Fagiolini all'agro

This dish of green beans dressed with fresh lemon juice and olive oil, to my mind, typifies the simple elegance of Italian cuisine. Fagiolini all'agro, also known as fagiolini all'insalata, is austere in its simplicity but yet, when made with the freshest and best quality ingredients, is truly delectable.

Trim both ends of your green beans, and then cook them in abundant, rapidly boiling and lightly salted water. When they are just done, drain them and plunge them into cold water until they are perfectly cool. Then drain them in a colander and let them sit until dry. Arrange them on a serving platter, sprinkle them with lemon juice and salt, and pour a generous amount of olive oil. Sprinkle with a bit more salt on top and serve.

NOTES: As with so many Italian dishes, the quality of the ingredients is crucial to the success of the dish. Use the freshest, youngest green beans that you can find, preferably of the slender variety sometimes called 'French beans'. The olive oil should be fruity and of the best quality you can afford. The lemons should also be fresh—the juice of older lemons can become unpleasantly acid—and preferably organic. And, in a dish as spare as this one, even the quality of the salt will make a difference. Tonight, I used some wonderful fiore di sale, sea salt from the province of Trapani in Sicily—a kind gift of friends who were staying for the weekend. (The island of Pantelleria off the coast of the province of Trapani is well known for its wonderful capers. Trapani is also home to the famous Marsala wine. )

Equally important is the attention given to preparation. The green beans should be cooked until just tender—not really crisp-tender, mind you, as in much Asian cooking or in nouvelle cuisine, but not soft, either. The bean should still offer some resistance to the bite, but should have lost any rawness in either flavor or texture. Once it is at this perfect point, they must be drained and immersed in cold water as quickly as possible to preserve its texture and color. The beans should be allowed to dry completely and dressed according to the usual Italian rules for salads—with just a few drops of lemon, enough to enliven the beans but to be just barely noticeable, with just the 'right' amount of salt, enough to provide savoriness without being cloying, and abundant olive oil.

Some recipes are a bit more elaborate, calling for some chopped parsley or basil. Mint would also go very nicely. And there is also what is basically a different dish going by the same name of fagiolini all'agro, green beans sautéd in butter, lemon juice, parsley and—of all things—paprika.

This dish is typically a contorno, or side dish. It can accompany all sorts of meats but is perhaps at its best with roasted or grilled lamb. Eaten with some crusty bread, it can also serve, either on its own or with other blanched vegetables, as a light lunch or supper.

Paella «Reina Sofia»

Well, I suppose that it is paella week at our house. I just couldn't resist trying out another kind of paella—a vegetarian paella that I have dubbed paella «Reina Sofia», after Spain's Queen Sofia, who happens to be a vegetarian.

The basic method is the same as that for paella a la valenciana, with the critical difference that there is no 30 minute simmering of the meats with water—after all, there are no meats—but rather you add your rice directly to the sautéed vegetables, allow it to toast lightly, and then add water or broth. In any event, here is a step-by-step guide to the making the dish for 3-4 people:

Step 1: Cut up and and set aside all the vegetables that you will need for Steps 2 through 4 (In professional circles, this is often called the mise en place or the 'putting into place' of your ingredients):

Step 2: Set your paella pan on a barbecue with the center burners on high and pour in a generous amount of olive oil—you'll need more than you may think to properly coat all the vegetables and the rice. If you have a sear burner, then use it, too, as it will help to sauté more quickly and, later on, to help form that wonderful caramelized rice crust at the bottom of the paella (called a socarrat). Add your flavor base of aromatic vegetables, consisting of three peeled and slightly crushed garlic cloves, a chopped onion and a chopped sweet red pepper:

Sauté these vegetables until they begin to soften and caramelize slightly.

Step 3: Then add a small eggplant that has been diced into cubes and sauté those until tender:

(If using a larger, older eggplant, salt the cubes for at least 30 minutes in a colander to remove any bitterness; with a young eggplant, there is no need to do this.)

Step 4: Next, add a handful of cherry or grape tomatoes, a handful of green beans (aka 'string' beans) trimmed and cut into two, a handful of peas (frozen is fine) and a handful of baby lima beans. Continue sautéing for a few minutes to allow the vegetables to absorb the flavors of the aromatic vegetables:

Step 5: Clear out a little well in the center of the vegetables and into the well add a tablespoon of pimentón, Spanish paprika (or regular paprika, if you can't find pimentón). Allow the pimentón to sauté for a few moments and, when you begin to smell its rich, smoky aroma, mix it with the vegetables to coat them nicely. Then add your rice (about 250g or 1/2 lb) and allow it to sauté as well for a few minutes:

Step 6: Next, add enough water or broth to cover the rice by at least 1 cm (1/3 inch) together with some strands of saffron that you have dissolved in a bit of warm water:

Allow the liquid to simmer vigorously (but not boil) until it has been entirely absorbed and you hear a sizzling and then a crackling sound. Check with a spatula or other utensil to see if the liquid has been entirely absorbed and—hopefully—a nice socarrat has begun to form on the bottom of the paella pan. Taste to make sure that the rice is just about cooked. If it is, then remove the pan from the fire and allow it to rest for about 10 minutes before serving.

¡Buen provecho!

NOTES: This recipe is my own 'invention'—sort of. It is actually an amalgam of the most appealing aspects of the many recipes for vegetarian paella that you will find on Spanish websites. Almost all of them have some common features: aromatics such as onion, garlic and red pepper, as well as eggplant and green beans, and (often) peas and/or beans of some sort. Artichokes also feature often but, being out of season at the moment, I omitted them. And, as mentioned at the outset, all these recipes omit the preliminary simmering and call for the rice to be added directly to the vegetables.

Without the simmering step, which creates the broth for paella a la valenciana, you have some choices to make up for the loss of flavor: you can use vegetable broth or—straying a bit from vegetarian principles—chicken broth. Or you can simply use water, in which case you will want to season well with salt and perhaps add a bit more pimentón for extra flavor.

Speaking of straying from vegetarian principles, there is a humorous (and possibly apocryphal) story about Queen Sofia and King Juan Carlos' royal visit to Morocco in 2005. The visit was meant to help mend relations between Spain and Morocco in the wake of a territorial dispute over the Isla de Perejil (Parsley Island) off the coast of Morocco. It seems that the Moroccan chefs did not entirely understand what it meant to be a vegetarian, since—as the Queen later told the Spanish press—they insisted on flavoring the 'vegetarian' dishes they served the Queen with little bits of meat! But this is nothing too unusual, actually. In Italy, for example, dishes with a bit of pancetta can still be considered magro, or fit for eating on fast days. In cases like this, the meat is considered a kind of condiment rather than truly 'meat' as such.

Whatever...

Paella a la valenciana

If you're like me, you may have thought that paella a la valenciana was made with a mixture of chicken and seafood and perhaps a bit of Spanish chorizo, onions, red peppers and peas for color. Well, as it turns out, the real paella a la valenciana is quite a different animal.

I recently tried out a recipe that I found on lapaella.net. According to this (and a number of other recipes I found in Spanish across the net) the real thing uses chicken, but no seafood, chorizo, onions, red peppers or peas. The recipe, which is quite easy but involves a number of steps, goes as follows:

Fry lightly salted pieces of chicken (thighs and/or legs) and rabbit in a generous amount of olive oil, in a well-seasoned paella pan (see below). When nicely browned--and a good browning is crucial to the success of the dish--add green beans and, if you can find them, 'romano' green beans (both cut into sections), a Spanish white bean called garrafon--use baby lima beans if you don't have these on hand--and, in season, artichoke, trimmed and cut into wedges. Allow the vegetables to saute for a few minutes. Then clear out an open spot in the center of the paella pan and add one grated tomato (if tomatoes are not in season, use two tablespoons of canned crushed tomato) and a tablespoon or more of pimenton, Spanish paprika. Allow the tomato and pimenton to caramelize a bit, then add water or chicken broth to cover all the ingredients, together with saffron threads that you will have dissolved in a bit of warm water. (The paella pan should be almost full to the brim.) Allow to simmer for about 30 minutes. Taste and adjust for salt. Add rice (see below), distributing it as evenly as possible, and continue simmering for 7 minutes over very high heat, then another 4-5 minutes or so over medium heat, then finally another 3-4 minutes over very low heat. About 5 minutes before the rice is ready, lay a sprig of rosemary over the rice. (If at any point you find that you've miscalculated and your paella is drying out but the rice is still hard, now worries: just add a bit more water.) Allow the paella to rest 5 minutes before serving.

