Tag Archives: Cooking

Eggplant Parmesan

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Order the cannoli! Put the biscotti in the oven! Chill the prosecco! St. Joseph’s Feast Day is just around the corner! Across Italy and certainly throughout Sicily, as well as in many Italian-American households and communities around our own country, next Monday, St. Joseph’s Feast Day, will be marked by special religious services, street fairs, parades, and celebratory dinners. There’s even a special pastry (zeppola) and dish (fava beans) to be served in this Saint’s honor. So, why all the hoopla?

To start, and to eliminate any possible confusion with the many other St. Josephs, I’m speaking about Joseph, the carpenter who, along with Mary, raised the Christ Child, according to Christian beliefs. Perhaps because of its close proximity and relationship with the Vatican for so many centuries, the Church has exercised considerable control over Italy. Each town, village, city, district, in fact every community of any size, has at least one patron saint. And Saint Joseph is one very popular patron saint. Today, he is the Patron Saint of Sicily and that is the reason for the celebrations on Monday — but it wasn’t always that way.

The Holy Family - Michelangelo

According to legend, sometime during the Middles Ages, Sicily was struck by drought. As the earth dried and crops withered, famine became a very real possibility. Fava beans alone are all that kept the people from starvation. They prayed to St. Joseph, beseeching him to intercede on their behalf and to ask his “Son” to end the drought. In return, the people promised to hold a feast every year in his honor. The rains came, the drought ended, and mass starvation was averted. The grateful Sicilians proclaimed Saint Joseph their Patron Saint and his Feast Day is marked by celebrations to this very day.

Now, lacking both fava beans and the skills of a pasty chef, I decided to take a different path to honor this Saint. Since eggplant is used so often in Sicilian cuisine, I thought an eggplant dish would be appropriate. So, today’s recipe is eggplant parmesan, parmigiana di melanzane.

In recent years, the 3 most common parmigiana dishes — veal, chicken, and eggplant — have come under fire somewhat. Let’s face it, they aren’t exactly low-cal, by any measure. And, to be honest, it is only in the past few years that I’ve attempted to make them a bit lighter. In this case, where I used to fry the breaded slices of eggplant, I now bake them. In place of a meat sauce, I now use a marinara. Granted, you still won’t see this dish listed on any menu as the “Dieter’s Special”, but you will enjoy a lighter dish that is every bit as enjoyable as the more traditional preparations.

One further note deserves mention. During a recent post in which I shared instructions for making goat cheese, I asked if anyone knew of a nearby buffalo herd, implying that I’d use their milk to make mozzarella. Bufala mozzarella, by the way, is the most prized of all mozzarella cheeses. Judy@Savoring Today left a comment stating that bufala mozzarella, made in Italy, was available at, get this, Costco, of all places! Within days, I was at Costco and the parmigiana di melanzane pictured in today’s post is the result. Thank you, Judy!

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Eggplant Parmesan Recipe

Ingredients

  • 6 – 8 cups marinara sauce (recipe below)
  • 2 eggplant, about 2 1/2 lbs. total
  • 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
  • 4 – 5 cups bread crumbs, more may be required
  • 3 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
  • 1 tbsp Italian seasoning
  • 1 tsp garlic powder
  • 3 eggs
  • 2 tbsp milk
  • 1 lb. fresh mozzarella, thinly sliced or shredded
  • 1 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese, pecorino romano may be substituted
  • salt & pepper

Directions

To prepare the eggplant

  1. Create a breading station.  In a large dish or flat-bottomed container, add the flour. Add the eggs and mild to a second such container and mix until well-combined.  Add to the 3rd container the bread crumbs, parsley, Italian seasoning, and garlic powder. Mix to thoroughly combine.
  2. Pre-heat oven to 400˚.
  3. Slice the eggplant, lengthwise, into 1/2 inch slices.
  4. Coat each eggplant slice with flour, shake off excess, and dip into egg wash. Allow excess to drip off before dipping into the bread crumb mixture to completely coat each slice. Place on a cooking rack that has been sprayed with cooking spray. Continue until all slices are breaded. You will need to use 2 racks or to bake 2 batches.
  5. Place eggplant-filled cooling rack on top of a large baking sheet and bake in pre-heated, 400˚ oven for 15 minutes or until very lightly browned.

Assembly & cooking instructions – family style

  1. Use a few ladles of sauce to coat the bottom of a large baking dish.
  2. Add eggplant slices to form a layer in the baking dish. Place a few ladles of sauce evenly across the breaded slices. Apply 1/3 of the mozzarella in an even layer across the eggplant. Finish the layer by sprinkling 1/3 of the parmesan cheese on top.
  3. Repeat step 2 twice, creating 3 layers in all and alternating the direction of each layer’s slices.
  4. Bake in 400˚ oven for 30 to 40 minutes, until the dish is bubbly and the cheese has cooked/browned to your liking.

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Variations

If prepared as indicated — and pictured — above, the result is more suitable for a “family style” dinner and resembles a tray of lasagna. If you like, you can easily “build” individual servings using 3 slices of eggplant and covering each layer with the sauce and cheese as above but keeping each serving separate from the others. Similarly, you can slice the eggplant into 1/2 inch disks, rather than lengthwise, and create smaller sized portions, perfect for use as primi piatti.

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Marinara Sauce

This marinara isn’t meant to be simmered for hours. The resulting, fresh-tasting sauce adds another flavor element to this vegetarian dish.

  • 3 tbsp olive oil
  • 1/2 – 1 tsp red pepper flakes (optional)
  • 1 large onion, coarsely chopped
  • 2 carrots, coarsely chopped
  • 2 celery stalks, coarsely chopped
  • 6 garlic cloves, smashed
  • 2 – 3 tbsp tomato paste
  • 1 can (28 oz) diced tomatoes
  • 1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
  • 1/2 cup dry red wine (optional)
  • 3 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped fine
  • 1 tbsp dried marjoram
  • salt & pepper

Directions

  1. Place onion, carrots, celery, and garlic into a food processor and process until finely chopped. Alternately, finely chop the vegetables and garlic by hand.
  2. Heat oil in a sauce pan over med-high heat. Add the optional red pepper flakes and sauté for about a minute.
  3. Add the finely chopped ingredients, season with salt & pepper, and cook until liquid has evaporated and they start to caramelize.
  4. Add the tomato paste and continue to cook for about 2 more minutes.
  5. Add the tomatoes, wine, parsley, marjoram, and stir to combine. Season with salt & pepper, bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer.
  6. Continue to simmer until sauce has thickened and deepened in color,  about 60 minutes, on average. Check for seasoning and reserve for use in your recipe.

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Mom’s Boiled Dinner

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Though Italian, through and through, the Bartolini Sisters’ recipe repertoire was anything but restricted to Italian fare. Both Sisters cooked a range of dishes representing many cuisines, and as Mom loved to recall, I was about 6 when I told her that eating at our  house was “an adventure!” You see, it was about that time that Mom had gone to lunch with a few friends, I believe, at what was at the time Detroit’s premier Chinese restaurant. She ordered sweet & sour something-or-other (I don’t remember what), thoroughly enjoyed it, and asked the waiter if she could have the recipe. He agreed and returned a few minutes later with the recipe, which no doubt pleased Mom no end. Later, when the check arrived, Mom was surprised to see a $25.00 fee for the recipe included in the total! (Understand that this was a time when $25.00 was considered a nice sum to win on game shows like “What’s My Line?”. )  Mom, rightly, refused to pay the $25.00, indignantly gave them back the recipe, and vowed to duplicate that meal. And thus began our “adventure.” Starting with the Chun King section of the grocery store, Mom set out to make the ultimate sweet and sour dish. Time after time, she served us the latest version which, to be fair, we kids often thought was OK. Having tasted the original, however, Mom felt otherwise. I remember one specific dinner when her latest attempt fell short of expectations. After one bite, disgusted, she pushed her plate aside and watched as we kids gobbled it down.  The thing I most remember and, frankly, am most proud of, is she never gave up. Laughably, we did eat a couple pretty bad sweet & sour concoctions but she was determined to prove that the restaurant’s food wasn’t all that special and certainly not worth $25.00 per recipe. Truthfully, I don’t think she ever hit pay dirt, at least not while I was living at home, but she did teach me a valuable lesson by her example. So, when I describe the number of tests I’ve run to, say, come up with a cheddar cheese pie crust, or, to find the right level of “heat” in my giardiniera, don’t credit me. Credit Mom.

