The Wasps' Nest

By Patricia Winton

The area of Rome where I live was dubbed Nido di Vespe (wasps’ nest) by the Nazis during World War II because it housed a major network of partigiani, the guerrillas who engaged in sabotage and other anti-Nazi activities. The Germans ultimately swept through with a mass roundup on April 17, 1944—seventy years ago yesterday.

By the beginning of 1944, Rome was in chaos: the allies were marching from the south; troops had landed at Anzio; the king had fled; the Italian government had surrendered to the allies; the Jewish ghetto had been swept and many of its citizens sent to Auschwitz. The Nazis were in control. Against this background the partigiani stepped up their activities in central Rome, culminating in an attack near the Spanish Steps in which 33 German soldiers were killed. The Nazis retaliated with a massacre on March 24, 1944 with 335 Italian men killed—ten Italians for each German, plus five for good measure.

On April 10, Easter Monday, a partigiano shot three German soldiers at point-blank range in a trattoria near Cinecittà. For the Nazis, this was a last straw. At 4 AM on April 17, German troops blocked all access to this neighborhood, known as the Quadraro, going house to house and rounding up about 2000 men between the ages of 16 and 60. Half of these managed to escape, but 947 were transported to concentration camps where they were forced into hard labor. Known in Italy as the Schiavi di Hitler (Hitler’s slaves), in Germany they were called Volunteers for Germany. About half of these men died in the concentration camps. The event is known as the Rastrellamento del Quadraro (the Raking of the Quadraro). It was the second-largest Nazi roundup in Italy after the Jewish ghetto in Rome.

Each year, there is a commemoration. On this, the seventieth anniversary, there are several days of events, including concerts, releases of a new book and a video, art exhibitions, and others. Yesterday, I went to a wreath-laying ceremony. A group of local dignitaries, military leaders, and citizens—some representing families of victims of the rastrellamento—assembled near the spot where the detained men were initially held. A military band played the national anthem. A couple of aging men held banners.

Then with little fanfare, we all marched to the nearby Parco del 17 Aprile 1944 where a monument honors the victims. On the way, we passed a newly painted mural of giant wasps on their nest. The mural proclaimed, in English, “You are now entering free Quadraro.”

The band had scurried to the park by bus while we marched and reassembled, performing again. The wreath was positioned in front of the monument, and representatives of various levels of government spoke. A man from one of the affected families laid a bouquet.

I feel honored to live in a neighborhood with such roots.

Next week I’ll continue with a post about my visit to Sicily.

Party Pan

By Patricia Winton

Yesterday I went to a birthday party. When the birthday girl, my friend Gaby, invited me a couple weeks ago, she said, “I’ve ordered pan brioche.” I’d never heard of this before, so I asked about it.

Gaby said, “Oh, I used to see it at parties. It’s a collection of sandwiches all put together inside bread.” I had trouble getting my head around that. Somehow, I imagined a loaf of bread hollowed out with sandwiches stacked inside. Then I forgot about it until I arrived for the party.

I live very nearby and turned up as the first guest. At her request, I’d brought a plate of my famous deviled eggs. “And here,” she said, “is the pan brioche.” I saw a tall round loaf of bread encased in cellophane and topped with a red bow. I still had trouble understanding how it worked.

Eventually, when I was no longer the lone guest, we opened the package—a somewhat difficult task because the cellophane had been taped as if to ward of an invasion. Even with two sets of hands and a pair of scissors, we were almost thwarted in our attempt to breach the fortress.

The bread had been sliced horizontally. Gaby removed the top piece, which she labeled “the hat.” revealing four bamboo skewers holding the slices in place much as toothpicks hold together club sandwich triangles.

Each layer had a different sandwich filling: prosciutto and cheese, bresaola and rucola (dried beef and arugula), tuna and tomato, mushroom and cheese. There was probably some salami as well. I didn’t sample every layer. The bread had been cut into quarters vertically creating dainty sandwiches

It made a festive party food, and I’m sure to get one at some point in the future. The shop where Gaby had this one made is just down the street. I’m not sure I’m up to tackling this in my own kitchen.

I'll return to my tales from Sicily in two weeks. Next week, I'm writing about a World War II anniversary in my neighborhood.

The Scents of Sunday

By Patricia Winton

Yesterday was the official first day of spring at my house because I left the doors to my terrace open all day. I marked it by doing what my Italian neighbors call Easter cleaning—that is, spring cleaning. I worked at a leisurely pace by doing a task (or part of one) then retiring to the terrace to read a chapter (Elizabeth Zelvin’s excellent Voyage of Strangers). Sitting on the terrace gave me an olfactory tour of my neighbors’ homes.

