You might think he's doing something else. But in reality, he's learning how to sit/stay, and not doing a very good job of it (he eventually learned how to do so beautifully ... sort of ).

lunedì 25 aprile 2011

Pasquetta


It’s Liberation Day today. On this day in history in 1945, the Allies liberated Italy, effectively drawing the Italian part of World War II to a close.

Natale con i tuoi, Pasqua con chi vuoi: an Italian expression that means, basically: Christmas with your family, Easter with whomever you want. We tend to do a little bit of both on both occasions.

We have a lot of leftovers from yesterday’s luncheon feast. We were eight in all, but we had enough food to feed many, many more. By the time the time for eating salad rolled around, no one could possibly. Even the desserts (colomba, the sweet cake shaped in the form of a dove; a large chocolate egg, and hot cross buns) were desultorily picked at, allowing most of our friends to take dessert home with them.

Naturally, we ate lamb, as most Italians do. “Flocks of baby lambs begin to appear in the fields as spring arrives, just in time to become the succulent centerpiece of Easter dinner. Lamb is one of the great delicacies of pastoral culture, but as a symbol of innocence it is also the sacrificial dish par excellence. Since 1500 the food of Easter has been the food of the Last Supper, the ultimate meal in gastronomy and history: lamb (the symbol of Christ), bread (from grain, the gift of Demeter), and wine (“the blood of the earth,” Dionysius’ contribution).” This from Carol Fields.

One of our dear Florentine friends present at the table is a dedicated animal rights activist. Just last week she attended a march in protest of the slaughter of these lambs. Another of our friends did not want to add another source of animal protein to her diet, even though she was told it was Happy Lamb – i.e., we know the shepherd, the mother of ours probably spent last summer on the Scallion’s family’s land. (We respected their views.)

(Two legs were deboned, butterflied, marinated in olive oil, lemon juice, smashed garlic, and then thrown on the grill. Opening Season of the Grill, and the most succulent lamb, ever.)

Today is also Pasquetta, or “Little Easter.” (The Italians have a way of making everything diminutive; we tend to be Size Queens (and Kings).) It’s a national holiday, and you’re supposed to go out into the country, eat raw fava beans and a young pecorino cheese. That is, if you’re Roman. Traditions differ from region to region.

An interesting vegetable, the fava bean (or broad bean, as it’s more commonly known elsewhere). My hero Alan Davidison writes: “There is a mysterious shadow over the history of broad beans, and an actual problem which may be linked with it. From the beginnings of recorded history, these beans have aroused superstitious dread. The ancient Egyptians, though they cultivated them, regarded them as unclean, and the Greek writer Herodotus claims that their priests would not even look at one, let alone eat it … There seems to have been a general belief that the souls of the dead might migrate into the beans.” He adds that beans were “associated with the dead and were eaten at funeral feasts.”

Fields continues: “On Easter Monday entire cities become deserted. No matter what else appears on people’s plates, it is traditional to eat a simple antipasto called il piatto benedetto, consisting of a hard-boiled egg, salt, and local bitter greens like arugula or radicchio, fennel, or sarset, the deliciously tart leaves grown in Piemont. It is very similar to the dish included at the start of the Jewish Passover Seder to remind participants of the bitterness of exile in Egypt and elsewhere and to keep those memories alive.”

In Greece, fava beans are eaten during Holy Week. The late, great Patience Gray writes, “During the weeks of fasting before Easter, these lavishly sown beans were eaten raw and represented the main item of diet. They were delicious but a prolonged consumption turned out to be a strain on the digestive system.”

Interesting how something relating to the dead has morphed into something celebrating rebirth and resurrection.

Gray: “The best cheeses to eat with raw broad beans are the Greek feta, salty, and the Sardinian marzotica, a kind of ricotta made from ewe’s milk, well drained, dried and conserved with salt (made in March, as its name implies).

