Tag Archives: family recipes

Mom’s City Chicken and Grandpa’s Water Works

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Funny how this Summer has worked out. At its start, I’d planned to continue making cheese with you, sharing some seasonal recipes, posting more ice cream flavors, and sharing photos of “my girls” and their companions in the garden. Suddenly, Labor Day is here and I’ve run out of time. We’ve still not made Italian mozzarella, I’ve a couple of tomato recipes to share, and there’s still a custard-based peach ice cream to make. Oh! Mustn’t forget the cobbler. Fall will just start late this year. To further complicate my schedule, today’s post was reserved for a special pasta celebrating the US Open Tennis Championship. That was before I saw a package of veal at the market. That changed everything.

Last year, Linda posted a recipe for City Chicken on her wonderful blog, Savoring Every Bite.  At the time, I commented that I’d not thought about City Chicken in years. Mom prepared a version but it’s been some 35 years since I last tasted her City Chicken. Had Linda not shared her recipe, who knows when I would have remembered Mom’s? Anyway, after Linda’s reminder, I decided to put City Chicken on the schedule — last Summer! Well, as you know, it never made it but I had every intention of sharing Mom’s recipe this Summer — and then it again got lost. Last week, however, I saw veal cubes at the market and immediately thought of City Chicken. Since it would make a great dish for the coming holiday weekend, Mom’s City Chicken was suddenly on the schedule. Its addition pushed my special tennis pasta back a week and, well, Fall’s arrival, at least on this blog, has been delayed yet another week. By the way, don’t be surprised if Thanksgiving and Christmas are celebrated in one post this year. Hopefully, I’ll then be able to start the New Year sometime in January.

((cue the harp))

Throughout my childhood, Mom served us City Chicken almost exclusively on Wednesday or Sunday, when Dad was home to work the grill. Although I’ve already mentioned The Barbecue, I’ve not talked much of the rest of our yard. You see, the two-flat was built on a vast expanse of land, in the very center of which was the beautiful, privately owned, Lake Bartolini (pictured below, click to enlarge). While we kids frolicked, Dad was likely at The Barbecue, grilling that night’s meal, City Chicken being a family favorite. In the years following the barbecue’s construction in 1959, Grandpa would build a garage with an enclosed patio, attach a grape arbor, and plant his tomatoes on the lawn just beyond The Lake, after the first of what would become yearly land-grabs. (His tomatoes needed more land, always more land.) When The Lake was lost, the much larger and deeper Bartolini Sea, was erected and filled. As we would all come to learn, ripening beefsteak tomatoes can somehow attract errant pool toys, especially whenever Grandpa strolled through the yard. When the Sea gave way to what must have been near tectonic forces, it was replaced by the even larger and more formidable Bartolini Ocean, the last of the series.

OK, that is the official account of the Crystal Blue Waters of the Bartolini, the version you’ll see on the historical markers that dot the area. Here, for the first time anywhere, is the real story.

Grandpa wanted a garden, desperately, and even though Lake Bartolini stood in his way, he would never do anything to disappoint his adoring Grandchildren. No, not Grandpa. His was a problem that would have befuddled Solomon. You can well imagine, therefore, Grandpa’s relief the morning we kids awoke to find Lake Bartolini had been completely drained. Upon close examination, we saw that one side of  The Lake was inexplicably peppered with holes, while the most attentive among us claimed to have overheard our Parents whispering something about buckshot. Grandpa’s subsequent claim that one of us kids was to blame fell on deaf ears. Our Parents, calmly and coolly, bought and built the Bartolini Sea. With walls made of corrugated steel, the Sea glistened just to the West of the where the original Lake once stood. Grandpa got his garden and we kids had a new, buckshot-proof, Sea in which to swim. All went well until that thing about tomatoes attracting pool toys was discovered, much to Grandpa’s great displeasure.

Not but a couple of years after it’s installation, again we awoke to find that our gorgeous swimming hole, the Bartolini Sea, was but a mere puddle. On one side of the Sea, in the corrugated steel, was a gash of not quite a foot long. Bent inward, the steel pierced the Sea’s lining and flooded the yard. Depending upon which Parent asked, Grandpa said that my Youngest Cousin or I did it with the lawn mower. In our defense, I will merely point out that an old push mower was used to maintain the lawns. Even if we teamed up, together pushing that relic and with a 100 foot running start, never could we two young boys get up enough steam to create so much as a dent, let alone pierce, that steel siding. Our wise Parents, though they never determined “the how”, quickly surmised “the who” and soon thereafter we were erecting the bigger, better, and even sturdier Bartolini Ocean. It remained in our yard until it died of natural causes, some years later. Grandpa, too, remained in his garden, ensuring both he and his tomatoes never went thirsty, for years to come.  Though this marks the end of Grandpa’s Water Works, this is hardly the end of his story. Frankly, I’m just getting started.

