briciole

hummus ai carciofi

artichoke hummus

[cliccare il link per andare alla versione in italiano]

This is a spread I had had in mind to make for a while. I saw it somewhere on the web, but I can't remember where: I only remember that it was a hummus made also with artichokes.

I like artichokes a lot. My mother made them often, when they were in season: artichoke frittata and carciofi alla giudia (Jewish-style) were often on the table. The important ingredient in the latter is mentuccia, a type of mint that grows wild. According to my mother, there was no substitute for it, so we went out looking for it in a place where she knew it grew.

When I moved to Milan, I learned to appreciate risotto coi carciofi and raw artichokes, sliced thinly and added to salads. Artichokes are grown extensively in California, but I have never found an artichoke that would be comparable to the ones I ate in Italy. After many attempts, and many disappointments, I am currently taking a break. So, to make this recipe, I resorted to canned artichoke hearts (cuori di carciofo). I like that they are preserved in just water and salt¹. As for the chickpeas (ceci), I cooked them from scratch. In the absence of mentuccia, I picked some orange mint from the pot where I planted it last year. I really like its citrusy notes.

Printer-friendly version of briciole's recipe for hummus ai carciofi

Ingredients:

• 1/2 cup dry chickpeas, cooked as explained here, skinned (optional, but nice), and drained [check the chickpeas half an hour after the simmering started to estimate how much longer they need to cook]
• 1/2 can artichoke hearts [preserved in water and salt] (4 and a half, 4.25 oz. dry weight), drained
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin (cumino) from freshly toasted seeds [you may need to increase this a bit, if your cumin is not strongly flavored]
• a garlic clove (spicchio d'aglio)
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 tablespoon freshly squeezed Meyer lemon juice
• a few leaves of fresh orange mint (Menta piperita citrata) [I used the tips of two twigs; given the intense flavor of this herb, it is better to start with a small amount and add more if necessary]
• chickpea broth, as needed
• salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• chopped dry roasted and salted hazelnuts (nocciole) as topping, to taste

Place in the food processor the first 7 ingredients above and process until smooth. Add some of the chickpea broth as needed to make the hummus reach the desired consistency. Adjust salt and pepper and possibly the other flavorings to your taste. Place in a covered container and refrigerate until close to serving time. Spoon into a serving bowl and sprinkle some hazelnuts on the surface. Serve with bread of your choice and with additional hazelnuts. (Note that the recipe makes quite a bit more of what you see in the photo above.)

The spread has a delicate flavor and you can taste all the ingredients, which is very nice. Originally, I had not included the hazelnut topping, but the spread lacked a little something, so I decided to put on the table a small bowl of finelly chopped toasted and salted hazelnuts. With that, the hummus was perfect. We enjoyed it spread over slices of my homemade challah.

The post allows me to show you my first 6-strand challah, of which I am very proud (I usually make a 5-braid challah). As mentioned before, the recipe comes from Peter Reinhart's Artisan Breads Every Day, which I follow fairly closely. Reinhart suggests a mix of sesame seeds and poppy seeds (semi di sesamo e semi di papavero) as topping and as you can see, the result is very nice (By the way, the poppy seeds come from the poppies that grow in my garden.)

This is my contribution to this month's edition of Healing Foods. The event is organized by Siri of Cooking with Siri and the current edition is hosted by Vanessa of Sweet Artichoke, who chose the theme. This post contains the roundup of the event.

I am also sending this post to Tin Can Recipes, a monthly event that will run until the end of this year. The organizers are Ale, Fra, Sere and Paola of Il Giardino degli Aromi and Brii of Briggis recept och ideer and Briiblog in English. The rules for participating are detailed on this page. This post contains the roundup of the event.

Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words mentioned in the post:

hummus ai carciofi

or launch the hummus ai carciofi audio file [mp3].

[Depending on your set-up, the audio file will be played within the browser or by your mp3 player application. Please, contact me if you encounter any problems.]

