briciole

offelle di marmellata

Offella is an ancient name meaning focaccia dolce (sweet). It comes from the Latin offa, a small focaccia made with farro. The recipe for these cookies was inspired by the one in La scienza in cucina e l'arte di mangiare bene (Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well — this and the other two links below go to an English translation of the book) by Pellegrino Artusi, first published in 1891. In Italy, we refer to this seminal cookbook as L'Artusi.

I have no childhood memories of cookie-baking at our house in preparation for the Holidays. However, that has not prevented me from engaging in cookie-baking in my adulthood. In preparation for that undertaking, I flipped through the good old Artusi, and the offelle di marmellata caught my attention. They are not traditional Christmas cookies, but I decided to co-opt them to become part of my own personal tradition.

I had several jars of my homemade marmellata and was looking for a way to use it besides the one I already know (for example, to top my tartarughe di pasta frolla). I have a circle scalloped cookie cutter and decided it would work, though it is not exactly like the one shown in the book. I also have my burro fatto in casa (homemade butter), which just screamed to be used for cookies.

I recommend you read the interesting introduction Artusi writes to his recipe for offelle di marmellata. In the audio file I pronounce for you the saying mentioned: dar l'offa al Cerbero.

I did not use the recipe for apple filling given by Artusi, but indeed, one of the marmellate I made has apples and grapes, so it is similar. I also used other types of marmellata for the several batches of offelle I baked. I make marmellata with a small quantity of honey (10 parts of fruit to one part of sweetener), so I call it fruit spread, rather than jam. 

I developed a variation of Artusi's recipe A for pasta frolla (sweet shortcrust pastry), which I will give below. I decided to make a smaller batch of pasta frolla than the one in the book, and distributed the offelle immediately to the intended recipients. I even mailed some, but I don't yet know how they fared during their trip. One thing I often do is prepare the pasta frolla in the evening and keep it in the fridge until the next morning, when I bake offelle for breakfast. My husband likes that.

Ingredients:

• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 cup regular flour (farina)
• 1/2 cup whole wheat pastry flour
• 3 oz (6 tablespoons) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
• 1 extra-large egg
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract or a bit of grated lemon zest (optional)
• 1 egg yolk diluted with 2 teaspoons water (egg wash)
• marmellata (a thick kind with low sugar content works better)

Put the sugar in the food processor and let it run for a little while, then add the flours (minus one tablespoon of the regular one) and mix briefly. Add the butter and pulse a few times, until the mixture has the consistency of coarse crumbs. Empty the food processor's bowl on your kneading surface. Make a well in the center and break the egg in it. With the help of a fork incorporate the egg into the flour mixture. Add optional flavoring of choice (I use vanilla sugar). Knead briefly to obtain a soft dough, shape it into a thick disk, wrap it in plastic and put in the fridge until well chilled.

Preheat the oven to 375 F. Divide the dough into 2-3 pieces and keep the one(s) you are not rolling in the fridge until needed. Roll the dough to a thickness of no more than 1/8", using the tablespoon of flour set aside above to keep your surface and the rolling pin non stick. Cut the dough using your cookie cutter and put the excess dough in the fridge to chill it before reworking it. Spoon some fruit spread in the center of a cookie and cover it with another, pressing all around the edge to seal. Place on a baking sheet lined with a silicone mat or parchment paper. Repeat until you use all the dough.

I usually bake two batches, so I can let the excess dough chill before rolling it again. With a pastry brush, paint a bit of the egg wash over each cookie and put the baking sheet in the oven. Check after 16 minutes and gauge the remaining baking time. The offelle are ready when golden. Let them cool for a few minutes on the tray before trying to move them. It is better to bake the second batch on another sheet, so the first batch can rest undisturbed. Forget about storing the offelle: share them and eat them as soon as possible. And since they are not tied to the Holidays, you can bake more offelle afterwards, whenever you feel like. That is definitely what I'll do.

This is my contribution to season 2 of Eat Christmas Cookies, an event mixed and baked by Susan of Food Blogga. She has been gathering a host of delicious recipes from around the world, 228 of them, to be precise. You can see them all in part 1 and part 2 of the roundup.

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

tartarughe di pasta frolla

sweet shortcrust pastry turtles
I recently wrote about making pastiera (here and here). In the first post I hinted at a way of recycling the leftover pasta frolla (or pastafrolla, sweet shortcrust pastry). My aunt Lucia used to make crostata (jam tart) and with the leftover pasta frolla she would make mini versions of the same dessert, i.e., crostatine (literally, small crostate). I (sort of) did the same. For the occasion, I used the sea turtle cookie cutter I had received for my participation to the adopt a creature campaign by Oceana.

