Serious Eats: Recipes - Seriously Italian

Seriously Italian: Cardoons

2010-02-18T13:30:00Z

[Photograph: Gina DePalma]

Previously

Snowy Day Risotto »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

It is always a little weird to talk about cardoons in the context of Italian cooking, because I can't resist using a brogue and rhyming them with Brigadoon, or coming up with a silly comparison to Lorna Doone. Speaking Italian, it is much easier to talk about the seriously delicious versatility of cardi, or cardone, as they are known.

Cardoons are among a bounty of vegetables that once graced the tables of Ancient Rome, marching through the centuries to remain a seasonal mainstay in Italian markets. Sadly, they are harder to find here. Cardoons look like a supersized form of celery, with velvety, wide, deep-green leaves, but with a delicate flavor reminiscent of an artichoke.

I've sampled this member of the thistle family in a number of formats: pickled or puréed into savory spreads or sformati, in salads and soups, sautéed and tossed with pasta. My family favors them simply breaded and fried in plenty of good olive oil. In Piedmont, cardoons are a classic vegetable for dipping into the iconic bagna cauda. And from north to south, you can find hearty versions of cardi al forno, bubbling in béchamel, or under a coating of flavor-spiked breadcrumbs and cheese.

This week I'm drawn to baked cardoons for obvious reasons (like, it's February and it keeps snowing). My own recipe for cardi gratinati is a hybrid of the creamy and crispy variations. I like a touch of richness from a loose and light béchamel with the golden crunch of breadcrumbs, all in one bite.

The important thing to remember when working with cardoons is that just like their cousin the artichoke, they turn brown when cut and exposed to air. To clean them, strip the leaves and use a sharp peeler to remove any thick, stringy parts on the outside, cut them into lengths and then strips, and plunge them immediately in cool water that had been acidulated with a few generous squeezes of lemon juice. I toss the lemon halves right into the water. Keep the cut cardoons immersed while you clean the rest. You can transfer them to clean boiling water, or just cook them right in the acidulated water for a bit of tang in the final flavor.

This is a fantastic side dish with just about anything, and can stand alone with a salad as a hearty meal. You may have some leftover béchamel to use for an impromptu cup of macaroni and cheese.

About the author: Gina DePalma is the pastry chef at Mario Batali's Babbo restaurant in New York City and the author of Dolce Italiano: Desserts from the Babbo Kitchen. After a stint in Rome, she's back in the States, channeling her inner Italian spirit via recipes and intel on delicious Italian eats.

Ingredients

2 bunches cardoons, 3 to 4 large stalks on each
3 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 3/4 cups milk
1/2 teaspoon salt
A pinch of nutmeg
2 teaspoons plus 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup homemade, coarse, dried breadcrumbs
A handful of fresh parsley leaves
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Procedures

Preheat the oven to 400°F and bring 3 to 4 quarts of water to a boil in a large pot.
Have ready a large bowl of cold water, into which the juice and squeezed halves of a medium lemon have been added.
Working with one stalk at a time, strip the cardoons of leaves and use a sharp peeler to remove any tough, stringy outer parts. Cut them into 5 to 6 inch lengths and then cut the lengths into 2 or 3 strips lengthwise. Add the cardoons to the acidulated water, immersing them.
Add the cardoons to the boiling water; you can add some of the acidulated water and the lemon halves if you wish. Cook the cardoons until they just begin to turn tender, about 3 to 4 minutes. Remove the cardoons to a shallow dish, then lay them on paper towels to drain and cool.
While the cardoons are cooling, make the béchamel. In a medium saucepan, melt the butter until it bubbles slightly. Add the flour at once and stir with a wooden smooth until smooth and bubbling; continue to cook over medium heat, until the mixture turns a pale, sandy color, about 2 to 3 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat the milk in a separate pan to scalding. Add the hot milk to the butter mixture, 1/2 a cup at a time, whisking continuously until very smooth. Bring the sauce to a boil and cook gently for about 5 to 6 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and season with salt and nutmeg, and set aside.
Place the breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, the parsley leaves, 1 tablespoon of the grated cheese, and the optional red pepper flakes in a food processor and pulse to chop the parsley and combine the ingredients. Season the breadcrumbs with salt and pepper to taste.
In a medium baking dish, add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and brush evenly around the pan to coat it. Dribble 1/3 of the béchamel evenly over the bottom on the dish and add enough of the cardoons to cover the bottom of the dish. Generously dribble some of the béchamel over the top of the cardoons and sprinkle evenly with some of the grated cheese. Continue to layer the cardoons, béchamel and grated cheese, finishing the last layer with béchamel and an even coating of the seasoned breadcrumbs.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the entire dish is bubbling, golden and crispy on top.

Seriously Italian: Snowy Day Risotto

2010-02-11T14:00:00Z

Stirring as the liquid slowly evaporates. [Photographs: Gina DePalma]

Previously

Robiolina »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

On a snowy winter day, with a blizzard brewing outside and idle hands inside, my thoughts drifted to dinner. What can I make that is all at once comforting, belly-warming, delicious and timely? Risotto, that's what, as white as the snow piling up on the windowsill, to chase away the chills and offer respite from that cruel, unrelenting world outside the door.

Risotto is really quite easy to make if you have the right ingredients on hand and only a minimal measure of gumption. My inspiration was the snowstorm. All that whiteness flying around made me think of the glistening grains of Arborio rice, sizzling in olive oil It also made me think of my Milanese friend Silvana, who so passionately showed me her tips for authentic white risotto a few years back.

There was a speech delivered that day. Proper Milanese risotto, she sternly lectured, is not flavored and colored by saffron, but pure white, like snow. "Any real Milanese cook will always serve their osso buco with white risotto, not yellow," she snorted, gesticulating with her hands dramatically, as if she wanted to take a swipe at anyone approaching with a pinch of saffron. I took her point, nodding seriously, and offered no arguments.

Now, I'm not entirely sure of the accuracy of her statement, which flew in the face of everything I'd previously known about this iconic dish, but I wasn't going to mess with her at that point.

Making Chicken Stock

Tostatura with the hot stock, standing by.

For my snow day risotto, I wanted some basic chicken stock. You can actually make darn good risotto with plain and always-available water. Chicken stock gilds the lily, and who doesn't want a gilded lily in pursuit of comfort food.

I checked the freezer and pulled out the wings, neck, back, and feet I had clipped from my last roasted bird before it went in the oven. Into a pot they went with the basics: carrot, onion, celery, bay leaf, black peppercorns, parsley, a bit of thyme. No browning of the chicken or veggies this time, and none of the usual tomato bits I sometimes like to add to my stock. Two hours, and about four inches of snow later, I had aromatic and flavorful, but pale, chicken stock ready for my risotto.

The other ingredients required are Arborio rice, of course, olive oil, onion, a bit of white wine, butter, and grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano cheese. I've got this pale theme down pat.

Risotto-Making Tips

Here are some pointers to keep in mind when making your risotto.

First, dice the onions about the same size as the grains of rice, which will allow them to distribute their flavor evenly and melt into the finished risotto.
Never, ever, rinse the rice, which would wash away the starch that is essential to the dish.
Make sure you toast the grains of rice properly, a step known as tostatura in Italian. Use just enough olive oil to coat the rice completely, and keep it moving; the point is not to brown them, but to break down the outer coating of the rice to allow the starch to slowly release as you cook it in the liquid. Listen for the crackling, popping sound as you toast the rice; that is when you will know that step is complete.
Just a bit of wine or vermouth is added after the rice is toasted and before the hot liquid goes in. I happen to think this addition is crucial to the finished flavor and texture, so try not to skip that ingredient if you can. The alcohol cooks off, but the wine flavors the risotto delicately, and the acid also helps to ease out the starch.
Your liquid—stock, water or a combination—should be hot, hot, hot, either just off the boil, or at a low simmer. Adding lukewarm liquid to the pan brings the cooking process to a pointless, dead halt. Remember, the secret to creamy risotto is measured, steady cooking.
When you add the liquid, add it in larger amounts at the beginning—one and a half or two generous ladles at first, and then smaller amounts as the cooking progresses, and try to keep the rate of evaporation into the rice steady. This will ensure you don't add all the liquid before the rice is actually cooked.
Finally, remember that perfect risotto is a fleeting thing; make it, have warm bowls ready for serving, and enjoy it moments out of the pan. Use any leftovers to make crispy risotto cakes. It turns quite gloppy when cold and simply does not reheat.

