La Cucina: How low can you go?

The last time I posted about kitchens, La Piazza friends thought I had already hit the bottom of the "cucina barrel" when I contrasted my kitchen in Cincinnati with the one I borrowed from a friend on the Italian Riviera.

In case you missed that post, here's my kitchen at home::

Where I have more than everything I need and I am more than happy.

 

 

 

 

This is the kitchen at my friend's apartment:

Simple, but temporary, and I was happy.

Michele and I have bought an apartment in Savona recently and when you buy a home in Italy you buy the walls, the floors, and almost nothing else.  I'm still waiting for IKEA to install the kitchen at the end of the month and for the last several weeks I have used a small table and a microonde (microwave), washing my dishes in the bathroom sink (thank-goodness they got that installed before Michele left for the United States).

OMG, what am I going to do with this?

I am happy to report that it can be done.  You can buy Chinese take-out and there's at least half a dozen wood-fired Neapolitan pizzerias within walking distance where I can grab a Margherita to go for 4 Euros - and it's ready in 5 minutes. 

But I prefer the taste of food I make.  And, believe it or not, 4 or 5 Euros is an expensive meal compared to the way Michele and I eat at home.  So the other day I made an investment in a box of recipes, "Microonde, Le Migliori Ricette" for 5 Euros and after a week it has already paid for itself three times over.

And I am happy.

The Italian version of the microwave is very different from its American cousin.  It comes equipped with a special grill feature, a grill pan and rack that makes all the difference.  Yesterday I made a Risotto con salsiccia e peperoni.  Today I did a Parmigiana di zucchine that should have been enough for three meals, but will only last two because it was so good.  Of course, like all things Italian, cooking with the microwave takes a little longer than it does in the States.  It took me almost an hour to batter and grill the zucchini, make the sauce, and meld the flavors.  But it was worth it.

Ladies, the most important thing I've learned from this moving between cultures is that it's the lowly refrigerator that's the most under-appreciated of all the kitchen appliances.  It doesn't have to be a Sub-Zero.  It doesn't have to have a water dispenser in the door. But cheese gets moldy really fast without one and mine cannot arrive too soon, no matter how many grocery stores are on my block.


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A Love Affair with Pane



Martina

by guest writer Martina Mullen

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie…that’s a PANE! Bells'll ring Ting-a-ling-a-ling, Ting-a-ling-a-ling…that’s a PANEEEEE! I sing this song as I dance, twirling, through my kitchen. No, I have not fallen in love with a boy named “Pane.” I am singing this song because I sing it every time I make fresh bread – I become super excited while the bread is still in the oven but almost ready, and I sing. Sounds crazy, but you do crazy things when you’re in love. And I’m in love with delicious, crusty bread.

                  I haven't always been this way. I didn't even know about fresh, crusty Italian bread until I was 20 years old. I began on my bread path when I was a child and fell in love with the typical Southern breads such as cornbread and biscuits. By the way, to this day there is little I wouldn't do for a fresh, homemade biscuit, served next to a veggie omelet or with some strawberry jam or honey. (If you all could please excuse me, I have to take a moment to recompose myself after thinking about the deliciousness of the homemade Georgia biscuit). Anyway, this post is not a post about biscuits, so let's leave that to its own deserving post another day.

                  The cuisine of the southeastern US doesn't reflect a great amount of Italian influence; thus, it can be difficult to eat authentic Italian food, whether it be from the supermarket or at restaurants. In addition, when I was little, my Italian-American mom didn't make homemade bread because she was working full-time kicking butt and taking names as a lawyer. Because of these two factors, the tradition of crusty Italian bread was not present in my childhood world at home or in restaurants. Any "crusty" bread that I had the opportunity to eat was usually previously frozen, soft after being reheated, covered in butter and garlic powder, served during spaghetti night at our house or with Olive Garden's spaghetti and meatballs (fun fact: this dish doesn't actually exist in Italian cuisine - it doesn't make sense to match a chunky sauce with delicate, small noodles - the size of the noodles always goes with the size of the sauce). I didn't know that this bread would not be considered "delicious" in Italy. I ate it voluntarily - there aren't many things that I don't eat voluntarily - but the bread was never anything special. Then, when I was 20, I visited Italy for the first time and everything changed.



