The New York Times "36 Hours in..." column

It was one of the bad days.

One of the days during lockdown when you can barely get out of bed. Sink full of dirty dishes, laundry piled high in the bin. Those days when not even food picks you up.

I dragged myself to the computer and, like every day, braced myself to read the news.

In browsing The New York Times' Travel section for some escape therapy, I spotted a call for entries.
The paper's popular 36 Hours series was launching their first ever reader-generated itinerary. The first with no actual traveling
Without thinking I filled the fields in the contact form and sent without even doing a spellcheck.

I've always dreamed of having my writing published in The New York Times. The Holy Grail of journalism and reporting.

Lesson number 4,937,583,262,543 that I learned during quarantine: dreams do come true. Even on bad days.

36 Hours in… Wherever You Are ~ a weekend of traveling you can do from home.

Essential kitchen tools for cooking Italian food

Just like any cuisine uses its indigenous cookware – think anything from Asian stacked bamboo steamer baskets and woks, to Spanish paella pans and French crèpe skillets – Italian cookery also demands its own set of specific tools and implements.

Check out this list of 12 essential kitchen tools for cooking Italian food.  Continue Reading ☛

Book Cafe – Il Talismano della Felicità

I've decided to start a monthly series inspired by one of Rachel's latest posts. I love reading cookbooks as literature, and not merely to follow instructions when preparing someone else's recipe.
So every month, or so (I'm not good with deadlines and calendars, see my defunct newsletter) I promise to write about a favorite cookbook, and the inspiration it provided beyond the kitchen stove.

I'll be kicking off this series talking about a dear volume, one I treasure on a par with dearest family heirlooms.

"The Talisman of Happiness" is a well-known Italian cookbook originally published in 1929, written by magazine editor Ada Boni, updated with a gazillion editions, and commonly found in most Italian households. It is believed to be the first Italian cookbook specifically targeted to housewives. And despite women's emancipation since then, the classic manual's sales still surge mostly in springtime, in wedding season. This characteristic seasonality in purchases, according to Italian food network and magazine Gambero Rosso, is a clear sign that Il Talismano della Felicità is still very much a gift frequently bestowed upon newlywed brides.

The monumental tome presents more than 1100 recipes, and under 100 color plates. Ada begins each recipe listing ingredients, followed by a brief and concise method. Dianne Jacob, writing coach, cookbook editor, talented blogger and personal guru of mine would probably object to Ada's hiccuping use of exact quantities in her recipes, but Italians, who are used to seeing q.b. (quanto basta, meaning 'just enough') for an ingredient in modern day recipes, don't blink at her approximations.

I love that the recipes are simple and results unfailing. Her ossobuco recipe covers half a page, and the one I make following her instructions has always been a success. I love leafing through the yellowed pages of the old edition (I have two, one published in 1968) and finding old, forgotten recipes my Nonna used to make on a daily basis. And that retro 60's vintage photography, isn't it lovely?

I love that sometimes Ada contradicts herself (don't we all?) in her beliefs and directions, and I appreciate how she informally addresses her readers, yet maintaining a stately prose.

Il Talismano is my go-to resource when I have no idea what to make for dinner, my problem solver if I only have 3 ingredients in the fridge, and a reliable place for a last minute recipe accuracy check.

I have many favorites in this book, so it was a difficult choice to single out just one. This particular recipe I'll be sharing today sits in a narrow column, among stains and food splotches, in the rich pastry "dictionary," that prologues the dessert chapter.

In Italian, the name of the recipe is Mandorle Diablées, whose suitable translation could be, "Deviled Almonds."

Here it is, in an amateur translation by yours truly, with the cheek of trying to mirror Ada Boni's writing style.

DEVILED ALMONDS

For 100 g (1/2 cup) of shelled almonds

100 g (1/2 cup) egg whites

Salt

Cayenne pepper


Soak the almonds in cold water, which you'll then bring to a gentle boil. As the water trembles just before boiling, remove the small pot from the stove, let cool and then peel the husk off the almonds.

After drying them, heat almonds lightly in a mild oven, stirring and turning to brown evenly on both sides.

Transfer to a plate to cool. Break the egg whites with the tines of a fork and wet the almonds, mixing with your fingertips. Dust with a decent amount of salt mixed with Cayenne pepper, and mix to coat the almonds completely.

Spread them again on the oven sheet and allow them to dry at barely perceivable heat.

I use these as aperitivo nibbles, thrown in a salad or in bold mushroom and seafood pastas, or to spice up a boring soccer game. Chilled craft beer and freedom to belch aloud, mandatory.

