Oiled Slice

I'm going to be away for the Memorial Day weekend, so I'm not likely going to be able to post a blog entry. I thought, thererfore, it would be a good idea to resurrect one of the posts from my original blog from the Memorial Day weekend of 2004.

It hardly seems that I've been doing this sort of thing for more than a year, but as I reviewed my archives, I discovered that my anniversary came and went a couple of months ago without me noticing. Nevertheless, I hope you find this re-post timely, and if the weather in your part of the world permits, that you'll enjoy a meal cooked on a grill.

O

ne of my favorite types of foods is antipasto. I think it's a great way to get people connected and into the proper frame of mind to enjoy a marathon at the dinner table. Among antipasti, one of my favorites is Bruschetta, 'grilled bread'.

It's terrific as is; good Tuscan bread, grilled, rubbed with garlic, then drizzled with Extra-virgin olive oil. But it's versatile enough to accommodate a profusion of toppings too.

Bruschetta (broos-KETT-ah) is known throughout Tuscany as fett'unta; 'oiled slice' in Tuscan dialect. This has always confused me. If Florentine Italian has been the Lingua Franca since the unification, why would Tuscans, of all Italians, continue to speak in dialect? Perhaps the folks outside of Florence——and maybe Siena——still haven't gotten the memo. No matter though, bruschetta, fett'unta; it's good stuff.

I like to serve bruschetta when I'm planning to grill supper anyway. That way, when the fire is nearly ready for the main course, I can toss a few slices of good crusty bread on the grill, and pass them around just before I put the meat on.

My local greengrocer always seems to have great plum tomatoes in stock for one of my favorite toppings: a salad of arugula, plum tomatoes, and shallots. And if I happen to have some roasted garlic on hand, I feel that I'm well ahead of the pack. Of course a white bean purée garnished with grilled calamare is also kind treatment indeed. Bruschetta topped with my Sicilian grandmother's capponata? Fuggedaboudit. In fact, I've found some caterers who are offering bruschetta bars as part of their packages.

So the next time you get the grill going for another reason, (although I think bruschetta is reason enough to start a fire) consider the humble, Tuscan 'oiled slice.' You and your guests will be happy diners indeed. Buon appetito.

Skip's Bruschetta
Grilled Bread

Ingredients:

4 Slices rustic bread, approximately 1 inch thick
4 Cloves garlic, peeled, and sliced in half, lengthwise
4 Tbs. Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt & freshly-ground black pepper

Preparation:

Cook the bread slices on both sides over a charcoal fire, a stovetop gratella, or under the broiler. If you're using a grill, or a gratella, 'stove-top grill, watch for the grill marks and turn when the bread is well done. If using the broiler, watch carefully for the bread to turn golden brown.

When the bread is toasted, remove from the heat and rub each side with the cut garlic. Drizzle a tablespoon of olive oil over each slice, season with salt and pepper and serve immediately.

Serves four.

Skip's Insalata con Pomodori e Rucola
Tomato and Arugula Salad

Ingredients:

2 —– 3 Plum tomatoes cut into 1/2 inch dice
Approximately 1 tSaltsalt
1 Bunch arugula, washed, and coarsely chopped
1 Clove garlic, peeled, and finely chopped
1 Shallot, peeled, and finely chopped
2 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped
2 Tbs. Red wine vinegar
3 Tbs. Olive oil
Salt & freshly-ground black pepper

Preparation:

Place the tomatoes in a colander and sprinkle with about 1 tsp. of salt. Allow the tomatoes to drain for ten or fifteen minutes. Remove to a bowl and combine with the arugula, garlic, shallots, parsley, vinegar, and oil. Taste for seasoning and add salt and pepper to your taste.

Spoon 1/4 of the mixture on each of four slices of bruschetta and serve immediately.

Serves four

Technorati tags: Bruschetta, Skip Lombardi

Pasta con le Regaglie

L

ast week, I came into possession of some turkey giblets. The whole deal had a surreptitious quality about it that I loved. A chef friend was going to prepare Turkey Divan, and had no use for them. But she extended the offer sotto voce, perhaps because she wasn't sure if I liked turkey giblets, and that added to the intrigue. This wasn't the first time I'd been involved in deals like this.

Several years ago, when I lived in Boston, my upstairs neighbor was a cook at the former Jasper's on Commercial Street. Jasper White had created a culinary niche cooking upscale versions of classic New England dishes. My neighbor would call me at work from time to time, and, using a conspiratorial tone of voice, would inform me that Jasper was making his lobster rolls that evening. So I'd make a bee line to Jasper's at the end of my workday, sit at his small bar, and practically inhale one of his lobster rolls. Jasper's lobster rolls were well worth being part of any kind of conspiracy; real or imagined.

