The Cat in the Pan

By Patricia Winton

He popped onto my TV screen soon after I moved into my first Roman apartment. The program, La Prova del Cuoco—The Cook’s Challenge—had been on the air for a couple of years at that point. A zany mix of professional chefs, amateur cooks, and even children, the program demonstrated the Italian obsession with food. The most serious notes came from Beppe

Begazzi, an expert on Italian cuisine, and especially, on the basic ingredients. His pedantic pronouncements about where to forage for the best porcini, how to cook bistecca fiorentina, when to eat sausage, or how to ensure the freshest salad greens provided a seriousness to the otherwise rapid pace of the show. His dark eyes and closely cropped white hair gave authority to what he said. Often clad in a plaid shirt with a bolo tie or a sweater, he fascinated me. I’ve learned a great deal from Beppe.

When I began creating characters for my mystery stories, I realized that my heroine needed a sidekick. A schoolmasterish figure like Beppe would do well. From this kernel of an idea, Nino Nardo emerged. He’s about 30 years younger than Beppe, who’s in his 70s. Unlike Beppe, his bald head shines above an impeccable business suit. Over time, Nino has become very real to me. He adopts his professorial voice when he wants to make sure the heroine understands something. He recognizes his weakness, and often gives her an apologetic smile when he’s gone too far.

Beppe, too, can be over the top, but in my mind, Nino is such a separate entity that his image wasn’t tarnished when Beppe fell from grace a couple of years ago. At the time, Antonella Clerici, the show’s host who had been working with Beppe for several years, was on maternity leave. She knew how to slow him when he rode his hobby horse too fast. Her replacement, a former beauty queen named Elisa Isoardi, did not.

In the segment that got him fired, he talked about coniglio del tetto—roof rabbbit—a term used to describe cats. In earlier shows, he had talked about how people ate everything, including cats, during the hungry 1930s and 40s. On the broadcast in question, he gave a recipe. Poor Elisa stood mute, even sinking behind props, as Beppe described how to wash the cat in a flowing stream for three days before cooking.

As I look at the program in Youtube now, I think he was winding her up. The station’s manager had recently announced that Elisa would remain on the show, barring Antonella’s return after her maternity leave. I think Beppe was quite possibly trying to demonstrate what little control Elisa had. Animal rights groups denounced the program, talk shows debated the issue, and Beppe didn’t return. Antonella told journalists that she knew how to keep Beppe in check, but Elisa’s lips quivered as she spoke about her cat, Othello.

Things are back to normal in the world of television now. Antonella hosts the show again, and last year, Beppe returned as well. In my fictional world, Nino is headed for trouble, but not for eating cats.

I write on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. I hope you’ll drop by. And please visit my website at www.PatriciaWinton.com

A Rite of Spring

By Patricia Winton

Spring has finally arrived in Rome and with it fava beans, known simply as Le Fave here. You know they’re coming a couple of weeks before they’re available because these notices begin appearing outside shops selling fresh vegetables: This establishment sells fresh fava beans.

When I first noticed these signs ten years ago, I thought it meant everyone was anticipating the arrival of this venerable vegetable. I’ve since learned that there is a rare, though serious, allergy that can be triggered by inhaling the fumes released by these beans, much less eating them. Fortunately, perhaps, the condition is genetic, so you probably know if you’re vulnerable and should stay away from shops displaying the notice. But the signs still excite me because I know the treat will be here soon.

Favas were the only legumes eaten by Europeans prior to explorations of the New World. They have been a mainstay in the diets of Asians, Europeans, Middle Easterners, and North Africans for centuries, and it’s believed that North Africans may have begun eating them as early as 6,000 BC. Known by many names—broad beans, Windsor beans, field beans, or bell beans—favas are a harbinger of spring wherever they’re grown.

In Rome, May 1 celebrations—Labor Day here—include raw fava beans and pecorino cheese. But the real spring treat is vignarola, a medley of vegetables available concurrently as the weather warms: artichokes (just ending the season), favas, and peas. It’s a labor-intensive dish best prepared while seated at a table outdoors, accompanied by a friend and a glass of white wine. You can shell the legumes and clean the artichokes while enjoying the sunshine. When all the vegetables have been preped, move indoors for the cooking.

Vignarola

1 1/2 cups shelled peas

1 1/2 cups shelled and peeled fava beans*

2 large artichokes, cleaned ** and cut into eighths

1 lemon

2 large spring onions, thinly sliced

1/2 head Romaine lettuce, cut horizontally into strips

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1/3 cup cubed bacon (optional)

salt and pepper to taste

1. Heat the olive oil in a frying pan and add the bacon, cooking and stirring until it begins to brown (if you’re omitting the bacon, move to step 2).

2. Add the spring onions; cook until they soften.

3. Add the artichokes, Romaine, salt, and pepper. Stir well and cover. Reduce heat to lowest setting and cook about 10 minutes.

