Recipe: Torta Valdostana

I like pie. Not the sticky and sweet American version, but the salty, meaty, pastry-wrapped kind popular in various forms around Europe. Back in Britain, it was the bacon and egg, the steak and kidney, the chicken and mushroom, not forgetting, of course, the king of pastries; the glorious steak pasty. In Italy, I’ve found the hot sections at my local supermarkets no less appealing, if a little unfamiliar.

In supermarket chain Esselunga, I discovered something of a treat – the Torta Valdostana. I knew torta meant cake, and must extrapolate out to pie. Valdostana required some googling. Turns out, Valdostana is a cheese from the Valle d’Aosta in northern Italy, with qualities similar to Emmental. The pie itself, traditionally, is made with onion, the aforementioned cheese from which the pie gets its name, and prosciutto cotto, which the British would recognise as good old sliced ham. This differs from the Esselunga version, however, which forgoes the onion for a layer of spinach and egg, and I found very appealing both in appearance and as a component, so the following recipe seeks to emulate that version.

The pastry of the pie is unusual to someone used to making pastries out of butter and lard, in this case using olive oil as the fat component, and is quite tricky to work with, especially when you don’t have a rolling pin and have to use a wine bottle instead. The effort is worth it, however; unlike a short pastry made with butter or the robust pastry made with lard, you end up with a pastry that forms two layers as it cooks – an internal layer with a pleasant bite, and the external layer that flakes away gently and gives a fantastic top texture. I got the basics of the pastry here - however I opted to double the amount of flour and tweak the oil amount slightly, which is why I give a mass for oil rather than a volume.

The Recipe (Serves 4-6):

For the Pastry:

400g Plain White Flour

140g olive oil

4 tbsp Milk

4 eggs

Salt

For the Rest:

200g (approx.) Unsmoked sliced ham

200g Valdostana cheese (I am pretty sure this cheese is hard to source outside of Italy, Emmental will substitute just fine)

4 cubes chopped frozen spinach, defrosted

2 eggs

Salt

Pepper

A medium oven-proof dish

(It is worth noting that the quantities for the fillings rely on my memory, because it is not in my nature to take the care to write this stuff down as I cook, so you may need a little more!)

To make the pastry:

For ease of making, I recommend splitting the ingredients in half, and making two separate batches of pastry (they will form the top and bottom half later), so you’ll need to do this section twice!

1.       Sift 200g of flour into your mixing bowl along with a good pinch of salt

2.       Make a well in the middle and add 70g oil, an egg and an egg yolk, saving the whites for later

3.       Combine the ingredients by hand, adding two tablespoons of milk as you go

Behold, the mighty mixing claw

4.       Once the ingredients are properly mixed, form into a ball, wrap in clingfilm and refrigerate for at least an hour

For the rest:

Once your pastry has had a chance to chill, you’re ready to make the pie.

1.       Beat two eggs lightly with a fork, adding a good pinch of salt and pepper, and squeeze as much water as possible from the spinach, then stir it into the egg

2.       In a frying pan, heat some olive oil over a medium heat

4.       Carefully pour the mixture into the hot pan, making sure to distribute the spinach evenly, and fry until the egg is cooked (depending on the size of your frying pan, you may want to grill the top of the egg to help it set. Once it's done, leave it aside to cool.

5

While the egg cools, you can prepare the rest of the ingredients. Grate your chosen cheese, and get the ham open before your hands get too oily, or you risk throwing it at a wall like I did.

1.       Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C/ gas mark 4

2.       Flour your work surface and rolling pin, and roll out the first half of your pastry so that you can cover the bottom and sides of your ovenproof dish. The pastry is oily and splits easily as it thins, so just be patient, it can be repaired once you’ve got it in the dish. I found it easiest to transport by wrapping it around the rolling pin rather than trying to lift it by hand!

3.       Place the egg and spinach mixture into the pie. Depending on your dish, you may need to cut it into shape – try to cover as much of the bottom of the pan as possible.

