Grissini Stirati

My momma always said, "Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get".
(T. Hanks, Forrest Gump)

Let me add, life is also like a stretched breadstick, crunchy and soft, you never know what's in for you at the next bite.
Forget the chocolate; today breadsticks - whether stretched or chubby - are, for me, the real ode to life, my New Age metaphor, the smell and memory of everything that's good in the world.
That's all I have to say about that.


Stretched Breadsticks
for 30 breadsticks approx. 16" long

type O flour 500 gr
lukewarm water 250-280 gr
fresh yeast 15 gr
salt 8 gr (one full teaspoon)
olive oil 50 gr
barley malt 1 scant teaspoon
semolina flour, olive oil for brushing as needed

The peculiarity of these breadsticks, pulled strictly by hand, is that they're very irregular: the thinnest pieces cook quickly and become crunchy, while the thicker parts stay rather soft. Every bite is a surprise.
The recipe, which I'm copying literally, is not my own work, but it comes again from the Simili sisters' book, which one can never exploit enough.
May the bread be with me until yeast last.

Make a well in the middle, mix all ingredients and knead for 8-10 minutes. Dough should not be too soft.
Shape it into a loaf and make a rectangle about 4x12 inches out of it; keeping the shape as regular as possible, place it on a layer of semolina flour and coat the surface and the sides thoroughly with olive oil, and then sprinkle with more semolina.
Cover with a bowl and let it rise for 50-60 minutes. With a chef's knife or a large spatula, cut from the short side pieces of dough about 3/4" thick; without shaking it too much, grab each piece in the middle with your fingers, and stretch it out by pulling gently and moving your fingers towards the edges as the piece gets thinner.
Place the breadsticks on a baking sheet a little apart and adjust their thickness with the fingers to even it out. If you've used too much dough and the breadstick is too long, cut out the edge part, and bake the piece as it is because it can't be kneaded twice. Place immediately in the oven and bake at 390 for 18-20 minutes.



Hello. My name's Forrest, Forrest Gump. You want a chocolate grissino?

Soft Focaccia from Bari

"Focaccia in Bari is prepared by mixing wheat flour, salt, yeast and water. The result is a fairly liquid batter that is poured into a round baking pan, seasoned with olive oil, fresh tomatoes, and olives, and then baked in the oven. And because the mixture is liquid, pieces of tomato and olives sink into the dough, creating and filling small, soft holes, which become the best part of the focaccia. It is eaten warm but not hot, wrapped in a piece of paper, coming out of school, at the beach, for dinner or lunch (or as a snack or even at breakfast, but this is stuff for experts): fast, cheap and deliciously greasy.
Focaccia is one of the best things in the world. I refrain from saying that it is the best thing, to keep a minimum of perspective and to avoid the parochial ravings. There are the thin and crunchy ones, the tall and soft, those with the addition of potatoes or rosemary and many other variations. But the real focaccia is the one with tomatoes, olives, charred edges and nothing else. It should be paired, if possible, with a nice bottle of very cold beer. If you really want to enter the realm of high cuisine, the supreme pleasure is warm focaccia stuffed with thin slices of mortadella. Mortadella, when sliced thinly, coming into contact with the warm and fragrant crumb, releases a scent that makes the salivary glands go crazy.
Unlike many good things, which are often scarce and expensive, focaccia, in Bari, is found wherever there is a bakery. Which is everywhere, and everybody can buy it.
Focaccia, in Bari, is a metaphor for equality and one of the few symbols (among them, worthy of note are raw mussels) in which people from Bari recognize their collective identity.
A few hours earlier, Paolo had said that what he missed the most was the smell of focaccia".

(G. Carofiglio, Neither here nor anywhere else, one night in Bari)


Soft Focaccia from Bari
for two round pan of 10" in diameter*

The Starter
type O flour 80 gr
lukewarm water 60 gr
fresh yeast 1 g (a small piece)

The Dough
semolina (durum wheat) flour 1 kg
lukewarm water 800 gr
olive oil 30 gr
fresh yeast 15 gr
salt 20 gr, 4 tablespoons
cherry tomatoes, cut in half 1 kg
black olives, weighted with the pit 400 gr
olive oil for the pans, salt, oregano as needed

Getting hooked on focaccia's recipes - and the one from Bari in particular - is taking a dead end street. Tall, thin, wheat flour, semolina flour, with olives, without olives, with potatoes, without potatoes. Variations are endless; a quick googling is enough to understand that you wouldn't get out of it alive. Especially if you've never been in Bari, if the sea for you has always been only an interlude, and - even worse - if few years ago you moved to the other side of the world, where the Mediterranean and its aromas have become a metaphor of undefined contours.
For this reason, I've decided to rely upon an original recipe signed by the Simili sisters, which - besides being of secure outcome - also frees me of any liability. And there I rewrite it below, exactly as it is recited in the Bible in their book. Roll up your sleeves and knuckle down, because this focaccia, whether or not from Bari, really kicks ass!

