Avanzi, Italy's glorious leftovers

You know me. I'm the one fixated with not throwing away food. I so firmly believe in recycling leftovers that I purposely cook in larger quantities than needed in order to have uneaten food to work with later.

After a sad few days of the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, apple, toast)––my son and I caught the stomach bug of 2016 late––I needed something to revive my depressed taste buds.

So for dinner yesterday I "made" two sensational Southern Italian dishes with avanzi. Made is actually too bold of a term, let's say I transformed leftover spaghetti into Neapolitan frittata di maccheroni and day-old green beans into Sicilian fagiolini alla muddica.

A week ago I made enough Puttanesca for 10 (there were 7 guests, 3 of which kids) so naturally I had a bowl of it sitting in the back of the fridge. The sauce made with this summer's pommarola, brined olives and minuscule capers from Pantelleria stuck to the noodles and was still fragrant. I didn't have to think twice: frittata di maccheroni. Every Neapolitan homemaker has this recipe in their repertoire.

I loosened the spaghetti from their bowl-shape and mixed in 4 beaten eggs.
I transferred the slippery mix to a heavy-bottomed pan with just a drizzle of olive oil and gently heated for about 5 minutes, until a delicious crust started forming on the bottom. My mother's trick is beating one more egg with salt and pepper and pouring it on the surface. This helps set the frittata.
I covered the pan for another 2 minutes, checking that the bottom didn't darken too much: browned frittata is dry and disgusting.
At this point of cooking frittata you have to be resourceful for the flipping portion of the recipe.
I use a lipless lid and good balancing skills to slide the uncooked side back into the pan.
On the whole, another plus is that this dish takes about 10-12 minutes to make. So while wisely thrifty, you're also budgeting time.

But my recycled carbs with high-protein needed a vegetal side. I glanced at the handful of yesterday's steamed green beans sitting suffocated under a plastic wrap cover. I reached in for the bowl and let the contents warm to room temperature on the countertop while I made the seasoned breadcrumbs.

I have a small fabric pouch where all my bread corners, broken breadsticks and uneaten slices fall into. This is what's known around the house as the Pangrattato Pouch. All the hardened bits of sourdough in there become breadcrumbs. I transfer the amount needed in a sturdy airtight plastic bag and arm myself with a rolling pin. I seal the bag and bash the hunks of bread to the desired powder grain. I prefer coarse. To the ziploc I then add powdered herbs, seasoned salt and a fistful of polenta (cornmeal) for crunch.

I toasted the breadcrumbs with olive oil and 2 cloves of garlic. A salt-saving, flavor-boosting trick is adding 2-3 oil-packed anchovies and working them into the crumbs with the tines of a fork. When the breadcrumbs clumped together to a crispy crumble, I added the green beans, tossing to coat and heat through. I didn't need to adjust seasoning, so I served immediately.

A tavola!

Italian torta rustica

Don't call it quiche.

In Italy torta rustica is a seasonal staple and a versatile dish: it can serve as an appetizer, as a side dish, or be the main entree. 

With boundless recipes and fillings, the savory rustic pies of Italy were initially intended as thrifty fridge-cleaners, adding bits of leftover vegetables to a mix of cheese, cured meats and an egg to bind it all together in a flaky shell. 

If you're looking for savory pie baking inspiration, here’s a failsafe recipe for quick and easy vegetarian torta rustica filled with spinach and punchy gorgonzola cheese.

Continue Reading ➔

Pasta al Forno

My dad loves Italian food. Living in Italy, and being married for 12 years to my Italian mother I think had something to do with it.

Nowadays, as much as he and his wife Terry enjoy the Bel Paese's fares, and fine cuisine in general, they are lazy cooks and find it easier to eat out in their area's restaurants, rather than staying in for a homemade meal. Lately, however, they were introduced to Blue Apron, and things have changed.

 What I am thankful for is that the popular company has re-fueled my dad's and his wife's passion for cooking new dishes with seasonal ingredients, at home.

