Erica De Mane

Still life with Calla Lilies and Swiss Chard by Carolyn Fox

Recipe: Swiss Chard Torta with Marjoram and Fennel Seed

I believe there is a running theme in the life of every dedicated cook. My theme is making fairly traditional, mostly Southern Italian dishes over and over, but never making them exactly the same way twice. Especially the savory torta.

My first encounter with an Italian savory torta was in the form of a New York style calzone, which I loved from first bite, with its pully yeast crust and hot, oozing ricotta filling. Any savory pie type of preparation, either single or double crusted, can be called a torta, though there are dozens of regional names for the things. Pizza rustica, the traditional savory Easter torta, usually made with a short crust and filled with salami, prosciutto, and various cheeses and often finished with a pretty lattice top, was another early meeting I had with Italian savory pastry, but my childhood absolute favorite was the Neapolitan pizza di scarola, a double-crusted flat torta filled with escarole, olives, anchovies, and capers, a common offering at many pizza places way back then (sadly, this fabulous creation is hard to find at by-the-slice places nowadays). It was the first torta I made when I was first teaching myself Southern Italian cooking, and I was extremely proud of the result.

Liguria also makes greens-filled tortas, especially ones cooked with Swiss chard. They traditionally include raisins, pine nuts, and a touch of a hard grating cheese such as grana Padano. The crust is inevitably a quick mix of flour and good olive oil. I’ve been cooking up variations on that for decades, but, in keeping with my style, I make those a little different every time. For the past few years that’s been a matter of fooling around with different herbs and spices, both in the crust and in the filling.

Combining flavors has taught me a lot about what I call the “third taste,” which I create by mixing together two flavors I don’t often use, coming up with something new. That’s not so novel a concept, I know, but depending on what I’m blending the results can be better than expected or even completely unexpected. For this fall’s version of my chard torta, I’ve used marjoram and fennel seed, two flavors I love on their own but have never, to my recollection, blended (except, now that I think of it, with the addition of hot chili, which masked their subtlety). Marjoram, a flowery, gentler  cousin to oregano, is a common herb in Ligurian cooking, not as popular as basil but certainly up there, so it was a natural. Fennel seed I often use to flavor cooked greens such as broccoli rabe or dandelions, so I added that as well. The tart cooked up with a wild edge. Combining the two flavors created a taste similar to that of nepitella, a wild mint used often in Southern Italy. In the past I’ve described its taste as a mix of basil and oregano, but somehow the marjoram and fennel seed blend hit closer for me. It also managed, with the bitter edge fennel provides, to make the Swiss chard less sweet, even with the standard addition of raisins. Very interesting. I can certainly see using this combo with pasta and broccoli, or as a flavoring for peperonata.

The key for me is not just to reach into my bag of Italian tricks but to really think about what each flavor I decide on truly tastes like. I try to meditate on that flavor. Then I pick another and do the same thing. Now I’ve got the two flavors in my head. Next I put them both in my mouth, just raw, and chomp on them a bit. That gives me a good idea of where I’ll be heading, but it’s not the entire story by any stretch. The game is to then wait and see how the combination works in a dish, how it blends with the other ingredients I’ll be adding, and how heat may alter the outcome.

Swiss Chard Torta with Marjoram and Fennel Seed

Have on hand a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. To get a more rustic look, choose one with smooth, not fluted, sides, if possible. Or use a tart ring, if you prefer.

 (Serves 8 as an appetizer, or 4 as a main course served with a side salad)

For the crust:

2 cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon fennel seeds, lightly toasted and finely ground
1/3 cup dry Marsala
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

For the filling:

2 big bunches Swiss chard, thick stalks removed, leaves roughly chopped
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 shallot, minced
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon fennel seeds, lightly toasted
¼ cup sliced almonds, lightly toasted
¼ cup yellow raisins, soaked in a 2 tablespoons Marsala or white wine
5 or 6 marjoram sprigs, leaves chopped
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
¾ cup grated grana Padano cheese

In a large bowl mix together the flour, the salt, and the ground fennel. Add the Marsala, stirring it in briefly. Add the olive oil, and stir until you’ve got a sticky ball. Turn out the dough onto a clean surface, and knead quickly until it’s relatively smooth, only about a minute or so. The dough will feel a little oily. Wrap the dough in plastic, and let it rest, unrefrigerated, for about an hour.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

While the dough is resting, set up a large pot of water, and bring it to a boil. Blanch the Swiss chard for about 2 minutes. Drain it 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 the chard as you can. Then give the chard a few extra chops.

