Happiness is Sailing the Amalfi Coast with Peggy Markel's Culinary Adventures. Perche?
5 Reasons....
1. We have the best Captians. Educated (Captain Nardella has a PhD in wild orchids!), Professional, Experienced.
2. The Mediterranean has a higher salt content, which brings out the natural sweetness of the fish. Frutti di Mare...fresh squid, octopus, vongole veraci, cozze!
When describing our culinary adventures, we always tell potential guests to "Expect surprises!" but it can be hard to explain the exact quality of unexpected moments that pop up throughout a trip.
When Natalie Beck, a friend of a friend from Boulder, pulled Peggy's phone number out of her pocket and joined the 2010 Amalfi sailing program last June, the course of her European vacation was changed and she jumped head-first into an experience that she describes as "something out of the movies."
"I was living by the rule of 'Yes'," Natalie explains, "No matter what it was, I decided to say Yes." Saying yes became infinitely easier as she traveled with Peggy among new Italian friends. "I was treated like family by everyone I met, the whole time, because I was with Peggy."
Watch Natalie retell a few of her favorite moments from the trip in this short video clip, filmed at Cafe Aion in Boulder:
During this 20th Anniversary year, we invite you, our alumni, to share your own stories with us! Send us written memories, photos, and video clips of the stories that followed you back home.
Call it love at first sight. Call me a sucker as it happens more times that my fingers can count. Sometimes it’s romantic. Sometimes it’s not. But magic it is.
Being on a sailboat is one of life’s great feelings of liberation. Pulling into port has it’s own metaphor, right out of The Ancient Mariner. The going out to sea.. the coming home. There is a sending off and a welcoming back that is as potent as an in-breath and out-breath of a meditation.
Puttering into the port of Amalfi the first time with our Captain Antonio, I felt an unexpected experience of immense respect. The Port Master, Aniello Sposito, held his gaze with Antonio for the longest time until our boat had been steered into the proper spot. (If you know anything about boats, this is tricky at best, but risky as well with the neighboring real estate.)
At 63, Aniello is as nimble as an amphibian, jumping in and out of the water for tangled anchors, hopping from boat to boat to secure the fenders, tossing the ropes to the first mate to draw the boat up to the dock and to secure with sailor knots. I have been out of many ports where the marina guys do the same work, usually lazily and not with much presence. But Aniello was different. His work was easeful, skillful and dare I say? Sexy. His job is an opera del’arte a piedi nudi (a barefoot work of art).
A quiet man with deep, piercing eyes, his presence has more than dignity, he has heart. He nods knowingly when the boat is secure and shakes hands with the Captain. He raises a welcoming hand to the others on board, then sets off. It has felt similar to a blessing; an Ave Maria of sorts. As we settle in, put out our gangplank and set up for an aperitivo, Aniello is already back with a bottle of Limoncello. His bright eyes flash a smile as he hands over the bottle, the other is over his heart. We ask him to stay and join us. Even though he nods positively and politely, he is gone again. The next thing we know, he is back with a few boxes of fresh pizza from his favorite place.
This sort of generosity is not uncanny for the Costiera Amalfitana or the Neopolitan way, yet the vein of his intelligent humility is exceptional. His job and the people he meets who recognize this mean the world to him. His father and his grandfather were port master before him. The respect he has for them is
sacred. He carries a brilliant lineage from times gone by. He will tell you stories of how his father treated everyone fairly and respectfully from Fiat giant Agneilli, President Kennedy, down to the local fisherman. Aniello is also one such man. He will tell you everyone loved his father. If we were to say, ‘everyone loves you too’, he would then again, hand over his heart, say, “my father was ‘un grand oumo,’ a great man, a great man. I am simple”. He also says this is a different time. People don’t have the same ‘simpatia’, a mutual feeling of respect and recognition, like they used to. He is married to a German woman a few heads taller than him and has triplet boys. “They love the work,” he says, “but I don’t want them to stay here. They are educated and should take a different route.”
Meanwhile, his sons come and go, each one of them blonde and tan and more handsome and capable than the next. At 17, they will always have Amalfi as home and their father as an inspiration of how to live a meaningful life with meaningful work.
