On buying food in Italy

Shortly after I moved to Florence in 1982, the local supermarket suffered a series of wildcat strikes on the part of the employees – they’d all file out and the managers would take over the cash registers, while the lines of shopping carts would snake all the way to the back of the store. One time the woman behind me had a single bottle of olive oil, and I asked her why she didn’t just buy it elsewhere to save herself several hours of standing. “Young man,” she replied, looking me up and down, “if it wasn’t for the lower prices offered by this supermarket, I wouldn’t be able to afford to eat.” That put me in my place.

The prices were indeed lower, and since then the rapid increase in the number of supermarkets in Italy has had a tremendous impact on food distribution; many shop keepers are being forced out of business because they simply cannot compete. At least not at the level of price: By the time my father-in-law retired, closing his butcher shop, he was paying his wholesaler more for canned goods (cat food and such) than they were selling for in the supermarkets. However, storekeepers have found that they can compete at the level of quality, offering their customers the freshest vegetables, meats, cheeses and breads, and seeking out things too specialized for mass-market distribution.

So, on the one hand we are witnessing the disappearance of many mom-and-pop stores as big distribution takes over, and on the other we are witnessing an upsurge in the quality of the stores that remain. It is too soon to tell how things will play out, but I expect that the future will hold many supermarkets and a few extremely nice stores. It’s sad to think of a social fabric’s changing, but there are positive aspects too. People’s Lire go further, and now that supermarkets have become common they too are competing amongst each other – quite often trying to provide the best quality, because that’s what the average Italian consumer wants.

What about the strikes in 1982, you wonder? It turned out the local union leader was shaking down the store, demanding kickbacks in return for not calling strikes. He was caught with marked bills in his pocket and arrested.

Moving onto other things, someone in Argentina recently wrote to request a recipe for Castagnole, an Umbrian pastry – fried ribbons of dough – that’s served with honey or Archemus, a sweet red liqueur. I haven’t run across them but some of his Turinese colleagues (he works for Ferrero, the chocolatier who invented Nutella) say that they’re the equivalent of Bugie. That rings a bell, because Bugie are (I think) what’s known as Cenci in Tuscany, and Frappe in Rome: Carnival pastries whose origins are very old, perhaps even Roman according to some food historians. To tide you over until I find a Castagnole recipe, here is Artusi’s recipe for Cenci, taken from the Carnival Pastries Page:

• 2 1/4 cups flour
• 2 tablespoons sweet butter
• 1/3 cup confectioners sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1 tablespoon brandy
• A pinch of salt
• More confectioner’s sugar for dusting

Make a fairly stiff dough with these ingredients, kneading it thoroughly, and adding more flour if it comes out too soft. Flour it and let it rest, covered, for about an hour. Then roll it out into an eighth-of-an-inch-thick sheet, and use a serrated pastry wheel to cut it into strips as long as your palm and two fingers wide. Make a cut down the middle of each cencio (so as to obtain two strips joined at the ends), twist the side strips without breaking them, fry them in hot oil or lard, and dust them with confectioners sugar when they’re cool. This recipe is sufficient to make a platterful. Should the dough have formed a crust while it sat, knead it again before you roll it out.

Pat, on the other hand, recently enjoyed a marvelous Bistecca alla Fiorentina in a restaurant in Radda in Chianti, south of Florence, and asks for a recipe. Alas, it’s both simple and difficult. Simple in that it’s a porterhouse steak grilled on the coals, and difficult in that the meat must be well aged Chianina beef (the white Tuscan oxen of the Val di Chiana, near Arezzo). The animals, which grow to tremendous size, are also being raised in North America, and the American Chianina Association (Tel.(816) 431-2808) should be able to direct you to a supplier. Once you have found a source, you will need a porterhouse cut (about 1.5-2 inches thick), which will weigh at least 2 pounds (I have seen Chianina steaks that weigh 6). Pat the meat dry and grill it (exactly how long depends upon the fire and your taste), seasoning it with salt and pepper to taste once it’s done. Artusi suggests it be served with a pat of butter, but now one is more likely to find a wedge of lemon instead.

Sharon instead had a superior dish of boiled beans at the Trattoria Toto in Florence, and wonders why they were so much tastier than the bland beans she had in other Florentine restaurants. Probably a couple of factors: beans are in season now, and the Trattoria Toto could be using freshly shelled ones, which are much more flavorful than dried ones. Also, the Trattoria Toto probably didn’t just boil them. A couple of cloves of garlic, peeled and left whole, a couple of peppercorns, and 5-6 leaves of fresh sage make a wonderful addition to the bean pot. Some recipes also call for a couple of thin slices of pancetta (to be removed once the beans are cooked), though I don’t think they’re necessary if the beans are good to begin with. Fresh Borlotti (darker beans similar to kidney beans) are also wonderful with garlic and sage, and for a quick summer meal you can cook some up, let them cool, season with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and shed some canned tuna into them. Serve with a tossed salad.

Winding down, Joyce requests Chicken Marsala. Here’s a recipe from Il Re Dei Cuochi, a book Salani published anonymously in 1885:

“Chop a young chicken and sauté it in a dollop of butter, with a small onion, minced, seasoning everything with salt and pepper. When the meat is browned, sprinkle it with broth (you’ll want about a half cup), reduce the heat to a simmer and finish cooking it. When the meat is done strain the juices, degrease them if necessary, and return them to the pot with two fingers (of a glass) of Marsala. Stir the chicken around, bring the sauce to a boil, and serve.”

In a similar vein, here is Filetto di Manzo col Marsala, Beef Filet with Marsala:

“Take 2 1/4 pounds filet, tie it, and set it to brown in butter, with a finely-sliced small onion, a couple of fine slices of prosciutto, salt, and pepper. Once the meat has browned and the onion slices begin to separate into rings, dust the pot with a little flour, let the color darken, and then sprinkle it with broth or water (about a half cup to begin with). Simmer the meat until almost done, then strain and degrease the sauce if necessary. Return the meat and the sauce to the fire with three fingers of a glass of Marsala, and gently simmer for a little longer; serve the meat with its sauce, which should be quite reduced. This will serve 7 or 8.”

A printer-friendly version of this recipe.

Finally, if you live near a walnut tree, June is the time to make nocino, a walnut liqueur that’s wonderful in winter (and makes an excellent gift).

Thanks for visiting, and have a wonderful day!
Kyle Phillips

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