I have not included exact measurements here--the eye is all important--but for measurements and a blow-by-blow illustrated recipe, go to lapaella.net. Elsewhere on the site, you can find lots more information and background on making the perfect paella, as well as recipes for other sorts of rice dishes and some other intriguing recipes the cuisine of Valencia. (The site only exists in Spanish and Italian--but the photographic paella recipe should be easy enough to follow.)

Well, the paella was quite different from any other paella I had had, but it was very, very good indeed. Two of us polished off what should have served four!

NOTES: Paella is best cooked over an open fire. Special paella burners are available, but I have found that my barbecue does a fine job. You can also just cook paella on the stove (finishing it off in a hot oven after you've added the rice) but the dish will lack that semi-smokey flavor that is so characteristic of a real paella. One way to make up for this is to add more pimenton, which will impart a little smokiness to the dish.

Using the right kind of rice is essential for a good paella. The best kind of rice for paella is called "bomba", which is a short grain rice. If you can't find bomba or just don't want to spend the money--bomba rice is quite expensive--try another Spanish short grain rice. (Balducci's carries something they call "paella rice" from Spain, and Spanish rice is also available online on amazon.com as well as sites that specialize in Spanish food like Hot Paella.com and La Tienda.com). I have also used Italian arborio rice with obtained fine results. Whichever type of rice you decide to use--but especially if you use arborio--be sure not to stir the rice after you add it to the pan and distribute it among the other ingredients. Paella is not meant to have a creamy texture, and too much agitation will get the starch going and produce a creamy dish, which is what you want when making risotto, but not when making paella.

The original technique for adding the rice to the paella, by the way, involves pouring the rice in the form of a cross, vertically and horizontally. The rice should just come up slightly above the 'water line'. The rice is then mixed--only once--into the broth. This apparently ensures that you get the right amount rice vs. broth. (The photos on paella.net illustrate.) I usually don't do this and just take my chances, as I find mixing the rice into the other ingredients rather awkward to accomplish.

According to some sources, including the About.com: Spanish food website the original paella a la valenciana also included snails. I have not tried this but it does sound good. If you have an aversion to snails or rabbit, a paella made entirely of poultry and vegetables would no doubt be equally delicious.
The best pan for making paella is called--not by coincidence--a "paella". It can be bought in a lot of good cookware stores (including, for example, Sur La Table) and also available online at the websites mentioned above. The traditional paella pan is made from polished steel and needs to be seasoned. If you have ever seasoned a wok or a cast iron skillet, it works the same way: you wash the pan in soap and hot water first, then dry it scrupulously. Oil the inside of the pan (paper towel is useful here) and then place it over medium-high heat. The bottom of the pan will begin to turn a golden brown as the oil 'burns' into the steel. It won't look very pretty, but don't worry--this is what you want. Rotate the pan to make sure that the entire inside surface of the pan is well seasoned. Let cool and repeat. After it cools for a second time, the pan is ready to use. The seasoning provides a natural non-stick surface. As with other seasoned cookware, you should clean your pan with hot water only--if you use soap or detergent, you will remove the seasoning. After each cleaning, oil the inside of the pan again and let it heat up for a minute. Wipe off any excess oil and store it away until you're ready to enjoy your next paella.

Now, if all of this sounds like too much trouble, no worries. You can buy non-stick and stainless steel paella pans, which require no seasoning or special maintenance, as well as the traditional polished steel. And for years I used a regular non-stick braiser with fine results.

Post scriptum: Some of you may be thinking that you like adding seafood or chorizo or peas--or whatever--to your paella. So what's wrong with that? Nothing at all, of course. But, in the words of one exasperated Spanish food blogger:

EN FIN, CADA UNO PUEDE HACER LO QUE QUIERA A SU GUSTO, PERO AL MENOS QUE NO LA LLAMEN PAELLA VALENCIANA!!!

Which means, roughly: "at the end of the day, each one of us can do what suits their taste, but just don't call it 'paella valenciana'!!!"

Linguine al limone

Linguine al limone, or linguini with lemon sauce, is one of those quintessential summer dishes from southern Italy, specifically the Sorrentine peninsula of the Campania region, where they grow exquisite lemons. It's sunshine on your plate.

This dish may surprise you. The lemon flavor is not at all acidic or overwhelming. Rather, the lemon provides freshness. There are many versions of this dish, some quite simple, with the focus squarely on the pure flavor of lemon. In others—like this one—the lemon provides a sottofondo, a background, for a medley of other flavors. This is my version:

Take a fresh lemon, preferably organic, and grate off the zest (i.e., the outer yellow layer of the lemon peel), being careful to leave the bitter pith (the white layer under the zest) behind. Then cut the lemon in two.

Start your water to boil for the pasta. Add a half lemon to the water, squeezing out the lemon juice into the water. When the water comes to a boil, salt generously and add your linguine (75-100g or 2-1/2-3-1/2 oz. per person, depending on how hungry you are and whether you plan to follow the pasta with a secondo).

Meanwhile, make your lemon sauce: heat a bit of olive oil and butter over moderate heat in a skillet. Add the lemon zest and a slightly crushed clove of garlic, allowing it to sauté for just a few moments, just until you begin to smell the aroma of the garlic and lemon wafting up from the skillet. Then remove the garlic and add cream (about 2dl or 1/2 cup per 100g of pasta), a few tablespoons of grated parmesan cheese, salt and freshly ground pepper. Allow the cream to reduce a bit, then turn off the heat. Add a generous sprinkling of finely chopped mint and mix.

When the pasta is very al dente, transfer it into the skillet with the sauce without draining it too well over low heat. Mix well, allowing the pasta to absorb the flavors of the sauce and adding a ladleful of pasta water if the sauce is getting too dense—the pasta should 'slide' around the skillet. Serve immediately, topped if you like with some of the grated lemon zest and chopped mint.

By the way, you should, of course, fish out that half lemon before draining the pasta. A pair of tongs are useful for the purpose. And it is easy to do, as the lemon floats on the surface of the boiling water.

NOTES: As I said, there are a number of different versions of this dish. This particular recipe is my personal invention, a variation on some of the more elaborate, creamy versions. My personal 'touch' is the use of mint, which is, as far as I am aware, an original idea—and one which, if I do say so myself, works very nicely. The combination of lemon and mint is, after all, a natural one. Other versions of the dish omit the garlic and/or the cream. Some call for parsley, most do not. For a lovely lighter version that focuses on the pure taste of lemon, see this post from Italicious, a great blog by a young Roman living and studying in Canada. (You'll find it listed on this site's blog roll.)

Pasta al limone is typically made with long pasta, most often spaghetti but also with the more delicate egg pasta known as tagliolini. I would venture that it would also go very well with tagliatelle or fettuccine, in particular in the versions like this one that include cream.