¹ The can of artichoke hearts in the photo is for information only: it is not an advertisement. I do not have a business relationship with the product's company.

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Per i lettori italiani

L'hummus è una crema di ceci tipica del Medio Oriente. Questa è una variante nella quale ai ceci ho unito i carciofi. L'idea di usare i carciofi non è mia originale: tempo fa lessi da qualche parte il titolo della ricetta "hummus ai carciofi," ma non mi ricordo dove e non mi ricordo i dettagli. Quindi, quando ho deciso di realizzare l'idea, ho messo insieme gli ingredienti basandomi su esperienze precedenti con l'hummus preparato solo con i ceci.

Ingredienti:

• 100 g circa di ceci secchi, cotti come spiegato qui (controllate i ceci dopo mezz'ora dall'inizio della cottura con gli odori per stimare quanto tempo manca) o come fate di solito, poi scolati
  
• 4,5 cuori di carciofo, conservati in acqua, scolati (peso secco 120 g)
• 1/2 cucchiaino (2,5 ml) di cumino in polvere (consiglio di tostare i semi a macinarli freschi: il sapore è molto più intenso)
• uno spicchio d'aglio
• 1 cucchiaio (15 ml) di olio d'oliva
• 2 cucchiai (30 ml) di succo di limone Meyer fresco [alternativamente potete usare un cucchiaio di succo di limone e uno di succo d'arancio oppure un cucchiaio e mezzo di succo di limone]
• alcune foglioline di Menta piperita citrata fresca [dato il sapore intenso della menta, consiglio di usare una piccola quantità e aggiungerne se necessario]
• un po' di brodo di cottura dei ceci
• sale e pepe macinato fresco, a seconda dei vostri gusti
• nocciole tostate a secco e salate e sbriciolate distribuite sulla superficie

Frullare i primi 7 ingredienti fino ad ottenere una crema morbida. Se necessario, aggiungere un po' del brodo di cottura dei ceci per ottenere la consistenza desiderata. Correggere sale, pepe a seconda dei propri gusti e, se necessario, le altre spezie. Mettere l'hummus in un contenitore coperto e porre in frigo fino a poco prima di servirlo. Mettere un po' di hummus in un ciotola da servizio e distribuire sulla superficie le nocciole. Servire insieme ad un piattino con altre nocciole. (La ricetta produce molto più hummus di quello che si vede nella foto in alto.)

Questo hummus ha un sapore delicato che lascia spazio a tutti gli ingredienti. Noi lo abbiamo mangiato spalmato su fettine di challah fatto in casa. Challah è un pane tradizionale ebraico fatto con uova e olio, a forma di treccia semplice oppure complessa, la cui superficie è spennellata d'uovo e quindi ha un bel colore dorato intenso. La ricetta che uso io viene dal libro di Peter Reinhart Artisan Breads Every Day. Per l'occasione ho fatto una treccia a sei capi (di solito la faccio a 5 capi) e devo dire che sono contenta del risultato. Per la decorazione, Reinhart suggerisce un misto di semi di sesamo e di papavero e io uso i semi che ho raccolto dai papaveri del mio giardino.

Con questo post contribuisco all'evento Healing Foods. organizzato da Siri di Cooking with Siri e la cui edizione corrente è ospitata da Vanessa di Sweet Artichoke, la quale ha scelto il tema: carciofi. Questo post contiene il riepilogo dell'evento.

Contribuisco anche all'evento Tin Can Recipes dedicato alla celebrazione dei 200 anni del cibo in scatola. L'organizzazione dell'evento è di Ale, Fra, Sere e Paola del blog Il Giardino degli Aromi e di Brii che scrive Briggis recept och ideer e Briiblog in English. Le regole per partecipare le trovate su questa pagina. Questo post contiene il riepilogo dell'evento.

