That's Baloney!

Americans of a certain age will remember a television commercial with a little boy singing about his baloney sandwich. He pronounced it that way, but he spelled it b-o-l-o-g-n-a. 

Bologna (bo LOAN ya), capital of Italy’s Emiglia-Romano region, holds many nicknames: La Dotta (the learned) because it’s home of the western world’s oldest university, founded in 1088; La Rossa (the red) because of both the color of its buildings and the left-leaning politics of its people; and La Grassa (the fat) because of the richness of its food.

Bologna (or baloney), the American cold cut, can trace its origins to the city of Bologna in the form of a sausage called mortadella. Pig farmers have been producing mortadella for at least 500 years, but evidence suggests that the ancient Romans may have pioneered the process.

Originally, the sausage was made by grinding meat with a mortar and pestle, and some etymologists think the word mortadella may derive from the Latin word for mortar (moratlis).

And while mortadella is made in several regions in Italy, the Mordatella of Bologna is protected by European law and bears a label attesting to its authenticity. True Mortadella di Bologna must be made entirely of pork (Some forms of mortatella may contain beef, mutton, or horse). After the pork is ground, it is seasoned with a blend of salt, white pepper, peppercorns, coriander, anise, and wine.

Cubes of pork fat, cut from the throat, and sometimes whole pistachios, are added as well. The mixtures is stuffed into a natural casing and baked, not smoked. After coming from the ovens, mortadella is air dried to firm it up.

In Italy, mortadella, like other cold cuts, is sliced paper-thin. It is often served as an appetizer or on sandwiches, but it can also be used in many other dishes as well. 

Pasta with Mortadella di Bologna

12 ounces ridged ditalini or other small pasta

1/4 pound mortadella di Bologna, cut into strips

1 medium onion, thinly sliced

1/3 cup chopped Italian parsley leaves

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper

Put the oil and onion in a frying pan and cook until the onion is soft. Do not let it brown.

Add the mortadella and cook for about a minute, stirring from time to time.

Add a pinch of salt and a grinding of black pepper.

In the meantime, bring a pot of water to the boil and cook the pasta to the chewy stage (al dente). Drain.

Just before serving, stir the parsley into the sauce. Immediately pour the sauce over the cooked pasta and serve.

Drawing Lines in the Sand

A few months ago, I went to a day-long conference in Macerata in the Marche region of Italy. In the U.S. such meetings have coffee breaks between weighty panels, speeches, and presentations, but at this one, musical and other performances gave the audience a chance to rest.

A unique presentation by sand animation artist Silvia Emme captivated the audience. Her performance introduced most of us to this art form, and her creativity amazed us. We applauded each time she returned to the stage.

She works on a light table with an overhead camera that projects her creation onto a screen visible to the audience. Emme prepares the surface by brushing off sand left from her last performance and tossing and sprinkling on fresh sand for the new one.

Carefully choreographed to music, each performance begins with Emme quickly cutting broad swaths through the sand with both hands. As the design becomes more complex, she shifts to her dominant hand to apply fine touches. Her curly locks bob and bounce on the lower edge of the frame as she works.

Growing up in a family of photographers, Emme began taking drawing lessons while in elementary school. In interviews with Italian journalists, Emme has said that she searched for a new art form and became fascinated by the work of Ilana Yahav and began working in the medium.

Emme approaches her light table as if it were a canvas; her hands are the brushes. Each performance is unique, and while each work is destroyed upon completion, video records allow her work to be immortalized.

For her final performance of the day in Macerata, Emme was paired with a musical duo—a violinist and a pianist. The two were so engrossed in coordinating the beginning of their music that they forgot about Emme  and began playing before her light table was ready. The audience could see horror on her face as she spoke to someone off stage. But behaving like the true professional that she is, she began working and captivated us once more. 

For additional examples of her work, visit: http://www.sandanimation.it/

Italian Jam Tart‒Crostata

One of Italy’s favorite desserts, and one that is often made at home, is the crostata. The characteristic crust, the pasta frolla, resembles a butter cookie or shortbread. And to be a true crostata, the dessert must use this pastry dough. In its simplest form, the crostata is filled with jam and topped with a diamond-shaped lattice before baking. This lattice is often made of “ropes” of the pasta frolla.

It’s the quality of both the crust and the jam that can make this dessert something to swoon over or something to drop in the trash. A good crostata from a pastry shop can cost $15 to $20 for a modest-sized one while another of similar proportions can cost only 99 cents at the supermarket. A glance at ingredients reveals the reason for this disparity.

