Zuppa di orzo

Italian cuisine is known for pasta and risotto and polenta and, to a lesser extent, for farro. But did you know that Italians also enjoy barley? Here is a simple, basic barley soup that is both healthy, appetizing and, if made in a pressure cooker, can be prepared in under 30 minutes.

Begin by sautéing a soffritto of onion, carrot, celery and, if you like, a little pancetta in olive oil, taking care not to let them brown. When the vegetables have softened, add your barley (50g /2 oz. per person is a good portion as a first course). Allow the barley to insaporire as you would for a risotto, then add water or broth to cover generously, at least 1 liter (4 cups) of liquid per 100g (4 oz.) of barley. (NB: Barley absorbs a lot of liquid as it cooks.) Simmer covered for 45 minutes or until tender, stirring from time to time and adding water or broth as needed. The result should be a very thick soup, almost a porridge, but not entirely dry. Serve immediately, topped with un filo d'olio. Have some grated cheese on the side for those who like it.

If using a pressure cooker, bring up to pressure, lower the heat to a minimum and cook for 15 minutes, then release the pressure. When you open the cooker, check for liquid: if it has been entirely absorbed, add more water or broth and let simmer for a few minutes more. If there is too much liquid (less likely, given barley's aborptive qualities) then just let is simmer until you have reached the proper consistency.

NOTES: This is the very basic 'mother' recipe for barley soup. There are lots of variations you can try, including the use of fresh herbs of your choice in the soffritto—parsley, rosemary and sage are particularly nice. Some recipes call for the addition of other vegetables, perhaps most commonly potato or pumpkin but also with leafy winter vegetables like kale or cabbage. Beans of all kinds—cannellini, borlotti, ceci, lentils, even peas—are also a very common addition, and turn this primo into a perfectly rounded piatto unico.

Beef broth, of course, is probably the best choice for making this soup, but it is perfectly lovely with vegetable broth or even just water. Chicken broth, on the other hand, while a possible choice, in my opinion does not really pair very well with barley. Some recipes call for soaking barley for a few hours before cooking to soften it. I find this step entirely unnecessary, at least with the barley that is sold commercially here in the US.

For this particular soup, instead of pancetta, I used a ham bone that I had left over (believe it or not!) from Christmas dinner. It gave a wonderful porky flavor to the soup. If using a ham bone, fish it out of the soup before serving and scrape off any meat. But the meat up into small pieces and add it to the soup.

Besides this stick-to-the-ribs winter soup, orzo also appears on Italian tables in the warmer months as a salad. It's quite a versatile grains!

Orzo, by the way, is also the name of a popular soup pasta, so be careful if Googling for recipes.

 

Polenta pasticciata con fagioli e verza

It's a shame to throw away leftover polenta. There are so many delicious ways to use it. As mentioned in an earlier post on how to make polenta, it hardens as it cools and can be sliced into squares or other shapes, then grilled or fried. But my favorite way to use leftover polenta is to layer polenta slices with sauce and baked them like a kind of rustic lasagne. This polenta pasticciata uses a kind of polenta that I have not yet blogged about: polenta that is made in the usual way, but about halfway through cooking, you add Savoy cabbage that has been shredded and sweated in butter with some finely sliced onion until quite soft. Then, just a few minutes before serving, you stir in some boiled beans (preferably borlotti, but I used some cannellini that I had on hand). It is one of my favorite of the 'flavored' polentas. This polenta is so flavorful that it needs no sauce. 

When using leftover polenta to make polenta pasticciata con fagioli e verza, you place a layer of polenta at the bottom of a buttered baking dish, then top it with a generous layer of béchamel sprinkled with a bit of grated parmesan cheese. Repeat until you've used up your ingredients and end with a nice layer of béchamel topped with a generous sprinkling of grated parmesan cheese. Bake in a hot oven (200C, 400F) for about 15-20 minutes, until the top is nicely browned and the sauce and cheese are bubbling merrily along. Let the polenta rest a few minutes to cool off and 'settle' before serving. 

