Showing posts with label Italian food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italian food. Show all posts

Puntarelle Salad


“Aò, nun vedi che stai a fà un casino?" (Hey you, you are making a mess, don't you see?)

We were sharing the first course, a big plate of steaming, saucy tagliatelle al sugo d'involtino. Or trying at least, as I was failing in the attempt of splitting it: I stained the table cloth while trying to transfer a forkful of tagliatelle on my plate, and succeeded in creating a very intricate bundle. The waitress hurried toward us and promptly sorted things out – not without commenting on my poor performance. She stripped the two forks I was clumsily holding, and skillfully rolled the tagliatelle into two perfect portions. They were fantastic, of course, like the rest of the meal, of the day, of our stay in Rome.

We were lodging in a small apartment not far from the Vatican – or better said, not far from Bonci's pizza spot in Via della Meloria. On New Year's Eve we woke up to a bright, sunny, spring-like day, and made plans to take the metro to the Piramide, wander around Testaccio and Trastevere, and fit a good meal in between. "You must try Da Felice", a friend told us. We phoned and booked a table for a late lunch.

The morning started with some idle contemplation under the shady trees of the beautiful, peaceful, sacred cemetery where Keats rests – easily, my favourite place in the whole city. The Protestant Cemetery is a corner of quiet and beauty that prepares you for the immersion in the crowded neighborhoods, busy streets and touristy areas. It doesn't, actually, but it helps. Time flew, and hunger caught us by surprise. On the way to the trattoria, wandering around Testaccio, we stumbled upon the popular food market, and dived into the atmosphere, the noises, the life and colours coming from every stall. Everything was so different from the quiet market we had grown used to in Bra – the produce, for starters, but also the louder and warmer attitude of people.

At lunch, we had the instant impression of being amongst the locals, and treated as such. Service was fast, the menu a voce, the wine list short and easy. We ordered a bottle of Aglianico (I don't even remember the producer, it didn't seem to matter back then I guess). I mentioned we split the primo: tagliatelle coated by a decadent and rich tomato sauce infused with the juices of veal rolls, which were then taken out and served as a second course. For secondo, I received a delicious puddle of sauce surrounding the biggest meatball I had ever seen in my eating career, while the classic abbacchio con patate (roasted lamb with potatoes) landed in front of J. Aided by the multiple glasses of wine, we were quite emotionally moved by the view.

While we were busy digging in, bread in hand to mop every single drop of delicious sauce or rosemary-infused oil, our side dish arrived: puntarelle, what else? I have been raving about these greenish curls topped with anchovy sauce for ages, without ever been able to find the head of puntarelle in any Northern market to make them myself. So that was my first time eating them, and busy as I was between a bite of tender, sweet meatball with sauce, one of crunchy, bitter, fishy puntarelle, a morsel of bread and a sip of wine to erase flavours and start again, I was somehow, mesmerised.

Euphoric and full, we left the restaurant and walked along the Tiber up until the bridge that connects Testaccio with Trastevere, and then further, up to the Gianicolo, and down again along the walls of the Vatican. New Year's Eve went like that, sweet and easy, unplanned and sunny. At midnight we climbed up the Gianicolo again to see the fireworks lighting the Roman sky. And in case you are wondering, yes, we had skipped dinner: that meal left us happily nurtured until the new year.



 Puntarelle Salad

This tried and true recipe for Puntarelle comes from Rachel, who lives in Testaccio, has the best fruttivendolo ever and has developed a true skill for dealing with this chicory-like vegetable. Mine doesn't look as curly and pretty as hers, but I want to believe it is for lack of practice and skill. I am determined to get to the super-curly level by the time the season of puntarelle is over. If this means I need to eat a lot of them, well, I feel ready. The recipe should be for Puntarelle alla Romana, but since mine doesn't look quite the same, I prefer to call it a salad  for now. As for where to get puntarelle in the UK, to the cost of causing an interest conflict, I admit I got them from work. 

1 head of puntarelle 
Iced water
2 cloves of garlic, 
5 good quality salted anchovy fillets
2 Tbsp of good red wine or balsamic vinegar
5 Tbsp good olive oil
A generous pinch of salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 lemon (optional)

Remove the outer leaves from the puntarelle head until you get to the white, hollow bulbs in the middle. Reserve the leaves for other preparations, and use like you would chicory (I reserved some of the smaller leaves and added them to the final salad, but this is quite an unusual move, so feel free to leave them out). Then, using a sharp knife, cut each bulb lenghways into thin slices and drop them into a large bowl filled with cold water and ice cubes. Leave the slices soaking for at least an hour, during which time they should curl up and become crisp – especially if you cut them thin enough. No worries if they don't – taste isn't affected.
In the meantime, prepare the dressing. Mice the garlic into a paste using the flat side of the knife blade, then mince the anchovies using the same technique. In a jar, shake the anchovies with the vinegar until the anchovies have disintegrated. Add the garlic, the oil and a good pinch of salt. Shake again and allow the dressing to sit for 10 minutes.
Drain the puntarelle and gently spin it dry. Give the dressing another shake, then pour it into the serving bowl. Add the puntarelle, grind over some black pepper and toss to coat. Allow the salad to sit for a few minutes, then toss again and serve with lemon slices.

Italian Table Talk: On Soups and Risi e Suca


Rice used to come to the table in the shape of steamy platefuls of creamy, buttery risotto. It could have been with mushrooms, or asparagus, or shrimps, or chicken gizzards; sometimes even with spinach - not often, thankfully, as it was my least favourite, and seemed more like a trick to make me eat the dreadful leafy greens. My grandma, especially, has always had the habit to make risotto for Sunday lunch, as a primo, followed by a meat course. It had become almost a ritual, and a welcomed one. I was always going for second helpings even though her risotto was known for being quite thick, a bit heavy, and certainly not what purists would call a 'properly done' one.

Since the beginning, then, I had associated rice with something quite festive, a nice change from the everyday bowl of pasta. However, as I discovered later, it hasn't always been the case - it was actually the other way around. Rice, in the flatland of Veneto as well as those of Lombardy and Piedmont, in the North of Italy, was a staple food, far more widespread and widely available to the masses than dry (or fresh) pasta. Rice was a key source of energy in people's diet alongside polenta, and it was often combined with legumes and other vegetables, and sometimes small amounts of animal fats, for a complete meal. Many traditional Venetian cookbooks will list recipes featuring rice, whose amount overshadows the one of pasta recipes. Pasta seemed to be something reserved for the Sunday meal, well dressed with oily meat ragù - but only for those lucky enough to afford it.

Not only was rice an everyday food, but it was also rarely made into risotto. Rather, it was mostly throwin into soup. Many famous Venetian primi piatti, especially those of the cucina povera, i.e peasant origins, are actually rice-based soups: risi e bisi (rice and peas) in the spring, risi e faxoi (rice and beans, an alternative to pasta and beans), risi e patate (rice and potatoes), risi e verxe (rice and cabbage), and risi e suca (rice and pumpkin), in the fall and winter months. These dishes were nourishing, economical, seasonal - and even relatively healthy.

Risi e suca is definitely one if my favourite soups. As far as I can remember, I have always loved the flavour of pumpkin, particularly in savoury preparations. Although it wasn't my mum's strongest suit - she never really liked pumpkins, and really hated cutting them - she would still make this bright orange, creamy soup a couple of times a year, whenever grandma would send us one of her deliciously sweet pumpkins. Her trick to balance out the overall sweetness of this soup was to add a little bit of freshly made (non-aged) salami in the onion soffritto. The other trick: she would also blend the cooked pumpkin with its cooking water to make a smoother broth, and eventually, a creamier soup. I am not sure if any of this is truly orthodox - there seem to be no trace of salami or blending techniques in any Venetian cookbooks (written in dialect!) I came across. But as you might know by now, she liked to break the rules. I like to think they are these anarchic recipes I am bringing with me - they teach me a lesson in being myself without forgetting where it all comes from.

