The Amalfi Coast is famous for their lemons, which are huge—often 6-8 inches in length.  The lemon trees planted along the Amalfi Coast are grown on well-drained terraced land overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea, where they get the required six hours of sunlight daily. The variety that is grown is called Sfusato Amalfitano, from the Italian word affusolato which means streamlined and refers to the lemon’s elongated shape. It has a thick, pale yellow skin with an intense aroma that comes from the essential oils in the skin.  The pulp is acidic and juicy with very few seeds.         

           The existence of lemon groves are documented as early as the 11th century when crusaders, returning from Palestine, brought along citrus fruit trees.  In the 15th century the beneficial effects of vitamin C against scurvy was discovered. Matteo Camera, a historian from Amalfi, wrote in the 17^th century that lemons were shipped from Minori, a picturesque fishing village located between Positano and Amalfi, two hundred years earlier.  He also documents that shipments included limoncello and cetrangoli (bitter oranges).

            The harvest of Amalfi Coast lemons is limited to 25 tons per hectare.  The lemons are picked by hand from February to mid-October.  Nets are placed under the trees to collect fruit that falls before it is harvested by hand. If they are picked before they are ready to use, some will rot.  But if left on the tree, they will not rot and will only grow bigger.  The warm climate and long growing season in Italy allow for a long harvest season. 

            It is not certain where the recipe for the regional liqueur limoncello originated. In Amalfi, limoncello had been used for ages by fishermen and countrymen to fight the morning cold.

            The first recipe to be documented originated in 1900 in a small boarding house on the island Azzurra, near Capri.  The innkeeper there, Vincenza Canale, treated her patrons to her homemade liqueur as a complimentary, after-dinner digestivo. In 1988, her grandson Massimo Canale started a small handmade production of limoncello using his Nonna’s recipe and registering the trademark.   Today, the family’s company, Limoncello di Capri, is one of the leading limoncello manufacturers and is still run by the grandchildren of Signora Canale.

When I got to work, Alessandro let me make the contorno (vegetable side dish) for the evening meal.  First I had to peel and dice another huge red pumpkin, which was the size of a basketball.  The flesh or meat of the pumpkin is very hard, like an acorn squash, and the knife I was using wasn’t very sharp.  I honed it on a steel hanging from a hook above one of the sinks and started dicing.

It took me most of the morning to dice the entire pumpkin into 1/8 inch cubes. The finished product filled an entire bucket! Then I put the first potato on its side and took a thin slice off the top, hollowed it out and placed it cut side down on a cookie sheet. I prepared 30 potatoes total and then steamed them in the oven.  While the potatoes were steaming, I sautéed the leeks and pumpkin in olive oil until they were tender and then stuffed the potatoes with them, sprinkled on Parmigiano cheese and voila!  I placed the extra diced pumpkin in a rectangular stainless steel container and placed it in the reach in refrigerator for later use.

In a restaurant kitchen you can only wear your wedding ring, no other jewelry (what if it fell in the food?), no artificial nails (what if they fell in the food?) and you certainly can’t smoke (what if it fell in the food?).  However, in our kitchen some of the cooks did smoke.  Usually they went into the pastry area where the windows are open to the cool, sea breezes to offset the heat because the ovens are always on.

The owners of the hotel are two elderly sisters who have strictly forbidden smoking in the kitchen.  One of them looks alot like George Costanza’s mother on “Sienfeld” except that she has brown hair and the other is taller, a little thinner and died blonde.  They occasionally come into the kitchen to point out something that they want prepared for them for lunch.

The one that looks like George’s mom came in just as Alessandro had lit a cigarette.  He quickly put it in the side pocket of his checkered chef pants and began rapidly patting the pocket, trying desperately to put it out all the while with a sheepish grin on his face, a “Buon Giorno” for the owner and smoke billowing out of his pants!

In the afternoon, we made ravioli again.  We make a different type nearly every day and about 4-5 people help as we do 600 pieces each time. Today it was red pumpkin ravioli.

By the time we were finished making the ravioli, it was time for me to change and walk down the hill to Amalfi for the bus.

When I got off the bus in Positano, I headed down the narrow alleyway for the internet café. I really looked forward to checking emails each afternoon and learning what everyone at home was doing. Gretchen was preparing for another trip to Rwanda to teach business classes to women survivors of the genocide there and to provide seed money so they could begin their own social ventures to improve their communities. Brian was on his way to London for a speaking engagement and a screening of the documentary film and Eric’s U. S. Navy frigate was deployed in the Caribbean where they were doing drug interdiction work in conjunction with the U.S. Coast Guard.  I reflected on the fact that men were previously defined by their career accomplishments and women were defined by their families.  Based on the fact that Craig was inspiring young minds at the U. S. Naval Academy and our three children were really making a difference in the world, I could conclude that we were both very successful.  But I knew that times were changing.  More women had their own careers or were choosing to follow their passions once their children left home.  I felt really lucky to be able to pursue my passion for cooking this summer.

The Internet Cafe in Positano

On my way back up the hill from the beach to the apartment, I passed one of the shops selling hand-painted ceramics.  (Ugh! I’m really getting a work out on these steep steps! I figured out that each day I walk approximately 5 miles and traverse up and down – but it seems like mostly up – 545 steps!) Most of the ceramic shops in Positano sell bowls, platters, pitchers, olive oil bottles, spoon rests and house numbers decorated with yellow lemons, purple grapes or gray-green olives. But this one had beautiful blue and green bowls and platters decorated with drawings of fish in the window. I loved unusual serving pieces and had collected a number of platters and bowls from other countries during our travels. Maybe I’ll purchase one of the fish bowls before the summer ended to add to my collection.

