Returning again to the South, we have what is essentially a giant, elongated meatball. The name, polpettone, is even similar to the word for meatballs, polpette. A mix of ground beef, Italian sausage, bread, parsley, eggs, fresh mozzarella, and grated Romano cheese is formed into a loaf shape and baked. The result can apparently be served warm or cold, on a sandwich if desired, with an optional tomato sauce. Since it was a weekend afternoon and I wasn’t exactly busy, I opted to make the tomato sauce on page 175 to go with it. Any left over could be used for pasta.
Ready to bake
This was fantastic. I never considered the choice of warm or cold, since it was the middle of winter and the idea of cold meatloaf is odd to me. After pulling it out of the oven, I let it rest for a few minutes while the intoxicating aroma saturated the kitchen, then sliced and dished it up, still piping hot. It did fall apart a little bit (it’s usually easier and neater to slice cooled food), but the taste was the important part. The flavors melded together beautifully, fat in the sausage and moisture in the mozzarella kept it from drying out, and the sweet, acidic tomato sauce was the perfect contrast to the rich meatloaf. Ultimately there was just enough sauce for the leftovers the next day. I used up the leftover ground beef and sausage to make another a few days later and we devoured it that one too. This recipe is just that good.
Menu: Arugula Salad with Bacon and Hazelnuts, Roman-Style Gnocchi, Fig, Walnut, and Almond Tart
Recommended Wine: Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, Purplish-Ruby with Berry and Spice Aromas
We are now invited to imagine dinner with a friend of Mr. Famularo’s at her home in Rome’s Trastevere district, across the Tiber from the historical city center. Though space is limited inside her apartment, it has a balcony overlooking a courtyard garden. For most of the year, it is warm enough to eat and socialize there, where the air is perfumed with roses and jasmine. (Text, page 22) Imagine that the pandemic is finally over and you can socialize without worry.
The original menu is one of indulgence for a small group, featuring foie gras, a favorite since ancient times. There are two options for how to serve this, both on an arugula salad garnished with toasted hazelnuts. The recipe has the foie gras sauteed in butter, then served on top the salad. Another option in the recipe header, for those who aren’t able to obtain or don’t want to work with pieces of foie gras, is to use slices of foie gras terrine. I found the statement that the slices of terrine “of course are not to be sauteed” somewhat amusing. This would not have been obvious to me, though I’m not an award-winning cookbook author whose taken multiple trips abroad with a career spanning decades. Or maybe I’m just an unsophisticated barbarian. Supposedly, the pieces of foie gras are frequently sold in convenient 2-ounce serving size containers and the terrine is available in most supermarket delis.
Maybe that’s true in New York City, but I have never seen either of those things at any supermarket or deli. Granted, I have never actually looked for them, but before the pandemic I browsed a number of grocery stores and meat markets to see what sort of interesting things they had. I’ve seen beef liver, chicken livers, beef tongue, whole Christmas geese, and even pigs’ feet, but no foie gras anything. At any rate, with the price and method of production, I wouldn’t buy it anyway. Thus, I needed to find a substitute ingredient.
My first thought was to use chicken livers. Many large supermarkets have them, they aren’t expensive, and while not the same as fat-engorged duck or goose liver, they are still livers and still from poultry. If I could get over my squeamishness about eating liver, I could sauté them with extra butter to bring the fat level closer to that of actual foie gras. As it turns out, I’m not quite ready to go that far. As detailed in the previous post, I’ve eaten oxtail and loved it. I don’t think beef tongue would be an issue (it’s just another muscle). I’d even be willing to try pigs’ feet if they were cooked in a way to get the skin nice and crispy. Liver is still another story, though, especially knowing what the liver does. Besides, chicken livers look really unappetizing. In the end, I settled on bacon pieces. While not remotely the same thing as foie gras, it’s a good choice on almost any salad. All of the other salad ingredients were unchanged. Unsurprisingly, the blend of peppery arugula, salty bacon, and crunchy, toasty hazelnuts, accented with a vinaigrette, was delicious.