But reflection on lobster rolls aside, turkey giblets are not the kind of foodstuffs that are readily available at the local megastore unless they come packaged in the turkey. So my little "score" was a particular treat. And for me anyway, the logical outcome to look forward to was Pasta con le Regaglie. (reh-GAHL-yay)

In the interest of full disclosure, I confess that my previous attempts at Pasta con le Regaglie have ranged from mediocre to dismal failure. In fact, I was feeling like Charlie Brown must have felt about kicking a football. Each time I tried it, I knew in my heart that it was going to be great. And each time, I wound up on my back.

The problem was a gristly texture that was about as appealing as chewing elastic bands. It seemed that no matter how thoroughly I dissected the giblets, or how diligent I was in removing connective tissue, I couldn't lose the gristle.

So I spent some time studying recipes on Italian web sites, and it seemed my problems related to the length of time I cooked the giblets. It turns out, this dish wants to be cooked for a long time. But I love Pasta con le Regaglie; sufficiently to try it one more time.

I discovered the dish many, many years ago, at a trattoria in Rome; I've been chasing it like some kind of Holy Grail ever since; and I believe with this recipe, I've caught it. The giblets help to create an intense, rustic, and earthy tomato sauce, while the livers lend a creaminess at the same time.

And despite the fact that Caterina de' Medici is said to have enjoyed giblet ragôut from time to time, this dish is a supreme example of la cucina dei poveri, the cooking of the poor.

Pasta con le Regaglie
Pasta with Giblets

Ingredients:

1 1/2 Lbs. Giblets (chicken or turkey)
2 Cloves garlic, peeled
1 Medium carrot, peeled and cut into chunks
1 Stalk celery, peeled and cut into chunks
1 Medium yellow onion, quartered
3 Tbs. Italian flat-leaf parsley, including stems
2 Oz. Pancetta, roughly chopped
2 Tbs. Extra-virgin olive oil
1 Cup dry white wine
1 14 Oz. Can low-sodium chicken broth
1 28 Oz. Can crushed or diced Italian plum tomatoes (preferably San Marzano)
1/2 tsp. Crushed red pepper flakes
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
1 Lb. Rigatoni
4 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped
Pecorino-Romano

Preparation:

Remove all connective tissue, visible fat, and silverskin from the hearts and gizzards. Chop into very fine dice, along with the livers, and reserve.

Place the garlic, carrot, celery, onion, parsley and pancetta in the bowl of a food processor and pulse ten or more times for about one second for each pulse. The resulting mixture is known as a batutto.

Heat a four quart pot over medium heat, then add the oil. Add the batutto, and cook for approximately ten minutes, until the vegetables have softened, and the pancetta has rendered its fat. Lower the heat if the vegetables begin to color.

Add the giblets to the pot, and continue cooking, shaking the pot from time to time, until the giblets have lost their pinkish color.

Raise the heat to high, and add the wine. Continue cooking over high heat until the wine has reduced to approximately 1/4 cup. Add the chicken broth, and cook over high heat until it has reduced by approximately half.

Lower the heat to medium-low, and add the tomatoes and the red pepper flakes. Adjust the heat so the sauce simmers gently. Season with salt and pepper, and simmer, uncovered, for approximately one hour, or until the sauce has thickened, and any extraneous liquid has cooked off.

Approximately fifteen minutes before the sauce should be done, bring a large pot with salted water (at least six quarts) to the boil. Add the rigatoni, and cook until the pasta has just reached the al dente state. Remove from the heat and drain in a colander.

To Serve:

Divide the pasta equally among four plates and add a dollop of sauce to each. Garnish with the parsley, and pass the Pecorino-Romano separately at the table.

Technorati tags: Giblets, Pasta, Italian Recipes, Skip Lombardi

Pasta al Tonno e Pomodoro

I

've begun to think about writing a second edition of La Cucina dei Poveri for at least seventeen reasons: the seventeen recipes that either didn't make it into the first edition, or that I've unearthed since I published the first edition. Among the seventeen is this recipe; Pasta al Tonno e Pomodoro, Pasta with Tuna and Tomato Sauce.

My grandfather often made Pasta with Tuna Sauce when we were staying at our summer cottage in Old Saybrook, CT. In fact, that seemed to be the only place he made it. I've often wondered why.

