Archive for December, 2006
This is not my recipe, but one I garnered from the website for Saco food products. They make dried buttermilk, which you can use, in this benighted buttermilk free country. Unfortunately, they don’t sell it in this country, so you know the drill. Who is coming next? And will they have the patience to seek it out for you in the supermarkets before they come? It isn’t easy. I looked several times at really good supermarkets and didn’t find it. EG may come along and tell us where she finally tracked it down.
I promised Gia Gina some time back to get her a recipe for Ranch Dressing or any other white dressing. Here is a darned good substitute for Ranch.
Ranch Dressing appeared on the US scene a couple of decades ago and it has been hugely successful ever since. Even with full fat mayonnaise, it has many less calories than oil and vinegar dressings, which are normally from ¾ to 2/3 oil. Add to that the bit of calcium and that buttermilk is useful in helping to control cholesterol and this is a good alteration to the US diet. Mind you, this buttermilk does not have live culture bacteria in it, so expats can forget that bit.
Buttermilk Dressing
1/2 cup (reduced calorie/low-cholesterol is OK, if you can find or stand it) mayonnaise
2/3 cup water
3 Tbsp. SACO Buttermilk Blend
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 Tbsp. fresh parsley, chopped
1 Tbsp. fresh chives, chopped
In a small jar combine all of the dressing ingredients, shake until well-mixed. Refrigerate until ready to use, shake again before pouring. Can be made a day in advance, if necessary.
Makes 1 1/4 cups.
I didn’t make it in a jar. I should have. I thought I could combine chopping the herbs with mixing by using my stick blender. You can, but only if you have a very, very deep and narrow container, because I will be finding and washing up dressing for months.
It tastes good, but isn’t thick because it has neither thick, cultured buttermilk nor guar gums and other thickeners found in commercial dressings. I’ll just live with that.
What does happen to all the buttermilk in Italy? There’s lots of butter, just no buttermilk left from making it. And before you ask, yogurt doesn’t make an adequate flavor substitute. It makes good dressings, but not this one.
December 29th, 2006
Just for you…
December 28th, 2006
This is my pal Mike’s account of his Christmas Day. See more of Mike at his webpage: http://www.fellwalk.co.uk/
By the way, for those who might not know, Gordon Ramsay is a famous UK chef who uses the F word continuously. Therefore, insert that wherever Mike uses his name.
Twas Christmas day in the season of good cheer.
We arrived at mother in laws and got the three bird roast on in the
oven and thought “time for one,” got the gin out of the fridge and
thought “why is this gin like a cup of tea?” “I hear you all say “why
*is* this gin like a cup of tea?” “I’ll tell you, shall I?”
Because the fridge readout is saying +30C.
“Mother in law, why is the fridge saying +30C?”
“Its been like that for two days, I’ve taken a note of the
temperatures, I’ve got it written down here, this morning it was +18,
last night it was…….”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH”
“Is something wrong?”
“WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US, WHY DIDNT YOU DO SOMETHING”
“Didnt want to bother you with all the christmas stuff to get ready”
“BUT ALL THE GORDONRAMSAYING FOODS RUINED”
“Oh is it, I’ve noted all the temperature down here and I’ve got the
instruction book for you to look at”
>half a bottle of gin later>
“AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH”
sits back and calmly considers situation….”AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH”
empties freezer into back garden, puts least risky food and drink in freezer.
Well, we thought, sod it, and cooked most of the stuff, binned the
melton mowbray, contreau cream, bacon and the black truffle
sausages. Still alive.
Didn’t know a fridge could actually get hot, but it can. How does that work?
Got to dessert, remembered wine in freezer, all the corks have come
out of the frozen bottles, £30 half bottle of barsac lolly. Chablis
lolly, you get the idea. Thank god for champagne bottles.
Now completely pissed, gave 12 year old godson vodka and russian, so what?
I was definitely GordonRamsaying towards the end.
Fell out of bed, woke the whole house up, oh well.
Friends brought thier bloody ratdog, it escaped twice, good riddance I
thought. They wanted to call the gordonramsaying police, had to raid
all the neighbours, very nice bloke, got all the kids out to search
back gardens, found the bloody thing.
Why has the PC turned into a Brian Rix farce? The CD drawers keep
opening and closing for no reason ever since I installed iTunes, is
that Steve Jobs trying to sabotage PC land? Carol left the bloody
minute iPod at MILs. At least the ratdog didn’t swallow it.
December 26th, 2006
When I talked to my daughter the day before Christmas, she said, “I am having second thoughts about what I bought for you. You said you wanted it, but just because you say you want it, it doesn’t mean I should get it for you. I think I may have made a mistake.”
So yesterday I opened the gifts and although I could barely remember having said I wanted it, I did want it. I couldn’t figure out why she thought it could be a mistake. I was excited about it.
It is a Nintendo ds, which is the version that can be used anywhere in the world, and “Brain Age” which is based on research by a Japanese scientist and consists of exercises that help reduce the age of your brain. If I had asked for a breast lift and left the rest of me alone, then I think that would be silly and she could have her doubts about the gift and about me. But who doesn’t want a lively brain that can get to all the things stored away, and not forget what that is called in English?