The starter:
Mix the ingredients in a bowl, cover and let rise for 18-24 hours.
The dough:
In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast and the starter with half the water, and mix well; add a little flour, salt, and then begin to beat. Combine the remaining ingredients, alternating flour and water and continue beating vigorously until the mixture "boils" (that is, until you see large bubbles forming, that will break immediately) and the texture of the semolina flour is dissolved (about 10-15 minutes). The dough should be very soft. Cover the bowl and let it rise for 30 minutes.
Pour some oil in each of two baking pans, put your hands in covering them completely; grasp half of the dough and roll it while suspended, keeping it in one hand while the other collects the dough that's falling from the side, inserting it underneath in the middle, and transferring everything from one hand to another.
Don't worry if at first the gluten is relaxed and the dough comes down very quickly; after two or three manipulations the gluten wakes up allowing you to work more comfortably for two to three manipulations. Place this ball in the greased pan and repeat with the second half of the dough. Let it rise for about two hours, then cover the surface completely with tomatoes and pitted olives, taking care not to press down, otherwise you lose the rising gas and the focaccia will be less soft. To avoid this unfortunate circumstance, pinch a little dough by lifting it up, then put a piece of tomato or olive underneath. Sprinkle with salt [and oregano, I'd like to add ], drizzle with oil and bake at 450 for 25-30 minutes.
Remove from the pan few minutes after it's baked and place it on a baker's rack.

*I halved the quantity, obtaining one round pan only. I prepared the starter with the quantities described above, but then I used only half of it for the final dough, which I've made with half the quantities transcribed here.

Eggs

But what about the chocolate ones?

Non Linzer

Excuse me, may I? With your permission, I'm here today to pass on the recipe for a cake that in my house has always been touted for Linzer, but to be honest is not a Linzer. Why, why... well, yes, why?
Because it's not a tart, here, I say it. To my discredit, I admit that this is kind of a short-cut that has little or nothing to do with pastry crust; it's rather a Linzertorte cake, softer than the classic and certainly very little flaky. In addition, if we want to tell the whole story, it's also one that is not offended if you use hazelnuts instead of almonds, it doesn't get cranky if instead of mirtilli rossi* jam (certainly not a genre that's in great demand here in San Francisco and surrounding areas) you use a raspberry one (in this case, I even used a raspberry & plum jam), and it doesn't take it personally if - given the dough's consistency - it's practically impossible to give it stripes that are all perfect and regular.
Subtleties? Semantic sophistry? Culinary quibbles? I don't know. The thing is, despite the obvious shortcomings, it'd really like to be allowed to qualify as Linzer for its taste, of Linzer. Is this something contemplated and permitted?
Waiting for a verdict, and always with your permission, I'd still like to offer it to you, this Linzerwannabe.


Non-Linzer Torte
for a round cake pan of 9" diameter

butter, room temperature 105 gr
neutral flavored oil 105 gr.
eggs 3
sugar 210 gr.
flour 210 gr.
hazelnuts 210 gr.
baking powder about 7 gr. (1/2 package)
salt one pinch
plenty of cinnamon
raspberry, currant or mirtilli rossi* jam as needed

Toast hazelnuts in the oven for about ten minutes, let them cool and then grind them finely in a food processor, adding a few tablespoons of sugar taken from the total amount, to avoid them releasing oil.
Beat butter and oil with remaining sugar until the mixture is creamy; add eggs, one at a time, salt and plenty of cinnamon. In the end, add sifted flour, baking powder and ground hazelnuts. Mix well.
Pour the dough in a greased and floured cake pan, keeping aside about half a cup to use for the covering. Gently spread the jam on top, leaving a border of about 1 inch. With a pastry bag, create the classic pie strips using the leftover dough, leaving some space between each one, as they get a lot wider while baking.
Bake the cake at 350 for about 50 minutes, until the usual toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let it cool down, and if you wish, sprinkle it with powdered sugar before serving.

*Mirtilli rossi are a type of wild berries, red and very tart, popular in Northern Europe. You can't find them here, but they are very close to cranberries.

Yougurt and Cream

Russian Kale Pesto

And what the hell is this? Kale. Russian. Russian Kale.
When I was living back in Italy, this thing here, with curly leaves and purple stems, sweet taste and non-cabbagy smell, well... I had never seen that thing there. But let's be clear, if by chance any of you knows that it does exist over there, and perhaps has also an aunt who grows it every year in the garden in the back of the house, well, what are you waiting for? Step up and save me from embarrassment.
I actually discovered it only after a decade since I moved here in the U.S., but then, I've always known to be a leader. It seems that Russian kale was introduced in America in the nineteenth century by Russian traders, from which it takes its name. If the same traders had forgotten one plant along the Adriatic coast as well, we do not know.
As for me, when few days ago I decided to use it for the first time, it was love at first sight. Russian Kale, now and forever. It is my new obsession, along with pomelo, sweet lemons and iPad2 Medjool dates. I promise that from now on I will never let it go.


Russian Kale Pesto
for one small jar

Russian kale about 100-130 gr. (about 3 cups)
garlic 2 cloves
cashews about 40 gr. (1/4 cup)
lemon juice 3 teaspoons
grated zest of 1/2 a lemon
extra virgin olive oil about 250 ml. (a little over 1/3 cup)
grated parmigiano cheese about 30 gr. (1/3 cup)
salt, pepper to taste

Toast the cashews in the oven for about ten minutes. Peel the garlic cloves and cut them in half. Wash the kale leaves, remove the hard ends and cut it in pieces. Gather all ingredients in the mortar mixer and blend like crazy.

