Espresso coffee, 3 ways

Are you sleepy too? You look tired. I know I need a pick-me-up.
Can I make some for you too? Something to jolt us out of this inertia? Good idea.
Here, sit. You can have the paper first. Read, relax. Put your feet up while I make us some coffee. But not just any old coffee.

Image copyright Tipi d'aMare

I have three kinds of custom espresso in mind.

Let's begin with something classic.

Image copyright Giardino dei Ciliegi

1. Orange-flavored Espresso
Delicious aromatic after dinner coffee

4-6 large cups of strong espresso
The rind of 2 unwaxed oranges, white pith removed (turns everything bitter)
1 cinnamon stick
Sugar to taste
Milk

Steep the orange rinds and the cinnamon in the hot coffee for 5 minutes, then discard. Pour through a cheesecloth and serve in tall mugs, stained with just a droplet of milk, and sweetened with a suspicion of sugar.

Image copyright Pastry Chef Online

2. Cafè Argentino
Droolworthy caramel cream coffee. Generally used as a base for desserts in Argentina, dulce de leche lends coffee a sweet, almost sensual flavor.

500 ml (2 cups) boiling hot espresso (not too strong)
50 ml (1/4 cup) dulce de leche (can be found in specialty stores)
Milk or cream

Divvy up the coffee in 2-3 large teacups. Add a tablespoon of dulce de leche to each and stir until completely dissolved. 

Add milk or cream and sit down in comfortable chairs, Carlos Gardel playing loud.



3. Nocciolato
Choco/hazelnut coffee. Not your everyday moka. Beyond decadent.

500 ml (2 cups) piping hot, weak espresso (made by adding more water in the making)
50 ml (1/4 cup) hazelnut liqueur (like Frangelico)
50 gr (1/4 cup) Nutella (or any hazelnut-chocolate spread)
Sugar to taste
Cream

Whip the cream with an electric beater until quite stiff and refrigerate. Divvy up the coffee in 2-3 large teacups. Add a shot of Frangelico and 1 heaped tablespoon of Nutella to each, stirring carefully - scraping the sides of the cups - until completely dissolved. Sweeten to your taste (no need, really) and garnish each cup with a dollop of whipped cream.


Which is your favorite?

Growing hope

As I was walking in the midday heat, eyes glued to pavement, head buzzing with overlapping worries and thoughts, my eyes fell on an encouraging image.

This little plant was able to see daylight, stubbornly creeping up through thick layers of dry dirt, asphalt and grime. And mind you, it hasn't rained here in over 2 months. I stared down at this perfect image of strength and will, and understood its message.

A small, dusty sapling was teaching me a huge lesson.

Spritz

In Veneto, drinking Spritz is not only aperitivo, it's more of an appointment. Gathering for a Spritz is an opportunity to meet, chat, gossip and laugh in good company. Spritz is a lifestyle. And an excellent excuse to go hang out in the bar at sundown, when everybody looks pretty.

Image source Spritzlandia

Spritz is a simple drink, whose roots date back to the Austrian occupation of northeastern Italy; Austrian incumbents of the Veneto and Friuli-Venezia Giulia regions regarded wine as too strong a drink and in an attempt to lighten it, diluted it with water. The battling local Veneto folk, in order to restore some vivacity back to the beverage, responded by adding liquor to the new Hapsburgic solution. That’s how Spritz was first invented and how it got its Austrian name, which roughly translates to injection/addition.

Image copyright Nan McElroy

The orange-hued alcoholic beverage native to lagunar lands - but now commonly enjoyed all over northern Italy, including the regions of Emilia Romagna and Lombardia - is commonly also named Spriss, Spriz or Sprisseto. I have worked and lived some portions of my professional life on the road in northern Italy and I have compiled a Spritz Tour Catalog of choice bars and cafes where I have enjoyed the best Spritz in Italy. 

Among them Padova's consolidated Spritz shrine in Piazza delle Erbe and the Padova Ghetto; or Campo Santa Margherita in Venice; Porta San Tommaso in Treviso; the area around Piazza Matteotti in Udine; Piazza delle Erbe in Verona; Piazza dei Signori in Vicenza; the lighthouse beach and numerous cafes along Via Bafile in Jesolo Lido; the gorgeous Piazza Unità d'Italia in Trieste; at the Bar Roma in San Donà di Piave; Piazza Libertà in Bassano del Grappa; Piazza Giorgione in Castelfranco Veneto; beneath the Loggia dei Grani in Montebelluna; Asolo's Caffè Centrale; in the chic locales that dot Corso Italia in Cortina d'Ampezzo; Piazza Cima in Conegliano Veneto. Or in my beloved Chioggia, where traditionally Spritz is enjoyed in osterie along the snaking canals, paired with spit roasted fish called "scòta deo", which means 'finger-burning'.



There is no unambiguous composition for Spritz, rather city variations on the local barman's own whim. A common denominator in the varieties offered is however the presence of dry white wine and sparkling water or seltzer/club soda, whose quantities have to at least be 40% to 30%; the remaining 30% can be completed by a myriad of alcoholic alternatives; granted their mixture maintain the drink's signature bright orange color. Alcoholic grading is therefore variable, but should not exceed 15°. Here's how I like to make Spritz.

