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Thanksgiving Side: Braised Sweet-Sour Onions

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I’m not sure when braised sweet-sour onions, based on a Marcella Hazan recipe, showed up on our otherwise relentlessly American Thanksgiving menu. But now it’s unthinkable to leave them out, any more than we would consider skipping the mushroom-onion bread dressing or Brussels sprouts with chestnuts.

When our daughter was in Abu Dhabi on business a few years back,  she emailed for the recipe to contribute to an ex-pat Thanksgiving dinner.  She couldn’t find flat cipolline onions but successfully substituted small red Indian onions from a local market.

Sides with Italian touches can inject flavor excitement (and maybe a little olive oil) into a meal that tends to be too starchy and bland. So, think about making those onions or picking up on one of these ideas.

  • Cover mashed sweet potatoes or winter squash with a topping of grated hard cheese (such as Parmigiano Reggiano, Asiago or pecorino) mixed with chopped pecans or walnuts. Run under the broiler until lightly browned.
  • Moisten fresh breadcrumbs with olive oil and toast until golden. Mix in chopped parsley and sauteed garlic bits while still warm.  Sprinkle over steamed green beans or roasted cauliflower.
  • Go Italian with a sliced celery salad, dressed with a citrus vinaigrette and garnished with toasted walnuts and Parmesan shards. Or, set out an antipasto platter that includes marinated artichokes, wrinkly oil-cured olives and lightly salted radishes or raw fennel.
  • Make your pie crust with pasta frolla, Italy’s butter-and-egg pastry dough. It’s easy to work with and especially good for wet fillings such as pumpkin. This crust is also great for a free-form apple crostata, an easier alternative to traditional apple pie.
Print
Braised Sweet-Sour Onions
Prep Time
30 mins
Cook Time
2 hrs
Total Time
2 hrs 30 mins
 
(Adapted from Marcella Hazan's The Classic Italian Cook Book)
Course: Side Dish
Cuisine: Italian
Servings: 6 servings
Ingredients
  • 3 pounds small white onions preferably the flat variety called cipolline
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
  • 2 1/2 tablespoons red or white wine vinegar
  • 2 teaspoons sugar
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • Freshly ground black pepper
Instructions
  1. In a medium saucepan or skillet broad enough for the onions to fit in a single layer, blanch the onions in boiling water for about 20 seconds; drain and cool slightly. Pull off the papery outer skin; trim dangling roots or tips but leave the root ends intact (otherwise, the onions will come apart when cooked).
  2. Return onions to the saucepan; add water half way up the sides of the onions. Bring to a boil; reduce the heat and simmer the onions for about 20 minutes, stirring at least once, until tender and about half of the water has evaporated.
  3. Add the butter, vinegar, sugar, salt and several grindings of black pepper; continue to simmer very slowly, partially covered, for 1 to 2 hours. Stir often and add a tablespoon or two of water as necessary.
  4. When the onions are a burnished golden brown, consider them done. (Can be made ahead and reheated slowly.)

 

Improvising a Mango-Peach Jam Crostata

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I opened the refrigerator a while back to find an jar of glistening preserves, burnt orange in color. My husband said it was from Emmanuel Roux, known in Tampa Bay and beyond for his flourless chocolate cakes, but couldn’t recall exactly what it was.

“Mango-peach confiture,” said Jennifer, Emmanuel’s curator wife, in reply to my email. And so began the obsessive tasting that culminated in the free-form crostata I’ll soon be telling you about.

Confiture is a word that just doesn’t get used enough, at least in English–so elegant and exotic sounding. It just means preserves or jam, in French. We could also say marmellata, the Italian equivalent, but out of respect for Emmanuel let’s stick with confiture.

“I was raised in a household where for breakfast and afternoon tea there were never less than four or five confitures,” says Emmanuel, whose French family lived in Tunisia for many years. “They were always homemade: berries, apple, orange marmalade, wild plums, green tomatoes.”  His own confitures are simply fruit simmered with sugar and flavorings, no added pectin.

The mangoes had come from a neighbor’s tree and the peaches were among summer’s last from a local market. The confiture’s flavor and color mingled the best of two divine fruits, and I loved the texture, too–firm fruit pieces, not mushy like most jam. Of course, I had to ask how it’s done and here’s the story, in his own words:

  • Dropped the ripe peaches and mangoes in boiling water to remove the skin.
  • Scooped mango flesh out with a soup spoon and cut the peaches in chunks.
  • Added approximately the same quantity of organic sugar to fruit, plus juice from a couple of limes in our yard. Grabbed a not-quite-ripe grapefruit from the dying grapefruit tree in our yard, extracted the seeds and crushed them with the flat side of a knife.
  • Let it all sit together for some time.
  • Cooked the whole thing over high heat to bring to a boil. Then low heat.
  • Skimmed the foam with a flat kitchen spoon. You could also use an ecumoire [otherwise known as a skimmer]. Cooled the foam for Maxx [the family Lab], who loves it.
  • Cooked for an undetermined amount of time while I was working on something else.
  • Caught it just before it started to burn because Jennifer reminded me I had something on the stove.
  • Filled clean jars with a ladle. Tried to find matching lids for the jars. Put a lid on each jar and turned it upside down to sterilize the inside lid.
  • Stored, shared, enjoyed.