In a large sauté pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot, and sauté until it softens, about a minute or so. Add the chard, seasoning with the salt, black pepper, and the fennel seeds, and sauté about 2 minutes longer. Add the raisins, with their soaking liquid, and the almonds. Take the pan off the heat, and add the marjoram. Let it all cool for a few minutes, then add the eggs and the grana Padano, mixing them in well.

Roll out the dough, and drape it into your 9-inch pan or tart ring (if using the ring, place it on a Silpat-lined baking sheet), leaving a little overhang all around. Add the filling, smoothing out the top. Trim the dough overhang neatly all around. Drizzle the top with a little olive oil. Bake until the crust is browned and the filling is firm, about 40 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Recipe: Pear Salad with Fennel and Ricotta Salata

It’s that time again, time for the longed for but tragic, at least for me, appearance of local pears at my Greenmarket, an indicator of the summer’s end. Today is also September 11, the anniversary of a tragedy that conjures up no longing. Be grateful for mixed feelings, I say to myself.

So another school year begins, and here I am furthering my education again by creating something nice with pears. And I did have some mixed feelings here. Since this is a period of transition, I wanted to keep a lightness to this early fall dish, so I included basil and tarragon, which are still growing well in my stoop pots. The fall notes are, well, the pear, of course, but then also the toasted pine nuts, the fennel, and the assertive cheese. If pears make you too sad, try substituting fresh figs, a fruit so fleeting you don’t really have time to ruminate over its significance. You just enjoy it. But then again, ruminating is, I think, good for me. It helps fuel culinary creativity.

Pear Salad with Fennel and Ricotta Salata

(Serves 2)

A large handful of frisée lettuce, torn into pieces
1 firm but fragrant pear, cored and thinly sliced
1 medium fennel bulb, cored and very thinly sliced
½ red shallot, very thinly sliced
A little less than ¼ pound ricotta salata, crumbled
About 10 basil leaves, cut into chiffonade
A few large sprigs of tarragon, leaves lightly chopped
1 teaspoon Spanish sherry vinegar
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
A few gratings of fresh nutmeg
2½ tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
A palmful of pine nuts, lightly toasted

Place the frisée, the pear and fennel slices, and the shallot in a medium salad bowl. Scatter on the ricotta salata, the basil, and the tarragon.

In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, a little salt, a few big turns of black pepper, the nutmeg, and the olive oil, and pour this over the salad. Toss gently. Garnish with the pine nuts. Serve right away.

Tomato skin dress by Sung Yeonju, 2010.

Recipe: Summer Tomato Sauce with Thyme, Parsley, and Butter

This elegant and labor-intensive dress made from tomato skins got me thinking about how amazing the skins of many things are, including our own skins, of course (at least on some people). These bright red skins, used to fashion this adorable cocktail ensemble, made me want to go and blanch a few summer tomatoes, just so I could slip off the skins and feel them with my own hands, marveling at their translucent beauty and delicacy. I did that, and it was damned great. But now I had a bunch of nude tomatoes to deal with, dripping all over my counter and giving off a faint, alluring whiff of the sea (it’s odd how tomatoes can have that aroma, even when they weren’t  grown anywhere near the sea). In any case, we all know that one of the best things to do with perfect, just skinned summer tomatoes is make a tomato sauce. This sometimes scares people. And I know why. It’s all the liquid. How are you supposed to get rid of all that liquid?

Well, you can use plum tomatoes. They throw off less water than the round ones, and they have a concentrated flavor that produces a rich, tight sauce that’s a classic in Southern Italian cooking. But many people tell me they have trouble finding fresh plums at their markets, so I’ve devised a technique for using the big juicy round tomatoes, a variety that makes an altogether different sauce, one with lightness, bright red color, and a refreshing pure summer flavor.

