briciole

dalla finestra della cucina

from the kitchen window
[scorrete avanti per la versione in italiano]

The inspiration for this post is provided to me by Elga of Semi di Papavero (poppy seeds) Italian blogger and fellow Daring Baker, who a little while ago asked us to show what we see from our kitchen window.

Kitchen in Italian is cucina. The word comes from the late Latin cocina, a variant of coquina, from the verb coquere, to cook. From the same verb comes the Italian cuocere, to cook in the sense of applying heat to foods to prepare them for eating, as in cuocere la pasta. To describe the act of cooking in general, we use the verb cucinare, as in io cucino molto (I cook a lot).

Since we split our time between two places, I have two kitchens, a small one and a nice-sized one. The latter has two windows, both over the sink. The photo on the left shows how they look from the outside. The little green bushes on the right are part of my herb garden, which I started last year and of which I am very proud.

Looking through those windows is not very comfortable for a short person like me, because of the presence of the sink (lavello). The view will be better when we change the old windows, which are also hard to open. The following images were therefore taken behind the glass. First a look at my herb garden, with its parsley jungle.

Then a look at the Pacific Ocean, which, on this particular occasion, was living up to its name. It is not always as calm as it appears here.

Some days, like last Sunday, you can hear the ocean so you know it is there, but you can hardly see it, because of the fog. I actually spend more time at the stove (ai fornelli) than at the sink. There I have a white wall in front of me, which is definitely not worth photographing.

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

L'ispirazione per questo post mi è stata data da Elga di Semi di Papavero, una Daring Baker come me, che qualche tempo fa ha chiesto di mostrare quello che vediamo dalla finestra della cucina. Dal momento che dividiamo il nostro tempo tra due residenze, ho due cucine, una piccola e una più grande. Quest'ultima ha due finestre, entrambe sopra il lavello. La foto in alto a sinistra mostra le finestre viste da fuori. I cespugli in basso a destra fanno parte del mio giardinetto di erbe aromatiche che ho piantato l'anno scorso e del quale sono molto fiera.

Guardare fuori attraverso quelle finestre non risulta molto comodo per una persona non molto alta come me, per via del lavello. Il panorama migliorerà quando cambieremo le finestre, che tra l'altro non si aprono bene. Le foto le ho scattata dietro il vetro. Prima di tutto uno sguardo al giardinetto e alla giungla di prezzemolo. Poi uno sguardo all''Oceano Pacifico che per in questa occasione ha fatto onore al suo nome, ma non è sempre calmo come lo si vede qui.

Certi giorni, come domenica scorsa, l'oceano si sente ma non si vede, a causa della nebbia, un fenomeno particolare della costa californiana. La foto in basso a destra mostra la stessa veduta di prima, ma con la nebbbia. Certamente passo più tempo ai fornelli che al lavello. Lì ho davanti a me una parete bianca che decisamente non vale la pena fotografare.

cheesecake su bastoncino

cheesecake pops
The literal translation into Italian of cheesecake would be torta di formaggio. I decided to leave the original word in the title, because it indicates a specific dessert and I have seen it used by Italian food bloggers. Su bastoncino means on a stick. A gelato su bastoncino (or gelato su stecco, where stecco also means stick) is a Popsicle made with ice cream. If made with ice, it would be a ghiacciolo (literally, icicle). As it usually happens, this month's Daring Bakers' challenge was an adventure, compliments of hosts Deborah of Taste and Tell and Elle of Feeding My Enthusiasms.

I am not sure why I always manage to get into trouble when executing the challenge, but it happened once again. Recipes that generate a big output are a problem for me, because there is only two of us in the family, and it is not always easy to share the product of my efforts with many people. The additional challenge this month was that I don't like cheesecake made with cream cheese, because I don't like cream cheese. I remember when cream cheese became available in Italy: Philadelphia was the brand name and the same name became a generic term to refer to the product. My dislike for cream cheese dates back to my first encounter with it, a long time ago.

