Vellutata recipes

With the first chill of November, heaters are turned on in Italian apratment buildings, and soups are brewed all over the boot-shaped peninsula. My favorite kind of soup is vellutata.

Vellutata is one of those perfect Italian words.

vellutata 

[vel-lu-tà-ta] 

noun, fem. 

Gastronomic term – Vegetable puree combined with heavy cream, starchy legumes or egg yolks rendering a creamy, and––as the name implies––velvety consistency.

Growing up, my son––who loyal readers of this blog know as Mr E––loved vegetables. He's always been daring and tried all the food I presented him, regardless what color it was. His kindergarten, and then later grade school peers, did not eat anything green.

Then at around 6, he started pushing away the bowl of minestrone. My industrious mother, who may have pulled this trick with me too at some point in my growing up, started pureeing soups with an immersion blender and serving them to him as velouté. That silly exotic word (with an actual completely different meaning) has remained in our family lexicon. We actually normally refer to vellutata as velouté.

The most popular velouté in our household is one made with zucca (pumpkin) given the abundance of it in markets and on autumn tables. But this creamy soup can be made year round with a wide range of other seasonal crops. During summer, vellutata is a bounty of zucchini, peas, asparagus, peppers, etc. Now I'm going crazy with broccoli, cauliflower, potatoes, leeks, carrots, squash, leafy greens and apples, even. It's the trickiest way of serving children a whole lot of vegetables, shielded behind a voluptuous texture and a mysterious name.

I like to mix my vellutata soups up with other kinds of vegetables and spices, topping them with croutons, toasted nuts and seeds, sautéed mushroom, fried onions or crispy pancetta. 

The beauty of this dish is that it can virtually be made with what's available in the fridge that day. Take vellutata di patate e porri, for example: this creamy leek and potato soup is made soft and creamy by adding a boiled potato to gently simmering leeks. The potato gives the mixture a rich, velvety texture. More thickening helpers for your vellutata can be chickpeas, lentils, a spoonful of flour, egg yolks, aquafaba, beans, ricotta, cooked chestnuts... you name it.

If I can, I'll avoid using heavy cream as the liquid element in my vellutata. A trick is swapping it with coconut milk, bone broth, yogurt or sour cream.

The first vellutata of the season I made this year was with roasted zucca mantovana, which is a sensational candy-sweet pumpkin. I pureed it with turmeric, coconut milk and canned chickpeas for thickness. It was to die for. 

After a particularly rainy rugby training last week, my son and I came home under a torriential downpour craving something warm and comforting. I blended together steamed cauliflower, a can of cannellini beans, a pinch of curry and used vegetable broth I had made in advance and froze in an ice cube tray. I topped our steaming bowls with toasted almonds and we ate on the sofa under a pile of fleece blankets while binge-watching Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat on Netflix.

I recently received wonderful porcini mushrooms from my neighbor's campagna. I immediately made vellutata di porcini, or velouté rather. I made it gluten-free so my little sister could have some too in case she decided to stop in for dinner after work.

Ingredients

300 g wild porcini mushrooms

1 white onion, minced

Extra virgin olive oil

Garlic

Fresh sage

500 ml (17 fl oz) vegetable broth

50 g (1/4 cup) rice flour

400 ml (13 fl oz) whole milk, chilled

Clean the mushrooms by scraping the stems and leaing the caps on, then shave them using a mandoline. Save a couple for garnish.

Sauté the chopped onion with 3 Tbsp. olive oil and a clove of garlic. Add a sprig of sage and the shaved porcini. 

When just lightly wilted, add all the broth. Season with salt and pepper to taste and gently simmer over moderate heat for about 6 minutes. 

In the meantime, work on the thickener: in a plate and using a wire whisk, mix the rice flour with the cold milk, then pour the obtained mixture into the mushroom soup. 

Cook covered for about 15 minutes, remove the sage sprig and pour in a blender to puree until creamy. Add more broth if it's too thick.

Heat the soup briefly, then serve garnished with raw porcini slices and one last turn of the peppermill.

Buon appetito!

Quick market run and carciofi {video}

The morning was blustery and I needed a macchiato before hitting the market.

Never with a shopping list in mind, rather letting the goods for sale inspire the menu, I decided to make Carciofi alla Romana.

The wonderful globe artichokes have finally hit Rome markets, and braising them with garlic, olive oil and mentuccia is my favorite way to usher carciofo season.