Strawberries

Once there were strawberries.

MAcco di Fave

Here, I say it: I'm with the minimalist for minimalism. And when it comes to minimalism in the kitchen, I just go into raptures. Yes, because recipes that start listing more than the three or four ingredients humanly acceptable make me really sick, striking some sort of culinary terror, and awakening in me two opposite temptations:
a) the unnatural and deceptive desire to run for cover to the nearest take-away, to please my laziness;
b) the need for a bowl of plain white rice (even without parmigiano cheese!), to accommodate the aspiration to the ethereal purity of the lonely hero.

I realize that starting a food blog was not really a great idea. True, I have a soft spot for colorful salts and flours made from mysterious grains, and over time I've collected an embarrassing series of powders, spices and other rather enigmatic concoctions (all that being edible material, ça va sans dire), not to mention bowls and pottery on sale, redundant cutlery and trendy gadgets. Still, if it was for me, I'd post spaghetti pomdoro 304 days a year, reserving the approximate 52 Sundays for gnocchi (always strictly with tomato sauce), and the remaining 9 days for the surprise dish. An effective blog, indeed.

Therefore, you can imagine my joy when I tried this phenomenal macco di fave, in my to-do list from time immemorial: the linearity of a minimal dish meets the vanity of a post. A perfect combination. In my dream blog, macco found its way all of a sudden, winning as many as 8 of the 9 surprise-dish days. Because to be more minimal and more delicious, I think it's really difficult.


Macco di Fave
(Dried Fava Bean Puree)
for 4-5 people

dried, peeled fava beans about 1 lb.
olive oil, salt, pepper, water as needed
garlic 2 cloves
wild fennel, chicory, kale, dandelion, rapini, mustard greens
(or some other green stuff of choice)
one big bunch

Soak the beans in a bowl of water overnight. The next day, drain and cook them over medium-low heat in a large pan, barely covered with water. Cook until the beans are tender and begin to come apart, skimming when needed, stirring occasionally, and adding more water if necessary. If you’d like, you could also add a carrot and a celery stalk to the cooking water, or start by sautéing a sliced spring onion in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, but I preferred to stick with the most proletarian version out there: fava beans, fava beans, absolutely fava beans, with the sole addition of a good pinch of salt near the end. When the beans are tender, reach for the evergreen immersion blender in the cupboard, and puree until creamy, adding oil little by little until you get a smooth texture.
In the meantime, wash the greens (in my case it was some Russian kale, a kind of purple kale, slightly sweeter and less pungent, something I didn't even know until the day before yesterday, to be honest); remove the tough ends and cook them gently in a large saucepan with an inch of water. Drain, remove excess water and sauté them in a pan with a little olive oil and the garlic cloves, peeled and cut in half. Season with salt and pepper.
Place the macco in a bowl with the greens in the middle, and serve with a dash of olive oil and a sprinkling of black pepper.

Shitake

East meets West. Earthy, meaty, full of flavor. Shiitake mushrooms.

Insalatd di Jicama

Longing for summer? YesYesYesYesYesYesYesSYesYesYesYesssssss!


Jicama, Pineapple & Mint Salad
for 4

jicama, medium size 2
fresh pineapple 4-5 slices, about 1/2 inch thick
shallot 1
lime 3
chili pepper, a Thai one, if possible 1
salt, fresh mint as needed

If you don't know jicama, you could:
a) read here, and here;
b) try to imagine a tuber similar in shape and color to a large, flattened potato, with the not-so-subtle difference that your jicama is best eaten raw, and what's more, it is sweet, crisp, and refreshing like an apple.
Jicama is grown widely in Mexico and Central America, where it is often consumed as an antidote to summer heat, cut into sticks and simply seasoned with chili, salt, and lime juice. Humbly good and refreshing.

Today, however, instead of sticks, I cubified it. How did that story go, about changing the order of the factors...? Or something like that, ah here, I think they say that despite everything, the result doesn't change. Sticks, fillets, cubes or parallelepipeds, who cares? Try it. Rain (worse) or shine (better), jicama won't let you down.

As for the so called recipe, simply peel the applepotato jicama and cut it into small cubes along with the slices of pineapple; mince the shallot, squeeze the limes, remove the seeds from the chili pepper and chop it fine (maybe try to remember washing your hands after touching the seeds and before rubbing your eyes), mix everything well in a pink, green or blue bowl, season with a pinch of salt and quite a bit of freshly chopped mint... and today also we can breathe a sigh of relief.

Turnip

One sunny Saturday. At the Farmers' market.

Baked Fennel

This post - I admit - should have been the last entry of Citrus Week, which against all odds ended after three, pathetic, episodes.
But what can I do? Do you know how many impediments are there for a poor foodblogger? Error, conditio, photos, cognatio, etc ... etc ...
WHL (= What a Hard Life).