The recipe below is for four servings; this recipe can easily be doubled or tripled as necessary; you'll add more stock each time, and amount of cooking time in between each addition will be longer. You can interrupt the pure snowy whiteness of the finished risotto with finely chopped parsley, if desired.

Ingredients

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup diced onions
2 pinches kosher salt
1 cup Arborio rice
1/2 cup white wine or dry vermouth
4 cups basic, not browned, chicken stock, hot
2 tablespoons butter, cut in 3 or 4 pieces
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano cheese
Freshly ground pepper to taste

Procedures

Place the olive oil in a heavy, deep sauté or saucepan, and stir in the onions to coat them. Place over medium heat and season with the salt.
Sauté the onions for a minute or so, stirring constantly, until they have wilted and are beginning to turn translucent around the edges. Increase the heat and add the rice all at once, stirring it well with the onions to coat the grains with the olive oil.
Keep stirring the rice over medium-high heat, moving it around the pan, for about 2 minutes. The rice should be toasted, but not browned.
Add the wine to the pan, stirring until the wine has completely evaporated.
Ladle in about 1 cup of the hot stock, stirring it into the rice. Lower the heat to medium and cook, stirring, until the liquid has almost completely absorbed. Add more stock, about a half a cup at a time, cooking and stirring the rice constantly as it cooks and develops a creamy texture.
When about 3 cups of stock have been added and absorbed, taste the risotto and see if it is done. It should be tender and creamy on the outside, but al dente at the core. Add the last of the stock if needed, and season with more salt to taste.
When the risotto is cooked, remove the pan from the heat and immediately stir in the butter a piece at a time, followed by the cheese and freshly ground pepper. Serve immediately in warmed bowls, passing more cheese.

Seriously Italian: Broccoli Romanesco

2009-10-29T12:30:00Z

[Photographs: Gina DePalma]

Previously

Chestnut Honey »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

Oh, Broccoli Romanesco, how I love you. You're delicious and creepy and weird, like an alien vegetable. I know you are misunderstood, but that's only to people who are put off by your freakish appearance and won't take a chance. I, however, understand you completely, and appreciate you to boot. Now jump into this pot of boiling water.

How about you, dear reader? Are you the type that is startled by a vegetable with bizarre, pointed, conical spheres jutting out of it? Be brave, and take my word for it, there is an ample reward waiting. Cavolo broccolo romanesco, as it is officially known in Italian, is surprisingly sweet and mild when cooked tender, more like its close cousin the cauliflower but with a denser texture that holds up well to different cooking methods.

The chill of the autumn market brings broccoli romanesco front and center, both here in New York as well as in its native Rome. A native of Lazio, this vegetable has a noble past, dating back to the days of Julius Caesar. As an occasional Roman resident, broccoli romanesco is that perennial favorite that arrives to brighten my mood when trattoria tables move indoors with the chilly weather. Along with puntarella and fresh oranges, it is one of the few things that makes Rome's rainy season bearable.

Some suggestions for how to cook broccoli romanesco, after the jump.

Cooking it as a Vegetable Dish

Broccoli romanesco is both economical and versatile. The heads are deceptive in size—start separating the florets and it never seems to end, which allows for a bit of experimenting with each purchase. The most basic—and sublime—way to enjoy it is steamed or boiled with a squeeze of fresh lemon and a generous splash of olive oil. The firm, compact nature of the florets make it a natural addition to a verdure fritto misto (mixed fried vegetables), and if you want get your fancy on, try broccoli romanesco with brown butter and crispy shallots.

Pairing it with Pasta

Like other forms of broccoli and cabbage, the noble romanesco pairs perfectly with pasta. I like to use the smaller florets for that purpose and use a diminutive pasta shape like ditalini—little tubes, or mezze rigatoni. My simple method for pasta with broccoli romanesco can be adapted to include other ingredients, but in its most basic format, garlic, olive oil and bit of peperoncino is really all you need.

Blanch the florets in plenty of boiling, salted water until they just turn tender, and shock them in an ice bath to stop the cooking. Sauté sliced garlic and a bit of crushed red pepper flakes in olive oil. You can add a little tomato paste to the pan for an extra layer of flavor. Add the broccoli romanesco florets and sauté briefly, make sure the florets are well coated with olive oil, then toss everything with the al dente pasta and a splash of the pasta cooking water. Grate over plenty of Pecorino Romano off the heat. It isn't often that something so weird looking becomes something so delicious.

Seriously Italian: Fig and Almond Cookies

2009-10-15T12:30:00Z

[Photographs: Gina DePalma]

Previously

Zuppa di Farro »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

As wonderful as it is to bite into the tender, juicy fresh figs that are in season right this minute, I'm still devoted to the dried figs I always keep on hand, at home and in the Babbo kitchen. The chewy exterior gives way to the honey-sweet innards that make it oh so hard to eat just one. In cooking and baking, dried figs are endlessly versatile, retaining their texture and harmonizing nicely with salty, tangy, or fatty flavors. You can toss them into stews or risotto, roast them with meat or poultry, and bake them into any number of sweet treats.

I think most Italian-Americans like myself have a close relationship with dried figs, since figs were undoubtedly one of the things our parents and grandparents longed for when they found themselves so far from sunny Italy. Fig trees grow rampant in most southern regions of Italy and on the islands of Sicily, Pantelleria, and Sardinia, where it is not uncommon to pull your car along the side of a road to pluck a juicy fig from an offering branch. Figs that are not consumed fresh are dried naturally in the intense heat of the sun, concentrating the natural sugars and intensifying the flavor.

Like olives, the fruit of the fig tree has historical, religious, and mythological significance as well, depicted in classical works of art and a character in ancient lore. Some branches of early Christianity recognized the fig, instead of an apple, as the forbidden fruit offered to Adam by Eve. Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, were suckled by the she-wolf under a fig tree, and Siddhartha is said to have experienced the revelations that were to become the foundations of Buddhism while resting under a fig tree. The Greeks believed figs to be an antidote for all ailments, and in Rome, Pliny the Elder heralded figs as restorative, urging that they be fed to the weak and sick to forge a path to recovery and reverse the effects of aging. The original Olympians were crowned with wreaths of fig leaves, and feasted on the fruit to celebrate their victories.

My maternal grandmother taught me how to celebrate with figs, too. She always kept a cache of her baked and nut-stuffed figs close at hand, ready to be pulled out to enjoy after dinner with cheese or coffee. Dried figs from Sicily were her choice because they were the most plump and moist. She stuffed them with walnuts or almonds, baked them gently, and stored her gems in a recycled tin coffee can with the peel of an apple to help preserve the texture.

That flavor combination still beguiles me to this day, and my Fig and Almond Cookies are the result. They are like a mini food tour of Sicily, made from chopped dried figs and toasty almonds, and flavored with the brightness of a fresh orange. If you can't find Sicilian figs, golden Calimyrna figs from California are the next best choice. Plumping them first makes the figs easy to chop in a food processor and helps to ease them into the dough. Try these with a steaming cup of tea.

Ingredients

8 ounces (about 10 medium) dried golden figs
1/2 cup orange juice
1 cup sliced almonds, toasted and cooled
1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 ounces (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg yolk
Freshly grated zest of 1 small orange
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Additional granulated sugar for coating the cookies

Procedures

Remove the stems from the figs and cut them into quarters. Place them in a small saucepan with the orange juice and bring the mixture to a simmer. Remove from heat and allow the figs and juice to cool completely.
At the same time, spread the almonds in an even layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Toast the almonds until they are golden brown and aromatic. Remove them from the baking sheet and allow them to cool completely.
Chop the nuts finely in a food processor, transfer them to a small bowl, then chop the figs along with the juice until they are a chunky purée.
In a medium bowl, whisk the flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon together and set aside.
Place the softened butter and granulated sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and beat them together until the mixture is creamy and light, about a minute. Beat in the egg yolk, scraping down the sides of the bowl, followed by the orange zest and vanilla.
Beat in the dry ingredients to make a homogeneous dough, then beat in the chopped almonds and figs. Scrape the dough onto a piece of plastic, wrap it tightly and chill the dough until firm enough to roll, about 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 325°. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Divide the dough into three even pieces. Roll each piece into a log, about 15 inches long. Cut each log into 3/4-inch pieces. Roll each piece into a ball, coat the ball with granulated sugar and place on the baking sheet, spaced 3/4 of an inch apart. Flatten the balls slightly with your fingers.
Bake the cookies for 12 to 14 minutes, or until they are golden brown, cracked slightly and firm. Allow the cookies to cool slightly on the baking sheets, then remove them to a rack to cool completely. Repeat with the remaining dough until all the cookies are baked.
Store the cookies in an airtight container up to a week.