The next course was Roman-style gnocchi. Gnocchi are Italy’s version of the dumpling, the starchy filler to soak up the flavor of whatever it’s cooked with, found in various forms around the world. In most parts of Italy they are potato-based. What makes the Roman kind special is that they are made with semolina flour cooked in milk with nutmeg. Parmesan cheese and eggs are added to bind the mixture before it is cooled and cut into rounds. These are then topped with butter and more parmesan cheese and baked. I had some difficulty with these. The mixture didn’t firm up as much as I expected during cooling, which made cutting the circles out (with a glass) difficult. I ultimately resorted to forming them manually and layering them on the baking pan. My hands were a mess after this, but it worked pretty well. The end result was slightly crispy on the outside, soft and almost custardy on the inside, and delightfully rich.
Dessert was a pastry tart, this time with a layer of fig jam and another of ground almonds and walnuts, held together with eggs and sweetened. If you own the book, you might notice that the recipe calls for pine nuts, not walnuts. The thing is, pine nuts are really expensive. The recipe calls for over a cup, the little packets and bottles of them only contain around a third of that, and they each cost around four dollars. This would add up to at least twelve dollars just for pine nuts, and walnuts are a fraction of the cost. Plus, I’ve come to realize that most pine nuts, even from Italian brands, come from China. With recent aggression in the South China Sea, the broken treaty with Hong Kong, and the worst genocide since the Holocaust being conducted against Turkic-speaking Muslims in the western Xinjiang province, I would prefer to avoid buying Chinese goods whenever possible. It can’t be avoided entirely, but the more people forego Chinese goods in favor of alternatives, the more economic pressure will be put on the government. If enough people are committed, maybe they will be forced to reconsider their policies. Now, I wouldn’t normally get into politics on a food blog. However, this is more than politics. It is an issue of basic decency and treating other people like human beings. While no one can solve the issue on their own, everyone can do something. One easy way to start is to use American-grown California walnuts. Their flavor and texture makes for excellent pesto, and according to several episodes of The Great British Baking Show, figs and walnuts are a winning combination.
And they are. The fig jam and almond mixture are both pretty sweet, with the former being even sweeter than most other jams. Unlike almonds and pecans, walnuts don’t have much of a sweet flavor, making them an excellent choice to provide contrast. The tart was still a bit sweeter than I would have preferred, but the optional unsweetened whipped cream helped with this. Overall, it was really good. I opted to make the pastry rather than use a prepared pie shell. Called pasta frolla, it baked up nice and crispy. The crunch from the pastry and walnuts contrasted with the soft jam and almond mixture, and everything worked well together. I might reduce the sugar slightly if I were to make this again, but that’s just a matter of personal preference. A cup of coffee or tea adds further contrast.
So-called “variety meats” are often disregarded today, but in the past, when animal protein was more expensive relative to income, they were widely consumed. Some parts, like tripe, were poverty food even then, while others, like sweetbreads, were considered delicacies. Yet others, like liver, seem to have been viewed in a similar way to tougher, more inexpensive cuts of meat: not fine banquet fare, but perfectly good for informal and everyday meals.
This appears to have been the case with oxtail. It turns up again and again in old recipes, almost always in soups and stews, which makes perfect sense. It contains a lot of collagen, so it is not very tender initially. As it cooks, the collagen breaks down, imparting an incredible body to the broth. Plus, soup and stew are excellent ways to stretch a small or modest amount of meat to feed more people. Oxtail was made for economical ingenuity.
Versions of oxtail stew are found across the globe, but the Roman variation features wine, tomatoes, and celery. If you don’t have or don’t want to use wine, a viable replacement is grape juice with a tablespoon of vinegar per cup. It’s still a little sweeter than it would be if dry wine were used, but I used this substitution and it worked well.
The dish started with the common flavor base of vegetables and pancetta/bacon. A bit of celery was added now, most was set aside to be separately cooked and added later. After browning, the oxtails are added to the pot, along with the tomatoes and wine. This all simmers for a few hours, with some of the broth being added periodically. Near the end of the cooking time, the rest of the celery is added. I’m not sure why the celery needs to be cooked separately rather than added directly to the pot, but I followed the recipe as closely as possible.
