Grilled polenta with 4 formaggi cheese fondue

My fridge is exploding. It has always seen its fair share of dairy, but never this much.

The result of shooting a show entirely dedicated to cheese comes with many obvious perks, one of which is taking home chunks and slices of the set after filming.

At every caseificio (dairy farm) the crew and I visited – be it to portray the production method, meet the producers, or milk the livestock – there was always a tasting here, a random gift of the local specailty there, and often a purchase of the product featured in each location. Hence the fridge explosion. I am loaded with cheese. There's formaggio everywhere, and more apparently coming in the mail...

What to do with all this bounty (aside from eating it and thus increasing my cholesterol)? After giving away loads of it to friends, gifting it to neighbors and showing off la bella figura at parties and festive gatherings, I need to start using the funky stuff and make room in the icebox. Employing the cheese in dishes is always a good way to start.

My favorite are the fridge-cleaner recipes, the ones that wipe out most of the leftovers in one fell swoop.

A few days ago, with the bitter chill of winter finally scratching at our windows, and fierce winds blowing, I made polenta. I see a pattern forming: my mother makes polenta at the first sign of cold, I see myself now doing the same. Of course, like her, I make it monumental amounts, despite our immediate family of two.

With the leftover polenta and the abundance of cheese I made crostini and popped a nice bottle of Franciacorta. Cleaning out the fridge deserves some celebration, no?

Leftover polenta, about 400 g (14 oz)

100 g (1/2 cup) gorgonzola, sliced

100 g (1/2 cup) fontina, diced

50 g (1/4 cup) Parmigiano, grated

3 tbsp mascarpone

1 glass heavy cream or milk

1 small bunch of chives, minced

2-3 firm Kaiser pears, cored, peeled and quartered – slice to obtain a piece for each piece of polenta

Start by slicing the polenta (it solidifies fast, so I store the leftovers in a cubic container, in order to make it easier to cut it in regularly shaped slices). I like my slices thick, about 3/4-inch. You can of course change this measurement, but anything thinner than that could potentially come apart when heated and topped. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Heat a griddle or a ribbed steak pan until scorching hot. Brush or spray with olive oil. Grill the polenta slices until seared with dark grill marks on each side, and set aside. Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F.

In a saucepan, melt the cheeses with the cream (or milk) over low heat. Stir gently to obtain a firm, lumpy mixture. The texture should not be runny or liquid.

Let the mixture cool a few minutes, then incorporate the minced chives stirring to blend well.

Place the grilled polenta on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Spoon a dollop of the mixture on each slice of polenta and top with a piece of pear.

Pop in the hot oven for 10 minutes or until the cheese begins to bubble. Serve immediately.

Buon appetito!

Lardo di Colonnata | Pork fat nirvana

Belonging to the municipality of Carrara, considered the world's white marble capital, and the place where Michelangelo used to shop the raw material for his sculptures, Colonnata is a small village perched on a ridge between two marble quarries in the Tuscan Apennine Apuane Mountains, which is mostly known for another kind of white marbling, the one in the lardo.

Lardo di Colonnata © Massimo Zivieri

This smooth and delicious cured meat should not be mistaken with lard. What in the English-speaking world is commonly referred to as 'lard', is a rendered white paste that's used for cooking as a shortening, and named strutto in Italian, and sugna in the south of the peninsula.

Some folks are still nervous when it comes to eating fat. I personally am more suspicious of whoever rips the white part off prosciutto, but that's me. Lardo di Colonnata is a delicious cured "affettato" that should not be eaten with distraction. Each morsel of silken pork fat is a precious, melt-in-your-mouth, mystic experience, and the complexity of its flavor should be savored religiously.

Until recent times, lardo in northern Tuscany was considered a poor-man's meal, that cavatori –– the marble quarrymen of the area –– would stuff it in crusty homestyle bread sandwiches, along with sliced onions and tomatoes. This humble panino was prepared early in the morning before the men went off to carve statue staple out of the Apennines at 6200-ft altitude, a snack that had to last them all day. The calorie content, along with the vegetables and a nice flask of local wine, assured the necessary sustenance in the long and strenuous shifts at the quarries. In time lardo has become an exquisite gourmet item, and a highly sought foodie must.

Lardo di Colonnata is a beautiful white –– or sometimes pinkish –– slab of thick pork fatback, which is cured with a mixture of salt, spices, herbs and minced garlic. In the curing process the salt extracts moisture from the fat, creating a brine that preserves it from air and bacteria, and flavors the tissue. 

Alpi Apuane © Lucarelli

According to a local legend, Michelangelo could have never managed to extract his own marble or even sculpt his statues, were it not for the local lardo, of which he had grown very fond of during his stay in the Apuane.

Marble conca © lardodicolonnata.net

The procedure to make lardo dates back to Ancient Roman antiquity, and the secret has been handed down through generations. The seasoning magic happens in vats of various sizes called conche, carved out of marble blocks commonly stored in caves, or in underground cellars. The concas are initially rubbed with garlic, and the bottom scattered with sea salt, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, sage, bay leaves, rosemary and more garlic. The trimmed fatbacks are placed in the conche and layered with more salt, herbs and spices, and so on; and closed under a wooden covering for about a week. Then the concas are flooded with a salt-water brine, sealed with a marble lid, and the lardo is aged in the brine up to 6 - 10 months. The natural humidity of the caves, and the porous surface of the marble basins create a perfect habitat for the lardo's maturing process. Chemical and bacteriological tests on the lardo have determined that the ancient curing method is extraordinarily efficient and safe, and the pork doesn't require any chemical treatment, nor preservatives.

Image @ culinarytypes

Thin slivers of lardo arranged casually on warmed slices of bread... see it melt slightly, before tasting the life-changing goodness. Perfection.

A glass of wine, a view, some pig fat on bread. Life is good.

Some like to wrap thin slices of lardo around filet mignon, go overboard with foie gras pairings, or prefer it employed in novel seafood recipes. Tuscans use the leftover lardo rind as a flavor booster in hearty soups and minestrones.

