Erica De Mane

Musings on la cucina povera by the late, great Neapolitan actor Eduardo De Filippo, recalled and written by his wife, Isabella Quarantotti, in 2001.

For the past month I’ve been teaching a class in recession cooking, Italian-style of course, focusing on the philosophy of cucina povera cooking from Southern Italy (see my notice over on the right for class times and subjects). This has steered me toward a lot of play with stale bread, anchovies, squid, pork liver, pork fat, cheese rinds, tripe, and others of the ingredients my ancestors used for centuries to create some of the most elegant and delicious food on the planet.

I’ve been finding really nice local spinach at my Greenmarket, so I stuffed some inside the cheap, humongous squid I found at Citarella, squid that was really too big for anything other than a leisurely braise. It’s a good dish, Sicilian in flavor, fun to cook, and inexpensive for sure (and if you buy the squid uncleaned it’s even cheaper and, it goes without saying, much more fun).

Calamari Stuffed with Spinach and Currants and Braised in Marsala

(Serves 4 as a main course)

4 cups fresh greenmarket spinach (or 1 big supermarket bag), well-stemmed
2 pounds medium to large squid, cleaned and left whole, the tentacles well chopped (you’ll need only about ½ cup of chopped tentacles)
⅓ cup whole, blanched almonds, lightly toasted and roughly chopped, plus a handful for garnish
¼ cup currants, plumped up in a tablespoon of Marsala
1 garlic clove, minced, plus 1 clove peeled and lightly crushed
2 tablespoons homemade dry breadcrumbs, not too finely ground
1/4 cup grated grana Padano cheese
A few large thyme sprigs, the leaves chopped
The grated zest of 1 small lemon
1 large egg
5 scrapings of fresh nutmeg
Salt
Black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil
A handful of toothpicks
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
¾ cup dry Marsala
½ cup chicken broth or light fish broth, or possibly a little more
A squeeze of lemon juice
A handful of flat-leaf parsley, lightly chopped

Set up a large pot of water, and bring it to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt, and drop in the spinach. Blanch for about 2 minutes. Drain the spinach into a colander, and run cold water over it to stop the cooking and to bring up its green color. Squeeze as much water out of it as possible, and then chop it well.

Place the spinach in a medium bowl. Add the squid tentacles, the almonds, the currants, the minced garlic, breadcrumbs, thyme,  grana Padano, lemon zest, and the egg. Season with salt, black pepper, and the nutmeg. Add a drizzle of olive oil, and mix everything well.

Using a teaspoon, fill the squid about three-quarters full with the spinach mixture, and close the ends with a toothpick (if you overstuff the squid it may break open when cooking, since it shrinks quite a bit).

In a large skillet (one that will hold the squid in one layer), heat the butter and a tablespoon of olive oil over medium heat. When hot, add the squid and the garlic clove, season with salt and black pepper, and sauté, turning the pieces once with tongs, until they’re lightly golden, about 4 minutes. Add the Marsala, and let it bubble for a minute. Add the broth, cover the skillet, and turn the heat down to very low. Let the squid cook at a very gentle simmer for about 30 to 35 minutes, turning it once or twice. Check the skillet a few times during cooking to make sure there is at least an inch of liquid in the skillet. If necessary add a splash of broth or hot water.

Give the squid a poke with a thin, sharp knife to see if it’s tender (the knife should pierce it easily). Let it cook a bit longer if it’s not. When it’s tender, take the squid from the skillet, and slice the pieces on an angle into thick rings. Place the squid on a warmed serving platter, and scatter the parsley on top. Add the lemon juice to the skillet sauce, stirring to blend it in. Reheat the sauce briefly if necessary. Adjust the seasoning with a pinch of salt if needed, and pour the sauce over the squid (if bits of stuffing have drifted into the sauce, you may strain it first, if you like). Give everything a few grindings of fresh black pepper, and scatter on the remaining toasted almonds. Serve hot. I served this with fregola mixed with a handful of spring peas that I sautéed in onion, but a small pasta such as orzo tossed with Italian parsley and good olive oil would be marvelous as well.

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Recipe: Warm Farro Salad with Artichokes, Caciotta, and Spring Garlic

I’m always on the lookout for Italian products made in this country by people who have the heart and dedication to follow artisanal Italian tradition. Dancing Ewe Farms, started in 2003, is a dairy and cheese maker in upstate New York that produces Tuscan-style cheeses the way they’re done in Tuscany, from the farm’s raw milks, with no pasteurization and no preservatives. The cheeses are handcrafted every step of the way. You can taste it, for sure, but you can even see it. The rinds are beautifully hued and rustic.

Dancing Ewe Farm’s cheeses, at the Union Square Greenmarket in Manhattan.

