1/2 t. sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup of olive oil
— Pare the fennel stalks down to their tender centers and while doing so, separate and retain the leafy fronds. Combine the stalks, fronds, and leaves on a cutting board and chop them coarsely. Place in a bowl, cover with cold water and drain well.
— Place the clean fennel in a steamer along with the peeled garlic cloves. Steam over high heat for 12–15 minutes, or until the fennel and garlic are very tender. Cool and transfer to a cutting board. Chop the mixture finely.
— Add 13/4 cups of the bread crumbs and the grated parmigiano. Next add the whole egg, the salt and a little freshly ground black pepper. Stir with a fork until the mixture forms a firm mass.
— Using two soup spoons, portion the fritters evenly. One by one, toss the fritters into a bowl containing the remaining bread crumbs and form them by hand into small uniform patties.
— Warm the olive oil in a large skillet. Test the temperature of the oil by tossing in a crumb. It should sizzle and dance in the pan. Fry the fritters over high heat, turning them with the help of a slotted spoon. Transfer to a platter lined with absorbent paper or towel, then to a service platter. Pass while still warm.
Fried Artichokes
As a Southerner, to me “deep fried” is an enchanting phrase. We never met an artichoke, when I was growing up, except marinated in a jar. Still, this seems like soul food. At the spring markets, vendors sell five sizes. For stuffing with bread, herbs, and tomatoes, I buy the largest ones. For frying or eating raw, the smallest, purple-tinged ones are best. Even with those, trim off any part of the leaf that might be stringy.
— Select ten small artichokes. Strip any tough outer leaves and trim off the tips quite close to the heart. Quarter and pat dry with paper towels. Heat safflower, peanut, or sunflower oil. Beat three eggs in a bowl with 3/4 cup of water, and quickly dip artichoke pieces in the egg then shake them in a bag of seasoned flour. Brush off excess. Fry in hot oil (350 degrees) until golden. When done, remove to brown paper to drain, then pile on a platter and serve with wedges of lemon. Serves eight as an hors d'oeuvre.
PRIMI PIATTI ——
Odori
Usually the greengrocer, whether in a shop or outdoor market, will give you a handful of odori, literally “odors, herbs,” aromatic flavors for your pot: a handful of parsley and basil, a couple of stalks of celery, and a carrot or two. If I'm not making a stock or stew, sometimes this little gift wilts in the fridge. One night when the cupboard was bare, Ed minced the odori and invented this simple mix for pasta. After that, we spread it on focaccia, and also pulled apart the petals of steamed artichokes and stuffed it between the leaves, a fresh alternative to lemon butter or vinaigrette.
— Finely chop—almost mince—2 carrots, 2 stalks of celery, and 3 cloves of garlic. Sauté in 2 T. of olive oil until cooked but still crunchy. Scissor basil and parsley into the mixture, add another 2 T. of olive oil and cook on low flame for 2–3 minutes. Prepare enough spaghetti for two. Drain and mix 2 or 3 T. of the pasta water and a little olive oil into the pasta. Mix 4 T. grated parmigiano into the odori. It should have the texture of pesto. Toss with spaghetti. Serves two.
Risotto Primavera
“The best meal I've ever had,” a friend said, after a simple dinner of risotto with spring vegetables. Of course it wasn't, but the effect of a lovely mound of risotto in the middle of the plate surrounded by a wreath of colorful and flavorful vegetables inspires effusive declarations. This seems like the heart of spring dining. It could be followed by roast chicken but I like it as a dinner in itself, followed by tossed lettuces with pear slices and gorgonzola. A special local risotto is made with nettles. Evil as they are when mature, they're a spring treat when they're very young. Some farmers' markets at home have them occasionally. Chop and quickly blanch them, then stir into the risotto at the last minute of cooking.
— Prepare and season the vegetables separately. Shell 3 pounds of fresh peas, steam briefly. Clean a large bunch of new carrots and cut into pieces about the same size as the asparagus stems. Steam the carrots until barely done. Break 2 pounds of asparagus stalks just where they naturally snap, and steam or roast. Heat to a boil then turn down to simmer 51/2 cups of seasoned stock and 1/2 cup of white wine. In another pot, sauté 2 cups of arborio rice and a finely chopped onion in a tablespoon of olive oil for a couple of minutes, then gradually ladle in the stock as the rice absorbs the liquid. Keep stirring and ladling in more until the rice is done. Some prefer it almost soupy, but for this dish it is better moist and al dente. Add the juice of a lemon, stir in 1/2 cup or so of grated parmigiano, and season to taste. Serve the plates with the vegetables surrounding the rice. Serves six.