Seriously Italian: Zuppa di Farro

2009-10-08T12:00:00Z

"Like pasta, farro absorbs and unifies with whatever flavors you add to it."

[Photographs: Gina DePalma, unless otherwise noted.]

Previously

Punctuating Flavors with Ricotta Salata »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

The onset of chilly, blustery days is the perfect occasion to simmer up a pot of hearty soup, and one of my favorite bone-warmers is zuppa di farro, or farro soup. But before I begin the soup talk, I have to clear something up. Farro is not spelt or barley. It is a relative of wheat, but absolutely not the same thing as a wheatberry.

Farro is uh, farro, and if it is from Italy, where labeling laws are stringent—it will say farro on the bag, clear and simple.

The confusion among these noble grains is partly due to the fact that for many years, chefs outside of Italy had to substitute spelt or barley for farro in favorite recipes, because the real thing was almost impossible to find. But farro is riding that wave of Italian popularity these days, and while you won't find it on supermarket shelves (yet), it is becoming easier to get at Italian specialty shops or online.

The plains of Casteluccio where farro is grown in Umbria. [Flickr: pizzodisevo]

I purchased mine at Di Palo's in Manhattan, which is way more convenient than smuggling it back from Italy in my suitcase.

On a trip to Umbria a few years ago, I encountered farro in various formats at every single restaurant I walked into. The experience that stands out the most was the deceptively basic bowl of farro soup from a tiny trattoria in the mountain town of Norcia, a place made famous by its expert butchers.

It was a cold day. Our fingers were numb from the chilling breeze that had sunk into our bones. We were destined to order a bowl of either the farro or lentil soup, both of which are all over are Umbrian menus. The two crops are grown on the sloping plains of Castelluccio and considered prized Umbrian ingredients.

We warmed our tummies with a glass of Sagrantino and waited for our simple lunch, looking out at the snowy peaks of Monti Sibillini. All bets were off when the steaming bowl was placed in front of us. Fragrant with local black truffles, substantial but not gloppy, it beat out every other farro experience I'd had to date. We slurped in silence, marveling at the layers of flavor: the subtle sweetness of the grain and vegetables, the beefy notes from the broth, the earthiness of the truffle and the swath of oil and cheese running throughout.

One thing that made this particular soup so special was its texture. Some of the farro was pureed silky smooth while the rest of the grains were intact, providing that characteristically tender chewiness. It took me some time to develop my own duplicated rendition, and this is the result. I just love it for fall. If I can find a black truffle to chop up and toss in just before serving, it's even more the treat.

Farro is typically a low-yield crop, which explains why it is more expensive than other grains. Don't let the price tag deter you. It is super versatile because like pasta, farro absorbs and unifies with whatever flavors you add to it. It doubles in volume when cooked, so a small bag can be stretched to serve a crowd. When combined with beans, it forms a complete protein, so let your imagination guide you. Chickpeas and small Italian beans are a good place to start.

Be sure to get farro perlato, which means the tough hull has been removed and the farro will cook to a tender softness. Soaking the farro for a few hours beforehand shortens the cooking time, so a big pot of soup doesn't have to take all day. You can soak the farro, drain and store it a day in advance. It is important to use a high-quality stock made with aromatics like celery, onion, and carrot. Homemade beef stock is my choice, but chicken or a roasted vegetable stock works too. And of course, if you can get your hands on a black truffle, go for it.

Zuppa di Farro (Farro Soup)

Ingredients

serves about 5 to 6 quarts of soup

2 cups farro
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium clove of garlic, peeled and smashed
1 medium onion, diced
2 ounces pancetta or guanciale, diced
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme or 2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 or 3 crumbled sage leaves
1 bay leaf
1 cup canned plum tomatoes, crushed and chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
6 to 8 cups of good-quality beef stock
Torn parlsey leaves, Extra-Virgin Olive Oil and grated Parmigano-Reggiano or Grana Padano for garnish

Procedures

Place the farro in a large bowl and cover it with one quart of cold water. Let the farro soak for two hours, then drain it, discarding the water.
Heat the oil in a large stockpot and add the garlic clove. Let the garlic sizzle and cook in the oil until it begins to turn golden brown, then remove it. Add the diced onion and pancetta to the oil, stirring it well. Season this mixture with a pinch of salt and stir, sautéing on low heat until the onions and pancetta soften and turn translucent at the edges. Stir in the herbs and sauté for another minute. Do not allow the mixture to brown.
Add the tomatoes to the pot and stir, then add the farro, 4 cups of the stock, and 1 cup of water. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, then cover the soup and lower the heat. Simmer the soup covered for 45 minutes, stirring every 10 to 15 minutes. As the moisture absorbs, add more stock to the pot, a cup or so at a time, keeping the grains loose and suspended in liquid.
When the farro is tender, the soup is done. Allow it to cool for about 30 minutes in the pot. Remove about 2 cups of the soup to a blender container and puree it smooth. Stir the pureed mixture into the soup, and add more stock if necessary. The soup should not be thick or gloppy, but loose and liquid.
Return the soup to the heat before serving; garnish with parsley, a dribble of olive oil and a grating of cheese.
Leftovers advice: Store extra soup for up to three days. The soup will continue to absorb moisture as it sits, so you may have to thin it to the proper consistency with water or additional stock before reheating.

Seriously Italian: Walnut Bread from Umbria

2009-09-17T12:30:00Z

Previously

Lavender Honey Spice Cake »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

Few things fill me with more satisfaction than baking a loaf or two of my own bread. Mind you, I'm not an expert, but I've got a stable of favorites I turn to again and again, the best of which are simple, yet full of interesting texture and flavor. Pan Nociato is a cheese-spiked walnut bread from Umbria that never fails to please.

The combination of savory and sweet is what makes this bread so special, which is typically found in the southern part of Umbria, from Perugia to Todi. Walnuts give the bread its name, but its true character comes from the combination of nuts with aged sheep's milk cheese, plumped raisins, and red wine. The wine stains the dough deceptively—it looks like a hearty wheat bread but the texture is soft and slightly chewy.

Umbria is the region that contains Norcia, a town high in the mountains famous for its butchers and cured meats. Pan Nociato is a natural partner for affettati misti, a platter of cold cuts that might include Norcia's sweet prosciutto, wild boar salame, and rustic capocollo, or hearty soup made from farro and lentils from Umbria's hills, flavored with the prized local black truffles.

The worst mistake you can make when making bread is rushing the proofing stage—keep in mind that a slower proof results in a more flavorful final product. I like to make this dough after dinner and leave it to do its business in the darkened peace of the fridge. Fridge proofing lets you watch bad reality TV (or Grey's Anatomy), log in a solid night of sleep, and still turn out fresh, flavorful bread at any point the following day. Just be sure to bring the dough to room temperature before you put it in the oven.

I like to shape this into three small rounds, so I can enjoy them slowly during the week and make petite slices that are perfect for snacking.