But I digress …

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Among the many cuisines the Bartolini Girls drew upon, American was first and foremost. Meatloaf, stews, casseroles, and fried foods, among others, were very often served — with a platter of pasta on the side, of course. Mom, in particular, loved a New England boiled dinner and she was sure to serve it a couple of times each year. Today, although I may have added a couple of vegetables to the pot, I keep her tradition alive and prepare a boiled dinner at least twice every year, once in the Spring and again in the Fall.

The recipe that I’m about to share uses quite a few vegetables to form a bed for the corned beef. Even with my 6 quart crock pot, only a couple of cabbage wedges will fit into the cooker and, as a result, I have to make other arrangements for the rest of the cabbage. When there’s about an hour to go before dinner is ready, I place as much sliced cabbage as will fit comfortably into the slow cooker and replace the lid. The rest of the cabbage goes into a covered frying pan, a cup of broth from the slow cooker is added, and then everything is seasoned with salt & pepper, to be cooked over a medium heat. Cooking times will vary, depending upon the amount of cabbage and size of the pan. Try to time it so that this cabbage is finished when the slow cooker’s contests are ready. When ready, combine the two preparations for serving and storing. Of course, the alternative to doing this is to use fewer vegetables but, frankly, that just ain’t gonna happen around here.

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Mom’s Boiled Dinner Recipe

total time: approx.  8.5 hours

Ingredients

  • 1 prepared corned beef, 4 lbs. Do not discard the packing liquid, unless directed to do so by the package directions.
    • enclosed spice packet
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    • 12 green peppercorns and 1 tbsp pickling spice.
  • 1 small bag of baby Yukon gold potatoes
  • 1 large onion, cut into about 8 wedges
  • 1 rutabaga, cut into large chunks
  • 1 turnip, cut into large chunks
  • 4 carrots, cut into 2 inch chunks
  • 4 parsnips, cut into 2 inch chunks
  • 2 garlic cloves, diced
  • 1 cabbage, outer leaves discarded, cut into about 10 wedges
  • salt and pepper, to taste
  • water

Directions

  1. About an hour before you begin, remove the corned beef from the fridge and set it on a counter so that it warms slightly.
  2. Place the potatoes, onion, rutabaga, turnip, carrots, and parsnips into the slow cooker.
  3. Sprinkle the garlic over the vegetables and do the same with the spice packet, if any, that came with the corned beef. (If no spice packet, add the pickling spice and green peppercorns.) Season with salt and pepper.
  4. Place the corned beef atop the vegetables and empty the packing liquids over everything. Add water until the slow cooker is about 2/3 full.
  5. Set crock pot to “high” and cook for one hour, turn the meat over, set to “low” and cook for 6 more hours, turning the meat over every 2 hours. Periodically skim the surface to remove any off-color foam, as necessary.
  6. After 7 hours, turn over the corned beef one last time, place the cabbage wedges into the slow cooker, replace the cover, and cook for an additional hour. If you have too much cabbage for your slow cooker, place the surplus into a frying pan, season with salt & pepper, and baste with a cup of broth from the crock pot. Cover and cook over medium heat until ready to be served — 15 to 20 minutes.
  7. After a total of 8 hours, remove the corned beef to a cutting board, slice it thinly, and place it on a platter with the cooked vegetables and cabbage. Serve immediately. Alternately, some people, myself included, prefer that their vegetables be served in a bowl with some of the broth.
  8. When preparing the leftovers for storage, be sure to combine all the cabbage and its cooking liquid with the rest of the vegetables.

Variations

Aside from making one’s own corned beef from beef brisket — something beyond my scope — the only variations of which I’m aware involve the vegetables. Basically, this recipe was Mom’s but I’ve added the turnip, rutabaga, and parsnips. Make the recipe your own and drop or add any vegetables to suit your tastes

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Note

The leftovers from this dinner store well and you can easily use them to repeat the meal, if that’s your wish. As I’ve mentioned, however, I prefer the vegetables served with the broth as a soup. That means that I can use the corned beef for panini, also personal favorites. Pictured above is one such sandwich made with corned beef, Swiss cheese, a little cabbage, and some mustard. It doesn’t get much better than this.

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My Uncle’s Pasta (aka Cacio e Pepe … whatever!)

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Being today is George Washington’s birthday, I’ve decided to come clean. Understand that there is no easy way for me to say this, so, I’m just going to blurt it out. I lied to you. Well-intentioned though I was, I nevertheless gave you false information. And, what’s worse, I did it not once but twice. Now, before you grab torches, gather en masse, and storm Chicago looking for me — by the way, if you do, be sure to take the Dan Ryan (hehehe) — let me explain …

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Back in October, 2010, my first real post was the recipe for Pasta in Bianco and, at the time, I said it was about the easiest pasta dish to make. And it is … sorta. Then, a year later, I shared the recipe for Spaghetti Aglio e Olio which I described as being “by far, the easiest (pasta dish) to prepare.” Well, it is … kinda. The truth is that there is a 3rd dish, an even easier dish to prepare, a dish that for decades I’ve prepared for myself and enjoyed as my own personal creation and that reminded me of Uncle. That is, until a few weeks ago when I found an authentic recipe that is identical to “my” recipe for Uncle’s Pasta. I could ignore it or, worse yet, try to convince everyone that my recipe is the original but, c’mon.  I’ve just confessed to 2 lies, committing a 3rd lie — especially one so obvious — would serve no purpose other than to further grease my path into Hades. So, I’ll take the high road and explain how I came upon this dish and, in an effort to make amends, I’ll throw in a little info on yet another obscure pasta, to boot.

Living in the old two-flat, there were many dinners where the families ate together and very often some form of pasta was served. My Uncle, like most, enjoyed grated cheese atop his pasta but, what set his plate apart from everyone else’s, was his love of black pepper. To my eye, he used more pepper than anyone seated at the table. Well, for this youngster, the aroma of grated Pecorino Romano mingling with the scent of freshly cracked pepper was intoxicating, made even more so because I was considered too young to have access to the pepper shaker. (As an unexpected benefit, however, when the nuns spoke of the Garden of Eden, I understood all too well Eve’s desire for the Forbidden Seasoning Fruit.) Well, I eventually grew up, as most young boys tend to do, and was finally able to add as much pepper to my pasta as I wanted — and I did. But wait, there’s more to this story because, up until now, I could have been talking about any pasta dish. I need to narrow the field a bit.

Once I moved away, I lived with a number of roommates until I could finally afford a place of my own. Back then, having a well-stocked pantry was not exactly high on my priority list. Let’s be honest, if not for “tissue”, coffee, and cat litter, I probably wouldn’t have seen the inside of a grocery for months at a time. Now, I’ve already blogged about my love for, and reliance upon, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio, pasta made with garlic and olive oil, but there were times when I didn’t have any olive oil. What to do? Well, I made my pasta without it, adding a bit more cheese, a couple more sprinkles of pepper, and some pasta water in its place. Moments later, I’d be seated at the dinner table where, with a single whiff, I was 6 years old again watching Uncle shower his pasta with pepper. So, for some 30 years, I’ve made this pasta, not just when out of olive oil but whenever I needed a pasta fix and the nostalgia bug hit me.  Over time, this pasta came to be called Uncle’s Pasta in my mind because its aroma reminded me of his plate during those family dinners of long ago.

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I’ll re-visit this picture when WordPress becomes scratch & sniff-enabled.

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With that in mind, you can well imagine my surprise when, a few short weeks ago whilst I was looking at pasta cutters, I learned that the people of Rome, and its district of Lazio, make a pasta called Cacio e Pepe, Cheese and Pepper, that is exactly like my Uncle’s Pasta! Now, rather than become bitter, I’ve decided to rise to the occasion and to turn this into a teaching opportunity. You see, the night that I became aware that the Romans had plundered my childhood memories and stolen my pasta recipe,  I was looking at a pasta maker called the chitarra. Italian for “guitar”, a chitarra is shirt box-sized with many wires or cords stretched, lengthwise, from one end to the other. A freshly made pasta sheet is laid on top of the “strings” and a rolling-pin is used to forcefully push the dough sheet through them to create pasta noodles. Although the width between the strings may vary from chitarra to chitarra, when they are set close enough together so that the distance is the same as the width of the pasta sheet, the result is a square-shaped pasta called tonnarelli. Often as thick as spaghetti, tonnarelli, not so coincidentally, are often used to make Cacio e Pepe. Never seen ’em? Guess again.  One very common “fresh” pasta’s cappellini is, in fact, tonnarelli. If you own a pasta machine, chances are it makes 2 types of pasta. The packaging will name the smaller of the 2 as being either cappellini or spaghetti. Um … no. One very popular stand mixer’s pasta cutter is advertised as making angel hair pasta. Again … no! These cutters are incapable of making a round pasta noodle and both cappellini and spaghetti are, in fact, round. If it’s a thin, square-shaped pasta, it’s tonnarelli. Now, if the pasta from your smallest cutter isn’t quite square, that’s probably because the pasta sheet wasn’t the same thickness as the cutter’s width. If you’re so inclined, vary the pasta sheet’s width and you’ll get your square tonnarelli.

