've made a video featurette for your viewing pleasure. To watch it, click on the photo (below) of Julia and her friend Luce.

Next installment: Catania 2: Pescheria (Fish Market).

--

--

Blu-express Airlines offers inexpensive flights to Catania from many cities in Europe.

The two chiosci featured in the video "Chiosco" are both located at Piazza Vittorio Emanuele III, in Catania.

the coke conspiracy of 1985?

I don’t drink much soda (or pop, as it’s called in certain parts) but when I do I’ve always chosen Coke over Pepsi.  Pepsi tastes sweeter to me, Coke zingier.  Coca-Cola introduced New Coke, a more syrupy version of itself, with massive hoopla in April 1985, and many people — myself included — were appalled.  According to Wikipedia, “a psychiatrist Coke hired to listen in on phone calls to the company hotline, 1-800-GET-COKE, told executives some people sounded as if they were discussing the death of a family member.”

Less than three months later, without acknowledging any blunder, Coca-Cola introduced Coke Classic.  In 1992 they changed New Coke’s name to Coca Cola II, and began to phase it out in 1993.  Was the whole thing a publicity stunt?  I never gave it much thought.

Until September 2010.  I discovered Coca-Cola in green 12 oz bottles at the Costco.  The sign said, “COCA COLA OF MEXICO MADE W/ PURE CANE SUGAR.”  I bought a case.  Not only does Mexican Coke have a cleaner, less syrupy sweetness, but the heavy glass bottle completes the time warp.  It is the real thing, in a gray market kind of way (putting aside the Costco part). 

I became fascinated and dug a little deeper. It turns out that beginning in 1980, Coca-Cola switched Coke's sweetener from all cane sugar to 50/50 with high fructose corn syrup (HFCS).  By the time New Coke was introduced, it was 100% HFCS.  Did Coke Classic restore the beverage to its original, original recipe?  No, cane sugar remained absent.

Perhaps the New Coke debacle was a diversion from the sweetener switch-a-roo, but we'll ever know.  (I did encounter Fidel Castro’s opinion, however, in my research.  The longtime Coke drinker called New Coke “a sign of American capitalist decadence.”)

Why HFCS?  Author Michael Pollan writes in his book, “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” that they made the switch because “HFCS was a few cents cheaper than sugar (thanks in part to tariffs on imported sugarcane secured by the corn refiners) and consumers didn’t seem to notice the substitution."

Pollan adds that “we soon began swilling a lot more soda and therefore corn sweetener [because] the price of soft drinks [had] plummeted.”  People began “to pay just a few pennies more for a substantially bigger bottle.”  

In other words, they supersized us.