My French Connection

Last month, I went to Paris. I love that city. You would think that I must have some French blood in my veins, some atavistic instinct that draws me back there again and again.

But nope, I'm all Croat on my mom's side, Irish/Scotch/English/Cherokee by way of Tennessee on my dad's. Not a Gallic drop in me.

But I do have a French connection.

Years ago my mom told me that her aunt Tonica, my grandfather's sister for whom she was named, had married an artist and lived in Paris. He died. She returned to Croatia. She had sent my grandparents a book of his paintings, but because these included a bevy of nudes, it went on a top bookshelf where the kids couldn't see the naked women. The Hurricane of '47 took care of that book.

In 2008, I came face to face with those paintings in a wing of a museum in the town of Stari Grad. And I felt an instant sense of connection to my great-uncle-by-marriage, Juraj Plancic.

Like my grandfather, he was born into a family of fishermen on the island of Hvar. It became clear early on that he was born with natural artistic talent. Though he originally apprenticed as a barber, he eventually wound up in art school in Split and later studied under the noted sculptor Ivan Metrovic at the Academy of Fine Arts in Zagreb. He graduated in 1925 and earned a scholarship to study in Paris. He married his sweetheart, my great-aunt Tonica Soljan, and four days later, in November 1926, they arrived in Paris.

Paris in the 1920s was the Paris of Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Of Picasso and Salvador Dali. Was Juraj part of this crowd? I somehow doubt it. Though an incredibly talented artist, he was a Dalmatian boy through and through. Reportedly shy, sensitive and prone to illness, he was also a devoted family man with the strong work ethic of the humble fishing folk he came from.

The early Paris years were lean ones for the young artist and his bride. Paris, so cold and grey in the winter, must have been a shock to them after Hvar with its turquoise waters, olive groves and rosemary scented sea air. Their living conditions were in a word squalid.

Inspired by his memories of home, he painted what was in his blood -- the boats returning from the sea, the vinters harvesting their grapes for wine. However, inspired by his new surroundings, he stretched beyond the pastoral scenes and still lifes of his training to experience the new colors which would become his trademark.

His hard work paid off. He was invited to show at salons, including an exhibition in his honor at the exclusive Gallery de Seine in 1929. His paintings sold. He accrued patrons. He and Tonica moved from the suburbs into the center of Paris.

But he never forgot where he came from.. He wrote home to a friend, "My greatest joy is when I paint our fishermen and our maritime world in general, which lives on land and sea My paintings are full of our merry sailors. These are stories I had heard as a child of my late grandfather, now I extract the fragments." *

In April 1930, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Knowing he had limited time, he painted feverishly up until his death, just four short months later, two months shy of his 31st birthday. He is buried in Thiais cemetery on the outskirts of Paris.

Tonica returned to Croatia with their infant daughter, Alice. She remained in Zagreb the rest of her life. My Aunt Dolores met her there, along with her daughter, grandchildren, two brothers and other family members in 1977.

Juraj went on to achieve immortality as one of Croatia's best-known artists. His work was shown posthumously in Paris and Zagreb. In 1960, the Gallery of Art in Split mounted a retrospective of his work which was hosted in several cities around the former Yugoslavia. In 1963, Tonica donated several of his paintings to the Art Collection of Juraj Plancic (now Juraj Plancic Gallery) located in the second floor of the Palace Biankini in their hometown of Stari Grad. I would see them there 45 years later.

And I was in awe.

* I found this on the blog http://dicocroate2.over-blog.com/article-juraj-plan-i--39573806.html

** For more Juraj Plancic paintings, visit http://wiki.cultured.com/people/Juraj_Plancic/

The Feast of St. Lucy

Tomorrow is the Feast of St. Lucy, one of the two December celebrations that helped children growing up in Croatian households on Point Cadet take the edge off waiting for Christmas to arrive.

Like the Feast of St. Nicholas which is celebrated on Dec. 6 (read my St. Nicholas post here). St. Lucy's day is a relatively simple, yet much anticipated, occasion honoring one of Europe's most beloved virgin martyrs.