After a few days of spooning my mango-peach preserves into plain yogurt and onto whole-wheat toast smeared with peanut butter, I decided they deserved something more. Hence, the crostata. Crostatas are just tarts made with the Italian pastry dough called pasta frolla. Usually I make them with fresh fruit, but I knew that many Italian cooks fill them with their own homemade jam. So here’s my free-form recipe for a free-form crostata made with Emmanuel’s jam (feel free to substitute).

Mango-Peach Jam Crostata

  • With a fork, stirred together 1 1/2 cups flour, 2 tablespoons sugar, grated peel of half a lemon and a pinch of salt.
  • Using my fingertips, worked in 6 tablespoons unsalted butter (cut first in pieces) until mealy. Blended in one beaten egg with a fork to moisten the mixture. Gathered the dough into a ball and gently kneaded.
  • Pulled off one third of the dough for the lattice top. Shaped the remaining two-thirds into a thick disk.
  • Looked for a 9-inch tart pan. Couldn’t find any tart pans (no doubt they will show up when I go searching for cookie cutters at Christmas). Decided instead to make a freeform tart on a baking sheet.
  • Remembered to set the oven at 350°F. Too impatient to chill the dough or let it rest, as recipes always advise. Succeeded–ha!–in rolling a ragged 10-inch disk on my granite counter. Transferred it to the baking sheet and trimmed with a pizza cutter.
  • Spread 1 cup of the jam over the tart crust, leaving a 1-inch border. Thought of sprinkling slivered almonds on top, but didn’t have any. Folded the pastry edges over the jam. Rolled pieces of the remaining dough to make the lattice top.
  • Baked the crostata 20 minutes and took a look. Decided belatedly to brush the lattice top with egg yolk beaten with a little water. Rewarded 15 minutes later with a golden-brown crust (that’s 35 minutes total baking).
  • Tasted, shared, enjoyed.

 

Kale Craze: Let’s Move On…to Other Greens

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The New York Times article about an American kale enthusiast trying to win mystified Parisians over to her favorite greens brought scoffs from online foodie friends. “Kale is so passé,” said one. Not exactly–many a trendy menu still sports a kale salad or risotto. But it does seem like time to move on.

Not to some entirely new craze (although rutabagas have been waiting a long time for their moment), but to other deserving greens. In the spirit of the farmers market shopper in the photo, don’t think too hard about it. Just load them in your basket.

Before talking about what to do with those greens, let’s establish that I’m not a kale hater. I have a kale-strewn potful of minestrone in my fridge right now and, at least once a year, I make ribollita, the robust bread soup that calls for cavolo nero, a variety of kale known to gardeners as lacinato and to many Americans as Tuscan kale. I also make a killer Tuscan pesto by blending the grey-green leaves with browned onions and walnuts.

I’ve never met a kale chip I liked, though–at best, they just taste of salt and at worst, a bit acrid. Kale smoothies? Ewwww. My daughters make a tasty kale salad with raisins, walnuts and pecorino cheese, but I’ve never been moved to make it myself.

Maybe it’s a generational thing but mostly I don’t get the appeal of raw kale. I’d rather cook it. And that goes for other bitter greens: dandelion greens (wild and cultivated), chicory, mustard greens, collard greens.

Unless they are young and tender, bitter greens are often blanched to moderate their pungency. But some of the nutrients go down the drain. In Sicily I learned a different trick: Mix bitter greens with milder varieties such as spinach, chard, escarole or beet greens.

mixed bitter and mild greens

Southern Italians also eat tenerumi, the leaves and shoots of wildly twisted squash called cucuzza or zucchina serpente. Braise in just a little water.

Usually I serve these greens as a side dish, but they could also be used as a bruschetta topping, ravioli or quiche filling, or base for a poached egg.

Print
Mixed Greens with Garlic and Hot Red Pepper
Prep Time
30 mins
Cook Time
30 mins
Total Time
1 hr
 
(from Seafood alla Siciliana, by Toni Lydecker
Course: Side Dish
Cuisine: Italian
Servings: 4 servings
Ingredients
  • 1 bunch or large bag bitter greens such as chicory, dandelion greens, mustard greens or kale prepared for cooking*
  • 1 bunch or large bag milder greens such as chard, spinach, escarole or beet greens spinach, eprepared for cooking*
  • Sea salt or kosher salt
  • 2 cloves garlic finely chopped
  • 2 or 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
  • Red hot pepper flakes to taste
  • White wine vinegar or lemon wedges
Instructions
  1. Working in batches, cover the greens with water in a large bowl or salad spinner (work in batches as necessary); after several minutes, lift them out. Repeat with fresh water until the discarded water is free of grit. (If using trimmed, washed greens, skip this step!)
  2. In a skillet or broad saucepan large enough to hold the greens, cook the garlic in the olive oil over medium-low heat until fragrant but not browned. Add 1/4 cup water and pile the greens on top. Cover and cook until wilted, stirring to coat greens with the oil; continue to cook until very tender, 15 to 30 minutes altogether.
  3. Season to taste with salt and red pepper flakes. Pass vinegar or a bowl of lemon wedges at the table.
Recipe Notes
  • Prepare dandelion greens and chicory for cooking by trimming the lower stems and cutting the upper parts crosswise in 1- inch lengths. Thick chard or kale stems should be stripped away and used for another purpose (such as vegetable broth); cut leaves crosswise in strips.  Tender greens such as spinach are simply cut crosswise in strips.
  • Variation: In step #2, saute 1/4 cup finely diced pancetta in the olive oil until most of the fat has been rendered; add the garlic and proceed with the remainder of the recipe.