However, knowing that I would not be tasting the result of my efforts did not prevent me from devoting my energy into making it a success. Maybe that's the problem: I want to make it work and end up in trouble. Thanks to a note by the hosts, I was able to comfortably half the dose. Making the New York style (don't ask me what it means¹) cheesecake was easy. I baked it for close to an hour, and it came out pretty nice. So far, so good. 

When I asked my husband to please go to the hardware store and get me some lollipop sticks he thought I was joking. I wasn't. The recipe clearly states to use those, instead of Popsicle sticks, because the cheesecake pops are small. And what made me think they would have such a thing at the hardware store? He countered. They do have a lot of kitchen items, so they may have bastoncini per lecca-lecca (lollipop, literally lick-lick) He was not convinced. I told him I took full responsibility for sending him on such an esoteric errand and he left. He came back with a package of lollipop sticks complete with individual plastic wrappers and twist ties. I felt one step closer to success. I didn't realize the real challenge was still ahead.

Shaping the pops was messy, to put it mildly. It didn't help that the smell of cheesecake, after a short while, was overwhelming for my olfactory cells. I completed this step, but my creativity was not at its best. The fact that, in general, I am not good at working on the details of food presentation certainly did not help. One positive thing was that I made 18 pops and there were exactly 18 sticks in the package my husband had got me, so I did not have any leftover cheesecake. Melting the chocolate and covering the pops was not difficult. I worked with a small quantity of dark chocolate at a time, did not use any shortening, and kept the additional messiness reasonably under control. The keyword here is 'reasonably': if you have a picture of a spotless stove and kitchen counter in your mind, hit Delete.

It was with understandable trepidation that I offered the chilled and chocolate-covered (ricoperti di cioccolato) cheesecake pops to my husband and a friend of ours as dessert. Was I prepared to witness the structural disaster? Good thing I did not try to offer the cheesecake pops at a party! Fortunately, both tasters had a plate at hand: it was needed to gather the falling pieces of the pop after the first fateful bite. My husband did not like his morsel. Our friend, though not enthusiastic about it, offered me a way out by suggesting some berry sauce to offset the cheesiness (here I am using cheesiness in its literal meaning).

I washed and hulled two cups of fresh fragole (strawberries), then pureed them in the food processor with a tablespoon of fine sugar and one of orange juice to make a pleasantly smelling sauce that I offered to our friend so he could try it over one of the remaining pops. At this point, I decided that the sticks could be dispensed with and each pop was demoted to regular piece of cheesecake on a plate. The salsa di fragole (strawberry sauce) was much appreciated and I have to say that the combination of colors (cheesecake yellow, strawberries red and chocolate brown) was rather eye-pleasing (sorry, no picture).

As usual, the challenge was a good learning experience, for which I am thankful to Deborah and Elle. The recipe we all followed, taken from "Sticky, Chewy, Messy, Gooey" by Jill O’Connor, is available here. Make sure you use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the fabulous creations that were baked, shaped, dipped and decorated around the world by my fellow Daring Bakers scattered around the world.

¹ Special thanks to Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook, for kindly writing a comment explaining the New York style appellation.

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

posata

Every now and then I look at the searches people were doing when they arrived on a page of my blog and I feel kind of bad when I realize that they could not have found what they were looking for. This post was inspired by the unknown visitor who landed here while searching for the pronunciation of the word cucchiaio.

Posata is the generic name that refers to any one of the eating utensils. Posate (cutlery, flatware) is the plural. The basics:

• coltello (knife)
• cucchiaio (spoon)
• forchetta (fork)

Posate with a specifier is also used to describe serving implements, like in posate da insalata (salad servers). This does not cover the whole table, but I think it is enough for today. I would like to use the rest of the space for an update on my canederli/knödel adventure. As mentioned in my recent post on this dish, I had plans to make it again, and I did. This time, I used a different kind of bread, namely pane alle noci (walnut bread) from my beloved companion "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone" by Deborah Madison. This is a really good, hearty bread made with mostly whole wheat flour (farina integrale)¹.