¹ La scatola di cuori di carciofo nella foto è solo a titolo informativo; non è una pubblicità. Non ho alcun rapporto commerciale con l'azienda produttrice.

passato di carote e zucchine al levistico

carrot and zucchini soup with lovage

In a previous post I mentioned the beautiful lovage (levistico) that I have in my herb garden.The plant is now over four feet tall and looks simply gorgeous. The photo shows just a detail of the copious foliage.

The need to use some chicken stock from a batch I had previously defrosted and the presence in my vegetable bin of two beautiful, dark green zucchine (zucchini) from the farmers' market suggested the word "soup" to me, and I heeded the suggestion. Before starting to make the soup, I cut a stem of lovage.

I can't say I measured or weighed the ingredients: I just went with what I had in the quantity I saw fit. I warmed up some olive oil in a saucepan and added to it:

• half a medium onion (cipolla), chopped
• a small shallot (scalogno), chopped
• a celery rib (costa di sedano), chopped
• two carrots (carote), sliced (6-7 oz.)
• the lovage stem (leaves removed), chopped

The lovage stem was fairly thick and about 8" long. While I was chopping the deep green stem, I was reminded that lovage has an intense flavor: "a little goes a long way."

After all the vegetables had been added to the saucepan, I sprinkled some ground cumin (cumino), stirred well, put the lid on the and let the vegetables cook until soft, stirring occasionally. I then added:

• the chicken stock
• the two zucchini, sliced (an estimated 12-13 oz.)

I brought to a boil and let the soup simmer, covered, until the zucchini were cooked.

With the precious help of my immersion blender, the vegetable mix turned into a creamy soup (passato). The consistency was to my liking, i.e., rather thick. I tasted the soup to adjust sale e pepe (salt and pepper) and my taste buds told me that the flavor of lovage was just right: distinct but not overbearing. Had I needed a bit more, I would have added some of the leaves I had set aside.

For the photo op, I put some soup in glass ramekins and accompanied it with some special crackers whose recipe (which I have already made three times) will be the subject of a future post.

I really enjoyed the passato di zucchine, so much so that yesterday, at the farmers' market, I bought some zucchini with the stated intention of making it again. Having lovage in my herb garden means that I can experiment with it any time I wish.

This is my contribution to edition #242 of Weekend Herb Blogging, an event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, now organized by Haalo of Cook (almost) Anything at Least Once and hosted this week by Susan of The Well-Seasoned Cook.

This post has the roundup of the event.

Hear me pronounce the words on the passato di zucchine al levistico audio file [mp3] or go to the passato di carote e zucchine al levistico audio page for more listening options.

chèvre fresco fatto in casa e levistico

homemade fresh chèvre flavored with lovage

In my cheese making, I like to alternate between fresh and aged cheeses. Fresh cheeses have the advantage of being ready for consumption within a short time frame and so they balance out the need for longer waiting periods required by aged cheeses.

A few days ago, after getting a quart of fresh goat milk, I decided it was time to use the chèvre direct-set packets I had in my freezer. I added to it a quart of cow milk and followed these instructions to make the cheese. This is as easy as it gets in terms of making cheese at home. The result is a creamy cheese that begs to be used in creative combination — besides enjoyed on its own, spread over homemade bread.

Being very familiar with this fresh chèvre, which comes also in delicious flavored versions, I decided to pick something from my small herb garden to flavor my product. A plant that is doing very well in it is lovage (levistico or sedano di monte, literally: mountain celery), an herb about which Deborah Madison recently wrote a nice article. The name lovage (Levisticum officinale) has an interesting etymology, as you can read on this page (Liguria is an Italian region). And here you can read a few more interesting pieces of information, like the fact that, as the title of the article says, "a little lovage goes a long way."

Lovage's flavor is indeed pronounced, so you want to use your taste buds to decide how much to add. I did not measure precisely my two ingredients: in a custard cup, I mixed with a fork about 1/4 cup of chèvre and a scant tablespoon of finely shredded young leaves of lovage. I then spread the flavored cheese over slices of my homemade sourdough olive bread (pane alle olive).

I am planning to devote a post to my sourdough bread baking activities, so you will read more about the bread in the photo soon.

