A Taste of Sicily’s Far South: Turi Bianco and Olive Chicken
I first made it down to the far south of Europe in 2014, on a trip through Sicily.
We drove all the way down to Pachino, a small town in the province of Syracuse, right at the southeastern tip of the island.
And when I say far south, I mean it.
This is pretty much as far south as you can drive in Europe.
Yes, I know. There is the Strait of Messina.
But that involves a ferry, and I’m not counting a journey that requires a boat and a heroic supply of arancini.
Pachino really does feel like the far south.
Hot. Dry. Windy. Vineyards and olive groves, citrus trees, and the sea somewhere nearby.
And tomatoes. Lots of tomatoes.
These days, mention Pachino and most people will probably think of Pomodoro di Pachino PGI. Fair enough. Those little sweet tomatoes seem to turn up everywhere in Sicily.
But Pachino has another trick.
Come at the right time of year and the streets themselves become works of art. Not paintings. Not sculptures. Vegetables.
Every May, the town's famous tomatoes become part of the Inverdurata, a giant vegetable mosaic made right there in the street. Tomatoes, zucchini, peppers and whatever else happens to be available are arranged into elaborate pictures.
In nearby Noto, flowers take over the streets in enormous floral canvases.
In Pachino, the vegetables get their turn.
They are spectacular and temporary, which somehow makes them better. You see them, take far too many photographs, and then they disappear.
Church of the Holy Crucifix | Inverdurata di Pachino - Sicily turns vegetables into art.
Land abundant in wine
Tomatoes may have made Pachino famous, but grapes have been grown here for centuries.
There is a theory that the name Pachino comes from the Greek Paxus Oinos, roughly “land abundant in wine.” There is also a theory involving Bacchus.
Apparently even the name needs an argument.
Either way, wine has been happening here for a very long time.
Today, Pachino falls within the Eloro DOC, a warm, windy corner of southeastern Sicily where sand, calcareous rock and clay come together.
This is particularly Nero d’Avola country, along with Frappato and Perricone.
So naturally, the wine that caught my attention was a white.
Turi Wines
Salvatore Marino, known as Turi, is one of those winemakers whose wines make a little more sense once you know the person behind them.
He and his family grow grapes, wheat and olives.
The grapes become wine. The wheat becomes pasta. The olives become oil.
I like that.
Grow it. Make it. Use what you have.
Salvatore is a fifth-generation winemaker and spent years working as an oenologist for larger wineries before deciding to make wine under his own name. Around 2018, he began bottling wine from his wife Stefania’s family land in Contrada Buonivini, just outside Pachino.
And the name is almost too perfect.
Buonivini roughly means “the place where you make good wine”.
It is tiny. Just 1.5 hectares of vines.
The grapes are picked by hand and brought to the winery in small crates. No chemical fertilisers. The vineyards sit only 20–45 metres above sea level, close to the Vendicari Nature Reserve.
And then there are the stones.
Very white stones.
They are everywhere in parts of the vineyard, reflecting the Sicilian sun. In summer, Salvatore says, they can become so bright that it is difficult to look at them for long.
Which sounds beautiful until you remember what it must feel like to work there.
This is seriously hot country. Salvatore has recorded summer temperatures of 46–47°C, with very little rain. The old vines manage without irrigation.
Somehow, they find water.
I always find that slightly amazing. You pour yourself a glass of golden Catarratto and it looks quite harmless.
Then you remember where it came from.
And, incidentally, Turi himself seems to have more than one side.
Judging purely by his Instagram shots, one minute he’s out in the vineyard looking as though he’s been wrestling with the land since sunrise.
Then suddenly he’s beautifully groomed and looks more like an Italian actor who has wandered straight out of a Fellini film.
I’m not complaining.
Two wines from Pachino
Turi Rosso - Nero d'Avola
Turi Rosso is an Eloro Pachino DOC red made mostly from Nero d’Avola, with a small amount of Pignatello.
This is Nero d’Avola territory, and the wine feels very much at home here.
Medium-light and lively, with sour cherry, red plum, sweet herbs and a little white pepper, followed by earthy, mineral notes. The tannins are gentle and the acidity keeps everything bright.
I like it slightly chilled.
Turi Bianco - Catarratto, Skin Contact White Wine
Now for the interesting one.
Catarratto is one of Sicily’s great white grapes and its most widely planted. It has been around forever and has traditionally been something of a workhorse — used for everything from Marsala to straightforward everyday whites.
It can make quite full-bodied wines, usually with plenty of lemon and citrus.
But Catarratto in Pachino is different.
Locally it is known as Mantiddatu, meaning “mantle”.
