Today on the UK Telegraph website, there’s a short photo article of summer classics, slightly tweaked. Go look. Anyone could wear these clothes and never be wrong, but even more, they would be so right. These might be worth dieting for.
6 comments June 28th, 2007
It begins here with a butterflied chicken rubbed with salt, mixed herbs and then hot paprika, all massaged in with your hands. This bird is then roasted at a high temperature– about 425° F (215° C) for 30-40 minutes until an instant thermometer inserted into the thigh joint reads near 180° F.
You can serve the legs and thighs hot or cool the whole chicken. Save the breasts with any juices there are in a tightly closed foil package in the fridge.
And here it becomes a salad. The ingredients here are per person:
one of the chicken breasts
salad leaves, washed and dried and torn into pieces
a handful of pitted cherries (or kiwi pieces or strawberries or whatever fresh fruit sounds appealing to you)
a small spring onion cut into small pieces (you can use a scallion if you don’t find spring onions)
the juice of half a lemon
salt
olive oil to four times the amount of lemon juice
about 1 teaspoon of honey
freshly ground black pepper
Take the chicken breast out of the fridge and carefully remove the bones and cartilege, then thinly slice it including the spicy skin.
In a very big bowl, juice the lemon and add about 1/4 teaspoon salt and a pinch of powdered chili pepper. With a fork, whip in the olive oil, then add the honey, bit by bit until it tastes just sweet enough to you and has a warmth from the chili.
Add the green, the fruit and the onion and toss thoroughly so that all is coated. Taste again. I added a sprinkling of chili, because I felt that to be hot and sweet it needed it. I also wanted just a bit more salt.
Pile the salad onto a plate and arrange the chicken slices, then drizzle the bit of dressing that is in the bottom of the bowl over the chicken slices. Grind black pepper over it all and eat it up!
I had a couple of slices of good German brown bread with mine. Life was very tasty.
In italiano:
Inizia con il pollo. Spargete del sale, profumi misti e paprika forte sul pollo intero, massagiando bene con le mani. Infornatelo a 215° C per 30-40 minuti, fino a è proprio cotto. Guardate che non è troppo cotto. Si può mangiare subito le coscie calde.
E poi mettete i petti con la pelle nel frigo, ben chiusi in un pacchetto di aluminio.
Per fare l’insalata, togliete i petti dal frigo e disossarli con cura, ma lasciate la pelle piquante. Tagliateli a fette sottili.
Gli ingredienti per l’inslata sono alla persona:
un petto di pollo
foglie d’insalata ben pulite e asciugate, a pezzetti
delle ciliege snocciolate (o kiwi, or fragole o qualsiasi frutta volete)
una cipolla di primavera tagliata a pezzi
il succo di mezzo limone
sale circa 1/4 cucchiaino
un bel pizzico di peperoncino in polvere
olio d’oliva in quantità 4 volte la misura del succo
circa 1 cucchiaino di miele
pepe nero
In una ciottola grandissima, mettete il succo di limone con il sale e peperoncino in polvere. Con una forchetta, aggiungete l’olio, man mano, mescolando in continuo. Aggiungete il miele qb per fare una salsa agrodolce e un po’ piccante.
Aggiungete l’insalata, le ciliege o l’altra frutta e la cipolla e fa saltare bene bene. Assagiatela e aggiungete più sale e peperoncino al gusto. Volevo io un po’ più sale e peperoncino. L’insalata deve essere agrodolce e un po’ piquante.
Togliete l’insalata a un piatto, mettete le fette di pollo in un bel disegno, e mettete la salsa che rimane nella ciottola sopra le fette di pollo. Spolverarla con pepe nero. Pronta!
Come July first, you can read lots of salad recipes on La Mia Cucina.
7 comments June 27th, 2007
Convertible shoes…. who’d a thunk? If they came in a color you’d actually wear, would you consider them?
22 comments June 21st, 2007
I made the nettle raviolis again last night with two girlfriends. It’s more fun to make stuffed pastas with friends, because there’s quite a lot of small and repetitive work involved. Until your hands get used to it, it can be slow going, so some friends, an assembly line and a glass of wine make the whole experience a very nice one.