The taste and texture of this stew were both remarkable. The combination of broth, grape juice, tomatoes, and aromatics lent a pleasant, slightly sweet-tart flavor, while the collagen from the oxtail created a rich, almost sticky body. It was definitely messy to eat, though, since the meat stuck to the bones despite its tenderness and could not easily be removed with a fork and knife. Fingers and a lot of patience were required. That’s not to say I wouldn’t make it again. Add some bread and maybe a salad, and it’s clear why this dish remains so popular. Just make sure you have plenty of napkins.
Finally, we have one of the most iconic Italian dishes: a pizza. Three pizza recipes are featured in the text, but none of them are the stereotypical takeout or delivery staple. None of these recipes have tomato sauce, pepperoni, or sausage, and only one of them has mozzarella cheese. Not that there is anything wrong with the American staple, far from it, but it is nice to have a change of pace from time to time. In this case we have pizza dough topped with garlic-infused oil, sauteed bell peppers, and ricotta salata mixed with herbs.
Pizza is an interesting dish with an unclear history. As discussed in the text on page 224, it does not have any special meaning and was originally commoners’ food. Bread dough with a few toppings to make it more interesting seems to have been around for hundreds of years if not longer, but perhaps because it was the food of peasants and poor urban dwellers, it was not written down. The earliest mention of it that I have found is an aristocratic recipe for a sweet dough with marzipan and crushed cookies from the 16th Century. Perhaps in the past the definition of pizza was broader than it is today. At any rate, the story goes that pizza became “respectable” in the 19th Century when a chef created the original “Pizza Margherita” for the queen at the time, Margherita of Savoy. From there, it’s popularity only grew.
While not quite as fast as takeout or delivery, this recipe is not particularly difficult. Most of the time required is in kneading the dough and letting it rise. A stand mixer with a dough hook saves a lot of time and mess for the first part. While it’s rising, there’s plenty of time to assemble/prepare the other ingredients and make the garlic oil, if there isn’t some already made from a previous pizza (the recipe makes enough for several). There are only two real tricks here. First, make sure the water is not too hot when adding it to the yeast. If it is, it will kill the yeast and the dough won’t rise properly. Second, infuse the garlic in the oil over very low heat to prevent the garlic from scorching and imparting that flavor to the finished product.
Since I could not find ricotta salata anywhere near me, I tried to make my own by mixing ricotta cheese with some extra salt, wrapping it in cheesecloth, and pressing it between two plates for a few days. The idea was to squeeze out some of the excess moisture, ideally enough to make the cheese firm and able to be grated. That didn’t quite work out as planned. Some moisture was soaked up by the cheesecloth, but the texture didn’t change significantly. I went ahead with the recipe anyway. Rather than mixing the herbs with the grated cheese, I just stirred them into the soft cheese and called it good. As there was no sprinkling this over the top of the pizza, I spaced globs of it on there as evenly as I could and hoped for the best.
The finished product
The cheese didn’t spread out over the surface as I thought it might, but the pizza was still delicious. The crust crisped up well on the pizza stone, the garlic flavor was clearly there but not overpowering, and the outside parts of the cheese globs browned a bit for added flavor. At some point it would be nice to try this with actual ricotta salata, but in the meantime, the modified version is more than worth making again.
Menu: Fresh Asparagus Soup, Ricotta Gnocchi with a Light Picante Tomato Shrimp Sauce, Cubes of Butternut Squash with Cinnamon, Stewed Figs with Ice Cream
Recommended Wine: Muller-Thurgau from Trento, a Yellowish Fruity White
We now return to the mainland of the Veneto region, famous for a variety of fruits and vegetables (text, page 132). Fitting with that theme, this menu features asparagus, butternut squash, and figs, prepared in interesting ways. Asparagus soup is thickened with semolina flour, and steamed squash is served with butter and cinnamon. In the original recipe, fresh figs are drizzled in kirsch, but since I could not find either of those items, I adapted by stewing dried figs in cherry juice and serving them over ice cream. While not like the original, this adaptation retained the flavors of figs and cherries.
The soup is composed of just five ingredients: chicken and beef broth, semolina flour, thinly sliced asparagus, and grated parmesan cheese. Just bring the broth to boiling, add the semolina and let it cook, stirring occasionally. Once that’s thickened, add the sliced asparagus stems, and after a few more minutes, add the tips. Serve with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese and the recommended piece of garlic-rubbed toast. The squash is even simpler: just cube, steam, drizzle with melted butter, and sprinkle with cinnamon.
