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Recipes Archives - Page 2 of 2 - Itch.world

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November 30, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Pasta! The Golden Tagliatella scandal

Have you ever looked down at your plate of tagliatelle bolognese and thought to yourself “The dimension of these noodles look slightly wrong?” No? Me neither. There is a very good reason for this, at least we naively believed. And with this, your pasta education continues.

Foodie friends of mine told me about their trip to Bologna, which for primarily one thing, a viewing of the Golden Tagliatella. Turns out that deep in Bologna’s Chamber of Commerce is something that I guarantee is more interesting than what’s in your neighborhood Chamber of Commerce. (Let’s just start with the building, the Palazzo della Mercanzia—Palace of Merchants— a gothic building that dates from 1382.)

What is there is the official measurement of a tagliatella (singular). It’s a noodle, in pure gold, housed in a wooden box. You need to make an appointment to see it, which judging by what my dogged friends went through, is quite difficult.

grazie al comune di Bologna per la photo

One only can wonder about what crisis of tagliatelle prompted the need for this particular measurement, which was installed on April 6, 1972, by the Italian Academy of the Kitchen. “Any other size, would make it lose its inimitable character,” says the charter.

But we had bigger questions on our minds. Does what you buy in the store actually correspond to the golden noodle? Or is all of this a marketing coup? (Even if they really don’t seem to market it and you have to make an appointment to see it?)

The specifications are eight millimeters cooked and seven millimeters uncooked. (This is precisely 12,270^th part of the height of the Asinelli Tower, a landmark in Bologna.) Length is not specified, by the some inexplicable lapse.

We purchased three different brands of tagliatelle at the local store and measured. Turns out that none of the tagliatelle we purchased logged in at seven millimeters. The reality is an average of just over five. Marketing coup it is!

In case you are not too disillusioned, here is the official recipe, notarized, copyrighted, and sealed in the Chamber of Commerce, for tagliatelle bolognese. (Sent you to a translated version for simplicity.) This ancient recipe was finally agreed upon and formalized on October 17, 1982, ten years after the golden noodle was installed at the Chamber.

Bologna is a beautiful and interesting city to visit in Italy, by the way.

October 20, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

Marrone chestnuts of Caprese Michelangelo

The village of Caprese Michelangelo is famous for two things: Michelangelo’s birthplace, and some of the finest chestnuts in the world. Not two terrible things to be known by, in my book. And the chestnut fame is not a recent thing—the Romans, and before them, the Etruscans (after which Tuscany is named), both loved these nuts from Caprese Michelangelo.

In Italy there is a DOC appellation (Denominazione di Origine Controllata, like the French DOC) and these Caprese chestnuts (a particular, fussy subset of chestnuts, called marrone, from grafted trees) have earned this rating.

Harvesting chestnuts involves going into the forest and picking up the spiky pods, with chestnuts inside. The very prickly pods often break open upon impact, making the task easier. (Love that the pods are called “ricci” the same word as for hedgehogs, and curly hair.) Attention is needed to differentiate between the sweeter and more valuable chestnuts from grafted trees, and wild chestnuts, which are used for chestnut flour.

Chestnut forests are glorious, primeval things. Huge, old trees grow in just the right elevation on the sides of mountains. Locals often lease a plot of forest so they can gather chestnuts, and these plots are closely guarded (though not as closely guarded as where truffles and porcini mushrooms are found. Tuscan life has its dark sides, like the poisoned meatballs left as a trap for dogs with truffle and mushroom hunters who go into another’s territory.)

This chestnut is known to be one of the oldest in the forest, over 1,000 years old.

I am a person who appreciates eating, and a good fire, so I love that chestnut plots tend to have small huts, often quite ramshackle, with just enough room for gallons of olive oil, some cooking gear, and much red wine. Chestnut gathering often ends with a big bonfire in the middle of the woods over which a variety of meat and vegetables are roasted, and bread is toasted, all accompanied by wine and olive oil. Often it’s all served at a long table with tree stump as chairs. The Italians haven’t elevated the “picnic” to a fine art form, like the French, but they shine when cooking meat outside over fire, the act of which is called “ciccia.” This word also means “fat or meat” and is sometimes an abbreviation for “salsiccia”, or sausage. But most often you hear it used as an endearment.