4.       Next, layer the ham over the egg

5.       Finally, place the cheese on top. Try to keep it away from the edges of the pastry, so that you can seal the pie in a moment

6.       Roll out the second half of the pastry, place it on top, and press the edges of the two layers together to seal them

7.       Lightly wash the top with the leftover egg whites from earlier

8.       Cook for 40 minutes or until the top is golden brown

...texture like sun, lays me down...

You have to admit, it's a great photo

And there we go. If you’re interested, the greens in the photograph are fresh broad beans, mixed with a little oil and balsamic vinegar.

As a pastry fan, I really enjoyed making the Torta Valdostana; in a few articles time, expect a pasty version to surface.

Ciao tutti!

Recipe: Osso Buco

There’s an element of stigma attached to the slaughter and consumption of doe-eyed, pink nosed baby moo-cows. I don’t think I saw veal on a menu in the UK at all throughout my adolescence. Somewhere in the early nineties, vegetarians and voracious carnivores alike agreed that you just don’t eat calf no more.

By Jjron - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3046666

The UK outlawed veal crates in 1990; the bovine equivalent of foie gras, juvenile cattle were held almost immobile in metal enclosures and fed high fat diets such as milk. The result was a very pale, rich meat, which was very popular “on the continent” (and was finally blanket-banned in the EU in 2007). The knock-on effect of this (totally justified) ban on the cruel treatment of livestock is that red veal has taken some of the negative press of its creamy fleshed cousin.

Nowadays, most of our calf meat comes from male dairy calves (as their milk giving potential is…low). This makes veal a secondary source of income for dairy farmers as they fight off ever more aggressive supermarkets, but while veal has been poised precipitously to make a come-back to the British plate for a few years, it has yet to tip. If you choose to eat meat, I heartily encourage you ask your butcher for some veal; the meat is low fat in comparison to similar cuts of adult beef and other meats, and it really is quite delicious.

Onto the food, then.

Osso Buco (literally Bone Hole) refers simultaneously to the recipe and the chief ingredient; a hearty stew centred around a slow cooked piece of shank. I’ve never seen shank with the bone left in back at home, as butchers these days tend to dice it to sell as stewing beef. In Italy, it’s available at the supermarket, either in a rich sanguinous crimson for the beef version or a paler morsel for the veal. If you’re still unsure about eating veal, or can’t find it, beef is a perfectly good substitute; this recipe is suitable for either. The recipe seems to unanimously belong to the city of Milan – 19^th century Italian food icon Pellegrino Artusi forewarns in his variation of the recipe that it is “best left to the Milanese”, but I think we can break a rule here or there.

Contrary to Italian beliefs, food does not implode when cooked by a pasty foreigner

The cut itself is typified by the cross section of the leg bone (hence the Italian name) held within the meat; you’re going to want to leave that in so that all of the lovely marrow flavours the stew while it cooks. Our sparkly eyed local butcher seemed impressed that two bumbling Brits were asking for such a rustic cut of meat – at home and abroad, shank is a cheap option, because unless you give it the time to cook, it’s usually too fatty and tough to make for a good meal.

Osso Buco, bone left in

The rest of the stew uses a simple vegetable mix to mingle with the meat juices; the result is a hearty broth that suits a variety of accompaniments; we’ve enjoyed it with polenta, although supposedly it’s traditionally served with Risotto alla Milanese (which I’ll be covering soon; a rich and cheesy saffron risotto).

Serves 2-4

You’ll need

One piece of Veal Shank per person

For every 2 pieces of shank:

1 Onion

2 sticks of Celery

2 Carrots

2 cloves of Garlic

200g Butter

2-3 tbsp. Plain Flour

1 glass White Wine

1 meat stock cube or half a pint of beef stock

Salt

Pepper

1.       Peel and chop the onions and carrots, chop celery and slice thinly two cloves of garlic

2.       Fry the onion in butter, add the garlic, then the carrot and celery. Add more butter if you need.

3.       Once they've fried for five minutes, place the pieces of veal on top of the cooking vegetables. Mix up half a pint of stock and measure out a large glass of white wine

Finest, 99 cent quality

4.       Add the wine to the saucepan, allowing the veal and vegetables to sit in it for a few minutes. Season with salt and pepper while you're at it

5.       Add the stock to the dish, so that the meat is covered (you can add more water if half a pint isn't enough), let it simmer, and cover for one and a half to two hours (you may want to turn the pieces over half way through)

6.       Before you turn off the heat, make up a small roux in a separate pan (about two tablespoons of flour should be enough, though you may want to err on the buttery side) and add it to the main pan, stirring it in gently, so that the stew thickens and goes a little glossy

7.       Once the stew has thickened a little, you’re ready to serve.

Make sure you explore the inside of that bone before you finish – us Brits are unused to eating bone marrow, but if you’ve never tried it before, have a go. It’s good for you.