Now, back to the Present. Mom’s City Chicken couldn’t be any simpler to prepare. Equally sized cubes of veal, beef, and pork are marinated, skewered, wrapped with a rasher of bacon, and grilled. It really is that easy. I don’t give any amounts in the recipe to follow because so much will depend upon how many skewers are to be prepared. You can add, or subtract, spices to the marinade. Just be sure to make enough so that some can be reserved and later brushed on the skewers as they come off the grill. (Something I forgot to do for the photos.) Although the FDA no longer requires pork to be cooked well-done, many still prefer it cooked more than beef or veal. To accomplish this, I always place 3 pieces of meat on each skewer, pork always being the last/top one. As you’ll see in the recipe to follow, this will allow you to keep the pork closest to the fire, assuring it is cooked more than the other meats.

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Mom’s City Chicken Recipe

Ingredients

  • Beef, cut into approx. 1½ inch cubes
  • Veal, cut into approx. 1½ inch cubes
  • Pork, cut into approx. 1½ inch cubes
  • Bacon, 1 rasher for every skewer
  • marinade

Marinade

  • juice and zest of one lemon
  • rosemary, chopped
  • garlic, minced or grated
  • Italian seasoning
  • olive oil
  • salt & pepper

Directions

  1. Add all the marinade ingredients to a bowl, whisk to combine, and set aside, reserving  a ¼ cup for later use. Place the meats into the bowl, mix until coated, and refrigerate for at least one hour or overnight
  2. Soak wooden skewers overnight. (This will prevent their burning during grilling.)
  3. When ready, light the grill.
  4. Using one thick skewer or 2 thin for each city chicken, pierce one end of a bacon rasher, followed by one piece of each type of meat. Be sure that the top piece of meat for each skewer is pork. After the pork is in place, wrap the meats with the bacon and secure its remaining end by piercing it with the skewer(s) tip(s).
  5. Once finished and the grill is hot, shut down part of the grill to facilitate  indirect grilling. Use a rag dipped in oil to grease the grill plate.
  6. Place the skewered meat on the grill with the pork closest to the fire/heat.
  7. Turn the meat after a few minutes, more or less depending upon the grill’s heat. The object is to cook the skewered meat without torching the bacon. The pork, being closest to the fire, will cook faster.
  8. With the meat still very rare, move the skewers directly over the fire/heat. Now the object is to crisp the bacon and to finish cooking the skewered meats. Turn the skewers occasionally to ensure even cooking.
  9. When grilled to your satisfaction, remove to a  platter, brush with reserved marinade, and serve.

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Variations

Although Mom used all 3 meats, you needn’t if you prefer otherwise.  Use whatever meat(s) you like. The same is true for the bacon. I’m sure turkey bacon could be easily substituted.

Mom used 1 short, thick skewer for each of her City Chickens, skewers she got from her butcher. Try as I might, I’ve been unable to find them. Instead, I use 2 of the more readily available long, thin bamboo skewers. Before soaking, I trim off about 4 inches from each, making it much easier to grill them, especially if you’ve a small grill surface.

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It’s déjà vu all over again …

Although some have already reached the end of tomato season, many of us are still harvesting the red beauties. One of my first posts featured Mom’s Tomato Antipasti that she made with Grandpa’s tomatoes. This time of year, his vines produced enough fruit to keep both families well-supplied and rarely was an evening meal prepared without tomatoes playing a role. Those who missed it the first time around  can find my post for Mom’s Tomato Antipasti by clicking HERE.

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By any other name …

“Don Juan”

This tour of roses began on one side of my yard with “Opening Night”, a red hybrid tea rose, and ends on the opposite side of my yard with “Don Juan”, a red hybrid tea rose. (Who better to indulge my girls?)