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Ciao!

Chestnut soup

Autumn has officially become my favorite season.

Porcini mushrooms, antioxidant and smelly brassica, aromatic truffles, plus pumpkin and chestnuts all start making their appearance on market stalls all over in Italy. Cheeses made with summer pasture milk are reaching their 3-month maturation period, which means flavor pangs and rich texture in each bite. Grapes and olives are being harvested, fireplaces are crackling and the air is crisp enough to bury our chins in favorite wolly scarves again.

With crunchy fallen leaves underfoot and a precise seasonal shopping list in mind, I negotiate the trek to my neighborhood market, mentally going over what fall recipes I can finally start making again.
The first thing to catch my eye at Luisa's stall is a crate spilling with plump shiny chestnuts that seem to be popping out of thier thorny urchins.

Chestnuts are a very versatile food that can be eaten in a variety of ways: fire roasted, boiled, oven baked and dried to make flour, plus candied for marron glacé, or made into a creamy spread, or crafted into mont blanc cake.

Thoughts of castagnaccio, necci pancakes, poultry stuffing and other delightful chestnut-based treats danced around in my head. Then I remembered about soup.

500 g (1 lb) fresh chestnuts
2 slices crusty homestyle bread, cubed for croutons
2 celery ribs
1 whole leek
1 carrot
1 white onion
Extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and black pepper

Score the skins of the chestnuts with a paring knife – this prevents them from exploding during cooking. Place them in a large pot covered with cold water. Any that float to the surface should be discarded.

Cook the chestnuts for approximately 20 minutes from when the water starts to boil. Drain and once cooled off enough to handle, peel them making sure to remove the inner husk too. 

Prepare a light vegetable broth with approximately 1,5 liters (about 6 cups) of water and chopped leek, onion, carrot and celery, boiling for about 20 minutes. I don't add salt at this point but you may be accustomed to seasoning broth earlier than I do.

Add the peeled chestnuts to the broth and cook over medium heat for another 20 minutes. Drain the chestnuts and whir them in a food processor or blender. Should the cream be too thick you can filter the broth and add some of it to dilute the chestnut cream. 

Adjust seasoning.

Place the cubed bread in a single layer on an oven pan drizzled with a thread of olive oil and a sprinkle of your favorite fresh herbs. Grill in the oven for a few minutes, until barely golden. 

Serve the hot chestnut soup with a few croutons, a thread raw olive oil and a few more turns of the pepper mill.

Buon appetito!
 

Last photo courtesy of lacucinaitaliana.it

Pasta butter and anchovies, or I take it all back, Baccano.

Summer. It's hot and muggy in Rome. The baby sitter is late and I have limited cab fare in my wallet, but I have to attend a new restaurant opening in Trevi for a story. The horde crowding both entrances is ridiculous. We make it inside, pushing through throngs of puffy lipped wannabe tv presenter girls and UVA tanned blokes with plucked lady eyebrows. It's 9 pm and it's hot, too damn hot to be this crowded.

I grab a glass of white wine from a roving tray, but can't make the oyster platter in time: a million hands reach forward and I've never had long arms. I manage to sieze a fried mozzarella ball from an abandoned corner of the bar, and bump into a couple of frazzled friends. So I find out the reason the place is so packed is that it's serving two social events in one night: a birthday party of a young actress (attracting fauna mentioned above); and the actual opening of the restaurant (attracting multitude of foodies, bloggers, journalists and dining celebs elevated to stardom status).

The decor is French inspired, and quite nice. Waitresses are all pretty, dressed like 1940 chamber maids, sporting LBDs, black pumps and a white sexy apron. The fourth wall in the kitchen is made of glass and overlooks the dining room. The tiles, newspaper racks and leather booths spell bistrot without italics. Despite the attractive ambiance, thanks to the chaos, I make a mental note to never come back here again.

This was the first impression Baccano made on me. But it was silly of me to think I could understand the true nature of a place on its opening night. Too over capacity, too soon in the trial stage, and too damn hot. On my first visit I hadn't tasted the food, I did not have a chance to really get a feel for the place, I did not peruse the wine list, I didn't even get a chance to take a look at the menu!

Today I have to strike that first impression, erase it completely. One because it was based on all the wrong elements, and two because on my second visit I actually ate well.

