Recipe for Braised Romanesco Broccoli with Onions and Olives

Vibrantly lime-green, with florets shaped like spiky Balinese temples whirling around a central core, Romanesco broccoli is an attention-grabber.

When I picked out a head at Saturday’s South Anchorage Farmer’s Market, the queries started immediately: “What’s that?” “What’ll you do with it?” “Is that any good?” Despite my enthusiastic assurances, some questioners remained dubious about Romanesco broccoli’s edibility. An engineer decided to buy one only after I told him Romanesco broccoli is used by mathematicians to illustrate logarithmic spirals and fractals.

A relative of both broccoli and cauliflower, the flavor of Romanesco broccoli is milder than either of its better known cousins. When well-cooked, the flavor is creamy and nutty, without the bitter edge some family members have.

Braised Romanesco Broccoli with Onions and Olives
Serves 4
Cauliflower, of any color, may be substituted for Romanesco broccoli. Plain Kalamata olives are delicious, though I prefer using Roasted Kalamata Olives in recipes like this. Dry-cured or salt-cured olives (such as those from Thassos) may also be used, but be sure to taste them and use less than 1/2 cup if they’re strong flavored. The broccoli will cook more quickly and evenly with the right sized pan; ideally, you need a covered pan 2” wider in diameter than the whole broccoli.

Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska has moved as of March 2011. To read this post please go to


http://www.laurieconstantino.com/braised-romanesco-broccoli/


Please click on over and visit my new site. Thank you!

Two Recipes for Bagna Càuda (Δύο Συνταγές για Μπάνια Καούντα)

Last night, we had a hot olive oil bath and went to bed happy. We didn’t dive into olive oil; our dinner did.

Bagna Càuda, a specialty of Italy’s Piedmont Region, combines oil with anchovies and garlic to make a hot dip for vegetables and bread. Cooked over low heat, anchovies melt into oil and garlic’s strength turns smooth and mild.

I was first introduced to Bagna Càuda by the proprietors of Genoa Restaurant in Portland, Oregon (now closed). It was love at first taste. Genoa’s Bagna Càuda was rich and luxurious, creamy and indefinably delicious. I wanted more.

After I discovered Genoa’s recipe in a cookware store handout, its Bagna Càuda regularly showed up on the tables of me and my friends. Unlike the Bagna Càuda I make now, Genoa’s recipe doesn’t contain a speck of olive oil; its richness comes exclusively from butter and cream.

In the Portland years, I was young and undeterred by buckets of cream and butter. As time passed, I lost my enthusiasm for both. I used to cook with butter, using olive oil mostly for salad dressings. Now, I rarely use butter; olive oil has replaced it in my kitchens. I stopped making Bagna Càuda.

Even so, when my husband and I travelled to Italy’s Piedmont Region in 1997, I was eager to try Bagna Càuda in its homeland. We found it in a tiny lakeside restaurant in La Morra, where we were the only customers. The television was blaring, the florescent lights blazing, and our expectations for the food low.

When the Bagna Càuda arrived at our table, it was a revelation. It didn’t contain cream or butter. Instead, garlic and anchovies were melted in olive oil and served in a roasted red pepper half. Every bite was a pleasure.

As with Genoa’s Bagna Càuda so many years ago, the taste and aroma of this new-to-me version lingered in my memory. Back in Alaska, I developed a simple recipe incorporating its flavors, using only olive oil, garlic, and anchovies.
.
Last Thursday, my regular CSA box of vegetables arrived from Full Circle Farm. The refrigerator was overflowing; I couldn’t find space for an extra-large bunch of broccoli. Bagna Càuda (my version) was the solution. While the anchovy and garlic sauce simmered, I steamed broccoli and roasted a couple red peppers over a gas burner.

When the Bagna Càuda was done, we dipped our vegetables and bread in the hot savory bath, ate our fill, and licked our fingers clean.

Laurie's Bagna Càuda (Μπάνια Καούντα)
Makes about 1 1/2 cups
Though the recipe contains a lot of garlic and anchovies, their pungency disappears after simmering in hot oil. For a group, serve Bagna Càuda in a fondue dish or other pot which keeps the sauce hot. For quick weekday meals, serve the sauce in individual unheated dishes for dipping, or even just spooned, straight from the stove, over the vegetables.

