briciole

Novel Food #9: the finale (one serving)

We've "fallen back" more than a week ago, had some rain and watched furious waves crash ashore on Saturday. This all means winter is fast approaching on our hemisphere, bringing with it chilly evenings, when it is wonderful to curl up on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket, in the company of a good book. If your reading list could use some new entries, here we are to provide you interesting suggestions. Each of the titles featured here has inspired the preparation of a dish: isn't that by itself a great recommendation?

Lisa of Champaign Taste and I started Novel Food as a literary/culinary event two years ago and we had fun organizing another edition. This time, it is going to be a cozy getting together around a fireplace, where we talk literature and food. Without further ado, I will introduce half of the contributions, while Lisa will present the other half. Sit down, relax, and enjoy this fireside chat about books and food.

Ruhama of rumahama carries us in the special world of literature for children. The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner "is great for elementary aged kids (and perfect for a read-aloud, making it good for preschoolers, too)." Four children run away, "find an abandoned boxcar on an unused portion of tracks in the woods and turn it into their home." The children show a good dose of creativity in making use of limited resources to organize their life, including meals: "Henry makes a meal out of thinnings from the doctor's garden, and when I started pulling up carrots from our garden, I knew immediately I had to incorporate them somehow with this novel."

Ruhama's carrots look adorable and they end up in a beautiful Pistou Soup. Visit her blog to read more details about the book and the soup and to see more photos, then come back here for the next morsel.

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With Sandi of Whistlestop Cage Cooking we are transported in the world of Fannie Flagg, the beloved southern writer who "paints a picture of every sleepy southern town." In Redbird Christmas, we learn about Little River "just in time for the holidays." The pie Sandi was inspired to make, Mildred's Key Lime Pie, is not a predictable holiday pie, because "with Mildred you never knew which way she was going to jump from one minute to the next."

I don't know about you, but I think key lime pie is excellent any time of the year, so hop over to Sandi's blog to take a close look at her post, then come back here for the next bit.

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Food rationing going during World War II made cakes the subject of dreams. For Arthur Rowe, protagonist of Graham Greene's The Ministry of Fear, the dream comes true when he wins a "magnificent cake" at a fund-raising fair. And Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook, was inspired by Rowe's magnificent cake to make a dream of a Dundee Cake, rich in spices and dried fruit. "Life, unfortunately for Arthur Rowe, was never wistfully sweeter than during the brief respite of a seemingly innocent cake in an era when loyalty and love were especially unkind."

Go over to Susan's blog to read more about Greene's novel and get the details of the special cake, then come back here for another sample.

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Simona of briciole, co-host of the event (that would be me), was inspired by a recipe (without quantities) in the novel Tattoo by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán to prepare la caldeirada di Pepe Carvalho (Pepe Carvalho's caldeirada), a personal rendition of Portuguese fish stew. The novel describes Carvalho first shopping for the ingredients and then preparing the dish for a solitary, fireside dinner devoted to meditation on recent events. 

Navigate to the post to learn a bit more about Carvalho and his author and the details of the recipe (to which I added my personal touch of gougères) then come back here for another taste.

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My partner in the event, Lisa of Champaign Taste was inspired by Jeannette Walls' Half Broke Horses, a "true-life novel," as the author describes it. "The book is a lightly fictionalized account of the life of Walls' grandmother, Lily Casey Smith," who was born in West Texas in 1901. Later, she moved to New Mexico and then Arizona. The story is told in first person and is full of adventures.

Lisa enjoyed the novel, which inspired her to prepare "the classic Mexican breakfast": huevos rancheros ("ranch-style" or "country-style" eggs). I didn't know that "Ranchero sauce is the cowboys' ketchup."

You have not one, but two reasons to go over to Lisa's blog now: to read the details of her dish and the book that inspired its making, and to enjoy the other portion of the roundup. When you are done enjoying the offerings there, come back here for some parting words.

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I hope you had fun reading the two portions of the roundup of this edition of Novel Food. Many thanks to all who contributed to our event and to my partner Lisa.

The next edition of our event will be in the spring: 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 enjoy the time of the year.

gougères al gouda

gouda gougères (cheese puffs)
[cliccare il link per andare alla versione in italiano]

The immediate inspiration for making gougères was a mention in Peter Mayle’s French Lessons: Adventures with Knife, Fork and Corkscrew, the book chosen for the current edition of Cook the Books. In the chapter devoted to tasting wine in Burgundy, I read the following:

Our host took pity on us and led us upstairs to the tasting room, where bottles and glasses were laid out next to plates of gougères. These are small, light, delicious nuggets of cheese-flavored puff pastry that have the effect of softening and thus improving the taste of young wine in the mouth. They are also salty enough to encourage a healthy thirst.