Perhaps it was because, even though the tuna came from a can, it was a period (late fifties and early sixties) when foods weren't typically frozen, and we ate seafood only when someone caught it, or when it was available fresh at the market. In those days, that was from approximately May through September. For the rest of the year, even canned tuna, "out of season," just didn't seem right.

Pop's (my grandfather's) recipe differs from the traditional Sicilian version, because he added capers and roasted peppers; often hot peppers. For me, roasted peppers alone are close to nature's perfect food, but the combination of tuna, tomato, and roasted peppers is sublime.

Pasta al Tonno e Pomodoro is at its best, prepared with roasted fresh peppers, but you can find enough fine brands of jarred roasted peppers at your grocery store that you shouldn't be deterred from making this terrific pasta recipe.

Pasta al Tonno e Pomodoro
Pasta with Tuna and Tomato Sauce

Ingredients:

2 Tbs. Olive oil
2 Cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
1 Medium onion, diced
2 6 oz. Cans tuna packed in oil
1/2 tsp. Crushed red pepper flakes
1 28 oz. Can Italian plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano
2 Tbs. Capers
4 Roasted peppers, cut into 1 in. pieces
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 Lb. Penne rigate
4 Tbs. Flat leaf Italian parsley

Preparation

Heat a 4 quart pot over medium-high heat, then add the oil. Add the garlic, and cook, shaking the pot occasionally, for approximately one minute. Lower the heat to medium, then add the onion.

Season with salt and pepper, and cook until the onion softens and becomes translucent; approximately five minutes.

Add the tuna, breaking it up with a fork, then add the red pepper flakes. Add the tomatoes, breaking them up as they go in as well. Finally, add the capers and roasted peppers. Lower the heat and simmer for twenty minutes, stirring occasionally.

In the meantime, bring a large pot of salted water (at least six quarts)to the boil. Add the penne and cook until they reach the al dente state. Drain in a colander.

To Serve:

Divide the pasta equally among four plates and add a dollop of sauce to each. Garnish with the chopped parsley.

Serves four

Technorati tags: Italian Food, Tuna, Skip Lombardi

Carne Macinata Sfizioza

L

ast Wednesday evening, my next door neighbor, his girlfriend, and I gathered in the kitchen at my landlady's house to try to figure out supper for the evening. Regular readers will recall that the previous weekend, we were all laid low by illness, and none of us had done any serious shopping since.

MEDICAL UPDATE: My neighbor's girlfriend and I are perfectly fine, but doctors have determined that he and my landlady have bilateral pneumonia. We feel that's a good thing, though, because now they can take antibiotics specific to their pathology. The cough elixir with codeine doesn't hurt either.

As she was rummaging through her refrigerator, my landlady discovered a pound of hamburg that was about to turn toward heading one-eight-zero, as we say in this nautical community. In worldly terms, it was about to go south. Since I was going to cook, I was given the responsibility of figuring out what to do with it.

Except for the obvious—meatballs—I hadn't spent much time thinking about what Italians do with hamburg. Oh sure, ragù alla Bolognese, and the Sicilian dish, farsu magru came to mind; but among all of our kitchens, we couldn't put together the ingredients for either.

It didn't take much fishing around the Web, though, to discover this recipe. My problem, was translating the word, sfizioza.

I had never heard it before; it wasn't in either of my Italian-English dictionaries; and I didn't get any help from Google. But the kind folks in the language forums at Virtual Italia dot com, and Word Reference dot com provided me with helpful assistance.

It turns out that sfizioza is a derivative of the noun, sfizio, whim. So it seems reasonable to consider the translation of this dish to be 'hamburg made on a whim.'

And indeed, there's no more to this dish than sautéeing some onion and celery, adding some parsley and other herbs of your choice, coooking the hamburg, and finishing it with some marinara.

I wound up serving this dish with some plain, boiled Arborio rice, which caused my neighbor to remark, "Wow, this tastes like what the original makers of Hamburger Helper must have had in mind. But they couldn't have come up with this dish in their wildest fantasies."

Carne Macinata Sfizioza
Hamburg 'on a Whim' (Adapted)

2 Tbs. Extra-virgin olive oil
1 Medium onion, finely diced
2 Stalks celery, thinly sliced
4 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped
2 Tbs. Assorted herbs (Thyme, tarragon, oregano, etc.) optional
1 Lb. Ground Beef
1 Cup marinara
Salt & freshly ground black pepper

Preparation

Heat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat, then add the oil. Add the onion, celery, half the parsley, and the assorted herbs (optional), and sauté until the onion has softened and become translucent; about five minutes.

