Dolcetto o scherzetto?

Or "Treat or trick?" as they say in Italy. Tomorrow is also a holiday (All Saint's Day) and most everyone gets to stay home. Happy Halloween!
It's a long, long way from Hawaii to Italy. Living in the land of pasta,
pizza, and wine is everything that you might imagine, but one
thing remains true. You can take the girl out of the island
but you can't take the island out of the girl

Or "Treat or trick?" as they say in Italy. Tomorrow is also a holiday (All Saint's Day) and most everyone gets to stay home. Happy Halloween!
"La Rowena ha la pel da sciatt..."
"Rowena has toad skin" my father-in-law says of me the year before. That should be plenty reason for a daughter-in-law to wage war with the procreator of her significant other, but in truth, it actually generated a feeling of smugness from myself. It was around this time of season (when everyone seemed to be down with the flu) that my husband's father, as is his habit, called to see how we were both doing. "Dad" found it incredulous that I suffered only a minor cold which lasted no more than a couple of days. He continued on the phone with my husband, conversing in dialect, and only later when it was explained to me that my skin must be so tough as to resist any sort of winter illness, did I finally get the picture. Yeah, I'm resilient. "It's the Laphroaig whiskey," I wanted to tell him.
Sciatt (shee-AHHT) is also the name of a fritter made with both buckwheat and all-purpose flours, water, cheese, and a leavening agent. Note the effect of the diced cheese which gives it "warts". They are ugly-looking appetizers, even if that statement reads like an oxymoron. But what would you expect of something that's named after a toad in dialect? (The true word for toad is rospo) Sciatt, rospo, toad, bufo, whatever...the important thing is how they taste, and all I can say is — you can't stop at just one.

Stoneground buckwheat flour is what really makes these fried morsels as it has a flavor all its own. If not readily available, I suppose wholewheat flour would work just as well. As for the cheese, the one stated here might be impossible to obtain outside of the states. A good substitute would be anything that is flavorful and semi-firm in texture; you want the cheese to melt but not so much that it melts completely into the hot oil and you lose the "warty" effect. I would try cheddar; make that extra-sharp.
75 grams (1/2 cup) buckwheat flour
50 grams (1/3 cup) all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup water
75 grams (3 oz.) Valtellina casera cheese, cut into 1/4-inch dice
A good pinch of baking soda dissolved in 1 tablespoon water
Vegetable oil for frying
1. Combine both flours, salt, and water in a mixing bowl to form a soft batter. Add the diced cheese, mix well, and cover with plastic wrap. Allow to rest for 2 hours (I don't know why this is but when in Rome or in this case Lombardia, I do as they do.)
2. When the resting period is almost up, fill a frying pan with oil to a depth of around 1/2 inch. Preheat to 375 degrees. Dissolve baking soda in the water and stir into the batter. Drop by tablespoons into the hot oil and fry to a golden brown. Drain well on paper towels. Skim off and discard any bits of fried "cheese crumbs" as they appear.
3. Arrange on a bed of arugula or other salad greens and lightly sprinkle with salt. Serve immediately. Makes 1 dozen.
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Today's post is especially directed to the local islanders out there, because I'm certain that for some, the image above will guarantee a big YUCK. They are limpets, or opihi to anyone in Hawaii (patella in Italy). I've heard that these are regarded as the rubbish shellfish of the ocean, a thing that you'd never consider worth eating, but in the islands this does not hold true. I'm crazy for them like you wouldn't believe, being a person that was practically sustained on this insipid source of protein. Opihi might not be all that encouraging to look at but the flavor is quite like the highly-esteemed land snails that I enjoy here. Just think sea escargot! Only recently have they been available at our fishmonger, and at $7/pound, are as close to a taste of "home" that I could possibly get.
