Aroma Cucina

Tomato Swan Song with Breadcrumbs

This is my end-of-the-season swan song to the tomatoes in our orto. As the vines wither at the bottom, there are yellow blossoms still sprouting at the top, and green fruit just hanging on in the middle.  We spent the cold, wet spring together, you endured hail and high winds, while we worried and tried to protect you. You blossomed in the July heat and produced massive amounts of fruit in August. And now, you are closing down for the winter.
I’ve canned about 70 liters of sauce, with chili peppers, without peppers, oven roasted, sometimes barely cooked, sometimes reduced to a thick paste just because I was out of jars and room. But, now I have 70 liters of this summer  stored away.

I’ve had a LOT of time to think about tomatoes, and I realized I was not paying attention.     Tomatoes love bread, and bread loves them back. They were meant to be together. Take a look:

Tomato Sandwich with mayo

Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese

Pan con tomat

Pappa al Pomodoro

Panzanella

and the mac daddy of them all: Pizza

Here we are coming to the end of tomato season in the northern hemisphere, and I’m just figuring this out? Silly me. 

Here’s three delicious ways to savor your last few delicious juicy sun-ripe tomatoes. Or to our Aussie friends, three things to look forward to!

Pan con tomat

Pan con tomat is something we ran into in Barcelona.
It’s on every menu, shows up at every meal from breakfast to late night tapas, and is found in every conceivable variation. And with good reason.

The basic combo is toasted or grilled bread that has been rubbed with a fresh tomato so the juices soak in, the tomato flesh fuses with the bread, add a drizzle of olive and a sprinkle of salt to bring it all together. The bread can be anything from a lowly store bought baguette to a delicious spelt-based bread with a crackling crust. It’s completely addictive and you come to expect it at every meal as a god-given Catalan experience.
Serve it with a plate of sliced salumi, a fresh green salad, or your eggs in the morning.

Pappa al Pomodoro

Pappa al Pomodoro is a tomato and bread concoction that is neither a soup nor a side dish.  It’s a combination of cooked peeled tomatoes and bread cubes or crumbs that are blended together and served as an appetizer. Simple, homey and delicious. A fancy variation is to take a small scoop of pappa al pomodoro, wrap it in caul fat and roast it in the oven.

Basic Pappa al Pomodoro
Garlic,
Chili Pepper
Peeled tomatoes (fresh or canned)
Torn leaves of fresh basil
extra virgin olive oil
stale bread (preferably the salt less variety found in central Italy)

Add a bit of olive oil to a saucepan and gently warm it. Add the tomatoes and a bit of finely chopped garlic. Let the tomatoes come to a simmer and add a handful of bread crumbs or toasted cubes to the mixture. Mix in the torn basil leaves. You want a thick, stand up to the spoon texture, thick enough that you can mold it into a shape.
Serve with another drizzle of olive oil.

Panzanella

Panzanella is a salad made with bread. Now, that is probably the only way to put it that you won’t start an argument; there are as many variations on panzanella as there are stars in the sky.

Sometimes the bread is cut into toasted cubes and tossed with fresh tomatoes, sometimes the bread is so finely crumbled that it resembles cous cous.  In Montone, it’s frequently doused in tomato sauce so it resembles..you guessed it....cold papa al pomodoro.

Basic Panzanella
Stale bread (again, the Umbrian rock hard, salt free bread works best)
Olive oil
Salt, Pepper
Fresh Tomatoes

Enhancements (this means anything else you want to throw into the salad)
Onion, carrots, celery, zucchini, basil, parsley, chives, cucumber, pickles, olives, and if you must, canned corn or cocktail sausages

Personally, I find canned corn and chopped up cocktail sausages (or wurstel as it called in Italy) a crime against humanity, but they do turn up regularly in homemade panzanella. Then again, I won’t order pineapple or french fries to go on top of my pizza. Call me a Purist Princess.