Here are a few tricks: First, you’ll want to seed and drain your tomatoes. Then chop them, salt them lightly, and stick them in a colander with a bowl underneath to catch the tomato water (which you actually might need  if you’ve drained them too much). When you get to cooking them, chose a wide skillet and high heat. The more surface area you have for spreading out your tomatoes, the quicker you’ll get them heating, which means being able to boil away excess liquid rapidly without their overcooking and turning acidy. High heat and fast cooking also allows the tomatoes to retain their color and clarity of flavor.

I chose to flavor my sauce with thyme, Italian parsley, and a little butter, swirled in at the end. This is a genteel approach, excellent on tagliatelle or a delicate durum wheat pasta shape such as farfalle. I also like to spoon the sauce over stuffed summer vegetables or meatloaf. You might want to go bolder by substituting marjoram or fresh oregano and adding a few anchovies, olives, and capers. Then you’d have a fresh summer puttanesca. I like both approaches.

Summer Tomato Sauce with Thyme, Parsley, and Butter

(Makes about 2 cups of sauce, more than enough for a pound of pasta)

6 medium-size round summer tomatoes
Salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 large shallot, minced
2 fresh summer garlic cloves, thinly sliced
¼ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
10 thyme sprigs, leaves chopped
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
A handful of Italian parsley, leaves lightly chopped
Freshly ground black pepper

Set up a large pot of water, and bring it to a boil. Drop in the tomatoes, and blanch them until you notice that their skins are just starting to crack, about 3 minutes. Lift the tomatoes from the water with a large strainer, and run cold water over them. Now you can easily slip off their beautiful skins (and perhaps save them for a hat).

Cut the tomatoes in half, and squeeze out the seeds. Then chop them into small dice. Place them in a colander over a bowl, and sprinkle them lightly with salt. Let them drain for about an hour. Save the juice, though, just in case you might want it to loosen the sauce.

Choose a wide skillet, and heat it over a medium flame. When its surface is hot, add 2 tablespoons of olive oil and the shallot. Sauté until softened, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic, nutmeg, and the thyme, and sauté a minute longer, just to release their fragrances (you don’t want the garlic to darken, though). Turn the heat to high, and add the tomatoes, spreading them out. Cook over a lively bubble, uncovered, for about 4 or 5 minutes, stirring occasionally (not constantly, which could make your sauce watery by lowering the skillet temperature). When the sauce has some body but is still a bright red, it’s done. If it seems too thick, add a bit of the reserved tomato water.

Turn off the heat. Stir in the butter, add the parsley, and give it a few big turns of fresh black pepper. Taste the sauce to see if it needs additional salt. I find a fresh sauce like this is best used right away, before it loses any vibrancy.

Monna Pomano, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1864.

Recipe: Apple Torta with Grappa and Cinnamon

The snooty pout and wealth-drenched appeal of the woman in this painting, who happens to be clutching an apple, inspired me to proceed in a more formal way than usual when constructing my first apple tart of the season. Cutting lots of uniformly thin slices of fruit didn’t really feel like me at first, but the results were pretty (prettier, in fact, than this woman, who, I think, actually looks like a guy—a pre-Raphaelite trans, perhaps?). As fancy looking as this torta is, it’s not hard to put together. Seriously. I didn’t even blind-bake the crust, which is a fussy and somewhat annoying step that often turns me off to tart making (messing with all those beans and that aluminum foil, and half the time the thing comes out just as soggy as if I hadn’t gone to all the bother).

Take a trip to the farmer’s market now and get yourself a bunch of firm, slightly tart baking apples (I used Cortlands). The aroma of the seasonal apples alone will provoke you into apple cooking mode, I promise you.