Sveta Lucia, as we called her, lived in Sicily during the late third century, early fourth century. Despite the Roman emperor Diocletian's ban on Christianity, Lucy converted after her prayers to God apparently cured her mother of a bleeding disorder. Lucy pledged to stay chaste and devote her life to Christian acts rather than marry the rich pagan to whom she was betrothed.

Her would-be suitor was so incensed by her rejection, he turned her in to the authorities for bringing food and drink to Christians hiding in caves and tunnels (she allegedly lit her way through the dark with a candle-studded wreath on her head)

After attempts to drag Lucy to a brothel and force her into a life of prostitution failed, as did efforts to burn her at the stake, her frustrated captors finally gouged out her eyes and stabbed her through the neck with a sword.

She was canonized by the Catholic church and today is best known as the patron saint of the blind.

Her feast day is widely celebrated in Sicily, Northern Italy, Croatia, Bosnia as well as Sweden, Finland, Norway and Denmark and several other European countries. Though Scandinavia today is largely Protestant, natives of these countries have loved Lucy ever since Christian missionaries convinced them she was a worthy substitute for the Norse goddess Freya in 1000 AD. Many of Scandinavia's traditional St. Lucy customs of today are actually ancient Norse traditions reattached to our girl Lucy.

Families in Hungary and Croatia sow wheat seeds on the Feast of St. Lucy (or sometimes on the Feast of St. Barbara on Dec. 4) which sprout by Christmas Day and are placed near the Nativity creche. My family never did this. I think this was more of a northern Croatian custom.

My family's St. Lucy's day celebrations unfolded much as they do in northern Italy where Santa Lucia delivers treats to children on the back of a donkey. We left out a bowl with carrots and lettuce for the donkey. St. Lucy left the bowl filled with candy -- and what candy -- fancy imported treats filled with jellies, liqueurs and flavored creams, molded into fantastic shapes and wrapped in beautiful foils.

We also lit candles in a tribute to St. Lucy's symbolic association with the Feast of the Lights -- lighting the way through the darkness of Advent to the joy of Christmas.

There are many regional recipes associated with St. Lucy Day celebrations -- hot buns in Sweden, cuccia, a kind of porridge-y dessert, or biscotti in Sicily. I don't remember my mother making a specific St. Lucy Day treat, but if I were to pick a traditional recipe to celebrate the day, it would be biscotti (also called biscutine) or perhaps this Venetian frico, fried cheese wedges

Santa Lucia Frico (Fried Cheese Wedges)Approximately 3-4 oz. shredded or grated hard cheese depending on the size of the skillet. Parmesan, Machengo Romano or cheddar work best. Semi-soft cheeses like mozzarella and Monterey Jack also work but will make a chewier frico. Very soft cheeses like brie or Camembert will not work and should not be used.

Spread the cheese in a thin, even layer in a 12" non-stick skillet. Some cheese varieties will require more cheese than others to completely cover the bottom of the skillet.

Place the skillet over medium heat and cook until the cheese releases all of its moisture and looks oily and bubbly over its entire surface. The cheese will melt together and form one large cheese pancake.

Use a spatula to lift one edge of the frico - the bottom should be well browned and the cheese should hold together firmly. It shouldn't be stringy or goopy.

Flip the frico and brown the other side for a minute or two, then remove from the pan and place on paper towels to drain. It will firm up and become very crisp as it cools.

Cut into wedges and serve.

Venetian Cuisine: Deja Vu All Over Again

When I travel, I am always up for a new adventure, but then I am also fond of places with a tinge of the familiar.

Venice, with its meandering alley ways, peaceful piazzas and decaying architecture, put me in mind of my grandparents' native island of Hvar in the Dalmatian region of Croatia, and not a little of New Orleans.