If you are using saltless bread: soak the bread in plain water for a few minutes until it is soft and crumbly. Extract as much water as possible from the bread by pressing the bread with a wooden spoon against the side of a colander, or by placing the soggy bread in a ball on a piece of cheese cloth and twisting the cloth to force the water out.


Chop your enhancements and combine with the bread, add olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper to taste.

Happy end of the tomato season! I’m already feeling nostalgic and looking forward to next summer’s crop.

Fish, Flowers & the Art of Frying

Fried fish tastes goooood.
Fried flowers taste goooood.
Hey, sewer rat may taste good, but I wouldn’t know ‘cause I wouldn’t eat fried food.*

I know fried food has a bad rap, but it tastes so good. Would it be alright in moderation? Would it be alright when there are sparkling fresh little tiny fishes in the market and the zucchini flowers are prepubescently perfect?

Surely ,if god didn’t want us to eat some fried food now and then he never would have invented oil.

So, with complete joy, and not a shred of guilt, I’ll tell you our lunch story.

We buy fish on Wednesday because that’s when the fish man cometh to Umbertide.
We’re sandwiched between two seas: the Adriatic and the Mediterranean, both a mere 2 hour drive,  and we only get fresh fish on Wednesdays. After 10 or 11 years of living here, you accept this as the way it should be.
We’ve been going to the same fish stall for 10 or 11 years, but in the past year, the owners seem to have passed the stall onto the next generation: a young woman and The White Boy.
The White Boy used to work in the butcher section of the EuroSpin grocery store. He got his name because he looked as if he spent most of his life living in very dark places where the sun did not shine. I fantasized he was in a rock band, or was a suave vampiro, but he also seem to spend an awful lot of time collecting enormous, vivid hickies, so its hard to say what he did to earn his pallor and love bites.

Well, lo and behold, The White Boy is now working at the fish stall and he’s turned into a royal pain of a hustler.
Me: “I’d like that orata.”  My orata is 12 euro a kg.
White Boy: “But you would like this orata so much more.”  White Boy’s orata is 25 euros a kg.
Me: “No. I want this orata.”
This goes on for another 2 or 3 minutes and we settle on the 18 euro a kg size orata.

Every week we have to go through an exchange like this. Yesterday it was how many sole I wanted to buy. I wanted two, I got three. And a handful of little whitebait fishies.

The zucchini flowers come from a new, young girl at the market, her stall is in the corner by the wacky Sicilians. She’s more expensive, but has beautiful quality vegetables. And she doesn’t try to hustle you. Win-win in my book.

The wacky Sicilians deserve a blog post all of their own. They’re something like a cross between the Marx Brothers and the crew from O’ Brother Where Art Thou. Yeah, I know, confuses me every time I buy vegetables from them.

By the time we get home from the market, it’s blinding hot and lunch time. Why! It’s a perfect time to start heating up bubbling oil!
OK. There is a downside to frying food: hot bubbling oil. For one thing, it’s costly. It’s also really hot, tends to splatter, and involves clean up. Right there we have found the incentive to not fry food on a regular basis, but only as a special treat. God does work in mysterious ways to keep us on the path to good health.

Properly frying food so that it is shatteringly crisp, not greasy and properly salted, is an art. It’s part dance as you glide from bowl to pot to strainer to plate; you need to move smoothly, gently...think ballet, not the twist. You need to be alert to the sound as the oil bubbles, the smell that tells you its time to turn the fish or the flower. (It’s a subtle light brown smell; you feel the first tingling of a burn odor that registers at the very back of your palate.)

As much as timing matters, so does fry sequence. The most delicate flavor goes in first, the strongest goes in last.

The oil also matters. I use a canola-sunflower mix for the flowers and the whitebait. The sole gets extra virgin olive oil.


The coating certainly matters.
You need to make the batter by feel, not by quantity of ingredients.
First step: whip an egg white into stiff peaks. If the egg is at room temperature, it will whip up very quickly.
In a small bowl, add some flour. Slowly, bit by bit, add some cold water. Whisk the mixture, dissolving all the lumps , until you have the smooth consistency of thick yogurt or sour cream. Very gently fold in the egg white and a tiny pinch of salt.