Making stuffed pastas is also something to do with children. Very small children can make big 4” squares with a dollop of filling and then folded into a triangle. Gluing the edges together with some cool water on your finger is close to the experiences they’re having in school, too, so it’s an occasion to find out that what one learns in school is useful in everyday life. As they grow older and more adept, they can make the smaller and more intricate ones. All things considered, I think children have a better shot at getting good at it faster than adults.
Fillings can be so varied that there’s almost no possibility that a child won’t like at least some of them. It’s good for kids to know where food comes from and how it becomes what’s on their plates. When they see how delicately some things are used, they may be more open-minded about trying again things they rejected before. Somehow, mixed with other things and cooked inside pasta, spinach loses its ick-factor. And what kid could resist the idea of pork and cookies used together? Amaretti in crumbs are used in several spicy fillings where the sweet and the almond add a soft note.
This time, it was the same as last week, but I got some more photos. Why nettles again? Because the heat moved in yesterday and shortly they will bloom and become useless for human food until the autumn. (They will still make the best plant food around.) I made too much pasta, too, but I cut the rest into ribbons and dried it. Today’s lunch was some of that cooked and served with frozen sauce from the Winter Foods entry.
Here is a shot of the filling. The recipe was in the post a few days ago. Tonight’s was doubled, because we were having only the ravioli and salad. I bought peaches for dessert but we never got to them and they are the biggest ant attraction in town now.
This bowl contains a big colander packed full of nettle tops, 200 g (7 ounces) of sheep’s ricotta, which could have been cow ricotta, and 70 g (2 ounces) of grated Parmigiano Reggiano. The nettles were cooked with some salt, so I added no more, as the Parm is salty. The nettles could have been any green at all, as long as it was cooked well then chopped finely.
Here are our little half moon ravioli. Marianne asked me why I don’t use a form that makes a bunch of square ones at once and I told her it is because the dough must be thicker or they don’t seal and you end up with soup.
I think these look nice, but do NOT stack yours like this. Humidity develops and by the time you get to cook them they are stuck together and some will rip. Lay them onto a clean kitchen towel instead, which you can lightly flour for even more safety.
Heat salted water to a simmer, drop them in and when the float, skim them out. In the pasta bowls I laid fresh sage leaves, a chunk of butter and then the hot pasta. Everybody else ate theirs with more grated cheese on top, but I rarely use it unless the flavor demands it or the pasta isn’t salty enough. Unlike other kinds of pasta, do not boil stuffed pasta. A simmer is all you want.
These are Jon’s hands last week, Microplaning a really hard and really old Parmigiano Reggiano. Last night, since I had no big hands around, I used freshly grated from the shop. Finely grating 70 grams of cheese is quite time-consuming.
What else would I put into ravioli? Anything from a small piece of a very tasty soft cheese to a single shrimp. Stuffed pastas are one of the most creatively free things around. Leftover pasta sauce? Blend it, add some cheeses to stiffen it a bit and use that. Pumpkin or squash? With free-ranges of spices, absolutely. Eat them smoking hot with a well-chosen sauce or cold in a salad. Fry them and pass them on cocktail sticks with drinks. Go fusion and try fillings from other ethnic ingredients and spices.
But first of all, try making them. If you still haven’t bought a pasta roller, after being urged to do so THREE times already, you can roll them out on a floury surface with a big rolling pin. Better you than I. The pasta should be thin enough to read through.
If this isn’t pasta, although not exactly presto, I don’t know what is. Let’s get the world’s cooks to eat weeds like we do.
7 comments June 20th, 2007
Who knows! Maybe Autumn in Chicago is greeee-aaat!
Well, vote for somebody, anyway. Barb would love it to be Barb and Art!
2 comments June 19th, 2007
Why is this not a blog about being an expatriate? Lots of my friends write expat blogs, and I am, after all, an expat, too. So why do I not often write about what is so different here and what it’s like being a foreigner?
I thought about this earlier today, and I think I know the answer. It’s as simple as that it is usually not so different and I seldom feel like a foreigner.
