Category Archives: food history

still life fruit cheese peonies
food history, italian cuisine

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 58 (pgs. 183 – 189): Umbrian Orgy in Perugia

still life fruit cheese peonies

Region: Umbria/Marches

Menu: Bread Toasts with Truffles, Marinated Salmon with Rhubarb Sauce, Penne Pasta with Brandy Tomato Cream Sauce, Umbrian-Style “Suckling Pig,” Vegetable Rainbow with Asparagus, Carrots, and Zucchini, Italian Cheese Tray with Mostarda

Recommended Wine: Lungarotti White and Red (Chardonnay di Miralduolo, Cabernet Sauvignon di Miralduolo)

            I’m not sure how one chooses the menu for an orgy, but there’s a tongue-in-cheek (I hope) suggestion in A Cook’s Tour of Italy, to be held in Perugia. Situated in the hills above the Tiber River upstream from Rome, the city has a prime location. An important city even before the Roman Empire, Perugia reached the peak of its influence in the Middle Ages. Several popes were elected there, and it was a regular refuge at times of civil unrest in Rome.

            As in Tuscany, Emilia-Romagna, Lombardy, and other parts of northern and central Italy, the weakening Holy Roman Empire created a power vacuum in Umbria during the High Middle Ages. It was filled by constantly-squabbling city states like Perugia, Assisi, and Spoleto. In one conflict in 1202, 20-year-old Francis of Assisi was captured and held in Perugia for a year. During this time, he began his spiritual journey, eventually leading to sainthood.

            The landscape of Umbria greatly resembles that of neighboring Tuscany, with hilltop towns, vineyards, olive groves, cypress trees, and groves of forest full of wild boars. Just think about a postcard or Renaissance landscape, and you’ll get a pretty good idea. The region is famous for pork, wild game, bread, oil, wine, truffles, and, more recently, chocolate.

Assisi
View of Assisi

            We start off with a bit of grated truffle, mixed with garlic, oil, and lemon juice for a sort of pate, on toast. Unlike the white truffles of the Piedmont region, which are supposedly ruined by cooking and should only be grated over a finished dish, the less expensive black truffles found in Umbria can stand up to light cooking. Here, they’re briefly sauteed in the oil with garlic. Even though I didn’t use top-quality black truffles (instead using a roughly $12 jar I found at World Market), they had a pleasant and interesting flavor. I’m not sure if I’d bother again, but it was nice to try.

truffle toast rhubarb sauce
Truffle toasts, plus rhubarb sauce

            The ancient Romans loved mushrooms and frequently ate them as appetizers. According to some sources, Emperor Claudius was poisoned by them. A variety called death caps has been implicated in countless accidental and deliberate mushroom poisonings over the centuries, and are still responsible for over half of fatal cases, so they seem like the prime suspect. Perhaps fear of a repeat made edible fungi go out of fashion during the Middle Ages, and maybe that’s why medieval people considered them to be dangerously cold and wet. It wasn’t until the Renaissance that the wealthy even considered them again. Presumably that’s when Umbrians discovered (or rediscovered) their truffles.

truffle toast, salmon carpaccio, rhubarb sauce
The first two courses

            The next dish is an interesting one. Landlocked Umbria is known for its freshwater fish, but salmon is not native. Mr. Famularo based this dish on one he had at a posh little hotel in the area. The salmon is raw, only “cooked” by an acidic marinade, served in a cream sauce, with a sweet-and-sour rhubarb sauce alongside. Since I was serving two people and not twelve, I only made a fraction of the amount of fish, to ensure it all got eaten. Leftovers probably would have not improved in the fridge.

salmon carpaccio
Salmon to serve with rhubarb sauce

            The rhubarb sauce was another story. To make things a little easier, I served the toasts and fish on one day, and everything else on another. The texture of the fish took a little getting used to, but the cream and especially rhubarb sauce really made the dish. A little bit of lemon peel added extra flavor. For a full party of twelve, I probably would have needed to double the recipe to have enough. Leftovers are a great topping for ice cream, pancakes, and waffles. Rhubarb sundaes, with either vanilla or strawberry ice cream, could be the next big thing.

penne with tomato cream sauce

            If you’re wondering why the pasta is on Styrofoam plates, it’s because the water softener was out of commission, waiting for repair. To avoid unpleasant powdery mineral buildup on the regular plates, we used foam and paper ones for several days. Pasta with a homemade tomato-cream sauce tastes just as good that way. I couldn’t taste the bit of “cognac” in it, so using a basic domestic brandy worked just fine.