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The Bartolini Girls’ Beet Salad

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Everyone has one — or maybe two or three. A go-to recipe used when an occasion calls for you to “bring a dish.” Today’s recipe is one that Mom and my Zia often used to fulfill their potluck obligation. To be honest, I’ve no idea who first “discovered” this recipe. I remember Mom serving it for dinner during my childhood and Zia brings it to dinners to this very day. A colorful dish, this is much lighter than potato salad and is sure to be a hit among beet lovers. Even so, not all beet lovers are fans of mayonnaise. Should that be true for you, I hope you’ll find this classic video more to your liking.

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When you look over the recipe, you’ll notice that the ingredients are listed without accompanying amounts. Much depends upon the number of servings required and the size of the serving dish. When all is said and done, you’ll need to create a layer of beets that is about one inch deep. Next, the amount of chopped onion depends upon how just how strong that onion is. Be sure to taste it before adding it to the salad. If it is too strong, rinse it briefly under cold running water and pat it dry using paper towels before proceeding. With that settled, you can add as much or as little mayonnaise as you prefer, and the same can be said for the chopped, hard-boiled eggs. Remember, the beets are the star of the dish; everything else is meant to compliment rather than overpower.

Oh! Before you toss those beet greens away, you may wish to checkout my blogging friend David’s recipe for creamed beet greens over on his blog, the Gastronomic Gardener.

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The Bartolini Girls’ Beet Salad Recipe

Ingredients

  • Raw beets, washed with greens trimmed
  • Diced onion
  • Mayonnaise
  • Eggs, hard-boiled and chopped
  • Salt & pepper, to taste

Directions

  1. To Prepare the Beets
    1. Pre-heat oven to 400˚ F (205˚ C)
    2. Place the beets in a roasting pan or on a baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil, season with salt, and place in the middle of the oven. Roast for 30 – 40 minutes, depending upon the size of the beets. The beets are fully roasted when a knife’s blade meets little resistance when the largest beet is pierced. Set aside to cool.
    3. Once cool enough to handle, use a paring knife to trim the beets’ tops and bottoms. Much of the skin of each bulb should slip off easily. Use a paring knife to remove the rest.
    4. Use a knife, food processor, or mandoline to dice, shred, or slice the beets. Set aside.
  2. To Assemble the Salad
    1. Place beets in a serving dish. You’ll want to create layer of about an inch deep. Season lightly with salt.
    2. Sprinkle a couple of tablespoons of diced onion on top of the beets. Use more or less depending upon the onion’s strength.
    3. Add enough mayonnaise to completely cover the ingredients.
    4. Use the chopped, hard-boiled eggs to top off the salad.
    5. Season with salt, pepper, and sweet paprika.
  3. Chill fully before serving.

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Variations

Although I’ve not tried to prepare them this way, I imagine one could steam the beets instead of roasting them. And if you’re in a crunch for time, you can always substitute canned beets, although I prefer the additional flavor that roasted beets bring to the dish.

Notes

To beginner cooks: mayonnaise and hot temperatures do not mix. Serious illness can result if mayonnaise is not kept properly chilled. When serving this salad or any mayonnaise-based dish on a warm day, be sure to keep it covered and iced until the last minute before serving and then nestle the serving dish in another slightly larger one filled with ice. It must be kept chilled and when in doubt, throw it out.

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One Long Overdue Acknowledgement

Way back in May, I was fortunate to win a give-away over at Zesty Bean Dog’s wonderful blog. My original plan was to feature my prize, an OXO salad dressing shaker, with my next post featuring a salad. Well, in retrospect and given how few salad recipes I post, I should have come up with a better plan. And even though a salad shaker isn’t used in the preparation of today’s recipe, I thought it was about the closest I’d come to posting a salad recipe for at least a few weeks. ZBD, I hope you do not feel that I don’t appreciate or do not use your gift. It has remained “in service” pretty much from Day One and is one of those few kitchen items that goes from fridge to dishwasher and back again, without ever seeing the inside of a cupboard. So, thanks again, ZBD, for a great kitchen accessory.

