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Tomatoes, harvest, vegetable garden, orto

Orto adventures

This summer we have become more deeply Italian by creating the thing that makes every house complete — an orto — or vegetable garden. Most houses around here feature one prominently in the front yard. We didn’t put in any wimpy things like zucchini that grow all over the place and I don’t quite know what to do with beyond one or two things, but we did plant loads and loads of tomatoes.

Here are two tomato ideas from this week.

Slow roasted tomatoes

This recipe is from one of my favorite chefs, Skye Gyngell, and is unfussy but yields a tasty result. Skye suggests plum tomatoes but we used a mix of what we had in the photo above, halved or quartered them depending on size, and placed them on baking sheets with parchment paper underneath (we had four going). Sprinkle liberally with a mix of equal parts salt, pepper, and sugar. Then place in an oven on the lowest temperature you can get for about four hours until the edges start curling up. You aren’t going all the way to sun dried, just mid-way there. We’ve found that they store well submerged completely under olive oil and in the fridge.

We will use them often from making paninis to salads, but first out the gate was a pasta with eggplant and sundried tomatoes from chef Francis Lam. Here is her recipe for what she calls Pasta With Let-My-Eggplant-Go-Free! Puree. When she calls for tomatoes we added the slow roasted ones above.

Heirloom tomato tart

A friend in my WhatsApp “Cooking in Quarantine” food group made this today and it is on the list for this week. She said it was absolutely delicious. Recipe from the New York Times. Extra bonus points if you make your own pesto, which I think we will try, as we also have basil taking over the orto.

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Fava bean leaves. Who knew?

I recently talked about the WhatsApp cooking in quarantine group I’m part of and how inspirational it is. One member recently got a farm box from Chez Panisse in Berkeley which included fava bean leaves, which I didn’t know were edible.

This week at the farm stand (haul above) I asked them for some fava bean leaves, which they didn’t know were edible either. They sent their son into the field behind the shed to cut them, having to clarify three times that the American was after the leaves, not the beans.

I brought them home and blanched some fresh asparagus, sauteed some baby garlic sprouts, shallots, and onion sprouts, added a dash of chicken broth and white wine, sauteed a few mushrooms, added the blanched asparagus for a few moments, and then at the very last minute a bunch of fava bean leaves and some toasted sesame seed, along with sea salt, pepper, and a few flaky red pepper flakes.

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WhatsApp, cooking, and happiness

Food and community are core to being Italian. About three weeks ago I had an inspiration to bring the two together in a quarantine-friendly way and it’s one of the main things that brings me joy these days. The idea started when I hit the wall about what to make for dinner. The first couple of weeks of lockdown I felt pretty creative in the kitchen but suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted to make and needed ideas. I reached out to a few close friends who love to cook, all over the world, and started a WhatsApp group that has blossomed into a lifeline for me. I want to share the idea as I haven’t run across descriptions of anything quite like it, although I am sure others are doing this. There’s something about the informality and camaraderie that makes this group very different from an article in the media about cooking in quarantine, a recipe chain email, or even a large Facebook group dedicated to the topic.

The group includes friends living in Beirut, London, Paris, Dublin, our village in Italy, Boston, and Berkeley, California. What has made it work so well? It’s small — a dozen people — so it is intimate and everyone either knows each other or is one step removed. More than about a dozen people might make it unwieldy and overwhelming. These people are fierce and well-matched in skills, creativity, and taste. Most have ties to the village so there’s a common frame of reference. Tastes are multicultural so ideas range from middle Eastern to Vietnamese to Mexican to regional cooking in America and beyond. We try to share recipes along with photos and descriptions. Ideas bounce back and forth with people adapting other’s ideas. Our family has been inspired to up our game in the kitchen which has been fun, not from competition but a sense of play and not wanting to let the group down. And we are very honest with each other — bad days happen when you don’t want to cook at all, recipes turn out badly, worries abound — so it is piercingly authentic.