porchetta
Sort-of porchetta

            As a substitute for suckling pig, I used two chunks of pork butt, which are large and fatty enough to stand up to the long cooking time without drying out. The cooking time didn’t need to be reduced as much as I expected, so the pork became a bedtime snack a few hours after dinner. And porchetta sandwiches for a week of lunches. Luckily – but not surprisingly – it tasted delicious. Pork and herbs are a classic combination for a reason.

vegetables with garlic and lemon
Upgraded veggie tray

            The vegetables are simply steamed, arranged on a platter, drizzled with olive oil with sauteed bits of garlic, and served with lemon wedges. The combination would probably work with any sort of steamed or grilled vegetables. Lemon, oil, and garlic are a great combination.

fruit and cheese still-life
Still-life of fruit and cheese

            I didn’t have mostarda di frutta, a mix of fruits preserved in a mustard-flavored syrup, to go with the cheeses for dessert, so I improvised with a still-life – fruit, cheeses, and flowers. In this case, I used fresh mozzarella in place of smoked, which might overpower the fresh pears and cherries, true Italian Parmigiano-Reggiano, and a soft rindless cheese called stracchino. The last was sort of like brie without the rind, was just firm enough to slice, and just runny enough to very slowly spread out and make the slices run back together. To make eating it easier, I got out some matzo from the cabinet, which worked perfectly.

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            Parmigiano-Reggiano is sometimes called the “King of Cheeses.” Imitations abound, but to get the coveted name, the cheese has to be made of cows’ milk, according to a specific process, in a limited part of Emilia-Romagna near Parma, hence the name. Normally for pasta, soup, etc., a decent domestic parmesan is perfectly acceptable. It still has that characteristic slightly sweet, nutty flavor, even if the texture is less granular. Mimi Sheraton also praised its virtues on pages 216 – 217 of 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die. But even the domestic stuff is delicious. At least if it’s made in Wisconsin.

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kutya
breakfast/brunch, dessert, food history, polish cuisine, ukrainian cuisine, vegetarian

Kutya: A Relatively Healthy Dessert (with recipe)

kutya

            Healthy eating can be a challenge for those of us with a sweet tooth. While nothing can fully replace the baked goods and other desserts with limited nutritional value, there are healthier ways to at least calm the cravings. One option is kutya, a dessert based on wheat berries, honey, nuts, poppy seeds, and sometimes a bit of cream. Traditionally a Christmas Eve specialty in Poland and Ukraine, it’s good enough to eat year-round. I fully agree with Mimi Sheraton in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die (pages 401 – 402).

            During the Early Modern Era, both Poland and Ukraine (then mostly part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) exported huge amounts of grain, especially wheat, to Western Europe. In the 16th and early 17th Centuries, the Commonwealth was one of Europe’s great powers. The story of how the grain trade aided both the rise and fall of Poland-Lithuania is way too complicated to get into here (and I’m still trying to make sense of some of the economics). Suffice it to say, the role of grain is central to Polish and Ukrainian history – and cuisine.

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            I liked this a lot better than the Armenian wheat pudding anoush aboor. The grains have more texture and aren’t oversalted, adding nuts gives it more crunch, and honey gives it a more dessert-like character. Many recipes call for raisins or other dried fruit. For my own recipe I omitted them, and added the optional splash of cream. It wasn’t as good as the chocolate cupcakes I made for a co-worker’s baby shower, but it’s pretty hard to compete with homemade frosting. This wheat berry pudding is still a good dessert. It’s even filling enough for breakfast, without causing a sugar crash later.

            There are two warnings I should give you beforehand. 1) Poppyseeds can cause a false positive for opiates on a drug test. This is fairly well-known, but worth a reminder. 2) Poppyseeds stick in the teeth. The problem seems worse in kutya than in cake or muffins, probably because they aren’t “bound up” in the structure. Have a toothbrush and floss handy.

