Corn on the cob is a classic taste of summer. Or is it? Outside of the US, and even in some parts of this country, it is uncommon. This interesting quirk of regional cuisine was brought up at a family reunion recently. Relatives from New York and Virginia were especially excited about the fresh corn on the cob because it is harder to come by there. We were even told that if you imagine the worst corn in Wisconsin, you’re also imagining the best corn in New York. I was surprised, but it does make sense. Sweet corn becomes starchy very quickly after being picked, so getting it to market as soon as possible is essential. With cities more sprawled together on the East Coast, there are fewer places to grow corn and those places are farther from the markets. This means less availability and longer transport times, with the sugar turning to starch all along the way.
Meanwhile, one of the stereotypes about the Midwest is true. There really are cornfields everywhere. Though most of this is field corn destined to feed animals, particularly cows, sweet corn is widely grown. While there are big cities, they tend to be more spaced out and often have cornfields in between, making timely shipping feasible. Very good corn is available in supermarkets from late July through August, and farm stands sell corn picked only hours ago. Some will even peel it for you. Then you can go home, melt some butter while the corn cooks, and dig in. It does tend to be a bit messy, but that’s part of the fun. Enjoy it while the season lasts.
Another particularly seasonal treat is watermelon. Originating in Southern Africa, it gradually made its way north, eventually reaching Europe and the Americas. Over the centuries, it was bred to be larger, sweeter, and more brightly colored. The reasons for its popularity are clear. It’s sweet, juicy, and generally refreshing in hot weather. Prices are fairly low during the summer. Before it is cut, the rind provides protection against spoilage, another benefit in the hot Southeast and Midwest before widespread refrigeration. As mentioned in a previous post, watermelon is one of the best healthy desserts out there. But like summer, watermelon season eventually comes to an end. The expensive, out-of-season melons just don’t compare. Come fall, you’re better off switching to apples.
Clockwise from top: baguette, brioche, comte, brie, pain au chocolat (chocolate croissant)
About two months ago, I took a trip to France. We visited Paris, Normandy, Brittany, and the Loire Valley. Among the highlights were a tour of Paris with a colorful local guide, the Joan of Arc church in Rouen, storytelling by the tour director of his previous tours, the D-Day landing beaches in Normandy, and the Apocalypse Tapestry in Angers. There was a lot of amazing history packed into everything we saw, and that was just the northwest quarter of the country. Naturally there is a lot more to experience on a future trip, but for now, let’s consider the food.
French cuisine is highly regarded around the world and has been for hundreds of years. But even while people speak of classical haute cuisine or classically trained French chefs, there is no single “French” cuisine that covers the whole country. Like any other country with varied terrain and climate, food in France is regional. Each area has its own specialties and preferences, which have persisted even with modern travel and shipping. People in Normandy eat differently than those in Provence, but one food found throughout the country is the baguette.
For something seen as a symbol of French cuisine, the baguette is a relatively recent invention. The story goes that in the 19th century, bakers designed the thin loaves to bake faster, meaning that they didn’t have to get up quite as early to prepare for the breakfast rush. The formula is straightforward: it’s a lean dough (meaning no added butter, oil, milk, or eggs) made of just white flour, water, and yeast. Actually making it is the tricky part, as demonstrated on The Great British Baking Show, but bakeries across France have mastered it. In less than 200 years, baguettes went from something that didn’t exist to a presence in every mini-grocery, café, and hotel breakfast spread. And why not? They’re plain but comforting, and very versatile.
Brioche is completely different. The dough is enriched with butter and eggs and lightly sweetened, which creates a softer texture and finer crumb. Historically, when the price of bread varied dramatically depending on the type of flour and what was added to the dough, it was a luxury or holiday bread. As prosperity increased, brioche became more popular, although it doesn’t seem to have surpassed baguettes and croissants. Of the four hotels we stayed at, they all had the latter two on the breakfast buffets, but I only remember seeing brioche at one, though it’s entirely possible that I missed it at the others.
