Stories

Sicilian blood oranges are compared almost like wine: tasters find notes of wild berries, raspberries and grapes in them. I can’t taste all that myself, but I know one thing for sure — they’re delicious and incredibly varied. And very red.

When I first stepped inside Villino Florio, I noticed the strange black wood around the fireplace, and then started seeing it in other parts of the interior. It turned out to be charred wood. The villa was badly damaged by fire in the 1960s and was later restored using surviving drawings by the architect and Florio himself.

At the Oratorio di San Lorenzo, I was especially struck by the 17th-century benches — wood inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, with carved legs, each showing a different scene. Then my eye caught a tiny inscription, Hospitalitas — “hospitality” — on one of the ten large sculptures. Each represents a different Christian virtue.

According to the most entertaining legend, Palermo’s pink-and-black kit was born from a laundry mishap: red turned pink, and blue turned black. The more documented version explains the colours differently: pink represents the sweetness of victory, while black stands for the bitterness of disappointment.

The Theatines had an unusual rule: they were forbidden to own land, earn an income or even beg for alms. They lived entirely on what people chose to give them. If there was no food one day, the monks simply fasted and waited — they called it complete trust in Divine Providence. Saint Cajetan, one of the founders of the order, was particularly strict about following this rule. He later became the patron saint of people looking for work and those facing financial difficulties.

Via Calderai was once so noisy that a 19th-century English traveller called it “the noisiest place in Europe” — the sound of hammering metal filled the street all day long. It’s much quieter now, but the craft is still alive.

Sicilian Averna is known all over the world, while Amara is still much less familiar. Today, it’s my number one amaro. It’s made at the foot of Mount Etna from the peel of Sicily’s famous blood oranges, local spring water and wild herbs.

This tiny rosticceria has been around for about 200 years, and all this time it has been tucked away in the courtyard of Palazzo De Stefano. They’ve kept the old tradition of making every snack small — perfect for me, because I can try a little bit of everything from Palermo’s street-food classics.