Asparagus soup
The gnocchi were a bit more complicated to make, but not overly so. It’s possible to mix up the dough ahead of time, then just roll it out and cut it just before cooking. Contrary to its name, the sauce is not very spicy. A creamy base is flavored with a bit of onion, garlic, and red pepper, with a bit of tomato paste providing a lovely color. In an attempt to appeal to pickier diners, I did modify the recipe somewhat. The actual recipe calls for adding some fish broth and bouillon to the cream sauce, along with chopped cooked shrimp. For convenience and broader appeal, I used chicken broth and leftover rotisserie chicken. The pickier diner still didn’t care for it, but it was worth a try.
Squash and gnocchi
None of this was difficult to make, and with the exception of gnocchi, it was not particularly time-consuming either. While the soup simmered and squash steamed, there was plenty of time to cook the gnocchi and make the sauce. Even better, this time I managed to time things right and we could enjoy the food in the order it’s supposed to be eaten in.
Stewed figs and ice cream
I’ve never seen a soup thickened with semolina before, but it worked really well to add a bit of extra body without diluting the asparagus flavor. The gnocchi tasted kind of like homemade mac and cheese in little dumplings, with a creamy, chickeny sauce. These were especially good alongside the sweet, buttery squash. The figs were a nice closing to the dinner. The tartness from the cherry juice acted as a bit of a palate cleanser, while the sweetness from the figs and ice cream kept it from being overwhelming. This was yet another excellent dinner.
As in Lazio, lamb is popular in neighboring Umbria and its own eastern neighbor, Abruzzo. The rugged landscape has provided pasture for sheep for millennia, which in turn provided the residents with a variety of cheeses as well as meat. In this interesting regional specialty, lamb is used instead of beef or pork in a sauce that is then tossed with pasta. This is not the only dish of its kind. As discussed on page 174, lamb is often added to the tomato sauce in the pasta dish with two sauces during the winter months.
This was fairly straightforward to put together. Sauté the minced lamb with garlic, add some wine or water and let that cook for a few minutes, then add tomatoes and bell peppers and cover the skillet to simmer for two hours. Occasionally check the pan to see if some broth or water may be needed. When that’s finished, cook the pasta, add it to the skillet, toss, and serve.
I had a slight glitch in the preparation. Knowing extra liquid would probably be needed, I added the cup of water at the start of the simmering time, then went outside to work in the yard for a bit. Thinking my task would take about an hour, I planned to check the sauce after I finished. It turned out to be a bigger task than I anticipated. Almost two hours later, I was finishing up when I was alerted that I should probably check the pan, since it smelled like it was starting to scorch. As there was no smoke and the scorching seemed pretty mild, I immediately added more water and stirred to remove the browned layer from the bottom of the pan. This seemed to resolve the issue. The sauce didn’t taste scorched at this point, just pleasantly caramelized, so I continued with the recipe.
Altogether, this was quite good. The peppers and tomatoes break up in the sauce, adding depth and acidity to counter the lamb, which has a rich, distinct flavor of its own. I wouldn’t have thought of putting lamb in pasta sauce, but it really shines when combined with the tomato flavor.
This pasta dish is a somewhat unusual one from Northern Italy. The original version is made with buckwheat pasta, but the recipe here uses fresh fettuccine. Diced potatoes and Savoy cabbage are first boiled, then, when they are cooked through, the pasta is added. Once the pasta is cooked, all is drained and tossed with pecorino cheese. Melted butter, browned with sage and garlic while the pasta cooks, is poured over the pasta, which is then topped with more cheese.
Cabbage may seem like a strange thing to find in an Italian dish, but it has a long history. In ancient times it was eaten by all levels of society, as evidenced by its inclusion in the works of Apicius. In the early 4th Century AD, the Emperor Diocletian kept himself occupied in retirement by growing cabbages. It remains popular today, especially in the cooler north. The favorite variety is the stronger-flavored, crinkled Savoy cabbage. Note that this is not the same thing as Napa cabbage. Both have crinkled leaves, but Napa cabbage heads are elongated while Savoy cabbage heads are round. I was unable to find the Savoy variety, and since Napa cabbage is not always that fresh (blame lower rate of turnover) I substituted regular green cabbage, which is always cheap, fresh, and available.