Aneillo stops by again with a present of large, yellow, sfuso amalfitano lemons that we will perfume our water with and make a sauce for spaghetti al limone. We say goodbye, eye to eye. I feel like I am in the presence of an unsung legend. Another one of the greats who are still present, but in transition with their work. I don’t leave without giving Aniello a jar of homemade jam. I am now prepared for the exchange of gifts, something he isn’t prepared for, but accepts willingly.
Now I get the hold the gaze of the port master as we sail out into the bay until the harbor is no longer visible. He does not move.
or: use a bit of crushed red pepperoncino for pizzazz!
Rinse the fish and set aside. Chop cherry tomatoes in half. ‘Mise en place’ the e.v.o.oil, olives, garlic, tomatoes, basil and fish.
Choose appropriate frying pan. Add olive oil, garlic and tomatoes. Toss around
in the pan for 5 minutes. Add olives and basil. Let simmer for another 5 minutes.
Add fish on top of the sauce. .Salt and pepper the fish…or pop it with the pepperoncino. Splash the pan with the white wine. Cook on low-medium heat. Put on a lid and let it steam for 5 minutes.
Check your fish for doneness, but touching it. If it springs back, it should be done, along with an aroma of cooked fish. Flip the fish if needed, otherwise,
turn off the heat and let it steam for another few minutes. Check for flavor
balance, adding another pinch of salt if needed.
Serve the fish by spooning the sauce over it. Add a fresh leaf of basil for garnish.
Our first morning sail took us around to the south side of Procida, to see the panoramic pastel houses that grace the island, all bunched together like a bee colony.
Historically, the various house colors had a purpose. A sailor could spot his house from afar and see if his wife was waiting for him in the window.
Sunny with a bit of good wind, we calculated our sail to Ventotene, 16k away at 8-9 knots, to take 4 hours. Tony Tony, our captain, has a keen sense to head straight to where the wind is. An avid sailor, he rides the waves like captain Ahab rode his great white whale.
We are not talking huge ocean waves—but the Mediterranean can kick up some activity. The adventurous part of my culinary program is often accented with a few unexpected edgy experiences that keep our name valid. This undoubtedly puts a smile on some faces and a look of surprise on others.
Inside our sailboat the 'Swamy', cooking on a gimbled stove.
photos by: Hank Strauss
Zuppa di Pesce Panaresca
(Fish soup from the Aeolian Island of Panarea)
1 kilo of fresh prawns
3 fresh squid
1/2 kilo of vongole verace (clams)
2 red mullet
a few cherry tomatoes
1 can of cherry tomatoes, peeled
olive oil
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
white wine
a bunch of parsley, chopped fine
salt to taste pepperoncino (cayenne) a dash to taste
Peel the prawns, separating prawn from shell. Set the prawns aside. Bring a pot of water to a simmer and drop in prawn shells.
Clean and cut the heads off the mullet. Fillet the fish, cut into 2 to 3 pieces and set aside. Add heads and bones to the broth.
Rinse and tap the clams (looking for a "flat" sound that may indicate a shell without a clam but full of sand). Set aside.
Clean the squid by taking out what’s inside the tube. Peel off the thin outer layer. Slice into rings. Set aside.
Peel and flatten garlic. Rinse and dry. Chop parsley fine. Set aside. Quarter the cherry tomatoes and set aside.
Put a generous drizzle of olive oil in the bottom of a large sauté pan. Add chopped garlic and simmer until barely golden. Add pepperoncino, half the parsley and the tomatoes. Stir until saucy. Salt and pepper. Strain and add the broth.
Heat a separate pot. Add some olive oil and a little garlic. Add the clams. Toss them in the hot pan, splash them with white wine and cover the pot with a lid. Steam for 3 minutes, or until the clams open and give up their liquid. Add to the pot. (Be careful not to let any possible residual sand from the pot liquor to slide in.)
Season prawns (or shrimp) and squid with a quick toss in a frying pan, with olive oil, parsley and salt. Set aside. Add to the pot. I like to season things separately before adding the pot, it deepens the flavor. Otherwise, you could just skip this.
Correct salt and pepper . Add the rest of the fish and fish broth if you have some leftover. Let it simmer to marry, but not so long to overcook the seafood.