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By any other name …

“Black Baccara”

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Straw and Hay Pasta

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Paglia e FienoToday’s recipe is another in a series celebrating the Spring harvest. Thus far, we’ve prepared dishes that included artichokes, asparagus, and ramps. Today, I’m going to share a recipe that comes from Lazio, Rome’s district, and that features freshly shelled peas and prosciutto in a cheese-flavored cream sauce. And if that hasn’t grabbed your attention, the pasta’s two colors surely will. This dish, you see, is named after the pasta used to make it, but calling it “Giallo e Verde”, “Yellow & Green”, would be so not Italian. As I’ve mentioned in the past, when it comes to naming pasta, the Italians have always let their imaginations run wild — and this pasta is no different. Here, it’s not yellow pasta but straw, paglia, while the green pasta is hay, fieno. Ready in minutes, Paglia e Fieno is another great tasting pasta to add to your arsenal, whether served as a primo piatto or main course.

This was a favorite of both families in the old two-flat every Spring. Unlike today, frozen foods were just beginning to appear in stores, so, making this dish meant shelling peas. I can remember helping Mom shell them —  until I grew up a little and the novelty wore off. After that, I made myself scarce when the metal colander and bag of peas appeared. Still, even once Bird’s Eye became a household name, fresh peas continued to be used to make this dish each Spring. As good as frozen peas may be, you just cannot beat the taste of fresh and if there’s one thing to be said about the best of Italian cooking, it’s that it relies upon the freshest of ingredients. To that end, my Zia and I continue to enjoy this dish every Spring and it wouldn’t be Easter at her youngest Son’s home if Paglia e Fieno isn’t served.

As mentioned earlier, this dish’s name comes from the coloring of the pasta. Green-colored noodles can be found in many groceries, some even packaged with yellow and bearing the name of  Straw & Hay. You certainly needn’t buy it if you don’t want to. Just using Mom’s pasta dough recipe as-is, or a fraction thereof, will give you the straw. To make hay — whether or not the Sun shines — add a couple of tablespoons of cooked, chopped spinach to the eggs before adding them to the flour when you make the dough. (Mom & Zia used spinach baby food to make pasta verde but spinach baby food is now only sold when combined with peas or beans. The color, as a result, isn’t as deep.) Moving away from the pasta, the thickness of the prosciutto to be used is totally up to you. For the dish pictured, I was lucky enough to be at my Greek market just as the deli was putting out a package of prosciutto end slices. At about ⅛ inch thick, these were easily chopped and, for my taste, stood up to the cream sauce very well. You can ask your deli to cut the prosciutto thicker or, if you prefer to use it thinly sliced, shred it before adding it to the pan.  Lastly, be sure to set aside some pasta water. The cream sauce can “seize up”, meaning get too dry, particularly if you’re timing is off and it is left waiting for the pasta to finish cooking. Adding a splash of pasta water can revive it, as well as later, should it seize up again once the cheese is added.

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Paglia e Fieno

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Paglia e Fieno Recipe

Ingredients

  • ½ lb (225g) yellow fettuccine (linguine, tagliatelle, or pappardelle may be substituted)
  • ½ lb (225g) green-colored pasta of the same type as the yellow pasta
  • 3 tbsp (45ml) butter
  • 1 tbsp (15ml) olive oil
  • 1 small onion, chopped fine
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 cup (236ml) heavy cream
  • 1 cup (140g) fresh peas
  • 4 to 6 oz (110 to 170g) prosciutto
  • ½ cup (60g) Pecorino Romano cheese, grated — more for serving
  • salt and pepper, to taste
  • fresh parsley, chopped — for garnish

Directions

  1. Bring a large pot of water to the boil for cooking the fettuccine. Time it so that the pasta is just shy of al dente about the time that the peas are cooked to your liking. Reserve 1 cup of the pasta water.
  2. Heat oil and butter in a large, deep frying pan over med-high heat. Add onion and sauté until translucent, about 5 to 8 minutes. Add garlic and continue to cook for another minute.
  3. Add heavy cream and simmer a few minutes until slightly reduced.
  4. Add the prosciutto and peas, stirring till well-combined.  If sauce becomes too thick, add a little pasta water to thin it.
  5. When pasta is just shy of al dente and peas are sufficiently cooked, taste to check seasoning and add the cooked pasta to the frying pan. Stir well. If necessary, add some pasta water to thin the sauce.
  6. Remove from heat, add grated cheese, mix thoroughly, and move to serving platter.
  7. Serve immediately, garnished with grated cheese, parsley, and cracked pepper.
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Variations

This dish is just as good when prepared with pancetta, bacon, or ham in place of the prosciutto. Because they’re raw, though, be sure to saute the pancetta or bacon with the onions before adding the cream and peas. And if someone at your table doesn’t like peas, other vegetables can be substituted. Asparagus is commonly used, as are sliced crimini mushrooms. No matter what you choose to add, be sure it’s fresh and you cannot go wrong.

