Other Tables

Other Tables – More Stories and Thoughts on Food   

                                   and Culture

Kabul 1972, Before the Taliban.

I was accustomed to sitting among day laborers and craftsmen, seeking out the utilitarian places where they ate, because the portions were big and the prices small. In a back alley in the bazar of Kabul, Afghanistan, I found a stall that served lentil soup and the ubiquitous Afghani flat bread, naan. Believing that my meal would cost three Afghanis, at the time about twenty-five cents, I ordered and sat down shoulder to shoulder alongside sinewy, unshaven men in collarless tunics under vests of coarsely woven wool. When it was time to pay, the cook held up his hand, and said "panch"meaning that my lunch would cost me five Afghanis. I pointed to the sign, that I thought read three. When I insisted, the cook leaned over the counter, and as if it was decided in advance, two men came up behind me, so close  that I could smell lentils and onions on their breaths. The cook said something and held up his other hand showing another finger, and I understood the price had increased again. When the buzz in the stall quieted, and the other diner's attention focused on the pending entertainment, my survival instinct kicked in, and I quickly agreed to the new price.  Discussion ended. Principles were one thing, a pummeling over the price of lentil soup in one of Kabul's back alleys was another.

              The Taj Mahal Hotel, Bombay 1970

Bad conscience, mixed with empathy and guilt were the wrong spices for my meal.

After months of living on a normal village diet of rice, lentils and vegetables, I felt that I had earned the right to splurge on a meal at Bombay’s luxurios Taj Mahal Hotel before I returned to the spartan life of a Peace Corps Volunteer.

On my way to dinner, I walked through Bombay’s back alleys and squalid side streets, past ragged families living in makeshift carboard hovels. With outstretched hands, and entreating eyes, these forgotten people asked me for only enough to be able to give their children a bowl of rice. That walk turned out to be a bitter appetizer and that bad conscience and the guilt that I felt, were the wrong spices for my extravagant  meal.

The stark contrast between India’s poor and rich was once again, painfully obvious to me, when I stepped over and around people sleeping on the marble stairs in front of the hotel’s opulent dining hall. Two barefoot attendants dressed in spotless white livery, white turbans and matching white gloves opened the massive teak doors leading to the dining hall.  When I entered and my eyes adjusted to the sea of light from the crystal chandeliers, and I saw the care-free diners oblivious to the poverty only a few meters from their tables, I was startled as though I had inadvertently stepped into a scene from Colonial India. 

Shocked and embarrassed, I turned in the doorway and made my way back down the stairs, over and around the sleeping men, found a street stall, and sitting on a backless bench polished smooth by countless diners, ate my normal meal of chapatti and curried vegetables.  

Note: Bombay was renamed Mumbai in 1995

                                                            Forest Gold

 Among all the wild plants and fruits of the jungle, honey was the most sought after, and men of the indigenous tribes were masters at climbing to the roof of the forest and risking their lives for their favorite food. Immune to the stings of the agitated bees, they climb fifty meters or more to pull the hives from hollow tree trunks. 

 After months of travelling through the deserts of North Africa, and then down into the continent’s steaming jungles, Kersti and I continued our trip on the Congo River with a Greek trader whose boat was carrying a cargo of beer to Kisangani in the Eastern Congo. We slogged upstream 1500 kilometers deep into the remote interior of the continent, on a river that was so wide that at times you could barely see the opposite shore, and at others, so narrow that our boat seemed like it would be swallowed by an unbroken wall of green.

We brought a little breath of the outside world to the thatched hut villages that we passed on our way upriver. We were a diversion in the unchanging life of the jungle. Villagers came out to the narrow strip of shore to watch us pass, waving and chanting. Children swam out a bit to get our attention, and fishermen paddled their dug-out canoes to intercept our boat and hitch a ride or sell whatever fish or fruit that they might have. One of these river peddlers, while holding on to our gunwale, haggled with the crew over a beehive dripping with honey, complete with dead bees and their larvae.

We found a tin bowl in the galley and pressed out the honey with our hands. We picked out dead bees and bits of wax from the honeycomb and crushed the hexagonal cells between our fingers and palms so that the sugary liquid ran out.

I filled a frying pan with palm seed oil, sliced and quartered thick, green, fibrous plantains and fried them golden brown over a kerosene burner, and poured the honey over them while they were still sizzling. 

 If there was ever a review of jungle delicacies, fried bananas and fragrant rain forest honey would be at the top of any list.