NOTES: I rather like making this polenta pasticciata in individual terracotta bowls, of the kind that you eat minestrone or French onion soup in. If you do, placing all the bowls on cookie sheet, so they can all be put in and taken out of the oven at one time, will save you some time and trouble. It also makes for a lovely presentation, as each diner gets to dig into their crusty polenta themselves. 

If you like, use another kind of cheese, such as a fontina or a gruyère, instead of or in addition to the parmesan. 

There are many types of polenta pasticciata: Perhaps the most popular is to layer your polenta is like lasagna alla bolognese, with alternating layers of béchamel and ragù. But there are other ways to make polenta pasticciata, alla lombara, for example: layered with fontina cheese and topped with lots of melted cheese before baking in a hot oven until golden brown or alla tirolese—Tyrolean baked polenta—layered with anchovy butter. 

There are also many types of flavored polentas, including a Tuscan one, very similar to this one, called polenta con fagioli e cavolo nero, made with beans and 'black kale', usually called Tuscan kale in English. Tuscan kale is a typically Tuscan green that is used in countless soups and other dishes. I have occasionally found it in farmer's markets and even, once or twice, in my local supermarket. Its leaves are rather flatter and longer, and more tender, than the curly kale you are likely to find elsewhere. But I digress… we have another month or two of cold weather, and many polenta dishes to blog about!

 

 

How to make béchamel sauce

Béchamel sauce, which is essentially nothing more than milk thickened with a roux, is widely used in northern Italian cooking. It is not usually used as a 'sauce' per se but rather as a component in baked primi like lasagne alla bolognese, cannelloni, polenta pasticciata or crespelle al forno. It is therefore an important part of any Italian cook's repertoire. Fortunately, it is quick and (with a little practice) quite easy to make. 

For most Italian dishes, where the sauce will be layered into a pasta dish that will later be baked, you want to make a rather loose béchamel sauce as follows: 

Step 1: Melt a stick of butter (100g, 4 oz.) in a saucepan, then add six spoonfuls (50g, 2 oz.) of flour and simmer the resulting roux over medium low heat for a few minutes, taking care not to allow the roux to darken, and remove from the heat.

Step 2: In a separate saucepan, bring a liter (one quart) of milk just barely to a boil.

Step 3: Immediately pour the milk into the pan with the roux. Taking a whisk, whip the roux and milk together vigorously, then put the saucepan back on the heat and bring it up to the boil. It will thicken considerably when it gets to the boiling point.

Step 4: As soon as the sauce begins to boil, lower the heat to low and simmer for about 5-10 minutes, seasoning well with salt and a bit of nutmeg to taste. 

Alternative method: I find the above method is practically fool-proof. But if you prefer not to dirty an extra saucepan and are fairly skilled in the kitchen, could can skip Step 2 and as for Step 3, add cold milk, not all at once, but in a thin stream, as you whisk the roux vigorously. This, in fact, is the method you will find specified in most Italian recipe books. While it is less trouble, you do need a fair degree of skill (and a strong arm) to avoid lumps. 

NOTES: The main tricks to making a good béchamel include, first of all, cooking the roux well, or else your sauce will wind up tasting like raw flour—not very nice—without darkening the roux, which will give it an unpleasant burnt taste. (There are recipes where you want a brown roux, but this is not one of them.) So regulate the heat carefully; I also often add a bit of oil (not olive oil) which helps the butter not burning.  

Second, use enough butter to give the end result a nice color and flavor. The roux should not clump up but remain a rather liquid paste that covers the bottom of the saucepan.  If you find your roux is too thick, just add more butter or oil.  

Third, and perhaps most important of all, avoid lumps, which can occur if the roux does not fully amalgamate with the milk. Both methods indicated above are designed to avoid a lumpy sauce, but the alternative method does require some skill and a strong hand to keep that whisk beating as you pour in the milk. Keeping your roux rather liquid helps as well. (If you do wind up with lumps, all is not lost: you can always pass the sauce through a fine mesh sieve or mix it in a blender.)  