Baked Fennel
with Orange, Pine nuts & Raisins
for 4-5

fennel 2
orange, large 1
raisins, pine nuts 1 handful each
salt, pepper, olive oil, fennel greens, bread crumbs

Clean fennels, cut them in half and slice them not too thin. Season with salt, pepper, olive oil and the juice of the orange, and set aside. Toast pine nuts in a nonstick pan for a few minutes. Mix few tablespoons of bread crumbs with the chopped fennel greens and grated orange zest.
Grease a baking sheet with a little olive oil and sprinkle the bottom with bread crumbs. Make a layer with the prepared fennel, pour half of the liquid over it, sprinkle with pine nuts, raisins and more bread crumbs. Cover with the rest of the fennel and the remaining juice, another handful of pine nuts, plenty of bread crumbs and sprinkle with olive oil (don't put the raisins on top because they'll burn and become bitter).
Bake at 400 for about 45-60 minutes until the fennel is tender. If it starts browning too much while baking, cover the pan with aluminum. Serve warm, even better if the next day.

Raw Beet and Carrot Salad

I had an epiphany! One of those that (almost) hits you like a pan on the forehead: beets can be eaten raw. Olé!
Unfortunately for me, I always thought they were like potatoes, which, raw, may not be very successful. Instead I had a nice surprise, an epiphany induced by my new friend Mark Bittman, about whom I've already promised to talk a bit more in detail in the next few days.
But for now take this salad: fresh, crisp, and strictly raw. Now, tell me if this is no reason to be happy. Cheers!


Raw Beet and Carrot Salad
for 4

red beets, medium size 3
carrots 2
fresh ginger 1 piece, about 1" long
shallot 1-2
olive oil 2 tablespoons
Dijon mustard 2-3 tablespoons
lime 2
salt, pepper, fresh cilantro as needed

Peel beets and carrots and grate them into a bowl. Add grated fresh ginger, finely chopped shallots, salt and pepper. Prepare the dressing by mixing oil, mustard, and lime juice, and pour it over the vegetables. Mix well and sprinkle with a generous amount of chopped fresh coriander (mind you, make the amount truly generous...).

Guava

One rainy Sunday. Towards Chinatown.

Barley Soup

Happiness only real when shared.
(E. Hirsch [written in a book], Into the Wild)

According to you, is there THE recipe for happiness? Or is it overrated, such as oysters, tofu, and Julia Roberts? I mean, does anybody know the perfect formula, quantified as eggs in the sponge cake, or is it absurd to insist on looking for that ultimate goal, unattainable as the raising of a soufflé? And then, is it true that to achieve happiness we must be inflexible and stubborn, endure fatigue, arm ourselves with patience and fold the dough a thousand times almost like a croissant? Who said that Rumtopf can be enjoyed only at Christmas? What if, instead of waiting for days and hours, we took a peek into the jar as early as September, inserted a finger into the syrup, and tasted strawberries and cherries?
Maybe happiness has nothing to do with the pâté de canard en croûte that no one can replicate; perhaps it's not so difficult to make the shopping list, decipher the ingredients, and find suppliers. Maybe you can even steal a piece of happiness in a cup of blueberries with whipped cream on any given Tuesday; or in a stick of cotton candy at Sunday's roundabouts. Perhaps a piece of happiness is also a walk in the moonlight under falling snow, the smell of freshly cut grass, a run in the rain through desert streets, a smile stolen to a stranger on the bus. Or a distant memory, come back to the surface by accident.
And maybe a bit of happiness can also be found in a bowl of barley soup, exactly the same as you used to eat when you were a kid. Possible?


Barley Soup
for a hungry army of people

pearled barley 200 gr
white onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrots 2
celery 1 stalk
smoked pork shank
(or a prosciutto bone with some meat on it) 1
bay leaves 2
sage leaves 2
bouillon cube 1/2
medium size potatoes 1-2
olive oil, salt, pepper, water, milk as needed

Finely chop the onion and sauté it for a few minutes in a little olive oil, along with the peeled garlic cloves. Add carrots and celery cut into small cubes and cook for few minutes. Combine the barley and toast it, then add bouillon cube, smoked pork shank in one piece (or the prosciutto bone), bay and sage leaves, and cover with about 2.5 liters of water. Cook gently for one and a half hour, adding more water if necessary. Peel the potatoes and cut them into cubes. Add them to the soup along with a couple of glasses of milk (more or less, depending on how creamy you like it to be), and continue to simmer for another half hour. Add salt only at the end, because the pork bone is already salted. Discard the herbs and serve with a sprinkle of black pepper. If you like, you can take the meat from the shank, cut it into small pieces and add them to the soup.

PS: I also tried a vegetarian version, but it was not the same happiness.

Orange Marmalade

Citrus Week, Part Three.
On orange marmalade, the world seems to be split in half: either you love it or you hate it, no shades of gray. I belong to the first group, so much that I keep making it again and again more or less every year, as soon as the jars in my pantry start to drop below the alarm threshold.
Say what you'd like, but orange marmalade, made as it should be, with all the pieces of skin in, that thick, stout, and super aromatic marmalade, besides giving you the illusion of being a bit British, it also makes you happy that it’s still winter.
Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe it won't make you forget the cold, but for sure it alleviates some of the pain.