The most common jams used in the crostata are plum, cherry, and apricot, but I’ve had it with other flavors as well. I made some fig-blood orange jam a couple of years ago that was fabulous in a crostata.

And while the pasta frolla filled with jam appears most often on Italian tables, this lovely pastry dough can house pastry cream topped with fresh fruit. In this case, bake the shell empty and fill it after it has baked. To bake, line the dough with oven paper (parchment paper) and fill with dried beans or pie weights to keep the pastry from puffing up too much. The pastry cream recipe in the link makes too much for one crostata, but it freezes well.

You could  make other fillings with fresh ricotta, chocolate, and other ingredients as well. It’s quite a delightful dough and it’s simple to make.

Pasta Frolla

250 grams flour (1 3/4 cups)

1 grams sugar (1/2 cup)

Pinch of salt

125 grams butter (8 tablespoons-one stick in America-plus about a teaspoon more), cut into small pieces

Grated rind of a lemon (organic preferred)

3 egg yolks

The traditional way of making this and other types of pasta is to place the flour and pinch of salt on a bread board, spreading it around with your fingers to make a well in the center. Sprinkle the sugar into the well, then the pieces of butter. Finally add the lemon rind and egg yolks and mix with your fingers until an amalgamation is achieved.

Modern cooks can use the food processor. Put the dry ingredients in first, followed by the lemon rind, butter, and egg yolks. Process until just combined. DO NOT OVER PROCESS.

Form the dough into a ball. If it seems too dry to shape easily, wet your hands under the tap and use these wet hands to introduce moisture to the dough as you shape it into the ball. Do not get it too wet. Wrap the ball of dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. It can be made the day before.

Roll out to about 1/4 inch thick (or even a little more). Line an 8 to 10-inch tart shell (I prefer those with removable bottoms). With this dough, you don’t have to do elaborate crimping of the edges. Just cut it off at the top of the tin.

For a jam crostata, prick the bottom with a fork and spread about 1/2 to 2/3 cup of jam over the surface. Take the remaining dough and roll into ropes about 1/2 centimeter (1/4 inch) in diameter and string over the jam in a diamond pattern. Bake for 30 minutes in an oven preheated to 190 C (375 F).

The Challenge of Naming Characters

The protagonist in my work is an Italian American woman named Caroline Woodlock. I’ve been challenged on several fronts by people who think she should have an Italian surname. I’d have thought Sara Paretsky’s V.I. Warshawski, with her Italian mother, would have put that question to rest a long time ago, but apparently not. It seems just a wee bit sexist to suggest that someone must have an Italian father to be Italian. But I digress.

Kathleen Turner as V.I. Warshawski

Choosing names can be a challenge for a fiction writer. I want a name to feel good in my mouth and to tickle my ear when I say it aloud. When I first dreamed up Caroline, I was drawn to the name Caroline Whitlock. It felt right. I had gone through lists of first names and settled on Caroline early. Whitlock just seemed to fit. But as I developed the character’s personal history, I discovered that her father had Irish roots. Some internet research showed that Whitlock could never be Irish, but that Woodlock could. So I changed her name. She seems happy with it and so am I.

When I first began writing in Italy, I scanned the phone directory and newspapers for names, but that was unsatisfactory. Most Italian people can recognize the geographic origin of a surname, but I don’t know how to do that. Internet searches proved unsatisfactory as well because the sites I found were devoted to helping people find their genealogical roots. People could key in their surnames or that of their grandparents to learn where they came from. I wanted the opposite: I wanted to find names from geographic regions to give authenticity to a character from Venice, for example.

I had a wonderful serendipitous find about four years ago on a trip to Florence. I was waiting for a bus, in no particular hurry, when I spied a man selling used books on a street corner. About twenty years ago, I had browsed through the wares of a used book seller on another Florentine street and found a really interesting book about the 1966 flood with lots of photos. But I was in a hurry and I didn’t buy the book. I’ve regretted it ever since. Whenever I’m in Florence, I gravitate to used book sellers in hopes of finding it again.

This time, as I approached the table, a huge book leapt out and bit me: Il Grande Libro dei Cognomi (The Big Book of Surnames). In 450 pages, this book lists the 5,000 most common surnames in Italy along with their origins and meanings. It includes history of the name, such as when it came into the language, and famous people who have had it; the geographic origins plus variations and derivations. It’s a goldmine for me!

The Italian name that corresponds to Miller, for example, has many variations. Mill in Italian is mulino, but the miller (the job) is molinaro. The name varies up and down the peninsula: Molinèr in the extreme north, Monari or Munari in Veneto and Emilia-Romagna regions, and Mugnai in Tuscany. And other variations abound: Molinaro and Mulinari, Mulini, Molina, and so on.