This is another contribution to edition #236 of Weekend Herb Blogging, an event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, now organized by Haalo of Cook (almost) Anything at Least Once and hosted this week by yours truly.

This post contains the roundup of the event.

Hear me pronounce the words on the chèvre fresco fatto in casa e levistico audio file [mp3] or go to the chèvre fresco fatto in casa e levistico audio page for more listening options.

erba cipollina

chives (Allium schoenoprasum)

I like to make experiments in my little herb and vegetable garden (orto). I do not call myself a gardener, and manage not to get too disappointed when things don't happen according to expectations. On the other hand, I get very excited when things go well: I feel like I receive a gift I do not deserve.

Last year, I had a small bed built along one side of the house, and in it I planted, among other things, chives. The plant did well (I guess it liked its environment) and I harvested leaves from it for several months. It was a pleasant surprise when, a few days ago, I realized that I could start harvesting again. On this page you can read a few words of advice on growing perennial chives.

I decided to celebrate the event by using chives in a bread recipe from Artisan Breads Every Day by Peter Reinhart: Soft Cheese Bread, even though I knew I did not have as much as was called for in the ingredient list. I halved the quantities to get one loaf. I more than halved the sweetener using only a tablespoon of agave nectar. Among the options offered, I chose to use potato water and water as liquids, and olive oil as vegetable oil. I substituted some of the bread flour with white whole wheat flour and added extra water as instructed in the recipe. Finally, I opted for cubed cheese (formaggio) and kneaded it into the dough after the overnight rise. I prepared the dough an evening that I was very tired and did a couple of things not exactly as specified in the recipe. The following day, my schedule was hectic, but I managed to bake the bread and it was a life-savior on a day in which we had a lot going on and no time to sit down to a proper meal (pasto).

Not only did the chives come from my little herb garden, but the cheese came from my home production: Monterey Jack, aged for four months. The cheese worked very well in the bread. As the recipe anticipated, the small cubes of cheese become "little cheese bursts" once the bread is baked. I am planning to make cheese bread again, trying the other recipe in the book, Crusty Cheese Bread, this time making sure I have the required quantity of chives.

This is my contribution to edition #223 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 Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook.

Here is the roundup.

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

timo

thyme or thymus

In Italian we use the same word to refer to thyme, the beloved herb, and to thymus, the lymphoid organ located behind the sternum. I will devote the rest of the post to timo, the herb.

The genus Thymus, family Labiatae, contains many species. I planted two of them in my little herb garden: Lemon Thyme (photo on the left), and German (Winter) Thyme (photo on the right). I also have some Silver Thyme in a big pot in front of the house: its leaves have a silver rim. I love thyme and I use its tiny fragrant leaves often. They are precious little things, with an enormous power to impart flavor. I don't recall my mother ever using thyme in her cooking, so this herb is a relatively new discovery for me.

For this post, I decided to invent something. Last Wednesday evening, I was by myself for dinner, a rather unusual occurrence. Besides foglie di timo (thyme leaves), I wanted to eat a beautiful porro (leek) leftover from a recent purchase at the farmers' market, and here is what I did. I washed the leek, white and light green part, following Lucy's method, then sliced it. In the meantime, I warmed up a small frying pan generously sprayed with olive oil. I added the leek slices and the leaves of two sprigs of thyme, then cooked, over medium-low heat, until the leek was soft to my liking, stirring every now and then to avoid sticking. I added some vegetable broth to keep the leek moist¹.

When the leek was ready, I adjusted the salt and sprinkled a few leaves of maggiorana (marjoram), an herb I like a lot as well, which is conveniently planted next to my lemon thyme. While the leek was cooking, I poached an egg, following the instructions on this page (option: No poacher). Poached egg is uovo in camicia (shirt). A few seconds before the egg was ready, I spooned the leek in a bowl, then gently placed the poached egg over the prepared pale green bed and finished off the dish with a tablespoon of parmigiano, freshly grated. I took a quick photo and then enjoyed my creation, especially the bites that got some of the yolk mixed with the leek. I definitely will make this again. Note that I did not use any salt (besides that in the water for poaching the egg), but you can certainly do it, adding it to the leek when it is cooked.

