Last updated on November 12, 2021
To better understand the origins of Puglian cuisine, I arranged a visit to the famed Masseria Il Frantoio, located on the outskirts of Ostuni, the fabled “White City,” in the province of Brindisi. Masseria means ancient farmhouse, and Puglia is dotted with these rustic but luxuriously renovated structures, many of which are now converted into hotels and restaurants.
Proprietor Armando Balestrazzi takes the traditional Puglian view that when you visit his establishment you are not a client, but instead an honored guest. Deep relaxation permeates your soul as you wander through this 500 year old working organic farm. In addition to its 4,200 olive trees, some well over 1,000 years old, the estate contains a walled 17th century fruit grove, vegetable and herb gardens, all of which provide food for the estate and its “guests.” Balestrazzi has a deep and heartfelt understanding of what fosters a simpatico relationship between the land and its inhabitants. He knows how to provide comfort and beauty without impinging on the environment. He understands that Puglia is a region with a destitute past, but from this poverty grew a cuisine that is rich in flavor and healthfulness.
He tells the story of a land that, historically, had little rain and no cows to provide either milk or meat. Under these conditions it was incumbent upon the Nonna to inventively feed her family. She did so, and well, he says, with “the most original cooking in the world.” There are only female cooks staffing his kitchen because “the nourishment of the body and soul are a task that require the precision and sensibility of a woman and a mother.” Not everyone would agree with these sentiments, but it was hard to argue with the food.
Dinner was an event. Serving up dishes both traditional and eclectic, from ragout to flan comprised of carrots and beetroot from the garden, each of the eight courses was paired with an extra virgin olive oil from the estate groves. All recipes had been developed by Rosalba, the Signora Balestrazzi. Quando il sospiro e al liquor d’olivo, the masseria’s signature olive leaf liqueur, completed the meal.
The real highlight of my visit occurred earlier in the day when I was led through the kitchen as the women prepared the evening meal. True to Balestrazzi’s maxim that “the men talk and the women work,” he narrated as we navigated the long and gleaming countertops where eggplant was being chopped for polpette di melanzane alla menta (little balls of eggplant with mint), and pasta dough sat calmly resting on a board. A beaming chef showed me a huge terrine filled with agnello con palate in coccio (lamb and potatoes from the oven), while a huge bowl of pears ripe from the orchard sat nearby, pretty as a still life, waiting to be made into composta di pere (pear compote) to accompany goat cheese laced with saffron. At dinners’ end the entire staff would come out for a well-deserved bow to applause from the 60 satisfied guests in the candle-lit courtyard.
I had been invited to cook in the masseria kitchen, but was nearing the end of my trip and could not align my schedule to do so. I would have loved to learn the artfulness with which these women prepared food. The offer stands, and I cannot wait to return and learn the techniques of cucina povera. One cannot refuse such generosity of time and spirit under the Salento sun.
(As published in Edible Green Mountains and Edible Capital District.)