Crusty home-made bread

                  The year was 2006, and I was a student studying abroad at John Cabot University in Trastevere, Rome. Before the fall of that year, I had never been outside of the United States. Stepping out of the airplane for me was entering into another world. I walked around the city for my first few days unable to shut my jaw... I couldn't believe that these people lived there lives in another language, walking around, living within 2000-year-old ruins e nun se ne po’ frega de meno! (FYI: Roman dialect for they don't give a damn! - it's a super useful phrase in Italy, as Italians usually don't...give a damn that is.) The first day in Rome was a blur of hunger and exhaustion. I hadn't slept well on the airplane because I was so excited and when we arrived in Italy, I didn't have time to grab a bite at the airport. My first opportunity to go in search of food was mid-afternoon when we arrived at our apartments. I remember vividly descending the spiral stairs of my new home, and blindly turning right out of my building. What luck!, I thought, A bread shop right next to my building! (At that point I was unaware of the fact that it impossible to go 100 feet in Rome without finding some place to eat or drink something.) I entered the building - scared to death of speaking the language, but my hunger won over my fear and I asked for some bread. Quale tipo? (What kind?), the woman answered me. There are kinds? I thought to myself, and murmured, Ummm non lo so. Ho fame. Non ho ancora mangiato pranzo (Ummm, I don't know. I haven't eaten lunch).  The woman smiled, and without asking me, prepared my lunch. Spero che Le piaccia (I hope you like it), she said, passing me something wrapped in white paper.  Mille grazie, I thanked her, leaving the store. Once on the street, I hastily opened the paper hiding a crusty roll with some sort of spread. I took my first bite of bread and Nutella and died of happiness there on the street. Luckily it was not a crowded street, and after having resurrected from this death of joy, I gathered myself and reentered the bread shop to thank the woman. Buono! Grazie - buono! Grazie – mille grazie – che buono! I exclaimed, almost bursting from joy. In this moment, my love story with bread had begun: it had me. 

Nutella, an all time favorite!



                  I returned to the United States in January of 2007. There are bread stores here that make very good bread, but not very many in Georgia or at Notre Dame, where I was a student. And even if there were amazing bread places close to me, a good loaf of bread here is costly, and as a poor student, I was desperate. I began looking for a recipe that could resemble the bread I had eaten in Italy. After three years of trial and error, I was finally able to find a recipe that doesn't take much manual labor, but does need preparation a day in advance. I hope to share it with any of you that might miss good crusty bread or any of you that might want to try good crusty bread. Although it might not be made in a forno a legna in Italy, my family and I think it does the trick… and it goes great with Nutella.

                  I will leave you all with my new motto, taken from my Piemontese origins: Ol pà l’istofa mai!! (One never gets tired of [good] bread!!)

Easter Around the Italian Table

by Michele Alonzo

Italy is not only known in the world for its history, art, music and wonderful landscapes, but also for its delicious dishes and special sweets. For example, whoever is lucky to visit the Italian peninsula during the Easter period, realizes that every region has a variety of homemade artisanal products derived from traditional recipes. During Easter week one has the chance to enjoy typical sweets and cakes in any parts of Italy. I have chosen three, which are among the most popular: pastiera, colomba and casatiello.



Neapolitan Pastiera

Pastiera is a sweet symbol of spring. Made with a base of ricotta cheese, eggs and sugar, includes two ingredients that make it unique: orange flower water and soaked grain. All these ingredients are mixed together, along with milk, vanilla extract, candid, and then poured in a traditional handmade pie crust. Then they are covered by thin strips of pasta frolla crossed to form diamond shapes, before being baked.

Very often reality is mixed with legend and this is a unique characteristic that make Italy magic. The story of pastiera is bond to the myth of Mermaid Partenope. The legend tells that Mermaid Partenope used to delight with her singing the people living in the gulf of Naples. In order to thank the Mermaid, the local inhabitants decided to offer the fruit of their fertile land: flower, richness and power of farmers; ricotta cheese, gift from shepherds; eggs, symbol of renovating life; tender grain boiled in milk as symbol of abundance; orange flower water as fragrance of the earth; the aromatic spices from the Oriental lands and sugar, as symbol of sweetness of her supreme voice. Partenope, moved by so many gifts, went back to her kingdom, in the depth of the sea, and laid down these gifts at the feet of gods. They, fascinated by her singing, mixed all the ingredients together: the result was a sweet that was superior to the goodness of Partenope herself: la pastiera.