Soon after I found this book, I found another one on a remainder table called simply Libro dei Nomi (Book of Names). It’s much shorter that the other book, but just as useful. It’s the kind of books that parents might use in choosing a baby name. The first chapter gives the signs of the zodiac and their influence on names. The book doesn’t suggest names for particular signs. It lays out the personalities that come with each sign. Because all Italians celebrate their Saint’s Day in addition to birthday, the idea is to balance the personality between the sign of the birth with that of the saint chosen for the baby’s name. I find this amusing, but not especially useful.

The rest of the book is an alphabetical list of names and that is useful. While the entries are brief, they give tidbits about the name’s origins and information about the saint or historical figure from which the name derives.

Since I write for an English-speaking audience, I try to keep things simple. I sprinkle in a few familiar Italian names like Giovanni or Giuseppe. Sometimes I use the English version of a name (Julia for Guilia) or choose names that are just as common in Italian as in English (Amanda or Cristina). I try to avoid names that would cause pronunciation problems for English speakers (Gaetano or Guglielmo). And since the Italian language is such a collection of vowels, I try to balance sounds.

I have made one mistake, a pair of brothers named Nino and Aldo. In retrospect, I fear that confusion may arise because the names are short and end with an “O,” as does their surname. But they’re already in print. I hope they’ll see print again, but since they’re both middle-aged, it’s too late for a name change.

Battle of the Oranges, A Carnival Tradition

Tomorrow is Martidì Grasso, Fat Tuesday, Marti Gras. From Rio de Janeiro to New Orleans to Venice, people are celebrating Carnival with gusto. The Battle of Oranges in Ivrea, Italy, stands out as one of the most unusual Carnival celebrations anywhere.

The event combines several moments in Ivrea’s history beginning with 1194 revolt by the peasants. According to legend, the revolt was sparked by Count Raineri di Biandrate, a bloody tyrant who, among other things, claimed his right to bedding brides on their wedding night. Known as the jus primae noctis, this practice symbolized all elements of this and other tyrants’ mistreatment of the common people. His last intended victim, Violetta, a miller’s daughter, chopped off his head with a sword she’d hidden under her dress rather than submit to his demands. Her act of defiance led to an uprising by the peasants against the Count’s troops. The peasants threw stones, and they won.

Violetta

A second revolt came in 1266 against Marquis of Monferrato. Both of these revolts are commemorated at Ivrea’s Carnival. A young woman is chosen to be Violetta each year, and her identity is a closely guarded secret until she’s presented to the throngs on the Saturday before Lent. She dresses in a white woolen robe with a sash of red, white, and green, Italy’s colors of freedom and liberty. Her head is adorned with a red cap with a long pointed peak that drapes over her shoulder (more about this cap later). She rides in a golden carriage and tosses candy and sprigs of mimosa to the crowds. Other people represent characters in the second revolt, and they follow along behind Violetta in the procession on foot.

Nobility Pelting Peasants

The Battle of Oranges then begins in earnest and continues over three days. The warriors representing the nobility arrive in decorated carts. They wear helmets and protective padding. The common people are on foot and unprotected. Each of the city’s districts has a distinctive team with unique costumes: Ace of Spades with a red jacket emblazoned with their symbol or the Chess team in black and white checked jackets marked with a red castle. 

Originally, each district had its own Carnival celebration and battle, but they were unified into one city-wide event during Napoleon’s reign in 1808.

Anyone can join the battle, but you must choose a team. Spectators who do not want to participate must wear red caps like Violetta. These caps originated in Phrygia in what is now Turkish Anatolia. This sun-worshiping people wore these caps as part of their religious ritual. In ancient Rome, freed slaves wore these caps to indicate their emancipated status. Later these caps became symbols of the French Revolution, representing liberty. In Ivrea, this cap is known as berretto frigio. If you’re wearing one, it means you aren’t throwing oranges, so in theory, no one will throw oranges at you.

The people of Ivrea have incorporated many elements of their history into the Carnival. Huge cauldrons of beans are set up at various points throughout the city, for example, and generous portions are ladled to anyone who wants a taste. This part of the festival represents feeding of the poor during the Middle Ages. And people representing Napoleon’s soldiers parade in the characteristic uniforms of the period. The most recent addition is text messaging. All the carts have numbers, as do the battles. You can text your vote on the best one.

All the partying comes to an end on Tuesday night with a giant bonfire. Then people hug and kiss each other saying, "arvedse a giòbia a'n bòt" (local dialect for good-bye till Thursday at one). That means see you at the beginning of the Carnival next year.