I've named the limpets Azorean-style because the recipe loosely follows one on the cuisine of the Azores Islands. It is so simple as to be one of those dishes that you might imagine a fisherman throwing together in a well-used pot. My portuguese/puerto rican brother-in-law back in Hawaii grills them on the hibachi with a killer hot sauce, and the idea of cooking these hawaiian-style (or not cooking them for that matter) did enter my mind. But being that I'm using harvested ones from the Adriatic gives me an excuse to try something new. There are no exact measurements given because whatever the amount of limpets that you use, "how much" is determined with your eyes.
Fresh limpets, rinsed free of sand and grit
Good quality olive oil
Sweet onion, sliced into thin rounds
Garlic, minced
Fresh chile pepper, minced
Bay leaf
Parsley (italian or american), chopped
Salt and pepper
Saute the onions in a bit of oil to soften. Add the garlic and hot pepper; continue to cook until the aroma is released. Add the rinsed limpets, bay leaf, parsley and just enough water to keep the limpets and aromatics from scorching. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and cook on medium heat until the limpets are released from their shells; about 3 minutes or so. Serve immediately with steamed rice.
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This expression (and I swear it was something close to it) is what spread over my face when I found a curious recipe for Homemade Soba Noodles. A sudden craving for soba with shoyu, sesame seeds, and green onions led me to discover the above link, which, by the way, is dated more than a decade ago! How great is that to make your own soba? The best part, the "curious" part, is that it called for the kneading process to be carried out on the floor with bare feet.
Usually my success rate at trying unique recipes is pretty good. Unfortunately for this one, the noodles didn't come out perfect and thin like I had hoped. I halved the amounts to get a smaller yield and it was obvious from the get-go that there wasn't enough water for the flour to come together. So I kneaded in a little more liquid until I was able to push together a firm, solid, dough mass.
Following the steps for working the dough was easier to accomplish. This was committed foot work; even the Mads lended a paw. The dough seemed to develop after maybe the 4th cha-cha but ultimately, I kneaded it by hand for a few minutes before letting it rest.

Okay so I cheated and used toe socks instead of going barefoot.
The final step: Rolling the dough out thinly was an endeavor as it became more fragile the thinner it got. At this point I was ready to give up, knowing that if the noodles were so difficult to work with, then it was possible they would fall apart when it was time to cook. Cutting them with a pastry wheel was simple. Trying to handle them without breaking was not. I managed to get some decent strands out of the whole mess and put them in a pot of boiling water. They held together well enough and after 3 minutes, drained, then drizzled them with soy sauce, sesame oil, and a sprinkle of furikake.
The taste test: The buckwheat flavor and texture came through nicely but...eating broken soba lost a lot of points. I think the problem could be with the buckwheat flour. The type that I find in Italy is macinata a pietra - stoneground. If soba requires a much finer-milled grain, then no wonder I ended up with stuff that looks like kindling.
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![]() | The arrival of sweet persimmons - cachi or kaki fruit in Italy - comes right on the heels of chestnut season. I've noticed the sudden appearance of color on many kaki trees here in Lecco. Right now, a flat of ripe fruit equals to about 6 bucks. We've already devoured half of our stash at left. So good! |
![]() | I could name these kiwi cherries. Or vice versa. Cultivated in the Trentino region of Italy, these Hardy Kiwi (kiwi arguta) are the coolest new fruit to hit the produce aisle this season. They're the size of Bing cherries, but the taste and texture is undeniably kiwi. The fuzz (or lack thereof) makes them a real pleasure to eat out-of-hand, or an effortless addition to fruit salad, skin and all. |
![]() | Pomegranate (the juice). Reportedly one of Oprah's favorite martinis, the photo links to the drink recipe that I tried. Last month there was a pomegranate celebration in southern Italy - Salento I believe - with tv coverage of the event. Looked to be another great sagra that we missed. Ah well, we're too far from there anyway. I'll just settle for the martini. Photo credit: http://www.stltoday.com |

Anyone game for seafood and chocolate? This idea comes adapted from a spanish recipe for Langostinos en chocolate (prawns in chocolate). I've used the tails of what's known as mazzancolla (Imperial prawn) in Italy. Same smell, but what I've done differently is that after marinating, the prawns are dipped in beaten egg and rolled in japanese bread crumbs (panko) before frying. The added crunch of the panko gives a nice texture/look, and the sauce can be served separately for those who might turn squeamish at the very thought of shellfish + garlic + oj + chocolate all at one go.