Ingredients:

  • 1 cup wheat berries or farro, cooked according to package directions and cooled
  • ½ cup almonds, toasted and coarsely chopped
  • ½ cup walnut pieces, toasted and coarsely chopped
  • ¼ cup poppy seeds
  • ¼ cup honey
  • ¼ cup cream or half-and-half

Directions:

  1. Combine the poppy seeds with a quarter cup hot water and allow to soak for about an hour. Drain off the water.
  2. If you have a mortar and pestle or spice grinder, crush or grind the seeds a bit. They won’t get very fine, and this step isn’t strictly necessary, but it does help release their flavor. Mix in the cream or half-and-half.
  3. Stir together the wheat berries, nuts, honey, and poppyseed mixture. For the best presentation, serve in pretty painted bowls.

            If you thought this was interesting, don’t forget to like, share, and/or subscribe for more food history and recipes.

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ginger tea
beverages, food history, korean cuisine, winter

Ginger Tea: Korean Cold Remedy (with basic recipe)

ginger tea

            It’s that time of year. Cold and flu viruses are everywhere, and most people will get sick at least once. I’ve already had a few colds, a sinus infection, and most recently the flu, and the season is only just winding down. Humans living in temperate and arctic climates have dealt with these illnesses for thousands of years. (Those living in tropical climates had a whole other host of ailments.) Around the world, home remedies consistently involve soup, tea, and other hot liquids. Only the ingredients vary.

            One Korean cold remedy is ginger tea. In this case, there are no actual tea leaves involved. Hot water is poured over slices of fresh or dried ginger and often a cinnamon stick. A little honey sweetens the mix and balances the spice. Some studies suggest that ginger is an anti-inflammatory, and honey is known for its anti-bacterial properties, so this traditional remedy might have scientific backing. It certainly won’t hurt. And Korean ginger tea is delicious.

            You have to be careful with folk remedies. Many herbs and spices have some medicinal benefit, but some have side effects or interact with prescription medicines. Luckily, all the ingredients in ginger tea are widely consumed without incident, the cinnamon challenge notwithstanding. As an added bonus, it’s caffeine free, for the perfect evening drink.

To make it:

            All you need is a few slices of fresh ginger and about a teaspoon of honey per cup. Add boiling water, stir with a cinnamon stick, and leave it in.  The normal cassia cinnamon sticks found at the grocery store are good – there’s no need to hunt down the softer, more expensive “Ceylon cinnamon.” The subtler Ceylon cinnamon would be completely overwhelmed by the ginger. Once the tea is cool enough to drink, the flavors will be fully infused. Just give it another stir before enjoying. The ginger slices and cinnamon stick can be reused for a second cup of tea. The flavor won’t be as strong, but it is still distinctive and tasty.

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schmaltz and matzo
appetizers, food history, jewish cuisine, snacks

Schmaltz: Better If You Grew Up On It

schmaltz and matzo
Matzo with schmaltz (a.k.a. pure chicken fat)

            Perhaps more than any other cooking fat, rendered chicken or other poultry fat is associated with a specific cuisine: Ashkenazi Jewish. It was a historical necessity. Butter couldn’t be used in a meat meal, due to the prohibition against combining meat and dairy. Certain types of beef fat aren’t kosher, which makes tallow a tricky proposition. As a pork product, lard was definitely out. Since olive trees can’t grow in Central and Eastern Europe, poultry fat was the only option before seed oils like canola and sunflower. Few other societies faced the same religious restrictions in the same kind of environment, so use of rendered poultry fat, or schmaltz, became stereotypically Ashkenazi. Jewish immigration brought it to America, especially New York.

            For generations, New Yorkers have used schmaltz in frying, knishes, and even as a spread on matzo crackers. Since the recipe on pages 464 – 465 of 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die doesn’t make a huge quantity and I only had enough chicken skin for half, I decided to follow Mimi Sheraton’s suggestion to try it on piece of matzo with just a little salt. It wasn’t bad, tasting sort of like fried chicken cooked in slightly overused oil, and was even tasty after getting used to the flavor coming from a soft spread. The little chicken cracklings, called gribenes, were even better, tasting like pieces of fried chicken skin, which they what they are.

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            That said, schmaltz is a lot of work for a small reward. Not to mention, half of the cracklings stuck to the bottom of my pan, requiring multiple soakings and scrapings to remove. With the widespread availability of vegetable oils, shortening, and margarine, rendered chicken or other poultry fat is no longer necessary for kosher frying. And for anyone craving the fatty chicken flavor, many grocery stores sell ready-made fried chicken.