Finally, allowing the béchamel to simmer for a few minutes over gentle heat develops its flavor, but be careful not to allow it to thicken too much. As mentioned, for most Italian recipes you want a rather loose béchamel. Remember that the sauce will cook and reduce further in the oven, and will be absorbed by the pasta, so you want a loose consistency, just a bit thicker than heavy cream. If the sauce thickens too much, whisk in a bit more milk. The sauce will also thicken up as it cools, so bring it back up to heat and/or add more milk to thin it out before using it.

According to most sources, béchamel is a French sauce, invented in the 17^th century by La Varenne, chef to Louis XIV, and named in honor of the Louis de Béchamel, marquis of Nointel, who is sometimes erroneously identified as its inventor. Some Italian authorities like Giuliano Bugialli maintain that béchamel was invented by Italians, derived from the Florentine salsa colla and, like some many things, reputed to have been brought to France by Caterina de' Medici. (I sometimes wonder how big her caravan must have been to have been able to have carried so many, many items to her new country!) As for salsa colla, I have not yet been able to find much out about its origins or uses. If you look at some of the classic recipe books from earlier times, for example by Bartolomeo Scappi (1500-1577) or Martino di Como (15th century), the common thickeners were bread or breadcrumbs or, believe it or not, crushed almonds, not a roux. Perhaps some reader can enlighten us?

A Word of Thanks

 

Dear readers, 

Just a quick word to let you know that Memorie di Angelina now has well over 2000 followers via email, readers and various social networks, up from 1500 only about a month ago. I wanted to express my sincerest thanks for your readership. It's what makes the time and effort worthwhile! Angelina is no doubt smiling down at all of you!

Abbracci,
Frank

Pasta e fagioli

Pasta e fagioli, or pasta and beans, which goes by the amusing nickname 'pasta fazool' in Italian-American slang, is one of the most internationally famous dishes in the entire Italian repertoire.  It is, however, a victim of its own success, and is too often made badly, very badly, which is why I would never order this dish in a restaurant outside Italy. The real thing, however, is not at all hard to make at home. In fact, it is a great standby for weeknights where you don't have much time and need to whip up something quickly. And the results are really wonderful on a cold winter night. 

There are lots of authentic variations on the dish, but here is the way I like to make it:

Fry some pancetta, cut up into cubes or lardons, in olive oil until just beginning to brown, then add a few lightly crushed garlic cloves and a spring of fresh rosemary. (You can also add a peperoncino at this point if you like some spice.) Just when you start to smell the garlic and rosemary, add some crushed tomatoes (I just add one or two plus a little juice, just enough to lightly color the soup and add a little flavor) and simmer until the tomatoes have separated from the oil. Then add your drained cooked (or canned) cannellini beans, allow them to simmer for a minute or two to insaporire (absorb the flavors of the tomato and other ingredients) and then add water (or broth) and partially cooked pasta (see below). Continue simmering, squashing some of the beans against the side of the pot so that they 'melt' into the liquid and thicken it, until the pasta is fully cooked. I like to mix in a bit of grated pecorino cheese to enrich the soup before serving . Serve topped with you choice of additional grated cheese, freshly ground pepper and/or un filo d'olio.

NOTES: There are, as always, quite a few variations to this dish. First of all, if you prefer a vegetarian dish, you can omit the pancetta, which I often do. And if you wish to 'veganize' it, don't use cheese either. Or you can use crumbed sausage meat instead of the pancetta, if you want some meat flavor but can't find pancetta. Salt pork also works well, as does something called 'country ham'. Regular cooked ham, however, does not give you the right flavor for this dish, IMHO. You can make the soup even meatier by using broth, but I find that with all the other flavors going on, water is not only acceptable but preferable. If you've made the beans yourself, do use the cooking water from the beans, which have wonderful flavor.

You can also use other kinds of beans. In fact, just about any legume could do, although most typical would be a bean like pinto or cranberry beans. Chickpeas are wonderful in this dish, in which case you will have made a pasta e ceci. In our family pasta and lentils are typically made a different way, as a pasta asciutta rather than a soup, but you might want to try it made this way and see what it's like. By the way, canned beans are perfectly acceptable, but do remember to drain and wash them well. The canning liquid would otherwise give the dish an 'off', artificial taste. One legume that I would not try this way are peas; their flavor is too delicate to stand up to such a robust, rustic treatment. Try instead this delicate pasta e piselli dish with just onions, parsley and broth.