Ingredients

1 package of active dry yeast
1 1/4 cups warm water
3 1/2 to 4 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour, plus additional for the bench
a heaping 1/2 cup golden raisins
3/4 cup red wine
1 large egg
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 cup walnut pieces, toasted, cooled and coarsely chopped
1/3 cup pine nuts, coarsely chopped
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh rosemary
1 egg for wash

Procedures

In a medium bowl, dissolve the yeast in 3/4 cup of warm water; add a pinch of sugar to the bowl and let it bubble up for a few minutes. Whisk in 1/2 cup of the flour. Cover the sponge with plastic wrap and let it proof for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, place the raisins and red wine in a small saucepan over medium heat just until the wine begins to simmer. Turn off the heat and let the raisins plump in the wine as the entire mixture cools to room temperature.
When the sponge has proofed, scrape it into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Add the remaining 1/2 cup of water to the bowl along with the raisins and wine, the egg, and the extra-virgin olive oil and mix briefly on low speed to combine the ingredients and break up the egg. Add the flour, salt, and sugar to the bowl and mix on medium speed to form a soft dough. Add the cheese, nuts, and rosemary to the bowl and beat again for about a minute, then switch to the dough hook. Knead the bread on medium speed for about 3 to 4 minutes, adding more flour if necessary, until the dough has formed a ball and is glossy and elastic.
Remove the dough from the mixer bowl and place it on a floured board. Dust it lightly with flour and continue to knead by hand for 2 to 3 minutes until the dough is springy, elastic, and smooth.
Place the dough in a large bowl or container greased with extra-virgin olive oil. Cover with plastic or a fitted lid and place the dough in the refrigerator to rise overnight, 10 to 12 hours.
The following day, the dough should be tripled in bulk. Remove it from the refrigerator and allow it to come to room temperature, about 3 to 4 hours.
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Gently deflate the dough and divide it into three equal pieces. Form each piece into a tight ball, and place on a baking sheet that has been sprinkled with a bit of cornmeal. Cover the dough balls with plastic and allow them to rise for 30 to 40 minutes, or until almost doubled in bulk. Gently score the tops with an "X." Beat the egg lightly with a tablespoon of water and brush the breads with the egg wash.
Bake the breads for about 10 minutes, then lower the heat of the oven to 325°F and continue to bake until they are evenly deep, golden brown, and sound hollow when thumped with your finger, about 20 to 30 more minutes.
The breads are best enjoyed after they have cooled completely, and will keep wrapped for 3 or more days.

Seriously Italian: Lavender Honey Spice Cake

2009-09-10T12:30:00Z

[Photograph: Diana Baur]

Previously

Escarole and Walnut Salad with Anchovy Dressing »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

Hold the phone, you may be thinking to yourself. Isn't lavender a French Provençal thing? Pazienza, I say—let me explain. Lavender, or lavanda in italiano, is one of the many gifts of nature France shares with its neighboring Italian regions of Piedmont and Liguria.

I first learned about Piedmont's lavender from my dear friend Diana Baur. She and her husband Michael own the Baur B&B in Acqui Terme, a beautiful small town in southwest portion of the region. On a foggy November day a few years back, Diana and I walked the path down her steep hillside as she told me about her plans to plant a carpet of lavender along the slope. I imagined how postcard-pretty it would be, bowing in the breeze and sunlight of spring and early summer. A unique and imaginative touch for an Italian property, I thought to myself, until Diana explained that lavender is a very common crop in this corner of Italy.

The Maritime Alps form a natural border separating France and Italy, bestowing the same climate upon the nearby provinces of both countries. Lavender initially grew wild at the lower altitudes, but was eventually cultivated throughout these areas for the same reasons—to create devastatingly beautiful landscapes that also provide ground cover, prevent soil erosion, and support the local economy. Italian lavender is harvested for use in perfumes, cosmetics, spa, and home products, and both fresh and dried lavender flowers find their way into the Piemontese kitchen.

The lavender honey produced by small, local apiaries is a prized regional ingredient. Thick, creamy, and visibly crystallized, it lends a heady flavor and aroma to cakes, cookies, and jams, drizzled on roasted rabbit, wild fowl and creamy farmhouse cheeses. Diana serves it to her guests for breakfast, dribbled over fresh, local apricots and berries.

These traditions inspired me to create my Lavender Honey Spice Cake, a perfect treat to enjoy in the autumn, filling the kitchen with the aroma of honey and spices as it bakes. A bit of farina integrale, or whole wheat flour, enhances the texture, making this a natural partner for a steaming cup of tea.

The special taste of this super-moist cake comes from the marriage of the spice blend—an even mix of cinnamon, ginger, and ground fennel seed—with the lavender honey. You can certainly make substitutions on both fronts, but you'll miss out on the unique flavor combination. Any French or Italian lavender honey will work just fine, although the strength of the lavender will vary from producer to producer. Look for it in specialty food shops or online vendors.

[Photograph: Gina DePalma]

Ingredients

1 1/4 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground fennel seed
1/2 cup packed dark muscovado sugar or dark brown sugar
1/2 cup lavender honey
2 large eggs
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
Freshly grated zest and juice of 1 orange
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup plain Greek-style yogurt
2 Tablespoons hot water

Procedures

Preheat the oven to 325°F. Grease and flour a 9-by-3 inch loaf pan.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flours, salt, baking powder and soda, and spices, and set aside.
Place the sugar, lavender honey, and eggs in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and beat them together on medium speed until the mixture is creamy and light, about a minute. Beat in the melted, cooled butter, followed by the orange juice and zest and vanilla.
In a small bowl, stir together the yogurt and hot water. Beat in 1/3 of the dry ingredients into the sugar and butter mixture, scrape down the sides of the bowl, then beat in 1/2 of the yogurt mixture. Follow with another 1/3 of the dry ingredients, followed by the rest of the yogurt, and ending with the last of the dry ingredients, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition. Beat the batter well for 20 seconds to fully emulsify it.
Pour the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing and evening the top. Bake the cake on the center rack for 40 minutes, rotating it halfway through the baking time to ensure even browning. The cake is done when it is cracked and firm to the touch, and pulling away from the sides of the pan; a cake center inserted in the center should come out clean.
Allow the cake to cool for 10 minutes in the pan before removing it to a rack to cool completely. To serve, cut into even slices.
The cake may be stored for up to 3 days in an airtight container.

Seriously Italian: Escarole and Walnut Salad with Anchovy Dressing

2009-09-03T12:30:00Z

Previously

A Tale of Beef, Three Ways »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

In Rome, my favorite fall vegetable is always puntarella, a type of wild chicory particular to the region of Lazio and eagerly anticipated in Roman kitchens. There, it is served with an assertive dressing of anchovy, garlic and extra virgin olive oil—flavors that can stand up to its slightly bitter edge. It is hard to find this bit of greenery here in the United States, and as fall approaches and the first slightly chilly mass of air settles over my home in New York, I'm daydreaming about my favorite autumn Italian salad. The arrival of puntarelle in Rome is a signal to pull out the sweaters and move the sidewalk tables inside.

Over the years I've had to satisfy my year-round craving for puntarelle in salsa by matching other varieties of bitter greens with the same dressing. Curly chicory is visually similar, but has too much bitterness for my taste. Dandelion greens have the right amount of green color, but the older they are picked, the tougher they are to chew. In escarole, I finally found my ideal substitute mate for the delicious anchovy dressing that reminds me so much of Rome.

Gradually, I started experimenting with a few strategic additions to my ultimate escarole salad. I often used to whip up this salad as quick work lunch at Babbo, and one day a few toasted walnuts leftover from a batch of cookies found their way into my salad bowl. Not long after, I discovered that some firm, aged goat cheese grated into the mix united all these bitter components together perfectly with just the right amount of tangy richness.

The bitter edge of both the greens and the walnuts, the grassy burn of extra virgin olive oil, and the salty edge of anchovy may seem like too much flavor on one plate, but somehow it all works together quite harmoniously. I love that I can throw this substantial salad together any time of the year. It pairs really well with a mixed grill of sausages, lamb chops and steak. With a plate of ripe, juicy tomatoes and some roasted sweet corn, you've got the makings for a very sophisticated Labor Day barbecue under the stars.

Fresh escarole can be very sandy, so be sure to wash it in plenty of cold water carefully. Pat the leaves dry with paper towels or spin them in a salad spinner before cutting or tearing them into pieces. Be sure to use a firm aged goat cheese suitable for grating—this isn't the place for soft, fresh goat cheese.

Ingredients

1 medium head of fresh escarole
1 cup toasted walnut pieces, roughly chopped
Anchovy-Lemon Dressing (recipe below)
Salt and pepper to taste
2 ounces firm, aged goat cheese, grated
1 clove of garlic, minced
2 or 3 salted anchovies, rinsed, filleted and finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Freshly squeezed juice of 1 medium lemon
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

Procedures

Trim away the tough outer leaves of the escarole, pull apart the remaining leaves and thoroughly wash them in plenty of cold water, patting them dry with paper towels or spinning them in a salad spinner. Cut or tear the leaves into 1-1/2 inch pieces and place them in a large salad bowl with the walnuts. Pour over enough of the dressing to coat everything well, seasoning the salad with additional salt and pepper to taste. Add 3/4 of the grated goat cheese and toss well. Arrange on a platter, distributing the rest of the goat cheese over the top of the salad.
Anchovy-Lemon Dressing

In a medium bowl, combine the garlic, anchovy, salt, pepper and lemon juice. Whisk in the olive oil. Adjust the flavor with additional salt and pepper as needed.