Orange Marmalade
for about 10 medium jars

thick-skinned navel oranges, organic 8
organic lemons 2
sugar depending on the weight of the fruit
water as needed

The recipe comes one more time from the forum of La Cucina Italiana (oh, hi forum!), it was the first jam I've ever tried, and I always make it in the same way because I find it really good. I admit you must arm yourselves with a bit of patience, as the process is quite long, although actual working time is the same as any other jam. Basically you just need to leave the oranges to soak in water for a few days, and they do everything by themselves. You can sleep sweet dreams.

First of all weigh oranges and lemons, whole, and pour as much water as their weight in a large pot. Wash fruit thoroughly, remove the colored layer of their skin with a potato peeler, cut it into strips and add it to water. Do the same with the white part. Remove the seeds, cut citrus in small pieces, and add them to the water as well. Cover the pot and let macerate for 24 hours. After this time, put on the stove and cook gently until the orange peel becomes very tender (it'll take about an hour and a half). Turn off the heat, cover again and let macerate for another 24 hours.
Now weigh the fruit-and-water mixture, and add 70% of the weight in sugar (the original recipe calls for an equal amount of sugar, but to me less than that is fine). Cook over low heat, stirring frequently and skimming if necessary. When marmalade reaches the desired consistency, pour it into clean, sterilized glass jars. Close them tightly, place them in a large pot full of water, and let them boil for 20 minutes. Turn off the heat and let the jars cool in the same water to create the vacuum.

Almon Cake with Blood Orange and Olive Oil

Well, I mean... it may be Citrus Week in my house, but a small treat fits in as well, definitely. I got the idea reading here (which in turn refers to this article, recently turned into this paper thing - and for those who are curious, no, I didn't buy the book, in fact I haven't even looked at it (oh well, only a peek), because to me, the dining section of The New York Times and its bookish extensions mean exclusively one thing, aka Mark Bittman; but I promise to return on this soon, I hope very soon, given that these days - apart from citrus - I'm hooked on M.B., and I feel compelled to share...), ok, where was I? ah, yes, Citrus Week. Just to make it a little less healthy, I thought I'd sneak in this cake. The suggestion came to me through the streets of the ether that I mapped above, but then I ended up changing the recipe and adapting it to my taste, and I added the almonds to make it a lot less light and vitamin-loaded. Or much more energetic, take it as you please. :-)


Almond Cake
with Blood Orange and Olive Oil
for a 9" loaf pan

flour 225 gr
almonds 100 gr
sugar 185 gr
eggs 3
extra-virgin olive oil 125 ml
plain yogurt 120 gr
organic blood oranges 3 large
baking powder 1/2 package (= 8 gr)
almond extract 1/2 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
butter and flour for the pan as needed

Grate zest of the oranges and mix it with sugar, taking care not to remove the white, bitter part. It would be best to do this somewhat in advance, so that the sugar is well soaked with orange aroma. In a separate bowl combine flour, baking powder and salt. Toast almonds in the oven for about ten minutes, grind them in a food processor until they're reduced to a powder, and add to flour. Keep aside.
Squeeze the oranges in order to have 125 grams of juice (and please mind the precision with which I've measured it... oh yes, it's a tough life that of a fooblogger; one can never bake a simple cake in full relax!).
Beat eggs with orange infused sugar until the mixture becomes sort of fluffy; add almond extract, olive oil, yogurt and orange juice. At the end mix flour and almonds, stir well and pour the batter into the pan that has been previously buttered and floured. Bake at 350 for about 60-70 minutes, or until the classic toothpick stuck in the center comes out nice and clean.

Octopus Salad with Citrus and Fennel

With this post I inaugurate Citrus Week (blog or not blog, you should know that behind the scenes I now have some difficulties closing the fridge, due to an undefined quantity of navel oranges, kara kara oranges, pomelos (hey, you know pomelos? they're as big as basketballs!), lemons, sweet lemons, blood oranges, yellow and pink grapefruit, tangerines, and tangelos. And I'm not kidding, which is nothing short of alarming...., but this uh .. well let's call it professional deformation would be subject for another post, and here I prefer to ignore it, even if the space for comments is always available below, in case you want to offer advices and suggestions on so-called infallible therapies, relieving mantras and/or DIY remedies.
We were saying, Citrus Week, in order to inflict oneself 7 days full of vitamins and to resign more or less happily to a winter that doesn't want to go away. To make things a little more classy (yes, I mean, I have a reputation to defend...), I went and fished out - I mean, literally - an old friend. Same fishmonger, same frozen octopus, same nightmare.
Winter is back even at these latitudes, demanding some justice. Let's surrender this way.


Octopus Salad
with Citrus and Fennel
for 4

whole octopus, cleaned 1 of about 3 lb
onion 1
carrot 1
celery 1 stalk
bay leaf 1
fennel 1 large or 2 smaller ones
mixed citrus as needed
(I've used a yellow grapefruit and 3 different types of oranges)
olive oil, salt, pepper, fennel leaves to taste

For the octopus, first I'd like to tell you that the second time around is much easier: you go to sleep and you almost forget that you left a shapeless creature to thaw in the sink. In the morning, with a little effort, it's even possible to feel the tentacles and check their tenderness while sipping coffee. And with the second cup you even get to chat, with the octopus, just like that, talking about the weather, taking the opportunity to apologize and to feel at peace with yourself. But we're digressing, this is material for another post, or even another blog (how about The Adventures of Superblogger? or The Spaghetti Chronicle? or perhaps The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?)... HELP!!

