briciole

torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato

In Italy we use the English word dessert to indicate the course served at the end of a meal. From the dictionary I learned that dessert comes from the past participle of the French verb desservir, which means to clear the table, from des- (indicating removal) and servir (to serve). It is indeed true that we clear the table to make room for eating vessels and implements needed to enjoy the parting dish.

The title of this post is my translation of Mary of Alpineberry's choice for this month Daring Bakers' challenge: Bostini Cream Pie. Make sure you read the recipe for this sumptuous dessert and use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the masterpieces that were made this month around the world by my fellow darers.

According to my English-Italian dictionary, the word chiffon refers to a type of fabric and also (in America) to a dolce spumoso e leggero, a base di albume d'uovo (light cake made with egg whites). The creamy portion of the dessert was mostly made of cream (panna), plus some milk and lots of egg yolks (tuorli), and its consistency was quite fluid, even with the addition of cornstarch (amido di mais). In Italy we usually make crema with milk only. If there is no thickener, we call it crema inglese, and if we add flour we get crema pasticcera. When we add panna montata (whipped cream) to crema, the result is crema Chantilly. The glaze was made of cioccolato amaro e burro (bittersweet chocolate and butter) in equal parts.

The challenge for me was finding the time and space to make the recipe right after coming back from a three-week trip to Italy and while packing the house for an impending move (in two days'). The other part of the challenge was to get the right cooking and eating vessels for the dessert. The recipe, and Mary's additional notes, left a certain degree of freedom in this respect. I made a trip to the Sur La Table store in Berkeley to get what I needed. I ended up buying a rather irrational mix of things: an adorable set of four small loaf pans and three sets of four custard cups of different shapes.

For messy me, damage control is always a good part of the challenge of cooking and this time was no exception. The first batch of crema went to feed creatures living downstream, when I realized I had overstepped the fine boundary between ready and impazzita (literally gone mad, in this context means curdled) due mostly to my insidious multi-tasking bent. I was quite sorry about the mishap, because I had used all my vanilla sugar to make the ill-fated custard.

The second attempt was successful and I filled all the 12 small vessels with the aromatic hot crema. Making the orange-flavored chiffon cake was molto divertente (a lot of fun). To match the motley crew of custard vessels, I chose to bake the mini-cakes in the four small loaf pans and in the six large muffin tins I had. The little crisis came when I realized I had more batter than containers ready to accept it. Be creative, I said to myself. I grabbed two English muffin rings and a loaf pan and proceeded to empty the bowl of batter into the space delimited by the rings. The 12 mini-cakes of various shapes had the graciousness of cooking pretty much all in the same time frame, the 25 minutes specified by the recipe.

There is no way that a two-person family like ours can eat 12 portions of torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato, so I decided to have a little dessert party, for which I gathered around our outdoor table the nice people who were doing various works around our soon-to-be-sold house. This, however, occurred after my husband, who is the manager of my quality assurance department, gave his seal of approval to the first completely assembled portion.

Many thanks to Mary for hosting the October challenge. By the way, I have had some of the chiffon cake by itself and it is delicious, so if you do not feel like executing the recipe in all its parts, make just the cake and you will be glad you did.

Hear me pronounce the words on the torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato audio file [mp3] or go to the torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato audio page for more listening options.

Cartolina da Palermo: Involtini di pesce spada

(Another) Postcard from Palermo: Swordfish rolls
During our recent visit to Palermo, one day we ate lunch at the historical Antica Focacceria San Francesco, which has been in existence since 1834. Customers pay for their meal, get their receipt, then fill their tray and finally sit at one of the old tables with marble top in the inviting dining room. The menu includes traditional Sicilian dishes, like the involtini di pesce spada that were part of our meal.

Swordfish is readily available at the historical fish market we had recently visited, La Vucciria. I noticed that all vendors there display the prized fish in the same way, with the body laid out so that it is easy for them to make slices (really thin ones are needed to make involtini) and the head raised, so that the sword points up, as if ready for a duel.

The filling for the involtini is made of pangrattato (bread crumbs) seasoned with (as far as I could tell) pinoli (pine nuts), uvetta (raisins), ubiquitous fresh prezzemolo (parsley), succo di limone (lemon juice), sale e pepe (salt and black pepper).