I can just see them bickering over the stovetop. Priceless.

Today my little boy is home from school with the flu, and I wish I could rely upon a similar service to have dinner delivered to my door. Just as that thought crosses my mind, my mom phones me to say she's having her portiere (doorman) drop off some leftovers for us. Knowing how I'm juggling work, unfolded laundry and house cleaning, with a moaning, juice-demanding, DVD-hypnotized, temperature-spiking little person in the other room, my mamma comes through with her own crafted delivery service. God bless her.

What she sent was a favorite comfort food of mine: pasta al forno. Baked pasta dishes are creamy, savory, warm, velvety embraces, and a key childhood sensory reminder. As an excellent fridge-cleaner, pasta al forno also can employ vegetables and salumi on the verge of their expiry, assorted bits of cheese, eggs, mushrooms, and anything you may like thrown in for good measure.

There are a gazillion pasta al forno recipes out there (including the evergreen mac 'n' cheese) but nothing beats my family's classic, made with simple béchamel and Fontina cheese, which is an Alpine cow's milk cheese typical of the Valle d'Aosta region, and which melts beautifully.

Ingredients for 6 servings
50 g (1/4 cup or half stick) butter + more for coating and garnish
2 fistfuls toasted breadcrumbs
50 g (1/4 cup or 6 tbsp) all-purpose flour
500 ml (2 cups) chicken, beef or vegetable broth, boiling
150 g (5 oz) Fontina cheese, grated
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
500 grams ribbed, ruffled or spiral pasta (any shape able to "grab" the sauce)
2 slices of ham, finely chopped (optional)
2 fistfuls Parmigiano Reggiano, grated

Preheat oven to 230°C (450°F). Grease a large baking dish and coat it in toasted breadcrumbs.

Start by making your béchamel: melt half a stick of butter on medium-high. Once melted but not bubbling, add the flour, and cook, whisking frequently, 30 seconds to 1 minute, or until toasted and fragrant. Slowly whisk in the broth and cook, stirring frequently, 2 to 4 minutes, or until thickened (the hotter the liquid – some prefer to use milk instead of broth in béchamel – the creamier the outcome). Add the grated Fontina cheese, stir until melted and fully combined.
Season with salt and pepper to taste, and remove from the stove.

Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a rolling boil. Drop in the pasta and cook it for half the time it says on the box. Reserve 1 cup of the pasta cooking water and drain the pasta, adding it to the pot of Fontina béchamel sauce. Stir in the chopped ham and mix until thoroughly combined, adding some saved pasta cooking water, if necessary. The blend should be creamy, not runny.

Transfer the mixture to the greased baking dish, evening out the surface.
Dust with plenty grated Parmigiano Reggiano and dot with a few flecks of butter.

Bake in the oven 5 to 7 minutes, or until a golden crust forms. Remove from the oven, and let stand for at least 2 minutes before diving in. Any leftover pasta al forno can be reheated in the oven for a few minutes and dusted with more Parmigiano, if need be.

I added a few almond slivers to the leftovers mamma had delivered, and saw a huge smile creep on my little boy's face.

Buon appetito!

Image 2 courtesy of salepepe.it

Leftover brandade? Make croquettes!

Last week I posted the recipe to one of my favorite cod recipes, brandacujùn (a Ligurian shift on brandade) promising to follow it up with a leftover recycling solution.

If you've been following this blog for a while, you'll know how obsessed I am with not letting leftover food go to waste, and how it's traditional to re-employ yesterday's meals. This is such an important part of my Italian culture and upbringing, and it therefore plays a huge role in my cooking.

When I make excess amounts of risotto, in fact, I use the surplus to make Riso al Salto (a rice frittata) or Arancine (fried risotto balls). If remnants of my loaf of wholegrain bread were not all used up to make breadcrumbs, crostini or toast, I can transform them into bread pudding or Pappa al Pomodoro soup. Leftover meat (cooked and raw) goes straight into meatballs, and extra cheese becomes Frico.