Colomba Pasquale

The second typical cake for Easter is colomba, so called because made in the shape of a dove, symbol of peace. The dough of this sweet is similar to the traditional panettone for Christmas, but instead of raisins, it is filled with candid fruits. The dough is worked by hand in the shape of a dove and then covered with pearled sugar and almonds, before being baked, after a long rising. The origins of colomba go back to the VI century, but in recent history it is a cake that Milan based company Motta has made famous all over the world. The challenge of the preparation is in the long preparation of the dough, therefore it is important not to hurry in order to allow the dough to rise.


Casatiello

Finally casatiello is a kind of rustic bread of Italian southern cuisine, prepared from a mix of flour, water, yeast, lard and a pinch of salt and pepper. Once the mixed is blended, little pieces of cheese, salame, ham and congealed pig fat are added. The whole mix is worked in a shape of big donut, which symbolizes the crown of thorns on the head of crucified Jesus. Four eggs are placed on top of the donut and covered by narrow stripes of dough in a cross before being baked. The casatiello should be baked in a wood burning oven (but also the regular home gas oven is fine) until it becomes of amber color.

This rustic bread is eaten at home during the Easter meal or as a snack during the traditional holiday trip on Pasquetta, the Monday after Easter, when Italians travel to other towns to spend this Catholic religious holiday with their families.

BUONA PASQUA to all our readers!

Melinda

Recipe for Pastiera (courtesy of our student Melinda Harris)

 

Dough:

Kneed the following ingredients. Wrap in plastic wrap. Chill for half an hour as you make the filling.

2 ½ cups flour (13 ounces)

1 ½ sticks unsalted butter

¼ cup sugar

1 tsp. vanilla

zest of one large lemon

2 eggs & 1 yolk

Filling:

Over medium high heat, cook the following 10 minutes. Stirring until creamy. Remove from heat and proceed to the next step.

1 can of Italian Grano

3 ½ ounces of whole milk

Zest of one large lemon

2 TBSP of butter

In a food processor combine:

(Preheat oven at this point to 370 degrees. Place a cookie sheet into the oven as it preheats.)

24 ounces ricotta (try “fresco” brand from Kroger. Found in gourmet cheese section)

1 ½ pounds of sugar

5 eggs

2 yolks

1 bustina of vanilla sugar (or 1 TBSP of vanilla extract)

1 TBSP of orange blossom water

Zest of one large lemon

In a very large bowl combine:

Ricotta mixture

Grain mixture

80 grams of candied orange peel (diced)

80 grams of candied fruit (diced)

Put it all together:

Roll dough to less than 1/8 of an inch thick. Place dough in a 10-inch diameter spring form pan. Save enough dough to cut 6 strips (1 inch wide). Pour in mixture into pan. Place strips over pastiera in a lattice pattern (creating diamond shapes).

Place pastiera on the heated cookie sheet. Bake at 370 degree for 1-1 ½ hours. Turn off oven and let oven cool with cake inside. Store in fridge until day of event.

Presentation:

On the day of serving, preheat oven to 400 degrees. Put pastiera into oven for 2 minutes. This will loosen the cake and allow you to remove it from the pan. Cut cardboard strips and place over the lattice dough strips. Sprinkle powdered sugar over cake. Carefully remove cardboard.  Serve and enjoy!

Happy Easter!

Hosting, Being a Guest... and Brownies!



Martina Mirandola Mullen

 by guest writer Martina Mullen

After having lived in Europe during the fall of 2011, I moved to Cincinnati in January, hoping to establish a more permanent residence. This move came with the usual discovering of a new city and its people, but also included a bit of reverse culture shock as I re-acclimated to aspects of an American lifestyle.  I missed not having the time and option to go to fresh, local markets, but was easily able to make do with Cinci’s Jungle Jims and Findlay Market. Good crusty bread is harder to find, but does exist and tastes delicious when make the effort to locate it.  And although I walked everywhere in Rome, I quickly readjusted to the lifestyle of automobiles in America, and even took it one step further by adding an hour-long commute to and from my new job. However, I am still adjusting to on specific aspect of my fellow Americans, and finding it hard to do so.

