Meatballs and more

You may have caught on to my meatball obsession. Beyond consuming ridiculous amounts of cheese, the lure of leftovers reused to make polpette is, culinarily speaking, what defines me. Eating meatballs hurls me back into childhood bliss, they are my Proustian madeleines.

Small morsels bound together by a little starch and an egg go such a long way. Polpette are fun and easy to make, and equally fun and easy to eat.

Rolled in breadcrumbs and fried, baked, steamed, drowned in sauce––whatever the cooking method, polpette are sensational fridge-cleaners. In my family we eat meatballs at least once a week.

When I was living in Naples 18 years ago, my boyfriend at the time would have me over at his family's house for lunch quite often. The highlight of the week was on Tuesdays, the day his Nonna made meatballs. Her fried polpette will go down in history as some of the best I've ever eaten.

I can't feel like I'm truly in Venice until I bite into the meatballs served as cicchetti at Ca' d'Oro alla Vedova, a legendary bacaro in the Cannaregio neighborhood. The suspicion of minced garlic, the soft chewy interior revealed under the crisp, breaded crust is enough to make my mouth water at the thought...

In Rome, when not making my own, I embark in impossible-to-find parking in Borgo Pio just for the lemon veal polpettine served at Romolo alla Mole Adriana.

We're carnivores, so the meatballs I make at home use leftover bollito, or ground veal, some are made with fish even. Those who love beef tartare or carne cruda all'albese are served their raw chopped meat in the shape of a patty and variably dressed with taggiasca olives, capers, minced onion, mustard and so on.

Meatball madness doesn't stop at meat however, infact vegetarian polpette are just as popular in my household. Think winter broccoli croquettes, or a personal favorite, polpette di melanzane, eggplant vegetarian meatballs: a recipe published 8 years ago that's still one of my most popular posts to date.

In South Tyrol I learned how to make Knödel, the Alpine version of matzah balls, which––if you think about it––are "meatballs" made with bread. Similar bread-recycling is found in a typical Abruzzo peasant recipe called Pallotte cacio e ove, where instead of costly meat, bread and grated pecorino are bound together with beaten eggs. These are then braised slowly in a rich tomato sauce and served piping hot along with a glass (or five) of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo wine.

In the realm of bite-sized fried balls, I cannot forego mentioning the universe of arancini and supplì made with rice, or baccalà and potato croquettes and the famed olive ascolane, stuffed olives from Ascoli!

But polpette don't have to be exclusively savory.

Sweet dessert polpette are a sinful treat. One of my favorite ways of repurposing leftover panettone is shredding the crumb, wetting it with some milk and squeezing out the excess moisture before mixing the "dough" with an egg. I shape small bite-sized balls and place them on a greased cookie sheet. In the hot oven they go briefly to develop a golden crust, so no more than 5-7 minutes at 350°F. And it's suddenly Christmas all over again.

The food in my 'hood

I have written at length about the well-known food stores and markets in my fancy Parioli neighborhood, these are places which get constant attention from blogs and press. But it's the small, unpretentious businesses on my block that I find the most charming. Still managing to resist through the bad economy are a handful of small family owned businesses that manage to combat the growth and popularity of larger convenience stores and supermarkets. These tiny shops scattered on my block is where I buy most of my food.

New, younger businesses have taken over as older generations have retired or passed away, sadly changing the last remaining authenticity and character of this old part of town. This means that where the old tabaccaio used to be – selling cigarettes, lottery tickets and boxes of sea salt – now is a tattoo parlor. In place of a boutique where residents knew to find elegant interior design items and vintage wallpaper now is a hipster clothing store that I don't think is doing very well (it's always empty).
The Bangladeshi mini market that occupies the space once managed by a family-run photo developing studio (obsolete, the landlord branded it) is ok for quick emergency cleaning supply runs, but given their not-so-competitive prices, it's not really worth it.

Fortunately the best, more historical places still hold fast and provide us residents of the block with the best, most reliable service and constant product quality. And a good bit of neighborly conversation.

My shoe repair man Francesco, for example, where I take my boots and best leather shoes for a good buff or to fix a broken heel, is holding on by the teeth to keep his little shop open, because less and less clients prefer to fix rather than buy new shoes. But, boy does he know how to live: every year he takes the luxury of closing his business down for a week to go with his wife for "cure termali" at a spa town in northern Italy where he detoxes drinking special spring water.

Rosalba, the lady that sews hems and fixes zippers in her little workshop just up the road is a chain smoker, but her needle work is unrivaled. If I need a good replica of a designer item she can do that too, at an affordable price.

Then there's GioFerCas, a small family owned store that is a little bit of everything haberdasher-type place: a cross between a giocattolaio (toy store), a ferramenta (hardware store that also makes copies of keys), and a casalinghi – the place where you can get home supplies, from brooms and shaving cream to alkaline batteries and stainless steel pots. Patrizia, who now helps her retired parents, put on the best store front decorations on Halloween this year, and all the Italian neighborhood kids got heaps of candy.