This month Italian Table Talk is dedicated to the warming theme of soups. Come and join us for a comforting steamy bowl: Giulia brought a fantastic recipe for zuppa di farro e fagioli della Garfagnana, so thick you can spread it on bread; Emiko cooked zuppa di moscardini, a seafood soup from the Tuscan coast; and Jasmine made chicken broth, an essential base for a lot of other preparations.

You can follow all the updates on our Facebook page, as well as on Twitter with the hashtag #ITTableTalk.


Risi e Suca (Rice and Pumpkin Soup)

The best type of pumpkin for this soup is the Chioggia variety, as it seems to be the sweetest; alternatively, a Mantovana or a Violino would work well. As for the type of rice, the varieties grown in Veneto are Vialone Nano, Arborio and Carnaroli. I used Vialone Nano because I enjoy the melt-in-the-mouth texture it gives to the soup. It might not look too appealing or attractive, but it is a true comfort food - give it a shot while pumpkins are still around - alas, not for long.

Serves 4

1 small white onion
1 small Italian sausage (optional)
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil or butter
800g pumpkin
1.5 L vegetable or chicken broth
200g Vialone Nano rice
Fine grain sea salt
Black pepper, freshly ground
Parmesan cheese, grated


Peel the pumpkin, then cut into quarters and remove the seeds using a small, sharp knife. Cut into small cubes. Set aside.
Heat the oil or butter in a large pot, add the finely chopped onion and fry until translucent. If using, remove the skin from the sausage and crumble it into the pot with the onion. Once nicely browned, add the pumpkin. Lower the heat and cook until it softens, about ten minutes. At this point, pour the stock, just enough to cover the pumpkin. Place a lid on the pot and cook for about 15 minutes. When the pumpkin is soft and falls apart, remove from the heat and cream with an immersion blender. 
Put back on the heat and add the rice and more stock. Cook on medium-low heat for twenty extra minutes - the rice must be very soft. Add more stock as needed. Before serving, taste for salt and season accordingly. Finish off with abundant freshly ground black pepper.
Serve with grated Parmesan cheese.

Italian Table Talk: A Family Recipe for Minestra e Fagioli


Unsurprisingly, most of my family tales have food at their core. No matter if it's about my dad's tribulations as a high school student, with only enough lire in his pocket to buy a dramatically small bread roll and three slices of salami for lunch; or about grandma going to the communal mill/oven to make bread, on a bike loaded with branches and bags of flour; or about grandpa, who spent years as a captive in Germany during World War II, and had been dreaming of polenta e baccalà for months even after he made it home. Food permeates all our personal stories and intersects with our collective memories.

From all these stories, though, one truth emerges clear and sharp: the women in my family were and are some really good cooks, able to put on the table meals for dozens after spending long days in the fields, and taking care of the house. Strong women who could prepare nutritious, filling, if only a tad repetitive food out of humble ingredients. Women whom, in part, I didn't get to meet, and whose cooking I heard so many times about but sadly didn't get to experience.
The thread between me and these stories is my mum. She nurses dear memories of her childhood - sugarcoated, perhaps? Our mind is good at deleting the bad and keeping the good, and after all, why shouldn't it? - living with her enlarged family in a farm in rural Veneto. She talks a lot about her grandmother Maria, her mum's mum, who was the official cook in the house, and a really skilled one. I never met her, but I wish I had the chance to eat some of her food at least once -perhaps in the winter, when temperatures are more suitable to the hearty cooking she was inclined to. My mum still dreams about the rich and flavoursome Sunday meals she would cook: primi piatti such as risotto with chicken gizzards, or bigoi with rabbit ragù, and secondi with roasted poultry or, when in season, pork cuts.

Maria wasn't known for being timid with condiments, or spare with portions. During the week, when the meal consisted mainly of minestra de fasoi (bean and pasta soup), and polenta, for my family as for any other peasant family in the area, she was heard since the early morning making the battuto with slices of cured lardo and parsley. Old knife in hand, perhaps sharpened once every blue moon by the arrotino, and an even older wood board. Tac tac tac. Until the whole lot of salt-cured lardo had become a cream, and the parsley had mingled within the fat into a bright green puree.


Great-grandma Maria was taking care of the cooking so my grandma didn't have to. Yet, after Maria's death, grandma inherited the title of head chef of the house. According to mum, she was a good cook, too, and she had moments when she would make home-made tagliatelle on a whim quite frequently. All in all, she had learnt all the basics - the roasts, the sauces, the pastas - to make the family happy. On top of that, according to my dad, she knew how to make a fantastic lasagna, with the perfect besciamella-to-ragù ratio. I also heard she could make a mean zuppa inglese, with layers of cookies alternated with Marsala-scented custard and chocolate pudding.

I have no memories of grandma's cooking. Not of the stews, or the ragù, or the zuppa inglese. I got to know all this through the recollections of someone else. I am sure I had the chance to eat some of her food on a Christmas or New Year's Day of many years ago, but I was too young to pay attention, or even remember. Unfortunately, no written traces remain of these recipes, no charmingly old and suty hand-written recipe notbooks, and grandma is no longer able to pass them down to us. From a point in her life onwards, she have become more and more forgetful every day. With her memory goes a big piece of ours, too, and of our culinary culture, which was hers and her mother's before her. My mum, growing up during the post-war boom, was little interested in cooking and more interested in eating and living her life. She can guess and remember some, but the gestures, the amounts, the careful steps than can bring a recipe to life - these things are all lost.


Luckily, the most representative dish in my family, including my father's side (with little alterations, I suppose), doesn't need much of a recipe. As people made and ate it on a daily basis more or less in the same way, minestra de fasoi is a familiar dish, whose preparation they must have assisted to at least once in their life. The variations on the basic recipe were few: fresh beans in the summer and early fall, dried the rest of the year; rice or ditali, or broken bigoi as 'starch'; perhaps some onion or garlic in the battuto; some ribs or bones could make it into the stock after the winter pig butchering was over.

Far from being a daily recurrence in my life - things have changed quite a bit in the meantime - minestra de fasoi (minestra e fagioli or pasta e fagioli, in Italian) has always been something my parents have enjoyed. To me, it seemed odd to get so excited about a soup with beans and pasta, but to them, it must have always been such a warming, nostalgic flavour... Something they can deeply appreciate only now that is not forced onto them every single day.

When looking for a recipe for this month's Italian Table Talk, dedicated to family recipes, I had hardly any doubt about which dish I wanted to make - minestra de fasoi was an easy choice indeed. Humble, if you like, but very satisfying, nourishing, warming and comforting. Cheap, as well. Perfect for sharing. Before heading to the recipe, let me introduce you to the rest of the feast: Emiko is cooking a special recipe for ragù di coniglio for seasoning pasta- which I am sure would make up for the lost recipe of my family's rabbit ragù; Jasmine will share the story behind her grandma's spezzatino; and Giulia will end the meal with a note of sweetness and her grandma's bigné.



Minestra de Fasoi (Bean and Pasta Soup)
Serves 4 
2 cups of dried borlotti beans, soaked overnight
1 tbsp olive oil
1 4mm-thick slice of cured lardo, about 50g
handful of fresh flat parsley, washed
1 small shallot
2 L vegetable stock, preferably home made with carrot, onion and celery
1/2 cup ditalini (short tubes)
fine grain sea salt and black pepper, to taste


 Rinse the beans under cold running water. Transfer into a large pot with plenty of water (twice the volume of the beans at least) and bring to the boil. Cook until al dente, drain and set aside.
Using a sharp chef knife, start mincing the lardo, until you get a sort of puree. Chop the parsley very finely and then incorporate it into the cream lardo. Do the same with the shallot. You want to end up with almost a pesto of parsley, lardo and shallot.
Bring the stock to the boil and keep it hot over low heat. In a large, separate pot, heat the olive oil, then add the pesto and fry until the lardo has melted and the shallot is translucent. Add 2/3 of the beans, stir using a wooden spoon so that the fat coats the beans. Fry for two-three minutes. Pour enough stock over the beans so that they are completely covered. Simmer for ten minutes or so.
Remove from the heat and puree using an immersion blender. Put back over medium heat, add the rest of the beans and the pasta. Add more stock if needed - you want a dense but still 'soupy' texture. Cook for ten minutes, until the pasta is done. Finally, taste for salt and pepper and season accordingly. Serve.



