Italian Table Talk: Venetian Bread Traditions | Il Pane nel Veneto

It started to feel uncomfortable when I first went to the US.

J really wanted to give me the "Wallmart Experience". We walked through the infinite isles of the supermarket. Some were packed start to end with only fluo-colored sodas –names that I had never ever seen before. Others filled with snacks and sugary stuff, or pre-made salad dressings. I stopped in front of some bottles labeled as "Italian dressing": a creamy, orange-y, slimy sauce of a kind I had never seen before. I swallowed, and moved on. The following isle showcased infinite types of pre-packaged, sliced bread. I approached a packaged loaf named "Classic Italian bread", read the label, and took a deep breath. The first thought was whether people can read –don't they see what is inside, what they are swallowing? Apart from that, I was curious to know what makes a loaf like that (mushy, spongy white bread with preservatives and corn syrup) "Italian" in the mind and palate of consumers. Could it be the texture? The flavor, perhaps? Assuming that both are unlikely, it was pretty clear that people that buy that bread as Italian either have no interest in the name of what they are buying, or have no clear idea of what Italian bread tastes like. Given there is nothing like an Italian bread, since there is not an Italian cuisine.

Italian cuisine has been distorted, both in Italy and abroad (not just in the US, of course), for the sake of meeting foreign consumers' tastes and expectations. Distortions are in place everywhere –even the best food blogger or critique could use names or ingredients improperly while describing an Italian dish. Tourists who come to Italy rarely get the real taste of the place, because too many times they take a touristy restaurant for a traditional one. Once back, they visit Italian restaurants, eat spaghetti bolognese and linguini Alfredo served with garlic bread and are happy with that (cheering "Oh, I love Italian food!). Us, Italians, play a crucial, negative role in this process –offering commodity food and selling it for traditional for the sake of business. Not good.

Together with a group of friends, we started to discuss this feeling of uneasiness in front of the continuous series of distortions and misconceptions about Italian food. We wanted to express our opposition and build something constructive  at the same time, in order to spread the word about Italian food culture, recipes, traditions. Italian Table Talk started just like that –with an exchange of emails between fellow food bloggers, Italian or simply in love with authentic Italian food. We worked on this project with in mind the idea of communicating Italian food outside of Italy, sharing stories and recipes in a coral yet personal way. Every month, we will pick a topic and write about it from our own, unique point of view, sharing our different experiences and knowledge. In this way, we hope to give more of an idea of the complexity and beauty of Italian food.

Who are the people behind Italian Table Talk? A group of friends with a common passion for cooking and Italian food. We met for the first time at a photography workshop in Tuscany last fall, and we felt a connection ever since. Giulia – Juls'Kitchen.com, Tuscan based and raised, has a deep passion for all things English (including Jamie Oliver). She enchants her readers with heart-felt writing on family and local traditions, mouth-watering recipes and stunning pictures of food and landscapes from her Tuscan cuisine. Jasmine – Labna.it lives and cooks in Milan. She writes charming stories about Jewish Italian cuisine, festivities, traditions and recipes. Her blog is full of bright vegetarian dishes and delightful sweets, from traditional Jewish to modern American. Emiko – Emikodavies.com, lives in Melbourne but has left her heart in Tuscany. She has been named Renaissance Woman for a reason: her philological passion for old Italian recipes, all-things Artusi, and local cuisines comes out of each and every post she writes, digging into folklore and ancient traditions as her readers dig into her beautifully shot food. Finally, there is yours truly, who will possibly bring a bit of anecdotes from my Venetian family as well as the international perspective of an Italian expat with a healthy obsession for local foods and cultures.

As a first topic, we chose to start from the basics talking about bread. As a matter of facts, few things represent the diversity and complexity of the different Italian cuisines better than bread, being the staple food of most Italians all over the Centuries. Every region, every town has dozens and dozens of types and shapes, all made with different flours and rising methods, and all giving dramatically different results. None of which looks like the packaged bread above.