Though the "delicious nuggets" Mayle describes are made of puff pastry, gougères are made with choux pastry. Here's the definition of gougère that I found in the online Larousse dictionary: Pâtisserie en pâte à chou salée, additionnée d'œuf et de gruyère et cuite au four.

I don't drink wine (regrettably, I don't have a palate for it) and what came before and after the gougères did not make a lasting impression on me. But the word gougères printed on the page reminded me that I had wanted to try to make them for some time. A while ago, a recipe by David Lebovitz had allowed me to produce very nice bignè (cream puffs), so I looked at the same source for help in the savory realm and I found the desired recipe (thank you, David!), for what in Italian can be described as piccoli bignè salati al formaggio (small, cheese-flavored savory puffs).

I made the recipe three times, always using my homemade cheese (formaggio fatto in casa). The first time, I used colby cheese, because that was the one I had on hand, and it worked well. The second and third time, I wanted the gougères to go with Roasted Pumpkin-Apple Soup (a bowl of which is featured in the photo), so a sweet Gouda cheese seemed perfect. I think it was a good choice.

Gouda was the first hard cheese I made in early September, after taking a little break from that activity during the summer. (I did make soft cheese, though, like fromage blanc.) Gouda is a washed-curd cheese, meaning that during the period when the curds are slowly heated, some of the whey is removed and substituted with water. I aged my little wheel of Gouda cheese for six weeks. (The photo on the right shows the drying Gouda cheese.)

I made a couple of changes to the original recipe:

• I weighed the grated Gouda cheese after grating it (with my beloved grattugia) and used 2.5 oz. 
• I did not sprinkle cheese on top of the gougères (only added it to the batter).
• I used four (quite long) fresh chives (erba cipollina) from my herb garden, instead of 12, as I was afraid they would provide too strong a taste (as I said above, my Gouda cheese is rather delicate in flavor).

I was very satisfied with both the texture and the special flavor imparted by my homemade cheese to this savory French finger food, so much so that I decided to pair gouda gougères with another dish, but that's a story for another day. 

This is my contribution to the fifth edition of Cook the Books, hosted by Jo of Food Junkie Not Junk Food. You can find the guidelines for participating in the event here, and here is the announcement of the current edition.

You will find the roundup of the event here.

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

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Per i lettori italiani. L'ispirazione a preparare le gougères è stata la menzione che ne fa Peter Mayle nel suo libro Lezioni di francese. Avventure con coltello, forchetta e flûte (interessante notare come il cavatappi del titolo originale sia diventato flûte in quello della versione italiana), il libro scelto per l'attuale edizione dell'evento Cook the Books. Nel capitolo dedicato all'assaggio di vino in Borgogna, Mayle menziona vassoi di gougères, "piccoli e leggeri bocconcini di pasta sfoglia con formaggio." I "bocconcini" che Mayle descrive sono fatti con la pasta sfoglia, ma di fatto le gougères sono piccoli bignè salati al formaggio e quindi sono fatte con quella che in francese si chiama pâte à chou. Questa è la definizione che ho trovato nel dizionario Larousse online: Pâtisserie en pâte à chou salée, additionnée d'œuf et de gruyère et cuite au four.

Non bevo vino (purtroppo, il mio palato non lo apprezza) e quello che nel capitolo viene prima e dopo le gougères non ha lasciato alcun segno nella mia memoria. Ma la parola gougères stampata sulla pagina mi ha ricordato che da tempo volevo preparare questi bignè salati al formaggio. Qualche tempo fa, una ricetta di David Lebovitz ha dato come risultato degli ottimi bignè che poi ho riempito di crema, così ho consultato lo stesso blog per ottenere aiuto in ambito salato e ho trovato la ricetta che cercavo (grazie infinite, David!).

Ho fatto le gougères tre volte, sempre usando il mio formaggio fatto in casa. La prima volta ho usato del colby, perché era ciò che avevo disponibile, e ha funzionato bene. La seconda e terza volta volevo servire le gougères con Roasted Pumpkin-Apple Soup (crema di zucca e mele cotte al forno, ritratta nella foto a sinistra) e il dolce gouda mi sembrava la scelta giusta. Questa formetta di gouda è il primo formaggio a pasta dura che ho fatto, all'inizio di settembre, dopo aver interrotto brevemente tale attività durante il periodo estivo. (Ho continuato a fare formaggi freschi come fromage blanc.) La mia formetta di gouda l'ho lasciata invecchiare 6 settimane. (Nella foto si vede la forma durante il periodo di asciugatura.)

Ho apportato un paio di piccole modifiche alla ricetta originale:

• Ho pesato il gouda grattugiato e ne ho utilizzato 70 g.
• Non ho messo il formaggio sulla superficie delle gougères, ma solo nell'impasto.
  