The other day, I found myself with a piece of pane alle noci that was of a perfect size for my recipe for canederli, so I got down to work. What I made differently from the previous recipe, besides using a different bread, was that I added twice as much parmigiano (1/4 cup) and also half a teaspoon of thyme leaves to the shallots (together with the rosemary). The walnut bread had a harder crust (crosta) than the bread I used before, so I let the bread pieces rest for over two hours together with the egg and milk mixture before proceeding with the recipe. At lunch time, I had a couple of hungry young men waiting for their meal, so I decided to skip taking photos of the cooked dish. The image on the side shows the canederli before I cooked them in vegetable broth. There were no leftovers, but I got to taste a bite so I can tell you that the walnuts created a nice textural contrast, and the extra parmigiano worked well. 

I will conclude by connecting part 1 and part 2 of this post. I read that the guest is not supposed to cut canederli with the coltello (knife): doing so would imply that they are hard, and would be interpreted as a criticism of the cook. A soft knödel, on the other hand, will fall apart during cooking, so the cook's challenge is to achieve a happy medium.

Considering that coltello, cucchiaio e forchetta form a trio, instead of showing a photo of my nondescript posate, here is a trillium, whose name refers to its having three of everything: petals, sepals and leaves. Trilliums are blooming everywhere around here. Their snow-white petals offer an elegant contrast to the dark green of their broad leaves. The lucky path wanderer can stumble upon, and admire, a quadrillium.

¹ My departures from the original recipe are: olive oil instead of walnut oil and one cup of chopped walnuts instead of 1.5 cups.

Hear me pronounce the words on the posata audio file [mp3] or go to the posata 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 freshly-grated parmigiano. 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.

asparago

asparagus
Asparagus officinalis is a perennial plant, whose tender shoots (or spears), also called asparagus, are eaten as a vegetable and, as it is well known, much appreciated. Asparagus have actually been prized since ancient times. The aerial stems of asparagus arise from rhizomes, which, together with the roots, constitute the underground portion of the plant.

The Italian words are asparago (the plant; plural: asparagi),  turioni (the edible shoots; singular: turione), rizomi (rhizomes; singular: rizoma), radici (roots; singular: radice). I must admit that I have never heard the word turioni in everyday language: I have always used asparagi to refer to the vegetable. Punte d'asparago are the tips.

A final reference to words: asparagina (asparagine) is an amino acid found in many proteins that is present in large amounts in some plants, such as asparagus. "The first amino acid to be isolated from its natural source, asparagine was purified from asparagus juice in 1806."

Besides the green variety, there are also white and purple asparagus. In my mind, asparagus are the harbinger of spring. When I was a child, we would eat asparagi about twice a year. Hence, to this day, having asparagus maintains an aura of excitement reserved for special occasions. Asparagi would be available at the fruttivendolo (fruit and vegetable store) for a brief period, then disappear, like a dream at dawn, until the following year. My mother boiled asparagus briefly and seasoned them, still warm, with lemon juice and olive oil. A few times in my life I have had frittata con gli asparagi selvatici (with wild asparagus, Asparagus acutifolius): my aunt Lucia sometimes received them as a gift from someone who had picked them on the hills around her village.

The abundance of asparagus in California is almost intoxicating, and whenever I cook them (oven-roasted asparagus sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds are a favorite dish of mine), I cannot stop eating them. Not long ago, however, I got to do something special with asparagus: I planted a bunch of them in the community garden in whose maintenance I have been involved for almost two years. My gardener friend told me to ask for asparagus roots at the nursery and I bought some of several varieties. When we planted them, I did the shoveling (which made me aware that I need to improve my shoveling skills), then placed each crown (rhizomes + roots) in its newly dug home and it was a bit of a challenge, as it was nothing like transplanting a seedling: the roots were quite long and the whole crown needed to be underground. I tend to be quite pessimistic about my gardening skills, so when, a few weeks later, I saw an asparagus shoot, I was ecstatic.