Since when I make brandade I end up with lots of leftovers, my son can rely on his favorite snack: brandade croquettes. These are a great antipasto appetizer but can double as a sinful main course.

Leftover brandade, refrigerated
Oil for frying (I use olive oil, but you may prefer something "lighter" like peanut or sunflower oil)
50 g (1/4 cup) breadcrumbs
50 g (1/4 cup) polenta (cornmeal)
100 g all-purpose flour
1 tsp of dried rosemary
1 tsp of dried thyme
1 tsp of dried basil
1-2 eggs, beaten
Salt and pepper


Mix the dried herbs, cornmeal and the breadcrumbs, and proceed setting up your dredging station. Prepare three large bowls: one for the beaten egg(s) - quantity depends on how many croquettes you obtain from your leftovers; one with the flour, and one for the flavored breadcrumbs.

Take the leftover brandade out of the fridge and immediately shape into 5-cm (2-inch) bullets or quenelles. Roll them in the flour, quickly dip in the beaten egg, and lastly in the breadcrumbs to coat well. This procedure assures a golden, flavorsome crust and a soft, pillowy filling.

Work quickly with cold ingredients in order to produce a firm, crispier croquette, and fry in small batches – not more than 2-3 at a time – in plenty of hot vegetable oil until uniformly golden (about 3-4 minutes).

Blot on paper towel and serve immediately with aïoli or plain mayonnaise for dipping, if you like. As with all things fried, and in this case fish-based, I would suggest pairing this dish with a sparkling white, like Franciacorta.

Buon appetito!

Lardo di Colonnata | Pork fat nirvana

Belonging to the municipality of Carrara, considered the world's white marble capital, and the place where Michelangelo used to shop the raw material for his sculptures, Colonnata is a small village perched on a ridge between two marble quarries in the Tuscan Apennine Apuane Mountains, which is mostly known for another kind of white marbling, the one in the lardo.

Lardo di Colonnata © Massimo Zivieri

This smooth and delicious cured meat should not be mistaken with lard. What in the English-speaking world is commonly referred to as 'lard', is a rendered white paste that's used for cooking as a shortening, and named strutto in Italian, and sugna in the south of the peninsula.

Some folks are still nervous when it comes to eating fat. I personally am more suspicious of whoever rips the white part off prosciutto, but that's me. Lardo di Colonnata is a delicious cured "affettato" that should not be eaten with distraction. Each morsel of silken pork fat is a precious, melt-in-your-mouth, mystic experience, and the complexity of its flavor should be savored religiously.

Until recent times, lardo in northern Tuscany was considered a poor-man's meal, that cavatori –– the marble quarrymen of the area –– would stuff it in crusty homestyle bread sandwiches, along with sliced onions and tomatoes. This humble panino was prepared early in the morning before the men went off to carve statue staple out of the Apennines at 6200-ft altitude, a snack that had to last them all day. The calorie content, along with the vegetables and a nice flask of local wine, assured the necessary sustenance in the long and strenuous shifts at the quarries. In time lardo has become an exquisite gourmet item, and a highly sought foodie must.

Lardo di Colonnata is a beautiful white –– or sometimes pinkish –– slab of thick pork fatback, which is cured with a mixture of salt, spices, herbs and minced garlic. In the curing process the salt extracts moisture from the fat, creating a brine that preserves it from air and bacteria, and flavors the tissue. 

Alpi Apuane © Lucarelli

According to a local legend, Michelangelo could have never managed to extract his own marble or even sculpt his statues, were it not for the local lardo, of which he had grown very fond of during his stay in the Apuane.