My point isn’t to make sure everyone that sits at my dinner table, or that reads this, can identify the pasta set before them. No, not at all. It is to illustrate just how seriously the Italians take their pasta. For many, Emilia–Romagna is the home of Italy’s best pasta makers, with Bologna as its capital. True pasta aficionados from that region will claim that they can tell whether the pasta dough is rolled by hand or machine, with a wooden versus a steel rolling-pin, on a wooden board versus a stainless steel or marble counter top, etc., etc., etc. My father, when he saw Mom preparing to make pasta that day, would remind her to roll it out by hand as he left for work. Mom always assured him she would — and then got out the pasta machine before his car had made it to the end of the block. When dinner was served, could Dad tell the difference? Who knows but, like any loving husband, he knew when to keep quiet.

Wow! Such a long post for so simple a dish to prepare. I won’t be giving this recipe the full treatment because, frankly, it would be a waste of time. All you need is some pasta, freshly made is preferred but boxed spaghetti will do nicely; hot pasta water; some grated cheese, Pecorino Romano if possible; and freshly cracked/ground pepper.  I won’t be giving ingredient amounts because they will all depend upon the number of servings to be prepared and your own taste. You may not be as enamored with pepper as am I, after all.

While your pasta is cooking, warm the serving bowl. This can be done by pouring hot water from a tea kettle or via the tap. Once the pasta is cooked to your liking, reserve a  cup of the boiling pasta water before draining the pasta. No need to drain it fully. In fact, it’s better if you don’t. Work quickly now. Place the cooked pasta into the now-warmed serving bowl and season it very generously with the grated Pecorino Romano cheese. (Parmesan may be substituted.) Mix the pasta, adding more pasta water, a little at a time, so that it combines with the cheese to create a sauce-like dressing for the pasta. If it’s too dry, add more water; too wet, add more cheese. Once the pasta is evenly coated, add some pepper and stir. Remember, the dish is called Cacio e Pepe for a reason.

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With your pasta now appropriately dressed, serve it on warmed dinnerware.  Garnish each serving with a generous sprinkling of grated Pecorino Romano and another dusting of pepper. Now, before you sample this testament to simplicity, take a moment to savor the fragrances of freshly grated cheese and newly cracked pepper wafting up from your plate. Nothing more need be said.

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Pasta Cacio e Pepe

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Sis’s Soup with Little Meatballs (Minestra con Polpettine)

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You might recall that last December, I demonstrated how to make quadretti, a small, square-shaped pasta. At some point, I mentioned Mom using this pasta in soup to nurse me back to health but that my Sister remembered differently. She recalled Mom serving broth filled with Acini di Pepe, “sick soup”, whenever she was ill. Well, since Monday was Sis’s birthday, why not share the recipe for her sick soup?

Soup made with Acini di Pepe is not a Bartolini tradition. Oh, sure, it was served plenty of times at the old two-flat but it wasn’t made from a recipe that had been handed down from one generation to the next. It came to us, oddly enough, from the Mother of my 5th grade teacher. Mr. D was from Upstate New York and my class was his first in Detroit. In fact, he arrived in my hometown barely 1 week before school started that September. Mr. D wanted to introduce himself to the parish and to our parents so, once classes started, he visited the home of each of his students. He chose the families alphabetically, making mine the second home he entered. And as was so often the case with newcomers who entered the two-flat, he hung around for a number of years — make that decades — afterwards. (There was a similar phenomenon in our backyard that involved Grandpa, our neighbors, and the Parish priests but I’ll save that for another post.) Eventually, Mr. D migrated upstairs, becoming good friends of Zia and Uncle.  At some point, and I do not recall how much time had transpired, his Mother and Aunt came to Detroit for a visit. It wasn’t long before they, too, became ensnared in the two-flat’s web of conviviality. Well, as luck would have it, both women were good cooks and during subsequent visits, recipes were traded. One of the very few recipes to survive is today’s minestra, Acini di Pepe with meatballs. (It took a while but I got us here.)

Acini di Pepe is a small, bead-like pasta that expands during the cooking process, much like couscous. Mom served it to Sis when her tummy was upset, just as she served me quadretti. As was her way, Doctor Mom started with broth only and gradually added increasing amounts of Acini di Pepe to the broth as Sis’s condition improved. The meatballs, polpettine, were never used for medicinal purposes. No, they were served when everyone was well and seated at the dinner table. And did we ever enjoy them. The lemon zest in the polpettine, when mixed with a hint of nutmeg, take this simple soup to an entirely different level. Now, if Acini di Pepe isn’t “your thing,” I strongly suggest you make the polpettine and use them with whatever pastina you prefer. Trust me. You won’t be disappointed.

Oh, yeah. Happy Birthday, Sis!

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Acini di Pepe with Meatballs Recipe

Ingredients

For the polpettine

  • 1/2 lb ground veal
  • 1/4 cup grated cheese, pecorino romano preferred
  • 1/2 cup plain bread crumbs
  • 1 large egg, slightly beaten
  • 1/8 tsp nutmeg
  • zest from 1/2 lemon
  • 2 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
  • salt & pepper, to taste

For the minestra

  • 2 quarts homemade chicken stock (low-sodium store-bought may be substituted)
  • 1 cup Acini di Pepe, uncooked
  • additional grated pecorino romano

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Directions

To make polpettine

yield : approx. 100 polpettine, divided, half to be frozen for later use

  1. Place all the ingredients into a bowl and mix until combined. Do not over-work.
  2. Use a melon baller or small scoop to fashion small meatballs. (See Notes below.)
  3. Divide all the polpettine into 2 halves and place each on separate baking sheets.
  4. Place one baking sheet into the freezer and, once frozen, place the polpettine in a container, return to the freezer for use on a later date.
  5. Use the other half as indicated below.

To make the minestra

  1. Bring the stock to a rapid boil.
  2. Add the Acini di Pepe, stir, and then add the remaining half of the polpettine.
  3. When stock returns to the boil, reduce to a medium simmer and cook for about 10 minutes. Stir often but gently so that the polpettine remain intact.
  4. At the end of 10 minutes, taste the minestra to see if the pasta is cooked to your liking and to adjust seasoning, if necessary.
  5. Serve immediately. Have plenty of grated pecorino romano cheese available at the table.

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Notes

Polpettine are meant to be relatively small. One polpettino should easily fit upon a soup spoon with plenty of room left for pasta and broth. Although this recipe yields about 100 meatballs, I prefer to use only about half that amount in a 2 quart pot of soup. Of course, you may use more or less depending upon your own preference.

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And Now for the Awards Portion of  Today’s Presentation

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been lucky enough to have received a few awards from members within our blogging community. And lest anyone think that I do not appreciate these wonderful gifts, I wanted to make sure that each was acknowledged.

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So, to Marie, of My Little Corner of Rhode Island, I say thank you for generously nominating me for the Kreative Blogger Award.

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To Kathryn, of kiwsparks, and Eva, of Kitchen Inspirations, I say thanks for your thoughtfulness in granting me The (Red) Educational Shoe Award. (And to Greg: You’ll just have to wait before you get to see me in stilettos, be they red or some other color.)

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Finally, to Roger, of Food, Photography, & France, mere words cannot express the depth of emotion that I experienced upon learning you had nominated me for the Sunshine Award.

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OK, I know that I’m supposed to answer a variety of questions or volunteer some facts about myself and I must admit to enjoying reading others’ replies. The truth of the matter is, however, that I’m not all that interesting. I am no onion with many layers to be pulled back revealing inner truths. There is no art in this choke. What you see is what you get — and what you get is pretty boring, at that. Besides, what little there is to tell is fodder for my future posts. If I tell you everything about myself now, whatever will I write about next time or the time after that?  And so, to those who truly wish to learn more about me, I say “Stay tuned … “

The next part of any award acceptance is to pass the award along to deserving individuals. Well, there are 3 awards to pass along and I don’t even know how many bloggers, in total, I am to name. I do know, however, that no matter how many good people I nominate, I will surely forget one person and, in all probability, quite a few more. I have been treated kindly by everyone I’ve met here and encouraged in more ways than I could ever enumerate.  I’d sooner quit blogging than hurt or offend any of those who have treated me so graciously. So, rather than nominate many, I shall only nominate one.

