One morning I awoke to a fruity, musky scent that hung heavy in the air, floating out from the kitchen to all corners of the house. Approaching the stove, I saw a crimson liquid bubbling, sticky bursts popping and clinging to the sides of the pan. It was a red wine and sugar reduction, an ad hoc vincotto, that my industrious mom was making in preparation for a batch of mostaccioli baresi, a spice cookie from Bari, in Apulia.
The word flew through my mind, bringing me back to the old town in Bari, where women were on display in the street, hand-rolling pasta shapes like le orecchiette, while bags of homemade pastries including le cartellate were set out for purchase in front of them.
