Madeleine moment

Children pottering in the kitchen is not uncommon in Italy.

The vibrant core of every Italian household is the stovetop. Both 18th century peasant hearth and sleek modern design cooking areas are where Italian families gather, share, truly talk and where relationships are made. These relationships are cultivated early on, and leave deep, important memories on young children.

My earliest recollection of food-making is tied to my Nonna, my maternal grandmother Giuditta Rissone. Titta, as everyone in the family called her, was not the average nana...

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Ravioli Capresi

This past April I had the wonderful opportunity to visit the island of Capri during the off-season. When I gladly accepted the invitation of friends who offered accommodation, I did it with an agenda in mind.

I'm always eager to learn about traditional local cuisine, which is usually prepared using the produce and specialties grown and made on the premises. This is especially true when you're on an island. I had heard about ravioli capresi once before, but I had no idea what they were.

So I brought my Home Cooked crew with me and decided to conduct a little filmed research on the ancient and traditional island recipes of Capri, taught directly by the locals, on their turf.

So I found out that perfectly round pasta pockets filled with caciotta cheese, eggs and marjoram are Capri's signature dish. The ravioli are prepared according to an ancient recipe, handed down from generation to generation. Signora Assunta is the housekeeper of the Villa where I stayed, and she offered to let me watch as she created dinner with her hands, using just a few simple ingredients.
Here are her secrets.

For the ravioli dough:
500 gr (1.1 lbs) all-purpose flour
2 tbsp olive oil
500 ml (2 cups) boiling water

For the ravioli filling:
300 gr (1 1/3 cups) caciotta type cheese, grated
4 eggs
200 gr (1 cup) Parmigiano cheese, grated
Fresh marjoram

For the ravioli sauce:
Fresh tomato sauce
Parmigiano cheese, grated
Fresh basil
Extra virgin olive oil

Let's begin with the ravioli dough.
Place the flour in a mound on a flat, dry surface. I use my mother's wooden olive wood board; some prefer marble. Make a crater in the middle and pour the olive oil and hot water into it. Knead to obtain a compact, firm dough.

Break the eggs in a bowl and add the caciotta, Parmigiano cheese and the marjoram leaves. Work together with a fork, and refrigerate.

On your floured work surface, cut your ball of dough into 4 sections. Use a rolling pin to roll out the first quarter of the dough into a thin sheet, about 3mm (roughly 1/8 of an inch).

On half the sheet, place teaspoonfuls of the eggy cheese mixture, spacing the balls about 6 cms apart. Take the other half of the sheet and cover the first half. Proceed to separate the ravioli, cutting around each ball with either a ravioli cutter or a glass, with a diameter of roughly 2 inches.

Repeat this procedure with each of the remaining quarters of the dough.

Once you have finished making all your ravioli, place them on a kitchen towel without overlapping them.

Cook the ravioli in boiling water until they float to the surface.

Serve dressed with a simple fresh tomato sauce, a generous dusting of grated Parmigiano cheese, and a few fresh basil leaves. Uncork the chilled Falanghina and prepare to serve seconds.

Last image by lavandainterrazza

Pasta con le fave ~ Pasta with fava beans

I love this season, it brings with it sunshine, allergies and all my favorite vegetables.
Every Wednesday, my CSA delivers a box with bushels of asparagus, artichokes, crisp heads of lollo lettuce, romanesco broccoli, striped zucchini topped with precious blossoms, free range chicken and eggs, cheese and fruit all hailing from nearby organic Lazio farms. In each box also comes a handful of recipes employing the ingredients of that week.

With the 2 kilos of fava beans that came in this week's haul, I celebrated the national holiday of April 25th, commemorating Italy's liberation from Nazi occupation in 1945. The patriotic fava beans are a common way to end a typical Roman spring meal, provided these be paired with sharp pecorino romano cheese. A match made in heaven.

With the leftover fava beans in my basket, I can either make Vignarola – a versatile miscellany of tender artichokes, fava beans, peas, romaine lettuce hearts, spring onions, lavish amounts of black pepper, and, yes, guanciale (I can actually see the smiles fading from your vegetarian faces) – or a pasta recipe I recently learned while shooting a web series in Capri... But that's another story.