A relative newcomer, this blogging friend has taught me a great deal. By her example, I’ve learned that less is more. That silence is truly golden. That to just be yourself and the World will be yours to conquer. And so it is that I nominate, for the Kreative Blogger, The (Red) Educational Shoe, and Sunshine awards, none other than …

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FLAT RUTHIE !!!!!

As soon as word of the awards became known, her friends carried her off to an impromptu party at Chicago’s Fondue Stube. Pictured above, Flat Ruthie is seen with one of her dearest of friends, Thing, as they await the arrival of the fondue pots. Oh, what a night!

So, congratulations Flat Ruthie! I for one, cannot wait to read your acceptance speech. (No fair helping her, 3D Ruth.)

And to Marie, Kathryn, Eva, and Roger, all joking aside, I am both honored and grateful for the awards you’ve sent my way. Mille grazie!

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Trippa alla Stefanina

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There’s no way around it. Today’s recipe is tripe, another within the series of posts which many will find less than appealing, to put it mildly. And, once again, the overwhelming majority of my generation of the Bartolini Clan would agree.  I, myself, being the only exception. Yet, tripe is an ingredient found in most of the World’s cuisines and, when cooked properly, is really quite tasty. Still, many of you may be looking for the nearest exit and, if that’s the case, you may depart HERE. All right then …

Nonna

Trippa wasn’t something Mom ever prepared while I was growing up but it was a dish that the “People Upstairs” made and one that I absolutely loved. Even then, since Zia’s boys would have nothing to do with it, I believe it was usually Grandpa who requested trippa be on that day’s menu. Being that Zia had her own family’s dinner to prepare, the trippa was often made by her Mother-in-law, a woman we kids all called “Nonna”  and whose name was Stefanina. She was a sweet woman and, for my siblings and I, the only Nonna we would ever really know. Since tomorrow would have been her birthday, and yesterday was mine, what better way to celebrate both than by sharing this special recipe? And it is special, as you’ll soon see.

Now, before going further, we need to revisit the 2 flat’s floor plans. You may recall that a stairwell separated my bedroom from our kitchen and the rest of our home. Directly above my room, was my cousins’ bedroom and the stairwell, also, separated their room from Zia’s kitchen and the rest of their home. So, forgetting the stairwell for a moment, my bed was about a 10 feet, in a straight line, from Mom’s stovetop and certainly less than 20 feet away from Zia’s. (Remind me again. Why did I move away from home?)

On those occasions when Grandpa prevailed upon Nonna to make a batch of trippa, the aroma of some as yet unknown delicacy, wafting down the stairs, was my siren call. A quick run up the stairs and a stealth bomber-like cruise through their kitchen was all I needed to check things out. Trippa was on the menu! I returned home via the “front stairs” and the wait began in my room. After what seemed like an eternity, I would hear Nonna’s voice calling, “Johnny! Johnny, are you there? I’ve got surprise for you.” My feet couldn’t get me up those stairs fast enough. When I burst into the kitchen, she’d be standing there, smiling broadly, holding a dinner plate. “Would you like some polenta?” Trying not to appear too eager, I’d reply with something like, “Sure.” And so the lesson began. “This is how you make polenta, Johnny.” Holding the plate in one hand, she would use the other hand’s fingers to dot the plate’s surface with dabs of butter. Then she would sprinkle the plate with freshly ground Pecorino Romano cheese. Next, using a large spoon, Nonna would slowly and carefully cover the plate with a nice layer of freshly made polenta. By now, I was about ready to drool. “Pazienza, Johnny,” and she would dot the surface of the polenta with more butter, to be followed with another sprinkle of grated cheese. And then came the trippa. Da Vinci didn’t take such care painting the Mona Lisa as did this dear woman when she layered the trippa upon that polenta. Then came another sprinkle of cheese. And every time, when she was done, with a twinkle in her eye, she would hand me the plate and say, “This is how you make polenta with trippa.”

Many years later, I cooked a polenta dinner for Mom and Zia. They were dumbstruck when I prepared their plates just as Nonna had showed me all those years before. Although both were fully aware that she often made me a plate when she cooked trippa for Grandpa, they’d no idea how that plate was created. And today, some 40+ years after my last serving of Nonna’s cooking, I cannot prepare a dish of polenta with trippa without hearing her say, “Pazienza,” and, minutes later, when my plate is ready to eat, I just have to echo, “This is how you make polenta with trippa.”

The preparation and serving of trippa that I am about to present is in the style of Le Marche (alla Marchigiani). (For tripe prepared with a distinctly Spanish flair, check out Tanya’s fantastic Chica Andaluza blog.) Today’s recipe is pretty much the same as Nonna prepared, save 2 exceptions. The first, and easiest to explain, is that I use instant polenta and I don’t know if the product was even available when Nonna was fixing me a plate. I first brought instant polenta to Mom and Zia some 20 years ago and they never served me “regular” polenta again. In fact, during his last visit to Italy in the early ’60s, Grandpa brought back a copper “polenta pot.” Each time Nonna prepared my plate, she served me polenta that she had spent 45 minutes stirring in that very pot. With the arrival of instant polenta, there was no real need for it any longer and I was given the pot several years ago. And, as “payment,” when I return home for a visit, I always bring a container or 2 of instant polenta.

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The second exception has to deal with a basic of Italian cooking. Most, if not all, of the Mediterranean countries begin many of their sauces, stews, and, well, just about anything, with a mixture of diced green pepper, celery, and onion. In Italy, this is called a soffrito and it is sautéed in olive oil at the very start of many dishes, just as is done in France (mirepoix) or in Spain, Latin America, and the Caribbean (sofrito) where the ingredients may vary a bit. Even New Orléans has its “holy trinity” of onion, carrot, and green bell pepper. My family often began dishes with a different kind of soffrito called “battuto.” To make a good “battut,” you need fine quality salt pork, onion, garlic, and parsley. Exact quantities are nearly impossible to gauge. This is something that must be learned by doing. I can say that the onion makes up the majority of a battuto and a small to medium size onion will do. You will, also, need 2 to 3 oz of salt pork sliced about 1/4 inch thick, 2 to 3 garlic cloves, and about 4 tbsp of fresh parsley. That should give you about 1 to 1 1/4 cups of battut, just perfect for today’s recipe. Begin by heating your knife’s blade over a stove’s burner. Once hot, use it to roughly chop the salt pork. Next, in no specific order, roughly chop the garlic, parsley, and onion. Combine the 3 ingredients on top of the salt pork and continue to chop them all. Do not create a paste but continue chopping until the ingredients are of uniform size and well-blended. Once chopped, sauté the battut in a sauce pan with olive oil over medium heat until it develops a little color. Do not rush it nor let it burn. Once done to your satisfaction, go ahead with your recipe. For today’s recipe, if you’d started with a battut, there would be no need for the pancetta, onion,  nor garlic, and the only parsley required would be added at the very end of cooking. You’ll be amazed at the flavor this simple mixture brings to a dish and your kitchen will be filled with an aroma that is just too good to be true.

My family used battuto as the base for sauces, braises, risotto, some soups, and even some vegetables. During the worst of the Great Depression, dinner often consisted of a large amount of polenta served on a large “polenta board” that had been placed in the middle of the dining table. At its very center, Grandma placed a little battuto and you had to eat your way through the polenta to get to it. Grandma, also, used battuto to dress pasta, her own version of aglio e olio. Mom and Zia stopped making battuto a number of years ago, about the time they stopped making sausage. They just couldn’t find good quality salt pork anymore. In its place, like in today’s recipe, they made a soffrito, of sorts. Not willing to give up, I keep searching for salt pork that will pass Zia’s inspection. To that end, I’ve recently learned of a Polish butcher on the West Side that reportedly has the best salt pork in town. We’ll see soon enough.