This group has become my tribe that is feeding me on all levels through this crisis and what surprises me the most is that I am getting to know even close friends better as some days I know what they are having for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’ve been moved by how they are taking care of themselves by being creative and nurturing in the kitchen. It has been lovely to see people with completely different lives, who haven’t met yet, supporting one another and cheering each other on. It’s a silver lining that the extra time that so many of us have is being used to nurture, create, and invest in other’s lives.

If you are inspired I’d highly recommend starting your own, on any topic really.

Here a tiny sample of ideas, from the hundreds that have been shared. If you enjoy these let me know and I can share more. The cake in the title image above was made by Donella for Easter. It was an almost 13 pound, six-layer gluten and dairy-free coconut and vanilla monster. No we did not eat it in one sitting.

Stinging Nettle Pesto (from Dublin)

A lot of our recipes tend to be pretty free form like this one: “Collect the newer leaves of the nettles, leaving the quarter or so near the bottom on the plant (wearing gloves, of course), blanch them one minute in rapidly boiling water. Then squeeze out the moisture. Use your favorite pesto recipe from here on out, substituting the nettles for basil, then pulverizing with olive oil, pine nuts, garlic, and usually parmesan.” Our friend in Dublin adds “I make this pesto with a combination of toasted walnuts and pine nuts and prefer grana pandano in this one but Parmesan is great too. Then just use as any other pesto. Also – make tons while the nettles are young — it freezes beautifully.”

A friend quarantined about a mile from us was inspired by the nettle pesto to hand make orecchiette pasta to serve it on.

On the other side of our village another friend made Crostata di Visciole from Pasticceria Boccione in the Ghetto in Rome.

INGREDIENTS:
For the pasta frolla (sweet pastry):
-150g (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled
-300g (2 cups flour)
-150g (3/4 cup) granulated sugar
-1 egg + 3 yolks, beaten
-pinch of salt

For the filling:
-500g (two cups) ricotta cheese (I use goat)
-150g (3/4 cup) granulated sugar
-1 egg, beaten
-200g (9 oz.) sour cherries

To finish:
-1 egg, beaten
-Icing sugar for dusting

Make the Pasta Frolla (sweet pastry):
-Cut butter in small cubes, add to flour in a food processor
-Add the sugar and mix thoroughly
-Add the eggs a bit at a time to bring the mixture together (you may not need to use all the egg)
-wrap the dough in clingfilm and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes

Make the filling:
-Mix the ricotta cheese with the sugar
-Add the egg and mix until combined

To assemble:
-Heat the oven from 180C (350F)
-Line and grease a 20cm (8 inch) cake tin with butter
-Divide the pastry in two pieces, one half the size of the other
-Roll the larger piece out to line the tin with about 1cm (1/2 inch) hanging over the edge
-Put the cherries in the tin and distribute evenly
-Cover the cherries with ricotta mixture
-Fold the overhanging pastry over the mixture and paint with egg wash
-Roll out smaller piece of dough into a 20cm (8 inch) disc
-Cover the top of the pie with the pastry disk
-Paint top of the pie with egg wash
-Bake for 50 minutes. If the crust looks too dark, place aluminum foil on top.
-Cool, and dust with icing sugar

And from Beirut, Lebanon we were teased by this:

Our friend described it as “the real traditional Lebanese bread device called saj. Since it cannot be industrialized pitta bread was created. Saj bread is very thin. The one we are preparing here is “manakish” with zaatar and keshek (orange one). Best eaten straight away while hot.”

We didn’t bother getting the recipe for this one yet, but I will as soon as we figure out how to rig up a device like this in the backyard.

Our Lebanese friend also created about six different kinds of unbelievable looking cookies for Easter. Here’s one. Next week the recipe…

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Apricot Cherry Galette

Our young cherry tree just finished it’s work (above) so we had to make one of our favorite summer recipes—an apricot and cherry galette. The rough, non-fussy shape of the dough is somehow perfect. We’ve tried a lot of recipes, but our favorite is from Bon Appetit. The original recipe is in the link, but John made some changes in the instructions below that he found helpful to get the dough right.

This pretty tart is great with vanilla ice cream.

