Erica De Mane

Buddy examines a cauliflower torta.

Recipes:

Pappardelle with Cauliflower, Saucisson à l’Ail, and Basil
Cauliflower Sautéed with Anchovies, Parsley, and Bread Crumbs
Cauliflower Torta with Pecorino and Pine Nuts

I am ill-equipped organizationally to run a restaurant, at least the type of restaurant that, in this country, could turn a profit-or stay in business for six months-but if I could have the place of my dreams, it would be similar to some of the rundown but elegant trattorie I’ve eaten at in Southern Italy, away from the Amalfi Coast, closer to the dry, ancient, earthquake-racked inland town in Campania where my grandmother was born.

A small stone building tucked away on a quiet side street in the old Etruscan part of Manhattan is my ideal location. A few tables topped with old canvas umbrellas are clustered outside around the arched doorway. In the foyer is an old desk loaded up with bills and crumbled business papers. My father sits there in his slick gray suit and a mustard yellow turtleneck, his glasses low on his nose, doing the paperwork and drinking a pony glass of good red wine. A customer comes through the door and stands around a little too long. My father finally looks up and yells to my sister, who is in the kitchen horsing around with the man who washes the dishes. She comes out, giggling, to greet the customer (my father is a little disgusted with her). The man has come to eat by himself. She takes him to his usual table. She doesn’t yet know his name, but he’s been here three or maybe four times before, always alone; hopefully a new regular. My sister goes to the kitchen to pull two plum tortas from the oven and my mother takes over on the floor as general customer-soother and sashay-arounder. She never asks anyone if they like what they’re eating, since that’s obnoxious and anyway it’s a given, but just elegantly moves through the tables making sure everyone has what they want-wine, bread, olive oil, a little chat with her, or a good look at her smooth auburn bob.

I’m in the kitchen with a sous chef, a prep cook, and the dishwasher, all friends of mine since high school. My menu consists of dishes made with Southern Italian flavors, and every night I present only ten: maybe bucatini with tomatoes, almonds, and mint; swordfish rolled with pistachios and raisins; lamb shank braised with cinnamon and Marsala; ceci beans with squid and little potatoes; or a grilled porterhouse drizzled with Salmoriglio sauce made with olive oil and marjoram. My customers love anchovies, so there’s always spaghetti with anchovies and garlic on the menu. All the dishes are seasonal, so now, for instance, in early September, when I start finding cauliflower at the Greenmarket, I’ll offer two or three dishes built around it. I understand some people think they don’t like cauliflower, but they’ll like mine. You can have a pappardelle with cauliflower and sausage, or cauliflower sautéed with anchovies and shallots, or a torta with pecorino and pine nuts. Cheese arrives at the table after dinner whether you order it or not, because it’s part of the meal. Wine shows up too. Dessert is seasonal fruit, or fruit baked into a torta or made into ice cream or sorbetto. I always find the best figs, pomegranates, plums, oranges, and fresh dates. My sister makes all the fruit desserts.

We have an excellent house red, a Nero d’Avola, and a house white, a Grillo, and then a list of about 12 other bottles for those who want something a little more pinpointed to their meal, including a great Puglian Rosato, so wonderful with sardines, and a Fiano di Avellino, which is perfect with the swordfish involtini. There’s no bar to speak of, just a wooden table loaded with bottles of wine, amaro, sambuca, and a centerbe. The wine glasses are short and cone-shaped with sturdy bases and almost no stem (sort of like a miniature beer glass).

The walls are white, but red accents are everywhere-in the wine, the tomatoes, my mother’s hair, and the customers’ clothing. A few photos decorate the walls, one or two of my father and his golfing buddies from the l950s, one of Monica Vitti from L’Avventura, and one of my mother standing in front of a palm tree in Key Biscayne, dressed in a really tight orange skirt and high, round-toed heels, looking like Suzanne Hayward. The tables are square and wooden, the 35 seats are straight backed but easy on the butt. The plates are white; the napkins are white cotton and don’t pill on your lap. Candles cast the primary light.

Small animals are encouraged, as long as they sit on their owners’ laps or shoulders or hang out under the table (and not just dogs; cats, ferrets, and parrots are also welcome). When people get sick of listening to Maria Callas singing Carmen, I change to Maria Callas singing Tosca, but I keep the music as unobtrusive as Maria Callas can be. The two waiters are my youngish middle-aged, extremely handsome, charming cousins. They’re always slightly stoned, making them even more charming, and very nice to older ladies, pulling out their chairs and complimenting them on their vintage sweater sets. I encourage the guests to wear pretty colors; all shades of red, greens, yellow. We’re not open for lunch, and we’re closed Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. You will drive almost all your troubles away.

Pappardelle with Cauliflower, Saucisson à l’Ail, and Basil

I love cauliflower with just about any type of sausage, but garlic sausage seems an especially lovely match.