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Trippa alla Stefanina Recipe 

Ingredients

  • 5 lbs honeycomb tripe
  • 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
  • 1/4 lb pancetta, chopped
  • 1 large onion, chopped
  • 4 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped, separated
  • 4 garlic cloves, diced
  • 1/2 cup dry white wine
  • 3 tbsp tomato paste
  • 1 large can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
  • 1 large can (28 oz) diced tomatoes
  • 1 small onion, whole & studded with 5 – 6 whole cloves
  • 1 tbsp marjoram
  • salt & pepper, to taste
  • grated Pecorino Romano cheese for serving

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Directions

  1. Rinse trippa under cold water and trim off unusable parts. Place in a large pot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, for 1 hour.
  2. Remove trippa from water and, when cool enough to handle, cut into strips 1 to 2 inches in length and 1/4 to 1/3 inch wide.
  3. While the trippa cools, heat olive oil in medium-sized sauce pan over med-high heat. Add pancetta and sauté until cooked but not crisp, about 8 minutes.
  4. Add the chopped onion, half of the parsley, and sauté until onion is translucent, about 5 minutes.  Season lightly with salt & pepper.
  5. Add garlic and sauté for another minute before adding the wine. Continue cooking until the wine is reduced and almost gone.
  6. Add the tomato paste and continue to sauté for 2 minutes before adding the tomatoes, marjoram, and trippa. Season with salt & pepper, stir well, and then add the clove-studded onion.
  7. Bring to a boil, reduce to a soft simmer, and continue cooking for at least 2 hours. Sauce should be dark and thick; the trippa should be quite tender.
  8. Remove studded onion and discard. Add most of the remaining parsley to the pot, taste to see if additional salt or pepper is needed, and stir well.
  9. Serve immediately, garnished with the remaining parsley and a sprinkling of cheese. Be sure to have grated cheese available at the table.

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Serving Suggestions

Traditionally, trippa is served in deep soup bowls with a healthy chunk of crusty bread on the side. As mentioned above, our family usually served it atop polenta. Pasta fanatic that I am, I’ve even used it to dress pastas like farfalle or rotini.

Notes

Making instant polenta is quite an easy process. So much so that there’s little need to devote an entire post to it, especially since my family’s recipe is so simple. Following package directions (most require, per serving, 4 tbsp of polenta for each cup of water), bring the water to boil, add a pinch of salt, and pour the polenta into the water, whisking all the while until fully blended. Over a medium to med-low heat, stirring frequently, cook the polenta for 5 minutes. At the end, add a tablespoon of butter and grated cheese to taste. (The latter would depend upon the dish(es) that will accompany the polenta.) Mix well and serve. It couldn’t be more simple. Of course, if you want to serve polenta like Nonna, dabs of butter and all, then go for it. You won’t be disappointed.

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About the Matter of Provenance

I’ve been asked, more than once, if these are really my family’s recipes. Certainly, not all of them are but, I can assure you, those that I say came from Mom, Zia, Nonna, etc., are, in fact, theirs. As further proof, below is an image of the Zia’s “polanta” recipe that can be found in the recipe book that she gave me.

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Where’s Flat Ruthie Now?

Any guesses?  Stay tuned …

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Strozzapreti Pasta

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Throughout much of modern history, the Italian language has had fewer words in its lexicon than most other languages, and that includes its cousins, the Romance languages. Granted, the gap has lessened over the last century but the fact that it existed at all is because Italian, being an ancient language, was so closely descended from Latin, an even more ancient language of even fewer words. So, when it came to identifying their pasta, Italians didn’t create new words but named each after the familiar object it resembled, both real and imagined. We Americans know some of their names but that’s just the tip of the meatball. There are pastas named after just about anything, from little tongues (linguine) to little ears (orecchiette) to the hair of an angel (capelli d’angelo). Some look like shoelaces (stringozzi), others like twine (spaghetti), and still others like ribbons (fettuccine). And then there are the shells, be they from the sea (conchiglie) or the land (lumache). There are the twins (gemelli), flowers (fiori), little bells (campanelle), and little radiators (radiatori). And we mustn’t overlook tortellini, which are said to resemble the navel of Venus. The list goes on and on, far too long to fully explore here. Instead, every now and again I’ll share one that I find interesting and, most importantly, easy to make by hand. To that end, I shared a recipe last May for one obscure pasta called fazzoletti, little handkerchiefs and, in December, Mom’s quadretti, little squares. Today, I thought that I’d share another, the name of which is sure to give you pause. It is strozzapreti, priest choker pasta.

I first learned of strozzapreti when Zia and I were in Florence in 2002. We had a good laugh when the waiter told us the legend behind the pasta’s name, although at the time, I mistakenly thought that he was merely giving us a sales pitch. According to the waiter, strozzapreti is so good that when it was invented and first served to priests, they devoured it so quickly that they choked. You must admit, if you’re trying to sell pasta, that’s a pretty good story to have up your sleeve. Move forward a few years. I’d forgotten all about the pasta until I heard some chef on television mention priests choking. After some web searching, I saw how the pasta was made and strozzapreti became a part of my pasta arsenal. There are, by the way, other legends involving the naming of this pasta but I’m sticking with the one I first learned. (Ya leave the dance with the one that brung ya.)

Strozzapreti are a twisted pasta, about 3 inches in length, vaguely reminiscent of cavatelli. Of course, cavatelli, being machine-made, are consistent in shape and length, while home-made strozzapreti are anything but — and therein lies its charm. Few would ever mistake a dish of home-made strozzapreti for a mass-produced pasta and no mass-produced pasta will ever taste nearly as good as home-made strozzapreti. The latter part of that statement is as good a reason as any for taking the time to make this pasta.

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How to Make Strozzapreti

To start, you’re going to need some dough. I’ve always used Mom’s Pasta Dough here and am perfectly happy with the results. Once you’ve made your dough and rolled it out, the rest is pretty easy, albeit repetitive. Take a dough sheet of about 12 inches long, fold in half, and in half again, until it is no more than 3 inches wide. With a sharp knife, cut tagliatelle-sized noodles and unfold each noodle, as needed. Once unfolded, start at one end and roll the noodle between your palms to create a twisted piece of pasta. Tear off a 3 inch piece and roll the remaining noodle, again and again, tearing off pieces as you go. You’ll find that your pasta will have a tighter spiral if you only roll them in one direction. Going back-and-forth will only wind and unwind the coil. Once you get the hang of it, you’ll manage to make each piece with a single pass between your palms.

One last thing worth mentioning involves the pasta dough. Usually, when you cut pasta, whether by hand or machine, the dough should be dry-ish to prevent the strands from sticking together while being cut. That’s not the case here. If the dough is too dry, the lower, dangling, part will break as you try to roll the upper part to form the strozzapreti. Not only that, you may find it nearly impossible to get enough traction between your palms and the noodle to get it to twist. If you find that you cannot roll the pasta between your palms, try moistening your hands just a bit. Bear in mind, however, that too much water will ruin the pasta. A scant drop of water spread between your palms should do the trick.

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Cut the dough into a strip about 12 inches long.

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Fold the strip in half

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Repeat at least one more time to create a sfoglia

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Cut the sfoglia into tagliatelle-sized pasta

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Unfold 1 noodle

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Place tip at the base of one palm and with other hand's fingertips ...

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... Begin to roll the noodle between your palms

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Tear off a 3 inch piece of the twisted pasta

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Repeat until the entire noodle has been twisted and cut into pieces

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Unfold another noodle and repeat the process until finished

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Tutto fatto!

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Cooked fresh in salted water, strozzapreti will be ready in minutes. If dried or frozen it will take a few minutes more. The pasta’s shape, in my opinion, lends itself to being served with pesto or a tomato sauce, with or without meat. Serve it garnished with grated cheese, while you tell the tale of choking priests, and you’re sure to have satisfied, as well as entertained, dinner companions.

Variations

Although I formed the strozzapreti by rolling the dough between my palms, you can make them using a slender rod or barbecue skewer. Once you’ve unfolded the tagliatelle-like noodle, cut it into 3 inch pieces. Place the rod atop each individual dough piece and roll the two, creating a spiral pasta. Remove the rod and repeat the process with another piece of dough.

Lidia Bastianich makes a version of strozzapreti that is a gnocchi-like dish. I have no doubt that her dish is called strozzapreti, just as I’ve no doubt that we were served the pasta that I’ve described above and it, too, was called strozzapreti. How can this be? Well, obviously, there’s more than one way to choke a priest.

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Roast Pork with Fennel

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Porchetta

My last few posts have been pretty much dedicated to dishes served over the Holidays. Today’s recipe, Porchetta con Finnocchio, is yet another of those dishes and was served not just around Christmas but whenever there was reason to celebrate. Similar in preparation to most pork roasts, this roast differs because of the cut of meat used and for the use of fennel, finnocchio, as seasoning.