I was tired by the time I finally reached the apartment and was not happy to see the living room a mess again.  Ben, Brandi and David were all at their respective restaurants and would not be home until after 11PM.  I gathered up Ben’s papers, book, t-shirts, dishes, two glasses, clock and a sheet and dumped them all on his bed.  I thought that maybe he would finally get the message, but when I awoke the next morning I discovered that Ben had managed to dig his alarm clock out of the pile of stuff on his bed and had placed it on the floor next to the sofa where he was soundly sleeping when I left the apartment the next morning. Tomorrow I vowed to talk with him.

           Alessandro had told me that he would not be in when I arrived for work in the morning.  His wife was “with child” and he had to take her to the doctor’s office.  When Alessandro is off, I help Roberto, the pastry chef.  We usually start the day cutting up fruit for the breakfast buffet and then spend the rest of the time making desserts of one kind or another.  Today we were making cookies. At Hotel Santa Caterina the guests receive a welcome cookie plate in their guest rooms when they arrive.  Every few days Roberto would make several batches of different types of cookies and we arranged them on little china plates, covered them with saran wrap and tie each plate with a bow so they could be delivered to new guests.

           “Roberto,” I asked, “have you always been a pastry chef?”

           “When I was young, I was a champion at table tennis. Then I have my bakery, but business no good. So when I get married and have little girl, I get job at hotel. Do you want to see photos of my family?” Roberto got out his wallet and showed me pictures of a beautiful young woman and an adorable daughter about 4 years old.

           “Che bella,” I commented. I got out the photos of my husband and children that I had in the pocket of my chef’s pants and shared them with Roberto.

           “Mia familia,” I explained as I showed him pictures of Craig, Gretchen, and one of Brian and Eric in their military uniforms when Brian was still in the US Marine Corps and Eric was still a midshipman at the US Naval Academy. He smiled and nodded.  Then I put the photos away and we got back to work.

           After lunch, we made more cookies and a luscious almond cake. 

           Francesco, who is the assistant pastry chef and looks just like the actor Sean Penn,  has always been polite, but cool towards me.  The men in the kitchen are unaccustomed to working with a female chef.  I try to ignore their stern expressions and focus on working hard.  Francesco made pudding in the morning and was making Zeppolina after lunch – tiny, fried doughnut balls.  I was surprised when he brought one to me to taste.  It was delicious! 

           When I got off the bus at the top of the hill overlooking Positano, the narrow passageway that wound down to the beach front was crowded with tourists – stout Germans with walking sticks, Britons in sensible shoes, lovers walking hand-in-hand and Italian families.

           “Scusi. Excuse me,” I said as I navigated down the stone steps toward the internet cafe and around them as they stopped to examine colorful merchandise displayed in open shop doorways. 

           When I got back to the apartment that afternoon, I was stunned to find it a mess. I recognized the book that Ben had been reading, his dirty socks, a t-shirt, alarm clock, crumpled papers, and dirty dishes spread out on the floor, sofa and table.  I certainly didn’t feel like being the mom here and having to clean up after someone else when I got home from work.  I gathered together the dirty dishes and placed them in the kitchen sink, picked up the trash and neatly stacked the books on the table in the living room.  It didn’t bother me that his side of the bedroom that he shared with David looked as though a tornado had passed through it, but I wanted the main room to be tidy. 

            Seth had issued us all cell phones with instructions to call him if we needed anything.  They were pre-paid phones, so we could add minutes to them if we wanted by paying a few Euros at the Tabacchi shop. Apparently, our family members could call us at no charge, but to call out of the country was very, very expensive. I carried mine with me all the time, but had never used it. I was surprised when it rang.

           “Hello.”

           “Hello, Mom?” I recognized my son Eric’s voice immediately. He is a Naval Officer stationed in San Diego and was home in Maryland on leave.  He asked how things were going and I told him what I’d been doing.

            “I already thought you were a good cook,” Eric said.  “I’ll bet you could teach them something.”  Ahh, the confidence your children have in you.

            “What are you and Dad doing?”

            “He’s fixing lasagna for dinner.  Well actually he’s heating it up in the microwave.  By the way, I like the way you labeled everything in the house for him.  You forgot to label the dishwasher, but he seems to be doing okay washing the dishes by hand.”

            I spent the next few minutes catching up on news from home and then said good-bye.  I wondered what Craig would do when he ran out of lasagna. Remember, he didn’t know how to cook?

            I poured myself a glass of white wine and decided to spend the evening reading. We had two metal chairs that sat on our porch next to the plastic clothes drying rack which was always draped with wet towels and someone’s underwear.  (You can’t be modest when you share an apartment with other people!) The porch was shaded by the lemon trees in the yard and was a very peaceful place to read for a couple of hours until the mosquitoes came out. I  had managed to locate two bookstores—one on the way down the hill from the bus stop in Positano and another in the piazza in Amalfi—that sell English language novels.  I know that I should be purchasing something in Italian to help improve my language skills, but can you imagine how long it would take me to complete Harry Potter or a Tom Clancy book in Italian?  I stopped regularly at each bookstore to stock up on paperbacks. Before I went to bed that evening I penciled Ben a note:

            “Ben, we all have to share the living room.  Could you please clean up before you go to bed? Thanks, Marcia”

           When I arose the next morning, the living room was straightened and although the dishes hadn’t been washed, they were in the sink. Guess Ben got the message. I headed out the door to work.