And, of course, the choice of pasta can vary, although small, stubby pastas work best. I personally like ditali (as shown above) but small shells or 'elbows' would work well. In Italy, it is very common to use the odds and ends of different pastas you have around, called pasta mista--it's a great way to use up those last few pieces of pasta that inevitably wind up at the bottom of the box. Collect them in a towel or bag, then smash them with meat pounder or the back of a skillet to reduce them all to about the same small size. Some recipes call for adding the pasta directly to the soup pot without pre-cooking them. If you do that, however, be careful; I find that the pasta inevitably sticks to the bottom of the pot and can burn. And be sure to add quite a bit extra water as the pasta will absorb it readily as it cooks. 

As I mentioned, this soup is all too often subject to culinary abuse. If you want to be authentic, by the way, the soup should not be brothy, as you will often see when this and other pasta and legume dishes (including minestrone) are made outside Italy. Rather, you should end up with a thick soup that is almost a stew. And ignore recipes that use this soup as a dumping ground for all sorts of extraneous dried herbs or overwhelm the other flavors with too much tomato. And this recipe, supposedly from the Olive Garden restaurant chain, is a true monstrosity, more of a bad chili than an Italian soup.

You can also make a milder, more 'refined' dish by making a different kind of flavoring base or soffritto of onion, carrot and celery rather than garlic, rosemary and red pepper, in which case you can substitute parmesan for the pecorino. Personally, I prefer this heartier, earthier version.

Coniglio alla cacciatora

Rabbit is a wonderful meat, leaner but yet tastier than most chicken you'll find in these days of industrial agriculture. Many people (at least in the US) have an aversion to eating rabbit, but it is quite popular in Italy, Spain, France and elsewhere in Europe. And why not? Those furry creatures make great eating. 

One of my favorite ways of making rabbit is alla cacciatora, or 'hunter's style'. The term, one of the most widely used in Italian cuisine (and is often associated with Tuscany) encompasses many variations. The original meaning referred to a way of making game, of course. Dishes made alla cacciatora are generally some sort of spezzatino, which is to say, unboned meat cut into smallish pieces that are subjected to dry heat and then moist heat cooking. Vinegar is often used either as part of a marinade or as a braising liquid, as its acidity helps to 'cut' the strong flavor of the game meat. These days, dishes alla cacciatora are, more often than not, made in rosso—with tomato, either puréed or in concentrate, but tomato being a relatively recent addition to Italian cuisine (a fact that astonishes many) the original recipe, lost in the mists of time, surely did not include it. This version does not include vinegar but the smoother taste of red wine, and it contains just a little bit of tomato concentrate. 

You start by cutting up your rabbit. It is done very much like you cut up a chicken, as the bone structure of a rabbit is quite similar. Like a chicken, you start by separating thighs and legs (two sets rather than one) from the carcass. But you will quickly notice a few differences. First of all, rabbit bones, though quite thin, are much harder than chicken bones, so you'll need to strong knife or cleaver to cut through them. And the body of the rabbit is quite a bit longer; it has a mid-section called the 'saddle' rather than a breast, running along its backbone than needs to be cut into sections. For a detailed description of how to cut up a rabbit, see this useful article.

Begin cooking by sautéing a soffritto of finely chopped garlic, rosemary and sage in olive oil, over gentle heat in a large sauté or braising pan or casserole, preferably of terracotta or enameled cast iron. When the soffritto is just lightly golden, raise the heat to medium high, add the rabbit pieces and turn them so that they are even coated with the aromatics. Sauté the rabbit until it, too, is lightly golden on all sides. Then season with salt, black pepper and red pepper flakes. Pour over some red wine and allow the wine to evaporate completely.