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Fold, Cut, Unfurl Fettuccine Verde

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Notes

You probably noticed that salt wasn’t added to the recipe until the end. That’s because some of the ingredients can be pretty salty in their own right. The salt content of the prosciutto — or it’s substitutes of pancetta, bacon, and ham — can vary greatly. The cheese and amount of pasta water you use can, also, add a fair amount of salt to the final dish. So, although I’ll season the dish liberally with pepper throughout its cooking, I’ll only use salt minimally, if at all, until I’ve tasted the dish at the very end. Even then, I may not add any. Again, let your own palate be your guide.

Spinach is not the only ingredient used to color pasta. I’ve used tomato paste to make pasta rosso (red), and I’m aware that beet juice can be used to make it purple, pasta viola, while squash is used to give pasta an orange hue, pasta arancione. And no discussion of pasta coloring would be complete without mentioning pasta nera which gets its black color from the ink of squid (calamari) or cuttlefish (seppia). If you find that a different color palette tickles your palate, you may wish to check out my recipe for Tricolor Risotto, which uses pesto and tomato paste to create a risotto platter that bears the colors of the Italian flag.

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By any other name …

“Opening Night”

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Artichokes Two Ways

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Carciofi Due Modi

As I’ve mentioned to a few of you, I’ve had a devil of a time finding “baby” artichokes here in Chicago. Sure, I can get the goliaths year-round and, about this time of the year, the stores have some that are at about half that size. The truly small artichokes, however, the ones with no choke, have been impossible to find and it’s not for lack of trying. I routinely shop at 4 different groceries, 2 ethnic markets, and 2 additional fruit/vegetable markets. Whether I’m searching too late/early in the season or I’m living in a heretofore unknown baby artichoke-free zone, it’s been well over 10 years since the green beauties have graced my table — until now.

Recently, my vegetarian friend, Cynthia, and I decided to head West to the hinterlands. We’d both heard tales of an Italian market “out there” but never ventured to find out for ourselves. Not much more than a half-hour later, we were there and what a store! First off, the place was huge, easily the largest Italian market that I’ve ever seen. They had everything from antipasti to zuppe, and very often several choices for everything in between.  The best surprise, though, was found in the produce department.

There, at the end of one of the aisles, was not 1 but 2 displays of artichokes and, much to my delight, one of them was nothing but small artichokes. To say I was happy is a gross understatement.  So, with Cynthia perusing the rest of the fruits and vegetables, I got to work selecting only the smallest of the small artichokes. I didn’t care how long it took but I was going to find them. About 10 minutes later, I had amassed some 5 pounds of the edible thistles, all about the size of a goose egg. We soon finished our shopping and snacked on mini-conolli as we drove back to civilization. The next morning, I couldn’t wait to get started preparing my find.

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Acid Washed

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Preparing Baby Artichokes

Just like when preparing the goliaths, use a sharp knife to chop off the top of each artichoke. I usually chop just above the tips of the largest outer leaves. Next, peel off a couple of layers of the tough, outermost leaves, revealing the vegetable’s soft inner heart. Using a paring knife, peel the base and stalk of each artichoke and, depending on the size, cut it in half or quarters. Being so small, there is no choke to remove and be sure to save as much of the stem as possible. When finished with each, immediately rub the sections with a halved lemon and place in acidulated water. (Take a large bowl of cold water and add to it the juice of 2 lemons, as well as the lemons themselves.) This “bath” will prevent the vegetable from discoloring due to oxidation.  Continue until all the artichokes have been cleaned and trimmed.

Next bring a large pot of salted water to boil, add all the trimmed artichokes, and, when the water returns to the boil, leave them to blanch for about 3 minutes. Drain them and immediately place the blanched sections into a bowl of ice water to halt the cooking process. Once chilled, removed them from the water, pat them dry, and they are now ready for use. In my case, having bought 5 pounds of the green gems, that meant the freezer for most of them. Small amounts, destined for pasta or pizza, were individually bagged, as were larger quantities which would be prepared as side dishes in the near future. Once labelled, the bags were placed in the freezer.

So, with a treasure of cleaned and trimmed baby artichokes stashed away, what are you going to do with them? Well — and this is where the due modi come into play — I’ve got 2 of Mom’s recipes to share today.