So here I am at 1pm, willing to rectify my bad judgement, with a reservation at Baccano. Reason is I absolutely have to taste the place's forte: pasta with butter and anchovies. "Burro e alici" is a classic Rome cucina povera snack: a morsel of crusty bread meets a curl of butter and an anchovy that's been steeping in olive oil. That's when life suddenly smiles at you. 

So when browsing the restaurant's lunch menu online I read that Baccano's signature dish – besides juicy 7oz burgers, eggs with shaved truffle (in season), salads, sandwiches, and daily specials that include foie gras, bollito misto and tripe – was tagliolini with Échiré butter and Spanish salted anchovies from the Mar Cantábrico, I had to go back for a second opinion.

Creamy, savory and perfectly al dente. I sopped my plate with bread and it returned to the kitchen clean. It was so good that I had to replicate it immediately at home. It turned out great.
I've been silent on this blog for 6 months, and now 2 recipes in 4 days. Don't say I don't spoil you. Two recipes in 4 days. I must be crazy.
Here is the recipe.

Tagliolini burro e alici like you find at Baccano
320 g (10 oz) fresh tagliolini (you can make it from scratch with this recipe)
8 oil-packed anchovy fillets + 1 for garnish on each plate
120 g (1 stick, or 1/2 cup) unsalted butter
Extra virgin olive oil

Once the pasta dough has rested and is ready to be rolled, dust your work surface with some flour or polenta (cornmeal) and use a well-dredged rolling pin to work the dough to a thickness of about 2 millimeters (about 1/8 of an inch).

Now roll up your flattened dough like a burrito and cut 1/2 cm slices, about 1/4 of an inch. Unravel the coils, dust with a bit more flour or polenta, and shape into nests the size of an egg. Allow a couple hours to dry.

Cook your fresh homemade pasta in plenty of lightly salted water at a jacuzzi-type rolling boil. Stir with a wooden spoon or a long fork quite often. This will ensure the pasta to remain springy and not clump together in clusters during cooking.

In a large saucepan melt the butter with a drop of olive oil and the 8 anchovies over very low heat. The butter has to slowly melt without ever bubbling, while the anchovies render a savory, creamy texture to the flavor.

When the pasta is al dente, drain it saving plenty starchy pasta cooking water, and pour the noodles straight into the condiment saucepan. Stir over mild heat to blend well, slowly adding a ladle of cooking water, to obtain even more creaminess.

Plate and garnish with an anchovy fillet on each heap.
Yields 4 servings.

Images © Andrea Di Lorenzo

Pizza with potatoes recipe

Yes, exactly what the title says: a true carb fest. I can hear you moaning, "overkill!" – but no, this is a simple and delicious combination. As far as pizza sold by the slice goes, Rome is unbeatable, and in matter of toppings a classic is pizza con le patate, pizza with potatoes. Unlike the round pies normally served in pizzerias, pizza al taglio is baked in electric ovens in large rectangular or oblong shapes, which are then cut in squares and sold by weight.

I've recently had the opportunity to organize a series of food talks with dining business entrepreneurs, and on one of these, I had the chance to make the acquaintance of one of Rome's top pizza gurus, Gabriele Bonci. Inventive and outspoken, Bonci has revolutionized the Rome pizza scene with his gourmet creations, sold in his minuscule Pizzarium pizza shop near the Vatican, and now busy with several other enterprises, like the No.Au. eatery, and a newly inaugurated bread and pastry bakery Panificio di Bonci. While researching his profile for the interview, I came across his published book, and in it I learned many things, above all I found the formula for making awesome homemade pizza.

What I was baking before was okay, but something else... it somehow never excelled beyond either a doughy fluff, or an often too crisp focaccia flatbread, that would inevitably sog under the wrong combination of moist ingredients, and that once baked in the oven, changed the nature of the pizza entirely.

After reading Bonci's book, and learning about kneading properly, leavening, folding and leavening again, and how to prepare the dough for the oven (plus a variety of different toppings and techniques) a new universe of pizza making (and eating!) opened up. The paramount importance of basic doughs, the variation in results that different flours yield; and most of all, how natural yeasts and lievito madre sourdough starters, weather conditions and mood can affect a pizza, have trained me to bake homemade pizza in a whole new way.

