briciole

dolce al rabarbaro (cotto al vapore)

The April 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Esther of The Lilac Kitchen. She challenged everyone to make a traditional British pudding using, if possible, a very traditional British ingredient: suet.

Our DB's host introduced us to two important elements of traditional English pudding: the ingredient, suet (sugna), and the cooking method, steaming (al vapore).

Information on pudding and suet, and various recipes for pudding, both savory and sweet, can be found here.

To start with, I decided to look up the work pudding in my dictionary, and this is what I found:

1 a dessert with a creamy consistency (chocolate pudding, rice pudding).
• chiefly Brit. any dessert.
• chiefly Brit. the dessert course of a meal (what's for pudding?).
2 a sweet or savory steamed dish made with flour (Yorkshire pudding).
• the intestines of a pig or sheep stuffed with oatmeal, spices, and meat and boiled.

So, pudding has a broad application, as you can see also by scanning the different recipes presented by Esther here. [The Italian word budino corresponds to the first meaning: a dessert with a creamy consistency.]

Back to the DB's British pudding challenge, what was there for pudding at our house? Follow me and you'll find out.

I have never used suet or seen it in the stores where I shop. On the other hand, I grew up in a household where rendered pork fat (strutto) had specific uses. Since I had just made strutto for the first time, I decided to use that instead. Lisa of Champaign Taste, my partner in the Novel Food event, recently wrote a post about her experience rendering lard, which worked as the prompt I needed to push me from planning into action. I asked the butcher at our local Co-op to set aside some lard for me, and soon I had about two pounds of it to experiment with. The process went smoothly and at the end, I got a nice jar of strutto.

The purchase of the first rhubarb (rabarbaro) of the season made me look for a recipe for pudding that would allow me to use rhubarb and butter. Among the ones listed by Esther under the heading "Butter based versions of steamed pudding," I found one that looked perfect: Rhubarb Steamed Pudding.

I decided to substitute only a small quantity of butter with strutto, since I was a bit worried it would impart too strong of a taste (this being my first experience with it). I also made a few adjustments to the recipe, namely:

• I bought the rhubarb before finding the recipe, and had 250 g (8 oz.), instead of 350 g.
• I added 50 g of sugar to the rhubarb and then 100 g to the batter.
• I added a tablespoon of water to the rhubarb before cooking it. That resulted in a bit of juice at the end, which I added to the batter.
• I used freshly grated ginger (zenzero) instead of ground ginger.
• I used 6 tablespoons of butter (85 g) and a tablespoon of strutto instead of 125 g of butter (approx. 9 tablespoons).
• Since I did not have self-rising flour, I weighed 165 g of all-purpose flour and added to it half a teaspoon of salt and 1 and 3/4 teaspoons of baking powder.

I did not have a pudding basin and could not find one at the local kitchen store, so I decided to use a quart-size pyrex measuring cup instead. I had to be a bit creative when it came time to tie a string around the measuring cup to secure the waxed paper (carta oleata) and foil, since the handle got in the way, but I managed, and I also tied a string around the bottom to use as a handle to lower the cup into the steaming pot and then lift it out of it at the end of the cooking time. I used my pressure cooker as pot and placed a round rack in it to avoid direct contact between the measuring cup and the bottom of the pot.

The steaming method of cooking was a bit unnerving, because I could not check the progress without disrupting it, and since I had never steamed a cake before, I did not have references to help me. I patiently waited the required amount of time and then lifted the measuring cup out of the hot water bath (the handle came out very handy). Seeing that the pudding had risen was a pleasant surprise (photo above), as I had prepared myself for some sort of failure. I ran a knife around the pudding to detach it from the container and then turned it over onto a plate. It looked quite nice.

The head of my Quality Assurance department (i.e., my husband) immediately got on the job and tasted a slice. He approved it with a suggestion to further lower the sugar content next time, then ate another slice. We are only at the beginning of rhubarb season, so I will make this again, using the correct amount of rhubarb, a bit less sugar and substituting more of the butter with strutto. Stay tuned for updates.

A special thank you goes to our host for her choice and her efforts. It was an interesting and fun challenge. I hope you will take the time to go around and look at the creative output of my talented fellow Daring Bakers.

Hear me pronounce the words on the dolce al rabarbaro audio file [mp3] or go to the dolce al rabarbaro audio page for more listening options.

l'acquario di Monterey

the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Another week, another edition of the Friday Favorite Linky Party launched by Sandi of Whistlestop Cafe Cooking.