This dish is at its best when made with lemons from the Amalfi coast, in particular Sorrento, which is known for its wonderful lemons—the same lemons that are used to make the ambrosial limoncello. But recognizing that this is only an option for a lucky few, choose the freshest, best quality lemon you can find. And since you are using the zest, try to find an organic lemon that will not be covered with wax or treated with pesticides or other chemicals. If you can't find organic lemons, then wash and scrub the lemon well before using it. In the US, the lovely Meyer lemon would be a nice choice.

Quick Note: Crab cakes with salsa

I've posted about crab cakes before. Just a quick note on a 'brainstorm' that worked out pretty well tonight: crab cakes with Mexican salsa and a drizzle of olive oil:


Worth a try.

NB: Tonight I had some prepared salsa sitting around, but surely freshly made salsa would have been even better.

Whitefish brandade

Salt cod can be hard to find. It takes some considerable time to prepare and, plus, codfish stocks are dangerously depleted. So what is a brandade maven like myself to do? Well, I recently "invented" a new dish by using smoked whitefish--something you can fish in almost any grocery or supermarket here in the States--to make brandade. The result was different but, to my taste, equally delicious.

It's also very quick and easy to make. Just plop skinned and boned smoked whitefish into a food processor, add some sliced potato and garlic cloves that you will have previously simmered in equal parts milk and water, process, adding equal parts olive oil and cream (or milk) bit by bit until have a smooth puree. Serve with slices of baguette, toasted or browned in a bit of olive oil. (Today I brushed them with oil and browned them in a dry non-stick skillet.)

NOTES: Purists disdain the addition of potato to brandade, but whitefish has a very strong taste, so I'd recommend that particular bit of heresy in this case.

PS: After feeling proud of myself for this discovery, I did a Google search and found out, alas, that any number of people have beat me to it... oh well, it's still very good!

Risotto alla crema di scampi

As I have mentioned before, Rome is not really risotto country. But there is at least one risotto dish that appears on almost every menu in town: risotto alla crema di scampi, or risotto with crayfish (or shrimp) purée. It is one of my favorite risotti, but I hadn't had it since leaving Rome four years ago. As I pondered what to make for dinner tonight, I decided it was time to renew my acquaintance with this old friend.

This risotto is a bit more involved than your average risotto and, for this reason, is usually served on special occasions. The complication comes in preparing the fumetto di scampi, or shrimp fumet and the crema di scampi or shrimp purée. Otherwise, it operates like any other risotto. Scampi are actually crayfish but since shrimp are so much more common, I have devised this recipe for using shrimp. But if you can find crayfish, by all means use them; the dish will be that much more flavorful and authentic.

To make enough risotto for 4 people, begin by making the fumetto di scampi: shell about 250g (or a half pound) shrimp. Take the shells (and heads if you have them) and put them in a saucepan with one liter (1 qt.) of water, a splash of white wine, a pinch of salt and the usual odori: a small onion, a carrot and a stick of celery, cut up into chunks, along with a few sprigs of parsley. Simmer for about 20 minutes.

Then make the crema di scampi: sauté a lightly crushed garlic clove in a bit of olive oil. When the garlic just begins to give off aroma, add the shrimp and sauté them as well. When the shrimp have just turned pink, add a splash a brandy and allow it to evaporate. (Some recipes call for you to set light to the brandy.) If you like, remove a few shrimp—enough for one or two shrimp per person—from the skillet as garnish. Then add 200g of crushed canned tomatoes or passata di pomodoro and a ladleful of the fumetto, and simmer for about 20 minutes. Transfer this shrimp and tomato mixture to a blender, add 200ml of cream and blend on the highest setting until you have a very smooth, cream-like purée. Transfer this back to the skillet and allow to simmer for 10-15 minutes more to thicken the crema and concentrate its flavor. Make sure that the puree is well seasoned.

Finally, make a normal risotto in bianco, with 400g of rice, using the usual technique (see the post of the ABCs of making risotto), beginning with a shallot or half a small onion sautéed in olive oil and using the remainder of the fumetto in place of the usual broth. About halfway through the cooking time, add the crema di scampi and continue with the cooking. (You can hold back a bit of the crema for garnish. When the rice is fully cooked, add a dab of butter and proceed to mantecare. Let the risotto rest, covered, for 2 or 3 minutes before serving. If you like, garnish with a spoonful of the crema di scampi, one or two sautéed shrimp and a pinch of finely chopped parsley.

NOTES: This risotto is another 'new' dish devised, like penna alla vodka, in the 1970s. And like penne alla vodka, it is based on a mixture of tomato and cream, sometimes called a salsa rosa or 'pink sauce'. It was apparently quite popular, for a time, for wedding banquets and other special occasions. Its popularity has waned somewhat, but, as I mentioned at the start, it is still a fixture on Roman restaurant menus. And it still makes for an elegant appearance. Fa sempre una bella figura, as they say in Italian: it always makes a good impression.

There are some rather subtle variations in the recipes you can find for this dish. The most important would be the ratio of shrimp to rice, which can range from as high as 8:5 to (as in the recipe above) 1:2. The amount of cream and tomato contained in the shrimp purée can also be reduced down to provide a stronger shrimp taste and less fat; one recipe I've seen calls for only 100g of cream and 100g of tomato for 800g of shrimp. If you find this recipe either too mild in flavor or too rich, then you may find this variation more appealing.

Another, more distinct variation calls for sautéeing the shrimp heads and shells to make the crema di scampi, and passing it through a sieve rather than blending it. The shrimp tails are separately sautéed and flambéed and folded into the risotto just before serving.

Finally, I should mention that scampi are not, in fact, shrimp but a kind of Mediterranean langoustine (also known as Dublin Bay prawns) that have a much more assertive flavor than shrimp. If you can find real scampi, of course, this dish will come out that much tastier. Another possibility would be to substitute another crustacean, like crab, either combined with or instead of, shrimp, to make up for the flavor differential. I will be experimenting with variations and updating this post after I do, so stay tuned!

Pesche al vino rosso

Sometimes the simplest things are the best. Tonight we had a dessert of peaches macerated in red wine. When peaches are at their height of flavor as they are now, this dish can be sublime.

You cut peaches into wedges, then sprinkle them with sugar (about a spoonful per peach) and the juice of half a lemon. Mix gently—ripe peaches are quite delicate—and allow the peaches to macerate for about 15 minutes or so, or until the sugar has dissolved. Add enough red wine just to barely cover the peaches and allow them to macerate for a further 30 minutes or more. The longer they macerate in the wine, the more potent the wine taste will be. Too long a maceration and the taste of the wine will come to dominate. I find that 30-60 minutes or so provides the right balance between wine and peach, but this is a matter of taste.

NOTES: A more complex variation on this simple dish calls for mulling the wine with sugar and a cinnamon stick before adding it to the peaches. Similarly, some recipes call for some cloves (chiodi di garofano) to be added to the wine marinade. You can also use honey instead of sugar. For a lighter, brighter version, you can use white wine instead of red.

To peel or not to peel? I rather prefer to leave peaches unpeeled. Indeed, there is an old saying in Italian:

Pela il fico all’amico e la pesca al nemico.

which means, "peel figs for your friend, but peel peaches for your enemy". You see, it was said that the peel of the fig was unhealthy, but that of the peach aided the digestion. These days, many people maintain that the peach peel is also unhealthy, as it retains traces of the insecticides and whatever other chemicals are used in their cultivation. Let your own taste by your guide.

Of course, other fruits lend themselves very well to this general treatment. (For details, see post on macedonia di frutta.)

Penne alla vodka

A quick post on this well-known but relatively new variant on penne all'arrabbiata: make your arrabbiata with less peperoncino than usual, just enough to give the dish a slight 'bite', and then add a shot glass or two of vodka to your sauce. Allow to continue simmer a few minutes to evaporate the vodka, and then add cream. You can tell the right amount by the color of the sauce--it should be a creamy orange as pictured in the photo above. When the penne are done, add them to the sauce and saute them as you would for an arrabbiata. Mix in a handful of parmesan cheese and serve.

