Ribollita

There are two major categories of Italian hearty soups, or zuppe: those based on legumes of some sort, beans, chick peas, lentils, or whatever, added with grains or pasta, like farro or barley; and those that are based on green vegetables –– minestroni, in short.

In sight of the upcoming monumental holiday menus, a warm bowl of healthy minestra works wonders on the overworked digestive system. Plus dinosaur kale is starting to appear on market stalls, so Ribollita makes its yearly debut on my dinner table. Finalmente.

Probably the most representative of Tuscany's zuppa tradition, Ribollita honorably competes with co-regional adversaries Pappa al Pomodoro and Zuppa di Farro for the title of the world's best hearty Italian minestra. Ribollita was the soup typical of Tuscan farmers, and represented the feast of the harvest. Today it is a classic cuisine delicacy, often mis-interpreted and served at white tablecloth restaurants in bowls the size of a thimble. Heresy. Ribollita spells abundance! And thrift! End of rant.

After a first slow stewing, the vegetable-loaded ribollita is left to rest and re-boiled (hence the name, ri-bollita) the next day.

Cavolo Nero––the main ingredient of this twice-cooked bread and vegetable minestrone––is black leaf kale. Some English-speakers call it with its original name cavolo nero, while others refer to it as 'dinosaur kale' or 'laciniate kale' or 'Tuscan kale'.
If you live in the southern hemisphere and it's not exactly cavolo nero season now, here's a trick: adding a sprig of fresh thyme in the preparation magically lends the soup a cavolo nero-flavor. I swear.

There are many variations and family copyrighted recipes for Ribollita. My version is inspired by a combination of the one shared by Artusi, and the version of a Florentine housekeeper that taught my mom this recipe years ago.

500 gr (3 1/2 cups) cannellini beans*
1 leek, trimmed of all green parts and thinly sliced
1 carrot, diced
1 large (or 2 medium) celery ribs, diced
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
3 tbsp tomato sauce
500 gr (2 cups) kale (essential!)
4 plum tomatoes, peeled and chopped
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 potatoes, peeled and diced
2 zucchini, diced
1/2 large Savoy cabbage
250 gr (1 cup) Swiss chard
4 slices of day-old (or stale) homestyle bread, roughly torn apart
1 tsp salt and generous lashings of cracked black pepper
(A sprig of fresh thyme in substitution of kale)

*If the beans are dried, soak them in water for at least 24 hours; if fresh or canned, simply rinse after removing them from their pods or cans.

You'll be making this dish the day before serving your Ribollita, so be sure to budget time wisely.
Rinse the beans and boil them in salted water for 40 minutes. Set them aside soaking in their cooking water.

Sauté the leek-carrot-celery holy trinity mirepoix with olive oil, in a heavy bottomed pot. When the leek is translucent, add the tomato sauce. Puree half the beans in the blender with their cooking water and add them to the sauce base.

Stir in all the vegetables, and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer gently for 1 hour.

Fold in the rest of the saved beans and the bread, seasoning to taste with salt and pepper. Keep simmering for 5 more minutes.

Turn off the stove, go to sleep and wish your Ribollita goodnight.
The next day re-boil the soup for 10 minutes and let it rest off the stove for an additional 15 minutes before serving in deep bowls, each containing a garlic-rubbed slice of bruschetta, a drizzle of raw extra virgin olive oil, and several more turns of the pepper mill.

The wine you should pour with Ribollita should be preferably three things: Tuscan, red and intense. I would go with the earthy Cecchi Bonizio, a marvelous blend of Merlot from Tuscany's coastal Maremma zone, and select Sangiovese grapes from the hills of Chianti Classico, loaded with lots of wild berries, spice and complexity, perfect with the round, full and rich mouthfuls of warm, comforting vegetables.

Buon appetito.

Image © Donna Moderna.com

Grape and Olive Harvests in Italy

Sangiovese grapes I harvested at Cecchi Winery

Participating in an Italian harvest, whether it's grapes or olives, is an uplifting experience.

Italy's Autumnal harvest season is one big celebration, beginning in mid-September with the picking of white wine grapes, booming in October with the harvest of the red varieties, and peaking in November, that magical month of olive picking and olive oil production.

Harvests are entertaining because they're not exclusive to local farmers or even the estate's winemakers.

Travelers and enthusiast come from all over to help out. It's a fascinating and convivial experience that shows off the ancient winemaking and olive pressing process, while emphasizing the importance of teamwork. As a bonus, participants get to taste local wine and eat hearty food.  Continue Reading ➔

Frozen Campari and Raspberry

It started perfect, but I can't say the vacation ended on a high note.



The empty city streets after the holiday exodus; sandy feet and suntanned shoulders; the joys of rustic country living in a beautiful Renaissance villa; my Dad's impromptu visit; the romantic whistling train, the lull of mid-afternoon poolside naps whose tempo was kept by cicada song... all vanished when my entire family was taken ill with a dreadful gastrointestinal virus caught during the last week of our stay in the Tuscan idyll.

We adults all bounced back quickly, having only shed a few timely pounds. Unfortunately my little boy of 7 years and only 30 kilos, had a harder time. He struggled with vomit and other nether end liquid loss for eighteen never-ending days. These were dotted with rushed emergency room visits, intravenous drips, risk of dehydration, many many sleepless nights and copious electrolyte intake. The poor child just could not keep anything solid down. My nerves drawn very thin, I managed to keep my head only thanks to the advice of friends and family, and their reassuring words of parenting wisdom.

