briciole

limetta

lime
(the English lime is also used in Italian)

I didn't know lime existed until, some time during my childhood, a TV advertisement showed a small green fruit, called lime dei Caraibi (Caribbean lime), together with a bright green shampoo (shampoo) — or maybe it was a bubble bath (bagnoschiuma). The association established by the advertisement between lime and green-colored personal hygiene items has been hard to erase from my mind, so buying and using limes does not come natural to me. Before I get out of the bathroom, let me add that the Italian word limetta has another meaning: nail file.

A little while ago, I saw a yellow lime surrounded by green companions and purchased it out of curiosity: I wanted to see what color it was inside. It was green! I loved the color contrast and should have taken a photo, but it was dinner time, there was no natural light and I was about to use the lime to make the recipe which follows. The next time I visit the store where I made such an interesting purchase, I will look for another yellow lime.

While shopping at another store, I saw a fruit called sweet lime (limetta dolce) and, of course, I had to try it. It looks like a lemon and it is indeed sweet, so I realized that it is a sort of edible contradiction, since the reason we treasure limes is their sharpness. If that quality is not there, what's the use? I still have half of the sweet lime and I am trying it in different settings, but have no success to report. Do you have any suggestion?

I have been making the following variation on the theme of cavolfiore arrosto (roasted cauliflower) for a couple of years. It was inspired by a recipe in a magazine called Healthy Cooking. I bought the October 2006 issue of the magazine out of curiosity (a title on the cover said Cook like an Italian...), as I had not seen it before and I don't think I have seen it ever since. I made a few changes to the original recipe, the last one of which is the use of succo di limetta (lime juice) instead of succo di limone (lemon juice).

Preheat oven to 425 F.
Cut a large head of cauliflower (or two small ones) into florets (cut large florets in half) and place in an oiled baking pan.
Bake for 12 minutes.
In the meantime, prepare the following in a small bowl:

• 2 tablespoons capers (capperi), drained (if you use salted capers instead, rinse them)
• a clove of garlic, minced
• 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
• juice of one lime (about 3 tablespoons) 
• 1/4 cup of finely chopped parsley (prezzemolo)

Take the pan out of the oven, add the prepared mixture, stir, then distribute two tablespoons of finely chopped toasted pecans over it. Return the pan to the oven and bake until the cauliflower is ready to your liking, another 12 minutes or so. Add salt and freshly-ground pepper, to taste, stir and serve immediately.

This is my contribution to the event Fresh Produce of the Month: Citrus Fruit (other than lemons and oranges) created by my friend Marta, An Italian in the US, and hosted this month by yours truly.

Citrus fruit lovers of the world, let us know your recipes with grapefruit, limes, mandarins, tangelos, pomelos, etc.: I have only a few so far. The deadline for sending me your creations is February 28.

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

formaggio fatto in casa con le pere

homemade cheese with pears
A year ago, I wrote about the combination of cheese and pears in a post called cartolina da Orvieto (postcard from Orvieto) after enjoying it in a restaurant. I recently enjoyed the heavenly pair at home and a good portion of the enjoyment was due to the fact that the cheese was of my own production.

The road from labneh to my first small wheel of cheese was not without bumps. My first attempt at mozzarella and at cottage cheese were both failures. In the first case, I was able to save the curds and used them in a gratin dish; in the second, the garbage bin was the only option.

I paused a moment before investing money in a cheese press, then proceeded to purchase it. Not long afterward, out of my brand new Cheesypress press came a lovely lilliputian wheel of cheese that I left to age for a week (I could not wait any longer). What a thrill when we first tried it and it tasted good!

To make the cheese, I followed this recipe using yogurt to inoculate the milk. I used a quart of fresh (less than a day old) goat milk (latte di capra) and 3 quarts of non-fat cow milk (latte di mucca scremato). Based on the ingredients, I will dare to call it caciotta di capra, since it was fairly soft. You could taste the goat flavor as a delicate nuance. Pears from the new crop bought at the farmers' market were the right companion for my little success.

I then decided to try and age the cheese a bit longer. For my second attempt, I followed the instructions for Farmhouse Cheddar from "Home Cheese Making" by Ricki Carroll. The main differences from the printed recipe were that I halved the quantities and used 2 oz. of cultured buttermilk to inoculate the milk instead of mesophilic starter.