Traditionally, porchetta meant the roasting of an entire pig. In fact, one such pig was roasted at a neighborhood bakery and served at the wedding reception of Zia & Uncle. (Imagine a time when “A”, there were neighborhood bakeries and, “B”, you could use their oven to roast a pig!) Now, that may be fine when feeding large groups but, for most families, a pig roast is out of the question. My family, like many, used the pig’s foreleg, the picnic ham, for the roast.  The meat was butterflied, removing the bone in the process, and then heavily seasoned with, among other things, fennel fronds which are similar to dill in both appearance and taste. The result was a juicy roast, with herbal flavoring throughout. Times have changed and picnic hams aren’t as readily available as they once were. My family switched to roasting bone-in pork loins initially but, as time passed, they, too, became less available and we began roasting boneless pork loins. Although still very good, the loin is a lean cut of meat and some will forever favor a porchetta made using  picnic ham over one made with pork loin.  In a future post, I’ll share a recipe for porchetta using a pork loin but, for today, we’re once again turning back the clock to roast a leg of pork.

This recipe differs from that used by my family in a couple of ways. First off, I wanted to make sure that I had a sauce to serve with my porchetta. To that end, I include roasting vegetables in the pan, adding stock & wine as a basting liquid. I, also, love roasted vegetables and add potatoes and carrots to the roasting pan about an hour after the roasting has begun. In contrast, the most my family put in the roasting pan was a few potatoes, and even that was a rarity. As a result, I don’t remember Mom ever serving a sauce with her porchetta. Lastly, and this is a big one, relatively speaking, I include sliced finnocchio as a roasting vegetable. This would never have been done back home, for fennel was always served raw, the fronds and smaller stems being frozen for later use in a porchetta. Whether served alone or among crudités, fennel was either served plain or with a small, ramekin-sized dish containing a simple dipping sauce of extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper, and maybe a little red wine vinegar. (There is a name for this sauce but neither Zia nor I can remember it.) I broke with tradition when, about 15 years ago while they were visiting Chicago, I served Mom & Zia a whole sea bass that had been stuffed with, and roasted upon a bed of, fennel. That was the first time either had been served cooked fennel. So, for me to add fennel to the roasting pan is somewhat of a big deal. The flavor it brings to the sauce, however, is well worth the change. Still, should you wish to roast your porchetta in true Bartolini fashion, prepare the roast as indicated below, omitting all the roasting vegetables, and place the porchetta on a roasting rack centered in a roasting pan. No matter how you roast your porchetta, bear in mind you may need to adjust the amount of herbs needed depending upon the size of your roast.

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Porchetta Recipe

Ingredients

    • 1 raw picnic shoulder ham, skin on, bone removed, butterflied
    • 4 tbsp fennel fronds, chopped
    • 4 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
    • 8 – 10 garlic cloves, diced
    • 3 – 4 tbsp fresh rosemary, chopped
    • olive oil
    • 1 tbsp marjoram
    • 12 whole garlic cloves
    • 1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced
    • 1 onion, thinly sliced
    • 3 celery stalks, chopped
    • 3 carrots, cut into large pieces
    • fingerlings or new potatoes
    • 3 rosemary sprigs
    • 6 cups chicken stock, divided
    • 3 cups dry white wine, divided
    • 3 tbsp AP flour
    • butter
    • water

Directions

    1. About an hour before the porchetta is to go into the oven, combine the fennel fronds, parsley, chopped garlic, and rosemary. Add enough olive oil to make a paste, stir,  and set aside.
    2. Use a sharp knife to score the pork skin, making a checkerboard or diamond pattern. Try to avoid cutting deeply into the pork meat, if at all.
    3. Place the roast, skin-side down, and “open it,” revealing as much surface area inside the roast as possible.
    4. Evenly coat the exposed flesh with the herbal paste created in Step 1. Season with marjoram before liberally seasoning with salt & pepper.
    5. Use twine to tie the roast securely. Set roast aside while it loses its chill.
    6. In a roasting pan, add the sliced onions, fennel, celery, and whole garlic cloves. Season liberally with salt & pepper.
    7. Place the roast atop the bed of roasting vegetables. Pre-heat oven to 450˚.
    8. Coat the roast with olive oil, add 2 cups stock plus 1 cup wine to the roasting pan.
    9. Place roasting pan in pre-heated oven. Every 20 minutes, baste the roast with the pan juices, add more stock and wine to the pan, if needed.  (Be sure to reserve 2 cups of stock and 1/2 cup of wine for use later.)
    10. Meanwhile, place potatoes and carrots into a large bowl, season with salt and pepper, some rosemary, and enough olive oil to coat. Mix well.
    11. After 60 minutes total time, reduce oven temperature to 325˚, baste the roast adding more liquid to the pan if needed, and place the seasoned carrots and potatoes into the roasting pan.
    12. From this point forward, continue to baste the roast every 30 minutes or so, replenishing the pan juices when necessary.
    13. If outer skin grows too brown, use aluminum foil to tent the porchetta.
    14. Roast will be finished when the internal temperature reaches 165˚. When ready, remove roast to a cutting board and tent with aluminum foil to rest for at least 15 minutes. Remove the carrots and potatoes to a covered bowl. Strain the pan juices from remaining stewing vegetables.
    15. Use the reserved 1/2 cup of wine to deglaze the roasting pan over high heat.
    16. Use a grease separator to remove all but 3 tbsp of grease from the strained liquid.
    17. Reduce heat to medium, add the 3 tbsp of grease to the roasting pan, and add 3 tbsp AP flour. Mix thoroughly and cook for a minute or so to create a roux.
    18. Add the remaining pan juice liquids and stir until the sauce begins to thicken.
    19. Begin adding the reserved of stock to the pan, stirring constantly, over medium heat.
    20. Once all the stock has been added and the sauce thickened, taste for seasoning, remove from heat, and add a tab of butter to finish the sauce.
    21. Before carving the roast, use a small knife to remove the skin (crackling), which may be served with the roast or left in the kitchen as the Cook’s reward.
    22. Slice and serve the roast, accompanied by the sauce and reserved roasted vegetables.

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Notes

You’ll note the recipe calls for fennel fronds when, in reality, Mom also used the small, thin stems along with the fronds. I believe these stems bring  much flavor to the roast but no one wants to find a stem in their food. To get around this, I make sure any stems used are chopped as finely as possible.

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Zuppa Inglese

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Say the words “Zuppa Inglese” to my siblings and immediately their thoughts will turn to Christmas. Consisting of liquor “enhanced” lady fingers swimming in a lemon-flavored custard, this “English Pudding” was as much a part of my family’s Christmas Dinner tradition as was the platter of ravioli and the roasted chestnuts. To be sure, this is a dessert intended for adults but Mom didn’t forget us kids. She, also, made a non-alcoholic version which you can find in Variations below. (Even so, Dad always managed to sneak us a taste of his dessert when Mom wasn’t looking.)

The recipe I’m sharing is a version Mom gave me that calls for only 12 egg yolks. Before you think, “Only 12 egg yolks!?!?!” understand that the original recipe, a copy of which I also have, calls for 36 egg yolks. That’s a whole lotta Zuppa Inglese! In fact, making a batch of custard that large became a team sport, so to speak, with Mom, Zia, and Nonna suiting up against 3 dozen taunting yolks gathered menacingly in the bottom of an enamel pan. You see, when making so much custard on top of the stove — without a double boiler, mind you — it must be given constant attention and stirred non-stop for about 45 minutes. Leave it for a minute, unattended, and you’ll return to a lumpy mess. So, the Ladies of the 2-flat banded together on Christmas Eve, each taking a 10 to 15 minute turn stirring the pot, while her teammates played Briscola. I remember them moving the kitchen table close to the stove so that the “stirrer” could sit on the table’s edge while the other 2 Ladies kept the card game going at the other end of the table. Sipping a glass of wine all the while, the 3 chatted, laughed, played, and stirred until all agreed that the custard was done.  A few minutes later and there was enough Zuppa Inglese, both with and without alcohol, to serve anyone seated at the Christmas Dinner table.

As always, there are a couple of things to consider when preparing this dish. First off, I cannot stress enough that the custard must be stirred constantly, especially if you do not have a double boiler. Failure to do so and you may find yourself buying more eggs when you should be wrapping presents. (No need to run out and buy a double boiler. Place a couple of inches of water in a saucepan over low to med-low heat. Put the ingredients in a bowl large enough to lay on top of the saucepan without falling in. The boiling water should never touch the bottom of the bowl.) Make sure to keep clean the sides and bottom of the bowl as you stir. You’ll know the custard is ready (20 – 25 minutes for 12 eggs; about 45 minutes for 36 eggs) when it is noticeably thick and coats the back of a wooden spoon.