For months I was eyeing Jody and Luisa Somers, the couple who own Dancing Ewe, and their rounds of cheeses whenever I went to the Union Square Greenmarket on Fridays. I’d sort of just stand around their stall, acting like I didn’t know what I was doing. A few months ago I finally made a purchase (I’m not sure at all what took me so long). I bought a container of their sheep’s milk ricotta and a small chunk of mildly aged pecorino (they also make a younger pecorino). The ricotta was beautifully rich, and the pecorino was aged just enough to develop deep flavor but not so much that it turned throat-grabbing sharp. I went back a few weeks later to pick up their caciotta, a cow’s milk cheese, and misto, a mix of cow’s and sheep’s milk. I was really impressed. The texture is just as it should be, firm but with a solid tenderness, the color is golden, and the cheeses all have a tempting, tangy aroma, with a whiff of the animals that made them possible. I wasn’t surprised to learn that Jody Somers had studied cheese making in Tuscany, and I’m also not surprised to learn that they sell to Babbo and to Daniel.  You can also find their cheeses at Murray’s and Whole Foods.

I wanted to develop a recipe to show off one of these cheeses, so I turned to Tuscany for inspiration. I chose as my base ingredient farro, the nutty whole grain so loved in Central Italy, and then added artichokes and a few other spring flavors such as fresh spring garlic and lots of herbs, throwing them in at the last minute so they stayed really fresh. Then I topped it all off with shavings of their caciotta cheese. This recipe is dedicated to the efforts of Dancing Ewe Farm. Keep up the great work.

You can check out their website at www.dancingewe.com.

Fresh garlic from the Union Square Greenmarket.

Warm Farro Salad with Artichokes, Caciotta, and Spring Garlic

(Serves 4 0r 5)

1½ cups farro
Salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 lemon, zested and then cut in half
4 globe artichokes
1 small spring onion, diced, using some of the tender green stalk
2 small carrots, peeled and cut into small dice
A small section from a stalk of spring garlic, thinly sliced, using some of the tender green part
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup dry white wine
¾ cup chicken broth
8 large sprigs of fresh thyme, the leaves lightly chopped
A handful of flat-leaf parsley leaves, very lightly chopped
¼ pound caciotta cheese by Dancing Ewe Farms, or grana Padano cheese

Set up a medium-size pot of water, and bring it to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt, and drop in the farro. Cook, uncovered, until it’s tender, about 12 to 14 minutes (it should start to swell, but taste-test a piece to make sure it’s tender but with a bit of a bite). Drain the farro, and place it in a serving bowl. Drizzle on a little olive oil, and give it a toss.

Set up a bowl of cold water, and squeeze the lemon juice into it. Drop the lemon halves into the water. Pull off all the tough outer leaves from the artichokes, and trim the tough ends of the stems, leaving most of the stem on. Peel the stems. Cut off about a half inch from the tops of the artichokes, and then cut them into quarters, lengthwise. Cut out the chokes from each artichoke piece with a small knife. Drop the pieces into the lemon water as you go.

Set up a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons of olive oil. When the oil is hot, add the onion and carrot, and sauté for a minute or so, just to soften it. Drain the artichoke pieces, and add them to the skillet along with the garlic. Season with salt and black pepper, and sauté until everything is fragrant and beginning to soften, about 4 minutes. Add the white wine, and let it bubble for about a minute or so. Add the chicken broth, and get it bubbling. Partially cover the pan, turn the heat down a touch, and let it simmer until the artichokes are just tender when pierced with a knife, about 10 to 12 minutes.

Pour the artichokes with all their pan juices over the farro. Add the lemon zest, the thyme, and the parsley, and toss gently. Taste for seasoning, adding more salt, black pepper, or a squeeze of lemon juice if needed.

To serve, divide the farro up onto serving plates and shave a few big slices of Caciotta over each one. Serve warm.

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Recipe: Gemelli with Calamari and Pea Shoots

Something happens to my cats when I bring squid into the house. They revert into wild creatures. They howl like babies, clawing up my leg, sticking their warm black-and-white heads right under my ten-inch chef’s knife to steal away as much raw squid as they can. It’s a ferocious battle, and they always win, exasperating me and finally wearing me out. They love it raw. They love it cooked. No other seafood produces such a response from them. They can smell the squid the minute I walk in the front door. And they’re relentless in their pursuit of it.

Buddy chomps on a raw squid tentacle. Fumio looks on.

I myself love squid, too, especially when on a Saturday I can make it to my neighborhood Greenmarket at Abingdon Square and buy it from Phil Karlin, my number-one fish guy,  who fishes off the North Shore of Long Island. His is the squid my cats prefer, too. It’s ultra fresh, as it should be but somehow never quite is when I buy it from a fish shop (frozen and thawed can be okay, but not dependably). When I get small, pristine, fresh-from-the-sea squid from Mr. Karlin, I like to flash cook it so it stays white and juicy.