Marble conca © lardodicolonnata.net

The procedure to make lardo dates back to Ancient Roman antiquity, and the secret has been handed down through generations. The seasoning magic happens in vats of various sizes called conche, carved out of marble blocks commonly stored in caves, or in underground cellars. The concas are initially rubbed with garlic, and the bottom scattered with sea salt, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, sage, bay leaves, rosemary and more garlic. The trimmed fatbacks are placed in the conche and layered with more salt, herbs and spices, and so on; and closed under a wooden covering for about a week. Then the concas are flooded with a salt-water brine, sealed with a marble lid, and the lardo is aged in the brine up to 6 - 10 months. The natural humidity of the caves, and the porous surface of the marble basins create a perfect habitat for the lardo's maturing process. Chemical and bacteriological tests on the lardo have determined that the ancient curing method is extraordinarily efficient and safe, and the pork doesn't require any chemical treatment, nor preservatives.

Image @ culinarytypes

Thin slivers of lardo arranged casually on warmed slices of bread... see it melt slightly, before tasting the life-changing goodness. Perfection.

A glass of wine, a view, some pig fat on bread. Life is good.

Some like to wrap thin slices of lardo around filet mignon, go overboard with foie gras pairings, or prefer it employed in novel seafood recipes. Tuscans use the leftover lardo rind as a flavor booster in hearty soups and minestrones.

On one of my regular shopping spree trips to Colonnata, I learned a wonderful new way of enjoying lardo. Here is the recipe that –– besides the star ingredient –– also employs leftover polenta, and lightly seared radicchio.

radicchio tardivo

Ingredients:
Leftover polenta, cut in thin slices
1 head of radicchio tardivo, ribs separated
Lardo di Colonnata
Olive oil
Salt

Film a skillet with olive oil and lightly wilt the radiccio ribs.
Place the polenta slices on a greased oven pan, or on the grill, and toast 5 minutes on each side.
Dress the toasted polenta crisps still hot from the oven, with a generous amount of thinly sliced lardo. It will go translucent and melt beautifully.
Top with the grilled radicchio, uncork the vino rosso, and relinquish all inhibition.

To learn more about Lardo di Colonnata visit lardodicolonnata.net

You can also read an interesting article on Lardo di Colonnata: Protecting traditional foods from EEU regulators

Canederli recipe

Imagine lying on a flowery Alpine meadow while inhaling the resinous scent of mountain pine, and enjoying the salubrious effect of a chalice of local wine. This is a typical relaxation treatment in one of many wellness centers scattered in the mystical Alto Adige territory, and where for an entire summer week I took some time off to embrace the power of the mountains and nature.

In seven days of pure bliss my tense body was wrapped in damp hay, massaged from head to toe with balsamic ointments, emulsions made from freshly pressed apple juice and wrapped in cotton sheets soaked in salt and apple vinegar. An entire week of bathing in mountain pine waters and lazy soaking in tubs of whey sourced from the farmstead just around the corner. The renovation phase was finally topped with a "Vinotherapy" wine bath. This local – and now very popular – pamper supreme begins with an initial body scrub using crushed grape skins, followed by a brief nap wrapped in a crisp linen sheet, followed by a hot bath, a glass of red wine and a massage with grape-seed oil. Not to mention the food that comes with it all.

I'm a lover of all soups, whatever the season, and in the seven days of spa heaven, I OD'd on Knödel, or Canederli. These scrumptious dumplings made with leftover bread, are tremendously similar to Jewish matzah balls, likewise cooked and served in stock, and consumed preferably in front of a blazing fireplace.

200 g (1 cup) stale bread
1 egg
20 g (2 tbsp) butter
80 g (5 tbsp) speck, diced (Optional)
1 small white onion
1 tbsp chives
50 g (1/4 cup) unbleached flour
100 ml (3 fl oz) boiling hot milk
1 sprig fresh marjoram
1 pinch of nutmeg
Salt and pepper

Prepare good meat stock, important for best results. No bouillon cube this time, sorry.

Dice the bread and soak it in the boiling hot milk, allowing the crumb to absorb milk for 2 hours. It should bloat but still remain sufficiently pliable, not completely melt.