Custard aside, you can control how “spirited” you want your dessert to be. The recipe calls for equal parts whiskey, sweet vermouth, and grenadine. How much you use to “enhance” the lady fingers is your choice. Dip the lady fingers into a booze bath and you’ll have one very strong cocktail dessert. Use a pastry brush to “paint” the fingers and, depending on how thorough a painter you are, you may still have a pretty potent pudding. On the other hand, using your fingers to lightly sprinkle spirits across the lady fingers will result in a relatively zing-free zuppa. No matter which method you use, remember Italians waste nothing. So, use the left over liquor as the base of a nice cocktail, rewarding yourself for a job well-done.

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This is the last of only 2 edible servings of Zuppa Inglese from the entire batch. While this very photo was being arranged, Max was busy “sampling” the rest.

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Zuppa Inglese Recipe

yield:  one 9 x 9 x 2″ dish, filled with 3 layers of lady fingers in custard

Ingredients 

  • 12 egg yolks
  • zest of 1 lemon
  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 1 cup heavy whipping cream
  • 1 cup half-and-half
  • lady fingers (thinly sliced pound cake may be substituted)

Directions

  1. Place all ingredients, except the lady fingers, in the top-half of a double boiler or in a mixing bowl as indicated above. Use a whisk to thoroughly combine.
  2. Place a couple of inches of water in the bottom-half of the boiler, reassemble the double boiler, and heat over a low to med-low heat.
  3. Stir constantly, making sure to scrape the bowl’s sides & bottom in the process.
  4. After 20 to 25 minutes, the custard should be thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.
  5. Remove from heat and pour the custard through a sieve to remove any bits of zest.
  6. Ladle enough custard to coat the bottom of a serving dish. Place on layer of lady fingers into the dish and dress with as much liquor as you prefer.
  7. Repeat the process, at least twice. Make sure to reserve enough custard to apply a final coating of custard to “top off” the dish.
  8. Refrigerate, covered, for several hours or overnight.

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Variations

As noted earlier, Mom made a non-alcoholic dish of Zuppa Inglese for us kids and any adults who didn’t want to imbibe. To do so, she prepared a 2nd dish only this time she substituted grenadine for the spirits. Feel free to use some other flavoring, or nothing at all, to create an alcohol-free dessert for your table.

Up to this point, we’ve prepared the zuppa in a square baking dish. You can easily create a trifle, though depending on the size of the trifle dish, you may need to make a large batch (36 yolks) of custard. Just as was done in the baking dish, alternate layers of custard and “enhanced” lady fingers until near the top of the dish. Be sure to top-off the dish with a coating of custard. If you wish, you may encircle the stack with “treated” lady fingers that are standing on end, side by side, and pressed up against the trifle dish wall. And if you didn’t make enough custard or just want something a little different, you can alternate layers with one or 2 of whipping cream in place of the pudding. In fact, using whipping cream for the top-off will allow you to fill in any low spots that may result when the trifle settles. (Tip: Add a tbsp of (non-fat) powdered milk to the heavy cream as it is being whipped. The resulting whipped cream will have additional “staying power.”)

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Sorry, Mom!

Mom would be disappointed if she found out that I posted today’s recipe AFTER Christmas! Zuppa Inglese, after all, was her Christmas Dinner dessert. Well, in my defense, I had intended to publish it last week, in plenty of time for the holiday. Unfortunately, my small kitchen appliances had other plans and a couple of them balked at the slightest of tasks. (One is now gone and I repaired the other. A Christmas miracle, to be sure!) My to-do list was thrown upside-down and, unfortunately, today’s post “took the hit.” Rest assured. Zuppa Inglese is every bit as tasty on New Year’s Day or “Little Christmas,” as it is on December 25th.

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Zuppa Inglese

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Baccalà alla Marchigiana

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Wind drying and salting are among the oldest methods of preserving food known to Man. One application of these techniques, dried and salted cod, has been around for hundreds of years and is common throughout much of Europe. In Italy, it is called baccalà; in Portugal, bacalhau; and  you may have seen it in Spanish markets as bacalao. No matter what name is used, if you’ve ever seen it in its dried state, you certainly won’t forget it. Off-white and heavily salted, the preserved fish is sold in pieces about 18 inches long, 4 to 8 inches wide, as much as a half-inch thick, and stiff as a board. Well, except this last piece I bought, which required refrigeration and was actually soft, relatively speaking. (Who knew?) Dried stiff or soft-ish, the cod must be rinsed, again and again, before it can be cooked. (See Notes below.) Once re-hydrated and “de-salted”, you can treat it like you would any fresh fish.

Last week, I spoke of my family’s tradition of serving a seafood feast on Christmas Eve, made possible by Dad’s employment at the restaurant, and mentioned that baccalà was often one of the famed 7 Fishes in many Italian homes. Well, not in our home, much to my dismay. Whether it was because Mom or Dad didn’t like it, or, Mom wasn’t a fan of the prep work, baccalà was a dish served only in Zia’s home. Good thing, too, because although it wasn’t as convenient as having it served at my own dinner table, Zia and her Mother-in-law, Nonna, were masters of its preparation. As a result, as Zia recalls, I was forever trying to snag whatever leftovers I could from their meal. Although both women used the same ingredients, Nonna preferred to bake her baccalà, while Zia cooked hers atop the stove.  As one who “sampled” both preparations, I can attest that each method produced a delicious dish. As for our recipe today, Zia and I combined both methods, partially cooking the dish atop the stove before finishing it off in the oven. Although I wanted to name the dish Baccalà alla Zia, my ever-so-modest Aunt would have none of it. So, to honor both her and Nonna, the recipe is called Baccalà alla Marchigiana — but you and I know its real name.

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Baccalà alla Marchigiana Recipe

Ingredients

  • 3 to 4 medium-sized potatoes, peeled and quartered
  • olive oil
  • salt & pepper, to taste
  • 3 tbsp olive oil
  • 1 medium onion, chopped
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 2 tsp marjoram
  • 3 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
  • 1 large can (28 oz) tomatoes (whole or diced)
  • 1 lb baccalà, soaked, and cut into 3 inch chunks (See Notes below)
  • salt & pepper, to taste

Directions

  1. Pre-heat oven to 400˚.
  2. Season potatoes with salt & pepper, toss with a splash of olive oil, and roast on a baking sheet for 20 minutes at 400˚.
  3. Meanwhile, in a large frying pan, heat olive oil over med-high heat. Add the onion and sauté until translucent, about 5 minutes
  4. Add garlic & parsley and continue to sauté for another minute.
  5. Add tomatoes & marjoram, bring to boil, reduce to simmer, and cook, uncovered,  for 30 minutes. If sauce is “tight”, meaning too dry, add water.
  6. Add roasted potatoes and continue simmering for another 20 minutes. Add water if necessary.
  7. Add baccalà to the tomato sauce and place pan into the 400˚ oven. Bake for 20 minutes. Taste before seasoning with salt & pepper, if necessary.
  8. Serve immediately.

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Variations

Whereas baccalà is cod that has been salted and dried, stoccafisso is cod that has been dried but not salted. Once properly prepared, both forms can be cooked in a variety of ways. The portions can be baked in a sauce as above, pan-fried, baked, grilled, or poached and served in a salad. Recently, I watched a re-broadcast of Molto Mario as he used baccalà to make “fish balls,” which he deep-fried. In other words, the only thing limiting how baccalà might be prepared is your own imagination. And for those who believe that fresh or frozen cod is just as good as baccalà, I caution against mouthing such heresy in the presence of Zia’s Youngest Son. A word to the wise is sufficient.

Notes

Baccalà must be thoroughly rinsed and soaked before you can cook it. If it is salted and fully dried (pic on left), it will take 2 days to get it re-hydrated and de-salted  (pic on right). This is readily  accomplished by placing it in a large baking  dish filled with cold water and changing the water occasionally over the course of the 2 days. I find it helps to let the water run gently into the dish a few times, as well. If, as was the case with my most recent purchase, your baccalà is not fully dried but refrigerated, you may be able to get away with a 1 day soak. You will know when the fish is ready by its appearance, feel, and, yes, its smell. Be careful, however, not to let it soak for too long or to run the water too forcefully. The fish could lose its firm texture and might even disintegrate.

