Patrizia is the best cook I currently know. Some weeks back I gave her some of the fig/lemon conserve I made to serve with cheese. I used to ask when I saw her, but they hadn’t tried it.
Today I saw her and she and Angelo both said, “E’ spaventoso!” That means they liked it a lot.
Halved figs, thinly sliced lemon, a bit,but not too much, of sugar. Cooked a long time to caramelize.
Add comment December 12th, 2006
Last week in my supermarket I found this.
It is candied fruit like I’ve never seen before. There is no peel for a start. It consists of strips of larger fruit and whole small fruits, soft and tasting of themselves. There are kiwi, strawberries, cherries, apple, mango, pear. The dark slice at the upper left is blood orange, which I candied myself 3 years ago and then didn’t know what to do with. These are the true sugarplums. Faced with such a delight, something must be done. So I made Sugarplum bread.
I found the recipe in Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook of the 1960s. I’ve never been happy with sweet bread and roll recipes I’ve made before. I even called my friend Barb and asked if she had a recipe she was happy with. Alas, she doesn’t make sweet rolls. I’m on my own.
I believe this is the first really successful sweet bread I’ve made. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong before, but my earlier efforts have been too chewy and flat. This one was neither.
Here’s the recipe, and if you have a day at home, it would make a great gift, especially if you already know where to buy great candid fruit that isn’t just a lot of chewy citrus peel – although I will admit I’ve never minded that in Hot Crossed Buns.
Sugarplum Loaves
2 packages of active dry yeast
½ cup water warm from the faucet
¾ cup milk, scalded
½ cup sugar
¼ cup butter
1 ½ teaspoons salt
4 ¾ to 5 ¼ cups sifted all-purpose flour – 00 flour here
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel
2 beaten eggs
1 ½ cups mixed candid fruits, diced
Confectioners’ glaze
Soften the yeast in the warm water – about 110° F or 40° C.
Scald the milk and then add the sugar, salt and butter and allow to cool to tepid. In a large bowl, put the milk and add 2 cups of the flour and the lemon peel, beating it in. I used my strong hand mixer with dough hooks. Add the eggs and beat them in. Stir in the softened yeast. At this point, the recipe says to stir in the fruits, but because I wanted to use the beater, I did not. I, instead, gradually added the rest of the flour, beating it and watching for it to form a soft dough. At that point, I floured the counter and scraped the dough onto it for kneading. I added the fruit pieces in the kneading process, which is some work, but not as difficult as stirring that heavy mass with a wooden spoon. I am slightly handicapped, which is why I use the dough hooks, which didn’t exist in 1960, but you can decide how you want to do it. If you do it like me, knead for about 8 minutes, adding 1/3 of the fruit at a time in the first few minutes. You should end up with a relatively soft dough that springs back when you poke a fingerprint into it.
Butter the inside of another really big bowl, put the ball of dough in it and turn it around so that the surface is lightly buttered all over. Cover it. I used my second largest stainless steel bowl and upended the next size down over the dough. I had preheated the oven to 125° F or 50° C, and I popped the covered dough into it, turned off the heat and shut the door. Over the next hour and a half the perfume of yeast started to fill the house. I checked at 1 ½ hours, looking for doubling, decided patience might pay off, and left it for the whole 2 hours suggested. It had bloomed into a fluffy mound that filled the huge bowl entirely! The bowl is unmarked, but I think it is at least 8 quarts or liters.
I floured my hand and punched it down. This is always a sad moment for me, because I am never sure it will rise again to amaze me once more with the small miracle the yeast plant makes for us. I used my dough scraper to cut it into 2 equal halves, then formed each part into an oval loaf, because my oven is too small to hold two round ones. I lined a flat baking sheet with baking paper, laid the loaves onto it and covered them with another sheet of baking paper. This was put back into the cool oven and left for another 1 ½ hours until doubled again.
Remove the now-glorious breads to the counter and heat the oven to 175° C or 350° F. You may have to take one rack out to make space for it. Slide the loaves in and cook for about 30 minutes. The smells may drive you wild. I had to take the dog for a walk!
When they are done, remove them to cooling racks. At this point, the book says to allow them to cool to slightly warm. Right. Mine made it to touchable.
Mix confectioners’ sugar or icing sugar with enough milk to make a glaze about the consistency of heavy cream. Using a soupspoon, drizzle the glaze over the warm loaves. It’s suggested that you decorate the breads with diced fruit pieces and walnuts. I used the fruits, but they don’t stick very well and I wouldn’t bother another time.