Sauce:
1/4 cup chopped anchovy fillets (2 ounces/24 cleaned fillets) (see Note below)
1/3 cup chopped fresh garlic
1 1/4 cups olive oil

Selection of Vegetables: Raw or roasted red peppers, raw or lightly steamed broccoli or cauliflower, celery, carrots, zucchini, cardoons, radishes, green onions, radicchio, fennel, cherry tomatoes, boiled potatoes

Selection of Bread: artisan-style bread, foccacia, breadsticks

Put the anchovy fillets, garlic, and olive oil in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Cook, stirring from time to time, until the oil starts to bubble. Cook for 20 – 30 minutes, until the anchovies melt into the oil and the garlic is very soft. Don’t let the garlic brown; if the oil is cooking hard enough to brown the garlic, immediately turn down the heat.

While the sauce is cooking, cut the vegetables and bread into shapes appropriate for dipping. When the sauce is done, dip the cold vegetables in the hot sauce.

NOTE: Anchovies preserved in salt have much more flavor than anchovies canned in olive oil. In dishes like Bagna Càuda, where anchovies are a central ingredient, I prefer the salt-cured variety (the dish is delicious even when made with oil-canned anchovies). Some places, you can buy salted anchovies by the ounce from the deli counter; in Alaska, this isn’t possible. Instead, I buy large cans of salt-preserved anchovies in Greece or when I travel outside the state (Big John’s PFI in Seattle carries them, as does Amazon.com). Anchovies packed in salt keep in the refrigerator for up to a year. To clean salt-cured anchovies, carefully rinse off all the salt. Starting from the head end, peel each fillet off the backbone, and then remove as many of the fine bones from the fillet as possible. Dry the cleaned fillets on paper towels before using in recipes.

Genoa's Bagna Càuda (Μπάνια Καούντα)
Makes about 1 1/2 cups
Adapted from Genoa Restaurant recipe, Portland, Oregon
Genoa’s Bagna Càuda must be kept warm over a burner at all times; the reduced cream stiffens up when it cools. The anonymous author of Genoa’s recipe explains how to eat it: “[This] is a dish to be enjoyed without ceremony – pick up vegetable or bread stick with fingers, dip it in the sauce until well covered, and consume. If butter and cream separate, pour in a bit of cold cream and whisk hard. The sauce will return to its former velvet-like texture.”

Sauce:
2 cups heavy cream
8 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 2-ounce can anchovy fillets, drained of oil
Dash of cayenne
1/4 cup unsalted butter

Selection of Vegetables: Raw or roasted red peppers, raw or lightly steamed broccoli or cauliflower, celery, carrots, zucchini, cardoons, radishes, green onions, radicchio, fennel, cherry tomatoes, boiled potatoes

Selection of Bread: artisan-style bread, foccacia, breadsticks

In a heavy saucepan, simmer cream with garlic until the cream is thick and reduced to 1 cup. Watch the cream carefully as it cooks; don't let it boil over. Put the reduced cream, anchovies, and cayenne into a blender and purée until the mixture is very smooth. (The recipe may be made ahead to this point.)

Return the mixture to the pan and bring to a very slow simmer. Stir in the butter until it melts. While the dip simmers, cut the vegetables and bread into shapes appropriate for dipping.

Serve in a fondue dish or other pot which can keep the dip hot. Dip the cold vegetables in the hot sauce.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is my entry for Foodie Films: Big Night - Italian! created and hosted by Joelen's Culinary Adventures.

Greek Cookbooks: Summer Tomatoes in Greece with Historical Information and Recipe for Strapatsada (Greek Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes) (Στραπατσάδα)

(From Greece)

Summer tomatoes are a glory of Greece. Red and juicy, warmed by the sun and simply seasoned with salt, Greek tomatoes explode with flavor, bathing taste buds in their sweet-yet-tart goodness.

We arrived in Greece this (and every) year during tomato season. Our relatives, friends, and neighbors greet us with food, which always includes lots of luscious fresh tomatoes. Right now, there are at least ten pounds of gorgeous tomatoes sitting on the counter, and the refrigerator is packed with grapes, okra, peppers, and other seasonal vegetables. It’s the best possible welcome home gift. We happily use the bounty.


One of the best ways to eat summer tomatoes is in Horiatiki Salata (Village Salad), a mix of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, green pepper, and feta cheese, dressed only with olive oil and salt. This most beloved of Greek salads appears on taverna menus throughout the country. During tomato season in Greece, we eat a variation of Horiatiki Salata every day.