Italian Table Talk #15: Peach & Amaretti Pops



My father loves talking about his childhood. He nurtures fond memories of the years he spent at casa vecchia, the old house, in the middle of the Venetian country. The house wasn't a farm, but it was still surrounded by fruit trees, a vegetable garden, a small vineyard; it had a few courtyard animals, and a creek next to it where small freshwater fishes would go back and forth. It was a country house like many others you would find in that part of the world.


Most of my father's memories of those years have food at their core. Sometimes it would be food that was missing; others, food that was repetitive – pasta e fagioli every day, or polenta with figs every morning, or apples as the only fruit for months. Others again, it would be about the satisfaction and the feeling of victory in fishing some frogs in the ditch, or some catfish in the canal, using his rudimentary equipment. One of the best stories he would tell is about ice-cream, gelato. As a kid growing up in the middle of nowhere during post-war times, he experienced modernity slowly, and later than other kids living in the northern industrial cities. Modernity meaning TV, a refrigerator, a freezer, a washing machine, as well as certain foods – gelato was one of those.

Gelato made its appearance in my father's life in the form of a little truck, driving through fields and unpaved roads, announcing its presence with a bell. 'Ortodox' people wouldn't even call it gelato, yet that was the name used to call the frozen creamy sweet thing in a cup or a stick that was sold from the van window. The kinds of ice-creams it would sell were coppette (cups with half cream and half chocolate), ghiaccioli (fruit popsicles), or moretti (vanilla ice-cream on a stick, covered in a iced chocolate glaze). The best part of the whole story was that, at times, my father would be able to buy his ice-cream in change for eggs; others, he would have to pull 10 liras out of his pocket, which he would earn working at the Saturday cine forum at the church. For years, probably until the late 1970s, this is the only form of gelato people living in those areas had access to.



Gelato is among the first foods tourists think they should experience once landed in Italy. Italy is indeed the land of gelato: it is were it has been invented, back in 1565, in Florence; and where the art has been brought to perfection by excellent artisans making a great product using only the best ingredients. However, artisan gelato has become 'popular' and widespread only in recent times. Before then, it was a luxury item available only to the upper classes which had physical and financial access to it. As for the rest of the people, the normal people like my father, who lived far from the cultural and economical centres of the country – Milan, Turin, Florence, Venice, Rome, Naples – gelato remained something obscure until after the war, and even then, it wasn't the kind of gelato we all know about: creamy, luscious, in all its inflections of flavours, scooped out and gently unloaded on a colourful paper cup or a crunchy cone. No, it was the frozen cream, pressed in the little cup, or molded on a stick.

The subject of gelato is vast, somehow controversial, and yet deeply ingrained in Italian food culture. There is history mingled with technology, culture, language and sociology. We felt is was worth discussing; we felt we should dedicate an episode of Italian Table Talk to it. Each of us will narrate a little bit of the whole picture, without the presumption of covering it all, but at least trying to bring a better insight to the traditions and the culture linked to this beloved food so popular among locals as much as among tourists. In this episode, Giulia will share the recipe of a traditional gelato flavour, crema fiorentina; Emiko, the art of making affogato; and Jasmine, the recipe for a truly vintage classic, pinguino.



As for me, I wanted to share a recipe for pops - gelato on a stick like my father would have had. And in doing so, I got inspired by seasonal stone fruits, and by a traditional summer dessert from Piedmont, pesche e amaretti, or pesche ripiene. Peaches and amaretti (bitter almond cookies) are a true classic - they go heavenly together in their original form as well as in the form of frozen pops. In sticking to tradition, I thought to use mainly Piedmontese ingredients: Volpedo peaches, a heirloom variety typical from that part of Italy; and Piedmontese amaretti.

I am at a loss for words when it comes to describe these pops. It would be easier for me to use images rather that adjectives. To me, they taste of old, faded photos, of a summer of many years ago, of memories that don't belong to me, but that I lived through the eyes of the storyteller.



Peach and Amaretti Pops
makes 6 small pops

This recipe doesn't include any sweetener as I used perfectly sweet peaches - I highly suggest you do too, as this is the key to flavourful pops.

3 large ripe peaches, sliced
1/2 cup (125ml) double cream
1 cup amaretti (bitter almond cookies), roughly crushed

In a food processor, puree the peach slices until you'll have a smooth texture but with some small chunks of peach flesh still intact. Add the cream and blend until smooth. Finally, add the amaretti give the mixture a couple more pulses so that it comes together.

Pour the peach cream into the pop molds and freeze until solid, at least 6 hours.

Gnudi



I have a list of fears I am trying to come to terms with.

I hate phone calls from and to strangers: I hate calling my GP clinic, I hate calling to book a table at a restaurant, I hate calling to set a meeting. I hate doing them and receiving them, and I much rather send an email and communicate facts in a written form. It seems somehow more controllable and less stressful. It gives me the impression of grasping the message better and having less room for misunderstanding and mistake.

Answering the door makes me anxious. I never feel appropriately put together for the task. Rightly so.

Going back into a grocery store to say that they charged me full price for something which was on special is another hated situation. It makes me feel cheap, although I am right. If I am with J, I beg him to do it in my place. He's good at saying no and making me do it. I would just walk away if I were by myself.

I hate calling waiters' attention. I much rather have them coming to my table. Waiving my arms in the air to grab their glance makes me feel idiot, and the fact that I am a small person doesn't help. Once again, I look for J's support to do it. My attempts are rarely successful.

Saying no to people is a huge problem for me. I have always been that kind of person who tried to please everybody and be liked by everybody, which is per se a sizable source of stress, much more than having the gut to say no. If I really feel like "no" is the right answer, I try to give convincing excuses not to hurt people's feelings, only to feel guilty a minute after.

And then, I hate scales, changing rooms, and bright artificial lights.

I have never thought to be a shy person. In fact, I have always felt fairly self-confident, but these traits revealing nothing but weakness in my personality are way too many to keep ignoring the issue. The problem is I yet have to find a strategy to overcome these fears. Maybe meditation would help. Maybe I just have to stop caring for everybody's feelings and opinions and consider mine first. Any suggestions?

Gnudi. They have always sounded terribly appealing and intimidating at the same time. What if I made them wrong and they disintegrated in the boiling water as soon as I dropped them in? What if they came out tough or too doughy? But then, it happened that I bought a huge bag of fresh spinach on special, and that the organic ricotta in the fridge had one day before expiring (this is how my meals come together most of the time, far from any romanticism). Gnudi came to mind: it had to be then or never. I made them, and they were good.


In the kitchen, overcoming my fears is way easier. Maybe this is the key to everything else.