Croissants are a quintessentially French pastry, but may not have come from France at all. One story is that they were first made in Austria to commemorate the failed Siege of Vienna by the Ottomans in 1683. After the Turkish army was driven off by the forces of King Jan Sobieski of Poland, a new pastry was created in the shape of a crescent, found on the Ottoman flag. Perhaps there was some satisfaction in eating the symbol of their enemy. But however they originated, croissants are made with a yeast puff pastry, where thin layers of yeasted dough are layered with butter, producing a rich, flaky delight. Regular croissants are delicious enough, but adding chocolate to make pain au chocolat takes them to a whole new level.
While I loved the various breads and pastries, I was less impressed with the cheeses in France. Two of the most famous are Brie, from the Ile de France region around Paris, and Camembert, from Normandy. Both are semi-soft cheeses with edible rinds, authentically made with unpasteurized cow’s milk. Because US law does not allow the production or import of raw milk cheeses aged less than 60 days, true Camembert and most Brie are not available stateside. Many connoisseurs bemoan this, but after tasting both cheeses, I struggle to understand what all the fuss is about.
Normandy is famous for its dairy products, as is neighboring Brittany. Grass thrives in the rainy, mild climate, and apples grow much better than grapes. With all its farm fields and cows, the countryside felt very familiar, almost Midwestern, except with more wheat, potatoes, and vegetables than corn. And more medieval churches. You don’t see too many of those in the US. But dairy-heavy food is another story entirely. Cheese toasted on sandwiches, especially the ham and cheese croque monsieur, buttery pastries and cookies, and salted butter caramels are definite cousins to what can be found in Wisconsin.
On our first day in Normandy we had an interesting tour of an orchard/cider production facility. The guide talked about how the fermentation process worked, how juice vs. sweet vs. dry cider was made, and how cider could be distilled and aged, producing calvados. This was followed by a cheese and cider tasting. We began with the mildest samples: camembert and sweet cider. In theory, camembert is supposed to be a mushroomy delight, according to Ms. Sheraton. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but I didn’t enjoy it either. It was an ok snack with a bit of bread, but the flavor, though mild, definitely had some “funky” undertones, for lack of a better word. The texture also felt a little off. Part of this might be what I’m used to, but I didn’t care for the camembert or the other two cheeses (I can’t remember the names at the moment).
Markings on container designate authenticityCamembert and cider
The cider was much better; very light and sweet. Fermentation is a chemical reaction where sugars are turned into alcohol. The longer the process continues, the stronger and drier the cider becomes. For sweet cider, the apple juice is only lightly fermented, resulting in an alcohol content of about 2%. Dry cider, which we didn’t taste, is about 5.5%, about the same or slightly stronger than most beer. Pommeau is sort of like apple “wine,” and calvados is a distilled apple brandy. I didn’t care for either of those. The alcohol content made it hard to taste the apple flavor, and was uncomfortably strong for the calvados.
I don’t think the cheese agreed with my stomach either. The disagreement was not enough to make me sick, but I did feel a bit queasy. It’s possible that was just my imagination based on what I was expecting, but I prefer cheese without that effect. Supposedly cheeses with pasteurized milk have less flavor, but if funky/mushroomy is a flavor the process destroys, so be it. A nice cheddar from the local farmer’s market beats the famous Camembert de Normandie, hands down. The same is true with the Brie de Meaux found on one of the breakfast buffets. The Comte cheese from the same buffet was a lot better; much firmer, a bit saltier, and a tasty non-funky bit of morning protein to stick in a baguette.
Southeastern France has a lot in common with the northwest corner of Italy, and it’s not just that they’re both called their country’s Riviera. The neighboring regions share a similar climate and terrain, and even share a lot of history. In 218 BC, Hannibal crossed the region as he marched his army from Carthaginian territory in Spain to Italy. While he is most famous for marching his army and elephants over the Alps, there is an interesting story about when he crossed the Rhone River in Provence. Modern day France was mostly occupied by the Gauls, who were Celtic peoples organized into chiefdoms. Most of the chiefs felt more threatened by Rome than by Carthage (as Rome had recently conquered other Celtic peoples in the Liguria/Piedmont region) so they aided or tolerated Hannibal’s army. The problem was that there was a hostile group near a strategic river crossing and a Roman army was on its way to try and ambush him. A bit of trickery bought Hannibal enough time to get his army across, but when the elephants found themselves on specially-built rafts they freaked out and jumped off and/or capsized them. Fortunately for the Carthaginians, elephants are actually quite good swimmers and all made it across. By the time the Romans arrived, Hannibal and his army had disappeared into the Alps.