 

dandelion greens

 

Birmingham: Civil Rights Shrine and Culinary Mecca

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Not long ago I visited the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, where four girls were killed in a Ku Klux Clan bombing 50 years ago. A small exhibit in the fellowship hall tells the story in a matter-of-fact way. Across the street, exhibits at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute lay out the events of the long struggle for racial equality, including poignant documents like Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”

Not to miss, either of these sites, but there’s more to Birmingham than its troubled civil rights history. As Janet Keeler says in a Tampa Bay Times story, “It’s a city in 3-D” that entertains and educates 35,000 University of Alabama students, goes crazy over football and roller derby, is busy revitalizing its downtown…and loves to eat well.

Birmingham is, like New Orleans and Charleston, a destination for food lovers. Chef Frank Stitt set the bar high more than 30 years ago when, after a Chez Panisse stint and European travels, he returned to his hometown to open Highlands Bar and Grill. Since then he’s opened Bottega and two other restaurants, written cookbooks, won awards and honed a reputation as an authority on Southern cuisine. I couldn’t wait to taste food from this chef I’d heard so much about.

At Bottega, an Italian restaurant with Southern touches, I chose three appetizers. Beef carpaccio looked like the classic preparation of paper-thin raw beef with Parmigiano Reggiano shavings and arugula, with the chef’s twist–smears of creamy horseradish sauce–cleverly hidden underneath.

Next came caponata, a Sicilian dish that American restaurants often fail to do right. Caponata is not a eggplant paste to smear on crostini but a hearty mixture of braised eggplant and bell pepper chunks with olives and a sweet-sour dressing. This rendition was deeply satisfying, with the slight chewiness of the eggplant skin yielding to the softly caramelized flesh underneath. Slightly oily, but in a good way, because I could taste the quality of the olive oil.

It’s fair to judge an Italian restaurant on its pastas, and the ravioli with fresh tomato coulis delivered the simple, pure flavors of ricotta, lemon zest, basil.

You can tell I was loving my dinner, but I was also happy just being there. From the refined dining room, I could see people mingling at a private party on the second level and glimpse the rich wood bar in another corner, where customers were sipping cocktails and slurping freshly shucked oysters. Through the door is Bottega Cafe, serving pizzas and other rustic fare from a wood-burning oven. Strategically placed mirrors amplify the experience of sitting in one wholly appealing place while observing others.

My feast continued the next night at Highlands, where I started with the famous baked grits surrounded by sauteed chanterelles and country ham on a beurre blanc sauce. The chanterelles, abundant and meaty, stole my heart. As my waiter Mark explained, they were gathered by a forager at an undisclosed location 20 minutes from Birmingham.

Highlands started out mostly French with a few Southern twists and now the ratio is flipped the other way. But I was also struck by how many dishes had an Italian sensibility. The plate with house-cured salumi (including pig’s head salami with porchetta seasoning) and spicy pickled vegetables would be right at home in Emilia Romagna. Except for the mystery item, which turned out to be pickled watermelon, rendered bright yellow by turmeric in the pickling solution.

I finished with a plate of creatively prepared vegetables, including stewed okra, rattlesnake beans (think green beans), more chanterelles (!), farro with bell pepper chunks and fried green tomatoes.

On Tuesday and Wednesday evenings in the August heat of a Southern city, these restaurants were filled. Not with out-of-towners like me, for the most part, but with the city’s elite.  To the right a table of dowagers was seated next to a young, hip-looking couple, while to my left table hoppers congratulated a chic middle-aged woman on some achievement. There were not as many black faces as I hoped to see, fresh from my visits to civil rights sites, but I was told that two African-American gentlemen sitting in the adjacent bistro were the mayor and his chief assistant.

Frank Stitt was also on hand, overseeing his kitchens in the dog days of summer, and that’s what sets him apart from the typical celebrity chef. I realized by the end of the first evening that the striking woman in white circulating through the dining room is his wife, Parvis. She and the front-of-house staff collaborate to create a service experience that’s warm but thoroughly professional, with a big dollop of Southern charm. By the second night, I was treated like a regular.

Exploring more of Birmingham’s culinary scene–such as Hot and Hot Fish Club, whose chef/owner Chris Hastings (a Stitt protege) won the Beard Foundation’s Best Chef of the South last year–will have to wait for another visit. In the meantime I’ll console myself by making some of Chef Stitt’s memorable food at home.

Print
Beef Carpaccio
Prep Time
30 mins
 
(from Bottega Favorita, by Frank Stitt
Course: Appetizer
Cuisine: American, Italian
Servings: 4 servings
Ingredients
  • 1 pound beef eye of round trimmed of all fat
  • 1 cup sour cream
  • 1/3 cup finely grated peeled horseradish or more to taste
  • 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
  • Dash of Tabasco
  • Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • Generous cup arugula
  • 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
  • Chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano cheese
Instructions
  1. Freeze the beef for 45 minutes to an hour. Chill 4 large serving plates.
  2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the sour cream, horseradish, 2 teaspoons of the lemon juice, Tabasco, and salt and pepper to taste. If necessary, adjust the amount of horseradish to your liking. Cover and refrigerate for up to 1 day.
  3. Slice the beef into 1/8-inch slices, cutting across the grain. Place each between sheets of plastic wrap and pound with the smooth side of a meat mallet into uniformly thin slices.
  4. Using the back of a spoon, spread a tablespoon of the horseradish sauce over each plate. Arrange the carpaccio over the sauce, overlapping the slices to cover the plate.
  5. In a medium bowl, toss the arugula with the remaining 1 teaspoon lemon juice, the olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Mound greens in the center of plates. Shave the cheese over the top.
Recipe Notes

Note: Use leftover horseradish sauce as a dip or sandwich spread.