Gnudi
Recipe taken from here

Serves 3-4

600 gr fresh spinach, washed
200 gr fresh ricotta
1 egg
50 gr aged pecorino, grated
60 gr whole spelt flour
sea salt and black pepper, to taste

2 tbsp quality salted butter, plus more for greasing the pan
5-6 sage leaves
plenty of grated aged pecorino (romano is cool)

Start by placing the spinach into a large sauce pan over low heat. Cook until tender, stirring occasionally. Transfer to a colander and drain all the liquid. Press the spinach with your hands or a wooded spoon to drain out as much liquid as possible. Set aside and let cool. Once cold, chop them up finely. Put them back to the colander and press out any remaining liquid.
In the meantime, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
In a large mixing bowl, stir together ricotta, egg and pecorino, until smooth. Add the flour, season with 1 tsp salt and some freshly ground black pepper. Add the chopped spinach and stir to combine. Dust a working surface and your hands with plenty of flour. Using two spoons, shape bits of dough into balls and roll them into the flour. Repeat until you run out of dough.
Once the water is boiling, drop in three-four balls of dough at a time. Boil for 2 minutes from when they come to the surface. Drain with a skimmer and set aside.
While you're boiling the dumplings, place a large skillet on medium-high heat. Melt the butter and add the sage. Once hot, add the gnudi, half at a time, and cook on each side for a few minutes, until browned and crispy.
 Preheat the oven to 375F. Grease a round baking pan with some butter. Arrange the gnudi, cover with some pecorino cheese and any leftover butter+sage from the frying pan. Once the oven is hot, put the gnudi in and bake for 15 minutes, until the cheese is melted. Remove from the oven and serve immediately. 

--------------------°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°---------------------


Ho una lunga lista di paure con cui sto cercando di venire a patti.

Odio le telefonate. Non tutte, solo quelle con gli sconosciuti. Odio chiamare per prenotatare appuntamenti, per riservare un tavolo, o per fissare un incontro. Privilegio l'email come mezzo di comunicazione discreto ed efficiente che non lascia spazio a fraintendimenti, e che evita il confronto diretto. Scrivere, invece di parlare: molto più semplice e meno stressante.

Non mi piace rispondere al citofono. Non mi sento mai messa decentemente nel caso dovessi aprire la porta a qualcuno, e non per niente.

Odio tornare dentro al supermercato quando mi accorgo di aver pagato di più di quello che c'era scritto sul cartellino. Mi fa sentire una da due soldi, nonostante abbia ragione. Se sono con J., cerco di convincerlo a fare la figura di tolla al posto mio. Ma non lo convinco quasi mai.

Odio richiamare l'attenzione dei camerieri. Svetolare le braccia in mezzo alla sala mi imbarazza molto, e preferirei decisamente che venissero loro a me, con il semplice uso dello sguardo. Decisamente, essendo una piccoletta, non è il modo più efficace. Per cui, anche in questo caso, cerco di mettere J nella posizione di farlo. Ed anche in questo caso, siccome sa bene il motivo per cui glielo chiedo, nisba.

Dire di no mi spaventa. Sono sempre stata una tipa accomodante, una che cerca di far piacere a tutti, e questo è di per sé una fonte notevole di stress, probabilmente di più di quello che dovrei tollerare nel dire di no. Eppure, non ci riesco. O se proprio sento che "no" è l'unica risposta, cerco di fornire delle scuse plausibili per non urtare i sentimenti di nessuno. Spesso a scapito dei miei.

E poi odio le bilance, i camerini dei negozi, e le luci artificiali forti.

Non avrei mai detto di essere una persona timida, tutt'altro. Sono sempre stata convinta di avere una personalità piuttosto forte, ed in parte è così, ma ci sono questi lati di me che mi rendono debole, vulnerabile e con cui devo cercare di venire a patti. Putroppo, non ho ancora trovato una strategia che funzioni. Forse la meditazione potrebbe aiutare. O forse, basterebbe solo che iniziassi a curarmi di meno di quello che pensa la gente, e pensare in primis a me stessa. Avete mica qualche consiglio?

Gli gnudi fanno parte della categoria di cose che avrei tanto voluto ma mai osato fare. E se poi mi si spatasciano quando li cuocio? E se vegono troppo farinosi? Ma le cose a volte prendono una forma e una direzione tutta loro, in questo caso quella di un sacchetto gigante di spinaci preso in sconto e di una confezione di ricotta al limite della scadenza. Non molto romantica come ispirazione per un piatto, ma tant'è: o adesso o mai più.

Li ho fatti. Ed erano buoni.

In cucina, superare le mie paure mi viene decisamente  più facile. Che sia questa la mia chiave?


Gnudi
Ricetta presa da qui

Per 3-4

600 gr di spinaci freschi, lavati
200 gr di ricotta vaccina fresca
1 uovo bio
50 gr di pecorino grattugiato
60 gr di farina di farro integrale
sale marino fino e pepe qb
2 cucchiai di burro salato
5-6 foglie di salvia
pecorino grattugiato a volontà

Comiciate col mettere gli spinaci in una pentola molto capiente e di cuocerli a fuoco medio basso per qualche minuto. Quando saranno teneri, scolateli e strizzateli bene. Tagliuzzateli finemente e ripassateli al colino per eliminare ogni eccesso di liquido. Tenete da parte. 
Mettete una pentola d'acqua salata sul fuoco e portate a bollore. Nel frattempo, mescolate la ricotta, l'uovo, il pecorino, un po' di sale e pepe. Aggiungete la farina e gli spinaci e amalgamante bene il tutto. Usando due cucchiai, formate delle palline di impasto e adagiatele su un piano infarinato. Proseguite fino alla fine dell'impasto. Quando l'acqua bolle, buttateci dentro gli gnudi, tre quattro alla volta, e cuoceteli per 2-3 minuti dal momento in cui salgono in superficie. Mentre bollite gli gnudi, scaldate il burro e la salvia in una padella. Scolate gli gnudi con un cucchiaio forato e passateli nel burro per qualche minuto, girandoli da tutti i lati.
Scaldate il forno a 200°C.  Preparate una teglia da crostata e ungetela con un pezzetto di butto. Adagiateci gli gnudi passati nel burro, cospargete di pecorino grattugiato e del burro/salvia rimasto sulla padella. Infornate in forno caldo e gratinate per 15 minuti circa. Sfornate e servite subito.

Detail: Gnudi

Italian Table Talk Easter Edition: Pastiera Napoletana

The most fascinating side of an enlarged family is usually the one which lives far from the rest. My family is no exception.

As a kid, among the whole lot of aunts and uncles all born and raised in Veneto, I have always been intrigued by that aunt who chose the alternative path, married a man from the South during her graduate years and left the native soil to follow him in his social and professional climbing.

They lived in Palermo, Reggio Clalabria, Naples, Udine, Varese, Florence and who knows where else in Italy. My aunt would follow her professional, upscale engineer husband wherever his career would take him without objection, even after the birth of their (only) daughter. They would show up sometimes at my grandma's house for a weekend over Christmas or Easter or some other public holiday, have lunch with the rest of us, and then leave right after in their shiny new company car.

What was most striking was how much she had changed and moved on from her Venetian country origins. Far from using any dialect, her way of speaking had a strange inflection, a mixture of accents and local usages that made her even more singular before my eyes. She would discuss literature, philosophy, religion, art and music with her very puzzled mother and sister --all subjects that she probably had time to dig in her long days at home alone, with her husband away for work, pressured by the idea of pleasing him and be presentable at one of the many social events they had to attend.

A way of detecting in which city they were living at the time of their visit, besides paying attention to my aunt's acquired accent, was looking at what food she had brought for us. Usually sweets, often purchased in the best local pastry shops, they would either be some sort of almond delight from Sicily, or Florentine cookies, or some Neapolitan sugary treat. To the young version of myself, her foodie presents seemed the most foreign thing on earth.




The only home-made thing she would bring with her, and only over Easter, would be pastiera. Proud of having grasped the recipe for the best, authentic version of this traditional Neapolitan cake while living indeed in Naples, she would proudly showcase and share her creation with us during the big family Easter meal at grandma's house. Being used to the more cross-regional Easter cake out there, colomba, having anything else for dessert seemed fairly unique to us. Welcoming my aunt's exotic cake meant welcoming this new bit of culture in our family, one that didn't belong to it originally but had become part of it in time.