Bring to a boil a large pot of lightly salted water, season it with a bay leaf, the carrot, the onion and a stalk of celery, all cleaned and cut into large pieces, then put in the octopus perfectly thawed (btw, if you find it fresh, go ahead, and then maybe you'll tell me how to clean it while drinking coffee...). When it returns to boil, cover the pot and simmer for about an hour (cooking time varies depending on the size of the octopus; to check if it's ready and sufficiently tender, just lift it from the water and stick a tentacle with a knife, it should give up easily). Turn off the heat and let it cool in the same cooking water.
Meanwhile, clean the fennel and cut it into thin slices using a mandolin. Peel the citrus fruits , removing the white membrane, cut them into wedges, and collect the juice in a separate bowl. For the dressing, to the juice of oranges and grapefruits add few tablespoons of olive oil, salt and pepper, and some lemon juice if you'd like.
Mix fennel, citrus and octopus, cut into pieces, season with the dressing and sprinkle with a pinch of minced fennel leaves.

Carrot Orange Red PEpper Soup

Since...um... it happens to be Valentine's Day, I thought about making something red myself. Close your eyes and ta daaaaaa! Here it is, a beautiful soup, or rather - what am I saying? - a good cream of vitamins. Very much orange and very little red, I think that's what I see. But trust me, or at least let go of your fantasy. It's February 14th after all, and the world around us tells us that for one day we can all be romantic, dreamers and idealists.

And for those of you who don't want to undergo this orangy-pureed version of Valentine's Day, hold on, I have another gift ready. And now don't go around saying that your girl in the kitchen has a heart as hard as Borlotti beans:




Orange, Carrot & Red Bell Pepper Soup
for 4

carrots, net 600 gr.
red bell pepper, medium size 2
oranges 2
white onion, large 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, parsley, stock (or water)

Peel carrots and cut them into thick slices. Clean red peppers, remove seeds and white membrane, and cut into pieces. Chop the onion and saute it in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, then add the vegetables previously prepared, let them cook for few minutes, then cover with water or vegetable stock. Bring to boil and simmer for about 15-20 minutes, until vegetables are soft. Season with salt and pepper. Pour in the juice of two oranges and the grated zest of one (or a good pinch of orange powder). Remove from heat, puree everything with great pleasure using an immersion blender, and bring back to boil, adding more water or stock if needed to adjust the texture. Sprinkle with some chopped fresh parsley or, as I did here, with a spoonful of light pesto, made by blending a handful of arugula and few almonds, half clove of garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper.

Chocolate Walnut Cake by Pellegrino Artusi

About Pellegrino Artusi you probably know everything, and I'm also sure that unlike me, you've already tried a hundred of his recipes. For me, this would be... uh... the first time. After giving the go-ahead to Donna Hay, I thought to devote myself to another celebrity. And I must say, I like this Artusi, not only because this cake is delicious (plus it has no butter, and this makes it much less violent than the caprese, which is actually vaguely similar); but also because, reading here and there, I've learnt that he devoted himself to the culinary art only after he retired, and that he published his famous recipe book at his own expense at the tender age of 71 years. Which is to say, hope revives for all, whatever the road that everyone chooses to follow.


Chocolate Walnut cake
by Pellegrino Artusi
for a round cake pan of 9" diameter

dark chocolate 140 gr.
sugar 140 gr.
walnut, shelled 140 gr.
eggs 4
vanilla extract 1 tablespoon
candied lemon (or citron) 30 gr.
butter and bread crumbs for the pan as needed

Coarsely chop the nuts with some of the sugar (of course Artusi says in a mortar, but if we modernize everything and use a mixer instead, it'll be all right...), and pour them in a large bowl with the rest of the sugar. Coarsely chop the chocolate too, then the candied citron or lemon (yes yes... green light to the mixer!), and combine them with the nuts as well. Add vanilla extract and egg yolks, and stir well until the batter comes together. Whip the egg whites until firm, then add them to the nut-chocolate mixture, stirring gently from top to bottom. Grease a round baking pan with a dot of butter and sprinkle it with bread crumbs, pour in the dough (which should be not higher than one inch), and bake at 350 for about half an hour.
It's the classic Sunday cake, which is also well accepted today, although we're only on Wednesday, what you think?

Roasted Pork Tenderloin

It's a good day for Donna Hay.
(OGITK, Confessions of a Blogaholic)

I've already told you, haven't I, that blogging makes me do strange things. Such as this little roast here.
A fillet. Of pork. Roasted. Me. Who until few months ago almost didn't even know the flavor of pork ...
The thing is, today I woke up and started thinking of her, the Coco Chanel of food styling; the most beloved and most celebrated cookbooks' author among all food bloggers, the rookies and the pros; object of worship and source of untold frustration for those photos of her, clean, minimalist and always tres chic. A cult that transcends the logic of what's edible, an absolute reverence, for the most part incomprehensible to those who have never stood in front of a chicken with their camera.