The little "Pica Pica Porro" specialty store is where I get my exotic fruit fix. If I want avocado and dates, sweet mango and proper papaya, this is where I go. The sales are managed by the father and daughter in law, while the son (owner) is always out and about delivering groceries with his 1974 Moto Guzzi which I can hear roaring in the street even with my windows closed.

Antonio is the neighborhood fruttivendolo and his shop – once dubbed by us residents 'Bulgari' for what he used to charge for fruit and vegetables – has drastically reduced prices to reclaim customers back from the new Bangladeshi minimart competition. Antonio boasts the area's best seasonal produce (his clementines for example are the juiciest) sweetest on the planet. He's serious about seasonality and doesn't give in to the haywire primizia trend of selling produce out of season, therefore his fruit and vegetables are always top-notch. He also sells beers, a few bottles of average wine, fresh eggs, a few kinds of pasta and small choice of canned foods and bottled goods. When I get home late after work, it's great to pick up some rinsed and trimmed salad or pre-chopped minestrone, cubed pumpkin and cauliflower florets, which Antonio prepares himself. In case of bigger emergencies, his sweet Slav assistant delivers the groceries to your doorstep, for free.

My favorite neighborhood store is however Forno Nonno Franco.
As I approach my neighborhood bakery, attracted by the aroma of freshly baked bread, I know I'm in for a sensory overload and a long wait in line.

I'm here every morning to get bread and there's always a crowd elbowing to the front of the small counter. The bread is baked around the clock from dawn 'til sunset, and store opening hours reflect that. In the oven area works the young and passionate heir of retired baker Franco Fiorentino who opened the shop in 1994. His two sisters manage the front end dealing with customers. The three communicate, fight and laugh through a window that connects the bakery ovens and the actual shop, and through which the products are fed on large hot pans before everyone's eyes.

After 10 a.m. is when the place gets the busiest since that's when the hot loaves of Lariano, Altamura and Pane della Salute are ready, and sell still warm, in a matter of minutes. A thick crunchy crust conceals a fluffy, airy wholegrain crumb studded with assorted seeds. A large loaf of this 'bread of health', if properly stored, can last 4-5 days. In my house, it only lasts a few hours. As soon as I buy it, I break off the end and eat it in the street, still warm.

Besides the various types of sourdough, farro and grano tenero bread, the Fiorentino brothers also bake and sell different products, like breadsticks or low-hydration bread pockets filled with an ever changing selection of fillings that range from sautéed dandelion greens to pumpkin & gorgonzola. Their focaccia pugliese is award winning, as is the crisp "scrocchiarella" cracker-like pita, plus buns, savory croissants and ciabattas of every size.

The pizza romana stuffed with porchetta or mortadella is weighed, cut and wrapped in €1 squares ready at 7 a.m. for kids to stuff in their school backpacks for merenda (mid morning snack time). They even make a whole wheat or plain version without yeast called "suolo". The quality of their other types of pizza al taglio (sold by weight) is nothing short in terms of quality compared to the one sold in the more famous centrally located bakeries. Crisp yet chewy, it comes topped with good quality homemade tomato sauce, select cheese and fresh charcuterie. The choice is not ample but turnaround is rather fast.
And this is just the savory offer.

There's a whole universe of pastry that Forno Nonno Franco excels at, in which the strudel and artisan cookie galaxies shine the brightest. The other day I nearly threw a tantrum in the middle of the small store because they had run out of their cinnamon sablé biscotti. Mini crostatas filled with homemade jam; custard and pine nut torta della nonna cakes; lemon curd tartlettes, fried donuts and flaky sublime cornetti (forget the crappy industrial 'croissants' you find at coffee bars in the morning) are sold fresh daily. And there's always something baked new every day, so it's fun to walk in just to see what they've come up that morning. Oh, and the fridge in the entrance near the cookie shelf is stocked with bottles of fresh milk... and chocolate milk. Help!

The secret ingredient that makes the products taste better at this little neighborhood establishment is not a flavor enhancer – there's been lots of controversy around how commercially sold bread in larger Italian wholesale bakeries has been known to be spiked with a "miglioratore", a chemically obtained flavor improving agent. No, what makes this place really special is the courteous, friendly service. The girls are always smiling and crack jokes with customers, despite the frantic crowds pushing at the counter and lined up in the street. You can call ahead of time to reserve your bread should you be running other errands, and they will bake cakes and other typical Italian party food (mini pizzas, bite sized stuffed sandwiches, quiche and other snacks) on request.

Low prices, constant quality, wide variety of products and friendly service.
No wonder the cue outside is so long.

Opening image romasparita.eu - All other photos in this post © Eleonora Baldwin

What produce is in season in August?

Fact: produce is of better quality and taste when in season.

Though Italians have cooking and eating a selection of produce that rotates seasonally in their DNA, lately mass distribution and globalization have confused these rhythmic, natural guidelines, making the calendar distinction on our plate a little fuzzy.

Here is a list of what fruits and vegetables are in season in August in Italy, gracing our market stalls from Sicily to the Alps.

Continue Reading ➔

Which fruit & vegetables are in season in May?

Fact: produce is of better quality and taste when in season.

In my inaugural blog post on Casa Mia, the new cultural association I co-founded, I talk about what's on display in markets from Sicily to the Alps this month – a pretty sight!

