Porchetta is roast pork, but it’s no ordinary roast pork. In its most traditional form, it is made from a whole pig, well-seasoned, and slowly roasted.
Porchetta can be found throughout Italy at festivals and street fairs, such as the one in Bagni di Lucca that I attended this past August.
Porchetta, made from a whole pig, at a festival in Bagni di Lucca.
Though there is some debate, Porchetta probably originated in Lazio in Central Italy. Lazio is the region where Rome is located.
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Seasonings vary with the region and often include some combination of garlic, rosemary, fennel, and black pepper. Some regional variations include chopped entrails or liver in the mix.
Perhaps the most unusual version of Porchetta that I’ve encountered is made at the Italian Culinary Institute in Stalettì, Calabria. It is seasoned with salt and a large amount of truffle puree!
Chef Juan and Chef Chris about to carve a truffle-laden porchetta at the Italian Culinary Institute.
Most of us are not going to roast an entire pig which raises the question of what cut or cuts to use. This is especially important as much of the mouth-feel of porchetta derives from the combination of fatty and lean meat inherent in using an entire pig.
One solution, that makes for an elegant presentation, is to roll a slab of pork belly around a lean pork loin and tie it. This strategy allows one to cut neat slices that contain both lean and fatty meat.
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Another solution is to use a cut of meat that inherently contains about 20% fat. A pork shoulder fits the bill nicely. The bone must be removed and the thickest parts of the meat butterflied before being seasoned and tied. This cut of meat doesn’t create consistent slices as does the pork-belly-wrapped-around-a-pork-loin method. It does, however, create supremely succulent meat, more so that the pork loin that’s encased in the pork belly.
A porchetta vendor in Rome. (Photo by Alessandro Pinna – Flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34665585)
I lean towards the “pulled pork” version of porchetta, so slices aren’t really important to me. I always opt for the boneless shoulder method and pull the cooked meat apart in large chunks. Given the chance, though, I’d like to try a whole pig.
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Porchetta
The seasonings in this version of Porchetta closely adhere to what is used in central Italy. Be sure to spread the seasoning very evenly on the meat before rolling and tying.
The origins of both caponata and its name are unknown but that doesn’t keep some “authorities” from making definitive statements about both its origins and its name. Other authors are more cautious about how they approach the topic. There are many theories. There are perhaps more theories about the origins of the dish and its name than there are versions of caponata itself, and that’s saying a lot.
Leaving the skin on the eggplant improves the texture of the caponata.
What we do know is that caponata, as we now know it, is Sicilian though there are traditional Neapolitan versions as well.
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At its most basic caponata is a vegetable dish (though some versions include fish) with eggplant typically being the predominant ingredient (though there are other versions, such as one with artichokes) in a lightly sweet and sour sauce that usually contains some tomato product (fresh tomatoes or tomato sauce of some sort) and capers.
Beyond the basics, caponata has numerous traditional regional variations from different areas of Sicily. There are also the endless variations introduced by individual cooks.
Onions are a common addition to caponata.
One could add or subtract celery, sweet peppers, zucchini, olives, pine nuts, almonds, and raisins (to name a few).
The eggplant can be fried, sautéed, or steamed (but almost always with the skin on).
Caponata can be served on a slice of toasted bread (crostino), as (part of) an antipasto, as a side dish (contorno), or as a main dish (secondo). Though not traditional, I like tossing it with pasta.
Capers are in virtually every traditional version of caponata. Some authorities suggest the name “caponata” may be related to the word “caper.”
I prefer caponata that is neither aggressively sweet nor sour and, while the vegetables should not be mushy, I don’t want to hear a crunch when I bite down.
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If I were drowning in home-grown tomatoes during harvest season, I’d probably work on perfecting a version that uses fresh tomatoes. Since that’s not the case, my version uses tomato sauce. The advantage is that I can make it year-round as the necessary vegetables are always available and of good quality.
Though it should not be frozen, caponata can be canned. In fact, one of the demonstrations that I did for students at the Italian Culinary Institute this past September was how to can caponata.
Sweet peppers are traditional in some versions of caponata.
Unlike Italy, where the best eggplants and peppers are available only “in season” that’s not true in the United States. Rather than canning a large batch of caponata, I just make it whenever I want some.
I hope you enjoy this version of caponata.
Turbinado or Demerara sugars are good substitutes for Italian “cane sugar” (zucchero di canna).
If you want to get more into the fray about the origins of caponata or its name, or the different versions, you can look here, here, here, here, here, or here.
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Caponata: A Taste of Sunny Sicily
There is a link to the recipe for Basic Tomato Sauce in the Notes section below. Any simple tomato sauce, or even tomato puree, could be substituted. If vegetable broth is not available water can be used. To my American readers, I apologize for the metric measures. You can convert to American measures by using the dropdown menu below. Turbinado and Demerara sugars are most similar to the “cane sugar” used in Italy. American light brown sugar would work in this recipe since the quantity is small. You can use either vinegar-packed or salt-packed capers.
I will forever remember Ferragosto as the day the music died.
Ferragosto is celebrated on the fifteenth of August throughout Italy. Originating during the Roman Empire, apparently in 18 BCE by Emperor Augustus, Ferragosto was originally held on August 1st. Ultimately, the Catholic Church moved the date to August 15th to coincide with the Assumption, a “holy day of obligation,” thus imposing a secular holiday on a religious holy day.
Ferragosto is a day to feast. It is also the day that the late-night revelry in the piazza of Bagni di Lucca comes to an end.
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Those of you who have been following my blog for a while know that I spent the month of August 2019 in Tuscany cooking with Great Aunt Fidalma.