On one of my regular shopping spree trips to Colonnata, I learned a wonderful new way of enjoying lardo. Here is the recipe that –– besides the star ingredient –– also employs leftover polenta, and lightly seared radicchio.

radicchio tardivo

Ingredients:
Leftover polenta, cut in thin slices
1 head of radicchio tardivo, ribs separated
Lardo di Colonnata
Olive oil
Salt

Film a skillet with olive oil and lightly wilt the radiccio ribs.
Place the polenta slices on a greased oven pan, or on the grill, and toast 5 minutes on each side.
Dress the toasted polenta crisps still hot from the oven, with a generous amount of thinly sliced lardo. It will go translucent and melt beautifully.
Top with the grilled radicchio, uncork the vino rosso, and relinquish all inhibition.

To learn more about Lardo di Colonnata visit lardodicolonnata.net

You can also read an interesting article on Lardo di Colonnata: Protecting traditional foods from EEU regulators

Carpaccio recipe from Harry's Bar, Venice

Carpaccio was for a long time the most popular dish served at Harry’s Bar in Venice. It is named after Vittore Carpaccio, the Venetian Renaissance painter known for his use of brilliant reds and whites in the minute detail of his infinite perspective landscapes.

Giuseppe Cipriani, the Bar's historic owner, invented and named the dish in reference to the Venetian painter, because the colors of the dish reminded him of his paintings. It was 1950, the year of the great Carpaccio exhibition in Venice.

The Harry's Bar Carpaccio dish was inspired by capricious Contessa Amalia Nani Mocenigo, a local regular at Harry's Bar. Her doctor had put her on a strict diet recommending she eat only raw meat.

The original Harry's Bar delicacy is still made by covering a plate with the thinnest possible slices of raw beef and garnishing them with a secret dressing that is drizzled over the beef in a crosshatch, Kandisnsky-style pattern. It is proverbially called the "universal sauce."

I was raised on a strict Harry's Bar diet of Carpaccio and Risotto Primavera, myself. Those were the days when going to Venice for the weekend was a given, and money wasn't an issue. The source of our family's financial ease was the talented work and infinite generosity of my grandfather Vittorio De Sica.

My fondest memories of him are not glamourous, nor show business-related, they are personal. The vivid images and toasted coffee aroma of our Sunday afternoons spent together still linger in my mind when I think of him. Nonno would nap after having lunch with us, wrapped in a brown cashmere plaid throw, lying on the day bed in what later became my bedroom. I'd be the one to wake him, softly tiptoeing in the dimly lit room, carrying a tray with a small demitasse of espresso, which he'd sip quietly. 

The bottom of the cup was my prize, a tiny ring of coffee-tinted sugar that had not quite melted. I'd draw the drapes open and we'd play for a half hour, during which I would frequently show him my latest dance coreographies. My clumsy pirouettes, that would usually land me on my rear end, would obviously make him chuckle, but he never showed it, giving my performance the professional judgement of an unbiased director. Nonno would often tell me where to improve or applaud the less disastrous ones. Then he'd leave, cloaked in his grey flannel suit, elegant and smelling of blue Pantène hair cologne and weathered leather, like his gloves. A wink and a smile on the doorstep and he was gone, 'til the following week.

My grandfather's successful career ended too soon. Cinema lost one of its greatest modern film making artists in 1974 to lung cancer, and my playful Sunday afternoons with Nonno were no more.

with mom and Nonna Titta on the Grand Canal

I don't care if I don't go to Venice for the weekend any more. I've never been a fool for fancy clothes or elegant hotels. I love to travel and eat, and I still do that, on a shoestring. And since I could charm my way through a restaurant kitchen from age five, I managed to snatch the secret Carpaccio recipe. For free.

1.3 kg (3 lb) beef sirloin, whole
3/4 cup homemade mayonnaise
1–2 tsp Worcestershire sauce, adjust quantity to taste
1 tsp fresh lemon juice
2–3 tbsp whole milk
Salt and freshly ground white pepper

First of all, make the carpaccio "universal sauce," which is the focal point of this dish. The above-mentioned quantities yield about 250 ml (1 cup). Any leftover can last about 3 days, stored chilled in a closed container.

Put the mayonnaise in a bowl and add the Worcestershire sauce and lemon juice, and blend with a whisk.

Add enough milk to thin the sauce, so it just barely coats the back of a dry wooden spoon. Taste and adjust seasoning, with more Worcestershire sauce and/or lemon juice if necessary.

OK, now the tricky part.

According to tradition, the best carpaccio is made with beef sirloin, and the flavorful meat must never be frozen before slicing. Of course it's easier to slice barely thawed beef, but we're not taking any shortcuts today.

Carpaccio can also be made with beef tenderloin filet, which has a milder flavor than sirloin and is much easier to handle. Ask the butcher to trim the meat for you. You may even be able to convince him to slice it, but do so only if you plan to serve your carpaccio an hour or 2 later, tops.

If you decide to slice the meat yourself, please be careful, I nearly lost a fingertip once.

Trim every bit of fat, gristle, sinew from the sirloin, leaving a small cylinder of tender, lean meat.

Chill the meat for 30 minutes, then using a long-bladed razor-sharp knife, slice the meat paper-thin and arrange the slices on individual salad plates, covering the surface completely. Makes about six servings. Some folks like to sprinkle some shaved Parmigiano at this point. I don't, preferring to maintain the flavors and simplicity intact.

Drizzle the universal sauce decoratively over the meat, and serve immediately.

I quite like this with a properly stored Valpolicella: light in body, low in tannin, and redolent of tart red cherries.

Buon appetito.

Italian bigné recipe

When I say the word, I can actually smell the sugary aroma of the three squared beignets in my plate at Café Du Monde. I don't think I have ever tasted anything quite like it.

Italian bigné are different. Some are fried, as in the case of the Zeppole di San Giuseppe fritters, but normally bigné are light choux pastry puffed balls that are baked in the oven. These cream puffs are also the base for Profiterole, filled with whipped cream or gelato, and drizzled with lavish amounts of melted dark chocolate.

Bigné were introduced in France by Caterina de' Medici, wife of Henry II of France, who brought with her from Tuscany lots of recipes, including choux pastry. Leave it to history that the name traveled from Florence all the way to French New Orleans...