NOTES: For some reason that escapes me, surely having to do with the addition of cream, vodka sauce tends to get absorbed very quickly into the pasta, much more so than for arrabbiata or other tomato-based sauces. If you find the pasta becoming too dry, you can add a bit more cream or some of the pasta water to loosen it up.

By the way, my preferred type of penne to use for both dishes is penne rigate, or 'ribbed' penne. Often the pasta you will find in supermarkets marked as 'penne' are actually penne lisce or 'smooth' penne. If you ask me, penne lisce are not much good for anything. I find their smooth texture rather off-putting. And they don't hold a sauce as well as penne rigate. But this, as for so many things culinary, is a matter of personal taste. And since penne alla vodka contains cream, which makes the sauce cling more readily to the pasta, they are less objectionable in this dish than others.

Even if this is a relatively new recipe--or perhaps because it does not have the 'authority' of tradition behind it--there are any number of variations to this recipe. I like the above straight-forward version, which as mentioned is simply a riff on arrabbiata. But other recipes call for using butter instead of oil, and onion instead of garlic, which is more consistent with the use of cream. A number of recipes also call for pancetta to be used as part of, or instead of, the onion soffritto, which would make this an even richer dish. Many of these richer variations omit the peperoncino.

There are a number of competing stories about the origins of penne alla vodka. They are nicely summarized in this Wikipedia article. What all these stories agree on is that this is a 'new' dish, no older than the 1930s and probably more like from the 1970s or 80s. The combinations in this dish, and the use of vodka, are certain don't reflect a traditional approach. But there is a reason for the poplarity of the dish: it does taste good. My niece asks for it every time she comes to town...

Penne all'arrabbiata

Here's another signature dish of Roman cooking, penne all'arrabbiata or 'angry' penne, perfect for an impromtu meal or snack when you crave something spicy. It is a very simple dish—basically an aglio, olio e peperoncino with tomato and extra peperoncino added for more heat.

Start your penne cooking in well-salted boiling water while you make the sauce. You start by sautéing garlic and peperoncino in abundant olive oil as for an ajo e ojo—but add as much hot pepper as you like. Remember, this dish is not called 'angry' penne for nothing! Then, before either the garlic or the peperoncino have a chance to brown too much, add either fresh tomatoes that have been skinned, seeded and chopped (see Notes below) or, if good fresh tomatoes and out of season or otherwise unavailable, canned tomatoes. Season with salt and pepper. Simmer until the tomatoes have completely 'melted' into a sauce and separated from oil. Taste and adjust for seasoning. (You can add red pepper flakes if the sauce is not spicy enough for you.) Add the penne—cooked very al dente—to the sauce, allowing it to insaporire for a few moments, then serve, topped with chopped parsley.

NOTES: Many recipes—including many Italian recipes—call for grated pecorino and/or parmesan cheese either to be mixed into the sauce or to top the finished pasta, in addition to, or instead of, the chopped parsley. The original recipe does not call for any kind of cheese and, being a traditionalist—at least in things culinary—and a lover of 'clean' tastes, I always opt for the parsley only. But, it's hard to say it's inauthentic to add cheese—in fact, even the authoritative Talismano della Felicità calls for a pecorino topping.

If you want to use fresh tomatoes, you will need very ripe, tasty tomatoes. Fresh tomatoes should be peeled and seeded before using: tomatoes are very difficult to peel raw. You need to loosen their skins one of two ways: First, you can roast them ever so slightly over an open flame. You can simply spear the bottom of the tomato with a fork and rotate it over a stove burner until the skins has blistered all over. (This technique works best with gas stoves; you can also use a barbecue, in which case you can simply lay the tomatoes down on the grate and turn them often with tongs). The other method is to blanch them for only about 30 seconds or so in boiling water. Either way works fine. Then split the tomato in two lengthwise and scoop out the seeds with a spoon or simply with your finger (which is what I usually do). Chop the tomato roughly and you're ready to use it for this or any other tomato sauce. If you don't have good, ripe tomatoes, then canned tomatoes are actually your better choice. (Canned tomatoes in the US also present a conundrum, but that's a subject to a separate post.)

The amount of tomato is largely a matter of personal taste, but most recipes call for a 1:1 ratio of tomato to uncooked pasta by weight. But some recipes call for less (say a 3:5 tomato-to-pasta ratio) and some call for more. Depends on how 'saucy' you want this sauce to be. Personally, I like my pasta lightly sauced, so I use a bit less than 1:1.

The amount of peperoncino, as mentioned above, is a matter of personal taste, but the whole point of this dish—as opposed, say, to a run-of-the-mill pasta al sugo—is its piquancy, so be generous. Although I should say that the Italian definition of 'spicy' (outside, perhaps Calabria) does not really compare with some other cuisines, particularly in South Asia or Mexico. Usually, peperoncino is a better choice than red pepper flakes, because flakes can burn so easily and turn bitter, but this is one dish where they work quite well. Just remember to add them only a few seconds before the tomatoes—the liquid in the tomatoes will prevent them from burning. Otherwise, you can just add them, together with the salt and pepper, after the tomatoes. Red pepper flakes are also very convenient for adjusting the 'heat' level upwards if you want a spicier dish. (If you want to lower the heat level, add more oil and tomato.)

The classic pasta for this dish, as indicated, is penne. But this sauce would lend itself quite well to long pasta like spaghetti or linguine. In fact, it's hard to go wrong in terms of pasta shapes, although you should avoid most egg pastas, which would be overwhelmed by this 'angry' sauce.

One last note on one of my pet peeves: There is nothing more inane than calling this pasta shape 'penne pasta'. The name of this pasta is just plain 'penne'. You don't say 'spaghetti pasta' or 'rigatoni pasta', do you? Ah, now, then, I feel better... :)

Seppie coi piselli alla romana

Strange as it may seem, squid and peas were made for each other. The sweetness of peas sets off the brinyness of squid perfectly. And the savoriness of a tomato sauce brings it all together nicely.

This dish, as so many traditional Roman dishes, is really quite easy to make but very tasty. You make a soffrito by sautéing a small onion in olive oil, then add 500g (1 lb.) of cleaned and cut up squid (see Notes below). Allow the squid pieces to sauté along with the onion to absorb the flavors for a few minutes. (The squid will probably shed quite a bit of water, but that's perfectly normal. No need to try to boil if off.) Then add a splash of white wine, allow it to evaporate and then add about 200g (1/2 lb.) of crushed canned tomatoes, mix well, lower the heat, cover and simmer for 45 minutes to an hour, or until the squid is quite tender. (Add water if the sauce becomes too dense.) Then add about 300-500g (1 lb.) of peas (or more or less if you want—there is no real 'right' amount) and continue simmering until the peas are just cooked. Adjust for seasoning and serve immediately.

NOTES: If there is any complication to this dish, it's in the cleaning of the squid. Many places now you can buy pre-cleaned and pre-cut squid. Or you can ask your fishmonger to clean the squid for you. But if don't have either option available, or you want to save some money, here is the procedure as demonstrated by our friends over at the Rouxbe Online Cooking School. It's really quite easy once you get the hang of it. Then cut the body of the squid into rings about 2 cm (1/2 inch) wide.

By the way, the real dish is made not with squid, but with its 'cousin' the cuttlefish. But where I live, at least, cuttlefish is hard (if not impossible) to find, so I use squid, which is a perfectly fine substitute.

As for the peas, I generally use frozen peas, which are easy to find and really quite good. If you are using fresh peas, make sure they are really fresh. My own experience with fresh peas has been pretty disappointing—they tend to be 'over the hill', lacking sweetness and having a mealy texture.

