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The Rite and the Form...
An anthropometric and material portrait a narrative of the August "Red Rite" pomodoro/tomato captures the visual, olfactory, and social memory of domestic preservation in the Mezzogiorno.
A moment please: because is more important the etymology and semantics are important: The overlap between cultivation (coltivare) and culture (cultura tout court) finds its practical consecration here. The shift from working the land to defining time and family roles is direct proof of this shared root and "litterary" of books an not only this.
Again, In fact the Myth and geohistorical transit: The ironic re-reading of Hercules' labours and the "golden tomato" of the Hesperides exposes the paradox of academic narratives, drawing a straight line from classical myth to today's socio-economic dynamics of the harvest.
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Pomodor/tomato or the Red Sea an other example of Rite: Tomato wedges left to dry in the sun on heavy wooden boards, where flies end up drowned in that dense crimson sea like the Pharaohs of the Biblical text. And for precaution the womens put a mesh netting pulled over them isn't just hygiene—it is a frontline shield for the harvest and Codex alimentarius.
The ritual of preserving: The architecture for season winter prep—from tied strings ('nzerte) of sun-dried peppers to ciraselle (which the barbarians misname "hot chili"), from peaches in syrup to clay jars packed with eggplants, garlic, oil, small onions, and lampascioni sealed tight with waxed paper and twine. It wasn't simple subsistence; it was a biological conquest of the cold season hic et nunc.
During the Rite of pomodoro/tomato and other, was a Taboo and control: The commanding authority of the women and the strict requirement of being in a state of "grace" (excluding anyone on her monthly cycle to prevent spoilage bottle of salsa/suice) stands as one of the most ancient, rigorous biological codes of Mediterranean society.
A bit of personal memory: a my aunty, from around my town to New York strain make same Rite He did the same ritual.: A ritual so powerful it crossed the Atlantic. An yet In the old-style New York of yesterday, a tall, imposing aunt would run the exact same pomodoro operation (as Grandfater of Francis Ford Coppola that make the wine) on her own turf, leaving the local Yankees—especially the women—staring in absolute, wide-eyed bewilderment at this blood-red domestic machinery that no "sauce" label could ever define.