Ever since I moved to California, the area around Monterey and Carmel has held a special place in my heart. The Carmel Mission (dedicated to San Carlos Borromeo) is very nice, Point Lobos State Natural Reserve is a jewel, the coast is beautiful. And then, there is the Monterey Bay Aquarium, one of our favorite destinations any time of the year.

The last time we were there, we saw two special exhibits, Wild About Otters and The Secret Lives of Seahorses, and we also visited the permanent exhibits. This was the first time I used my new camera, so the photographs are not special. The Aquarium, on the other hand, is a very special place and we are always excited when we visit it. If we drive there for the day, we park in Pacific Grove, drink a cappuccino there, and then walk on the trail along the coast that leads you to the Aquarium. Once inside, we lose track of time, especially when we look at our favorite creatures: jelly fish (meduse).

Sea nettles

Seahorse in Italian is cavalluccio marino or ippocampo. A few interesting notes from the Aquarium web site:

Seahorses, sea dragons, pipehorses and pipefishes come in many shapes and sizes, but beneath the surface they’re all fish, with fused jaws and bony plates in place of the scales normally associated with fish.

Perhaps what most distinguishes seahorses from the rest of the animal kingdom is their unique life history—the males become pregnant and give birth. Seahorse fathers shelter their young in protective pouches, while sea dragon and pipefish fathers carry their young on spongy patches on the undersides of their tails.

Pacific seahorse

Weedy sea dragon

Leafy sea dragon (in my opinion, the most amazing member of the family)

The Aquarium has some leafy sea dragons in their permanent exhibit, so this was not our first encounter with these amazing creatures. In the photo, two of them swim together. They are very elegant.

Hear me pronounce the words on the l'acquario di Monterey audio file [mp3] or go to the l'acquario di Monterey audio page for more listening options.

Novel Food #10: the finale (one serving)

About a month ago, Lisa of Champaign Taste and I announced the 10th edition of Novel Food, the literary/culinary event that we created two and a half years ago, as a result of a lively exchange of messages about the novels, whose protagonist is Inspector Salvo Montalbano. Readers of those novels relish not only the distinctive style the Sicilian police inspector brings to his job, but also his passion for good food.

Novel Food is about literary works (prose or poetry) that inspire the preparation of dishes. Like all its predecessors, the current edition presents an interesting set of both readables and edibles, of which I will introduce half. Please, follow me on a short literary tour.

A demitasse of Turkish coffee opens our presentation with its distinctive aroma. In fact, Ruhama of rumahama has been inspired by Little Brother by Cory Doctorow to make Turkish coffee, which Marcus, the novel's protagonist, describes as "mud, pretending to be coffee." His is not exactly the perspective of an expert, but of a teenager who wants caffeine to stay awake in school, after spending the night at his computer.

Ruhama has a different opinion: "Oh, for a scratch-n-sniff blog! The whole house smelled lovely while this was boiling." 

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Rachel, The Crispy Cook offers us not one, but two novels, Pomegranate Soup and the sequel Rosewater and Soda Bread by Marsha Mehran. The novels tell the story of "three Iranian sisters who flee their native country after the Islamic Revolution for the small Irish town of Ballinacroagh."

A recipe for red lentil soup in the first novel inspired Rachel to prepare "a batch of comforting" Persian Lentil Soup with Sumac and Yogurt as part of a Middle Eastern meal: "a winning recipe."

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Sandi of Whistlestop Cafe Cooking introduces us to the autobiography of Marcella Hazan, Amarcord: Marcella Remembers. In it, Hazan "talks about growing up in Italy during the war, her studies as a scientist, and then later coming to America without knowing any English."

Sandi is part of a group of people (Pomodori e Vino) cooking their way through Hazan's Essentials of Italian Cooking and posting it daily on Facebook. She shared with us her experience in making Bagna Caoda, "a dip of olive oil, butter, garlic and fresh anchovy fillets, served with the freshest raw vegetables."

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Simona of briciole (that would be me) read Back to Bologna by Michael Dibdin, and found herself reading about Futurist cuisine and Futurist banquets. A dish served at one of those banquets inspired her to prepare risotto all'arancia, another exploration (for her) of risotto paired with fruit.

Simona's version is quite different from the original, among other reasons because it was served with pan-fried scallops. She has since made risotto al salto with leftovers and the result was appreciated at the table.