In this first episode of Italian Table Talk, Giulia tells us about Tuscan Bread and its uses in the kitchen and as a snack, Emiko talks about the multiple uses of day-old Tuscan bread, Jasmine shares the recipe of a Jewish-inspired dessert made with stale bread.

As for me, I'll tell you a story about bread in my region of origin, Veneto.

Rhubarb Apple Crumble || Crumble di Mele e Rabarbaro

Some recipes come together in my mind a way I can't really explain. Like this one.
It has a pinch of surprise. The surprise of finding rhubarb for the first time at a market.
There is expectation. I wanted to cook with rhubarb for so long that whatever I was going to make had just to be good.
A bit of adventure. Rhubarb and strawberries would be the way to go, but it was too early in the season, and local strawberries weren't quite ready, yet. So, I chose to go sour all the way, and married rhubarb with green apples.
There is surely a good dose of classic. Rhubarb crumble is nothing new. But I somehow managed to make it mine, to follow my instinct and use what I had, what I felt was right for me.



This crumble is rustic, crunchy, deeply comforting, and not too sweet. It is something to make over and over again, until rhubarb season lasts. Something to make in the moment, to twist, rearrange, enjoy all over spring and summer, changing fruits, changing topping. Something to serve with yogurt, ice-cream, crème fraiche or whatever you like. In the end, it is simply a good old crumble -my crumble. Make it, make it yours.

Rhubarb Apple Crumble

This is very versatile recipe. You can twist the flour/nut mix to your taste and/or make your own oat flour just grinding rolled oats in a food processor. Feel free to increase or lower the sugar dose to your liking, too –this makes for a sweet but not sugary result. 

serves 6-10

For the topping: 

1/2 cup whole wheat flour 

1/4 cup oat flour 

1/2 cup rolled oats 

1/4 cup pistachios, toasted and roughly chopped 

1/4 tsp sea salt 

1/3 cup natural light brown cane sugar 

1/4 cup / 65 gr cold unsalted butter, cubed into 1/4-inch pieces 

 For the filling: 

1 T oat flour 

1/2 cup raw light brown or Demerara cane sugar 

about 2 small granny smith apples, cored and cubed into 3/4-inch pieces 

about 4 stems of rhubarb (350 grams, about 12 oz), cut into 3/4-inch pieces 

zest and juice of one unwaxed organic lemon 

Preheat the oven to 375F / 190C. In a medium bowl, combine the flours, pistachios, oats, sugar, salt. Stir in the butter and use your fingers to incorporate it into the flour mixture. The final result should be crumbly and lightly sticky. Set aside (you can also refrigerate it for 10 minutes).

In the meantime, make the filling. In a large bowl, whisk together the oat flour and sugar. Add the apple and rhubarb, and toss until evenly coated. Pour lemon juice, add lemon zest and toss once again. Transfer the filling into a pie dish or baking pan, then sprinkle the topping mixture all over the fruit. Bake for about 40 minutes, or until the topping is crispy and golden and the filling is bubbly. Cool for about 15-20 minutes before serving. Serve on its own or with greek yogurt, crème fraiche or a scoop of vanilla/fiordilatte/yogurt ice-cream.

——————–°°°°°°°°°°——————–

Lemon Coconut Breakfast Bulgur

Early morning is the time of the day I like the most.

I open my eyes and immediately peak out of the window to assess the weather; then walk to the kitchen while Jesse is still snoozing, gifting him with those extra fifteen minutes of rest while I make breakfast for us in silence, alone.

Those few minutes of early morning solitude are something I cherish deeply. With my stomach still empty, my mind is clear, my thoughts fast and uncompromising, unadulterated by the bombardment of information coming from all directions as I step out of the door. I try to listen to myself in that short span of quietness, and detect what my needs are. Is it warmth and sweetness that I am craving? Perhaps a steaming bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and sliced apple? Or is it the freshness of muesli and yoghurt? Or maybe the lazy comfort of a thick, fat slice of banana bread dipped in a big mug of piping hot caffelatte?