Flowers first. Wash the flowers and lightly coat with the batter.

In a deep, wide pan, heat the oil to 350F/180C. I use a thermometer. I’ve done this a thousand times and could probably tell the heat by holding my hand over the oil, but hell, I’ve got a nifty ray gun thermometer** and that’s far more fun and more accurate.

Shaking off the excess batter, slide the flowers into the hot oil. Turn the flowers gently when you see the beginnings of brownage.  When you have a good crispy coating, but still pale blonde, remove the flowers, holding them upside down so any oil or steam will drain out of the flower and place them in a wire strainer.
Now, here is a fry tip that will change your life: don’t place the fried food directly on paper towels to soak up the grease. Instead use a wire strainer, with some paper towels below the strainer to soak up the mess. You get a much better drain all around the fried food, instead of just the part that’s touching the paper towel getting all soggy.

Saute the sole. Heat a very small amount of olive oil. Lightly coat the sole with flour and a pinch of salt. Over medium heat, saute the sole until the fins are crispy. Gently turn the sole and cook on the other side.

While you are doing this, crank the heat on the flower oil to about 375F/190C. Quickly, and gently return the flowers to the oil. This is the secret of the double fry that produces a shatteringly crisp crunch. This is a fast process: 15 seconds per side and back into the strainer. Lightly salt the flowers and if you are in the mood, sprinkle a little chile powder on them..they love to get dressed up in a little spice.

By now the sole and the flowers are done. Arrange them on a warm plate.

Coat the whitebait in the remaining batter and as much as it is possible, shake off the excess batter and add the fishies to the hot oil individually. It’s not easy because they are slippery little buggers that want to clump together, but try your best. 15 or 20 seconds per side and they are done. Drain in the strainer, add a bit of salt, give them a shake to distribute the salt and add them to the platter.


Sprinkle the platter with finely chopped parsley and zested lemon peel. Serve with wedges of lemon and a good, cold, crisp white wine.


Now, buon apetito..with no guilt, because you sure as hell are not doing this every day!

*Apologies to Jules & Vincent, of Pulp Fiction fame
** It’s not really a ray gun, this is a digital thermometer that you can buy at any scientific appliance outlet. Also makes an exceptionally entertaining cat toy, and you can check the surface temperature of just about anything..the floor, the inner ear of your husband....really, it’s a wonderful gadget.

A Bowl of Soup You Can't Have

This bowl of soup is why people get on a plane and travel. It can only be served in one place on earth and it tastes of that unique place and time.

You can’t make this soup at home. You can make a variation, but never this soup. In fact, this soup only exists for one day, one batch at a time.

It's a bowl of spring foraged green soup found in the mountainous area around San Piero in Bagno in Emilia Romagna. Yes, we had it at the famed Locanda al Gambero Rosso.

We would go there far more often if the road wasn't in such disatrous shape! I know it was a hard winter in the mountains, but..really??? We need to rent a Land Cruiser if we want to go back any time soon.

Moreno reminded us why we endured the dreaded E45 highway, as he showed us what was in the hills on Saturday morning. He had us taste a surprisingly lemony sprig of oxalis, a member of the wood sorrel family.   He explained that he finds the flavor of lemons too strong, and prefers the gentle lemon of oxalis. It’s all about how you are raised, isn’t it?

I won’t even mention the tiny wild asparagus that we devoured. It’s the season for wild asparagus in central Italy, and there’s a certain pine forest outside of Ravenna that is famous for wild asparagus. If I mention this, you’ll get jealous and that wouldn’t be nice, would it?
We’re planting our orto, our vegetable garden, and I’m looking forward to tasting what will come out of our garden. You and I may plant the same San Marzano tomato plants, but yours may get more water, our soil may have different nutrients; they won’t taste the same. And that’s what makes both of our tomato plants so precious, so unique.
By the time we eat those tomatoes, we will have shared hot days, cool nights, too much or not enough rain.