Hot, dry country. Sea air. Pale calcareous soils. Those white stones baking in the sun.
The wine somehow makes sense.
There is lemon and citrus, green apple, white peach and a little orange blossom.
Mediterranean herbs too.
But what caught me was the savoury, slightly briny quality.
Not salty in a way that makes you wonder if someone accidentally tipped seawater into the tank. Just a subtle sea-air character, followed by a dry, stony finish.
It is still Catarratto, obviously.
But it doesn't taste like an anonymous workhorse grape.
Turi Bianco is made from 100% Catarratto, with five days of skin contact before it goes into cement tanks.
Call it orange wine if you like. The fashionable crowd certainly does.
The technique itself is hardly new, though. White grapes have been left on their skins for centuries.
What matters is what it does here.
The wine is golden yellow, almost amber, with more texture and grip than you might expect from a white. Not red-wine tannin, obviously, but enough structure to give it some presence.
It has weight without feeling heavy.
And that is when I started thinking about food.
Because this is not a wine I want to drink while doing something else.
It wants dinner.
Briny Olive & White Wine Chicken
Chicken with olives is one of those combinations that seems to appear all over the Mediterranean.
It doesn't need to be precious.
The chicken brings the richness. The olives bring the savoury punch. Lemon keeps things from becoming too heavy, and herbs make the whole kitchen smell as though you have put considerably more effort into dinner than you actually have.
The basic idea is almost embarrassingly simple:
Chicken. Olives. Lemon. Herbs.
Sometimes that is enough.
Sometimes you open the fridge, realize you don't have much, and make dinner from whatever is there.
That is more or less how I like to cook anyway.
And this is why Turi Bianco works so well with it.
The wine has enough acidity to handle the lemon and enough texture to stay present beside roast chicken and olive oil. The savoury character of the olives doesn't make it taste harder or more austere. Instead, the two seem to pull in the same direction.
Then you get the herbs.
Rosemary. Thyme. Oregano.
And lemon.
You eat the chicken. Take another sip.
Then you do it again.
Pretty simple, really.
Serves: 4 | Prep: 20 minutes | Cook: 50 minutes
Ingredients
8–10 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs and drumsticks; or 1 whole chicken, cut into pieces
1¼ tsp kosher salt
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
½ tsp Mediterranean herbs or Italian seasoning
¾ tsp garlic powder
45 mL / 3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
60 g / ⅓ cup finely diced shallot
150 g / 1 cup pitted olives
180 mL / ¾ cup chicken broth
180 mL / ¾ cup dry white wine
1½ tbsp finely grated lemon zest
90 mL / 6 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
20 g / 1½ tbsp unsalted butter
1½ tbsp finely chopped fresh Italian parsley
The preparation
1. Season and sear the chicken
Mix the salt, pepper and garlic powder.
Pat the chicken dry and season both sides.
Heat the olive oil in a large heavy skillet over high heat. Place the chicken skin-side down and sear for about 5 minutes, until deeply golden.
Reduce the heat to medium, turn the chicken and cook for another 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate.
2. Make the olive sauce
Add the shallots to the same skillet and cook for about 2 minutes, until soft and golden. Add the olives and cook for another minute.
Pour in the chicken broth and white wine, scraping up all those browned bits from the bottom of the pan.
Add the lemon zest and juice and simmer for about 5 minutes, until the sauce has reduced slightly.
3. Finish cooking the chicken
Return the chicken to the skillet and cover.
Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for 15–20 minutes, or until the thickest part of the chicken reaches 74°C (165°F).
4. Finish the sauce
Remove the skillet from the heat.
Stir in the butter and parsley until the butter melts into the sauce.
Spoon plenty of the lemony olive sauce over the chicken before serving.
*A Note on Olives
When it comes to olives, use whatever you like best — or whatever happens to be in the cupboard.
Green, black, or a mix of both work beautifully.
The obvious choice would be Nocellara del Belice (sold as Castelvetrano), the large green olives from southwest Sicily known for their mild, buttery, slightly sweet flavour.
I love them for snacking or with a mild cheese, but for this dish, I find them a little too gentle.
I wanted more of a briny, savoury punch, so I mixed them with some Chalkidiki and Kalamata olives from Greece.
If you prefer a milder, less savoury chicken dish, though, Castelvetrano are an excellent choice.
Serve with rice, roasted potatoes, couscous salad or a simple green salad.
And, naturally, a glass of Turi Bianco, chilled at 8°C to 12°C (46°F to 54°F).
It is the sort of wine that makes you want another bite of chicken.
Which, as far as I'm concerned, is a pretty good test.
Happy sipping and savouring!
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