We will eat our beans with a young pecorino, a knob of leftover French blue (not at all a classic combination), and another pecorino made by our shepherd friend. No need to provide a recipe for this: just have a whole lot of fave on hand, pod them, shell them, and eat them with cheese. You can, if you like, dribble extravirgin olive oil over it, and add a twist or two from the pepper mill.

ADDENDA

Hot cross buns are a Lenten delicacy. From Davidson: “In England, hot cross buns are traditionally eaten on Good Friday; they are marked on top with a cross … The mark is of ancient origin, connected with religious offerings of bread, which replaced earlier, less civilized offerings of blood. The Greeks and Romans had similar practices and the Saxons ate buns marked with a cross in honour of the goddess of light, Eostre, whose name was transferred to Easter.” Stefano made the hot cross buns, and his recipe will appear on this blog, as soon as I can extract it from him.

Carol Fields, Celebrating Italy, New York, 1990.

Patience Gray, Honey from a Weed: Fasting and Feasting in Tuscany, Catalonia, the Cyclades, and Apulia, San Francisco, 1990.

Alan Davidson, The Oxford Companion to Food, New York, 1999.

FROM THE ARCHIVES

April 25, 2010 post re: Liberation Day

For past-blogged fava bean recipes, do please check out 4/11/10 (risotto with goat cheese, fava, & peas), 5/8/10 (risotto alla primavera), 5/17/10 (spaghetti with fava and mint), and 6/15/10 (fava bean purèe).

How thrilling to cite oneself.

Pictures of Buster’s fairly recent training session (with mixed results). No relationship whatsoever between today’s text and today’s images; but isn’t he darned cute?

Photo credit of wisteria/roses to the Scallion, April 2011.

martedì 12 aprile 2011

You're talkin' a lot, but you're not saying anything


On this day in 1808, Antonio Meucci was born in Florence (on via dei Serragli, 44). Apparently he might have invented the telephone. His was an interesting and colorful life – he worked briefly at Teatro della Pergola (in Florence), lived in Cuba, and eventually settled on Staten Island. According to Wikipedia.org, “Meucci set up a form of voice communication link in his Staten Island home that connected his second floor bedroom to his laboratory.” His failure to renew the patent led to Alexander Graham Bell’s acquiring said a few years later.

How nice, and how appropriate, that an Italian possibly invented the telephone. When riding commuter trains, we can blow a kiss to the Goddess, and thank her for all those obnoxious Italians nattering away on their cell phones (yesterday, a young woman got on the train at Pisa and continued her long, boring conversation with probably an equally boring friend all the way to Florence; we were a captive audience; I wanted to strangle her).

The most civilized Amtrak has silent cars. You pay extra for it, but it’s more than worth it.

We have six dogs who like to bark. This is our aural equivalent of chatty Eyetals on their cell phones. It is, perhaps, more obnoxious. Theoretically, one could ask nattering Italian to lower his/her voice. And yes, in theory, one could ask one’s dogs to stop barking.

“Lulu! Please stop barking,” we plead.

Lulu, oblivious, continues to bark. (She’s outside, barking, as I write. Our neighbors must love us; of course, we have a neighbor who’s not very nice, so when the dogs bark, I sometimes inwardly glow.)

Tillie never barked. She only barked at the mailman, which is appropriate, since dogs and mailpeople have a natural antipathy toward one another.

Waldo yapped. And he yapped at everything. Lulu did not bark until Waldo taught her how to.

Harry’s latest fun trick is to bark at the Puppers while they are crated. He stands in front of the crate and eggs them on. They, being young and impressionable, rise to his bait, and join the chorus. It’s quite the din.

You might wonder why we crate these puppers. Four words will do: They are canine terrorists. They also are only sort of getting housebreaking. They are often outside for long stretches of time. Re-entry requires -- nay, it’s mandatory – to eliminate immediately upon said.