Pasta con le Fave
Ingredients for 4 

1 kg fresh fava beans (some call them broad beans), shelled and peeled
2 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed
Extra virgin olive oil
1 bay leaf
1 peperoncino hot pepper (according to taste)
1 spring onion, thinly sliced
50 gr (1/4 cup) breadcrumbs, toasted
100 gr (1/2 cup) pecorino cheese, grated
400 gr (14 oz) pappardelle type pasta

Film-coat a large skillet with olive oil and lightly sauté the garlic with the bay leaf and the hot pepper.

In a separate small saucepan, do the same with the onion, sauteing it until translucent, about 10 minutes.

Boil the shelled and peeled fava beans in plenty unsalted water. Once tender, fish out the fava beans and save the water, you'll be boiling your pasta in it. Finish cooking the fava beans in the skillet and add the onions, adjust seasoning with a pinch of salt, while stirring with a wooden spoon until all flavors are well blended.

Cook the pasta al dente in the fava water, and drain 2 minutes before the time it says on the box. Toss in the skillet with the fava beans, simmer with a ladle of cooking water, blending over a vivacious flame. 

Finish with two handfuls of toasted breadcrumbs, a thread of olive oil, and a generous dusting of grated pecorino cheese. Serve immediately, washed down with a sincere Frascati.
Buon appetito.

Top image ©E.Baldwin - bottom ©foodwolf.com

Spaghetti Cozze e Gamberetti | Prawn and Mussel Magic

Eating pasta dressed with an opulent tomato sauce that's been simmering with good olive oil, garlic and fresh seafood is my prize.

Rome these days is damp with rain, and burdened with a confused, muggy climate that's trying as hell to believe it's spring, but is not quite there yet. On days like these, and especially on weekends, when I'm supposed to relax, sleep in late and spend time with family, I get unsettlingly snappy. Could it be the unfolded laundry, sitting there staring at me? Or the clutter that crowds our tiny apartment? Some of the blame could go to the unpaid bills, school tuition fees, and parking tickets I'm hoping will one day magically disappear.

I may be spoiled, but it's getting harder and harder for me to stay balanced working 50 hours a week, while being a good mother, commute on the bus, come home and keep the household clean and the family budget in order, find time to freelance write, blog and respond to unread emails. And not bark my disapproval of raised toilet seats and unmade beds with an incredibly disciplined and loving 7 year old.

So today I made it a point to take it easy, and broke the rules. I stayed in bed till late. While the rain was preparing to take center stage, I laughed and cuddled with my sweet child until we were both tickled silly. I let him play with videogames and watch TV in his pj's way more than decently acceptable. I drank cappuccino after 11. And for lunch, I cooked with my mother (who is recovering beautifully from foot surgery).

Cooking with mamma is a panacea. A universal remedy against foul mood and depression. She is very territorial in her kitchen, doesn't trust others with delicate tasks, and will always pretend like she's not checking on us or tweaking our work when we help her out with chores. But spending time with my mom in the kitchen is always an education, both culinary and emotional. Since she can't be on her feet much these days, I'm appointed to far more stove-side action, and this is a big change for both of us, in her realm. She is actually letting me in on some of her secrets too.

Today we made a sauce for spaghetti that was a further prize on this treat-yo-self-day. Rich, flavorsome, rewarding. The procedure of making it, and the pleasure in every unhurried mouthful distended my high-strung nerves, cushioned my worries, and softened my brittle psyche, predisposing a more mellow attitude towards life's daily curve balls.

If you're having a bad day, or a bad weekend, or even attempting to make it through a bad month, try making spaghetti with prawn and mussel sauce. It may just work miracles for you, too.

Ingredients for 4:
10-12 fresh mussels, rinsed several times, and byssus* removed
15 fresh baby prawns, shelled (do not discard the heads, keep them aside)
3 garlic cloves, smashed
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
400 gr (14 oz) canned tomatoes, roughly chopped
400 gr (14 oz) Spaghetti
Salt to taste

* the byssus is the mass of strong, silky filaments (byssal thread) by which certain bivalve mollusks, like mussels, attach themselves to rocks and other fixed surfaces. These hang stubbornly to the shell, but can be removed by yanking sharply toward the hinge of the mussel. If you tug towards the opening of the shell, you could kill the mussel. Remove the byssal threads of each mussel and discard.