Seriously Italian: A Tale of Beef, Three Ways

2009-08-27T12:30:00Z

Pull up a chair and read a story, about one cut of meat, one pot, a few vegetables and entirely delicious results—three tasty, varied dishes that span the north and south of Italy, making the most of a tight budget and limited time.

Here's the synopsis: An inexpensive cut of beef is boiled with aromatics until it almost falls apart, transforming into a rich, satisfying soup, a simple, elegant main course, and a bright, refreshing salad. Let the plot unfold.

Chapter One: Bollito di Manzo

Previously

Onion and Rosemary Confiturra »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

I grew up slurping a bowl of my mother's beef soup once a week, like clockwork, usually on Monday or Tuesday nights. Served with a diminutive pasta shape like ditalini (little tubes) or conchigliette (little shells) and a shower of grated Parmigiano, it warmed our bellies when cold winds blew and magically cooled us down in the heat of summer. Chuck roast, brisket, or short ribs were her favorite cuts of beef to use—fatty, marbled, inexpensive choices with plenty of connective tissue and collagen to break down, tenderize and melt their beefy flavor into the broth.

Chunky vegetables and a few aromatics always went into the soup pot, along with my mother's secret weapon: a small amount of diced or crushed tomato. She swears that the tomato adds a necessary touch of sweetness, richer color, and a depth of flavor that compliments the hearty flavor of the beef, and I have to agree. I toss in some veal bones if I can get my hands on them; they are an inexpensive way to add yet another dimension of richness to the end result. If all or some of your choice of beef cut is still on the bone, you're already set.

Mom always started her soup off early in the morning; it would be simmering away while we had our breakfast. After hours of gentle cooking she would leave it intact to cool for the rest of the day, ensuring that the beef—already fall-apart tender—retained all of its moisture. I sometimes opt for the overnight version: I simmer the soup after dinner and turn it off just before bedtime. It is relinquishing the last of its warmth as I make the morning coffee.

Enrich the finished broth with beaten egg for a delicious stracciatella.

Ingredients

2 pounds chuck roast, short ribs, or brisket
3 or 4 veal bones with marrow (optional)
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut in 1-inch chunks
1/2 a large onion, cut in large dice
2 ribs celery, cut in 1-inch chunks
1 large clove of garlic, smashed and peeled
1 cup canned plum tomatoes, diced or crushed
1/2 a large leek, cleaned thoroughly and cut in 1/2-inch slices
5 or 6 whole black peppercorns
2 or 3 whole allspice berries
2 bay leaves
3 sprigs of fresh thyme
Kosher salt to taste
1 bunch Italian (flat-leaf) parsley, leaves only
4 salt-packed anchovies, filleted and rinsed
1 bunch mint, leaves only
Fronds from 1 fennel bulb
2 tablespoon capers, preferably salt-packed, rinsed and drained
1 hard-boiled egg, roughly chopped
4 cornichons
2 tablespoons white-wine vinegar
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
Shredded boiled beef
Finely chopped celery, ribs and leaves
Finely chopped red onion
Minced fresh parsley
Finely chopped cornichon
A generous pinch of dried Italian oregano or fresh oregano, finely minced
A pinch of red chili flakes
Red Wine Vinegar
Extra-Virgin Olive Oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Procedures

Rinse any blood off the beef and pat it dry with a paper towel. Place the vegetables, spices and herbs in a stockpot with 3 quarts of cold water. Bring the mixture to a boil, and add the beef and optional bones,making sure that it is completely submerged in the liquid; season partially with kosher salt.

Bring the contents of the pot back to a boil, skimming off any foam that forms on the surface. Cover the pot and lower the heat so the mixture is at a slow, steady simmer and cook for 3 hours, or until the beef is soft and a small corner of it falls away easily when pinched. Turn off the heat and let the entire contents of the pot cool to room temperature, about 6 to 7 hours.

Season the broth with more salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. To serve as soup, reheat the broth as desired, and serve with or without the vegetables over a miniature cut of pasta or cooked rice, passing grated Parmigiano Reggiano, Grana Padano, or Pecorino Romano to sprinkle on top.

Chapter Two: Lesso di Manzo con Salsa Verde

Traditional Bollito Misto is a specialty of Lombardia and Piemonte, a hearty mix of assorted meats, poultry and large cuts of vegetables simmered together and served with the resultant rich broth and accompanied by an assortment of sweet, savory, and spicy sauces and condiments.

Serving cool slices of poached beef from Bollito di Manzo (above) with a dollop of pungent salsa verde is a popular and simple adaption of its more complex cousin. Recipes for salsa verde vary by region and household, but they all share a few key ingredients: plenty of fresh parsley, salted anchovy, capers, egg, vinegar and extra virgin olive oil. I really love Mario Batali's version from Molto Italiano, which I have adapted here.
When serving the beef poached, it is important to chill it in the broth overnight for easier slicing—it will fall apart if you attempt it right out of the pot. After chilling the beef, be sure to always slice it against the grain to keep it tender.
The cool poached beef with salsa verde makes a perfect mid-week meal. All you need is a nice salad, some crusty bread, and a bottle of medium-bodied red wine to round things out.
Salsa Verde
Adapted from Molto Italiano by Mario Batali.
Combine all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Serve spoonfuls of the salsa verde on top of or alongside slices of the cool poached beef.
Chapter Three: Lesso di Manzo in Insalata
The boiled beef journey ends with this tasty beef salad; my mom would make it with whatever beef was leftover from the soup and plop it in a glass jar, letting it marinate in the refrigerator for a week or so before cracking it open. It was her mother's recipe, seasoned with plenty of the dried Calabrian oregano that flavored so much of Nonni's cooking. I always felt like a grown-up when sharing this salad with her, either on a crusty piece of toast or piled on a saltine. If the timing worked out, Mom would serve it as part of an antipasto spread, positioned between the caponata and roasted peppers on the lazy Susan.
There are no measurements here—just toss the ingredients together as you please. The longer it sits, the better it will taste; the shreds of beef soak up the vinegar and oil, so feel free to add a splash of both before serving, as well as an extra pinch of salt and pepper.
Lesso di Manzo in Insalata
Toss all the ingredients together well; place in a jar or air-tight container and store for at least two days. Adjust the seasoning and moisten with additional vinegar and oil before serving it at room temperature. It is excellent with some slices of Caciocavallo cheese.
Prologue
Every drop and morsel was enjoyed, and everyone lived happily ever after, will full tummies and change in their pockets. The End.

Seriously Italian: Onion and Rosemary Confiturra

2009-08-20T12:30:00Z

"In the midst of so many other big flavors, rosemary's tendency to overwhelm is muted to a pleasant back note."

Previously

Zabaione, My Way »
All Seriously Italian recipes »

This past weekend I was given my annual windfall of lush, deep-green rosemary from my cousin Armand's herb garden. Not a mere handful of sprigs—I'm talking about an entire paper bag of the stuff. I dry some of the load for the winter, but my heart always tells me to use as much as possible while it is fresh and loaded with essential oil.

Rosemary's flavor is strongest in the summer, and that strength means that you either have to use it sparingly or match it with equally strong players that can march alongside its assertiveness. A perfect example is this sweet and sour onion jam, or confiturra. Slow, careful reduction capitalizes on the natural sweetness of onions, and being jacked up with balsamic vinegar and honey provide the perfect vehicle for rosemary to release its full, resin-y qualities. There's something liberating about grabbing an otherwise scary amount of this herb and tossing it into a pot with wild abandon. In the midst of so many other big flavors, rosemary's tendency to overwhelm is muted to a pleasant back note.

Exercise your freedom with the onions, too. The confiturra works wonderfully with white, yellow, and red onions, or a mix of all three. Either way, it's a bargain; onions are still relatively cheap, and the full recipe below yields about three cups of confiturra. I pack it into canning jars, leaving me one to store in the pantry, one to keep in the refrigerator, and give one as a gift.

Three jars provide so many truly delicious options. I love to toast some bread rounds, spread them with fresh ricotta and add a generous layer of the confiturra, a perfect late afternoon snack to have with apertivi. It is heavenly on a steak sandwich or with any other grilled or roasted meat. Bake it onto pizza or foccacia dough with some olive oil and fresh black pepper, or toss it in pasta—try it with rigatoni, roasted cauliflower, and a grating of grana padano or ricotta salata.

