Tagliatelle al tonno e panna

Here's a dish for iconoclasts: tagliatelle with tunafish simmered in butter, cream and parmesan cheese—a dish that violates one of the cardinal rules of Italian cooking: never mix fish and aged cheese. But this may be one of those exceptions that prove the rule, as the result is really very good.

Sauté a can of good quality tuna packed in olive oil, together with a minced anchovy fillet, in some sweet butter, mixing well and shredding the tuna with a wooden spoon as you stir. Add cream to cover and allow the cream to reduce until it reaches the nice 'saucy' consistency. Add a generous amount of chopped parsley and keep warm.

Meanwhile, cook your tagliatelle al dente and add to the pot, along with some of the pasta water and a generous dusting of grated parmesan cheese. Allow the tagliatelle to simmer in the tuna sauce, mixing well, for a minute or two until nicely coated. Serve immediately, with more grated cheese on top if you like.

NOTES: In Italian cooking, pasta dishes with tuna almost always come either in rosso (with a tomato sauce) as in this post, or in bianco, where the tuna is simmered in olive oil, often with a soffritto of garlic and parsley. In either version, capers and olives are often paired with the tuna. But this version is a real departure from these more common versions but you may like it a lot. For readers in North America, on the other hand, the taste will be familiar, reminiscent of a good old tuna casserole.

The same sauce works equally well—perhaps even better—with canned or chopped smoked salmon. I've seen a menu item calling for the addition of saffron, which I have not tried but sounds intriguing. You can omit the anchovy for a milder flavor and/or sauté a bit of finely chopped shallot, white onion or garlic in the butter before adding the fish for a more savory effect.

Besides tagliatelle, this dish would work well with the wider pappardelle or even stubby dried pasta like penne or rigatoni. I would avoid long dry pastas like spaghetti or linguine.

Taglierini al sugo d'arrosto

Here's a neat idea for a really quick and savory pasta whenever you happen to roast  veal, chicken, beef or pork. Save the drippings and use them as a sauce for pasta—a sugo d'arrosto. It's that simple. If your roasting pan is flameproof, you can even throw your pasta right into the pan. Otherwise, deglaze and scrape up the sucs from your roasting pan (together with the fat and any bits and pieces of meat and vegetables if you like) then save it for your pasta. Gently heat up your sugo d'arrosto in a skillet and add your cooked pasta, and mix well over low heat, adding some of the pasta water to help coat the pasta. with the sauce. Depending on the roast, you may want to mix in or top with a little grated parmesan cheese.

For this dinner, I used the all juices and bits and pieces of pancetta, chicken and rosemary left over from the pollo in porchetta I had made the previous evening. It was so tasty on its own that it didn't need or want cheese.

NOTES: This sauce, which hails from the Piemonte region, where it is also called tocco d'arrosto, meaning literally a 'touch of the roast'. It is typically used to dress taglierini (known as tajarin in Piemontese dialect) as picture above, but it is lovely also with tagliatelle or even to dress stuffed pasta like agnolotti. Almost any fresh egg pasta would probably do, as would even a 'factory' pasta like rigatoni. If you want an elegant dish, you can strain the sauce through a sieve, but personally I really like all the bits and pieces.

If you haven't made a roast, Marcella Hazan offers an alternative recipe in her Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. It calls for making a 'mock' sugo d'arrosto—which for some reason she calls a butter and rosemary sauce—by sautéing a sprig of rosemary and a few garlic cloves in butter and then melting a beef bouillon cube into the resulting sauce. It's not bad at all, although obviously second best to using real sucs from a roast.

Spaghetti alla puttanesca

Spagetti alla puttanesca is another weeknight stand-by in our house. So quick and—for lack of a better word—lusty.

You begin as if you were making an aglio, olio e peperoncino, lightly sautéing a few cloves of garlic, along with a peperoncino or two, in olive oil in a skillet until the garlic is just beginning to brown a bit. Then add canned tomatoes, crushed with your hands, and simmer until the tomato is well reduced to a saucy consistency and separated from the oil. Add, to taste, capers, anchovy fillets and black Gaeta olives. Turn off the burner and let them cook just with the residual heat. If you like, you can also add some chopped parsley, just before you add spaghetti, cooked very al dente in well salted water. Mix well and serve immediately.