If you like, add a bit of hot red pepper to the soffrito, but if you do, go easy. Too much spice would overwhelm the flavors of both the peas and the squid.

There are basically two cooking times for squid: either very short, as in fried calamari, or quite long, as in this dish and many other 'stewed' dishes. Anything in between will result in toughness, so once you're past just a minute or two, you need to keep going until the squid is done. But you can make this dish in less time with a pressure cooker. Once you are ready to simmer the squid and tomatoes, bring the cooker up to pressure and cook for 20-30 minutes. Then release the pressure and proceed as per the recipe. You may find that the sauce is a bit thin—there is very little evaporation in pressure cooking. If so, just simmer uncovered for a few minutes to reduce before adding the peas.

A recipe for seppie coi piselli, by the way, is mentioned in Artusi (1891). His version is made in bianco (without tomatoes) and the soffrito is made with garlic and parsley in addition to the onion. This recipe is taken from one of my old stand-bys, Le specialità della cucina romana: ricette tratte dalla tradizionale cucina casalinga. And, according to Le ricette regionali italiane (Solaris 1995) a similar dish—in a tomato sauce but minus the peas—is called sepe a' la veneziana, or Venetian-style cuttlefish. A nearly identical dish to the Venetian one but made with calamari instead of cuttlefish, called calamari in umido, or stewed calamari, is included in La cucina napoletana (Newton Compton 1992). Clearly, this dish gets around...

Angelina's Peperonata (Fried peppers)

Everyone has heard of, if not made, fried peppers, a summertime standby. They make an appearance at just about every Italian street festival. So this dish can be a bit banal. But Angelina had her own, special way with fried peppers, one that made them especially tasty. Her recipe is simplicity itself, but there are just a few 'tricks' that make it special.

You start by cutting up frying peppers, those light green, elongated peppers known as friggitelli or friarelli in Italian. You cut the peppers in half lengthwise, remove the stems, seeds and white ribbing from the inside of the peppers. Then cut them into strips lengthwise, and cut the strips in half across. You will wind up with strips of pepper about 1 cm wide and 3-4 cm long:

You sauté the pepper strips and some sliced onion in abundant olive oil over moderately high heat until the peppers and onions just begin to caramelize a bit. Then lower the heat, season with salt and pepper, then cover and allow the peppers to simmer until they are quite soft. (Add a few drops of water, if need be, to aid in the softening and avoid any further browning.) When the peppers are almost done, take them off the heat and, still covered, allow them to cool completely. The peppers taste best when made several hours ahead. When you are ready to eat them, just reheat them gently and serve. They are also quite good served at room temperature.

NOTES: Do not be shy with the oil. You need to use a lot of oil to get the right flavor and consistency for this dish. And use olive oil—no other oil will do. You can remove the excess oil before serving if you want a lighter dish.

Angelina's peperonata was made with only a bit of onion—say, about one small onion for every 5 or 6 peppers. The onions should be sliced from top to bottom, with the grain, so they don't 'melt' entirely. You will find recipes where more onion is called for, sometimes in a 1:1 ratio with the peppers, and this makes for a fine dish as well.

Other recipes for peperonata call for red and/or yellow peppers, which are much sweeter, either instead of, or in addition to, the green ones. A peperonata made from all three kinds of peppers does make for a lovely sight. Angelina, being a frugal cook, invariably made her peperonata with the less expensive green peppers.

Many peperonata recipes call for adding a bit of tomato or tomato purée after the initial browning. Angelina sometimes added a splash of vinegar to her peperonata, almost at the end of cooking, for a bit of extra 'zip'. (Ada Boni's version calls for both variations.) I'm not partial to either of these variations, but it's a matter of personal taste. And in La cucina napoletana, Francesconi suggests omitting the onion (as well as the tomato and vinegar) but adding black Gaeta olives, capers, garlic and chopped parsley to the peppers shortly before they're cooked through. She also offers an alternative recipe particularly for frying friarelli in olive oil just with garlic and peperoncino.

Peperonata goes well, of course, with sausages, but it also goes well with just about any roasted or grilled meat you can think of.

Zucchine «a scapece»

There are four quintessential Italian summer vegetables: tomatoes, peppers, eggplant and zucchini. Of these, zucchini seems to get the least respect, perhaps because zucchini plants are so prolific that the surfeit soon becomes a problem. New zucchini can literally sprout from one day to another, and the production—especially around now, in late summer—can really get out of hand. I remember that one year in Rome we decided to plant zucchini and, not knowing their awesome fecundity, I planted four of them. Well, we soon had bushels of zucchini, enough to start a small agro-business. I soon learned my lesson and planted only one in subsequent years. That was more than enough for our household, with leftovers for friends.

That experience was a real revelation. The taste of home-grown zucchini was incredibly sweet—delicate but yet full of flavor. Alas, supermarket zucchini simply do not compare, but here is one preparation that makes the sometimes bland taste of zucchini come alive. The dish is called zucchine a scapece—also called zucchine in scapece or zucchine alla scapece—zucchini fried in olive oil and marinated with vinegar, garlic and mint, one of the most ancient dishes in the culinary repertoire of Campania.

You begin by cutting the zucchini into rounds—not too thin as they will reduce considerably—and then drying them out a bit to remove the excess liquid. This is a common procedure for a number of fruits and vegetables, including eggplant and tomatoes, to avoid an overly 'mushy' texture, to aid in browning and to concentrate the flavor of the fruit or vegetable; in the case of eggplant, it also removes some bitterness. The traditional, and still the best, way to dry the zucchini is by laying them out in the sun, on a drying rack or simply on a cutting board, for an hour or two (depending on the strength of the sun) to dry, turning them halfway through. They should not dry out totally, of course, but be dry and slightly 'rubbery' to the touch. If it's a cloudy day or this method is otherwise impractical for you, then you can use the more familiar method of sprinkling the zucchini rounds in salt and draining them, weighted down, in a colander. After an hour, pat them dry and proceed with the next step.

Once dry, shallow-fry the zucchini in olive oil, to which you will have added a clove or two of garlic. The zucchini rounds should fit loosely in one layer, so you will probably need to proceed in batches. Allow the rounds to brown a bit on one side, until nicely spottled but not uniformly brown (see photo) and then transfer them to a shallow bowl while you fry the next batch. You sprinkle each layer of fried zucchini with salt (go easy if you've salted them as a first step), pepper, roughly torn or chopped mint leaves and some white wine vinegar. Continue frying, layering and seasoning the zucchini rounds until you have used them all up. Allow the zucchini to marinate for at least an hour. The flavor improves with time, and it is even better the next day. In fact, this is not a bad way to 'put up' your excess zucchini for a rainy day.

NOTES: Many recipes, perhaps most, call for chopped garlic to be sprinkled on the fried zucchini as part of the marinade rather than fried with the oil. I prefer the method specified in the recipe above, as it gives a more subtle garlic flavor. And, especially if you'll be eating your zucchine in scapece the next day, the flavor of garlic only gets more pronounced as it 'matures'. But if you like a stronger garlic flavor, then you may well prefer this alternative.

For an even stronger flavor, the venerable Talismano della Felicità calls for not only adding chopped garlic to the marinade, but also adding enough hot vinegar to cover the zucchini rounds. Instead of mint, Boni calls for a mixture of chopped basil and parsley. In La cucina napoletana, Jeanne Carola Francesconi provides a similar recipe, but the vinegar is mixed with water in a 1:1 ratio and boiled together with a clove of garlic, for a somewhat gentler flavor. Francesconi suggests a bit of red pepper if a spicy dish if desired.