Frank Stitt’s Beef Carpaccio

(from Bottega Favorita: A Southern Chef’s Love Affair with Italian Food)

Makes 4 servings

1 pound beef eye of round, trimmed of all fat
1 cup sour cream
1/3 cup finely grated peeled horseradish, or more to taste
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Dash of Tabasco
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Generous cup arugula
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano cheese

1. Freeze the beef for 45 minutes to an hour. Chill 4 large serving plates.

2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the sour cream, horseradish, 2 teaspoons of the lemon juice, Tabasco, and salt and pepper to taste. If necessary, adjust the amount of horseradish to your liking. Cover and refrigerate for up to 1 day.

3. Slice the beef into 1/8-inch slices, cutting across the grain. Place each between sheets of plastic wrap and pound with the smooth side of a meat mallet into uniformly thin slices.

4. Using the back of a spoon, spread a tablespoon of the horseradish sauce over each plate. Arrange the carpaccio over the sauce, overlapping the slices to cover the plate.

5. In a medium bowl, toss the arugula with the remaining 1 teaspoon lemon juice, the olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Mound greens in the center of plates. Shave the cheese over the top.

Note: Use leftover horseradish sauce as a dip or sandwich spread.

Pasta with Fresh Tomato Sauce

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I remember the “Aha!” moment back in the ’80s when I discovered the brilliant Italian idea of featuring summer’s superb tomatoes in an uncooked pasta sauce. For years I made this dish the way I’d learned: marinating the peeled, seeded and diced tomato cubes for several hours with olive oil and  fresh garlic slivers, basil, salt and black pepper.

The stove doesn’t go on until it’s time to boil the spaghetti or linguine. Bathed in this sweetly aromatic sauce, the noodles convey the essence of a sun-ripened tomato. It’s great as a simple supper, starter for a multi-course dinner or, cooled to room temperature, a picnic or potluck dish.

You can’t improve on perfection, right?  And yet. I started to play with this classic crudo sauce, using it as a taking-off point for a more substantial pasta dish that can BE the meal.

I quit bothering with those tiresome peeling and seeding steps.  If the tomatoes are thin-skinned beauties, I’m happy to eat them in their entirety. If they’re not, why would I make this dish? Over the years, I’ve changed up the seasonings and experimented with adding up to three more things–in the dish’s spirit of fresh and convenient, always ingredients that need no cooking.

Good-quality anchovies are my favorite add-in. They ground the sauce, adding a protein note, and get a slightly raucous party going with the raw garlic and the red pepper flakes I like to substitute for black pepper.  If you are anchovy averse, canned tuna is good, too, and a little lemon juice brightens the flavor.

Sometimes I leave out the basil and, after mixing the sauce with the hot pasta, fold in baby arugula straight from the “washed three times” box. It wilts slightly and gives me an excuse for not making a salad.

The crudo tomato sauce can be marinated for up to eight hours–always at room temperature! Refrigerating raw tomatoes damages their flavor.  If you’re strapped for time, make the sauce while the pasta water heats up. Believe me, it’ll taste just fine.

Print
Pasta with Fresh Tomato Sauce, Anchovies and Arugula
Prep Time
20 mins
Cook Time
12 mins
Total Time
32 mins
 
Servings: 2 generous servings
Ingredients
  • 2 medium tomatoes  or 1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes
  • 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil the best you have
  • 2 cloves garlic cut in thin slivers
  • Sea salt or kosher salt
  • Hot red pepper flakes
  • 8 ounces spaghetti or linguine
  • 2 handsful baby arugula
  • 10 anchovy fillets or 1 can (7 ounces) tuna drained
  • Juice of 1/2 lemon optional
Instructions
  1. Core and dice the tomatoes; quarter or halve cherry or grape tomatoes, if using. Combine tomatoes with olive oil and garlic in a bowl large enough to hold the cooked pasta.  Season to taste with salt and hot red pepper. Marinate up to 8 hours at room temperature.
  2. Fill a large saucepan about two-thirds full with cold water and bring to a boil. Add a small handful of salt and the spaghetti, pressing with a wooden spoon until fully immersed; stir well. Cook until al dente, 8 to 12 minutes.
  3. Drain the pasta and turn into the bowl with the sauce. Mix thoroughly and while the pasta is still hot, stir in the arugula, anchovies and lemon juice (if using). Serve warm or at room temperature.
Recipe Notes

Other good variations and add-ins include diced roasted yellow or red pepper, toasted pine nuts, slivered black or green olives. For the arugula, you could substitute 1/2 cup basil leaves cut in rubbons. Another idea: In southern Italian fashion, mix a pinch or two of sugar into the tomato sauce and top the pasta with toasted fresh bread crumbs. Or, for the anchovies or tuna, substitute smoked Alaska salmon in canned or frozen (thawed) form; Taku is an excellent brand that does a mail-order business. And sometimes I add 1 tablespoon capers and substitute 1/4 cup finely chopped scallions for the garlic and freshly ground black pepper for the hot pepper flakes.