And while thinking about the Divine, I remembered that:
1) By Donna Hay I own one book, which, like its other fellows on the shelf, is new, untouched, and sadly dusty (and how couldn't it be?);
2) By Donna Hay, I've never tried anything.
Shame on me. It was definitely time to make amends. And to make up for the lost time, I've studied the volume from top to bottom, only to choose the easiest recipe, as custom.
Divine, I hope you can forgive me anyways. I mean, I say it again, it's pork!


Roasted Pork Tenderloin
with Honey & Mustard
for 3

pork tenderloin 1, about 1 lb.
honey 2 tablespoons, full
whole grain mustard (aka Moutarde à l'Ancienne, which is much more In) 3 tablespoons, full
parsnips 4
olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh oregano to taste

Not only pork, but also parsnips. And whatthehell are these parsnips? Try to think of a pale carrot, or an oblong potato, or maybe something in the middle, and there you go, you'll have a fairly accurate idea of parsnips. For more information, you just need to read here.

Peel the parsnips, remove ends and cut them in half lengthwise. Season them with two tablespoons olive oil, salt and pepper, and place them side by side on a slightly greased baking pan. Bake at 375 for about 45-60 minutes, depending on their size.
Meanwhile, prepare the marinade by mixing honey, mustard and few sprigs of fresh oregano, finely chopped (if you wish, you can add a couple of teaspoons of mustard seeds). Trim the meat from the fat and cover it with the sauce. Let it stand in refrigerator until ready to bake.
Lay the fillet over the parsnips, brush the marinade on top, making sure to cover it even on the sides, and bake at the same temperature for 25-35 minutes (depending on its size), until the fillet is golden on the outside and fully cooked on the inside.
And so this is done as well. Time to check mark it.

Red Snapper Ceviche

If I should suddenly disappear, please come look for me in South America. Peru, to be precise. I'm going to learn all about ceviche. For now I can tell you this: no cooking required, light and very easy. I already feel like screaming Ceviche Forever! Can you blame me?


Red Snapper Ceviche
with Mango & Coconut Milk
for 4

red snapper, bream, or other white flesh fish 3/4 lb.
lime 3-4
coconut milk about 1 cup
mango 1/2
red bell pepper 1/2
shallot 1/2
Thai chili pepper 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh cilantro to taste

For this recipe I used a red snapper fillet, a white flesh fish with firm texture, very common in this area. You can substitute it with sea bream, or if you'd like you can also use tuna.
Cut the fish into small cubes, place them in a bowl and cover them with lime juice and coconut milk. Mix well, cover with plastic wrap and let it rest in the refrigerator for 4-5 hours.
Drain the fish from the marinade, keeping few tablespoons aside. Dice the mango and the pepper. Finely chop shallot and Thai chili, seeds removed.
Mix them with the fish cubes, season with two tablespoons of olive oil, salt, pepper, some finely chopped fresh cilantro leaves and the reserved marinade. Serve cold.

Pumpkin Muffins

ELAINE: Oh yeah. It's the best part. It's crunchy, it's explosive, it's where the muffin breaks free of the pan and sort of does its own thing. I'll tell you. That's a million dollar idea right there. Just sell the tops.
(J. Louis-Dreyfus, The Muffin Tops, Seinfeld, Episode n. 155, 1997)

My first time. With muffins.
I can't believe it myself, but I had to wait over a decade before letting myself being persuaded. The thing is that, although I've fallen for muffins (blueberry, ed) at the tender age of 13, more than a century ago, when my American guest made me try them and all of a sudden I thought I had arrived in heaven, for all that goodness chock-full of huge and deep-blue blueberries was not part of the world known to me until then (and I didn't know that she had made them out of a muffin-mix carton and using fruits with testosterone to the maximum strenght, but these are just details...), I was saying, although for years I kept thinking of muffins as the perfect yet unattainable companion for a lazy and lascivious Sunday, once I moved to this land more or less stably, I cheated on them right away, I mean, really right away, for these things here (and these, and most of all these... mmmm, btw, 600 Guerrero Street @18th... when are we going?).
And the poor muffin has hopelessly fallen to a subordinate role, a breakfast gigolo to wear out in a bowl of latte, too big, too bloated, too ubiquitous, too available (but it's a matter of taste, mind you; scones have the same flaws, it's just that - if done with all the right fixings - I like them better, that's all. But anyway, muffins don't exist at Tartine, just sayin'...)
To complicate matters further there's also the fact that the muffin is almost always a split personality and rarely wins you over in its entirety: either you love it for the top, more rough and erratic, or it seduces you with its soft and tender body. And although time flows inexorably away, I haven't made up my mind yet.

My first time. With muffins.
All the hot details can be found below.