I’ve been into spices this summer, so I chose to flavor this tart with cinnamon and coriander seed. I used the slightly more bitter and stronger Ceylon cinnamon instead of the usual, sweeter Mexican kind, because I wanted an unexpected result, cinnamon and apple being such a standard combination, and mixed with the coriander the apples became almost savory. In fact, with this tart’s absence of cream and eggs, the entire thing takes on a feel of breakfast, which is when my husband has been eating it. But if you serve it with the a dollop of whipped cream and a glass of grappa, it’s a pretty nice dessert offering as well. Judge the amount of sugar you use in it by the sweetness of your apples.

Apple Torta with Grappa and Cinnamon

You’ll want a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom for this.

For the crust:

1¾ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon ground coriander seed
1 stick cold, unsalted butter, cut into small dice
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus a little extra to oil the tart pan
About 3 tablespoons cold white wine (you might need a touch more)

For the applesauce:

3 or 4 large, firm, slightly tart apples, peeled, cored, and cut into cubes
2 tablespoons grappa
About ¼ cup sugar
½ teaspoon ground Ceylon cinnamon

For the top:

3 large apples (the same type you used for the applesauce), peeled, cored, and cut into very thin rounds
3 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon ground Ceylon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground coriander seed
2 tablespoons melted butter

To make the dough: Place the flour, salt, sugar, and ground coriander in the bowl of a food processor, and give it a few pulses. Add the butter and the olive oil, and pulse quickly a few more times, just until the butter is broken up into pea-size bits. Add the white wine, and pulse quickly again, until you have a slightly moist but still crumbly mess. Don’t go so far that the dough forms a ball. Dump the dough out onto a counter, and gather it into a ball by pressing it together with your hands. Wrap it in plastic, and stick it in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.

To make the applesauce: Put all the applesauce ingredients into a medium sauce pan, add a splash of water, and cook over medium heat, partially covered, until the apples are very soft, adding a little more water if it all gets too dry. Now whisk the sauce until it’s smooth (you can instead do this in a food processor, if you don’t mind an extra bowl to clean). The sauce should be quite thick. If it seems too loose, cook it down a bit. Stick the applesauce in the refrigerator for about 15 minutes, to cool it slightly.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Grease the tart pan with a little olive oil, and place it on a sheet pan. Roll the dough out on a lightly floured work space, and drape it into the pan, cutting off the overhang. Pour in the applesauce, and smooth it down.

Now lay the apple slices on top of the applesauce in a circular pattern. Mix the sugar with the cinnamon and coriander, and sprinkle it over the top. Drizzle on the melted butter.

Bake until the top is lightly browned, about 35 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Recipe: Caprese with Roasted Tomatoes, Mozzarella, and Summer Savory

As perfect as the classic tomato, mozzarella, and basil Caprese salad is, especially now in high summer, professional cooks like me feel the need to mess with it. Why? Well, because we’re an easily bored and restless bunch, and a bored cook with a sharp knife is a potential menace. It’s not that I don’t make this Southern Italian classic straight much of the time, but summer is an exciting season for a cook, so if I’m going go succumb to tinker anxiety, I’m especially going to do it now. And the best thing about summer food play is that changes can be subtle. A few minor adjustments and I can conceivably create an entirely new feel for an established dish. I think I’ve succeeding in doing that here.

Savory is not well known in Italy, not like in France, where it’s used in hearty bean dishes and stews, but I always find it at the Greenmarket in the summer. It smells good to me, so I buy it. Even though savory is pungent (more pungent than oregano), I like it with tomatoes, as long as I roast the two together. This mellows out the herb’s sharpness while intensifying the flavor of the tomatoes, creating a more natural balance (I can’t think of an occasion where I’d use raw savory on raw tomatoes). I’ve added black olives to this dish for the same reason, to push the flavor depth. This is a richer dish than the light-on-the-palate classic Caprese, but it’s good to indulge in some culinary heft in the summer. Oh, and by the way, I designed it as a preamble to a grilled beefsteak.

Caprese with Roasted Tomatoes, Mozzarella,  and Summer Savory

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

10  good-size summer plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise
Extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon sugar
1 large summer garlic clove, very thinly sliced
5 large sprigs summer savory, the leaves lightly chopped
1 pound cow’s milk mozzarella, thinly sliced
A handful of Nicoise olives

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees.