Finely chop the speck (if you're using it), onion and cut the chives and marjoram.

Wilt the onion in some butter, simmering it gently for a few minutes. Let it cool.

Mash the pulpy bread with the tines of a fork or in a food mill. Add the onions, flour, the chopped speck, part of the chives and marjoram, and the egg. Season with salt, pepper and nutmeg, and knead well with your wet hands, shaping the mixture into several dumplings the size of golf balls, and set aside.

In a large pot, heat the skimmed meat stock with the remaining chives and marjoram. Toss in the canederli and cook for 6-7 minutes. Serve 4-5 balls in each individual deep soup bowl, swimming in the steaming clear broth.

Pair with a stuctured red.

At the above-mentioned spa in Val di Non where I was pampered for that divine week of nourishing treatments, the chef (who happened to be the chief masseuse’s husband) made his knödel as one single fist-sized orb instead of the usual several per bowl.

Bruschetta recipe

The first thing to know before making this genius antipasto staple and its creative variations is how to pronounce its name correctly.

Not 'brushetta,' please. That's mortifying. It's bru–SKET–tah. An onomatopoeic homage to the sharp sound made when digging your teeth in the crisp charcoal baked sourdough bread, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with sea salt. Sk! Sk! Think skyscraper! Basket! Skipper! Helter Skelter! Brusketta! Yeah, that's it.

In Tuscany, bruschetta is more commonly called fettunta, a contraction of two words (fetta unta) meaning oiled slice. When olives are taken to the local frantoio mill for pressing in late November, the growers typically take some country casereccio bread with them. There is usually a small fireplace burning in the corner of the pressing room, and when the fragrant liquid gold emerges from the press spout, the grower toasts a bit of the bread on the fire to sample the oil.

The meaning of the noun bruschetta has changed so that now some use the word bruschetta incorrectly to refer to the topping instead of the dish. Many grocery store chains worldwide sell bottled bruschetta, which is simply a mix of tomatoes, onion, garlic and oregano, usually cooked!

For original "red" bruschetta, only fresh tomatoes are used and never a sauce. And allow me to say this one more time, we Italians limit the use of oregano to few special dishes: common pizza toppings, Costata alla Pizzaiola and very few other applications. Any other use is a distortion of Italian flavor and a cliché.

All this said, here's my way of making delicious messy slabs of heaven.

For authentic bruschetta you will need:

Good, thick-crust preferably wood oven-baked bread: whole wheat, sourdough (with its typical chip structure and characteristic aroma) or delicious home-style pane casareccio bread. Bruschetta is a good way of recycling day old, or stale bread too.
Organic, cold pressed, extra virgin olive oil. The finest quality is key, particularly for this dish.
Numerous cloves of garlic, peeled
Sea or Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Optional:
Cherry tomatoes, chopped
Fresh basil leaves, hand-torn (cutting with a metal blade alters the flavor)

The term bruschetta comes from the word bruscare, which means to toast on the fire. So this is a procedure to be carried out on any red-hot surface, be it a barbecue grill, a wood burning oven or fireplace. Pop in a tosater if all else fails. The important thing is the degree of crunch.

While you wait for the coals or logs to reach meat-cooking temperature, place bread slices (max 1 inch thick) on the grill and keep a close watch. Turn with a pair of tongs and remove when lightly charred on the surface.

On a large serving platter place the hot slices and begin rubbing with the peeled garlic cloves to flavor the bread. The more vigorous the scrub, the more intense the taste will be.

Drizzle with abundant olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.

You can dress with chopped tomatoes and basil, or any other interesting variation you may wish to invent. I personally love bruschetta plain, but in the summer when I have guest over for a barbecue, I always like to present them with a variety of choices. Some favorite sample bruschettas include: slices of Prosciutto and a thin wafer slices of mild Nero di Pienza Pecorino cheese, sundried tomatoes and Gaeta olives, veggie spreads like olive or artichoke paste or a dollop of pesto sauce mixed with cream cheese. A very successful coastal bruschetta topping is a spoonful of shelled wedge clams stewed in garlic and olive oil, sprinkled with (very little) parsley.