No post about baccalà would be complete without mention of its “aroma.”  Certainly not as strong as stoccafisso, when first you begin to soak the cod, you will notice it that it smells like, well, dried fish. The smell quickly dissipates in the rinse water and soon its scent compares favorably with any other fish product. Stoccafisso, however, is not so easily rendered scentless and should only be attempted outdoors or in a well-ventilated room. To illustrate my point …

I was about 5 or 6 years old and shared a bedroom with my brother, who was about 10 or 11 years old at the time. Our bedroom, as well as the bedroom of my cousins’ directly above ours, was separated from the rest of the house by a stairwell that ran from the 2nd floor to the basement. One morning, Mom entered our bedroom in a cleaning frenzy, convinced that my brother or I had done, or left, something disgusting in the room. Angels that we were and despite our claims of Godliness, a foul stench had reached her kitchen, which was located on the other side of the stairwell, and our room declared a crime scene — ground zero, in today’s parlance. Lucky for the two of us, Mom found nothing untoward in our room and now, more determined than ever, she set out to find the source of the stench. It wasn’t long before her nose led her to the basement where, under the stairs, she found Grandpa’s stoccafisso, bathing innocently in a tub of water. Well, revenge is a dish best served cold, so Mom patiently bided her time. It wasn’t long before Grandpa left the house, as he did every morning like clockwork. Seizing the opportunity, Mom placed the tub of stoccafisso under his bed and closed his bedroom door as she left. Even Grandpa’s Old Spice, the scent of which permeated that room, proved to be no match for stoccafisso, as Grandpa learned when he opened that door a few hours later. To be sure, Mom and her Father “discussed” the matter but, being so young, I wasn’t privy to that conversation. I do know, however, that Grandpa never soaked stoccafisso under those stairs again.

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Bartolini Sausage

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“Laws are like sausages,” wrote Bismarck. “It’s better not to see them being made.” Well, I know little of the backroom dealings that are integral to our legislative process but today I intend to pull back the veil on sausage making, at least my family’s sausage making, that is. And why today? Because Zia taught me how to make sausage and today is her 89th birthday!!!

Allora, buon compleanno, Cara Zia! Cent’ anni e tanti baci!

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You'll have no beef with this burger!

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For as long as I can remember, the Bartolini Girls made sausage and served them at any meal. They’d cut up a few, add some beaten eggs, and we had a frittata for breakfast. As kids, many is the time we had sausages instead of hot dogs for lunch while, for supper, the sausages were either served alone, roasted with veggies & potatoes, or cooked in a tomato sauce and served with pasta instead of meatballs. Truth be told, we were much more likely to have sausage than we were to have meat balls.  Even after I moved away, Mom always made sure I had at least one container of frozen sausage patties to enjoy once I got home. And to this very day, whenever I make sausage, that first whiff of the seasoned ground pork is a trip on the Wayback Machine to my youth, watching Mom at work. Sure, there are many kinds of sausage available at the local groceries and butchers, not to mention the ethnic markets, but not a one reminds me of home. That’s reason enough for me to keep making these.

Now, for you sausage novices, there is at least 1 reason for Bismarck’s comment. You see, pork sausage requires a certain amount of fat, with some recipes calling for as much as 25% fat content. This recipe doesn’t come near that percentage but fat content is an issue. If you buy a cut of meat that’s too lean, like the pork loin I purchased early in my sausage making career, you will be very disappointed with the result. Look for a good, not too lean, pork butt roast when you make sausage. Even then, you may find that you need to add pork fat to the ground meat, although it wasn’t always this way. Years ago, pork  products had a much higher fat content and one rarely, if ever, needed to add more fat to the mix. Then, without warning to our fellow sausage makers, hog breeders began to develop a leaner, healthier product and the “Other White Meat” campaign was born. Unfortunately, getting rid of the fat got rid of a good deal of flavor, so much so that Mom and Zia quit making sausage altogether! I eventually convinced Zia to try making it again so that I could learn the recipe and, at first, I bought some extra pork belly fat to compensate for today’s leaner pork. It worked, I learned the recipe, and all was well — or should have been. One fateful day, I attempted to make sausage on my own and over-compensated with the fat. What a greasy mess! After that, I quit using additional fat and switched to pancetta. For a 4 lb. pork butt, I use about a half-pound of pancetta. Not only does it add some much-needed fat without going overboard, it brings a nice flavor to our sausage, as well. Most importantly, Zia approved the addition. In fact, the picture to the left was taken at her home and that’s pancetta on top of the pork. (See Notes below for a tip on grinding the meat.)

When you look over our recipe, you’ll quickly notice that there is a surprising lack of spices used but, because it’s so simple, it can easily be modified to suit your tastes. Mom didn’t like fennel seed in her sausage but I don’t think she’d mind if you added some to yours. She, also, didn’t like her sausage spicy but I’m sure she’d look the other way if you wanted to add some red pepper flakes or a couple shakes of cayenne pepper. And I bet Zia would find it interesting if you were to, say, add a little ground sage or marjoram to the ground meat. As for me, I’m a garlic lover and have been known to add a couple of cloves of minced garlic, in addition to the garlic-flavored wine. And if none of those suggestions hit their mark, check out Greg’s recipe at the Rufus Guide. Just remember that no matter what spices you use and how much, be sure to start with less than you think necessary and cook a small amount of pork for a taste test. You can always add more if need be.

Now, one more thing probably should be mentioned. Some may be wondering where the sausages are, being this is a posting about sausage making. Well, you can blame me for that.  As I mentioned, Mom always sent me home with a container of sausage patties after I visited and I grew to prefer them. Cooked on the grill, they are a great alternative to hamburgers. Not only that, but a patty or 2 can be easily crumbled for addition to a tomato sauce, meatloaf, pizza, or some other dish. Well, during one of our Sausage Days, I convinced Zia to just make patties that afternoon and we haven’t made a sausage since. If you’re a sausage person, however, feel free to stuff those casings!

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Bartolini Sausage Recipe

Ingredients

  • 4 lbs pork butt, coarsely ground
  • 1/2 lbs. pancetta, coarsely ground
  • 6 oz dry white wine
  • 3 cloves garlic, smashed
  • 1 1/2 tbsp salt, more or less to taste
  • 2 tsp ground black pepper, more or less to taste

Directions

  1. At least 2 hours before beginning, place garlic and wine into a glass and set aside.
  2. Once garlic and wine have “married,” combine ground meats and spread in an even layer, about 2 inches thick, on a work surface.
  3. Season the meat with salt and pepper. Use your fingertips to create dimples in the meat’s surface.
  4. Strain the garlic from the wine and discard. Sprinkle the now flavored wine evenly across the meat. Begin mixing the meat until the seasoning and wine are evenly distributed. Recreate the meat layer and let rest for at least 30 minutes so that the flavors meld. (Caution should be taken if you are doing this on a hot Summer’s day or in a very warm room.)
  5. Once rested, make a mini-patty and cook it in a small frying pan. After tasting, you may need to adjust your seasoning. If you do add seasoning, let it rest 15 minutes before tasting again.
  6. Once the sausage meat has passed your taste tests, begin making patties. Place them in single layers on baking sheets and into the freezer. Once frozen, you can bag them or place them into containers until needed.

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Notes

Our preference is to grind the pork using the plate with the largest holes. This will create a coarse grind. When grinding meat for ravioli or cappelletti, use a smaller holed plate for a finer grind. No matter what size the end-result, you’ll find that your grinder, whether machine run or hand-cranked, will perform better and produce a more consistent result if the meat is cut into strips and partly frozen before you begin. Cut the pork butt into strips, layer them on baking sheets, and place them into the freezer for 30 to 45 minutes. Do not let them freeze solid or you will have to thaw them somewhat before grinding.

In a way, this recipe represents a milestone in the long and storied history of Bartolini sausage making. Never before were the wine, salt, and pepper measured so that they could be recorded in a recipe. It was always, “Grab some salt. Grab a little pepper. Put some wine in a glass. No, that’s too much. … ” To write this recipe, Zia worked her magic using wine and seasoning that I had pre-measured and placed in containers on her counter. When a mini-sausage patty passed her palate’s inspection, I simply measured the salt, pepper, and wine that remained. Still, as I cautioned earlier, start out with less spice than you think you’ll need. Be especially careful with the salt if you add pancetta to the ground pork, for its salt content can vary.

Just One Thing More

You didn’t think I would end this post without at least 1 picture of sausages, did you? This one is from the Bartolini Sausage Archives.

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