Not only is this easy to cook, it turned out to be another favorite. The boiled potatoes partially break down as the pasta is tossed, mixing with the butter and thickening the sauce, acquiring a taste sort of like an alfredo sauce. The sage leaves crisp up in the skillet and make a delicious garnish. Exactly why pecorino cheese is used instead of parmesan is unclear since this is a northern Italian dish, but it worked really well. I’m sure grated parmesan would be good if pecorino is unavailable, and when I made the recipe for a second time with dried fettuccine, that worked too. Just make sure to adjust the cooking time for the pasta accordingly.
Menu: Marinated Cannellini Beans with Oregano and Crisp Salami, “Grilled Eel” with Thyme, Zucchini Pudding, Assorted Melon with “Caprini” Cheese
Recommended Wine: Fiano de Avellino or Taurasi (White Wines), or Greco di Tufo
Returning to the southern Adriatic coast, near Bari, we have another seafood menu. Since I have no idea where to find eel, I used the seasoning in the recipe on chicken, and since it was raining, I used a grill pan and cooked it in the oven. Apparently, conger eel is relatively available in American fish markets (pg. 216), but I suspect that is probably only true on the coasts and in the big cities. I doubt that I could find it any closer than Chicago, which is three hours away from where I live. With the worst pandemic in a century still raging, the journey is simply not going to happen. Maybe at some point I’ll try it with eel, a favorite of both the Greeks and Romans, but for now, adapting is necessary.
The beans, marinated with vinegar, oil, and oregano and served with pieces of crisped salami are pretty good, but it was the zucchini dish that really stood out. Shredded zucchini is salted and squeezed out to remove the excess moisture (which could split the custard) before being mixed with eggs, half-and-half, basil, and diced red peppers. The end result is a cross between a quiche and a custard, with a creamy texture and mild vegetable flavors. Ultimately, it was one of my favorite recipes from the book.
For dessert, we have an authentically Italian fruit and cheese combination. Watermelon, cantaloupe, and honeydew are served alongside toasted bread and caprini cheese, which, as you might infer from its name, is a goat cheese. As caprini is hard to find in the US, I replaced it with a regular goat cheese, with good results. The cheese makes for a more substantial dessert than fruit alone, while the fruit provides sweetness without a bunch of sugar. If you want a sweet but semi-substantial dessert while watching how much sugar you’re eating, this combination checks all the boxes.
Menu: Roman Minestrone, “Sole” Fillets Wrapped in Leeks with Brussels Sprouts, Orange Panna Cotta with Blueberry Sauce
Recommended Wine: Verdicchio from near Rome or Virtu Romane
Returning to the Eternal City, we have a menu enjoyed at the home of two of Mr. Famularo’s friends, who both happen to be chefs. The first course is a minestrone typical of the Rome/Lazio region, with beef broth, chopped cooked beef, red beans, red wine, assorted vegetables, and a small pasta called pastina. The friends’ restaurant, which features updated and reinvented Roman cuisine, provides the inspiration for the second course: pieces of sole filet, wrapped in leek leaves and tied with string, braised and served with buttery sauce and brussels sprouts. Dessert is a classic originally from the Piedmont region and now found all over Italy: panna cotta, in this case lightly flavored with orange and served with a blueberry-orange sauce.
The really nice thing about this menu is that the soup, panna cotta, and blueberry sauce can be made ahead. In fact, as is often the case with soups, it is best to make the minestrone ahead by a day or two to allow time for the flavors to meld. This is especially useful here, since the process of assembling the fish dish is somewhat time-consuming. The leeks need to be cleaned and blanched, the fish cut into pieces that can be wrapped by the leek leaves, and the fish and leeks assembled and tied into “packets,” that can then be braised in the skillet. The final effect is really pretty, but it does take time.
