A couple of months ago I wrote about tasting a number of vintages of Angelo Gaja's Barbaresco, one of Italy's finest wines. The interesting thing about tasting Gaja's wines was seeing how his winemaking techniques changed over a relatively short period from 1985 to 1990 (they become rounder, more immediate, and more powerful); the changes are important because Gaja is extremely influential and many other Italian winemakers are following his lead.

One wine that has not been influenced by this trend is Sassicaia: it has always been revolutionary, though few realized it when Marchese Niccolò Incisa della Rocchetta's father Mario began making it in the 50s -- then it was simply an oddity, a Cabernet-based wine made in the Tuscan coastal town of Bolgheri, which was known for harsh Sangiovese-based wines, by a man primarily famous for being the owner of Ribot, one of the greatest race horses of the century. And it remained an oddity until Marchese Mario sent a couple of bottles to Veronelli, Italy's most influential wine critic, with a note saying, "None of my people like this, but I'd like your opinion too." Veronelli's reply was succinct: "It's magnificent."

A verdict of this kind cannot be ignored: Marchese Mario got serious, planting more vineyards, and in 1968 enlisted the aid of his cousin Piero Antinori to sell the wine; Piero also sent Giacomo Tachis (the company enologist, who developed Tignanello, the wine behind the rebirth of the Chianti Classico region). Under Tachis's direction Sassicaia's quality soared, and in the mid-70s it placed first in a blind tasting of the world's greatest Cabernets. Subsequent vintages have shown the prize was no accident -- the wine displays a rare mixture of elegance, grace and balance, with a continuity from vintage to vintage that is simply outstanding. Even in 1984, when the summer was so wet most Italian producers simply gave up and waited for 1985 (a spectacular vintage), Sassicaia is GOOD. So I discovered at a tasting this weekend; it was a little thinner than either the 77 or the 82 vintages, but it still has nice fruit and elegant, supple tannins, and is extraordinarily balanced. The 1988 vintage (Tachis's favorite to date) is about the finest wine I've had.

Bottom line: Anjelo Gaja's Barbaresco makes waves. Lots of them, and justly, because the wines are very good. Sassicaia has just made one, but it's much longer: It establishes the standard of excellence for Italian reds. It is expensive, the older vintages prohibitively so, and difficult to find. However, if you come across a recent vintage (the current is 1996) give it some thought -- you will need to lay it down, because it's still very young, but in another 5-10 few years it could make an important occasion magical.

Gâteau di Savoja

Moving on to other things, Kaye Noble sent me recipes for Chicken and Veal Francese this fall when I had been unable to find them, so I was quite happy when she wrote saying, "Can you find a recipe for Dolce Cavour, which was popular in Florence in the early 1960s? Gourmet ran a recipe some 20 -30 years ago, but I misplaced it."

I was flabbergasted to discover that Dolce Cavour is not listed in any of my Italian cookbooks -- neither the general ones, the Tuscan ones, nor the Piemontese ones (Count Camillo Cavour, who orchestrated the unification of Italy in the 1860s, was Piemontese). Nor is it mentioned on the Epicurious site. The closest I came was Gâteau di Savoja, a recipe drawn from "Il Cuoco Piemontese (1766; in a compilation entitled Le Ricette di Cucina del Piemonte);" according to tradition Count Amadeo di Savoia offered the cake to Charles of Luxembourg in 1438 and was nominated Duke and Imperial officer, thus beginning the rise to power of the future kings of Italy. The recipe calls for:

• 14 eggs
• Sugar
• Flour
• Grated citron zest (use lemon instead if need be)
• Citron flours, toasted and chopped (use untreated lemon or orange flowers if you have them available)
• Butter for greasing the pan

Weigh the eggs and weigh out the same weight of sugar. Weigh seven eggs and weigh out the same weight flour. Separate the whites from the yolks. Beat the yolks until pale yellow with the sugar and a large pinch of citron zest, and the chopped flower petals.

Whip the whites to firm peaks and fold them into the yolks, then fold the flour in as well. Pour the batter into a deep, buttered pan and bake it in a moderate oven (about 360 F, 180 C) for an hour and a half (the cake will begin to pull away from the sides of the pan, and will spring back if lightly pressed with a finger tip).

When the gâteau is done, turn it out on a serving dish, and if it's a pretty golden color serve it forth. If, on the other hand, it is too brown, you will have to ice it with white icing, which you'll make with the juice of a half a citron, powdered sugar (use the kind that doesn't have vanilla included in it), and an egg white: beat the ingredients in a bowl until they're thick and white. Spread the icing over the cake, and wait until it has completely dried to serve it.

I think I would ice the cake in any case.

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Scaloppini di Coniglio

Also had a request for scaloppini di pollo, chicken scallops. This is not my lucky day, though I did find a recipe for scaloppini di coniglio, rabbit scallops, which could be done with either chicken or veal as well. To serve 4, the recipe, drawn from a compendium published by La Cucina Italiana, calls for:

• 1 cup (50 g) grated Parmigiano
• 1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 small rabbit loins (substitute with a medium-sized chicken breast)
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• Bread crumbs
• 2-3 leaves fresh sage
• 1/2 clove garlic, crushed
• A little milk
• Olive oil
• Salt
• Lemon wedges as garnish

Using a sharp knife, trim the meat from the bones, taking care not to break the membrane on the side towards the back of the animal. Once you have trimmed the meat free, cut it into rounds about 2 cm (3/4 inch) thick and lightly beat them with a meat pounder to thin them. Dip the scaloppini in cold milk, then dredge them in the grated cheese, then the egg, and finally the bread crumbs. When the pieces are all ready heat the butter and an equivalent volume of olive oil in a skillet with the sage and the garlic, and when the garlic begins to crackle. Ass the scaloppini and cook, turning them once, and salting them when they're almost done (it shouldn't take more than 4-5 minutes to cook them). Arrange the scaloppini in a ring on a platter, with the lemon wedges in a spoke pattern to form the hub of a wheel. Serve at once, with freshly fried potatoes and a salad. In terms of a wine I'd go with a light, zesty red along the lines of a Chianti d'annata or a Valpolicella.

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Rosolio

Finally, Alex writes, "I am looking for a recipe for an Italian Liqueur that is made with grain alcohol, lemon, and milk.... A little old lady from Italy used to live in my neighborhood and made it." The combination might sound odd, but the liqueur is crystal clear -- the acidity of the lemon curdles the milk, and the curds stay behind when you filter it prior to bottling it.

Here are Artusi's proportions:

• 2 1/4 cups (500 g) of the best wine spirits
• 2 1/4 cups (500 f) powdered sugar -- the kind without vanilla
• 2 1/4 cups (1/2 liter) milk
• A garden lemon
• A half a vanilla bean

In Artusi's day many people kept lemon trees in their gardens. Even if yours is not homegrown, make sure its skin is untreated. Grate the lemon rind, peel the lemon, discarding the white, remove the seeds, and mince the pulp. Chop the vanilla bean and mix all the ingredients together in a glass jar. Expect the milk to curdle. Cover the jar, put it in a spot that's not exposed to direct sunlight, and shake it once daily for eight days. Then filter the liquor, first through a cloth and then a paper filter, and bottle it. Let it age for a couple of months and it'll be ready for use. For further instructions see the Liqueurs page.

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

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