            Schmaltz certainly has historical interest, and is currently enjoying a culinary revival, but I struggle to see the appeal. Having grown up eating non-kosher casseroles with ham and cheddar cheese, cheeseburgers, and pulled pork, the traditional “New York deli” specialties don’t have any nostalgia value. Would I scrape the solidified fat from a chilled pot of chicken or turkey soup to make gravy? Certainly – it would give the poultry flavor a nice boost. But I’m unlikely to make my own schmaltz again. It was worth trying once. In this case, once was enough.

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haggis
british cuisine, dessert, food history, scottish cuisine

Haggis: Better Tasting Than Expected (with a deep-fried Mars Bar for dessert)

haggis

            Of all the world’s foods, haggis has one of the worst reputations. In the modern age, minced sheep’s organs, fat, and oatmeal, cooked together in the stomach, are a hard sell. It’s a dish born out of harder times. Traditionally, Scottish farmers often found it more productive to raise cattle and sheep than to grow grain, and oats tolerate the cool, damp climate better than wheat. Almost from the arrival of agriculture, residents of Scotland had everything they needed to make haggis.

            Today, it’s Scotland’s national dish. Traditionally, it’s heavily peppered and served with neeps and tatties. Neeps are mashed “turnips,” which are actually rutabagas. Tatties are potatoes. Aside from the potatoes, this would all be recognizable to ancient peoples.

            In Edinburgh, you can even get it battered, fried, and enhanced with Indian-style spices at fish and chips shops. One such shop was within easy walking distance from the hostel where our group was staying, so was the perfect stop for a quick lunch between morning and afternoon activities. In addition to fish and chips, which were delicious, they served chicken, vegetable, and haggis pakoras, which are a sort of Indian fritter. In this case, a traditional Scottish staple was cooked Indian-style, and served by Kurdish proprietors. Talk about international cuisine.

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            I was a little unsure about the haggis, but it was actually delicious. Since everything was ground up, it tasted like a peppery, crumbly sausage, enhanced by a spicy coating. There were no “weird” flavors at all.

            That evening, we went to a restaurant and tried a more refined version, served with neeps, tatties, and gravy. It was sort of like sticky meatloaf, probably from the ground oats in the mix, and rather pleasant. Overall, I still preferred the pakoras, but both were good. The trick with “variety meats” must be to grind them up, add a lot of spices, and possibly fry them. Almost anything tastes good that way.

haggis pakoras
Lunch
haggis
Dinner
deep-fried mars bar
and Dessert

            Apparently, Scottish cuisine has a reputation for deep-frying anything, including candy bars. Mars bars are sort of like American Milky Way bars, with a nougat and caramel center. When battered and fried, they become sticky, melty, and crispy, a delightful mix of textures. It’s clear why both haggis and deep-fried Mars bars are foods to eat at some point in your life. (For more information, reference 1,000 Foods to Eat Before You Die, by Mimi Sheraton, pages 38, 40 – 41.)

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Konigsberg-style marzipan
christmas, dessert, food history, german cuisine, recipes, winter

Marzipan Two Ways: Lubeck and Konigsberg Style (with recipe)

Lubeck-style marzipan
Lubeck-Style
Kongisberg-style marzipan
Konigsberg-Style

            For many people, the days leading up to Christmas are cookie-baking season, and they finish eating them around New Year’s. Crunchy butter cookies are especially great. Not only are the delicious, but they can be kept longer than most cookies without getting stale. This enables a cook with sufficient willpower to make a variety over the course of a few weeks to a month. When I worked at a bakery for a year right after graduating college, we made and assembled the boxes of assorted butter cookies before Thanksgiving, and they held up fine. This year, I decided to make my own selection to give as gifts.

            Marzipan is another popular Christmas treat, especially in Europe. At its simplest, it’s just a mixture of blanched almonds, sugar, and enough water to form a paste. Many homemade versions add egg white as a binder. Historically, a few bitter almonds were used to add the distinctive aromatic almond flavor, since the more common sweet almonds have a pleasant but very mild taste, but it was hard to get the ratio right. Bitter almonds contain a small amount of cyanide, dangerous in the hands of an inept or unscrupulous cook, so almond extract is typically used today. Rosewater is a traditional flavoring, though perhaps not as common today.

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            Almonds, sugar, and rosewater were elite, prestigious ingredients in the Middle Ages, especially in Northern Europe where there were more middlemen between the source and final destination. Exactly when and where marzipan came from is unclear, though the Middle East is a likely candidate. Sweet dishes with nuts and rosewater can be found from Morocco to India. Through a combination of trade and warfare, Europeans discovered and adapted these specialties.