Over the course of the war, which lasted from 218 to 202 BC, Rome conquered the French Riviera and most of Spain. It’s not clear how many grapevines were already grown in the region, but the Romans certainly introduced new varieties and encouraged their cultivation, along with olive trees. From Provence (the name came from the Latin provincia) vines spread northward, particularly once Julius Caesar conquered the rest of Gaul (modern France) in the 50s BC. Olive trees, though restricted to the coast that far north, were also introduced and became important to Provence’s economy.
Pesto-type sauces were part of Ancient Roman cuisine and basil appeared in the Medieval Era, but what’s interesting about this soup is that most of the ingredients deemed essential originated in the Americas. White beans, green beans, potatoes, and tomatoes were all introduced after Columbus, and the latter two took a few centuries to catch on. Fortunately they did, because this soup is a balanced meal in a bowl. There’s starch in the potatoes, protein in the beans, vitamins and minerals in the vegetables, and a bit of fat from the olive oil.
Ms. Sheraton explains that as long as there are both types of beans, potatoes, and tomatoes, the other vegetables can vary based on what’s available. Since it sounded like a chef’s choice kind of dish, I created my own plan from the general description. Onions, tomatoes, and white beans went in first, with enough water to cover by about an inch. For meatless vegetable soups it is important not to add too much water to avoid diluting the flavor. I added the potatoes about halfway through, then added the zucchini and green beans in the last few minutes to keep them from overcooking. The pistou, which is like a French pesto without pine nuts or walnuts, is added to the individual bowls at serving time.
The soup was an amazing taste of summer. While the ingredients are generally available out of season, they both taste better and are more affordable at their summer peak. Tomatoes are especially seasonal, since shipping them any distance is much easier when they are underripe. At local farm stands they are ripe and red all the way through, all the vegetables are fresh, and the basil is my own. It thrives during the summer but does not do well when moved inside. I’ve tried that in the past without much success. It’s better to make maximum use of it now.
There are two main types of cherries. The type sold seasonally in supermarkets and eaten fresh are sweet cherries, such as Bing or Rainier. They tend to be larger, firmer, and often (though not always) darker in color. But it is tart cherries that we are focusing on today. While they are too sour to eat on their own and too soft to ship long distance, sour varieties like Montmorency and North Star can be preserved effectively. These are the cherries that, combined with sugar, give cherry pies and jams their distinctive flavor. They also freeze well.
This year, I was able to harvest a bumper crop from the tree in the backyard, even without being able to reach many of the branches. Normally birds eat all the fruit before it is fully ripe, but this year the tree was so loaded they couldn’t eat them all. After making a pie and a batch of jam, I took advantage of the bounty to try a few new recipes. The most unusual was a Hungarian recipe for sour cherry soup, sweetened with sugar, flavored with cinnamon, and thickened with sour cream.
It sounded good, but to be completely honest, I didn’t care for it. It wasn’t bad and the cherry flavor came through well, but the particular recipe was a bit over sweetened and rather thin. I did find another recipe with less sugar and water that might be worth trying in the future, but we’ll see. With all the other possibilities out there, I’m not sure if I would actually make this again. But it was worth a try.
In temperate climates, strawberries are one of the first fruits to ripen each season. While modern farming and shipping methods have made them available year-round, the fresh, ruby-red berries that come onto the market in early summer are special. Because fully ripe strawberries don’t ship or keep well, they are usually either flash-frozen or picked underripe for grocery store shelves. When the aromatic beauties appear at farm stands and farmers’ markets, people still go crazy for them. Many are eaten plain as a delicious, healthy snack or dessert. To preserve the bounty, they can be turned into jam (freezer jam is easy and maintains the aroma) and freeze very well. In fact, for winter desserts and smoothies, thawed frozen berries usually have a better flavor than out-of-season fresh berries.