For any of you who has housebroken a puppy, multiply our load (bad pun absolutely intended) by three. Myrtle, cousin to the pups and puppers, is a puppy herself (and somewhat obstinate, according to reports). She’s just recently – according to my sister – really broken through the wall and is no longer peeing on the bed. My mother’s alleged bichon, now 11, has never really gotten it.

This is admirable (Myrtle). That is appalling (Peter).

Googled “how long it takes to housetrain a puppy” and saw 16,200,000 hits. Apparently this is a great preoccupation for many of us. www.drfostersmith.com has these words of (non)comforting advice: “The amount of time it takes to housetrain your puppy is primarily dependent upon you. Do it right and it should not take long at all – perhaps just a few weeks [italics mine].”

Right.

I wonder how long we’re going to have to navigate our apartment wearing flip flops. Pity: terracotta floors feel so nice under (bare)feet when the weather begins to warm.

Lulu barks, and Harry has joined the fray.

Why has no one invented canine cell phones?

ADDENDA

"Psycho Killer, from Talking Heads 77: "You start a conversation you can't even finish it./You're talking a lot, but you're not saying anything./When I have something to say, my lips are sealed./Say something once, why say it again." Lyrics D. Byrne, C. Frantz, T. Weymouth.

Curious about Staten Island, I googled “Famous People who have lived on Staten Island.” This led, of course, to Wikipedia, which lists 18 different categories. “Notorious” – number 12 – included Paul Castellano, Jeb Stuart Magruder, and, most importantly, Sammy “the Bull” Gravano who penned a most readable autobiography with the help of Peter Maas in 1996. According to Wikipedia, Mr. Gravano served as a mess hall cook while doing a stint in the U.S. Army in 1964. Le specialità dello chef? One shudders to think.

lunedì 4 aprile 2011

Aborted Floral Meristems


What visually marks the arrival of spring? Robin red breasts, with worms in beaks. Daffodils. Hyacinths. Forsythia. Flowering fruit trees. The arrival of asparagus, fava beans, peas, artichokes, and agretti in the markets. Americans who shouldn't be wearing them clad in shorts, wearing flip flops, and entering the Duomo in Florence.

In our case, it would be Lulu with a lizard wiggling from her mouth. Or it would be another lizard, dead, lying on its back, missing a large chunk of its tail, as well as all appendages on one side, nonchalantly hanging out on our terrace.

Our dogs love to chase these harmless, lovely creatures. Once it stops moving – i.e., when it’s dead – interest in the game is off.

What are the aromatic markers of the arrival of spring? Oh, those flowering fruit trees. The strong aroma of narcissi. A soft spring rain. Strawberries. A certain sweetness in the air.

In our case, it would be the aroma – if one can call it that – of a dog who’d rolled in unidentifiable carrion. Dogs do love to roll around on the grass, in the woods. But they’re more prone to doing this when it gets a little warmer outside.

Lulu rolled in just that (some unidentifiable carrion) yesterday. The picture you see at the right is not that of a bloody retriever. No, that is a golden retriever who has been doused in passata (tomato sauce which we made last August). You might notice how the other pups and puppers are enjoying helping apply/dis-apply our remedy. (Because the tomato crop was lousy last year, our passata has leaned to the acidic. This did not seem to deter any of the canines.) Lulu looks like a 70s shag rag gone seriously awry.

918,000 hits occurred after I typed in “why dogs roll in smelly things.” I went to the first that appeared on the screen, the well-written www.schoolforchampions.com. Ron Kurtus, the author, writes, “Although there is a temptation to scold your dog [when he/she rolls in smelly things], it is best to realize it is natural behavior and make sure your pet doesn’t have the opportunity to roll in stuff.”

Given that we live in the country, and that there’s woods, this is virtually impossible.

He continues: “But first of all, you must realize that what smells bad to humans may not smell so bad to a dog.” Eek!