Italy is a stunningly beautiful country and I notice that. Italy is home, and like anyone else’s home, you are proud and happy to live in a beautiful place, but other places are beautiful, too, if in different ways.
I live in a language I had to learn as an adult. I’m not the very best or the most fluent in Italian, but it isn’t very hard and I don’t make embarrassing mistakes very often. The TV news can go on behind me and I understand it as easily as if it were English.
There are things I knew or had all my life that aren’t here. I’m used to most of it and friends and family give me a treat now and then by bringing the old stuff into this life. No more the desperation of wanting American birthday cake when you have nothing that goes into it. Sour cream was nice, but so is Greek yogurt. I can make a lot of things I once bought, like enchilada sauce. Who knew? Tortillas– yeah! Curry? Sure, the spices last a long time. Lobster, well for a price I can’t afford, so boo on that.
This is the stage you are hoping to reach when you move to a foreign country. This is like marriage as compared to a new love affair. This is taking things as normal that once weren’t, knowing what to expect, being taken for granted because people know you and aren’t curious before.
Now that I get it, I’ll have to think on that some more. I’m a person who does better with some challenges, at least if they aren’t of Everest proportions. Shall I start learning French? Or shall I try entering into some specialist areas of Italian life? Maybe I’ll start traveling around again and get to know some other people from other areas?
Add comment June 18th, 2007
Here Palma posts some ensembles she is putting together with jewelry she has made herself. It is really worth a look. Go!
3 comments June 17th, 2007
On the BBC world news site, there is a photo essay with photos taken by Nepali girls. I had not realized what a desperate situation those girls lived in. You’ll be amazed at what they’ve done with a camera, but don’t neglect to read the text.
What can ordinary people like us do to help these girls? When will countries around the world, especially those in desperate straits, realize what a resource they waste when they don’t take care of and educate and free the girls?
The photo above is by Parvati in Pokhara.
1 comment June 16th, 2007
This photo has nothing to do with dinner. It is where I was on Tuesday, watching a thunderstorm move in. I was hanging off the top of Spoleto in southern Umbria.
Jessica who seeks dessert in Switzerland and her significant other, Jonathan, came to visit. Jonathan was a chef at a very great restaurant until he decided to have a life outside the kitchen. These were guests who obviously care about food, and we even set the dates based on their being here on a market day.
We trolled through the market for what looked good. Jonathan wanted to try porchetta so he bought some of that. At the vegetable stalls he liked green beans, immature red onions and some half-cured olives, so we threw them in the bag as well. We lounged around a café and looked at people, talked to a very nice Belgian family who live near Cortona and critiqued the passing fashion.
We drove on to the Coop supermarket where we could get sheep’s ricotta and try some cured meats and cheeses. We picked up a whipped lean cheese called ricciolo of something. Does anyone know what it is a curl of? It was piped into a tiny basket and was irresistible. Bread from Altamura, sì. Strawberries sniffed out by Jessica, some pasta I recommend that isn’t available most places and that they could take home.
We lazed around the afternoon, and then began to prepare last night’s dinner.
While Jessica cleaned and macerated the strawberries, Jonathan and I went out to pick nettles and mint. When we brought them in I washed them and steamed them with a spoonful of oil to remove their sting, and then minced them with my knife. Jonathan used considerable arm power to grate a really old Parmigiano Reggiano and I stirred the nettles and the Parmigiano into the ricotta we’d bought, then grated some nutmeg over it as well. Jonathan, meanwhile, made a composite butter with garlic and lemon and chilled it.
All of us had a hand in mixing up the pasta. I’ve almost nothing to teach Jonathan, believe me, but I think the damp skin image took and he absolutely agreed with me that that’s what it feels like. We rolled out sheets at thickness #6, the next finest setting, and laid them on clean towels on the dining room table. All three of us used a biscuit cutter to cut circles of pasta, then Jessica and I formed half-moon shapes with a dab of the filling, sealing them well.
Jonathan blanched the clean green beans and drained them. He cleaned and sliced the red spring onions into thin slices and then used my Indian Kari to heat the composite butter and sauté the onions impressively patiently while we built tiny ravioli. When he deemed them done, he added finely minced mint and the beans and tossed them about to coat them.