“Eat local” is more that a slogan, it means you and your garden have shared a season together. It means you are getting closer to being in tune with your world, and that seems like a fine goal for a springtime Monday morning.

Enjoy the view, Montone in the distance, surrounded by Umbrian spring green.  I got all misty eyed excited looking at all the gorgeous shades of green. Clearly I need to get out more often.

Breaking News about Fruits & Vegetables: Is being healthy good enough?

 News Flash: Until fruits and vegetables taste good, and are affordable people won’t eat them.

 As soon as we land in Italy, we start eating more vegetables. 

The spring vegetables are in: tender purple artichokes, crisp peas, snappy fave beans, are mounded high in the market. A shopping bag full of freshly foraged greens is 3 euro.

 It’s not an effort, or a chore to eat more vegetables. It’s more about making difficult decisions: fennel or asparagus tonight?  They are as interesting as any piece of meat on the plate.

We sat with some American friends the other night and wondered why shopping at a NYC or Portland green market was so expensive. Why shopping at the green market was something you saved for special dinners.

 Italian markets are reasonably priced. How come? I’ve asked this question many times, in different places, and never gotten an answer that solved the riddle.

We went to a Food Policy talk in New York, and were told that the Greenmarket was no more expensive than any grocery store. In my experience, that’s simply not true.

Granted, the Union Sq Market in NYC, sells precious micro greens by the ounce, and I’m buying foraged greens by the bagful.  Then again, the Italian produce sellers are notorious for having a heavy thumb on the scale, so maybe that’s how they make up the difference.

Have you noticed? Food deserts have been in the news. Food deserts are neighborhoods where you don’t have decent grocery stores. Then the news comes out that food deserts aren’t the problem. Even when there are vegetables for sale, people aren’t buying them.

Preaching about the health benefits of fruits and vegetables works for some people, but desire is a far more powerful motivator.

How do we create the desire in people to eat more vegetables?  How do we make vegetables sexy and in demand? Who does PR for the artichoke? Who speaks for the carrot?  And silly, childish, cartoon vegetables are not the answer. And neither are shrill spokespeople who intone the wisdom of plant eating from a pillar of self-congratulation.

 Do you think if seasonality was reintroduced to our lifestyle, and we learned to long for the first peas of the season, that it would make a difference?  If peas (and men)  were bred for sweetness and tenderness, would they create a yearning; instead of peas that were bred for longevity and shipping, and who are more like a dependable but unexciting husband?  

 I think the moral of the story is: if the asparagus tastes good, we will eat it. I’m not sure what the moral of the story is regarding tender v. dependable husbands, I’ll let you work that out for yourself.

 

 

THE Perfect Lunch

It’s one dish you shouldn’t mess with. No foams, no vacuum sealed marination with lovage shoots.  It’s not improved by a precision presentation, because then it looks like you are aiming for distraction, instead of palate satisfaction. It’s simple and it should remain simple.
Yes, it’s time for my annual ode to prosciutto and melon.

 You do need a ripe, sweet, soft, succulent, sexy melon.  Accept no substitute. Do not lower your standards.

You do need good prosciutto. Preferably hand  carved moments before eating. There are different styles of prosciutto. San Daniele is silky smooth, soft and delicate. Iberico from Spain is also elegant and yielding. Umbrian prosciutto is more rustic, harder, saltier, chewier and I like it like that.

Recipe:
*Only attempt this recipe on a sunny summer day. It’s a known fact that melons taste sweeter on hot sunny days.

*Train someone in your household to be the prosciutto slicer. This could take months or years to perfect, but the learning curve is quite delicious.

*Have a trusted melon source. There’s a lady in the Umbertide market who has consistently had amazing melons this year and I”m not telling you who she is. If our garden produces good melons, I may tell you about it or I may keep it a secret, depends on how many melons we get.

*Slice the melon.

*Slice the prosciutto

*Combine on a plate.