As I was biting my very first piece of pastiera, I remember my first impression being stricken by the aroma more than the flavor. It was like I was eating a smell. The powerful scent of citrus and orange blossoms, which I couldn't detect as such back then, reminded me of the smell of the beauty section of a department store rather than the sugary scent coming out of a pastry shop. I just knew immediately I hadn't eaten anything with such a strong flowery note before. At first, it was hard for me to get it. But then, after one more bite, and another, the creamy, sugary sweetness seduced me subtly, with no chance for second thoughts. The texture was pretty novel to me as well. Never before had I eaten a cake whose filling was creamy and slightly chewy at the same time, and so dense and heavy to barely hold within the edges of the cut slice. I asked what was inside it, and she answered, to my surprise: ricotta and cooked wheat. Wheat in cake, I thought, must be some kind of Southern culinary eccentricity I wasn't familiar with. Yet, I had already surrendered to its goodness, and not quite sated, I helped myself with a second small slice, digging in the moist filling all the way to the crumbly and buttery crust.

Year after year, whenever she would come for Easter, she would gift us with this cake that we all learnt to love more than any other. The odd had become familiar, in cake as much as my aunt's personality. Until one year, for some reason, she skipped her Easter visit, and all of a sudden we were left deprived of our beloved pastiera. So I thought I would make it myself instead, using her or some other trusted recipe. As in time I found out that just like many other Italian traditional dishes, there is no ultimate version, only multiple good ones. However, it seems like the one I know and make is the most authentic and old one, which doesn't contain any custard in the filling --a modern twist to make it creamier.

This is how this Neapolitan cake, typical of Easter, became part of our otherwise very Venetian family, and why I am talking about it for our Easter Edition of Italian Table Talk. Although not an expert in the art of making pastiera, it entered my life at a young age and it is now part of the flavor I long for and miss and try to recreate to feel closer to home during this time of the year. What I learnt about it, visiting Naples a few weeks ago, is that no matter how good the store-bought version is, the real deal is just home-made. And that although you might be able to find it all year round now, it remains a dolce di Pasqua (Easter cake) filled with symbolic ingredients (eggs, flower essence, wheat) representing spring, fertility and re-birth in pagan symbolism as much as in the Cristian metaphorical language.

Before jumping to the recipe, here is what this Easter-themed edition of ITT has in store for us: Emiko shares the details of a 19th century traditional Lent meal from Artusi's Italian cooking bible;  Giulia brings to the table a Tuscan Easter favorite, lamb; and Jasmine tells us about Mimuna, a traditional Jewish cake for Passover.



Pastiera Napoletana

You can make it totally from scratch, as I did, by soaking and cooking raw wheat. Or you can speed up the process and use store-bought cooked wheat, if you can find it. Either way works, although I found that home-made cooked wheat stays much more solid than the canned version. Also, the filling should be moist, so be careful not to over bake it. What is crucial is to make it ahead: it has to rest for a couple of days in order to set and combine its flavors. So, if you are starting with raw grains, start soaking them at least 5 days before the day you want to put it on the table.

For the crust:
150 gr sugar
150 gr butter or lard
3 egg yolks
300 gr of all-purpose flour

For the filling:
200 gr wheat berries
500ml milk
grated zest of 1/2 lemon
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla extract
300 gr ricotta (half cow's milk half sheep's milk would be ideal)
4 eggs, yolks and whites separated
1 tbsp orange blossom water
125 gr candied citrus peel (such as a mixture of citron and orange)
225 gr caster sugar
butter for greasing the pan
icing sugar for dusting

Day 1. Soak the grains and let them sit overnight.

Day 2. Start preparing part of the filling.
Drain the soaked whole wheat and place in a large pan with plenty of cold water. Bring to a boil and cook at low heat for 3 hours. Drain and set aside. In the same pan, pour the milk with the lemon zest. When hot, add the wheat and simmer for 3-4 hours over a very low heat, stirring from time to time to avoid burning the bottom. When the grain is tender, add the ground cinnamon and the vanilla. Remove from the heat and allow to cool completely. Cover and place in the fridge until the next day.

Day 3. Assemble and bake the cake.
For the pastry, place the sugar, butter and yolks into a food processor and pulse until smooth. Alternatively, cream the butter with a wooden spoon, add sugar and then yolks. Add the flour and pulse until a ball forms, or stir to make a smooth pastry. Shape the dough into a ball, wrap it in cling film and set it in the fridge for at least one hour.
Remove the wheat from the fridge. Beat the ricotta in a large mixing bowl with the egg yolks and the orange blossom water. Add the candied zests and the cooked wheat to the ricotta mixture. In another large bowl, beat the egg whites with the sugar until light and fluffy. Fold them gently into the ricotta mixture using movements from the bottom to the top.
Preheat the oven to 190C (375F). Grease and flour a large pie tin, about 28-30 cm of diameter. Save one third of the pastry for the lattice that will go on top of the cake. Roll the other two-thirds of the pastry into a circle that will cover both base and sides of the tin, then transfer it over the tin and press it slightly using the fingers. If it breaks a bit there's no problem: stick a piece of dough on top of the crack and press to make it even.
Pour the filling mixture over the pastry shell. Roll out the remaining pastry, cut into long strips and use these to make a lattice top for the cake (it is very fragile, don't worry, stick bits and pieces together).
Bake for about 40 minutes. Allow to cool completely, then set in the fridge or a cool place to set.

Day 4. Wait.

Day 5. Remove from the fridge and bring to room temperature. Dust with icing sugar, slice and serve.

-------------------°°°°°°°°°°-------------------
 
La parte più interessante di una famiglia è di solito quella che vive lontano dal resto del nucleo.

Fin da piccola, tra tutti gli zii e zie veneti doc, mi ha sempre affascinata di più quella zia che aveva scelto un percorso diverso, si era sposata un uomo del sud durante gli anni dell'università, e aveva lasciato il suolo natio per inseguirlo nella sua scalata professionale e sociale.

Hanno vissuto a Reggio Calabria, Napoli, Palermo, Varese, Udine e Firenze e chissà in quali altri psoti in Italia. Mia zia era disposta a seguire il suo ingegnere in carriera dovunque le sue esigenze lavorative lo avessero chiamato, anche dopo la nascita della loro (unica) figlia. Ogni tanto facevano la loro comparsa a casa di nonna, per un weekend rilassante in campagna, sotto le feste o per qualche ponte. Pranzavano con noi la domenica e ripartivano subito dopo nella loro macchina aziendale nuovo modello.

Quello che più mi colpiva era il cambiamento che aveva compiuto per allontanarsi dalle sue origini "contadine" venete. Lungi dall'usare anche solo una parola di dialetto, il suo modo di parlare aveva una strana inflessione, come un miscuglio di accenti e modi di dire che aveva pescato qui e là nei vari posti in cui aveva vissuto, e che la rendeva se possibile ancora più singolare ai miei occhi. Era diventata solita disquisire di letteratura, arte, filosofia o religione e tirar fuori di queste cose di fronte alle sue basitissime madre e sorella, che non sapevano bene da che parte prenderla. Argomenti che aveva avuto probabilmente tempo di approfondire nelle lunghe giornate a casa da sola, col marito lontano per lavoro, e con lo scopo di impressionare colleghi o conoscenti in una delle loro apparizioni nell'altra società.



Un modo per discernere in quale città stavano vivendo al momento, a parte cogliendo sprazzi di accento acquisito, era quello di analizzare le leccornie che ci portava quando veniva a trovarci. Di solito erano dolci, acquistati in una delle migliori pasticcerie dei quartieri alti della città, e negli anni hanno assunto la forma di dolcetti napoletani, paste di mandorla siciliane, cantuccini toscani e via dicendo. Alla bambina che ero allora, sembravano tutti provenire da un mondo decisamente esotico.