            In Sicily, shops sell stunningly realistic-looking marzipan fruit. English Christmas cake and Swedish princess torte are covered with a layer of rolled marzipan. All over Europe, marzipan is covered in chocolate, stuffed into festive breads and cakes, and made into figurines, including the pigs that are supposedly good luck for the New Year. Germans seem to be particularly fond of it, and specialize in two main kinds, both originating in trading ports on the Baltic Sea. Lubeck-style is soft and typically lower in sugar, while Konigsberg-style is browned under a broiler for a caramelized flavor. (For more information, see 1,000 Foods to Eat Before You Die, pg. 304)

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            Homemade marzipan is easier to make than you might expect, and has a much better flavor than most store-bought varieties. The only somewhat tricky part is blanching the almonds, but it’s more time-consuming than difficult. Just put the almonds in a bowl, cover with boiling water and stir, let stand a minute, pour off most of the boiling water, and add cool water until you reach a comfortable working temperature. The skins slip right off when squeezed, especially if the almonds are kept in the warm water until ready. Individually squeezing each almond takes a while, but it’s a satisfying process, especially with something to listen to. If you can rope in your spouse, child, guest, or any combination, it will go even faster.

Lubeck-style marzipan
Lubeck-Style, molded around an almond, covered in chocolate

            There’s one thing to note before beginning. Rosewater is a common flavoring in marzipan and goes very well with almond, but be careful with it. Depending on the brand and how fresh it is, rosewater varies in strength. Generally, brands with an alcohol base are stronger and keep their flavor better after being opened than those distilled with just water, but this is far from an absolute rule. Add it slowly, a teaspoon at a time, tasting as you go, until desired flavor is reached. You want a light floral taste, not edible perfume.

Konigsberg-style marzipan
Konigsberg-Style cutouts, with assorted cookies

Ingredients:

  • 1 pound almonds, blanched
  • 1 cup powdered sugar
  • 1 – 2 teaspoons almond extract (use more if not also using rosewater)
  • 1 teaspoon or more rosewater
  • 2 – 4 tablespoons water
  • Sugar for rolling out dough
  • Parchment paper (essential for getting baked marzipan off cookie sheet)

Directions:

  1. Coarsely grind almonds in a food processor, add sugar and flavorings, and grind again to reach a sandy texture.
  2. Add 2 tablespoons water, process again, and taste for rosewater. Add more if you think it needs it.
  3. Pinch some of the mix together to see if it comes together as a sticky dough. If not, add more water, a tablespoon at a time, until it does. The texture won’t be as fine as store-bought marzipan.
  4. For Lubeck-style marzipan, the mixture is ready to form into shapes, coat in chocolate, mold around whole almonds, and so on.
  5. For Konigsberg-style marzipan, lightly sugar a flat surface, pat the marzipan into a disk, sugar the top, roll out about a quarter-inch thick, and cut out shapes with cookie cutters. Since the dough has no flour, it can be rerolled without toughening.
  6. Bake on parchment paper-lined baking sheets at 350 for 12 – 15 minutes, just until set.
  7. To brown the marzipan, place each cookie sheet under the broiler for two minutes, with the oven door cracked (which keeps the broiler from overheating). Then, watching constantly, broil for another minute or two, until the tops are golden brown.

            As an added bonus, eggless marzipan such as this is gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan, pareve, and Passover-friendly. Assuming the parchment paper is clean, that is, and not previously used for several batches of butter-and-flour-based cookies.

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food history, italian cuisine, pizza

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 72: Artichoke and Fontina Pizza (with ring bologna)

homemade artichoke pizza
Add seasonal flowers for a lovely modern still life

            Crazy as it sounds, ring bologna is actually a decent substitute for mortadella in a pinch. After all, mortadella originated in bologna. American “baloney” was an attempt to imitate it. The ring variety is better than the slices, and in either case, crisping it up in a pan gives the bologna a boost in flavor and texture. On this pizza, the oven takes care of that step for you.

            If you make the dough the night before and leave it in the fridge, and if you still have garlic oil on hand (the recipe makes enough for several pizzas), this is the easiest pizza in the book. No vegetables need to be precooked; no herbs need to be minced. Just shred the fontina, rinse and chop up the canned artichokes, chop up the mortadella (or bologna) and you’re good to go.