I immediately cut some thick slices and delivered them to Olga’s house. Then I came home and ate three myself. This last is not highly recommended. It isn’t yet Christmas!
The second loaf was put into a giant Ziplock bag when it was thoroughly cooled and carefully placed into the freezer for someone on my goodies list. Who shall it be? When will I return to the store and buy more of this lovely fruit? Because I will. One package will make 2 of these recipes, or 4 loaves. My house should smell this good all winter.
7 comments December 12th, 2006
Remember last spring, when I posted photos of spring cleaning? Here’s the autumnal view of the very same street.
Add comment December 9th, 2006
So there was this pigeon. Olga handed it to me on a plate and it was naked, raw, challenging. I couldn’t really remember what pigeon tasted like, so I wanted to cook it simply, so as to learn that. What to do?
I never met poultry that wasn’t improved by brining, so I put some water into a plastic sack, then a handful of sugar and a similar amount of salt. I tossed in a branch of rosemary, thyme branches and some bay leaves. In went the bird, the air was pressed out and the bag sealed. It all went into the fridge for 24 hours. Had I been using a marinade with strong flavors, I would never leave it for so long, but this was a pretty mild concoction.
I looked up some recipes and they ranged from the “Shove it into the oven for an hour” to “add these 14 ingredients and then cook them together for a day.” This pigeon was homegrown, healthy and the likes of it would not come my way often, if ever again. I noticed that 200° C seemed to be a common denominator, so I set the oven for that temperature and set it for convection, to make the most of the skin.
I took out a le Creuset gratin dish, which is cast iron coated with thick enamel. I drizzled some new oil into it and tipped the dish to spread it around. The pigeon came out of the refrigerator and got dried off with paper towels, then the I removed the herbs and stuffed them into the cavity. Plop onto the cooking dish.
Carrots and onions and potatoes were peeled and oiled. Plop those too, around the bird. A sprinkling of sel gris from Brittany on the vegetables, and then into the hot oven.
It didn’t take long for nice smells to start. I checked on it a few times and towards an hour stuck my instant thermometer into the inner thigh — I don’t know why many of these descriptions are creating personal and not very nice images in my mind, but there must be something about fowl that remind me of myself? Anyway, it read 175° F, and I took it out.
Everything was just as you see it. All the meat is dark, and I hadn’t remembered that. I deglazed the baking dish, but didn’t need the juices since the pigeon was lovely just as it came from the oven. What you see would feed two, with maybe more carrots for normal people who do not eat them only for the vitamins.
I can’t think of anything simpler to make. The hard part might be finding a pigeon if you don’t live in Europe. Not that there aren’t pigeons in the USA, but they are not dead, gutted and plucked in Central Park
6 comments December 8th, 2006
The following is an open letter to the above Italian television show, which has other names in the US and England. Why am I so pissed off? Because Raiuno is the first among the public broadcasting channels in Italy. We pay for it, like it or not, every year. So I pay over $100 for this channel and then I hear lies, exotic stretchings of the truth and more lies about my home country. And so do the Italians. When I arrived there were people who were afraid to eat at my house, because Italian GOVERNMENT TV had convinced them American food was deadly, even poisonous. I have been here six years. There has been absolutely no effort to correct this horrible and incorrect image and never so much as an apology for even one of the whoppers told. I therefore conclude that it is an institutional disinformation effort.
Gli americani sono diventati gli nuovi paria su
Raiuno. Almeno tra la condutrice di “Occhio alla Spesa” e Beppe Bigazzi di “La Prova del Cuoco”
che insieme criticano in un maniere sbagliata gli ingredienti e la cucina
americana dimostrandosi estremamente disinformato. Se attaccassero un altro popolo,
si griderebbe al pregiudizio.
C’é abbastanza da criticare sulla dieta americana. Si può puntare il dito contro
abitudini nuove e l’uso di troppo chimici e ormoni. (Questo forse è giusto
per i cibi commerciali, ma i miei vicini qui in Umbria usano più prodotti chimici di
quanto abbia mai visto negli orti americani.) Si può puntare il dito contro un trattamento
delle rischi di malattia che consiste in bolletini diretti al pubblico che dicono
“Cucina di più questo cibo, perché non è sicuro,” invece di distruggere i cibi insicuri e
mettere fuori legge i trattamenti che rendono i cibi pericolosi. C’è di che criticare.