After you've sliced the mountain of onions, don't forget to use Julia Child's trick for getting the onion smell off your hands, knife, bowls and board: give them a good scrub with kosher salt and rinse with cool water. It works every time.

Ingredients

3 pounds peeled and trimmed onions (yellow, white, red, or a mix)
1/2 cup olive oil
1 ounce fresh rosemary, or about 6 long, full branches*
3 bay leaves
3 to 4 teaspoons kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup white wine
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup sugar

Procedures

Cut the onions in half and slice them thinly crosswise; you should have about 10 heaping cups of onions.
Heat the oil in a heavy 5 or 6-quart stock pot with a tight-fitting lid and add the onions, turning them over repeatedly in the oil to coat them. Add the rosemary and bay leaves, burying them in the onions. Season the onions with 2 teaspoons of kosher salt and a few grinds of black pepper, and lower the heat to a simmer. Cover the pot and cook the onions for 15 to 20 minutes, until they have softened and released their liquid, and the rosemary has wilted.
Remove the lid and add the vinegars, wine, honey, and sugar, stirring well. Season the mixture with 1 more teaspoon of salt and a few more grinds of black pepper. Maintain the heat at a steady simmer and continue to cook the onions for an additional 15 to 20 minutes, stirring the mixture often with a wooden spoon.
When the liquid has reduced by about half, pick out and remove the rosemary stems and bay leaves and continue cooking for another 15 minutes. Taste the confiturra and season with additional salt and pepper if needed.
As the liquid continues to reduce, you must be careful to keep stirring to prevent the confiturra from scorching. Continue cooking the mixture until it is soft, sticky, and moves from the bottom of the pan as you stir Be careful not to let it caramelize.
Allow the mixture to cool slightly, then spoon it carefully into sterilized jars. Seal the jars and process in a water bath if you plan to store them, or keep the confiturra refrigerated for up to two months.
* Note: The rosemary will shed its leaves into the confiturra. If you prefer not to have the wilted leaves in your finished confiturra, tie the rosemary in cheesecloth to make a sachet.

Seriously Italian: Zabaione, My Way

2009-08-13T12:30:00Z

After over a decade at Babbo, I've made a helluva lot of zabaione. Enough to fill Fiat Cinquecento, I'd say, and I never grow tired of it. Zabaione, or its alternate spelling of Zabaglione, is a marvel of a dessert—with three basic ingredients and a bit of practice at whisking over a water bath, you are rewarded with a warm, boozy, egg-y cloud of deliciousness, the down comforter of the dolci universe.

It is also the ideal last-minute dessert fix; all you need to make a fantastic zabaione is egg yolks, wine, sugar, and some good arm muscle. The basic formula to serve four generously is 4 egg yolks, 1/4 cup wine (or a combination of wine and spirits), and 1/4 cup sugar. I like to add a tiny pinch of salt to enhance the flavor. The recipe can be doubled to serve a crowd, and modified slightly to play with the flavors. Try not to stray too far from these proportions, however; zabaione is an emulsion, and the proportion of fat to liquid plays an important role.

Wine

I like to make my zabaione with Vin Santo, because it is a wine with both sweetness and acidity. I sometimes combine the Vin Santo with rum or grappa; you can use brandy or any infused spirit to create whatever flavor you want. Marsala creates the flavor that most Americans are familiar with, but in Italy, the wine of choice is usually something local, which isn't difficult since every region produces at least one sweet wine. In Piedmont, where zabaione originated, it is often made with bubbly Moscato D'Asti, or Brachetto D'Acqui.

It is important be familiar with the flavor of whatever wine you choose. Some dessert wines are high on the sweet scale, and in that case you may start with a larger proportion of something drier, adding the sweeter wine as an accent, or adding one or two teaspoons of fresh lemon juice to balance things out.

Equipment

The list of ingredients for zabaione may be short, but the devil is in the details. Start off with selecting the right bowl. At Babbo, I use a heavy copper bowl that once belonged to the Coach House, and it works just beautifully. Copper conducts the heat from the boiling water bath evenly, allowing you to control the cooking process. If you don't have a copper bowl, glass is the next best choice; its insular properties prevent the zabaione from overcooking in spots. The goal is to create heavenly, luxurious foam. Thin, stainless steel or ceramic bowls heat far too quickly and unevenly, and before you know it, you've made an omelet. Plastic is just a plain no-no.

The pot that you choose for your boiling water bath, or bagno maria should fit the bottom and about one-half the sides of your bowl, allowing it to fit snugly and comfortably without too much tilting to one side or the other. You should be able to lift the bowl (with potholders or a kitchen towel to protect your hands) off the pot without too much difficulty.

It is also important to use a round bowl, not one with a squared or angled bottom, so the whisk travels smoothly across and through it. The final consideration when matching your pot to your bowl is depth; you should be able to simmer at least 4 inches or so of water, with a good inch of space between the water and the bottom of the bowl; be careful not to allow the water to touch the bowl.

The last vital piece of equipment is a good whisk. Unless you are making dessert for an army, a medium sized, 12 to 14-inch whisk will work just fine, preferably round or balloon shaped with flexible tines. Pick one that feels good in your hand—not too heavy, not too light—and do a few test strokes in the bowl. If you can comfortably create a smooth, fluid whisking motion, you're set to go.

Simmer and Whisk

Bring the water to a simmer. In the meantime, whisk the egg yolks and sugar together to combine them, remembering the golden rule: never dump sugar on egg yolks and hesitate or walk away, even for a few seconds. The sugar will "burn" the yolks—creating hard, unpleasant clumps that won't dissolve. Whisk in the wine or combination of wine and spirits, a wee pinch of salt, and if necessary, the lemon juice. Whisk the ingredients together off heat to create a foamy texture that will give you a good head start.

Place the bowl over the simmering—not boiling—water and keep whisking. Remember to always keep the mixture moving in an up-and-over motion. The goal is to incorporate air into the zabaione as you cook those yolks. This isn't the time to change the TV channel or answer the phone (heck, I don't even like to talk when I'm making zabaione); you're pretty much stuck there until it is done.

Monitor the water by occasionally lifting the bowl up and taking peek. If it is boiling, lower the heat to a simmer, as a full boil may result in bits of cooked egg forming on the sides of the bowl. The zabaione will start to turn thick after four or five minutes of steady whisking.

There are signs to look for that will signal it is almost done: The whisk will leave tracks in the zabaione as it moves through it, and the mixture will start to come away from the side of the bowl, and it will mound easily. At this point, I start to perform my 8-second test: Lift the whisk up and let some of the zabaione fall back onto itself. Count how long it takes before the fallen shape flattens, and when that point reaches 8 seconds, you're done. Take the bowl off the heat and place it on a folded kitchen towel on the counter.

Wait, you're not done. Keep whisking. That's right, keep whisking. It is necessary bring the temperature down a bit, which will help the zabaione thicken further. I understand you might be tired at this point, but who can't use a little more arm toning? How long to whisk it off heat depends on how you wish to serve it. My favorite way is warm or at room temperature, to get the full impact of boozed-up egg. Chilling it by whisking over a bowl of ice water or beating it completely cold with an electric mixer works too, but mutes the flavor somewhat.

To Serve

In a restaurant kitchen, it is common to fold chilled zabaione into whipped heavy cream. I do this myself with a heavy heart; the cream allows us hold the zabaione for the many long hours of service and shape it into a perfectly round quenelle on a plate, but we lose some impact of that wonderful, egg-y flavor. If I had my druthers, all my zabaione would be made in the dining room and served warm, tableside, as my brethren do at Del Posto.

Serve the zabaione over a slice of cake, crostata or panettone, on top of fresh fruit with a sprinkle of toasted almonds, or alone in a beautiful dessert glass with some biscotti, amaretti or savoiardi alongside. It is not often that a dessert is soothing, comforting yet elegant all at once, but zabaione fits this bill perfectly.

Seriously Italian: Farfalle with Zucchini and Gorgonzola

2009-08-06T12:30:00Z

"Here, the cheese melts into a silky veil of nutty, buttery flavor over the pasta, and its more assertive flavors mellow softly in the background."

The question of what to do with piles of zucchini always arises in the month of August, when tubular green squash is busting out all over place. I try hard not to be tempted into buying any at the farmers' market because inevitable gifts of zucchini seem to arrive on our doorstep in waves, from friends who are both proud to display their advanced gardening skills and anxious to unload their bumper crop onto seemingly vegetable-deficient apartment dwellers. Muffins, check; bread, check; cake, check; casserole, check...it can get a bit monotonous without a tasty pasta recipe in the lineup.