The soup was another excellent one. While it was good immediately after cooking, it really came into its own upon reheating the next day. I had been a bit worried about the pastina getting mushy, but it maintained a good texture while soaking up the flavor of the broth. As discussed on Pages 18 – 19, each region has its own typical style of minestrone and each cook has their own variation. They all have a variety of vegetables, a starch and/or legume to add substance (which could be rice, pasta, or a few different types of beans), and various flavoring agents. Sometimes meat is added, particularly leftover. Regardless of the particular variation, minestrone is a great historical example of peasant ingenuity in the kitchen. The other ingredients allowed the cook to stretch the more expensive meat, while providing a nutritious, satisfying meal.
Roman minestrone
Sea fish was not particularly important in Early Rome. The city is located about 15 miles inland, so providing fresh seafood was a bit of a logistical challenge. Shipping it up the Tiber from the port at Ostia, presumably kept alive in tanks of water, was possible but expensive. During the Early Republic, even the rich ate a largely vegetarian diet. Much of the limited animal protein came from eggs, cheese, freshwater fish, and a variety of pork products. During the Late Republic, saltwater fish and especially shellfish became fashionable. Sources from the era describe banquets featuring mountains of oysters and sea urchins as starters, and aristocrats were known to spend fortunes on a single particularly fine red mullet. While some of these accounts were probably exaggerated for comic or shock value, parody often has at least some basis in reality.
The fish dish here was very tasty, though dealing with the tied packets on the plate was a bit of a hassle. Due to the price and difficulty finding sole, I used farmed catfish, which is apparently a reasonable substitute. It cooked up mild and flaky but tender, enhanced by the leeks and buttery, shallot-flavored sauce. The brussels sprouts were a great accompaniment, their flavor boosted by being cooked in the water the leeks were braised in.
Panna cotta and sauce
Panna cotta is in the same family of desserts as pudding and custard. What makes it unique is that it is set with gelatin rather than thickened with egg or cornstarch. As a result, despite the name meaning “cooked cream,” the ingredients don’t have to be cooked for long. The cream or half-and-half just needs to be heated enough to dissolve the gelatin and sugar. At its simplest, panna cotta consists of just half-and-half or milk and cream, sugar, and gelatin. Vanilla is usually included as well, and fresh fruit or fruit-based sauce are the most common toppings. Here, the custard includes sour cream, cream cheese, and a touch of orange, giving it a cheesecake-like quality. The desserts are served topped with a blueberry-orange sauce. The combined flavors were very good, and there was a fair amount of extra sauce left over. Fortunately, these kinds of sauces freeze and thaw well. The leftovers would be worth trying over pancakes, waffles, or ice cream.
Menu: Potato and Zucchini Soup, Shrimp in Olive Oil and Lemon Juice with Rosemary, Red Bell Peppers Stuffed with Pine Nuts and Golden Raisins, Roasted Figs with Almonds and Chocolate
Recommended Wine: Terradora Di Paolo, Fiano Di Avellino from Campania
Heading south again, we enter the region of Apulia, now called Puglia, in the Southeast along the Adriatic Coast. Despite being across the Apennines on the other side of the peninsula, the food here has a lot of similarities to that from the Naples region (Campania). In both places, pasta, vegetables, olive oil, and fruit are staples, supplemented with smaller amounts of meat, dairy, and seafood. These ingredients are often prepared differently, however. While bold, exuberant flavors dominate around Naples, Puglia tends to favor more clear, straightforward flavors. (Text, pg. 211)
Like much of Southern Italy, Apulia was part of Magna Graecia and had a number of Greek colonies from the 7th to 3rd Centuries BC. As discussed on page 210, the Greek influence is stronger here than in Naples. At first this seems surprising, since Naples was also a Greek colony. In fact, its original Greek name, Neapolis, roughly translates as “New City.” I suspect, but cannot be sure, that geography had something to do with the difference. The coast of Apulia is more or less directly across a strait from the Greek mainland, while Naples is on the opposite side of the peninsula and only about 120 miles from Rome over relatively flat terrain. As a result, though Apulia did eventually Romanize to a degree, the process was slower and less thorough, with more lingering Greek influences.
