Wine and Beverages

FIVE WAYS (AT LEAST) TO SIP YOUR SPRITZ

August 4, 2022 by Toni Lydecker

I’m back from a month in Italy, with record temperatures, and I have to say that every day was a good day for a spritz.

The first time I spotted a spritz, 20 years ago, was on a hot summer day in the town of Reggio Emilia, when I suddenly noticed that many people in the piazza were drinking a sparkling orange drink. What IS that, I asked. An Aperol spritz, of course, the color of the red-orange sunset shortly to appear on the horizon. Consisting of prosecco, a bitter-sweet amaro and a splash of sparkling water, this refreshing aperitivo couldn’t be simpler to make.

The spritz (spreetz in Italian, sprits in English) is rooted in northern Italy, where Aperol and prosecco are made, but its popularity has spread throughout Italy and the world in recent decades.

The orange Aperol spritz still rules, with its red Campari cousin a close second. But we also tasted clear spritzes, green spritzes, darker-hued spritzes. Bartenders are playing with the formula, mostly by varying the bitter-sweet amaro.

The Hugo

The Hugo (OO-go). I first ordered this transparent spritz, owing its floral taste to St. Germain, in a Campo de Fiori bar. The Hugo turned up in other places, sometimes with Sambuca as the liqueur. Not quite as sweet as an Aperol or Campari spritz, it should be garnished lavishly with mint and perhaps an orange wheel.

spritz bianco

Spritz bianco. The spritz bianco is wonderful when made with a good vermouth–pale in color, slightly sweet, aromatic. If it’s a vermouth you’d drink on its own, go easy on prosecco and perhaps skip the sparkling water. Bordiga is one Italian vermouth brand I really like and Antica Carpano, more widely available, is good too.

green spritz

Green spritz. Taking one for the team, my husband ordered a green spritz in Ravenna. The liqueur responsible for the hue is called P31. It’s related somehow to absinthe, according to the label, which also reassured us that natural ingredients are responsible for the vivid green color. We were not fans of this novelty spritz, so I don’t recommend seeking out a bottle of P31.

Amaro Bomba

Bartender-created spritzes. We spent an hour in the cool recesses of a Padua bar, watching our bartender devote the same passionate energy to every spritz: dropping ice in the glass, measuring the makings, running a strip of citrus peel around the glass rim, adding garnishes. His proudest creation, which I’m calling the Amaro Bomba, brings in more complexity by adding a little Vecchio Amaro di Capo as well as Campari. A touch of tonic instead of sparkling water tempers the bitterness of the Vecchio Amaro.

Most spritzes arrive in large-ish wine glasses or old-fashioned cocktail glasses, but occasionally in a highball glass. Or those enormous goblets like the ones used for rainbow-hued margaritas in state-side Mexican restaurants. I could scoff, but the truth is I have drunk a spritz in such a glass.

A few years ago, we arrived in Rome with another couple after a train ride from Venice, dog tired, and wandered over to Piazza Navona. One of us, who will remain unnamed, suffered a travel-induced meltdown. We clustered around to offer comfort, and then hustled to the nearest establishment. Yes, the touristy kind with a server inviting passers by to sit down.

We sat in silence while our bartender, Raffaello, poured a bottle of prosecco into four giant, ice-filled goblets, followed by the better part of a bottle of Aperol. Sensing that, like cranky children, we needed food, he suggested a salumi-formaggio platter.

An hour later, meltdown cured, we departed with warm memories of Raffaello.

Spritz glasses are invariably filled to the brim with ice, and that’s the right idea. It amplifies the impression of a bountiful cocktail while rapidly chilling the makings.

I don’t know any figures but it seems clear that the spritz boom has spurred prosecco production. After driving the so-called Strada di Prosecco from the Veneto across Friuli-Venezia-Giulia—–including the stretch from Conegliano to Valdobbiadene, the most prestigious prosecco area—I can attest that the land is given over almost entirely to vineyards. The entire prosecco zone encompasses nine Italian provinces.

Visiting Trieste, we learned the origin of the name. Prosecco is not a varietal, but a village near Trieste. Our guide Sonia told us that during medieval times monks brought Glera grapevines from Istria to replant, naming the wine they made after the village. They must have nailed the method, because Glera is still the dominant grape used for prosecco.