Moving here, one of the things I was most surprised by is how grindingly poor the area was for centuries. The first house we rented had a big attic that had racks custom-built for storing chestnuts, sometimes the only food source for the winter. These racks are quite common in old farmhouses.

Chestnuts are also ground into flour, which is made into a local delicacy, castagnaccio. I believe that this is the worst dessert ever invented, containing only chestnut flour, olive oil, rosemary, pine nuts, and raisins. Apparently after about 10 years of steady exposure you can acquire a taste for it. I have been fooled twice by the look of them into thinking I was biting into a brownie. Nope.

In case you have never roasted your own, over an open fire or not, they are easy and delicious. Choose chestnuts that are firm, and heavy. If they’re light, they’ve dried out and will be bad. Cut the shell horizontally, almost all the way across one side slightly into the inner nut, to give it room to expand when heated…otherwise they explode. (A serrated knife works well for this.) Then cook in a preheated oven at 200°C/400°F for 15-20 minutes. If over a fire, there are some cheap metal pans with holes in the bottom for this. Just roast over hot embers. It’s OK if they char a bit. Peel and enjoy.

October 13, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

Caramelized red onion jam

I find it really hard to find a restaurant I like in Florence. Most are completely geared towards tourists who will only come once, with food, prices, and service to ensure that the one visit expectation will be fulfilled. I’ve found a couple of places that are exceptions: Il Santo Bevitore restaurant, and its two spin-offs, the little wine bar next door, Il Santino, and a bread shop, S.forno. They are across the river from the Duomo in my favorite neighborhood which is filled with actual Florentines, and small shops and restaurants.

The restaurant is lovely, but the wine bar, Il Santino, has stolen my heart. It’s tiny, a gorgeous mix of ancient walls, an antique bar, and more modern design elements. It has an atmosphere that’s both warm and hip. The staff has been a delight every time I’ve been there, and even sold me bulk cheeses when I’ve been stuck before a party.

I recently went with friends for a glass of wine and some snacks and alongside the great selection of cheeses was a little jar of nearly-black goop. We started eating it with everything, kept asking for more, and then asked for the recipe. It’s a great mix of savory and sweet, with a little extra kick from cinnamon. My friend made it the next day and it turned out wonderfully. It’s super easy too.

Caramelized Red Onion jam:

6 red onions

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

dash of olive oil to coat the pan

Slice the red onions, then saute with a little oil, over medium-low heat for about 30 minutes or longer—until completely they are soft and caramelized. Add sugar and cinnamon, then put into a food mill and process until it reaches a smooth consistency. Taste and add more sugar and/or cinnamon as desired.

Great served at room temperature with cheese and bread. Also fantastic with cheese and bread are the preserved figs.

September 29, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

I love the Castle of Love

I avoided going to Castello di Ama for years. Friends would say “It’s the most amazing winery with this incredible contemporary art collection.” Instantly all the warning bells in my head would go off. This particular collection of words was a microcosm of why I left California. The last thing I wanted to find in my beloved, genuine, unpredictable, slightly-disheveled Italy was a pretentious, wrapped-with-bow-for-the-tourists, cold, and anonymous winery/contemporary art extravaganza.

But eventually, we took the plunge and went for lunch. And I was shocked out of all my preconceptions. It felt like coming to someone’s home.

Beautiful views, gorgeous old buildings, and damn good food and wine are all a given in Italy, but this experience had something more—a true warmth and grace—largely due to the staff who all seem passionately attached to this place. Our waiter, Federico, whom I’ve gotten to know over about the dozen times I’ve now visited, has that magical balance of heart, knowledge, and self-respect that is the hallmark of staff in a three-star restaurant in Paris. But here, everything happens in Italian, which is even more delightful. The food is inspired Tuscan classics, and the wine pairings spot on.