NOTES: Of course, as with all classic dishes, there are any number of variations on the theme. The above recipes is my personal variation, actually, on the classic recipe, which would have you add the anchovies, (chopped) capers and, if using, olives to simmer along with the tomatoes. In the classic version, these garnishes lend their flavor to the sauce. Personally, I prefer to leave the anchovy fillets whole, and add  these garnishes at almost the very end, barely cooking them only with the residual heat in the skillet. This preserves the individual 'personality' of each ingredient. The portions of capers, olives, anchovies and peperoncino can be adjusted to your personal taste. Some recipes omit the olives, while some call for chopped parsley to be added to the sauce just before the pasta. I've seen recipes calling for onion and/or basil as well, although these ingredients would tend to give the sauce a 'mellower' character that I personally don't associate with a puttanesca.And, please, no grated cheese...

The sauce is at its best if you use salted anchovies (which need to be filleted and rinsed) and salted capers, but if you don't have any on hand, anchovies packed in oil and capers in vinegar will do. (Rinse the capers, whether in salt or vinegar before using them.)

As some of you probably know, the name of the sauce comes from the word puttana, which means "whore". (Hey, don't kill the messenger!) The dish is also sometimes called by the slightly more genteel name of pasta alla malafemmina, which loosely translates into something like 'naughty lady' or even ' evil woman' or just 'streetwalker'. It is also known by the even more euphemistic pasta alla belladonna--'beautiful woman'. I've always heard two stories about where the name comes from. One is that the name is a tongue-in-cheek allusion to the 'lusty' nature of the sauce. The other is that being very quick to make, this dish was favored by professional ladies because it could be prepared and eaten between 'shifts'. The dish is probably Neapolitan in origin, although some think it may be Sicilian. But stories abound about how the dish got its name. (For those who want more background and read Italian, check out this interesting blog entry or this one. For some background in English, click here.)

Zuppa di scarola e fagioli

Here's a quick and easy dish, typical of the Campania region of Italy, that is a cold weather weeknight staple at our house: escarole and bean soup.

You begin, as always, with a soffritto by sweating a thinly sliced onion in olive oil until translucent, then add a small head of escarole, sliced into very fine ribbons. Cover and allow the escarole to reduce, mixing from time to time so they absorb the flavor of the soffritto. Then add boiled or canned cannellini or borlotti bean along with enough water or broth to cover the ingredients. Cover and allow to simmer until the escarole and beans are quite soft, about 15-20 minutes. If, like me, you like a thick soup, then along the way crush some of the beans with a wooden spoon against the side of the pot. Place slices of day old bread, either toasted or fried in olive oil if you like, in the bottom of your soup bowls, then pour the soup over. Drizzle with un filo d'olio, top with a generous grinding of black pepper and serve. That's all there is to it.

NOTES: If you like a little heat, you can add some red pepper flakes to the soffritto. For a bit more assertive taste, make the soffritto with garlic, either instead of or along with the onion. And for a meatier dish, you can add some pancetta and/or cook the soffritto in lard instead of olive oil. And if you would like your soup in rosso, add a bit of tomato purée after the soffritto is done, allowing it to reduce before you add your escarole. Some recipes call for blanching and squeezing the escarole dry before adding it to the pot, but I find this unnecessary.

Arrosto di maiale al latte

I first read about this simple pork roast braised in milk in Marcella Hazan's first cookbook The Classic Italian Cook Book: The Art of Italian Cooking and the Italian Art of Eating (1973), but you can find this well-known dish in many recipe books, including the venerable Artusi and Ada Boni's indispensable Talismano. If you have somehow missed trying this dish, it will be a revelation. 

