Erica De Mane

Recipes:

Asparagus and Burrata Salad with Dandelions
Baby Artichokes with New Potatoes and Mint
Calamari Filled with Ricotta and Herbs and Braised with Malvasia Wine
My Mother’s Pastiera

We had a long, cold winter this year in Manhattan, gray with few of those sunny, bracing days that can be so uplifting in the middle of February. But I did manage to soothe my soul in the kitchen through the winter, focusing on oranges, red wine, and really good olive oil, and often using all three together in one dish, such as a beef stew I made twice with Nero d’Avola wine from Sicily, orange zest, and a touch of rosemary. The savory Sicilian orange salads that I love to make every winter became more of a necessity this year. They may be among my favorite dishes of all time, especially when I combine the oranges with raw fennel, black olives, a touch of red onion, sea salt, and Sicilian olive oil. (Ravida is still my favorite Sicilian oil, and you can order it through Zingerman’s.) I even like orange salads sprinkled with chopped anchovies. That may sound peculiar, but it’s a surprisingly delicious combination on the tongue, with its blend of sweet, sour, and salty; try it after a plate of linguine with clam sauce and see how it brightens the meal while extending the sea theme. I give a recipe for this salad in my new book, The Flavors of Southern Italy, which comes out in April.

So here it is almost Easter, and I’m just about ready to leave the oranges behind and move on to springtime fare, though I must admit that Easter in New York is not always spring-like and in fact can be really frustrating, with its wind and chill right when you’re ready to burst loose wearing some frilly dress and toting a basket of strawberries. All the foods you associate with the holiday, like asparagus, peas, and strawberries, aren’t even in season yet, and most of my friends no longer eat lamb for Easter dinner for one reason or another. Easter for me is the symbolic entry into warm weather far more than the solemn religious occasion it is for serious Catholics, but that doesn’t stop me from celebrating it.

Here is an Easter meal that focuses on some of the foods I start to crave after winter: asparagus (unfortunately not local yet, but from California), dandelion greens, mint, artichokes (also from California), and always for me some sort of seafood (here I offer calamari stuffed with ricotta and braised with a sweet wine). I also include in this menu an old Easter recipe from my mother’s family, a sweet baked pasta flavored with cinnamon, rum, and vanilla. This is something her father made long before I could have tasted it. I’ve recreated it from her memories. I think it’s delicious.

Happy Easter!

Asparagus and Burrata Salad with Dandelions

Burrata is a mozzarella-type cheese from Puglia that contains a core of creamy curd. It is luscious and runny. Murray’s cheese shop and Citarella in Manhattan both import it. If you can’t find it, a soft, room-temperature mozzarella will work fine in its place.

(Serves 4)

For the salad:

12 thick asparagus spears, the ends trimmed and the tough stalks peeled
A large bunch of young dandelions, washed and trimmed
2 scallions, cut into thin rounds, using some of the tender green part
1 small fennel bulb, very thinly sliced
3 small sprigs of fresh tarragon, the leaves lightly chopped
1 1-pound ball of burrata or mozzarella
A handful of pine nuts, lightly toasted

For the dressing:

The juice and grated zest from 1/2 a lemon
A splash of Spanish sherry vinegar (about 1/4 teaspoon)
2 or 3 scrapings of fresh nutmeg
A tiny drizzle of honey (about 1/4 teaspoon)
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Blanch the asparagus in a large pot of boiling water until just tender, about 4 minutes. Lift it from the water and run it under cold water to stop the cooking and to bring up its green color. Drain. Slice the spears into thirds on an angle.

In a small bowl, whisk all the ingredients for the dressing together. There should be a nice balance between sweet, acid, and olive oil (I prefer less acid and more olive oil with the gentle flavors of asparagus and mozzarella).

When you’re ready to serve, set up four salad plates. In a large bowl, combine the dandelions, scallion, fennel, tarragon, and the sliced asparagus. Add the vinaigrette, saving about a tablespoon, and toss gently. Divide the salad up onto the plates. Slice the burrata or mozzarella into four thick slices and lay a piece on each salad. Give each slice a drizzle of vinaigrette and garnish with toasted pine nuts.

Baby Artichokes with New Potatoes and Mint

Tender, chokeless artichokes and tiny new potatoes are best for this vegetable dish, which is designed to celebrate the Spring harvest and is an Easter classic in many parts of Southern Italy.

A note on trimming baby artichokes: Since these small vegetables have not developed their chokes yet, you need only pull off the tough outer leaves, until you get to the tender, light-green ones. Trim the top and trim and peel the stem. Place the trimmed artichokes in a big bowl of cold water with the juice of a large lemon until you’re ready to cook them.

(Serves 4)

Extra-virgin olive oil
2 thin slices pancetta, well chopped
2 dozen baby artichokes, trimmed (see above) and placed in a bowl of cold water with the juice of 1 large lemon
4 garlic cloves, peeled and lightly smashed
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
A dozen small red potatoes, cut in half
A splash of dry white wine
A squeeze of lemon juice
A few large sprigs of fresh mint, the leaves chopped
Shavings of young Pecorino cheese

In a large skillet, heat 3 or 4 tablespoons of olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the pancetta and sauté it until it’s just starting to crisp. Drain the artichokes well and add them to the skillet. Sauté, uncovered, until lightly golden, about 8 to 10 minutes. Add the garlic about halfway through the sautéing, so it doesn’t burn. Season with salt and black pepper, cover the pan, lower the heat, and cook, stirring frequently, until the artichokes are just fork tender (you should be able to do this without adding liquid, but if the artichokes start to stick or burn, add a splash of white wine).

While the artichokes are cooking, blanch the potatoes in boiling salted water until just tender, about 5 minutes. Drain well.