Cutting zucchini with Great Aunt Fidalma in her kitchen in Benabbio.
I rented a charming little apartment overlooking the piazza in Bagni di Lucca, a town near the village of Benabbio where Aunt Fidalma lives.
The piazza becomes the locus of loud music (70’s disco, karaoke, Italian pop) late into the night (or early into the morning depending on your perspective) on the weekends in August as well as during several August festival days.
A view from my terrace of the late-night revelry in the piazza of Bagni di Lucca.
The music precludes sleep. Even if one could find ear plugs sufficient to drown out the sound, the building, and thus the bed, vibrate to the bass.
Ferragosto, August 15th, is the end of the late-night music.
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Today, January 15th, marks five months since Ferragosto. Pollo alla Romana (also known as pollo con i peperoni [chicken with sweet peppers]) is traditionally served on Ferragosto. Given the five-month anniversary, today seems like an appropriate day to post the recipe.
As you might guess from the name, Pollo alla Romana is from the area around Rome. It is a simple dish made with chicken, sweet peppers (traditionally red and yellow ones) and tomatoes. It can be cooked in the morning and served at room temperature later in the day making it a perfect summer dish.
It has become one of my go-to dishes for entertaining when I don’t want a lot of last-minute fuss to distract from enjoying cocktails with my guests. Made earlier in the day, the dish reheats beautifully in the time it takes to drink a bourbon.
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Pollo alla Romana (Chicken with Sweet Peppers)
Traditionally this dish would be made with a cut-up chicken. I prefer to use just thighs as I think they take well to braising, which breasts don’t. You can use cut-up chicken parts if you prefer. When a dish says something should be fall-apart tender, I take that literally. It’s the way I grew up eating chicken cooked by my Italian-American mother. That means, for me, the chicken should braise in the liquid for at least 90 minutes if you’re close to sea level and longer if you're at a higher elevation. You can short-circuit that if you want but I think the texture of the dish will suffer.
Pass the can of tomatoes through a food mill to remove seeds and hard bits of tomato. Reserve the tomato puree.
Slice the peppers into triangular pieces or thick strips.
Using a large heavy-bottomed sauté pan, sauté the garlic in the olive oil over medium heat until medium brown. Discard the garlic.
Sauté the chicken in the garlic-flavored oil over high heat, starting skin side down to render additional fat from the skin, flipping twice, until well browned. Remove and reserve chicken.
Add the peppers to the oil and sauté briefly over high heat to put a light char on some of them. Remove and reserve peppers.
Add the wine to the sauté pan, bring to a boil, and scrape up all the brown bits.
After the wine evaporates, add the broth, tomato puree and oregano. Mix well.
Add the chicken, skin side down, along with any accumulated juices. Season with salt and pepper.
Simmer, partially covered, approximately 30 minutes (or, if you live at high altitude as I do, 60 minutes). Turn the chicken over. Remove and discard the skin (the skin adds lots of flavor as well as collagen to the sauce for a great mouth-feel so please use bone-in and skin-on thighs).
Add the peppers and continue to braise, partially covered, for approximately another hour until the chicken is literally fall-apart tender. During cooking, taste and adjust salt, pepper, and oregano.
Transfer the chicken and peppers to an oven-proof casserole.
If the sauce is not thick, boil quickly to reduce it. Pour the sauce over the chicken.
Sprinkle the top with Pecorino Romano cheese.
Bake at 350°F to brown the top, approximately 15-20 minutes.
Growing up I didn’t like eggplant. I didn’t much care for zucchini, either. Or kale.
Things are a whole lot different now.
As an adult, I basically haven’t met a vegetable I don’t like, though, naturally, I like some more than others.
As with zucchini, eggplants seem to defy the season. They’re available year-round and the quality is consistent. Just look for firm, shiny ones with no soft spots or wrinkled skin and you’re basically guaranteed of getting a good eggplant.
Eggplant is a versatile vegetable. It can be braised, baked, sautéed, fried and steamed … and probably cooked by any other method you can think of.
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Eggplant will sop up any flavor that you pair with it. It will also sop up large amounts of oil so one needs to be cautious about frying large pieces of eggplant in abundant oil. Thin slices of eggplant can be floured and fried to great advantage, however.
Years ago, eggplant could be bitter but that trait has basically been bred out of the modern varieties one commonly encounters. The bitterness led cooks to salt and drain the eggplant to remove bitter juices. While this is no longer strictly necessary for control of bitterness it is still a great technique to reduce moisture content which is useful for some preparations.
Eggplants at the market in Italy.
America’s Test Kitchen (the organization behind Cook’s Illustrated and Cook’s Country) has developed a method for removing water from eggplant using the microwave. I have lots of cooking equipment and have no qualms about using newer technology in place of older technology to simplify food prep. However, I want the newer technology be a natural evolution from the older technology as a way to preserve (but improve) traditional food preparation. For example, before food processors, one would “mush up” food as much as possible then put it through a sieve. Food processors do a much better (and faster) job of “mushing,” sometimes to the point that the sieving step isn’t necessary.
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To me, that’s evolutionary. It’s a more efficient way of getting to the same outcome but staying true to the traditional method. Blasting eggplant in the microwave in place of salting it is not.
Beautiful eggplants ready to be made into something yummy.
While I have great respect for the rigor of America’s Test Kitchen, some of their hacks and shortcuts really trouble me from the standpoint of maintaining and transmitting traditional foodways. Using V-8 juice in minestrone in place of tomato is an example.
With salting, rather than microwaving, we’ll proceed to today’s recipe, It’s a very straightforward baked eggplant with Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. Somehow it manages to be WAY more than the sum of its parts. I urge you to try it, even if you think you don’t like eggplant.