This may well be the original way of making this dish, as the scapece method was originally a way to preserve fish and vegetables in the days before refrigeration. The word scapece is said by some to come from the same Arabic word that entered Spanish as escabeche, a method that is used not only in Spanish cooking, but in Latin America and the Philippines. Others, including Fransconi, maintain that the method dates back to Roman times and that the Italian word comes directly from the Spanish. In Friulian and Venetian cooking, the term in saor (a corruption of 'savoro' or flavor) is also used when applied to fish dishes such as the classic sarde in saor.

The scapece method can be used to prepare eggplant as well. When making melanzane a scapece, the egpplant is often boiled or roasted in its skin rather than fried, and a sprinkling of red pepper flakes is often added to the marinade.

Calzone di cipolla alla pugliese

This dish brings back some of my fondest childhood food memories. Calzone di cipolla, or onion pie, is one of the signature dishes of the cuisine of Puglia. My grandfather Lorenzo hailed from a small town outside of Bari, the capital of Puglia, called Grumo Appula. His sister, whom we called Zia Angelina (not to be confused with my grandmother and her sister-in-law Angelina) made this pie her specialty. It has been years since I had last tasted this dish and had lost track of Zia Angelina's recipe, but, as luck would have it, a friend of the family named Maria Savino, also from Grumo Appula, provided us with the following recipe:

Sauté 2 large onions (see Notes for the best onions to use), sliced fairly thinly from from top to bottom, in a generous amount of olive oil over gentle heat, seasoning with a bit of salt and pepper and taking care not to let them brown too much. (At this stage of cooking, it helps to cover the sauté pan. This speeds the reduction process and discourages burning. Add a spoonful or two of water if needed.) When the onions are translucent and well reduced in volume, add 2 or 3 chopped ripe plum tomatoes and continue to cook until the tomatoes have totally melted into the onions and any liquid has evaporated. (Once the liquid has evaporated, you will hear the onions begin to 'sizzle'.) Turn off the heat and let the onion mixture cool completely.

Spread the sautéed onion mixture in a 23 cm/9-inch pie or quiche pan lined with a crust of your choice (see Notes for details on different crusts to use). Arrange some black olives and anchovy fillets, roughly chopped if you like, evenly on top of the onions. You should use enough so that every bite will have a bit of olive and a bit of anchovy. Cover the pie with another round of crust, pinch the bottom and top crusts together and then either trim off the edges (as in the photo above) or fold the extra bit of crust inwards to make a nice border. Make slits in the top crust to allow air to escape. (If you prefer, you can also simply prick some holes in the crust.)

Bake the calzone in a moderately hot oven (180° C, 375° F) for about 30-45 minutes, or until the crust is nicely browned and the pie is giving off a wonderfully savory aroma. Allow the pie to cool before serving. You can eat it warm (not hot) but, to my taste, the pie is much better at room temperature—and it tastes even better the day after you make it.

NOTES: Like any classic, there are any number of possible variations to this dish. There are variations in the onion filling: Zia Angelina's recipe called for a bit of tomato sauce instead of fresh tomatoes, plus a sprinkling of oregano. Other recipes omit the tomatoes altogether and call for adding grated pecorino cheese, raisins softened in warm water, bread crumbs and/or capers. Some recipes allow or call for green olives rather than black. The recipe for a version of this dish contained in Maria Pignatelli Ferrante's excellent Puglia: A Culinary Memoire calls for a stuffing of leeks, escarole, black olives, anchovies, capers and fresh tomato. She notes that in many parts of Puglia, the escarole is omitted, which is clearly the case in Grumo Appula. And some recipes call for adding an egg or two to the filling, which would, of course, give it a much firmer texture when baked.

There are various possible crusts for this pie. The classic crust, which Zia Angelina's (as well as Ferrante's) recipe calls for is made from a pizza-like dough of flour, oil, water and yeast. Some recipes call for adding a bit of white wine to the dough. In Zia Angelina's recipe, the dough is not allowed to rise before being rolled out, but in Ferrante's, it is. Maria Savino's recipe calls for a simple crust of flour and oil, with only a bit of water if needed to bind the ingredients and without yeast, known as sfoglia all'olio—a kind of Mediterranean pâte brisée. And, last but not least, Maria also uses packaged crust (she uses Pillsbury's brand), something which—not being much of a baker—I can heartily endorse as a perfectly acceptable shortcut.

Since onions are the 'star of the show', the choice of onion will strongly affect the end result. In Puglia, the most favored choices are cipolle rosse di Acquaviva delle Fonti, a very sweet red onion, or cipolle sponsali, a kind of a cross between green onion and leek—hence, I would surmise, Ferrante's suggestion of leeks for this dish. Maria Savino suggests using green onions (also called 'scallions' in certain places). Fresh onions, those sold in the spring with their green tops still on, would also work very nicely. And for those in North America, the sweet Vidalia onion—which I used when I made this—is a great choice as well. In a pinch, regular yellow onions will do, but the filling will not have the same sweetness which, combined with the savory elements of the filling, provide the typical character of the filling.

Although none of these recipes specify, it is also important, at least in my book, to slice the onions from top to bottom (ie, vertically) rather than horizontally, across the grain. This helps the onion slices to remain intact; they would otherwise complete melt during the fairly long cooking process they need to soften well. That will give your filling a pleasing bit of texture.

To see one of these other versions made, I would refer you to this excellent demonstration by my "Foodbuzz" friend, Nicoletta Tavella.

A final note: If you are interested in learning more about this dish, and perhaps Googling it, it should be mentioned that this dish goes by a good number of aliases. In pugliese dialect, it is called pizztidd or pizzutello. It can also be called scialcone di cipolla or pizza di cipolla. A bit confusing, but this kind of variety is not uncommon for well-known Italian dishes.

A view of Santa Maria Assunta, the 13th century 'mother church' of Grumo Appula.

Peperoni ripieni di tonno

There are so many different ways to stuff a pepper. Here's one, with tunafish, that I particularly like:

Get yourself some large, bell peppers, preferably red or yellow but green will do (that's what I had on hand last night) and cut them open--either lengthwise, for a more open pepper 'boat', or horizontally, which makes for a cup-like container. (See notes for details.) Clean out the insides of the pepper, removing seeds and ribs, with a small paring knife.

Then, in a large bowl, mix a small can (about 100g) of tunafish packed in oil, about 2-3 slices of bread, crust removed, soaked briefly in water and then squeezed dry and crumbled, a handful of black olives, pitted and roughly chopped, another handful of salted capers, well rinsed and squeezed dry, 2 or 3 roughly chopped anchovy fillets, a bit of chopped parsley, salt and pepper. Drizzle the mixture with enough olive oil to lightly dress the ingredients and mix again, making sure that the ingredients are well amalgamated but not entirely uniform. Adjust for seasoning: the mixture should be very savory.

Stuff the pepper halves with the tuna and bread mixture, making sure to pack the mixture in fairly tightly. Arrange the peppers on a lightly greased baking dish just large enough to hold them, drizzle them with some additional olive oil, making sure that their sides are lightly coated as well. Bake in a fairly hot oven (180 C, 375 F) for about 45 minutes, or until the peppers are soft and lightly spottled. Allow the pepper to cool for about 15 minutes or more and serve, either warm or room temperature.

NOTES: This is an extremely easy recipe, requiring almost no bother at all. Many stuffed pepper recipes call for you to partially roast the peppers over a flame to remove their skins. But this can soften the peppers to the point that they become difficult to handle. In this recipe, the raw pepper roasts in the oven along with the stuffing. You might think that the pepper would turn out tough, but the roasting with olive oil is enough to soften them nicely. And personally I don't mind the slightly bitter, smokey taste of the roasted skin.

There are a number of variations for the tuna and bread stuffing. Some recipes call for bread crumbs rather than the mollica (bread with crusts removed). You can also use small pasta or rice--or even potato--instead of bread. Some call for either sauteed chopped onion or garlic, or both. Some call for only chopped olives, omitting the capers and anchovies. Some call for green olives rather than black. But perhaps the most important variation is whether or not to add an egg or two to the stuffing mixture. This, of course, results in a much firmer, even solid, stuffing when the peppers are baked. I prefer to leave the egg out, not minding a crumbly stuffing at all--in fact, I prefer it. But try it both ways to see which you prefer.

