Erica De Mane

Pomeriggio a Fiesole, by Baccio Maria Bacci, 1926.

Recipes below: Eggplant Purée with Saffron and Pistachios; Pan-Roasted Chicken with Parsnips and Shallots

As a kid, I found meals at my grandmother’s trying. They were New York Italian-American to the max. Incongruous food, one dish after another—salami, provolone, and giardiniera, then a Waldorf salad (her favorite), followed by sausage lasagna or ravioli, turkey or pork chops with vinegar peppers, stuffed artichokes, cranberry sauce from a can, dandelions with garlic and oil, mashed potatoes, Romano beans in tomato sauce. Plates were constantly being whisked away and replaced with new plates. Nanny seemed to never sit down. She hovered over the table like a giant hummingbird, breathing down your neck, grabbing serving spoons, laying down heavy platters. I felt such a relief when the glass bowl of raw fennel appeared, a signal that the meal was trailing off. But that was still before the pignoli cookies, chocolate cake, and German prune pastries my grandfather loved, and the Strega and Anisette. After that, walnuts in shells, tangerines, espresso, and cigarettes, for hours. Exhausting, even a little frightening. A child held hostage at table. And that wasn’t just on holidays.  Oddly now, decades later, the thought of those dinners fills me with joy and calm. We had all the time in the world back then. Or so it seemed.

I’ve decided we all need longer meals, maybe not quite as dragged out as when Nanny orchestrated the night, but an hour and a half minimum for dinner, even during the week. Dinners that culminate in a relaxed stupor are good for the soul. There was something pure about Nanny’s style, where everything was a separate course. Very Italian. I vote for that, but possibly omitting the Waldorf salad.

Lengthy dining is validating for a cook, too. Many people don’t seem to grasp the fact that the cook can feel like hired help in her own home. There’s almost nothing more demoralizing than watching a tableful of friends or relatives shovel down a beautiful dinner in twenty minutes.  Two hours of thoughtful cooking instantly turned to poop.

I’m not going to run around like my hectic old Nanny—that was painful to watch—but a few good dishes, made ahead and leisurely paced, produce a nice flow. And the key is made ahead.  Many vegetable dishes in Southern Italy and around the Mediterranean are prepared early in the day and served later, at room temperature, and they taste best that way, their flavors coaxed to blossom while they sit and cool. I peruse the antipasto table of my mind and pull out one or two fine dishes. One will be an appetizer, something fun, like crostini with roasted sweet peppers, to eat standing up, like you’re at a party. Then on to a sit-down first course, say a cannellini bean salad with good olive oil and fresh sage, served unaccompanied. That way you can really get to appreciate that olive oil you paid so much for. Then I’ll usually follow with something I’ve roasted or stewed, maybe a pork loin  with aioli (there’s that good olive oil again). Then a green salad. Cheese. Fruit. Maybe some nuts. I’m all for bringing back nuts in shells, with nutcrackers. A great ritual. Soothing. And, as my mother taught me, making slightly too much food is freeing. You can accommodate a last-minute drop-in without freaking out. Maybe I’m alone in this, but I love an unexpected guest.

One possible drawback to a lengthy dinner is too much drinking. A problem for me, at least. Remember the water. Buy a decent-looking pitcher and fill it with good tasting water. Forget the ice cubes. Icy drinks are a real palate killer. And buy good wine. You’ll respect it more and savor every sip, maybe even drinking less.

Here’s a menu for a leisurely dinner for two, all made ahead, with leftovers for lunch the next day, or enough to accommodate a dinner time drop-in. The meal will go well with a rich Italian rosato, such as a Cerasuola from Abruzzo.

Menu

Eggplant Purée with Saffron and Pistachios, served with carta di musica or crostini
Broccoli Rabe with Pancetta and Chilies
Pan-roasted Chicken with Parsnips and Shallots
Boston Lettuce and Dandelion Salad
Pears with Young Pecorino and Wildflower Honey

Eggplant Purée with Saffron and Pistachios

Here’s my Sicilian take on baba ganoush. No tahini here; I use yogurt instead, but the technique is similar.

You’ll need, a pinch of saffron, two medium eggplants, good olive oil, a small chopped shallot, a sliced garlic clove, salt, black pepper, a pinch of sugar, a little ground cumin, Greek yogurt, a handful of shelled, unsalted pistachios, and a palmful of chopped dill or fennel sprigs.

First you’ll want to grind the saffron threads to a powder and dissolve them in a few tablespoons of hot water, giving them a good stir. Next roast the eggplants in a hot oven until they’re soft and collapsed. Scrape out their insides. Sauté the shallot and the garlic in a little olive oil until it’s soft. Add the eggplant, and season it with salt, black pepper, a pinch of sugar, and a bigger pinch of cumin. Cook until everything is fragrant, about 3 minutes. Add the saffron water, and then transfer the eggplant mixture to a food processor, and give it a few pulses. Add a heaping tablespoon of Greek yogurt, a big drizzle of fresh olive oil, and a handful of chopped, unsalted pistachios. Pulse just until blended—you’ll want to keep a little texture. Turn the purée out into a bowl, and stir in some chopped dill or fennel. Garnish with a little more of the herbs and chopped pistachios.

Pan-Roasted Chicken with Parsnips and Shallots

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees.

Set out eight chicken thighs, skin on, preferably bone in, on a big sheet pan. Skin and cut in half 3 shallots. Skin 3 parsnips and 2 carrots, and cut them into approximately 1-inch rounds. Add the vegetables to the sheet pan, and drizzle everything generously with olive oil, season with salt, black pepper, some Aleppo pepper, and a sprinkling of ras el hanout. Scatter on chopped fresh thyme, a little rosemary, and a spritz of sherry wine vinegar. Mix all the ingredients well with your hands. Turn the chicken pieces skin side up, and spread everything out in more or less one layer. Roast until the chicken is fragrant, browned, and just tender, about a half an hour. You can serve this as soon as it’s ready or let it sit. Hot or warm is fine; room temperature is good, too.