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Melanzane al Forno (Eggplant Baked with Parmesan Cheese)
Eggplant can absorb huge quantities of oil. This method of cooking limits the amount of oil the eggplant absorbs, making it lighter. The eggplant finishes its cooking in the oven, which eliminates last minute frying just before serving dinner. Individual portions can be made by cutting the eggplant into rounds that fit inside of small ramekins.
3tablespoonsunsalted buttermelted, plus more for buttering the pan
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Instructions
Peel the eggplant and cut crosswise into rounds ½ inch thick.
Liberally salt the eggplant slices on both slides and put them in a colander.
Set a weight on top of the egglant (such as a plate with a heavy can on top) and allow to drain for one hour.
Meanwhile, gently sauté the garlic in the olive oil on low heat until the garlic is golden brown.
Remove the oil from the heat. Discard the garlic and reserve the oil.
Rinse the eggplant. Blot dry.
Butter an ovenproof serving dish (or individual ramekins if making individual portions).
Coat the bottom of a large sauté pan with 1-2 tablespoons of the garlic-flavored oil. A non-stick pan works best but a well-seasoned ordinary sauté pan will work fine. When the oil is very hot add one layer of eggplant slices. Cook until nicely browned being careful not to burn the eggplant which will make it bitter.
When browned on one side turn the eggplant slices over. You may need to drizzle a little oil into the pan to keep the eggplant from sticking. The eggplant should still be firm in the center. It will complete its cooking in the oven.
When the second side is brown put the eggplant in a buttered ovenproof serving dish, preferably one with a cover.
Lightly salt the eggplant. Sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper to taste and some of the grated Parmigiano. Repeat layering eggplant, pepper and cheese until all the eggplant is used up.
Finish with grated Parmigiano. Drizzle with the melted butter.
Cover and bake at 350°F for approximately 30 minutes. Uncover and continue baking for 10-15 minutes to brown the top.
That means no stone fruit or corn on the cob in the winter. For the most part that means no tomatoes either, though I do make an exception for cherry and grape tomatoes which seem to taste about the same year-round and provide a burst of color and sweetness—if not a robust tomato taste—in the dead of winter.
Certain things defy the season. Take zucchini. Yes, they’re the quintessential summer crop (sometimes growing to the size of baseball bats in the hands of inattentive growers) but they show up all year-round, much like bananas do.
Zucchini in Umido bubbling away on Zia Fidalma’s stove in Tuscany.
I know that means they get shipped from “somewhere else” when they’re not in season locally but, for the most part, they taste good all year (unlike, say, peaches which don’t usually taste good if not grown locally and in season).
There’s also a limit to the number of cold-season vegetables that one can eat through the winter.
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Part of the problem is solved by canning, preserving, and freezing and, if not your own or a friend’s, commercially available canned, preserved, and frozen produce. Let’s face it, eating seasonally traditionally included consuming all those products that were “put up” when they were at the height of season.
Maria making a large batch of tomato puree (passata) at her home in Calabria.
Though some of us conserve produce, few of us do enough to meet our needs throughout the lean winter months. I have no objection to using good quality commercially “conserved” foods. What I don’t use are convenience or premade foods.
Though I enjoy and prefer to make my own tomato puree (passata), we don’t produce enough of our own tomatoes to make a year’s supply (and I haven’t been overly impressed with what’s available in the market in sufficient and affordable quantity to make up the difference).
I do what I can, however, for example making passata when our tomatoes are at their best; candying citrus peels from the trees in our neighborhood in Palm Springs in the winter; making cherry leaf aperitif in the fall; and, in those rare years when Santa Fe has an abundance of peaches and apricots, making jam.
The early stages of making cherry leaf aperitif.
I “conserve” other produce as well like making hot chile oil (“olio santo”) when we have enough peperoncini, making limoncello and arancello from oranges and lemons in Palm Springs, and putting fresh (like cherries) and dried (like prunes) fruits in various types of spirits.
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My prohibition on using “prepared foods,” though is pretty definite. I’ll use good quality canned, peeled tomatoes from Italy but (unless my back is up against the wall as sometimes happens when I have limited shopping venues like when we’re on Fire Island) I don’t use canned commercial diced or crushed tomatoes or tomato puree. My view, and, granted, it might be wrong, is that the best quality tomatoes go into the cans of “whole, peeled” tomatoes, not into the ones that are ground, diced, or pureed.
Making limoncello.
In a matter of minutes, a can of whole peeled tomatoes can be turned into any of the other products. It also means that, other than tomato paste, I only need to stock up on one tomato product. OK, OK, so I have two types of peeled, whole tomatoes. Both are from Italy but one is San Marzano and the other is a plum tomato that’s not San Marzano. I use the less expensive non-San-Marzano-but-still-Italian tomatoes when the dish I am making would be indistinguishable with either type.
In December, zucchini are a welcome addition to mealtime, a situation that is difficult to imagine during the fall harvest season when zucchini seem to be coming from all directions.
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Zucchini in Umido
Pommarola, a simple tomato sauce made with tomatoes, basil and garlic is ideal in this dish. See the notes section for a link to my Basic Tomato Sauce. If pommarola, or a similar simple tomato sauce is not available, substitute good-quality tomato puree. If using puree, I suggest adding a few basil leaves, finely chopped. Niepita is difficult to obtain outside of Italy but if you want to try to find seeds, look for it using the southern Italian name of "Mentuccia Romana" rather than the Tuscan name of niepita. Though the flavor is different, 1 teaspoon of dried oregano is a good alternative.
Partially peel the zucchini, leaving alternating stripes of peel and no peel.