Add the hamburg, breaking it up with a wooden spoon, and sauté until it has lost all pinkness. Season with salt and pepper, and add the marinara. Stir well to combine, re-season if necessary, lower the heat to allow the mixture to barely simmer, and cook for approximately twenty minutes.

To Serve

Divide equally among four dinner plates, garnish with the remaining parsley, and serve with boiled rice.

Serves four

Technorati tags: Italian Food, Italian Recipes, Skip Lombardi

Pasta alla Caruso

W

hile I've recovered from the little virus I had over the weekend, I'm still licking my emotional wounds over missing that 50 to 1 longshot in the Kentucky Derby. After all, he was named in honor of my favorite opera composer, Giacomo Puccini. Alas, when it comes to the bangtails, I spend far too much time trying to quantify a race's outcome with mathematics, rather than hunches. And I remain squeamish at the notion of parting with $2.00 on a horse with post time odds of 50 to 1.

Nevertheless, the whole experience caused me to think about opera, which in turn, led to thoughts about one of my favorite pasta dishes, named in behalf of one of the greatest tenors in the history of opera: Pasta alla Caruso. So if I had a Jones for Pasta alla Caruso on Saturday, by the time I felt up to cooking pasta yesterday, I had a serious Jones. I rarely go more than two days without eating pasta.

Enrico Caruso's passion for food—and cooking—nearly equaled his passion for opera. During his tenure at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, he sponsored the citizenship of more than a dozen chefs from his home town, Naples; possibly to repair his deprivation of the Napoletano cuisine he missed. Further, he helped them to open restaurants and pizzerias in Little Italy, and on evenings when he wasn't singing, he would spend time working in their kitchens.

But here's where the story of Pasta alla Caruso becomes muddy. Some food historians say he invented the dish and named it for himself; others say one of his Napoletano friends in New York invented it and named it in his honor. Still others say it was a chef in Naples who invented it and named it for one of Naples' favorite sons.

No matter. The combination of chicken livers, mushrooms, and a rich tomato sauce makes for a soul-satisfying primo piatto, first course. The chicken livers provide a creamy richness, the mushrooms, an earthiness, and the tomato sauce, a sweet acidity. The whole thing comes together like an aria from La Boheme.

Note: if you are indeed serving Pasta alla Caruso as a first course, make smaller portions than you ordinarily would with other recipes. The chicken livers make this a richer dish than, say, pasta alla marina.

Pasta alla Caruso
Pasta with Chicken Livers and Mushrooms in a Red Wine Tomato Sauce

Ingredients:

2 Tbs. Olive Oil
1 Cup Flour, seasoned with salt & freshly ground black pepper
1 Lb. Chicken Livers, separated into individual lobes, all visible fat removed
2 Tbs. Extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbs. Unsalted butter
1 Lb. Assorted mushrooms, Portobello, Crimini, White button, sliced thinly
1 Cup dry red wine
1 28 Oz. Can, peeled Tomatoes (preferably San Marzano)
2 Tbs. Flat-leafed Italian Parsley, finely chopped
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
1 Lb. Spaghetti or Perciatelli
Parmigiano

Preparation:

Flour the chicken livers, shaking off any excess and reserve on a plate.

Heat a sauté pan over high heat, then add the olive oil. Add the chicken livers and sauté until they are slightly browned and firm. Remove from the, pan and reserve.

Pour off the olive oil, then add the two tablespoons of butter. When the butter has foamed and the foam begins to subside, add the mushrooms, tossing to coat with the butter. Cook for four or five minutes, until the mushrooms begin to give off some of their juices.

Add the wine all at once, scraping the bottom of the pan to loosen any caramelized bits of liver and mushroom from the bottom. Continue, cooking over high heat until the wine has reduced by about half. Lower the heat, puree the tomatoes through a food mill, or in a food processor, then add to the mushrooms and wine. Adjust the heat so the mixture barely simmers.

Slice the chicken livers crosswise into half-inch rounds and add them, with any of their accumulated juices, to the tomato sauce. Taste for seasoning, add salt and pepper if necessary, then cook over low heat for about thirty minutes, or until the extraneous juices have evaporated.

In the meantime, bring a large pot with about six quarts of water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook until al dente.

Drain the pasta, divide equally among four (or six) plates, top with the sauce, and garnish with the chopped parsley. Pass the Parmigiano separately at the table.

