A genuine delight

Wow! That was a big hiatus! Eighteen days without posting a blog. I have been very lazy, sorry.  It is summer after all (is it? I really did not notice it) and the warm weather slows you down, you know. Well, that’s what they say, don’t they? Look at the stereotype of the indolent, lethargic, slothful Latinos, the ones sleeping in the sunny lanes against white-painted walls with a big sombrero on their jet-black-haired heads covering their round, brown, moustached faces.  Yes, that stereotype.

It reminds me of one of my favourite Italian jokes.  Would you like to hear it (actually, read it)?  I’ll post it anyhow.

A hyperactive Milanese business man arrives at Naples station one afternoon.  As he darts for the exit gate he sees a young man languidly lying on a bench.  The business man, annoyed at such a view, addresses the young one in no uncertain terms: “Look at you! You are in your prime and what do you do? Nothing! You lay there all day doing nothing! I bet you didn’t even bother with lunch, today.”  “Oh yeah – says the young man – I had lunch alright.”  “Really? - amused the business man – And pray, what did you have for lunch?”  “A snail - replied the Neapolitan”  “A snail? – yelled incredulously the Milanese – You had ONE SNAIL for lunch? “

“Well, actually – says the young one – There were two of them, but one managed to run away!”

Being of a Southern descent I assure you that not all Neapolitans are lazy.  And I can also assure you that “escargots” are not really a Naples specialty, but rather a Roman one.  What is genuinely Neapolitan, though, is the dish I am proposing to you today: Spaghetti alle vongole veraci – Spaghetti with ‘veraci’ clams.  Verace means genuine, truthful, veracious.  So for this dish the Neapolitans use the ‘true’ clams (Ruditapes decussatus) as opposed to other varieties, such as the Philippine clams (Ruditapes philippinarum), which is what we normally get here in Australia. 

However, anything is better than nothing and it’s ok to use them to make this “heavenly” dish.

For the white sauce variety, you need:

• 400 gr spaghetti/vermicelli/linguine
• 400 gr clams
• 1 garlic clove
• A teaspoon of chopped fresh red hot chilli
• Extra-virgin olive oil
• 200 ml white wine
• 2-3 tablespoon parsley, finely chopped
• Salt and pepper

For the red sauce version, just add a tin of Italian peeled tomatoes or 400 gr of fresh, chopped Sanmarzano (the ones we call Roma in Australia) to the above list.

Once your “mise en place” is completed and you have all your ingredients, tools, pans in front of you, proceed as follow:

Wash the clams in cold water – unless your fishmonger has already cleaned and washed them for you.  Molluscs often retain grains of sand and you do not want a gritty taste spoil this divine preparation.

In a large pan (I often use a wok) put one-two tablespoon of oil, the garlic and the chilli.  Let them brown on a moderate to high flame, and then throw in the vongole.  Toss constantly so that all clams are coated with the juice, then pour the wine and keep tossing for a little longer.  Put a lid on the pan and let the molluscs stew until they all open.  Add some parsley, but save most of it for the final touch.  At this point you can add the tomatoes as well, if you have opted for the red version.  Lid back on and let the lot cook a few more minutes, for the flavours to mix.  Pick the clams out of the pan and set them aside on a warm plate or in the microwave. In the mean time, cook the pasta in a generous quantity of salted, boiling water.  Drain it very al dente.  This is because you will mantecare it, that is finish it in the pan with the sauce which now contains also water discarded by the clams.  Toss the pasta as it finishes cooking, until well coated.  Pull it out still al dente and quickly put it in the serving bowls.  Place the clams, shells and all, on top of the pasta and  garnish with the remaining parsley.  Serve hot, then pour yourselves a generous glass of dry white wine, possibly a Frascati Gotto d’Oro.  You deserve it!

So easy, so tasty

Premise

If you have not guessed it yet, I am going to tell you a secret: I am the designated chef at home! 

Surprised?  Yeah, sure!

Home is my wonderful family: my wife Pauline, my daughters Lea and Alessia, my son Marcus, my son-in-law Aldo.  Lea and Aldo actually have their own house two blocks from us, but they often drop in for dinner.  However, most of the time I cook just for the four of us.  What’s that got to do with the price of prosciutto?  It means that, unless otherwise specified, the recipes in this book/blog are for four people.  Simple as that!  It saves me time and space.  It also means that all I propose to you has already been ‘experimented’ on my human cavia and they are all the better for it.  No one has left home yet, on the contrary, like omnivorous boomerangs, they keep coming back for more food.  Who needs five stars from the “Michelin Guide” when I can get five boomies from my family!