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Fry Babies

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Mom’s Deep Fried Artichokes

Mom didn’t prepare baby artichokes like this very often but, when she did, they certainly didn’t linger long on the serving platter. I think you’ll find the same will hold true today, no matter how you serve them: as a side, an appetizer, or snack on game day. And if you’re working with previously trimmed and blanched artichokes, they’re a snap to prepare.

Whether using freshly blanched or just thawed, pat the artichokes dry as best you can. Use standard breading methods to coat the artichokes. Since I prefer a thin coating on these, I do not use bread crumbs. Instead, I’ll coat the artichoke pieces in seasoned flour (paprika & onion powder) first before dipping them in an egg wash that’s been seasoned with salt & pepper. Then it’s back into flour again before deep frying in vegetable oil that’s been heated from 350˚ to 360˚ F. Since the baby artichokes were previously blanched, they won’t need to cook for a long time. When the coating is golden brown, they’re done. Remove them to drain on paper towels, season with salt, and serve. Although fine just as they are, I’ll sometimes serve them with lemon wedges and/or a simple aioli of mayonnaise, lemon juice, and a little grated garlic. If possible, prepare the aioli a few hours before serving to give the flavors a chance to blend.

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Mom’s Sautéed Artichokes

Mom most often prepared these artichokes as she did many vegetables. (See my Vegetables/Verdura posting.) If using fresh artichokes, trim and blanch as indicated above. If cleaned but frozen, allow to defrost before use. In a frying pan over medium heat, add a couple tbsp of olive oil. Once heated, add some chopped garlic, wait a minute, and then add the artichokes. Wait another 2 minutes and then add a little tomato paste or chopped tomato, “For color,” as Mom would say. Add a splash of dry white wine, season with salt & pepper, and continue to sauté until the wine is all but gone and the artichokes are cooked to your liking. Serve immediately, garnished with fresh parsley.

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Notes

This is all well and good, so long as you can get baby artichokes. But what if you can’t? Both of these dishes can be prepared with artichokes of any size.  Just be aware that larger-sized artichokes have developed an inedible “choke.” It’s a fibrous mass found at the base of the bulb and it must be removed. Once you’ve trimmed and halved an artichoke, use a paring knife or teaspoon to scoop out the fibrous mass. Once the choke has been removed and depending upon how large the artichoke is, you may need to cut each half into halves or thirds before proceeding. As you may have guessed, because of their size, these artichoke pieces should be blanched a few minutes longer than the “babies” were and will require longer cooking times, too. Personally, I prefer to stuff and roast the larger artichokes, leaving the sautéing and deep frying for the more tender babies.

Coming Attractions

Today I shared Mom’s favorite recipes for preparing baby artichokes. Next week I’ll share my Pasta Primavera recipe that features baby artichokes, of course, as well as a couple of other Springtime treats.

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Dad and his Dandelions

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Today’s recipe was a recurring star of quite a few springtime dinners at the old two-flat. There’s nothing particularly special about the salad, once you get past the idea that you’re dining on dandelions. No, for my generation of Bartolini, it’s not so much the recipe as the circumstances surrounding it that we recall somewhat fondly. This is especially true for Sis and I. You see, whereas most people see crocus and daffodils in bloom and think “Spring!”, a Bartolini sees these very same things and thinks, “Cicoria!” Well, maybe not so much now anymore but certainly back in the day.

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Dad’s Dandelion Salad

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When the lawns started to green each Spring, the adults in the old two-flat became wild chicory and dandelion pickers. We kids, depending upon our age, also took part.  When very young, Mom & Zia would take us to some parkland where we’d play as they “harvested” the tender,  young dandelions growing about. A couple of years would pass and we would be considered old enough to join in on the fun. We were each given our own butter knife, shown how to cut the greens out of the ground, and taught to leave the area if “traces” of dog were spotted.  So, off we proudly went, with knife in one hand and an Easter basket in the other. That’s right. Our Easter baskets were re-purposed each Spring and used to carry the harvest.

Now, Dad loved his cicoria & dandelions and Sis & I often went with him, spending Sunday mornings after Mass picking dandelions. We loved every minute of it — until we were around 8 or 9 years of age. It was about that age when we learned that not all kids spent Sunday mornings picking dandelions. In fact, we were the only ones to do so. Peer pressure being what it was, we began to balk at the idea of spending Sunday mornings picking weeds. Did that stop Dad? Not in the slightest, for Dad’s love of dandelions knew little of, nor cared about, peer pressure. If anything, Dad’s peers probably encouraged him to get out there and pick those greens. For Sis and I, it wasn’t so much that he picked the greens, it was when and where he chose to do it.