40% dry white wine
30% soda water
30% Aperol bitter

Some make Spritz with Campari instead of Aperol, a bit too bitter for my happy hour palate. I prefer classic Aperol, which gives the drink a sweeter yet peppery taste. This brand produces a new popular ready-made mix called Aperol Spritz.

But I rather like to make it myself and serve it on the rocks with an orange wedge, accompanied by frittata squares, fried polpette meatballs, artichoke heels, polenta sticks, and other cicchetti-like goodies.

I love cocktail hour, don't you?

Salute!

Puntarelle recipe

Rome's curious curled chicory salad, Puntarelle are the number two Roman quintessential vegetable after artichokes. They are the sprouts of a chicory variety called cicoria di catalogna, puntarelle chicory or asparagus chicory, picked while still young and tender. Of course I am craving them now. And of course, like many other of my cravings, they are in season only in winter...

The preparation of this raw salad is a little complex, fortunately puntarelle are sold in Rome’s farmers’ and corner markets already trimmed and "curled." If I was able to find puntarelle in a supermarket tucked away in the hills above northern Bologna, I’m sure you can get your hands on a crate too, whatever your location.

The sprouts and shoots of the puntarelle are cut lengthwise into long, thin strips and soaked in acidulated ice-cold water for an hour.

This causes the crunchy pale green chicory to curl up in extraordinary Shirley Temple-style, to become juicier and less bitter. The recipe for the punchy dressing of this very particular salad dates back to ancient Rome. Another bizarre flavor combination, but a delicious one at that.

When come November, your mind drifts to the Eternal City, and you mysteriously begin to long for the unique smell of roasting chestnuts and the particular glint of wet cobblestones in the morning sun, go ahead and assemble the following ingredients for a taste of true Roman flavor.

1 kg (2.2 lbs) puntarelle (can be substituted with Belgian endive or the youngest curly chicory you can find)
8 anchovy fillets packed in salt, cleaned (can be substituted with regular oil-preserved anchovies in extremis)
3-4 garlic cloves, minced
Red wine vinegar
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Prepare a creamy pesto with minced garlic, anchovies, splash of lvinegar (not too much!) very little salt, pepper and plenty olive oil. Pestle and mortar would be best, but if you use a mezzaluna or a kitchen knife to chop finely you can then mix with a wire whisk. 

Stir and allow the obtained "sauce" to sit for 10 minutes.

Drain the puntarelle, dry with a kitchen towel or spin-dry carefully. Trickle the velvety beige sauce over the chilled and curled puntarelle salad, toss, allow to sit for a few minutes, and––given the garlic content––expect to face reduced social life for the next 3 days.

Image © su-lin

Note: If you're particularly in a rush and decide to use anchovy paste instead of fillets, just cut down on the salt and count on my discretion.

Vitello Tonnato recipe

Some simplify and make this typical Piemontese summer dish with mayonnaise, but the true recipe doesn't call for it. I don’t know what this digression comes from, as there is nothing mayo-like in the original preparation of the exquisite veal delicacy. The egg, perhaps.

A little bit complex but rarely a disappointment, authentic vitello tonnato is made with:

1 kg (2.2 lb) "girello" roast, or boned veal (rump cut)
500 g (1 lb) white onions, thinly sliced
1/2 bouillon cube
150 g (7/8 cup) good quality canned tuna, drained of excess oil (not the water packed kind!)
1 egg yolk, hard-boiled
5 pickled capers + a pinch more for garnishing, rinsed
Dry white wine
Extra virgin olive oil

Heat the meat in a stew pot, searing it in oil for a few minutes, or until evenly browned. Add the onion and the 1/2 stock cube, and cook until the onions are translucent. Pour in the wine, reduce the heat to a low flame and braise covered, adding more wine if necessary (if the meat looks dry). Do not salt!

After about 30 minutes, check for doneness by poking the roast with a fork, if the meat is tender, it's done. Should the resulting juices be too liquid, fish out the roast and set aside. Raise the heat and reduce the onion sauce to a dense gravy-like texture.

In a food processor, blend the tuna (hence the 'no salt' part), egg yolk, capers and the onion gravy into a thick cream.

When the veal has cooled, carve it thinly across the grain and arrange the slices on a large platter (you want one layer). Slather the creamy tuna sauce over the sliced meat, covering it completely; and garnish with more capers (just a few). Cover with plastic wrap and chill before serving.

From the refrigerator, also produce a frosty bottle of Dolcetto di Dogliani and go crazy.









Appendix
I knew what I was getting into as I was typing the words 'veal' and 'tuna' in the same sentence. Trouble.

I don't know if Italian calves face the same horrid death they do overseas. But this particular meat is very much part of the Italian diet; and being faithful to my pledge to blog about authentic Italian dishes, I felt I could not overlook this fact.

Tuna is still angled with "tonnare," a brutal death chamber-style technique in which often porpoises and other marine species get caught by mistake. I'm not a defender of the practice, I cringe at the mere idea and I find it cruel.

But I am an omnivore. And I actually love the taste of vitello tonnato described here. Paradoxical.

My intent was the usual one, entice palates, share my recipes and tell a little of Italy's eating habits. Never to offend, disgust or perturb my non veal/tuna-eating readers. 

Please accept my heartfelt apologies if I have.