Cut the zucchini into largish pieces. You can do this by quartering them lengthwise and then cutting crosswise or by doing a rotating angular cut. You should have approximately 2 pounds of cut-up zucchini.
Sauté the garlic in olive oil until it begins to color.
Add zucchini. Season with salt, and pepper. Increase the heat to high and sauté until the garlic golden brown and the zucchini has turned from white to creamy in color, approximately 5 minutes.
Add the tomato sauce, water, niepita, and salt and pepper to taste.
Cook at a moderate boil, uncovered, until the sauce is thick and the zucchini is tender but not mushy. Adjust salt and pepper while cooking.
Back at home, after spending five months in Italy this year expanding my culinary skills and repertoire, we settled on a technique to keep the process going.
Each month we randomly select a region of Italy by pulling a slip of paper out of a jar. For a month, unless there is an overriding reason, I cook all our dinners using traditional recipes of that region.
Small, dried spicy red peppers (peperoncini) from our garden add zip to many dishes.
The first region we selected was Piemonte (Piedmont).
Piemonte is in far northwestern Italy. It borders France and the cuisine shows a definite French influence.
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Piemonte is one of the coldest regions of Italy. Since the climate is not conducive to growing olives, animal fats, such as butter and lard are commonly used. There are some dishes, however, that use olive oil based on historic trade between Piemonte and neighboring Liguria.
Piemontese foods tend to be hearty and rich, appropriate to the colder climate, especially in the mountainous areas.
Two of the Piemontese cookbooks that I relied on for the month of cooking Piemontese food.
Our month of eating the foods of Piemonte included:
Bagna Cauda (anchovy, butter and olive oil dip for vegetables)
Brasato di Manzo in Barolo (beef braised in barolo wine)
Cipolline d’Ivrea (braised pearl onions with white wine and butter)
La Panissa (risotto made with borlotti beans and some sort of cured meat)
Patate ai Capperi (potatoes and capers)
Peperoni e Pomodori alla Bagna Cauda (sweet peppers and tomatoes with anchovies)
Polenta e Fontina in Torta (layers of sliced polenta and fontina cheese baked together)
Pollo con Acciughe e Peperoni Arostiti (chicken with anchovies and roasted peppers)
Pollo in Fricassea Bianca (chicken braised in milk)
Risotto al Gorgonzola (risotto with gorgonzola cheese)
Sancarlin (a cheese dip and/or sauce)
Spinaci alla Piemontese (spinach with anchovies and garlic)
Tajarin con Gorgonzola e Ricotta (long pasta with a sauce of ricotta and gorgonzola)
Tajarin e Zucchine (long pasta with zucchini, garlic, and Grana Padano cheese)
As you’ll note, these are almost all substantial dishes. And it’s not as if I purposely chose dishes that were hearty. Almost all of the cuisine of Piemonte shares this characteristic.
Piemonte is famous for truffles. I avoided dishes with truffles as they were out of season the month I cooked Piemontese food. Good ones are also very expensive. Plus, I ate mountains of them while at the Italian Culinary Institute this year.
Two excellent regional Italian cookbooks. It’s amazing how different the array of recipes is for the same region.
Piemonte is also known for hazelnuts and for the combination of hazelnuts and chocolate, the most famous brand of which is Nutella. Note that the one Piemontese dessert that I made during the month (only one because I’m still working off the weight I gained over five months in Italy earlier this year!) is a combination of chocolate and hazelnuts which is generally known as gianduja or gianduia.
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Piemonte is one of the great wine-producing regions of Italy. It is known for Barolo, Barbaresco, and Asti, among others.
Sancarlin (Piemontese dialect for San Carlo) is a spread or dip made from cheese. It’s great as part of an antipasto with grissini (breadsticks), another Piemontese food.
If you cannot find artisanal ricotta (check a cheese shop), Polly-O is among the best of the supermarket brands that I have tasted.
Sancarlin is also excellent tossed with diced boiled potatoes and served as a contorno (side dish). How many times can I say “hearty” in the same blog post?
If any of the Piemontese dishes that I mentioned above interests you, and you’d like me to post a recipe, just leave a note in the comment section below and I’ll schedule it.
Though not traditional, goat cheese adds complexity to the Sancarlin that would otherwise be provided by the traditionally used sheep’s milk ricotta.
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Sancarlin: A Cheese Spread from Piemonte
Sancarlin is traditionally made with ricotta di pecora, sheep’s milk ricotta. It is nearly impossible to find sheep’s milk ricotta in the United States. You will get good results with a high-quality cow’s milk ricotta. Though not traditional, you can add an ounce or two of soft goat cheese to the recipe to increase the complexity of the dish. If you have access to sheep’s milk (which I don’t in northern New Mexico), and you feel ambitious, you can make your own ricotta! A link to my recipe is in the Notes section below. Adjust the amount of garlic and red pepper to taste. Serve with grissini, crostini, focaccia or tossed with boiled potatoes
Spiedini means skewers. By extension it also refers to food cooked on skewers.
Zia Fidalma’s spiedini ready to be served. The extra cut-up vegetables were roasted along with the spiedini.
There is evidence that humans cooked food on skewers as far back as 300,000 years ago in an area that is encompassed by present-day Germany.
It’s an ancient cooking method. So, it’s not surprising that food cooked on skewers is found almost everywhere.
Zia Fidalma cutting sausage for spiedini at her home in Benabbio.
During my month of cooking in Tuscany with Zia Fidalma this past August, spiedini were on the lesson plan.
