Stracciatella

Such a funny word, stracciatella. A noun that means 'torn to little shreds' [strah·tcha·tell·ah] can be one of three things: a variety of egg-drop soup, a gelato flavor and a type of cheese.

The stracciatella gelato is a delicious and exotic version of chocolate chip ice cream, but this is gelato we're talking about, so creamy and not chunky and made with a white fior di latte (milk) base and minuscule dark chocolate shavings. Hence the name.

The stracciatella cheese is the sinful stuffing for burrata typical of Puglia. It is made with torn pieces of mozzarella and mixed with heavy cream. The outer shell is a pouch made of solid mozzarella, while the inside contains both the creamy stracciatella, which give burrata's unique pulpy texture. Cutting through a fresh new burrata and the witnessing the soft shredded pulp oozing out, is a truly mystic experience.

The stracciatella soup is a cucina romana recipe, but this comfort food is made made all over Lazio, which is the region of which Rome is the capital.

The recipe is super easy and brings the magical healing powers of chicken soup to a whole new level.
I once nursed a broken heart on a strict diet of stracciatella (in all three incarnations). Worked wonders.

2 eggs
100 gr (1/2 cup) Parmigiano, grated
1 lt (1 quart) meat stock
A pinch of nutmeg
Salt
Lemon zest

Lightly beat the eggs in a bowl with a fork, add the grated cheese, a pinch of ground nutmeg and a pinch of salt, and whisk to blend.

Bring the beef stock to a rolling boil. Using a whisk, create a vortex in the broth by swirling in the same direction. Be careful, boiling hot brodo is a bitch.

Carefully pour the eggy mixture in one slim stream into the eye of the whirlpool and keep swirling to break up the stracciatella, reduce the heat to maintain it at a gentle simmer for about 5 minutes, as you keep stirring and shredding as the egg cooks in the broth.

Serve sprinkled with a touch of lemon zest.

Have you uncorked the bottle of Colli Lanuvini?

Maionese recipe

Image © ecosalon.com

Homemade mayo rocks. Better tasting and definitely wholesome compared to the crap commercially sold in a jar or worse, in a tube.

The difficult part in making it at home is not having it separate while you add the olive oil as it thickens. In Italian we say our mayonnaise is impazzita, "gone crazy" when that happens.

To avoid this, some experts suggest to make it alone, without exterior noises, or disturbances. Some even push it as far as saying not to make it during your menstrual cycle.

Nonsense, I make it all the time, with kids playing soccer in the living room, or with heavy metal blaring in the background. Here's how I prepare it, foolproof and craziness-free.

1 egg yolk
1 tsp white wine vinegar
2 pinches dry mustard
Salt and freshly ground white pepper
150 ml (3⁄4 cup) extra virgin olive oil
Juice of 1⁄2 lemon

Put the egg yolk, vinegar, mustard, and a little salt and pepper in a medium mixing bowl and whisk until foamy and thoroughly blended. I use one of the small wood whisks pictured above, but a silicone whisk works well too


Tricky part.
Add 50 ml (1⁄4 cup) of the olive oil, a few drops at a time, whisking constantly.
Gradually add the rest of the oil in a thin, steady stream, continuing to whisk as the mayonnaise thickens.

Add 1 teaspoon of the lemon juice, and adjust seasonings if necessary. But the less you mess with mayo, the better.

Amuse bouche recipe

To keep our guests busy while last touches were being made on the gargantuan Ferragosto meal, we offered these tiny amuse bouche (French for small, savory items served as an appetizer, literally 'amuse the mouth') presented in lovely little china dipping bowls.

We made deviled eggs and tuna-stuffed cherry tomatoes; and dressed each respectively with a minuscule Salina caper, and a pitted olive. We decorated each serving bowl with some baby lettuce and, voila smiles on faces.

Buon appetito.

Carbonara recipe

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 much? 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 as one of my culinary strong points, and overrule my carbonara embargo. I should do this because some folks have never tasted the 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. Some others attribute the birth of carbonara to American allies putting breakfast of bacon and eggs on pasta.

Whatever the origin, this dish is a cucina romana stalwart.

To make the real rebellious carbonara for 4 you'll need:

500 g (1.1 lb) spaghetti, I also make it with rigatoni or any thumb-length, ribbed tube pasta
200 g (1 cup) guanciale, cubed or thinly sliced in strips (can be substituted with unsmoked pancetta or bacon)
1 egg + 4 yolks
1/2 cup each Pecorino Romano and Parmigiano Reggiano, grated
Freshly ground black pepper

Bring a gallon of cold water to a rolling boil, adding a fistful of salt when the surface of the water begins to tremble. Cook the pasta until it is al dente. Do. Not. Overcook.

While the pasta boils, sizzle the strips or cubes of guanciale in a hot skillet for about 10 minutes over a low flame, until the fat is translucent, crisp and barely browned. Remove skillet from the stove, discard the rendered fat, blot the cooked pork on kitchen towels and keep aside.

