This is my start, but maybe this is not what you find in the market. Veal breast has always been around and cheap. Ask the man at the meat window about it. You can tell by the color of this piece that it is not the white veal so many object to, but a normal animal that is being treated decently. It happens that at my supermarket there is a sign saying where it’s reared and where it’s butchered. Both are towns near to me. That’s a particularity though, and it’s not crucial information.
Anyway, so you get veal breast and it has rib bones in it and it is a flat piece with a flap. You can fix that.
No running into the bathroom or the bedroom and pretending it’s all too much. It is not a highly specialized skill! You can do this, armed only with a thin sharp knife and some basic common sense. If you have time to watch American Idol, Deal or No Deal or Isola dei Famosi, you have time to do this and save a bundle.
One way to remove the bones is to work from the underside and slit the thin membrane over each bone, then using your fingers to slip up and around the bone, you can get it free. If it is attached to anything, cut around what it is attached to and remove that, too. Another way is more like filleting fish. You need a boning knife for that. You insert the boning knife on one side of the first bone and run it along. sawing a bit, over all of them until they are free, then go underneath the bones and do the same thing. Those are now spareribs, because they are ribs and they are spare and not required for this dish at all. See how logical cooking is?
Whichever way you have done it, you will then have a flat piece of meat that could have cost you $6 per pound or more if someone at a butcher’s did it for you. Work it out.
Why did you learn this? Because you are the first or second generation not to know how to do this, after centuries in which every ancestor knew how and had to do it unless she had servants. It isn’t like corning your own beef or making marzipan, it’s easy. It’s basic knowledge that helps you to better meat for less money. Rolled veal breast is superb meat. It can be made up to be very fancy or it can be simple. You can remove excess fat if there is any– mine didn’t have any– and you are in control of what you eat.
Get out cotton string that isn’t coated or treated. If you’ve any questions about your current string, ask at the butcher’s counter or buy kitchen string at a supermarket — depending on which country you live in. Get out a pair of shears. Put whatever you want on that flat piece of meat– here you see coarse sea salt, thyme and a branch of rosemary. Another idea is stuffing like you put into a turkey. Still another idea is a meat mixture seasoned like a spicy meatloaf. If you live in Italy, the latest issue of Sale e Pepe has a recipe for a meat stuffing for veal breast.
Then roll the flat thing up, tucking in any raggedy edges, until it is a nice rotund sausage shape and wrap it all around with the string. Tie it here and there, then cut off spare pieces of string and put them over there with the spare ribs.
Heat a heavy pan with a lid to very hot. Add a little oil and then brown this veal roll on all sides until it is really well-colored. Pour in about 1.5 to 2 liters of stock, bring to a simmer and then put the lid on and reduce the heat to the absolute minimum you can attain. Cook it until it is very soft and a cooking fork enters it easily. Take it out and let it sit for a few minutes, or allow it to cool in the stock.
When preparing to serve, you may cook some vegetables in the stock to go with this. You don’t have to.
It cuts best when cool. Remove the string and use a sharp knife to make thin slices. You can then warm them in a bit of the stock. The rest of the stock should be poured into a container for the freezer. It can be used for anything stock is good for, and every time you cook meat in it, it just gets better. If you don’t have freezer space, you can keep stock in the fridge, but you need to reboil it for 5 minutes every 4-5 days. The freezer is much easier.
I chose this post as a response to a challenge by Sognatrice of Bleeding Espresso. It is meant to be the sign of after all, this is Think On It!
April 28th, 2007
No one will be more surprised than I was at how good this pasta turned out to be. I had read a Pugliese recipe for a contorno, or side dish, and 1) I didn’t need a side dish and 2) it had tomato paste in it, which I do not buy. Pugliesi, however, use the cherry tomato much more than I am used to anywhere else and they always keep them on their branches for a while to sweeten and strengthen them. I had a couple of branches I was experimenting with so I figured why not turn the recipe into pasta and why not use the saved-up cherry tomatoes instead of tomato paste?
I was expecting edible. I didn’t bother to write anything down or photograph the dish. I got super! But no recipe nor photo existed until two days ago.