Of course, there are many ways to take advantage of the summer berries while they last. Every year I make at least one chocolate-strawberry pie with a cream cheese filling. Not only is it delicious, but it has an important virtue as a summer treat: the oven only needs to be turned on for long enough to bake the pie shell. For the same reason, if serving strawberries with pound cake, I’ve learned not to bake my own. During the winter I can use the oven to my heart’s content, but during summer the hour-long baking time almost inevitably leads to complaints. Luckily Sara Lee pound cakes are readily available in every grocery store, don’t heat up the kitchen, and have a quality level to complement the exquisite fruit.
This year, in addition to the aforementioned pie, I tried a new recipe suggested by Mimi Sheraton. Fraises au jus glace (otherwise known as strawberries Ali-Bab) is simple to make, just hull the strawberries, puree a few of the least pretty with a bit of sugar and lemon juice, partially freeze the mix, then toss with the rest of the berries. Adding a bit of orange liqueur to the frozen mix is optional, but I opted not to use any for a pure strawberry flavor. Good quality strawberries are essential, as pointed out by Ms. Sheraton.
When the best strawberries are in season, this recipe was an excellent way to let them shine. Enhanced with just a bit of sugar (a few teaspoons among multiple people), there was nothing to overpower them, and the addition of the frozen puree as a “sauce” was a nice touch for summer. Between the flavor and very limited sugar, this will definitely make it into my annual recipe rotation.
Menu: Broccoli Baked with Prosciutto, Milan-Style “Veal” Shanks, Milan-Style Risotto, Baby Spinach Salad with Oil and Lemon Dressing, Fresh Orange Slices with Slivers of Orange Zest
Recommended Wine: Various reds from Lombardy
Milan is famous for many things. It is Italy’s business capital, a world-renowned fashion center, and home to more than 2000 years of history. In the 3rd and 2nd Centuries BC, Roman culture spread from there and other cities across the Po Valley. During the 4th and 5th Centuries AD, Western Roman Emperors often resided there instead of in Rome. Here they crossed paths with the Church Fathers, many of whom, including Saints Ambrose and Augustine, lived there for at least part of their careers. In the Middle Ages, Milan emerged as one of the main trading hubs of Northern Italy, even rivaling Venice and Genoa in the 14th and 15th Centuries. Other claims to fame include its silk industry, the world-famous La Scala Opera, and fabulous Gothic cathedral.
Then there’s the food. Historically (and currently), Milan had a lot of wealthy residents, and it is the cuisine of the privileged that is most well-known. Milanese-style veal cutlet resembles Austrian schnitzel. Panettone, loaded with butter and egg yolks, has become a Christmas treat all over the world. Gorgonzola and mascarpone are just two of the region’s notable cheeses. But perhaps most famous is the duo featured here: braised veal shank with golden risotto.
The name of the veal shank is osso buco, which roughly translates as “bone with the hole.” Inside the bone is the marrow. With its high fat content and soft texture when cooked, bone marrow was historically a delicacy and is still treasured in many parts of the world. For an authentic osso buco, it is essential, and often the dish is served with special narrow spoons for extracting it. (Text, pg. 100) A sprinkle of minced garlic, lemon peel, and parsley brightens an otherwise heavy entrée.
Risotto Milanese gets its golden color from saffron, a spice used for this purpose as much as for its flavor. From Ancient Greece and Rome all the way to India, saffron was used as a dye. Ancient peoples often associated it with the sun and sometimes considered it sacred. In the Middle Ages, it was used to make elaborately gilded meats and poultry and add color to pastries, jellies, and other dishes. An early form of risotto may have been colored with saffron at this time, but probably would have been simply cooked in broth or almond milk and possibly flavored with sugar and spices. The addition of butter was a later, Early Modern addition.