Little Crusts of Bread

When I first posted this, I made a mistake and left out the anchovy paste in the ingredients list. I've corrected that below. PW, August 27, 2013

Crostini are generally little slices of bread toasted or fried in butter. The word comes from crosta, the Italian for crust. The “ini” means little, thus crostini means little crusts. These little pieces of toast can be served alongside a nice minestrone. Or they can be topped with tasty morsels of meat, vegetable or cheese. Throughout Italy, these tidbits are served as part of a first course in restaurants or as a snack to accompany drinks at bars in the afternoon.

They have become extremely trendy around the world in recent years. Just do a Google search and you’ll find hundreds of recipes, ranging from a simple blue cheese and fig to a more elaborate ham and cheese concoction.

Here in Rome, I’ve been served crostini laden with toasted cheese, sausage and other heavy toppings that, frankly, were too rich for my tastes. I favor those from Tuscany, especially the ones made with chicken livers.

Chef Giuseppe Alessi

Chef Giuseppe Alessi of Florence makes delectable crostini using simple ingredients like fresh chopped tomatoes seasoned with capers and parsley, bound with an emulsion of butter and olive oil. This lovely topping is spread on thin, toasted bread and garnished with tarragon.

He makes other crostini with dried porcini mushrooms soaked in water, flavored with garlic and onion, and cooked for about ten minutes. The mushrooms are then blended into a paste before being spread on those same little pieces of toast.

But Chef Alessi’s greatest crostini are the traditional Tuscan ones made from chicken livers.

Chicken Liver Crostini

Crostini di Fegatini alla Toscana

4 whole chicken livers, cleaned of connective tissue

1/2 onion thinly sliced

1 tablespoon pickled capers

1/2 bullion cube

1/2 cup white wine

1 1/2 tablespoons soft butter
1 tablespoon anchovy paste

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper

Put the oil and onion n a small, heavy frying pan and let them cook for about 5 minutes, until soft. Add the chicken livers and brown on all sides, taking care not to let them burn.

After another 4-5 minutes, add the bullion cube and the white wine, stirring to allow the cube to dissolve and the wine to evaporate.

After 2-3 minutes, add 1 tablespoon of the butter, the capers, the anchovy paste, and a pinch of pepper.

Keep stirring while increasing the heat for another 2 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

Transfer the mixture to a blender or food processor and mix until you have a thick puree. Taste for seasonings and add capers, anchovy paste, salt, or pepper as needed. Process again until very smooth.

Serve on fresh slices of bread.

It Doesn't Show Signs of Stopping

Photo by Flavia Pesciatini

Rome has been paralyzed this week by a rare snowstorm. Usually when it snows here, the flakes melt before they hit the ground. Even if snow makes it all the way to earth, it disappears in a few minutes. But three days after the snow began falling here, it’s still clinging to the roadways and rooftops alike.

It’s not that Italy doesn’t have snow. In February, people often celebrate “White Week” by taking a ski vacation to one Italy’s many mountains. It’s just that snow is so rare in Rome that most people don’t even own an ice scraper for clearing wind screens.

From my window, I see many cars still covered with snow, which isn’t really surprising since it’s illegal to drive on Rome streets now without snow tires or chains—things most people don’t have unless they routinely drive in the mountains in winter.

Rome’s mayor, Gianni Alemanno, is taking it on the chin for not being prepared. The civil protection service apparently warned him that the severity of the forecast warranted a plan, but he discounted it. He’s now being ridiculed for having 5,000 snow shovels distributed to the public and asking people to go out and shovel the sidewalks!

Photo by Carol Markino

Hardly anybody’s doing that because snow shoveling isn’t in Roman job descriptions. At many apartment buildings, for example, where a porter sweeps up litter from the sidewalk, snow and ice remain packed down from pedestrian traffic.

A fake Tweet, supposedly from the mayor, read, “Snow emergency. Abandon the city. I’m already in Milan.” An enraged Alemanno is vowing an investigation and legal action. That is, if he isn’t forced to resign before he can initiate it.

Shelves at grocery stores are empty. At a chain store near my home Sunday, there was not a single piece of fruit. Just a couple of wilted heads of lettuce. People are comparing it to bread lines during World War II. A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but it does reveal Italy’s weak infrastructure.

Things are much worse in other parts of Italy. There have been a number of deaths. People have been stranded on trains. Power is out some places.

Me? I'm worried about the serious threats to several agricultural crops, including wine and olive oil. That doesn’t bode well for my dining table next year.