• Ho usato 4 fili (piuttosto lunghi) di erba cipollina dal mio orticello, invece di 12, perché temevo un sapore troppo forte insieme al mio gouda delicato.

Sono molto soddisfatta del risultato ottenuto, sia in termini di struttura dei piccoli bignè salati sia del sapore impartito loro dal mio formaggio fatto in casa, tanto è vero che ho scelto le gougères al gouda per accompagnare anche un altro piatto, ma è questa una storia per un altro giorno.

crema di mais con tofu e pomodoro

corn soup with tofu and tomato
[cliccare il link per andare alla versione in italiano]

Apprentices have asked me, what is the most exalted peak of cuisine? Is it the freshest ingredients, the most complex flavors? Is it the rustic, or the rare? It is none of these. The peak is neither eating nor cooking, but the giving and sharing of food. Great food should never be taken alone. What pleasure can a man take in fine cuisine unless he invites cherished friends, counts the days until the banquet, and composes an anticipatory poem for his letter of invitation?

Liang Wei, The Last Chinese Chef

The opening of the novel The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones intrigued me and what followed was a very pleasant read. It was also a thought-provoking one.

Chinese cooking accumulates greatness in the pursuit of artifice. Although we say our goal is xian, the untouched natural flavor of a thing, in fact we often concoct that flavor by adding many things which then must become invisible. Thus flavor is part quality of ingredients and part sleight of hand. The latter can go to extremes.The gourmet loves nothing more than to see a glazed duck come to the table, heady and strong with what must be the aromatic nong of meat juices, only to find the “duck” composed entirely of vegetables. The superior cook strives to please the mind as well as the appetite.

Liang Wei, The Last Chinese Chef

What is described in the excerpt above is an approach to food (preparing it and savoring it) that is quite foreign to me, and it made me think. The two excerpts are quotes from a book that is a fiction-within-a-fiction (a fictional memoir within a fiction, to be precise). In the next one, Liang Wei reminisces about his teacher, Lord Tan:

When I went out into the city it was with Tan Zhuanqing. He liked to select his own provisions. Everyone knew him. He was famous. I heard people ask him: Why not leave the palace? Open your own restaurant. And he would always say there could be no higher calling than cooking for the Emperor. He was correct. But behind that truth was another one, which was that he also cooked for the cognoscenti. The gourmet was as important as the chef. Liang tiao tui zou: the art walks on two legs. To have one, you must have the other.

I enjoyed reading the story of chef Sam Liang, of how he develops his sumptuous banquet (banchetto), how he relates to his uncles, his father (who is Liang Wei's son), his complex heritage and to Maggie (the female protagonist). The novel is rich in characters and events and therefore giving even a brief outline is hard. Hence, I won't try and prefer to invite you to read it.

In the episode that inspired me, the platter of "plain food" prepared as part of the banquet menu lands on the floor, a mishap that destroys the carrier of the flavor of 30 crabs (granchi, singular granchio). What intrigued me was the concept of tofu boiled until it becomes spongy and able to absorbs a sauce, crab reduction sauce in this case. The guest thinks he or she is eating plain tofu, but at the first bite, the unsuspecting taste buds get a jolt:

"It looks like tofu — a peasant dish —when it comes to the table. Then the crab squirts out when you bite into it. So good."

Making a reduction sauce from 30 crabs was outside my range of possibilities, but I thought this would be my chance to finally do something I had never done before: prepare a dish with tofu as one of the ingredients. The four ears of sweet corn (pannocchie di granturco)¹ I found in this week CSA box provided another inspirational element to the enterprise. I had just made some vegetable stock using corn cobs — based on the recipe for Quick Stock in Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison — so the idea of corn soup took shape in my mind. The question was: would spongy tofu soak up creamy corn soup?

Before I could answer the question, I had to make the soup. I wanted the corn to be roasted, because that is how I like it best, and so proceeded to do that at 450 F for 20 minutes. When it was cool, I removed the husks and silk and used a knife to get the kernels and scrapings. I briefly cooked a thinly-sliced shallot (scalogno) in warm olive oil (olio d'oliva), then added to it a cup of my vegetable stock and cooked, covered, for 10 minutes. I then added the corn, a small Divina potato (patata), peeled and grated, and 1.5 cups of water (see Note below). I brought to a boil and cooked, partially covered, for 20 minutes. I puréed the soup with my immersion blender and then pushed it through a mesh strainer — I got this and other ideas implemented in this recipe from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone. I seasoned the soup with salt and some finely chopped fresh herbs: 3 leaves of lovage (sedano di monte, from my garden) and 3 of basil (basilico). Note: The resulting purée was rather thick, which is fine with me, since I like thick soups. If you prefer a thinner soup, add more water in the relevant step. The quantity of water also depends on the amount of corn you get from your ears: I'd say that mine were medium-size.

