28 January 2013

Roasted Broccoli Frittata


We came back from what was supposed to be a relaxing weekend escapade to Paris but rather turned into a stressful couple of days. It was snowy. Very snowy indeed, making Paris all white and magical for a few hours, and then a complete disaster. A layer of dirty slushy was covering all the sidewalks and roads, from Rue de Rivoli to Place d'Italie, melting into muddy, ice-cold puddles.

Long queues awaited us at every step, from the ticket machine at Gare du Nord to the Starbucks in Boulevard de Strasbourg. Also, we somehow managed to get treated rudely by everybody: from the manager of the Vietnamese restaurant, who stripped the bowl still containing some delicious Pho from my hands; to the waiter at the wine bar near Canal Saint Martin, who almost killed me when I asked whether we could have the cheese and bread while we were waiting for our main ('It will be a while', he said, and well, I was starving).

Anyway, thumbs up for the Edward Hopper Exhibit, which was the main purpose of our trip, and for the out-of-this-world bread and pastry experience at Du Pain et Des Idées, a bakery (the bakery, the best bakery in Paris, and arguably in the world), near République, which was luckily right in front of our Airbnb. Also for the many natural wines drank, and for a romantic stroll under a cotton-soft snow.

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10 January 2013

Italian table Talk #8: Salumi, Guanciale and Gricia

All through the ages, January has never been the month of diets and cleanses, at least not in Italy. There were no concerns about being fit or losing weight. Rather, the biggest concern was to keep the family fed, and warm –no one would have thought to deprive their body of energies in such a cold month, and in fact, January was about the exact opposite of dieting.

January was (and to some extent still is) the month of pork. And us ladies at Italian Table Talk couldn't miss such a great occasion to talk about such an important part of the Italian food culture –that is pork and, more in general, the art of curing meat. A tradition and an art which is centuries old and embraces the whole country, differing once again from region to region and gifting us with an extremely wide variety of types and styles of salumi. So, before we proceed any further, let me introduce the themes of today's episode: Emiko digs into the history of one of the most famous Tuscan salumi, lardo di Colonnata; Giulia discovers a(nother) traditional Tuscan salume, buristo, and makes some killer fried eggs with it; and Jasmine creates a fantastic kosher version of the famous Roman pasta dish, amatriciana –which we will talk a bit about later 🙂



Owning one pig or more was in use amongst peasant families of all regions. As an animal, pig was particularly convenient for the numerous family groups living in the country and working in the fields: it could be fed about anything; it didn't need much care; and it could be eaten and used from nose to tail. It was what we could call a good investment.

Pigs were traditionally slaughtered in the could months of the year, namely from December to mid February, with a peak in January, after Christmas time. The reason was mainly practical: all the operations to kill and handle the fresh meat needed to be done at low temperature. At a time when refrigeration wasn't available, this meant doing it in winter. In addition, the freshly cured meet would benefit from the cold for both drying and preserving.

Not all the cuts were turned into cured meat. In fact, some were eaten straight away –braised, fried, roasted etc. However, curing (and therefore preserving) most parts of the pig meant having enough of a supply of meat (fat, protein and energy) for the whole family for the rest of the year. A little at a time, it goes without saying, and wasting nothing, not even blood, with which a sausage (sanguinaccio) was made.

Most of cured meats in Italy were processed through salting and adding spices. Depending on the cut and quality of the meat (lean to fat meat ratio), different techniques were used. Some parts were ground and put into a casing to make salami or sausages. Others were handled as a whole, like the belly (pancetta), the leg (prosciutto), the gluteus (culatello), the neck (coppa or capocollo), the cheek (guanciale) etc. Throughout the centuries, some areas of Italy became famous for specific types of cured meat because of the particular set of skills in handling specific cuts, or because a particularly successful recipe was created to make salame. Some of these products are still made more or less in the same way they used to, and many of them have also earned the PDO certification.

Although the cured meat I am going to focus on next doesn't belong directly to my food heritage, it is a true gem of Italian norcineria which deserves to be brought to footlight and that I always wanted to share on these pages: guanciale. Typical of Central and Southern Italy, guanciale is made from the cheek of the pig, a cut that is mainly made of fat, with only one or two thin stripes of lean muscle in it. The composition of the fat is different from the fat found in the belly or in the back of the pig, as it is more tough and it has more intense, flavorsome characteristics. To make guanciale, the triangular cut of meat between the cheek and the throat is selected, dry-salted and hanged for up to five days. After that, spices and herbs such as black pepper, chili pepper, garlic and rosemary are rubbed externally. Guanciale is then partially smoked on wood fire and then cured up to two-three months in a cold and humid environment.

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2 January 2013

Ottolenghi’s Lentil Salad


Hate new year's resolutions. I hate them and I always make them, and I hate them for hanging on me as a sword of Damocles, and I hate myself for having conceived them to my own misery, and for falling into that trap year after year after year. The are always the same: be more efficient, be more productive, be more active, be a more careful cheese and wine consumer etc.

No resolutions for this year, and most of all, no "best of" for the year which just ended. Most of 2012 has been stressful, challenging, mentally and physically tiring. There have been a lot of highlights, of course, and most of them have happened outside of these pages, in sudden, unexpected, unplanned moments. Yes, 2012 has been so necessary for my personal growth, and I am so grateful for it to be in my records. But now, I'm also quite grateful for it to be over.

There is a lot on my plate for 2013 and all I need, rather than resolutions, is resolution. Resolution to do what I really want, to be able to express my thoughts, to say no, to be less shy. Resolution to fight for what makes me feel good, and alive, and happy.


The way we (Italians) say goodbye to the old year (and perhaps, the old self) and welcome the new one is lentils and cotechino, each symbolizing wealth and good luck. But as you might know by now, boiled cartilaginous sausage, for good that it might be, is just not in our favor. We were left with the lentils. We love lentils, we adore them, but we find sometimes difficult to make them feel, ehm, festive, or fit into the idea of a "special meal"–they are usually part of our everyday diet anyway.

Ottolenghi's amazing vegetarian book, Plenty, came into help with a recipe that feels special. The combination of ingredients is unique and novel and turn a simple lentil salad into a feast. Truth to be told, when I first saw the recipe on the book I wasn't fully convinced. Then, Alex made it and I became intrigued. I finally tried it and it was a success. A palate feast, with lentils and celeriac as Cinderella turned into princess by the magic touch of herbs and nuts. Glorious.

My best wishes for this new year. May it be full of inspiration and free from fears.

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