*Now eat THE Perfect Lunch. Do not attempt any deviation from this recipe or you risk missing out on perfection.
Buon appetito!

Kitchen Wizard's Secret Weapon for Divine Dinners

What is the emergency, go-to, secret weapon that I try to keep in my fridge at all times? And it’s not ketchup, although mustard takes second place. First place goes to:....Veal Stock!

If Merlin the Magician waved his wand in your kitchen, he would give you this Secret Weapon.  It’s the painter’s white canvas, it’s the keyboard to your computer, it’s  butter on your toast, the magic in your saute pan.

Michael Ruhlman compares it to turbo charging your Mitsubishi... your kitchen is now faster and more fuel efficient.

It’s a flavor bump, adding depth and intensity to a sauce. It’s the umami bridge that literally blends the components of your dish together.

There is a toll to be paid in order to enjoy all this fast freedom: you need to make some veal stock.
I hear you.. where can I find veal bones? At your butcher, you should be patronizing a butcher anyway.

They’re expensive compared to chicken bones. Correct! But, you’ll get extensive use from the bones, it’s worth the $$.
It takes hours to make it. Correct again, but it’s not like your standing next to the oven, frozen in time, while the bones are roasting. Stop whining.

The How-To of Making Reduced Veal Stock Kitchen Magic:
4-5 lb veal bones
1 large carrot
1 large onion
3-4 ribs of celery
Peppercorns,  salt, vegetable oil, herbs(rosemary, thyme, sage)
1/2 can canned tomatoes
4-5 good sized glugs of white wine, enough to cover the bottom of the roasting pan

In a large roasting pan, lay out the bones and lightly salt and pepper them. Roast the bones for about 1 hour at 350F/180C. Remove from the oven when they are toasty brown and the smell is intoxicating.

Meanwhile, roughly chop the peeled carrot, celery and onion. Add a little vegetable oil to the bottom of a large stock pot and add the chopped vegetables, another sprinkle of salt, a small palmful of peppercorns, and a bit of rosemary and thyme.
Saute until the vegetables are a  little burned, this caramelization adds color and flavor to the broth.
Add the roasted meat bones to the stock pot.
Using white wine, deglaze the veal bone roasting  pan, dissolving all the tasty browny bits and add the wine and meat juices to the stock pot.
Add enough cold water to the stock pot that you cover the bones.
Lightly simmer for about 2 hours. That means little bubbles gently swimming to the top of the pot. Skim off any of that icky foam.
After two hours,  first remove and discard the bones. Then strain the stock through a fine mesh colander and pour the strained stock back into the pot. (It’s much easier to strain the stock if you pull the big bones out first, less mess and less weight to deal with.  Reserve the bones for a worthy dog.)

Add 1/2 cup canned tomatoes, turn up the heat to a slow boil,  and start reducing the stock.
 After boiling for about an hour, strain the liquid once more and move to a smaller pot. Continue reducing until the stock liquid  become thick enough to coat a wooden spoon, and the boiling bubbles look like syrup.
Reducing time will depend on how much water was in the stock pot to begin with and the temperature you are using to reduce the stock, but plan on a few hours.
Be careful, because at this syrupy stage, you could burn your precious elixir and that would be a real drag.
When you have the stock reduced to about 1 1/2 cups of liquid, carefully pour it into a very clean jar.
Let it cool, then refrigerate the stock. The fat will come to the top and you can remove it later.  What’s left, is Veal Kitchen Magic.  It will keep in your fridge for 3-4 weeks; just be sure to use a clean spoon every time so no other food particles can contaminate it and encourage mold.


What to do with Veal Kitchen Magic:
Saute a a piece of pork, a piece of codfish (yes, it works very well with a meaty fish), chicken breasts, turkey bits. Whatever protein strikes your fancy. Remove the protein from the sauce pan, keeping the meat or fish on a warm plate, add flavoring like chopped mushrooms, a splash of wine and a teaspoon or so of Veal Kitchen Magic to the saute pan. Swirl these ingredients around in a pan, voila!,  you have your sauce a la minute.