Many Greeks like salad tomatoes when they’re still slightly green. I prefer them at their peak of ripeness. When I’m eating salad with Greek relatives, this balances out perfectly. I snag the reddest tomato bits. They go for the greener parts.

It’s hot on the island during tomato days. I’m not a hot weather aficionado, but appreciate that heat helps give Greek tomatoes their superior flavor.

At this time of year, light, flavorful, quick-cooked foods are welcome. They help avoid spending too much time in hot kitchens. One favorite such Greek dish is Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes. In some places it’s called Strapatsada, in others Kayianas, Menemeni or Sfoungato Politiko, and in many it’s simply Eggs and Tomatoes (Avga me Domates/Αυγά με Ντομάτες).

The Greek name “Strapatsada” derives from the Italian for “scrambled eggs” (“uova strapazzate”). Some say the dish was originally brought to Greece by Sephardic Jews. If true, given the Italian name, a plausible route is via the Venetian Jews to the Jews in Corfu and the significant Jewish population that used to exist in Thessaloniki. (Most Greek Jews died in German concentration camps during World War II; today the entire Jewish population of Greece is about 5000.) Certainly, Strapatsada is consistent with Jewish dietary restrictions.

Although some debate the Jewish connection, it’s commonly accepted that Strapatsada as a Greek name for Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes originated in the Ionian Islands (including Corfu) during their years of Venetian rule (1401 – 1797). See also Voice of Corfu: “… tomatoes … were brought to Corfu by the Venetians.” It’s documented that after the Venetian conquest, Corfiot Jews developed close relations with the Venetian Jewish community and its many international merchants and traders. Cookbook of the Jews of Greece, Nicholas Stavroulakis (Lycabettus Press 1986).

According to food historian Claudia Roden, the 16th and 17th century Jewish merchants of Venice “traded with their relatives and co-religionists around the Mediterranean … [and others] in South America.” Roden says the Jewish merchants “introduced New World food products such as tomatoes…” throughout the entire Mediterranean Jewish community.

Roden points out “a tomato sauce in Venice is called ‘alia giudia’” (Jewish Style). In her history of Italian Jewish cooking, The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews: Traditional Recipes and Menus and a Memoir of a Vanished Way of Life (Giro Press 1993), Edda Servi Machlin says: “In the 18th century, the first people who used tomatoes in their cooking were Jews.”

See also, “[S]ome of the [Sephardim] … traveled as merchants to the New World, bringing back a whole new range of vegetables which were quickly adopted into the Sephardic kitchen. These were adopted, in turn, by the others among whom they lived, especially as the Sephardim were dispersed through the Mediterranean basin, into the Balkans, and parts of Western Europe.”

The Jews were also among the first to bring tomatoes to England and America. In his 1753 supplement to A History of Plantes (Thomas Osborne 1751), John Hill documented the use of tomatoes “eaten stewed or raw” by Jewish families in England. The tomato-eating 18th century English Jews “were of Portuguese or Spanish descent and … maintained contact with Jewish communities in the New World who consumed tomatoes.” The Tomato in America, Andrew F. Smith (University of South Carolina Press 1994). Smith says “at least one English-born Jewish physician introduced tomatoes into Virginia during the mid-18th century.”

If the conventional wisdom is correct that Strapatsada came to Corfu during the Venetian years, and we accept the historical record that Jews adopted tomatoes into their diets by at least the mid-18th century (and probably earlier), it isn’t too far-fetched to believe that Strapatsada was originally a Jewish creation. Indeed, Cookbook of the Jews of Greece and Γεύση από Σεφαραδιτική Θεσσαλονίκη: Συνταγές των Εβραίων της Θεσσαλονίκης (Tastes of Sephardic Thessaloniki: Recipes of the Jews of Thessaloniki), Νίνα Μπενρουμπή (Φυτράκη 2002), which document the traditional foods of Greek Jews, both have recipes for Strapatsada.

It could be that tomatoes weren’t used anywhere in Greece until the 19th century. And, as with all simple food combinations, it’s entirely possible that each version of Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes was created independently and spontaneously by creative cooks making use of seasonally fresh foods.

No matter its origin or name, Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes is easy to make and very flavorful. It’s especially good when made with sun-ripened summer tomatoes.

Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes (Strapatsada – Στραπατσάδα)
Serves 2
When I make Strapatsada with fresh sweet summer tomatoes, I use mint to season it. Mint’s flavor enhances the tomatoes’ sweetness and goes well with eggs. Made with canned tomatoes, dried oregano makes a better seasoning for Strapatsada. In our house, three eggs are plenty for two people, but eaters with hearty appetites may prefer four eggs. I like the finished egg curds to be smooth-textured so skin the tomatoes. Skinning is not necessary; the Strapatsada will taste great if you leave on the skins. To make the simplest version of Strapatsada, cook tomatoes in olive oil until their water evaporates, then scramble in the eggs, seasoning only with salt and pepper.

2 cups diced tomatoes (1 pound tomatoes) or 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes
1/2 cup diced yellow onion, 1/8” dice (optional)
1/4 cup olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 cloves garlic, grated or minced (optional)
1 tsp. sugar (use only if needed)
3 - 4 eggs
1/2 cup crumbled feta (optional)
1 Tbsp. minced fresh mint (or oregano, dill, basil, or parsley) (optional)

If starting with fresh tomatoes and you want to skin them, cut a shallow “X” on the bottom of the tomato. Drop the tomatoes in boiling water for 20 seconds. Remove the tomatoes and drop them in cold water. Drain and slip off the peels. Cut the tomatoes in 1/2” dice.

Sauté the onions, lightly seasoned with salt and freshly ground black pepper, in olive oil until they soften and start to turn golden. Stir in the diced tomatoes, bring to a boil, turn down the heat to medium, and cook for 15 minutes or until most of the water in the tomatoes has evaporated, stirring regularly to prevent scorching and to break up the tomatoes. Stir in the garlic and cook for 5 minutes. Taste; if the tomatoes are too acidic, add 1 teaspoon sugar.

Whisk together the eggs. Stir eggs, cheese, and mint into the cooked tomatoes, and continue to cook over medium-low heat, stirring regularly, until the eggs are cooked and form small curds; the eggs should be served when they’re still a little juicy. Eggs cook faster at a higher temperature, but taste better if cooked over lower heat for a longer time.

Variations:
- Use grated kefalotyri, kasseri, or parmesan instead of feta.
- Add chopped sausage, smoked pork, or ham.
- Add diced green peppers.
- Substitute puréed roasted red peppers for half the tomatoes.
- Substitute green onions for the yellow onion.
- Add Aleppo or crushed red pepper flakes.
- Add cinnamon stick to the sauce and omit the herbs.
- Add cumin or allspice to the sauce and omit the herbs.
- After mixing in the eggs and tomatoes, quit stirring and let the eggs set, then flip and cook on the second side (as for a frittata).
- When the tomatoes are cooked and saucy, turn the heat to low, make indentations in the sauce, crack an egg into each indentation, cover, and cook just until the egg whites set and the yolks are still juicy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging, hosted this week by Gretchen from Canela & Comino.

Recipes: Tajarin (Fresh Egg Yolk Tagliarini), Tajarin with White Truffles, Olive Oil, and Parmesan, & Tajarin with Sage Butter

Thinly sliced Oregon white truffles

I'm celebrating my 100th article on Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska with white truffles, a food worthy of any special occasion.

The first time I had white truffles was in La Morra, a small town in the heart of Piemonte’s Barolo wine country. Their flavor was seductively good, amazingly good, good like nothing I’d savored before.

Ever since, I’ve had white truffles as often as possible; in other words, rarely. Fresh white truffles are few and far between.

We arrived at an agriturismo on the outskirts of La Morra on a sunny fall afternoon. To check into Agriturismo Il Gelso, we sat at an outdoor stone table with then owner, Egidio Oberto. He welcomed us with glasses of excellent wine he’d made on-site. Basking in the autumn sun, our tired shoulders relaxed; the day of travelling already forgotten.

The wine whetted our appetites. Despite the early hour, we drove into La Morra looking for the Belvedere, a restaurant my father highly recommended. We parked, intending to roam the streets until we saw a Belvedere sign. When we got out of the car, we noticed the restaurant was directly across the street. That was a very good omen.

We opened the restaurant's door and discovered it was more formal than we’d thought. Despite the white tablecloths and old-world atmosphere, the staff couldn’t have been more welcoming. No reservation? Not a problem. Casually dressed? Come right in. We were comforably seated at a window table with a vineyard view.

The menu that evening featured white truffles (Tuber magnatum) and porcini (Boletus edulis), two local delicacies that had just come into season. We ordered one or the other or both for every course.

One of my favorite dishes was tajarin tossed in butter and parmesan, over which our waitress showered a flurry of white truffle shavings. Tajarin is a thinly cut fresh pasta unique to Piemonte and made with large amounts of egg yolks.