Here's a list of what's in season during May in Italy
Continue Reading ➔

What I ate in Positano

Yes, that is someone swimming. March, 2011

You can find more photos of this glorious Positano vacation on my Flickr stream.

Love letter to the bulb

A nickel will get you on the subway, but garlic will get you a seat.

–– old New York proverb

Let's talk a little about my favorite ingredient, aglio.

Garlic {Allium sativum} is a fundamental pillar of Italian cooking, but up until the beginning of the 1950s, some seriously garlic-challenged folks overseas called it “Bronx vanilla.” Other diner lingo names for garlic included the derogatory “halitosis” and “Italian perfume.”

Highly reassessed element in the recent Italian food renaissance, the Noble Bulb has finally re-blossomed as the star in most home kitchens worldwide. Related to the lily family—along with leeks, onions, and chives—garlic, from the Old English word garleac, owes its powerful aroma to sulphur-based compounds. As a base for most Italian dishes, it sensually flavors cooking oils and other preparations, extracting the best side of almost any food.

Some culinarians use a garlic crusher, I don't.

Losing precious juices and splaying the charming clove is a pity. For instance, chef Anthony Bourdain (my boyfriend in many fantasies) calls garlic presses 'abominations' and in his genius exposé memoir Kitchen Confidential, Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, advises,

"Don't put it through a press. I don't know what that junk is that squeezes out of the end of those things, but it ain't garlic."

Personally, I find the delicious fragrance left on my fingers after chopping or mincing garlic, one of the most aphrodisiac aromas in nature. If the repercussions of eating garlic present a fastidious breath issue, do like the garlic-loving Middle Eastern, Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi cultures do: always keep a pinch of fennel seeds in your pocket. Chewing on them refreshes and works far better than breath mints.

There have been encyclopedias written about garlic; and come July, the California garlic-growing capital of the world, Gilroy, celebrates the Bulb with an annual garlic festival. The famous Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse, serves an all-garlic menu in honor of the "stinky rose," with everything from a garlic-laced antipasto to garlic ice cream. The same happens at The Stinking Rose Restaurant in San Francisco. 

When buying aglio, look for bulbs that are plump and compact with several layers of dry, papery husk. A heavy, firm bulb indicates that the garlic will be fresh and flavorful, whereas a bulb that’s too light is probably old. Avoid damp or soft bulbs and those that have begun to sprout, as well as any that have dark, powdery patches under the skin, which are the signs of a common mold that will eventually decay the flesh. Remove the bitter greenish core inside the garlic clove to avoid a slightly bitter taste in your final cooked preparation.

Garlic has a tendency to sprout, which diminishes its pungency and flavor. To prevent this, keep garlic hung in a braid or stored in a loosely covered container and put it in a cool, dark place away from sunlight and heat.

Tip: To easily peel garlic, separate the cloves from the bulb and place them on a cutting board. Lay the flat side of a kitchen knife on top of one clove at a time. Tap the knife with a closed fist. A fairly gentle impact is all that's required to split the peels without smashing the clove. Also, be careful not to burn garlic when sautéeing; it will turn bitter.

I like to rub a fresh garlic clove on lightly charred slices of crusty bread for bruschetta, enjoy it immensely added in tomato salads, used in pasta condiments, liberally sliced over cinnamon-dusted oranges, minced in seafood recipes, or mixed with breadcrumbs for tastier shellfish au gratin.

I love garlic and I love the fact that no guilt is involved when I eat it. Garlic is delicious and good for your health. The cardiovascular system benefits from regular garlic intake, it is also key in cholesterol management, a potent anti-fungal, powerful antibiotic, and renown blood pressure regulator.

Roasting whole garlic bulbs wrapped in foil will mellow the flavor and transform the cloves into a spreadable, creamy purée that can be added to bread, mashed potatoes, butter or risotto, clear a raspy throat and keep vampires away for a week or two.

Roman style spinach with raisins recipe

My mother's pièce de resistance side dish. When there's unplanned dinner guests, she whips up easy spaghetti aglio, olio e peperoncino, uncorks a good bottle of wine and distracts them with these sweet and piquant Roman-style spinach, while she frantically fixes the entree.

This was also her only way to make me eat greens when I was a child. Sweet raisins and savory, garlic-flavored sautéed spinach are an unusual match. Some like to add pine nuts too. Try it and see.

500 g (1.1 lb) small spinach leaves
1 glass of water
50 g (1/4 cup) butter
2 tbsp raisins
2 garlic cloves, peeled
1 spicy peperoncino or 1/2 tsp flakes (optional)
A pinch of lightly toasted pine nuts
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste

Soak raisins in lukewarm water. Perform usual anti-pesticide ritual for the fresh spinach with water and baking soda, rinse and towel dry. Steam or boil briefly in unsalted water. If pressed for time and guest are already ringing doorbell, tear open the plastic bag of store-bought frozen spinach and toss directly in the skillet.

Melt butter and a swirl of olive oil in a skillet and sauté the garlic (and optional peperoncino flakes) in it. Add spinach and strained raisins, blending flavors for a few minutes. Salt to taste and ingurgitate.