So, how to make a spritz? The standard is three parts prosecco to two parts Aperol (or other amaro) and one part sparkling water. Proportions that favor the prosecco a bit more will likely be less sweet and less bitter. You can also go heavier on sparkling water. That does dilute the drink but you could argue it’s more refreshing.

Amaros vary in their bitter-sweet ratios, so you should also adjust for that. Aperol and Campari are pretty sweet, but St. Germain and darker-hued amaros can be quite bitter and should be added sparingly. Tinker the first time around for proportions that please you. Citrus wheels—usually orange, but lime and lemon work too–are classic spritz garnishes. When the flavors resonate with the spritz makings, you might also add green olives or herbs such as mint and rosemary.

Aperol or Campari Spritz

The classic Aperol spritz proportions are three (prosecco), two (Aperol), one (sparkling water). I prefer to tilt a bit more to prosecco but it's a matter of taste.

Servings: 1 spritz

Ingredients

3½ ounces chilled prosecco
1½ ounces Aperol or Campari
1 ounce sparkling water or seltzer
Orange wheel or other citrus wheel

Instructions

Fill a large wine glass or old-fashioned glass with ice cubes.
Add prosecco, Aperol and sparkling water. Stir briefly.
Garnish with orange wheel.

Hugo Spritz

This spritz delights the senses with the fragrance of mint and the distinctive flavor of St. Germain elderberry liqueur (some bars substitute Sambuca). It's an interesting change from the usual Aperol and Campari spritz.

Ingredients

4 ounces prosecco
½ ounce St. Germain liqueur
1 ounce sparkling water or seltzer
1 or 2 sprigs mint
Orange or other citrus wheel

Instructions

Fill a large wine glass or old-fashioned glass with ice cubes. Add prosecco, St. Germain liqueur and sparkling water. Stir briefly.
Push mint sprigs partly down into filled glass. Drop in orange wheel.

Spritz Bianco

Make this spritz as a lighter, fizzier expression of a white vermouth that is also worth drinking on its own.

Ingredients

3 ounces Bordiga, Antica Carpano or other high-quality, slightly sweet white vermouth
2 ounces prosecco
1 ounce sparkling water or seltzer optional
Rosemary sprig and lemon twist or two green olives on a toothpick

Instructions

Fill a wine glass or old-fashioned glass with ice cubes.
Add vermouth, prosecco and sparkling water (if using). Stir briefly.
Garnish with rosemary sprig and lemon twist or green olives.

Amaro Bomba

This is a more cocktail-y spritz, in which the bartender varies the standard spritz formula by combining combining Aperol with a stronger amaro, toning down the bitterness of the latter with a little tonic water. It's based loosely on a cocktail I watched a bartender make in Padua.

Servings: 1 spritz

Ingredients

3½ ounces prosecco
1 to 1½ ounces Campari
½ ounce Vecchio Amaro di Capo
1 ounce tonic water or sparkling water
1 mint sprig
1 orange wheel or 2 lime wheels

Instructions

Fill a large wine glass or old-fashioned glass with ice cubes.
Add prosecco, Campari, Vecchio Amaro and tonic water.
Garnish with mint sprig and lime wheel.

Sampling Umbrian Wines and Olive Oil at the Source

May 24, 2017 by Toni Lydecker

A few years ago I spent a day visiting Sagrantino wine producers with Alessandra Mallotti of Discovering Umbria. That taste of a unique varietal in its glorious country setting brought me back to sample some of the region’s organic wines and olive oil.

It hadn’t occurred to me that last year’s earthquakes in Umbria (also Abruzzi and Lazio) would be an obstacle to this experience–and they weren’t. So we were surprised to hear from Alessandra that tourism has taken a blow as travellers avoid what they think might be devastated or dangerous places.

I can vouch for the fact that the zone we were in, roughly between Assisi and Todi, was untouched, and we hear that areas such as Norcia have largely recovered.

Simona Bonci, Alessandra Mallotti, Kent Lydecker

Some of the Ronci azienda’s olive trees are ancient, gnarled moraiolo trees with appropriately silver leaves that might be as old as 400 years. They’re tall, requiring ladders for harvesting and well spaced, pointing to an era when the goal was to produce oil just for the family and the padrone, with the spaces between filled with other crops and animals. Others are leccini and frantoio varieties, sitting closer to the ground.