By the end of the evening, we were intoxicated with white truffles. I remember vividly how happy we were on leaving the Belvedere for a post-dinner stroll around La Morra.

I also remember the truffles’ better-than-expected flavor. I doubt it's possible to eat my fill of fresh Piemontese white truffles, but we spent the rest of our time in the environs of La Morra trying.

Recently, we arrived at our friends' house for dinner and were excited to find Bill making risotto with Oregon white truffles. Cindy brought the truffles home from a trip to Portland.

I’d read about Oregon white truffles, but this was the first time I’d tried them. They were smaller and much milder than their Italian cousins, but tasted distinctively and unmistakably of truffles. The risotto was a treat.

After dinner, as we bundled up to leave, Cindy generously gave us a handful of pungent Oregon truffles, carefully packed in dry Arborio rice. I lay in bed that night happily thinking about truffles.

Truffles, like mushrooms, are the annual fruit of underground fungi. The perennial part of truffles and mushrooms exists as a web of thread-like filaments in the soil called a mycelium.

In France and Italy, truffles have long been a gourmet treat. It’s only in recent years that commercial harvesters discovered two varieties of white truffles (Tuber oregonense and Tuber gibbosum) growing in the Douglas fir forests that run up the Pacific coast from Northern California to British Columbia.

We learned at La Morra’s Belvedere that the heady, earthy taste of truffles shines when paired with simple pasta, rice, or egg dishes. Because their flavor dissipates under heat, truffles shouldn’t be cooked. They are best when shaved over food at the time of serving.

I decided to pair the Oregon truffles with tajarin, the Piemontese pasta we ate in La Morra. Luckily, there was a new carton of organic eggs in the refrigerator, so I could make the egg-rich dough.

While making dinner, I thought about the best way to cut the truffles thin enough to release their maximum flavor. I'd settled on a mandoline when I suddenly remembered we owned a truffle shaver, unused since we’d received it for Christmas several years ago.

I laughed at myself for owning a truffle shaver, but it was the precise tool needed. The truffle shaver worked perfectly on its inaugural appearance; I hope to put it to good use many times in the future.

Or so I’m dreaming.

NOTE: The Belvedere closed this year. Its owners, the Bovio family, will soon open a new restaurant just outside La Morra called Bovio Ristorante.

Tajarin (Fresh Egg Yolk Tagliarini)
Makes enough pasta for 4 servings
Tajarin made with a food processor and pasta machine is quite easy. If you use farm fresh eggs, with their deep yellow yolks, the tajarin will have better flavor and more pronounced color. Use the extra egg whites to make Pistachio Biscotti.

2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp. salt
2 whole eggs
6 egg yolks

Put all the ingredients in a food processor. Process until the ingredients are thoroughly mixed and the dough starts forming clumps. Dump the dough out onto a floured surface and knead for 1 minute, adding a small amount of flour if the dough is sticky. When you’re done, the dough should be smooth and firm. Divide the dough into three portions, cover with plastic wrap, and let sit at room temperature for one hour. (Dough can be made ahead to this point.)

Run each portion of dough through the rollers of a pasta machine, starting with the thickest setting. Lightly dust the pasta dough with flour so it runs smoothly through the rollers. Fold the dough in thirds as if folding a letter, turn it 45 degrees, and again run it through the thickest setting. Repeat the folding, turning, and rolling at least three more times, or until the dough is smooth and shiny.

Set the pasta machine at the next thinnest setting. Run the sheet of pasta through, dusting with flour as necessary. Continue reducing the setting of the pasta machine and running the pasta through until you reach the machine’s second lowest setting. When the sheets of pasta become too long to comfortably handle, cut them into manageable lengths. When each sheet is done, lay it out to rest on a floured surface for 30 minutes.

Using the small (2mm) cutter on the pasta machine, cut the pasta into long lengths. Lay out the cut pasta on a floured cloth, or shape it into loose nests. Let dry for 30 – 60 minutes.

The tajarin is now ready to use.

Tajarin with White Truffles, Olive Oil, and Parmesan
Serves 4
If you don’t have access to fresh truffles, use white truffle oil instead. Be careful not to overdo; a little truffle oil goes a long ways.

Pasta:
1 recipe Tajarin (see above)
2 Tbsp. coarse salt

Sauce:
2 – 4 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
6 Tbsp. freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
Freshly shaved white truffles or white truffle oil

Fill a large pot with water, bring it to a boil, add the salt, and stir in the pasta. Cook for 1 minute. Drain.