¹ Addendum: I have since made the dish a couple more times and measured a quarter cup of added liquid, 2 tablespoons broth, 1 tablespoon water and 1 tablespoon white wine.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started over two years ago by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen and hosted this week by Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook, and a very kind cook, too. Susan has announced that she will give away a copy of Aliza Green’s "Field Guide to Herbs and Spices" to one of the participants. Thanks Susan! Here is the roundup of WHB #129.

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

santoreggia

There are two main kinds:

1. santoreggia: summer savory (Satureia hortensis)
2. santoreggia montana: winter savory (Satureia montana)

The word comes from the Latin satura, indicating a mixed dish, usually of legumes, which was seasoned with santoreggia and other herbs. According to my dictionary, there is also an influence of the word santo (holy) as a reference to the therapeutic properties of the plant, which have been known since ancient times. Santoreggia has a flavor reminiscent of thyme, with mint and pepper tones. Besides being used as seasoning, it is an ingredients of herb liqueurs.

My experience with savory prior to last Sunday, when I bought the lovely plant you can see in the photo, was exactly equal to zero, but I will catch up rapidly. I used a few leaves right away to season an improptu salad I made with quinoa, a roasted red bell pepper, grilled tofu and toasted pistachios (pistacchi, which I will talk about in an upcoming post) and I could taste it among the other herbs I had used.

My next step will be to 'do as the Romans did' and use santoreggia to season legumes, like the lentils (lenticchie) I have in my cupboard.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started by Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by The Chocolate Lady from In Mol Araan. Here's the roundup of WHB #92.

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

prezzemolo

parsley (Petroselinum sativum Hoffm., Petroselinum hortense Auct., Petroselinum crispum Hill — apparently, these are all synonyms)

Prezzemolo derives from the Greek word petroselion, meaning celery of the rocks, and it refers to the fact that the herb can grow on less than hospitable terrain. I find this particularly encouraging, because I consider my little herb garden a rather welcoming place, which means parsley should find adequate accommodation in it.

The best known varieties are the one with flat leaves, most commonly used in Italy, and the one with curly leaves, which I had never seen before moving to California.

In Italy we often use the expression come il prezzemolo (like parsley) to describe someone or something that tends to be always present, because parsley is an almost ubiquitous ingredient of Italian savory dishes and it is the base of many sauces. Prezzemolo is a component of gli odori, our version of the bouquet garni. When I went grocery shopping for my mother as a child I always had this item on my list, and I would get it for free from our neighborhood fruit and vegetable store. The owner prepared it on the fly, choosing among what he had available: a few sprigs of parsley, a carrot and a celery rib were a constant presence, while other components varied according to the season.

I have to admit I am still not adjusted to the fact that here I have to buy a big bunch of parsley: I would prefer to get a smaller quantity, even though that would mean buying it more often. About a month ago I scattered a small package of parsley seeds in a corner of my herb garden. I could not see anything happening, so last Saturday I bought a small plant of parsley Gigante d'Italia to cheer me up. When I went to transplant it (photo above), I noticed green speckles where I had put down the seeds (photo below), so I am hoping that in time the plant will have plenty of company. Then I will be able to pick prezzemolo fresco for my dishes not far from where I am preparing them.

The promise of plants to be.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started by Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by the founder herself, just returned from a trip to San Francisco. Here is the roundup of WHB #89.

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

ruchetta

Ruchetta or rucola is one of those names that are used to indicate more than one thing, which is a recipe for confusion. First there is rucola selvatica, Diplotaxis tenuifolia. Before moving from Italy to The United States of Arugula, I only knew ruchetta as an ingredient of my salad days.