Congo River 1973

                              Ragi Mudde, Not Fully Acclimatized

In India, my first home away from home, I learned to eat food with exotic names like sambar and idli, masala dosai and chapatti.  Everything was so spiced that it singed my tongue, stung my throat, smoldered in my stomach, glowed in my bowels and burned when it came out.

It didn't take long before I was acclimatized to the point where I stopped using cutlery and began eating with my right hand. I learned to take a shock of rice with my fingers, turn it this way and that, to soak up some curry, and careful not to wet my palm, gathered the mixture into a ball, and flicked it into my mouth. I began to drink like a native too, tilting my head back and letting a stream of liquid trickle down my throat, never touching the rim of the cup or glass with my lips. I had not exactly gone native, but after having lived in India for almost three years, I felt that I still needed to prove to myself that I was truly acclimatized. So, looking for some kind of personal validation, I asked Mrs. Mani my cook, to serve “ragi mudde,” firm round balls the size of a tennis ball, made from the millet that gave good yields from the stony, dry fields of Kolar District, and was a nourishing staple in the local villages. 

"What will people think of me if I feed you this,” she lamented in her Tamil blended Kannada. As if I hadn’t already done enough strange things, she shook her head and asked, “why would you eat this simple food when I can make you rice with mutton or chicken every day?”

She placed several balls of boiled millet in front of me on a tin plate and pretended not to watch, as I chewed and chewed. No matter how much curry I soaked those gooey balls in, they still tasted like brown lumps of coagulated dough, and no matter how much water I drank to wash them down, they still stuck to the roof of my mouth. For my unappreciative and untrained palate, ragi mudde’s firm, gluey consistency reminded me of the oatmeal from my childhood, that was left standing too long in the bottom of the pot, and that I sneaked into the trash bin when my mother wasn’t looking.

To Mrs. Mani’s satisfaction, I gave up after a few days and went back to eating her excellent meals. She never said, “I told you so,” and only gloated a little, if you don’t count her hearty laugh when she shared the story of my fiasco with her daughters, as they helped her prepare my favorite dish, chicken curry with rice and chapatti.

                                          Don’t Argue With an Expert

Cooking for Italians peels away all pretensions. You either get it right or you don’t. So, here's some advice. Don't argue wine with someone whose house is surrounded by vineyards, and who got his first taste as an infant when his grandfather, according to family tradition, put a few drops on his tongue.

You were usually in somewhat safe territory when you paired wine with a meal, if you kept to the usual red with meat and white with fish, but I felt that attitudes were changing and mistakenly thought that the wine I chose one evening was not that unconventional.

 We were hosting Italian house guests, and I was cooking Swedish with a touch of Italy.  Our dinner began with an appetizer made from crayfish tails in a mix of creme fraiche, mayonnaise, red onion, caviar and dill on rye bread squares that I had baked and pan fried in butter. As a second course, I served an acceptably creamy seafood risotto with North Sea shrimp, and as the main course, served filet of pork garnished with sautéed chanterelle mushrooms, fresh from the forest. To accompany the meal, I had chilled several bottles of Pinot Grigio, a fruity and refreshing white wine, that in my opinion, suited the summer temperature and served it with the first two seafood courses, and even felt that it would be suitable with the pork.

One of the guests, the group’s designated wine aficionado, came into the kitchen holding an unopened Pinot Grigio and said apologetically, “Francis this wine shouldn’t be served with the pork filet." I didn´t protest or say that I liked its tart, fruitiness and that there was a changing attitude toward whites. Nor did I have the inclination to discuss or to defend my choice of wine with someone who not only had strong preferences and a firsthand knowledge of the intricacies of the beverage, but probably got his first taste when his father or grandfather put a drop on his tongue when he was an infant.

 Not so much to rectify my mistake, if I want to call it that, as to make a quiet statement with a touch of provocation, I brought up several bottles of the red Tuscan, Brunello di Montalcino, one of the premier Italian wines that I had been saving. As I was putting the final touches on the evening’s dinner, my discerning guest came back with the unopened bottles, and again in the vein of instructing me said, “sorry Francis this wine isn’t suitable either.”  Already knowing the answer, I asked, “Why not?”  “Of course, Brunello is “molto buono,” excellent, but it is too robust, and its intensity will overwhelm the pork.” And he was right on that score also, but I already knew that as I climbed the cellar stairs.

Looking back on that evening, a lighter Primitivo or Montepulciano d’Abruzzo probably would have been better, but mistakes are always an opportunity for learning.

Self Confidence or Self Deceit  

When you are preparing a meal in a hurry, stick to what you know. Even if my meal wasn’t going to get mentioned in the  Gambero Rosso, the platters were cleaned and the participants talked about the meal the next day, and I knew our friends would ask me to cook for them again, that in itself, an adequate compliment.