On this first day of daylight savings time in Italy, I charted my neighbors’ waking hours by the aroma of espresso wafting through the Rome air. I imagined that I could hear the hiss as steam rose in each caffeteria (the stove-top espresso maker that graces Italian kitchens) and the gurgle of the last drop of coffee entering the pot. People rose at different times throughout the morning, and the coffee ritual repeated itself with each awakening. I drank my own cup before any of my neighbors stirred, and found myself making a second round before too long.

After placing all movable furniture (chairs, small tables) onto non-movable pieces (bed, sofa), I returned to the terrace for another chapter. This time, someone was roasting peppers; the tang tickled my tongue as I contemplated what dish the cook planned. Nice fat noodles with sausage and peppers, perhaps. Or a very traditional side dish combining the peppers with roasted eggplant and zucchini. Whatever, it made me wish I had more than half a red pepper in my fridge.

Retuning to the matter at hand indoors, I plugged in the vacuum. After sweeping through half the apartment, I went back to the terrace. This time, I sniffed someone baking a chocolate cake. That’s a rare smell. Usually for Sunday pranzo, people visit a pastry shop—in years past, one of the few businesses open on Sunday. Traditionally, the treats from a pastry shop are wrapped in paper (proclaiming the identity of the shop) and tied with a ribbon. It common on Sunday mornings to see people scurrying through the streets with this precious cargo. But this week, a luncheon table in my building carried a homemade cake.

Finished the vacuuming. When I retired to the terrace this time, I was blasted with the heady scent of that most traditional of Sunday dishes—chicken roasted with potatoes and seasoned with rosemary and garlic. My fingers slipped over the chicken skin as I imagined rubbing it with olive oil. The prickle of the rosemary needles tickled by fingers in my imagination. Alas, while my cupboard held potatoes and garlic and my terrace a pot of rosemary, I had no chicken.

After being enticed by the scents of my neighbors’ kitchens, I entered mine and made a sandwich from leftover pork roast (studded with garlic and rosemary) accompanied by a glass of freshly squeezed blood orange juice. No aroma to reveal myself to the neighbors. I settled on the terrace again, munching my sandwich and getting back to Diego and Rachel (Elizabeth Zelvin’s characters).

Cheese on the Farm

By Patricia Winton

I recently visited Sicily as the guest of Cronache di Gusto—an online magazine about food and wine. One word describes the people I met: passion. Passion for the island, passion for the food and wine, passion for their work, passion for the way of life. During the next several weeks, I will be writing from time to time about how the Sicilian people revealed that passion to me.

The Cucchiara family has been making cheese in the Belice Valley near Salemi, Sicily, for five generations. The newest member of the team, twenty-six-year-old Baldo Cucchiara, began hanging around the cheese-making shed at the age of five. Today, he works beside his father Salvo and uncle Liborio to produce, among other cheeses, Vastedda del Belice.

The Vastedda del Belice is protected by Italian and European laws which ensure that only cheese made from sheep’s milk produced in the valley using traditional methods can be identified with that label.

Father Salvo Cucchiara Watches Son Knead Vastedda

A completely organic cheese, the Vastedda del Belice from the Cucchiara brothers is made from milk from about 500 sheep which feed on grass and are milked by hand. The family continues to use the traditional method of making this cheese. First, rennet from a sheep’s stomach is mixed with the fresh milk. This first cheese is allowed to solidify in round forms. The cheese is then cut into slices, mixed with hot water, and kneaded with a wooden paddle. This kneading process stretches the cheese, eliminating any holes and producing a smooth texture.

Once the cheese has been kneaded, it is rolled into balls for the final formation. The day I visited the farm, Liborio squeezed out the balls and handed them over to Salvo and Baldo. These two quickly weighed out by hand 500-gram pieces, returning the leftover bits to Liborio. They didn’t use a scale but relied on their experience to gauge the weight. They flattened the balls and placed them in a ceramic saucer to harden. They worked quickly, forming about three dozen cheeses in less than ten minutes while fielding questions from eight writers.

On the day I was there, they were also making fresh ricotta. I arrived just in time to see the final step when the cheese is scooped into the plastic baskets. When the cheese is first transferred to the baskets, it is quite liquid. Initially, the whey drains away quickly. Over time, as the product is shipped to vendors, the drying out process slows down so that by the time I buy a good sheep’s milk ricotta at my local market, it will have a semi-solid texture.