Many elements of this menu have a long history. Seafood has been an essential element in the diet in most coastal regions since before agriculture. Olive oil was essential in the Ancient Mediterranean, and the recipes of the Roman gourmet Apicius frequently contain anchovies or fish sauce. Raisins and pine nuts were frequent additions to sauces and stuffings both in the Ancient and Medieval world. Other fruits and nuts, including almonds and figs, have always been popular desserts.
In fact, in his bestselling book Guns, Germs, and Steel, the anthropologist Jared Diamond discusses how figs were domesticated thousands of years before apples. Basically, fig trees can self-pollinate and produce seeds yielding identical offspring, making breeding the trees fairly straightforward for early farmers. Apple trees, on the other hand, tend to pollinate other apple trees, usually producing offspring different from the parent. To ensure identical offspring, the much more complicated technique of grafting is required. This process was not mastered until the Classical Period around 500 BC, so until then, apple trees remained more or less wild, though widespread. Meanwhile, the ancients had been feasting on domesticated figs, both fresh and dried, for millennia.
A few elements, such as the lemon and rosemary in the shrimp, are Medieval introductions, but most of this menu would not be possible without ingredients originally from the Americas. Potatoes, zucchini, peppers, and chocolate were brought to Europe by the Spanish in the 16th Century but took a while to catch on. By the end of the century, hot chocolate was fairly common among the wealthy in Spain, and in the next century spread throughout Europe. Since the historic Kingdom of Naples, which included pretty much all of Italy south of Rome, was controlled by Spain for most of the Early Modern Period, these New World ingredients may have been arrived sooner in Puglia than in many parts of Europe. Still, with the exception of chocolate, they were not widely consumed until the 18th Century.
Since peppers and potatoes (and tomatoes, for that matter) are in the same family as deadly nightshade, they were viewed with suspicion at first and only eaten out of necessity. As author Ken Albala explains in Food in Early Modern Europe, their high yields helped peppers and especially tomatoes catch on throughout Southern Europe, but for some reason, potatoes took even longer. Despite their hardiness, yield, and versatility, most Europeans were only starting to accept them in the late 18th Century.
Now, let’s look at the menu. It features a number of southern Italian staples, including zucchini, dried pasta, seafood, olive oil, citrus fruit, peppers, and figs. Due to a timing miscalculation, the shrimp and peppers were eaten before the soup. The shrimp were cooked for a few minutes in boiling water, then cooled and marinated in lemon juice, olive oil, and rosemary. After being roasted and peeled, the peppers were stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs, raisins, pine nuts, parsley, and a bit of anchovy, then baked. This was all good, but pretty salty. As in most of the book’s recipes, salt and pepper are to taste, but I seem to have used a bit much, especially for the peppers. Plus, the anchovy flavor in the peppers was a bit strong. The raisins in the stuffing helped cut through this, but if I were to make them again, I think I would not only be more careful with the salt, but also reduce the amount of anchovy.
Shrimp and stuffed peppers
After the salty, strong flavors, the soup was really nice contrast. It’s simply a mix of potatoes, zucchini and vermicelli, cooked in salted water with a little olive oil, topped with a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese and black pepper. On page 211, Mr. Famularo describes a friend’s skepticism upon being told about the soup, wondering how it had any flavor, but then enjoying it to the point of it becoming a favorite. Upon reading the recipe, I had a similar initial reaction. I thought that without at least a bit of onion, it would be extremely bland, but it all worked together. The flavor is mild, but the large quantity of vegetables for the amount of water ensures that the broth doesn’t taste like water. The vermicelli and olive oil add body, while the cheese and pepper add another layer of depth. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.
Potato and zucchini soup
The stuffed, roasted figs were a bit time-consuming to make, but they can be made ahead and last for several days in an airtight container. Each dried fig has a pocket cut in the side, which is then stuffed with a roasted almond, a small piece of dark chocolate, a few fennel seeds, and a few small pieces of candied peel. After baking, they are rolled in a mix of cocoa powder and powdered sugar while still hot and stored in an airtight container with bay leaves. These were definitely different, but quite enjoyable. The figs and candied peel are quite sweet, but the fennel and dark chocolate help balance that, while the almonds provide a nice crunch. Overall, this was a tasty and balanced dinner.
Feasting Through Time 