Mad Cow Disease Close to Home

Returning to Cosa Bolle, I've been writing about Mad Cow disease for weeks now, and you're likely sick of it. However, the first entirely Italian case was identified this week, in an animal that was born 6 years ago in a farm outside Brescia. Horror and consternation since we're no longer a disease-free island, but also relief, because it means that the tests that were begun this January are working. We can, alas, expect more cases to appear, and the average Italian is still avoiding beef. Butchers report selling lots of chicken and pork, but their overall sales are off hundreds of millions of dollars with respect to last year.

Strange doings in the Accademia

Not all is grim and dark, however. There was a thing on the front page of the local section of yesterday's newspaper about a pretty young woman who visited Florence's Galleria dell'Accademia and began to disrobe under Michelangelo's Davide while her male companion filmed the proceedings, everyone else pointed and stared, and the guards struggled to work their way through the crush. By the time she got down to her panties, says the article, it became apparent that she was actually a he, whom the guards draped with a coat and lead off. Turns out he's an Italian transvestite who lives in Paris. No explanation of what prompted the show; it's just one of those things that happens in tourist towns.

Tourists may be having a tougher time reaching us than expected, however: After a relatively mild, extraordinarily wet fall Winter has finally arrived, bringing temperatures in the -20s (C; -5 or so F) in the Vicentino (Northeast), and there was mention of snow in Syracuse, which is almost unheard of. Yesterday Genova was snowed in, and today they are having snow days throughout the north. Happy kids!

Transgenic Vines in the EEU

Moving on, a couple of months ago I wrote about Slowfood's campaign in defense of whole, raw milk cheeses (the FDA is thinking about banning them). Now, it appears, the EEU is quietly legalizing transgenic vines for use in wine making. The idea, say the bureaucrats, is to help European vines maintain their authenticity in the face of the international wine trade, which also means international trade of vines. How a genetically modified (GM) plant can be more authentic than the one from which it came is beyond me.

What I suspect may be happening is that someone wants to shortcut the natural selection process used to crossbreed varietals to obtain specific characteristics (aromatic or color compound content, for example), or to obtain resistance to certain pests, the most logical of which would probably be the phylloxera bug. For those who don't know much about wines, phylloxera are North American relatives of aphids that selected North American grape vines (Concord-type grapes, I think) as their preferred source of food. When Europeans took American vines home with the idea of growing them to make wine in the late 1800s, they inadvertently brought the phylloxera bug too and unleashed a catastrophe: It spread to European vines, which had no resistance to it, attacked their roots, and did almost all of them in. With them of course went the vineyards, and the wine production of France, Italy, and just about everywhere else. Indeed, we'd probably have no more wine had someone not thought of growing American rootstocks, which are resistant to the bug, and grafting the European vines onto them. Now, almost all of the world's vines are grafted onto American rootstocks.

Why would one want to change this? Quality might be an answer, but I don't think so, because I have tasted a Dolcetto that was made from vines grown with their native roots, and it wasn't noticeably better or different than the other Dolcetti I tasted with it. Cost cutting might be an answer -- there are hundreds of millions of grafted vines out there, and if one were to eliminate the grafting there would be considerable savings.

Or would there be? For producers of plonk who don't care what their grapes are like so long as they contain enough sugar to be fermentable into wine, yes. However, quality producers wouldn't be interested in a generic phylloxera-resistant vine for two reasons. First, the resistant strain of Cabernet, Sangiovese, Nebbiolo, Chardonnay or whatever might not be the one that's best suited for their land. Second, the strain's rootstock might not be suited for the land. There are now dozens of rootstocks, each carefully tailored for specific soil conditions, for example rocky and well drained, sandy, clayey and rather moist, dry calcareous, and so on. A careful producer aiming for top quality will select a rootstock for each vineyard, or even plant different rootstocks in different parts of a vineyard if conditions differ, say a steep slope that flattens out or a change in the soil. And then select the strain of the varietal (e.g. Cabernet) that will do best in that spot; this means that in a single vineyard there can have several different rootstocks, and also several strains of the varietal. There's no way to achieve this with a generic, genetically engineered plant. One therefore wonders, what's the point? To favor those who make jug wines?

The second strange thing about this new regulation is that it doesn't require those who use GM grapes to say so on their labels. Considering that European food producers are required to say if their products are genetically modified, and that Europeans as a whole have emphatically said they do not want genetically modified foods, this slippery silence is disturbing. If you'd like to know more, contact Valter Musso or Alessandra Abbona of the Slow Food Press Office, phone +39 0172 419615 or 419666, fax +39 0172 421293, v.musso@slowfood.it, s.abbona@slowfood.it.