Likewise the tiny trattorias dotting the back alleys far away from the tourist joints around San Marco, serve up food strongly reminiscent of Point Cadet: stuffed sardines, fried anchovies, pasta i fagoli, baccala, calf's liver with onion, seafood spaghetti and fried seafood platters. This really did not surprise me. For centuries, Dalmatia was ruled by the Republic of Venice and, years later, Dalmatian immigrants "ruled" the very eastern tip of Biloxi.

One of my favorite meals in Venice was my last dinner at Taverna Ciardi, a little restaurant/bar in the Cannaregio neighborhood. The menu was small, but market-driven, the mood relaxed with lots of locals (always a good sign). It was almost like eating at home -- in more ways than one.

We started with polenta topped with tiny baby Adriatic shrimp -- a Venetian version of shrimp and grits. Polenta really is just good old-fashioned stone-ground grits, the kind you so rarely get here anymore now that everybody has gone the "instant" route. These shrimp are so teensy -- much smaller than anything I've ever seen come out of the Gulf -- yet so sweet and flavorful.

Baby shrimp made their appearance again in the Spaghetti Taverna Ciardi -- which changes every day depending upon what they find at the market. Lucky for me, the market that particular day offered clams and mussels which together with garlic and white wine made for a simple, but delicious, pasta course.

For dessert, I had the taverna's signature cake studded with pears and apples and flavored with nutmeg and lemon zest. It looked like pound cake and tasted like bread pudding -- another familiar taste!

So what's the point of leaving home, you might well ask. As familiar as it was in many ways, Venice offers up many sensory delights you won't find anywhere else. Read all about them on my other blog, "The House Where The Black Cat Lives."

Until you can go yourself, here's a recipe for Taverna Ciardi-inspired shrimp with polenta, seafood spaghetti and apple-pear torta. Pour yourself a nice glass of Pinot Grigio (preferably from the Veneto region), pull up a chair to your dock (or your swimming pool or bird bath) and pretend you're sitting alongside a Venetian canal.

Salute and buon appetito!

Garlic Shrimp with Grits

The Venetians call this classic dish schie con polenta but it's okay if you just call it shrimp and grits -- that's what it is. I adapted this from a recipe in Food and Wine magazine.

6 1/2 cups water
Salt to taste (I like a lot; polenta can be kind of bland on its own)
1 3/4 cups white polenta (10 ounces). (If you can't find polenta in your neck of the woods, substitute stone-ground grits. Do not, repeat do not, use instant or quick grits. You want the kind your maw-maw used to cook.)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 pounds shrimp, shelled and deveined
2-3 large garlic cloves, very finely chopped

In a large saucepan, combine the water with a large pinch of salt and bring to a boil. Add the polenta in a thin stream, whisking constantly.

Reduce the heat to low and simmer, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the polenta is thick and the grains are tender, about 20 minutes. Stir in the butter, season the polenta with salt and pepper and keep warm.

In a very large skillet, heat the olive oil until shimmering. Season the shrimp with salt and pepper. Add them to the skillet and cook over high heat until they are lightly browned on one side, about 2 minutes. Add the garlic, turn the shrimp over and cook until cooked through, about 1 minute longer.

Transfer the polenta to shallow bowls. Top with the shrimp and some of the garlic oil from the skillet. Serve immediately.


Spaghetti a la Taverna Ciardi

1/4 cup dry white wine
2 dozen mussels, scrubbed
2 dozen littleneck clams, scrubbed
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4-8 garlic cloves, minced (depends on how much you love garlic. It's Halloween so I like to keep the vampires at bay and add all of them)
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 pound spaghetti
1 pound of small shrimp or 3/4 pound medium shrimp--shelled, deveined and halved crosswise
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Bring the wine to a boil in a medium saucepan. Add the mussels, cover and cook over high heat until they open, about 2 minutes. Using tongs, transfer the mussels to a bowl. Add the clams to the saucepan, cover and cook until they start to open. Transfer them to the bowl with the mussels. Pour the cooking liquid into a glass measuring cup (discard the grit if you can). Shell the mussels and clams and return to the bowl.