But first, there was the shopping. Onions and peppers came from the weekly market in Bagni di Lucca. Pork and sausage came from her favorite local butcher. Pancetta tesa came from yet another vendor. The pantry staples, including olive oil from her own olive grove, were on the ready at home.
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The sausage that Zia Fidalma used is Salsiccia Toscana, Tuscan Sausage. It does NOT have fennel seed. What it DOES have appeared to be a mystery, at least temporarily.
Pancetta Tesa produced in the Garfagnana area of Tuscany.
Butchers in Italy who make it say they don’t know because they buy the spice mix from a company. Whether or not this is completely true is also unknown, to me at least. Requests from friends and family in Tuscany also came up empty-handed.
A Google search, in Italian, turned up more useful information. As expected, there is a range of ingredients. Every recipe has salt and pepper. Most have garlic (minced, chopped, or in one recipe, rubbed on one’s hands before one mixes the sausage!). Many have a bit of wine, both white and red are called for. I found one recipe that indicated that finely minced sage could be added if desired but NOT fennel!
Ingredients ready to be skewered in Zia Fidalma’s kitchen.
So, basically, Tuscan sausage is very sparingly flavored with salt, pepper, garlic and maybe a bit of wine.
For a traditional Tuscan taste for these spiedini, purchase (or make) an “Italian” sausage without fennel and without red pepper or paprika. (Note, there is no such thing as “Italian” sausage in Italy. Like most foods in Italy, sausage is hyper-local and varies from region to region, province to province, and often town to town.)
Zia Fidalma’s spiedini ready to be cooked.
Nobody is going to complain, however, if you use sausage with fennel seed as I had to do when I was unable to find sausage without fennel after trying four markets in Santa Fe.
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Pancetta tesa (sometimes called pancetta stesa) may be more difficult to find than the correct sausage, however. Pancetta tesa is flat, not rolled. It is better to use for spiedini because it is easier to cut into shapes that facilitate skewering.
On the same day that I made spiedini with Zia Fidalma, we looked at a house for sale in her village. I’m still smitten by the house and the views and the idea of spending summers there!
While you might spend 30 to 45 minutes cutting up the meat and vegetables and threading them on a skewer, the cooking process is easy. Feel free to experiment with the herbs, but I’ve called for the herbs that are most commonly used in Tuscan cooking.
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Spiedini (Italian Skewered Meat and Vegetables)
If you want a more elegant look, take the time to cut the ingredients to the same size, approximately 1-inch squares. For a more homestyle appearance, as shown in the pictures, some variability is fine as long as none of the pieces is extremely large or small. The exact sequence of how to skewer ingredients is up to you but I have provided a suggestion that worked well with the quantity of ingredients I had.
Separate the onion into layers and cut 36 pieces of onion about the same size as the pepper pieces
Thread the meat and vegetables onto 12 skewers in the following order: Pepper, Pancetta, Onion, Pork, Pepper, Pancetta, Onion, Sausage, Pepper, Pancetta, Onion, Pork.
On the bottom of a shallow roasting pan large enough to hold the skewers in a single layer, put the rosemary, sage, bay leaves, oregano, juniper berries and garlic.
Put the skewers on top. Season generously with salt and pepper. Drizzle with olive oil.
Roast at 400°F until the meat is cooked, approximately 20 to 30 minutes, basting occasionally with the oil from the pan.
Arrange the skewers on a serving platter. Pour the oil over top being sure to add the cooked herbs and garlic. Serve immediately.
If it were up to me, I’d probably never make turkey, except for the fact that turkey is a GREAT excuse to make killer stuffing and gravy.
OK, OK, those of you who know me know that I’m enough of a traditionalist that I’d probably still make turkey on Thanksgiving, with or without stuffing and gravy, because it’s, well, traditional.
Turkey aside, though, I absolutely LOVE stuffing and I LOVE gravy.
After Thanksgiving, I carefully hide the leftover stuffing in the fridge and keep it all for myself. There usually isn’t much leftover so I get maybe two days of snacking on cold stuffing. And it has to be cold, not warm, with a bit of added salt because the taste of salt is dulled by the coldness of the stuffing.
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As for the gravy, when I was a kid, I liked gravy so much that I would stir enough into my mashed potatoes that they became runny and spread out over my plate! I don’t do that anymore but I still love gravy.
I love gravy so much that I roast poultry specifically to make gravy then discard the poultry because I’ve browned it to a fare-thee-well to get a really flavorful gravy. But I only do that once a year—on Thanksgiving—hence the name Thanksgiving gravy.
When I was growing up, my parents hosted Thanksgiving dinner. My Aunt Margie and Uncle Joe hosted Christmas Eve dinner.
On Thanksgiving, while my mother and Aunt Margie were getting everything ready to bring to the table (everything included a full Italian meal with sausage, meatballs, lasagna, etcetera alongside a full traditional American Thanksgiving meal!) my Aunt Mamie would make gravy from the pan drippings.
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From my current vantage point, however, there is a very limited amount of gravy that can be made that way, otherwise it doesn’t have enough meaty goodness. Though I have to say that Aunt Mamie did a great job of making gravy. Hers was the one that I most often stirred into my mashed potatoes.
The search for lots of meaty-tasting gravy is what got me started on the path of roasting poultry a few days in advance simply to make a brown stock to use as the base for my gravy.
I guess, in reality, my gravy is more of a variation on French brown sauce (Sauce Espagnole) with added pan drippings than traditional American-style gravy but it packs the flavor that I expect from good gravy.
If there’s any leftover gravy, I warm it with some cream and sautéed mushrooms and then gently reheat leftover turkey in the sauce.