Orecchiette with Greens
Orecchiette, pasta shaped like little ears, work well when served con quattro formaggi, with four cheeses: gorgonzola, parmigiano, pecorino, and fontina. In spring, they are popular with greens.
— Sauté 2 bunches of chopped chard with some chopped spring onions and garlic. Cook enough orecchiette for six. Drain and toss with the greens. If you like anchovies, sauté about 6 fillets, then chop and mix with the greens. Season, then stir in 1/2 cup of grated parmigiano, or serve separately.
Orecchiette with Shrimp
This combination, amusing because of the similar shapes of the pasta and the shrimp, makes a rather substantial course.
— Shell enough fava beans for 1 cup. Sauté the beans in a little olive oil until almost done, then add a finely chopped small onion, or a couple of fresh spring onions, to the pan. Cook until onion is soft. Season and purée in food processor. Clean and sauté a pound of shrimp or small prawns in olive oil with 4 cloves of garlic, left whole. Add 1/4 cup of white wine, turn heat to high very briefly, then turn off. Discard garlic. Cook pasta for six, drain, toss with almost all the green sauce; stir shrimp into remaining green sauce. Serve pasta on plates, arranging shrimp mixture on top.
SECONDI ——
Spring Veal
This completely simple veal, discovered when I suddenly had no tomatoes for the stew I was about to make, has become a favorite. The lovely, pure lemon flavor intensifies the taste of the tender veal.
— Pat dry 3 pounds of veal cubes. Dredge in flour and quickly brown in a heavy pot. Add 1 cup of white wine. With a zestier, remove the thin top layer of peel from 2 lemons; add to pot with salt and pepper. Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes, or until veal can be pulled apart easily with a fork. Stir, add the juice of the 2 lemons. Add the lemon juice at the end, since it would toughen the veal to add it sooner. Put back in the oven for 5 more minutes. Stir in a handful of chopped parsley. Serves six.
CONTORNI ——
Fava Beans with Potatoes and Artichokes
First and most loved of the spring vegetables are the raw fave. Fresh fave are nothing like the ones I've found in supermarkets, which must be blanched and very tediously peeled, bean by bean. Although they still can be good, basically a bean that must be peeled is past its prime. Easy to grow, they're hard to find at home, although sometimes farmers' markets will have a bin of just-picked tender green ones. In one Tuscan friend's home, a bowl of raw, unshelled fave were brought out with a round of pecorino, served with a bottle of wine late in the afternoon. At another friend's house, the fave e pecorino ritual was observed at the end of a light dinner, a simultaneous salad and cheese course. Any time seems to be a good time for this sacred combination. The following recipe could accompany a veal chop or a pork tenderloin, but is a happy spring main course, too.
— Quarter and steam 6 small artichokes until just tender. Drain and set aside in acidulated water. Peel and quarter a pound of white potatoes (you can use tiny red new potatoes). Steam these, too, until barely done. Shell 2 pounds of fava beans, as fresh as possible; steam until done. Heat 4 T. olive oil in a big sauté pan. Sauté 2 or 3 chopped young spring onions (or a bunch or two of scallions) and 3 or 4 cloves of minced garlic. Add the vegetables, choppe
d thyme, salt, and pepper. Squeeze the juice of 1 lemon over the vegetables. Gently toss the mixture until nicely blended and hot. Turn out onto a platter. Serves six generously.
Roasted Vegetables, Especially Fennel
The larger your oven, the better to roast a variety of the vegetables-of-the-moment. I've come to prefer oven-roasting to grilling vegetables. The individual flavors are accentuated, while grilling imposes its own smoky taste. Oven-roasted fennel is unbelievably good. I find myself stealing a piece as soon as I turn off the oven.
— Generously oil a non-stick cookie pan with sides, or a large baking pan. Arrange halved peppers, quartered onions, separated pieces of fennel, halved zucchini and squash, sliced eggplant, whole heads of garlic, and halved tomatoes. Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with chopped thyme, salt and pepper. Slide the pan into the oven and roast at 350 degrees. After about 15 minutes, start testing the squash, zucchini, and tomatoes, removing them to a platter as they are done. Turn the eggplant and peppers. Everything should be done before 30 minutes have passed. Arrange on a platter. The garlic requires hands-on attention. Guests pull off the cloves and squeeze them onto bread.