Heat the olive oil in a medium saucepan. Add the garlic and cook over low heat until golden, being careful not to burn. Add the red pepper and cook over moderate heat. Add the reserved shellfish cooking liquid and simmer over moderate heat until slightly reduced, about 3 minutes.

Cook the spaghetti in a large pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until al dente. Meanwhile, bring the sauce to a simmer over moderate heat. Add the shrimp and cook for 1 minute. Add the reserved mussels and clams and simmer briefly to heat through.

Drain the spaghetti and return it to the pot. Add the seafood sauce and toss to coat. Season with salt and black pepper and transfer to a warmed bowl. Sprinkle with the parsley and serve immediately.

Note: As far as I could tell, there were no tomatoes in Taverna Ciardi's sauce; however, I have had seafood spaghetti on Hvar tossed in a very light tomato-spiked seafood broth that was extremely tasty. If you would like that version, add a pint of cherry or grape tomatoes to the skillet when you add the red pepper and cook for four minutes, crushing the tomatoes with a wooden spoon as they soften, just before you add the seafood stock.

Torta with Apples and Pears

This recipe makes a very dense, rustic cake. I've also seen it made with figs. Add a pinch of cinnamon if you crave more spice.

2 1/2 cups flour

2/3 sugar

3 eggs

2/3 melted, unsalted butter

grated zest of 1 lemon

1 teaspoon baking powder

pinch of freshly ground nutmeg

1/3 cup milk

3 apples or pears or a combination. Use ripe, firm fruit.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine all ingredients except the fruit. Mix until batter is smooth.

Butter and flour a 9″ springform pan. Pour in the batter. Peel and core fruit, then slice thinly and arrange in a circle pattern on top of batter. Fruit may sink slightly into the batter.

Bake the cake until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about 1 hour.

Remove from oven and let cake cool slightly on wire rack. Remove the pan sides and slip the cake onto a serving plate. Serve at room temperature.

Get Back to Where You Once Belonged, Part II: Hvar, Croatia

After eating everything I could in Split, I took the hour-long ferry ride to the island of Hvar, the Soljans’ ancestral home.

Hvar looks like a post-card: clear azure blue seas and hilly terrain with red-tile roofed villas. Vineyards, olive groves, and lavender fields grow everywhere as does rosemary, sage, thyme, and bay trees.

In the main city, Hvar Town, a medieval fortress still stands guard against a Turkish invasion. It may have kept the Turks out, but not the Italian upper crust which have made Hvar their own posh playground.

My evening agenda in Hvar Town was to hang out at a café, sip pivo (beer) – Karlovacko and Osjecko are the local favorites - and eyeball the yachts in the harbor. After a leisurely dinner, I strolled the square with a cone of gelato listening to the techno music spill out from the happening night spots around the harbor.

Ahead of me a pair of very thin, very tan blondes stumbled from boats to clubs, scruffing their Louboutins on the polished cobblestones, in search of a party. A dog, rock in mouth, came up to me, tail wagging hopefully, in search of a game of fetch. All of them found what they were looking for.

Daylight was for visiting other parts of the island. There are only two main highways, both very twisty, with hair pin curves and very few guard rails. The bus ride to Stari Grad, my grandpa’s hometown, was a white knuckle excursion made even more so by the driver’s choice of music, a repetitive beat I can only describe as Croatian Cajun.

Stari Grad (literally Old Town) with its peaceful bay, art galleries and bohemian atmosphere, evokes Bay St. Louis where I lived before the storm.

First stop was St. Stephen’s church to give thanks for deliverance from that crazy bus ride, followed by a stroll through the cemetery to meet the family. Soljans and Kovacevics are as common here as Favres and Ladners are on the Mississippi Coast. It was the quietest family reunion I’ve ever attended.

Except for cars, some modern stores and locals sporting iPods and cell phones, Stari Grad probably hasn’t changed much in 80 years. Elderly nonas in black dresses, aprons and head scarves gossiped in the squares. Church bells tolled the hour. Dogs napped in the shade. I caught a whiff of something familiar and lemony. I followed the scent trail to a giant Southern magnolia – at least 50 years old– covered with waxy white flowers. Not a common sight in Hvar. I thought of all the people from Stari Grad who went to Biloxi -- and I wondered if a little bit of Biloxi may have made its way back here.