Sometimes, it's none of these: there are mornings in which I just crave novelty. Perhaps it's the hazy memory of a dream that triggers a need for exoticism, or maybe it's just a subtle feeling of boredom towards anything routinary, but the usual flavours don't satisfy me. And so, standing alone in the kitchen, I reach for ingredients I wouldn't normally have for breakfast, and just try something new. This was one of those mornings.

As the room filled with the aroma of coffee bubbling up in our big moka pot, bulgur wheat was simmering slowly in creamy coconut milk, scented with a generous dose of lemon zest. Once ready, I tip-toed to the other room and whispered in Jesse's ear –

'Everything is ready'.
'I know…I can smell the coffee. What did you make?' he said smiling.
'Something different'.

We sat at the big wooden table with a bowl of steaming grain in front of us; waited a minute to let it cool, then tucked in, hungry at last. The first mouthful filled me with warmth and pure, clean pleasure: coconut and lemon were just meant to be together. I wondered why I hadn't thought about it earlier.

Purple Sprouting Broccoli Panzanella

 

Many times in my life I had the impression that the closest people in physical terms aren't necessarily the closest to my heart. Like-minded people can live very far from each other. Sometimes, they cross paths for what is a blink of an eye before continuing in their own direction. Others, they never meet, at least in person.

I grew up in a place that I didn't feel I belonged to. I have never had anyone that I could consider a friend, no one that I would consider interesting. Things changed slightly as I grew up, as I was trying to fit in, but a deep feeling of dissatisfaction was lingering within. Until college, I rarely met someone that made me "wow", or that really stimulated me, or pushed me toward greater things and thoughts. Deceived, I spent lots of my time on my own, contemplating. I got used to solitude, and I learnt not to fear it. Back then, I decided that my own company was better than void conversations.

It all changed for the best when I moved to college first, and then to Unisg. I hoped and knew that somehow it was going to happen. More people, more choices, more opportunities. I finally made life-lasting friendships, and consolidated some old ones. Like-minded people were finally around me, engaging in conversations about controversial, challenging topics, dreaming about better futures, enjoying the same small pleasures. It felt good. I finally met my soulmate, too, we bonded together. And then, we left, as many of our friends.

Life as a simplifier is what I always dreamt about. No boundaries, no weights to keep me planted on the ground. I don't miss having a car or owning a house. Sometimes, I just miss my friends, those friends that I met back then, and that now are living their life in different places. All of us decided what was best for ourselves, decided to stay or to leave, without compromising our friendship. Like-minded people can live far from each other and keep that relationship alive just by writing a few lines now and then. We all know that many of our thoughts are for each other, and there is no need for constant confirmation. I feel blessed for this.

In time, I also discovered that like-minded people can hide behind a book I enjoyed, a blog I read, a series of pictures. Sometimes, I feel extremely close in thoughts, interests and ideas to people that I never met in the real life, or that I met only for a short amount of time. Somehow, this thought gives me hope –hope that no matter where I will go, there will always be someone I can connect with, I can talk to, I can learn from. Someone with whom I can spend some quality time, someone I can give and receive something from. I just have to look for these people, look behind that blog, that picture, those words that I liked.

 

I got to know Reb through her funny posts and amusing titles introducing well-thought and fascinating recipes. In time, we found out how much we share. We finally met, though for only five minutes, and she gifted me with that lovely bunch of seasonal produce you see above. She left a sign on me without her knowing it. It happened before with Rossella, Giulia, Emiko, Jasmine, Sigrid. I will happen again, I am sure.

I have always thought I have a lot in common with Heidi's style of cooking and mindset toward all things food. So much so that her recipes are those I cook the most, and that give me most inspiration in my daily cooking. Sometimes, I find myself making almost exactly what she would post only a few days afterwards. Like this broccolini salad. It might sound strange, but to me it feels like having a good friend over for lunch and being sure she will enjoy your dishes.

For these and many other reasons, I made this "panzanella" (although the name is somehow inappropriate as the bread hasn't been soaked, like here), thinking of her and her, but wanting to share it with you all. Through these pages, I met some truly inspiring and loving people, and at the same time, I keep conversing with those old friends –all of us gathering around a virtual table of good, heartfelt food.