Erica De Mane

Still Life with Zucchini, Giacomo Ceruti, 1700-1768.

Recipe: Spaghetti with Zucchini, Anchovy, and Garlic Toasted Almonds

Finally it’s zucchini time at the New York City Greenmarkets. Big deal, you say? Well, I know what you mean. Zucchini is not exactly the most exciting vegetable. But since it’s the first of the real summer stuff to come into season, I’m always incredibly happy to see it. It is, for me, the great marker, the one dependable thing that tells me summer has officially begun. (It actually hasn’t officially begun on the calendar, but it certainly has culinarily.)

The best thing about buying zucchini and other produce at the Greenmarket, aside from the fact that it’s local and just picked, is that you get to try so many varieties. Every year the New York farmers seem to come up with something new and wacky-looking. This week I saw the usual long, dark green zucchini, and also the deep yellow variation (which I don’t think has much taste, although the things are so beautiful I buy them anyway). There were also little piles of the Italian Costata Romanesco variety, with their raised ribbing. When you cut them into rounds they resemble a snowflake design. I also noticed Magda zucchini, a Middle Eastern variety that look like small, light green torpedoes. So cute, so chubby. Those are my favorites. They have a  thick, softer skin and a rich, dense inside that doesn’t fall apart as easily as do the more common dark green ones. I bought a big bag of them and took them home, itching to make something good and summery.

Zucchini, it goes without saying, needs some help. Everyone who’s ever cooked it knows this. And since offering help is what I’m all about, I’ll tell you that I almost always go for garlic, especially since  fresh summer garlic becomes available at the same time zucchini makes the scene around here. Leafy herbs like basil, mint, or parsley, and a touch (not too much) of hot chili are nice too. Zucchini isn’t boring. It’s just shy and needs a little push to bring it out.

Another thing anyone who’s ever cooked zucchini knows is that it sometimes gives off a bit of water, which is why it can take on an insipid boiled taste. What you want to do is brown it so it gets a slight, crispy caramelization. To accomplish that, I always cook zucchini slices in a large pan, so they spread out, making steaming less likely. I also add a sprinkling of sugar to help the browning along. And I remember to add salt only at the end, so as not to coax out even more liquid from them.

Here I turn to my all-time favorite pasta, spaghetti, to make a simple but richly embellished zucchini-based sauce. I bring out the big guns, choosing garlic, anchovy, and hot chili—one of the grand Southern Italian flavor trilogies. It’s a freewheeling version of an Italian classic that I hope will open the door to summer for you.

Magda zucchini from the Union Square Greenmarket.

Spaghetti with Zucchini, Anchovy, and Garlic Toasted Almonds

Extra-virgin olive oil
½ cup slivered almonds, lightly chopped
3 cloves summer garlic, thinly sliced
Salt
1 pound spaghetti
6 or 7 Magda zucchini (or small regular green zucchini), cut into half moon shapes
4 scallions, cut into thin rounds, using much of the tender green part
1 medium-hot long green chili, seeded and chopped
A generous pinch of sugar
4 anchovy fillets, minced
A splash of dry vermouth
½ cup light, homemade or good quality store-bought chicken broth, or possibly a little  more
The juice from ½ a lemon
A big handful of fresh mint and basil leaves, very lightly chopped
2 tablespoons grated pecorino Toscano cheese

In a small sauté pan, heat a tablespoon of olive oil over medium heat. Add the almonds, and heat until they just start to color. Add one of the sliced garlic cloves, season with a pinch of salt, and turn off the heat, stirring the almonds around so the garlic can flavor them without browning. Set aside.

Set up a large pot of pasta cooking water, and bring it to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt, and drop in the spaghetti.

In a large skillet, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the zucchini, scallions, and green chili, all at the same time. Sprinkle on the sugar, and sauté until the zucchini starts to gets golden at the edges and everything is fragrant, about 4 minutes. Add the anchovy and a little salt, and sauté a minute longer. Add the vermouth, and let it boil away.  Turn off the heat, and add the chicken broth and the lemon juice, mixing everything around so it will loosen up any caramelized stuff in the pan.

When the spaghetti is al dente, drain it, and pour it into a large serving bowl. Add the basil and mint, a generous drizzle of fresh olive oil, and the pecorino Toscano, giving everything a gentle toss. Add the zucchini sauce, and toss again, tasting for salt. Add a little extra chicken broth if it seems dry. Sprinkle the almonds over the top. Serve right away.

Still Life with Bread, by Luis Melendez,  1715-1780.

To all of you enthusiastic cooks who attended my stale bread class this week (and to any of my readers who just love the idea of finding great ways to use leftover bread), here’s the recipe for the orange cake I made for that class.

And for a schedule of upcoming Recession Cooking Classes, take a look at the notice on the right on the homepage.