I fill my bigné by slicing off the top, filling with a spoon, and then reassembling. It can obviously be done by injecting with a pastry bag and a narrow piping tip, but that always turns out a mess for me.

Today I'm sharing the recipe for a savory hors d'oeuvre version, loaded with a creamy 3-cheese filling, that yields about 24 assembled bigné

Ingredients for the choux pastry:
250 ml (1 cup) water
150 g (1 1/4 cups) all-purpose flour
75 g (1/3+ cup) butter
4 eggs

Ingredients for the filling:
100 g (3/4 cup) flour, sifted
100 g (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
500 ml (2 cups) whole milk, boiling
100 g (1/2 cup) Fontina cheese, diced
100 g (1/2 cup) Pecorino Romano, grated
200 g (1 cup) Parmigiano, grated


Start by making your bèchamel, which is the base of the filling.

Melt the butter in a stainless steel pan over low heat. Gradually sprinkle in the flour, and stir well with a wooden spoon until smooth. Cook gently until the mixture becomes a light golden color. Add the boiling hot milk gradually, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. Cook for another 15 minutes (at least) while stirring constantly.

When the bèchamel becomes rich and creamy in consistency – not too thick and not to runny, rather forming ribbons on the surface as it dribbles off the wooden spoon – remove from the heat, and dilute with a little more milk. Don't pour it in all at once, rather use it to blend the cheeses as you add them, and they melt and bubble.

Fold in the pecorino and parmigiano first, leaving the fontina last.

When all the cheeses are blended and well incorporated, let the mixture stand to cool while you make the choux pastry.

Pour yourself a drink, by now you've totally earned it.

Preheat oven at 180° C (350° F).

Heat the water with a pinch of salt. When it begins to tremble, right before reaching boiling point, add the butter and let it melt. Sift in the flour, remove the pot from the stove, and stir constantly until the dough comes away from the sides of the pan and forms a smooth ball (this will take about 5 minutes, have faith: it will happen). Let it stand to cool briefly.

Once the dough is lukewarm, start adding one egg at a time and mix with a wooden spoon until it reaches a smooth, paste-like thickness. I cheat and give it one last whir with a food mixer.

Spoon the bigné dough onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Again this can be done with a pastry bag, I use two spoons...

Bake the bigné for about 15 minutes, until golden and well-puffed, time greatly depending on oven force. The trick to perfect puffing bigné is to keep the temperature quite low and steady. Ventilated ovens are the best. Mine isn't...

Once your bigné have completely cooled down, using a sharp serrated blade, slice the bigné open as you would a bun, and slather 1 tablespoon (or more) of the creamy cheese filling in each, reassembling as you go along. Any leftover filling can be employed as dip for crudité, or spread on crostini, bruschetta, etc.

Serve at room temperature, or slightly warmed (20 seconds in the microwave) and pour the red wine with profuse abandon.

Another easy filling (which doesn't need cooking) is a blend of equal parts cream cheese and Gorgonzola. Dreamy.

Go ahead, take one more...

Carne Cruda all'Albese recipe

Image © cookalmostanything

When I utter the word veal, I see my US and UK friends' and clients' faces twitch just a bit. Even the hardened carnivores find it sometimes hard to stomach.

Foreigners associate veal with the horrid, inhumane treatment and cruelty perpetrated on young male calves. While in Italy, veal is a very common staple meat product, almost more so than beef.

This typical fall/winter Piemontese recipe, which comes specifically from Alba – land of prized red wine and exquisite white truffles – is designed to be made with veal. If you absolutely cannot stand the idea of veal, you can make this very easy and simple tartare with beef.

400 g (14 oz) veal breast or beef tenderloin (have the butcher carve the meat wafer thin)
1 garlic clove, peeled
The juice of 1 lemon
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and black pepper
White truffle (optional), shaved

Finely chop the meat with a very sharp knife. Do this shortly before serving the meat.

Season with with salt and cracked black pepper.

Dress with a thread of olive oil, and some freshly squeezed lemon juice

Using the tines of a fork, pierce the clove of garlic and use that to toss the seasoned meat.

If you're lucky enough to have some white truffle standing by, shave some on top.

Serve quickly before the lemon marinades and "cooks" the meat.

Good with warm toasted bread, a crisp arugula salad, and a waterfall of fruit-forward red wine.

Bruschetta recipe

The first thing to know before making this genius antipasto staple and its creative variations is how to pronounce its name correctly.

Not 'brushetta,' please. That's mortifying. It's bru–SKET–tah. An onomatopoeic homage to the sharp sound made when digging your teeth in the crisp charcoal baked sourdough bread, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with sea salt. Sk! Sk! Think skyscraper! Basket! Skipper! Helter Skelter! Brusketta! Yeah, that's it.

In Tuscany, bruschetta is more commonly called fettunta, a contraction of two words (fetta unta) meaning oiled slice. When olives are taken to the local frantoio mill for pressing in late November, the growers typically take some country casereccio bread with them. There is usually a small fireplace burning in the corner of the pressing room, and when the fragrant liquid gold emerges from the press spout, the grower toasts a bit of the bread on the fire to sample the oil.

The meaning of the noun bruschetta has changed so that now some use the word bruschetta incorrectly to refer to the topping instead of the dish. Many grocery store chains worldwide sell bottled bruschetta, which is simply a mix of tomatoes, onion, garlic and oregano, usually cooked!

For original "red" bruschetta, only fresh tomatoes are used and never a sauce. And allow me to say this one more time, we Italians limit the use of oregano to few special dishes: common pizza toppings, Costata alla Pizzaiola and very few other applications. Any other use is a distortion of Italian flavor and a cliché.

All this said, here's my way of making delicious messy slabs of heaven.

For authentic bruschetta you will need:

Good, thick-crust preferably wood oven-baked bread: whole wheat, sourdough (with its typical chip structure and characteristic aroma) or delicious home-style pane casareccio bread. Bruschetta is a good way of recycling day old, or stale bread too.
Organic, cold pressed, extra virgin olive oil. The finest quality is key, particularly for this dish.
Numerous cloves of garlic, peeled
Sea or Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Optional:
Cherry tomatoes, chopped
Fresh basil leaves, hand-torn (cutting with a metal blade alters the flavor)

The term bruschetta comes from the word bruscare, which means to toast on the fire. So this is a procedure to be carried out on any red-hot surface, be it a barbecue grill, a wood burning oven or fireplace. Pop in a tosater if all else fails. The important thing is the degree of crunch.

