Too darn hot

Summer is here. In reality, and as every year, it got to Rome early. People on the streets are muttering about the disappearance of the seasons. The mild Spring temperatures were replaced by the harsher heat of the Summer in the blink of an eye. 

Now Northern Europe is catching up as France and England hit record highs however they already know it's not going to last. In Rome, once the warm weather sets in there is no end in sight.

My first Summer in Italy, in 1998, was hot but there seemed to be a cooler evening breeze that reached the capital in the late afternoon. In recent years the humidity has risen and days can pass with barely a whiff of air.

Italians have had to adapt. In 1998, not many homes had air-conditioners, ten years later the power grid was so under pressure thanks to the elevated use of electricity that the authorities talked about imminent black outs.

In 2003 on the 20th June, there was a nation wide blackout attributed to violent storms in France and a tree falling on a vital part of the network. The only reason it made international headlines was that it coincided with the 'White Night' - an event that promotes spending by keeping shops, museums and restaurants open till very late at night.

When I first came here there wasn't any air-conditioning on the underground. In summer 2001 I went to Madrid and was astounded at how pleasant the public transport was though quite a few shops seemed to have cranked up the air-conditioning to cold inducing levels.I could imagine the comments of disapproval my Italian friends would make along with the concern at the risk of a serious cold addirittura a bronchitis.

Eventually, air conditioning found its way onto public transport in Rome. The newer underground trains are fully fitted while most bus lines function on two settings: aircon on with cold air blasting down onto heads and necks making scarves a Summer fashion item, or aircon off with subsequent beads of sweat rolling down bodies in large sticky drops and the accompanying smell of hot bodies.

The English, they say, talk the most about the weather. But Italians could give them a run for their money. Italians tend to be more preoccupied about the effects the weather has on their health: draughts are deadly leading to a colpa d'aria, the heat can affect the brain leading to the type of 'raptus' that will cause family fathers to murder their family in a rage and then blame it on the heat. It's no joke as every Summer violence against women and children goes up a notch and makes the headlines.

When the heat gets to be too much Italians head for the fresher air of the mountains or for the breezes on the coast, though the sea itself is an area of peril, both real and imagined. Along the Lazio coast at the wealthy resort of Fregene, once Summer residence of many a movie star,  the summer heat can bring tides of toxic algae. Beach goers are stranded on the beach wistfully gazing at the cooler waters unable to enter for fear of a nasty rash appearing on their limbs.

The Summer heat is a potent monster. Those who like the heat worship it regardless of the costly price it could enact. Indeed for some it seems to be a matter of pride. "I have never put on sun cream," is a familiar cry of the middle-aged male, tanned to a husky brown. Others are more wary.

Zucchini Flowers

'Tis the season for flowers. The markets are heaving with their pretty yellow and green bulbs, their fronds unfurling atop light green Romanesco zucchini. I'm talking about the fiori di zucca - zucchini flowers. I fiori di zucca, a misnomer as zucca translates as pumpkin, are everywhere. 

In the supermarkets, they are exposed too long and appear as dark sticky unappetising appendages on the zucchini, best chopped off and thrown out. On the market stalls, they are resplendent. Large elongated flowers just waiting to be stuffed and battered for one of Roman/Jewish cusines classics: i fiori di zucca farciti e fritti. That is zucchini flowers stuffed with mozarella and anchovies, dipped in a batter and deep fried. The batter should turn out light and crisp and should have a crunch to it.

The first time I tried them was at the famed pizzeria Formula Uno in the San Lorenzo district of Rome. San Lorenzo is next to Rome's first university, La Sapienza, and home to many students. 

Formula Uno caters to the students and locals and is a simple place. The white washed walls in the two large dining areas are covered in pictures of racing cars and their pilots. Large wooden rectangular tables are pushed up as close together as possible. The menu is printed on the table mats. Often there is a queue so it's worth getting there a little earlier (around 8pm) than most Romans would. Within seconds of sitting down, a waiter appears. The service is at Formula one velocity.

Fried zucchini flowers aren't much to look at - long wedges of light brown batter through which can be seen the striations of the underlying flower. At Formula Uno, they are served on a plain white plate - two forlorn looking pieces of batter. I picked one up and bit into it. It was a revelation. The crispiness of the batter gave way to the soft melted mozarella with at its heart an anchovy filet giving the dish the right balance of saltiness - its umami factor. I was hooked.

Everytime I eat out I order at least one serving of fiori di zucca. Not all places do it well. Beware the oily batter which will sit heavy on the stomache. Not all will have it with anchovies. 

Fiori di zucca can be used in an infinity of ways: chopped and added to a risotto, sprinkled over pasta, fanned out on a pizza, as the main ingredient in a frittata or as side decoration on an antipasto dish. But more than anything they are stuffed: stuffed with mashed potatoes in Liguria), stuffed with ricotta, stuffed with rice.... then steamed or oven-baked with maybe a light drizzle of tomato sauce. 

I sometimes wonder who first came up with the idea of stuffing them. The fronds are frail and easily tear. Removing the pistil - bitter in flavour - is frought with peril. One slip and the petal is torn.

 I'm willing to bet that Italian housewives have a special implement which allows them to dive down into the flower,  nick the pistil at its base and remove it without a rent to the flower. 

 Over time and with no small amount of practise I've learnt to prepare and stuff these pesky flowers. The turning point came when the teaspoon I used for stuffing was replaced by a piping bag. It takes time and patience and is worth the effort.