From Cosa Bolle in Pentola:
Rome, in the summer, means (for me) eating outside; restaurants that are located where it is possible put a row of tables out on the street for their patrons, and if you take a walk through the Centro Storico you will find many families that have done the same, enjoying their meal in the evening breeze or talking as they finish their wine. Roman cooking is supremely well suited for this sort of dining; it's largely based on light, quickly cooked dishes, for example spaghetti all'amatriciana (pasta with a quickly cooked, zesty tomato sauce with pancetta or guanciale), saltimbocca alla romana (pan-sautéed veal scallops that have slices of prosciutto affixed and are seasoned with a little sage), a huge bowl of fresh salad, or strawberries (ideally from Lake Nemi, served with lemon juice or wine) and abundant white wine from the Colli Albani to wash it all down.

David Downie knows a lot about this sort of food; his Roman mother met his American father during the War and married him, and though the family subsequently moved to the US she continued to cook as she had at home, and he has spent quite a bit of time prowling Rome's markets and eateries since then. What has emerged is Cooking the Roman Way, Authentic Recipes from the Home Cooks and Trattorias of Rome, and it is quite well done. Some cookbooks simply present the recipes, which is fine if one already knows the cuisine, but Mr. Downie also gives the background that places them in context and makes them come alive, and includes sidebars on all sorts of things, from capers to the women who prepare the artichokes in the Campo dei Fiori marketplace, to the true (and interesting) story behind fettuccine Alfredo. I hadn't realized, for example, that Pecorino Romano is not called Romano because it's made around Rome (though some still is, much is from Sardegna), but rather because it's made following the production methods developed by the Ancient Romans.

A sample recipe often gives a better idea of a book than does the review, and this is especially true here. So: Coda Alla Vaccinara (p. 140)

Coda alla Vaccinara -- Roman Oxtail Stew

For several thousand years, right up to the Second World War, teams of oxen plowed fields and pulled loads around Rome. The great oxen retirement home was the slaughterhouse, where their skins became leather, their horns a variety of accessories and their meat stews. The woman and men whose job was to slaugher, butcher and skin the oxen were called vaccinari, from the word vacca, meaning cow. They were paid in kind with skins, unwanted organ meats, and oxtails. This engendered a style of cooking associated with the neighborhood where the slaughterhouse and tanneries were located, Testaccio. It flanks the Tiber on the southern end of Rome (see Simply Offal: Rome's Gutsy Quinto-Quarto Cooking, page 152). In Italy and elsewhere in Europe, the custom of raising beef for meat, as opposed to raising oxen for plowing and transportation, is relatively recent, dating back to the 1800s. That's why, in English, we still refer to "oxtails" and not to "beef tails," though there are practically no true oxen left anywhere in the Western world. Most butcher shops and supermarkets in America actually sell the cut as "beef oxtails." Go figure.

This and the related recipe Garofolato (see page 146) are considered the archetypal Roman beef stews. Coda alla vaccinara is made from humble ingredients, but comes out heavenly nonetheless: rich, tender and redolent of cloves and slow-cooked vegetables. Every family has its own version of coda, as it's called for short, and a handful of trattorias and restaurants still offer it on the menu, especially in the ex-slaughterhouse neighborhood, Testaccio. Some cooks add a tablespoon of bittersweet chocolate before serving the stew. Others use pine nuts, cinnamon, nutmeg, raisins or candied fruit to achieve sweet-and-sour piquancy. Our Roman friend Carla Bertini makes the best coda alla vaccinara I've ever eaten. Her family has been stewing up oxtails this way since before anyone can remember. A professional photography researcher and home cook by election, Carla combines cloves, bay leaf, and black pepper to impart an earthy tang to her coda. She hates the fuss of removing the cloves, though, so ties them up in gauze, as in a tea bag, and reels the bag in before serving the stew. "The longer it stews the better," she says, recalling the days of her grandmother's coal-fired stoves and slow-cooked meals. "I make it a day or two ahead, because it's best of all reheated."

• 1 beef oxtail (2 1/2-3 pounds)
• 12 celery stalks
• 1 clove garlic
• 1 carrot
• 1 medium-sized white onion
• 4 ounces pancetta
• 2 heaping tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
• 4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• Kosher salt or coarse sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1 cup Italian dry red wine
• 1 tablespoon tomato concentrate
• 2 (28-ounce) cans Italian plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano
• 6 to 8 cups boiling water
• 5 cloves
• 1 bay leaf
• Serves 6

1. Rinse the oxtail under warm running water and eliminate any fat or gristle with a paring knife and your fingers. Chop it into sections along the vertebrae. Pat them dry with paper towels.
2. Remove the stringy parts of the celery. Mince 1 stalk and reserve the rest. Peel and halve the garlic with a paring knife, removing any imperfections including the green shoot. Mince the garlic with the carrot and onion. Mince the pancetta; you should have 3/4 cup. Combine the minced vegetables and pancetta with 1 heaping tablespoon of the parsley.
3. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium-high. Add the minced vegetable-and-pancetta mixture and sauté, stirring with a wooden spoon or spatula until the onion becomes translucent, 4 to 5 minutes.
4. Add the oxtail, a generous pinch of salt and several turns of the peppermill. Brown thoroughly, stirring, flipping and scraping for about 15 minutes.
5. Pour in the wine and boil to evaporate it, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in the tomato concentrate. Add the tomatoes and their packing juices, crushing and stirring. Add just enough of the water to completely submerge the oxtail bones.
6. Wrap the cloves in a beggar's purse of gauze and tie it closed with kitchen string, leaving about one foot of string attached. Lower the purse into the stew and secure the string to a pot handle. Drop in the bay leaf and stir.
7. Lower the heat to minimum and simmer, partially covered, for 2 hours.
8. Slice the remaining 11 celery stalks into sticks the size of an index finger. Add them to the stew and simmer, covered, for 40 minutes.
9. Remove and discard the purse of cloves and the bay leaf. Stir in the remaining 1 heaping tablespoon of parsley. Serve in soup bowls.

Note: Save any leftover oxtail meat and sauce to dress fettuccine or other pasta.

It's enough to make one head for the kitchen; in terms of a general breakdown the book has more than a hundred recipes covering all the facets of a Roman meal, from antipasti through desserts, and there's also a handy listing of sources for Italian foodstuffs in the US in the back; it's all nicely illustrated with photographs by Alison Harris, a noted food photographer who also happens to be Mr. Downie's wife.

Bottom line: An excellent introduction to the cooking of La Città Eterna, which will also make a fine gift.

Practical things:

Cooking the Roman Way, Authentic Recipes from the Home Cooks and Trattorias of Rome, by David Downie

Hardcover, 314 pages, with about 100 recipes, many interesting asides, and lots of nice illustrations.

Harper Collins, New York NY, 2002

ISBN 0-06-018892-8

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