The cluster of olives Simona Ronci pointed to was the size of her fingernail. But she was already thinking about the moment in mid-October when they would be plump and juicy, filling the air with their perfume during the pressing. “The days are still warm then but the nights are cool, and the olives respond by producing more antioxidants,” says Simona. “This is the ideal moment.”

The sooner the olives are pressed after the harvest, minimizing oxidation, the better the quality of the oil. In a race against time, the family’s modern presses work around the clock, pressing olives from other producers during the day and their own olives at night. Two or three hours of sleep might be the norm during this period.

Federico Bibi

The flavor of the oil hints at the tree(s) of its origin. A blend of moraiolo, leccino and frantoio carries a slight astringency that clears the palate, a hint of green tomato and artichoke, a peppery finish. More delicate, the frantoio on its own. The moraiolo monovarietal is full-bodied, with an artichoke note and piquant finish, and that was the one we shipped home.

Around the time the olives are harvested, the vineyards are a raging colorfest of dark red grapes. During our visit to the Terre Margaritelli cantina, in the Torgiano Sangiovese area near Assisi, the emerging leaves were a bright spring green.

The family started in the lumber business, producing wood products such as railroad ties and now parquet flooring. One generation started making wine on the side and, when the family decided to get serious, they found it a very different world from lumber.

Federico Bibi, hired from outside, is now the wine maker. The operation is organic (“bio”), like the Ronci olive operation, and rigorous inspections take place at least two or three times a year.

Other varietals are grown here but during the tasting we gravitated to 100% Grecchetto and Sangiovese wines. Grecchetto tastes of apple to a friend and reminds me somehow of a limestone cliff. Regardless of your personal associations, it is a delicious white aged three months in white oak from a French forest owned by the azienda.

What’s special about an Umbrian sangiovese? “This is a southernmost terrain for sangiovese,” says Federico. “It’s a ‘generous’ grape that leaves a lot to the skills of the winemaker. Our goal is freshness, a balanced style and drinkability.”

Freccia degli Scacchi, the azienda’s 100% Sangiovese, is aged two years in white oak from a French forest owned by the family, and and then another year once bottled.

We bought Terre Margaritelli wines to enjoy later, but on our last night in Todi, we chose a Sagrantino to savor with Umbrian salumi and cheeses at La Vineria di San Fortunata. I’m already looking forward to tasting more of what this region has to offer, whether at the source and back home in the States.

Panbriacone, Italy’s “Drunken Sweet Bread”

December 13, 2013 by Toni Lydecker

I’ve given and eaten many a Christmas panettone, and always cross my fingers it won’t be dry.

No chance of that with Panbriacone, a sweet bread with an eggy panettone base, all natural ingredients and a whopping 15-18% alcohol content. The name is a shortened form of pan dolce ubriaco, roughly translated as “drunken sweet bread.” After baking, it is injected with a dessert wine like vin santo or passito or a spirit such as rum, which preserves and keeps it moist for up to a year.

Panbriacone is made exclusively by the Bonci family in the Tuscan town of Montevarchi, and it comes with a sweet story I’m about to tell you. Nice gift, right? Beatrice Ughi of Gustiamo agrees: “I’m a big fan of Bonci’s Panbriacone. Everytime I go to artisanal food trade shows, I stop to eat a piece. It is a fantastic product made by fantastic people.” But she doesn’t stock it for fear that American customers wouldn’t go for it.

In fact, the only online U.S. source for Panbriacone I found is A.G. Ferrari. So I’m

Gianmarco and Gianluca Bonci, shaping the dough

hoping through this post–probably futilely, but it is Christmas, after all–to set off a groundswell of demand for this hard-to-get product.

Silvio Bonci took over his father’s bakery and now his three sons are the third generation to enter the business. “Fifteen years ago, we set out to invent a new kind of artisanal bakery product–a sweet bread we could sell not only during the holidays but throughout the year.” The morning I visited, Silvio showed me the mega mixing bowl where yesterday’s mixture of flour, natural starter and water had generated big yeasty blisters on the surface, a stage known as the pre-impasto. To this he added butter, sugar, eggs and more flour, finishing with sultanas from Turkey and Zante currants from Greece.

Freshly made Panbriacone

The raisins are for a classic Panbriacone, but there are other versions. “When we find beautiful fresh fruit, we like to use it,” says Gianluca, the middle son. Last summer, for instance, they flavored breads with Amarena cherries and blackberries. For Moka Nero, the coffee flavor, they make espresso with a bar-sized machine.