CRUST
1 cup all purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon sugar
Pinch of salt
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick, 85g) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces
2 1/2 tablespoons (about) ice water
FILLING
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
2 teaspoons plus 4 1/2 tablespoons sugar
8 large apricots, halved, pitted
1 cup pitted cherries (about 6 ounces) or frozen, thawed
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted, cooled
Vanilla ice cream or frozen yogurt

FOR CRUST: Stir flour, 1/8 teaspoon sugar and salt in bowl to blend. Add butter; cut the butter up with a pastry cutter/blender tool (or with a couple of knives) until coarse meal forms. Mix in enough water by tablespoons, while stirring until a few loose clumps form. At this point it’s just flour and loose clumps of butter and water. It looks like it would never form into dough. Ignore that. Gather into ball with your hands; flatten into 3/4-1” thick disk. That simple pressing together transforms it into a pie or tart dough—and, as a disk, it’s actually partially rolled out. Wrap in plastic; chill at least 1 hour and up to 2 days.
Preheat oven to 400°F. Line baking sheet with parchment. Roll out dough on floured surface to a rough 11-inch round. Transfer to prepared baking sheet.

FOR FILLING: Mix flour and 2 teaspoons sugar in bowl. Sprinkle over crust, leaving 1 1/2-inch border. Place apricots cut side down on crust, placing close together and leaving 1-1/2 inch border at outer edge. Scatter cherries over apricots. Top with 4 tablespoons sugar. Fold pastry edges up around apricots, pressing against apricots to form scalloped border. Brush crust with butter; sprinkle with 1/2 tablespoon sugar.
Bake until crust is golden and fruit is tender (some juices from fruit will leak onto parchment), about 1 hour. Remove from oven. Using pastry brush, brush tart with juices on parchment. Gently slide parchment with tart onto rack. Carefully run long knife under tart to loosen (crust is fragile). Cool on parchment until lukewarm. Slide 9-inch-diameter tart pan bottom under tart, then place tart on platter. A pizza peel (very large spatula) is also a handy way to move the tart to a serving platter. Serve slightly warm or room temperature with ice cream.

Serves 6.

Bon Appétit
June 1995

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Suddenly a kitchen in Beirut felt a lot like Italy

To add another layer of adventure to our trip to Beirut we cooked with a family in their home, found through a service called Traveling Spoon. It turned out to be one of the best things we did on the trip.

In the outskirts of Beirut we arrived at an unassuming apartment building. Tania, our hostess, welcomed us and showed us into the living room where we met her mom, Joelle, and her brother. We all chatted for about an hour—I was starting to wonder whether I had forgotten to check the “cooking class” box on the form—when Tania asked us what we wanted to make and presented us with an array of choices. We decided on a range of things and then set to work in the small kitchen.

Learning to make a bunch of Lebanese classics was a blast, but what really make the evening for us was the warmth and wit of the family, with Tania and her mom ruthlessly teasing each other, her father, Boutros, arriving from working in his very large garden further outside of town and pouring rounds of homemade arak (an anise-based liquor), and various family members and friends coming and going.

In the middle of cooking the phone rings and Tania’s two-year-old niece had managed to video call her grandmother without her family’s knowledge. All cooking stopped while everyone chatted with the two year old. When Tania’s brother realized what had happened and came on the screen, looking slightly disheveled, Tania tells him he looks like a terrorist. At this point Sebastian delivers his highest compliment—that the whole thing—the frenzied, attentive cooking, the warm and funny family, even the apartment and kitchen, are exactly like what he loves about Italy.

We learned to make the Lebanese salads tabbouleh and fattoush, stuffed grape leaves (warak enab), hummus, baba ganoush, stuffed zucchini, and two potato dishes, among other things, but my favorite was chicken served over rice. It was different than anything else I’ve had and incorporated some new-to-me ways of using spices and techniques, all very easy. We made it last night, with Tania’s help answering last minute questions over WhatsApp while on the exercise bike at the gym, and I think I have the recipe nailed.

