Panna Cotta

The other day, when I pointed out panna cotta to one of my clients during a foodie walk, he returned a puzzled look.

Panna Cotta is a silky, light textured dessert from Northern Italy. It is served chilled and usually drizzled with wild berry sauce, caramel or melted dark chocolate. 

Its name literally translates to, "cooked cream," it's ridiculously easy to make and can be prepared up to two days ahead, as long as kept well-covered and chilled. Some suggest to actually make ahead for added flavor.
To impress your guests with authentic panna cotta, here's what you need to do with:

500 ml (2 cups) heavy cream

1 1/2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin (I find it in sheets, here. I use 3, or the equivalent of 6 grams)

150 gr (3/4 cup) confectioner's sugar, sifted

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Ramekins, parfait or custard cups, muffin pans, Martini glasses, or shot glasses

Heat the heavy cream and sugar in a saucepan. Once the sugar is dissolved, remove the saucepan from the stove, and stir in the vanilla extract. Purists can on the other hand scarpe the inside of their vanilla bean.

Sprinkle the gelatin in a medium bowl of cold water, and let it stand 5-10 minutes.
Pour the hot cream mixture over the gelatin, and stir until dissolved. If you're using sheet gelatin, first soften the sheets in 4 cups of cold water for 5-10 minutes. Wring the sheets out, discard the water and stir the softened sheets into the hot panna cotta mixture, whisking until blended.

Pour the mixture in individual serving containers, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for about 4 hours, or until set.

When ready to serve, dip the bottom of each container into a bowl of very hot water for a few seconds. Place a serving plate on top and turn over to easily dislodge.

Decorate your panna cotta with mint leaves and either a thin raspberry coulis, warmed caramel sauce or melted dark chocolate. If you're in a rush, pour the panna cotta mixture into Martini goblets so you can serve them without unmolding; sprinkled with only a few chocolate shavings and a dash of cinnamon.

simple pleasures

Yes, that is someone swimming.

You can find more photos of this glorious Positano vacation on my Flickr stream.

analogue memories

In this age of digitalized photography, technology used to obtain a vintage grain on pictures captured by a phone, and retro image rendering, I thought I'd post these photographs taken in Positano with a Kodak Instamatic camera, in the summer of 1977. 

I scanned the originals so I could post them here, but didn't tweak the levels. The prints actually look just like what you see: rounded edges, cool cross-processed, funky '70s feel (and slanted horizons).
No App could ever match this.

This precise spot on this very beach is where I plan to spend lots of time during the Easter holidays, enjoying a few days off with family.
Buona Pasqua!

Insalata di Spinaci ~ Warm Spinach Salad

The Italian word for vegetables verdura, is an inaccurate term which poetically translates to 'greendom.' Imprecise because not all vegetables are green! The farmers' markets these days are in fact a colorful feast for the eyes and imagination. The palette offered by the spilling stalls features tender mauve artichokes, Ferrari-red tomatoes of every size and shape, curly, spiked and ruffled field sprouts, pearly spring onions, opulent purple eggplants and lush Jamaican flag bell peppers.

Inspired by the Testaccio Market–where I led a group of enthusiastic clients earlier this week–and the sunshine as my accomplice, I opted for salad as my lunch. The warmth of spring has finally exploded (and so has the pollen surge, ah-t-choo!). When that happens after a long, bleak winter, I find myself consuming ridiculous quantities of fresh green verdura. The salad I'll be making today is a rich and tasty Insalata di Spinaci ~ warm spinach salad: the 80's in a salad bowl.
The heated pancetta drippings wilt the fresh spinach leaves, and along with the crumbled hard-boiled egg, provide this preparation with a subtle diversity of flavors and textures.
Here's what you need for 4 eaters:

