​“I like that guy you have in Houston, Bagwell; he is a short, little shit just like you,” said Moose Skowron as he looked and gestured at my brother seated next to him at a table in the neighborhood bar named after him, Call Me Moose on Chicago’s south side, a couple of decades ago. Jeff Bagwell was generously listed at 6-foot-even, though he always seemed short for a first basemen.  My brother, I, and a buddy were spending that late September afternoon with Skowron, whose co-owner was the friend of our father’s, watching and discussing baseball and football.  It was a great day of sports talk with someone who had five World Series rings, mostly as the first baseman for the Yankees, and a pallbearer at Mickey Mantle’s funeral.  Not a bad way to work off a well-earned hangover following a week of experiencing the clean, well-lighted places of Chicago, including the bleachers of Wrigley Field a couple times.
 
Though it will come up at times during the discussions of Bagwell’s career this weekend, I don’t believe that he is given enough credit for being an all-around ballplayer.  He was a very good fielder, one of the best defensive first basemen of his era – certainly the best of the right-handed ones – even if he was not as slick as someone like Mark Grace of the Cubs.  He came up as a third basemen, after all, and a pretty good one at that.  His excellent defensive abilities stand in contrast to fellow Hall of Fame first baseman and sharer of his birthdate (May 27, 1968), Frank Thomas of the White Sox, a modern day Dr. Strangeglove – to impugn the original bearer of that nickname, Dick Stuart, who wasn’t as limited in the field as Thomas.
 
Even more impressive to me than his fielding was his base running.  Not his base stealing, for which he did steal over 200 bases at a respectable 72% success rate, but his running of the bases.  He always seemed to traverse the bases with the minimum of distance, cornering each bag perfectly and, most importantly, getting the most bases possible per play, taking the extra base when warranted, with rarely an error in base running in his entire career.  From fans who watched both, his base-running prowess drew comparison with the legendary base running skills of the even more legendary Joe DiMaggio.  With his base running, fielding and all around great baseball sense, he was as productive as he could be outside of the batter’s box, and a joy to watch as an Astros fan that I did countless times in the Dome, Enron Field and MinuteMaid.
 
And he wasn’t a bat hitter, either.

A buddy of mine just traveled to Chicago, and heartily enjoyed the hearty fare including rib-sticking Polish goodness on what used to be near the Polish Downtown on Milwaukee Avenue.  It made me think of Chicago dishes that I might have scribed about in the past.  I finally remembered Chicken Vesuvio, a very good dish that has not really traveled far from its city of origin, which is a shame.

A big, hearty baked chicken dish, it might have originated at the Vesuvio restaurant in Chicago in the 1920s, named after the volcano near Naples (though the restaurant was owned by a native of Turin). It is probably most appropriately enjoyed in a cooler time of the year, but it will still be a hit when prepared properly.  The best version of it that I have had over the years was at the popular, tourist-laden Harry Caray’s downtown.
 
Here is their recipe, from the Harry Caray’s Restaurant Cookbook:
 
Chicken Vesuvio
 
This is adapted from Harry Caray’s in Chicago where it is one the signature dishes, and quite tasty, too.   The original location in downtown Chicago is a touristy spot serving hearty Italian-American dishes – and expense-account steaks – that were a favorite of namesake, legendary baseball broadcaster Harry Caray (born Carabina), an exuberant patron of notable Italian-American restaurants across the country.
 
Serves 4
 
Peas, frozen – 1 cup
Olive oil – ¼ cup
Potatoes, russet – 4, peeled, cut in quarters, lengthwise
Garlic – 12 cloves, 2 minced
Chicken – 1, cut into 8 pieces
White wine – 1 ½ cups
Parsley, flat-leaf – ⅓ cup, chopped
Oregano, dried – 1 tablespoon
Salt – 1 teaspoon
Black pepper – 1 teaspoon
Chicken stock – 1 ½ cups
 

1. Boil water in a small saucepan. Add peas and cook 1 minute. Drain. Rinse with cold water.
2. Heat the olive oil in a large oven-proof skillet over medium heat and add the potatoes and the 10 whole garlic cloves. Cook, stirring occasionally, until potatoes are golden brown on all sides, about 12 minutes. Remove the garlic and discard. Remove potatoes on top of paper towels.
3. Heat oven to 375° F.
4. Add chicken pieces to the skillet, in batches, if necessary. Cook, turning once, until lightly brown, about 5 minutes per side. Stir in the wine, stirring to scrape up browned bits. Cook until reduced by half, about 10 minutes.
5. Return potatoes to the skillet. Season with the oregano, parsley, the 2 cloves of minced garlic, salt and pepper. Add the chicken stock.
6. Put in the oven, and bake until the chicken is done, about 45 minutes.
7. Transfer the chicken to a serving platter.  Arrange the potatoes around the chicken, and pour the sauce from the pan over the dish.