I was visiting Venice with Italian friends and one morning over coffee and a robust Italian breakfast, consisting of coffee and several biscuits, instead of the usual one, my host said, “Oh by the way, I’ve invited some people for dinner tonight. I told everyone that you were a wonderful cook and that you wouldn´t mind throwing something together for us.”

Before I could back out, everyone around the table agreed in chorus, giving me no time to make excuses as to why I couldn’t. All I could think of were the problems: strange kitchen, were the knives sharp, what would I cook and where would I find all the ingredients that I needed? None the less, a little flattered, I graciously accepted the challenge. Just then, the idea of me cooking for people that had high standards, and that I had only recently met, seemed plausible.

What followed was an intense day of sightseeing, on my host's sloop, sailing through the lagoon, stopping at the islands of Torcello, Burano and Murano. As the day progressed, I was wondering when we were going to turn back, so I could shop, wash, slice, dice, pare, mix, blend, grill, fry, boil and roast. For every hour that slipped past, and every historical sight we saw, I removed a dish from my planned menu. We anchored in the lagoon and after a long lunch and obligatory siesta, and then an aperitivo on Murano, I realized that I was only going to have a few hours to prepare for the evening. I was beginning to feel the first quiet signs of panic.  This was going to be a “catch what catch can meal.” I changed the menu again, scaling it down even more, and decided on a few dishes from the traditional Swedish “smörgåsbord.”

When we finally docked, I found what I needed in a nearby market. Of course, I’d break the rigid Italian rules for preparing fish, and there was the chance that my rich Scandinavian menu wouldn’t suit the Italian palate, but I was following the culinary rule, “when you are in a hurry, stay with what you know,” and with Kersti as sous chef, I’d manage.

Starter = Toast Skagen - shrimp mixed with caviar in a bed of mayonnaise blended with thick sour cream, finely chopped red onion and topped with sprigs of dill served on slices of buttered dark bread toast with the crusts removed.

First course = The two types of pickled herring from the supermarket at home in Sweden, firm one-inch chunks in a marinade of onion, peppercorns distilled vinegar and sugar served with knäckebröd, flat, hard baked rye bread cakes. (We brought both from Sweden as gifts to other friends.) The herring would be washed down with shots of Swedish Absolut Vodka that was available, surprisingly enough, in the supermarket.

Second = Thinly sliced poached salmon with a sauce made from light Dijon mustard, vinegar, honey and thick Greek style yogurt whipped lightly to aerate it.

Third = “Jansson’s Frestelse, “potatoes sliced in thin strips and layered with anchovies along with diced onion and butter covered in thick cream and baked in the oven until the potatoes are soft and have absorbed all the liquid.

Fourth = Swedish meatballs “köttbullar,” small meatballs about fifteen millimeters in diameter made from equal mixtures of double ground pork and beef, with a little diced red onion, egg, breadcrumbs and cream, fried in butter.

Dessert would be simple= strawberries were in season and were part of the Swedish mid-summer tradition, so it was a quickly frozen strawberry semi-freddo on a mirror of strawberry glaze, decorated with strawberry slices and mint leaves.

We’d drink Birra Moretti. Wine wasn’t a traditional Scandinavian beverage. Beer would suit the menu nicely and Moretti's crisp, malty taste, would mellow some of the heaviness of my menu.  Vodka shots, according to tradition, would go with the pickled herring, which along with the knäckebröd, would give the meal an authentic touch.

Because I cooked that evening, I had the honor of being “capo di tavalo,” the honorary head of the table, and sat close to the stove so that I could oversee the dinner. After each course I heard, “very good, buono, complimenti” and the poached lax and dressing were a success, as were the potatoes with anchovies and cream.

How did my dinner go? I survived. The platters were cleaned and the participants talked about the meal the next day. Even if I wasn’t going to get mentioned in the Gambero Rosso, the Italian restaurant guide, I knew our friends would ask me to cook for them again. That in itself, was an adequate compliment.

                  My Cooking, With a Few Go-To Recipes

I have several meters of shelves devoted to cookbooks. They are often my bedtime reading before turning out the light. Cookbooks are often the standard gifts that friends and family give me on birthdays, along with aprons, baking tins, knives, and general cooking gear. I suppose, as well as fueling one of my hobbies, the givers might expect a culinary return on their investments. If so, it’s a debt that I repay gladly with interest.