10-12 oz triple washed baby spinach leaves, stems removed

1/4 cup minced red onion

2 hard-cooked eggs, 1 chopped, 1 sliced

5 strips of pancetta

2 tablespoons brown sugar

2 tablespoons white vinegar

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon water

Salt & black pepper to taste

Place the dry spinach leaves in a large bowl. Add the chopped onions and refrigerate, tightly covered.
Fry the pancetta until crisp. Save the drippings, but remove the strips to a paper towel and set aside. In a small jar or measuring cup combine pancetta drippings with sugar, vinegar, water, salt and pepper. Refrigerate all ingredients until just before serving. When ready to serve, microwave the dressing on HIGH for 30-45 seconds, or until the mixture boils. Toss the chopped egg with the spinach, then pour the hot dressing over them; tossing again lightly. Top with sliced egg and crumbled bacon.

Mmmm, deliziosa!

Image © kids vs produce

Carbonara, period.

I'm going to quote myself.
I know, it sounds boldly presumptuous. But I'm going to do it in order to introduce a recipe–which is the topic of my quote–and thus invalidate my quote. Convoluted? Please, keep reading.

Two years ago I wrote a post listing the most off-limits foods to serve at a meal, taking into account everyday ethical choices, idiosyncrasies, eating whims and food snobism. One of the items on that list was Carbonara.

Here's the quote. I described it as, «Easy dish but so hard to make well. The danger between obtaining "scrambled eggs" and "quick setting cement" walks a very fine line.» One other fact I failed to mention is that the eggs in properly prepared carbonara, are essentially raw.

That said, I'd like to share the recipe to one of my culinary strong points, and overrule my carbonara embargo. I should do this because some folks have never tasted real carbonara (I've heard of chefs that make it with heavy cream, béchamel... mayonnaise even!). Others don't cook it because they can't overcome the anxiety of figuring out correct heat and timing, factors that divide carbonara into "good" carbonara, and "awful" carbonara. And some people simply freak out about the raw eggs.
I'd like you to read on, and possibly make some at home tonight. The ingredients for carbonara are not hard to find.
Make some, and then you can decide to ratify or reject the carbonara moratorium.

In the meantime, the usual historic note. I'll make it short.
Carbonari were 19th century freedom fighters called 'charcoal burners' perhaps because of their camouflage black face paint (carbone = coal). The revolutionary secret society's goals were patriotic and liberal, and they played an important role in Italy's Risorgimento.
Some believe that the dish was once popular with these fugitives who lived on the mountains near Rome, because the ingredients were easily portable and cooking was fairly uncomplicated.

To make rebellious carbonara for 5 you’ll need:

500 gr (1.1 lb) spaghetti alla chitarra. I also make it with rigatoni or any thumb-length ribbed tube pasta

200 gr (1 cup) guanciale, cubed or thinly sliced in strips

4 eggs + 2 yolks

1 cup Pecorino Romano (and Parmigiano), grated. Purists, stop shaking your head: Pecorino alone is too salty for this dish.

Extra virgin oilve oil

Freshly ground black pepper

Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a capacious skillet over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, but not smoking, add the guanciale and sizzle for about 10 minutes over a low flame, until the fat is translucent, crisp and barely browned. Remove skillet from the stove and keep aside.

Bring a gallon of cold salted water to a rolling boil. Cook the pasta until it is al dente, reserving 2 cups of starchy cooking water.

In a large serving bowl, whisk the eggs, grated cheese(s) and pepper. Blend well into a creamy yellow mixture using the tines of a fork.

Tricky part.
Drain the pasta, and immediately toss it into the skillet with the guanciale and its drippings, to coat well. Only about a minute. Empty the slippery pasta and guanciale into the bowl with the eggy mixture, and blend vigorously using your fork. Do this with quick, firm movements. You don’t want the egg to set with the heat of the pasta, cooking it into a disastrous frittata, rather to evenly coat it. Add a slug of starchy cooking water (about 1/4 cup) and keep blending the silky delight. Taste and add more salty Pecorino and ground black pepper, if necessary.

Divvy up in deep dishes and prepare for bliss.