Next a machine weighed and divided the dough into 70-gram blobs, which the two younger sons shaped and placed on baking sheets for transfer to sauna-like rising rooms. It takes 36 hours to make Panbriacone, so I didn’t see the entire process. But I did see the baked loaves cooling–upside down, allowing gravity to create a more rounded, uniform shape. And I watched the final stage, the bagnatura, during which the liqueur spurts into tiny tunnels punched throughout each round loaf.

Toward the end of the morning, Silvo pulled the madre from the refrigerator. He has used this natural starter his entire working life. He cut the sponge in slices, soaked them in water for 20 minutes and, after draining, added flour, water and a little honey, and

Silvio Bonci, kneading the starter for tomorrow’s bread

churned the mixture in an electric mixer. After kneading, he tenderly wrapped the sponge in cloth and secured it with twine before returning to the refrigerator.

Panbriacone may be an invention only 15 years old, but its foundation is that madre, sustained through a daily routine that has endured since the Bonci family acquired it from a Piemontese baker, more than 60 years ago.

I haven’t yet ordered any of the Bonci breads here, but the rum Panbriacone I brought home last June was devoured during the Thanksgiving break. Delicious, and still perfectly moist.

Steam-Train Ride in Tuscany

May 31, 2013 by Toni Lydecker

I was researching cooking classes in Tuscany, not steam-train experiences, but somehow I ran across a site describing a day-long treno a vapore excursion leaving from Siena. My husband is a huge railroad enthusiast, so I signed us up.

On the appointed day, it was worth the fare (29 euros each) to see the small satisfied grin on his face as we climbed the steep steps to our car, just behind the engine room.

At first we were crammed into facing seats with a couple and their two small children, but we soon decamped to an unoccupied four-seater and settled happily into our varnished wooden seats. The whistle blew and the train was soon at full throttle, moving south down a single track that was in use from the 1860s until 1994, when it was closed except for occasional tourist excursions.

We travelled to a gentle shushing sound, like a radiator cranking up, and a more forceful shuga-shuga sound on inclines when the engine had to work harder. At a small town called Amiata, we stopped and watched the switching action as the engine car moved to the other end of the train.

The first shall be last, says the Bible, and that was our fate. Now we were in the last car where, as my husband had predicted, our window captured more black smoke.

Creti Senesi landscape

In some ways our treno a vapore ride was similar to one we once took on the Cumbres & Toltec Railroad, running between Antonito, Colorado, and Chima, New Mexico. Except this was Tuscany we were looking at through the windows, framed by gold-brown draperies remniscent of a brocade pattern.

We clickety-clacked past blooming wildflowers, olive groves, vineyards, sheep whose milk goes into the region’s famous pecorino cheeses. I caught a glimpse of a man in a pink jacket working in his garden before we moved on to the enormous stainless steel tanks of a Villa Banfi winery, followed by a view of a Cistercian monastery in the distance.

Except for the retired Australian schoolteacher we met, just about all of the several hundred passengers seemed to be Italian families, many of them eager to show their children a piece of history. A three-man band consisting of trombone, trumpet and drummer played at every stop (“Chattanooga Choo Choo” was their theme song) and moved from car to car when the train was in motion. In ours, they passed out cymbals, triangle and maracas. So it was that I got to play the triangle for the first time since elementary school.

By this time we had been on the train a couple of hours and I was getting hungry. Italians aren’t big on eating between meals and I was struck by the fact that, even on a car with half a dozen small children, no one was snacking or even sipping water.

Eventually we reached Torrenieri, a town that commands not an inch of space in any guidebook I’ve seen, but was the main stop on our trip. Many of its inhabitants had turned out to give us a good time. They were frying frittelle (fried dough, sprinkled heavily with salt) and had set up an art room and inflated slides for the children.

Eventually we were led by young guides–all dressed in fetching retro clothing their grandmothers might have worn–to long tables in a community hall. Wine and water bottles had been set out and soon an efficient battalion of servers delivered paper plates filled with prosciutto, salami and crostini (the latter with tuna, tomato and chicken liver spreads) Next came hearty servings of pici (Tuscany’s long round noodles) with a meat ragu, and then the secondo: thin slices of arista (pork roast) with roasted potatoes and salad. For dessert, there were bowls of stracciatella gelato, a mixture of white fior di latte and chocolate.