From a block of tofu, I cut a 4 oz piece and cut it in small cubes, which I then boiled for 30 minutes. At the end, the tofu did not look much different from what had been at the beginning, but I didn't let that deter me from continuing with my recipe. A nice, ripe, red tomato (pomodoro) also came out of my CSA box: I made an X-shaped incision at its bottom and added it to the water where the tofu was boiling and kept it there for less than a minute, which allowed me to easily remove its skin. I seeded and diced half of it and set it aside. 

Finally, it was time to assemble the dish: I placed a bit of tofu at the bottom of the bowl, poured over it two ladlefuls of corn soup and dropped some of the diced tomatoes on top. Taking photographs of the bowl was the hardest part. As I mentioned in my previous post, I have a new camera and I am still completely inept with it. The photo op over, it was time to get the taste buds into the action. I am happy to report that the soup was excellent. The spongy tofu experiment did not work as expected, but that detracted nothing from the dish. Tofu added texture without cluttering the flavor space, which was dominated by the roasted sweet corn, underlined by the fresh herbs and complemented by the tomato. Both my husband and I had seconds and in so doing cleaned the soup pot.

In reading again the inspiring section of the book, I realized I did not follow the description in two details, which may explain the difference between my result and what I was trying to obtain:

[H]e dropped in the slices of spongy tofu, immersing them. "This cooks on low. The tofu will drink up all the sauce."

My tofu was cut in small cubes, not slices, and I did not cook it on low with the soup. So, I have some elements to guide me in my next realization of this recipe. That I will make it again is a certainty, because it was "so good." Update: a report on my second attempt and on my third one.

This is my contribution to the fourth edition of Cook the Books, hosted by Deb of Kahakai Kitchen. You can find the guidelines for participating in the event here, and here is the announcement of the current edition. Finally, here's the roundup.

My crema di mais con tofu e pomodoro is not a Chinese dish. One could say that my choice of ingredients (basil, tomato) harks more to my country of origin. The way I see it, the story of The Last Chinese Chef is also a story of reconnecting to one's heritage or past, of embracing it, and linking it to other elements of one's experience. In this soup, I married elements of my Italian culinary experience (tomato and basil) to an element of my adoptive country (corn) and to an element (tofu) that was foreign to me until I moved to the US and was exposed to Asian culinary traditions.

¹ Both mais and granturco mean corn in Italian.

Hear me pronounce the words on the crema di mais con tofu e pomodoro audio file [mp3] or go to the crema di mais con tofu e pomodoro audio page for more listening options.

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Per i lettori italiani. Questo post trova ispirazione nel romanzo L'ultimo chef cinese di Nicole Moines, lettura tanto piacevole quanto stimolante, per lo sguardo sulla cultura gastronomica cinese che offre.

Ho letto il romanzo nell'ambito del Cook the Books club e un episodio verso la fine del racconto mi ha ispirato a preparare questa crema di mais con tofu e pomodoro. Non è un piatto cinese, ma contiene tofu, un ingrediente che fino ad oggi non avevo mai usato in cucina, pur avendolo mangiato innumerevoli volte. Nell'episodio in questione, il tofu viene bollito fino a diventare spugnoso, e poi viene immerso in una salsa densa ottenuta da 30 granchi. L'idea è che quando viene servito, il commensale pensa che sia semplice tofu, ma quando ne mette in bocca un pezzo, la salsa di granchio schizza fuori, sorprendendo il palato con il suo sapore inaspettato e intenso.

Fare una salsa di granchio non era pensabile. L'idea della crema di mais me l'hanno data le quattro pannocchie appena colte che ho trovato nella scatola che ho ricevuto questa settimana dalla mia CSA e il fatto che un paio di giorni prima avevo preparato del brodo vegetale utilizzando, tra gli altri ingredienti, pannocchie vuote. Per la realizzazione delle ricetta ho tratto idee dal mio fedele libro di cucina Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone di Deborah Madison.

Le pannocchie le ho arrostite in forno a 230 C per 20 minuti (senza rimuovere le foglie esterne), poi ho rimosso foglie e fili e ho tagliato i chicchi col coltello (se non lo avete mai fatto, guardate questo video). In una pentola, ho scaldato un po' d'olio d'oliva e ho aggiunto uno scalogno tagliato sottile, ho girato e poi ho aggiunto 250 ml del brodo vegetale di cui sopra. Ho fatto bollire per 10 minuti e poi ho aggiunto il mais, una piccola patata sbucciata e grattata, e 350 ml d'acqua (vedi Nota sotto). Ho portato ad ebollizione e ho cotto per 20 minuti a pentola parzialmente coperta. Col mixer ad immersione ho ridotto il tutto a una crema che ho poi filtrato con un passino. Alla fine, ho aggiustato il sale e ho aggiunto 3 foglioline di sedano di monte (che cresce nel mio orticello) e 3 di basilico tagliate fine. Nota: La mia crema è venuta piuttosto densa, come piace a me. Se volete una consistenza più liquida, aggiungete più acqua. La quantità di acqua dipende anche dalla quantità di mais che ottenete dalle pannocchie: le mie direi che erano di dimensioni medie.