Everyone can eat but learning how to cook requires some work. When you are proficient in the techniques, of cutting, slicing, dicing, frying, boiling and roasting, when you know your temperatures and combinations, and are friends with your ingredients, learning the rest, like everything else, is dependent on the questions you ask, how you listen to the answers, and practice.  Consequently, I’m a curious and inquisitive student in other people’s kitchens and always enjoy having guests for dinner.

For me, a millimeter is a millimeter in carpentry or mechanics, but not always in cooking. There are no precise measurements. Spices have different strengths, no two salts have the same intensity, some meat is tough and some tomatoes are bitter. The rule is: keep it simple. Learn the techniques and learn how to compensate and salvage a dish if you make a mistake.

The quote “To err is human,” is applicable to most situations, unless you are cooking for Italians, when making a mistake can be embarrassing. I am a person used to taking risks, calculated ones that is, but when I cooked for my group of Italian friends for the first time, I wondered if the source of my confidence was experience or naivete.

My cooking is eclectic, sometimes based on a dish that I’ve been served at a friend’s house or in a restaurant, eaten on my travels, or heard or read about, and I bake all of my bread. I’m flexible, rather than follow recipes as though they were written in stone, I use them as a guide. However, when it comes to Italian cooking, I improvise with caution. Italian cooking is regulated by unstated rules, understood by everyone.

                    Pane Caserecccio Casa Mola

Mola, my surname, is the Latin and Italian word for the millstone used in the grinding of wheat to flour, maybe a fitting name for someone who enjoys baking.

Bread, is one of the most ancient foods and has existed in some form for 12,000 years. Sixty-five percent of the world’s agriculture is devoted to grains. Bread is the center of Italian cuisine and there are hundreds of types that vary from region to region and from baker to baker.

In most of its forms, bread is just a simple combination of milled wheat, water and leavening. I started baking more than fifty years ago when I had difficulty finding bread that was nourishing, satisfying and tasty. Instead of the “staff of life,” the only bread that I found on the grocery store shelves, wasn’t the nutritious staple that has sustained people through the millenniums, but something that resembled moist sponge cake wrapped in plastic.

What makes good bread?  Quality flour, slow fermentation and an understanding of the process.  Learn the craft, practice, experiment, and you’ll be able to bake any type of yeast bread.

Here is a recipe and method that I use often and gives a professional result.

Ingredients for one large loaf:

400 g. stone ground wheat flour with a high protein and gluten content (*hard winter wheat types have that, as opposed to softer spring wheat)

200 g. stone ground whole wheat or rye flour.

5 grams fresh yeast

450 g. water

20 g. salt

For the dough:

Dissolve the fresh yeast in the water.

Slowly blend the flour mixture and salt into the yeast-water mixture to make a dough. It will be somewhat sticky and loose. (The dough will come together as gluten forms during proofing.)

Cover the bowl with a damp cloth or plastic film and place it in the refrigerator for one hour.

Remove the dough from the fridge, stretch it and fold it under, repeating the process 5 or 6 times. Return it to the fridge for approximately 10 hours.

After removal, repeat the folding procedure, form the dough into a ball and place it in a flour dusted proofing basket at room temperature for the final rise, until it doubles in volume. Approximately 4-5 hours.

Baking:

I bake this bread in a thick bottomed cast iron pot with a lid.

Preheat the oven including pot and lid at 250 degrees, for about 30 minutes.

Flop the formed bread into the preheated pot. Score the bread across the top to facilitate an even rise and bake for 20 minutes.

After 20 minutes remove the lid, lower the oven temperature to 200 and bake for another 20 -25 minutes.

The loaf is ready when it is golden brown and when you tap it, it gives off a hollow sound.

*Winter wheat varieties have better baking properties. They hold more water during fermentation and proofing and make a loaf with better structure and volume. 

*Advantages of a long fermentation: the bread will be easier to digest, be tastier, and its vitamins and minerals are more easily absorbed by the body.

Some Useful terms:

Proofing basket- Helps a wet, high hydration dough maintain its shape during the final rise. 

The more yeast the shorter the fermentation time. Most cookbooks have bread recipes that use 25 to 50 grams of yeast for bread made with 600 grams of flour and 450 grams of water. These doughs are kneaded in a mixer in order to form the gluten strands that hold moisture and give the loaf structure. I use 10 grams and ferment the dough for six hours to ten hours.

Fermentation –The first rise

Proofing - The second rise after the dough is shaped into a loaf.

