Gelato in Noto

Until today, the best gelato I have ever eaten was in Rome, at some huge frozen treat pleasure palace the name of which I cannot call up right now.  But I have done my research, and enough people have testified that Noto has the best gelato in Italy, if not the world, that I had to make the trip—it’s only a half hour from Syracuse.  Foodies and bloggers seem divided about whether Caffe Sicilia or Bar Pasticceria Costanza produces the best.  There was only one thing to do—try them both, with lunch in between.  It’s well known that you can eat more if you keep changing up the flavors—savory, sour, sweet, back to savory… you get the picture.  So I figured having dessert both before and after lunch would be the best strategy.  If you ever find yourself in Noto—and I hope you do—I suggest you do the same.

In addition to its reputation for sweets, Noto is also beautiful.  Inhabited, over time, by Greeks, Romans, Moors and Arabs, the town succumbed to an earthquake in 1693.  What you see today are the baroque buildings that were built as part of the reconstruction.

We arrived in town just before noon, as drizzle became rain.  Alec dropped the kids and me off at Caffe Sicilia and went to park the car.  I had left one of our two umbrellas in the cab we had taken home from the Grinch two nights before and, unlike New York City, the sidewalks in Sicily do not sprout umbrella sellers the second the rain begins..  We all had raingear, but at this point the day was not conducive to seeing much of Noto.  Fine by me—all of my agenda items could be completed while seated indoors, at a table.

After all of the fantastic reviews, I half expected there to be a line out the door, or at least a wall of photos of celebrities eating Caffe Sicilia treats, and framed clippings trumpeting the deliciousness of the café’s products.  But no, it looked just like any other local Italian joint, with a full bar on one side, a pastry counter on the other, and tables in the back.  I ordered three scoops of gelato—a fruit flavor called fior de spezie, a chocolate flavor called Montezuma, which I figured would be spicy but instead had bits of candied fruit in it, and a lemon/mandarin/almond flavor.  It was good but honestly, it didn’t knock my socks off.  Perhaps I had ordered wrong and should have stuck with flavors I know and love.  I also ordered a hot almond milk drink, which had been whipped and frothed so that the whole cup was creamy and thick.  It was slightly sweet, topped with crunchy chopped almonds and addictively good.  Alec’s choice, a pear chocolate torte, was phenomenal.  It was tall, like a cake, with a very thin layer of a subtle almond-y white paste on the bottom, topped with a thick layer of semisweet moussey chocolate and then a thinner layer of pears encased in a lovely crust.  I would have taken a whole one home if I could have figured out what to do with it.

We had planned to do a little sightseeing between our first dessert and lunch, but by the time we were done all of the palazzos and churches had closed for the afternoon riposo, which is the Italian siesta.  There was nothing to do but keep eating.

We headed straight uphill to the Trattoria del Crocifisso. This translates to “Restaurant of the Crucified” in English.  Not exactly appetizing, but this is Exhibit B of how Italian is the best language.  When you hear “trattoria del crocifisso,” you don’t even mind what it means.  TdC recently became certified as a slow food restaurant, along with eight other Sicilian restaurants.  The slow food website provides a lot more information, and lists of restaurants.

We had an excellent meal, beginning with arancino di melanzane, a tart of eggplant and ragusa cheese, served in a warm puddle of melted ragusa cheese.  I had involtini di pesce, a swordfish roll filled with eggplant, pine nuts, raisins and cheese served on a salad of green lettuce and radicchio.  And Alec had rabbit stewed and served over sweet/sour carrots, celery, onion, peppers and mint.  We skipped dessert.

It was really pouring when we emerged from the restaurant.  We headed toward one of the palazzos, which was on the way to Costanza.  We were drenched by the time we arrived, and the woman working at the reception seemed genuinely concerned about our well-being—especially the children.  She wiped their faces with Kleenex and made them stand in front of her space heater.  When we told her, on our way out, that we were on our way to Costanza, she suggested we leave the kids with her—I’m sure she thought we were irresponsible parents.

But no, we trucked on down the hill and found Costanza shrouded in scaffolding, its locked door practically hidden from the street.  The only hopeful sign were the poinsettas sitting in front of the door.  Surely it was not closed, and why would it be closed on a Tuesday?  As we huddled in the doorway trying to figure out what to do, a man entered the door next door.  I followed him and asked about the café.  It turns out that he worked there, and told me they opened at four.  It was 3:53—we continued to huddle.

Costanza is another ordinary bar/sweet shop.  A large mural of the last supper graces the wall above the bar, and a small case displays about 8 different flavors of gelato.  This time I went with a different strategy, and ordered the chocolate, the hazlenut and the ricotta.   Now, before you make any comments about me eating six scoops of ice cream within 4 hours, remember that this is Italy, and the portions are small.  It was not problem.  This gelato rocked.  It made all other gelato I’ve had in my life taste like Mr. Softee, and I’m a girl who likes a Mr. Softee on a hot summer day.  I have never tasted anything so good as that ricotta gelato.  How do they do it?  Years and years and years of practice, I guess, along with the best ingredients.  It was sweet but not cloying, smooth and rich and ricotta-y.  Alec’s pistachio also blew our minds.  I wish I could have fit more, and tasted the other flavors.  But I was done for.

By the time we walked out, the rain had stopped, and the duomo was lit by the sun, becoming a beautiful rosy gold.

We drove home, and had only a half our to get out of our wet clothes, put on some dry and not so clean ones, and make it to the puppet shows.  Sicilians have been putting on puppet shows for at least 200 years, and not just for children.  Some cities, like Palermo, had many, many theatre companies.  There is a theatre in Ortigia—the Piccolo Teatro dei Pupi, and we had decided to check it out.  The puppets were impressive, the story epic—hard to follow, really.  I can tell you that there were sea monsters, a knight who was double timing his lady, and lots of battles with swords that left piles of felled puppets on either side of the stage.  The kids liked the Grinch better, but I’m glad we saw it all the same.