Mission to Corsica with John Pisto

by Dorothy Maras-Ildiz

Photos of Corsica

Cue the music from Mission Impossible. Dunt, dun-dunt-duh, Dunt,dun-dunt-duh. Doodle-dooo, doodle doodle doo...do-do. Call Tom's agent. We're going to need him for yet another sequel. This one is entitled "Mission Improbable: How to Film Eight Cooking Shows in Eight Days on the Island of Corsica." "Foreign intrigue, fabulous scenery and enough food and wine consumed to feed a third world country," hints the trailer to be played at the movie theaters. Cut! What is it really like to shoot one of those celebrity chefs cooking shows that everyone loves watching on cable TV? Here is the undiluted inside scoop from one that has recently been there and yes, done that.

The Cast of Characters:

The Chef: Internationally Syndicated Television Personality John Pisto, host of Monterey's Cookin Pisto Style. Known worldwide for his gregarious personality and obvious passion for fun food and wine.  Hometown: Monterey, CA. Stats: Owns four, wildly popular restaurants in Monterey, California.

The Chefs' Wife: Cheryl Pisto. A woman of substance and style. Not a big eater, but a great sport when it comes to surviving a five-hour, twelve-course Corsican lunch. Cheryl also toils away as the still photographer to chronicle our mission.

Corsican Connection: Patrick Mercurio. Second cousin of Chef Pisto, who has a residence on the island and serves as our native tour guide and driving instructor.  Stats: Married to Michelle. Father of " Malcolm-Mushroom-Eyes" age 7. Occupation: Sells fabulously expensive racing boats to the excessively rich and famous of the Mediterranean.

The Film Crew: Dan Beraz and Steve Mc Kay: Two wild and crazy guys who have cameras and will travel.  Stats: both work for AT and T Media Services, reside on the Monterey Peninsula and have traveled with Chef Pisto on numerous occasions. Steve, code-name,"The Machine" could be related to Mikey of Life Cereal ad fame. He eats anything and everything.  Dan, code-name, "Danny Boy" is the slightly older and ever so slightly wiser of the two.

The Journalist: That's me. I'm just along for this wild ride with my pen, paper, and hand-held digital voice recorder, motion sickness prevention bracelet and camera in tow.

While it may sound more romantic when you say it in French, the result is the same in any language. You will have nothing to wear for three days until your "lost baaahhhgaaahges" have returned from their sojourn to Venice. The same goes for all of the film and sound equipment that was also on a small side trip. Lucky for us the airline had these handy-dandy-we're-so-sorry-about-your-lost-baahhgaahges survival kits. Everything you could possibly need in a convenient little pouch: a T-shirt with the airline logo on it to further enrage you while wearing it daily, toothbrush, deodorant, a comb, face cream and yes, even a condom. You've got to love the French. They give you a condom but forget to include toothpaste!

The radio was programmed to drive the occupants to distraction by only playing French and Italian songs of agony and despair. These not-so-happy little tunes are akin to country-western songs but are more Euro in nature. Instead of the cowboy with the broken truck and his honey who has left him for a bull rider, these Euro-dirges feature a mournful pastis drinking, cigarette smoking man with a broken Fiat whose extramarital lover has just jilted him in favor of his wife.

The roads are in excellent condition throughout the island. Corsican highways are only two lanes wide and have the added feature of round a bouts in lieu of intersections with traffic signals. This system allows everyone to drive with their pedal to the metal at all times without having to worry about slowing down or stopping. The only concern of the Corsican driver is whether or not his vehicle will remain upright while two wheeling and eluding the g-force pull of the round a bout.

Passing while driving on the narrow two lane roads, with sheer cliffs on either side is the national past time and a matter of great societal pride. Face it, the folks on this island have been conquered repeatedly. They've just plain had it and they don't intend to let anyone else beat them ever again, not even to the next round a bout. Also, a Corsican's manhood can be brought in to question if he allows himself to be passed by a) women or livestock or b) more than two men in a single twenty-four hour period.

Roadside religious memorials to the drivers who have been killed in combat (passing) are evident every 10 to 20 yards. The most elaborate shrines include marble tombs complete with candles, silk flower arrangements and a photo of the driver who generally doesn't look a day over 18 years old. Go figure. Many of these poignant remembrances to the dead are eerily placed adjacent to missing sections of roadside railing. If you are brave enough to look over the edge, they lead down the sheer cliffs to a rusted out vehicle still precariously perched on a precipice 1000 feet down.

Day3/Show1- After gleefully skipping down the pathway to our hotel rooms with our newly located luggage in tow, the camera guys and I change our clothes. Clean clothes definitely make a difference in ones attitude after three days without them. Freshly clothed and with cameras in hand we are now ready to roll.