Want to learn more about Il Talismano della Felicità? There's a thorough article on Ada Boni and her 'Happiness Talisman' written by friend and fellow blogger Frank, at delightful 'Memorie di Angelina.'


"There can be no true happiness if in such an essential part of our daily lives as eating is neglected." 

–– Ada Boni

Cook pasta a dente!

In Italy, overcooking pasta is a sin, period. Al dente, which literally means "to the tooth," as in, "how does it feel to the tooth," stands for the correct point of cooking hardness. The opposite of al dente isn't some version of normal; it's soft or overdone.

Continue Reading ➔

I made the papers!

There was a lovely article about my food blogging in the Rome issue of Corriere della Sera this weekend. It talked a bit about my childhood, my family, how I came to blogging, and how my career has evolved out of film and into food writing. It was a very well written article, and condensed the friendly, hour-long chat I had with columnist Maria Egizia Fiaschetti, who penned the story.

Here is an online version of the printed article.
Definitely going into my book proposal package to publishers!

Italian Christmas menus

Candied dates smeared with butter, dried figs stuffed with walnuts, trays of hazelnuts, almonds, pecans and dark Brazilian nuts. Bread crumbs, cracked nutshells, bits of leftovers, empty espresso cups and wine glasses, and curled up mandarin orange peel scattered on a bright red embroidered tablecloth.

That’s the image that comes to mind when I think of Christmas Eve dinner at my mother’s house. The annual battleground after the seafood-based feast known as cenone della vigilia.

Earlier in the day the kitchen vibrates with joyful activity. We cook, drink, laugh a lot and throw food at each other, authorized to make a mess. We do it all together. We prepare the Christmas Eve dinner together, we eat it together and together we express our love for each other exchanging little thoughtful presents after midnight Mass. When my son finally falls asleep, we tiptoe into the house's many hiding places and bring out Santa's booty. We eat the snack left out for him, leaving evident crumbs and soot footsteps coming out of the chimney. And we smile in his same adorable anticipation. And that's when it truly feels like Christmas.

I kept wondering why I was having such a hard time getting into the Christmas mood this year. I tried everything: decorating the tree, building the presepe, putting up ornaments and lights all over the house, playing carols, baking cookies, constructing a gingerbread house... I included my son in all these usually infectious holiday activities because, after all, that's who I was doing it all for. But it wasn't really working. Something was missing.


And then I figured it out. I understood that there wasn't anything missing, there was actually an excess instead. There is too much of everything. Excessive frantic driving through traffic for last minute shopping. Too much constant mad rushing to conquer ground (and parking space) in horrible hysteria-mode stores and malls. Had the holiday season been reduced to racing brawl-prone folks laden with gift-wrapped boxes to the best deal? That's not Christmas! Christmas suddenly had turned into a commercial operation, and I somehow had forgotten its real meaning. To me Natale was a moment of excitement, of preparation, of joy. A traditional festive family occasion.

This shouldn't sound like a sermon, but very few things are sacred for me and Christmas is one of them. Nowadays Christmas in Italy is all about getting the perfect gift, leaving for the ultimate exotic vacation (and then bragging about it), accumulating rather than un-cluttering. Il Santo Natale–the holiness of Christmas–has been transformed into a display of money, image and opulence rather than a domestic celebration. It's a little sad, isn't it?

Thankfully the one element of Italian Natale that will never change is getting the family around a table and eating like crazy. So tomorrow evening, the dining room will be alive with chatter and laughter. After the gargantuan meal, the venue will convert – like every year – into casino royale for the Italian ritual Christmas gambling and tombola (bingo) tradition. The crumbs and nutshells get swept off la tavola with one tipsy motion and the games will begin. Usually one cousin – appropriately nicknamed 'the taxman' – always wins every game, pocketing all our invested coins, so after a few rounds everyone gets up disgruntled, belching and unzipping constricting garments. Someone always volunteers to do the monumental pile of dishes, and politics are rarely ever overlooked in the conversation. We have been known to fight occasionally on Christmas Eve for that reason. But we also stick to tradition, and play, laugh and eat ourselves into a stupor.

Like every year, my mother will be Grand Supervisor of the Christmas Eve banquet, which will traditionally include fish in its multi-course menu and copious amounts of wine, bubbly and happiness. We all help out and contribute our share cooking with her.

Needless to say, pre-preparation has already started. I am in fact posting this in a break during busy kitchen work.