I read that it takes up to 3 years for crowns to develop enough to begin producing shoots. Once they do develop, however, they can produce for up to 20 years. So, at this point, I am focused on seeing signs of well-being of the plants. I want them to be happy in our garden. I love looking at the few asparagus that have produced shoots. Since we did not harvest them, some are now at the flowering stage, which I had never seen before. The spears have expanded into branched, modified stems, the cladophylls, which resemble and function as leaves (while the true leaves are scale-like structures at the tip of the spear and down the stem). There are also tiny flowers. Everything is delicate, almost ethereal about asparagus, which means that taking photos is a real challenge. In the image on the left, for example, the daffodils are predominant, but then you can see several asparagus, including one with flowers (background, right) and one that toppled over, due to its weight (background, left).

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 Bee and Jai of Jugalbandi's fame. Here is the roundup of WHB #128.

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

pane alle erbe

fresh herb twist
'Fresh herb twist' is not the literal translation of pane alle erbe, but it is the one chosen by Daniel Leader, author of the book from which the recipe came: Local Breads, Sourdough and Whole-Grain Recipes from Europe's Best Artisan Bakers. I have recently become interested in developing my bread baking abilities, an interest fostered by a couple of recent Daring Bakers challenges. Thanks to my dear friend Christine, I learned about this book and, now that I have it, I have started to use it.

For my first sampling of the book, I chose an Italian bread that I had not tasted before: pane alle erbe (herb bread), which the author learned about in Alto Adige/Südtirol, a region in northern Italy. What attracted me to the recipe was the use of farina di segale (rye flour), together with wheat flour, and of fresh herbs: rosmarino, timo e basilico (rosemary, thyme and basil), the first two of whom grow in my little herb garden. The nice shape of the bread also played a role in my choice, since all my bread production until then had been of a rather conservative appearance.

The book in general and the recipe in particular include all sorts of instructions that contribute to the happy outcome of your efforts. I was so happy with the outcome that I made pane alle erbe  again within a few days. The second time, I intentionally left a portion of one of the twists aside, because I had decided to experiment with canederli, or knödel, which are gnocchi made with pane raffermo (bread that is a day or two old) that are typical of Trentino Alto Adige. Variations of this dish use different ingredients. I did not have a recipe, so I looked around the web and, among all the ones I found, I decided to use this one as my guide. I made some adjustments to the recipe, the most important one being the omission of speck, an ingredient I did not have. Speck is a product of Alto Adige/Südtirol: it is made by de-boning, then curing and finally smoking a pig's thigh (here you can see the different production phases). It is really good and I recommend you try it, if you have the chance.

I cut the bread, 6.5 oz., into 1/4-1/2" cubes and placed them in a medium bowl. In a small bowl, I beat two large eggs with a pinch of salt and a sprinkling of ground black pepper, then added half a cup of non-fat milk. I poured the mixture over the bread cubes and mixed well. I let the bread rest for over an hour, mixing every now and then to make sure it absorbed the egg mixture and therefore softened.

In the meantime, in a small frying pan sprayed with olive oil, I cooked a shallot (a bit more than 1 oz.), minced, together with half a teaspoon of minced fresh rosemary until it was soft. When it was cold, I added the shallot to the bread, together with a sprinkling of ground nutmeg, two tablespoons of grated parmigiano, two tablespoons of minced fresh parsley and 1/4 cup of regular white flour. I mixed well and let rest for about half an hour.

With the help of a small measuring cup, I scooped up enough bread mixture to shape 2" diameter balls with my hands. I let each ball roll on a plate with flour so that its surface was coated, then set aside. I ended up with eight canederli. I cooked them, four at a time, in a saucepan filled with vegetable broth. I used a slotted spoon to gently immerse the canederli in the simmering broth and kept them there for 15 minutes, making sure the broth remained in a nice simmering state.

To my husband, I served two knödel in a bowl with some of the broth. I had one asciutto (dry) together with some roasted squash. This being the first time I tried to make this dish, I didn't have a frame of reference to assess the result of my experiment. I can tell you that my husband liked it and I did too. I am planning to make this recipe again, using speck, if I can find it, or adding more cheese to the mixture. I would also like to try other variations. Here is an update on this recipe.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, a food blogging event started over two years ago by blogger extraordinaire Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, hosted this week by the founder herself. Here is the roundup of WHB #127.