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            The flavors and textures in this pizza are very well-balanced, between briny, slightly meaty artichokes, peppery bologna, creamy cheese, crispy crust, and garlic. On page 226, author Joe Famularo says the best way to get a good garlic flavor on a pizza without it scorching or being overwhelming is to use garlic-infused oil. And he’s absolutely right. The flavor is definitely there, but it doesn’t overpower the other flavors. Everything is in harmony.

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food history, italian cuisine, pizza

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 70 (Pg. 226) Revisited: Adventures in Pizza-Making and Decluttering

Sweet pepper pizza
Tasty, but a little dry

            A few months ago, I came across some ricotta salata while browsing at Woodman’s. Remembering that lack of it led me to improvise on sweet pepper pizza a few years ago, I decided to remake the recipe and give it a try. Plus, I had some unbleached flour and quick-rising yeast I wanted to use up before they went bad. At the time, I’d been trying to clear out the pantry, find a use for the ingredients pushed to the back, and therefore avoid food waste.

            Recently I started watching Hoarders, which is enough to make anyone want to clean, even if they don’t have a problem. Many of the jam-packed kitchens came about because their owners liked to stock up when preferred items went on sale. There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you don’t buy more than you can use before it goes bad. Having some extra cereal, pasta, crackers, and canned goods in the basement is handy. Just don’t overdo it.

            Some items, like the cornmeal that I bought at the start of Covid, expired two or three years ago and weren’t salvageable. The yeast and unbleached flour were still good, but expiring soon, so it was as good a time as any to make pizza. I made the garlic oil that all the recipes use, stuck it in a jar in the fridge, and decided to start with a white pizza using the leftover provolone and some of the pecorino from the eggplant timbale (and leftover parmesan from some gnocchi, and some mozzarella already in the fridge).

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            When I went to put the dough in the intended pan, a large round sheet pan with a short “lip,” it wasn’t there. Turns out, it had started flaking and reached the end of its natural life. Looking at my other options, I settled on a roasting pan with slightly higher sides. If I spread the dough all the way to the edge, the surface area would be similar, just in rectangular form. Nothing wrong with that.

            This turned out to be the best culinary misadventure in a while. Because this dough recipe produces a thick crust, I had never spread it to the edge of the pan before, in case the garlic oil in the topping dripped off onto the bottom of the oven. Being able to do so made a huge difference. The crust rose evenly instead of bulging in the middle, and the edges got extra golden and crispy. Everything was delicious, but the edges were phenomenal. And the pizza fit perfectly on the new, giant wooden cutting board.

            After this success, I decided to make any future pizzas in this pan. The sweet pepper and ricotta salata pizza was up next, for the simple reason that peppers were on sale at the store. This was good, but a little dry, even with the garlic oil. For pizza, meltier cheeses with a bit more fat seem to be the way to go.

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Chocolate roll
food history, italian cuisine

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 32 (Pgs. 107 – 111): Menu for 4, Bergamo

Chocolate roll
Dessert, the star of the show

Region: Lombardy

Menu: Bergamo-Style Ravioli, Rabbit Roasted in Red Wine, Bergamo-Style Polenta, Cheese with Mixed Salad, Sambuca-Flavored Cocoa Roll (orange flavor instead)

Recommended Wine: Spumante

            Bergamo is in the northern Italian province of Lombardy, north of Milan. As in the rest of northern Italy, there is a lot of fresh pasta and polenta, butter often replaces olive oil, and there are plentiful cow’s milk cheeses like fontina, gorgonzola, parmesan, and mascarpone. While generally overshadowed by its larger neighbor, Bergamo has its own specialties. One of these is a unique ravioli, filled with a mix of chicken, pork, salami, vegetables, and a little cheese. They are dressed in melted butter and sage, parmesan cheese, and toasted bread crumbs.

Bergamo ravioli

            This was my first attempt at making my own pasta, and it went surprisingly well. Since I don’t have a pasta roller, I rolled little pieces of dough into circles with a rolling pin and folded them around the filling in a half-moon shape. It was a slow process, but making the ravioli bigger sped things along. The meat-and-vegetable filling was deliciously different from the usual cheese-heavy varieties, though there’s nothing wrong with those.