I made it to Abingdon Square market this week in time for Mr. Karlin’s squid (he often runs out of most fish by about noon, so if I don’t get moving I miss out, and then everyone is pissed).  While at the market, I  also picked up a handful of pea shoots, the first time I had seen them this spring, and fresh, still bulbless garlic and spring onions, both with long, tender green stems attached.

After a little back and forth in my culinary head, here’s what I made.  You can’t really go wrong with ingredients like these.

Gemelli with Calamari and Pea Shoots

(Serves 6 as a first course or 4 as a main course)

3 tablespoons butter
Extra-virgin olive oil
A little chunk of fatty prosciutto end, cut into small dice (about ¼ cup)
1 spring onion, cut into small dice, using the tender green stem
1 stalk fresh spring garlic, thinly sliced, using the tender green stem
1½ cups freshly shucked peas
A generous pinch of ground allspice
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup chicken broth, and possibly a little extra
1 pound gemelli pasta
1½ pounds small calamari, cleaned and cut into rings, the tentacles left whole
A splash of dry white wine
A handful of pea shoots, trimmed of their thick stems
A big squeeze of lemon juice
2 tablespoons grated grana Padano cheese

Set up a large pot of pasta cooking water, and bring it to a boil.

In a large skillet, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter and a tablespoon of olive oil over medium heat. Add the prosciutto and the onion, and sauté until the onion is soft and the prosciutto has given off some of its fat, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic, and sauté just until it releases its aroma, about a minute. Add the peas, seasoning with the allspice, salt, and black pepper. Add the chicken broth, and turn the heat to high. Boil the peas, uncovered, until tender, about 4 or 5 minutes. There should be about ½ inch of liquid left in the skillet. If not, add a little more chicken broth.

Add a generous amount of salt to the pasta water, and drop in the gemelli.

In another skillet, heat a tablespoon of olive oil and the remaining tablespoon of butter over high heat. When hot, add the calamari, seasoning with salt and black pepper, and sauté quickly, just until it’s tender and opaque, about 2 to 3 minutes, depending on its size. Add the splash of wine, and let it bubble for a few seconds. Add the calamari and all the skillet juices to the peas.

When the gemelli is al dente, drain it, and pour it into a large, warmed serving bowl. Drizzle on a generous amount of fresh olive oil, and add the grana Padano. Toss gently. Add the calamari and pea sauce, the pea shoots, and the squeeze of lemon juice. Toss again. Taste for seasoning, adding more salt or black pepper if needed. Serve hot.

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Wind and rain Italian style, by Luca Signorelli.

Recipe: Watercress Salad with Strawberries, Chives, and Warm Goat Cheese

Rain and more rain, and not so warm either. That’s been May in Manhattan so far (April, too). I actually really love rain, especially dark rainy afternoons with lots of thunder, but I’m sick of cold. I want warm rain, yet so far all we’ve had is cold rain, and a lot of wind too. I do love wind, but, as you might guess, I like warm wind, Miami Beach wind. Too bad none of my weather desires are playing out right now. Not a problem. To cheer myself up I’ve devised this salad, using all the delicate spring foods I could work in—watercress, strawberries, young goat cheese, and chives. I used big strawberries, but if you can get the little wild type, just leave them whole (it’s too early for them in New York, but Tri Star and other wild hybrids will be available in June at my greenmarket. I can’t wait).

Happy spring to you.

Watercress Salad with Strawberries, Chives, and Warm Goat Cheese

(Serves 2)

1 bunch watercress, stemmed
1 small head frisée lettuce, torn into pieces
¼ cup pine nuts, lightly toasted
8 medium strawberries, cut in half
8 chives, cut into long pieces
½ teaspoon balsamic vinegar
½ teaspoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus a little extra to drizzle
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
A pinch of allspice
4 ½-inch-thick rounds fresh goat cheese
4 ½-inch-thick slices from a baguette, cut on an angle so they’re longer

Place the watercress and frisée in a salad bowl. Add the pine nuts, strawberries, and about half of the chives.

Set out two salad plates.

In a small bowl, whisk together the balsamic vinegar, lemon juice, and olive oil, seasoning it well with salt, black pepper, and the pinch of allspice.

Place the baguette slices on a small cookie sheet, and set it under a broiler. When the slices are golden, flip them over, then place a slice of goat cheese on each one, seasoning them with salt and a few grindings of black pepper. Broil until the cheese is just starting to melt and the edges of the bread are toasted.

Pour the dressing over the salad, and toss gently. Divide the salad onto the plates, and place two goat cheese toasts around each one. Drizzle a thread of olive oil over each toast, and scatter the remaining chives on top of the salad. Serve right away.