After our abundant pranzo, we strolled up the street to Cantina Abbadia Ardenga, a maker of Brunello di Montalcino. The elderly proprietor, dapper in a bespoke suit,, showed us the botte (large barrels) filled with Brunello-to-be. Their production is only 15,000 bottles, he said, made with grapes from nearby vineyards and water from a natural spring.

We were not the most respectful crowd. “When are you going to give us some wine?” one man said loudly. But before long the talk ended and the tasting began–Brunello 2008, Rosso di Montalcino and vin santo. Moods brightened.

And then it was time to board for the last stretch of our treno a vapore route, back to Siena.

Bittersweet Italian Cocktails with Gin

March 5, 2013 by Toni Lydecker

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.

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.

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

Stir together the grapefruit juice, gin and Aperol. Pour over ice cubes in a short glass and garnish with the orange slice half.

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

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.

Summer Fruit, the Sweet Italian Way

July 30, 2012 by Toni Lydecker

Meme’s amaretti-stuffed peaches

It’s August and the fruit we dream about all year is finally here. Strawberries, raspberries and blueberries are a bargain. Melons can be trusted to taste good. And the tree fruit! Plums, peaches, nectarines and apricots, needing only the nick of a knife for their sweet juices to start dripping.

Depends where you live, of course. I live in Florida, where most fields lie fallow in August, and mangos and other tropicals are the only fruit truly in season. But the markets are flush with fruit. Though most of it has traveled, you’re not going to catch me complaining about a Georgia peach.

August is also prime time for la bella far niente, and Italians know lots of ways to enjoy fruit with very little effort. Here are seven of the best.

Just eat it. I’m not talking about grabbing a plum and munching it on the way to the car. Do that, sure, but also think about arranging whole fruit in a pretty bowl to serve for dessert. If you eat as Italians do, everybody gets a plate, knife and fork. Or pile fresh cherries in stemmed glass bowls or martini glasses, and fill each one halfway with water. As diners eat the cherries, they drop the pits back into the water. Another idea is to cut cantaloupe or honeydew wedges close to the rind to separate the fruit; position each peeled wedge in its rind. For me, eating melon this way brings back memories of breakfasting on Sicily’s bright yellow melons.

Drizzle fresh berries with good balsamic vinegar. Ideally, this would be syrupy tradizionale balsamic aged 25 years and up. If you don’t have any, vincotto makes a pleasant substitute. You might also consider teaming up the berries with vanilla ice cream, another sweet thing that takes well to a drizzle of good balsamic.

Make macedonia. Okay, it’s just fruit salad, but saying macedonia elevates the experience. It can be just perfectly ripe, cut-up fruit, or mix in a little sugar and fresh lemon juice to brighten the flavor. A swirl of whipped cream on top of each serving, that’s not wrong. If you’re lucky enough to have strawberries and peaches at the same time, slice and layer them in a glass bowl, dribbling a little maraschino liqueur over each layer.

Infuse, muddle or puree fresh fruit for cocktails. No need to search for your inner mixologist when you work with enough fruit for a pitcher of cocktails. A spritzer I’ve enjoyed making this summer, adapted from a Bon Appetit recipe, calls for placing up to a pint of raspberries or quartered strawberries in the bottom of a pitcher. Lightly crush (aka, muddle) the strawberries (no need with raspberries), pour in a bottle of rosé and let the berry flavor infuse the wine for at least three hours or overnight. Strain into another pitcher, discarding the berries. Add 1/2 cup Aperol or Campari–the slight bitterness of these aperitivi adds just the right accent–and, immediately before serving, stir in 2 cups of selzer. Serve over ice and garnish with more fresh berries.

Compose cheese and fruit plates. Fresh figs or melon, prosciutto and Gorgonzola are one classic combination. For breakfast, cheese guru Max McCalmon suggests plums or peaches with “coffee friendly” Fontina Valle d’Aosta and a croissant. If you can get your hands on fresh sheep’s milk ricotta at a farmer’s market, drizzle it with a little honey and serve with nectarine wedges and almond biscotti.

Make my watermelon granita. The full recipe is in my cookbook, Seafood alla Siciliana, but I’ll give you the gist of it. Make a simple syrup by combining equal parts sugar and water and heating until the sugar dissolves. Submerge a sprig of mint in the hot liquid; cool and discard the mint. Puree seeded watermelon chunks, using a blender or food processor, and sweeten to taste with the minty syrup. Process in an ice cream mixer and scoop into bowls, adding fresh berries to each.