Pumpkin Muffins
for approximately 15 muffins

pastry flour 3 2/3 cup
butter 1 stick
sugar 1 cup
(I've reduced it a little from original recipe)
eggs 4
pumpkin purée 1 15-ounce can
ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon
ground ginger 1/4 teaspoon
freshly grated nutmeg 1/4 teaspoon
salt 1/4 teaspoon
baking powder 1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon
raisins 1 cup
unsalted sunflower seeds 1/4 cup
softened butter to grease the pan

I've taken the recipe ...uhm... from this thing I scored at Christmas, which quietly and discreetly landed on my shelf with yet another excuse called special offer, coupon, loyalty card promotion, buy 2 get 3, voucher, seasonal sale, I don't remember. The truth is, now I want to go back to New York just to visit this new place of worship, which up to 20 days ago I had never even heard of. And to be honest, I can't even blame the special Christmas offer. I simply had to read that this Sarabeth owes its rise to the Olympus of America's most popular bakeries entirely to its legendary orange and apricot marmalade, and here I am, happily opening the wallet, dropping the card and casually putting the tome in my purse.
But this is now water under the bridge, and I think it's also a story already lived, can't tell you why. Better to stick to the subject matter: muffins. Before leaving you with the recipe, I'd like to point out two things, or maybe three:

1) Contrary to everything we've always known about muffins, this particular recipe (as well as others from the same book) calls for a good long initial beating of the butter, cold, followed by an equally good beating of the same with sugar. According to the author this procedure, very similar to that of a normal cake, will make the muffins' texture lighter and more delicate. The butter should be cold, so that the dough doesn't get too soft, otherwise the top will collapse and will consequently flatten (and sadden) your muffins;

2) Don't turn up your nose at canned pumpkin. After year, I too had to drop my barriers on this point. I just had to read these few lines, taken from Tartine, by E. M. Prueitt and C. Robertson, when talking about their famous pumpkin pie recipe:

Customers often ask if we process our own pumpkin for our holiday pies. We tried one year, and it was a fiasco of round-the-clock roasting and blending, and the results were never completely satisfying. Preparing the purée from scratch doesn't work that well at home either, as it is difficult to achieve as smooth a purée as you would like.

And if they did come out, how can I possibly fear a simple can?

3) How is it possible that at the first trial I got this high dome, almost like what you see around in the stores' windows, I don't know. I don't know if I should believe the cold butter trick. I actually have developed a simple little theory of my own: could it be the universally famous rule of beginner's luck?

Sift together flour, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, salt and baking powder, and set aside. In a large bowl, beat butter, cut into cubes, until creamy, then gradually add the sugar and continue beating until the mixture becomes fluffy and smooth. Add the eggs one at a time, decreasing the speed, then add the pumpkin and stir well. At the end, gradually pour in the flour mix, stir and then add all the raisins. Continue mixing for a few seconds just until the dough comes together.
If you're not using paper cups, grease the molds as well as the outer edges of the pan with some softened butter. Otherwise, place a baking cup inside each mold, and just grease the edges of the pan to prevent the tops of the muffins from sticking to it. Using two spoons (or an ice-cream scoop), fill each baking cups with the mixture, almost to the edge. Generously sprinkle the surface with sunflower seeds, and bake at 400 for ten minutes. Reduce temperature to 375 and bake for 15-20 minutes, until the muffins are golden brown and a wire tester inserted into the center of the muffin comes out completely clean.

Purple Potato Ravioli

These won ton and I have become best friends. Especially now that the good ol' Imperia took off to new shores, and before I start pulling pasta sheets by hand...
I've already told you, haven't I, that won tons wrappers are easy to use, they don't require any flour because they don't stick to each other, they're so thin that the filling can be seen in transparency that it's a pleasure (and when the filling is purple, they are a such a jewel!), they're delicate and all in all you can even get used to their different texture? Of course, if you really want to commit yourself and prepare won ton dough from scratch, well, we're back to the same problem, but for now I'm quite pleased with the ones I get at Whole Foods, so beautifully squared out and ready to use. And I just found out that you can freeze them right as they come, stacked one on top of the other in their package. If need be, simply take out the freezer the desired number of squares, and they - to my amazement and wonder - won't oppose any resistance, coming off with ease.
I wouldn't go as far as saying that won ton give you the best ravioli in the world, because it's not true and because, despite appearances, I'm terribly romantic and pasta - especially when done by hand - will always hold a special place in my heart. What I can assert with confidence is that won ton will give you the fastest ravioli in the West, and that they will make quite an impression on a Thursday evening dinner of any given week.


Purple Potato Ravioli
with Won Ton Wrappers
for approximately 20-25 ravioli

purple potatoes about 500-600 gr.
goat cheese about 60-70 gr.
grated Parmigiano cheese 2 tablespoons
chives, salt, pepper to taste
won ton wrappers 8 per person
egg white to seal ravioli 1
butter, bread crumbs and garlic for the dressing to taste

For the filling, wrap potatoes in foil and cook them in the oven at 425 for 30 or 40 minutes, until they're soft. Peel and mash them while still hot. Allow them to cool slightly, then add the Parmigiano, goat cheese, salt, pepper and some finely chopped chives. Knead the filling with your hands until the cheese is smooth and well blended.
Place some won ton squares on the work surface (if you wish, cut them out with a ravioli cutter and give them a more proper shape...), and scoop a small amount of filling in the middle of each. Brush the edges with the egg white, slightly beaten (or with cold water), then cover each square with another won ton sheet, trying to eliminate any air bubble and pressing with your fingers to seal the ends.
Cook the ravioli in simmering salted water, and drain them after two minutes or right when they come back to the surface. Dress them with melted butter and a spoon of bread crumbs previously toasted in a pan along with a minced garlic clove.
Et voila.