Place the cut tomatoes in a medium bowl. Drizzle on enough olive oil to coat them well. Season with salt, black pepper, the allspice, and the sugar, and give them a good toss. Lay the tomatoes out on a sheet pan, and roast them until they’re just browning around the edges and starting to shrink down a bit, about 15 minutes or so. You want to keep them juicy in the center, so don’t let them shrivel down to the sun-dried tomato stage. In the last 5 minutes of cooking, scatter on the garlic and the savory.

Pull the sheet pan from the oven, and let the tomatoes cool off a bit (you want them warm).

Choose a pretty platter, and arrange the tomatoes with alternating slices of mozzarella. Scatter on the olives, and finish the dish with a drizzle of fresh olive oil, a sprinkling of salt, and a few grindings of black pepper.

The Rabbit’s Meal, Henri Rousseau, 1908.

Recipe: Braised Carrots with Marsala and Basil

I have to admit something culinarily weird about me. I sometimes can’t tell the difference between certain local, seasonal vegetables and the ones I get at my supermarket in the middle of winter (am I being duped?). I mean just about all fruit, including tomatoes of course, and fresh garlic, those are exceptions. But most root vegetables, like onions, beets, parsnips, and things like cabbages, celery, some lettuces, chicories, or cauliflower taste about the same to my finely tuned palate (and dammit I do have a finely tuned palate). The smell of the seasonal stuff is stronger, but once it’s cooked I often can’t tell. Anyone else out there harboring this secret?

Carrots are a different matter. Supermarket carrots are often bitter, with a soapy aftertaste. You know when you cook up a puréed carrot soup in the winter and you give it a taste and you say to yourself, what exactly did I create here? It could be anything—butternut squash, vichyssoise. That’s so depressing. Try making that same soup right now, with sweet, crisp farmer’s market carrots. It will actually taste like carrots, I promise you. Oh, and the colors I can find them in, red, dark pink, yellow, rust, deep orange. It’s startling, and pretty glorious.

Carrots as a main event are not popular in Italy. They usually wind up in a soffrito, part of a savory underpinning for a sauce or a braise. One of the few dishes I’ve come across that highlight this vegetable is a Sicilian one, where carrots are cooked in the island’s Marsala wine. The carrots become infused with the wine’s musky flavor. I included a recipe for this dish, one that also contained capers, in my book The Flavors of Southern Italy, because I once saw something similar offered on an antipasti table in Trapani. It’s very good, but I’ve since decided I prefer a more mellow treatment. Now I often leave the capers out and finish the thing with a little basil. That makes a lovely summer offering, but one that delivers surprisingly deep flavor for something with so few ingredients. The quality of the carrots is paramount. But the other key is Marsala, a fortified wine like sherry or port. (Go for the best you can find. Florio is widely available and pretty decent, but if your wine seller suggests something she thinks is better, I don’t see any reason not to use it in cooking.) I’ve tried this dish with both sweet and dry Marsala, and even though I add a little sugar while cooking, I’ve found that the dry provides a more sophisticated flavor. I love this with an herby barbecued chicken.

Multicolored carrots at the Abingdon Square market in the West Village.

Braised Carrots with Marsala and Basil

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

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
About 10 medium-thick carrots, peeled and cut into 2-inch batons about ½ inch thick
1 teaspoon sugar
Salt
5 big scrapings nutmeg
⅓ cup dry Marsala
A drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
A handful of small basil leaves, left whole

Choose a wide skillet with a lid that will more or less hold the carrots in one layer. Melt the butter over medium heat. Add the carrots, sugar, nutmeg, and salt. Sauté about a minute or so, to lightly caramelize the sugar. Add the Marsala, and let it bubble for a few seconds. Reduce the heat to medium low, cover the skillet, and simmer until the carrots are just tender, about 5 minutes or so.

When the carrots are about a minute away from done, uncover the skillet, and cook to let the liquid evaporate to a moist glaze. Add a drizzle of olive oil, and season with black pepper and a little more salt, if needed. Transfer to a serving dish, add the basil, and give it all a quick toss. Serve hot.