The ingredients include (per person):
3 cloves of garlic, peeled and sliced
1 tablespoon of terrific olive oil from Puglia or the best olive oil you know.
1/2 onion, chopped
a good sized, generous pinch of red pepper flakes or crushed red pepper (peperoncino)
1/4 small head of white (cavolo cappuccio) cabbage, cleaned, cored and sliced into the thinnest slivers you can do with a knife.
5 or 6 cherry tomatoes, halved or quartered
65 to 100 grams dry weight of penne or other hard wheat eggless pasta
salt to taste
more oil for dressing the finished dish
Start water to boil for the pasta. Heat a large frying pan that will hold the pasta as well as the sauce. Put the oil in the pan and the garlic slices, chopped onion and the red pepper flakes then sauté them until the garlic just turns blond. Add the cabbage and stir it in well. Salt all of it to help the sautéing process.
By now the pasta water should be boiling, so throw in some coarse salt and then the pasta. Stir it up once and let it boil to form some foam on top. Using a ladle, add about 1/2 cup of the foamy pasta water to the frying pan. Watch the sauce, it may need even more water later because it does seem to disappear fairly quickly. There should be a bit of juice in the bottom. Add the cherry tomatoes and stir in. They should very quickly combine with the juices and oil, and what is odd is that it seems to thicken a bit. Cook this about 8 minutes, not more. If your pasta has not reached really al dente by that time, turn off the heat, then re-ignite the flame when you add the pasta.
When the pasta is done but quite firm still, drain it and throw it into the frying pan. Cook and stir for a minute or two. Taste it for salt and correct if necessary. There should be a noticeable heat to it, but nothing like sinus-clearing, Thai or Indian heat, just a gentle peppery mouth sensation. Serve the pasta into a flat soup bowl and drizzle fresh, raw oil over it for the last nuttiness that suits so well the cabbage and peppers.
You may have to trust me on this one, because it doesn’t read gourmet, but if you’ve cooked my recipes before, what have you got to lose? Other than faith in me, that is.
So, I am going to submit this to Presto Pasta Nights at this blog. Let’s see how this unusual take on cabbage plays in the bigger world.
April 17th, 2007
When we set off for a few days in Puglia, we talked about ordering half portions and sharing what we ordered, and with that thinking, I gaily surmised that from Thursday night until Sunday night we could taste between 18 and 21 dishes. Maybe even more, because we planned to call a friend in Brindisi and ask him to join us for a meal with the directive, “You have to share.”
The truth was, we couldn’t even come close to that. We couldn’t get hungry enough at the next meal to have a meal. What was good was darned good, and what was really good was fabulous. The result was that we ate most of what we were served and left tables feeling like we’d just finished the annual holiday feast.
It’s possible with a month of travel that one could return and entitle something “Eat Puglia!” Or maybe it would take a year.
Thursday evening, we met with Armando at Ostuni, who had the key to our house. He invited us to Café Cavour, an elegant wine bar, for drinks before dinner, because he had a date with “Irish girls” for dinner. Those Irish girls get around, apparently, because although Armando kept trying to take us out for a meal, he seemed to be regularly tied up with “Irish girls.” At the café we drank wine and they arrayed dish after dish of nibbles that came with the wine. Taralli—a tiny bagel-looking snack that is made in different flavors all over Puglia. It’s cooked like bagels, too, first boiled and then baked to crunchy. There were nuts and tiny Pugliese olives. There were puffy things that tasted a bit like pizza. Not understanding the challenge to come, we ate some of those snacks.
Because these images are mostly menus, I have made them thumbnails, which will pop open if you click on them.
Later, Armando walked us up the street to la Maddonina. At first sight it seemed he’d led us to exactly the kind of place we said we didn’t want. It was tiny and done up cute. The menu was laminated in plastic, and the waiter spoke a little English. We explained to him that we wanted to taste all of Puglia in three days, and he was still standing after the explanation. After surveying the menu, we ordered three things that seemed utterly local, although from the description of Orecchiette la Maddonina I knew to expect something like pasta alla sorrentina, but with orecchiette. The other first course was cavatelli, fagioli e cozze, a combination of short folded pasta, beans and mussels. I had my doubts, but I was there to try. Rigatoni alla salsa di porri was the last choice. I wanted to see how it compared to my various leek pastas.