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Rome’s annual artichoke festival, April 2008.

Recipe: Artichokes Filled with Almonds, Anchovy, and Thyme

Big, scary, painful globe artichokes. How do you deal with something so seemingly impenetrable? Frankly, they are a bit of an ordeal even for me, and I’ve been handling them for decades. They pierce your fingers, they turn your hands black, and they turn themselves black. I almost never see home cooks buying them. They seem to pile up on grocery shelves. Lately they’ve even been cheap, and still nobody’s buying them. Three for five dollars I’ve been seeing around Manhattan. So I’ve been buying them again.

I got out of the habit of dealing with those big globes when I began finding little “baby” artichokes in the markets about ten years ago or so (they are actually little secondary shoots that grow from the middle of a globe artichoke stalk). They have no chokes and need just a quick trimming to cook up tender. I don’t know what ever happened to them, but they seem to have disappeared. I asked the vegetable buyer for Citarella, and he told me he keeps ordering them, but they never arrive. I’ll get to the bottom of this and let you know. In the meantime, I’m going to show you something really excellent to make with the big ones.

Why go through all the work of prepping these things? Because they’re among the most delicious vegetables in the world. The heart of a globe artichoke is an amazing creation. It’s rich, it’s delicate, it’s creamy, it’s just intrinsically Italian. Artichokes are a little rugged, they work you hard, but they give back generously. To me an artichoke sums up the spirit of Southern Italy very nicely.

To be honest, for me the drawback in preparing big artichokes was never really the prep (I can get into all kinds of kitchen manual labor and enjoy it immensely). It was the waste. All the tough outer leaves are really crap. I know you can scrape them with your teeth, but that’s just so American, so boiled-artichokey. When I want to prepare them in true Italian style, I now just come to terms with the fact that a big part of them will wind up in the garbage, and I get on with it.

Stuffed artichokes can be fabulous, but they have to be done with a light touch. It took me a while to put the memory of ten-pound, full-of-sausage-and-soggy-bread, garlic-laden, outrageously greasy stuffed artichoke of my childhood, the standard Little Italy gross-out treatment, out of my mind for good, and create a new standard for myself.

Try these.

Artichokes Filled with Almonds, Anchovy, and Thyme

(Serves 4 as a first course or a light dinner)

3 lemons, 2 cut in half, the other one sliced into thin rounds
4 globe artichokes
2 garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
½ cup sliced or slivered almonds, lightly toasted
¾ cup homemade, roughly textured dry breadcrumbs–not the powdery stuff you buy in a can
4 anchovy fillets, roughly chopped
½ cup grated grana Padano or piave cheese
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil
8 big sprigs of thyme, stemmed
About a dozen basil leaves
1 cup dry white wine
1 cup light chicken broth

Set up a big bowl of cold water, and squeeze the cut lemon into it. Drop the lemon halves into the water.

Cut the stems from the artichokes, and drop them (the stems) into the lemon water. Cut off all the spiky tips from the artichokes (you’ll want to just give the tops a nice clean cut, taking off about an inch or so). Now pull off all the tough, dark green leaves until you get to the lighter green, tenderer ones (when eating, you’ll probably still have to scrape the first layer or two with your teeth, but after that they should be tender enough to eat in toto). Spread the leaves open so you can see inside to the fuzzy choke. Remove the chokes on all the artichokes by scooping them out with a melon baller or a grapefruit spoon (in my experience, the melon baller works best). Place the cleaned artichokes in the lemon water.

Take the artichoke stems from the water, and peel off all the tough outer skin. Chop the stems roughly.

Place the garlic, the almonds, and the artichoke stems in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until you have a uniform, rough chop. Add the anchovies, breadcrumbs, and the grana Padano or piave cheese. Season with salt and black pepper, and add about 3 tablespoons of olive oil and the juice from the remaining halved lemon. Pulse a few more times to blend everything, keeping the mixture slightly chunky (you don’t want a paste). Add the thyme and the basil, and pulse one or two more times, just to break up the herbs into pieces.

Stuff the insides of the artichokes with the breadcrumb mixture, and work some in between all the leaves as well. Place the artichokes, stuffing side up, in a wide shallow saucepan. Pour in the white wine and the chicken broth. Add the sliced lemons. If the liquid doesn’t come about ¾ way up the artichokes, add a little more wine or broth or water. Drizzle the tops of the artichokes with a little fresh olive oil, and bring the liquid to a boil. Turn down the heat, cover the pan, and simmer until the artichokes are tender, about 30 to 35 minutes. You can test by pulling off an outer leaf. If it pulls off easily, they’re ready.

Lift the artichokes from the liquid. I like to run the tops under a broiler for a minute, just to crisp up the crumbs, but it’s not essential. Serve either warm or at room temperature.

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