The aging of my second tiny wheel lasted almost a month, while we traveled to Italy. I omitted the waxing, using a coat of oil instead: this resulted in a drier than desirable cheese. Still, the formaggio was good and the organic pears that went with it were honored (though I am afraid that is not apparent from the photo). Asian pears got to meet my cheese as well and they got along well with it, i.e., we liked the combination.

The funny thing about my adventure in cheese making is that the strongest motivating factor behind it was the production of whey to make ricotta. I did get to make ricotta, using two different recipes. But that is a story for another day.

This is my contribution to Fresh Produce of the Month, an event created by Marta, An Italian in the US. The current edition, as you may have guessed, has pears as its theme. Here is the roundup of the event.

Hear me pronounce the words on the formaggio fatto in casa con le pere audio file [mp3] or go to the formaggio fatto in casa con le pere audio page for more listening options.

prugna

a.k.a. susina: plum
Whatever the name used to refer to it (prugna o susina), this is a fruit I have always liked, so much so that last June we planted a small plum tree (prugno, o susino) in our garden. It is doing so-so and will probably be moved to a more suitable location in the fall. Since prugna may remind you of prune, let me clarify that the latter in Italian is prugna secca (literally, dried plum).

I like pretty much all varieties of plums (prugne o susine), though I miss the one that was my favorite as a child, golden in color and very sweet. I have been buying plums at the farmers' market to eat and make fruit spread with (the most recent incarnation was a plum and blackberry mix). Together with peaches (pesche), plums suggest to me warm summer days.

Last Wednesday, it rained and then the light changed, indicating the shifting from summer to fall. We have had some wonderful sunsets, with the sky turning bright orange, then dark pink. Peaches and plums will soon become a sweet memory. Before it is too late, let me suggest an easy way of tasting them: cut a peach and one or two plums into bite-size pieces and add to them two dollops of fresh mascarpone. Sit down, relax and enjoy the warm light of the waning day. By the way, the mascarpone in the photo is home-made - by me. But that is a story for another day.

Special announcement: I have the honor of hosting the current edition of Fresh Produce of the Month, an event authored by Marta, An Italian in the US. Follow the link to see the roundup of the previous edition (about strawberries) and to read the rules for participating. This month, the focus is on eggplants (melanzane). The deadline for sending your submissions is September 21. 

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

mela

apple
I am not a breakfast person: when I get up, the first thing I crave is something hot and liquid, which translates into a cup of black tea, followed by another cup of black tea, followed, an hour or so later, by a cup of coffee made using my stovetop coffee maker. It is not until mid-morning that I turn my attention to something solid and that something has been, for more years than I can remember, una mela (an apple).

Una mela al giorno leva il medico di torno (an apple a day keeps the doctor away), you may remind me. The reason for my breakfast choice, however, is really my lifelong love for apples. It is certainly a great bonus that apples are good for my health. What has changed in the years is my favorite kind: that spot has been occupied for some time by the Mutsu apple. This time of the year it is not available in the stores, so I am currently breakfasting mostly with a Pinova apple and sometimes with a Golden Delicious. Just yesterday, I purchased some Ambrosia apples but have not yet tasted one.

So, here is the recipe for my apple-based breakfast. Take an organic apple of your liking and wash it carefully. Bite into it and savor the juicy morsel in your mouth. Chew slowly and concentrate on the texture and flavor. Repeat until you are left with just the core. Place it in your compost bin. Wait a few minutes, enjoying the apple's aftertaste, then cut yourself a small piece of excellent quality extra dark chocolate (at least 70% cocoa content) and break it into 2-3 morsels. Eat them in slow succession, savoring each one by letting it melt slowly in your mouth. Feel good.

Ricetta in italiano: colazione con la mela. Prendete una mela da coltivazione biologica e lavatela bene. Mangiatela a morsi, assaporando ogni pezzetto succoso che avete in bocca. Masticate lentamente e concentrate la vostra attenzione sul sapore. Ripetete fino a quando rimane solo il torsolo. Godetevi per qualche minuto il retrogusto della mela. Tagliate un piccolo pezzo di ottimo cioccolato amaro con almeno il 70% di cacao e spezzatelo in 2 o 3. Mangiate un pezzetto dopo l'altro, lasciandolo sciogliere lentamente in bocca per assaporarlo. Sentitevi ritemprati.

This is my contribution to the Una mela al giorno... event by rossdibi of Ma che ti sei mangiato... (but what did you eat). A year ago she had a mild stroke. Her event is a celebration of life with an attention to a diet that keeps us healthy. She asked bloggers to contribute a dish that, besides apples, features at least another ingredient from a list that includes black tea and dark chocolate. Here is the roundup.