Preparation:
In a large skillet, warm the olive oil and sautée the garlic until golden. Add the canned tomatoes and a small pinch of salt. Let the sauce simmer over medium heat for about 10 minutes.

Warm the mussels in a separate pan covered with a lid for 3 minutes, or until they all open and release a little juice. Discard any that fail to open, drain the juice, shell the good ones, and put them aside.

In a small saucepan (thank God for dishwashers) obtain a flavor boost for your sauce by cooking the prawn heads with a tablespoon of the tomato sauce that's cooking on the other burner. When this "fumet" comes to a boil, remove from the stove and, using a wire whip, crush the heads to extract as much tasty juice as you can without overdoing it. Filter this heavenly creation and pour into your tomato sauce, which should be bubbling away joyfully.

Stir and simmer for another 5-7 minutes. Add the shelled prawns, continue cooking for 1 minute, then add the mussels, and remove from heat.

Boil the spaghetti in plenty of salted water, and remember to set aside a mug of starchy pasta-cooking water for later. Return the sauce to the flame, and drain the spaghetti 3 minutes before the box says. The pasta should be almost al dente.

Toss the drained pasta into the simmering sauce and complete the cooking, by shaking the pan, and adding some pasta cooking water to combine flavors, keep moist and blend into a creamy sauce, that will stick to the pasta beautifully.

Serve hot, sprinkled with optional chili pepper flakes. The chilled bottle(s) of Chardonnay should be in close proximity.

Culurgiones recipe

Welcome back to Be my guest our series of guest recipes from around the world.
Today we meet Luke from Britain, who has a special bond with the emerald isle of Sardegna, and its glorious food.

Everyone loves eating Italian, but often food from Sardinia gets overlooked. Dishes vary from place to place on the island, as every village has their own special finishing touches and secret ingredients handed down from family and tradition.

Sardinian cuisine is heavily influenced by Italian continental cuisine with notable amounts of pasta, gnocchi, pizza oven baked bread, but shines in its own roasted meats, freshly caught fish, seafood concoctions and a wide variety of tasty Pecorino cheeses, often paired with locally farmed Sardinian honey.

Sardinian specialities include porceddu which is a spit-roasted suckling pig, baked slowly over hot coals for about 3 hours. There are also all sots of different types of home-made pasta dishes, often served with ricotta, or hundreds of varieties of local Pecorino cheese.

Culurgiones are famous traditional Sardinian stuffed dough pockets, whose name means, 'little bundles' which accurately describes these parcels of joy. Although a little tricky to make as the stitching process requires a little practice, the actual pasta base is easy enough to make and the cooking is minimal.

As with making any pasta from scratch, the key is patience, so it's best to set aside some time and enjoy the whole cooking process without worrying about the clock.

It is paramount to use the best ingredients for this dish in order to allow the simple flavours to shine.

You'll need the following ingredients to make the pasta base:
250 grams semolina
250 grams all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
100 grams warm water, more or less



Mix together the semolina, flour, olive oil and salt. Then slowly add the warm water a little at a time while kneading, until you obtain an elastic dough, which is manageable and supple. Form a ball, place in a bowl and keep covered for half an hour.

Next up you will need to make the filling for the Culurgiones, for which you will need the following ingredients:
4 medium sized potatoes
50 grams sheep's milk ricotta
50 grams Sardinian pecorino cheese, grated
Some fresh mint leaves, chopped
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 clove of garlic, minced

Boil the peeled potatoes in salted water until soft and fluffy. Once ready, rice the potatoes and stir in the cheeses, fresh mint and olive oil. Leave the filling to cool for an hour. If you are in a rush it's best to transfer the mashed potato mix from the pan to a mixing bowl, as this will speed up the cooling process.

Now that you have your pasta and filling for the Culurgiones, the next step is to prepare your dough and set up a production line for making them.