 How do you feel about veal? Marrow left in or consumed like the voracious carnivore you are?

Kitchen Tips - The Roux

A simple mixture of flour and butter that can be used as a base for a bechamel sauce or to add thickness to a gravy or stew, quantities will vary based on your needs.

1. Melt butter in a saucepan
2. Add flour and mix into the butter over the heat, until you form a mixture similar to biscuit dough, then cook for 2-3 minutes, without letting the mixture brown

A roux with slightly more butter (resulting in a more liquid texture) is ideal for stirring into sauces, gravies and stews to add thickness towards the end of cooking. A dryer roux is the perfect starting point for a creamy bechamel for lasagne, macaroni cheese and other dishes that need a white sauce.

Recipe: Melanzane alla Parmigiana (Aubergine Parmesan)

You can gauge the popularity of a food by its ubiquity. In Florence, if you go into a deli, a bakery, a supermarket, you’re going to be able to find this incredible dish – Melanzane alla Parmigiana. It’s a versatile dish that makes for a great jumping-in point for this blog; it has simple ingredients, tastes fantastic and is really easy to make.

The dish originated in the southern regions of Italy, and Naples has a particularly strong claim to being the bearer of the original recipe. Aubergine recipes have been found in Southern Italy dating back as far as 1400, although the first recipes for Melanzane alla Parmigiana don’t appear until a little later. Originally, the style was more akin to the creamy layer of a lasagne, with slices of aubergine baked in a béchamel and parmesan sauce, and it wasn’t until the early 19^th century that the newly popular tomato entered the fray. From there, the food spread across Italy and over the Atlantic to America, where you can also find versions made with breaded pieces of chicken or veal.

My version of Parmigiana comes from nowhere in particular, aside from having eaten the dish at every opportunity, and most of all trying to emulate the most fantastic one I had back in sunny Bristol, homemade by a good friend in a bad time.

Serves 4-6

Prep & Cooking time: 90 mins

Ingredients:

1 brown onion, finely chopped

3 cloves fresh garlic, crushed

1 tbsp tomato purée

2 tsp oregano

3 medium aubergines, sliced lengthways

A heap of grated parmesan

A mozzarella ball

Breadcrumbs

Plenty of good olive oil

Salt

Pepper

The Sauce:

A good tomato sauce is a must, and I must emphasize that a little patience goes a long way in Italian food. The difference between heating a tin of tomatoes in a saucepan and cooking a tomato sauce is much more a matter of giving it the time to cook than ingredients you throw in.

1.       Heat 3 tablespoons of oil in a saucepan over a medium heat, until the oil is hot but not smoking

2.       Fry the onions until they go translucent (five minutes or so) and add the garlic and oregano, stirring to prevent the garlic burning

3.       After a few more minutes, add the tomato puree and stir in

4.       Stir in a tin of tomatoes (I usually also add about half a tin of water, in order to rinse out the tin, but you can take or leave that one), bring the sauce to the boil and let it simmer, seasoning with a good pinch of salt (don’t skimp, a pinch of salt is not to be taken literally) and pepper

An Italian Pinch

5.       Leave this bad boy covered and bubblin’ for a good half an hour, longer if you can. If it needs more liquid, add water as necessary.

You can do the sauce in advance (this sauce recipe is a good general base for any tomato-centric dishes, and makes a good pizza sauce too if you reduce it for long enough), either on the day or long before if you make up a big batch and freeze it.

The Aubergines:

Nowadays, we don’t need to salt our aubergines (aren’t we lucky), but adding a bit of salt to each slice at this stage will make for a tastier end result. You want to slice them to ¼ of an inch thick (I tend to loathe the use of imperial but half a centimetre won’t do it and a centimetre is probably too much).