                         Pasta Fatta in Casa : Homemade Pasta

I’ve had the privilege of making fresh pasta with Italian cooks, watching them mix the dough, and then knead, roll and form it to into various shapes. Using only two ingredients, flour and eggs, or flour and water, the result is so surprisingly simple and delicious, that I don’t know why more home cooks don’t make it.

Ingredients for six people:

600g Tipo 00 wheat flour or Semolina flour

6 eggs

Procedure:

Make a mound of the flour into a mound on a countertop or baking board.

Make a well in the center.

Beat the egg with a fork or wisp until blended and then pour them in the well.

Mix in the flour from the sides of the well while still beating, until all the egg has been absorbed.

Lightly dust the work surface with flour and work the dough with your hands until it comes together. Wet them if the dough sticks.

Knead the dough by stretching and rolling. Turn the dough over, then press and roll adding a bit more flour if it sticks. Knead in that way for ten to fifteen minutes until the dough is smooth and supple.

Form a smooth ball and then let it rest covered in a damp cloth or plastic wrap for thirty minutes at room temperature.

Divide the dough into 4 parts, dust your work surface lightly with flour. Roll out each piece with a rolling pin until the sheets are approx. 30 cm. long and 1mm. thick. Cut into strips or pieces to the desired width or shape, with a knife or pasta wheel.

With a pasta machine: Flaten the dough balls. Start with the thickest setting, pass it through each setting twice until the sheets reach the desired thickness. Most machines have attachments for spaghetti of different widths.

Boil the pasta in well-salted water for one to two minutes or until the pasta floats to the surface.

There are hundreds of shapes. Begin with the simple ones, tagliatelle, spaghetti, ravioli, lasagna. 

Egg based pasta goes well with heavier sauces with meat or vegetables.

Pasta is also commonly made in the same way with just water instead of egg.

                My Grandmother Maria Agnello’s Tomato Sauce

My grandmother Maria’s philosophy was that many personal faults and shortcomings could be forgiven, if you knew how to make a good tomato sauce. She taught this recipe to my mother.

Tomato Sauce

Tomato sauce or sugo di pomodoro, is a Southern Italian staple and the best known of the Italian pasta sauces. This is a Neapolitan marinara sauce with tomatoes, basil, garlic and onion, that my grandmother Maria taught my mother, so that she could make it for my father.

The ingredients:

50 ml. olive oil

1.5 kilo seasonally ripe tomatoes, preferably San Marzano, chopped into centimeter squares

1 large onion- finely chopped

3 cloves of crushed garlic

Fresh oregano

1 dec. chopped basil

2 bay leaves

2 dl. water or vegetable stock

Add extra water or vegetable stock depending on the cooking time.

Salt to taste

An alternative to fresh tomatoes is, 1 kg canned San Marzano tomatoes and 500g, tomato passata.

The Procedure:

Heat the oil in a thick bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and garlic and fry them until they are soft. Add the tomatoes, basil, oregano bay leaves. Bring to a simmer, cover and cook, stirring occasionally for about 30 minutes. Salt as needed.

To make a meat sauce, cube 1 kg. stew beef, spareribs and pork.  Add them to the sauce with an additional 2 dl. water or beef stock. Cook slowly together for about one and a half hours or until the meat is tender.

Use the same procedure for the meatballs, but add some extra stock or water and cook for about 30 minutes in the sauce.

Do as the Italians. The pasta with tomato salsa is served as the first course, sprinkled with grated pecorino or parmesan cheese. The meat that is cooked in the sauce is always served after the pasta, as the second course.

                                         Polpette – Mola Family Meatballs

Ingredients for the meatballs:

500 g. mixed chopped meat, half beef, half pork

30 – 40 g. grated pecorino or parmesan cheese

1 dl. milk

1 medium egg

1 dl. fine breadcrumbs

Chopped parsley or several tablespoons chopped onion, golden fried

A handful of raisins

Mix the milk and breadcrumbs with the beaten egg. Let the mixture swell.

Mix all the ingredients, form them into balls about 3 cm. in diameter. Fry them lightly, add them to the sauce and cook them for about 30 minutes.

Note: The polpette (meat balls) like other meats, are served as a separate course.

Buon Appetito

                             Pasta e Patate, Pasta and Potatoes

Memories of the food that we ate as children stay with us throughout our life. Macaroni and potatoes was often our meal in the days when Catholics were forbidden to eat meat on Fridays. It is a rustic Neapolitan dish that my Grandmother Maria, who came from Vietri Sul Mare, probably passed on to my mother. Every cook makes “pasta and potatoes” differently, depending on what ingredients are in their cupboards.  This is basically how I remember the recipe, and how I make it now.