Return the pasta to the pan, toss with 2 Tbsp. olive oil, salt, freshly ground black pepper, and 2 Tbsp. parmesan. If the pasta is too dry, add the remaining olive oil. Divide the pasta between four serving plates; top each plate with 1 Tbsp. parmesan. Shave truffles over the pasta (or drizzle with a small amount of truffle oil) and serve immediately.

Tajarin with Sage Butter
Serves 4
To perfect the tajarin recipe, I had to make it several times. This is the simplest and most recent version. Be sure to use good butter and fresh sage leaves; in a dish with so few ingredients, their quality matters.

Pasta:
1 recipe Tajarin (see above)
2 Tbsp. coarse salt

Sauce:
4 Tbsp. butter
2 Tbsp. minced sage
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
6 Tbsp. freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Melt the butter over low heat, stir in the sage, and season lightly with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Fill a large pot with water, bring it to a boil, add the salt, and stir in the pasta. Cook for 1 minute. Drain.

Return the pasta to the pan, toss with the sage butter and 2 Tbsp. parmesan. Divide the pasta between four serving plates; top each plate with 1 Tbsp. parmesan. Serve immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thie is my entry for the Second Annual Pullet Surprise: Eggs hosted by Peanut Butter Etoufee.

Recipe: Pine Nut Cookies (Biscotti con Pignoli)

One of our most memorable Christmases was spent in Italy. We traveled there, as did the rest of my husband’s family, and met up at a hotel in Rome. A week later, we all moved to a rented house called Tinaione in Borgo Stomennano, just outside the village of Monteriggioni (Siena).

I usually go to Italy and gawk at the vegetable and meat markets, but walk away unfulfilled because I don’t have a kitchen to make use of the lovely ingredients. Renting a house with a kitchen made all the difference in the world. For our Christmas dinner, I shopped with abandon at outdoor village markets and at the giant Coop supermarket in nearby Poggibonsi. It was exhilarating.

In Siena, we bought a box of fresh Riccarelli, diamond-shaped traditional Sienese cookies made with ground almonds. We found a bakery selling Biscotti con Pignoli, round cookies with almond paste centers and coated with pine nuts, and also bought them. Both kinds of cookies were addictively delicious.

The next year we were back in Alaska for Christmas. When baking time came around, I couldn’t stop thinking about the Italian pine nut cookies. I found three recipes for them on the Uncle Phaedrus website, and made all three versions.

Of the three recipes, the one that tasted most like the cookies we bought in Siena was made with almond paste, sugar, egg whites, and pine nuts. The cookies were delicious, but a little too sweet. The next year, I reduced the amount of sugar and increased the amount of pine nuts until I was satisfied with the cookies’ taste and texture.

The dough is very sticky. I had a hard time handling it until I began using a scoop to help shape the cookies. With the scoop, you dig up some dough, scrape the scoop flat on the side of the bowl, and release the dough over a shallow bowl of pine nuts. I do this four times, so there are four small wads of dough on the pine nuts (with more than four at a time, the dough pieces roll into each other and stick together). I then roll the dough balls in pine nuts to completely coat them. I prefer wearing disposable food safety gloves for this task because it keeps my hands from getting sticky.

I’ve made my version of Biscotti con Pignoli (Pine Nut Cookies) every Christmas since I worked out the recipe, and they are one of my very favorite cookies. I love their crunchy crust with lightly toasted pine nuts and soft interior rich with the flavor of almonds. I have to give them away quickly so I won't eat too many.

Pine Nut Cookies (Biscotti con Pignoli)
Makes 60 cookies, 2 1/2 inches in diameter
There are four kinds of prepared almond products in Alaska supermarkets: almond paste in cans, almond paste in tubes, marzipan in tubes, and almond filling in cans. I prefer using canned almond paste; almond paste in tubes will work in a pinch, but the cookies aren't as good. Marzipan and canned almond filling will not work for this recipe. If you want to make more than 60 cookies, make the dough in two batches; a double recipe will not fit in an average-sized food processor. I use a 2 tsp. (size 100) scoop to shape the cookies. If you use a 1 Tbsp. scoop (size 60) bake the cookies for 25 – 30 minutes; with the larger scoop, the recipe makes 35 cookies.