Pork chops with green peppercorns: Once the pork chops are cooked, add green peppercorns, mustard, your veal kitchen magic and a shot of whiskey to the pan. Cook for 45 seconds, remove and pour over the pork chops.

Lemon Chicken breasts: Remove the cooked chicken breasts from the pan, add veal kitchen magic, a glug or two of white wine, deglaze the pan, finish with the juice of a fresh squeezed lemon. Add capers if you are feeling happy.

Codfish Delight: Remove the codfish from the pan. Add chopped mushrooms, veal magic, lots of fresh pepper, a little white wine. Cook until the mushrooms are soft, finish with a squirt of lemon juice.

It all builds off the basic saute and stock. It’s like a painter’s white canvas,  it’s like playing jazz in your kitchen. It’s your secret weapon.
This blog post was inspired by a class I gave on Saturday. I hope you guys had as much fun as I did!

Lotus Root Obsession

Long and shapely, sensuous, an ancient symbol of sexual purity and detachment, the lotus root deserves more attention. It has an improbably beautiful lacy interior. The root is crunchy, mildly sweet, fibrous, versatile, so why hasn’t lotus root gone more mainstream?  It’s a regular player in Chinese food, but it hasn’t crossed over to the fusion world. Yet.

I’ve always loved the look and the flavor, and found them in the market the other day when I was looking for some inspiration. Now that I had the oddly beautiful tuber  in my kitchen,  I needed to do a little research.
When you buy fresh lotus root, the fresher roots are vanilla white and they darken with age.  Most references recommend putting the slices in acidulated water while you are working as this neutralizes some of the tannic properties of the root.  One of the sites also recommended lotus root for a bleeding esophagus or if you are vomiting blood. Do me a favor, if you experience these symptoms...don’t just reach for a lotus root, call a doctor, ok?

The experiments started with sauteed lotus root with pea shoots. It’s a classic Asian combination: ginger root, a little garlic, soy sauce and rice wine vinegar. The root cooks very quickly, just a minute or two and it was soft. It absorbs flavors very nicely, but still keeps it’s own unique character.

Next up: lotus root chips. Thinly sliced and quickly fried, finished with salt, smoked paprika and chili pepper.  Oh yeah... that works, just fine.  Maybe next time with a lime zest salt. Warning, you need a very sharp knife or a mandolin slicer as the root is fragile and a dull knife will break up the lacy pattern.

I’m not done with lotus root yet.  It’s just begging to be roasted with olive oil and garlic. Maybe it would work well pureed with a bit of vanilla bean, but that would mean destroying the lace and I’m not sure I can do that.  Could you pipe a filling into the holes, roast it and then slice? Oh, the possibilities.

Barely Heat Kissed

The orto, our garden, is producing and life is good. Our store-bought produce has dwindled to lemons and oranges. If we could figure out a way to bring  lemon or better yet, lime trees, inside for the winter, then life would be just about perfect. Most people around here have lemon trees in large pots that they bring inside for the winter, but with our nomadic lifestyle, that won’t work.

I like to play with fire, so after harvesting some ripe tomatoes and a fistful of basil,  I decided to experiment with adding just a kiss of heat to two different dishes.  Just a bacio of heat to soften up the tomato sauce, and another kiss to add a warm parmigiana crust to a fresh tomato salad, why didn’t I try this sooner?

Spaghetti d’Estate
Summer Spaghetti

5 plum tomatoes, chopped
1 large handful of fresh basil leaves
1 small red onion, or sweet white onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
1 handful of small olives
Cheese for grating
Olive oil
500g pasta/serves 2

Put your pasta water on to boil. Choose a fine spaghetti like angel hair, spaghettini, or vermicelli.
Finely chop the basil and place in a bowl large enough to hold the cooked pasta. Chop the tomatoes and set aside in small bowl.
While the pasta water is coming to a boil, gently heat the sliced onion and garlic in a few tablespoons of olive oil. Turn the pan off if you hear the faintest sound of a sizzle, you want to wilt the garlic and onions, make them loose their crunchy rawness, but that’s all.