More cookies from Adriana

A few issues back I passed on Adriana's Sicilian Almond-Coffee cookie squares. She has kindly sent another recipe:

Cari Italiani in tutto il mondo,

How is everyone doing?

I had a customer who recently asked me if I had a recipe for "Chitellini" and wanted to know if they were difficult to make. Here is a great traditional recipe that is very easy to make and very tasty.

Chitellini

• 130 grams (1 cup + 2 tablespoons) unsalted butter
• 65 grams (1/3 cup) sugar
• 160 grams (1 2/3 cups) flour
• 65 grams (a little more than a half cup) chopped almonds
• Confectioners sugar

Cream butter thoroughly. Slowly add in the sugar, flour, and chopped almonds.

Grease hands with oil (preferably corn oil) and work the dough into finger shapes. Place on greased baking sheets.

Bake in preheated oven at 185 C (375 F) until golden brown. Remove while still hot and sprinkle with confectioners' sugar.

That's it!

If you like this recipe and would like to know more, visit Adriana's bakery's site, http://www.CookiesFromItaly.com. They're located in Santo Stefano Quisquina, province of Agrigento, and make a number of cookies and other delights from home-grown organic fruits and nuts, which they express mail all over the world.

While we're on the subject of online delicatessens and stores, The Merano wine festival also had a hall dedicated to foods, and I was much impressed by the patés made by another Sicilian company, Licata. Their URL is http://www.licatafood.it/licatak.htm.

A printer-friendly version of this recipe.

Caggionetti

And here's another cookie request that came in before the holidays; my apologies for getting to it now: "Every Christmas my mother makes an Italian fried 'pastry'. The filling is chopped chestnuts, cocoa powder, citrine fruit, and a little anise for flavor. She has always called them pastagels, but others call them caganettes. (not sure about spelling). They are made like ravioli and deep fried. Do you have any information about them? OR a recipe. My mother's family came from a region of Italy near Naples."

I've found Caggionetti, which sound about right, and are from the Abruzzo-Molise area. Alessandro Molinari Pradelli says, in Il Grande Libro della Cucina Italiana, that a batch will require:

For the dough

5 cups (500 g) flour

1/3 cup (80 ml) olive oil

Dry white wine

For the filling

1 pint (1/2 l) cooked wine must (this is grape must, cooked down to the consistency of a syrup. It's quite sweet; see below)

6 ounces (150 g) almonds, blanched, peeled and finely chopped

2 ounces (50 g) walnut meats, blanched, peeled and finely chopped

12 ounces (300 g) dried chestnuts

A scant 1/4 cup (40 g) sugar

2 ounces (50 g) candied citron

A hint of ground cinnamon

For cooking

Olive oil for frying

Sugar

Ground cinnamon

Begin the night before, by setting the chestnuts to soak in cold water. Discard any that float to the surface, because they will either be hollow or inhabited. The next day boil them until tender, drain them, and put them through a strainer or foodmill with a fine plate.

Heat the must in a pot to a simmer and stir in the nutmeat, walnuts and cinnamon, then add the chestnut cream and stir well. Turn off the fire, mix in the sugar and the citron, and put the pot in a cool place or the refrigerator for a couple of hours or more.

Make a mound of the flour on your work space and scoop a hole out of the middle to make a well. Mix in the oil and then sufficient wine to obtain a firm elastic dough -- you're aiming for something that has the consistency of pasta dough, so it's going to be considerably firmer than bread dough. Knead the dough well, divide it into two parts, and roll out the first into a thin sheet (about as thin as fresh pasta, 1/16 of an inch or 2 mm). Use a glass or doughnut cutter to cut out 2-inch (5 cm) diameter rounds of dough. In the middle of each place a hazelnut-sized chunk of filling, then fold the pasta over the filling and tamp it down well to obtain bulging half-moons. Repeat the process with the second piece of dough and the cuttings from the first.

Heat abundant oil and fry the caggionetti; as soon as they're golden remove them with a slotted spoon and drain them on absorbent paper. Dust them with sugar and a little cinnamon, and serve them hot.

Mr. Pradelli says there are many variations. For example, some make the dough by boiling dried chestnuts and blending them. If you were to do this, I think you'd have to add some flour too to obtain a workable dough.

Others use creamed chick peas in the filling instead of chestnuts, or flavor their caggionetti with lemon rind, anise seeds, or grated baking chocolate.

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Sapa

Mosto cotto is also known as Sapa. Here's Artusi's recipe, from my translation of his book (The Art of Eating Well, 1996 Random House): Sapa

Since its peculiar flavor is necessary in some dishes, sapa, which is none other than a grape syrup, has many uses in the kitchen. It's also always popular with children, who, during the winter, can improvise sherbets with it by mixing it with freshly fallen snow.