Tania’s Lebanese Chicken—Rez 3a djej—and the “3” is not a typo:

In a large pan heat some olive oil and saute an onion, three cloves of chopped garlic, a large bay leaf, two cinnamon sticks, and about 5 each of whole peppercorns, allspice pods, and cardamom seeds. Brown slowly, until the onions are really soft. Put in a whole cut up chicken and brown well. Add water until the chicken is just covered, put a lid on the pot, and cook over low heat until the chicken is completely done. (Tania used a pressure cooker to speed this up.) We had largely dark meat and this took about 30-45 minutes on the stove. Remove the chicken to cool and retain the liquid the chicken was cooked in.

For the rice saute a mix of nuts (we used cashews, peeled almonds, and pistachios) with a good amount of oil and butter. After the nuts are toasted drain them in a sieve and retain the cooking oil and butter in a large saucepan. Use the nut infused oil as the base to brown two onions, and ground beef (about 1/2 pound). Measure the amount of long-grained rice you want to use—you will later add twice the amount of liquid—and rinse the rice well to get it to absorb some water. Add the uncooked rice to the mixture which is browning along with salt and ground pepper to toast the rice slightly. Add cooking liquid from the chicken twice the quantity of uncooked rice, cover and cook on low heat until rice is soft.

Remove the chicken from the bones and shred.

To serve place the rice in a large bowl and layer over the chicken pieces. Add the nuts on top to garnish.

Other Lebanese cooking hints from our evening:

— Tania’s mom makes a pepper spice mix that is used frequently. It’s a ratio of 2:1 allspice pods to peppercorns, plus a cinnamon stick, ground fine in a spice grinder.

— The secret to making great tabbouleh is getting the size of all the vegetables (parsley, onion, tomato, mint) very, very small. It’s particularly hard with the parsley, so Tania rolled it into very tight bunches and julienned with a knife into the thinnest possible strips. Don’t cut the parsley more than once as you don’t want to mush it. When everything is cut add a good splash of lemon juice, olive oil, the pepper mix, and salt. (Watching I was amazed at how generous the amounts were of these last three things.) Add some uncooked bulgur wheat for texture.

Fattoush includes cucumber, lettuce, tomato, onion, green pepper, and radish, and is dressed with sumac, pomegranate molasses, mint, salt, and pepper. Make sure that all the vegetables are cut distinctively larger than for tabbouleh so that there is a real differentiation.  Add bitesize torn pieces of thin toasted pita at the end to blend with everything else and soak up the juices.

Hummus is simple. Soak the chickpeas overnight, then boil them until soft. Leave in a little cooking liquid when they are pureed in a food processor. Add tahini, a big splash of lemon juice, and salt. To serve place in a shallow bowl and make a channel to pour over olive oil. For a nice decoration take a fork and dip into powdered hot pepper to leave an imprint on the edges.

— The trick for baba ganoush is in how the eggplants are cooked. Tania’s family roasts them directly over the gas flame on the stovetop, turning frequently, until charred on the outside and totally soft inside. It takes about 15 minutes, and they pierce the skin of the eggplant in several places before cooking so that it doesn’t explode. When mushy let cool, then peel under cold water. Puree the insides with tahini, lemon juice, and salt. This method of cooking the eggplants gives the whole dish a really nice smoky flavor.

— The Lebanese use sugar water frequently, particularly poured over desserts. Tania makes her own with 2:1 ratio of sugar to water heated to melt the sugar, then adding a good splash of lemon juice, orange blossom water, and some rose water.

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How I know it’s spring in Tuscany

One of the things I love most about creating Itch is that I’m constantly reminded to keep attentive to what unfolds around me every day. I had so much fun thinking about spring for this post, and the little things that make me know that it has arrived.

1. Fava Beans

In the spring fava beans are suddenly everywhere, but show up in two completely different ways. First there are the fave that you eat. Italians often serve them in a very different way than I’d had in America. I was used to the beans being shelled, the small inner beans removed, and then blanched to make it easier to remove the skin around the inner, bright green bean, which was the only part served. (One memorable exception to this was many years ago in San Francisco’s Mission District at Delfina when they served fried baby fava beans which were eaten whole, outer pod and all. They were delicious.)