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

Novel Food #3: the Finale (one serving)

Spring has sprung, or fall has brought cooler temperatures, depending on your hemisphere of residence. In any case, another season is at the door, bringing its special gifts. Novel Food, the literary/culinary event Lisa of Champaign Taste and I started last year, strives to provide nourishment for the body and for the mind in the guise of literary works that inspired the preparation of dishes.

Each contribution is a short trip into a literary world that is made more pleasant by edible morsels. Lisa and I had fun receiving the submissions, reading intriguing stories and delicious recipes. Now we are sharing the fun with all of you. Sit down, relax, and enjoy the journey.

We start with a visit to the land of fairy tales, in the company of Maryann from Finding La Dolce Vita.

In her rendition of Brother Grimms' Little Red Riding Hood, the protagonist carries an adorable Amuse Buche Parmesan Basket to her grandmother. Maryann suggests an alternative development for the story after the wolf's fateful question. But I don't want to spoil the surprise: read Maryann's reasoning, then come back here for the next leg of the trip.

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At our next stop we meet Kay of Kitchen Jouissance, who recommends reading J.D. Salinger's short story A Perfect Day for Bananafish "whenever you feel the need to have your reason for being alive reaffirmed." The powerful story inspired Kay to make really pretty Bananafish Cookies. Her post includes several reading suggestions, besides her impassioned argument in support of Salinger's story: navigate there, read it, then come back here for more.

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We now travel to Australia to meet Lucy of Nourish Me, who introduces us to "Barbara Trapido, a South African born novelist whose small output is as impressive and enjoyable as it is addictive." From this output, Lucy has chosen the novel Juggling, in which "food offers insightful portraits."

The novel inspired Lucy to make Autumnal Tarts, aka Roasted Pear and Rocket Tarts, for which she used several interesting ingredients, including previously unknown to me labneh. Read why Lucy calls her tarts "an offal-free seduction," look at a photo of labneh, then return here for the next installment.

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At our next stop SilverMoon from Dragon Musings introduces us to Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler, an interesting character, whose abilities with "bits of an animal" are described in Terry Pratchett's Moving Pictures.

CMOT Dibbler inspired the preparation of CMOT Dibbler's Sausages Inna Bun for a tasty dinner that included variations for the mustard-averse and that met with family's approval. Read more about CMOT Dibbler, the sausages and the buns, then come back here to continue the journey.

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Judith's foodie bookshelf, over at Shortcut to Mushrooms, includes Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires.  In it, the author "waxes poetic about several risottos and is very insistent on how difficult it is to get that creamy texture but retain the proper bite." Judith takes up the challenge and decides to make Risotto with Shitake Mushrooms and Leeks using the microwave. Besides the recipe, Judith provides a review of the book and The Bottom Line. To find out what that is, visit her blog, then come back here, because there is more to come.

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We now follow Indigo of Happy Love Strawberry in her quest for the recipe for lembas. I did not use the word quest by chance, but as a reference to the world of J.J.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings.

Finding a good (i.e., edible) recipe for the Elf waybread turned out to be a bit of an adventure and you want to read about it and about the outcome (though Indigo considers her quest still ongoing). Try not to get lost in Middle Earth, because our journey has not yet ended. I'll be waiting for you here.

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In any case, we will linger in a magic place for a little longer, thanks to Mary of Shazam in the Kitchen, who, out of all the books she has read so far this year, has been particularly enchanted by The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It is the story of two children who can get everything they want, except someone who is willing to spend time with them. The two lonely children meet another child and they spend time in a secret garden. For them, Mary has made Secret Garden Cupcakes (aka Lavender Cardamom Cupcakes). At this point, I suggest you go over to Mary's blog to read the rest, then come back for the next stop.

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Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook, describes with the following incisive words Graham Greene's powerful novel The End of the Affair: "is a disquietingly painful and complex portrayal of three souls whose trajectory is as layered and pungent as an onion."