Garnish with parsley. Serve with garlic toasts. Should be flavorful and spicy.
P.S. Broth can be used for making Risotto, shrimp and squid can be cooked right into the rice.
Scampi in the shell, clams, etc. can be added on top of the risotto before serving.
His head fell into my lap with exhaustion, preceded by the rest of his Neapolitan body. He was wet and cold and the night sea water was rough and dangerous.
A fisherman’s trawling net was caught in the motor of our sail boat. A family of seven and a crew of three were with us on an overnight transfer from fire-breathing Stromboli in the Aeolian islands, off the northern coast of Sicily, to the great seaside city of Napoli. Darkness fell and the boat motored on. It was rough, our 46-foot Beneteau swimming upstream directly into the wind. Tough conditions for sailing in any case, but more pleasant to navigate if not been in a rush. We needed to get the family back, so we motored full-throttle.
We waited for the darkness to bring calm, a chance to sit down to a proper dinner, but that calm never came. Unusual for the Mediterranean.
We were hungry but afraid to eat. The sky was clear and stars appeared, but the sea churned as if the wind had an invisible hand in the stirring. It was going to be a long night. I gave my guests bread with honey as to comfort.
I went to my own cabin near the prua to try for sleep though the dishes were crashing around in their holds. A stray closet door kept breaking loose, swinging open with a bang. With my son, Graham, helping watch I shut out the chaos in my small cabin. Five minutes later, hearing a huge noise, I bounced up and ran out to the poppa, the stern, to take a look.
Captain Nardella, 36, knife in hand, was stripping off, heading into the crashing water. A fisherman’s trawling net was tangled in the motor. If he couldn’t get it loose by hand, he would have to cut it. He knew that if he didn’t free it, we would have to wait for the fishermen to come to us, which would take hours, equivalent to a flat tire in the middle of nowhere in a storm.
Dripping, he came up onto the deck and revved the motor stronger, standing in his wet tee-shirt. I offered him a dry one. He wouldn’t take it, the wet shirt drying on his body in the cool wind. His bare legs were exposed; hairy, tan and strong. Once he was sure we were out of danger, he felt the cold. A deep chill set in alongside the exhaustion. He bundled in a wind parka while I took a turn on watch.
Sitting cross-legged with my back to the boat, I told Tony to rest his head in my lap. It would keep my legs warm and give him a place to lay his head. There were no other dry places to sit on the boat. He collapsed and I covered him in the only wool blanket on board.
Jumping into the waves had been heroic, risky and a bit renegade. A short rest was in order. He was tense and trembling. Trying to get a few winks in between watches is a captain’s classic dilemma. He would get comfortable, then shoot up to look around, then close his eyes again.
I stroked his forehead, trying to relax him. It relaxed me as well. We were in this together. He turned onto his side and ever-so-gently put his hand on my crossed leg to brace himself. It was the touch of a gentleman. I looked down at this man in my lap, this hunk of courage, so gentle, sweet, capable and intelligent and…felt a pull in my heart. His broad shoulders fit into the curl of my legs. It was not just his love of the sea, his spontaneous opera when at the helm, he was not only a capable captain, but a sensitive intellectual with a PhD in wild orchids. (Napoli was once the cultural capitol of Italy and the place to send your children to be educated.)We spoke once, on the bow of the boat, about his good fortune. He was full of gratitude to be born in Napoli, the son of a doctor, at the foot of Vesuvius in a village of sailors. He spoke willingly about his Napolitanita, how they thrive on drama, deep feeling and the friggatura; the clever getting away with va fan cuolo rule-breaking that delights a free soul and their appetite for living in the flesh, eating well,living large, simply and sensibly.
When the elements were with us, instead of against us, sailing with him was a blue dream, like being on the back of the surfboard of a skilled surfer, going up and down the swells with controlled abandon. Whehew! Fantastico! Che pezzo di oumo! What a man!
How I appreciated the man he had become. One to scoop up, to have and to hold. It wasn’t the years between us or the fact that he was already taken that made it impossible. Or that I have no Neopolitanita’ in purezza to match, fiery and demanding enough to hold the line. Nor do I have soft cappuccino-colored skin. It wasn't about that.
