EARTHQUAKE (THE WORLD KEEPS GOING ROUND)

Henry Tresham (1750-1814), Messina After The Earthquake, Nave of Ruined Church, 1783.

May 11, 1786

Today we bade farewell to our valiant vetturino and rewarded him for his conscientious services with a liberal gratuity.  We parted in friendship, after he had found us a local factotum who was to take us at once to the best inn and show us the sights of Messina.  Our host of last night was eager to get rid of us as quickly as possible and lent a helping hand with the transport of our baggage to a pleasant lodging nearer the living part of the city, that is to say, outside it.  After the enormous disaster in which twelve thousand people were killed, there were no houses left in Messina for the remaining thirty thousand.  Most of the buildings had collapsed and the cracked walls of the rest made them unsafe.  So a barrack town was hastily created in a large meadow north of the city.  To get a picture of this, imagine yourself walking across the Römerberg in Frankfurt or the market square in Leipzig during the Fair.  All the booths and workshops are open in the street. 

Vue de l'Optique composition (Hand colored copper engraving used in the Laterna magica technique) showing sea ships and boats endangered in the rough waters of the Messina Strait disturbed by the 1783 earthquake.

 

Only a few of the larger buildings have entrances which can be closed, and even these rarely are, because those who live in them spend most of their time out of doors.  They have been living under these conditions for three years, and this life in shacks, huts and tents, even, has had a definite influence on their characters.  The horror of that tremendous event, the fear of its repetition, drive them to take their delight in the pleasures of the moment.  The dread of a new catastrophe was revived about three weeks ago, on April  the twenty-first, when a noticeable tremor shook the grounds.  We were shown a little church which was crowded with people at the time.  A number of them, it is said, have not yet recovered from the shock. 

An early map of the 1783 Calabria volcano and earthquake-areas plotted in the mid-19th century (from BERGHAUS 1845-1848).

A kindly consul volunteered to take care of us and acted as our guide; and, in a world of ruins, this was something to be grateful for.  When he heard that we wished to sail soon, he introduced us to the captain of a French merchant vessel, who was about to sail for Naples – an opportunity which was doubly desirable because the white flag would be a protection against pirates.

Cy Twombly (1928-2011) , Goethe In Italy, 1978.

The Lancastrians (1963-1967): The World Keeps Going Round (wr. R. Davies; feat. J. Page)(Link).

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey (1786-1788), translated by W.H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer, New York, Pantheon Press, 1962.

APRIL 25 (AT SUNRISE)

April 25


At sunrise we were at last permitted to walk down the hill, and at every step the scenery became more picturesque.  Convinced that he was only serving our best interests, the little man led us through the lush vegetation without stopping once, though we passed thousands of singular views, any one of which would have made a subject for an idyllic picture. The ground beneath our feet undulated like waves over the hidden ruins.  The shell-tufa of which these were built ensures the fertility of the soil which now covers them.  In due course we came to the eastern limit of the city where, year after year, the ruins of the Temple of Juno fall into greater and greater decay because their porous stone is eroded by wind and weather.  We only meant to make a cursory examination today, but Kniep has already chosen the points from which he will sketch tomorrow.

The temple stands on a foundation of weathered rock.  From this point the city wall ran due east along the edge of a limestone hill which falls in precipices to the shore plain.  The sea which once washed the base of these cliffs must have receded to the present shoreline in a fairly remote age.  The city walls were partly built of quarried stone and partly hewn out of the solid rock. Behind the walls rose the temple.  It is easy to imagine what a stupendous sight the rising tiers of Gigenti must have looked from the sea.

The slender architecture of the Temple of Concord, which has withstood so many centuries, already conforms more nearly to our standard of beauty and harmony than the style which preceded it – compared to Paestum, it is like the image of a god as opposed to the image of a giant.

Since the intention was so laudable, one ought not to complain, I suppose, but what has recently been done to preserve these monuments is in very poor taste.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey (1786-1788), translated by W.H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer, New York, Pantheon Press, 1962.

Salt To Taste

Cane rat aka grasscutter aka ground-pig


I.     "Cane Rat (Thryonomys Swinderianus), a large African rodent which also goes by the name grasscutter (especially in W. Africa) and ground-pig (a misnomer which has been current in S. Africa, perhaps because of its bristly hairs).  It can live in various environments, mostly but not always in damp areas; enjoys an excellent vegetarian diet (roots, young shoots, bark, etc.) and is capable of causing havoc in some crops such as sugar cane.

        The cane rat may reach a length, not including the tail, of nearly 60 cm (24") and provides a substantial amount of good meat.  It is eaten on a large scale in sub-Saharan Africa." 