We had the good sense not to order a second course, having lunched on sandwiches of mozzarella bufala and tomatoes at around one. We ordered half a liter of a house wine, were given a choice and I think we chose the Primitivo.
While waited for our three first courses, the waiter brought us an assortment of antipasto dishes, as if we might fade away without sustenance. If we had known then what we learned Sunday, we might have ordered only the antipasto! Pugliesi have made an art form of the antipasto, and most people who are not male and in their teens can’t go on with a meal following the antipasto of the house.
The dishes arrived. They were all good, although I swear I have no reason to alter my leek pastas. Theirs was good, but I think mine are great. Pat pat. The cavatelli, fagioli e cozze, however, made a dish which should be embroidered onto the Italian flag. It was stupendous. I’ve found a recipe and I will be cooking it until I get it right and then I will tell you how to do it. It’s not only absolutely delicious, but it would be cheap to make in these days of abundant farmed mussels. We wiped that dish clean to the glaze on the china. It’s unfair, really, to the other two dishes, because in other company, you’d love those, too. Unfortunately, the Monica Belucciness of the mussel dish made the others seem a bit Goldie Hawnish.
We ordered coffee, and we were served a homemade amaro, or digestive, and it was also a star. Alison may remember better than I what was supposed to be in it. All in all, la Maddonina was a winning choice, a place I would happily go again at any time. And what did all this splendor and discovery cost? €26.50 for two. I also am showing the menu for Easter dinner, which they gave us.
The next day the rainy weather had turned to pouring and wind. We wandered around Ostuni looking for a warm bar for breakfast, preferably with a fireplace. Miles and miles we trudged, eyes open for smoke exiting a chimney. Ostunesi actually find credible the idea that you don’t need heat there. Wake up, Puglia! It’s cold in winter, even in Puglia. The first person with the vision to open a place with comfortable seating, a fireplace and good morning food will make a bundle. Most of the bars were stand- up in winter. For the average Italian who leaps from his workplace door for a fast tablespoon of coffee, he is adequately served in a bar with no seats and no heat. The old fellow who wants to read his paper and have his elevenses would go along with me and want a place to spend some warm time. We did finally find a bar with no fireplace but with tables, chairs and a big TV showing MTV. Alison took the opportunity to educate me a bit about modern pop music and the somewhat strange people who make it. Best of all, there was a food fellow as well as the bartender, and he made me a sandwich which represents an American idea of breakfast, and for Alison a series of little heated antipasto snacks.
Ostuni is built in spirals climbing to the peak of a hill, the peak being the old city, the rest not being exactly new, either. From the peak you can look out over the flat area to the sea. Like most of Puglia, the flat area is planted to olives for their famous oil. Warmed and fed, we set off to see the ancient part of town. Jonathan, the friend who lent us the house, had said his favorite restaurant was up there. And so, we went our way through the twisting streets to the top and the cathedral piazza. By the time we made it to the piazza, the wind had turned my umbrella into pickup sticks. My souvenir of Ostuni is a €3 umbrella that resembles, slightly, stained glass. I felt lucky to find it, because as we passed through town, just the week leading to the big tourist season kickoff that is Easter, everything was closed. From museums to handbag shops, chiuso. Not a sign as to when they might open, just chiuso. Jonathan’s fave restaurant was even more chiuso, because it is being renovated and is pretty much a shell of whatever it might once have been.
We’d seen signs for a restaurant that was in the guidebooks, though, so we followed them. The name is Osteria del Tempo Perso, or the Inn of the Lost Time. The pathway sketchily traced with its signs should be called the way of the lost tourist. We found it easily another time, but following the signs took us the longest way around that could be devised without actually leaving Ostuni. I tend to favor restaurants with flowers, however, and Temp Perso certainly has them. There were nice smells emitted, too. We returned there when lunchtime rolled around.