Crush some superior quality white grapes (ideally they should still be on the bunch), put the grapes and their juice in a bowl, and when the whole has fermented for about twenty four hours, press and filter the must. Set the must on the fire and boil it down for many hours, till it's reached the consistency of syrup, and bottle it.

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A Rich Piemontese Meat Zuppa

Finally, Eugene writes, "I am hoping that you can help me find a recipe. When I was a little boy growing up my grandmother live with us. She came from Torino, and she would make a casserole or at least it was in a big pan. She called it something like Zuppa puma tess, my spelling and Italian is probably not right. She would cook a pork roast and then in a large iron pot she would layer bread, cabbage, and pork. She would continue the process until the pot was full then she would pour the juice from the cooked pork over it and then she would bake it. I really loved it and I have been looking for the recipe."

I'm afraid I haven't found anything quite like this. However, I have found a couple of things that are close. First, Zuppa Canavesana, from Alessandro Molinari Pradelli's La Cucina Piemontese.

To make enough to serve 6 you'll need:

• 1 1/3 pounds (750 g) turnips
• 1 1/3 pounds (750 g) Savoy cabbage
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 5 ounces (125 g) pancetta
• 4 ounces (100 g) cured lard (if need be use more pancetta, or prosciutto fat)
• 2 quarts (2 liters) simmering broth
• 12 slices toasted Italian bread
• Grated Parmigiano Reggiano

Begin by washing the turnips and cabbage well. Slice the turnips and cut the cabbage leaves into this strips. Then, cut the pancetta and cured lard into strips too.

Sauté the fats and the garlic, and as soon as they begin to brown add the turnips and cabbage. Gently stir in the broth, cover, and simmer for a half hour.

In the meantime, preheat your oven to 360 F (180C). Take an oven-proof dish and lay out a layer of bread slices. Cover with a layer of cooked vegetables, abundant grated cheese, and repeat; pour the broth over it all and bake it in for about 15 minutes. Serve hot.

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The second is Zuppa di Cavoli alla Moda di Canischio, from Giacomo Mascheroni's Millenni di Cucina Canavesana. It is, he says, an ancient recipe from the upper reaches of the Val Gallenca, and in the local dialect draws its name from the town of Canischio: Supa 'd coj canis-cjota. (J is silent). Initially it was, he says, a peasant soup made from bread and cabbage with a hint of lard or toma (fresh, mild goats' milk cheese). During the reign of the House of Savoy (17th-18th centuries) it got richer, with the addition of ingredients such as fresh porcini, but he sticks to the more traditional version. To serve 6, he calls for:

• 4 1/2 pounds (2 k) of mica, which is bread made without any oil in the dough, and cooked in a wood-fired oven
• 2 winter cabbages
• 1 pound (500 g) unsalted butter
• 1 pound (500 g) aged toma from Monte Soglio (aged toma is a moderately sharp, soft goat's milk or cow-and goat milk cheese -- something along the lines of Brie without the crust)
• 1 pound (500 g) mild Italian sausage meat
• 1 pound (500 g) ground beef
• 1 pound (500 g) tomatoes
• 1/2 an onion, finely sliced
• 5 tablespoons olive oil
• Several quarts of broth
• Salt

Bring the broth to a simmer, and in the meantime simmer the finely sliced onion in 5 tablespoons of olive oil and a walnut-sized chunk of butter. When the onion begins to turn blond, crumble the meat and sausage into it, brown them, and stir in the tomatoes, which I would blanch, peel, chop and seed.

While the meats are simmering:

Excise the hard ribs of the cabbage leaves, and blanch the leaves

Cut the bread into half-inch slices

Finely slice the toma

When all is ready, set your oven to 400 f (200 C). Butter an oven-proof dish and line the bottom with slices of bread, overlapping them enough to avoid leaving holes. Spread a layer of cabbage over them, followed by the meat sauce and the cheese. Repeat the process 4-5 times, finishing with a layer of bread and just the meat sauce, without the cheese. The last layer should be at least 3 fingers below the top of the pan. Carefully ladle the hot broth over the mixture, adding broth until you reach the level of the bread layer, then slip the soup into the hot oven and bake it for about an hour. The top should be browned, while the interior will be moist.

Variations: You can, if you'd rather, replace some or all the toma with freshly grated Parmigiano or Grana Padano.

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This time's proverb is Calabrian. Lichate u spittu: Lick the spit, meaning that the free ride or good times are over -- when the meat is gone the only fat left is on the spit and one should lick that.

A presto,
Kyle Phillips
Webweaver, About Italian Cuisine

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