4. Stir in the peas and favas. Cook an additional 15 to 20 minutes, until the vegetables are tender.

5. Serve warm or hot. It can be a starter course or a main dish. It also works well as a sauce for pasta.

  * A video showing how to clean fava beans

** A video showing how to clean artichokes

Facciamo un Brindisi

By Patricia Winton

Facciamo un Brindisi is the Italian way of saying “Let’s make a toast.” There are two competing stories about the origin of the phrase. One comes from that high Italian art form, opera. That idea says the word brinidisi is based on a German phrase Ich bring dir's – "I offer it to you." In several Italian operas, two character sings an invitation to drink to each other, and the chorus joins in. The word also refers to a drinking song which encourages people in a large group to drink and toast each other. One of the most famous of this type of brindisi comes from La Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. (Listen while you read the rest of this post.)

But the word brindisi may also come from the Italian town of the same name, located on the southeast coast of Italy . This story is connected with ancient Rome. The town of Brindisi then, as now, was a port city. Roman armies embarked on campaigns to make war and conquer more territories from Brindisi. After marching the 476 miles (295 km.) from Rome, the soldiers would revel in the town, drinking and toasting each other for success in battle and a safe return.

Italian vintners have reason to make a brindisi these days. Exports of Italian wine have increased by 10 percent over the past few years, and exports of prosecco, the bubbly traditionally used for brindisi, have soared 26 percent to the United States and Canada in the past year alone. So Americans and Canadians should be making more brindisi these days.

Prosecco hails from the area around Conigliano-Valdobbiadene, in the Veneto region of Italy nestled near the Alps. The wine enjoys a “geographic indication,” which means that only wine from the region can be called by either of these three names: Prosecco di Conigliano, Prosecco di Valdobbiadene, or Prosecco di Conigliano-Valdobbiadene. In 2008, its status was elevated from D.O.C. (Controlled name origin) to D.O.C.G. wherein the authentic name is guaranteed.

It’s a wine with a sharp, fresh aroma and a light taste. Aged in stainless steel vats instead of in the bottle, prosecco is a wine to drink young as it goes flat with age. That’s all the more reason to make a brindisi.

I hope you’ll raise a glass of it soon.

Next week, I'll be writing here at Italian Intrigues again. My next post at Novel Adventurers will be April 25. Please check out my new website.

Roman Artichokes

By Patricia Winton

At this time of year, the giant purple Roman artichoke—known as cimiroli—comes into season. Two regional recipes, carciofi alla romana (Roman artichokes) and carciofi alla giudia (Jewish artichokes), vie for the dinner table. Either may join the Easter feast. The former, carciofi alla romana, requires less work. Both are delicious when well cooked.

I have to admit that I’ve never tackled the carciofi alla giudia (a fried artichoke) because it’s quite complicated. I've savored them at restaurants in the Roman ghetto, however, and they are quite wonderful. If you are interested, you can see a video (dubbed in English) that demonstrates the process.

To make both recipes, first you must clean the globes. (The video linked above gives a good demonstration of how to do this.) In Italy, artichokes are normally sold with a portion of the stem, which is edible. To clean, first prepare a bowl of water with the juice of a lemon along with the two lemon halves. Artichokes will darken your hands, so you may want to rub them with the lemon before you begin.

The first step is to snap off the tough outer leaves. Keep going until you begin to see green edges at the base of the remaining artichokes. Next, cut off the points by taking a sharp paring knife and begin making a horizontal cut midway between the base and tip. Turn the artichoke as you go, cutting deeper and deeper into the flesh until you reached the center. Next, use the knife to peel away the tough base of the leaves you removed earlier. Peel any stem remaining. Put the artichoke in the waiting water. Now choose a recipe, either the one below or the one in the video.

Carciofi alla Romana

4 globe artichokes (cleaned and put to soak in lemon water)

2 clove of garlic, minced

2 tablespoons chopped mint
3 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley

salt and pepper

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
water

Mix together the garlic, mint, parsley, and enough of the olive oil to moisten the mixture. Mix well. (The usual mint used in this dish is mentuccia—Roman mint—but you can substitute other mint if the mentuccia is not available.)

Remove the artichokes, shaking and blotting with paper towels to remove water.

Using your thumbs, stretch open each artichoke, making a little well in the center, and pull apart the leaves without breaking or separating them.

Fill each artichoke with some of the mixture, rubbing the exterior with the mixture as well. Place the artichoke in a large pot.

Pour the remaining oil over the artichokes and add enough water to come half-way up. Cover the artichokes with a large piece of crumpled parchment paper.

Cover the pan and bring to a simmer, cooking over a moderate flame for half an hour.

Pierce the artichokes with a fork to check if they are done. Continue cooking until they are tender, if necessary.

Serve the artichokes at room temperature.

Serves 4.

Join me on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. Next week I blog about my first journey to Italy, a trip fraught with seemingly insurmountable hurdles.