As discussed in previous posts, spinach and lemons were introduced to Europe during the Middle Ages. Both were adopted quickly, with spinach mostly replacing other greens (like sorrel) previously used in cooking. Lemons didn’t replace vinegar as a key sour ingredient, but their juice became a supplement while their aromatic peels were added to various dishes as an additional flavor. Around the same time, bitter and sour “Seville” oranges were introduced and were used in similar ways. Sweet oranges came later, in the 16th Century, brought by Portuguese sailors returning from East Asia. Unlike most other fruits, they ripen in the winter, making them a popular Christmas treat for those who could afford them.
This was a fantastic dinner overall. The buttery, lemony broccoli with parmesan cheese was an interesting change of pace, though the prosciutto was probably not necessary. There was plenty of flavor without it. The osso buco was well-deserving of its status as a classic. I made it with beef shank instead of veal, but kept everything else the same. The beef became tender over the long cooking time, a mix of carrot, onion, and celery gave the sauce a great flavor, while the gremolata, a mix of parsley, garlic, and lemon peel, brightened everything. Even the bone marrow, which I was a little unsure about, tasted rich and buttery when spread on the meat.
Having a creamy risotto was a nice contrast to the highly-flavored meat and sauce, but I had two problems with the recipe. First, the saffron was not soaked in water or broth before being added. As a result, it didn’t finish releasing its color before the cooking was finished, so the risotto was fairly pale. As the dish sat on the table, orange spots appeared around the saffron threads. In addition, the medicinal flavor was pretty strong. Personally, I think a plain risotto would be a better complement, but it was still good. Any food that’s been around for hundreds of years tends to be.
The salad was a nice palate cleanser, but the dressing seemed really sour. This has often been an issue with dressings that use lemon juice instead of vinegar. I’m not sure if Italian diners like sour flavors more or if the grocery near me has particularly acidic lemons. Either way, a tiny bit of sugar or honey would go a long way in balancing out the acidity without necessarily tasting sweet. If serving this again, not only would I add a bit of sugar or honey, but I would serve it after the broccoli. Even though all menus in the book that include salad place it after the main course, the bright, sour flavor makes more sense here. The salad can refresh the palate after the rich broccoli; the oranges serve the same purpose after the meat and rice.
After all the meat, butter, and cheese, the oranges make a perfect dessert. The light syrup and sprinkling of zest add another level of complexity but keep them light and refreshing. I had a slight issue when the melted sugar hardened as soon as I added the fresh juice, but with lots of stirring and a little reheating I was able to get everything combined. These extra touches enhanced the oranges, but for a simpler dinner, plain orange slices or clementines would be good too. With the heavier foods common in the winter months, oranges provide a great contrast, plus fiber and lots of vitamin c. What more can you ask for in a winter dessert?
Menu: Prosciutto-Wrapped Turkey Breast with Cheese, Marinated Tomatoes
Compared to most other forms of poultry, turkeys are a recent arrival in Europe. Native to North America, they were first brought back to Europe by Columbus at some point during the 1490s. Unlike tomatoes, potatoes, and chocolate, which took decades or even centuries to become widespread, the turkey caught on pretty much right away. Turkeys were being raised in Spain within 20 years and were popular in England by Shakespeare’s time.
The reason for this is probably due to Medieval and Renaissance dining customs. At the time, the “noblest” foods were the various types of fowl, and the variety consumed was astounding. Along with chickens, geese, and ducks, kings and nobles raised pigeons on their estates, hunted pheasants and quails, and even ate things like larks, cranes, and herons. For banquets, the centerpiece would be the biggest, showiest bird they could find, often a swan or peacock. While these displays were impressive, particularly when the roasted birds were sewn back into their feathers to arrive at the table looking alive, most sources suggest that neither of them tasted particularly good. When another impressively-sized bird that did taste good became available, it’s hardly surprising that it became popular immediately.