Beatrice whips her chef, Jean Guy Malardes into action as we film away in their kitchen. What's on tonight's menu? Sardines Farci (stuffed), Sardines Escabeche (served cold with mint and vinegar), Sardines Sicilian Style (with tomato sauce and thyme), Sardines Beignet (lightly battered and fried) and Sardines grilled with lemon. These weren't the oily, fishy variety that we get in the cans. These little guys were fresh, meaty and mild. No need to explain why this restaurant has a couple of resident stray cats that frequent the outside terrace dining area.

The sardines were followed by a traditional Corsican style fish soup that was served with toasted baguettes rubbed with raw garlic and topped with Gruyere cheese. All of this was washed down with some of the very well crafted wines that are produced on the island.

My dessert was simply the best thing I have ever eaten in recent history. A warm delicate crepe folded into a square, topped with what the menu called 'fruits de fer' and a dollop of a very eggy, vanilla bean laden ice cream that puts every French vanilla ice cream you have ever eaten to shame in a big French way. The "fruits de fer" were four different kinds of wild forest berries that were served in slightly sweetened natural syrup derived from their own juice. Dark sweet berries, bright tart berries and every berry in between. So simple and so very perfect. I could've just stopped right there but…. what about after dinner drinks? I decided to try the locally produced Eau de Vie made from Myrtle berries. Wow-more perfect berries. I liked the sardines but the berries were a hit in every way shape and form that they came to the table.

Dr. Arora is the author of Mushrooms Demystified, which is considered to be the fungus hunters' Bible. He resides in Santa Cruz and had stopped by Corsica on his way to an international meeting of mushroom minds that was due to take place on Sardinia the following week. Chef Pisto and his wife, Cheryl are also vastly knowledgeable on the subject and have spent their first week in Corsica prior to our arrival, infecting little Malcolm with the mushroom hunting bug. Malcolm is a very precocious 7-year-old who speaks a couple of languages and is as sharp as a French tack.

He had become very astute at being able to spot minute little patches of 'shrooms on the roadside while his father Patrick is speeding and passing along the Corsican roadways. Hence, the code-name Malcolm-Mushroom-Eyes.

It had rained on the island a week before our arrival and then the weather had turned sunny once again. Perfect weather for fungus propagation. Not being much of an outdoorswoman, and having severe allergies to molds doesn't exactly make me an enthusiast when it comes to hunting mushrooms. I guess that would be why I've never done it before? But, this is a part of my assignment and I will not fail or allow myself to be passed. I was already becoming "Corse" (pronounced Cor-say). I still had my doubts about the folks who really love this kind of thing but I decided to reserve judgment until I had seen it for myself. Boldly, I walked into roadside, moldy, fungus-ridden forest with the others silently clutching my inhaler hidden in my pocket.

After about 15 minutes of searching we located a treasure trove of parasol shaped mushrooms. The experienced hunters were visibly excited and delighted at the size of their find. At that moment it became clear to me that what I was witnessing was actually an adult version of an Easter egg hunt. You know the hidden treasures are out there somewhere. Most of them are partially hidden and some are in plain sight. They come in different colors, shapes and sizes. Some of them are delicious and others will kill you or make you violently ill just like your Aunt's egg salad.

The film crew gamely shot the hunt. Afterward we took our baskets of mushrooms to a lovely oceanfront restaurant by the name of Chez Mico. Chef John and Chef/Proprietor Mico began to prepare lunch for about twenty of our newfound Corsican friends. These folks had been assisting Chef Pisto in finding beautiful and interesting places to shoot his show during the week preceding our arrival. Cameras still rolling, we invaded the kitchen.

Twelve courses and five hours later the camera guys were still eating and shooting intermittently. A great day. A great lunch and finally a show is in the can, as film-dudes say.

When dining in Corsica, one must never be in a hurry. Lunch began with a couple rounds of pastis, the milky yellow colored, anise flavored aperitif that I believe is responsible for a majority of those roadside monuments to the dead. After our palates were fully awakened by the pastis, the prerequisite and ubiquitous charcuterie course arrived. Translucent, velvety pink layers of house cured pork and rounds of coarse, peppery sausages were piled high on the platters.

Proudly, the proprietor presented our table his specialty dish. Two huge pans of fragrant, steaming hot cannelloni that were mildly seasoned to allow the fresh cheese shine through the tender hand made pasta and very tame tomato sauce. Although we were eating a recognizable pasta dish it wasn't Italian or French in composition but instead, it was definitively Corisican. I thought we had finished lunch, but by Corsican standards we had merely scratched the surface at this point. Platters of oven-roasted lamb and potatoes followed the cannelloni, which were followed by plates of cheese. I never met a cheese I didn't like and these folks really know how to make cheese. But, when you are traveling with a Chef like John Pisto, who really loves food and who is very passionate about sharing his love for food, there is no such thing as passing up a course. Fuggeddaboutit.