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Thanksgiving Gravy
Roasting poultry to make a flavorful stock creates a gravy with an extra punch of flavor. Turkey wings and necks are ideal but chicken and Cornish hen work very well, too. Whatever poultry you use, cut it into lots of pieces to create more surface area for browning. I use a lot of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese and I put all the rinds in a container in the freezer. I use one whenever I make stock or broth, as I do for the stock for this gravy. It is not necessary to peel the onions and garlic.
Cut the turkey or other poultry into chunks. Put the cut-up turkey into a heavy roasting pan. Mix with ¼ cup of extra-virgin olive oil. Season generously with garlic powder and salt.
Roast the turkey at 425°F until dark brown, turning often, 1½ to 2 hours.
Meanwhile, in a heavy-bottomed stock pot, large enough to hold all the ingredients, sauté the carrots and celery in ¼ cup of extra-virgin olive oil over high heat.
As the carrots and celery begin to brown, add the onions and garlic.
Continue cooking, adjusting heat to medium if necessary, to create nicely browned vegetables and fond without burning.
When the vegetables are brown, add 1/2 cup of red wine and 1 cup of water to stop the cooking and set the pot aside until the turkey is ready.
When the turkey is brown, add it and any pan drippings to the stockpot with the vegetables.
Using some of the water, deglaze roasting pan and add the liquid to the stockpot. All these brown bits are important for flavor.
Add the bay leaf, rosemary, sage, parsley, whole cloves, Parmigiano Reggiano cheese rind, if using, black pepper, and enough water to cover generously. Bring to a simmer and simmer, partially covered for six hours, stirring occasionally.
Strain and refrigerate the stock. The stock may be made up to three days in advance.
Gravy
Skim the fat from the top of the stock. Heat the fat to cook off any water. Measure ¾ cup of melted fat and reserve. Add butter, if necessary, to make ¾ cup.
Gently boil the skimmed stock to reduce it to about six cups, if necessary.
Meanwhile, in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, gently brown the flour in the fat from the stock.
Add the six cups of hot stock, approximately ¾ cup at a time, stirring well after each addition, to avoid lumps.
After all the stock has been added, bring to a simmer. Add the wine. Season with 1 teaspoon salt and pepper to taste. (The drippings from the turkey can be fairly salty so the gravy should be under-salted until the final adjustment of seasoning.)
Simmer gently till thick, approximately 2 hours, stirring frequently. Set aside, covered, until the turkey is ready.
After removing the turkey from the oven, deglaze the roasting pan with water. Skim the fat from the deglazing liquid. Pour the defatted drippings into gravy and simmer briefly to achieve the desired consistency. Adjust seasoning.
It’s been way over a month since I last wrote. After leaving Tuscany for Calabria on August 31st, my plan was to continue to post about my new adventures at the Italian Culinary Institute. As it turned out, I kept myself pretty busy and couldn’t quite find the time to post. Knowing that my time was limited, I chose to spend as much of it as possible in the kitchen, which usually meant 12-plus hours per day, six or seven days per week.
There were some exceptions, like the Saturday I went to Maria’s house to make passata with her.
Maria and her son, Nicola, prep tomatoes for passata.
Maria works at the Institute, ostensibly as a dishwasher. In reality she does much more. Her wisdom and advice are frequently sought out by Institute staff on matters related to local food. Maria assists in the kitchen during the meat-curing (salumi) courses.
Although I make passata at home, I’m self-taught. It was exciting for me to see (and assist with) it being done in a traditional manner.
But first I had to find Maria’s house.
Stirring a cauldron of tomatoes.
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Maria only speaks Italian. My Italian is not good enough for anything resembling a real conversation though I can certainly manage restaurants, supermarkets, and food vendors well enough to get by.
Mariana, Chef Juan’s wife, chatted with Maria and told me that I should meet Maria at the Padre Pio mural. Maria lives in the town of Stalettì, which is up the mountain from the Institute. The directions were easy enough: Go up. When you get to Padre Pio, stop and wait for Maria. If you get to the center of town, you’ve gone too far.
Maria and Nicola putting the cooked tomatoes through an electric food mill.
Up I went. It was obvious I had gone too far when I hit a spot vaguely resembling a piazza onto which streets converged from many sides. There was a fussball table sitting in the roadway and a group of older guys congregated in front of the local bar. (Remember that a “bar” in Italy is traditionally a Coffee Bar.)
I mustered enough Italian to ask them where Padre Pio was. They told me to go back in the direction from which I came and that I couldn’t miss it.
Nicola and I spattered with tomato puree.
Luckily Maria was in her car on the roadside waiting for me across the street from the GIANT Padre Pio STATUE. I saw the statue on the way up but completely ignored it as I was looking for a mural. Something got lost in translation.
Maria made a U-turn and I followed her down a side lane that opened led to a small farm with wonderful views of the mountains beyond.
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Maria’s son, Nicola, was standing outside cutting tomatoes. Maria introduced us then immediately began to cut tomatoes, too. I opened my knife roll, got out my paring knife and began to cut tomatoes. After all, there were six cases to cut and process.
A hand-crank food mill is a good option for making small quantities of passata.
We cut them in half, removed the core and dropped the halves into a bucket. The cores were saved for the pig which will become Sopressata ‘round about January.
The tomato halves went into a big cauldron set over a wood fire. Maria simmered them, with salt and some basil, until they were soft enough to go through an electric food mill. The resulting liquid was put back into the cauldron and cooked until it was the right consistency.
Passata freezes well.
I’ve seen many videos and recipes for making passata that remove the seeds and jelly. This definitely makes the process faster because extra liquid is removed at the beginning. However, the jelly has a high concentration of naturally occurring glutamates that really enhance the flavor of the passata. Like Maria, I always include the seeds and jelly.