Sicilian Orange Cake with Breadcrumbs and Almonds

2 tablespoons softened butter
1 cup home-made dry breadcrumbs, not too finely ground
1 cup sugar
1 cup lightly toasted almonds, finely ground
2 teaspoons baking powder
4 large eggs
¾ cup vegetable oil (one with a mild or almost nonexistent flavor)
The grated zest from 2 oranges
The grated zest from 1 lemon
½ teaspoon orange flower water

For the orange syrup:

The juice of the 2 oranges and of the lemon you zested for the cake
½ cup sugar
½ cinnamon stick
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier or another orange liqueur
½ teaspoon orange flower water

Butter a 10-inch round cake pan (a low-sided springform pan with removable sides is ideal).

In a large bowl, mix together the sugar, the breadcrumbs, the almonds, and the baking powder until well blended.

In a smaller bowl, whisk the eggs together with the oil, and pour the mix in with the dry ingredients. Add the orange and lemon zest and the orange flower water, and mix well.

Pour the batter into the cake pan, and place it in a cold oven. Turn the heat to 350 degrees, and bake until the top is golden and the cake feels firm, about 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool for about 15 minutes.

In the meantime, put all the ingredients for the orange syrup into a small saucepan, and give them a stir. Turn the heat to medium-high, and let the sauce bubble and reduce for about 6 or 7 minutes. Let the syrup cool for about 15 minutes.

Run a knife around the sides of the cake, and unhinge the pan. Slide the cake onto a flat serving platter. Poke a bunch of tiny holes in the top of the cake with something skinny and sharp, like a barbecue skewer or a toothpick. Slowly pour the syrup over the cake, letting it soak in. If too much syrup pools up around the cake, just spoon it over the top again. Let the cake sit for about ½ hour to further soak up the syrup before slicing.

Recipe: Shrimp Cocktail with Jalapeño Fennel Vinaigrette

My love of the American shrimp cocktail remains strong. It’s a clunky but vibrant dish, of boiled shrimp, hopefully not too boiled, dipped in an indescribable red sauce, made primarily from ketchup, horseradish, and Worcestershire sauce. Thinking of it brings back a flood of memories, mostly good ones, of raucous parties (speaking of boiled) that my parents used to throw in the 1960s (at one of the more entertaining ones, at least from my point of view, a golf pro friend of my father’s wound up crawling on the floor, growling like a lion, peed in his pants, and then passed out—possibly from one too many dips into the shrimp cocktail).

At our house, the shrimp was piled high. The extravagance of it drove me wild and unleashed the glutton in me like few other foods of the time. I’d sneak out of my room, making my way through all the go-go-baubled ladies and  grease ball dressed men to grab a handful of shrimp, while also scooping up a good portion of the red sauce in a paper cup before disappearing back to where I belonged.

Shrimp cocktail has had various retro rebirths since that era, and I’m always excited to see it on a buffet or at a friend’s party. I had a craving for it the other night, so I went out and bought some shrimp, figuring I had the stuff to make the sauce in my refrigerator. In fact I had neither ketchup, horseradish, nor Worcestershire (what kind of unruly household do I run?), but being the culinary snot that I’ve now become, I did happen to have on hand a fennel bulb, a green jalapeño pepper, and a bunch of fresh tarragon, so that’s what I cooked up instead. It doesn’t have much tradition behind it, but it’s really good.

A note about jalapeño peppers: I’ve found that the heat from these peppers varies a lot. Sometimes they’re burning hot, sometimes so mild they have almost no kick whatever. The one I used was sort of halfway between, so I used the whole thing, with seeds, to produce an only moderately spicy result. I think the best thing to do is to taste a piece, with a few seeds, and determine what you’re dealing with before adding it to your dish.

Shrimp Cocktail with Jalapeño Fennel Vinaigrette

(Serves 4 as a first course)

2 or 3 small cloves fresh spring garlic, thinly sliced
1 green jalapeño pepper, minced, with its seeds (see note above)
½ teaspoon Sambuca
¼ teaspoon fennel seeds, toasted and finely ground
The juice and zest from 1 small lemon
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
1 fresh bay leaf
1½ pounds large shrimp, shelled and deveined, leaving the tails on
1 pint grape tomatoes, cut in half
1 small fennel bulb, very thinly sliced
About 10 large tarragon sprigs, the leaves lightly torn

In a small bowl, mix together the garlic, jalapeño, Sambuca, fennel seeds, lemon juice and zest, and about 3 tablespoons of olive oil, adding a good amount of salt. Let it sit to develop flavor while you get on with the recipe.

Set up a large pot of water. Add the bay leaf and a generous amount of salt, and bring it to a boil. Drop in the shrimp, and boil them until just tender, probably about 2 minutes, depending on their size. Scoop the shrimp from the water with a large strainer, and lay them out on paper towels, separating them a bit, to soak up excess liquid.

Place the shrimp in a serving bowl. Add the tomatoes and the fennel. Pour on the dressing, and give everything a good toss. Refrigerate for about ½ hour, and then add the tarragon and toss again, tasting for seasoning. The jalapeño should have become more pronounced, and all the flavors will have mingled nicely. Serve cold.

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.

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.