1 pound almond paste
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 egg whites
1 1/2 pounds pine nuts (4 3/4 cups)

Preheat the oven to 325°F (300°F in a convection oven).

Put the almond paste and sugar in a food processor and pulse until the almond paste is broken up into small pieces. Add the egg whites and process until the dough is smooth and all the almond paste is fully incorporated. Be sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl from time to time. The dough will be soft and sticky. (You can make the dough ahead and refrigerate it. Remove the dough from the refrigerator 30 minutes before you are ready to shape and bake the cookies.)

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone baking mat.

Put one third of the pine nuts in a shallow bowl. Scoop out the batter (scraping the scoop flat on the side of the bowl) using a 2 tsp. (size 100) scoop. Drop scoopfuls of dough onto the pine nuts, and roll them around until the dough is covered in pine nuts. Add more pine nuts to the bowl, as needed. Place on the lined baking sheet about 2 inches apart.

Bake the cookies until pale brown, but still soft, about 20 – 25 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes on the baking sheet before transferring the cookies to a wire rack to cool completely.

Store in an airtight container. If you need the cookies to last more than a few days, store them in the freezer.

Love, Italian Style (with Recipe for Anchovy-stuffed Peppers Basilicata) (WHB #108)

My Dad has had a long love affair with Italy.

It started with Giovanni, an Italian who lives in the Ligurian town of La Spezia and who worked in the same field as my Dad. When they met, the two hit it off immediately and, eventually, became fast friends. For many years, my Dad and Giovanni have enjoyed a mutual admiration society. Some of my Dad’s best stories are of his travels with Giovanni.

Giovanni has equally great stories about my Dad. Years ago my husband and I went to Italy and visited Giovanni, who gave us an impressive tour of Liguria and Piemonte. Everywhere we went was a place that Giovanni and my Dad had gone together. Every place triggered an entertaining story about my Dad.

We dubbed the trip, Following in the Footsteps of Santo Earlo (my Dad being Earl). If my Dad had gone a place with Giovanni, so did we. And if we thought about deviating from the route previously taken by Santo Earlo, Giovanni convinced us we would live in error if we strayed from the path. We had a great time; Giovanni was the consummate host.

One of Giovanni’s greatest coups was convincing the management of Fontanafredda winery into giving us a tour even though the winery was not open that day. God knows who Giovanni said we were, but we were given the executive tour, and treated to an amazing tasting of Fontanafredda’s excellent Barolos.

Although my Dad’s health no longer allows him to physically travel, he remains in close contact with Giovanni, and spends time in Italy by reading about his favorite country. My Dad sends many of these books to Giovanni. The two enjoy their own private book club by letter and email.

Carlo Levi’s book Christ Stopped at Eboli: The Story of a Year, is one my Dad and Giovanni both loved. In the 1930s, Levi was banished to Southern Italy, and held under house arrest for opposing Mussolini and the Fascists. In Christ Stopped at Eboli, Levi describes the land to which he was banished: its people, its poverty, and the horrible conditions that led many Italians to leave their homeland for life in America. Italians say "Christ stopped at Eboli" meaning that once you travel south of Eboli, the people are uncivilized, forgotten, and deprived.

My Dad is currently reading Seasons in Basilicata: A Year in a Southern Italian Hill Village by David Yeadon. Yeadon describes his life in the village where Levi was held, and his experiences there.

Yesterday my Dad sent me a passage from Seasons in Basilicata in which the author describes a memorable meal: "And so we had a kind of pre-dinner around a large kitchen table in a toasty warm kitchen with a platter of bruschetta spread with tomato sauce (home made of course), fat slices of pecorino (ditto), and beautiful red peppers stuffed with a mixture of minced crumbled bread, anchovies, garlic, cheese, and egg and roasted in the oven with home made olive oil."

My Dad was intrigued by the use of anchovies in the pepper stuffing, and thought the idea would appeal to me. It did. So here, in honor of Carlo Levi, my Dad, and dear Giovanni, is my version of the stuffed peppers described by Yeardon.

Anchovy-stuffed Peppers Basilicata (Peperoni Ripieni Basilicata)
Serves 4 as a main dish or 8 as a side dish
Anchovy-stuffed Peppers Basilicata takes mere minutes to prepare. The anchovies melt into the stuffing as the peppers cook; their flavor doesn't stand out, but enhances the other flavors in the dish. Although this tastes fine made with green peppers, I prefer using red or yellow peppers because they are sweeter and have better flavor. For a more refined version, roast the peppers and remove the charred skin before stuffing them, bake the stuffed peppers at 400°F for 30 – 35 minutes, until the stuffing is golden brown.