In a large serving bowl, whisk together the eggs, yolks, grated cheeses and pepper. Blend well into a yellow paste. I use a fork for this.

Tricky part.

When the cooking timer rings, using tongs, fish out the pasta from the boiling water, and immediately toss it into the bowl with the eggy mixture, place the bowl over the pot of boiling water and blend vigorously using your fork. This way you're cooking the egg AND coating the pasta, clever you! 

You don't want the egg to set with the heat of the pasta (that's frittata) you want to evenly coat it, while cooking. 

If you see the sauce is too dry you can add a slug of starchy cooking water and keep blending the silky delight. Taste and add more salty cheese and ground black pepper, if necessary. 

Garnish with the fried pork. Done.

Frittata alla Mentuccia recipe

This is a first.

For years, I've been a cynical anti-Valentine advocate. I posted about my unsympathetic stand towards the lovers' holiday in this post. I still find the commercial exploitation revolting, but this year I decided to wipe away the cynicism and support the Amore occasion with the naïvety of a blushing girl's first crush.

And what better way than with a delicious demonstration of my feelings?

While throngs of lovers exchange sappy cards, gifts and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, I will break my celebratory embargo with an unconventional savory treat:

Frittata alla Mentuccia - Peppermint Frittata

Ingredients
50 g (1/4 cup) bacon, cut in matchsticks
A bunch of fresh peppermint
1 clove of garlic, minced
Dash of Pecorino cheese, grated
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
6 eggs


Soak the peppermint in plenty of water and a fistful of baking soda to eliminate traces of field dirt and unwanted chemicals. Rinse several times and pat dry. Trim away stems and chop finely, to yield about 1/4 cup of minced leaves.

Film a large skillet with 3 tablespoons of olive oil and sauté the bacon with the minced garlic. Remove from the skillet with a slotted spoon and set aside. Leave the bacon drippings in the pan, you'll be cooking the frittata in them. Yes, I know – I'm drooling too.

In a mixing bowl, break the eggs, add a fistful of grated Pecorino, and break the yolks with a fork. Stir, folding in the chopped peppermint and crisp bacon, and mix well. If the eggs are superfresh and thus rich in "gluey" albumen, I usually splash in a drop of milk to dilute the eggy mix. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and let it sit while you put the skillet back on the stove to heat the bacon drippings.

Pour the blend in the skillet and reduce the heat to low. Cook slowly for about 5 minutes, or until you can lift the bottom of the frittata off the the pan with a spatula. If you can flip omelets like a perfect French chef, go ahead. I slide mine from the skillet onto a flat, wide lid; and flipping that over the pan in order to cook the other side, accident-free, for another 2-3 minutes.

Adjust seasoning, slice in large wedges and stuff in warm ciabatta bread. Pack the sandwiches in a picnic hamper, along with a bottle of wine, some aged cheese, juicy pears, and a thermos of piping hot espresso. Take the rest of that day off, folding spacious blanket underarm, ready to go make out in the park with your significant other. And not just because it's Valentine's Day.

Leek Frittata recipe

Making frittata unscrambles the mojo.

Even if you enjoy cooking like myself, at the end of a hard working day the last thing you want is finding the energy for it. Although calling in for delivered pizza seems like the easiest option, I remind myself how a few minutes of stove side multitasking can help me unwind. Whisking eggs and whatever's left over in the fridge into an omelet was my Nonna Titta's lazy supper solution. Paired with a crisp salad, warm bread and a glass of robust red wine, simple frittata turns a modest dinner into a feast.

Image © yumsugar.com

Frittata di Porri - Leek Frittata

Denser than the whisked, French omelette; Italian frittata is always cooked whole, served sliced like a pizza, and not folded over. Leek frittata is my favorite quick fix oner. Delicate yet assertive, it can be great as a stand-alone TV dinner or sandwich filler for picnics and kids’ lunchbox. I make one mean frittata, here's how:

4 eggs, beaten
2 large leeks
1 tbsp milk
1/2 bouillon cube
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste

Soak the leeks in plenty cold water and baking soda to remove any traces of pesticides, chemicals and dirt. Rinse well and towel dry. Thinly slice (a mandoline helps) and toss into a skillet with the oil and 1/2 stock cube over low heat. Cover and simmer, adding a shotglass of water should they dry too much during cooking. Leeks should maintain a handsome blonde hue, browning causes horrid bitter taste.

In a large mixing bowl, combine beaten eggs, milk and a dash of salt. Pour the mixture in the skillet with the leek and reduce heat. Frittata needs to cook covered and over very low heat. Check doneness by lifting the edge with a fork. If this phase is accomplished well, there will be no need to perform any stunt flipping acts. Otherwise carefully use a lid and firm hand to tip over and slide uncooked side back into the skillet.

This dish begs to be consumed steaming hot, preferably in religious solitude during an important soccer event, accompanied by a tall frozen cold beer and the freedom to belch aloud.