This is Bonci's recipe for pizza with potatoes, and it differs from what is normally found in most pizza al taglio joints (see photo above). Very few, good ingredients create the topping, and this allows the flavor of the dough to really shine through as a main ingredient, and not merely as an edible starchy surface where toppings are laid. The potatoes are not sliced and roasted, rather are pre-boiled and crumbled on the top. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Here it is: a wonderful, melt-in-your-mouth potato and mozzarella pizza. Warning: the procedure for the preparation of the dough is long and labor intensive, but well worth it. Trust me.

For the basic dough:
1 kg (2.2 lbs) flour type "0" (Manitoba)
700 g (scant 3 cups) water
40 g (3 tbsp) extra virgin olive oil
20 g (2 tbsp) salt
7 g (1 1/2 tsp) dry active yeast

Look at those gorgeous alveoli...

For the topping:
250 g (2 cups) mozzarella, shredded
500 g (1lb) russet potatoes, boiled with skins (or any variety whose flesh is compact and not moist)
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste

In a large mixing bowl, mix flour and yeast with a wooden spoon. Slowly add the water and start mixing with your fingers. Messy and sticky, but keep going. Only when the dough has transformed into a solid mass, is it safe to add salt and olive oil (salt offsets the effectiveness of yeast). Don't worry about clumps, during the first rise period, leavening will take care of these naturally.

You'll need a numer of clean mixing bowls, grease the next one with olive oil and place the dough ball in the middle, cover it with a kitchen towel and leave to nap for about an hour.

After this restorative rest, the dough needs to include a little more air. This can be done by folding the dough over and over, possibly on a wooden surface that's been well dusted with flour. Flatten the dough and fold over the corners, flatten again, rotate and fold over, flatten, rotate and fold over... Do this at least three times at 15-20 minute intervals in the course of an hour. This stabilizes the dough and will give it that particular airy tissue.

During the second, lengthier rise, the dough will double in volume, so your next bowl will have to be quite large. Grease it and place the dough-ball in the middle, gently caresse the surface of the dough with some olive oil and cover with a clean kitchen towel or plastic wrap. Place in the mild temperature compartment of the fridge for 18-24 hours, and be patient.

The next day, take the raised dough out of the fridge and let it sit for about 10 minutes at room temperature. Given that the pizza dough has now developed in mass, you'll have to plan out quantities wisely. For an average oven pan, you'll need to cut up the dough in 350 g sections (13 oz). Use a dough cutter and avoid handling the dough with your hands too much. Another 90 minute rest and you'll be ready for the trickiest part.

You've nurtured and cared for the dough for the past 24 hours, ruining it now with violent moves, rips and tearing of the gluten tissue would be a sin. Generously flour your work surface and start working the dough gingerly, using only your fingertips, by molding it into a rectangle or whatever the shape of your oven pan. Delicately place the dough in the greased pan, and drizzle with a thread more olive oil, (always a good idea, regardless of the topping).

Preheat your oven – it must be hot to bake the pizza properly – at 250°C (480°F).

Break up the mozzarella in shreds, pat it dry with a paper towel, and sprinkle evenly on the pizza dough.

Peel the boiled potatoes and once cool enough to handle, crumble them coarsely with your fingertips over the shredded mozzarella. You can add a few rosemary needles, if you like.

Bake in the oven at 220°C (430°F) for 25 minutes, adjust with salt and apply to face.

Photo by Elisia Menduni

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.

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.

Canederli recipe

Imagine lying on a flowery Alpine meadow while inhaling the resinous scent of mountain pine, and enjoying the salubrious effect of a chalice of local wine. This is a typical relaxation treatment in one of many wellness centers scattered in the mystical Alto Adige territory, and where for an entire summer week I took some time off to embrace the power of the mountains and nature.

In seven days of pure bliss my tense body was wrapped in damp hay, massaged from head to toe with balsamic ointments, emulsions made from freshly pressed apple juice and wrapped in cotton sheets soaked in salt and apple vinegar. An entire week of bathing in mountain pine waters and lazy soaking in tubs of whey sourced from the farmstead just around the corner. The renovation phase was finally topped with a "Vinotherapy" wine bath. This local – and now very popular – pamper supreme begins with an initial body scrub using crushed grape skins, followed by a brief nap wrapped in a crisp linen sheet, followed by a hot bath, a glass of red wine and a massage with grape-seed oil. Not to mention the food that comes with it all.