Panzanella recipe

Panzanella is a fantastic (and easy) summer dish made with bread, it's a Tuscan traditional summer dish and is a great example of how Italians make good use of leftovers. I have posted several recipes that employ leftover foods: Frico, Meatballs, Riso al salto and Torta di Pane.

It's hard to catalog this traditional cucina povera preparation. For as much as the main ingredient is bread, it is not a soup, and not a salad either, even if it contains abundant veggies. It is difficult to place panzanella in the 'antipasto-primo-secondo' Italian meal articulation. Here I have classified it as an antipasto; and considering the amount of carbs, it is best paired with meats or fish and not served before a pasta dish or a Tuscan soup, many of which usually employ the use of bread or pasta in their preparations. Here's what you need for your summery panzanella:

10 slices of stale bread, or rusks, the best is pane casareccio*
6 mature heirloom tomatoes, finely chopped
1 small white onion, sliced
1 small red onion, sliced
1 cucumber, sliced
Fresh basil leaves, hand torn into shreds, the more the better
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus more as the bread absorbs the condiment
1 tbsp white wine vinegar (not balsamic)
Salt and pepper 

If you're not so keen on the onion front, reduce quantities or omit the white onion altogether, granted you at least employ the more delicate red variety.

Soften the bread in water for 10 minutes while you pour some Vernaccia di San Gimignano dry white in a jug and set it in the fridge to chill.

Wring away water from the bread and crumble it coarsely with your hands in a salad bowl. Add sliced onions, chopped tomato, sliced cucumber and basil. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and drizzle with vinegar and abundant olive oil. Toss with your hands and add a little more oil to the mix.

Refrigerate 2-3 hrs before serving along with the jugful of wine.

*Note: The best leftover bread to use for this recipe is the typically Tuscan unsalted kind, but not all ovens carry it, so any healthy, home style whole-wheat kind will do.

Image © cookaround.com

Buon appetito!

Torta di Pane recipe

Recovering leftover foods has been the leitmotif of the recipes described in this post here, this one here, and this recent one here. It has become somewhat of an obsession. In these financially shaky times, recycling food is among the few viable options for frugality and palatable thrift.

Torta di Pane, or Bread Pie is a dessert I make when I have too much leftover bread and I've already recycled half of it making homemade breadcrumbs (which I flavor with different spices according to need. I will talk more about that in a future post). For your own fragrant Torta di Pane here's what's required:

500 g (1.1 lb) leftover bread
500 ml (2 1/2 cups) whole milk
4 eggs, beaten
200 g (1 cup) brown sugar or sugar substitute (quantity may vary according to taste)
1 cinnamon stick
1 shot glass of cognac
optional:
1 tbsp raisins, soaked
1 tbsp pine nuts, lightly toasted

Preheat oven at 180° C (356° F).

Boil the milk with the bread and cinnamon until fluffy, stirring well with a wooden spoon (this mix tends to stick). Remove the cinnamon and whisk in the sugar, raisins, pine nuts or almonds, candied fruits, chocolate chips... whatever tickles your fancy. Stir in the cognac and remove from the stove. Set aside to cool, and then fold in the eggs.

Transfer the mixture to a buttered bread-pan and bake for 15 minutes or until when poked, the toothpick or raw spaghetti strand comes out clean. Serve sliced along with an energizing shot of espresso or dunked in a bowl of caffellatte for breakfast.

Frico, soft and brittle - recipe

There are many dishes that most Italians have never heard of, and frico certainly falls into this category. Frico is a traditional recipe hailing from the lovely region of Fruli-Venezia Gulia. It is made with a local creamery cheese called Montasio, crumbled or grated into a flat cooked disk.