Onions are mentioned in the scene that sees the start of the affair, and they inspired Susan to offer us a Super-Simple Pearl Onion Salad. Go over to her blog, read about this moving story, then come back here for another morsel.

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Sara of heaven on earth offers us an amusing exchange between Isabel Archer and her cousin Ralph Touchett, from Portrait of a Lady, by Henry James. Isabel announces to Ralph that she will have dinner by herself. I won't tell you everything that occurs between the two of them, only that the planned menu for her dinner is "two poached eggs and a muffin." Sara, then, decided to make (English) Muffins for Isabel. To learn the details, visit Sara's blog then return here to proceed to the last stop.

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Venezia is the destination of the last leg of the trip. There, we see commissario Brunetti, the protagonist of Donna Leon's Death at La Fenice, relax at home with his wife and make himself a hot caffelatte in which he gleefully dunks biscotti. I used to indulge in the same treat for breakfast. How reading about Brunetti's dunking translates into a recipe for biscotti is something you can read after following the link. When you are done, make sure you come back here for some parting words and further directions.

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I hope you enjoyed our literary/culinary trip with its suggestions for reading and for cooking. Our event will be back next season: stay tuned for the announcement that will be published in about two months'.

If you started the journey into the third edition of Novel Food here, make sure you travel to Lisa's blog, where her portion of the roundup is waiting to welcome you on board for the other half of the tour.

For her part, Lisa will transport you to Sicily and introduce you to another commissario, Salvo Montalbano, and to his eating habits, which include snacking on calia e simenza. Have a pleasant journey: we hope to see you again next season.

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.

pasta al burro e parmigiano

pasta with butter and parmigiano
(scorrete avanti per un sommario del post in italiano)

I grew up eating pasta for lunch almost every day. As a child, I looked forward to departures from the routine (which, in the case of pasta seasoning, was tomato and meat sauce): I looked forward to having pasta al burro e parmigiano. Arriving home after school, I would ask my mother: Cosa c'è per pranzo? (what's for lunch?) and the 'right' answer would bring a big smile on my face.

My preferred shape for pasta al burro e parmigiano is spaghetti, but any shape can be used. Pasta al burro e parmigiano can be made easily and quickly, if the ingredients are available: good quality pasta and unsalted butter and genuine parmigiano.

I know that other people in Italy have a soft spot for this kind of pasta. I have also met a young woman in this country who, thanks to an Italian baby-sitter, loves pasta al burro e parmigiano, which makes me think that the dish has a power across geographic boundaries. To me it has the power of skilled simplicity. When I decided to follow on my mother's steps and make pasta all'uovo (egg pasta), my first batch of fettuccine was made al burro e parmigiano.

To prepare pasta al burro e parmigiano for two, I bring a pot of water to a rolling boil, add salt to taste and toss in it 1/3 lb of spaghetti or other dried pasta shape. While the pasta is cooking, I place one tablespoon of unsalted butter into each of two bowls, cut into 3-4 pieces. I also grate an ounce of parmigiano. I cook the pasta until it is al dente (firm to the bite), drain it, leaving a little of the cooking water clinging to it, and divide it equally into the two bowls with the butter. I start stirring immediately, so that the heat from the pasta melts the butter. At the same time, I sprinkle the grated parmigiano on it (also divided equally into two), and keep stirring until butter and cheese are evenly distributed. Immediate eating is required, as the dish is at its best when hot.

This is my contribution to Un Piatto di Potere (a dish of power), an event organized by Lenny of Una Finestra di Fronte. The idea is to talk about a dish that affected our lives. Here is the roundup of the event, presented as the table of contents of an anthology.

I loved pasta al burro e parmigiano as a child: eating it was an utter pleasure that has left one of the strongest memories of my childhood. The delight (in both smell and flavor) of this simple three-ingredient dish transcends the sum of its components.

Hear me pronounce the words on the pasta al burro e parmigiano audio file [mp3] or go to the pasta al burro e parmigiano audio page for more listening options.