Here, even at very nice restaurants, when you order fave you often get a plate of raw, whole beans, along with some thin slices of pecorino cheese, salt, and some olive oil. You then remove the inner pods yourself and eat them raw, along with the skin coating them, accompanied by some oil and cheese. We still aren’t totally convinced that this is as good as just the innermost pod cooked in some delicious way, but this kind of dish makes everything dependent on the essentials: the fave must be very, very fresh and the quality of the oil and cheese is critical.

My sister turned me on to a recipe that involves throwing whole, really fresh fava beans in a plastic bag along with some olive oil, sea salt, red pepper, and garlic, tossing together to coat, and then roasting the beans over a fire until cooked and tender and a bit charred in places. You can eat these whole and we have served them several times as an aperitivo, along with a prosecco.

But fave in markets and restaurants aren’t that unusual in many places around the world. The second way fave are a harbinger of spring is that they are used as a cover crop to restore nitrogen to the fields where tobacco was planted late last summer. All those glorious little beans are plowed under just when they get really promising, unharvested.

2. The Lamborghini come out

If we were to do an MRI of our brain activity with the verbal prompt “Lamborghini” I think our brains would light up in very different ways. The image I conjure up is one of a tractor. After WWII Ferruccio Lamborghini started a company to make tractors out of reconfigured military equipment. He also made heating and cooling equipment and between his businesses became wildly successful. So successful that he started to collect luxury cars, including a Ferrari, which was a constant nightmare to maintain. He decided to start his own car brand in 1963.

Today, in the valley, having a Lamborghini tractor is definitely the cool kid choice and at this time of year the tractors, Lamborghini or otherwise, hit the fields and make them incredibly well-groomed. Soil is also prepped in long, rectangular patches for personal vegetable gardens, called orto, often in the front yard of a house.

3. The dandelions face their natural predator, the horse

 

We cheated and put a horse cookie in the middle of the dandelions to make sure that Salome would cooperate for the shot, but she ended up ignoring the cookie to concentrate on her favorite thing, fresh dandelion greens.

4. The world turns blue and green

5. Poppies

 

 

6. One of my favorite restaurants opens again after a long winter.

Laura and Marco open Il Travato in Monterchi sometime around Easter. I just saw Laura near the piazza and she said that Pasquetta is THE DAY! (Pasquetta is literally “Little Easter”—the relaxed family day after Easter usually marked by a picnic.)

Laura taught us how to make her best-in-Tuscany spaghetti aglio olio e peperoncino, which we often make at home.

7. Bees

 

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Venetian spice cake recipe

Last week when I wrote “The Venice you may not, yet, know” I mentioned that one of my all-time favorite desserts, a spice cake, comes from La Bitta restaurant—and the owner shared the recipe with me. This spice cake recipe is simple, but it has quite the unusual set of ingredients that gives it a comforting and very complex flavor. I truly love this cake. In my experience, it is unique.

Preheat oven to 350° F (180° C)

300 grams butter (1 1/3 cups)

300 grams sugar (1 1/2 cups)
300 grams unbleached, white flour (2.6 cups)
3 eggs
1/2 glass red wine (around 2/3 cup)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon poppy seeds
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon saffron (or 1 packet—that’s the way we buy it here)
1 teaspoon ginger powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
pinch of salt

Butter cakes, like pound cakes, get their soft, fine texture and moistness, called a crumb, by first creaming together fat and sugar, adding eggs, and slowly incorporating dry ingredients into the mixture while alternating with a liquid.

Start by beating the butter in a standing mixer—if straight from the fridge and butter is cold—while gathering up all the other ingredients. If it whips for 10 minutes it will get fluffy and light. (If you don’t have a stand mixer, try to get the butter to room temperature.) Then add the sugar and beat until incorporated.

Add the eggs one at a time.

In a separate bowl stir together all the dry ingredients, then add them to the butter/sugar/egg mixture alternating with the red wine, and beat until just incorporated.

Prepare an 11” pan (28cm)—buttered and floured and lined with baking paper. A spring-release pan is best.