Tempo Perso is trying to be a top-flight restaurant, which would justify the prices, I guess. Have a look at the website, where they show a small list of their specialties. The menu is a bit longer than that list. The funny thing is that other than an exceptional amuse bouche, served to us as soon as we’d ordered, I remember almost nothing else but the bread. The little bowl we were served was a puree of dried favas topped with slivers of fried Italian peppers, called frigitelli. It was a mating made in heaven. I wish I’d ordered it from the menu, because everything else we ordered is just a blur—nothing special. Our main course was grilled suckling pig, and the texture struck us both as strange and a bit unpleasant. The extraordinary thing about Tempo Perso is that you have to go outside, down the stairs, a few feet up the sidewalk, up some more stairs and inside again to use the bathroom. It was also warm in the restaurant, and we were grateful for that. Another extraordinary thing is that the main course, which we shared, cost just short of what our entire meal the night before cost. €24 versus €26.50. Horse and asina (donkey girl) figured large on the menu. Our bill for two pastas, water, wine and one shared main course was €64.
I explained I would be writing a review and would like to have a menu, and the waiter handed me a folder. When we reached home I discovered that he’d given me a framable print of the front of the restaurant. No menu. Nothing outstanding. Don’t bother.
Friday night we didn’t eat.
Saturday broke clear and with a bit of sun here and there. The market, which you have already seen, was the morning goal. Then we sped off to Lecce to the south.
I will probably never be able to really explain how Lecce broke over my head. She is beautiful. I could at once picture myself living there and how the living would be. If reality is half what I imagine, it would be splendid. The university quarter is predictably grimy and tattered, like university quarters around the world tend to be, but the rest of the city ranges from Baroque to Edwardian (which in Italy is called Liberty style) and is as lovely as Caserta, but without the garbage. There were all kinds of interesting shops in the historic center, even a bike shop where Alison found the type of tire pump she’d been looking for without luck in her city that is near to Rome. I found an interesting tricycle and an electric bike which charges as you pedal and then helps you out when you flag. Is that nearly perpetual motion?
It started to rain again. BIG fat rain. We were as far as we could be from our entry to the city, searching for a little local place away from the tourist attractions. They were closed. What! Oh, there’s one named Seventh Heaven! (Settimo Cielo.) At that point even a third heaven would do. Again, it seemed like the opposite of what we sought, as it even had pictures on a posted menu, but Spring storms do tend to make one decisive.
The owner was also the waiter. He is Mr. Personality. Some of the words on the menu explained little to someone from Umbria, and I very seriously told him, “Your job is to make sure I order really typical local food without ordering horse or donkey girl.” He accepted the challenge.
The strangest word on the menu was something like “Treggheddie.” Although it is not printed on the menu of the day that he gave me, trust me when I tell you that his explanation was that it is all the various glands and intestines of a lamb, wrapped in the intestines and cooked together. We have something in Umbria that is similar but called Coradella. I skipped it.
Alison ordered from the fish menu of the day, starting with spaghetti allo scarfano and going on to roasted seppia (squid.) I left her to that on her own, since an early experience in Greece has left me incapable of confronting the many forms of octopus in the world. When asked, she said it was very good.
I ate fave e cicoria, a plate I had seen around the towns. One half was puree of favas and the other half was chicory, steamed, then chopped and sautéed with garlic and chilies. It was excellent and Alison thought so, too. I then ate “Involtini Strappalacrime” which means tearjerker rollups. I didn’t cry, but did happily reduce two rollups of a seasoned minced meat mixture within a wrapping of pancetta, baked with oil enhanced with considerable chili pepper. The house wine, of which there were several wasn’t a great Negroamaro, but got better as it went along. We decided this little restaurant was a pretty good find, and then it is always important to know where to go when the weather doesn’t suit and you are cold and wet. Mr. Personality would cheer you right up. The bill, stamped as “Asian Shop Center” for some reason, was €31 for two.