It has to be that her misgivings are about giving me something that says maybe I am getting old. I am getting old. It’s pretty much age or die, isn’t it? I have innumerable friends who have had plastic surgery to varying degrees of success, but they are still getting old.
I don’t feel like I am getting fuddy duddy kind of old, although my aversion to the over-liberal use of the F word gets my leg pulled now and again. Search for a video called “Pulp Fiction the F***ing Short Version” (do not open this at work unless you have headphones!) and it illustrates my point. I wish someone would hire me to edit these scripts and insert really dangerous language in the place of 95% of the F words. Imagine Clark Gable leaving Vivian Leigh at the door of Tara and saying, “Frankly, my dear. I don’t give a f***.”
I will admit to having some well-honed attitudes about politeness – importance thereof, judgment, kindness, honesty and art. Would you expect me to reach sixty without having a single clue? Would you expect if you met me to find Paris Hilton?
Ok, so now my friends will come out and say that I am not really old, that it is a state of mind, that I am remarkably modern still. Huh? Come on, folks. I live in this world. I am a modern woman. Lots of women my age or older are doing breakthrough scientific research, writing important novels (Annie Proulx: The Shipping News), serving in Parliaments and Senates around the world. As far as I know there has never been a thirty-year-old President or Prime Minister of any country. Correct me if I am wrong—I haven’t actually researched that. I consider women serving in the arts, science and government to be THE modern woman. Why would I settle for being less in my small way?
So, what’s wrong with getting old? The only thing I see wrong with it is the tendency for society not to respect age. I turned on the radio the other day and all the female singers sounded like children. Why? If someone grownup writes a grownup love song, they don’t sound believable singing it. The result is a bunch of immature songs about boringly puerile sex. It appears that all the big movie stars are not only young, but also skinny to the point of seeming undeveloped. So who will play important female parts, like Queen Elizabeth I or Catherine the Great or Marie Curie? The answer is, of course, we don’t get many movies like that anymore.
Christmas Eve I watched “Love, Actually” mostly to get scenes from “24” out of my head so I could sleep in peace. Who do I remember from that movie? Emma Thompson. When she is on scene, no one else exists. She is not young. If you watch “Sense and Sensibility” which Thompson also wrote, you will remember the scene in which she finds out her lover loves her and not the other girl everyone said he would marry. I really don’t see Keira Knightley convincingly carrying off the near disintegration into snuffly, ugly tears as she struggles to mend the hole in her heart. Knightley had her chance in “Pride and Prejudice” and came off smug instead.
When I hear people asking what kinds of aids they need and plans they should make in order to travel to Italy with their sixty-year-old parents, I just want to smack them. Old isn’t crippled. Crippled is crippled. If their parents are handicapped, then arrange for a trip for handicapped people. I will do anything to help them figure that out because I want everybody to enjoy Italy. For crying out loud, get out of your self-imposed ignorant mindset that people of sixty or seventy are frail. The weakness that I see here is in the mind that thinks that.
Another peeve for me is the allowance that there are some handsome old people, like Sofia Loren. Which of you looks like Sofia Loren at any of her ages? And isn’t it time she stopped insisting she has never had plastic surgery? Or else the referral to some few exercised to a standard reached by Olympians. If an aging person feels strongly about staying super-fit and toned, great. But please let’s don’t set that bar so high for the rest of us! Would you rather have had Albert Einstein buff or brilliant? Would Pavarotti still have his old voice if he had liposuction? Do you want to spend six hours a day in the gym when you are 60?
I like some old people and I don’t like others. I like some young people and I don’t like others. At least I make it my business to know both. Old people shouldn’t try to stay young, in my opinion, any more than young people should try to be old. Old people should strive, I think, to stay relevant. Maybe “Brain Age” will help.
December 26th, 2006
Last Saturday I went to collect the quarter of pork I bought from Alberta and Carlo. Take it from me, this pork doesn’t taste like supermarket pork. It tastes like real meat! Here are some images from the day.
This is Carlo’s mother stirring the melting lard, or strutto. If it is allowed to stick it can be ruined.
These are called fegatelli; chunks of liver wrapped in net fat with bay leaves.
Here is the net fat on its own. Alberta said it is the peritoneum, but I’m not sure of that.
Here they are slowly sautéing in the pan… slowly, you hear?
Here are the fegatelli cooked. The fat disappears. Sam and I loved it!
Some of the many, many sausages as I was packaging them for the freezer.
The sausages are delicious. I’ve been doing various things with them. Here’s something to make when you are too distracted or busy to really cook.
Beans with Sausages
Three fresh sausages, opened and crumbled (if yours are fatty, drain off most of the fat after they are sautéed)
1/2 onion, chopped
about 7 ounces of canned tomatoes, or 1/2 of the usual 14 ounce tin
1/2 teaspoon of ground cumin
(optionally, a similar amount of bell pepper, chopped)
1 ordinary 14 ounce can of white beans or of chick peas, ceci, garbanzos, depending on where you buy them.