The sea turtle (tartaruga marina) is my husband's favorite marine creature (mine is the spotted eagle ray). When we dive, he is always on the lookout for sea turtles. They are indeed, really cool creatures, elegant swimmers, noisy eaters, funny nappers.

After I rolled out the pasta frolla for the pastiera and used some extra dough to make the decorative lattice over the filling, I wrapped the remainder and put it in the fridge for 20 minutes or so, because by then it was a bit too warm to handle. In the meantime, the oven had the pastiera in it. I rolled the pasta frolla and used my sea turtle cookie cutter to obtain the familiar shapes. I then placed them on a cookie tray lined with a silicone mat (parchment paper is good too) and finally spooned a bit of fruit spread on the top, making sure not to get too close to the edges, to avoid spillovers. 

By the time I was done shaping the pasta frolla into turtles, the pastiera was close to being done. I had space enough in the oven to add the loaded baking tray. The baking time is 10-12 minutes and since it is easy to burn the crostatine, check after nine minutes and adjust the time accordingly¹. When the crostatine are pale golden, they are ready. Take the baking tray out and let them cool undisturbed, as they harden in the process and if you try to move them too early they may break (they are still edible even though broken).

My aunt would make round crostatine, put some of her home-made jam in the center and then make a tiny version of the decorative lattice by crossing two short, thin strips of dough. I started doing something similar (see left turtle in the photo), but then decided that I liked the turtles better unadorned. Sweet, crunchy sea turtles for my husband, until the next time we can see real ones, in their natural habitat.

¹ When I bake crostatine with crostata I check them after eight minutes, as the oven temperature is higher (375 F) than when I bake pastiera.

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

Novel Food #3: biscotti

Biscotto is a word of Latin origin that means twice-baked: the dough is baked, then cut into slices and baked again. From describing a cooking procedure, the word biscotto came to indicate a baked product, crunchy and rather dry in texture. Nowadays, biscotti are not necessarily twice-baked ¹. In Italy, you can find shelves full of biscotti in grocery stores: frollini, novelllini, petit, oswego (or osvego), plus a host of brand-specific names.

What do we do with them?

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a liter of milk, splashed some into a pan, and set it on the flame to heat... From the cabinet he pulled down a bag of sweet biscuits they bought for the children and peered into it to see how many were left.
When the coffee was finished boiling up into the top of the double pot, he poured it into a mug, added the steaming milk, spooned in less sugar than he liked, and went to sit across from Paola.
[...]
"Yes, my treasure," he fawned. He let go of the cup and pushed it toward her. When she had taken another sip, he extracted a biscuit from the bag and dipped it into the coffee.
"You are disgusting," she said, then smiled.
"Simple peasant," he agreed, shoving the biscuit into his mouth.
Paola never talked much about what it had been like to be raised in the palazzo, with an English nanny and a flock of servants, but if he knew anything about all those years, he knew that she had never been permitted to dunk. He saw it as a great lapse in her upbringing and insisted that their children be allowed to do it. She had agreed, but with great reluctance. Neither child, he never failed to point out to her, showed grave signs of moral or physical decline as a result.

The 'he' in the excerpt is commissario Guido Brunetti, and the lines are from "Death at La Fenice," the first of the novels by Donna Leon that have Brunetti as protagonist and Venezia as setting. I must admit that it was the latter characteristic that enticed me to get hold of the book. I have, in fact, a deep passion for the city on the lagoon (laguna), for its beauty, which defies description, for its magical atmosphere. A glorious setting is certainly not enough to make a mystery intriguing. I enjoyed "Death at La Fenice," not only for the setting, but also for the characters (including Paola, Brunetti's wife), for the way the story unfolds, and for how the climax is reached (which I found quite nice). Reading "Death at La Fenice" was as satisfying as inzuppare i biscotti nel caffelatte o nel tè (tea).

In the scene described above, which made me laugh out loud in recognition of a connection between me and the commissario, Brunetti indulges in biscotti dunking at the end of the day. In my childhood, that ritual was more connected to breakfast or to the afternoon snack (in which case the liquid of choice was tea). The alternative accompaniment to the morning caffelatte was pane e marmellata (bread and jam, usually home-made). Nowadays, I indulge in biscotti eating (i.e., sans liquid) at the end of the day, my breakfast habits having taken a different turn. I consider my love for biscotti an aspect of my Italian heritage and I appreciated Donna Leon's vignette featuring it.

When I moved to California, I did not find in the local stores any of the biscotti I was used to eating. On the other hand, I found plenty of 'biscotti,' variations on the theme of a twice-baked product that up until then I had called cantucci. These delicacies are often offered as dessert in Tuscan restaurants, paired with vin santo, a wine made with grapes that have been slightly dried to concentrate the sugar. Dunking cantucci in vin santo is a distinct option, considered necessary by some.