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My event partner Lisa of Champaign Taste read Never Let Me Go by Kashuo Ishiguro and found it powerful and haunting. The main characters of the novel are students at an exclusive boarding school in the English countryside.

"Frying smells" at a seaside cafe where they stop for lunch inspired Lisa to make Fish and Chips, according to a recipe "written it down on the back of an envelope in 1952." The result was "a smashing success."

You have not one, but two reasons to go over to Lisa's blog now: to read the details of her submission for the event, and to enjoy her portion of the roundup. Many thanks to all who contributed to our event and to my partner Lisa.

The next edition of our event will be in the summer: we will announce it on our blogs and on other venues, so stay tuned. In the meantime, read good books (maybe with the next Novel Food in mind), cook good dishes, and otherwise savor life's offerings. Arrivederci!

Novel Food #10: risotto all'arancia

orange risotto

Years ago, I found a copy of Michael Dibdin's Ratking in the room of the resort where I was vacationing. I was intrigued by the fact that the story was set in my home town of Perugia, so I read it. Later on, I learned that Dibdin (who died in 2007) had taught at the university there. I have since read a few more novels by him, all featuring police inspector Aurelio Zen and each set in a different part of Italy. All the novels I have read contain interesting references to food and drink.

In Back to Bologna (2005), there is something else: one of the characters, Romano Rinaldi, is a TV chef, and an episode of the book is the televised cooking challenge between him and Edgardo Ugo, university professor of semiotics. The reference here is to Umberto Eco. Eco is widely known for his novels, but before reading his Il nome della rosa (The Name of the Rose), I read, while in college, Opera aperta (literally, open work), a book on literary theory that made an enormous impression on me (if you are curious, the wikipedia entry I referenced above briefly explains what this is about).

Based on my limited experience of Dibdin's work, this novel is different. Zen is more preoccupied with his health (he is recovering from abdominal surgery) and his rapidly deteriorating relationship with Gemma than with the murder at the beginning of the story. The disconnect Zen experiences is reflected in the story, the various characters and their actions. This created the tension that made me continue reading until the last page.

The story of the TV chef is a satire of the world of illusion created for the screen and its audience. The man sings while he makes you believe that he is cooking: he is lo chef che canta e incanta (the chef who sings and enchants). Reality tries to assert itself the first time Rinaldi performs live:

The audience burst into laughter and applause. Rinaldi acknowledged their appreciation of his wit and poise with a rendition of the famous aria from Rigoletto, changing the lyrics to 'La donna è mobile ma indispensabile.' This led to still more applause. Keenly in tune with the mood of his public, he proceeded with the rest of the piece, interpolating or altering lyrics as he went, before ending on a high and long-held note at the very edge of his local range.
It was at this moment that the pan of oil on the stove behind him burst into flames.

What happens next to Rinaldi's career is interesting, and I prefer not to reveal it, in case you decide to read the novel. It was not lo chef che canta e incanta, however, that inspired me, but professor Ugo. At the beginning of the movie, Ugo references a party held at his house, which made me do a bit of additional reading and ultimately inspired me to cook the dish I will describe later on:

He walked downstairs to the gigantic kitchen and peered despondently into the fridge. There were the remains of the dinner to which he'd invited a group of friends and colleagues the previous weekend, all the dishes being prepared communally from Marinetti's tract on Futurist cooking. As the generous quantity of leftovers indicated, the preparation had been more satisfying then the actual food, but it had all looked very striking and had been beautifully photographed for an article about the event in La Cucina Italiana — good publicity for everyone concerned.
He selected a few of the chunks of mortadella and cheese sculpted into letters that had formed part of the dish 'Edible Words', from which all the guests were supposed to eat their own names, then walked through the former's housekeeper's office.

I did not know that the interests of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, the founder of Futurism, included gastronomy, so, of course, I had to find out more. There is actually quite a bit, starting from the Il manifesto della cucina futurista (Manifesto of Futurist Cookery), published in 1930. This article describes the message Marinetti launched and the reactions to it. At the beginning of his manifesto, Marinetti calls for the elimination of pasta and supports the consumption of rice. Later on, he states that the perfect meal requires an absolute originality of dishes.