I don't watch Andrew Zimmern's shows too often, but I had to record an episode of his trip to Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province, and the capital of Sichuan cooking.  I have been a fan of Sichuan food since I had my first very Americanized version of Kung Pao chicken.  I have like Sichuan even more as I became exposed to more authentic version of regional Chinese foods, including a couple of small Sichuan restaurants in Chinatown in the first decade of this century.  A terrific version ma po tofu overloaded with Sichuan peppercorns was a revelation (and just around $5 at the time).

Zimmern's show was a few years old and during the time when he was intent on sampling the most bizarre and offal-laden dishes in that locale. One was something new to me, spicy rabbit heads, which his was directed to by his guide, a well-known kung fu instructor.  His guide was a bit wary of being seen eating a spicy rabbit head in public, because it is "girl food."

Girl food?  I certainly didn't make the association when I heard the phrase.  The reason it is girl food is because it takes time to pick out the small pieces of meat left in the head, giving plenty time to chat, perfect for girls.  OK.

I mentioned that to my two female co-workers from China and they looked at me like I was an idiot.  Of course everyone knows that spicy rabbit heads are girl food.  Duh.  That means I might not get an invitation to snack on them in the future, which is actually fine with me.

Though he is best known in the UK as a nickname for a professional soccer club or that of a teatime cookie (or biscuit), "Garibaldi is the only wholly admirable figure in modern history," well-known twentieth century British historian A.J.P. Taylor is reputed to have remarked.  He is certainly the most famous non-painting, non-singing, non-papal Italian since Roman times.  A dashing and charismatic figure and international celebrity during the mid-nineteenth century, his name adorns major thoroughfares and prominent squares in nearly every Italian town, his statues or busts are everywhere including the US Capitol, and an Italian aircraft carrier bears his name, and which remains afloat.  Born on July 4, 1807 in Nice (or Nizza), which made him subject of the Kingdom of Sardinia after 1815, he became a sailor then a captain, a fitting background for his future globe-trotting ways shuttling between and among continents.  As an officer in Sardinia’s navy, and sporting revolutionary republican beliefs, he participated in an unsuccessful mutiny and fled to France in 1834, escaping a death sentence.  A couple of years later he was in South America where he became famous as a mercenary fighting for republican causes in Brazil and Uruguay leading his Italian Legion of distinctively clad “Redshirts” (incidentally, made for slaughterhouse workers and purchased on the cheap), where he helped win the latter’s independence. 
 
He returned to Italy in 1848 and led a defense of the brand new Republic of Rome against a French force numbering 40,000 in 1849.  Though he could not hold out against the more numerous French, his valiant fighting there, and then a dramatic escape from trailing Austrian forces, during which his beloved wife died, reinforced his reputation as a military commander and as a remarkable revolutionary figure throughout much of world.  His well-known political beliefs did not sit well with the two Italian monarchs who then ruled much of the Italian peninsula, and he was forced to leave Italy once again, this time ending up in the United States in 1850.  He lived quietly under the sponsorship of Italian inventor Antonio Meucci (who some argue is the true inventor of the telephone) in Staten Island.  He spent time working in Manhattan as a candlemaker, of all things, and applied for United States citizenship.  Eventually losing interest in candlemaking, he returned to the sea as a captain on several long voyages including one to Asia and Peru.  In 1854 he returned to his native Italy where he bought half of a small island off the coast of northern Sardinia to farm and tend to his family.
 