While you wait for the coals or logs to reach meat-cooking temperature, place bread slices (max 1 inch thick) on the grill and keep a close watch. Turn with a pair of tongs and remove when lightly charred on the surface.

On a large serving platter place the hot slices and begin rubbing with the peeled garlic cloves to flavor the bread. The more vigorous the scrub, the more intense the taste will be.

Drizzle with abundant olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.

You can dress with chopped tomatoes and basil, or any other interesting variation you may wish to invent. I personally love bruschetta plain, but in the summer when I have guest over for a barbecue, I always like to present them with a variety of choices. Some favorite sample bruschettas include: slices of Prosciutto and a thin wafer slices of mild Nero di Pienza Pecorino cheese, sundried tomatoes and Gaeta olives, veggie spreads like olive or artichoke paste or a dollop of pesto sauce mixed with cream cheese. A very successful coastal bruschetta topping is a spoonful of shelled wedge clams stewed in garlic and olive oil, sprinkled with (very little) parsley.

Confettura di Cipolle recipe

Pairing sweet and piquant preserves with foie gras sandwiches, terrines, roast pork, wild game and (mostly) cheese is my thing. Caramelised onion marmalade being my favorite.

It was a huge hit with my American family visiting Italy a few weeks back, and when it happened to complement a mixed platter of artisan cheeses at an Abruzzo inn, the jar of onion jam was scraped clean.

It's a tangy chutney-like preparation, in fact many Italians refer to it as "mostarda di cipolle," a common moniker for sweet and spicy fruit or vegetable relishes. It's an available item in most Italian delis, but I prefer making mine at home.

This particular one is good with goat's milk cheeses, aged and smelly ones, or a humble chunk of Parmigiano. It tends to overpower the cheese flavor, so should be slathered with measure.

2 kg (4.4 lb) red onions
400 g (14 oz) organic brown sugar
500 ml (2 cups) balsamic vinegar
1 tsp. mustard powder

Sterilize the designated mason jars (+6 medium capacity) by boiling them in plenty unsalted water for 10 minutes.

Trim away papery outer shells and peel the onions clean. Thinly slice them while holding a chunk of bread in your mouth to prevent tears.

Wilt the onions with 2 tablespoons of water in a large heavy-bottomed saucepan over very low heat. Gently simmer until they become translucent, then add sugar and caramelize them slightly. Stir in the vinegar and mustard powder, cover and keep at a gentle simmer until the jam thickens (about 40 min to an hour).

To test for doneness, pour a drop of jam on a cold plate, if it slides off and is still quite runny, keep cooking until the drop sticks to the plate. Careful not to scorch it, though. Where there is sugar boiling, there is always that one split second of distraction that can cause the whole thing to burn and stick horribly to the bottom of the pan.

Divide the marmalade while still hot into the individual sterilized jars and quickly close with new caps. Turn jars upside down and cover them huddled together under a warm fleece or a woollen blanket. This assures vacuum and pasteurization. For safety, after a few hours, check that the vacuum valve is depressed on the lids. If the valve snaps, boil the jam jars in boiling water for 10 minutes.

When completely cooled down, store in a cool, dark place. Shelf life is about 6 months. Once opened, store in the refrigerator, and consume within the week.

Pomodori al Tonno recipe

I'm a hard worker, but not in summer. In summer I'm lazy.

Even in the kitchen.

Plus it's hot, and working by the stove–or even worse, the oven–in this weather, is torture.

Like today, for example. I wasn't feeling too good, I had no appetite (a bad sign for me), and I didn't have the desire to even swim once. What I did do was take a nice walk in the property's orto (vegetable garden) with a large basket, and returned home with inspiration.

And lunch.

The good thing about spending time in the country is that you don't have to bother going grocery shopping. The produce is all home-grown, and every family has a ridiculously well-stocked pantry. Olive oil, wine, jams and preserves, canned vegetables, honey, bottled sauces, eggs, sausages, herbs, bread... everything is sourced or made right here, on the premises.

When I rinsed the field dust off these tomatoes, they were still warm from the sun.

I whipped this dish up in 10 minutes, and it managed to restore a smile on my face.

And a grumble to my tummy.

6 small Vesuvio tomatoes, halved
200 g (1 cup) oil-packed tuna, drained and flaked
2 ribs of baby white celery, diced
3-4 tablespoons of light mayonnaise
Pinch of salt

Scoop out the pulp from the tomatoes, removing seeds and watery parts, and set aside.

Chop the tomato pulp, toss in a mixing bowl with remaining ingredients, and stir to mix well.

Divide the mixture and scoop it into the halved tomatoes. Refrigerate 30 minutes before serving.

Uncork the chilled Sauvignon and put your feet up, it's summer and you deserve a break after all this hard work.


Buon appetito.

Seafood restaurants in Rome

Image © Andrea Di Lorenzo

If you can't make a coastal getaway this summer, dining in Rome calls for fresh seafood, plenty of chilled white wine, and an early sunset buzz. Here's my shortlist of pesce musts (consider applying for platinum credit card before booking a table)...

Continue Reading The American in Italia Magazine

Crostini recipe

Mazzini ~ Cavour ~ Garibaldi

On March 17th 2011, Italy will celebrate 150 years of its unification, which led to the birth of the country as a nation. It was only after WWII that Italy's borders were re-written on today's maps, but 1861 was the pivotal year in a labored process that unified territories previously ruled by many different (and mostly foreign) sovreignties.

Isn't it staggering to think that a civilization so crucial to the development and shaping on Europe (and the world) is also one of the youngest nations?

All this came with a cost, there were wars, bloodshed, poverty and revolutions. This period of Italian history is known as il Risorgimento, which means "the resurrection," an era of deep awakening for people from all ends of the boot-shaped peninsula who sided together to depose "the invaders" and claim full independence.