After trying a few times to eat biscotti and finding them not to my taste, I decided to develop a personalized recipe. Biscotti (and biscotti too) make a great snack, and are therefore a pleasant companion during hikes and other outings.

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Coarsely chop 3.5 ounces of intense dark  (at least 70 percent cocoa) sweetened chocolate and one cup of unpeeled almonds. In a mixing bowl, beat two extra-large eggs with a quarter cup of sugar until bubbly, then add four tablespoons of unsalted butter softened and cut into small pieces, and beat again for a few seconds. Add in succession: one cup of whole wheat pastry flour, a pinch of salt, half a cup of regular flour with one and a half teaspoons of baking powder, and half a teaspoon of vanilla extract, stirring with a wooden spoon after each addition. Add the chopped chocolate and almonds. Turn the dough onto a floured surface and knead it for a few minutes until the butter has been incorporated into the dough. Add flour as needed to prevent sticking: a quarter cup of regular flour, a bit more if necessary, but no more than a third of a cup.

Divide the dough in half and roll each piece until it is about 12 inches long, then move it to a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Flatten each log with your hand so that it is about 3 inches wide and 1/2 inch thick. Use one big cookie sheet or two small ones. The first baking lasts 25 minutes. The logs will rise a bit and turn light brown. Take the sheet(s) out, turn the oven temperature down to 300 F and let the logs cool for 10 minutes or so.

With a bread knife cut the logs into slices no more than 3/4 inch thick. Move the slices back onto the cookie sheet, at least 1/2 inch from each other, standing up. Bake the slices for 14 minutes at 300 F. Check the biscotti after 12 minutes. If the bottom is becoming dark brown, stop the baking, otherwise continue it for two more minutes. Take the biscotti out of the oven and let them rest for at least half an hour.

Fortunately, I did not have to give up my indulgence in biscotti and my production of biscotti was greeted with appreciation both at home and elsewhere. The result it that biscotti can usually be found in a cupboard in my kitchen and biscotti in a container on the kitchen counter. Il commissario Brunetti avrebbe l'imbarazzo della scelta (would be spoiled for choice).

As you may have guessed, this is my entry for Novel Food #3, a seasonal literary/culinary event that Lisa of Champaign Taste and I are co-hosting. The deadline for sending us your literary-inspired culinary creations is Saturday March 22, 2008, 9 am (Pacific Time).

¹ Some, like biscotti di Prato, are twice-baked.

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

savoiardo

ladyfinger
The word savoiardo literally means from Savoy, a region of France that in times gone by included parts of the Italian region of Piedmont. The County of Savoy in time became a Duchy. Later on, the Duke of Savoy acquired also the title of King of Sardinia and finally, in 1861, Vittorio Emanuele II became King of newly-united Italy. The Savoy family lost the Italian throne in 1946, when people voted to change the monarchy into a republic.

The savoiardo of interest in this context is a cookie and, as its name suggests, one related to the noble family of Savoy. The story I read says that in the mid-14th century the pastry chef of Amedeo VI (a.k.a. the Green Count) created a feathery, finger-shaped cookie for a dinner whose special guest was the King of France. The cookie was a big success and continued its life graced with the blessing of the noble family under whose roof it was created.

Savoiardi (as usual, the plural form is much more used than the singular) can be eaten as they are, but in practice they are more often used as ingredients of desserts, thanks to their delicate flavor, lightness and sponginess. Tiramisu, zuppa inglese and charlotte russe are three examples of desserts that employ savoiardi as supporting cast.

[I was inspired to write this post by Julia's beautiful charlotte russe, for which she baked the savoiardi.]

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

reginella

My last name is also the name of a town in Sicily, not far from Palermo. Because of the name, I have always felt a special connection with the island. My first visit dates back to 1980 and, soon after my arrival in Palermo, I tasted amazing cookies called reginelle. 

The word reginella literally means little queen: reginelle is the plural. You really never use the singular form, because as soon as you taste one of those delicacies, you want some more. Reginelle are thumb-shaped, slightly bigger than thumb-sized and covered with sesame seeds. To ensure complete coverage, the cookies are rolled in the seeds before being baked. Sesamo is called cimino in Palermo and reginelle are also called 'nciminati, sesamized (I just made up this word).

[This post is dedicated to Paz.]

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

Update: I brought back some reginelle from my recent visit to Palermo (October 2007). I bought them at the Pasticceria Fratelli Magrì in Via Isidoro Carini 42. They were delicious and when I ate the last one I was almost in tears, which means I really must try and make them at home.