Sono cresciuta mangiando pasta a pranzo quasi tutti i giorni. Da bambina non vedevo l'ora che mia madre facesse la pasta al burro e parmigiano. Per questo tipo di pasta io preferisco gli spaghetti, ma si possono usare altri tipi. La pasta al burro e parmigiano è facile e veloce da preparare, se si hanno gli ingredienti.

So che si sono altre persone in Italia che hanno un debole per questo tipo di pasta. Ho anche incontrato una giovane donna americana che, grazie ad una baby-sitter italiana, ama la pasta al burro e parmigiano, il che mi fa pensare che questo piatto ha un potere che va al di là dei confini geografici. Per me, questo piatto ha il potere della semplicità esperta.

Per due persone, io cuocio 150 g di pasta. In ognuno di due piatti fondi metto 15 g di burro, poi ci verso metà della pasta scolata lasciando su di essa un po' dell'acqua di cottura. Mentre mescolo, distribuisco il parmigiano, grattugiato di fresco (30 g, divisi tra le due porzioni di pasta). Quando burro e parmigiano sono ben distribuiti, servo la pasta, che va mangiata immediatamente. 

Questo è il mio contributo a Un Piatto di Potere, evento organizzato da Lenny di Una Finestra di Fronte. Il riassunto, presentato come l'indice di un'antologia, si trova qui.

Da bambina adoravo la pasta al burro e parmigiano: mangiarla era una delizia che ha lasciato un ricordo indelebile. La delizia di questo semplice piatto fatto di tre ingredienti trascende la somma delle sue parti.

spaghetti all'amatriciana

Not long ago I made spaghetti alla carbonara and in that post I mentioned an article in the New York Times on guanciale. The article starts by mentioning pasta all'amatriciana: when I read it, I did not know that I would be soon making it.

The inspiration came from finding Niman Ranch guanciale at The Pasta Shop in Oakland. I bought some and decided that I would use it to make spaghetti all'amatriciana. I remember eating bucatini all'amatriciana, but I am not a fan of bucatini and prefer spaghetti. As mentioned in the NYT article, some people consider spaghetti closer to the tradition. The way I see it, you can choose. I don't have a family recipe, but I am on the side of the onion-less party. My list of ingredients, besides spaghetti, includes guanciale, pomodori and pecorino.

For my rendition of the dish I cut 1/4 lb of guanciale (sliced to my specifications at the store) into pieces (see photo) and placed them in a frying pan previously sprayed lightly with olive oil and warmed up. I cooked the guanciale for a few minutes, then removed it from the pan with a slotted spoon and placed it in a small bowl. I then added a 28 oz can of chopped tomatoes [see update below] to the pan and 1/2 teaspoon of red pepper flakes. I cooked, uncovered, for 10 minutes, then added the guanciale to the tomatoes. I set the heat to low to keep the sauce warm while the pasta cooked. 

I brought a pot of water to a rolling boil, added some salt and tossed a pound of spaghetti in it. Shortly before the pasta was ready, I adjusted salt and pepper in the sauce and prepared 1/2 cup of freshly grated... I should say pecorino, but I had some aged goat cheese and experimented with that instead. I drained the pasta and poured it in a bowl that I had kept warm, added the cheese and then the sauce while mixing.

I was pretty happy with the result. The sauce made with chopped tomatoes was a bit too watery, so next time I will try a different kind of tomatoes. Also, I will use pecorino. Update: I made the recipe using a 28 oz can of ground, peeled tomatoes and the result was more to my liking.

The two photos that I took of the final result where unusable. Fortunately, Lisa of Champaign Taste made the same dish using pretty much the same recipe, just a different kind of pasta. You are therefore invited to read her post and admire her bucatini all'amatriciana.

As Lisa and I were exchanging notes after discovering that, unbeknown to each other, we had both made pasta all'amatriciana, the invitation arrived to participate to Festa Italiana, an event organized by Maryann of Finding La Dolce Vita and Marie of Proud Italian Cook. It is a favored dish in my long list, sure to please the party crowd, and so that's what I am bringing.

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