This year we will be serving our Christmas Eve Dinner guests (old friends, immediate family and additional boyfriends, girlfriends, ex-spouses and the like) the following menu:

Smoked salmon canapées
Fritto di paranza (small fried fish)
Lasagna with Taleggio, mushrooms and shaved white truffles
Steamed European Sea bass with homemade mayonnaise (12 eggs)
Broccoli rabe rustic pie
Escarole rustic pie
Insalata di rinforzo (Neapolitan boiled cabbage, Greek olives and anchovy salad)
Artichokes "alla Romana" (added at the last minute)
Panettone, Pandoro and mixed nuts, dried figs and dates
Champagne Veuve-Cliquot Rosé
Rosso di Montalcino
Greco di Tufo
Limoncello
Amaro
Homemade myrtle liqueur

But Natale here in Italy is a two-day celebration, so...

The Christmas Day Lunch (for seating capacity reasons, always held at my mom's house) menu will feature:

Tortellini in brodo made with 3 kinds of meat/bones
Crown lamb roast and oven-baked russet potatoes
Guinea-fowl breasts stuffed with chestnuts and truffles
Radicchio, pears and gorgonzola salad
Panettone and Pandoro
Seasonal fruit platter
Chianti Classico
Passito di Pantelleria
Mandarin oranges

I have the oven blasting at 350°F and the smell in the house is delicious. My apron is spattered and Mr. E is wearing a Santa hat with flashing red lights. He's helping me mix ingredients. Rosemary Clooney is singing her carols for us through the sound system, and tree lights twinkle.

Something inside is tingling. I may have just found my Christmas spirit...

What not to cook for picky guests

I haven't blogged in a while and I've missed it. But the thing I have done the least is cook, let alone have friends over for dinner. I am finally back in a less remote part of Abruzzi and I have moved into a sweet little attic in the centro storico, where I will soon be entertaining guests and colleagues for delicious meals. Can't wait to get my stove fired up and my pots and pans rocking over the flames.

But when inviting relatively new friends over for a meal, the good host has to keep in mind that not all guests share the same tastes, obviously. Not all the folks I'll be having over in my place are hearty soup fans, or carnivores like me. Not all may love raw fish or offal. Some will cringe at the sight of squid ink risotto, and some will be suspicious before liver crostini and octopus.

So I've decided to make out a list. An index of the most off-limits foods to serve at a meal. When designing the menu for a diverse group of guests, one must take into consideration many elements. Seasons of course, and locality of the foods served. But also ethical choices, idiosyncrasies, whims and food trends. The best part of a meal with friends is seeing the smiles on their faces as they mop the remnants of sauce from their plate. That's a sure sign of a culinary success.

Here are a few things you should avoid cooking for your pickiest friends.
Lamb. Subject to culinary and ethical foibles. If you're in Italy around Easter, it's another story.

Eel. Are you up to cutting them up alive? That's how it's done apparently. And decapitating them won't work because the nervous system keeps the chopped parts jolting for a further 15 minutes.

Lobster. Your guest will be aware that you have tossed them alive and screaming into boiling water. Consider that.

Carbonara. Very easy dish but so hard to prepare well. The danger between "raw scrambled eggs" and "quick setting cement" effect is a very fine line. Especially if you're planning to make it for more than 4 people.

Horse meat. Seriously, would anyone ever serve horse meat at a dinner? Don't think so.

Brains. Delicious deep fried veal brains are best eaten at the reaturant. Serving them for dinner at home flirts with cannibalism.

Cucumber. Strangely very unpopular.

Rabbit. The British have a huge problem with rabbit. For them it's a pet, for us Italians it would be like serving cat stew.

Liver. Vegetarians keel over at the table, hygene integralists object to it being the filter of all the chemicals fed to cattle, others still haven't gotten over the childhood shock of the first bite. It is also very difficult to cook: if served rare it is bloody and horrific, if well-done, too leathery.

Shellfish. Many are allergic.

Snails. I love the way the French prepare them, but that's me...

Raw fish. Harder to prepare than cooked fish. When deciding for a plate of "crudo" one must consider its absolute freshness, one's own carving ability, the correct serving temperature, which kind of fish to purchase, etc.

Frogs. Many of your guests have played with them when they were children. Some other romantic and optimistic may have even kissed one.

Kidneys. Cooking them requires the utmost expertise. And in case of failure, the outcome is a horrible taste of... well, urine. Eww!

Octopus. Tentacles freak people out, especially non-Mediterraneans.

Veal. The cruelty to the calves has made it very hard for folks to eat veal. But not here. The Italian farming industry is different, no chaining, no force feeding, no horror.

I'm making a nice plate of spaghetti aglio, olio e peperoncino tonight. Shall I count you in?