 

Italian Spa Day, with a Big Salad

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Italy is a geologically active country with lots of warm thermal springs, prized for their therapeutic effects on skin, body and state of mind.

S. Giovanni Terme Rapolano

Hotels and spas congregate around these termi, and often there are clinics attached, where Italian clients present a doctor’s prescription for consultations, physical therapy and other interventions.

I have an Italian friend who meets her sister every year for at least a week at one of these establishments. Their relaxing regimen consists of soaking in the pools, massages, mud treatments, conversation and naps. And meals, of course.

I asked what they ate, thinking there might be special spa menus. Looking puzzled, she said, “Whatever we like,” and went on to describe typical Italian meals. Her reply confirmed what I suspected—an Italian spa experience has nothing to do with deprivation.

I’ve never done a full-on spa experience in Italy, or anywhere else, for that matter. But several times I’ve visited San Giovanni Terme Rapolano (south of Siena), with a spectacular view of the hills and town. As a day tripper, I pay 13 euros for access to pools, grounds and a locker.

That’s it for amenities. Everyone brings their own towels, shower soap and terry bathrobe to wear while moving from one pool to another.

After scouting out a lounge chair, I start with the coolest pool. Like some others, I scoop up mud from the pool bottom to smear on my face. Pleasant enough to bask in the sun as it dries, though the mud falls short of producing the smooth and radiant skin promised in online testimonials.

Next comes a slightly warmer pool and finally the warmest one. Don’t even think about swimming, not even a gentle crawl from one spot to another. Instead, everyone sits, leans against the pool sides or glides slowly through the water.

Then back to the lounge chair for reading and crowd watching. Standard attire is a bikini for women and skimpy briefs for men, regardless of age or body type. (Why is it that Italians carry this off better than other nationalities?) I notice, too, that tattoos are rare even among young people.

Time for lunch in the cafeteria-style dining room and terrace. There are panini but I always go for an insalatone—a big salad with lots of yummy ingredients. This time it’s one with grilled eggplant, beets and a generous pile of tuna.

Salads satisfying enough to serve as a piatto unico have become more common over the past few years—perhaps popularized in part by Americans and other foreigners. Italians aren’t keen on putting lots of different ingredients on a plate, but I’m guessing they find a composed salad–which separates components from one other–more acceptable than a big toss.

There’s time for more reading and a doze, and then my relaxing spa day is over. But the salad idea goes home with me, to be recreated (with a few tweaks) as a great mid-summer meal.

Print
Spa Salad with Tuna, Beets, Eggplant and Mozzarella
Prep Time
30 mins
Cook Time
40 mins
Total Time
1 hr 10 mins
 
Course: Main Dish, Salad
Cuisine: Italian
Servings: 4 servings
Ingredients
  • 1 small eggplant or 2 medium zucchini ends trimmed
  • Sea salt
  • 4 medium fresh beets ends trimmed
  • Extra virgin olive oil
  • 2 tablespoons white wine vinegar or to taste
  • 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
  • Freshly ground black pepper
  • 1 large or 2 small heads Boston lettuce or other tender greens torn in bite-sized pieces
  • 1 carrot peeled and cut in shavings with a vegetable peeler
  • 2 cans (7 ounce) tuna drained*
  • 2 tomatoes cut in thin wedges
  • 8 ounces fresh mozzarella ball cut in cubes, or bocconcini
  • Shredded basil leaves optional
Instructions
  1. Halve the eggplant lengthwise if it’s a fat one. Cut crosswise in ¼-inch slices. Place the eggplant in a colander in the sink and mix with 1 teaspoon salt. Let stand for a half an hour or so, until it softens and gives off some liquid.
  2. Meanwhile, place the beets in a saucepan just large enough to hold them in a single layer. Bring to a boil, adjust the heat to a simmer and cook, covered, until tender when pierced with a knife. Drain and cool until warm.
  3. Combine ½ cup olive oil in a jar with the vinegar, mustard, and salt and pepper to taste. Cover and shake well.
  4. Peel the beets, cut in cubes and place in a small bowl. Moisten with a tablespoon or two of the dressing.
  5. Rinse the eggplant slices and lay on paper towels; blot dry. Heat a heavy-bottomed skillet or grill pan (well-seasoned cast iron is best) until almost smoking. Brown the eggplant on both sides. Cool and turn in a bowl with a tablespoon or two of the dressing.
  6. Combine the greens with the carrot shavings in a large bowl. Toss with dressing (you may not need it all). Using tongs, heap greens on four dinner plates.
  7. Arrange the eggplant, beets, tomato wedges, tuna and mozzarella around and over the greens. Dress mozzarella with a little olive oil plus salt, pepper and the basil leaves (if using).
Recipe Notes

* If the tuna is canned in water, mix it after draining with a little olive oil and fresh lemon juice.

Montevarchi: More than a Prada Outlet

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It’s easy to spot visitors in search of designer fashion bargains at Space, the Prada outlet in Montevarchi, about 45 minutes south of Florence. Invariably dressed in black, they’re the ones sprinting for the parking lot or train after their shopping spree.

Taking in the local sights isn’t on their agenda, but I think they’re missing out. I won’t argue that Montevarchi can compete with tourist magnets like Siena or the Chianti. But long stays at Il Poggiolo, down a nearby country road, have given me a chance to know and appreciate this place. Like so many Italian towns that seem to be nothing special, it has a history and a way of life.

