ciao from sicily!
trapani's tomato & almond pesto, plus other sun-soaked Sicilian-ish recipes
Ciao from Sicily!
I’m writing this on the cusp of departure, clothes strewn across a half-packed suitcase; by the time you’re reading it, I’ll be wrapping up a week well-spent in eastern Sicily with a wonderful group of fellow pasta-lovers. I’ll share some highlights from the trip soon enough, but if all goes to plan, we’ll have wandered the markets of Siracusa, eaten our weight in granita, and made at least five types of fresh pasta. Of course, even without a week basking in the island’s beauty, I’m no stranger to Sicily’s culinary riches—so today, I thought I’d share a few of them with you.
Sicily’s cooking is as layered as its history, shaped by centuries of cultural exchange and a landscape that seems determined to grow everything well. First, there were the Greeks, who planted olive trees and grapevines, and established a grain culture that transformed the island into one of the breadbaskets of the ancient world. Then came the Arabs (more accurately, the Saracens, or Moors), who ruled between the 9th and 11th centuries, and brought with them Sicily’s now-signature citrus, sugarcane, rice, eggplant, and almonds, along with sophisticated irrigation systems that reshaped the terrain itself.
Next, the Normans, who preserved much of the Arab agricultural infrastructure while adding their own Northern European flair, including a courtly cuisine favoring meat and dairy. It was under Norman rule that Sicily became a rare crossroads where disparate flavors and techniques—Islamic, Byzantine, European—flourished side-by-side. Later, in the 15th century, the Spanish arrived, and further shaped the island’s palate. Through Sicily’s ties to the Spanish empire, ingredients from the Americas (tomatoes, peppers) entered the local repertoire, while the love of agrodolce (that irresistible interplay between sweet and sour) became even more deeply embedded in the cuisine. Influences that today feel so intrinsic, it’s impossible to imagine Sicilian cooking without them.
Perhaps one of the clearest examples of Sicily’s layered culinary identity is the Catania-born classic, pasta alla Norma. Fried cubes of eggplant mingle with a bright tomato sauce, fragrant basil, and salty shavings of ricotta salata—a well-considered balance of sweet, salty, savory, and a hint of smokiness. I’ve talked about pasta alla Norma before and the lore behind its creation (an homage to famed composer Vincenzo Bellini and his opera Norma); indeed, the dish’s punchy flavors evoke a sense of drama that seems built into the island itself. It’s also a dish that wears Sicily’s history with pride: the Greeks and their grain, the Arabs and their eggplant, the Spanish and their tomatoes—centuries of local ingenuity and cultural crossover that come together into what is now a global symbol of Sicilian (and Italian) food.
There are, of course, other Sicilian staples that are similarly indicative of the island’s love of contrasts. The most obvious is caponata, the spread-meets-stew starring, yet again, eggplant, this time sautéed alongside other vegetables, olives, and capers before being dressed in sugar and vinegar. There’s also pasta con le sarde (pasta with sardines), another confluence of Arabic and Mediterranean sensibilities, and one of my all-time favorite dishes—a combination of fresh sardines, wild fennel, pine nuts, and raisins that might sound a little suspect, but I can assure you is a moreish masterpiece on a plate.
And then, at last, there’s today’s recipe: pesto alla Trapanese, tomato and almond pesto from the western city of Trapani. Almonds, like eggplant, are a main character of Sicilian cooking, lending richness and subtle sweetness to everything from vegetables and fish to marzipan and granita. In pesto alla Trapanese, they provide a creamy, nutty backbone that balances the acidity of ripe tomatoes, the sharpness of pecorino, and the aromatic bite of fresh basil. It’s the pesto I often crave the most, boasting all the complexity of its Genovese cousin, while also being a little more forgiving. Today I’m sharing the version from my cookbook; you can, of course, serve this pesto with whatever pasta you’d like, but to truly transport yourself to Sicily, I recommend its typical partner, busiate (you can read more about busiate and how to make them here). Busiate’s signature corkscrew curves are beautiful, sure, but they’re also functional, perfectly designed to catch every textured burst of tomato and crunch of almond that this sauce has to offer.
I can’t wait to share more about my time in Sicily; in the meantime, I hope this recipe brings a little extra sunshine to your kitchen this week. Or, if you’re hesitant to hop on the tomato train this early in the year, be sure to come back to this in late summer, when tomatoes are at their peak, and instead check out some of these other Sicilian-inspired recipes from the archive:
Alla prossima,
Meryl
Trapani’s Tomato & Almond Pesto (Pesto alla Trapanese)
Serves 4, with leftovers; makes about 2 cups (480 grams)
½ cup (85 grams) blanched almonds
1½ pounds (680 grams; about 8 medium) ripe plum tomatoes like Roma
3 garlic cloves, peeled
Kosher salt
1 packed cup (25 grams) fresh basil leaves
1½ ounces (40 grams) finely grated Pecorino Sardo or Romano
¼ cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil
Toast the nuts: Heat the oven to 375°F/190°C. Spread the almonds on a small foil-lined sheet pan. Toast in the oven until golden and fragrant, watching closely, 8 to 10 minutes. Let cool.
Prepare the tomatoes: Bring a pot of water to a boil and fill a large bowl with ice water. With a paring knife, score the bottoms of the tomatoes with a small X, just piercing the skin. Drop them into the water and cook until the skin near the X starts to loosen, about 2 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer them to the ice bath. When the tomatoes are cool, peel away the skins, then cut them in half and scoop out the seeds. Pat the flesh dry and cut into large pieces.
Make the pesto: Add the garlic, almonds, and a pinch of salt to the bowl of a food processor and pulse until the nuts are well chopped and gravel-like. Add the basil, cheese, and tomatoes. Pulse in short bursts until the ingredients are combined but the sauce still has texture. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the oil. Season to taste, adding more cheese if you’d like. Let the pesto stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
To serve: Cook your pasta of choice to your liking and transfer it directly to a large, heatproof (preferably metal) mixing bowl (or drain it first and reserve 1 cup/240 ml pasta cooking water). Spoon most of the pesto over the pasta and toss well until luscious and creamy. Add more pesto and loosen with cooking water as needed until the pasta is well coated. Divide among bowls and serve, finished with more oil and grated cheese. Reserve any remaining pesto for another use.
Adapted, with permission, from Pasta Every Day: Make It, Shape It, Sauce It, Eat It by Meryl Feinstein (Voracious, 2023).
Could you use the same weight of drained canned DOP S.M. tomatoes, Meryl? or would the recipe suffer? The only plums available now are rather hard and tasteless!
I love Sicily, but have a soft spot for Palermo. Part of my youth was spent with my Uncle Mario, born and raised in Palermo. He baked some of the best pizzas ever. I miss him very much, but we will see him again.