Roll out the pasta dough until quite thin and cut out 8-cm diameter circles, I often find a mug or cup is exactly the right size, and if you push the mug down into the pasta firmly, you won't need to cut around the mug, which can get a little tricky.

Once you have your circles of pasta, take a teaspoon and drop a small amount of filling on each disc. The next step is a little tricky and requires some practice.

Hold the disk in your hand and fold one side over the potato filling then pinch the middle of the fold with your finger and plait the two sides together. The pasta should be like braiding where one side rests on top of the other.

When you reach the top, pinch the final piece to ensure that no filling escapes. As you make more Culurgiones you will find the process a lot easier and hopefully they will look more and more like the genuine article. If you have made more Culurgiones than possible to eat in one go, they can be frozen and saved for later. When ready to cook, there will be no need to defrost first. This makes them ideal for a quick meal when you are pushed for time.

Boil the Culurgiones parcels in salted water for around five minutes until tender.

Traditionally the dish is accompanied with a simple tomato sauce, a sprinkling of pecorino cheese, some fresh mint, and a good bottle of local wine. Common recipe variations include the addition of onion in the filling, or seasonings like nutmeg or saffron.

Good luck and enjoy!

Luke is passionate about traveling and cooking, and works with Charming Sardinia a travel company that offers tailor made luxury holidays to Sardinia. He is crazy about food and spends most of his time sourcing quality ingredients and finding recipes to try out on friends.

Love the foods and traditions of Sardinia? Interested in reading more about it? Check out my articles (with recipes) on Pane Carasau, Malloreddus, Seadas typical dishes of Sardegna.

Winter pasta sampler

Chilly weather is the Italian invitation for starch-dependent menus. Though they're consumed with abandon year-round, winter gives carbs an even bigger welcome mat.
Some pasta dishes are particularly well suited to the colder months, most not necessarily dependent on seasonal ingredients. They include hearty grain and vegetable soups, richly dressed ragùs, and the best of all gourmet comfort foods, risotto.

Here are three of my favorite stalwart winter primi piatti, with a little bit of history and recipes.
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Positano for the weekend

It's October, I should be pulling out scarves, sweaters and rain gear; polishing apples and sweeping dried leaves from the doorstep, stowing away summer clothes and beach towels..

Not me.

I'm rubbing aftersun lotion on my brown shoulders after a spectacular secret weekend escape in Positano with my little boy.

We packed a small tote, left on the hush hush and spent two fabulous days swimming, relaxing in the sun, eating seafood and meeting friends in what is said to be the warmest Fall season in 150 years.

We like to catch the Laurito shuttle early, before the crowds. It's a 5 minute sail south of Positano, and the red fish ferries its lido patrons every half hour, despite what's painted on the fish (every 60 mins.)

We found a spot on the rocky beach and waited for Laura to arrive from Amalfi. It was a real treat to finally meet in person after almost two years of knowing each other via web.

We ate lunch on the terrace at Da Adolfo, and it was laid back and delicious as usual. I always have the house specialty, a mozzarella antipasto, which is grilled on wild lemon leaves... very tasty. We also slurped zuppa di cozze, sopped up the juices with a loaf of crusty bread and downed a caraffe of chilled white wine with chopped peaches bobbing in it.

After bidding arrivederci to Laura, we were swept away on a friend's motoscafo, and we laughed in the sun, giddy with acceleration and high on beauty.

More snorkeling and swimming at "il germano," a rock formation said to resemble a German soldier's profile. The water is deep deep blue, with patches of emerald green, and the mountains reflect on the surface.

We returned to Positano in time for aperitivo and...

My son couldn't believe it, and neither could I. Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" tune kept ringing in my ears.

...and dinner of course!! Paccheri are a regional type of broad, tube-like pasta whose name means "slaps." These were made with sautéed scampi, and just a few fresh tomatoes thrown in the pan. The Buca di Bacco holds cooking classes in the restaurant kitchen, taught by the charming Executive Chef Andrea Ruggiero. I'd like to join one before the hotel closes for the winter.

One last swim before heading back home yesterday. I have to keep reminding myself it's October.