Ingredients for 4 servings:

350 g mixed or small sized pasta

750 g potatoes

150 g chopped celery

150 g chopped carrots

One medium onion, chopped

2 cloves of finely chopped garlic

.5 dl. oil for frying

20 g tomato concentrate

A sprig of rosemary

Several spoonfuls of grated Parmesan cheese

Extra virgin olive oil to taste

Salt

Ground black pepper

1L. water or vegetable stock

Optional: Rinds of Parmesan cheese cut into small squares and added while cooking the pasta.

The Procedure:

Peel and cut the potatoes into cubes.

Sauté the carrots, celery and onion in the oil.

Add the potatoes and fry for an additional 2 minutes.

Add the rosemary and tomato concentrate.  Cover all the ingredients with 7 dl of hot water, add salt and pepper and stir well.

Cook with the lid on, for approximately 20 minutes, or until the potatoes begin to soften.

Remove the rosemary sprig and mash some of the potatoes.

   Stir the pasta into about 3 dl hot water.

Cook everything together until the pasta is done and the sauce thickens.

Serve with a sprinkling of grated parmesan, ground pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil.                                       

                                      Make Pizza Like a Native Pizzaiolo

This is how I make “Casa Mola’s” Friday night pizza. I’ve done it this way for many years. Neapolitan style pizza isn’t complicated, but like learning any skill, it takes some practice and a little patience. Even if it doesn’t come out perfectly every time, it will always be delicious.

The ingredients for two 30 cm. Pizza Margaritas

300 g. strong white flour 00 grind, 12% protein

200 g. water = 65% hydration

1.5 – 2dl. marinara sauce, fresh basil leaves, 250 grams mozzarella or other cheese

5 g. fresh yeast

5 g. salt

Olive oil

You need:

A bowl, a thick pizza stone or pizza steel, a pizza peel and dough scraper.

The steps:

 Dissolve the yeast in the water. (28 – 30 degrees c.)

 Combine the flour and salt in a bowl.

Gradually add the flour to the dissolved yeast mixture, mixing it well until it comes together into a soft, sticky dough.

Cover the dough and put it in the refrigerator to rise slowly for about 12 hours (after 1 hour stretch and fold the dough several times)

After the first slow proofing, remove the dough from the refrigerator, stretch and fold it again 4 or 5 times, cover it and let it continue to rise at room temperature for an additional 6 to 8 hours. (When it is ready, the dough should have risen to 2-3 times its original volume)

Form the dough into two balls, place them in olive oil coated bowls and cover them with a damp cloth. Let the dough rest in a warm place for 30 minutes.

Sprinkle some flour, preferably semolina, onto your bench or baking board. Using your fingers press out each piece of dough into a round shape approx. (30 cm.) from the center outward creating a thin bottom and the cornice that will rise and become the outer crust. (Caution - do it quickly or the dough will lose its suppleness.)

Spread marinara sauce evenly over each bottom, distribute the mozzarella, drizzle a little olive oil over them.

To Bake:

Preheat the oven to its maximum temperature 275 c. - 300 c. with the pizza stone or steel high up under the grill element for at least half an hour.

Bake each pizza under the grill for 5 minutes, then switch to the normal oven setting with top and bottom heat, for approximately five more minutes.

Decorate with fresh basil leaves and serve.

For me, the traditional Neapolitan pizza reflects the simplicity and tradition of Italian cookery, so don’t drown your pizza in too much sauce or laden it with too much, or too many toppings. Let a tasty bottom and a few choice ingredients shine through.

               Pasta With Chanterelle Mushrooms, Casa Mola

From my experience, no one willingly reveals the exact place where they pick chanterelle mushrooms. People keep the location a secret as though they were guarding a hidden treasure, but if you want to find these “princes of the forest” a good tip is to walk through a stand of oak, beech or birch in the late summer. If you are in luck, you can see them sticking their golden crowns up through the grass or moss.

To prepare a simple, but one of my favorite pasta dishes, clean the chantarelle (they should be fresh and firm) by lightly brushing them. Slice the larger ones into smaller pieces, and while you are boiling your pasta, fry them in a mixture of butter and good olive oil together with touch of garlic and a little salt, until the moisture in the pan evaporates.

When your pasta is ready, (I use mezza penne) cooked al dente of course, mix it with a thin marinara sauce made from tomatoes, onion, basil, oregano and a touch of garlic.

Serve each portion individually. Mix the pasta into the sauce. Strew the fried chantarelles generously over each plate of pasta, add a drizzle of olive oil, a little more salt and ground pepper to taste, and some grated parmesan.  Pour a glass of well-chilled Trebbiano d’Abruzzo, and mange.