            The only thing I would change is to cook the larger ravioli for an extra minute or two. Having thicker pasta kept the ravioli from bursting open, but not factoring it into the cooking time left it a little tough. It was still delicious, and the extras are in the freezer for whenever a quick homemade dinner is desired.

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            Another first for this menu was the rabbit. The idea was a little tough at first, until I reminded myself that this rabbit (which according to the package was a product of Spain) was bred and raised exclusively for food. It was never someone’s pet, or a former resident of the nearby farm/petting zoo. Besides, people have been eating rabbits for a lot longer than they’ve been keeping them as pets. They were a common protein into the 20th Century, and one 1930s menu even had rabbit pot pie as an economical alternative to chicken.

Rabbit and polenta

            Rabbit does, in fact, taste sort of like dark meat chicken, but a little different and very lean. The fact that chicken is easier to farm on an industrial scale probably explains why rabbit isn’t as popular as it used to be. Or maybe it’s just that people didn’t grow up with the Easter Chicken. Or the fact that chickens won’t stand on their hind legs like a prairie dog when offered a banana chip.

Black rabbit
Not the second course…and I wasn’t rabbit sitting when I made this menu either.

            Regardless, most rabbit recipes seem to involve slow-cooking it in liquid and/or adding some extra fat. In this case, the fat came from a bit of Italian sausage, and the liquid was red wine. It did taste very good, though in the future I would probably just use chicken thighs, which are cheaper and easier to find. At least for this recipe.

            Upon reading the recipe, I was surprised at how quickly the polenta cooked. Once the salted water was boiling, the corn grits/polenta only had to cook for about five minutes. It required frequent but not constant stirring, and didn’t get lumpy, which is a common problem. Was the addition of a little buckwheat flour the key to a good consistency? Perhaps, and either way, the addition of butter, sage, and fontina cheese gave the final mix a pleasant rich but mild flavor that contrasted well with the stronger flavors in the rest of the meal.

            The salad was similar to many others in the book; a mix of greens dressed with a flavorful homemade dressing. The store didn’t have the endive called for in the recipe, so I just used the arugula and radicchio. Unlike other lemon juice and oil “vinaigrettes,” a little bit of orange zest and some minced shallots seemed to sweeten the mix, keeping it from becoming too sour and letting it balance the bitter radicchio. Don’t worry if the oil solidifies in the refrigerator. Fifteen to thirty minutes at room temperature will take care of that.

Mixed salad

            For the cheese, I used fresh mozzarella instead of taleggio because that’s what was available at the store. Even though it’s a southern Italian cheese not native to the Bergamo area, it went very well with the salad, especially when served on the dressed greens instead of next to them. The bitter arugula and radicchio, sour and slightly sweet dressing, and mild mozzarella all contrasted beautifully without clashing.

            Dessert was one of the best things I’ve made in a while. The “cake” is a mix of egg yolks whipped with sugar, melted chocolate, a bit of flavoring, and separately whipped egg whites folded in at the end. The original recipe calls for three tablespoons of sambuca to be mixed in with the chocolate. Since I didn’t want to buy a whole bottle that I would be unlikely to drink or use in other recipes, I considered replacing it with a teaspoon of anise extract mixed into some cream, until I remembered that replacing wine with milk caused a previous attempt at zabaglione to fail. To keep the chemistry similar, I initially settled on a teaspoon of anise extract mixed into three tablespoons brandy.

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            Then I considered that anise (the flavor of black licorice) is not generally my favorite flavoring. Trying a bit over a scoop of ice cream with a sprinkle of coffee granules is one thing. It’s a single serving that takes two minutes to make. Even though that turned out well, I was hesitant to put anise flavoring into an entire cake that was a bit fiddly to make. Other extract options were vanilla, almond, and orange. Since I was already making an almond cheesecake for a different event, I settled on orange for something different. A teaspoon went into the “cake,” and half a teaspoon went into the whipped cream filling.

Chocolate roll

            The cake was spectacular. The texture ended up somewhere between a brownie and a mousse, intensely chocolate lightened with a touch of orange. While the cake did crack slightly as I rolled it up, the inside still formed a recognizable spiral. Not pastry shop window perfect, and it wouldn’t pass muster on the Great British Baking Show, but still a pretty special occasion dessert. And of course, it’s the taste that counts. From time to time it’s well worth the effort.