Of course, using different kinds of peppers also makes for a different dish. And there are many different kinds of stuffings, some with meat, some entirely vegan. This being summer, there will be more stuffed pepper recipes coming soon...

As mentioned above, there are also different ways to prepare the pepper for stuffing. Most Italian recipes call for the peppers to be cut in half lengthwise, creating a kind of 'boat' for the stuffing. Other recipes (most non-Italian ones, it would seem) call for the tops to be cut off the peppers, creating a kind of 'cup' or 'bowl' for the stuffing; the tops are often then replaced to cover the stuffing. The first approach makes it easier to clean the pepper, allows the stuffing to brown over a larger surface and, arguably, results in a more aesthetically pleasing dish. The second approach encloses the stuffing and keeps it moister. Last night, I opted for yet a third 'compromise' option, cutting the peppers in half horizontally, with more than satisfactory results.

Stuffed peppers are commonly used as an antipasto or part of a buffet. But, to my mind, they are substantial enough to serve as a secondo. In fact, last night they were dinner.

I got the basic recipe for this dish from one of my stand-by cookbooks, Le specialita' della cucina romana, ricette tratte della tradizionale cucina casalinga (Ce.Di.Si.) But being a lover of strong tastes, I added capers, anchovies and parsley to the stuffing proposed there, a common variant on the basic recipe.

Angelina's fiori di zucca ripieni e fritti

Summer is here and along with an abundance of zucchini in my folks' backyard garden has come a treasure trove of zucchini flowers. Here is the way Angelina would make them, stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies and fried in a light flour-and-egg batter.

Take your zucchini flowers and cut off the stem. Clean them gently with a towel and then gently open them up just enough to allow you to reach in and remove the pistil. Be careful not to damage the delicate petals--and try not to separate them if you can, but it is no disaster if the flower opens a bit, as the batter will keep the flower together.

Take a small bit of mozzarella and stuff it into the flower, then a bit of anchovy, then another bit of mozzarella. (Obviously, we are talking about very small bits here that can fit inside the flower!) Then close the flower up, pressing it together gently with your hands, and pass it through flour and then an egg-and-cheese mixture as explained in the recipe for Angelina's Fried Vegetables.

Fry the zucchini flowers in light olive oil until golden brown. Drain them on paper towels or on a baking rack and serve still warm, sprinkled with salt and accompanied by lemon wedges.

NOTES: These fried zucchini flowers can be eaten on their own as an antipasto or as a delicious snack, or or with other fritti as a secondo.

If you are using zucchini flowers from your garden, be aware that you should use the flowers that grow on a stem. The flowers that grow at the end of the zucchini themselves can be used in a pinch, but they will not be as flavorful, and they will have a hard end (where you cut off the zucchini) that will be less edible. And be careful as you open the flowers--you may find a bee or other insect inside!

While I would venture that mozzarella and anchovy is the most common stuffing for zucchini flowes, as with other stuffed vegetables, there are variations: ricotta and ham, ricotta and mozzarella, capers instead of or in addition to the anchovies, mortadella and fontina, tuna mousse... the possibilities are endless, but the inclusion of some sort of soft cheese that melts and binds the stuffing together seems to be a constant.

And, of course, it is possible to enjoy zucchini flowers fried without any stuffing at all. They are very tasty on their own. The flavor is really unique and hard to describe.

The frying method can also be varied--the most common variation being dipping the flowers into an actual pastella, or batter, of which there are many versions, giving a lighter or heavier texture depending on the ingredients. (One of these days, I will do a post on different batters.)

Italian Food Culture: A primer

There is much more to Italian food culture than many people outside Italy realize. Mastering the art of Italian cooking is not just a matter of learning recipes but rather requires coming to understand a whole approach to the preparation and eating of food. This approach can be understood, among other ways, through a series of unwritten “rules” that guide most Italians' culinary habits. (I use the term loosely, as there are exceptions to most of these 'rules.' And there is no Italian food police to arrest you if you break them.)

Here are twenty basic rules explained, some of which may surprise you:

General Rules

Rule 1: Eat in season. This ‘rule’ is valid anywhere, but is often observed only in the breach. Italians still do follow it by and large. Asparagus is for the spring, tomatoes, zucchine, peppers for the summer, mushrooms for the fall, cabbage and hearty stews in the winter, and so on. Order a risotto ai funghi porcini in a restaurant in mid-summer and you may get some strange looks. This rule, unfortunately in my opinion, does seem to be breaking down some. In the last few years while I was in Rome, out of season fruits and vegetables, imported from warmer climes, began appearing in the supermarkets (never the open air markets) but they were very expensive and, of course, not very tasty. Frozen vegetables are also beginning to catch on, which also allows for out of season cooking but at the expense of freshness.

Rule 2: Eat locally. Italians were locavores long before it became fashionable (or the word even existed). For most of history this was a matter of necessity for all but a privileged few, but this way of eating continues now that prosperity is widespread. Even the short train trip from Rome to Florence can be like a visit to a foreign land in culinary terms. On the other hand, these days, as elsewhere, regional differences are beginning to blur. A number of local specialities have become national dishes and are eaten most everywhere (eg, pizza). But they are still best experienced in their native territory. If you’re in Italy as a tourist, there’s no point in ordering pizza in Milan or a risotto in Naples. Try to do a little research before visiting a town and try the local specialties.

Rule 3: Look for a harmonious combination of ingredients and avoid clashing combinations. Generally speaking, Italians feel that fish and cheese do not mix. (Never put grated cheese on pasta alle vongole!) But there are various exceptions to this rule. For example, mozzarella and anchovies are often paired. It is also not unheard of to combine fish with cream and with some milder cheeses, so perhaps more accurate to say that fish and aged cheese do not mix. Mushrooms and cheese are another dubious combination, but here, too, there are exceptions like mushroom salad with parmesan shavings.

The structure of an Italian meal

Rule 4: There is no such thing as a ‘main course’ in a proper Italian meal, but rather a series of courses of varying number, depending on the occasion, but usually including a primo (first course of pasta, soup, polenta, rice, etc.) and a secondo (meat, fish, vegetable), often served with a contorno (vegetable side dish). Fresh fruit usually serves as dessert. Or more formal occasions, an antipasto comes before the primo, and a proper dessert may close the meal. In the old days, formal dinners could also have an ‘intermezzo’ between the primo and secondo. It is possible to double or even triple-up primi and/or secondi at elaborate dinners as well, in which case the portions are reduced accordingly. But having two pasta dishes, or a soup followed by the pasta, is a common mistake made by non-Italians. The notable, and increasingly common, exception to this rule is the piatto unico, or ‘single dish’, that serves as both primo and secondo.

Rule 5: The courses of a meal should provide variety without clashing. A delicate egg pasta would not generally be followed, for example, by a spicy dish like fettine di manzo alla pizzaiola. And it is preferable not to repeat key ingredients from course to course—a pasta with tomato sauce, for example, would best not be followed by a meat dish that features tomatoes. (Although it is quite common in southern Italy to follow a pasta and meat ragù with the meat that was used to make the ragù.) At the same time, a dinner that begins with seafood often continues with seafood in later courses. A rule of thumb for beginners: try to stick to dishes of a single region for the various courses; they are more likely to go well together.

Rule 6: Pasta, risotto, gnocchi and the like are not served as side dishes but, as mentioned above, as a separate course. The exception would be for piatti unici like ossobuco (braised veal shank) and risotto alla milanese, often served together. Polenta is often served with meats as a piatto unico, as in polenta e osei or polenta and sausages.