4 red or yellow bell peppers
3 cups fresh bread crumbs, preferably from artisan-style bread
12 – 16 anchovy fillets, minced
2 – 3 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup minced parsley
2 eggs
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup olive oil, plus 2 Tbsp. for drizzling

Preheat the oven to 375°F.

Make the bread crumbs in the food processor, and put them in a bowl large enough to hold all the stuffing. Add the anchovies, garlic, Parmesan, parsley, eggs, freshly ground black pepper, and 1/4 cup olive oil, and mix thoroughly, making sure the anchovies are evenly distributed in the stuffing.

Cut the peppers in half and discard the seeds. Oil a baking pan large enough to hold all the peppers. Stuff each pepper half and put it in the oiled pan. Drizzle peppers with the remaining olive oil. Bake for 40 – 50 minutes, until the peppers are soft and the stuffing is golden brown.

Serve with thin slices of pecorino or Parmigiano reggiano cheese, and toasted bread rubbed with garlic and fresh tomato.

This is my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging #108, hosted this week by The Expatriot's Kitchen.

Recipe: Pasta with Sardines and Fennel

After returning from language school in Taormina, Sicily, my sister continued to crave Sicilian food. She discovered a recipe for Sicilian Pasta with Sardines on Epicurious that was so good she ate the leftovers for breakfast and lunch the next day.

Pasta with Sardines is one of Sicily’s classic dishes, and there are countless recipes for it. In The Flavors of Sicily, Anna Tasca Lanza refers to it as “the national dish of Sicily.” Lanza, the owner of Sicily’s Regaleali winery and Sicilian food expert, says Pasta with Sardines and Fennel contains all the classic elements of Sicilian food: “fennel from the earth, fish from the sea, pine nuts from the trees, dried currents from the vine, … and that most Sicilian of ingredients, pasta.”

Some versions of the dish contain saffron, some use tomato sauce, and others augment the sardines with anchovies. The two constants are sardines and fennel.

This is my adaptation of Pasta with Sardines and Fennel, using the Epicurious recipe as a starting point, but modifying it significantly to enhance the primary elements of sardines and fennel. The flavors of the finished dish are so balanced that no single ingredient stands out; had I not made it myself, I wouldn’t have known it contained sardines. It’s a gloriously harmonious creation.

Pasta with Sardines and Fennel is a simple recipe, made primarily with pantry staples. I will happily make it over and over again.

Pasta with Sardines and Fennel
Serves 4

1/2 cups currants
3/4 cup white wine
1/2 cup pine nuts
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/3 cup Panko (dried breadcrumbs)
2 cans sardines in olive oil
2 large or 4 small fennel bulbs (3 1/2 cups diced)
4 cups diced yellow onions, 1/4” dice
1/2 cup olive oil
2 Tbsp. fennel seeds, crushed
1 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 lb. penne, or any other pasta

Mix the currents and wine in a small bowl. Set aside.

Toast the pine nuts in a dry frying pan over medium heat, watching carefully to make sure they don’t burn. Put the pine nuts in a bowl large enough to hold the cooked pasta.

Add 2 Tbsp. olive oil to the frying pan, and brown the Panko in the oil, stirring frequently, until the breadcrumbs are lightly toasted. Set aside.

Open the sardines, drain off the oil, put the sardines in a small bowl, and mash them with a fork. Add half the mashed sardines to the bowl with the toasted pine nuts, and set aside the remaining half of the sardines.

Cut the stalks off the fennel bulb, cut the bulb in half, remove the hard core, and dice the fennel bulb into 1/4” dice. Remove the green fronds from the fennel stalks, chop them, and add to the bowl with the pine nuts. Discard the fennel stalks.

Sauté the onions, fennel bulb, fennel seeds, red pepper flakes, salt, and freshly ground black pepper in 1/4 cup olive oil until the fennel is tender, about 15 minutes. Stir in the wine, currents, reserved mashed sardines, and the remaining 1/4 cup olive oil, and simmer for 1-2 minutes. Taste and add salt and freshly ground black pepper, as needed.

While cooking the onions and fennel, boil the pasta in salted water until it is al dente. Drain the pasta and add it and the hot fennel-onion mixture to the bowl with the pine nuts. Toss well. Add the toasted bread crumbs and toss again. Serve with a crisp green salad and black olives.