Season a pork roast (see below) with salt and pepper, then brown it in butter (or butter mixed with a bit of oil to retard burning) along with a clove or two of garlic and a sprig of rosemary in a Dutch oven or casserole in which the roast fits snugly. (Remove the garlic as soon as it begins to brown.) Pour enough milk to come halfway up the roast, cover and allow to simmer slowly until the pork is done and the milk has reduced and separated into dark brown curds and fat. If the pork is done before the milk has reduced—which is likely if you are using a pork loin or tenderloin—then remove it and keep it warm while the milk continues to simmer, then return the roast to the casserole to reheat when the sauce is ready.

If you are having a family-style meal, you're done. Just slice the roast, nap with the sauce and serve. It will not be particularly pretty but it will be very tasty. If you want a more elegant effect, then you can do one or both of two things: add some heavy cream to the milk, which will cause the sauce to amalgamate, and continue simmering until the sauce is dark and smooth (see photo). You can also blend the sauce (with or without the additional of cream) to a smooth and perfectly even consistency.

NOTES: The dish is simplicity itself, but there is one point you need to watch out for: the old recipes called for braising an arista (pork loin) for a couple of hours, enough time to allow the meat to become fork-tender and the milk to reduce completely. But these days pork (at least in the US) is bred for leanness, which means that cooking a loin for that long is likely to result in dry, overcooked meat. So try to find a pork loin with as much fat on it as you can, then carefully gauge the internal temperature after the first 30-45 minutes until you reach 65°C/150°F, at which point you can remove the roast from the casserole and let it rest while the sauce continues to simmer. The meat will continue to cook as it rests. (NB: The USDA recommends cooking to 70°C/160°F for health reasons, particularly pregnant women, children, the elderly and those with decreased immune function.)

In the alternative, you can use another cut of pork that will tolerate a longer cooking time without drying out, such as the shoulder. The taste will be lovely, but a shoulder roast tends to 'shred' when carved, so don't expect the neat little round slices you get from the loin.

Artusi's recipe (No. 551 in La scienza in cucina, if you're curious) calls for placing the pork roast raw into the milk and then browning it at the end, when the milk has reduced into fat and curds. He then tells you to remove the roast, skim off the excess fat and add some fresh milk, which will have the effect described above of turning all the curds into a smooth sauce. Boni's recipe calls for rubbing the roast the night before with salt and pepper and allowing it to marinate overnight, omitting the garlic and rosemary. She also suggests an elegant finishing touch of shaving white truffles on top of the roast. (Sounds wonderful, if you can afford it!)

Some other recipes call for using cream instead of milk—which is no doubt delicious, but might be a bit heavy for modern tastes. Hazan's recipe is even more austere than the one described here: like Boni, she omits the garlic and rosemary, seasoning the dish only with salt and pepper. Other recipes, on the other hand, call for the addition of some cloves (chiodi di garofano),  sage and/or a bit of lemon zest; others call for a splash of cognac or other liqueur. If you prefer, after the initial browning, you can braise the roast in a hot oven (200°C, 400°F).

I find the ideal casserole for this dish is an oval, enameled cast iron Dutch oven, of the kind made by Le Creuset or Staub. The shape allows the roast to fit snugly, and the heavy cast iron ensures slow, even cooking.

Prosciutto e fichi

It seems everyone knows about pairing prosciutto with melon but fewer people know about another, to my mind even more delicious, pairing of prosciutto with figs. Personally, I find that the richer flavor and softer texture of figs marries even better with the saltiness of cured ham.

If you like, you can just lay out halved figs on a bed of prosciutto or alternatively wrap each fig with a slice of prosciutto. But a particularly lovely, if slightly more fiddly, way to serve the pairing is as roselline, or 'little roses': you trim and split the figs vertically into quarters almost, but not quite, all the way to their base, then open them up like so many petals. Inside each open fig, place a thin slice of prosciutto that you will have twirled around so as to resemble a 'little rose'. Et voilà!

NOTES: Of course, a dish this elemental sinks or swims on the quality of its ingredients. But when the figs are perfectly ripe—with that rich and unctuous sweetness that typifies them at the best—and prosciutto 'young' and of best quality, this utterly simple dish is almost transcendental.