L'unica cosa che portava che fosse fatta in casa, e solo a Pasqua, era la pastiera. Sedicente posseditrice della segretissima ricetta della pastiera napoletana originale nonché più buona del mondo, su cui aveva messo le mani mentre viveva appunto a Napoli, condivideva la sua opera d'are con tutta la famiglia al pranzo di Pasqua a casa di nonna. Per noi che eravamo abituati alla più comune e spartana colomba, avere questa torta extra-ricca e complicata sulla tavola era piuttosto inusuale. Eppure l'abbiamo accolta a braccia aperte, per strana che fosse, un po' come avevamo fatto con chi l'aveva realizzata.

Ricordo che il primo impatto con la pastirera non è stato cosa da poco. Quel che mi colpiva più di tutto era il profumo, che solo dopo ho scoperto essere acqua di fior d'arancio, reminescente più di una profumeria che della dolce aroma di burro e zucchero cotto che esce dalle porte di una pasticceria. Mai prima d'allora avevo mangiato qualcosa con un'aroma di fiori così intensa. Eppure, dopo i primi, scettici morsi, la cremosità del ripieno mi ha conquistata, con quella consistenza leggermente granulosa per via del grano cotto, con quel ripieno così denso e sostanzioso da mantenere a malapena la propria forma, una volta tagliata. Ricordo di aver chiesto cosa ci fosse dentro, e alla risposta "ricotta e grano", di aver pensato che si trattasse ovviamente di qualche stramberia meridionale, e che però mi piaceva tanto. Così, non paga, me ne sono servita un'altra fetta, felice di affondare la forchetta dentro al ripieno fino in fondo, fino a sbriciolare quella magnifica frolla burrosa.

Anno dopo anno, ogni volta che viniva per Pasqua, mia zia portava con sè questo dolce che piano piano abbiamo imparato ad amare tutti. Fino a che un anno, per qualche motivo che ora non ricordo, non è venuta. E così, piuttosto che rimanere senza, avevo deciso di farla io, magari chiedendole la ricetta o semplicemente consultando qualche bibbia culinaria in merito. Perché come per ogni altra cosa, anche per la pastiera non c'è una ricetta che sia la migliore, ma piuttosto tante ottime ricette, tutte valide. L'unica cosa su cui ero certa è che la volevo fare senza crema pasticcera nel ripieno, come da tradizione, come faceva anche zia.

Così è stato che questo dolce napoletano è entrato a tutti gli effetti a far parte del repertorio culinario della nostra altrimenti venetissima famiglia. Ed è per questo che ve ne parlo in questo episodio di Italian Table Talk dedicato alla Pasqua. Lungi dall'essere un'esperta in materia, la pastiera rimane uno di quei sapori che mi ricordano casa, ed una di quelle tradizioni che, se ricreata, mi fanno sentire un po' meno lontana. Quel che ho scoperto su questo dolce, visitando Napoli, è che la pastiera "s'ha da fà in casa", e che anche se oramai compare sui banchi delle pasticcerie Napoletane tutto l'anno, è un dolce tipico di Pasqua proprio perché ricco di ingredienti simbolici come il grano cotto nel latte, l'acqua di fiori d'arancio, le uova e la ricotta, che simboleggiano la rinascita, la primavera, il risveglio e la purificazione, tanto nel simbolismo pagano come in quello Cristiano.

Prima di passare alla ricetta, ecco cos'abbiamo in serbo per voi per questo menu di Pasqua: Emiko ci racconta di un tipico pranzo di quaresima narrato da Artusi nella sua bibbia culinaria;  Giulia porta in tavola un classico della Pasqua toscana, l'agnello; e Jasmine ci racconta della Mimuna, un dolce tradizionale della Pasqua ebraica.




Pastiera Napoletana

Potete fare la pastiera partendo dal grano crudo, come ho fatto io, o comprare quello già pronto. Le cose fondamentali da tenere a mente sono: 1) il ripieno deve rimanere umido, quindi attenzione a non cuocere il dolce troppo a lungo; 2) fatela qualche giorno prima di portarla in tavola, e lasciatela riposare in frigo, così che i sapori si mescolino per bene (5 giorni prima se partite dal grano crudo).

Per la frolla:
150 gr di zucchero
150 gr di burro o strutto
3 tuorli
300 gr di farina 00

Per il ripieno:
200 gr di grano in chicchi
500 ml di latte
la buccia grattugiata di 1/2 limone
1 cucchiaino di cannella in polvere
1cucchiaino di estratto naturale di vaniglia
300 gr di ricotta (metà vaccina e metà ovina sarebbe l'ideale)
4 uova, tuorli e bianchi separati
1 cucchiaio di acqua di fiori d'arancio
125 gr di scorza di agrumi candita (cedro e arancia)
225 gr di zucchero semolato
burro per lo stampo
zucchero a velo

Day 1. Mettete in ammollo il grano.

Day 2. Iniziate a preparare il ripieno.
Scolate il grano e mettetelo in una pentola capiente coperto d'acqua, portate a bollore e cuocetelo per circa 3 ore. Scolate e mettetelo da parte. Nella stessa pentola, versate il latte e scaldatelo a fuoco basso. Aggiungete la scorza di limone, la cannella e la vaniglia, e quando bolle, versateci il grano. Coprite e riducete la fiamma al minimo. Cuocete per altre 3 ore, controllando che non si attacchi, fino a che il latte non sia stato assorbito e il grano non sia tenero. Rimuovete dal fuoco e lasciatelo raffreddare, quindi mettetelo in frigo fino al giorno dopo.

Day 3. Fase finale.
Per la frolla, mettere lo zucchero, il burro e i tuorli in un blender e lavorarli a crema. Aggiungere la farina e far andare il blender fino a che non otterrete una palla di impasto briciolosa. Rovesciate tutto su un piano infarinato, date una forma omogenea all'impasto, e rivestitelo con della pellicola. Mettetelo in frigo a riposare per almeno un'ora.
Prendete il grano dal frigo. Sbattete la ricotta con i tuorli e l'acqua di fiori d'arancio. Aggiungete le bucce candite e il grano cotto e mescolate. In un'altra terrina, montate gli albumi a neve ferma, quindi incorporateli al resto del ripieno con movimenti delicati dal basso versol l'alto. 
Scaldate il forno a 190°C. Imburrate ed infarinate una teglia di circa 28-30 cm di diametro. Tenete da parte 1/3 della frolla per la decorazione, e stendete il resto con un mattarello, fino ad avere un disco di pasta sottile e largo abbastanza da coprire base e bordi della teglia.
Versateci sopra il ripieno.
Stendete il resto della pasta e tagliate delle striscioline sottili da adagiare a losanghe sopra il ripieno.
Infornate e cuocete per 40 minuti circa. Sfornate e lasciate raffreddare completamente, quindi mettetela in frigo, coperta con un foglio di alluminio.

Day 4. Aspettare.

Day 5. Togliete dal frigo e portate la pastiera a temperatura ambiente. Spolveratela di zucchero a velo e servite.

Napoli




This was, for both, our first visit to city of Partenope. Although we landed for reasons other than leisure, we tried to fill the empty spaces between one appointment and the other with as much wonderful local food as possible. Naples doesn't leave you indifferent. You love it or hate it. There's enough of both to keep you busy.

Pizza and co.
Gino Sorbillo, via dei Trbunali 32 (closed on Sundays).
THE Neapolitan pizza. The menu is the right size: it's not as small as marinara VS margherita like you find at Da Michele (yes, the one of Eat, Pray, Love), but it's not infinite either. The whole atmosphere matches the location of this pizzeria in the heart of popular Napoli: plastic cups and un-arranged flatware rolled into paper napkins, paper menu and fast service. Prices are also very popular: two margheritas (3.30 euro/each), water and a can of beer are going to cost you about 13 euro. The price-satisfaction ration is the best I've ever encountered. This might explain the long queue at the entrance, which is well worth tackling nonetheless, as it moves pretty fast. The pizza itself is a hymn to the land: sweet, sweet mozzarella, low-acidity tomato sauce, chewy, perfectly risen dough, basil, olive oil. You'll be in heaven, and not surprisingly light as a feather.