When the artichokes are almost tender, uncover the pan, add the potatoes, and cook both vegetables together for a few minutes to blend their flavors and to lightly brown the potatoes. Add a splash of white wine and let it boil away. Add a generous squeeze of lemon juice, and reseason with a touch of salt and a few fresh grindings of black pepper. Scatter on the mint and give everything a gentle toss. Place in a serving bowl and shave the Pecorino over the top.

Calamari Filled with Ricotta and Herbs and Braised in Malvasia Wine

Squid isn’t a traditional Italian Easter dish, but it’s sweet and tender in the spring, and I find it makes a great stand-in for the lamb that most of my friends (though not me) seem to feel sad about eating nowadays. Sweet wine does wonders for squid, underscoring the fish’s own sweetness and providing a luscious sauce. A Sicilian Moscato from Pantelleria or a Muscat Beaumes de Venise from France are both excellent choices, but any type of fruity white dessert wine will taste fine. Plain rice or couscous is a good accompaniment too.

(Serves 4 as a main course)

Salt
2 pounds relatively large squid (larger ones are easier to stuff), cleaned and the body and tentacles left whole
1 cup whole-milk ricotta, sheep’s-milk if available, drained in a colander for about 20 minutes (you want to get rid of excess liquid for this recipe so it doesn’t ooze out of the squid during cooking)
1 large egg
A handful of flat-leaf parsley, the leaves chopped, plus a handful of whole leaves for garnish
A few sprigs of marjoram, the leaves chopped
1 tablespoon grated Grana Padano or Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
Freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil
A handful of toothpicks
2 garlic cloves, unpeeled but lightly smashed with the side of a knife
A large wineglass of Malvasia, or another sweet wine such as a Muscat Beaumes de Venise
A strip of lemon peel
A small handful of green olives (I used Picholines, from France)

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt. Add the squid and blanch it for about a minute. Scoop it out of the water with a large strainer and into a colander. Run the squid under cold water and then let it drain on paper towels. (Blanching firms up the squid, making it much easily to fill.)

In a small bowl, combine the ricotta, egg, parsley, marjoram, Grana Padano or Parmigiano, salt, and ground black pepper. Mix everything together. Fill the squid about halfway with the ricotta mixture (using a small spoon makes this easier). Close each piece with toothpicks. Wipe any ricotta off the outside of the squid.

In a large skillet, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the stuffed squid and tentacles and the garlic cloves, and season with salt and pepper. Sauté until the squid is golden on one side. Turn the squid to sauté on the other side. Add the sweet wine and the lemon peel, lower the heat, cover the skillet, and simmer until the squid is very tender, about 35 minutes, turning the pieces occasionally.

When the squid is tender remove it from the skillet to a serving platter. Scatter the olives around it. Boil the skillet’s cooking liquid down for about a minute, just to intensify its flavor. You want to wind up with about 1/2 cup of liquid. Pour the sauce over the squid through a fine-mesh strainer. Garnish with the whole parsley leaves. Serve hot.

My Mother’s Pastiera

Pastiera, the classic Southern Italian Easter cake make with ricotta and whole wheat berries, was something that nobody in my family ever actually baked but that we always had on Easter. We bought it at a Neapolitan bakery in Glen Cove, Long Island, near where we lived. I loved this cake when I was a kid. I found its texture fascinating, and I was crazy about its hint of orange-flower water. My mother recently told me that her father’s family, from Sicily, made a sweet baked pasta every year for Easter, and they called that pastiera (traditional pastiera is associated with the cooking of Naples, but it is made in several areas in the south). I’d never heard her mention this before, but it sounded delicious. Since she had never learned how to make it, my sister and I had never tasted it, even though it was, it turns out, one of my mother’s fondest childhood food memories. I went about recreating it myself from her description. The results were pretty much as she remembered , though when I told her what I included in the recipe, she insisted that certain elements, like rum and cinnamon, hadn’t been in the original. They just made sense to me to round out the flavors.

My mother says the type of pasta you use is important. It should be short and sturdy, with a hole in the middle; you want to see a mass of little holes when you slice into it. Ditalini and tubettini are good choices.

(Serves 6 or 7 as a dessert or a midafternoon snack)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
Salt
3/4 pound ditalini pasta
3/4 cup heavy cream
1 cup milk
3 large eggs, plus 1 egg yolk
1/2 cup sugar, plus 1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons rum
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract (Madagascar vanilla, if you can find it)
A generous pinch of ground cinnamon
A generous pinch of ground nutmeg
The zest from 1 small lemon
1/4 cup of homemade, dry breadcrumbs

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Set up a large pot of pasta cooking water and bring it to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt (even though this is a sweet dish, the salt for the pasta is important to bring out all the flavors in the finished dish). When the water comes to a boil, start cooking the ditalini.

Use about a tablespoon of the butter to grease a large baking dish (I used an 8-by-12-inch one, and an equivalent-size oval dish looks pretty too).

Pour the cream and milk into a small saucepan and bring it to a low boil over medium heat.

In a large mixing bowl, whisk the eggs together with the sugar until well mixed. Slowly pour the milk mixture into the eggs, whisking the entire time. Add the rum, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon zest, and whisk to blend all the flavors.

When the ditalini is al dente (a bit firmer than usual, since it will cook again in the oven), drain it well in a colander. Pour the ditalini into the baking dish. Pour the cream and egg mixture over it.

Bake until the edges are starting to bubble and the middle is just set, about 45 minutes (the top will not have browned much).

Mix the breadcrumbs, the remaining tablespoon of butter, and the remaining tablespoon of sugar together in a small bowl. Scatter this over the top of the pastiera and place under a broiler about 4 inches from the heat source until very lightly golden, about a minute. Let the pastiera cool for at least an hour before serving, so it can firm up. Serve slightly warm or at room temperature, cut into squares.