(Serves 4 as a main-course pasta)

Extra-virgin olive oil
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 1/2 cups tiny cauliflower flowerettes, blanched, refreshed under cool water, and then well-drained
A few scrapings of nutmeg
Salt
Black pepper
The grated zest from 1 large lemon
6 thin slices of saucisson à l’ail (French garlic sausage), cut into thin, matchsticks
1 pound homemade or store-bought fresh pappardelle
A splash of dry white wine
1/4 cup homemade or low-salt canned chicken broth
15 basil leaves, cut into thin strips
A chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

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

In a large skillet, heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallots and let them soften for a few minutes. Add the blanched cauliflower, nutmeg, salt, and black pepper, and sauté for a few minutes to bring all the flavors together. Add the lemon zest and the saucisson, and sauté a minute longer.

Drop the pappardelle into the water and add a generous amount of salt. Give it a brief stir to make sure it’s not sticking together.

Add the white wine to the skillet, and let it bubble for a few seconds. Add the chicken broth, and simmer about 2 minutes.

When the pappardelle is tender, drain it and transfer it to a warmed serving bowl. Drizzle with a little olive oil, add the basil, and grate on about a tablespoon of Parmigiano. Toss gently. Add the cauliflower sauce and toss again. Taste for seasoning. Serve right away, bringing the remaining chunk of Parmigiano to the table.

Cauliflower Sautéed with Anchovies, Parsley, and Bread Crumbs

Cauliflower and anchovies are a marriage made in heaven.

(Serves 4 as a side dish or a first course)

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/2 cup dry homemade bread crumbs
Salt
A pinch of cayenne
A pinch of sugar
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 large cauliflower, cut into medium-size flowerettes, blanched, refreshed under cool water, and drained
1 large garlic clove, thinly sliced
5 anchovy fillets, chopped
A large handful of flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add the bread crumbs, salt, pinch of cayenne, and pinch of sugar. Sauté just until the bread crumbs are fragrant and golden, about 2 minutes.

In a large sauté pan, heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the cauliflower, the garlic, and the anchovies, and sauté until all the flavors are well blended, about 3 minutes. Add the parsley, and give everything a gentle toss. Pour onto a warmed serving platter, and scatter on the bread crumbs. Serve hot.

Cauliflower Torta with Pecorino and Pine Nuts

I love this rich, mellow flavor combination, with no acid notes. Try serving it in small wedges along with a slightly acidic white wine, such as a Pinot Prigio, as an appetizer or part of an antipasto platter.

If you can’t find a young, mild Pecorino, instead of using an older sharp one, which I think would be too strong, try a Comte cheese instead.

(Serves 6 as an appetizer or as part of an antipasto platter)

You’ll need a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom

For the crust:

1 1/2 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
A generous pinch of salt
1 allspice, ground to powder
4 or 5 thyme sprigs, the leaves chopped
1 stick cold, unsalted butter, cut into tiny pieces
3 to 4 tablespoons cold dry white wine
1 egg, lightly whisked (for brushing the inside of the tart shell)

For the filling:

1 1/2 cups tiny cauliflower flowerettes, blanched, refreshed under cool water, and well-drained
1/2 cup grated young, mild pecorino*
1/4 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted
3/4 cup heavy cream
1 small garlic clove, minced
The grated zest from 1 small lemon
1 large egg
Salt
Black pepper
4 or 5 thyme springs, the leaves lightly chopped
1 allspice, ground to powder

Place the flour, sugar, salt, and allspice in the bowl of a food processor. Give it a whirl to blend everything. Add the butter, and pulse once or twice. Drizzle on three tablespoons of white wine, and pulse once or twice more, just until you have a crumbly mass (you don’t want to work it into a ball). If it seems dry, add the extra tablespoon of wine. Dump the crumbly dough out onto a surface. Knead it once or twice quickly to bring it all together, and push it together gently so it forms a ball. Wrap it in plastic and refrigerate for at least 3 hours or overnight.

Flour a surface, and roll out the dough. Drape it into the tart shell, cutting off the overhang by running your rolling pin across the rim. Build the sides up a little by pressing the dough up with your fingers so it extends just slightly above the tart rim. Prick the inside all over lightly with a fork, and refrigerate for 1/2 hour.

Preheat the oven to 375.

Weigh the tart shell with beans or rice or tart weights, if you have them. I usually just line the tart with aluminum foil and fill it with dried beans. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove the foil and beans, brush the bottom with the egg, and bake again for about 10 minutes (this will help form a seal so the bottom doesn’t get soggy).

Place the tart shell on a baking sheet and fill the inside of the shell with the cauliflower. Sprinkle on the Pecorino and scatter on the pine nuts. In a small bowl whisk together the cream, garlic, lemon zest, egg, salt, pepper, allspice, and thyme. Pour this over the cauliflower, trying not to let any run over the rim (if you have a little too much cream mixture, you can use it to enrich a pasta dish or something). Bake about 30 to 35 minutes, just until the top is golden and the custard is set. Serve warm or at room temperature.