Banchetti futuristi (banquets) were organized, where the principles of the Manifesto were applied. One of those banquets, on the theme of aviation (movement and speed were important themes in Futurism), included a dish called rombi d'ascesa, described as risotto all'arancia, a dish that would not raise eyebrows today, but I can imagine it did 80 years or so ago (rombo, in this context, is the noise made by an engine, and ascesa means ascent). I found a recipe for rombi d'ascesa, but the inclusion of roast beef juice made is unpalatable to me, so I decided to make a simple vegetarian risotto, using orange juice (succo d'arancia) as part of the liquid. I have made fruit-based risotto many times before, but never with oranges, so this was the inspiration I needed.

Interestingly enough, soon after reading the passage in Dibdin's book, I saw a reference to Futurist Cuisine in a New Yorker's article by Adam Gopnik on Le Fooding, another topic about which I knew nothing before my reading.

Back to Dibdin's Back to Bologna. It is always a conundrum for me to decide how much to reveal about the story, especially in the case of a mystery  novel. Maybe I will end with Bill Ott's words in Booklist: "This isn't the dark neo-noir with which the Zen series helped redefine European crime fiction (e.g., Blood Rain, 2002), but it's a plenty tasty blend of tragedy and comedy."

Now on to the risotto. The first time I made it, I used a blood orange (arancia sanguigna) and the result was nice. Note that the darker color of the risotto in the photo below compared with the one in the photo at the beginning is due to a combination of blood orange juice and a bit of red beet juice that was in the vegetable broth.

The second time, I used a navel orange and also decided to have scallops play the part of rombi. I know, scallops are not rhomboidal in shape, but I could have cut them that way. In any case, I pan-fried two scallops per person, divided in half crosswise, based on this recipe. Also, I flavored the scallops with orange juice instead of lemon juice and then decorated them with just a bit of orange zest.

Bring 2.5 cups of light vegetable stock (I make my own) to a simmer in a small pan. In a larger pan, warm up half to one tablespoon of olive oil, then add a small shallot, finely diced, and the leaves of two thyme sprigs. Cook on low until the shallot is translucent, then add a cup of Carnaroli or Arborio rice. Let the rice toast for one minute, then add a generous splash of white wine (not cold). Let the wine evaporate, while stirring the rice, then start adding the simmering broth, a ladleful at a time, and letting the rice absorb it. Keep the risotto at a nice simmer and stir it at regular intervals. Make sure it never gets dry. Add the juice of one orange (about 1/3 cup) towards the end of the cooking time. 

The rice should be soft and creamy, but with some body (slightly al dente). Check it after 15 minutes from the first addition of broth: if it feels a bit hard at the core, cook it a minute longer, then check again. Once ready, add some freshly grated parmigiano reggiano, or 2 tablespoons of mascarpone, cream cheese or fresh chèvre. Stir until the cheese is incorporated, then let the risotto rest, covered, for a few minutes. Adjust the salt and plate. Add the scallops to each portion and decorate them with the reserved orange zest. I decorated the risotto with orange pulp removed from the juicer. A more intense flavor can be provided by orange peel, blanched and then cut into thin strips, which are also decorative (as you can see on this page). My husband does not like orange peel, so I did not explore this option.

This, as you may have guessed, is my contribution to the tenth edition of Novel Food, the literary/culinary event that Lisa of Champaign Taste and I have been co-hosting for some time, since a conversation on the food in Montalbano's novels gave us the idea of marrying literature and food in a blog event.

My portion of the roundup is here and Lisa's portion is here.

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

dolce di ricotta e avena

dessert of ricotta and oats

[cliccare il link per andare alla versione in italiano]

Oat field in early spring

One of the beauties of belonging to a CSA is that you often get nudged into uncharted territory. I am a member of two CSAs: one of them, Shakefork Community Farm, is a grain CSA. Together with my share of whole and milled grains, every month I get recipes and other suggestions for use. One day, I received instructions on how to toast hulless barley prior to boiling. When I found hulless oats in my share (we usually get cracked oats, so this was an interesting surprise), I decided to apply the same process. During the toasting process, the groats pop and sometimes jump: this is one of the most entertaining things you can do in the kitchen.

Here are some more details: I rinse well half a cup of hulless oats and spread them in an already warm, dry frying pan. I keep the pan over medium heat. First the oats dry, then start to pop. I shake the pan almost constantly to prevent the oats from burning. After a few minutes, the popping subsides and I take the pan off the heat, still shaking it for a few more seconds. In the photo below, you can see hulless oats before (left) and after (right) toasting.