Least I forget: after my apple and dark chocolate breakfast, I have another cup of black tea, called Black Chocolate Cream.

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

noce

walnut
The fruit of a deciduous tree (also called noce), consisting of an external hull (mallo) surrounding a hard shell (guscio), which contains the edible seed (gheriglio).

My aunt Lucia used chopped walnuts (noci) and egg whites (chiare d'uovo) to make croccanti for Christmas, then delivered small packages of them to family members. My father remembers cracking the walnuts his sister would use. At my parents' house, a tray of walnuts and hazelnuts (nocciole) was always on the kitchen counter and as a child I loved using the schiaccianoci (nutcracker) to extract the gherigli from their shell.

A bottle of home-made nocino could always be found in the glass cabinet in my aunt's kitchen. Nocino is a dark brown liqueur, whose recipe includes whole walnuts still with their green hull, cinnamon, cloves and lemon peel infused in alcohol. My aunt prescribed a small quantity of it to aid digestion and to cure a number of ailments. 

The cutest Italian expression involving walnuts is un guscio di noce (a walnut shell), used to describe a tiny boat.

We also use noce in the name of fruits that are shaped like a whole walnuts, e.g., noce moscata (nutmeg) and noce di cocco (coconut). When a recipe calls for a small piece of butter it may say una noce di burro.

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

fico

fig
Fresh figs from the farmers' market brought back sweet memories of fig picking. Different kinds of figs (fichi) ripen at different times during the summer, so when I was in Italy, summer was a season of continuous fig eating. I remember neighbors arriving at the house in my dad's village with baskets lined with fig leaves, full of sweet-smelling fruit: they never lasted long. My mother would spread peeled figs over slices of bread for a nutritious snack for me and my brother and I have been doing the same for my husband.

The summer bounty gets stashed away in the form of marmellata di fichi (fig jam) and above all fichi secchi (dried figs), which are then eaten as is, or used to make desserts like pan pepato, panciallo, the famous Sicilian buccellato and countless others.

In my home region of Umbria, the town of Amelia is famous for Fichi Girotti, dried figs stuffed with candied fruit (canditi), toasted almonds (mandorle), walnuts (noci) and cocoa (cacao). The figs are pressed into small round bricks (called rotelle), which are then broken apart to eat the heavenly morsels. The only problem with figs is that it is difficult to stop eating them once you start.

In Calabria (southern Italy), ripe figs are baked and then made into balls called palloni di fichi. Each pallone comprises 20-25 figs (there is a nice photo on this page). Dried figs are assembled in other ways as well, like crosses (crocette) and braids (trecce). In Sicily they are strung together using twine or reeds.

Two common expressions make use of figs and have correspondents in English:

• if something is not worth a fig, then non vale un fico secco
• if you don't give (or care) a fig about something, you say: non me ne importa un fico secco.

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

pesca

[pèsca] peach
[pésca] fishing

The local farmers' market is so full of peaches (pesche), I have to write about them. I hope it is clear from the audio snippet that the word pesca is pronounced differently to disambiguate the two meanings. The fruit of the peach tree (pesco) owes its name to ancient Persia: in fact the Latin word persica is a shortening of the whole name of the fruit mala persica, Persian apples. It appears that Prunus persica arrived in Persia from its original China and from there reached the Mediterranean. My father calls the fruit with its Latin name, in accordance with the dialect of his native village.

Peaches are simply excellent, whether eaten fresh off the tree or used as ingredients. My mother used to store peaches in glass jars and my task was to peal them, cut them in half, then place them in the jars. Then it was my mother's turn: she added sugar and water, and then sterilized the jars in a big pot of boiling water. During the year, we would eat pesche sciroppate con la panna (peach in syrup with whipped cream) for dessert on Sunday (never on another day: don't ask me why, because I have no idea).

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

mora

blackberry or mulberry
Rubus fruticosus (blackberry), Morus alba, nigra or rubra (white, black and red mulberry, respectively)
Both fruits are made of aggregated drupelets.

When more are blackberries, they grow on a rovo (blackberry bush); when they are mulberries they grow on a gelso (mulberry tree). Mulberry trees are famous also because their leaves feed silk worms, bachi da seta. As an amateur bookbinder and boxmaker, I am also familiar with mulberry paper, produced from an Asian species of mulberry tree (Morus papyrifera or Broussonetia papyrifera).