We are now out of the tunnel. In order to regain some color on our cheeks we stole to the beach on the weekend, and a wholesome diet of white fish, boiled carrots and potatoes – assisted by lots of seaside splashing and beach activities – brought appetite and energy back to my boy's frail and weakened organism. He lost a total of 4 kilos (that's 8.8 lbs) which on a child is monumental.

The little guy started school two weeks ago and seems to have finally regained all his natural stamina. I can finally breathe.

In a crazy attempt to cling on the last shreds of summer – rain is drizzling down my window panes as I type this – and in order to nullify the down-pointed end of our disastrous vacation, I'm celebrating my child's overall success by posting a super summery treat. It involves booze and raspberries, both much needed and effective rescue remedies for us caregivers and single moms in distress.

Frozen Campari and Raspberry
1 kg (5 cups) wild raspberries
200 gr (1 cup) sugar
50 ml (1/4 cup) water
5 tablespoons straight Campari
The zest from 1 orange, freshly grated
Sea or Kosher salt

In a blender combine the raspberries, sugar, water and the Campari, blitzing on medium speed until the raspberries are completely pureed, this should take no more than 1 minute.

Pour the resulting puree through a fine mesh strainer into a mixing bowl, pressing with a spoon to separate the juice from the seeds.

Stir in a teaspoon of orange zest, then add a pinch of salt.

If you have a gelato machine, you can do this easily, following the manufacturer's instructions. I did it by hand. Yes, but don't panic. All you do is transfer the puree to the freezer, placed in a shallow tray, and stir with a wire whisk every 30 minutes for two hours. This prevents crystallization.

Move the slushy mixture to a deeper air tight container, like Tupperware or a loaf tin covered with foil, and allow it to freeze overnight. If you leave it in the shallow tray there's the risk it can harden and become a big popsicle. What you want instead is a soft, granita sludge-like consistency.

Scoop out and serve your frozen delight in individual bowls garnished with an orange wedge and a straw. Or eat straight out of the freezer with a large spoon.

Looking forward to Fall

It's the end of summer, or so says the calendar.

After the hot and quiet slumber of the Italian August, normality gradually returns (most schools reopen the second week of the month). Sandy towels are washed and stowed; brown shoulders tucked under cotton blouses; and back-to-school checklists become the norm.

But September doesn't just mean catching up on unpaid bills and getting back to the office humdrum, at least not to me. Finding novel places and writing up new and exciting Rome restaurants has become my profession, and it’s safe to say I’m looking forward to going back to work.

Here are a few interesting newly opened Rome eateries we should keep under close observation in the coming season.

Continue Reading ➔

Cozze fritte – Fried mussels

Eating piping hot fried mussels from a paper cone, while strolling down the street. You can't make this stuff up, it actually happens in the summer in Taranto, and in other parts of Apulia, the heel of the boot. We are talking street food to the nth degree which employs fresh, local ingredients and pure regional knowledge, applied to daily life.

The fantastically crunchy on the outside, marine salty, sexy and velvety aromatic on the inside cozze fritte are true morsels of foodporn. Not the photographic, shallow depth of field foodie kind: I’m talking about the actual hands on, hard-core, triple-X, foodgasm-inducing mangia; the kind that will have you reminiscing for days, giving you sensual memory-triggered butterflies and shivers.

What was that about shellfish not being aphrodisiac? I dare you to try these, and resists the temptation. You'll look back on oysters like a second grader regards his training wheels.

1 egg + 1 egg white
100 g (3 oz) flour, sifted
500 g (1.1 lb) medium-large mussels (summer’s the right season for these, so get them while you can, northern hemisphere friends!)
2 shallots, finely chopped
1 leek, the white part only and minced
A sprig of fresh thyme, finely chopped
The juice of 1 lemon
1 glass of dry, white wine
180 ml (6 fl oz) lager (don’t use light beer)
Extra virgin olive oil for marinade, plus more for frying
Salt and pepper to taste

In a large mixing bowl, beat and season the egg with a pinch of salt. Beat the egg white separately until peaks form.

Sift the flour and add it with the minced leek, fluffy egg white and the beer to the egg, mixing well. This is your batter. Cover it up with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Wash, brush and clean your mussels, carefully removing the byssus and barnacles from the valves, rinsing them in a salt-water solution, and then draining them well.

Steam the mussels in a large covered pan with chopped shallots, thyme, freshly ground black pepper and the wine, simmering over a vivacious flame to make the valves open, about 4-5 minutes. Discard any that fail to open.

When cool enough to manage with your bare hands, remove the mussels from their shells and marinade them in a bowl with lemon juice, 3 tbsp of extra virgin olive oil.
Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Heat a generous amount of olive oil in a large enough frying pan.

When the oil is hot but not smoking, fish your mussels out of the marinade with a slotted spoon and dunk them in the chilled leek-flavored batter.
Plunge them immediately in the boiling hot oil and fry in small batches for a few minutes, or until golden and crisp. The temperature shock from the chilled, airy batter hitting the scalding oil guarantees the best results.

Park briefly on a paper towel and serve hot-hot-hot with a curry or ginger–flavored mayo dip. Conversely, the bottle of sparkling Frenciacorta Satén must be cold-cold-cold.

Images courtesy of buttalapasta.it - corrierecucina