I'm a lover of all soups, whatever the season, and in the seven days of spa heaven, I OD'd on Knödel, or Canederli. These scrumptious dumplings made with leftover bread, are tremendously similar to Jewish matzah balls, likewise cooked and served in stock, and consumed preferably in front of a blazing fireplace.

200 g (1 cup) stale bread
1 egg
20 g (2 tbsp) butter
80 g (5 tbsp) speck, diced (Optional)
1 small white onion
1 tbsp chives
50 g (1/4 cup) unbleached flour
100 ml (3 fl oz) boiling hot milk
1 sprig fresh marjoram
1 pinch of nutmeg
Salt and pepper

Prepare good meat stock, important for best results. No bouillon cube this time, sorry.

Dice the bread and soak it in the boiling hot milk, allowing the crumb to absorb milk for 2 hours. It should bloat but still remain sufficiently pliable, not completely melt.

Finely chop the speck (if you're using it), onion and cut the chives and marjoram.

Wilt the onion in some butter, simmering it gently for a few minutes. Let it cool.

Mash the pulpy bread with the tines of a fork or in a food mill. Add the onions, flour, the chopped speck, part of the chives and marjoram, and the egg. Season with salt, pepper and nutmeg, and knead well with your wet hands, shaping the mixture into several dumplings the size of golf balls, and set aside.

In a large pot, heat the skimmed meat stock with the remaining chives and marjoram. Toss in the canederli and cook for 6-7 minutes. Serve 4-5 balls in each individual deep soup bowl, swimming in the steaming clear broth.

Pair with a stuctured red.

At the above-mentioned spa in Val di Non where I was pampered for that divine week of nourishing treatments, the chef (who happened to be the chief masseuse’s husband) made his knödel as one single fist-sized orb instead of the usual several per bowl.

Seadas recipe

Seadas, or Sebadas, are traditional cheese filled fritters particular to the island of Sardinia.

They are the region's most famous dessert, but originally seadas were enjoyed as a main course, especially by shepherds.

The recipe for these remarkably original cheese fritter calls for a final drizzle of bittersweet corbezzolo honey. Corbezzolo is Italian for strawberry tree, an evergreen Mediterranean shrub whose flower nectar lends the signature bittersweet flavor to this specific honey.

Corbezzolo ~ Strawberry Tree

The pairing of these salty, crunchy, sweet and melty elements provides very interesting flavor and texture combinations.

Here's the recipe for sensational seadas:

200 g (1 cup) semolina flour
500 g (1.1 lb) all purpose flour
500 g (1.1 lbs) Fiore Sardo or fresh Pecorino (not too aged)
Zest from 2 large organic lemons
250 ml (1 cup) water, warmed
3 tbsp white wine
50 g (1/4 cup) butter, softened (ideally rendered lard)
2 tsp salt
1 egg white
Vegetable oil for frying
Organic corbezzolo honey

Dissolve the salt in the warm water, and in a large bowl, add it to semolina, flour, wine, butter (or lard, if you're using it) and knead well. Final result should be a soft and springy ball of satiny dough. Let it rest covered with a kitchen towel while you prepare the filling.

Blend the grated cheese with the lemon zest. This ingredient is what gives this traditional dish its siganture aroma.

Roll the dough flat with a rolling pin, or with a pasta machine, about 1/8-inch thin. Using a saucer or a cookie cutter, obtain 3-inch discs. Depending on how thin you manage to roll the dough, I'd say you'll come up with about 10-15 discs.

Divvy up 3 tablespoons of the cheese and lemon mixture onto half of your discs.

Wet the outer rim of each prepared disc with some egg white and lay the remaining discs to cover. Crimp down the edges with the tines of a fork or with a crinkled pastry wheel.

Fill a large cast iron skillet with vegetable oil for frying, and heat. Fry 2 seadas at a time until slightly golden. To make the floating pastry pocket puff up, carefully ladle some of the boiling oil on it.

When the first bubbles appear on the surface of the fried dough, remove with a slotted spoon and rest on paper towel to blot.

Warm the corbezzolo honey (I take the metal cap off and nuke the jar in the microwave for 30 seconds), drizzle on the seadas, and serve at once.

Buon appetito.

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.

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.

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...