Which brings us to dessert: Beignets au Brocciu. They use the same cheese that was in the cannelloni and add a touch of fragrant wild herbs that grow everywhere, dip the whole thing in a light batter and deep-fry it. The Beignet gets drizzled with the locally produced honey and is served like a warm, sweet pillow to the table. How many of these can one eat in a single sitting? As many as Chef John wants you to, or until they have all vanished.

Once again the place was captured on film along with the cooks in the kitchen creating the dish and finally all of us eating and drinking to Corsican excess. Chef Pisto explained the delicate ins and outs of making such dish and promised to show his viewers how to reconstruct it once he was back in his demo kitchen in Monterey. Another show is in the can.

We arrived in the fairy-tale village of Piedicroce just in time for lunch, of course. Gracious Mayor, Madam Raffaeli, greeted us and proudly took us on the walking tour of her precariously perched red-tiled, whitewashed piece of Corsican heaven. The entire area looked like a movie set from a WWII movie. It's the kind of place where the locals would've taken in the good guys, fed them and then hid them as the bad guys drove through with big, gray tanks. If they fed them the way they fed us that day, none of the good guys would have been able to leave under their own steam. They would have had to been airlifted out!

The Hotel Refuge opened its doors just for us that day. Castagniccia is heavily blanketed in snow in the winter months and most of the hotels and restaurants close in the late fall due to a serious lack of tourism or people hiding out due to wars in the region. Prior to lunch we were given a demonstration on how to make the famed polenta. A large pot of water was set to boil over a propane burner that was set up in the middle of the kitchen floor. Finely ground chestnut flour was added and stirred with a long stick that was honed from a chestnut tree trunk. As the mixture began to thicken, a scent from childhood memory began to emerge. The air was thick with the smell of, could it possibly be? …Malt-O-Meal! After the mixture came to a bubbly boil a Black and Decker power tool augur replaced the wooden stir stick and the real mixing began. Technology had found its way to Piedicroce. Finally, the polenta mixture achieved a texture that can only be likened to mortar or wallpaper paste. Turned out onto a floured table to allow cooling and coagulating, the polenta resembled a big pool of fragrant mud just waiting to be played in.

Thankfully, the person that was the village expert at making the Chevalier Lasagne was unable to join us in the kitchen that day. Once the camera guys had figured out that the fifth meat in the mixture was horsemeat they began humming the theme song from "Mr. Ed." The thin mountain air had depleted their brains of direly needed oxygen and they began to put lyrics to the tune. It quickly became one of our top ten favorite car songs: "A horse is a course, of course in Corse…" These are out-takes that you'll never see when Chef Pisto shows you how to make chestnut polenta.

Lunch followed the usual format. Six courses of yes, charcuterie, hearty wild boar stew over the chestnut polenta, oven roasted goat with potatoes, clean crisp local wines produced by Comte de Peraldi and some of the most pungent cheese I have ever had the pleasure of smelling from across a room. To heck with my steroid infested inhalers. In the future I will just carry a piece of that abundantly fragrant fromage in my pocket. No asthma, no allergies and no vampires either.

Following lunch we took a walk down the cobblestone road to visit a magnificently frescoed and gilded 16th century Catholic Church. While filming inside the church I believe deciphered the mystery of why icons occasionally shed tears…its the cheese. We said goodbye to our very gracious hosts and began our trek down the eastern slope of the mountain range headed towards the charming port city of Porto Vecchio.

Along the way we stopped to film at Sorza de Orezza where much of the fresh spring water is bottled on the island. We took a moment to read the historical plaque that stated spring was founded in 1686 and tried a sip of the water that was coming straight out of the ground. The bottled version had been at nearly every table we had dined at and it was very good, but as Chef Pisto exclaimed when he tried it from the source, 'The iron content in this water could probably make you rust!" Again, another out take you'll probably never witness.

Caravan of cars and cameras rolling we came to the vineyards of Comte de Peraldi, the premier wine producer on Corsica. In the midst of the rolling hills of vineyards with their waning fall foliage, none other than the Count himself greeted us. Comte Guy du Bois has a family lineage of wine producers that include the likes of Piper Heidsick and Tattinger and his vineyards and winery on Corsica date back to 1540. This is no new kid on the block. We were given a tour of the winery facility and treated to a royal tasting of the varietals that are produced there. My favorite was a red wine that is unique to Corsica, called Schiatello. It was slightly peppery with bright berry flavors and reminiscent of a well-balanced Pinot Noir at less than 1/3 the price we pay in California. The Count explained that unfortunately they are not currently exporting to the USA but he is working on it. I may have witnessed Chef Pisto cooking up an export deal with the Count as we were loading up the camera equipment. Hopefully, I did.