• Memory #1: both my mother and my aunt Lucia would gather ruchetta in uncultivated patches of land around where they lived, then add a few leaves to a salad of mixed greens to spice it up: and spicy it was!
• Memory #2: at any of the colorful, noisy and lively neighborhood markets in Rome, sellers would offer mixed salad greens with or without ruchetta, which in the Roman dialect is pronounced rughetta. I was told that it was because the pungent flavor of the herb was not to everybody's liking.

When I moved to California, I saw that restaurants served arugula salad and that puzzled me, because I thought that a salad made just with ruchetta would have too strong a flavor. However, sui gusti non si discute, there's no accounting for taste, so I never said anything. It wasn't until much later, basically until now, that I discovered that there is another rucola, Eruca sativa, which has wider leaves, a milder flavor and is cultivated for use in salads. It is from Eruca that the word rucola derives and this is the arugula much beloved in this country and available also in Italy. Arugula is also known as rocket salad. In the rocket department, rucola selvatica is featured as wild rocket.

I am never surprised when scientists discover that plants that humans have been eating for centuries are full of nutrients. Arugula contains vitamin C and bioactive phytochemicals, packaged in a flavor that can be mild or strong, according to our personal taste. Doesn't this sound like a perfect advertisement for a salad green?

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started by Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by Paulchen's Food Blog. Here's the roundup of WHB #88.

Hear me pronounce the words (including an approximate rendition of Roman accent) on the ruchetta audio file [mp3] or go to the ruchetta audio page for more listening options.

salvia

sage (Salvia officinalis)

Ancient Greeks and Romans prized sage for its medicinal qualities and it was only in the Middle Ages that people started to use it as an ingredient in food preparations. The name reflects sage's fame as a plant with curative properties: salvia, in fact, derives from the Latin adjective salvus, meaning safe, healthy.

Salvia has a distinct flavor, which makes it a beloved herb in the kitchen. It is also a pretty plant, with velvety leaves that sparkle in the sun and delicately-colored flowers. Nowadays there are many cultivars of sage, some of them selected for ornamental use.

I am reminded of salvia every time I use the word salve, a common greeting in Italian, which literally means 'be healthy.' In the medieval poem Regimen sanitatis Salernitanum, the Salernitan Rule of Health, a work from the medical school of Salerno, a verse asks: 'why should a man die who has sage in his garden?' Hence, to be on the safe side, I planted some Golden sage (Salvia officinalis icterina), a pretty and flavorful cultivar.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started by Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by Küchenlatein, whom I would like to thank for offering me a nice way of brushing up my German. Here is the roundup of WHB #86.

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

maggiorana

marjoram

Origanum majorana (Majorana hortensis)
Mediterranean people have been using marjoram both as a culinary and a medicinal herb since ancient times. Besides being prized for its flavor, fragrance and curative properties, marjoram was considered a symbol of happiness.

Sweeter than thyme and milder than oregano, as seasoning marjoram can be used either fresh (recommended) or dried (if you have no choice). Its fragrance is sensitive to heat and therefore, if you plan to add it to a cooked dish, do so at the very end. Marjoram is perfect over pizza, with vegetables, meat, fish and beans. With such a versatility in its resume, hiring (that is, growing) marjoram in your herb garden is an easy choice.

One hypothesis regarding the origin of its name purports that women devoted 'major' attention to the cultivation of the plant, whose fragrance they loved above all else.

Marjoram is particularly popular in the Italian region of Liguria, where it is called erba persa, Persian herb, a reference to an origin from the Middle East that is not accurate, since marjoram's birth place appears to be Africa. Marjoram is an ingredient of salsa di noci (walnut sauce) used to season traditional Ligurian pasta . The entry for pesto in a 1876 text mentions parsley and marjoram as possible ingredients for the famous green sauce, instead of basil.

Marjoram in my herb garden

I picked a few leaves yesterday and added them to risotto with pattypan squash: the result was delicious, with the added bonus of a pleasant fragrance on my fingertips.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event sponsored by Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by the founder herself. Here is the roundup of WHB #85.

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