Ciao Positano, a presto!

Please head over to Ciao Amalfi! for Laura's exquisite reportage of our Laurito rendezvous...

Cacio e pepe recipe

To hell with the diet. I made cacio e pepe tonight.

This typical Roman pasta dish is a simple cheese, black pepper and starch combination, and a hallmark of the Testaccio district, the early 1900s housing project that developed around the now defunct abattoir, in the southern part of the city.

Pasta cacio e pepe is enjoying a moment of popularity, everyone's crazy about the old cucina povera quick fix. Restaurants in Italy and overseas are sometimes charging eyebrow-raising sums for a plateful. But on a par with aio e oio, cacio e pepe has always been a reliable and expeditious solution in case of sloth, self-invited last minute guests, or for post fornication midnight munchies.

Image © senzapanna

One of the best types of pasta to use for cacio e pepe is fresh tonarelli all'uovo, a thick and squared-section noodle made with eggs, flour and love.

That said, 400 g (14 oz) of the largest size durum wheat spaghetti you can find will do just fine
1 cup Pecorino Romano cheese, grated
Lots of coarsely ground black pepper
E basta. (no olive oil, no butter, no cream)

Cook the pasta until al dente in 1 gallon of lightly salted water. Remember, fresh pasta cooks much quicker than the dried kind.

In the meantime grate Pecorino cheese and grind the pepper.

Loosely drain the pasta, saving more starchy cooking water.

Toss the cooked pasta into a large warmed bowl, adding handfuls of cheese and freshly ground black pepper, and adding more of the saved cooking water to blend. Using a wooden spoon, stir vigorously until creaminess ensues.

Don't skimp on the pepper, lash away––the condiment should be quite spicy.

Uncork the red wine and quietly devour at tongue-burning temperature.

(Diet can resume tomorrow)

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.

Boscaiola recipe

One of my readers recently requested I illustrate this preparation, and share the recipe. Boscaiola (which rougly translates to, "in the woodsman's fashion") is a fall season condiment for fresh pasta, usually pappardelle––the broader fettuccine ribbons––made with porcini mushrooms and mild sausage.

But boscaiola is also a rich pizza topping, and a delectable one at that.

Image © hungryjenny

In the pasta sauce, sometimes bacon is used instead of the sausage. I've seen tomato puree, black olives and heavy cream added in some renditions too. Mine is simple, "leaner" (who am I kidding?) and quite easy to make. Porcini mushrooms are the key ingredient, so if you can't get fresh ones, in addition to whatever wild or cultivated kind available in your area, you can use dried porcini mushrooms, which when revived in lukewarm water lend a rich, heady flavor.

500 g (1.1 lb) pappardelle type pasta
400 g (2 cups) porcini, or any wild/cultivated mushrooms available in your area
50 g (1/4 cup) dried porcini mushrooms
100 g (1/2 cup) luganega-type Italian sausage, casing removed and flesh crumbled
200 g (1 cup) baby peas, thawed if frozen
1 clove of garlic, minced
Extra virgin olive oil
1 tbsp. butter
Dry white wine
Salt and pepper
1 tbsp. Italian flat leaf parsley, minced
Freshly grated Parmigiano cheese (optional)


Clean the mushrooms, brushing the dirt away from the stems with a wet sponge. Separate the caps from the stems, and cube both.

Steep the dried mushrooms in warm water for 20 minutes, then mince them, and add them to the rest of your cubed mushrooms. Strain the steeping liquid, because it most probably contains sand, and keep it aside for later.

Blanche a cup of baby peas and set aside.

In a casserole, sauté crumbled sausage and garlic in a tablespoon of butter and a splash of olive oil. When the sausage has rendered most of its fat, fold in all the chopped mushrooms and a glass of wine, and simmer over a gentle flame for about 30 minutes. Ten minutes into the cooking, add the strained peas. Depending on how much moisture the mushrooms release, you may need to add more wine. Some use 1/2 cup of heavy cream instead, at this point.