Some Italian politicians are not happy with this celebration, insisting on their separatist agenda. But let's not get into that, now. I'm fully embracing this celebration to honor the memory of those who died for Italy's freedom and unification. 

There are special events promoted all across the country to celebrate Italy's 150th Unification, myriad exhibits, theater and ballet openings, concerts, sport happenings, street artist performances, book readings, guided visits of major churches and sites, light shows and fireworks. You can find the full calendar of events, both nationwide and for major cities, HERE.

I was invited by Manu to participate in a special 150 Unification Party, a delicious recipe link-up. Please visit her site to see more celebratory posts by participating food bloggers, and join in the fun!

I'm contributing a simple CROSTINI recipe, one that employs typical Italian ingredients and that celebrates the colors of the Italian flag: green, white and red.

Ingredients for 2 servings:
1 cup fresh heirloom tomatoes (whatever variety grows locally in your area)
1/2 ciabatta, baguette or sourdough loaf
100 g (1/2 cup) fresh mozzarella di bufala
A bunch of fresh basil
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper


Dice the mozzarella, draining away milky whey as you chop.

Dice the tomatoes, discarding seeds and juice. Season them with a little olive oil, a small pinch of salt and a few basil leaves. Leave to marinade for 10 minutes.

Preheat oven to 360°F

Cut the bread loaf open lengthwise, to obtain two open faces.

Sprinkle each with the seasoned tomatoes and mozzarella, and drizzle with a thread of olive oil.

Place the dressed bread on a cookie sheet and place it the oven for about ten minutes. Here’s why: you want to melt the mozzarella and bake the bread just a bit. If we were to simply stick the pan under the broiler, the cheese would melt and bubble very quickly but the bread might get soggy from the dressing's moistness. After ten minutes, crank on the broiler and finish off the crostini for a few minutes.

Adjust seasoning and serve garnished with more torn basil leaves (cutting them with a metal blade kills the flavor).

Buon Appetito e Auguri, Italia!

Crema fritta recipe

I thought Rome held the record of most varied deep-fried foods. Then I learned about American state fairs.

I found out that in Indiana they like to fry Twinkies, cookie dough, brownies and butter. That in Texas, besides deep frying Coca Cola, it's common to slather fried bacon with chocolate, and eat it on a stick. But the worst was discovering about the Luther Burger: an artery-clogging horror which features a fried black Angus all-beef patty, melted cheese, and two strips of fried bacon, all tucked inside a sliced glazed doughnut. To enhance the sweet-and-savory effect, in some states, the sandwich is served with a side of honey sauce.

For my liver's honor, I felt compelled to retaliate with something more elegant, and still typical of Italy's deep-fry culture.

Fried pastry custard is a Veneto specialty, and standard Carnevale street food. But many other Italian regions fry custard and serve the quirky non-sweet pastry as dessert, or not. Folks in Bologna in fact include it alongside deep fried artichokes, breaded potato croquettes, diced mozzarella, battered cauliflower, julienned zucchini, onion and apple rings, tiny lamb chops, Mortadella cubes, sweetbreads, chicken croquettes, and other selected fried foods in their fritto misto (savory mega-variety fried platter particular to many Italian regions).

Here is the recipe for crema fritta, the way they make it in Verona:

200 g (1 cup) sugar
1 liter (1 quart) whole milk
8 egg yolks
200 g (1 cup) flour, sifted
50 g (1/4 cup) cornflour
Zest from 1 organic lemon
1 packet vanilla extract
A pinch of salt
Vegetable oil for frying

For dredging:
4 egg whites
150 g (3/4 cup) breadcrumbs

Put the milk, lemon zest and vanilla in a heavy bottomed pot, and bring to a boil.

In a bowl, whisk together 5 egg yolks, sugar, flour and cornflour. Stir in the seasoned milk in one constant thin stream, stirring with a wire whisk. Move the cream back to the stove and add a pinch of salt; keep the mixture simmering as you gently stir, until it thickens.

Pour the obtained pastry cream in an oven pan lined with plastic wrap, and let it cool completely; during this time it will solidify.

Cut the now rubbery cream in 1-inch diamonds; dip them in the egg whites and dredge with breadcrumbs.

Fry the crema diamonds in piping hot oil a few at a time, turning them until evenly golden and crispy on both sides. Blot briefly on absorbant paper and serve warm.

Crunch.

Olive Ascolane recipe

L'infinito

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,

e questa siepe, che da tanta parte

dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.

Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati

spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani

silenzi, e profondissima quïete

io nel pensier mi fingo, ove per poco

il cor non si spaura. E come il vento

odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello

infinito silenzio a questa voce

vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,

e le morte stagioni, e la presente

e viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa

immensità s'annega il pensier mio:

e il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.

In one of his most appreciated works, the poem L’infinito, Giacomo Leopardi narrates an experience he often has when he sits in "his" secluded place on a Recanati hillside. His eyes cannot reach the horizon, because of a hedge surrounding the site; his thought, instead, is able to imagine spaces without limits. The silence is deep; when a breath of wind comes, this voice sounds like the voice of present time, and by contrast it evokes all times past, and eternity. Giacomo's thoughts drown in new and unknown waters, but il naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare, "my drifting shipwrecked in this sea is so sweet."

The Marche region can be defined as a food confederacy: influenced in the north by neighboring Romagna, southerly Abbruzzo and by Umbria, Toscany and Lazio to the west. The region's capital is the mountain-locked city of Ascoli Piceno. And the typical specialty there is Olive Ascolane, known to restore hope to even the rockiest, despondent pessimist.