Risi e Bisi recipe

We're talking gourmet comfort food. This is a rich Venetian springtime soup made with the slow cooked technique needed for making risotto, and freshly harvested tender baby peas. I learned how to make Risi e Bisi during one crazy edition of Regata Storica, a few years back. Venezia's historic scull race aboard vintage gondolas, mascarete, sandali and other beautifully ornate antique boats, annually falls on the first Sunday in September, usually messing up Film Festival boat traffic, and leaving stars and publicists stranded on the Lido peer, hopelessly waiting for their Riva motorboat taxi.

The entire city of Venice and inhabitants of the six sestieri wards infact forget all divas and snob cinema flair, participating instead in loud hollering cheers, drinking and unplanned diving in canals from parked boats, madly rooting for their colorful team of upright rowers.

Here's the risi e bisi basics, as handed down by Angelo, the gondolier who kissed me:

1 onion
50 g (1/4 cup) pancetta, finely minced
400 g (2 cups/14 oz) Arborio or Vialone Nano rice
70 g (1/3 cup) extra virgin olive oil
70 g (1/3 cup) unsalted butter
1.5 kg (3.3 lbs) fresh baby peas, unshelled Note: don't discard the shells!
Freshly grated Parmigiano

Begin making a green pea broth by cooking the saved shells of the peas in lightly salted water and then saving the strained liquid. For a richer outcome, Angelo suggests to boil the pea shells in chicken broth instead of water.

Finely slice the onion and sauté it in oil and butter with the pancetta in a large pot.

When the onion tans, add 1 handful of rice + 1, per each person, and cook, stirring constantly. Do this until the rice is translucent (about 5 minutes).

Here comes the fun part: add the green pea broth one ladle at a time, stirring constantly. When you see the rice has given off some starch and looks half done, add the peas.

When the rice is al dente, remove the pot from the stove, stir in una noce di burro (a gob of butter the size of a walnut) and a few tablespoons of grated Parmigiano. The recipe calls for flecks of flatleaf parsley, but if you've been reading this blog long enough, you'll know I'm not super keen on the herb.

In this recipe the rice should be cooked all'onda (behaving like a wave), in other words creamy and moist, rather than pudding-like firm, like regular risotto. You eat it with a spoon rather than a fork...

Image © Rachel Roddy

Mozzarella fritta recipe

Image © PiccanteDolce

Fried food.

I can't get enough of it.

Rome is big on fried things, and my favorite diet sin is ordering fritto misto all'italiana and doing serious damage to my arteries.

I've posted recipes of many of the elements that compose this fabulous deep-fried dish: Mozzarella in Carrozza, Arancini, Panelle, Zucchini blossoms, Olive Ascolane, fried sage leaves and even fried custard.

But there's one component of fritto misto all'italiana that I love above all else, and that's fried mozzarella. A crisp, cunchy golden crust that conceals a hot, melty and milky filling. Just writing about it makes my mouth water.

When I get the craving for some mozzarella fritta there are two things I can do: hop down to the trusted pizzeria next door and get two orders to go; or fry some myself. Here's how I do it.

2 bocconcini of mozzarella di bufala (bocconcini are the 3-inch balls)
2 eggs, beaten
Flour for dredging
Breadcrumbs mixed with a small pinch of polenta (cornmeal)
Vegetable oil for frying
Salt

Beat the eggs in a bowl, and heat oil in a large frying pan. If you are the lucky owner of an electric fryer, I envy you.

Cube the mozzarella and dredge in flour. Then dunk in the egg wash, coat well with breadcrumbs, and fry until golden.

Drain on paper towel, dust with a pinch of salt, and serve immediately.

Delizioso!

Picchiapò recipe

Image © Gina Tringali 

I recently had the pleasure of meeting with work buddies Gina and Brette over a hearty plate of this fabulous stew during what was supposed to be a serious business meeting. We roared with laughter, downed a mezzo litro of the house wine, burned our lips with the fiery red peperoncino flavoring the sauteed cicoria ripassata, and sopped our plates clean with warm chunks of pizza bianca.
Of course we were planning future food tours and comparing past culinary travel experiences, so food was the recognized topic at the center of our conversation.

Picchiapò has a funny name, it could easily translate to "beat just a little" but I'm guessing the etymology lies elsewhere. This is a typical Roman cucina povera dish, and one that naturally involves recycling of leftovers, namely bollito. Each family makes their own, so there is no official recipe. This is the one I've always known, shared by true trasteverini Romans.
If you remember seeing the 1974 Ettore Scola masterpiece C'eravamo tanto amati, friends Vittorio Gassman, Nino Manfredi and Stefano Satta Flores eat picchiapò at a trattoria.