From:  Alan Davidson, The Oxford Companion to Food.  Oxford, Oxford University Press,  1999.

Millet beer




II.    In Native Stranger: A Black American's Journey into the Heart of Africa (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992), Eddy L. Harris provides this account of cane rat stew in the Ivory Coast:

   "Denis asked if I was hungry and took me to the home of a woman making stew. He was tired and so was I. It had been a very long day. We would rest awhile and have something to eat with her before going home..

       We sat outside and drank millet beer, frothy and sweet. Then we ate this woman's strange stew. Denis watched me carefully -- too carefully, it seemed.

   "What's the matter?" I asked.

   "Nothing, " he said. "How do you like the stew?"

   "It's different," I said. "But it's good."

    He was playful again.

   "Did you ever eat a rat before?"

    I kept eating. Nothing surprised me anymore.

   "Don't worry," he said. "It's not like a rat in the sewer. It's more like a field rat."

   "Oh, I wasn't worried," I said, glad that he had explained the difference.

    The stew was vaguely sweet, pungent, a new taste.

    We drank more millet beer and the evening began to glow. Denis smiled. He became for me then all that was right about Africa, the warmth, the generosity, the laughter."

III.         A long, happy (it seems to me now as it seemed to me then) time ago, during my first visit to Mallorca,  I purchased (as I usually do when I travel) a local recipe book so that I could remember my vacation and the many new and wonderful things I ate after I had returned home.  In this case, I also wanted to remember the sounds and spelling of  Mallorquin, Mallorca's unique and remarkable language.  The book contained the following recipe, which I have never tried (and am unlikely to):

        Frito de Ratas (Rat Fry): 

      "The rats are skinned, well cleaned and given a good boiling.  Drain and cut into little pieces.  These are fried in a frying pan with a lot of oil seasoned beforehand with salt and pepper.

      When cooked, add a good quantity of garlic, leeks and tomato, and if in season, one or two chilis.

        In La Puebla (in the northern part of Majorca), where this dish is general, they always advise you to "lift the elbow", that is to say, wash it down with plenty of good red wine.

        Needless to explain that the rats in question are the ones called "ratas de campo" or field rats, which abound in the area of La Albufera (bordering the Bay of Alcudia), and in the surroundings of La Puebla."

From Luis Ripoll, 125 Cookery Recipes of Majorca, Minorca, Ibiza (translated by William Kirkbride).  Palma de Mallorca, 1975.

IV.        Also from Ripoll's book, and highly recommended, is the following recipe, which no visitor to Mallorca, especially one who had been a guest in a private home, would fail to recognize:

Pamboli

Pamboli (Bread and Olive Oil)

        "Bread and olive oil is maybe the plainest item of food in Majorcan cuisine; but that doesn't prevent it from being one of the most widely eaten.

        Pamboli is nothing more or less than slices of bread -- brown or white -- dressed with a little good quality olive oil and, if desired, a dash of vinegar.

        If we want to make it more succulent, we can include, before dressing it, some slices of tomato.  Would then have in the Majorcan language "pamboli tomatiga".  We can improve this item of food further by adding green or black olive, whole or cut up, and a spoonful of capers, as well as some samphire (an aromatic cliff plant used in pickles).  Salt to taste."

Pamboli -- grisaille view

V.        What connects all this is the following: 

          The other day, while consulting Alan Davidson's magnificent Oxford Companion on another subject, I encountered his entry on the curiously-named Cane Rat and became interested in the history and lore surrounding this rodent.  (For instance, did you know that calling someone a "cane rat" is a mild term of disapprobation in South Africa?)   I learned that this charming, herbivorous field creature is a standard item of "bush fare" and considered a valuable, fairly inexpensive food source in Africa.  But one thing led to another, as usually happens, and I eventually ended up learning about Eddy Harris's fascinating volume and  remembering my Mallorquin cookbook and its odd-seeming "rat fry" recipe.  It had been years since I opened Ripoll's book, which is really more of a pamphlet that conveys great authenticity in the rusticity of its paper, printing and graphics.  Opening to the Frito de Ratas page, I discovered a pink phone message slip dating from the early 1980s alerting me that an ambulance chasing lawyer in Manhattan wanted to speak to me about a pending case.  The message bore the date of Caroline's birthday.  Curious.  I then began writing this mini-semi-survey.

       I consider it propitious and not an accident that this ends with the excellent, healthy and humane Pamboli, the quintessential Mallorquin foodstuff. 

       The message to me -- the clear and unequivocal message -- is that we need to leave the cane rat and other animals alone and to eat more Pamboli.

        This post is dedicated to the memory of Cy Twombly.