Stuffed, breaded and fried olives from Ascoli: actual size

A blow to the liver, but incredibly tasty and original: green lightly brined olives that are rolled into perfect balls of ground veal and pork meat, then breaded and deep fried into crisp and tangy bite-size morsels of steaming nirvana. If buying the frozen supermarket kind doesn't appeal to you, assemble:

1 kg (2.2 lbs) green Ascoli olives (large, salted)
1 small onion, minced
1 carrot, minced
1 celery rib, minced
150 g (3/4 cup) lean veal or chicken
150 g (3/4 cup) lean pork
100 g (1/2 cup) prosciutto
A fistful of Pecorino Romano, grated
A fistful of Parmigiano, grated
4 eggs
50 g (1/4 cup) tomato concentrate
400 g (2 cups) breadcrumbs
400 g (2 cups) flour
1/2 glass dry, white wine
Extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Vegetable oil for frying
Salt and pepper to taste

Put meats and prosciutto through food processor. Brown the meat mince, onion, celery and carrot in a skillet with the olive oil, adding very little salt and pepper and moistening with the wine. When the wine evaporates, cover and continue cooking until the meat is thoroughly browned, but not dry. In a large mixing bowl, incorporate cooled meat mix and cheeses, a dash of breadcrumbs, nutmeg, tomato and 2 eggs. Combine all by passionately blending with your hands, and cool off from the sensual kneading with a nicely chilled glass of Falerio dei Colli Ascolani.

Remove the pit from the olives. A good way is to carve them away with a sharp paring knife, starting from the top and working your way down, obtaining one single long strip like when peeling an apple. I've seen folks use a cherry pitter, and it works just as well.

Stuff the pitted olive pulp with the meat mixture, rolling each into 1-inch globes. If during the pitting phase some break, you can reconstruct them during stuffing.

First tumble them in the flour, then plunge them in the remaining beaten eggs and finally roll them in the breadcrumbs. Let the orbs rest a little before frying. So after a short nap, heat your vegetable oil in a large frying pan, or better, start the electric fryer (this will avoid the crust from falling off the olives during frying). Drop the balls in the hot oil and deep-fry for a few minutes.

Briefly dry on paper towel and polish off at luciferine temperature.



Planning to visit Ascoli Piceno?

What to see
The Roman Bridge of Solestà, built in the age of Augustus, and almost perfectly preserved. It can be visited inside, which offers rare insight on Roman bridge architecture.
The historical center of the city, built in grey travertino marble, extracted from the surrounding mountains.
The central Renaissance Piazza del Popolo is considered one of the most beautiful in Italy.
The cathedral of Sant'Emidio, period.
The Malatesta Fortress, rising on the site of ancient Roman baths, and reconstructed under Galeotto Malatesta, the lord of Rimini. The fortress was used as a prison until very recent times.
At Castel Trosino, there's an ancient necropolis, that dates back to the 6th century AD.

What to do
On the first Sunday in August, the historical parade for Sant'Emidio, the patron saint of the city. Fifteen-hundred citizens, outfitted in impressive Renaissance costumes, march down the corso to the sound of a steady drum-beat, and several file past on horseback. The parade is followed by a jousting tournament, called Quintana, during which six knights–each one competing for one of the six historical quarters in the city–in turn and armed with heavy lance astride their steed, thunder around a racetrack lunging forward, trying to pummel a cardboard figure of a Saracen warrior, Il Moro.

Image © Massimo Carradori

If you attend the Quintana festival, be prepared for a hot and exciting afternoon. The crowds get wildly involved in the scores of the jousts, cheering for their sestiere, much like the Palio held in Siena twice a year. For an out-of-town visitor however, an hour or two of parade and jousting might be enough, especially if traveling with children. It might be wiser at that point to repair to an air-conditioned room, lots of gelato under a leafy canopy, and plan dinner and more activities for the cool of evening.

Getting there
A rental car is your best bet. From the autostrada A14 (eastern coastal toll highway), take the exit San Benedetto del Tronto. There are easy to follow road signs that direct to the Ascoli city center from there on.

Ascoli Piceno can also be reached by regional trains, which run quite frequently and leave every 30 to 40 minutes, from either San Benedetto del Tronto or Porto d'Ascoli; both are stops on the Adriatic rail line. But be aware that the train station is just outside town, so you'll need to take a taxi to get to the centro. There is also a bus service from San Benedetto del Tronto that leaves from the train station and arrives in the center of Ascoli Piceno.


For more ideas and travel tips in Le Marche, be sure to swing by my friend Valerie who lived in Ascoli for a number of years before moving further south to Basilicata.

Pizza di Scarola rustic pie recipe

Originally a Christmas dish, this savory Neapolitan vegetable pie is an Italian mealtime classic. In the Napoli hometown, the stuffed pie crust has a hint of sweetness and needs yeast and lard. I use regular bread dough for a lighter outcome. It's a different way of eating greens, puts smiles on children's faces and gratifies your taste buds with a piquant filling surprise.

Image © giallozafferano.it

For the crust:
500 g (2 1/2 cups) flour
125 ml (1/2 cup) milk
60 g (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, softened
125 ml (1/2 cup) lukewarm water
12 g (1 tsp) active dry, or brewer's yeast
1 pinch of salt
1 tsp sugar
40 g (2 tbps) extra virgin olive oil
1 egg yolk stirred with a little milk for brushing


For the filling:
1 large or 2 medium heads of escarole (broad-leaved endive) washed and chopped
A fistful of Gaeta olives (or small purple Kalamata olives) pitted
A pinch of salted capers, rinsed
2 garlic cloves, halved
1 spicy red peperoncino
1 oil-packed anchovy (optional)
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt

To make the crust, first melt the yeast in a small vessel with the milk, lukewarm water, very little salt and a tsp of sugar.

Now place the flour in a large mixing bowl with the softened butter, olive oil and incorporate the yeasty blend. Mix well with a wooden spoon to obtain a moist ball, pouring the lukewarm water in slowly.

Turn the oily dough onto a clean surface, and knead briefly, just until it becomes smoother, about a minute. Cut the dough into two pieces, one slightly larger than the other. Wrap each piece in plastic, and let rest in a warm place, for about 2 hours. The dough pieces will double in volume.

Preheat oven at 180° C (350° F).

Boil the chopped escarole for 2 minutes in plenty of water. Drain and wring away excess water.

Meanwhile, lightly film a large pan with olive oil, and heat over medium-high. Brown the garlic and peperoncino to release their flavors, and discard when the garlic begins to brown. According to your taste you can decide to leave in the peperoncino. The original recipe calls for an added oil-preserved anchovy too, you're free to omit it but it does give the whole recipe a punch without ever noticing the actual anchovy flavor.