Other Roasted Vegetables
Since my friend Susan Wyler, author of several cookbooks, taught me to roast asparagus in the oven, I've never steamed it again. Even burned and crisp, it's delicious. Little string beans also benefit from a run in the oven. Roasting brings out a hidden taste. With about 200 onions growing like mad in the garden, I've taken to roasting them frequently. Balsamic vinegar adds a sweet surprise. Surround a roast chicken with a ring of these onions.
— Arrange asparagus spears in a single layer in a pie or cake pan. Trickle olive oil over them and season with salt and pepper. Roast for 5 minutes—or until barely fork-tender—at 400 degrees.
— Steam Blue Lake string beans until almost done. Shake them dry and roast with a sprinkling of olive oil for 5 minutes at 400 degrees.
— Arrange almost peeled onions—leave a layer or two of the papery skin—in a non-stick baking dish. Cut a large X-shaped gash in the top. Sprinkle liberally with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Roast for 40 minutes at 350 degrees. Check a time or two and add more balsamic and oil if they look dry.
DOLCI ——
In primavera, fruits aren't ripe yet. Most of the gelato stands are still closed for cold weather. As in winter, dessert is often chestnuts roasted at the fireplace, a wedge of gorgonzola, or Baci, the chocolate kisses of Perugia, along with a glass of limoncella or amaro, or, for the stalwart among us, grappa. One stand at the Thursday market sells dried fruits. Poached in wine, with a few spirals of lemon zest and spices, and served with biscotti, the fruits come to life, good to hold us over until the fruits of summer begin to arrive.
Fruits Plumped in Wine
Delicate and light, this homey dessert falls into the comfort food category. Pass biscotti for dipping into the sugared wine. Children hate this dessert.
— Pour boiling water to cover over a pound of dried fruits—apricots, peaches, cherries, and/or figs—and let them rest for an hour. Bring to a boil 2 cups of red wine, 1/2 cup sugar, a little nutmeg, and spirals of thin lemon peel. Stir in 1 cup of raisins (a mixture of gold and dark), and the drained fruit. Reduce heat immediately to a simmer. Cook for 10 minutes. Remove the fruit. Boil down the remaining liquid until it thickens and pour over the fruit. Better the next day. Sprinkle each serving with toasted pine nuts.
Frozen Sunset
Just a plain ice, but anything with blood oranges seems exotic and primal. Is it the word “blood” that enters the imagination as a glass of the scarlet juice pours into a glass? Or is it just the jolt of slicing the orange, seeing the two rounds falling open, glistening scarlet, and vinous. The mind is cooled and soothed by the sweet-tart layers of taste in the icy melting of this blood orange sorbet.
— Make a sugar syrup by boiling together 1 cup of water and 1 cup of sugar, then simmering it for about 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Add 2 cups of blood orange juice, and the juice of a lemon. Cool in the fridge. When well-chilled, process in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. Or you can freeze it in ice trays until slushy, break up the icy mixture, then partially freeze again. Garnish with lemon balm or mint.
Ginger Pound Cake
Baking must be a deeply encoded instinct. When it comes to dessert, I find that I often return to something I know from my mother and Willie Bell's kitchen. Ginger has nothing to do with Italy but it has a great deal to do with fruit. My carry-on luggage would puzzle a customs inspector, if one ever bothered to look inside. She might find a bottle of cane syrup—because how can one have biscuits at breakfast without butter and cane syrup—or a bottle of corn syrup for various desserts such as this old favorite.
— Sift 31/3 cups of flour, 1/2 t. salt, 1 t. baking powder, 1 t. baking soda, 1 t. nutmeg, and 11/2 T. ginger. Cream 1 cup of butter and 1 cup of sugar. Separate 4 eggs. Stir beaten yolks into sugar mixture. Beat in 1 cup of light corn syrup, then stir in flour alternately with 1/2 cup of cream. Beat the 4 whites until they form stiff peaks, then fold egg whites into cake mixture. Pour into a non-stick tube pan that has been lightly buttered for good measure. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour. Cool briefly then invert on a plate.
Blood Oranges with Vin Santo
If you do not have vin santo, substitute brandy. This is a vibrant dessert, especially paired with slivers of Ginger Pound Cake. Later in the season, prepare peaches this way, too, simmering them only five minutes.
— Boil 2 cups of water, 1 cup of sugar, 4 T. of vin santo and 3 or 4 cloves. Add sections of 6 peeled blood oranges, then turn heat down and simmer for 10 minutes. Drain and cool. Mix 3 cups of mascarpone with 1/2 cup of sugar, 1/2 cup of white wine, and the juice of a lemon. Serve the mascarpone in 6 bowls, topped with the oranges.
