Panzanella

What do you do with stale bread? Do you throw it away, or perhaps freeze it? Maybe pulse it into breadcrumbs, or fry into fluffy French toast? Do you make croutons for soups and salads?

Do you feed it to your pet?

We live between Southfields and Wimbledon, in a green corner of South West London surrounded by parks and commons. We actually have a park within a 20-second-walking distance, a park that has a lake, too – populated by ducks, geese, strange pre-historiacal-looking black aquatic birds, and swans.

Every time I walk along the lake, I see people (often with children) throwing chunks of sliced, white, likely stale, packaged bread to the birds. The birds eat it and don’t complain, probably thinking that such a barely edible thing is even worth fighting for against your peers.

Whenever I see this scene, I produce the following conclusions:

– Birds aren’t picky;
– Some humans must not be picky either for thinking that stuff is bread;
– Said bread, when stale, is certainly not worth keeping or recycling;
– I have a very hard time allowing my loaf to get stale, and when I accidentally do, I can think of a thousand and one things to do with it;
– Birds must think I am a very bad person as I never take them food.

My absolutely favourite way to use stale bread is making a french toast of sorts. The second one, following shortly, is panzanella.

Every household, every cook in Central Italy must have his or her own favourite way to make this traditional Tuscan salad of stale bread – now very in vogue, but originally part of the ‘cucina povera’, also known as ‘the art of making the most out of very little’.

The most important thing for the success of this salad is bread. The best for panzanella is unsalted Tuscan bread, as it holds its shape wonderfully after soaking, becoming wet but not soggy. Then, good vinegar and oil to soak the bread – the vinegar, especially, serves to mitigate the stale flavour. And finally, the vegetables: originally only thinly sliced onion, cucumber, torn basil, perhaps some rocket and purslane were used, as described in a famous poem by Bronzino (and masterfully reproduced by Emiko). Tomatoes, a luxury vegetable back then, made their way into this salad only in the 20th century – quickly becoming the key ingredient for panzanella. Many still think that the Bronzino’s version was better, so once again, it comes down to personal taste.



I like my panzanella to have good, juicy and sweet tomatoes in abundance. This is something to be more likely to happen later in the summer, but I have found some beautiful tiny datterini, as sweet as a candy, and I couldn’t think of a better way to use them. When in season, I also love to add finely chopped fresh Tropea onions (my favourite, and the sweetest around right now), and even a small amount of paper-thin fresh garlic. I then enjoy topping it all up with a mixture of herbs: basil, but also a bit of parsley for extra freshness. And if I have some hanging out in the fridge, I like dotting the salad with some black olives right at the end – this is a passage that, albeit not quite adherent to the original recipe, I strongly suggest.

Panzanella

Serves 2-3

4 thick slices of stale Tuscan or sourdough bread

Water, for soaking

3 tbsp white wine vinegar

1 medium fresh Tropea onion, or other red onion
2 fresh garlic cloves

1 small cucumber

5 ripe Bull’s Heart tomatoes, or about 300g Cherry or Datterini tomatoes

1 small bunch of flat parsley

5-6 basil leaves

8-10 black olives, pitted

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus more to taste

Sea salt, black pepper, to taste

Start by arranging the bread on a large tray or platter, and by spooning water over it a little at the time, as long as you see it absorbs it – I used about 12 tablespoons here. Allow to wet and rest for a few minutes, and in the meantime, prepare the rest of the salad.
Peel and slice the onions very thinly and soak them in cold water for 5 minutes to decrease their pungency. Do the same with the garlic. Then, peel and half the cucumber, removing the seeds in the middle with a teaspoon. With the cut side facing down, slice it lengthways, and then cut it in the opposite direction to obtain small cubes. Add this to a bowl large enough to contain the finished panzanella. At this point, the onion should be ready to be drained and added to the bowl; and the bread as well. Using your hands, squeeze any excess of moisture off the bread, then crumble the slices into the bowl – the crumb should look like a couscous of sorts, while the crust should remain more solid.
Now, pour over the vinegar and toss to combine. Slice in the tomatoes, allowing their juices to trickle down into the bowl as they are a key component to the condiment. Finish off with olive oil and roughly torn parsley and basil leaves before seasoning with salt and generous black pepper to your liking.
Place in a cool place to rest for at least 1 hour. Right before serving, add in the olives and toss one last time. It tastes even better the following day – you can refrigerate it and take it out of the fridge thirty minutes before you are ready to eat.