Non è la prima volta che faccio attenzione a questo
problema. Qualche mesi fa ho scritto una email al signorAlessandro di Pietro della “Spesa”
perché quando ha girato una puntata sugli hamburger ha esagerato nel parlare della scarsa
qualità della carne americana. Mi sembrava quasi impossibile, ma l’ha fatto. Raccontava che
non c’è scelta negli Stati Uniti, ma solo carne piena di grassi aggiunti. Il colmo degli insulti è
venuta quando ha mostrato “l’hamberger tipico americana” come un panino dal diametro di
30 centimetri! Ad ogni occasione lui spara contro tutto quanto sia americano. Fa schifo!
Beppe Bigazzi della “Prova” è l’esempio di uno che cerca ciò Che vuole trovare. È andato in America
ed è tornato convinto che non c’è nulla di buono. Secondo me, ha chiesto di essere inviato a visitare
il peggio che c’è. Non conosco nessuno che non abbia trovato neanche una cosa buona da mangiare
negli USA. Se si va solo al fastfood o ai punti di vendita “degli eccessi”, e ci sono, naturalmente,
si possono trovare inifiniti esempi di cibi senza gusto e per cui la quantità sostituisce la qualità.
Povero lui! In un paese che include New Orleans e le baracche lungo mare che vendono aragosta fresca,
vongole al vapore o fritte e granchi stupendi, dove c’è il mare della Costa Ovest con il salmone, forse il migliore
del mondo, dove in Texas crescono adesso bovini di razza Wagyu di alta qualità, altissima qualità, secondo
gli stessi giapponesi, non ha trovato niente di buono.
E’ tornato con una missione: distruggere ogni idea esistente in Italia che c’è qualcosa di valore in America.
Quando Anna Moroni ha cucinato i muffin, praticamente lui ha perso la testa. Che cosa c’è di male in un
muffin? Meglio un muffin fatto in casa che i cereali cioccolatati. Meglio un muffin di mais che un pezzo di roba
zuccherata, coperto di cioccolato e ripieno di una crema che è dichiarata sana perché contiene latte!
Beppe! Mangia alle case delle mie amiche americane, che fanno una cucina fresca, buona, sana,
anche se gli ingredienti americani sono pocho disponibili in Italia. Fa attenzione alla roba che
i bambini italiani mangiano veramente a colazione. Secondo me, è vergognoso. Smette di dire bugie sull’America.
Si, c’è il peggio, ma poiché è un paese di estremi c’è anche il meglio. Soprattutto, per noi americani
che abitiamo in Italia,ricordiamo che c’èrano più scelte. C’è la scelta di qualità, la scelta delle cucine
del mondo, gli ingredienti dal mondo intero e le tradizioni, le radici culturali, nostre o degli altri.
Nonostante la bella cucina italiana, in Italia ci mancano quelle scelte se non abitiamo in una città grande.
The Americans have become the new pariah on Raiuno, at least with the presenter on “Eye on Shopping” and Beppe Bigazzi of “La Prova del Cuoco, who both criticize wrongly the ingredients and the cuisine of America, showing themselves to be very badly informed. If they were attacking another people, there would be cries of prejudice.
There is enough to criticize of the American diet. One could point a finger at new habits and at the use of too many chemicals and hormones. (This is perhaps true of commercial agriculture, but my Umbrian neighbors use more chemicals than I ever saw used in American kitchen gardens.) One could point a finger at the government treating food borne diseases with bulletins that tell the people “Cook this longer, because it isn’t safe,” instead of destroying infected foods and making illegal the cultures that make the food dangerous. There’s something to criticize.
It isn’t the first time I’ve paid attention to this problem. Some months ago I sent a protesting email to Alessandro di Pietro, the host of “Spesa” because when he made a show on hamburgers he exaggerated the poor quality of American meat. He said there is no choice in the US except ground meat with loads of added fats. The height of the insults came when he showed the audience what he said was a “typical American hamburger”, which was a foot in diameter! He never loses a chance to shoot at anything American. It’s disgusting. (He is also wont to complain that the food from every other country outside Italy is suspect.)