When the pasta is done, before you drain it, take about 1/2 cup of the pasta water and add it to the basil/oil mixture. Now drain the pasta and toss with the basil oil. Plate the pasta in a big bowl. Turn the heat back on and warm up the onion/garlic mixture, add the tomatoes and olives and toss until the tomatoes are just warm...about 30 seconds.  If you are using an electric stove, preheat the coil so when the pan is put on there is quick heat.
Add the warmed tomato sauce to the basil pasta and serve with a soft, quick melting cheese. In Umbria, I use ‘caciotta’ which is a fresh cheese made from sheep and cow milk. Try to find a soft, fresh cheese, not too aggressively flavored, or else use just a fine mist of freshly grated parmigiana.

Jeff wanted to know why the pasta felt so ‘velvety’ in his mouth. The secret is that bit of pasta water added to the basil oil and left to sit for a few moments while you heat kiss the tomatoes and olives. Don’t skip this step, ok?

Heat Kissed Tomato Salad
1 gorgeous tomato
Freshly grated parmigiana
Oregano, Olive Oil, Salt, Pepper

Turn on your broiler to its highest setting, and move the oven rack up as close as you can.

Now, slice and arrange that gorgeous tomato in a heat proof dish. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and oregano. Add a little drizzle of olive oil.
Generously grate the parmigiana over the tomatoes, making sure to cover all of the exposed tomatoes.

Place in the broiler and remove as SOON as it melts! In my oven, it took under 30 seconds.   The bottom of the dish wasn’t even warm, and it was out of the heat, making a crispy cheesy veil over the barely warmed tomatoes. It was almost as if the tomatoes were only sun warmed from the garden.

Add another tiny drizzle of olive oil and enjoy! A crust of bread to sop up the tomato juices would be a fine thing.

Tomatoes in August are a reason to live.

Black Celery from Trevi

 

No, black celery is not the stuff you find in the back of the fridge. 

It’s a much revered type of celery that can only be grown in Umbria in the area around the picturesque town of Trevi. The town seems to be literally spilling down a mountainside, almost in defiance of gravity.

This celery variety, Apium graveolens L. var. dulce (Mill.) has earned IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta) status along with Cannara onions, Lago Trasimeno beans, faro from Monteleone di Spoleto, saffron from Cascia and other products unique to Umbria.

 

Trevi loves it’s black celery so much that they’ve been holding the "Sagra del Sedano e della Salsiccia” since 1965.  This year we made it our business to get to Trevi to experience this famous black celery. The first thing you notice, aside from the fact that this is some honkin’ big celery, is that it’s not black. The leaves are a very dark green but even in the dark, they don’t look black.

There is something quaint, and slightly mad about seeing crates of celery stacked up and people lugging around big bags of celery. I’m sure it’s my US perspective, where celery is this generic crunchy stuff without much flavor, so to see true passion for celery, well, it just warmed my heart on a very cold night.

 Now that I had my two giant bunches of celery, and we were carrying around a bag just like the locals, I started to wonder what exactly was I supposed to do with this bounty? We took a walk around the vendors who were selling black celery products and most of them were a ‘crema’ de sedano with sausage or truffles.  Restaurant menus also offered mainly ‘crema’ preparations, so we staggered around with our celery bag still a bit mystified by the cult of the black celery.

 Arriving back in Montone, I was seized by inspiration! Give one of my huge bunches to Margie and let her figure out what to do with it! Ha! Half of my dilemma solved. We stood around in her kitchen munching on the flavorful (but my no means earth shatteringly tasty) celery stalks. Assessing the celery like wine we came up with: somewhat woody character with a good celery flavor. Maybe you need to cook it.