Finferli, as chanterelles are called in Italian, can be found on the lower oak forested slopes of the Apennines, outside of Vasto.

     Schwartzwald Tårta - A Cake Rich in Tradition and 

                                     Calories

It was Kersti’s birthday and the bakeries didn’t have her favorite cake, so I learned how to bake it. My recipe uses traditional ingredients, but I form the nut-meringue bottoms a little thicker and a little softer than most recipes recommend. This dessert from the Black Forest of Germany, takes some time to make, but anything good, is worth waiting for. The Italian variation is called Torta Foresta Nera and is based on rich chocolate sponge cake instead of hazelnut meringue bottoms.     

The ingredients:

Hazel nuts 250 g

Egg whites 6 medium eggs

Whipping cream 7-8 dl

Bakers’ chocolate 125 g

2 dl icing sugar for the meringue and nut bottoms

1.5dl icing sugar for the whipped cream filling.

Bottoms

Set the oven to 175°C

Toast all the nuts (both for the bottoms and for the filling) on ​​a baking sheet in the middle of the oven for about 10 minutes. Rub the skins off the nuts with a towel.

Grind the nuts in an almond mill, even the nuts that will be used in the cream filling.

Separate the eggs. Beat the whites until they are stiff, with an electric mixer to make a meringue. Towards the end, add the icing sugar, a little at a time.

Carefully fold the ground nuts into the meringue and spread a third of the batter on a buttered and floured cast iron pan 20 cm, or on baking paper cut to the same size, and bake for about 10 minutes, one at a time. The bottoms should have a slightly golden color and be a bit soft. (makes 4)

Filling:

Whip the cream. Mix half of the whipped cream with the ground hazelnuts and additional icing sugar.

Spread a third of the nut cream on one base.  Place the next base on top and spread out more nut cream, repeat for the third, and then place the fourth on top.

Topping:

Spread the remaining whipped cream (without nuts) on top and around the edges of the cake.

Sprinkle a few tablespoons of ground hazel nuts on the top.

Melt the chocolate in the microwave or in a bain-marie. Spread a thin layer of chocolate about 30x30 cm. on a sheet of baking paper.  Cool it and cut it into squares to decorate the sides, and form some into triangular spires to place on the top, creating the image of mountain peaks in a bed of snow.

                   Mrs. Mani´s Chicken Curry

Mrs. Mani’s chicken curry wasn’t the same from time to time, but the basic ingredients were, and the result was always an explosion of flavor. I ‘ve made this dish countless times. I try to make it like she did, and this is about as close as I can come, considering her spices came from sacks at the village market, the chicken was slaughtered and plucked a few minutes before going into the pot, and she used tamarind for tartness instead of lemon.

Ingredients:

Peanut or coconut oil, or a neutral oil for frying

3 onions, chopped

1 cinnamon stick

2 tablespoons of chopped ginger

2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

Two chopped tomatoes or two spoonfuls of tomato paste

1 tsp. ground coriander seeds

1 tsp. ground cardamon seeds

1 tsp. ground cummin seeds

Ground cloves = 2

Ground chili pepper to taste – mild to hot

Juice of one lemon

2 dec. of yogurt

One half liter of water

1.5 – 2 kilos of chicken without the skin cut into pieces

Procedure:

Grind the spices in a mortar.

Heat the oil in a thick bottomed pot and sauté the onion, garlic, and ginger until the onion is golden. Put in the ground spices, fry for several more minutes and add the tomatoes and the cinnamon. 

Put in the chicken, add half a liter of water and simmer the mixture while stirring, until the chicken is cooked, about a half hour. Stir in the yogurt and the lemon juice.

Serve with boiled rice.

                                  For Once I Was Innocent!

If someone catches you breaking spaghetti before putting it in the cooking pot, or God forbid, cutting it while it is on the plate, you might be banned from the country for life. Not long ago, I was eating “spaghetti marinara” in a traditional working man’s trattoria in the "Quartieri Spagnoli" the Spanish Quarter, in Napoli. Towards the end of the meal, there wasn’t any bread left on the table to sop up the remaining sauce, “fare la scarpetta “as you say in Italian.

Not wanting to waste any of it, I used my knife to push up some sauce, with a few of the remaining strands of spaghetti, onto my fork. While I was doing that, the cook came out of the kitchen and when he saw me, mistakenly thought that I was cutting my spaghetti into small pieces and burst out laughing. He said in a clear voice that rang through the restaurant, “Guarda tutti! Look everyone! He eats spaghetti like an American!”