1.       Give each slice of aubergine a coating of oil, either with a pastry brush or by hand. You’ll need lots of oil, as those slices can be thirsty!

Yes, that is a petrol can.

2.       Fry the slices hot, or alternatively you can grill or bake them (or my preferred way, use a griddle pan, but I had to leave it behind *sad face*). A bit of charring on the pieces won’t hurt, in fact I find it gives the aubergine a stronger, more savoury edge.

The Main Event:

You can pre-fry all of the aubergine, or you can do this part as you go. You’re going to want your sauce at hand, as well as your cheese ready and grated/sliced. You can also choose here whether to add mozzarella to each layer or save it for the end. The former tends to create a hot goopy wonder of cheese and aubergine, while the other is a little less messy, and I find lets the parmesan flavour express itself better as you eat. Your choice (my advice is make both).

1.       Heat up your oven to 200/180(fan)/Gas Mark 6

2.       In a deep oven-proof dish (a lasagne dish is great), layer the food. You want to build it in this order – aubergine, sauce, cheese and repeat until you reach the top.

3.       Add breadcrumbs to the final layer if you desire; you’ll end up with a crispy top that looks great and adds a little crunch to the otherwise quite soft dish.

4.       Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, until the cheese/crumbs on top go a nice golden brown

Of course, I'd eaten half before I remembered to take a photo

Eat:

Put in mouth, swallow.

And there you have it. You can have Melanzane as a main course, a side dish, or if you’re like me, you can eat 3 servings worth in one sitting with a salad spoon.

Ciao tutti!

The First Words I Heard When I Got Off the Plane Were Mamma Mia...

Blimmin' Warm Innit?

It is 25 degrees outside, and the Librarian is wearing a scarf.

Let that sink in.

I grew up in Cornwall – some of our peak July temperatures don’t hit 25. And the Italian librarian is wearing a scarf.

See, that’s the funny thing when you’re treading the line between ex-pat and immigrant. You feel compelled to belong, and that desire to belong makes everything seem slightly alien. I wore shorts in the nippy Durham Aprils, so why, oh why, are the Italians still wearing winter coats. I got uncomfortably sweaty on the (very) short walk between my breezy apartment and the library, bogged down in jeans and a t-shirt (so as to not attract too many stares to my pale, yellow little legs). This temperature usually calls for my mesh vest and cutoffs.

This urge to be included has the strangest effect on one’s motivations – I expected, by now, almost two months in to this latest (very stupid) leap into the great unknown, to be in desperate need of a pasty and a pint of real ale and a good strong cup of PG tips, but these tawdry, mundane things wane in comparison to the desire to eavesdrop on a conversation that doesn't just sound like vaguely angry nonsense, to go shopping and not have to carefully scour the packaging of staple foods to make sure you haven’t bought something similar in appearance but exasperatingly different to what you wanted (and don’t get me started on extension cords).

But so goes life; on the spur of the moment I swapped this:

I know, I know, the framing is ALL wrong

 for this:

That chin and squint are all natural, ladies

 And though there are times when I miss the rolling hills and roiling waves of the Cornish sea-front, Florence has some perks tucked away in those olive groves, and two that have already totally captured my heart are found at the dinner table. Now, I’m not about to detract from British cuisine here; I’m sure, to the average onlooker, there’s plenty to bemoan about the UK diet, but like the rest of Europe there’s plenty of history, ingenuity and variety to be found on the plates of that tiny island, and I intend to explore that more thoroughly as time goes on. Although, I might add, our choice of wine is shit.

There’s something about food that inspires me; if I eat something I enjoy, I want to learn how to recreate it myself. I enjoy the science behind the cooking, the history of the ingredients, the anthropology of the dish in the modern day. Food betrays the great lack of logic that plagues our species; we could get by every day on a flavourless nutrient paste (indeed, it would be much better for the environment), but we don’t. We spice our rice. We butter our bread. We force feed our geese on rich corn so that we can eat their diseased livers.

So welcome to my new food blog. There’ll be recipes. There’ll be book-learnin’. There’ll be me.

Comments and suggestions appreciated.

B.