The stone garrison, now home to a modern art museum, was built in 1289 to defend the town. In battles between Florence and Arezzo, Montevarchi and other towns in the Arno Valley fell into Florence’s sphere, and even now residents feel a closer affinity to that city than to Arezzo–even though the latter is closer.

Montevarchi’s medieval wool and silk industries were the foundation of hand-crafted shoe, hat and clothing businesses that continue to this day.

As an important market town,
Montevarchi once boasted its own unit for measuring weight. True to that heritage, the town hosts a Thursday market that’s one of the region’s largest–there you can buy inexpensive clothing, a porchetta sandwich,  fresh vegetables. Even better is the Mercato Coperto (Covered
Market). Open every day, it sells goods from 70 local farmers and producers of olive oil, cheese and wine.

On a side street is Bonci, a family-owned bakery that makes panbriacone, a “drunken sweet bread” with an international following. An all-natural panettone is injected with liqueurs and sweet wine that keep it moist and delicious for up to a year. (I plan to write more about Bonci, so that’s all I’m saying for now!)

My favorite destination is through ancient alleys into the heart of the old city. If you’re a local (or, like me, a temporary local), you might start with a cappuccino or espresso at a bar. I frequent any of them except the one with a dozen old guys sitting on benches.

The Collegiata of San Lorenzo church is open, so I slip into its Baroque interior to see the Relic of the Holy Milk and a few paintings of minor 16th-century artists.

The shop that once sold us fresh pici and spaghetti alla chitarra is gone, and so is the store where I bought the white blouse of a lifetime.

I’m afraid the salumeria has closed, but it’s only moved around the corner to a larger space. There are still several fine bread and pastry shops, two butchers, a merceria selling sewing supplies and a pharmacy where customers line up to confide their health problems. In short, life goes on despite Italy’s economic crisis.

Talking to shop owners and a loquacious barber, we ask how things are going. Nationally, unemployment stands at nearly 12 percent and, for young people, approaches 40 percent. But, from what we hear, Montevarchi is doing better than average. Some businesses have closed—notably, those that make cheaper clothing—but customers of Prada and other high-end clothing makers insist on Montevarchi’s “made in Italy” tags.

Most shops shut down for the pausa, 12:30-ish until 4. Montevarchi is hardly a restaurant mecca, but there are a few good options.  Daniele e Riccardo, run by two brothers, has risen to the top on consumer sites. No tourists when I lunched there, just a few locals and business people passing through. Daniele laid on complimentary panzanella in addition to spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce and zucchini flowers, steamed baccala with mashed potatoes, a glass of red wine and an espresso, all for 20 euros.

Plenty of time for a visit to Mariani, the best gelateria in town.  For less than two euros, I linger over a cup with one scoop of creamy orange and another of pistachio gelato, its army fatigue color testifying to naturalness.

Then back to the center, where apartment dwellers open their shutters to the late-afternoon light and shoppers start to make their rounds.

Under the Tuscan Rain Clouds

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Since we arrived in Tuscany, it’s rained almost every day. From what I hear, it’s been an unusually cold and rainy spring.  And that’s saying something, because Tuscany is actually not the reliably sunny place we’ve been led to believe. Tuscans themselves don’t brag about savoring life under their sun; they know better.

Comparing May precipitation stats with Seattle, I see that Florence averages three inches compared to two for a city famous for overcast skies. The maddening thing is how changeable the weather is. The sun peeks out, like a temptress, and then 15 minutes later the skies open again.

I’m not complaining–well, maybe a little–but mostly just going with the flow (sorry, hard to avoid water imagery). Even under damp conditions, Tuscany is one of the best places on earth. So I add layers of clothing until the chill can’t get through, finishing if need be with the bubblegum-pink shell I had brought, optimistically, for bicycling. Not ready for that quite yet.

vitalba

Compared to a visit a few years ago at the same time, seasonal vegetables lag far behind. Tender young artichokes, zucchini and greens are showing up in markets, but the seedlings have just been planted in the garden of the farmhouse where we’re staying. We’re months away from local tomatoes, but enjoying the juicy ones from Sicily.

After running a hand over a plush rosemary bush, I sniffed and wondered why the familiar aroma burst went missing. Our friend Allen, a gardening expert and food historian, explained that the rain has diluted those aromatic oils. The best he could suggest was to pluck the older, slightly more fragrant sprigs for cooking.

Allen also pointed out vitalba, a weed that according to Italian sources is poised between poisonous and medicinal. To make it edible, boil to deactivate the enzymes and then cook a second time. Often it’s battered and fried, probably to divert attention from the bitter taste.

The white acacia flowers now in bloom belong to the same category of “emergency foods,” one step down from cucina povera because they don’t necessarily taste that good.  I bought honey made from bees fed on acacia flowers, but apparently you can also fry them or toss in salads. We can drive to the supermercato even in the rain, so I doubt we’ll get hungry enough to go acacia hunting in the woods.

I’ve started fantasizing about a visit to a terme, one of the thermal springs that dot Tuscany, and this raw weather is also extending the season for hearty, rib-sticking foods.  The quality of beans is amazing here. At the weekly street market, we bought a big, sturdy variety of ceci (chickpeas) to make minestrone; the vendor said the smaller chickpeas from the Maremma (on the right) are best cooked alone and drizzled with oil to accompany roasted meat or poultry (the third variety in the photo are borlotti, cranberry beans).