I am working on the recipe for their carrot-zucchini souffle and will post when I manage to make it as well at home as I’ve had at Ama. (I got the recipe from them, but it’s for 40 so takes a little adaptation.)

Ama is not really a castle, but rather a small hamlet which dates to the 1100s. The cluster of buildings was divided between two wealthy families, which resulted in two manor houses and two churches. In the 1970s, four Roman families decided to buy the hamlet and restore the vineyards. The current owner, Lorenza Sebasti (daughter of one of the Roman families), and her winemaker husband, Marco Pallanti, have had Ama since 1982, and oversaw one of the greatest upsets in wine history.

According to Decanter Magazine “Ama had a ‘Judgement of Paris’ moment on 8 February 1992 when the L’Apparita 1987 vintage beat Pétrus 1988, Le Pin and 16 other world-class Merlot wines at a tasting hosted by the Académie du Vin in Switzerland, with a jury comprised of renowned winemaking consultant Michel Rolland.” (And sometimes bottles of L’Apparita are open and available for tasting.)

The contemporary art is equally inspired. Ama has had an artist-in-residence program with artists such as Louise Bourgeois, Anish Kapoor, Hiroshi Sugimoto, and Daniel Buren creating site-specific works. I love how Nedko Solakov’s doodles play with everything from power outlets to small cracks in the wall in one large room. Jenny Holzer was having lunch when we were there —she’s the next artist to add to the collection.

There are also villas for overnight stays on the property. I’ve had a chance to peek into some of the suites. Sigh. Hopefully at some point.

If you visit, Siena is only 25 kilometers away, and also nearby is the wonderful Terme San Giovanni.

September 22, 2018 In Chow, Live, Recipes By Nancy

Making gnocchi, and a film, in Italy

John and I have this idea to start filming local grandmothers cooking. A possible way to enter more deeply into Italian life, capture some of the spirit of Tuscan woman, and learn more about food.

We gather some savvy, younger locals and start brainstorming about people we can shoot. The grandmother who hunts? Possible. The grandmother who makes feather whips for the lingerie store? Very possible. For our first shoot we settle on two of our collaborators’ grandmother in a house in the countryside outside of town, complete with a huge watermelon patch.

The morning of the shoot comes. We are prepared to act with military precision, which is the norm for any shoot. The “call time” comes to meet our collaborators and head to the country. The meeting location changes. The start is delayed because breakfast isn’t finished. Their grandmother actually lives in the ancient center of town, not near the watermelon patch at all. We start to get nervous.

We arrive at their house on a tiny street from the 1100s and the grandfather, Franco, jumps into cooking action. Maybe the premise of the video, cooking grandmothers, needs to be reassessed?

Then it all starts to unfold. The constant lesson of Italy. You can predict nothing, control nothing, but just step back and enjoy the gifts of grace, ease, and warmth that the Italians offer. Which more often than not is so much more than you could have possibly imagined or engineered.

Anna, the grandmother, is everywhere in the kitchen at once. This gnocchi pas de deux has clearly happened hundreds of times in their kitchen. Both of them are cooking with a rare ease, barely even looking at the food as they cook.

While Franco forms the dough for the gnocchi, and then shapes and cuts it, he tells us stories about what is was like for families growing up as tenant-farmers in the years before the “economic miracle” of the 1960s (thanks Marshall Plan), with 30 people in a house, hunger, limited mobility, and the Padrone with total power.

The conversation ranges across centuries and topics, and the enormous mound of gnocchi dough melts away. Anna is taking away the cut gnocchi, boiling it, and then rolling it in oil to separate and cool, directly on the marble table.

Soon after we sit down with the extended family to eat. As it has been said before, “And it was good.”

This is, in some ways, one of the most unfiltered films we’ve ever done. It’s as close as we can get you to sitting down in a Tuscan kitchen for a visit. Please let us know what you think of this rawer kind of glimpse. And we hope you learn a lot about gnocchi along the way.