My first encounter with a version of this dish was three years ago, in a small trattoria in the Umbrian town of Orvieto. The combination of zucchini and Gorgonzola sounded a little odd when the waiter explained it to us as the day's special dish, but the steaming plate that was placed in front of me a few minutes later was nothing short of heavenly. I was shocked at how understated the flavor of the cheese was, and after a long, languid lunch, the chef-owner ended his shift by sharing a glass of wine with me and explaining his recipe.

Because the memory of that day is so sweet, this pasta has become one of my favorite comfort dishes, great for a night alone with a bowl of carbs and a glass of wine on the sofa. But the unexpectedly soft, subtle flavors and pretty green color make it a standout for a company supper, too.

The mention of Gorgonzola-anything implies getting hit over the head with a big, blue, stinky cheese. The real surprise is that this noble actor, in the proper role, can be subtle, nuanced and sublime. Here, the cheese melts into a silky veil of nutty, buttery flavor over the pasta, and its more assertive flavors mellow softly in the background. Shallots and garlic season the otherwise bland zucchini, celery provides a bit of backbone, and a squeeze of lemon keeps things light and bright.

When you shop for Gorgonzola you may encounter a choice of the milder, creamier Gorgonzola Dolce, or more piquant and spicy Gorgonzola Piccante; the former will make for a milder sauce, and the latter is for more pronounced blue flavor. Either one works just fine, but I don't recommend subbing another type of blue cheese if you can help it since the flavor of blue cheeses varies widely. As the for the pasta, I've tried other shapes, both short and long; the trattoria original featured thick spaghetti, but farfalle is my sentimental favorite.

Ingredients

2 medium zucchini (about 1/2 a pound)
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium shallot, finely chopped
1 large rib of celery, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 pound farfalle, or another pasta shape
Salt and pepper to taste
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
4 ounces Gorgonzola, piccante or dolce, cut in pieces
2 tablespoons minced parsley
2 large sprigs basil, finely julienned

Procedures

Place 4 quarts of water in a large pot, season with salt and bring to a boil.
Wash the zucchini and trim the ends, then grate them on the largest side of a box grater and set aside.
In a large saucepan, heat the oil and butter and sauté the shallot and celery over medium heat, stirring, until the vegetables soften and begin to turn translucent. Add the minced garlic and continue cooking for another minute. Add the zucchini to the pan and sauté until the zucchini begins to soften and wilt.
In the meantime, add the pasta to the boiling water and stir occasionally as the pasta cooks.
Season the vegetables with salt and pepper. When the pasta is almost al dente, add the lemon juice, 1/4 of a cup of the pasta cooking water and the cheese to the pan, stirring to melt the cheese. Stir in the parsley and basil and let the mixture simmer gently for a moment or two.
Drain the pasta, reserving some of the cooking water in case it is needed; add the pasta to the pan with the sauce and toss to coat it completely. Let the pasta cook in the pan for a minute, adding a splash of the reserved cooking water if the sauce seems too tight. Transfer to a warm bowl and serve immediately.

Seriously Italian: Breadcrumb-Stuffed Vegetables

2009-07-09T13:00:00Z

"Besides being cheap and accessible, breadcrumbs are truly a blank canvas for individual creativity."

Verdure Ripieni, or stuffed vegetables, are popular in many of Italy's regions, with varying nods to local ingredients and traditions. Through the ages Italians have always relied on breadcrumbs as an economical and easy way to stretch a few ingredients into something tasty and belly-filling. Although these beauties make a terrific side dish for grilled or roasted meats, they're hearty enough to be a meal on their own.

Besides being cheap and accessible, breadcrumbs are truly a blank canvas for individual creativity. Remember this golden rule for seemingly simple dishes: when working with only a few ingredients, make sure they are top notch, and treat them with the utmost care. There is far less room for error when a dish has only two or three elements.

Homemade breadcrumbs are best, and most Italians insist on making their own. I picked up a small sourdough boule at the farmer's market last weekend for mine. I trimmed the crust just a tiny bit and cut the bread into even-sized cubes, leaving them uncovered for about a day to dry them out, then toasted the cubes until they were slightly brown. After a few batches in the food processor, I had a huge pile of tasty crumbs of variegated gold. If you can't make your own, breadcrumbs from the local bakery are the next best bet. I don't trust supermarket breadcrumbs. Where did they come from, and when were they made?

I could have used full-sized vegetables, but I found some miniature tomatoes and sweet peppers at the farmers' market that inspired a diminutive theme. I cut zucchini into thick rounds, and wedged some sweet Vidalia onions. With a small paring knife, I cut the core out of the onions to create a crater to hold the crumbs. I cut the peppers in half and removed the ribs and seeds, cored the halved tomatoes, and made little cavities in the center of the zucchini rounds.

To finish the vegetable prep, generously grease a baking dish that will snugly hold all the vegetables with extra-virgin olive oil, then arrange the vegetables inside, brushing them with more of the oil and seasoning with salt and pepper. Preheat the oven to 375°F.

To season 3/4 of a cup of breadcrumbs, I heated three tablespoons of olive oil in a pan. I had some 'nduja from Boccalone in the refrigerator, so I melted about an ounce of that into the oil; you can infuse the oil with minced garlic, or a squirt of anchovy paste, or render some finely chopped pancetta, prosciutto or guanciale in the oil to enrich the crumbs.

I mixed the crumbs with oil, and added a handful of minced, chopped herbs: I used parsley, marjoram, basil and mint from our garden. I also added three minced scallions and a few spoonfuls of grated Pecorino Romano; grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano works too. A few squirts of fresh lemon juice ties all the flavors together.

Cram the crumbs into all the nooks and crannies of the vegetables, and create little mounds on top. It isn't necessary to be neat and fussy since the crumbs that fall between are going to make a delicious "sauce" when it is all done. Store any leftover crumbs in an airtight container in the refrigerator for the next use; they are delicious tossed with al dente pasta and olive oil.

Drizzle over more olive oil over the top, and pour a splash of white wine and enough water into the bottom of the pan to come up about one-third of the depth of the vegetables. Cover the pan with tin foil and bake the vegetables for about 25 to 30 minutes. Remove the foil and add a little more water if necessary, and bake for an additional 15 to 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender and the breadcrumbs are toasty on top.

We decided to make a meal out of our verdure ripieni, serving them with herbed rice and a simple salad—a colorful, economical and nutrition-packed meal.

About the author: Gina DePalma is the pastry chef at Mario Batali's Babbo restaurant in New York City and the author of Dolce Italiano: Desserts from the Babbo Kitchen. She is currently in Rome researching her next book and further exploring her passions for Italian food.

Seriously Italian: A Sicilian Breakfast To Beat The Heat

2009-07-02T12:30:00Z

Editor's note: On Thursdays, Babbo pastry chef Gina DePalma checks in with Seriously Italian. After a stint in Rome, she's back in the States, channeling her inner Italian spirit via recipes and intel on delicious Italian eats. Take it away, Gina!

I live on the top floor of our six-story building, which takes the heat of summer to another level. As soon as the temperatures get warm and the days get longer, our tar roof begins to sop up the heat and then pump it into our apartment with the full-force vengeance of a busted furnace. If there are any other roof dwellers out there, you know exactly what I am talking about. It is a miserable, stifled, intensity that makes even the slightest bit of activity seem like torture.

It reminds me a bit of the kind of heat they get in Sicily, where at the height of summer it is not uncommon to awake at sunrise to soaring temperatures. Sicilians have unique coping mechanisms in place to deal with the inferno. They drive like maniacs in the streets of Palermo and Catania. They take to the seashores as much as possible, gathering on beaches and promenades, dangling off the decks of boats and rocky cliffs. And they eat ice-cold gelato, granita, and sorbetto for breakfast.

Starting your day with a huge mound of ice cream may seem decadent and misplaced to our somewhat Puritan sensibility of sweets and when they can be enjoyed. Remember when Bill Cosby fed chocolate cake to his kids for dinner?

Meh, meno male. Italians like to start the day with something sweet anyway, and the frozen part is purely common sense. Eating something very cold will lower the body's temperature, a good idea when your clothes are going to be soaked with sweat by 9 a.m. In a larger sense it reflects the Sicily's cultural history, an ability to adapt to any situation in order to further survival, as well as the ultimate enjoyment of life.