I place the toasted oats in a saucepan together with two cups of water, bring to a boil and cook, covered, until soft (but not mushy), about one hour. I let the oats cool briefly, then drain it and weigh half for use in my dolce di ricotta. (The other half, topped with blueberries, contributes to my husband's breakfast.)

The dessert which is the subject of this post was inspired in part by my experiments with pastiera and in part by the grano dolce di Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy's sweet wheat), a dolce al cucchiaio (spoon dessert) traditionally made on December 13th, whose main ingredients, as in the pastiera, are grano cotto (cooked wheat kernels) and ricotta. I have made my dolce di ricotta several times, using grano cotto, cooked hulless barley and finally cooked oats. The latter have un certo non so che (a je ne sais quoi), which makes them my favorite choice in this context.

As previously recounted, I make ricotta at home the way it is traditionally made in Italy, using the whey (siero di latte) left over from the process of making hard cheese. The photo shows a particularly good batch I made with the whey left over from making Gouda, a washed-curd cheese, which I used, for example, in my gougères al gouda.

I usually make my dolce di ricotta the morning after I make ricotta. After draining the little bit of whey at the bottom of the bowl, I take about 9.5 oz. of ricotta, which I sweeten with vanilla sugar. I mix well with a fork (this also mashes the ricotta into a cream) and let rest in the fridge. A note on sweetener: I like my ricotta lightly sweetened, its delicate flavor enhanced, not overwhelmed. You can use sugar or other sweeteners here and let yourself be guided by your taste buds. I tend to be conservative in this step, because later I am adding two ingredients that both contribute sugar to the mix.

With a knife, I finely chop 1 oz. of good quality extra dark chocolate (at least 70% cocoa): more precisely, I use a knife to shave the chocolate. I then finely dice 1 oz. of candied orange and citron peel. For a while, I used purchased candied peel, then made my own using orange, lime, Meyer lemon and citron, and so recently, I have used some of my own production. A very nice description of how to make candied orange peel (scorze d'arancia candite) is here. (I blanch the peel four times.)

I first add the candied peel to the ricotta, and mix well with a fork. After a brief resting period, I add the chocolate and again mix well. Finally, I add the cool cooked oats, mix and then refrigerate thoroughly. To serve, I usually divide the ricotta into small ramekins or, like in the photo below, crème brûlée molds. A tasting before dividing the dolce di ricotta into portions will inform you whether a bit more sweetener is needed to please your palate. I decorate each portion with a layer of grated chocolate and refrigerate until close to serving time. I take the dolce out of the fridge a little bit before serving it, so it is not too cold.

The version in the photo can be described as a deconstructed pastiera, since the cat-shaped cookie is made with pasta frolla, (or pastafrolla, sweet shortcrust pastry) like the crust of the pastiera.

This is my contribution to edition #228 of Weekend Herb Blogging, an event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, now administered by Haalo of Cook (Almost) Anything At Least Once and hosted this week by Prof. Kitty from The Cabinet of Prof. Kitty.

On this page you will find the roundup of the event.

Hear me pronounce the words on the dolce di ricotta e avena audio file [mp3] or go to the dolce di ricotta e avena audio page for more listening options.

[jump to Comments]

Per i lettori italiani. L'ispirazione per il dessert che preparo con la mia ricotta fatta in casa e l'avena integrale viene in parte dai miei esperimenti con la pastiera e in parte dalla ricetta per il grano dolce di Santa Lucia nel libro La Grande Cucina Siciliana di Fiammetta di Napoli Oliver. Entrambe le ricette prevedono l'uso di ricotta e di grano cotto. Ho preparato il mio dolce di ricotta diverse volte col grano cotto, poi con orzo integrale e infine con avena integrale. Quest'ultima ha un certo non so che che la rende la mia scelta preferita in questa ricetta.

Lo scorso inverno, grazie alla mia CSA di cereali (community-supported agriculture: vedi il post che ho scritto per francescav), ho imparato a tostare l'orzo integrale prima di cuocerlo (e senza metterlo a bagno prima) e ho applicato lo stesso processo all'avena integrale che ho ricevuto come compartecipazione. In particolare, sciacquo bene 75 g di avena integrale e li verso in una padella già calda, non oliata. Mantengo il calore medio-basso e muovo la padella per evitare che l'avena bruci. Prima i chicchi si asciugano, poi cominciamo a scoppiettare. Dopo qualche minuto, lo scoppiettio diminuisce e tiro via la padella dal fuoco, sempre muovendola per qualche altro secondo. Nella foto potete vedere l'avena prima (a sinistra) e dopo (a destra) la tostatura.