A pot of simmering salted water awaited the ravioli. Having become an Italian termagant about eating pasta smoking hot, I asked the table to be set and ready to eat within a minute, and then carefully slid the ravioli into the water. They bobbed up, done, almost instantly. I put a knot of butter into each of three pasta bowls and then used a slotted shallow ladle to remove them to the plates. A little more Parmigiano—not much—and they were ready. I thought they were lovely. Perfectly al dente shapes with a belly of green and cheesy vegetable, what could be nicer?
We served the porchetta with the green beans, and I am testifying here that those green beans were wonderful. The mint was undetectable, but surely contributed to the overall deeply sweet and satisfying whole. Crisp but cooked and the original and natural sweetness of the bean had been coddled at every step and reached its zenith. Bravo, bravo, ancora per favore!
Dessert was Jessica’s strawberries macerated with a little sugar and balsamic vinegar with the ricciolo cheese and some slim slices of baked lemon ricotta from Sicily. Again, brava Jessica! You don’t have to search for dessert any more, I think you’ve found it. In truth, Jessica bakes, so our light dessert didn’t come close to testing her, but t’was good anyway.
One or the other was flashing photos all evening, so there are photos, I just don’t have them. When they return to Switzerland, they may let us have some of them—but I get editing privilege.
Ravioli all’ortica
Pick just the young tops of stinging nettles; about a colander full
100 g sheep’s ricotta (about 3.5 ounces)
35 g Parmigiano Reggiano freshly grated (about 1 ounce)
A few gratings of nutmeg
Wash, drain and pack the nettles into a pot with a cover over a spoonful of olive oil, sprinkle about ¼ teaspoon of salt over them and slam the lid on, put them on a low flame and cook until they wilt back but are still brilliantly green. Remove them to a chopping board and mince them with a sharp knife. Put the ricotta into a bowl, add the nettles and the Parmigiano, grate the nutmeg over it then use a fork to mix it all to a firm and creamy mass.
Measure 200 g (about 7 ounces) of plain soft wheat flour onto the work counter, make a dent in the middle and break two eggs into it. Using your hands, work the egg into the flour, scraping the dough off your hands bit by bit as the egg gradually moistens the flour and becomes a dough. For this small amount, it won’t take very long, just a few minutes. I hear people say that sometimes they have to add a drop of water, but it hasn’t yet happened to me. I suppose it matters how fluid the eggs are, and mine are very fresh.
Set up the pasta roller—you did buy one when I told you to last winter, right?— and with the roller set at #1, feed the dough through, then fold in two, re-feed it, and continue to do this until the pasta has become smooth and flexible. When it reaches that point, cut the dough in half and begin to put each half through ever increasing numbers. At about number 4, cut each piece into two again. You should end up with four equal, long strips about 4.5 inches wide. Continue to thin the pasta to #6. It will feel like damp skin.
Use a sharp cutter to cut circles or squares about 3” X3”. Have a little bowl of cold water nearby. Put a small ball of the filling onto the center, wet the edges with water and carefully fold the pasta over and pressing with your fingers, seal them completely, making sure to leave no air inside that can expand and burst the ravioli. The biggest mistake beginners make is trying to put too much filling in them. As they are finished, lay them on a dinner plate.
Bring a large pot of water to a simmer and toss in some coarse salt. Put a generous knot of butter into the bottom of three pasta plates—which are called soup plates in the USA. Gently slide the ravioli into the water and have a slotted spatula or spoon at the ready. When they rise to the top, they are done. It is a matter of seconds, really. Remove them so that the water stays behind and lay them on top of the butter. Serve freshly grated Parmigiano as an option, and pass a pepper grinder, too. Any leftover pasta was cut, dried overnight, packed in paper and off to Switzerland this morning.
I have described the green beans (fagiolini) dish, but I don’t know how much of what went into them. Maybe Jonathan will tell us later, but I’m not waiting. I’m going to try to copy his mysterious ways and even if they are half as good as Jonathan’s, they’ll be worth eating.
I don’t know what you’ll do about porchetta if you don’t live in Italy. Too bad, poor you.
1 comment June 15th, 2007