Beppe Bigazzi, of “Prova”, is an example of one who sought what he wanted to find. He went to America and returned convinced that there was nothing good. I think he asked to be sent to see the worst there is. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t found at least one good thing to eat in the US. If one goes only for fast food or “all you can eat” places, and they are there, naturally one will find tasteless food and meals where quantity substitutes for quality. Poor him! In a country that includes New Orleans and the seaside shacks that sell fresh lobsters, fried and steamed clams, fabulous crabs, where on the West Coast live possibly the best salmon in the world, where in Texas grow Wagyu cattle of very high quality, the highest quality, according to the Japanese, he couldn’t find anything good to eat.
He returned with a mission: destroy any thought in Italy that there is anything of value in America. When Anna Moroni made muffins, he almost went nuts. What’s bad about a muffin? Better a homemade muffin than chocolate cereal. Better a muffin than sugared junk covered in chocolate and filled with a creme declared healthy because it contains some milk!
Beppe! Eat in the kitchens of my American friends who make fresh, good and healthy meals despite the lack of American ingredients in our stores. Pay attention to the junk that Italian children really eat for breakfast. I think it is disgraceful. Quit telling lies about America.
Yes, there is the worst, but as a country of extremes there is also the wonderful. Overall, we Americans who live in Italy remember that there were more choices. There was choice in quality, the cuisines of the world, the ingredients of the entire world and the traditions, the cultural roots, ours and others’. Notwithstanding the beautiful cuisine of Italy, here we lack many of those choices unless we live in a great city.
8 comments December 6th, 2006
Night comes early, we snuggle into the chair together, we watch TV and one of us reads through the shows. The frost on the ground is undeniable, the morning fogs are almost everyday. It’s hard to make yourself go out in the evening when it is dark at 5:30.
Sam is a TV critic. Some shows he just naps on my lap and all is fine. “Ballando con le Stelle” he will not tolerate. He at best goes over to sleep on a folded Polar fleece shawl I made up for him, placed so that he cannot see the TV. At worst he tucks his tail down and walks into the salotto and naps in his crate. He perks up and actually watches with great attention “Passaggio Nordovest” which is largely about history, archeology, nature and sociology.
He likes dinner parties, so we had a small one Friday night. He begged. BAD! After the meal he was given a tiny bite of Scottish smoked salmon on thin bread slices. He has an amazing talent for removing all of what he likes from what he doesn’t like, but apparently the salmon had flavored the bread enough so that on contemplation he decided to eat it, too.
The main dish was something old and American I used to make decades ago. I will post a recipe and photos when my connection comes back to normal. I remembered it fondly and decided to give it a go when I was given some white cheddar and found shrimps on sale. The old recipe started with a tin of frozen potato soup, but that was easy to do without. As I was finishing it up, I thought, “Maybe it really isn’t all that good. Maybe it was just good compared to the run of the mill things we ate back in the 60s.” But it really was good!
It is a dish I used to make when we went climbing and hiking, eg on one parental back or the other. One big Thermos full of the stew, another wide-mouthed Thermos held rice, I carted plastic bowls and spoons and we used to settle down to hot and delicious food at a picnic table after cold afternoons using wild grape vines to haul ourselves up the steep Virginia banks of the Potomac at Turkey Run, almost next door to the CIA.
Much as the perfume of melted cheddar invited Sam, I did not give him any, because I have no way of checking or controlling his cholesterol levels. I would not eat this often these days, because I am no longer in my twenties and no longer swinging like Tarzan up and down cliffs. It has been at least 30 years since I last ate it, so I trust I haven’t signed my own life away with this latest delicious venture.
I made apple crumble for dessert because I once again failed to make a list and failed to remember oats for apple crisp. I told Olga it was health food because it was full of apples.
Olga almost always likes what I make for them. Olga cooks well, but she cooks what she has always known and isn’t adventurous in the kitchen. Friday night was the first time she has ever asked me how to make what she has eaten! I feel flattered, inordinately flattered. The problem, of course, is that you can’t buy cheddar here. There are cheddar sightings here and there throughout Italy, but Olga is not going to entrain for Milan or even Perugia to buy cheese! I might have to see if it is possible to get an acceptable dish using some particular pecorino.
Yesterday Olga brought me a freshly-killed pigeon. I am a pigeon tyro. I have it in the fridge brining and my next step is to Google on “recipe pigeon” and “ricetta piccione.” The problem is that through the warm months I often am charmed by one of her lovely birds flying into my garden and cooing at me from a tree. I am trying to shake the image that this is that bird. Oh well, too late now.
4 comments December 3rd, 2006