Il libro dice che il tofu diventa spugnoso se bolle per mezz'ora. Ho tagliato a cubetti 120 g di tofu e l'ho fatto bollire come descritto. Al termine della cottura, non mi è sembrato molto diverso da come era all'inizio, ma questo non mi ha scoraggiato nel procedere con la mia ricetta. Dalla scatola della CSA ho tirato fuori un bel pomodoro maturo e dopo aver fatto un'incisione ad X alla base, l'ho messo nella pentola con il tofu per poco tempo, poi l'ho pelato e tagliato a metà. Una metà l'ho tagliata a dadini, dopo aver rimosso is semi.

A questo punto, tutto era pronto per l'assemblaggio finale. In ognuna delle due ciotole (una per me e una per mio marito) ho messo un po' di tofu, poi ho versato sopra due mestoli di crema e infine ho depositato sulla superficie del pomodoro. Fare foto è stato difficile, poiché come ho spiegato nel mio post precedente, ho una macchina fotografica nuova e sono ancora del tutto imbranata quanto tento di usarla. Finite le foto, ci siamo dati all'assaggio e devo dire che le nostre papille gustative hanno gradito molto la crema di mais. Il tofu non era affatto spugnoso, ma questo non ha rovinato il piatto. Sapori e strutture di tutti gli ingredienti hanno funzionato molto bene insieme. Sia io che mio marito ci siamo serviti una seconda porzione e, ciò facendo, abbiamo pulito la pentola.

Rileggendo il passo del libro che mi ha ispirato, mi sono resa conto di non aver seguito le indicazioni in due punti, il che potrebbe spiegare la differenza tra il mio risultato e quello che mi aspettavo. Lo chef, Sam Liang, immerge fettine di tofu nella salsa di granchio e poi dice: "Questo cuoce a fuoco lento. Il tofu assorbirà la salsa." Il mio tofu era tagliato a cubetti invece che a fettine e non l'ho fatto cuocere a fuoco lento con la crema di mais. Quindi, ho delle indicazioni che mi guideranno la prossima volta che realizzo questa ricetta. Sono sicura che la faro di nuovo, perché è davvero buona. Aggiornamento: risultato del mio secondo tentativo e del terzo.

Novel Food #8: the finale (one serving)

For the 8th time in its illustrious history, Novel Food, the literary/culinary event that Lisa of Champaign Taste and I created a few seasons ago, has reached its final phase: the roundup.

Do you find that you read more in the summer? I don't, in the sense that I read about an hour a day every day of the year (more if I can). Somehow, though, this year I started the summer with a nice stack of books ready to become food for my hungry eyes and mind. So far, the meal has been quite pleasant. One of the nice characteristics of Novel Food is that we get a list of recommended readings and a list of recommended recipes, all packaged into a pleasant event.

Without further ado, let me tell you a bit about half of the contributions, while Lisa will present the other half. Sit down, relax, and enjoy this trip to the space where the literary and the culinary worlds meet, mingle and have a pleasant time together. 

"Janie has a problem: she keeps getting sucked into other people's dreams." How is this for an intriguing introduction? I must admit that I keep thinking of what it would be like: fascinating, for sure. Ruhama of rumahama thus introduces Wake by Lisa McMann.

"When Janie comes out of a dream, she's exhausted and needs food quickly." In this instance, she is the one to get help in the form of Snicker bars. From this, Ruhama in inspired to prepare a Snicker bar salad. I know you'll be curious to learn about this dish, so hop over to her blog, read all about it, then come back here for more.

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Flory of sugar sublime tells the story of how the proposal for a cheese party "somewhere along the way, morphed into an Alice-in-Wonderland Mad Tea Party." Flory became acquainted with Alice in Wonderland through Disney's movie, then went to the source, read Lewis Carroll's book and loved it. Don't we all?

I won't even try to start listing all the dishes of the party: you will read all the details in Flory's post. Did I say that the party included the characters too? Don't forget to come back here to go on to the next contribution.

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We travel from Wonderland to war land, in the company of Paz of The Cooking Adventures of Chef Paz and the novel that inspired her: Mare's War by Tanita S. Davis. "Mare ran away from home at a young age, lied about her age, and joined the African American battalion of the Women’s Army Corp during World War II."