Heat a small frying pan and put in a small amount of olive oil, then the chopped onion and the bell pepper if you are using it. Add the sausages crumbles. Sauté until the sausage and onion are cooked, but don’t brown them. Sprinkle the cumin over all, add the tomatoes and cook until the tomatoes are hot. Add the drained beans or chick peas and heat through.
That’s it. Yummy and simple, plus it has 3 of your 5 vegetable servings in it, even if you don’t count the beans.
December 24th, 2006
I guess my house is home. But I am missing all my beloved crew. So I cooked.
That is what my Sugarplum Loaves looked like before they were baked.
Now, tell me why my innocent cooking spree produced such a strangely anthropomorphic image? Would you invite this home? Me either! Its appearance is due to my covering the loaves with a damp cloth as instructed. Last time I used baking paper and didn’t get this effect. Next time I will, too. When baked the effect disappeared.
December 24th, 2006
http://expatsinitaly.com/judith/?p=36 is a post in which was introduced a pasta recipe using leeks and pecorino cheese. Wednesday night I needed to make a substantial antipasto that could be served in the living room while I readied dinner. I called up Barb and mentioned two ideas and she voted for trying what follows. Why is there no picture? Because they were eaten up so fast I didn’t have time to shoot photos! I didn’t even get to taste them.
They were so popular that we had a discussion about what they should be called. Patrizia came up with Barzottini, because I live in a tiny hamlet informally called Barzotti.
Here is what you need to make them:
1 package of frozen puff pastry, which is pasta sfoglia in Italy. The package consists of two 30 cm square pieces here, which in total is about 2 square feet.
Leeks, which when cleaned and sliced about 1/8 inch thick will give you about 3 cups of slices.
Pecorino semi stagionato, which is not fresh but not long seasoned and become hard. It’s medium. You will grate it with a hand grater on the larger holes.
A little hot paprika or paprika forte.
Follow the package directions for thawing the pastry. I have learned not to walk away and forget it, because it becomes impossible to unroll if it gets warm. It also cracks all over if you try to unroll it too quickly. Don’t worry, this is the hardest part of the whole job, but you can do it ahead of time if your fridge is big enough to hold a cookie sheet.
Meantime, using a very big frying pan (mine is 45 cm or almost 18″ wide) heat some good olive oil and toss in the leeks slices. Sprinkle them with about 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Cook slowly, slowly over a reduced flame until they are well-browned and caramelized. N.B. caramelized means very nicely browned. If you have not yet developed enough patience to do this, then microwave the leeks for a while until they are soft and then fry them, including the juices until they are quite browned. Just cooked through will not do! Taste and adjust salt so they taste deliciously leeky without being salty. You can do this ahead and put them into a plastic bag and store in the fridge.
Unroll the thawed pastry onto baking paper or parchment.
Using your hands, spread the cooked leeks over the pastry right up to the edges. I used my fingers like spatulas to spread them around. Sprinkle them sparingly with hot paprika– this is not meant to be spicy hot, it is meant to give them a deeper and more pronounced flavor.
Holding the grater over the pastry, grate the pecorino over the entire thing, covering it but not piling it up. Just a nice single layer is what you want.
Roll this up tightly. Using your sharpest knife, cut slices of about 1/2″ or 1.5 cm. Lay them near each other across the baking paper on a cookie sheet or placca. Stick this into the fridge until you are ready to cook them.
Preheat the oven to 200° C or 400° F. Slide the Barzottini into the hot oven and cook them about 10-12 minutes. I did it by sight. They don’t really brown much, but they puff and dry and they smell terrific.
Use a spatula to remove them to a napkin on a serving plate and serve hot. Stand back. I still don’t know what they taste like. I think they must be good.
December 22nd, 2006
I can’t think why seasonal comes to mind with this pizza, because a pizza margarita is more the right colors of red and green. I just thought you’d like a snack while doing the holiday things you must do.
It is toffee cookie below with melted dark chocolate on top. Mangia! Mangia!
December 19th, 2006
I am trying to streamline the page look, just click on a photo to see it full-sized.
I told you I went to a frantoio with my friends at Massa Martana in southern Umbria Thanksgiving Day, right? Well, here are some photos of that day and evening. The mill pictures were all taken in deadly fluorescent light, but that’s what there is.
Larry and Shelly, whose olives they are.
These olives are waiting to be transported to sorting and washing.
This part shakes them to remove leaves, stems or other possible contaminants.
What I hadn’t remembered was how much water is involved – water that is removed at the very last step, leaving that golden ribbon to flow cleanly into the stainless steel containers.
The truth is that when I took that backlit shot of the oil I saw red glowing through, but nothing I could do in my photo program could get it back.
Oil never tastes again exactly like it tastes as it flows from the mill. Whether you hold bread under the stream or just a finger, it’s a flavor you can never forget. There may not be a finer food in the world than real, cold-pressed olive oil.
December 15th, 2006
I was walking through my kitchen one afternoon last week, and through the window I saw what you see above. It looked like the mountain was on fire. I grabbed the camera and went to the bathroom window to shoot. I couldn’t get the fire effect I saw, but it’s pretty dramatic, isn’t it? I need to look around more.
December 12th, 2006
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