I have seen recipes for variations of this dish that call for the additional of cheese, usually gorgonzola, goat cheese or mozzarella. If you like the idea, you could place a dab of cheese on the fig before placing the fig rose on top. But personally, I'd leave well enough alone.

Some people prefer to peel figs but I find the skin too beautiful to throw away. Just rub them very gently with a dish cloth to clean them. Try to get 'young' prosciutto, sliced as thinly as possible, so it will be easy to fold around itself. (The prosciutto in the photo was a bit too old and sliced a bit too thick., giving it a 'leathery' texture that was impossible to fold properly.) But don't worry too much about appearances so long as the products are of good quality, the results will be fabulous.

Pasta e piselli

Here's a when-you-really-don't-feel-like-cooking dish. It's a quick and easy combination of pasta and peas, but really satisfying. This and pasta e lenticchie were my favorite everyday pastas Angelina would make when I was a kid.

Here's the way Angelina made it: You saute a goodly amount of chopped onion--with a little chopped parsley if you like--in olive oil, seasoning with a salt and generous amount of pepper. Let it go, adding a tablespoon or so of water from time to time to soften the onions and avoid their browning, until they are quite soft and their sweetness has developed nicely. Then add a can of peas with its juice. (NB: This is the only time I ever use the juice from a canned product.) Let it simmer gently, just long enough to heat the peas. Separately, boil ditali or another small, stubby pasta (see below) in well salted water and then add to the peas. Allow them to simmer together for just a minute, adding a bit of pasta water if the pasta is too dry for your taste (see below) then leave off heat, covered, for two minutes or so, to allow the flavors to meld. Serve with additional freshly ground pepper, if you like, and un filo d'olio. Et voila!

NOTES: The above is the quick and easy method. For a dish that is more genuino as they say in Italian, use fresh peas. You add the shelled peas to the onion soffritto, saute for a minute or two to allow the peas to absorb the flavor, then add enough broth or water just to cover the peas. Simmer until the peas are tender and proceed as indicated in the main recipe. You can also use frozen peas in the same way, which are convenient but greener and sweeter than the canned variety.

Some variations. The foregoing recipe is the one I grew up with in an Italian-American family. In Italy, it is more common to use either fresh or frozen peas, to which either broth or water is added, rather than canned peas and their canning liquid.

The dish I grew up with had no meat and no tomato--in bianco as they say in Italian. But a lot of people add bits of pancetta (Italian bacon) or cooked ham to saute along with the onions. And some people also like to add a bit of tomato after the onion and/or pancetta and/or parsley have sauteed, for a bit more color and taste. Allow the tomato to reduce before adding your peas, and proceed as indicated in the main recipe. I have also seen recipes calling for you to use shallot (scalogno) instead of onion. You can also vary the amount of onion. I use lots of onion--a whole smallish onion for two people--which adds considerable sweetness. If you are using really fresh, young, sweet peas, you may need less onion. (I have also seen recipes calling for the addition of a pinch of sugar to add sweetness, but personally the idea does not attract me.) Finally, some people like their pasta e piselli dry (in which case, leave out the liquid or use much less). I grew up with a rather wet pasta, almost a soup, and I like it that way. (This is one pasta, btw, that you are better off eating with a spoon.) Some people, in fact, like to squash some of the peas against the side of the pan as they cook, to thicken the broth and make it creamier. And I always ate my pasta e piselli with lots of freshly ground pepper--I really like the contrast between the sweetness of the onion and peas and the spiciness of the pepper--but this is not necessary if you don't care for pepper. I've seen recipes calling for a dusting of parmesan cheese as well, but this stikes me a slightly sacrilegious.

The choice of pasta is important here. The original and--to my taste--by far the best choice are a very small tubular pasta called ditali, ditalini or tubetti. (NB: This is one of the many examples of basically the same shape of pasta having multiple names according to region.) Also a very good choice are the tiny shell-shape pasta called chioccioline or conchigliette which some say is even better because they concave surface catches the peas. Some people even use spaghetti or linguine broken up into short lengths. (That's how my grandmother made pasta e lenticchie, but never this dish.) Why not experiment with different pastas to see which one you like best. As they say, "variety is the spice of life."