Maria put the passata into jars, sealed them and put them under a blanket to cool slightly. This is where a bit of controversy exists. The USDA says it is never safe to can tomatoes or tomato puree at home without adding an acid, such as citric acid, because many tomatoes are not acidic enough to be canned safely relying on their own acidity. The Italian Ministry of Health disagrees and provides directions for canning tomatoes in a boiling water bath without the addition of acid.
In practice, many Italians simply put the passata into jars, seal, and cover the jars with a blanket to allow them to cool slowly. No boiling water bath is used at all. While I’ve eaten many jars of passata that were canned this way, I wouldn’t recommend it.
Maria made about 100 jars the day I was there. It wouldn’t be unusual for a family in Southern Italy to put up 300 jars of passata, essentially one per day for a year. If you’re making less, as is almost certainly the case, freezing the passata works well.
If you find yourself with some vine-ripe tomatoes, especially plum tomatoes or a meaty heirloom variety, give this recipe a try.
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Sunlight in a Bottle: Passata (Tomato Puree)
Maria puts some fresh basil in with the tomatoes as do many Italian cooks. After going through the food mill, there are no flecks of basil to be found. Adding basil, however, is completely optional. Maria makes large quantities of passata and uses and electric food mill. For smaller quantities, up to several gallons, a hand-crank food mill works well. The passata will keep in the refrigerator for three days. It freezes well. If you choose to can it, you can find a link to recommended directions for canning in the Recipe Notes section, below.
Cut the tomatoes in half lengthwise. Remove the core and any hard, white pith. If you are using heirloom tomatoes rather than plum tomatoes, you may need to quarter them depending on size.
Put the tomatoes in a heavy-bottomed pot.
Heat gently until tomatoes release some liquid.
After there is liquid in the bottom of the pot, increase the heat to bring the tomatoes to a boil.
Add one basil leaf for each pound of tomatoes, if desired.
Continue to boil, uncovered, until the pulp is soft enough to go through a food mill, approximately 1 hour.
Put the tomatoes through a food mill, discarding seeds and skin.
Add ½ teaspoon of salt per quart of pureed tomatoes.
Return the tomato puree to the pot and continue to boil until thick and saucy.
Recipe Notes
You can find recommended directions for canning tomato puree here.
More than a week has passed since I drove from Tuscany to Calabria. It was an uneventful drive. I only missed one turn, very early on. Google Maps was indicating an upcoming right turn on the outskirts of Lucca. I began to slow down as the GPS system indicated I was nearing the turn but it seemed to me that the positioning was not quite right on the GPS system (as happens sometimes) and I didn’t slow down enough. Just when the map indicated I should turn right, there appeared a narrow two-lane road cut through a field that was not visible until I was on top of it. It was too late to turn.
Looking down from Zia Fidalma’s terrace on part of the village of Benabbio below.
The disembodied and calming voice of my Google Assistant said I should make the next right turn (which was visible from a distance). Less than a minute later, I was back where I needed to be.
The only Medieval arch in Benabbio is now the entrance to a cantina in the building that contains Zia Fidalma’s house and that of her niece Emiliana.
Nine hundred sixty-nine kilometers. That’s how far Google said the drive was. It took 9 hours 45 minutes, including a few quick stops. There was no traffic as I drove from north to south. The bumper-to-bumper traffic was from south to north as many Italians end their summer holidays at the beaches of southern Italy on August 31st, the day I was traveling south to Calabria.
A parting view of Bagni di Lucca from the Piazza.
I never did manage to get lunch that day. I stopped at an AutoGrill, just over 50% of which is owned by the Benetton family. I looked over the offerings in the display case, some of which were labeled but many of which were not. There was a flock of Italians all talking to the staff behind the counter to determine what was on offer among all the unlabeled items. (Everything in Italy involves interaction and negotiation, including driving, where drivers subtly…or not so subtly…negotiate with you how you and they will occupy the road. Lane markers are viewed as decoration or, at best (from an American standpoint), as are mere suggestions of where cars should be.)
This wheelbarrow appeared inside the front door of my building one day with a sign reading “For Sale or Take Away €200.” One wonders if it should read “For Sale andTake Away €200.”
But back to the AutoGrill. I decided that I would order a panino, many of which were labeled, as opposed to the calzone and other dough-encased items, none of which was labeled. The next step is to go to the cashier to pay, after which one returns to the display case to turn in the receipt and get one’s food.
Zia Fidalma making Pappa al Pomodoro.
There are several issues with this system. For non-Italian speakers, it means negotiating with the cashier what one wants to purchase. There is no list at the cashier so it requires remembering the item from perusing the display case and being able to describe it sufficiently that the cashier will understand and ring up the correct item.
Sedanini with Eggplant and Tomato at Zia Fidalma’s.
After negotiating the second flock of Italians circling the cashier, I realized I couldn’t remember any of the specific panini on offer so I couldn’t actually pay for anything as I couldn’t tell him what I wanted. Had my grasp of Italian been better, I could have engaged in a lengthy (always lengthy!) conversation with him about what panini were available that day before making a purchase.
Sauerkraut and Wurst at Zia Fidalma’s.
Rather than fighting my way through the now growing crowd at the display case to actually commit the contents of a panino to memory before returning to the cashier, I left without eating.
Polenta made from blue corn from New Mexico.
Another issue with this system, however, is that one might pay for an item that is no longer on offer when one gets back to the display case to turn in one’s receipt. On an average day, this might not be a big risk but on one of the busiest travel days of the year it seemed otherwise, as many panini were represented by only one specimen which could easily have been scooped up by a previous customer.