 The next morning I had to face my celery and deal with it.  I cut off the huge, dark leaves and made a vat of richly flavored celery stock. The stalks I chopped into finger length pieces, put them in a clay pot with a very small amount of water and braised them for about 2 hours. Then I pureed the braised celery into a fragrant green mush, oh, I mean puree.

 My first experiment was “sedano nero e patate puree”, or “celery mush mixed with pureed potatoes” which I used as a bed under roasted quail. Not bad at all!

 These are approximate quantities:

1 cup of braised celery puree

1 cup of potato puree (boiled, salted, potatoes put through a ricer and combined with a few tablespoons of olive oil)

 This would be a nice side dish all on its own, for those times when you are tired of just plain potatoes.

 Next, I had to try the sausage and celery combination as this seemed to be the most classic Trevi preparation.

Celery & Sausage Sauce

1 medium sliced onion

1 cup of pork sausage meat

1 cup of celery puree

½ cup white wine

¼ cup heavy cream

4-5 thinly sliced artichoke hearts (optional)

 

Put a large pot of water on to boil the pasta and begin cooking the pasta as soon as the water boils because this sauce only takes about 5 minutes to cook.  I used orchiette pasta, which made for a toothsome, hearty dish.

 

Sauté the sausage meat and the onion, when the meat is brown add the pureed celery, artichoke hearts, and white wine. Gently simmer. About 2-3 minutes before the pasta is cooked, add the cream and check the seasonings.  In Italy, it is common to buy pre-seasoned ground sausage filling, which is usually heavily salted so I’ve learned to be extra careful about not adjusting salt levels until ready to serve. If the sauce seems too thick, add a bit of the pasta water to loosen things up.

 I realize that not everyone is going to have access to ‘sedano nero’, so I think you could adjust the braised celery described above by adding a bit of parsley and the celery leaves to the braising pot.  You’d need to experiment on your own if you want to discard the parsley and leaves before pureeing. You might also consider using Chinese celery which has much thinner stalks, more leaves and is very flavorful; however it is meant to be cooked and not eaten raw as it is rather tough. And here is your celery trivia of the day: most of the nutrients in celery are in the leaves so consider using them in salads and stews.

Deborah Mele on ItalianFoodForever describes a black celery pesto that she made and that sounds yummy.

 I’ve been singing the praises of celery for ages, and it’s good to know I’m not alone!

 P.S. My trusty camera is in the hospital. It had a focus seizure and had to be rushed to the ER. I’m using a little hand held video camera thing to take stills and its like shooting with a blindfold on. So, for the next 10 days or so, my shots will be more ‘artistic’ than usual. Pray for a speedy recovery!

 

 

 

Kitchen Real Estate: Clay Pot Cookery

Do you know anyone who has open, empty kitchen cabinets yearning to be filled? No, me either, so if I’m going to devote storage space to something, it better be good.  Clay pots are worth every inch of space, secondo me.

I use the deep cooking pots on my stovetop, directly on the flame. As long as you start out at a low heat and gradually warm up the pot, you have no worries about cracking the pot.  Clay pots also solve the problem of stovetops that don’t have a low enough heat setting. When making a sauce, like spaghetti Bolognese, you don’t want any more than a few little bubbles working their way up to the top, and most stoves are just too hot.  I make my Bolognese sauce in the oven, and the problem is solved. Set the oven at a low temp and you are good to go. Clay pots seem to cook more evenly, probably because the entire vessel cooks the food, while with traditional stovetop cooking, only the part closest to the heat source is cooking the food. I also think clay pots add a depth of  flavor and they look beautiful right on the table.  Which means one less plate to wash.

I don’t recommend searing or frying food in a clay pot, as that sort of intense heat needs a good metal pan. Then again exploding ceramics could be considered an art form, so that’s a decision you’ll have to make (and clean up after).

Paula Wolfert, the doyenne of slow clay pot cooking is coming out with a new cookery book, Mediterranean Clay Pot Cooking, and if there is anyone that knows her way around a clay pot, it’s Ms. Wolfert. I can’t wait to read it, and find an excuse to buy one more clay pot.