The Still-Warm Ricotta in a Copper Pot To Collect the Whey

Once we had viewed the cheese-making, our driver began rounding up my group to leave. “Wait,” called Salvo. “You may leave when I tell you.” He then led us to another building with tables. Here, the Cucchiaras set out several cheeses—including that still-warm ricotta—salami, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, homemade bread, and wine. Delicious.

Baldo, the next generation, is passionate about his calling. His eyes reflect joy as he forms the cheese. Asked by a journalist if he is satisfied. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I went to a classical high school, but all I really wanted was to make cheese.” The only thing he wants now is to get married and start a family. And I suspect he hopes to continue the tradition that his family started in 1870.

A Taste of Sicily

By Patricia Winton

I’ve just returned from a whirlwind journey to Sicily as the guest of Cronache di Gusto (News about Flavors) where I visited five wineries and a cheese maker, saw some incredible sights, and enjoyed generous Sicilian hospitality. Enjoy the pictures below. I’ll write more next week.

To Market, To Market

By Patricia Winton

A Winter Day at the Market

One of my favorite pastimes in Italy is shopping at the markets for food. Rome has dozens of markets scattered throughout the city. The best known, Campo di Fiori, is an outdoor market in the center of Rome. While locals do shop there, it’s a tourist spot as well and has prices and products targeting the out-of-town crowd.

There’s another tiny street market in the center near Via Margutta, Gregory Peck’s street in Roman Holiday. In this tony neighborhood, tourists pass by on the the parallel Via del Corso and Via del Babbuino, missing out on one of the best sites and experiences of the city.

Dressed Puntarelle

When I first came to Rome, I haunted the markets all over the city, getting off buses to visit a new one. I learned a great deal about Italiann, food then. On one of these excursions I first encountered puntarelle, a special Roman dish made from a type of chicory. The leaves must be stripped from the stems, the part that’s eaten, and I watched a man using a special tool for the job. In my own market, I find bags of cleaned puntarelle, but so far, I haven’t seen anybody cleaning it. The stems are dressed with garlic, anchovies, olive oil, and white wine vinegar.

During my first year in Rome, I shopped with a little old man and woman who were only licensed to sell eggs. I bought four at a time, and they wrapped them in brown paper. After I had been buying from them for several months, the woman whispered, “Vuole delle fragole?” Fragole are strawberries, and I thought buying some a good idea. She took me to the trunk of her car, shielding the view with her body and placing me in line to do the same. Inside, she revealed some stunning small purple grapes. She was selling them without a license and making them available to good customers. I bought some; they were good. That’s how I learned that some grapes can be called strawberries, too.

During the fall and winter months, proprietors of vegetable stands cut vegetables to make minestrone mix. The mixture varies from stall to stall, but it will include root and leafy veggies. Sometimes it will include onion or shelled beans; sometimes not. It’s great to take a kilo home, mix it with some stock and a bay leaf, and let it simmer while I work. And lunch is ready.

I haunt just one market these days. It’s a five minute walk from my home, and I think it’s one of the best markets in the city. Covered, with heating and air conditioning, Il Mercato Tuscolano III feeds me. About 60 stalls spread throughout the hall, and unlike some markets I know, no stalls remain unused.

Entrance to My Market

One stall sells many varieties of mushrooms, another sells 20 or more varieties of fresh pasta. The center of the hall holds a stall selling fresh buffalo mozzerella. Branching of from that are many vegetable and fruit stands. Fresh eggs? Several stalls sell them. One woman sells “exotic” items. She sometimes has sweet potatoes or plantains.

You can buy a slice of pizza if you’re hungry or a cup of espresso in the corner bar. And in case you have other needs, you can buy paper towels or a spool of thread, get your shoes repaired, or pick up fresh flowers.

A couple of times, I’ve taken friends visiting Rome to the market—sometimes making lunch from our purchases. Everybody going with me has been enchanted, so far. Wish you could join me.

I’m off to Sicily in a couple of days. I’ll post from there next week—probably just photos.

Tuscan Dreams

By Patricia Winton

Recipe from a Tuscan Dream

On my last visit to Florence, I sampled a sweet treat that I first encountered many years ago and hadn’t thought about in a long, long time: Budino di Riso. Available in pastry shops throughout Tuscany, this little treat is traditionally oval-shaped with a soft pastry filled with a creamy rice pudding baked in the oven. When I first encountered them in Livorno, they were called Torta di Riso.