Add about 2 tablespoons of best-quality tomato paste in about a cup of water, along with a bay leaf, to the pan. Mix well, lower the heat again to a very gentle simmer, cover the pan and let the rabbit braise for about 20-30 minutes. Add a bit more water if the pot dried out. When the dish is done, the rabbit should be quite tender and the sauce, being quite reduced, should coat the rabbit pieces. Serve hot. 

NOTES: Like most spezzatini, this dish can be made ahead and, in fact, tastes even better when it is. 

As mentioned above, there are many different methods that go by the name alla cacciatora. Perhaps the most common involves chicken and begins with a classic soffritto italiano—made of onion, carrot and celery like a French mirepoix—rather than garlic and herbs and then simmered in tomato sauce. (Here's a typical version demonstrated in a video. Pancetta is sometimes added to the soffritto for extra depth of flavor, a good idea with today's bland chickens. It can be excellent eating if you don't drown the dish in tomato, as if all too often the case. Artusi's version calls for a soffritto of onion only, sautéed in lard and simmered in red wine and just a half cup of tomato. There is a wonderful baby lamb dish made with a paste made out of garlic, rosemary and anchovies diluted with a bit of vinegar. 

Rabbit is a great meat. Besides making it alla cacciatora, it is also lovely simply roasted or grilled with garlic and herbs, boned and stuffed, as part of a bollito misto, or in any number of spezzatini. In fact, just about any chicken recipe can be used for rabbit. Rabbit can be hard to find, but if you have access to an Italian butcher, ask for it. I have also seen rabbit in some Asian supermarkets here in the States.

This recipe is an adaption of the recipe for pollo alla cacciatora in The Fine Art of Italian Cooking by G. Bugialli.

Polenta con salsicce e spuntature

Rome is not especially known for its love of polenta, perhaps because its winters are relatively mild compared with those up in true polenta country skirting the southern rim of the Alps, but there is one polenta dish you are bound to find if you visit Rome in the cold weather months, polenta with sausages and spareribs simmered in tomato sauce. 

You make the sugo very much as if you were making a southern-style ragù, only you use only 'sweet' sausages and pork spareribs. Start out, as usual, with a soffritto, this one of onion and, if you like, a bit of garlic sautéed gently in olive oil or (better) lard until soft and translucent. Turn up the heat a bit and add your sausages and spareribs. (I fine that one rib and one sausage per person is a healthy portion for a moderate appetite, but you may want to a add few more of each in case someone wants seconds.) Allow the meat to brown lightly. Depending on the size of the pot and how much meat you are using, you may need to do the browning in batches to avoid crowding them. Once lightly browned, season with salt and pepper, and then pour over a nice slurp of red wine and allow it to evaporate. Then add enough tomato purée (in the US, use 'crushed' canned tomatoes or whole canned tomatoes passed through the largest holes of a food mill) to cover the meat. Lower the heat and cover. Let the sugo simmer for a good hour or more, until the meat is tender and the sauce is nice and thick and rich. 

Meanwhile, make your polenta in the usual fashion. 

When you are ready to eat, pour the polenta on to a large serving bowl or—if you really want to eat it in the traditional manner—on a wooden board. Make a small well in the center with a wooden spoon and into the well place your meat, covered with a generous lathering of sugo. Serve with grated pecorino cheese. 

NOTES: You can use white wine instead of red if you prefer (or simply omit the wine altogether if you like). Some recipes call for a soffritto of the 'holy trinity' of onion, carrot and celery, but I prefer this onion and garlic only version. If you like, you can also add some parsley to the soffritto. Some recipes also call for adding a bit of tomato paste (a tablespoon or two) for added flavor. Some recipes also call for some optional peperoncino. 

A number of sources will tell you to use fioretto type polenta, which results in a rather soft polenta. It is true that in central and southern Italy—Lazio, Abruzzo and Campania in particular—there is a preference for softer polenta than is normally eaten in the North. (My grandmother Angelina's polenta was quite soft indeed, almost like a porridge.) But I personally find that this hearty sauce goes better with 'normal' bramata type polenta, cooked rather stiff. Of course, the choice is yours.