September 14, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Easy figs to last through winter

Even on a tree, individual figs are only at their peak for a few days before going bad. Enter Franco. He’s the grandfather who you will meet in next week’s video who made gnocchi for us, along with his witty wife Anna. At the lunch that followed filming they served some preserved figs, along with pecorino cheese. The figs were sweet, but also complex, with just the right amount of a tart undertone. These weren’t like jam, but like the essence of fresh figs, preserved. Very simple, like the best of Tuscan food.

Franco offered to come over some morning when he wasn’t hunting to teach us how to make them.

I accepted the offer—Franco is the kind of cook I aspire to be. He never measures and hardly even looks at what he is doing because it is all so natural and familiar. And while he is cooking he is discussing everything from the power of the monasteries in the 13th-century to growing up as a tenant-farmer or the importance of constantly being exposed to new ideas.

Back to making the figs— get ones that taste great and are soft, but not overly ripe. Green or black figs work equally well. You will also need sugar, white wine vinegar, and small mason jars with lids. This recipe works well for small batches.

Cut the fig tops off and arrange in a heavy-bottomed pan so that they are in one layer. We used about 40 figs, which was 1.5 kilos (3.3 pounds) of figs. For this amount you pour over 400 grams (14 oz.) sugar and 60 ml (1/4 cup) of white wine vinegar.

Put over low heat. And wait. Franco occasionally pries the figs apart (either by slightly shaking the pan or gently using a blunt knife) so that the liquid that collects can coat all sides of them, but mainly leaves them undisturbed—no need to stir or flip them. After about 20-30 minutes, there will be a lot of liquid in the pan, and he spoons off the excess so that the bottom of the pan is well-covered but the figs aren’t drowning. And at this point, turn the figs so that all sides are well-coated. It amazed us that something as seemingly delicate as figs can withstand boiling like this, but they are a lot tougher than they look.

We normally boil mason jars, lids, and all implements, to sterilize but Franco’s technique is to run them through a hot dishwasher, fill the clean jars with the boiling contents, and then seal and flip them over to cool, thus ensuring that the boiling liquid reaches all parts of the inside of the jar. (For everything you need to know about recommended ways to sanitize and can, here’s a wonderful resource.)

Pack the figs in tightly, but don’t squish them, and add enough liquid to fill about a quarter of the jar.

These are delicious with cheese, and are also wonderful for breakfast with yogurt, or by themselves for dessert.

John experimented by adding one and a half inches of peeled and chopped fresh ginger to the cooking figs, which was a fantastic variation. The syrup takes on the ginger flavor, and the pieces become a soft ginger candy.

Next on the list to try before fig season is over is a modern take on a traditional Calabrian recipe—fig, vanilla, and orange blossom jam.

Another thing to serve alongside the figs is this fantastic caramelized red onion jam.

September 7, 2018 In Best Of, Chow, Recipes By Nancy

The pasta we can’t quit (and recipe)

When I want a mini-vacation—and lunch—I head to the sleepy Tuscan hilltop village of Monterchi. In the piazza at the top is one of my favorite family restaurants, Ristorante Al Travato.

It’s only open from-kinda-around-Easter to kinda-around-the-end of October, depending on the weather and the back health of Laura. The family first opens the restaurant on weekends only, then slowly builds, with the heat, to being open most days in summer, and then winds it all back down in the fall. What they do all winter I am not sure, although they’ve hinted it involves skiing.

Marco, Laura’s husband, finds the wines for the cellar—a cave that goes back into the medieval walls—and Laura cooks. Two of their teenage daughters serve (yep, beauties. We can even get our 14-year-old son to eat there whenever we want), while the youngest daughter rides around the square on her small, enviable pink bike.

Our family craves one dish in particular, at least once a week— Spaghetti Aglio, Olio e Pepperoncini—true Tuscan soul food. It’s spaghetti that’s properly al dente, loads of garlic, and a few really hot peppers, all swimming in olive oil.