Frico's Carnic origin of the Northern alpine part of the region is usually presented in two versions: soft, and brittle. Both are served either as antipasto or an entrée. Although recent history sees frico as a dish eaten during holiday season, its original preparation was intended in utilizing leftover cheese scraps. In a previous post, I mentioned the importance of recycling leftover foods. Cheese hardly remains uneaten in my home, but when it does, frico's the answer.

Soft frico is made with younger Montasio added to onions, potatoes oil and seasoned with salt, blended into a kind of omelet sometimes added with leeks and a juniper-flavored ham called speck.

My Udine drinking buddies passed on this potato-less version, but ask me to mention it nevertheless. Boiled and cubed potatoes are added to the blend.

400 g (2 cups/14oz) Montasio, medium age (4-5 months)
Note: for this particular version of frico, Montasio can be substituted with any mature semi-soft chesse, like Munster or Emmenthal
1 white onion
30 g (1 oz) butter
Salt and pepper to taste

Shred the cheese. Finely chop the onion and sauté it in butter in a medium skillet over mild heat. Before the onion begins to tan, quickly add the diced cheese, sprinkling it evenly in the pan. Raise the heat a little bit and continue cooking, constantly stirring in the same direction with a wooden spoon, carefully making sure the cheese doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan. Season with very little salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper. Cook for a few more minutes, drain away any excess oil the cooking may have rendered, and when the frico has become a gooey golden frittata, you can dive in.

Brittle frico is instead very thin and is made only with mature grated cheese.

It is very easily pliable, therefore I like to shape this second type of frico into baskets, and fill them with polenta, stewed mushrooms, sauteed zucchini or creamy risotto. It's a very easy technique and very fancy-looking. So if you want to impress your dinner guests with a chef-like presentation, read on.

To make a cestino, Italian for basket, you'll need a pristine non-stick frying pan about 20-25 cm (9 inches) in diameter, a pair of Teflon tongs or a fork that won't scratch the frying pan, and a cup, glass or bowl to drape the cheese over. If the pan is in good condition, you won't need shortening to keep the cheese from sticking.

Which cheese for this frico, you say? If you can't get your hands on 1 1/2 cups of grated 18-month aged Montasio, Parmigiano or Grana Padano can be a good substitute, but any firm grating cheese will work, including aged Pecorino Sardo or Toscano, or Pecorino Romano (what's known simply as Romano in the U.S.).

What's important is that the cheese not be overly moist, or filante - that is a cheese that strings out in ribbons when heated, like for example Mozzarella, Jack, or Fontina.

I'm told even grateable goat's milk cheeses can work well because of their fat content. When dealing with cheese, we have to remind ourselves to ban all thoughts of diet and such similar tortures. So when I call a cheese fat, I am actually paying it a compliment.

In making your baskets, you can add flavorings to the cheese, provided they not be too moist: so, poppy seeds, or red pepper flakes, or even finely minced dry basil.

Heat the non-stick pan over medium heat for 2-3 minutes. It should be hot but not searing. Sprinkle the cheese evenly over the pan. By the time you have finished sprinkling the cheese, it will begin to melt, especially around the edges. Let the cheese continue to melt and begin to bubble.


When the edges brown, use a fork or tongs to separate the cheese a little from the sides of the pan. Another few seconds, and the cheese in the middle of the pan will begin to tan. You don't want it to brown, but simply color a little.

At this point, tip the skillet to let the cheese slide out - it will look like a disc - and drape it, browned side up, over a bowl or glass.


The sheet will set in about 15 seconds, at which point you can lift it off the glass.

The first basket's done, now you can go on to making the next... and the next... and the next...

Polpette – Meatball recipe

We live in a time where nearly one third of the food the Western world purchases on a weekly basis, is discarded without ever nearing the plate. 

Mounds of costly industrially washed and packaged salad are thrown away by the ton. Loaves of bread harden to rocky, unyielding firmness, forgotten in brown paper bags. Not to mention the precious pesticide-free produce bought at organic farmer’s markets: chucked away, blemished and unused. Gallons of milk go sour on a global scale in bachelor refrigerators worldwide. 