Italian law forbids central heating after April 15 and, although we energy-guzzling Americans should take a lesson from their example, I hadn’t felt warmed clear through until two nights ago, when we built a fire in the wood-burning stove. The stovetop radiated so much heat that the meat sugo I set on top was soon bubbling. I mixed it with pici, the thick round noodles typical of Tuscany.

This part of Tuscany, in the Arno Valley, is known for the quality of its chickens.I’ve already made aquacotta, a vegetable and bread soup topped with poached eggs, and tonight my husband made one of  his fabulous frittatas, mixing the orange-yolked eggs with sauteed onions and potatoes, pancetta and lots of parsley.

I’d give you his recipe, but honestly, I wasn’t watching. Instead I was listening to Corelli, sipping wine and watching the sunset. The weather had cleared. In the late evening light, the flowering plants were brilliant in their hues of yellow, fuchsia, purple. After all, it’s springtime in Tuscany.

 

NYC: Rethinking the Italian Neighborhood Grocery

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Looking for Louis Coluccio’s new store in Bay Ridge,  we spotted “Italian Grocery” in old-fashioned stenciling on the brick storefront.  “Are you sure that’s it?” asked my son-in-law.

But even from a moving car, I had also seen A.L.C.’s stylish round logo. The Coluccio family is into its third generation as Brooklyn grocers and importers of Italian products. The original 60th St. store, founded half a century ago, feels like a bit of a time warp, but Louis is a young guy in his thirties and with A.L.C., he’s clearly aiming to integrate the old with the new.

spicy soppressata

As we walked into a deep, brick-lined interior that once housed a butcher shop, Louis emerged from behind the counter.  “Do you want to taste a really spicy soppressata?” he asked. We did, and found it delicious.

An employee offered translucent slices of Prosciutto Toscano, new to the American market. Cured with garlic, juniper and pepper, it’s a little darker and saltier than its Parma and San Daniele cousins, with a more earthy, intense flavor. We also sampled Garda, an aged raw-milk cheese from the Italian Alps, a fantastic Lombardy blue cheese (goat) called blu di capra, and house-made scamorza.

Prosciutto Toscano at A.L.C.

With a nod to Brooklyn boosterism, A.L.C. sells dough from Di Fara Pizza and pickles made within the bourough limits. Customers can order sandwiches or prepared foods to eat on site or take home.

Why this somewhat gritty-looking neighborhood? As Louis points out, Bay Ridge has a strong Italian heritage but is also emerging as a hip part of Brooklyn. He thought a neighborhood store like his could appeal to both kinds of customers.

The visit made me think about what makes A.L.C. different from Eataly, a mash-up of Italian products, restaurants, beer garden, cooking classes, books and kitchen goods. When I go, I confirm that they’re still stocking my cookbooks. Then I wander around  until my head is spinning. Finally, I sit down at the seafood bar and order the daily whole-fish special.

Eataly is fun, but as a customer, you feel anonymous.  Even if you live or work in the Flatiron District, they don’t really care about building a relationship with you. It’s not a neighborhood store, but a destination for Italophiles far and wide.

A.L.C. is more welcoming, a friendly neighborhood grocery that happens to be well stocked with Italian foods–some that arouse nostalgia and others you’ve never tasted before. If I lived anywhere close, I’d be in and out all the time.

Salumeria Rosi Parmacotto, with stores in Manhattan, Paris and Parma, suggests yet another future for the Italian grocery: an elegant balance between retail and restaurant. Thanks to the partnership between Parmacotto, an Italian salumi producer and importer, and Cesare Casella, a seasoned chef originally from Tuscany, you can trust the authenticity of what’s behind the deli counter and what’s on the plate.

Meeting a friend for lunch at the Upper West Side location, I expected simple fare–freshly sliced salumi, marinated olives and so on. Those are available, but we gravitated to more elaborate dishes glimpsed on nearby tables.

Perfectly executed caponata with bread was followed by a warm salad of julienned vegetables with baby squid, farro prepared risotto style with spring vegetables, and my favorite, mezzi rigatoni all’ amatriciana–the deeply satisfying sauce made not just with the obligatory guanciale (cured pork cheeks) but eight other kinds of salumi. Even the sauteed escarole made me homesick for the cooking of the Italian nonna I never had.

The Italian grocery closest to my daughter’s Park Slope home is Russo’s Mozzarella & Pasta, an outpost of the East Village store. I didn’t see any reinvention happening here–just Italian basics wrapped up by Latino counter staff–but they do make a mean broccoli rabe, fennel and mozzarella sandwich.

The Ploughman, an artisanal cheese and charcuterie shop in Park Slope, is a good place to load up for a picnic or aperitivo time.  To go with our Taleggio and mixed olives, we took home a couple of draft brews in returnable Mason jars. Local is part of the formula here. For instance,  this weekend they’ll be pouring a full-bodied Cricket Hill beer from New Jersey in honor of the 17-year cicadas expected to hatch out.

Boarding my flight at LaGuardia, I wondered what’s new at Di Palo, a Little Italy establishment renowned for its 200-plus cheeses from Italy.  A few years ago Enoteca Di Palo opened next door as Lou DiPalo and his son Sam set out to build a comparable reputation for regional Italian wines.

I also wished I had found time to check out Brooklyn Larder, known for sustainably produced cheeses, salumi and other foods.

But I’ll save those stops for another visit, reassured as I am that New York’s neighborhood Italian groceries are thriving in varied and interesting ways. Meanwhile, I might try to replicate that amatriciana.