My favorite part is the soft, airy, buttery brioche roll that is the vehicle of choice for all of this frozen goodness. The bread is split open wide and stuffed to overflowing with gelato or sorbetto. Granita—basically liquid that is aerated and broken up by hand as it freezes—is looser and melts quickly, so it is usually served in a glass, layered con panna (with cream). Simply dunk and dip a piece of brioche into it, or load it on by the spoonful.

How can this breakfast be folly? There's bread for energy, some dairy, maybe some fruit, and with Granita al Caffè Con Panna, your morning coffee all in one cool, heat-dissipating shot.

If you want to try your hand at homemade brioche, go for it, but since turning on the oven defeats the purpose of keeping things cool, I try to let someone else do the baking. It is hard to duplicate the kind of bread you would find in Sicily. Italian brioche differs from the French version; it is richer and fluffier, more like a cushy pillow, and the outer layer isn't as flaky. If you have a good bakery near your house, you can get a brioche loaf and cut slices to fold around the gelato, or ask for a simple sweet roll.

To make the coffee granita, I follow this formula: 1/4 cup of granulated sugar for every two cups of brewed espresso or strong regular coffee. You can certainly adjust the sweetness to your taste. Whisk the sugar into the hot coffee, and let the mixture cool completely to room temperature before putting it into the freezer in a shallow metal or glass dish.

Monitor the freezing process; as the sides begin to freeze, using a whisk or fork to break it up and move it to the center. You'll have to do this every 15 minutes or so, sooner as it freezes more; I like to use a little whisk for more aeration and to strategically target the frozen spots.

When there is no more loose liquid in the mix, give it a really good whisking and let it freeze for about 15 to 20 minutes more.

To serve, you'll need some sweetened heavy cream whipped until it mounds softly. In a glass dessert dish or cup, put a generous layer of frozen granita. I like to add a small shot of ice-cold, brewed espresso here to get some extra coffee punch in the mix. Layer on some cream, then repeat the layers, ending with a mound of cream, which you can whip a bit stiffer for holding power. Top with some shaved chocolate and/or ground cinnamon and serve with brioche on the side. Dip pieces of the brioche into the mix, or fold pieces of it around spoonfuls of granita and cream.

Seriously Italian: Insalata di Riso

2009-05-28T12:30:00Z

"Insalata di Riso is a mainstay that could easily slide into position on the All-American summer picnic table."

Outdoor eating is a huge part of Italian culture, especially over the weekend, when friends and family gather to enjoy long, languid meals served al fresco. Whether under a canopy of trees or a veil of stars, atop a roof or on a terrace overlooking the sea, every region has its own array of traditional dishes, served cold or at room temperature to satisfy this urge for fresh air.

Insalata di Riso is a mainstay that could easily slide into position on the All-American summer picnic table. Just like potato salad, it is a family favorite that is open to any manner of creative interpretations.

The bonus here is that the standard, long grain white rice you may already have in your pantry has the starring role. This is not a recipe for aborio or cannaroli rice, which by nature must be cooked slowly in order to coax out the abundance of natural starch, resulting in the creamy, soft texture that is the mark of a perfect risotto. Long grain rice works better here, because you can cook it to the perfect al-dente texture. The outer part softens just enough to make the grain tender, but still maintain its shape amidst all the other ingredients.

Cook the rice as you would pasta, in an abundance of rapidly boiling, salted water, tasting it often until the right texture is reached. It should be somewhat soft, but just slightly chewy. Drain the rice when it is done, and run it under cold water very well to completely stop the cooking process.

Don't freak out, but I'm not going to give you any exact measurements in this recipe, because the salad can be as big or small as you want it, and the proportion of rice to the other ingredients is really entirely up to you. To make the huge bowlful pictured, quite enough to feed 8 to 10 people, I used 1 1/2 cups of raw rice. For the add-ins, I measured anywhere from a few tablespoons to 3/4 of a cup.

Some type of cubed, cured meat is a very traditional ingredient I always want in my rice salad. I used mortadella, asking my deli guy to give me a wide slab that I could cut into cubes instead of thin slices. You could try a soft salami, or simple cooked ham, known as proscuitto cotto in Italy.

The other must-have ingredient is a semi-soft cheese that you can also cut into a cube, such as fontina, or a soft, young asiago or provolone; young pecorino or cacio di Roma works well, too. If you want to depart entirely from the traditional, you could certainly use a crumbled goat or feta cheese.

For the rest, just gather your favorites from the traditional antipasto platter, or whatever leftover veggies may be lurking in your refrigerator. If you don't want to buy full jars of marinated vegetables, or go to the trouble of roasting or marinating them yourself, just head for the antipasto section of the salad bar and pick what grabs your fancy.

Insalata di Riso is a terrific all-in-one dish for a picnic. It totes easy, doesn't require a knife, and tastes better and better as it sits and marinates. Tote it in an air-tight container and keep it chilled, allowing it to come to room temperature before serving.

Ingredients

To feed a crowd of 8 to 10, use 1 1/2 to 2 cups of raw rice. Cook the rice in 3 quarts of rapidly boiling, salted water until it is tender, but retains a bit of chewiness. Drain the rice well, run it under cold water, and leave it in a colander suspende
For the rest of the salad, you can any combination of the following ingredients, as much or as little as you prefer:
Mortadella or prosciutto cotto, cut in 1/4-inch cubes
Any semi-soft cheese, such as fontina, fresh asiago, young pecorino or soft provolone, cut in 1/4-inch cubes
Diced celery, ribs and leaves
Finely chopped red onion
Pitted or stuffed green and/or black olives, halved and sliced
Marinated hot peppers, chopped
Roasted red peppers, sliced thin
Fresh or roasted cubanelle peppers, diced
Chopped hard-boiled eggs
Frozen or fresh peas, cooked tender and shocked in ice water
Finely chopped capers
Thinly sliced scallions
Marinated artichoke hearts, chopped
Marinated mushrooms, quartered
Cherry tomatoes, cut in quarters or eigths
Fresh, flat-leaf or Italian parsley, chopped fine
Julienned fresh basil leaves
Minced fresh chives

Procedures

Place the rice in a large bowl and add the rest of whatever ingredients you are using. Gently toss the entire mixture together with your hands to combine the ingredients thoroughly.
Dress the salad with red wine vinegar, or fresh lemon juice, and plenty of extra virgin olive oil to taste; season generously with kosher or sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Allow the salad to chill and marinate for 4 to 6 hours or overnight before serving. Store leftovers in the refrigerator in an air-tight container for up to three days.

Serious Eats: Recipes - Seriously Italian

Seriously Italian: Cardoons

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Snowy Day Risotto

Previously

Making Chicken Stock

Risotto-Making Tips

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Broccoli Romanesco

Previously

Cooking it as a Vegetable Dish

Pairing it with Pasta

Seriously Italian: Fig and Almond Cookies

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Zuppa di Farro

"Like pasta, farro absorbs and unifies with whatever flavors you add to it."

Previously

Zuppa di Farro (Farro Soup)

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Walnut Bread from Umbria

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Lavender Honey Spice Cake

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Escarole and Walnut Salad with Anchovy Dressing

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Anchovy-Lemon Dressing

Seriously Italian: A Tale of Beef, Three Ways

Chapter One: Bollito di Manzo

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Chapter Two: Lesso di Manzo con Salsa Verde

Salsa Verde

Chapter Three: Lesso di Manzo in Insalata

Lesso di Manzo in Insalata

Prologue

Seriously Italian: Onion and Rosemary Confiturra

"In the midst of so many other big flavors, rosemary's tendency to overwhelm is muted to a pleasant back note."

Previously

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Zabaione, My Way

Wine

Equipment

Simmer and Whisk

To Serve

Seriously Italian: Farfalle with Zucchini and Gorgonzola

"Here, the cheese melts into a silky veil of nutty, buttery flavor over the pasta, and its more assertive flavors mellow softly in the background."

Ingredients

Procedures

Seriously Italian: Breadcrumb-Stuffed Vegetables

"Besides being cheap and accessible, breadcrumbs are truly a blank canvas for individual creativity."

Seriously Italian: A Sicilian Breakfast To Beat The Heat

Seriously Italian: Insalata di Riso

"Insalata di Riso is a mainstay that could easily slide into position on the All-American summer picnic table."

Ingredients

Procedures