Pizzaria La Notizia, via Caravaggio 53/55
Enzo Coccia has developed the concept of Pizza Gourmet to perfection. With his pizzaria located well out of the main touristy paths, in the residential area of Mergellina, he created an environment that is  far from the popular atmosphere of a downtown pizzeria like Sorbillo, and a solar-system-far from the original, street food version of pizza a portafoglio (portrait above). At La Notizia, professionally dressed waiters will take your coat. Fancy water bottles, a wine and craft beer list, and a long list of "creative" pizzas, embraced by antipasti and desserts, are also part of the deal. The prices are adequate to the style of the place, ranging from about 5 to 9 euro for pizzas, depending on toppings. Ingredients are top-quality, all from local sources, and all listed at the end of the menu: pomodori del Piennolo, Cetara anchovies, Andria broccoli etc. The pizza? Outstanding. Definitely made in a different way than Sorbillo, but just as good. The main differences: pizza here is a bit smaller in size, and the mozzarella-tomato combo sauce doesn't leak on your plate -- Coccia squeezes his mozzarella balls hours before using them for pizza. The crust is yet still soft and the combination of flavors is extremely well-balanced. The check is also different: three pizzas (I travel with a carb-fueled man), water, craft beer (14 euro/75cl), coffee and limoncello for dinner ranked 48 euro. Total win.

La Focaccia, Vico Belledonne a Chiaia 31
In the heart of the happy hour/aperitivo area of Naples, this place is a true gem to mop up some alcohol with something very tasty. Particularly on Sunday night, when every restaurant seems to be closed, this is your safety boat after a couple of drinks in a nearby enoteca (listed below). This family-owned, cozy and spartan place serves a huge variety of focacce (note the difference: they are not pizze, as they are thicker and they come by the slice!) at very affordable prices. The quality of the dough and the toppings is good, and you can ask for an extra warm-up if you want yours very hot. Best of all is the beer selection --quite impressive for such a low-key place (Belgian and Trappist included). Five (huge) pieces of focaccia (including awesome stuffed ones with friarelli and sausage, and with scarole), 2 good beers (Orval and Chimay) and water for 20 euro sounded pretty honest to us.

Glass of Wine
Enoteca Belledonne, Vico Belledonne a Chiaia 18
A cozy spot in the most lively and lovely area of Naples, Chiaia. If you are lucky enough to walk in during a Napoli soccer match, the whole front area and the counter will be packed with people staring and cheering at the maxi-screen, but the back room will be at your complete disposal. Take a seat, and someone will bring you plump green olives, tarallini (round-shaped cracker snacks), and a wine list. The by-the-glass choice is quite interesting, with some good local wines, and most of all affordable: 3 to 6 euro. We might have been ruined by the London scene and ridiculous prices for wines by the glass, but we were just mesmerized. If you fancy a light, fruity, before-dinner-like red, Moio 57 (based on Primitivo grapes) is quite nice. Taurasi always wins for strenght and personality, but might require some food. As for whites, from Falanghina to Amalfi Coast wines, you're all set. Wider choice by the bottle, with the option of broadening your horizon outside of Campania with some darn excellent labels.

Coffee
Naples is the city of coffee. Espresso, ristretto --forget about these: once inside a bar, you'll simply call it caffé. Pay and get your receipt first (each coffee is 90-95 cents), then get your order at the counter. Experienced baristas will quickly serve you an inch of super-concentrated caffeine potion from the best mix of dark-roasted, high-acidity beans. One shot, done. Love it or leave it. Please be careful, some places serve it in a HOT CUP. Also, if you drink yours without sugar, make sure you ask for it beforehand, as the standard here is sweet.
 
1) Mexico, Piazza Dante 86
2) Gran Caffé Gambrinus, Via Chiaia 1/2, Angolo Piazza Trieste e Trento
Also home of traditional pastries like babà, mini-pastiere, sfogliatelle ricce or frolle, zeppole etc.
3) Caffé del Professore, Piazza Trieste e Trento 46

Ice Cream (and Chocolate)
Gay Odin, via Toledo, Via Colonna et al.
We are not the biggest chocolate consumers but we heard of this historical place, this Southern chocolate institution and we couldn't miss it. We stepped inside the one in via Colonna, near our apartment, and enjoyed the view of this pretty, old-school looking shop with all kinds of chocolate crafts. What we couldn't resist was the ice-cream: judging from the amazingly-looking, brown-greenish pistachio, it promised only good things. You can choose either the cono or coppetta with two scoops from 2 euro, or the take-away version (by weight). We tried pistachio (wow), dark chocolate with orange zest (wowwow), fiordilatte (good) and ricotta with pears (yum). You taste the quality and you forget about it in a second, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Pastries
In Naples, it's all about sfogliatelle, little pasties filled with ricotta cream and candied citrus. You'll find them in two versions: riccia (the wrinkly, crunchy, phyllo-style one) and frolla (softer, almost like a sugar pastry dough). Other classics include babà with rum, pastiera (a traditional Easter cake now available all year), caprese (almond-chocolate cake, nothing to do with the salad), tart with wild strawberries, and zeppole (fried pate à choux covered with custard and topped with maraschino cherries, typical for Father's Day, around March 19th). Pastries range between 1 and 2 euro, depending on the place. If you go for a pastry with your caffé here's the proper order, as a Neapolitan would do: first the pastry, then the glass of water (free), then the coffee. Yeah?

Moccia, Via San Pasquale a Chiaia 21
It's the only one we made it to among the recommended ones, as it was at walking distance from our apartment. The selection is impressive and the sfogliatelle are quite delicious --that said, I don't claim any kind of expertise on the subject.

Other recommended ones:
Vittorio Carraturo
Attanasio

Enjoy!
----------------------°°°°°°°°°°°-------------------

Per entrambi, la nostra prima visita alla città di Partenope. Anche se in realtà alla base c'era tutt'altro che un viaggio di piacere, abbiamo comunque cercato di infilare, tra un impegno burocratico e l'altro, quanto più buon cibo possibile, e qualche passeggiata in centro. Giusto quel che serve per capire che Napoli non è una città che lascia indifferenti, nel bene e nel male, e che c'è a sufficienza dell'uno e dell'altro per riempire tre-quattro giorni.

Pizza e co.
Gino Sorbillo, via dei Trbunali 32 (chiuso la domenica). LA pizza napoletana. Il menu non si riduce all'iconico scontro tra marinara e margherita, come dal Da Michele di Eat, Pray, Love per intenderci, ma non è nemmeno lunga chilometri come in certe pizzerie che conosco io. Meglio: qui si deve scegliere senza indugi, decisi, bando alle ciance, che "ci sta sempre 'na coda notevole", a pranzo e a cena. Ovvio, ci troviamo nel cuore della Napoli popolare, nel cuore di quello che era l'antico castro romano, e questa pizzeria s'abbina perfettamente con la location, in tutti i sensi. Servizio efficiente e spartano, con bicchieri di plastica e posate quasi lanciate dai camerieri in maglietta col logo, avvolte nei tovaglioli di carta anch'essi col logo, menu su un foglio di carta un po' unto ma ben leggibile. Mi piace, sa di pizzeria, di quel che dovrebbe essere un luogo senza fronzoli, genuino. I prezzi son pure molto popolari: due margherite, acqua e birra ci hanno reso felici per meri 13 euro. Ma dove altro succede? Il che, ovvio, spiega la lunga coda all'ingresso, che suggerisco vivamente di affrontare in ogni caso: ne vale la pena! La pizza, beh, che dire, è un'inno a questa terra, con la mozzarella dolce dolce e cremosa, il pomodoro senza un velo di acidità di troppo, e il cornicione alto, perfetto per raccogliere la crema che vi rimane sul piatto. Sarete in paradiso, e sì, pure leggeri come una piuma.