1 pound large prawn or tiger shrimp tails (the largest that you can find)
2 cloves garlic, minced fine or put through a garlic press
1 large orange, juiced
1/4 teaspoon powdered ginger
Salt and pepper
Vegetable oil for frying
Bamboo skewers
1 large egg, beaten
Panko
1/2 oz. semi-sweet chocolate, chopped into pieces
1. Remove the shells (leaving the ends on) and dark vein from each tail by making a shallow slit down the back. Place in a single layer in a large dish.
2. Whisk together the minced garlic, orange juice, ginger, a good pinch of salt and ground black pepper in a bowl. Pour this over the prawns and marinate for about 1/2 hour.
3. Heat vegetable oil to frying temperature. Remove and thoroughly drain prawns of the marinade (reserving the liquid). Insert bamboo skewer along the length of each tail. Dip into the beaten eggs then coat with panko. Carefully dip into hot oil and fry on all sides until golden. Drain on paper towels and set aside.
4. Simmer the reserved citrus marinade in a small heavy pot until reduced by 1/2. Turn down the heat source to its lowest setting and stir in the chocolate until completely melted and just begins to slightly thicken. Remove from heat.
5. Arrange the prawns on a bed of shredded lettuce or spinach leaves and ladle the sauce over all or serve on the side. Makes for an interesting antipasto.
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Instead of a weekend attending the Mostra del Bitto (in Morbegno) for a taste of bitto and other food products from that area, we took advantage of the still agreeable temperatures and headed north to Adamello Regional Park. Our intentions were to gradually ease Maddie (aka Miss Broken Leggy for the time being) back into hiking. She has been on vet's orders to take it easy, as an operation had to be done on her left rear leg for Legg-Perthes Disease. A piece of dead bone tissue was removed and that's it. This was performed the 2nd of September, and as of today, the healing process has been getting along nicely. Unfortunately for her, this means no chance of becoming Mama Maddie to a litter of puppies.
A few cool-looking 'shrooms... Mountain forests are always a wonder to behold. If I'm picking my way through flora at higher elevations on the islands, it's usually with one goal in mind - bring back something for the kitchen! I've gathered edible ferns, guavas, plums, pears, and lilikoi (passionfruit). The only thing I don't see much of are fungi, although in Hawaii there is a fungus called pepeiao (wood ear mushroom), a prized ingredient in both home and restaurant kitchens. In Italy, specimens like the ones below amaze me (it's probable that a couple of them are lethal) but the wheels in my head turn anyway. Somehow it doesn't feel right returning home empty-handed.




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There is always something new to discover in this country. And today of all days couldn't be a more appropriate date in which to share what I've learned through my neighbors. About a month ago the couple next door invited us over for a surprise dinner. "É una sorpresa!" Ms. G tells us. What was the big surprise? Why cheese of course, with more than 7 kilos of formaggio italiano and some pretty good salami to boot. Right away I knew that it was going to be a long, heavy evening with my cholesterol levels hitting the roof. Ms. G's roots are from Campania, and as an antipasto she served zeppulelle, a sort of fried bread puff — nothing fancy really, just simple and goooood! To end the evening she brought out a tall, sleek bottle that was made rather jewel-toned in color from the bright liquid within. Now I like the italian custom of offering a digestive liqueur or digestivo after dinner, but it never crossed my mind that I'd be going "Okole Maluna!" or "Bottoms Up" on a witch's potion!
