Bronagh Slevin

THE ISLAND

Sicily is dark myth, epic journey,

a cactus fruit, prickly

on the outside but sweet underneath.

Sicily is alive with history and obsessed with death,

the pearl of the Mediterranean

invaded and abandoned, never forgotten.

Generous lover, to the tongue

it leaves a taste like no other – but

Sicily has learned to withhold

its jewelled lava.

Only if you remain long enough to understand that nothing is as it seems

Sicily teaches that, should you leave,

nothing will have changed when you come back,

that if you go, you know you will return,

that if you stay, the legacy of a land thousands of years deep

will sing to you

of silence in the street

and the shout in the heart.

A jasmine flower can hold a history of repression.

Out of the daily frustrations and contradictions

the heart of the island pulses.

No one who’s stayed long enough to know this

can doubt that Sicily ever leaves you.

***

was the family restaraunt Bronagh ran for several years when she first came to Sicily. She soon found she would have to adapt her lofty ideas of a literary cafe to cater for small town expectations if she wanted to succeed in staying afloat. Locals called it “Bacia-mama” after the old mafia greeting baciamo le mani and perused the new menu with suspicion, much of which was directed at her – what could a foreigner possibly know about good Sicilian food?

Pachamama survived seven summers, plentiful staff issues and interference from the powers-that-be. It became a reference point in the old Spanish quarter, but by that stage Bronagh was busy looking after the bambini.

In October 2015, to the enormous dismay of the dedicated bunch of regulars, Pachamama served its last cocktails and legendary apericena. It was time to embark on different projects. Creating Pachamama brought inspiration and friendships that have outlasted the restaurant, and an insight into power structures that would only be fully understood after the doors closed.