Sauté the parboiled escarole for 5 minutes in the flavored olive oil with the pitted olives, capers and a pinch of salt. Let it cool 10 minutes before the next step.

Roll the two dough disks or squares out; given the greasiness of the dough, no flour is needed, but just in case, you can line your baking pan with some parchment paper.

The larger dough piece should be bigger than your 9-inch pie shell. Drape the larger rolled dough over the lined pie shell leaving some overhang all around.

Fill with the cooked greens and cover with the second dough piece.

Trim away a little of the excess dough, crimp the edge all the way around to seal the pie, and cut 4 small slits in the top, or pierce the surface with the tines of a fork.

Brush the surface with some egg wash and bake 20-30 minutes (depending on oven vigor).

Let the pie rest on a wire rack for about 15 minutes before serving.

Cut generous slices and serve paired with the rest of your meal, generously washed down by big Aglianico wine. Otherwise you can enjoy it cold the next day, with a chilled beer.

Baked pears with gorgonzola and honey recipe

The quirky flavor combination of cheese and honey is recently very much in style on Italian dinner tables. I have adapted that to the ancient Italian maxim that reads Al contadino non far sapere quant'è buono il formaggio con le pere (don't let the farmer know how tasty his pears are, eaten with cheese–intending that once he finds out, he won't share his pears with you).

This 10-minute marvel will gratify your tastebuds and have you imploring il contadino for more.

4 large Williams (aka Bartlett) pears
200 g (2 cups) sharp Gorgonzola
1 oz fluid honey

Pine nuts, lightly toasated

Heat the oven at 200° C (390° F).

Blanch the pears by soaking them in boiling hot water for 2 minutes, then cut them in half, and scoop out about 1/2 inch of the central pulp, to remove seeds.

Place pear halves on a greased cookie sheet flat face up, and cover them evenly with thick, messy slices of sharp Gorgonzola.

Bake pears in the oven for a few minutes, or until the cheese has fully melted, and begins to bubble slightly.

Carefully transfer on a serving platter and drizzle with warm honey and garnish with toasted pine nuts. Serve with bold red wine as a prelude to robust meat courses and hefty lasagna, or simply as a restoring midnight tonic.

One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating. 

–– Luciano Pavarotti

Panelle recipe

The pancake-thin chickpea flour fritter is a trademark of western Sicilian eating. To savor this dainty fried carb fest at its best, locals eat panelle as a sandwich filler, stacked between two slices of crusty homestyle bread. But no one will frown at you for scoffing them as is, simply sprinkled with salt.

Image © agrodolce.it

Sicilian friggitorie (shops that fry and sell several kinds of food) and street food vendors, cut their panelle in irregular squares. I like to make mine round, but you can shape them however you like, of course.

400 g (2 cups) chickpea flour
1 liter (4 cups) water
3 tablespoons Italian flatleaf parsley, finely chopped
Salt
Peanut oil for frying

An empty soda tin with the ends cut off


Place the chickpea flour, water and salt in a large stewpot over medium heat, and stir until the mixture hardens to porridge-like consistency. Let it cool briefly before pouring it over a flat work surface. Sprinkle some chopped parsley, level the "dough" evenly and let it rest.

Use the bottomless soda can to cut round panelle, and fry them in small batches, in abundant peanut or sunflour seed oil until golden on both sides.

Fish them out and blot the panelle on a paper towel before serving hot with sesame rolls or casareccio bread and chilled dry, white wine.

I love street food, don't you?

Eggplant vegetarian "meatballs" recipe

Have I mentioned my partiality towards meatballs? Well, here's one of my favorite vegetarian meatball recipes. Borrowed from the restaurant menu of Buca di Bacco in Positano, with kind permission of the entire kitchen staff, an élite group of gourmet chefs to which, years ago for a brief period, I had the honor of belonging. 

Ingredients for 4 servings
3 large eggplants
2 egg yolks
1 tablespoons breadcrumbs
2 tablespoon pecorino Romano, grated
1 sprig fresh basil leaves, finely chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
More breadcrumbs for dredging
Olive oil for frying

Peel the eggplant and dice. Place in a colander, sprinkle with salt and let sit for 1 hour. This procedure purges the eggplant's potential bitterness.

Rinse well and blanche the eggplant in a large pot of salted water.

Strain the eggplant quite al dente, then press between two plates to remove excess liquid. Chop finely and combine with the egg yolks, breadcrumbs, grated Pecorino, basil and pepper, mixing well with your hands.

Roll the mixture into 2-inch fat patties, dredge in breadcrumbs and drop in boiling hot oil and fry until golden. The amounts indicated should yield about 12 patties, more or less.

Deposit shortly on blotting paper or kitchen towel before wolfing down.

The white wine must be chilled!

Roasted olive salad

On Tuesdays my farmer friend and agriculture guru Franco sells his produce on a small makeshift stall at my local produce market. He drives his minivan 25 Km from his coastal country farm, delivering us freshness and health once a week, all year long. This is as local and organic as it gets. 

As I walk up and elbow my way to the front of Franco's crowded display of vegetables, fruits, flowers and freshly laid eggs, I notice the hand painted sign. It reads: "Open on Wed-Thur-Sat too. Thank you, spring."

And indeed I see why Franco has decided to triple his effort, the bounty on sale is virtually amazing. Baby spring zucchini topped with flowers, redolent red peppers, slender eggplant, bright green cratefuls of garden greens–trimmed and already washed, juicy cherry tomatoes the size of a fingernail, fave, chickory, deep purple artichokes, the very last puntarelle of the season, asparagus, radicchio tardivo; and then crisp apples, the curiously fuzzy local kiwi variety, blood oranges and stout pears, warming in the sun. 

When it's my turn finally, Franco smiles, snaps a pod and shells me a tiny handful of exquisite fresh baby peas. The sweet, green globules burst in my mouth bringing back forgotten sensory memories.

Needless to say, even if Franco will be around the neighborhood more often, I ended up buying a large weekly supply of fruits and vegetables. I usually never shop with a list in mind, I just let the ingredients at hand inspire me.