The filled involtini are lightly oiled and rolled into bread crumbs, then kept aligned with wooden skewers and placed in a baking pan. Foglie di alloro (bay laurel leaves) are inserted in between the rolls. The end result is a delicious dish of delicate flavor. Since we were quite early for Italian standards, we had to wait a few minutes for the involtini to be ready: our reward was eating them hot from the oven.

At the Focacceria you can taste traditional Sicilian street food, like panelle (fritters made with chickpea flour) and arancine or arancini (fried balls of rice, meat sauce and peas). Across the square from the Focacceria there is a gelateria where you can top off your meal with an espresso, or Sicilian gelato served in a brioche.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook. Here is the roundup of WHB #105.

Hear me pronounce the words on the involtini di pesce spada audio file [mp3] or go to the involtini di pesce spada audio page for more listening options.

zucchine a modo mio

zucchini my way
In Italian, both zucchino (plural: zucchini) and zucchina (plural: zucchine) are used. I grew up calling this (now) beloved vegetable zucchine. Last spring I planted a few seedlings and during the summer I harvested some fruit, which was particularly satisfying. Zucchine are quite versatile: whether cooked simply or as part of a complex dish, they always shine.

My favorite way of preparing zucchine when I do not have a lot of time is the following. I spray a frying pan with olive oil, warm it up and add 2-3 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced. After a couple of minutes I add a pound and a half of zucchine, sliced, sprinkle some freshly-ground black pepper, and mix well. I then cook over low heat until the zucchine are tender. After turning off the heat, I add a quarter cup of chopped fresh prezzemolo (parsley), a tablespoon of minced fresh maggiorana (marjoram, shown in the photo) and a pinch of salt, mix well and serve as a side dish. Marjoram, which has become one of my favorite herbs, gives a distinctive note to this simple recipe. Its fragrance is sensitive to heat and that is why I add it at the very end. If I have leftovers, a rare event, I use them as base for a frittata.

I knew that in Sicily zucchine could be big, but I was not quite prepared for what I saw the other day at the market in Palermo: specimens of the zucchina lunga (photo on the left) can be two or three feet long. I really wish I had access to a kitchen where I could try my favorite recipe on this Brobdingnagian representative of the vegetable kingdom.
The tender leaves of the zucchina lunga, called tenerumi, are also used as an ingredient in Sicilian dishes.

And let us not forget that fiori di zucca (zucchini blossoms) are also delicious, an additional virtue of zucchine, if we needed one.

This is my on-the-road entry for the two-year anniversary of Weekend Herb Blogging, the famous weekly event started by magic Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen. The festivities include an exciting name your favorite herb and vegetable election. Make sure you check the roundup: expect amazing food fireworks from around the world.

Hear me pronounce the words on the zucchine a modo mio audio file [mp3] or go to the zucchine a modo mio audio page for more listening options.

Cartolina da Palermo: Caciocavallo all'Argentiera

Postcard from Palermo
When we arrived in Palermo, we took a taxi to get from the airport to the hotel downtown, since we had just missed the train, my preferred choice. The taxi ride included:

• driving on the far right of a one-lane street that had become a three-lane one (of which the leftmost lane was the original one) and passing cars and trucks on the right, something which is not allowed in Italy even on the freeway
• driving at 90 miles an hour on the freeway, once we got to it after having to take a detour due to road works under a bridge
• driving on the wrong side of the road in the city and hastily getting back into the legal lane when a bus was coming straight against us.

After recovering from the taxi ride, we went out and walked towards the harbor, then we had dinner at Hostaria da Ciccio. We arrived there shortly after 7 pm, a rather ungodly hour to have dinner in southern Italy. The waitress, in fact, started her shift after our arrival. Fortunately there was another couple of tourists, so we were not the first ones to sit down at a table.

Being in a rush when you eat is a concept that doesn't work in Sicily: I find this a good thing. Our dinner, appetizer and main course of fish with a side of steamed bieta (Swiss chard), took about two hours. The appetizer was Caciocavallo all'Argentiera, a simple dish of satisfying flavor and texture.