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Summer Pudding
british cuisine, food history

Summer Pudding: Britain’s No-Bake Specialty (and let’s talk about currants)

Summer Pudding

            No-bake desserts are great for special occasions during the summer. I’ve already discussed strawberry trifle, which uses frozen pound cake for beautiful and delicious results. Another showy use for berries and their juices is the British dessert summer pudding. It involves lining the bottom and sides of a bowl with white bread slices, filling the center with a mix of berries and sugar, covering the top with more bread, and pressing everything together with another bowl overnight. Excess juices are thus forced into the bread, coloring it a lovely hue between red, pink, and purple, depending on what fruit you use.

            I was a little skeptical at first. It sounded like a recipe for soggy bread, but if summer pudding is popular in the British Isles, there had to be a reason. After finding red currants at the farmer’s market, I decided to give it a try. If the bread part wasn’t good, the berry filling could be scooped out and served on its own with whipped cream.

            This turned out to be unnecessary. Odd as it sounded, the bread worked perfectly. Due to its gluten structure, it soaked up the juices like a sponge and held together even when fully saturated. Cake would typically fall apart in a similar situation. Beyond that, the bread balanced out the tart currants and raspberries very well. It was indeed soggy, but in a good way.

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            Let’s pause here to talk about currants. The dried currants you can buy in boxes are not true currants at all. They are actually a type of small raisin. Most boxes now specifically refer to their contents as Zante currants to avoid confusion. These Zante currants are worth trying in their own right in scones, oatmeal, and the like. But they’re not what we’re talking about today.

            True currants come in three common colors: red, white, and black. All are much more common in Europe than in the US, though the red kind is occasionally found fresh in farmers’ markets and backyard gardens. White currants are a mutant form of the red variety. Black currants are even harder to find, and were in fact banned for several decades because they could carry white pine blister rust, which threatened the US logging industry. Even with new disease-resistant varieties, black currants are still illegal to grow in several states. Which is a pity, because they make great jams and juices.

Red currants
Red currants, with my hand for scale

            This history could explain the rarity of currants in the US. So too could be the fact that red currants, which were never banned, have to compete with native cranberries. Both are tart red fruits that make excellent juices and sauces, but cranberries are a lot cheaper and easier to store. And in the Midwest, where growing conditions are favorable for currant bushes, people prefer sour cherries in jams and desserts. Red and occasionally black currant jam can be found at stores and farmer’s markets, but beyond that, there are few traditional (or modern) American recipes for the fruit.

            British cuisine, by contrast, has plenty of uses for currants, especially, it seems, for the black variety, which are in fact dark purple. Blackcurrant jam is one of the favorite varieties. Many candies use the flavor. A sweetened concentrate called Ribena (which is not uncommon in the international food aisles in the US, at least in big stores) makes what tastes like currant-flavored Kool-Aid. It would taste better with a little less sugar, but is enjoyable nonetheless. And of course, there are numerous desserts made with all varieties of currant.

            One of the favorites is summer pudding, which Mimi Sheraton suggests is best made with a mix of red currants and raspberries. Taking the expert’s advice, I picked up some frozen raspberries, scaled down the recipe on pages 29 – 30 in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die by half, and got started. (Information about currants can be found on pages 12 – 13). Whether or not to cook the fruit or just briskly stir it with the sugar depends on how soft and/or ripe the fruit is. Since currants are firmer and tarter, even when ripe, I decided to cook them with the sugar for a few minutes, then stir in the raspberries, which are more prone to fall apart, after. This worked perfectly.

            The biggest challenge turned out to be finding a bowl that would fit perfectly inside the bowl with the pudding. This is important because pressing down on the surface with adequate weight (provided by a few cans of food) is what forces the excess syrup into the bread. The other issue was unmolding. I’m not sure why the recipe called for buttering the main bowl, since the butter completely solidifies when everything is chilled, unless it’s for flavor. The now-solid butter stuck the bread to the bowl, making for a slightly messy presentation.

Summer Pudding
Not as pretty as in the picture in the book (okay it looks like an amoeba)…
Summer Pudding
…but whipped cream improves the presentation.

            Messy or not, the juice-stained bread and red fruits were pretty in their own way, especially with a contrast of whipped cream. Brits often serve summer pudding with either clotted or whipped cream. I’m not sure how the former is, but the latter is perfect, especially if you make it yourself. Homemade whipped cream is super easy to make, and it makes the odd-sounding but delicious summer pudding even better. To be honest, it makes any dessert better.

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