 

Bittersweet Italian Cocktails with Gin

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Italian vermouth brand

Carpano Antica vermouth in a Duncan McClellan glass

I’ve always loved Italian vermouth and liqueurs, known as amari, that teeter on the tightrope between bitter and sweet. They vary from one another in color, alcoholic strength and proprietary formulas of infused herbal and fruit ingredients that can number in the dozens.

Vermouth on the rocks with a twist is a standard pre-dinner libation for me. Occasionally I’ll treat myself to the more assertive flavor of Punt e Mes and lately I’ve discovered the pleasures of Carpano Antica. Packaged in an ornate tin, the latter costs 38 dollars a bottle compared to about 22 dollars for Punt e Mes and less than 10 dollars for standard brands like Martini and Cinzano.

When I lived in New York, summer was the time for Campari & soda or a prosecco spritz tinted a brilliant orange by Aperol, a less alcoholic aperitivo made by the Campari company.  Now that I live in Florida, the Campari-Aperol season goes on all year long.

I enjoy the unique flavors of these drinks but also their histories and weird make-up. Campari, for instance, originally got its ruby tint from crushed cochineal insects (vegetarians, breathe easy–they’ve stopped that).

Grapefruit-Aperol Gin Cocktail

Combine these bittersweet beverages with gin as a base and you cross over from aperitif to cocktail, a world of more powerful drinks that have their own appeal. Part of the attraction, for me, is that quite often I already have the amari on hand.

The grapefruits in my refrigerator sparked a memory of the Salty Dog, a gin drink that was a ’70s favorite for me. Skip the salt-crusted rim and splash in some Aperol to create a whole new drink, with just a little bitterness to complement its sweet-sourness (recipe follows).

Mixologists have been having fun with the Negroni, whose standard formula calls for equal parts Campari, red vermouth and gin. Campari is the constant but choosing distinctive brands of the other two components can make a difference. New York City’s I Sodi uses Hendrick’s (a Scottish gin infused with rose petals and cucumber) and Punt e Mes in its Punt-e-groni (visit their site for the recipe). Gabrielle Hamilton of Prune, also known for its Negronis, likes Plymouth gin.

variation on Negroni

Punt-e-groni at I Sodi

In Jacksonville, Florida, Restaurant Orsay makes its Negroni with Carpano Antica. I wondered how much it would matter, but in a side-by-side tasting, the good stuff prevailed. Carpano gave the drink a long, complex finish entirely lacking in the ordinary red-vermouth Negroni.

The Orsay bartenders also tamed that tiger of an amaro, Fernet- Branca, by putting it in a gin cocktail.

First, let’s just say that Fernet-Branca is a class of its own, infused with over 40 roots, herbs and spices–seemingly, whatever the original maker could dig up. It’s a shock-and-awe kind of drink that some swear by (mostly men, in my experience) and others swear at (including me). I do a micro-sip of Fernet every few years just to confirm it still tastes nasty and medicinal, and it always fulfills my expectations.

That’s why I was so surprised that I liked Orsay’s Blackfriar Cocktail.

The ingredients were right there on the menu: Plymouth gin, Fernet- Branca, lemon juice and demerara sugar syrup. Judging by the cocktail’s color and taste, Fernet was a relatively minor ingredient–and I found afterward that many mixologists recommend using just a dash or two as a substitute for Angostura or other bitters.

When I put one together back home, I found myself upping the Fernet quantity a little. My husband is a Fernet fan and I agreed that it deserved to play a starring role, though not to dominate the drink.

There’s no end in sight for my bittersweet cocktail “research.”  All I need to do is segue from gin to rum or brown spirits.  Already I’ve seen references  to Campari mojitos, a Fernet Old-Fashioned and a promising combination of rye whisky, Punt & Mes and maraschino liqueur.

I think I’ll go cut up some fruit garnishes.

Print
Grapefruit-Aperol Gin Cocktail
Prep Time
5 mins
Total Time
5 mins
 
Course: Aperitivo, Drinks
Cuisine: American, Italian
Servings: 1 cocktail
Ingredients
  • 5 ounces freshly squeezed grapefruit juice 1/2 large grapefruit
  • 1-1/2 to 2 ounces gin
  • 1-1/2 ounces Aperol
  • Half of an orange slice
Instructions
  1. Stir together the grapefruit juice, gin and Aperol. Pour over ice cubes in a short glass and garnish with the orange slice half.
Print
Fernet-Branca Gin Cocktail
Prep Time
5 mins
Total Time
5 mins
 
(based loosely on  Blackfriar Cocktail served at Restaurant d'Orsay in Orlando, Florida)
Course: Aperitivo, Drinks
Cuisine: American, Italian
Servings: 1 cocktail
Ingredients
  • 2 ounces gin
  • 1/2 ounce demerara or turbinado sugar syrup*
  • 1/4 ounce Fernet-Branca or more if you dare
  • 2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
  • Lemon zest garnish cut with a vegetable peeler
Instructions
  1. Stir together the gin, sugar syrup, Fernet-Branca and lemon juice. Pour over ice cubes in a short glass. Garnish with lemon zest.
Recipe Notes

* To make the syrup: Combine 1/4 cup demerara or turbinado sugar with 1/2 cup water in a small saucepan. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring, until the sugar dissolves. Cool; leftover syrup can be stored indefinitely in the refrigerator.