You see, the old two-flat was on the same block as the parish church and about a half mile from both was a freeway. Having attended an early morning Mass, Sis and I would jump into the back seat of the car and off we’d go with Dad as he ran errands and stopped for “un caffè” with friends or family. That first part of the ride was fraught with anxiety for Sis and I. If Dad turned left at the Church, we were fine. It’s when he turned right that we began to get nervous — and it grew worse as we approached the freeway. If he turned anywhere before the overpass, we breathed a sigh of relief and all was well.  The same held true if we drove over and beyond the bridge. It was only when we heard his turn indicator as we drove on the overpass that we knew we were heading for the freeway and trouble! “Please, Dad, NO!” As soon as he made the left turn, Dad pulled the car onto the entrance ramp’s shoulder, no more than 10 feet from the corner.  There, in full view of our fellow parishioners — and classmates — walking to-and-from Sunday Mass, Dad pulled out his penknife & paper bag and started picking weeds, while Sis and I, mortified, dove for cover in the back seat. How could he do this to us! Two forevers later, he’d return to the car and off we’d go to the park where the pickings would be better, or so Dad said. We didn’t care. We just wanted out of there!

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Dandelion Salad

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Looking back, and hindsight being what it is, I’m pretty sure that Dad stopped along that ramp for more than just some dandelion greens. To begin with, Dad was a practical joker and he probably stood outside of the car and laughed as Sis and I tried to hide ourselves in the back seat. And although at the time it seemed like an eternity, we were actually parked there for only a few minutes and Dad never returned with more than a few greens, if any. No, we always needed to go to the park afterward and, suddenly, Sis and I were more than happy to accompany and even help him, proving there’d be no need to ever stop on that ramp again. As a result, we had all the greens Dad needed in no time flat and soon we were on our way to our next stop.

See what I mean? In today’s vernacular, we got played!

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Preparing a Dandelion Salad

Although I’ve seen dandelion greens in produce markets, the leaves are very large and usually served cooked. We use are the tender new plants that begin to grow in early Spring. Look for dandelions in areas where there is little chance of fertilizer or weed killer having been used and as far away from dog “traffic” as possible. Open parkland is good, as are rural fields.  Look for young plants. If it has a bloom, it’s likely too old and too large. Once you’ve found one suitable for harvesting, use your knife to sever the plant from its roots below ground level. Continue harvesting until you’ve enough for your needs. I normally pick enough for a minimum of 2 salads.

Once home, soak the greens in cold water. One by one, rinse under running water and trim away any off-color leaves and all of the (brown) root stem.  There may be underdeveloped flower buds in the heart of the plant. I remove them; you may prefer otherwise. Depending on the size of each plant, you may wish to cut it in half or, by trimming off the very bottom of the plant, separate the individual leaves. Place trimmed greens in cold, fresh water and continue until all are cleaned and trimmed. Dry the greens and reserve enough for your salad. Wrap the rest in a paper towel, seal in a plastic bag, and refrigerate. The greens will stay fresh for a few days if stored properly.

The salad itself is really quite basic and you may wish to add more ingredients. Our insalata consists of dandelions, some sliced onion, chopped hard-boiled eggs, a dressing of oil & red wine vinegar, and seasoned with salt & pepper. That’s all there is to it and I believe that’s because the greens were special and only available for a few weeks every Spring. Keeping the salad simple ensured that the tender dandelions took center stage and their flavor wasn’t overpowered. Make yourself one of these insalate and you’ll find it a tasty little salad and, like asparagus, a great way to bring Spring to the dinner table.

And if you’ve children, you may wish to borrow a page from Dad’s parenting book. Keep an old butter knife and bag under the driver’s seat of your car. If the kids are “acting up” in the car, just drive by a favorite playground or practice field and announce that the dandelions look delicious and that “Everyone’s going pickin’!”  I’m willing to bet that you’ll only need to get out of the car one time, if at all, especially if you wave to their friends as your drive up to the curb. Best of all,  you’ll give them a great memory to recall when they reach — ahem — middle age.

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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
    •                     or
    • 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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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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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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