I scoured high and low in Florence looking for a pan to bake them in and came up empty. When I returned to Rome, I surfed the ‘net looking for a recipe. I discovered in the search that, like many other Italian dishes, regional variations abound. I found rice pudding similar to the one I grew up eating in America and cakes with rice as a predominate ingredient—often filled with candied fruit. After lots of searching, I finally found a recipe that mirrors the Budino di Riso I ate in Florence.

The recipe is a bit labor-intensive, but if you make the crust the day before and store it in the fridge, it doesn’t seem like an impossible task. This recipe suggest baking the sweet in a mini muffin pan.

Budino di Riso

For the crust (called pasta frolla):

Pastry Shop Budino di Riso

2 cups flour

2/3 cup rice flour

3/4 cup sugar

2/3 cup butter

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 egg

This can be made in the food processor. Place all the dry ingredients in the processor bowl and pulse to combine. Cut the butter into little cubes and add to the dry mixture.

Pulse until the butter is incorporated and the mixture resembles crumbs. Add the egg and pulse again briefly to incorporate.

Remove to a board and knead briefly until the dough is smooth. Form into a ball and cover with plastic wrap. Refrigerate at least an hour or overnight.

For the filling:

3 cups milk

1 1/2 cup uncooked rice

grated zest of 1 lemon

1 teaspoon vanilla

2/3 cup sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

2 eggs, separated

Homemade Budino di Riso

Place the milk in a saucepan and add the lemon zest and vanilla. Scald the milk and add the rice, stirring with a wooden spoon. Continue cooking and stirring until the rice has absorbed most of the milk. Add 1/3 cup of the sugar. Set aside to cool.

When the mixture has cooled, stir in the egg yolks, baking powder, and the other 1/3 cup of the sugar. Set aside while you prepare the pastry.

Roll out the dough and cut into circles that will fit the bottom and sides of the small cups of a mini muffin pan.

Beat the egg whites and fold into the rice mixture. Fill each muffin cup with the rice mixture, leaving room for the pudding to rise.

Place the muffin tin in a 325 F (170 C) oven and bake for 30 minutes. Test by inserting a toothpick into the center of one budino. It it is liquidy, cook a bit longer. Remove to wire rack and allow to cool for about 15 minutes before unmolding.

Please visit my website at www.PatriciaWinton.com

A Flamenco Dancer, Silly String, and Sugar

A couple of days ago, I encountered a bull fighter and a flamenco dancer at the supermarket. They were about one meter (three feet) high—in other words, children. Decked out in their carnival finery, they and other children will wear their costumes for afternoon walks with their parents (including stops in the supermarket) and even to school until Martedì Grasso. The costumes can be quite elaborate—even for babies—and have price tags to match.

While they’re out, children toss confetti at passersby and at each other. And, unfortunately, they attack with Silly String, which, fortunately, doesn’t appear at any other time of year, including Halloween. I went into a couple of shops this morning and found: Silly String, confetti, streamers, noisemakers, blank masks for hand painting, giant bow ties, magic wands, and plastic swords. That was just one shop on a shelf opposite the leftover Valentine paraphernalia.

Parades with floats and costumed performers will grace many cities and towns—especially in Venice and Viareggio. But the real stars of the carnival season are the desserts that only appear at this time of year. Here’s a brief rundown.

Frappe

These melt-in-your-mouth tidbits are similar to a rich pie crust made with eggs. They are rolled into rectangles and cut into fluted squares. Traditionally they were fried, but in this day of frowning-at-fat, they are sometimes baked. After the frappe come out of the oil or oven, they are generously dredged with confectioner’s sugar.

Castagnole di Carnevale

These little balls have similar ingredients to frappe, but sugar, vanilla, and grated lemon zest are added. The mixture makes a firm, but not rigid, dough that is formed into small balls. These are always fried and dusted with either confectioner’s or normal sugar.

Frittelle di Mele

Apple fritters, these, made by coring and slicing apples about one centimeter (1/4 inch) thick. A batter that includes the juice of a lemon and cinnamon coats the slices which are then fried. Really good served with vanilla ice cream.