Contrary to what most people think of when they hear the phrase “Italian food,” roast turkey is actually a popular Christmas dish in many parts of the country. Here is a simpler preparation, where a slice of turkey breast is wrapped in prosciutto, topped with cheese, broiled, then topped with marinated tomatoes or beets. This is supposed to resemble a Cardinal’s hat, but admittedly, I’m having trouble seeing it. I’m not sure if this played a role, but I did make a minor adjustment. The recipe called for slices of raw turkey breast, but since I had leftover roast turkey, that was what I used. I was a little worried about it drying out, but the prosciutto and cheese kept that from happening. It was pretty good, but I’m not sure if I’d make this again, given all of the other dishes that can be made with leftover turkey.
Menu: Cured Meats and Pickled Vegetables, Tagliatelle with Buttery Tomato Sauce, Salad with Herb Dressing, Pears Baked in “Wine” with Mascarpone
Recommended Wine: Sparkling Lambrusco or Lambrusca di Sobara
In Parma, as in the rest of Emilia-Romagna, fresh egg pasta is a specialty. As mentioned in a previous post, eggs used to be a bit of a luxury. While the common people couldn’t eat them in pasta on a daily basis, it was more affordable in historically richer Emilia-Romagna than in much of the South, where poverty and social inequality were more extreme. Thus, fresh pasta, made with eggs and often stuffed, is associated with Northern Italy, while dried, eggless pasta is more common in Southern Italy. This menu includes not only a fresh pasta, but other regional specialties like Parma ham, mortadella, a buttery sauce, orchard fruit, and cow’s milk cheese.
The first course is a selection of preserved items, an essential part of the diet in the days before refrigeration. Salting, drying, and pickling are all featured here. For thousands of years, people have salted and air-dried meats, especially pork, all over Italy. The variety of hams and sausages are endless, and in Emilia-Romagna, the most famous are prosciutto ham and mortadella, a lightly-spiced sausage often studded with pistachios. Vegetables are often preserved in vinegar, which tends to be plentiful in areas with a lot of wine production. Salt and vinegar both inhibit bacterial growth, while drying removes the water that bacteria need to survive.
I had some trouble finding mortadella. The closest thing I could find was ring bologna, which while based on the original and probably of very good quality was not quite the same. I ended up replacing the mortadella with mozzarella cheese, which was a nice contrast to the stronger-flavored prosciutto and pickled vegetables.
Normally, tomato-based sauces are bright and zesty while white sauces are rich, but this sauce bridged the gap in a remarkable way. Flavored with onion, carrot, and a lot of butter, it’s filling but not heavy and has a nice depth of flavor. With a sprinkling of parmesan cheese and parsley, this dish is simple and delicious, with an interesting history. Pasta has been eaten with butter and parmesan cheese since at least the Renaissance, but at that time adding sugar and spices was as common as adding herbs like parsley or basil. Heavy spices and sugar became less popular in the 16th and 17th Centuries, but tomato sauce did not become popular until the late 18th or early 19th Century. All of this means that until about 200 years ago, this seemingly classic dish would not have been found.
The salad was better than I expected. Even though I don’t usually like anything with a strong licorice flavor (like fennel), here it’s sweetness and aroma balanced the bitter chicory and sour dressing really well. In fact, given how bitter and sour the mix was, it probably could have used more fennel. Another option would be to add in another green with the chicory and dilute the lemon juice a bit.
Whether raw or cooked, pears have been a dessert favorite for over 2000 years. The Ancient Romans ate them plain or baked them in a sort of custard. Baking or stewing them in wine with spices has been common since the Middle Ages. Here, they are baked with white wine, sugar, cinnamon, and cloves, then served with a bit of mascarpone cheese. The recipe calls for white wine to keep the color from “competing with the mascarpone” (Text, pg. 165). That wasn’t an option here, since I wanted a non-alcoholic dish and red grape juice was easier to find. And personally, I think the red exterior and beige interior, with a little bit of white cheese in the center, is just so pretty. The pears tasted as good as they looked, though I must admit that I liked the dessert even better when replacing the mascarpone with a scoop of ice cream. Still, the fabled cuisine of Emilia-Romagna didn’t disappoint.