Fully rejuvenated and full of French press coffee we headed to the Southern most tip of the island to explore the rutter of Corsica, Bonafacio. The radio was still singing those soulful songs and the camera guys were still humming the Mr. Ed song. As a parade of Peugeots did their passing dance around, over and nearly through us, I rolled down my window, feigned stabbing myself with my pen and prayed for deliverance.

On our way to Bonafacio we were scheduled to shoot a show and have lunch at a place that farmed oysters and mussels. The restaurant, Les Pieds dans l'Eau (At The Foot of The Water) floats above a wide, shallow inlet of water that was laced with buoys marking the areas where the mollusks were hanging underwater on long chains. Upon ordering, a small motorboat was dispatched out to the buoys to fetch our order. We watched from the deck of the restaurant as they pulled our lunch out of the water. The boat and our lunch then made their way back to the restaurant where the shellfish were rinsed, shucked and attractively arranged over crushed ice in a three-foot long boat that was then docked in the middle of our table. Loaves of bread, cocktail sauce, tartar sauce and a light mignonette accompanied our boat o' plenty. Chef Pisto quipped to the camera as we dined, "Folks, I've seen fresh seafood, but it can't possibly get any fresher than this!" Having grown somewhat weary of eating gargantuan lunches we opted to dine light and press on to our final destination

With ninety-five percent of our mission completed we were looking forward to wrapping things up quickly in Bonafacio. We had adopted a guerilla warfare approach to our mission by this point. We were adept at getting in, shooting the target and getting back out of the war zone. However, when we actually got into Bonafacio we were so taken aback by its beauty that the thought of getting the job done and getting back out didn't seem quite so appealing.

Bonafacio lies a stone's throw away from the neighboring Italian Island of Sardinia and appears like a giant white limestone castle jutting up out of a narrow inlet surrounded by waters that were fifty shades of turquoise. The ancient city is completely walled and you enter through an arched entryway fitted with a door that was at least four feet thick and was designed with an iron pulley system older than most of the dirt in the USA. Numerous invaders from the sea have made Bonafacio their home away home and safe harbor throughout the ages. Remnants of their visits are visible in the architecture, the faces of the inhabitants and in the cuisine we enjoyed.

Chef Pisto and his wife Cheryl are wonderful hosts and do generous amounts of entertaining in their lovely home in Monterey, California. Most hosts of any renown that I've come across have a tendency to save the best for last and the Pistos were no exception. Not only were our last days of official duty marked by the beauty of Bonafacio, we were going to be staying at one of only two, four-star hotels on the island.

The brochure for the Hotel Genovese said it best, " Perched on the cliffs of Bonifacio the Hotel Genovese absorbs you in the deep blue brilliance of the Isle of Beauty and it is pure heaven. Built on several sun-drenched levels, this seaside refuge boasts a grand panorama over the rooftops of the village and the port at its feet. Experience this incomparable light, these fragrances and these colours which make Bonifacio the most picturesque town in the Mediterranean!" Most brochures are guilty of overkill. This one was actually understated.

That night our dinner took place in a candle-lit limestone cave carved out of the side of the fortress.

Our surroundings were as stunning as the foods Chef Pisto was explaining as those cameras just kept on rolling.

The following morning we took a boat excursion into the narrow harbor and out into the surrounding ocean. The captain of our sightseeing boat took us into a sea cave/grotto that was indescribably beautiful. Lunch followed at Café del La Poste where our host explained that his family had owned and operated the restaurant for over 110 years in a building that was once a post office. Once again, the gracious hospitality of the Corsicans was in evidence as our host brought out plate after plate of Bonifacienne Specialties. Cameras rolled as we enjoyed aubergines farci, gambas grillees, moules farcies and the salade maison topped with prosciutto and fromage. The chef took our cameras on a guided tour of their immaculate kitchen and assisted Chef Pisto with his assessment of each dish. Finally, the lights went off, the cameras were put away and we packed up to head back to Ajaccio to prepare for our return home.

Exhausted, we returned to our hotel just in time to see the sun turn into a liquid golden orb and melt into the Mediterranean. We packed our baggage and slipped out to have a pizza and a beer prior to turning in for the night. The Red Box of Death was taken for one final ceremonial spin around the waterfront as Steve, Dan and I lip synced our way through the Euro-Dirge that emanated from that blasted radio one more time. As I fell asleep, I could swear I heard the two of them singing the Mr. Ed song in their room next to mine. Getting home was as easy as 1-2-3 and our luggage arrived with us. Mission complete. Where is our next assignment Mr. Phelps?