While it’s simple in its ingredient list, differing opinions of how it should be made abound. You could say of Laura’s (off-menu version): “questo spacca di brutto” (“this chops off the ugly”—I know, the translation doesn’t help me either, but the kids say it means something is a big deal). Best of all for anyone who wants to bring a bit of Italian soul food into their kitchen, it’s easy enough to do tonight with ingredients you probably already have on hand.

Here’s a two-minute video on how Laura makes the definitive Tuscan comfort food.

A cooking note: you’re going to save some of the water from cooking the pasta when you drain off the rest. Also—do this before the pasta has reached the “al dente” (still slightly firm when bitten) state. It will finish cooking when added to the pan with the other ingredients (while the last bit of cooking water helps their flavors go inside the noodles).

August 21, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Potent plant potion: elderberry syrup

Elderflowers grow like weeds here. Weeds that have huge thorns and become 30-foot trees while your back is turned. Good thing they have gorgeous white flowers that are delicious to make into elderflower cordial. (I’ve heard they are also good to fry, like acacia flowers.)

The clusters of little white flowers turn into these tiny, so-dark-red-they-are-nearly-black berries, which I’d heard are perfect for making into elderberry syrup. This year I decided to make my own, inspired by one of my favorite food writers, French expat David Lebovitz.

The clumps of berries were easy to gather, but it took much longer than I’d planned to get the little buggers off the stems without the stem coming along for the ride. (And you do need to be very careful about the juice, as it can stain nearly anything.)

But it was worth the effort. The result is as close to a magical potion as anything I’ve ever made: thick, gorgeously colored, and characterized by a very unusual, nearly magical taste—not quite bitter, not quite floral—, totally delicious.

So far I have served it over a friend’s roasted peaches and cream, mixed into sparking water and ice, and swirled into prosecco with a little lime. I’m going to try it next over fruit and vanilla gelato.

I followed David’s recipe, and it was easy. The amount of berries in the photo was almost exactly the amount called for in the recipe.

July 7, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Deep-fried acacia blossoms

In mid-August, I start to long for winter in Tuscany. Those months can be surprisingly cold, grey, and wet—but still gorgeous—and are slower, with only the locals out and about. Despite my love of winter it’s always exciting when the acacia trees start flowering—a sign of the landscape waking up. In early summer these delicate white cascades adorn acacias big and small, from the tallest trees to unassuming roadside bushes.

Best of all, you can taste this bit of summer. I’ve never seen it served at a restaurant, but the tradition of battering and frying these acacia blossoms is alive and well, passed among kitchens and between generations. It requires some foraging, since you won’t find acacia blossoms at a supermarket, but it’s an adventure that marks the season.

This old Tuscan recipe was told to a friend of mine by a 90-year old neighbor who is an avid forager. It’s simple, yet sophisticated, and adds drama whenever it’s served. There’s a slight floral flavor that’s unexpected in something fried. When we served it recently a friend called it “adult popcorn.”

I have heard that elderflowers and spring garlic are also delicious done this way.

To make deep-fried acacia flowers:
Gather bunches of acacia flowers when they are in early to full bloom. We don’t wash them (way too fragile), but you should look closely for any bugs. For the batter take about 1 cup of 00 flour (all-purpose also works) and mix with 1.5 cups of COLD sparkling water and a little salt. Mix it all together until you have a batter that’s the consistency of pancake batter. Pour about 4 inches of sunflower (or peanut) oil in a pan and heat until around 350 F (175 C). Hold the acacia blossoms by the stem and dip them in the batter, coating each well, then drop them in the oil, a few at a time, until they are a nice golden color. (Don’t let them drip too long before putting in the oil as you want them well-coated.) Remove and drain on paper towers, then serve as soon as you can. We’ve always sprinkled sea salt on top, but I’ve heard that a little acacia honey is also magic, and is rather poetic to boot.