Cook for until it is just firm in the center and a toothpick comes out clean. If it wobbles like jelly when you touch the center with your finger, don’t bother with a toothpick yet.

Start checking at 35 minutes, but it will likely take longer. Try to get it “just done”.

Let it cool in the pan for 5-10 minutes then you should be able to take it out and place it on a cake plate. Serve it warm, dusted with powdered sugar.

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Dangerous dinners: Vesuvio pasta

One of my favorite discoveries in the grocery store was Vesuvio pasta. It comes from the South of Italy and has loads of nooks and crannies for a good chunky sauce. It’s a fairly modern pasta made in an area that has been famous for making pasta since the 11th century, Gragnano in Campania. Apparently there is something special about the combination of the durum wheat from the area combined with the water that flows down from Monti Lattari. The shape is made by forcing the dough through rough bronze dies and letting it air dry.

This region is close to Naples, and thus Mt. Vesuvius, which dominates the area. I will never forget walking down a deserted street in Pompeii which perfectly framed the view of the summit of Vesuvius towering over it. I was imagining AD 79, but also realizing that this monster could go again, at any moment. Mt. Vesuvius is one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world as over three million people live in its shadow. Vesuvius has erupted many times in ancient history, with a massive explosion in 1800 BC that buried some Bronze Age settlements. Since  AD 79 there have been many times it has blown: 172, 203, 222, 303, 379, 472, 512, 536, 685, 787, 860, 900, 968, 991, 999, 1006, 1037, 1049, 1073, 1139, 1150, 1270, 1347, and 1500, 1631, six times in the 18th century, eight times in the 19th century, and in 1906, 1929 and 1944. It hasn’t gone since 1944, but it’s not a leap of faith to assume that it might erupt again.

We know a bit about the eruption in AD 79 because of the writings of Pliny the Younger. At the time the Romans were not sure Vesuvius was volcanic as it hadn’t erupted for nearly 30o years and the rich soil of its slopes was densely planted with vineyards and gardens. The volcano erupted for two days. After the first explosion Pliny the Younger writes that his uncle, Pliny the Elder, went by sea towards the explosion to rescue a friend and observe the phenomena first hand. He never returned and died on a beach when the winds changed and they couldn’t leave by boat. The others with him survived, so it is assumed that he might have had a heart attack or stroke. Pliny the Younger’s careful descriptions have earned the respect of volcano experts, who named this explosive type of eruption after him, Plinian. We have a fondness for Pliny the Younger because he had a villa somewhere near our home and wrote about our valley.

If you want to add a little danger to your dinner you can order your own Vesuvio pasta through Eataly. It’s great with any recipe that calls for a pasta like a fuselli. Eataly suggests a simple ragu with sausage.

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How Santina makes agnolotti

Our reason for wanting to talk with grandmothers about cooking is to delve into a slice of Italian life: the role that nonne play in the family, traditions that are almost lost, and what all that means today, in modern Italy.

When we interviewed Santina about making agnolotti, a traditional Italian filled pasta, our goal was to capture more than just how to make it. Which we did. But those elements did complicate the edit. We decided to create an addendum to yesterday’s video, showing more practically how to actually make this wonderful dish, for those who want to roll up their sleeves.

So, here it is.

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Making pasta with a grandmother

We are starting to develop our series on grandmothers cooking. Curious about what special things grandmothers make for the holidays, we were led to Santina, a pasta-making phenomenon. She always has fresh pasta she has made on hand to give to her family, including grandchildren, and great nieces and nephews. They frequently drop by for meals and keep her informed on the latest news in their lives.

We thought we’d be focusing on how Santina makes a filled pasta, agnolotti, but as is often the case here the people turn out to be more interesting than just what they do. Santina has inspired us to do two videos. This video gives you a sense of her special spirit, the role that a nonna often plays in Italian families, and what Christmas feasts are like in this small village. We wondered if there is a secret that Italian grandmothers have to keep their families legendarily close. We were surprised (and delighted by) the unexpected direction the answer to this question took, because of her wit.

Tomorrow we will share Santina, Part II, with some coaching and hints you need to make agnolotti, or any other fresh pasta, at home.

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