Caciocavallo is a mature cow milk cheese that is typical of southern Italy (shaped differently in different areas). The plate we received had a slice of caciocavallo a bit more than 1/4-inch thick that had been slightly melted in a pan containing olive oil. A dash of vinegar and a pinch of sugar (una puntina di zucchero, the waitress said) were added to provide the traditional agrodolce (sweet and sour) contrast. The final touch was a sprinkle of dried origano (oregano) and black pepper. The end result was delicious to all the senses. Caciocavallo all'Argentiera must be eaten right away, when it is still hot. The melting process that started in the pan concludes in your mouth with great satisfaction of all taste buds involved.

In the cookbook La Grande Cucina Siciliana by Fiammetta di Napoli Oliver, I read that the same dish can be made with pecorino or other mature cheese. I bought a slice of caciocavallo from a store and a small bag of dried oregano from La Vucciria, one of the outdoor markets that enliven the streets of Palermo. We ate the cheese with bread (I did not have access to a kitchen in Palermo, so unfortunately I could not make Caciocavallo all'Argentiera with it) and I will bring the oregano back home as a souvenir that occupies little physical space but a lot of room in flavor-land.

As a side dish for my main course I chose steamed Swiss chard, a quiet companion for the sparkling grilled red mullets that arrived enveloped in an aura of sheer delight. Swiss chard has always been one of my favorite vegetables and has become even dearer to me after I successfully grew it in our neighborhood community garden. As you can see in the photo, I planted rainbow chard and harvested a lot from just a few plants.

I wrote this post as my on-the-road entry for the two-year anniversary of Weekend Herb Blogging, a weekly event started by magic Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen. I then realized that I had missed part of the instructions, so I am using this as a reminder of the big event and of the ongoing name your favorite herb and vegetable election. Apologies to the early readers and stay tuned for the next act. 

Hear me pronounce the words on the Caciocavallo all'Argentiera audio file [mp3] or go to the Caciocavallo all'Argentiera audio page for more listening options.

bere un caffè al bar

to drink an espresso at the coffee shop
The store where Italians drink coffee is called a bar. The sign outside one of those establishments may carry additional specifications characterizing it. For example, it could be a bar tabacchi, meaning that it sells cigarettes and stamps. Or a bar pasticceria, meaning that it sells fresh pastries. Or a bar gelateria, which sells gelato. In a bar you can drink coffee beverages, fruit juice, alcoholic beverages and also eat pastries, panini, gelato, etc. (with many possible variations).

Andare al bar a bere un caffè is to go to a coffee shop to drink an espresso. We also say andare al bar a prendere un caffè (to get an espresso). It is a well-known fact that Italians drink espresso and that Italian espresso is excellent. Note that we don't use the word espresso, but if you do, people usually understand what you mean. I have previously written posts that detail the different kinds of coffee and milk beverages that is possible to order in Italy: here, here and here.

While in Italy, you will not be able to replicate your experience of ordering and consuming a coffee beverage in an American coffee shop. In Italy, each beverage comes in a predefined size (an espresso cup or a cappuccino cup) and with a standard type of milk (usually pasteurized whole milk). Concepts like medium, large and non-fat are foreign to us. Decaf is (barely) accepted. You may be able to obtain soy milk in some establishments.

One important aspect of the transaction is the payment and placing of the order. In the U.S., you pay at the cash register and order the beverage of choice, then your order gets transmitted, possibly by computer, to the person in charge of making your drink. After obtaining the drink, you can walk away or sit at a table and consume it on the premises.

In Italy things are not so straightforward, mostly because there are no set rules that everybody follows and there is no computer next to the coffee machine. In most places, and always in the busy ones, you pay at the cash register and obtain the receipt. You then show it to the barista and repeat your order. He or she will usually tear the receipt a bit and give it back to you: do not throw it away. You are then given your beverage and you are supposed to consume it while standing at the counter.

Detail number 1: you are required to keep the receipt for any purchase you made until you are within some distance from the store (bar, restaurant, grocery store, department store, etc.). Outside the store you could be stopped by a policeman, in which case you should show the receipt. Failure to do so could result in a fine.

Detail number 2: you will pay extra if you sit down at a table. If you want to take your time drinking your espresso and maybe have a chat with your companion, you signal it by sitting at a table. A waiter will take your order and deliver it and you will pay before leaving, either at the cash register or to the waiter. Whatever you order, it will cost you more than if you had ordered it at the counter.