Returning to military service in 1859 at age 51 when, provoked by Cavour, war broke out again, Garibaldi led a successful expedition against Austrian forces in northern Italy.  In April 1860, there were uprisings against the Bourbon rule in Sicily, which was far removed from the war against the Austrians.  This gave Garibaldi an opportunity.  Not supported by Cavour, who did not want him causing troubles with their French allies about recently ceded Nizza, Garibaldi raised a regiment of volunteers, nearly all young men from northern Italy that became known as “The Thousand.” This instigated the union of the Italian peoples.  His forces sailed from Genoa, landing in western Sicily in May.  With aid of many Sicilians, he conquered the island by the end of July.  Crossing the straits of Messina with the help of the British Navy, he traveled through Calabria and quickly entered Naples with just twenty men, arriving as a hero.  He defeated the remaining forces of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies at the end of September with the aid of the armies of the Kingdom of Sardinia, who had captured most of the papal territories in central Italy, excepting Rome.  Garibaldi wanted to march on to Rome, but King Victor Emmanuel was not willing to risk war with France, whose army protected the Pope.  Garibaldi decided to hand over all of his army’s gains to the Kingdom of Sardinia, sensing unity of Italy under monarchy was nearly inevitable in the near term.  In 1861 he returned to his home island (on ship named Washington), refusing any reward for his services, a contemporary Cincinnatus.  Though he was easily the most popular Italian figure at the time, Cavour and the king, fearful of his republicanism and mass appeal, did the best to obscure the contributions of Garibaldi and his followers.
 
Soon after the start of the American Civil War in 1861 this “Hero of Two Worlds” offered his services to Abraham Lincoln, who asked him to serve as a major general.  Garibaldi countered that he would only serve if he was given full command of the army and that a prime objective would be that slavery would be abolished.  Lincoln could not accept those terms and the offer was withdrawn, opening the door for such ineffective Union commanders as the amazingly inept George McClellan.  But, affection remained on both sides, and Garibaldi always regarded the US as his second country.  He used his influence to help keep the British from siding with the Confederacy, and he continued to correspond with Lincoln.  One of his grandsons was even named after the President.  Upon its founding in 1861 the 39th New York State Volunteers, a regiment comprised of several European nationalities took the title, “The Garibaldi Guard." His fame extended to the other side of the globe as Siberian peasants were heard talking about liberation one day by the legendary “Gariboldov."
 
In 1862 against the wishes of the king, who did not want to engender the potential wrath of the Catholic world and France, the anticlerical Garibaldi headed an expedition comprised of a multinational force against Rome that was thwarted by government forces in the mountains of Calabria in southernmost Italy.  During this adventure, Garibaldi was actually shot and wounded by government troops, though somewhat inadvertently.  In 1866, with the support of the king this time, he led an army of 40,000 volunteers into northeastern Italy, and was successful, but his efforts came to naught, as a peace was concluded before further territory was taken from the Austrians.  But, Prussia rewarded their Italian allies with the Venetian lands.  In 1867 Garibaldi made a second attempt to capture Rome, but the papal army, strengthened with French forces, defeated his poorly armed volunteers.  His final and personally successful campaign was in 1870-71, in which he surprisingly assisted his old foes, the French, in the Franco-Prussian War after the collapse of Napoleon III’s regime in 1870 and the assumption of a republican government.  He commanded the volunteer Army of the Vosges, and he was “the only general who had not been defeated” for the French.  After this last military action, though a member of the Italian Parliament, Garibaldi spent most of his time on his Sardinian island, where he died in 1882. 
 
Capitalizing on his celebrity in the 1850s, an English food company created a cookie bearing Garibaldi’s name.  Featuring dark currants mashed between two light-colored rectangular biscuits, it is hardly Italian, and meant to accompany that very un-Italian beverage, tea.  Even though its appearance has earned the sobriquet “fly sandwiches,” these are still on the market.  Most southern Italians were not as smitten with Garibaldi in any of his manifestations as are British tea drinkers.  Though his heroic and dramatic actions helped unify Italy, the benefits of unification, so closely associated with Garibaldi, did not come to fruition.  Even if he was regarded as near-deity by the masses in Sicily, Calabria and Campania during his dramatic military successes of 1860, and though statues were erected, streets and piazzas renamed during the early years of the new country, the memory of Garibaldi has not been revered by the average southern Italian after unification, or their descendents.  The lack of progress and many disappointments associated with the united Italy easily obscured its instigator no matter how intrepid and well-meaning he was.