Being a soldier is a hard life. A passage in the novel inspired Paz to make Potato Salad. In this scene, Mare is working in the mess: "I might not know nothing about nothing in this man’s army, but I sure can handle myself in a kitchen." Make sure you read the post, then come back here for the next bite.

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Adele of Tales of the Basil Queen turned our event upside-down, so to speak: "I started with the ingredients, and worked my way out." You will read the details of her journey in her post, where she introduces us to Adèle Geras' Apricots at Midnight a collection of short stories told to the narrator, a young girl, by her Aunt Pinny.

The title story revolves around a lavish party thrown by Mrs. Triptree. Mr. Triptree would rather be elsewhere than there, and he finds pleasure in bringing some food to the young Pinny. From the apricots shared then comes the Apricot Tart: "find a quiet corner in which to feast in peace," says Adele, then come back here for a bit more.

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For the occasion, Simona of briciole (that would be me), went back to her beloved Inspector Montalbano, protagonist of many novels and stories by Andrea Camilleri. The immediate source of inspiration this time was Rounding the Mark, where Montalbano faces horrible crimes, but still does not waver from his habit of focusing on the food in front of him "savoring each bite as though it were his last."

Montalbano's simple gesture of picking up sesame seeds fallen from the surface of fresh bread, inspired me to bake four kinds of bread, three with sesame seeds and one with olives (a favorite food of Montalbano). After you have read about my bread spree, come back here for the last morsel.

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Part of the fun of hosting Novel Food is the conversations Lisa of Champaign Taste and I have on the subject between the week before the announcement and the day of the roundup. We share ideas about the literary works to feature, declare changes to our plans, take detour into different areas of the food world (the most recent one being about lamb pluck) and rejoice at the wonderful contributions we receive. Of those, you have read here about half, so make sure you visit Lisa's portion of the roundup, for another set of enticing morsels.

At the beginning, you will read Lisa's own contribution, featuring the novel A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. She loved the book and was inspired by it to prepare an Afghan meal of lamb kebabs, spinach with rice and a tomato chutney. Thanks Lisa, and thanks to all who contributed to our event.

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I hope you had fun reading the two portions of the roundup of this edition of Novel Food. The next edition of our event will be later in the year: as usual, we will announce it on our blogs and on other venues, so stay tuned. In the meantime, read a book (maybe with the next Novel Food in mind), cook, and otherwise enjoy the time of the year.

scone

I first tasted a scone the second time I was in England to study. It was accompanied with jam and clotted cream. It was quite different from anything I had tasted before and it was love at first bite.

The table was covered with a checked red-and-white tablecloth that matched the counterpane, and upon it was set a blue dish full of apples, a yellow jug of milk, a purple plate upon which were piled buttered scones, two green plates and two mugs to match.

What I like about this description is that it is colorful: red, white, blue, yellow, purple and green. To the list, pretty soon another one is added: salmon-pink, the color of the geraniums (gerani) that crowd the room where Marmaduke Scarlet lives. Maria, the protagonist of the novel The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge (1946), visits Marmaduke's quarters towards the end of the book. Up until that point, she has only seen him while presiding in the kitchen, in the company of Zachariah, the cat.

The novel is a bit too rich in colorful characters to attempt even a brief description here, and maybe you already know all about them from reading the novel when you were a child, or having it read to you. I can see how children would be fascinated by the story, the characters, the places, the events. Had I read the story as a little girl, would I have wished to be Maria? I obviously cannot answer this question. I can tell you, though, that my favorite character was Serena, the white hare (lepre) that Maria rescues from the Men from the Dark Woods.

Back to the scones baked by Marmaduke Scarlet for Maria, I baked mine for my husband. In looking for a recipe to replicate, I had as requirement that it used buttermilk (latticello), which narrowed the list of candidates. Out of those I found, I chose this one. The changes I made were: no topping, and fresh raspberries (lamponi) or blueberries (mirtilli) instead of dried cherries (ciliegie). Another feature of the recipe that recommended it to me is that it makes a small number of scones: they are so much better when freshly made and a small number is perfect for our small household.

I made the recipe three times. The first time, I used raspberries and shaped the dough (which was rather sticky, due to the broken-down fresh raspberries) into 8 rounds, while the second time (also with raspberries) I shaped the dough into a single round, then scored it into 8 slices, which I separated a few minutes before the end of baking time, then put back into the oven, to obtain crispy edges all around.The third time, I used blueberries and went back to the separate round shapes (see photo). I never measured the fruit. I estimate that I had about half a cup of raspberries and a cup of blueberries.

In the pages that follow the little scene that inspired me, Marmaduke outshines himself by preparing a banquet for 30 people, whose menu includes famous English dishes that I know (syllabub, plum cake) and a lot that I don't (Cornish pasty, Devonshire splits). In earlier chapters, he consistently provides delectable repasts for the inhabitants of Moonacre Manor.