Whip up a batch of amaretti-stuffed peaches. “Every Piemontese cook makes this humble dessert in summer,” says my friend Meme. “Just put a pan of these peaches on the kitchen table and watch them disappear.”

Amaretti-Stuffed Peaches

Prep Time

20 mins

Cook Time

20 mins

Total Time

40 mins

(recipe of our friend Meme Amosso Irwin)

Course: Dessert

Cuisine: Italian

Servings: 8 peach halves

Ingredients

2 tablespoons butter plus more for the baking dish
4 large freestone peaches ripe but not overripe
12 amaretti cookies or as needed
1 teaspoon cocoa
1 tablespoon sugar optional
1 large egg yolk

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Lightly butter a gratin dish or other baking dish just large enough for 8 peach halves.
Halve the peaches and extract the pits. Cut a thin sliver off the ends to permit them to stand upright in the baking dish. Using a teaspoon or grapefruit spoon, scoop out some of the peach flesh to make a hollow; chop your peach scoopings and place in a small bowl.
Using your hands or a potato masher, crush enough amaretti cookies to make 1 cup of crumbs. Add to the bowl with the chopped peach. Stir in the cocoa; taste and add sugar if you wish. Stir in the egg yolk until the mixture holds together.
Line up the peach halves in the prepared dish and fill with the seasoned amaretti crumbs. Top each one with a small knob of butter. Bake on a middle rack until the peaches are glazed and tender and the crumbs lightly browned. Spoon any pan juices over the peaches. These taste best when eaten at room temperature.

Searching for French Food in Paris

June 19, 2012 by Toni Lydecker

Italian restaurant in Paris I recently visited Paris for the first time in 10 years and concluded that it’s not a slamdunk to find French food here. Or at least that it’s as easy to graze from the global smorgasbord as to dine à la français.

My first clue that things had changed came when, asked about nearby restaurants, the hotel clerk offered suggestions for Moroccan, Thai, Chinese and Italian places (he skipped the Cambodian hole in the wall down the street). How about French food? He was French and yet seemed puzzled by that question.

Granted, my husband and I were staying in the chi-chi, tourist-driven St. Germain-des-Près neighborhood on the Left Bank, where seeking out an authentic bistro nobody else knows about is like searching for crawfish in Kansas. Not out of the question, but not easy.

Advance research (David Lebovitz, for example, or Paris by Mouth) and reservations might have helped, but…nah. We stuck with our seat of the pants method and here’s where it took us.

You can find a croque madame or salad niçoise in any brasserie, cafe au lait and a croissant in any bar. But I can eat those in New York, too, with probably equal chances of a standout experience. Our meal at Fish La Boissonerie could have happened in New York as well. The owners are Australian, the chef Japanese and the dish I’ll remember fondly was a quinoa, fennel and carrot salad garnished with tender raw okra. The French touch was a Languedoc wine with an American name: Jazz.

Starving at 5 p.m., we found sustenance at Da Rosa on the rue de Seine. José Da Rosa is, like Proust, engaged in “la recherche des goûts perdus.” In a friendly pairing of specialties from Provence and Spain, we nibbled Lucques olives–with green speckled skins, they are sweet, meaty, irresistible!-with hand-sliced jambon iberico.

On a marathon walk with friends, we rambled through the market in the Place de la Bastille, spotting snails waiting for their garlic fougasse butter treatment, apricots from Tunisia, hothouse tomatoes from Brittany. One falafel place after another lined the rue Rossetti in the Jewish quarter, the air filled with spicy aromas. On our way to a fly fishing shop (a novelty of a different order), we marveled at a shop window filled with oatmeal cartons, M&Ms and Campbell soup cans, all seemingly intended for homesick Americans.

In a park on the rue de Bretagne, we lunched on fougasse, an oily flatbread with the same Roman roots as focaccia. Thin and chewy, one variety of fougasse was filled with ham and olives, another with chicken and onion.

I kept noticing restaurants with Franco-Italian names like Italia Cucine. At the Musee d’Orsay’s Café Cabana, the international orgy of a menu featured penne with pesto, chorizo and, for the French touch, crispy Mimolette cheese. Or you could eat gnocchi with your filet mignon de porc.