While I continue to cook my way through A Cook’s Tour of Italy, there is a lot more of the world to see and taste. Almost every country has its own regional cuisines, and what we eat says a lot about our history and values. A few months ago, I got a fascinating book as a birthday present from a friend: 1,000 Foods to Eat Before You Die by Mimi Sheraton. With its global scope plus history and folklore, it has been a remarkable read. Entries are grouped together by region, which is especially helpful in finding connections.
As I read, I have been compiling a spreadsheet to keep track of everything, since a thousand entries is a lot to remember. To make things even more interesting, some of the entries are not specific foods at all, but restaurants and markets to visit, paintings to admire, and even a few books and movies. In some cases, imagination must fill in for tasting. While I do not plan to sample everything on the list (due to cost, ethics, availability, safety concerns, or personal taste), each item provides another snapshot into regional and global patterns.
Menu: Thin Spaghetti with Tomato-Clam Sauce and Fresh Basil, Cornish Hens with Herbs and Pancetta, Marinated and Sauteed Radicchio, “Zabaglione” with Fresh Berries
Recommended Wine: San Leonardo (a Bordeaux-like red from Trentino)
Venetian cuisine is most famous for seafood and rice, but they are not its sole components. Pasta, though not as popular as rice and polenta, is common, served with all manner of fish and shellfish, or sometimes beans for a vegetarian dish. Meat and vegetable specialties include liver and onions, smothered cabbage, and radicchio. Combined with things like creamed, whipped salt cod and cuttlefish stew, these elements of Venetian cuisine are far from the tomato-heavy dishes popular further south.
Exactly why tomato sauces are so much more popular in the South than in the North when tomatoes can be grown throughout Italy is not entirely clear, but I have a theory. In another cookbook, I found a map showing where each starch (bread, rice, polenta, and fresh and dried pasta) is most common. Overlaid on the map were lines showing where sauces are mostly tomato-based, which bore a striking resemblance to a map of Spanish possessions in Italy in the 16th and 17th Centuries. In other words, Sicily, Sardinia, and the southern half of the mainland were under Spanish control during the two centuries of the Columbian Exchange. Since it was Spanish explorers who first brought these new foods to Europe, it would make sense that these foods would have arrived sooner and spread faster in regions they controlled. While this theory doesn’t explain everything (especially why corn caught on sooner and more thoroughly in the North, which was not under Spanish control), it could have been a contributing factor.
Regardless, tomato sauces are not unheard of in the North. This menu features an interesting one, made with cherry tomatoes and enriched with clams. Clam sauces are not usually my favorite, and after my experience with the deviled eggs I considered omitting them. Ultimately, I’m glad I didn’t. The tomato really cut the “fishiness,” while the clams and a sprinkle of parmesan cheese added substance. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Similar success came with the Cornish hens (an option to use instead of quail), though I omitted the truffle oil. It’s pretty hard to go wrong with chicken, herbs, and bacon.
The radicchio was not as successful. Though it is one of the most popular vegetables in Venice and other parts of Northeast Italy, I found it way too bitter. The balsamic vinegar, shallots, and lemon zest in the sauce helped some, and a small bite of radicchio with each bite of chicken provided a nice contrast, but the bitter taste was still hard to get used to. It must be an acquired taste.
Dessert was slightly modified from the text. It still consisted of fresh berries with a custard sauce, just a different type of custard sauce. The recipe calls for zabaglione, which, as mentioned in previous posts, is a custard made with wine instead of milk. For some reason, the mix of egg yolks and wine thickens more as it’s heated than a milk-based custard does. This particular zabaglione recipe also includes grappa, a type of brandy made from grape seeds and skins, pressed to extract any remaining juice. It was invented in the region and is often used to preserve fresh berries. (Text, pg. 124) Thus, berries with a grappa-infused custard are a natural choice for dessert.
However, as also mentioned in previous posts, I don’t personally care for zabaglione. As replacing the wine with milk produces a very thin custard that doesn’t thicken adequately without curdling the eggs, a replacement was necessary. I chose homemade vanilla pudding as the closest alternative. While not quite the same, it’s a good match with the berries, and a fine ending to a Venetian-style dinner.
Feasting Through Time 