I am going to suggest to you one of our favourite dishes: Saltimbocca alla romana - Saltimbocca Roman style.  Saltimbocca means ‘jump in mouth’.  Why such a strange name for a dish?  Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?  The veal done in this way is so delicious that it ‘jumps’ in your mouth on its own will! And, it is also simple and quick to prepare.  Beware the cheap imitations you find in some ‘restaurant’, however.   I speak from experience.  It was one of my first tastes of “Italian” cuisine in Melbourne, 1 and ½ billion years ago.  I was invited to lunch in a restaurant downtown – whose name I will not reveal, not even under duress!  My delight to find my favourite dish on the menu soon turned into desperation when I tasted it!  The fact that this restaurant is still operating is one of the world’s seven wonders, along with the Colosseum, the Chinese Wall, the Hanging Gardens and other regalia.

Enough of that!  Back to business.    Here is the recipe.

Ingredients (*)
4 veal slices, pounded and dusted in flour
4 slices of  prosciutto
8 sage leaves

toothpicks

Olive oil

1/2 glass white win e
butter
salt and  pepper

When you have pounded and dusted the veal, place on each piece 1 slice of prosciutto and 2 small sage leaves.  Fasten every ‘parcel’ with a toothpick.  Put some oil in a frying pan.  When it’s hot, place the veal in it with the prosciutto facing down.  Ground in some salt and pepper, let the veal brown and then turn it on the other side.

When cooked, place the veal parcels on a warm plate; deglaze the ‘scraps’ in the pan with the wine and some butter; adjust the seasoning  and pour the sauce on the veal.  Serve immediately.

(*)  The secret of this simple recipe, like with most Italian dishes, lies in the freshness and quality of the ingredients.  Ask for the pinkest veal; look for the best prosciutto – imported San Daniele is the ideal but a good Parma will do – As per the sage, use the fresh-from-your-garden variety and if you do not have a herbarium, ask a friend who does or buy it at the greengrocer: it is worth the extra 2 bob.  And do not be a scrooge with the wine either.

(Saltimbocca alla romana, ready to be cooked) 

Remember “A Roma se magna bene” (you eat well, in Rome)

Humble origins

My parents came to Rome in 1940, just as Mussolini was about to enter the fry in WW2.  They had moved from the land to start a new life in the Capital city.  Although my father’s father was one of the biggest tobacco growers in the area of Benevento – 65 km NE of Naples – they wanted to set up their own business in Rome, and they did.  Their farming origins coupled with their new status as business owners meant that mum and dad were very prudent with their money. Some would say parsimonious, others simply ‘tight’! However it may be, the word ‘waste’ was not part of their vocabulary.  Why am I saying this? To introduce my first recipe of this blog; a dish for the “waste-not- want- nots” – like my parents -  whose humble origins can be traced back many centuries, to Tuscan farmers, although it is present in all regions and areas of rural Italy.

 The Panzanella.  

This is the Tuscan name with which the dish is known throughout Italy – although there may be local variations.   It is a typical ‘cucina povera’ dish(*) that farmers consumed in summer when harvesting and generally working the land all day long. One of the most accredited etymology of the word is that it derives from panzana  - a big lie or a humbug –  in other words, with such a poor dish people would cheat their own hunger.

 Because it did not need cooking, it could be prepared on the spot, as long as you had a few basic ingredients with you: stale bread, water, red wine vinegar, extra-virgin olive oil, basil and red onion.  The original panzanella did not contemplate tomatoes because they were not known in Italy for many years after 1492 and, when they became known, they were introduced as ornamental plants only! It is hard to imagine an Italian cuisine without tomatoes, I know!

The recipe is simple but not set in concrete. As the great Roman actor and chef Aldo Fabrizi wrote in a poem dedicated to the dish: “…Nun è ch'er condimento sia un segreto,/
oppure è stabbilito da un decreto,…” (**).  In other words you will find as many varieties on the theme as there are regions, provinces or cooks in Italy.  My version, needless to say, is Nonna Albina’s and it is as close to hers as I can possibly remember over 50 years later. So, here we go:

Corrado’s Panzanella.

Ingredients.  (I leave quantities up to you, according to what is available in your refrigerator)  Stale bread preferably with a dark crust, the pane di casa variety; water; extra-virgin olive oil; red wine vinegar; red onion; fresh basil; oregano (fresh or dried); celery sticks; tomatoes (very ripe and of the oblong varieties, such as sanmarzano or roma as it is known in the Anglophone world); salt and pepper, to taste.

 Soak the bread in water for 20 minutes and then squeeze it. You need to drain as much liquid as possible to avoid any ‘water down’ taste.  Nonna would often prepare the bread overnight and leave it in a colander or in a kitchen towel, so the bread would be damp but not soggy. To fasten the process I put it in a colander with a plate and some weights on for an hour or so!

You then mix all other ingredients and add them to the bread.  I dress the panzanella in the same way I do my green or mixed salads, that is, I am very generous with the oil and the salt (do not tell my GP, please!) but parsimonious with the vinegar.  Be also generous with the basil, it gives that freshness that the dish needs.  I suppose the oregano is a Southern variation. I do not know, really, but I have always put a nice pinch of it in my version.