A brasserie starter I enjoyed was a French take on prosciutto and melon: a fragrant, juicy Cavaillon melon, its top carved zigzag fashion, with slices of Bayonne ham nestled in the hollow. White asparagus were in season and I ordered them more than once, simmered soft and served with mignonette sauce.

Parisians may have opened their arms to global culinary influences but they do hold the line on a few things. The cheese course is always there if you want it, and the offerings are invariably French, from smelly Epoisses to fresh goat cheeses. At a tiny epicerie where we picked up supplies for a picnic, the specimen that most delighted me was a pyramid-shaped cheese completely enveloped in filmy white mold.

The pâtisseries are unsurpassed, too, a feast for eyes and Le Relais de L'Entrecote stomach. Macarons are so trendy you can buy them in Dallas or Miami, but the French ones taste better. Not to mention their tarts, eclairs, napoleons…

We found our steak-frites fix at Le Relais de L’Entrecôte, where tourists and Parisians alike line up for a piquantly dressed salad, fork-tender steak slathered in bearnaise and and piles of fries. I should clarify–that’s the only meal you can order here. But the air is charged with the energy of a couple of hundred people lustily eating and talking, and the brusque servers come around with seconds.

We did have a formal French meal–at the wedding that had brought us to Paris. It began with a marbled terrine of foie gras with baby leeks, paired with a white dessert wine from the Loire Valley called Coteaux du Layon, and moved on in stately fashion to Bresse chicken with lobster in a creamy morel sauce. Cheese, salad and dried fruit followed. This meal, too, had an international flavor because the young couple and most of the guests were American.

We’ve known and loved Esther, the bride, since she was a toddler–long before she became an art historian specializing in 18th century French drawings and prints. She and her new husband Jason chose traditional French cuisine for their wedding, but they also get excited about their favorite falafel place or a rising Paris chef with a farm-to-table menu. They’re reveling in a city that’s different from the one I first encountered in my youth. But it’s still Paris.

Homemade Taralli and Other Italian Gifts

December 9, 2011 by Toni Lydecker

taralli with black pepper and fennel

A friend who, bless her heart, bought seven copies of my cookbook for holiday gifts wanted to tuck in some Italian ingredients that could be used in the recipes. She’d already settled on little packets of pistachios, almonds and pine nuts, but asked for other ideas. I suggested some other go-withs that are easily shipped: tins of Italian anchovies or tuna, small packets of dried porcini, dried artisanal pasta and beans, farro, Sicilian sea salt, dried herbs (e.g., branches of Mediterranean oregano) and spices (e.g., saffron).

With or without a cookbook, there’s no finer gift than a bottle of freshly pressed olive oil. Two I can vouch for are Frescobaldi Laudemio from Tuscany, and Olio Verde Novello from Sicily, both imported by Manicaretti, which is also promoting tempting jars of Savini Tartufi, black truffles from Tuscany. There’s plenty of under-$20 panettone around but all too often this billowy holiday sweet is dry and disappointing. In hopes of doing better, I’m pondering whether to spring for Chef Luigi Biasetto’s $70 rendition, which importer Gustiamo swears is worth every penny.

Going back to the idea of pairing an Italian cookbook with a food contained therein, why not make one of the recipes and give to someone you love? My mother-in-law Helen used to make biscotti from Carol Field’s Italian Baker (a new edition of this classic is just out) to package in a pretty way for friends. I can vouch for the lemony carrot marmellata I learned to make years ago from innkeeper Maria Pellizzari; spoon it into half-pint jars with a “From the kitchen of” label. That recipe is in Piatto Unico, along with my recipe for taralli. A crunchy, assertively seasoned cocktail snack that keeps well, taralli could be given with a bottle of Punt e Mes or any worthy Italian wine.

Taralli with Black Pepper and Fennel Seed

Prep Time

1 hr

Cook Time

50 mins

Total Time

1 hr 50 mins

Course: Baked Goods

Cuisine: Italian

Servings: 3 dozen

Ingredients

1 teaspoon dry yeast
1 pound unbleached all-purpose flour about 3 ½ cups, plus more if needed
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil plus more as needed
1/3 cup dry white wine
1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt or kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon whole or crushed fennel seed or anise seed or a combination