While I have no experience picking mulberries, I love picking blackberries: getting scraped by the thorns and squirted by their juice is sheer fun. In comparison, picking blueberries (mirtilli) is a subdued experience. I remember myself as a child going home purple-striped and bleeding here and there, but, oh so happy! I still get excited when I see ripening blackberries, especially since I learned to use them to make sorbet. Removing the pips makes the process a bit time-consuming and another threat to your clothes (this one even more powerful, given the concentration of the juice), but the result is worth the extra time investment. And this year I will have my brand new grembiule to protect my clothes.

I picked the first more of the season yesterday and since they were not enough for a sorbet, I used them to make muffins, adapting a recipe originally for raspberries in the current issue of EatingWell.

Well, as you can see on the photo, the result was not pretty to look at, but my husband loved it and wanted me to write his assessment: they are a cross between pancakes and muffins and offer the best of both worlds.

The unintended shape of my panfins was due to my first ever use of baking cups: according to the manufacturer, they could be used without a muffin pan, which is indeed the case, but they are too thin to hold the batter, which explains their shape.

A final note about mulberry trees: in the olden days they were planted in a way that grape vines could use them as support: the result was called viti maritate ai gelsi (vines married to mulberry trees). The practice is now being revived. Other trees can be used as well, like poplars and elms.

[This post was inspired by Peter's entry for WHB #91: zucchini carpaccio with mulberries, which he made again with blackberries and verified that either berry works well in it: thanks Peter!]

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

cocomero

Also called anguria or melone d'acqua: watermelon

The word cocomero comes from the Latin cucumis, while anguria derives from a Greek word. Be aware that in certain parts of Italy cocomero actually means cucumber. The latter's scientific name is, indeed, Cucumis sativus. The scientific name of watermelon, on the other hand, is Citrullus lanatus. In case you hear the word citrullo while in Italy, consider that it is not a compliment.

Humans have been eating watermelons for thousands of years and I believe no justification for this is required. As a child I eagerly waited for summer, when, among other delectable fruits, cocomero was available. Road-side stands selling whole watermelons and/or chilled slices of the fruit are a summer feature throughout Italy. My father likes to engage in pre-purchase watermelon appraisal, a complex activity that comprises specific hand movements and also the cutting of a wedge, called tassello, for the definitive quality assurance evaluation. Cocomero and panzanella (a dish I will describe in the near future) were the classic picnic items of our summer outings. Since panzanella has olive oil among its ingredients, and is eaten with one's hands, cocomero in that context worked also as a cleanser.

The deep affection Italian children harbor for watermelons is reflected in the Italian version of Linus, who, on Halloween night, waits for Il Grande Cocomero. I felt a bit bad for Linus, waiting year after year for something that would fail to show up, because as a little kid I actually had the thrilling experience of holding my Grande Cocomero, as you can see in the photo below.

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

mirtillo

blueberry
My first experience of mirtilli occurred one day that I went for a hike on the Alps: I saw the plant, was enchanted by the tiny berries, picked some and tasted them. I remember the outcome of the memorable experience: purple fingers, purple tongue and tiny tart explosions in my mouth. At the first brunch I went to, some time after moving to California to live with my (now) husband, I ate what to me seemed mirtilli on steroids.

Besides being several order of magnitude bigger, the cultivated blueberries I encountered in the US are sweeter and I like them better than their wild Alpine cousins. We planted some bushes in our new garden and a few days ago I offered to my husband our first home-grown ripe mirtillo. This is an Italian word he loves to say aloud: it has indeed a ringing tone to it, which somehow reminds me of beloved Alpine landscapes. I prepare sherbet when blueberries are in season, which makes him sing the word in sheer delight. The recipe I use is adapted from the one in the book Frozen Desserts by Caroline Liddell and Robin Weir.

The word mirtillo derives from mirto, myrtle, which is a totally different plant: it appears that the name transfer occurred because both plants have berries (bacche). Mirto and mirtillo do not share growing environments, since the former is a Mediterranean plant, while the latter is a mountain one. Both, however, are used to make liqueurs: mirto di Sardegna and grappa al mirtillo, respectively.

Not being a connoisseur of alcoholic beverages, I enjoyed mirto as the fragrance that filled the air in Sardinia, along the sea, when I visited many years ago; and I enjoy mirtilli much more often and much closer to home, soon as close as our garden. On this page you can see where I am pinning my hopes.

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