Witch's WHAT? Bet that raised eyebrows! But in fact, there is an herb-based liqueur named Strega, the italian word for witch. And again this is where I'm pleased to unearth yet another story behind Italy's historical pagan culture. Once considered as a love potion, and seemingly *glowing* with a mesmerizing yellow from the saffron component, strega is a drink you'll either love or hate. At Gli Onesti Piaceri (The Honest Pleasures), the website gives insight on the beginnings of this curiously-named brew, where it all began long ago in a Vatican enclave halfway between Rome and Napoli. Dust off your broomsticks because furthermore, according to ancient legend this location was said to be a meeting place for witches of the WORLD. Anyhoo... Despite the mysterious background I still hold firm that its potency is assured and gets the job done as a digestive. If you're able to procure a bottle of Strega, try this recipe for Zeppulelle at your next salame and cheese party and you'll understand why. Links: Wikipedia | Liqueurs of Italy **Happy Friday the 13th!**

The full name is zeppulelle 'e pasta crisciuta, dialect from the region of Campania. All it means is that these zeppy things are made from risen (leavened) dough, pasta crisciuta. Not to be confused with the sweet pastry zeppole, zippole, or zippulas from other regions.
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 pkg. instant dry yeast
3/4 cup warm water
oil for frying
salt
1. Dissolve the yeast with 3 tablespoons warm water. In a large bowl, combine the flour and a good pinch of salt then add the yeast liquid and the water, working with your hands until everything begins to comes together. If the dough still seems too dry, add a little more until pliable.
2. Knead the dough until smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes. Place in a bowl, cover with a cloth or plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place for 2 hours.
3. In a heavy pan, heat the oil to 375 degrees and with the aid of a soupspoon, scoop out almost golfball-size portions of dough and carefully drop into the hot oil. Fry on all sides until the zeppulelle are a light golden color. They should expand to become the size of an egg. Drain on paper towels and season with a sprinkling of salt. Serve hot. Makes 1 dozen.
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It's getting busier in the kitchen, because aside from the garlic, and the chocolate, and all of the other things that are on for this month, now I go and get myself wanting to make filled pasta. This time it's culingionis or culurzones: potato, pecorino, and mint-stuffed 'ravioli' from the island of Sardegna. What attracted me to these was how the edges are pinched together. I've been studying them for the longest time, scrutinizing the photos in cookbooks and also the ones you can buy pre-made at the market but I still can't figure out how it's done. My pleats are too big and awkward, not small and dainty like these here [tiny pop-up window]. Arghgh! Ah well, perhaps someone trained in the clever art of sealing these might read this post and show me how...
I've used a recipe from the combination of two cookbooks, but the color of the pasta lacks the yellow tinge like those at the grocers. Reading the package ingredient list, I noted the use of both white and semolina flour which would explain the difference in hue. To remedy this minor problem, a pinch of powdered saffron (or you could use yellow food color) was added to the cooking water. It was a bit too yellow I'll admit, but the flavor actually turned out great, with the saffron giving an extra dimension in flavor.
The dual names reflect the difference between dialect and standard italian. Serves 4.
For the pasta:
2 cups bread or all-purpose flour
1/2 cup water
salt
olive oil
For the filling:
1 pound white or yellow potatoes
5 oz. fresh pecorino, grated
1/4 cup finely julienned fresh mint
1 large clove garlic, finely minced
*Aged pecorino for grating
*Yellow food color or saffron powder (optional)
1. Boil the potatoes until tender. [While the spuds are boiling, start making the pasta]. When cool enough to handle, peel and mash them in a large bowl, add the grated fresh pecorino, mint, and garlic. Mix to thoroughly combine. Set aside to cool.
2. Making the pasta: Combine the flour and salt in a large bowl or work surface. (You can also make this with a KitchenAid mixer). Add a pinch of salt, a good drizzle of olive oil, and the water. Work everything together with your hands, adding more water as needed to yield a firm dough. Knead until smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes. Cover with a towel and let rest for 30 minutes.