Castagnole di Ricotta

Unlike the Castagnole di Carnevale and other sweets stuffed with ricotta, the cheese becomes a part of the dough. The ricotta is mixed with eggs, flour, sugar, vanilla, baking powder, and the grated zest of a lemon and an orange. After the dough rests in the fridge for about half an hour, it’s formed into small balls and fried like the other castagnole and sprinkled with regular sugar.

Chiacchiere

A medium-firm dough made with flour, yeast, eggs, milk, and butter makes the basis for this popular carnival treat. Once the dough has risen, it is rolled into a thin rectangle and sprinkled with sugar and lemon zest. The dough is then folded over itself several times, forming a roll. The roll is cut into short pieces which are then fried. The hot oil carmelizes the sugar and the layers open something like a fan. It’s a gooey, concoction, sometimes covered in colored sprinkles.

Ravioli Fritti

Sweet fried ravioli comes from a dough laced with the ever-present lemon zest and a couple of spoonfuls of white wine. When the dough is rolled out into a thin rectangle, it is cut into fluted circles. Half the circles are filled with a spoonful of either ricotta, marmalade, or Nutella. The remaining circles top the filling and each ravioli is sealed then fried and sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar.

Many Variations

Many variations to these sweets exist throughout the country, usually with regional twists. In some places, for example, the chiacchiere resemble frappe. 

I hope I’ve whetted your appetite.

Please visit my website at www.PatriciaWinton.com

Sweet Nothings

By Patricia Winton

I’ve taken a hiatus from writing the blog, but I’m back now and will be posting again every Wednesday. I’ve missed you. Thanks to those who contacted me to let me know you missed me, too.

The driver stretched out in the cab of his truck. He’d been hauling this load for several hours, starting in the Piedmont region of northern Italy. He’d just winded his way through Rome’s traffic nightmare and wanted to catch 40 winks before heading south. He was certainly asleep when disaster struck. Was he dreaming of a wife he might have left in the north? Or of a mistress he might see in the south? Or perhaps just of the sweet cargo resting in the trailer behind him.

 

Whatever his dream, three men waked him and unceremoniously pulled him from the truck, breaking his nose in the scuffle. They left him lying on the pavement and drove his rig back onto the highway. An alert witness called the state police who arrived in short order. After a high speed chase—and that truck was no match for those police cars—the police pulled over the truck, filled with jars of Nutella worth about 200 thousand euros (270,200 USD). The thieves went to jail and the driver, who was suffering from shock in addition to the broken nose, went to the hospital.

This robbery, mirrored by one last spring in Germany netting 5 1/2 tons of the stuff, underscores Nutella’s popularity. Glass jars filled with a gooey chocolate spread seems like a delicate target for thieves, but as the Italian press gleefully noted, they obviously had a sweet tooth.

This year, 2014, marks the 50th anniversary of this fine Italian treat. The idea of combining hazelnuts with chocolate originated in Turin in 1852 with the chocolate confectioner Cafferel. The confection, called granduja after a carnival character popular in the Piedmont region, remains popular today.

Confectioner Piero Ferrero adopted this combination in the 1940s when chocolate was in short supply. By 1946, he had perfected the chocolate-hazelnut cream, originally known as Granduja Paste. He later changed the name to “Nutella” by combining the English word “nut” with a common Italian suffix “ella” meaning “little.”

By the time I first arrived in Italy 23 years later, Nutella was readily available in shops. I loved to eat it back then spread on a thick slice of Tuscan (unsalted) bread. I never ate it any other way in those days. When I returned to the US in 1971, I went into Nutella withdrawal because my lovely spread hadn’t yet traveled across the Atlantic. I had to wait another 12 years before being able to indulge when Ferrero began exporting it to America in 1983.

It’s popularity in Italy continues to soar. Now you can find all kinds of desserts filled or spread with Nutella—from crepes to pizza—but it remains a fixture at the breakfast table. I had to laugh a couple of years ago when a California court ruled against Ferrero for advertising Nutella as a breakfast food. Not a healthy breakfast food, mind you, just a breakfast food. I’d argue that neither Cocoa Puffs nor Pop Tarts make a better breakfast. But I digress.

Today is unofficial World Nutella Day, a celebration created by product fan Sara Rosso, who blogs about food and Italy. Nutella’s lawyers contacted her last May to “cease and desist” using the product name and logo on her site. But they’ve worked it out. Ferrero is pleased to have such loyal fans, and Ms. Rosso is no longer using the Nutella logo on her site.

I hope you’ll spread a bit of Nutella on your toast today.

Please visit my website at www.PatriciaWinton.com