To taste the full freshness of the Panzanella, let it rest for an hour or two in the fridge, before serving it.  It makes a great summer dish and will go well as a side salad with your BBQs or just as a simple entrée to a summery, light dinner with friends.  Humble origins, long history and great taste!  Enjoy it.

 ( A panzanella at Corrado's)

Umili Origini

I miei genitori arrivarono a Roma nel 1940, proprio quando Mussolini si stava preparando per entrare in campo nella SGM.  Avevano lasciato la terra per cominciare una nuova vita nella Capitale.  E benchè il padre di mio padre fosse uno dei più grossi coltivatori di tabacco del beneventano, si erano messi in testa di aprire un negozio a Roma, e così fecero. Le loro origini contadine aggiunte al nuovo status di commercianti fecero si che mamma e papà fossero molto accorti con Il denaro. Alcuni direbbero parsimoniosi, altri semplicemente ‘tirati’ Comunque sia, la parola ‘spreco’ non faceva parte del loro vocabolario.  Perchè vi racconto tutto questo?  Per presentare la mia prima ricetta di questo ‘blog’; un piatto per quelli che "non-si-spreca-niente”- come i miei genitori – le cui umili origini risalgono a molti secoli addietro, ai contadini toscani, anche se è presente in tutte le aree dell’Italia rurale.

 La Panzanella.

Questo è il nome toscano con cui il piatto è conosciuto in tutta Italia – benchè ci siano variazioni linguistiche locali.  È un tipico piatto della ‘cucina povera’, che i contadini consumavano in estate, durante il raccolto, quando erano nei campi tutto il giorno.  Secondo una delle etimologie più diffuse, la parola deriva da ‘panzana’, cioè frottola, imbroglio, perchè la gente con questo piatto povero cercava di ‘imbrogliare’ appunto la propria fame e il proprio stomaco.

Poichè non necessita di cottura, il piatto può essere preparato ‘sul posto’, basta avere alcuni ingredienti di base: pane raffermo, meglio se con la crosta scura  tipo pane casareccio; acqua; aceto di vino rosso; olio extra-vergine; basilico e cipolla rossa.  Nella panzanella originale non c’erano i pomodori, perchè essi erano sconosciuti in Italia fino a dopo il 1492 e anche quando cominciarono a diffondersi, vennero introdotti  originalmente come piante ornamentali! Lo so, è difficile immaginarsi una cucina italiana senza il pomodoro!

La ricetta è semplice ma non rigidamente codificata.  Come scrisse il grande attore e chef romano Aldo Fabrizi, in una poesia dedicata a questo piatto: “…Nun è ch'er condimento sia un segreto,/
oppure è stabbilito da un decreto,…” (*)  Quindi troverete tante variazioni sul tema quante sono le regioni, le province e i cuochi d’Italia. La mia versione, non c’è bisogno di dirlo, è quella di nonna Albina ed è fedele alla sua ricetta originale per quanto mi possa ricordare dopo oltre 50 anni.  Bando alle ciance, ecco a voi:

La Panzanella di Corrado

Ingredienti (le quantità le lascio a voi e a quello che avete nel frigorifero): pane raffermo, meglio se con la crosta scura  tipo pane casareccio; acqua; olio extra-vergine; aceto di vino rosso; cipolla rossa; basilica fresco; origano (fresco o essiccato); sedano; pomodori (mature e lunghi, tipo sanmarzano); sale e pepe a piacere.

Immergere il pane nell’acqua per 20 minuti e poi strizzarlo bene.  Bisogna eliminare più liquido possible per evitare quel sapore di ‘annacquato’.  Nonna preparava il pane la sera prima e lo lasciava in un colo o in un panno da cucina perchè il pane fosse poi inumidito ma non zuppo d’acqua.  Per accellerare il tutto, io lo metto in un colo, poi ci metto un piatto sopra con dei pesi per un paio d’ore! 

Dopo di che, mescolate tutti gli altri ingredienti e aggiungeteli al pane.  Io condisco la panzanella come l’insalata mista: ben oliata, ben salata (per favore, non ditelo al mio dottore!) e poco acetata.  Siate anche generosi di basilico: dà al piatto quella freschezza necessaria.  L’origano suppongo sia una varazione meridionale.  Non lo so, per la verità, ma io un pizzico o due di origano ce lo metto sempre.

Lasciate riposare la panzanella per una o due ore in frigo prima di servirla,  così da gustarla in tutta la sua freschezza.  La panzanella è un ottimo piatto estivo che va bene come contorno ai vostri BBQ o come semplice antipasto per una cenetta leggera ed estiva con gli amici.  Umili origini, storia antica e gusto fantastico!  Gustatevela.