The weather got better and better through the day and we were able to drive around sightseeing through the Itria Valley with its many trulli, to Martina Franca, a lovely hilltown jammed with pretty shops and 60 centesimo internet access. We went to the oil cooperative at Ostuni and bought five-liter tins of DOC/DOP oil from the Brindisi hills. Alison found the last bottle of a riserva wine we’d had at Tempo Perso, lucky lady.
Saturday night we could only manage a little salad of the round cucumbers we’d bought at the market and some cherry tomatoes with great local oil and salt its only condiment. Lovely.
Sunday dawned bright and clear and we had a date for lunch with Jeff. In the morning we went to the ruins of a small Roman seaside city. On the way there we stopped in a little almost-closed-down beachtown with a big bakery and bought taralli. One day I plan to eat them, too. What you might think of it depends on how many ruins you’ve seen and how much you like ruins. Trust me, if that archaeological site were anywhere but Italy, thousands would pour into it daily. The Roman site is called Egnazia and the beachtown is Savellatri. The sad thing is that Italy is so spoiled for ruins and cute beachtowns that these two are just two more. If you are in the neighborhood, drop by and give the lonely museum girl a thrill.
After our nod to culture, we blazed up the road to Carovigno, to seek out the restaurant recommended by the farmer we talked to at the market. “Fantasy,” he’d said, “just like a housewife cooks.” We went all the way up Carovigno’s hill and saw nothing. We asked. The man I asked said, “But who is the owner?” Boh! Finally we were told to go partway down the hill and we’d find it. I phoned Jeff and he saw me where I was turning and promised to follow. It was Alison who found it. “Fantasy da Betteghino” explained why the man wanted to know the name of the owner. I guess if you are local, you know who owns what, and not necessarily what he calls it. Finally together, we were given the only available table. The entire restaurant was booked for after church Sunday dinner.
Fantasy is not a looker. It’s nothing special inside, either. But what food. The instant we saw that the insiders were all ordering the antipasto, we ordered it too. I couldn’t make an accurate count, but it was about 20 separate plates. We turned down the tripe and we didn’t eat the surimi. The rest was wonderful. It was so cheap that I felt guilty not ordering anything else, so I ordered grilled shrimp, Alison ordered orecchiette con rape (little ears with cooked turnip greens) and Jeff ate some pasta with a red sauce. Forgive me, it was just too much variety and too many ideas and too many flavors. We loved it. I would not only go there again, I’d walk there. From here. For all of this, wine and water, too, we paid €45 for three. We crawled away and there were people waiting for our table and we left all those Italians who ate that antipasto still eating even on to dessert. How? I have not a clue.
These photos show some of what we were given. I will try to name what I can, but it’s really hard. For me the most memorable thing was the burrata—the Puglian way with mozzarella stuffed with butter and cream. Is it worth the chance of a heart attack later? You bet.
Jeff drove us to the port area of Brindisi, where he lives and fed us ice cream and that was darned good, too. Alison did trill the praises of the cannolo flavor, rich with ricotta, and she doesn’t often get heated up over food.
Sunday night Armando was finally free of all competing women and took us for pizza in a cavern. It was good, the wine was nice, the little meatballs beforehand kept us from gnawing on our knuckles—that is meant to be irony, because at that point of the weekend we had started to think of meals as punishment rather than pleasure. The trunk of the car was stuffed with take home specialties of the area. We had an idea to stop for lunch in Abruzzo the next day. A girl needs a plan, you know.
Osteria la Maddonina di Nicoletti
Vico A. Fratti, 8
72017 Ostuni (BR)
(340)787-9707
no closure information, open lunch and dinner
Osteria del Tempo Perso
Via G. Tanzarella Vitale, 47
Ostuni
(0831)303320
www.osteriadeltempoperso.com
no closure information
Settimo Cielo
Via Principe di Savoia, 35
Lecce
(0832)308220
closed Sunday and Monday evenings
Fantasy da Antonella (the sign says differently)
Via Giosuè, 25
Carovigno (BR)
(0831)991017
closed Monday
By the end of the trip I felt like this.
April 10th, 2007