Whatever liquid you choose to moisturize the sauce with, this is the time to bring 3 gallons of salted water to a boil. When the sauce is close to being ready, boil the pappardelle. Drain the pasta al dente, season with the sauce, and garnish with very little parsley. For those who like it, a dash of grated parmigiano is always a good thing.

Image © tastingmenu.com

Buon appetito.

Ziti alla Genovese recipe

This delectable pasta recipe is called "alla genovese," but it's not a dish particular to Genoa. This is a purely Neapolitan delight.

If you've been reading my posts, you'll know I always share a little bit of history. "La Genovese" is said to have been first prepared around the time when Columbus landed in the New World, by a selected group of Genoan chefs belonging to the rich and self-implemented Ligurian colony stationed in the Naples seaport district. It's the pasta condiment customarily made for Sunday lunch, and one of my all-time Napoli favorites. In detailing a Pasta primer a few months back, I had promised to post the recipe. Well, here it is.

Note: For its hearty and bold nature, weak stomachs and delicate appetites should abstain from consuming genovese in sight of a busy afternoon (or one that doesn't envision napping).


2 kg (4.4 lbs) of yellow onions
1 kg (2.2 lbs) of rump steak, chopped into stew size parts
250 g (1 1/4 cups) unsmoked bacon, diced
250 g (1/2 lb) pork spare ribs
1 carrot
1 celery rib
2 glasses of dry white wine
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste
2 cups of Ziti (or Penne Lisce) type pasta

Tip: This recipe requires extremely long cooking time, the longer you stew, the softer the meat will be and tastier the sauce.

Dice the carrot and celery and place in the pot with the oil and the meats. Thinly slice the onion holding a chunk of bread in your mouth to avoid tears and add it to the other ingredients.

Cover and simmer over vivacious heat until the onions are translucent and all liquid evaporates. When the onion mash starts to dry, pour the first glass of wine and lower the heat to extremely low. Stir occasionally and stew for 50 minutes.

Then add the second glass of wine, salt and pepper to taste, and keep braising for 2 hours, being extra careful that the sauce doesn’t stick to the pot floor. The result should be a thick, dark velvety purée and a tender meat stew.

This heavenly pasta sauce marries boiled al dente Ziti pasta, broken into 3-inch pieces, richly dressed and generously dusted with grated Parmigiano.

You can serve the stewed meat–or what's left of it after the long cooking–as your dinner entrée, alongside a fresh arugula and shaved fresh fennel salad. But remember, the star dish in the meal is the genovese.

Serves 5/6 big eaters.

Agnolotti recipe

Agnolotti are a type of square ravioli typical of the Piedmont region, made with thinly flattened pasta dough, folded over and stuffed with a ground meat and vegetable filling. Typically, agnolotti are made with leftover cooked meat. This is another example of how the ages-old habit of recycling food in Italy commonly results in an elegant and very tasty dish.

My mother and I made a batch for Sunday lunch today. Here is the step by step recipe, which yielded 70 agnolotti pockets. We cooked half and froze the rest in sealed freezer bags.

For the pasta dough
500 g (2 1/2 cups) flour, possibly "00" + more for dusting
6 eggs
3 yolks

For the filling
400 g (2 cups) beef pot roast leftovers
150 g (3/4 cup) roast turkey, chicken or other cooked white meat dish
50 g (1/4 cup) mortadella, roasted sausage or any other pork cold cut (not prosciutto)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
A bunch of fresh spinach (you can use other greens if you like)
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano
3 whole eggs
A pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
Salt and pepper

Make the dough from the flour and the eggs (see instructions if need be), put it in a bowl, cover it with a moist kitchen towel, and let it sit.

Blanch the greens for 3 minutes, drain, squeezing well to extract moisture, and mince them finely. Then sauté in the butter until done and set aside.

Remove bones, sausage casings and any sinewy parts, and grind the meats quite finely (you can blend them, but be careful not to make a paste!).

Combine ground meats, sautéed greens and all other ingredients for the filling in a bowl, and mix thoroughly with your hands to obtain a homogeneous mixture, seasoning to taste with salt, pepper and nutmeg.