Making spezzatini at Zia Fidalma’s.
I have no idea how to negotiate a situation where one has paid for an item that is no longer available. My general experience tells me it wouldn’t be easy, especially for someone with limited Italian proficiency. Luckily, I had been eating so well at Zia Fidalma’s that I wasn’t really hungry…that, and the bagful of taralli that I brought with me!
A view from the Piazza of Bagni di Lucca to the park.
As the biggest drama of my drive to Calabria, this wasn’t bad at all!
A passageway in the town of Barga.
I arrived at the Italian Culinary Institute at 4:45 to find Chef Juan and Mariana in the kitchen. I was about to start the second month of my cooking adventure in Italy but first, let me recap what happened during my last few days in Tuscany or, more accurately, what I ate during my last few days in Tuscany.
The amuse bouche of mozzarella, truffle and extra-virgin olive oil at Ristorante Piazzangelio in Barga.
Monday, August 26th had been my first day alone with Zia Fidalma without the intercession of a translator. As noted previously, it went pretty well.
Sedanini con Salsa di Funghi at Ristorante Piazzangelio in Barga.
On Tuesday, I got to Zia Fidalma’s shortly before lunch. For lunch we made crunchy crostini slathered in olive oil that sat on top of a bowl of her Minestra di Fagioli. I made a salad of radicchio, tomato and onion. We finished the meal with Formaggio Fresco and Mortadella.
Zia Fidalma’s Pappa al Pomodoro.
The previous week, friends brought goodies from Germany, where Zia Fidalma lived for many years. Dinner started with pasta, sedanini specifically, with a sauce of eggplant and tomatoes. The second course was sauerkraut cooked with apples and spices, served with German wurst and mustard.
Spezzatino is traditionally served with polenta.
Zia was really looking like she needed a rest so I decided to come to the house late on Wednesday so she could have most of the day to herself. I had my default lunch at the apartment then got to Zia’s about 3:00 to assist with (well, really to watch) dinner preparation.
Rosticciana e Patate Arrostite at Ristorante Piazzangelio in Barga.
Our first course was Pappa al Pomodoro. Pappa al Pomodoro starts with Pomarola, a classic sauce of fresh tomatoes, garlic and basil that Zia made frequently during the month. When the sauce is cooked, large chunks of day-old bread (whole-grain at Zia’s house) and a good dose of olive oil are added. The whole thing is cooked until it resembles a thick porridge. Given the humble ingredients it has a truly amazing flavor. Because Massimo, Zia’s son, and I both like spicy food, she added peperoncino to her Pappa al Pomodoro and left out the basil. This was followed with Spezzatini di Maiale and Polenta. Spezzatini are small cubes of meat, pork in this instance, browned in olive oil then braised. The polenta was made from blue corn that I had brought from New Mexico.
Il Bonet Cioccolato e Rum, a traditional dessert from Piemonte, as prepared by Ristorante Piazzangelio in Barga.
Thursday I had lunch at the apartment, deviating from my default lunch for the first time. I had a panino of sfogliata (admittedly a flat bread a lot like piadina) with speck, scamorza, and the ever-present peperoncini sott’olio. For dinner we went to Ristorante Piazzangelio in the town of Barga. We each made different choices but the meal was truly wonderful. The restaurant is on the Piazza (hence the name) and quite serene.
Farfalline con Pomarola at Zia Fidalma’s were part of my “Last Supper.”
We were served an amuse bouche of mozzarella with a thin slice of truffle. Following this I had Sedanini con Ragu di Funghi. Sedanini (literally, little celery) are like Penne but slightly longer and without diagonally cut ends. The next course was Rosticciana e Patate Arrostite, another version of what Zia Fidalma had made a few weeks earlier. Dessert was a wonderful traditional Piemontese dessert, Il Bonet Cioccolato e Rum, which tasted like a cross between chocolate flan, chocolate pudding, and molten chocolate cake (with a hit of rum).
Tomato and Onion Salad prepared by Zia Fidalma.
After dinner we stopped in Fornoli so that Massimo and I could get our hair cut. We had appointments at 10:30 PM! One night per week, the shop stays open until midnight. Probably predictably, all the customers that night were men who might otherwise find it difficult to get to the shop during the workday. I was very pleased with my haircut and surprised that the wash, cut, re-wash, and blow-dry cost only €18!
Phase one of getting my hair cut in Fornoli.
Friday, August 30th was packing day. I repeated my lunch from Thursday then went to Zia Fidalma’s for my “Last Supper.”
Pancetta appears frequently in dishes cooked by Zia Fidalma, as does Mortadella.
Massimo picked me up in Bagni di Lucca so that I could eat and drink without concern and so that I wouldn’t have a self-imposed curfew based on darkness. Zia was at a funeral mass when we got to the house around 5:30 PM but she had left us an antipasto of Grissini wrapped in Bresaola. Massimo and I polished off the last of the bourbon before sitting down to a dinner of Farfalline con Pomarola (little butterfly pasta in tomato sauce) followed by Pollo e Piselli (chicken breasts cooked with abundant peas and herbs), whole-grain bread, a tomato and onion salad, and Pecorino. Massimo and I finished off the last of a bottle of Passito that I had bought early in the trip.
A selfie after my haircut, sometime around 11 PM. The photo does not do the haircut justice!
After we finished dinner, cousin Francesca came to wish me good-bye. She offered to drive me home since she had to drive by the front door of my apartment on her way home. With packing done, I made it an early night. The next morning, I got up at 6 AM and was on the road by 7 AM: destination Calabria and the Istituto Culinario Italiano.
Farewell to Tuscany: Bourbon on Zia Fidalma’s terrace.