One last note. In part 3 of Chapter 9 there is the Spring Song:

Praised be our Lord for our brother the sun...
Praised by our Lord for our sister the Moon...

St. Francis of Assisi (San Francesco d'Assisi, 1181/2-1226) wrote a beautiful poem in praise of brother sun (fratello sole), sister moon (sorella luna), mother earth (madre terra), etc. In Italian, the poem is called Cantico delle creature, while in English it is called Canticle of the Sun. I investigated possible links between Ms. Goudge and St. Francis and found that she wrote a book about his life, published in 1959.

This is my contribution to the third edition of Cook the Books, hosted by Rachel The Crispy Cook. You can find the guidelines for participating in the event here, and here is the announcement of the current edition.

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

Edizione speciale: Novel Food #8

Special Edition: Announcing Novel Food #8

Calling all readers with a passion for cooking and cooks with a love of literature: the new edition of Novel Food, the culinary/literary event that Lisa of Champaign Taste and I co-launched a few seasons ago is here again.

As in the previous editions, we are interested in published literary works (a novel, novella, short story, memoir, bio, poem) that provided you with culinary inspiration.

If you are new to the event, and you are wondering what it is about, follow this link to view my portion of the roundup of the previous edition. There, you will find a link to Lisa's portion of the roundup.

Rest assured, this is a fun event. And at the end, you get a nice reading list, which will keep you company until the next edition rolls around, later in the year. It will be a special summer reading list.

Here are the simple rules for participating in Novel Food:

1. Prepare a dish of your choosing that has a connection to a published literary work (novel, novella, short story, memoir, bio, poem).
2. Publish a post about it on your blog by the end of Saturday July 18, 2009 (midnight, Pacific Time), referencing the Novel Food event. Include a link to this or to Lisa's announcement. If you wish, you can use the Novel Food logo.
3. Send an e-mail to Lisa (champaigntaste AT gmail DOT com) or to me (simosite AT mac DOT com) and include your name, blog name and blog address, and a permanent link to your post. Please, include the words "Novel Food" in the email subject, so we can more easily retrieve the message in our inbox.
4. Non-English submissions are fine. If possible, include an introduction in English.

If you don't have a blog, send us an email telling us about the recipe, the literary work that inspired it, and, if you have it, a picture of what you made: we will add it to the roundup as well.

Note: If you don't receive an answer to your email or a comment on your post within two days of sending me or Lisa the email, please contact us again: sometimes email messages get lost in cyberspace.

Lisa and I will do a roundup soon after the deadline.

qualcosa da spalmare sul pane

something to spread on bread
The Italian dictionary translates spread as (cibo in) crema, pasta, meaning food with the consistency of cream, a paste. Growing up, I spread on bread burro (butter), marmellata (jam), creamy cheese, dairy products (like ricotta or mascarpone), or a combination thereof (like burro e marmellata, or ricotta e marmellata). Other kinds of spread have an aura of novelty for me.

As a book lover, I could not pass up the opportunity to participate to an event that marries books and food (in a different way from Novel Food, the event Lisa of Champaign Taste and I have been hosting for some time).

The event I am talking about is called Cook the Books and you can find the guidelines for participating here. After missing the first edition due to end of the year overload, I secured a copy of the book chosen for the second edition as soon as it was announced.

The Language of Baklava by Diana Abu-Jaber is a memoir. Born from an American mother and a Jordanian father, Ms. Abu-Jaber describes her life experiences in both cultures "and the richness and difficulty of straddling them both" (quoting the book's jacket). The narrative includes recipes, many of Jordanian food prepared by her father or in the context of gatherings of his side of the family.

For the event, I chose to make Magical Muhammara, a recipe that appears at the end of chapter 9. Muhammara is a dip or spread that, according to what I have read, originally comes from Aleppo (Syria). It lists walnuts, red bell peppers and breadcrumbs among its ingredients. Ms. Abu-Jaber thus describes the dish:

An enchanting opening dish, this dip or spread is good for when you want everyone to quit running around and come to the table.

Hence, besides being delicious, muhammara is also a useful tool for difficult-to-manage situations, which may occur in the presence of several children and/or adults who get all wrapped up in pre-dinner discussions. I decided to halve the recipe, since I was planning to make it for the two of us. I also made a few adjustments to accommodate personal preferences and ingredient availability.

The version I made had the following ingredients:

• 1 teaspoon chili pepper flakes
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 3/4 cup walnuts (blanched for one minute, drained, excess water absorbed and dried in the oven at 300 F for 16 minutes, or until dry: this is how I always treat walnuts before using them)
• 1/4 cup bread crumbs (I make them using some of my homemade bread and my wonderful grater)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon tomato paste diluted with 1 tablespoon water
• 1/4 teaspoon allspice
• 1 roasted red bell pepper, peeled and chopped
• fresh parsley (from my herb garden, amazingly)

I put everything, except parsley, in the food processor and puréed until smooth. Muhammara is of a nice red color. I spooned some of it in a small bowl for the photo-op. I sprinkled some chopped parsley and mixed it in, then decorated the top with a dollop of my freshly-made ricotta.