I missed in that moment, a man of my own to adventure with, wondering if there is such a match for me. There was no rain, but my cheeks were curiously wet. Emotions tumultuous as the the sea.
Then I realized; I am forever meeting and adventuring with amazing men and women in my work, all the time. Relationships can be geographical, about place, and connection. About the wind. Something unspoken. A glance. Trying to keep others and each other safe in a storm. An unconditional relationship, strong, available and true.
A smile cracked through like the sun.
Tony Tony, moi e Anello, Amalfi portmaster.
We eventually arrived safely in port after 22 hours of rough seas, what normally takes 16 on smooth. The drama, and the tenderness, now a thoughtful memory.
> 3 1/2 c flour (use 3 and the other half if needed)
> 1/2 c of butter
> 1/2 c of sugar
> 3 egg yolks
> 1 t of baking powder
Per la crema:
(the pastry cream)
> 1 pint of milk
> 3 egg yolks
> 3/4 c of sugar
> 2 T of cornstarch
> 1/2 stick of vanilla (or 1 t vanilla extract)
> 1 jar amerene (black cherries in syrup)
> powdered sugar to dust
Mix together all ingredients for the pasta frolla and put in the fridge for an hour.
Prepare the cream, putting milk to simmer with the vanilla. In a sauce pan, mix egg yolks and sugar together, add cornstarch, as well as warm, simmered vanilla milk.
Put this on a low flame and keep stirring until it starts to bubble. After a minute or two, turn off the fire and let it cool.
Take out the frolla and roll 3/4 of it to a thin crust, 12 inches around, or whatever size pie plate you choose.
Fill it with the strained cherries on bottom, covering with the pastry cream. Cover pie with left-over frolla, rolling it out thin to fit on top.
Bake in the oven for 45 minutes at 350F, until the top becomes golden. When cool, sprinkle with powdered sugar.
Colors can be seen at night by a full Amalfitana moon. Off to the nearby village of Praiano, suspended between the mountains and the sea, our mouths water as we approach a dimly lit piazza by the small sea port surrounded by cliffs.
Colored boats and nets line the shore as old men, looking more like crustaceans than humans, sit around tables playing cards, listening to the sea. They are waiting for calm, when they will jump in their boats and paddle out for the catch.
A boy of about eight rides his bicycle, a bit too big for him, around and around the piazza dodging everything in sight. It’s a night for cats. Some friends and I thought we would prowl around as well, for che c'e c'e. "What there is, there is. "
Before we sit down, we talk with Armandino, a serious man, a bit shy, but ‘molto simpatico.’ He owns one of only two small trattorias in the square. From behind the bar, he tells us that he has just prepared an excellent squid sauce, very fresh, and that we should take a walk and come back in 10 minutes.
We decided to follow a railed walkway around the rocky coast of the village. It leads practically to no-where, other than an African style disco-tech that has a plexiglas dance floor, through which one can see fish swimming around below. Off-season unfortunately, we did not have the opportunity to try it out.
Just as well, as Laura, Sergio, Giocondo and I were ready to sink our teeth into dinner.
Back at Armandino’s, we sat down outside to a very simple table he had just covered in crisp white linen, set with glasses and a bottle of local wine. It was Furore, named and produced from the next village. A light, dry, fruity wine, it was perfect for our meal and an honor because Giocondo, our host, was born there.
While we feasted on coral-colored squid in a tasty stew of its own juice over tubetti, Giocondo told us a story from when he was a little boy. Furore is a vertical village, with life happening below along the sea, and above among the vineyards. Everyday his father and brothers went out in the boats to fish. He would cry, “Let me go!” and his father would say, “No Giocondo, not today.” But Giocondo would cry and cry until his mother finally said, “Let him go.” So, off he would go.
Inevitably, a five-year-old boy, the lull of the boat would put him to sleep. This was not so bad, but the problem was that once he fell asleep his brothers would have to carry him up 200 stairs to the house! Everyday he cried, “ Let me go!” And his father said, “No Giocondo, not today,” and somehow his mother was always able to convince him. Giocondo inevitably fell asleep from the rocking and had to be carried up the 200 stairs.