            When did the rules of being a guest or a host change? Call me old-fashioned in my great age of 26, but it seems to me that the feeling of entitlement of my generation to have what you want, when you want it, how you want it, has superseded the need to be a good guest or host.  Let me explain. After moving to a new city, I feel the need to meet people. I’m a social person and not having friends does not sit well with me. So, I met a few people from my apartments and invited them to dinner. I soon found out that this experience was not going to be as easy as I had imagined.

            First, I had to take inventory of allergies and intolerances: How many lactose intolerant people? Anyone allergic to nuts? Do we have any celiacs in the crowd? Other strange allergies I don’t know about?  I can’t blame any of my guests for these. You can’t help your gluten intolerance and I can’t help the fact that cheese and my stomach are unfortunately not friends…and I’d like all of my guests to leave my house alive. However, Round 2 of planning gets a little more complicated: Is anyone a vegetarian? How about vegans? Are there any food taboos associated with the religions of my guests? Any other social or cultural restrictions I should know about?  Again, my American respect of individualism prohibits me from becoming too annoyed. Vegetarians should have the freedom to make a statement of principle and, being Catholic with its No Meat Fridays, I not only respect but empathize with those who cannot eat certain foods due to religious prohibitions.

            So I’m driving back to my apartment two days before my dinner, trying to configure a menu to accommodate the gluten-free guest, my cheese intolerance, the vegetarian, and the Muslim guest when I run into one of the invitees in the parking lot of our building. After exchanging small talk, I run my potential menu by him: bread, risotto with sun-dried tomatoes, vegetarian eggplant and zucchini moussaka with no meat and cheese only half of the dish (can be eaten as a side or entrée), and a roasted chicken. He cringes. My heart sinks. “Does that sound okay?” I ask.  “Well….I don’t really like eggplant,” he explains. Okay. So now we’re going to Level 3 of planning of a dinner: accommodating all of the specific food preferences of your guests? “No problem,” I say, “I’ll figure something else out.” I think of another dish all the way up the stairs – I need one filling enough for a vegetarian to eat, but that could also serve as a veggie side dish for the meat eaters of the group. I draw a blank and ultimately decide to tack a salad on the growing menu  so as to accommodate my new eggplant-hating friend.

            The next day I realize I should make a dessert. I have a great recipe for olive-oil lemon cake in one of my cookbooks; it’s different and still really good. I run this by a new apartment friend over drinks. She cringes. My heart sinks…again. “Ooooo, I don’t really like lemon,” she says. “No problem,” I respond, “ How about peanut butter fudge?” It’s fast, easy, and tasty, I think to myself. Take a guess at what happened next…her boyfriend is allergic to nuts. At this point my brain is exhausted and I don’t even feel like cooking anything, and then I throw out my last attempt, “What about brownies?” Her eyes light up, “We love brownies!!” BINGO. I should have gone there first... American can resist the brownie.

            What ever happened to eating what the hosts cooks? When did inviting people to dinner turn into the host being a personal chef for multiple guest, commissioned to appease the tastes and restrictions of each individual? I can’t say that I’m not guilty of imposing my no-cheese or cream restriction on my host, but I am a little surprised at the detailed explanations of “can’t do” foods that I am given by guests.

            In the end, the dinner turned out well – we had a nice showing of 5 people plus us with - this is not a joke - a vegetarian, a no-pork eater, caeliac, and a no-cheese eater. I cooked all day and presented a buffet of food for the guests to choose from. Some guests ate a little of this or that, and the three non-restricted ate a little of all of the plates. The only food that no one passed up was the brownies. I said goodbye to the last guest, mentally exhausted.

          As I sat on the couch after everyone had left, I reflected on the night. All of my efforts rendered me with two vital conclusions: 1)These days, it’s better to go out to eat with new friends, and 2) You can’t wrong with the food that no American can resist…the brownie.