Sometimes the barista is also the cashier, in which case he or she will both get your money and prepare your drink. Other times you can order and consume first and then pay before leaving. The variability of arrangements is wide, so the best thing I can do is to alert you of what is possible. If you try to do things in a different order, you will be gently reminded of the correct one, no harm done. So, if you order your beverage before obtaining the receipt, the barista will ask you for it and allow you to obtain it without bad feelings. In some places, a sign asks customer to pay first and consume later.

A few more notes: in Italy we don't walk around drinking coffee, so the concept of 'to go' is quite foreign. Because we do not routinely use disposable coffee cups, we don't see the need to bring our own to reduce waste. We also don't feel compelled to fill containers to the brim. In fact, in some cases, that is a veritable no-no. For example, a shot of espresso will never fill the cup.

In Italy we drink un caffè for the pleasure of tasting an intensely aromatic nectar that leaves behind a heavenly aftertaste. Water makes us suspicious, which is the reason why, when you order tea, you get a minuscule amount of water and no refill. (This is a very personal opinion, which I will hold on to until I find a better explanation.)

One of the things I do soon after arriving in Italy is bere un cappuccino al bar. This time I drank my first one at the Bar Cavour, an old (historical) establishment in Bergamo, a city not far from Milan, which is not known as much as it deserves to be and which I have always loved. In this case, the barista doubled as cashier and the bar was not busy, so we got our beverages and paid for them afterwards.

Hear me pronounce the words and expressions on the bere un caffè al bar audio file [mp3] or go to the bere un caffè al bar audio page for more listening options.

fare la spesa

to shop for groceries
Although the Italian sentence does not include any reference to food, it is used to indicate the purchase of food items. To go grocery shopping is: andare a fare la spesa.

One of the first things I do after arriving in Italy is to find a supermercato (grocery store) and shop for specific food items, most importantly:

• prosciutto crudo (for my husband)
• ricotta di latte di mucca (ricotta made with cow milk, for myself).

I will not bore you with more details regarding my shopping list (la lista della spesa). Instead, I will describe a few characteristics of the way Italians, at least in Milan (where I lived for almost 10 years before moving to California and where I am right now) shop in a supermercato, which may be a bit puzzling for an American visitor.

First of all, you need a coin to release the lock that chains each shopping cart (il carrello) to its neighbor. The coin is only a deposit, and you will get a full refund before you leave the store, provided you return the cart to the appropriate place and lock it.

When you buy lose fruit and vegetables, you need to weigh them yourself and print the label with the price: the cashier will not be able to do this for you. Each item is marked with a number and, by pressing the relevant button on the scales, you print the label that needs to be attached to the bag containing the purchased items.

When you are done filling your cart with goodies, you need to bag them yourself, possibly keeping up with the cashier, so that by the time he or she is done scanning, you are almost done bagging. Failure to keep up may be rewarded with stern looks on the part of the people in line behind you.

What I consider the most difficult part of the supermercato experience is the bargaining about coins (monete) that occurs with the cashier. From time immemorial, in Italy we have a dearth of coins, a situation that the advent of the euro seems to have left uncured and possibly made worse, considering that certain amounts of money that once were lira banknotes (banconote) are now euro coins. As a result, you are almost always asked whether you have some coins (ha della moneta?) which will make the change include only banknotes or a smaller number of coins. For example, if your total charge is €16.30, and you pay with a €20 banknote, the cashier will probably ask you whether you can produce €1.30 in coins, so that he or she can complete the transaction by handing you a €5 banknote. If you don't have €1.30, but do have €0.30, you are still good, since that amount will require a change made up of only two €2 coins, versus the four coins needed to make up €3.70. I am so used to this way of adjusting payments that I tend to apply the same reasoning when I am in the US, often to the grave consternation of the cashier, who has the change automatically calculated by the cash register and plenty of coins to handle it without any special provisions on my part.

I hope I have not scared you with my tales of the supermercato. I actually strongly recommend you find a nice one and take the time to explore it: it will be an interesting visit, from both a culinary and a sociological perspective.

Addendum: here is another post on the same topic.

Hear me pronounce the words and expressions on the fare la spesa audio file [mp3] or go to the fare la spesa audio page for more listening options.