3. Forming the culurzones: Roll the dough to a thickness of about 1/16th of an inch. Cut out 3-inch circles and top each with a small ball of filling. I suggest rolling the filling into oval shapes to facilitate the sealing process. Bring up the sides to enclose and make a series of pleats, press firmly at each fold. Use a dab of water only if necessary to moisten the edges. Makes about 3 dozen.
4. Butta la pasta!: Start cooking the pasta! Bring a large pot of water to a boil, salt to taste and add a drop of food color or a pinch of saffron powder. If cooking all of the culurzones, make sure to have a very large pot or do this in batches. Gently drop in and cook for about 3-5 minutes. Drain and serve immediately with a drizzle of quality olive oil and grated pecorino or your favorite tomato sauce recipe.
Note: On the first day, since the culurzones were obviously very fresh, and very fragile, it took only 3 minutes to cook. After sitting in the fridge overnight, they were much sturdier and the cooking time upped to 5 minutes.
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Erve, Italy (Lecco) — Always the 2nd Sunday of October. Thank goodness for tradition. And also for a nice lady whose word I should have taken as absolute oath when she told us that the chestnut roast in her village - La Castagnata - has been held each year since she was a little girl. Nevermind that the billboard announcements were a week late. Tradition cannot be broken, this is Italy! And this was another good year for chestnuts because the feast this afternoon was just that, a FEAST. I liked that the castagnata commenced at 12 noon as it gave the opportunity to better appreciate all that was going on; the enticing aroma and popping sounds of the roasting nuts, the bright sun beating hot on your head that, although there was a slight nip in the air, you would be fool not to remove your sweater. We might go back this evening for dinner and vin brulé, which is red wine flavored with spices. Next Sunday if we're feeling up to it, there are 4 sagras to choose from. Which should it be? More chestnuts, apples, onions, or perhaps cheese?


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Thursday is "Fish Day", the one day out of the week that I look forward to with great anticipation because it's when we go to inspect the newly arrived fresh catch at our favorite fishmonger. I've raved about this place before in a post on tartufo di mare (aka Warty Venus). As to WHY more varieties of seafood are made available on Thursdays, my husband speculates that there are [still] die-hard Catholics in this country who simply must eat fish on Friday, so it would make good business sense to attract customers a day in advance, no matter what religious observance of the year it may be. Whether this is true or not, the parking lot proves that we're not the only ones who gots-to-have-their-fishies.
The brightly colored triglia di scoglio in the above pic is family to the MULLIDAE species of goatfish/red mullet. They go by many other names depending on which country you're in, but I noted the that these in particular were hauled from Tyrrhenian waters of the Mediterranean sea. Looking at them reminded me a lot of the islands, since they closely resemble the hawaiian goatfish or weke ula. Great-tasting fish, and again, recalls the days when gal pals and I swam out in deep openings among the reef to lay gill nets with my dad. Sighting a whole goatfish ensnared in the woven mesh was equivalent to a big score! Moray eels and other predators ravaged the helpless things during the course of the night.
As far as I can remember, the most common method of cooking was either in soups or wrapped in ti leaves with green onions and ginger root before steaming. In Italy there is triglia alla livornese (livornese-style from Tuscany), something that all sharp cooks should know. I've been wanting to prepare triglia in different ways other than letting it sizzle on a grill, parrillada-style [see link] and came across a couple of ideas after reading up on mediterranean seafood cuisine. One idea is this Red Mullet Baked in Grape Leaves from Greece. It was so easy to put together and went well with a tabbouleh salad. I suppose in the end, the simplest method wins out as I'm still wrapping fish in leaves.
There are several songs on Radio Monte Carlo's playlist that I've taken a keen liking to, one of which is Siempre me quedará by Bebe. I just wish I'd paid more attention in spanish class because the translation on Babelfish makes no sense. Anyway... I've got "Spain-on-the-brain" and am looking for ways to use garlic and/or chocolate in recipes from that country. Olé!
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