                 An Alternative Driver’s Manual

In Italian traffic, you must navigate a complex environment of scooters, cars, and pedestrians, at a pace that sometimes makes you feel as though you are in a road race. Here are a few tips that might help.

In heavy traffic, expect the unexpected. If you think that you are a good driver, for the safety of yourself and your passengers, have the focus and caution of a beginner.

Don’t be a stranger to patience and tolerance. Use your horn less, your brakes more.

Stay out of the lefthand lane on the autostrada, unless you are prepared to drive well over the speed limit, which is 130 km/h, and even then, someone will probably come dangerously close to your back bumper wanting to pass.

On the highway, the emergency lane or road shoulder, is a de-facto motorcycle and scooter lane.

Many drivers regard every lane as a passing lane, even if there is an unbroken middle line.

The horn is not only used to admonish, but as a courtesy. Beep! Here I come.

Don’t expect drivers to use turn-signals.

Traffic signs can be seen as suggestions open to interpretation.

Drinking and driving: Enforcement of the rules is more lenient than in Northern Europe.

Don’t be alarmed if you see cars taking up two lanes on the motorway, or scooters and motorcycles weaving in and out of traffic and passing you, in your lane on both sides, occasionally two at the same time.

If you feel uncomfortable or stressed by the vehicles behind you on mountain roads, rather than increasing your speed, pull over and let them pass.

If you are coming from a side street, stick the nose of your car out into the traffic and make an opening where there isn’t one. The zipper method works surprisingly well, but occasionally you must be assertive to find a little opening in order to join in the flow.

Parking: Sometimes finding a space is like finding that “needle in a haystack,” so creative parking is a survival skill, as is parallel parking in a small space on heavily trafficked streets. 

Bigger is not always better. There is a reason why many of the cars that you see are scraped along the sides. City streets are crowded and narrow.

Use your mirrors.

Many towns have installed photo monitors on the main roads that record and fine speeders. 

Pay attention to signs that read. ZTL. They designate restricted entry to certain areas in cities and towns. There are cameras. The fines are very high and will be forwarded to you, sometimes after a year or more, from your car rental company, together with an expensive handling fee.

Pay attention at intersections with traffic lights. Many have cameras. Driving through a caution signal that turns red will cost you dearly.

Don’t fumble with bills and change at toll booths. Most accept major credit cards. Follow the sign “Carta”.

The Rules of the Road

Even if I had driven in the crowded cities of the world, and had ridden motorcycles through the U.S., Europe, India, and Africa, my first foray into Italian traffic made me feel like a novice that had just gotten their learner’s permit. I quickly found that the expression, “when in Rome do as the Romans do,” applies also to its roads.

When you read descriptions of the traffic congestion in European cities, they are usually accompanied by photos of cars circling Rome’s Colosseum, or a crawling line of traffic past the nearby Monumento Vittorio Emanuele. With that in mind, I thought it was a good idea to say a few words to Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, the first time I drove through its maze of one-way streets, boulevards, avenues, lanes and alleys. After a few wrong turns, and accompanied by some beeping horns, and with my focus and reflexes as sharp as those of a rally driver, I joined the fast-moving flow of vehicles on the Grande Raccordo Anulare and left the city. 

It was a baptism of fire in Rome’s complex traffic environment, with motorcycles and scooters weaving precariously around cars in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, and everyone changing lanes in an undisciplined way, that seemed to me, both erratic and unplanned. Eventually, I found my place in the order of the disordered and followed its pulsing rhythm. I realized, after a while, that Italian drivers were adept at navigating the tight traffic of their cities and towns, and the high speeds of the autostradas. It was a daredevil skill and confidence, born not only from habit, but from necessity.

In Italy, you might find yourself driving on narrow mountain roads without guard rails or reflectors or lost in the tangle of lanes and alleys in a medieval town or struggling in the maelstrom of expressway traffic. These complicated driving environments are not for the faint of heart, the timid or the indecisive. The rapid pace requires quick decision making, and good reflexes. It also helps to have an understanding of the traffic rules and laws, even if at times, it seems as though other drivers have a relaxed relation to them.

This aggressive driving style with high speeds, erratic movements, and haphazard lane discipline can be intimidating, but driving defensively, and heeding some basic advice, can help.

Rules of the Road That Are Regarded by “Some” as Flexible:

The speed limit

Lane markings

Stop signs

No parking zones

Stopping for pedestrians at crosswalks

Safety belts

Double parking (Use your warning blinkers and see if you can get away with it.)