Roll out the pasta dough dime-thin. I use an Imperia pasta machine, which gives me the necessary long and paper-thin sheets ready to be stuffed and cut into perfect agnolotti. But you're free to roll out the dough by hand, obviously!

Cut the rolled dough into long strips, about 20-inch long and 3 inches high, and cover to keep moist.

On your dusted work surface, dot a sheet with blebs of filling about the size of a small walnut, putting the dots in a row, about an inch apart. Make sure the row is in the bottom half of the pasta sheet.

Fold over the top part of the sheet, and lay it over the filling. Crimp the sheet down well around the filling to make it stick, and cut the agnolotti free with a serrated pastry wheel.

Boil the agnolotti in broth or salted water, fishing them out with a skimmer into a serving bowl, as soon as they rise to the bubbling surface.

Typically, Piedmontese agnolotti are dressed in beef broth with a little melted butter, or in a fresh sage and browned butter sauce. A complex condiment would play down the flavors contained in the agnolotti pockets.

I usually season mine with a simple tomato sauce, and dust with lots of freshly grated Parmigiano. As an alternative, you can dress your agnolotti with drippings from Braciole or Involtini.

Wine? This plate begs for a full-bodied, unoaked Piedmontese Barbera d'Asti!

Buon appetito.

Timballo di capellini recipe

This is a very showy dish. Baked pasta always looks elaborate, when in fact it's not.

I often make this angel hair timballo for important multi-course dinners and every time it's a success, always guaranteeing a bella figura.

When serving yours, don't let the compliments and moans of pleasure lure you into revealing it's made with few simple (and affordable) ingredients.

Essential equipment needed for this recipe:
1-quart capacity ring mold
Double boiler (or 2 stacked pots) for baking en bain marie


150 g (3/4 cups) capellini d'angelo (angel hair pasta)
1 lt (1 quart) whole milk
1 egg + 1 yolk
50 g (1/4 cup) Parmigiano, finely grated
50 g (1/4 cup) butter, softened
More butter and breadcrumbs to coat the mold


Preheat the oven at 180° C (350° F).

Boil the pasta in the milk until all the liquid is absorbed (al dente rules don't apply here). Set aside to cool.

Once the pasta is lukewarm, stir in the egg and additional yolk, butter, and Parmigiano. Adjust seasoning, and pour in a greased mold, coated with breadcrumbs.

Bake en bain-marie (double boiler, the bottom pot filled with water) in the oven for 35-40 minutes until a golden crust forms on top.

Remove from the oven and allow the flan to cool completely, then flip it onto a platter and serve garnished with either a thick ragù, stewed peas, or a porcini and tomato sauce, overflowing from the hollow middle.

Hardly ever a let-down.

Image © unacenaconenrica.com

Pasta alle noci recipe

A couple of weeks ago I posted a recipe for a Ligurian specialty, focaccia stuffed with cheese, a sinfully tasty delight. Today I want to tell you about another typical recipe from that blessed region: salsa alle noci.

Ligurians dress their pansotti (herb-stuffed ravioli) with this creamy walnut sauce. It is however also excellent daubed over spaghetti, ribbed penne, mafalde or linguine (or any other pasta type that "grabs" the condiment).

Traditionally salsa di noci was called tocco de nux and prepared with walnuts harvested during the autumn months. To make your own nutty concoction, assemble:

150 g (3/4 cups) husked walnut meats (you can blanch them to make peeling easier)
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced
1 pinch of dried marjoram
100 g (1/2 cup) fresh ricotta cheese
Salt and pepper

Using a mortar and pestle (or thrown in a blender), reduce the walnuts, garlic, marjoram and a pinch of salt to a fine powder, diluting with a thread of olive oil. Work in the ricotta with a fork, and blend well.

Use 2-3 tablespoons of the obtained sauce to dress your pasta. Always remember to save a small amount of starchy pasta cooking water for a creamier effect.

The completed dish can be dusted with finely grated Parmigiano Reggiano, a spin of the pepper mill, and garnished with a fistful of coarsley ground walnut meats. Serve lava-like hot in contrast with the chilled bottle of stand-by white wine...

Note: For those who have trouble with garlic, in this dish, it can be substituted with less pungent chives.