The waste factor is disconcerting. When carelessly over-shopping for our meals, we are sometimes oblivious of the fact that there are countries where staple foods and water are luxury items.

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio

Still Life with a Basket of Fruit, 1601

When I was living alone in my tiny studio apartment before my son was born, I used to recklessly buy fruit by the crate. Oranges, bananas, apples, grapes, plums, kiwi, papaya, mangoes and pineapples; I would gracefully assemble them in large colorful bowls, and watch them rot. In this age of waste and wicked dietary consumerism, wisdom and wallet prescribe we make an approach towards growing our own produce, forage what Nature provides locally and start recycling leftover foods.

Meatballs are the preeminent meat recycle. Whatever meat is left over can work for polpette, even fish! So yesterday’s roast, leftover beef stew, half a chicken, pork chops, veal cutlets…anything goes. I mince different kinds of meat together, cooked and/or raw, throwing in a few slices of salumi too, to add flavor. This recipe is calculated for an average leftover amount of meat equal to 400 gr (2 cups, or 14 oz). But you can obviously tweak the proportions to your own taste. 

400 g (14 oz) ground meat
1 slice of rustic bread, crust removed
1 glass of whole milk
2 eggs
50 g (1/4 cup) Parmigiano, grated
100 g (1/2 cup) mortadella
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 fresh basil leaves
Breadcrumbs
Salt and pepper

Soak the bread in the milk. Mince the meats in the blender or a food chopper with the eggs, the Parmigiano, garlic, mortadella and the basil, seasoning with salt and freshly milled pepper to taste.

Wring the excess milk out of the bread and add it to the mixture. This is my favorite part: Ravel's Bolero is playing in the background as you transfer the meat mix into a large bowl and begin kneading with your hands, adding all the love and sensual feelings possibly imaginable. Blow kisses and smile as you do this, it adds character to your food. And it turns meatballs into an alluring seductive dish. Shape the polpette into billiard ball-size orbs and coat with breadcrumbs, and flatten them slightly into patties.

While sipping on a chilled glass of lager, heat a good amount of vegetable oil in a large pan and fry the meatballs for 5 minutes, constantly turning to avoid uneven cooking. Cool them on a paper towel and season with more salt if necessary.

Serve with sautéed peas, lavish amounts of mashed potatoes, crusty bread on the side, and wearing nothing but your apron and chef's hat.

Image © misya.info

Buon Appetito!

Riso al Salto recipe

Here's my favorite suggestion for using leftovers of whatever wonderful risotto you'll have made. The dish is called riso al salto (where 'salto' means jump, a reference that will become clear soon). It is a family legacy dish of which I am very fond. Comfort food to the nth degree.

When I prepare risotto I usually make what I consider enough for however many people I am planning to feed, but it usually happens that I have more than a portion left, which the day after I use to make riso al salto. Add an egg for each cup of risotto and mix to incorporate well.
Generously grease a non-stick frying pan. I use butter, but you can use olive oil. Add the risotto, spread it and pat it down with a fork to form a patty. Let it warm up on low heat until a crisp golden crust forms on the bottom surface, then flip it and land it on the other side. That's the salto I was talking about.

Of course I meant that metaphorically. The idea is that you need to upturn the patty. This is not too difficult if you start with a small portion of risotto to begin with. A wide spatula may be enough to hold the risotto, then it is a matter of fearlessness and a steady hand. Alternatively, you can place a large enough lipless lid over the riso and upend the pan so that the bottom surface comes out on top and then you can slide the uncripsed side of the riso patty back in the pan.

Whatever the chosen method for the salto, let the uncooked side (now at the bottom) become golden as well, and then transfer to a warmed plate. Dust with grated Parmigiano and serve hot alongside a fresh mesculun salad.

Buon appetito.