Bagna càuda recipe

In the earliest part of my childhood I spent a lot of time with my Nonna Titta. I've spoken about her in many occasions on this blog. She was a pillar of my upbringing, and even though I was 9 when she passed away, she left me many memories and an impressive mark on my nature and individuality. I see a lot of her in myself today.

In particular, the memories I associate the most with Nonna are sensory. The taste of her gummy, black Allenbury candies stashed in a tin box at the bottom of her beauty case, the glint in her emerald green eyes while we played pretending to be ladies having tea, and mostly, the smells coming from the kitchen when she'd cook. Her pièce de résistance was bagna càuda, characteristic of her Piedmontese origins.

This appetizer/soup, whose name in dialect means "hot bath," is enjoyed by dipping raw, boiled or roasted vegetables in a manner similar to fondue in a heated blend of garlic, anchovy and olive oil. It is traditionally an autumn/winter recipe and must be eaten hot, as the name suggests.

Bagna Càuda can be served in individual dipping bowls, or placed in a larger terracotta pan, placed on a burner at the center of the table, for communal sharing. Pictured above is the clay pot in which Nonna cooked and served hers.

Whenever my mother or I make Bagna Càuda, this is what we we still use.

Here's how we continue Nonna's tradition:
500 g (2 1/2 cups) extra virgin olive oil
150 g (3/4 cup) salted anchovies
50 g (1/4 cup) butter
6 cloves of garlic, peeled

Assorted vegetables for dipping:
2 cardoons (if these are not available where you live, substitute with 3–4 ribs of white celery, cut in sticks)
2 yellow bell peppers, cut in sticks
1 cup cauliflower florets
2 topinambur (aka Jerusalem artichoke, sunroot, sunchoke, or earth apple), peeled and cut in chunks
5 radishes, peeled
2 carrots, cut in sticks
2 artichokes, cored, outer leaves removed and quartered lengthwise
3 spring onions

Scrape the anchovies with a paring knife, rid them of the bones and open them flat. Brush away excess salt with a kitchen towel, and do not rinse with water.

Thinly slice the garlic and trim away green parts, if any.

In an enameled terracotta pan (if you don't have one, a common nonstick saucepan will do), melt the butter over extremely mild heat, add the garlic and let it tan without browning.

Add the olive oil and the anchovies, gently simmering, stirring and breaking up the fillets with the back of a wooden spoon. Do this for 10 minutes, or until the sauce is creamy and evenly blended.

Serve on a fondue burner or on a cooling rack placed over tea light candles to keep the delicious bagna as càuda as possible while you gobble away, washing down with rivers of Barbera or Dolcetto.

Note: For those fearsome of such copious amounts of garlic, there's a trick: you halve the quantity of oil and compensate with a cup of whole milk, to be poured in at the same time. Identical garlic quantity, and same exact procedure: the milk tames the punch of the garlic.

It works, trust Nonna.

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.

Love letter to the bulb

A nickel will get you on the subway, but garlic will get you a seat.

–– old New York proverb

Let's talk a little about my favorite ingredient, aglio.

Garlic {Allium sativum} is a fundamental pillar of Italian cooking, but up until the beginning of the 1950s, some seriously garlic-challenged folks overseas called it “Bronx vanilla.” Other diner lingo names for garlic included the derogatory “halitosis” and “Italian perfume.”

Highly reassessed element in the recent Italian food renaissance, the Noble Bulb has finally re-blossomed as the star in most home kitchens worldwide. Related to the lily family—along with leeks, onions, and chives—garlic, from the Old English word garleac, owes its powerful aroma to sulphur-based compounds. As a base for most Italian dishes, it sensually flavors cooking oils and other preparations, extracting the best side of almost any food.

Some culinarians use a garlic crusher, I don't.

Losing precious juices and splaying the charming clove is a pity. For instance, chef Anthony Bourdain (my boyfriend in many fantasies) calls garlic presses 'abominations' and in his genius exposé memoir Kitchen Confidential, Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, advises,

"Don't put it through a press. I don't know what that junk is that squeezes out of the end of those things, but it ain't garlic."

Personally, I find the delicious fragrance left on my fingers after chopping or mincing garlic, one of the most aphrodisiac aromas in nature. If the repercussions of eating garlic present a fastidious breath issue, do like the garlic-loving Middle Eastern, Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi cultures do: always keep a pinch of fennel seeds in your pocket. Chewing on them refreshes and works far better than breath mints.

There have been encyclopedias written about garlic; and come July, the California garlic-growing capital of the world, Gilroy, celebrates the Bulb with an annual garlic festival. The famous Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse, serves an all-garlic menu in honor of the "stinky rose," with everything from a garlic-laced antipasto to garlic ice cream. The same happens at The Stinking Rose Restaurant in San Francisco. 

When buying aglio, look for bulbs that are plump and compact with several layers of dry, papery husk. A heavy, firm bulb indicates that the garlic will be fresh and flavorful, whereas a bulb that’s too light is probably old. Avoid damp or soft bulbs and those that have begun to sprout, as well as any that have dark, powdery patches under the skin, which are the signs of a common mold that will eventually decay the flesh. Remove the bitter greenish core inside the garlic clove to avoid a slightly bitter taste in your final cooked preparation.

Garlic has a tendency to sprout, which diminishes its pungency and flavor. To prevent this, keep garlic hung in a braid or stored in a loosely covered container and put it in a cool, dark place away from sunlight and heat.

Tip: To easily peel garlic, separate the cloves from the bulb and place them on a cutting board. Lay the flat side of a kitchen knife on top of one clove at a time. Tap the knife with a closed fist. A fairly gentle impact is all that's required to split the peels without smashing the clove. Also, be careful not to burn garlic when sautéeing; it will turn bitter.

I like to rub a fresh garlic clove on lightly charred slices of crusty bread for bruschetta, enjoy it immensely added in tomato salads, used in pasta condiments, liberally sliced over cinnamon-dusted oranges, minced in seafood recipes, or mixed with breadcrumbs for tastier shellfish au gratin.

I love garlic and I love the fact that no guilt is involved when I eat it. Garlic is delicious and good for your health. The cardiovascular system benefits from regular garlic intake, it is also key in cholesterol management, a potent anti-fungal, powerful antibiotic, and renown blood pressure regulator.

Roasting whole garlic bulbs wrapped in foil will mellow the flavor and transform the cloves into a spreadable, creamy purée that can be added to bread, mashed potatoes, butter or risotto, clear a raspy throat and keep vampires away for a week or two.