A wing in the local museum is named after the artist Juraj Plancic who was married to Grandpa’s sister. His style reminds me of our favorite local son, Walter Anderson. I leafed through a book in their collection and found a photo of Aunt Tonica. She looked just like my mother.

The food on Hvar is homey and traditional– spaghetti, grilled meat, polenta, seafood stews. For dessert, thin pancakes filled with melon and Nutella (love me some Nutella), and apple or fig strudel. Gelato stands and pizzerias abound.

At family-run konobas I didn't bother looking at menus – everything is market driven. The servers told me what to order, then post-dinner brought around the house grappa. A word of warning if you go: After a few shots, suddenly you'll be able to speak Croatian – or something that sounds like it. Don't make any plans for the next morning. You won’t be up to them.

Other highlights of the trip: a tour of an abandoned village where time stands still after 50 years. Climbing to the highest point of Hvar. Watching school children in local costume folk dancing in the square. Drinking tea made from sage gathered by the road. And learning to pronounce Do vidjanja -- good-bye.

Not that I liked having to say it.

Get Back to Where You Once Belonged, Part I: Split, Croatia

When I was 11, my nona’s cousin Frances took her niece on a visit to the “Old Country." When they got back, it seemed like every "-ich" on the Point squeezed into my Nona’s darkened living room to see their vacation slides.

After that, I always had a nagging desire to experience my roots for myself. The desire became an imperative after Hurricane Katrina wiped away our local history. I finally made the pilgrimage to the Dalmatian Coast of Croatia last May.

You know that American Express commercial where the father and son go to Sweden in search of their heritage and then find out they’re actually Norwegian? Well, my family really is from Croatia so, I didn’t have to shell out for any more plane tickets. But there were some surprises in store.

First surprise was how long it took to get there. Thirty hours from Hattiesburg including layovers. I think my grandfather had the right idea when he just jumped ship and swam to America’s shores – probably would’ve been quicker.

In Split, the capital of Dalmatia, upscale boutiques are housed in crumbling Venetian buildings that sprang up over the centuries around Diocletian’s retirement palace. Roman ruins are everywhere -- even the viaducts which still provide the city’s water supply.

Outside the decayed beauty of old town, it’s mostly proletarian apartment buildings with laundry hanging out the windows, remnants of the country’s not too distant Communist past.

Since travel for me is all about the food, I hung out at Split’s huge open air markets and snacked on pag cheese, fresh baked bread, prsut (cured Dalmatian ham like prosciutto but smokier) and produce (OMG, the most incredible cherries and strawberries). The fish market reminded me of the old Point Cadet.

With the recommendations of my Aussie innkeeper in hand, I prowled the back alleys in search of homestyle Dalmatian cuisine at mom and pop cafes known as konobas. One such place offered simple platters of seafood rizot (risotto) and pasta. What hooked me though was their perfect cucumber salad.

This deceptively simple salad is nothing but cucumber slices in a white vinaigrette (no fancy balsamic here) but you’d be surprised how hard this is to get right. When my mom made it, which was often, she salted the peeled cucumber slices to rid them of their inherent bitterness, then briefly soaked them in an ice water bath to remove the salt and also to keep the cukes crisp. Then she dressed the slices in a very simple vinaigrette of white vinegar and vegetable oil with salt and pepper.

Sometimes she’d add in a radish or two sliced very thinly or a few slivers of white onion, but that’s basically it. Don’t ask me why it tastes so different when I do it, it just does. Maybe my Croat genes are too diluted by the Heinz 57 that is my father’s bloodline.

But in this tiny restaurant an ocean away from Mississippi, I ate something that reminded me as much of my mother and grandmother as anything I've eaten in Biloxi lately. And I felt right at home.