Avanzi, Italy's glorious leftovers

You know me. I'm the one fixated with not throwing away food. I so firmly believe in recycling leftovers that I purposely cook in larger quantities than needed in order to have uneaten food to work with later.

After a sad few days of the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, apple, toast)––my son and I caught the stomach bug of 2016 late––I needed something to revive my depressed taste buds.

So for dinner yesterday I "made" two sensational Southern Italian dishes with avanzi. Made is actually too bold of a term, let's say I transformed leftover spaghetti into Neapolitan frittata di maccheroni and day-old green beans into Sicilian fagiolini alla muddica.

A week ago I made enough Puttanesca for 10 (there were 7 guests, 3 of which kids) so naturally I had a bowl of it sitting in the back of the fridge. The sauce made with this summer's pommarola, brined olives and minuscule capers from Pantelleria stuck to the noodles and was still fragrant. I didn't have to think twice: frittata di maccheroni. Every Neapolitan homemaker has this recipe in their repertoire.

I loosened the spaghetti from their bowl-shape and mixed in 4 beaten eggs.
I transferred the slippery mix to a heavy-bottomed pan with just a drizzle of olive oil and gently heated for about 5 minutes, until a delicious crust started forming on the bottom. My mother's trick is beating one more egg with salt and pepper and pouring it on the surface. This helps set the frittata.
I covered the pan for another 2 minutes, checking that the bottom didn't darken too much: browned frittata is dry and disgusting.
At this point of cooking frittata you have to be resourceful for the flipping portion of the recipe.
I use a lipless lid and good balancing skills to slide the uncooked side back into the pan.
On the whole, another plus is that this dish takes about 10-12 minutes to make. So while wisely thrifty, you're also budgeting time.

But my recycled carbs with high-protein needed a vegetal side. I glanced at the handful of yesterday's steamed green beans sitting suffocated under a plastic wrap cover. I reached in for the bowl and let the contents warm to room temperature on the countertop while I made the seasoned breadcrumbs.

I have a small fabric pouch where all my bread corners, broken breadsticks and uneaten slices fall into. This is what's known around the house as the Pangrattato Pouch. All the hardened bits of sourdough in there become breadcrumbs. I transfer the amount needed in a sturdy airtight plastic bag and arm myself with a rolling pin. I seal the bag and bash the hunks of bread to the desired powder grain. I prefer coarse. To the ziploc I then add powdered herbs, seasoned salt and a fistful of polenta (cornmeal) for crunch.

I toasted the breadcrumbs with olive oil and 2 cloves of garlic. A salt-saving, flavor-boosting trick is adding 2-3 oil-packed anchovies and working them into the crumbs with the tines of a fork. When the breadcrumbs clumped together to a crispy crumble, I added the green beans, tossing to coat and heat through. I didn't need to adjust seasoning, so I served immediately.

A tavola!

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.