If you make muhammara in advance, cover and chill until ready to serve it. Paula Wolfert recommends to bring it back to room temperature before serving it. Ms. Abu-Jaber suggests to drizzle with olive oil before serving it with warm pita bread (for which she gives a recipe in chapter 8). I served it with slices of toasted homemade (by me) sourdough bread and the combination was a pleasure to eat. Warning: it is addictive.

This dish is also nice spread with lebeneh.

Having tasted both foods separately, I can see how they would go well together and will definitely remember this the next time I make lebeneh (or labneh).

Hear me pronounce the words on the qualcosa da spalmare sul pane audio file [mp3] or go to the qualcosa da spalmare sul pane audio page for more listening options.

Montalbano

Name: Salvo Montalbano
Occupation: Commissario di Polizia (Police Inspector)
Creator: Andrea Camilleri
Location: Vigata [see footnote ¹ for more details]
Language spoken: Italian with a Sicilian accent, sprinkled with a generous dose of Sicilian words
Typical expression: Montalbano sono, i.e., this is Montalbano, pronounced when he answers the phone or knocks on someone's door. It is a typical trait of the Sicilian language to place the verb at the end in this sentence, which in Italian would be Sono Montalbano.

A number of people have heard me sing the praise of Camilleri's novels, so I thought I would expand a bit the scope of my blog and write a post about my beloved Montalbano. He is Sicilian and speaks the language. He is not a cook, but a food lover, who drinks only espresso for breakfast, but then sits down to eat his lunch and his dinner: no sandwich grabbed in a rush for him! Readers know what Montalbano gets at the restaurant and what his housekeeper Adelina leaves in the oven or in the fridge for him to eat at the end of his long working days. They also know about his eternal fiancée Livia, who lives far away, and about his collaborators, from his second in command, Mimì Augello, to efficient Fazio, to funny Catarella, all deeply devoted to Montalbano and loyal to him even when he is in a bad mood or they don't understand what he is up to.

Montalbano's stories are a tribute to Sicily, its colorful language, its amazing food, its warm-hearted people and its often rugged landscape. There is the Mafia behind some of the murders in the novels, but also modern criminal activities, like organ trafficking. Camilleri has a delicacy of touch that makes each character alive and profoundly human.

Concentrating on the food on his plate and ultimately in his mouth is a way for Montalbano to clear his mind, to leave space for his mental processes to run their course. A recurring scene is Montalbano going to his home on the beach, setting the table and eating what Adelina has made for him (sometimes supplementing it with aulive, passuluna and a piece of caciocavallo (green and black olives and a typical southern Italian dream of a cheese). Sharing a meal with a person (a victim, a suspect, a witness) allows Montalbano to study him or her across the dining table. He often bases his likes and dislikes on the person's relationship with food. He also has deep respect and affection for good cooks and celebrates them in the best possible way: by eating everything they prepare with appreciation and gratitude. A not uncommon side effect of such meals is the need to take a nap, gli occhi a pampineddra (about to close) being the unmistakable sign of the impending journey in the land of dreams.

Both the language and the food show clear signs of the multicultural heritage Sicily owes to its strategic location in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Most of the Sicilian words and expressions Camilleri uses were foreign to me and I deciphered them based on their context, much like I used to do when I started reading English novels in college. Now those words and expressions are old friends, but they have not lost their shine: I still love to pronounce them in my mind (not being Sicilian, my rendition is very approximate) and savor them, like the dishes Montalbano empties during his meals. Some of those dishes are famous outside Sicily (like pasta alla Norma), while others have more local currency (like pappanozza, made with onions and potatoes boiled for a long time, then placed in a bowl and mashed with the back of a fork until they are well mixed, seasoned with olive oil, vinegar, salt and freshly ground black pepper).

To see a beloved book character embodied in an actor is often a bit of a disappointment, but when Camilleri's stories were made into TV movies everybody agreed that Luca Zingaretti played his role beautifully (though in my eyes he is a handsomer version of Montalbano). You can see images of Camilleri, Montalbano, and the whole gang on this page.

¹Andrea Camilleri was born in Porto Empedocle (Agrigento, Sicily). In 2003, after obtaining Camilleri's permission, the city has changed its name to Porto Empedocle Vigata. The Vigata of the movies is Scicli (Ragusa, Sicily).

Hear me pronounce names and words on the Montalbano audio file [mp3] or go to the Montalbano audio page for more listening options.