Rule 7: Salads are most often served contorni (side dishes). Certain salads, in particular composed salads like a caprese can serve as antipasti. The Italian immigrant custom of serving green or mixed salad as a separate course after the secondo and before the fruit is not generally followed in Italy.

Cooking pasta

Rule 8: Most people know by now that pasta should be eaten ‘al dente’. (See the glossary at right if you don’t know.) But it is possible to overdo this rule. Generally speaking, pasta secca, which is made with durum wheat flour, will have a much firmer consistency than pasta fresca, which is (or should be) made with soft “OO” flour. In the US (and perhaps elsewhere) however, commercially sold tortellini and other egg pastas are often made with durum wheat pasta, giving them an excessively firm consistency. These pastas should be cooked well to achieve the right consistency.

Moreover, what exactly ‘al dente’ means in practice is highly personal. Generally speaking, northern Italians will consider ‘al dente’ a relatively softer consistency, and southern Italians a relatively firmer consistency. In no case should pasta be chalky to the bite, nor should it be mushy or soggy—the pasta should provide resistance when you bite into it. Within these general limits, the issue is basically one of personal taste. In his excellent book Cuochi si diventa, renowned Milanese gastronome Allan Bay says that “ogni italiano ha il suo punto di dente, parlare di questo è del tutto inutile”, which is to say “every Italian has his or her own definition of the point when pasta is done al dente, so talking about it is useless.” Do be aware, however, that pasta will continue to cook for a while after it is drained, even more so if you mix it with its sauce over low heat, as is so many recipes call for. So drain your pasta while it is still just slightly ‘underdone’ for your taste.

Equally important, in my mind, to cooking pasta al dente, is making sure that the pasta is cooked in abundant, well-salted water. The general 'rule of thumb' is one liter of water for each 100g of pasta, which is easy to remember. (NB: 75-100g is the normal portion of pasta for one person.) But you really can never have too much water, so err on the side of more rather than less water. And don't be too shy with the salt or your pasta will turn out sciapa--insipid. The water should actually taste salty, like a soup.

Rule 9: It is important to pair the ‘right’ pasta shape with the ‘right’ sauce. It is difficult (impossible, actually) to give hard and fast rules—this is something that you get a feel for over time and with experience. But some general rules of thumb are possible. For this purpose, it is useful to group pasta shapes into three broad categories: ‘long’ pastas like spaghetti, bucatini or linguine; ‘short’ or ‘stubby’ pastas such as penne and rigatoni; and ‘soup’ or ‘spoon’ pastas such as ditalini or stellette. Long pastas tend to go well with tomato and other smooth sauces, as well as garlic and oil based sauces like clam sauce. Short pastas, especially those with a concave shape or with holes in them, tend to go well with chunky sauces, such as chiocciole con salsiccia, piselli e ricotta. Spoon or soup pasta, as the name implies, go well with soups and soup-like dishes eaten with a spoon, like pasta e piselli. Beware: the names of pasta shapes can vary across regions, like bucatini, which are called perciatelli in Naples.

Another important distinction is between pasta secca, factory-made durum wheat pasta, and pasta fresca, egg pasta made with soft “OO” flour. Generally speaking, oil based and ‘rustic’ sauces from southern Italy go with pasta secca, and delicate, cream- or butter-based sauces from the North go with pasta fresca. But there are many exceptions to the rule. Carbonara, for example, is typically made with spaghetti, but can also be made with short pasta like penne or rigatoni, or even with fettuccine.

If you are new to Italian food, it would be a good idea to stick to classic combination; on this site, recipes will indicate the specific type(s) of pasta that go with a particular sauce, together with suggestions for alternative pasta shapes where appropriate.

Rule 10: It is equally important not to over-sauce your pasta. You should 'dress' the pasta with just enough sauce to flavor it, just as you would dress a salad. In fact, the verb condire in Italian is use both for dressing a salad and for saucing pasta. The photographs that go with the recipes on this site provide an indication of how the dish should turn out.

Rule 11: Don’t assume that grated cheese goes on every pasta dish. In general, as mentioned above, cheese does not go on pasta with fish sauces. Nor does it go on ajo e ojo or other garlic-and-oil based pasta dishes. Spicy dishes call for ‘spicy’ cheese like pecorino, not parmigiano, or even more often, no cheese at all. On this blog, the recipe will specify whether the dish calls for grated cheese. If nothing is said, then the dish does not call for grated cheese.

Rule 12: Pasta salads are almost always made with pasta secca, although there are some egg pastas such as garganelli that lend themselves to pasta salad. There is no such thing in real Italian cooking, for example, as a ‘tortellini salad’. More popular in Italy than pasta salads are dishes where hot pastas are mixed with a cold ‘sauce’ such as raw tomatoes, garlic, fresh basil and olive oil. Pasta salads are rarely (if ever) made with mayonnaise.

Eating your greens

Rule 13: Except in the fanciest of restaurants, vegetables are not there for garnish. They are meant to be eaten.

Rule 14: Salad dressing is made from oil and vinegar (or lemon). Do not expect to find ‘blue cheese’ or ranch dressing—or any other kind of bottled dressing, for that matter. Dressings are not prepared separately and poured on the salad, but oil, vinegar and salt are added sequentially and each mixed with the greens. An exception is puntarelle, a kind of wild chicory, which are dressed with a garlic and anchovy dressing, which is prepared separately.

Beverages

Rule 15: Cappuccino is drunk only in the morning, and never after a meal. Coffee (always an espresso) is drunk after you’re finished eating. It does not accompany dessert or any other part of the meal.

Rule 16: Mineral water and/or wine are the beverages of choice to accompany your meals. Beer is becoming increasingly popular, especially with pizza. Avoid soda pop, milk and, as mentioned above, coffee. (NB: I’ve seen some young Italians drink Coke with their meals, especially with pizza. Ugh…) And PS: It is said to bring bad luck to toast with anything but wine.

Table Manners

Rule 17: Use a knife and fork! Even pizza is generally eaten with a knife and fork when part of a meal, although it is fine to cut up your pizza and eat the individual slices with your hand. Some exceptions: pizza ‘a taglio’, a single slice of pizza sold at stands, tramezzini and panini, ice cream cones, scottadito, all of which are eaten with the hands, but even some of these are eaten with a napkin wrapped around the food to avoid direct contact.

Rule 18: Do not cut your spaghetti. Twirl it on your fork. And unless you are 6 years old or younger, do not use a spoon.

Rule 19: Do not eat bread with pasta. But you can (if eating with friends informally) fare la scarpetta, i.e. sop up the extra sauce that’s left after you’re finished the pasta (or another dish with a sauce). Unless you are at home among friends, use a fork. Except in some regions of northern Italy, you will not find bread served with butter. If you ask for it, you may get some odd looks. Nor is dipping bread in olive oil as you wait for a meal an Italian custom. (It’s not clear where that got started.) There does exist an antipasto called pinzimonio consisting of cut fresh vegetables that you dip into olive oil seasoned with salt and pepper.

Rule 20: When eating at someone’s home, if you leave food on your plate, your host may wonder if you didn’t like it. Your host may ask you if you liked the dish, just to make sure nothing was wrong. Of course, it is fine to explain that the food was delicious, but you are full—except, that is, if your host is your Italian mother or grandmother...

A final word of advice...

Finally, let us close not with a rule but an attitude, summarized by the expression: “a tavola non s’invecchia”, meaning “at the table you do not age”. In other words, don’t rush through your meals, don’t eat them in your car while driving or at your desk. Sit down with friends, take your time and enjoy!

PS: This post was developed in discussion with other 'foodies' on the site "Foodbuzz" and will be updated as the discussion continues. Many thanks all of them for their contributions to this subject.