He then lists a couple of reasons why dogs might do this, and here's my favorite: “Advertise to the pack – Another school for thought is that dogs may roll in feces of dead animal remains to ‘advertise’ what they have found to other members of the pack.” Charming. What we know lives in the woods: wild boar (we think); fox (saw one once); porcupine (strong evidence of them rooting): black squirrels; and who knows what else. Let’s say Lulu is wearing eau di porcuspino (porcupine water). Delicious.

Perhaps I should cook up something really stinky as retaliation. Perhaps this is the time to learn how to make kimchi or sauerkraut. Although, since we don’t know what smells good to dogs, they might find the odor of fermenting cabbage aphrodisiacal [sic].

How to say goodbye to wintry foods? Finish up what’s in the refrigerator and move on to asparagus.

In this case, it means using a head of cauliflower that’s been lurking for a long time in the back of the refrigerator.

Curious about this sort of boring vegetable, I consulted Larousse Gastronique, which informed me that it was “[d]escribed by Arab botanists and known to the Romans, the cauliflower originally came from Cyprus and was introduced to France from Italy in the middle of the 16th century.”

Alan Davidson writes, “It is thought that they were first grown in the Near East, but no one is sure when. The belief of Cypriots that the cauliflower originated in Cyprus derives tenuous support from the old French name for it.” He adds that Jane Grigson dismissed the Cypriot connection and gave it over to the Arabs.

Wikipedia says that “Cauliflower is one of several vegetables of the species Brassica oleracea … It is an annual plant that reproduces by seed. Typically, only the head (the white curd) of aborted floral meristems is eaten, while the stalk and surrounding thick green leaves are used in vegetable broth or discarded.”

Now, did you know that you were eating aborted floral meristems while tucking into cauliflower cheese? I certainly did not. Did you also know that you could use the detritus to flavor a broth? Again, I did not. Guess this means said will not go directly into the compost bucket.

Wiki adds that cauliflower didn’t really take off in French cuisine ‘til the court of Louis XIV (who sat on the throne from 1643-1715 … a very, very long time).

The photo above is what we’ll be eating shortly. Does anyone eat cauliflower in the summer (apart from perhaps nibbling on a floret found on a crudite tray?).

Cauliflower can bore at a party, but when it’s roasted it somehow tastes a whole lot better.

Fusilli con cavolfiore, olive, e pinoli/Fusilli with cauliflower, olives, and pine nuts

½ lb. of fusilli (or orecchiette)
1 small head of cauliflower, broken into tiny florets
¾ c. green olives, pitted and chopped
2 T. pine nuts, lightly toasted
½ c. freshly grated Pecorino Romano
3 T. extravirgin olive oil, at least
Freshly cracked black pepper
Handful of coriander, chopped (use flat-leaf parsley if you don’t have coriander)
One hot pepper, minced

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Put the water for the pasta in a pot, and bring to a slow boil (because you have to roast the cauliflower first).

Break the cauliflower into tiny florets, toss with a couple of tablespoons of extravirgin olive oil, and sprinkle with kosher salt. Put in the oven, and roast for about 45 minutes, stirring about halfway through the procedure. You want it crisped and browned; you do not want it brulée’d.

Put the toasted pine nuts, pitted/chopped green olives, grated Pecorino Romano, minced hot pepper, and coriander (or parsley) into a serving bowl.

Remove the cauliflower from the oven, and add to the serving bowl. Throw the fusilli in to the boiling pot of water, and cook following package directions. Before draining the pasta, take a couple of tablespoons of the cooking liquid and add it to the stuff in the serving bowl.

Add the fusilli to the serving bowl, add a couple more jolts of extravirgin olive oil, and taste for seasoning. The olives and the Pecorino Romano will probably provide plenty of saline sensation – so perhaps just check for pepper.

ADDENDA

Jennifer Harvey Lang, ed. Larousse Gastronomique, New York, 1988.

Alan Davidson, The Oxford Companion to Food, New York, 1999. The entry directly below is “cauliflower fungus,” which looks a whole lot like cauliflower. It grows on rotting conifer stumps.