Pizzaria La Notizia, via Caravaggio 53/55
Enzo Coccia ha sviluppato il concetto di pizza gourmet alla perfezione.  Nel suo locale, abbastanza fuori dai percorsi turistici principali, posizionato nella zona residenziale di Mergellina, ha creato un ambiente che è non solo diverso da quello della pizzeria "popolare" in stile Sorbillo, ma è anche e sopreattutto lontano anni luce dall'idea di pizza come street food (nella sua famosa versione originale "a portafoglio", di cui vedete un esempio nella foto sopra). A La Notizia, camerieri vestiti in modo sobrio ma impeccabile, vi condurranno al tavolo e prenderanno i vostri cappotti. Vi porteranno una bottiglia d'acqua dall'aspetto "lussuoso" e vi porgeranno la lista dei vini e delle birre (artigianali e locali). Il menu vanta, oltre ad una nutrita scelta di pizze classiche e innovative, anche antipasti, bruschette, sfizi e dessert. I prezzi delle pizze variano dai 5 ai 9 euro circa, a seconda dei condimenti. Quel che salta all'occhio fin da subito, però, è la scelta oculatissima degli ingredienti, quasi di nicchia, con un'accento sulle eccellenze locali e con tanto di nomi e cognomi delle aziende agricole fornitrici: pomodori del piennolo, broccoli di Andria, acciughe di Cetara ecc. La pizza è ovviamente eccezionale, seppur molto diversa da quella di Sorbillo: più piccola, con una pasta più soda ma sempre morbida ed alveolata, e con la mozzarella ben asciutta (ho letto che Coccia la fa sgocciolare per ore prima di usarla sulla pizza). Un'esperienza memorabile. Anche il conto, badate, sarà diverso: per tre pizze (J mangia più carbs di tutti gli USA messi insieme), una birra artigianale (14 euro/75cl), acqua, limoncello e caffè, a cena, hanno totalizzato 48 euro. Molto ben spesi.

La Focaccia, Vico Belledonne a Chiaia 31
Nel cuore della Napoli da bere, questo posticino è una gemma nascosta ma non troppo, un luogo perfetto per asciugare un po' di gradi alcolici con qualcosa di saziante e soddisfacente. In particolare la domenica, quando tutto sembra chiuso e avete bevuto un paio di bicchieri nell'enoteca lì vicino (quella indicata sotto ;). NB, si parla di focaccia, non di pizza, ché a Napoli c'è una bella differenza e non si vuole offendere nessuno: focaccia farcita, alta e leggermente spugnosa, cotta in teglia e venduta al taglio per prezzi che partono da 1 euro e 50. La scelta di farciture è ampia, e stupefacente è anche la selezione delle birre: "ci son tutte tranne la Peroni", mi diceva la signorina che serviva ai tavoli. Ed è vero, ce ne sono tante, dalle belghe alle inglesi, cosa che non ci si aspetterebbe da una semplicissima focacceria. Non male. Cinque pezzi di focaccia (comprese una farcita con salsiccia e friarelli, e una con le scarole), due birre buone (una Chimay e una Orval) e una bottiglietta di acqua ci sono costati 20 euro, il che ci è sembrato molto onesto. Se siete in zona, provatela!


Bicchiere di vino
Enoteca Belledonne, Vico Belledonne a Chiaia 18
Un posticino molto interessante nella zona più carina e vitale di Napoli, Chiaia. Se capitate mentree gioca il Napoli, state sicuri che l'ingresso e il bancone saranno affollati di gente incantata a guardare il maxi-schermo, ma che la saletta nel retro sarà a vostra completa disposizione. Sedetevi, e in men che non si dica vi porteranno olive, tarallini e la lista dei vini. La scelta al bicchiere è interessante, con l'accento posto sui vini campani, ma qualche altro nome al di fuori dei confini regionali: se vi va un rosso, perfetto per l'aperitivo è Moio 57, leggero e fruttato (a base di Primitivo); i vini della costiera amalfitana o una Falanghina faranno felici chi preferisce un bianco. La lista delle bottiglie è molto ben curata, con etichette degne di nota e nomi famosi nei circoli dei fine wines, campani e non. I prezzi sono onestissimi, e hanno quasi fatto piangere di gioia noi, londinesi d'adozione, ormai da troppo tempo abituati a cifre irragionevoli per un bicchiere di vino.

Caffé
Che Napoli sia la città del caffé non è un mistero, e di caffetterie eccellenti ne troverete a bizzeffe. Questi che vi porto sono solo gli esempi più iconici, dove vivrete un'esperienza memorabile . Ordinate alla cassa e prendete il vostro bigliettino, porgetelo al barista e attendete qualche secondo: un dito di liquido nero apparirà in tazzina di fronte a voi, buono come non mai, con una spiccata acidità e una potenza che solo a Napoli. Lasciate i 10 o 5 cent di resto sul bancone, sono parte della tradizione ancora viva del caffè sospeso. Se lo volete amaro, specificate: in alcuni luoghi lo zuccherano di default.
 
1) Mexico, Piazza Dante 86
2) Gran Caffé Gambrinus, Via Chiaia 1/2, Angolo Piazza Trieste e Trento
Anche sede di ottima pasticceria tradizionale, come babà, mini-pastiere, sfogliatelle ricce o frolle, zeppole etc.
3) Caffé del Professore, Piazza Trieste e Trento 46
Qui fanno il famoso caffé alla nocciola, da provare.

Gelato (e cioccolato)
Gay Odin, via Toledo, Via Colonna et al. 
Non che noi si sia grandi consumatori di cioccolato, tutt'altro, ma avevamo sentito di questa istituzione partenopea del cioccolato e non potevamo esimerci. Siamo andati nel negozio di via Colonna, vicino piazza Amedeo, e ci siamo goduti la vista di questo posto dai dettagli curati e dallo stile d'altri tempi, nonché quella dei loro prodotti che sembrano piccole opere d'arte edibili. Ma noi, no, noi volevamo il gelato, che vedendo la faccia del pistacchio verdolino marroncino prometteva benissimo. Due gusti per 2 o 2.50 euro: si è provato ricotta e pere, cioccolato e scorzette candite, pistacchio e fiordilatte. Wow, people, wow. La qualità si sente alla prima leccata, poi chiudete gli occhi e lasciatevi sopraffare dal piacere.

Pasticcerie
La guerra della sfogliatella: chi fa le più buone? Chi fa meglio le ricce, chi fa meglio le frolle? Chi usa troppa ricotta, chi troppo pochi canditi? Sia quel che sia, la sfogliatella è un must che si deve provare, in entrambe le versioni, la scrocchiarella riccia e la morbida frolla. E poi certo, ci sono i babà, le pastiere (anche se leggevo che la vera pastiera s'à da fa' a casa), le crostatine con le fragoline, le zeppole di San Giuseppe, la torta caprese...Vedete voi quanto riuscite a reggere, ma c'è di che sbizzarrirsi! Certo, se prendete caffé e pastina, il rito prevede pastina prima, poi bicchiere d'acqua, ed infine caffé. Statt'accuort e non sbagliare! :)

Moccia, Via San Pasquale a Chiaia 21
L'unica dove siamo riusciti a fare tappa tra le pasticcerie suggerite in quanto a distanza ragionevole dal nostro appartamento. La selezione è bella ricca e le sfogliatelle sono ottime. Detto questo, non sono certo un'esperta in materia, dovrei continuare con le prove empiriche prima di assumermi questa responsabilità.

Altre pasticcerie raccomandate da chi ne sa:
Vittorio Carraturo
Attanasio

Buon divertimento!



Detail: Napoli
Older Post ►
eXTReMe Tracker
 

Copyright 2011 food and photography is proudly powered by blogger.com