Circles on My Map
Monte Oliveto Maggiore
A DREAMY DAY TO DRIVE. THE GREEN LANDSCAPE smears across the windshield. Flowering chestnut trees begin to droop under the rain. We cross the valley, skirt the hilltown of Sinalunga, and drive toward Monte Oliveto Maggiore, one of the great monasteries of Italy. The greens! Hills look as though footlights angle across them—neon green, poison green, green velvet, Life Saver green. When I was five, I saw an irresistible green moss and jumped on it. I quickly sank into sludge and my father, in a pale linen suit and shouting “Jesus H. Christ,” had to fish me out. I had jumped through a brilliant, thick algae covering the surface of an open septic tank behind the cotton mill. But this green is innocent; I could jump into it and roll like a horse.
We start to glimpse the wild landscape of eroded crete, clay, which you see in many Sienese paintings. Dramatic and forbidding in late summer, the crevices are still softened by grasses. The monks who chose this spot definitely wanted to leave the world behind for a place of contemplative seclusion. I try to think of travelling here in the 1500s, when twenty miles was the most you could count on covering in a day and the maps that existed rarely showed roads. A curvy one like this must have been a tortuous track susceptible to washout in storms. Italian roads still depend on a directional sense rather than highway numbers. You see signs to specific places rather than 580 East or 880 North, a custom probably connected with early travel. One traveller in the 1500s wrote, “I have had so little respite that my bottom has been constantly a-fire from the saddle.” Obviously a common problem; earlier, the rigors of the road inspired Cato to give a bit of advice, “To prevent chafing: When you set out on a journey, keep a small branch of Pontic wormwood under the anus.” The more comfortable Alfa hugs the road nicely and Ed loves the constant downshifting on hills and hairpin loops.
Around a curve, suddenly the red brick complex looms. The moat and stronghold effect of the massive structure remind me that even here in the Middle Ages defense was an issue. Cypresses and chapels and footpaths surround the monastery, which looks like a beautiful prison. At the entrance, a Benedictine monk in an ankle-leng
th white robe that looks unbearably scratchy and hot checks everyone for proper attire. My daughter was turned away last summer by this fashion policeman when she presented herself at the door in a sleeveless Lycra top and a short skirt. The monk wagged his finger in her face and shook his head. Arms may not be exposed. She was furious when she saw men in shorts being admitted but she went back to the car, borrowed her boyfriend's baggy T-shirt and then was allowed to enter. Today, I see him turn away a man in short shorts. If the Benedictines must wear those wooly robes, I suppose flesh has to be a philosophical concept. At least today proves it's not a misogynistic one. He scans my mid-calf–length skirt and yellow sweater and nods me in.
Once inside the fifteenth-century cloister, the impression of a fortress dissolves into the serene quiet of a light-drenched courtyard with pots of geraniums. Somewhere in the complex, monks labor over the restoration of old books, or engage in concocting Flora di Monte Oliveto, a herbal liqueur used as a curative. Their other main product is honey. I would like to see them in their robes, opening the hives, an act unchanged since medieval times.
Behind the bordering carved arcades, the Sodoma and Signorelli (a Cortona boy) frescoes of the life and miracles of San Benedetto—holy inspiration for this order—line the inside walls.
During these years of transforming the house, we become obsessed at different times over aspects of construction. For a while, wherever we were we noticed drainpipes, how they were attached, where they leaked, whether they were copper or tin. When we had a humidity problem on a wall, we found ourselves spotting areas of mildew and rippled paint on cathedral and museum walls, ignoring the art and architecture while trying to pinpoint the source of the problem.
Today, we're riveted by the Signorelli fresco of a falling wall. “Walls fall,” in the immortal words of Primo Bianchi when our Lime Tree Bower wall careened into the road below. Falling stone is a particular nightmare of ours. In the background of the fresco, a monk loses his footing when a wall starts to slide, and he tumbles through scaffolding. A little devil hovers above him. Was there a red devil hovering in the linden trees over our wall? In the middle distance, three monks are carrying the lifeless body, and in the foreground the monk is miraculously revived by a blessing from Benedetto. As in other frescoes, this event does not seem to qualify as a major miracle. After all, the monk probably was just knocked out. Benedetto must have been loved and revered, so much so that everything he did seemed miraculous. If I had not bought the guidebook in the monastery shop, I would have no idea of all that is going on in these paintings.
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