Metto l'avena in una pentola con mezzo litro d'acqua e la porto a bollore, poi la cuocio, a pentola coperta, fino a che è tenera (ma non disfatta), circa un'ora. Una volta cotta, faccio intiepidire l'avena poi la scolo e ne peso la metà da usare per la ricotta dolce. (L'altra metà ci fa colazione mio marito, dopo averci aggiunto una buona dose di mirtilli.)

Come ho scritto in passato, faccio il formaggio da stagionare e faccio la ricotta col siero che ottengo come sottoprodotto. Non ho accesso a latte di pecora, quindi la ricotta che faccio è vaccina, alle volte mista, quando uso del latte di capra nel fare il formaggio. La foto mostra della ricotta particolarmente buona che ho fatto col siero ottenuto dalla produzione di gouda.

Di solito preparo il dolce di ricotta la mattina dopo aver fatto la ricotta. Dopo aver drenato la piccola quantità di siero che si raccoglie sul fondo del contenitore, peso 270 g di ricotta e la addolcisco con zucchero aromatizzato alla vaniglia (cioè zucchero nel quale tengo baccelli di vaniglia nuovi o usati). Potete usare anche altri tipi di dolcificante. Di zucchero ne uso poco, poiché poi aggiungo altri due ingredienti che contribuiscono a dolcificare il composto. Mescolo bene con una forchetta e allo stesso tempo schiaccio la ricotta per ridurla ad una crema, poi la rimetto in frigo.

Con un coltello riduco a scaglie 30 g di cioccolato di ottima qualità e contenuto di cacao almeno del 70%, poi taglio a dadini 30 g di scorze candite di arancia e di cedro. Quelle nella foto le ho fatte io, ispirata dalle scorze di bergamotto candite di Lenny.

Aggiungo i dadini di scorze candite alla ricotta e mescolo bene con la forchetta. Dopo un breve periodo di riposo, aggiungo il cioccolato e mescolo di nuovo. Infine, aggiungo l'avena tiepida e poi raffreddo bene il composto. Divido la ricotta in coppette o stampini da crème brûlée (come nella foto), ottenendo porzioni che decoro con un leggero strato di cioccolato grattugiato. Un assaggio prima di mettere la ricotta nelle coppette vi dirà se c'è bisogno di un po' più di dolcificante.

Tengo la ricotta in frigorifero fino a poco prima di servirla, quando la tiro fuori cosicché non è troppo fredda. Che ne dite del gatto di pasta frolla?

purè di patate rosato

pinkish mashed potatoes

One day, at the farmers' market, I overheard a person asking for beets other than red beets, because their bleeding "is so annoying!" The remark surprised me, as I thought everybody liked the color of the red beet (barbabietola rossa), which makes, for example, a beautiful risotto. To keep bleeding to a minimum, I do not trim the beet before baking, but scrub it very carefully, then snip off the thin root, if present. Finally, I wrap the beet in foil. One day, recently, I prepared a couple of red beets for baking (at 375 F) while also planning to boil some potatoes to make purè di patate (mashed potatoes).

First, I decided to put each beet wrapped in foil in a crème brûlée mold, because a bit of juice usually manages to escape from the wrapping and I wanted to prevent it from spreading onto the baking sheet. Then, when I opened the foil packages of the baked beets and saw that there was a small quantity of beet juice at the bottom, I decided to add it to the potatoes, to which I had been adding some of their cooking water, my preferred liquid to thin them [which I learned to use from Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone]. The result? A lovely pinkish side dish (contorno).

The final color depends on the amount and color of the potatoes and the amount of usable beet juice. For the two of us, I boiled an estimated 1.5 lbs of potatoes (Kennebec variety), carefully scrubbed and unpeeled. After mashing them, I added a bit of olive oil, then some of their cooking water, the beet juice, and salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. At the end, I also added freshly grated cheese (Monterey Jack of my own production) and fresh erba cipollina (chives) from my small herb garden.

This is my contribution to edition #227 of Weekend Herb Blogging, an event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, now administered by Haalo of Cook (Almost) Anything At Least Once and hosted this week by Haalo herself (who recently encountered and cooked pink-fleshed potatoes, a variety I have never seen).

On this page you will find the roundup of the event.

Hear me pronounce the words on the purè di patate rosato audio file [mp3] or go to the purè di patate rosato audio page for more listening options.