So besides the produce and the bunch of lilacs that now make my house smell like paradise, I also bought some of Franco's homemade roasted black olives.

I soaked them in water and rinsed them well, letting them drip dry.

Tossed them in a bowl with a little olive oil, cracked black pepper, a wee pinch of salt and omitted the peperoncino flakes I usually add to the dressing, because my son wanted to taste them.

Then I chopped in a slice of mandarin orange complete with its rind, and skewered a fork in the largest clove of garlic I could find, and used that to stir.

I then let the whole thing marinate for a few hours and later enjoyed a delicious aperitivo of zesty citrus-flavored roasted olives with a glass of Lacrima di Morro d'Alba, a lovely red wine from Le Marche region.

The bread is still warm. Birds chirp and the sun is shining.

As Franco so plainly puts it–thank you, spring.

Fried sage recipe

Frittura mista – noun; Italian assorted fried platter, similar to Japanese tempura. A mixture of vegetables, herbs, meat, cheese and fish which are dipped in a light batter and quickly deep fried.

In my frittura mista platter–along with crisp morsels of ribbony mozzarella in carrozza, tasty calamari and shrimp fritters, feather-light fried zucchini blossoms, tiny chicken nuggets, a handful of sweet potato French fries, and golden fried artichoke hearts–I always include a batch of deep-fried sage leaves.

The key element in proper frying is the batter. It must be very cold and fluffy, while on the other hand, the frying vegetable oil should be very hot. Quantity is also important, don't spare on the oil, glug glug away. The more the better.

1 cup large sage leaves
1/2 cup unbleached flour
1 glass of beer, chilled or 1 glass of chilled sparkling water (I use either Peroni beer , or San Pellegrino water)
Oil for frying
Sea salt

Wash the leaves under cold running water and pat dry with a paper towel.

In a mixing bowl, blend a glass of chilled sparkling water or beer, flour and a small pinch of salt until fluffy. Blend using a wire whip to mix and tweak quantities in order to obtain the perfect "pastella" (batter). It should runny, not thick. But not watery. Also, don't over-blend. Cover the bowl with a clean kitchen towel and refrigerate for 15-30 minutes.

Heat the oil in a deep skillet, frying pan or a wok. Ideally the correct frying temperature should never be below 180° C (350° F). If you don't have a cooking thermometer (I don't), the best way to tell if the oil is hot enough, is checking to see if the heat has made it less syrupy. It should rather be more on the liquid side. Gently swirl the pan and see: if circle ripples form, the oil is ready for frying. You can also try dropping a droplet of batter in the oil to see if it sizzles.

Dip the leaves one at a time in the chilled batter and deep fry in plenty scalding olive oil in small batches. They will puff up and turn golden quickly, 40-50 seconds on each side. Pick them up with a pair of tongs and briefly park them on paper towel before serving hot, sprinkled with more salt if need be.

Buon appetito!

All images courtesy of Autumn Azure for Home Cook Project

Scrambled eggs with brie, walnuts and truffle recipe

In my cuisine/lifestyle manuscript (sitting in a drawer, waiting for a brave publisher to give it life), besides illustrating traditional Italian dishes, typical holiday food and a wide section dedicated to comfort food, or those recipes that satisfy nocturnal cravings and healthy kids' appetites, there is a chapter titled "seduction." 

I am not limiting this to the pleasures of the alcove. When I cook for others–be it for a single special individual or for a significant group–I want to play and tease, making my guests and their appetites feel loved and tickled. I want to attract them, tempt them into the guilty pleasures of the dinner table, and see the abandon in their eyes as they indulge in a third helping. I use my culinary seduction weapons (apron and wooden spoon, mostly) to astound and revive indolent couch-bound friends, or see a smile surface on a gloomy face. I like to provoke with food, it gives me the power to balance out lost harmony. Anyone who loves to cook, has then certainly pursued undecided suitors on a special date with a challenging dish. Offered large portions of plenty as a peace sign to grumpy in-laws. Or fed noisy dinner guest a meal to remember just to enjoy the silence as they speechlessly ingested. That, too, is the 'kitchen burlesque' I advocate.

So it's only natural for me to believe that the noblest form of persuasion and beguiling titillation is through the art of cooking a perfect meal. Food is sexy, period. The obvious oysters, copious amounts of caviar eaten with fingers and fountains spilling gallons of chilled champagne? It may be surprising to some, but many sensual foods and preparations are, on the contrary, affordable and quite unsophisticated.

Were you aware, for example, that anchovies are a potent aphrodisiac? On a par with chili peppers, pine nuts, anise, basil, carrots, pistachio nuts, almonds, arugula, sage, turnips, parsley, and one of the supposed intimacy-spoilers, garlic? Also, think pomegranate kernels loosely scattered on rare grilled meats, lightly steamed asparagus wantonly dribbled with melted butter, or the amazing texture of avocado which has been stained with balsamic vinegar.

Choose a few key luxurious flavors for your seduction repast, well studied lighting, a fine bottle of wine, alluring music and attire, and even a plate of scrambled eggs can count as foreplay.

Soft scrambled eggs with brie, walnuts and truffle recipe

Fifteen minutes to assemble, five to prepare. Leaves you all the time you need for a relaxing bath, lighting the candles and rubbing lemon juice and olive oil on your skin. For an orgy of four, prepare:

6 free-range eggs
100 g (1/2 cup) walnuts, shelled and lightly toasted
150 g (3/4 cup) brie, room temperature
1 small truffle
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon heavy cream
Salt and white pepper to taste

In a mixing bowl, beat the eggs and season with salt and pepper.

Cut the brie in thin matchsticks and finely chop the walnuts except for a few. Play a soft ballad in the background while you do this.

Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed skillet, and pour in the beaten eggs. Stir in the slivered cheese and ground walnuts. Add a few truffle shavings and stir with a wooden or plastic whisk (to avoid scratching the bottom of your pan) for a brief moment.

Remove the skillet from the stove and continue stirring to melt the cheese and obtain a soft creamy texture. Serve warm garnished with more shaved truffle, and the remaining walnut meats. Don't forget the wine.

And this was only the appetizer...