Instructions

Combine the yeast with ½ cup warm water (110°F to 115°F) in a liquid measuring cup. Let stand for a few minutes, until a beige scum forms on top.
Meanwhile, combine the flour, olive oil and wine in a mixing bowl. Using an electric mixer fitted with a paddle, mix over low speed until well blended. Add the salt, pepper, and fennel seed, and mix briefly until blended.
Add the yeast mixture and, on low speed, mix until a dough forms. On a pastry board or other smooth surface dusted with flour, knead the dough briefly and form a ball. Coat a medium bowl lightly with olive oil; turn the dough to coat and let rest, covered, until more or less doubled in size, about 2 hours.
Preheat the oven to 400°F. Divide the dough in half. Flatten one piece to form a rectangle, and tightly roll from one long side to the other. Roll with both hands, working from the center outwards, to make a thick rope about 1 ½ inches in diameter and 12 inches long. With a dough scraper or knife, cut crosswise at 1/2 –inch intervals. Roll each piece to make a skinny rope about 7 inches. Loop it to make an oval shape with one end crossing the other. Press firmly with your thumb to make an indentation at the point where the ends intersect (see Note). Repeat with the rest of the dough, lining up the taralli on 2 trays or rimmed baking sheets.
Bring a medium saucepan about two-thirds full of water to a simmer. Drop in 8 taralli; line the space freed up on the baking sheet with a clean dish towel. Simmer for a few seconds until the taralli rise to the surface; scoop out with a slotted spoon and lay on the dish towel. Simmer the rest of the taralli in the same way, unfolding the dish towel into the freed-up space and returning the taralli to dry until moist but not slimy to the touch.
. Lightly oil 2 baking sheets. Arrange the taralli about 1 inch apart. Bake on center racks for half an hour. Turn the taralli and return to the oven (switching the position of the pans). Bake 20 to 30 minutes longer until browned and crisp; cover with aluminum foil or parchment paper if they seem in danger of burning.
Cool the taralli on racks and store at room temperature in sealed containers; they can also be frozen.

Cocktail Therapy at Boston’s Drink

December 1, 2011 by Toni Lydecker

On the way to Logan Airport the other day, we stopped at Drink, Boston’s destination bar for craft cocktails. It’s an anything-but-squalid basement lair located under Sportello (both are owned by restaurateur Barbara Lynch) designed to indulge cocktail fantasies. There’s a respectable wine and beer list but ordering from it seems depressingly unimaginative. Ditto for demanding a martini made to your usual specs (Tanqueray, on the rocks, olives, in my case). Nor is this the place to cruise a specialty-drinks menu.

Instead the idea is a one-on-one with your server–or directly with the mixologist (aka bartender)–to identify a cocktail that suits your mood and your palate and, with luck, expands your cocktail horizons. In short, cocktail therapy.

Vieux Carré

We started out standing at a side table–not ideal after a long day of museum prowling–our spot carved out by four glasses of water intended to chase whatever we ordered. I asked for a new take on one of the most ancient of cocktails, the Old Fashioned, cautioning that it not go a sweet direction.

Minutes later my drink arrived, amber liquid swirling around a columnar ice cube resembling an ice sculpture, and after the first sip my mood improved abruptly. In lieu of an Old Fashioned’s bourbon, this drink had other warming brown spirits, whisky and cognac. The addition of Peychaud bitters gave it a more subtle flavor profile than Angostura bitters alone. There was also a touch of red vermouth and a finishing splash of Benedictine. Absolutely delicious.

Had this brilliantly conceived cocktail been invented just for me? Not at all. I was drinking a Vieux Carré, invented in New Orleans back in the ’30s. It was new to me, though not to more sophisticated drinkers. The real genius of my cocktail therapist was intuiting that this was a drink I’d enjoy–even more, as a matter of fact, than the more familiar cocktail I’d used as a cue.

By this time we were seated comfortably at the bar and developing a relationship, however fleeting, with our bartender Josie. My daughter Mary asked for a “mojito with a wintry feeling.” Josie nodded sagely and, without further discussion, produced a cocktail substituting brown rum and brown sugar for the usual white rum and simple syrup made with white sugar. Mint and lime, like a regular mojito, and then a topper of champagne. Another hit that, again, turned out to be a standard drink: in this case, the Old Cuban. It’s in the repertoire of other bars besides Drink, but part of the pleasure surely came from articulating an elusive cocktail-hour desire to an understanding ear.

We ordered warm olives and thick, golden-crusted french fries the old-fashioned way, from a menu, and were not sorry. Then it was time to catch a flight that, thanks to our cocktail therapy, seemed shorter than usual.

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