Oh, and try not to act surprised when one of your dinner guests suddenly discovers a long-hidden talent for Italian opera.

Serves four as an entrée, six as a first course.

Technorati tags: Pasta alla Caruso, Pasta Recipes, Skip Lombardi

Fritatta

W

e've been having a tough go of it here on Riverview Avenue this past week. First, my neighbor in the other apartment here was—and remains—laid low by the springtime flu. Then, my landlady developed a respiratory infection that causes her to sound like a snare drum when she coughs. I spent all of Sunday and most of yesterday in bed with a 36 hour virus; brought on, I'm certain, by that 50 to 1 longshot winner in the Kentucky Derby. After all, an event like that will lower anyone's resistance to infection. Especially anyone who hadn't taken any action on the horse. And finally, my neighbor's girlfriend joined the walking wounded yesterday too. As I said, tough week on Riverview Avenue.

Of course, the chicken soup has been flowing like water, but I was feeling well enough yesterday afternoon to have an interest in something more substantial. Given the current condition of my larder, the logical choice was frittata.

One of my Italian-English dictionaries defines frittata as an omelet. I can't see how this could be correct, though. As I've written elsewhere, it was Caterina de' Medici who taught the French how to eat with forks. I prefer to think of frittata as a srambled egg tart.

The significant differences between an omelet and a frittata are the cooking techniques. A mushroom omelet and a mushroom frittata might have identical ingredients, but the outcomes are drastically different.

An omelet consists of beaten eggs cooked until just set on the bottom, then folded over a filling. A frittata is an amalgam of ingredients cooked together. Also, a frittata is cooked until the bottom is set, then flipped and cooked on the other side.

In Italy, frittata is a popular piatto di pranzo, luncheon dish. And it's ubiquitous on the antipasto table in trattorias. I've eaten in some restaurants—particularly in Tuscany—where the chef offers three or four different frittate as antipasti. Italians typically eat frittata at room temperature.

Ingredients for a frittata are limited only by the contents of the larder, and the imagination of the cook. Asparagus, spinach, potatoes, or bell peppers are all popular, either alone, or in combination. Sausage, and sopressata are popular too.

The recipe I present below, is a simple combination of eggs and onions. If I had a bell pepper in the house, I would have diced it and sautéed it with the onions. If I had some sausage, I would have crumbled it and sautéed it before adding the onions. This dish is wide open for improvisation.

For as simple as this recipe is, the dish was delicious, if I say so myself. But I'm also glad to be feeling well enough to look forward to having some pasta tonight.

Frittata
Scrambled Egg Tart

Ingredients:

2 Tbs. Extra-virgin olive oil
1 Medium onion, diced
2 Cloves garlic, peeled and diced
6 Large eggs
2 - 4 Tbs. Parmigiano, grated
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped

Preparation:

Heat a 10 or 12 inch non-stick sauté pan over medium heat, then add the oil. Add the diced onion, and sauté until the onions have softened and become translucent; approximately five minutes.

In the meantime, break the eggs into a bowl and beat with the back of a fork. (I recall Julia Child, when talking about omlets, saying eggs should be beaten at least 100 times, and with the back of a fork.) Stir in the Parmigiano, season with salt and pepper and set aside.

When the onions are done, add the garlic and sauté for approximately one minute.

Raise the heat to medium-high and add the eggs. With a wooden spatula, imediately begin to push the eggs from the edges of the pan to the center, turning and shaking the pan to bring uncooked eggs back to the edges. Continue in this manner until the bottom is set, then begin lifting the edges to determine the degree of doness. The frittata is ready to be turned when the bottom has hardened and has begun to develop some caramelization.

Slide the frittata out of the pan and onto a dinner plate, then, balancing the dinner plate on one hand, place the pan—upside down—over the plate. Using one smooth motion, flip the pan and the dinner plate over so the frittata falls back into the sauté pan.

Note: You can rehearse this technique with a cold pan and a dinner plate, and perhaps a paperback book, or a potholder, until you've become comfortable flipping them over to transfer from one to the other.

Return to the heat, and cook for two to three minutes longer. Note there will be some carryover cooking when you remove the pan from the stove.

To Serve:

Slide the frittata onto a platter, garnish with the parsley, and, if serving for lunch, divide into four wedges. If serving as part of an antipasto, divide into eight wedges.

Serves four for lunch; eight as part of an antipasto.

Technorati tags: Frittata, Italian Food, Skip Lombardi