After boiling beef muscle and bone for 3 hours with celery, carrots, onions studded with cloves and whatever else you add in your bollito to make good meat stock; and then letting it rest overnight, you can finally proceed to making your own personal variation of picchiapò. Here's mine.


500 g (1.1 lbs) leftover boiled beef or veal, possibly not too lean - roughly chopped
2-3 yellow or red onions, finely chopped
400 g (2 cups) canned tomatoes, crushed
1 garlic clove, peeled
1 peperoncino chili pepper
1 bay leaf
Extra virgin olive oil
2 glasses of dry, white wine
Salt to taste

Wilt the onions with 3 tablespoons of olive oil in a wide saucepan. Pour in the wine and let it evaporate while the onions turn a nice golden color.
Add the tomatoes and spices/herbs, and let cook over medium heat for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Sauce should reduce somewhat.
Fold in the leftover chopped meat and let it simmer gently for another 7-10 minutes.
Serve hot alongside mashed potatoes, or sauteed seasonal greens.
Buonissimo.

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.

Couscous recipe

When friend and inspired editor Margo of Travel Belles invited me to participate in her once a month column featuring a recipe from around the world, I immediately and enthusiastically accepted. For my first submission, I wrote about Tunisian Couscous...

Continue reading ➔

Malloreddus recipe

The stunning island of Sardinia bears the marks of outsiders, from Phoenicians, Carthaginians and Romans to the seamen of Genoa, Pisa, and the Savoys who proclaimed the Kingdom of Sardegna. But Spaniards, who ruled for centuries before, lent the most pronounced accents to the language, food and wines. As a sum of all these influences, the cooking of Sardegna still remains as eccentric as the nuraghe, the prehistoric stone towers whose origins are still a rocky enigma.

Sardegna folks consume interesting quantities of dried pasta, in the familiar forms of spaghetti and maccheroni, though they also make the singular ravioli-like Culurgiones, toss Fregula buttons in their soups, and roll homemade semolina gnocchi called malloreddus, commonly described as the region’s most typical dish.

Here's the recipe to make them from scratch. Otherwise you can purchase them here.

800 g (4 cups) semolina flour
300 g (1 1/2 cups) warmed water
1 tsp powdered saffron
Salt

Mound the semolina and poke a hole in the top. Pour in the water, salt, and saffron in the crater, and using a fork, beat them together. Now begin to incorporate the semolina, starting with the inner rim of the volcano. When half of the semolina is incorporated, the dough will begin to come together. OK, now start kneading the dough, using the palms of your hands, mostly.

Discard any stray dried bits of dough and continue kneading for 10 more minutes, dusting the work surface with more flour if necessary. The dough should feel springy and a little bit sticky. Cover the dough with a clean cloth and allow to rest in a dusted bowl for 30 minutes at room temperature before using.

Cut the pasta into 4 parts. Roll each into a 1-inch snake, and cut into bolt-sized nuggets. Roll each piece on this tool, or down the back of a fork with your thumb to give it the characteristic ridges, and set aside on a floured surface until ready to cook.

Image © giallozafferano

For the sauce:

400 g (14 oz) canned tomatoes, crushed
200 g (1 cup) Italian sausage, peeled and minced
1 white onion, thinly sliced
A bunch of fresh wild fennel (can be substituted with fennel seeds if necessary)
Extra virgin olive oil
Lots of Pecorino or Fiore Sardo cheese, grated


Film a large skillet with a thread of olive oil, and lightly brown the sausage, when evenly colored, add the onion, and simmer over a low flame until translucent.

In a bowl, steep the chopped wild fennel in 1/4 cup olive oil and set aside.

When the onion and sausage have married, add the canned tomatoes and cook over mild heat for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally: do this for the pleasure of fogging up your glasses and inhaling the aroma. As every passionate cook knows, when you cook with love and pleasure, flavor and final outcome profit.

Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a rolling boil, cook your homemade malloreddus, and drain quite al dente. 

Drop the cooked pasta into the pan with the tomatoes, mixing well until well coated. 

Stir in the fennel marinade, and simmer over vivacious heat for another 3-4 minutes. 

Sprinkle 3 handfuls of grated cheese, and stir some more. Serve straight from the cooking pan onto hot plates, dusted with more grated Pecorino or Fiore Sardo, and a large smile on your face.