We laughed about many things in between sips of Furore and our second plate of freshly grilled anchovies and more squid. The night was magic, the waves and moon setting the ambiance of the piazza. We ate the acciughe with our hands, eating their flesh right off the small bones and tossing them to the cats, which held court around our table just waiting for something to drop. Perhaps some boney morsel would fall their way. Something had happened to one of the cats and her top lip was missing, which gave her the strangest, almost Chesire expression.
Armandino fed us fresh melon and torta for dessert, which was an experience equal to the magic of the night. It was moist, flavorful and so deliciously honest that I asked for the recipe. Armadino’s wife, Filomina, humbly came to the door and told us, blushing, in a soft voice, how she had done it. It was Pasticciotto; a traditional dessert of the region (borrowed from the Pugliese) with black cherries and custard. Four ingredients simply prepared (find the recipe here).
As if dessert wasn’t enough, Armandino gave us a special digestivo made from wild laurel. Its herbaceous quality was subtle, yet soulfully satisfying, enough depth to cap off a somewhat rustic night in the open air.
Another walk in the moonlight. Satiated, we had no need for conversation. Only the sound of the sea and the moon's reflections on the water.
I couldn’t help but picture Giocondo, this content little boy, slung over his brother's shoulder, flopping in his slumber still thinking he was fishing on his father's boat.
I've just come back from two weeks on the splendid Mediterranean Sea, tan, and drunk, not on too much vino, but on the elements of water, wind and sea.
What better way to experience all the riches of the Amalfi coast? At a distance, in the comfort of our own boat (Hanse 540) in touch with the elements, harnessing wind power to move from point A (Amalfi) to C (Capri), in nature’s zigzag way.
Early morning's pink sunrise gives way to a quiet moment to reflect on the vast blue sea ..then it’s time to rock and roll! UP GO THE SAILS and all lazy sailors hit the deck with crazy hair and sleepy eyes. Then the day starts to shine! Not only with a luscious sun sparkling on the Mediterranean begging us to jump in, but to heed the call of fresh coffee and brioche having sailed into a perfect bay.
The Bay of Naples offers what I like to call, ‘SLOW Sailing’. The waters are calm
and the winds are gentle. We take our time getting from place to place. We won’t
be doing open sea airobatics, but we will be playing with the wind.
The Amalfi coast offers splendid views of terraced hilltops, cultivated in lemons,
mandarins and other fruits. Exquisite villages stand out on top displaying each a Dome of individual cupola design to be identified from sea. From the islands you see entire village houses painted in diverse shades of pastel, for the fishermen to look for their wives waiting for them at the window. All this detail, shape, color and life in general can be seen from our vantage point at sea. While the landlocked look out to the nothingness of the deep blue.
Eating on a boat is like being on a perpetual picnic. Circus tricks are helpful, as are lessons from the cat in the hat.( If we could only twirl plates and roll on a ball at the same time!) Moving on a boat while ‘under way’ is like this. Sure-footedness is necessary while carrying things around in ones hands, trying to keep ones balance- a mental exercise as well. Then there’s cooking on a gimbaled stove! (a contrivance, typically consisting of rings pivoted at right angles, for keeping an instrument such as a compass or chronometer horizontal in a moving vessel (a stove on a sailboat).
Pots and pans sway in place with the movement of the waves, held to the stove by a thin rail that keeps things from sliding off. Baking a whole fish is like rocking a baby in it's bed. The oven door is shut. The fish is snug, baking away to the rhythm of the sea! When slipped and docked in Port, the dinner is ready, the table is set and a new skill has been learned. Local food and wine never tasted so good.
This puts the adventure in the culinary.
A focus on wines from Compagnia, organic lemons from Amalfi, d.o.c. quality mozzerella di buffala from Paestum, rabbit from Ischia, pomodorini dolcissimi, wild aromatic herbs from the islands, anchovies, pizza! fish, fish, fish, frutti di mare, spaghetti alla vongole. Tagliatelle al limone, scamorza grilled between lemon leaves, and dolce; torta caprese (chocolate nut cake from Capri)etc.
Includes a few lessons on sailing and knot tying.
JUNE 11-18thTH, 18th- 25th 2011. VISIT THE ISLANDS OF PROCIDA, CAPRI, ISCHIA, and the
coastal towns of AMALFI, PAESTUM AND POSITANO.
$4,495.
