At the back of a butchery in the town of Martina Franca, Riccardo Ponte claps his massive, baseball-mitt hands, calloused from years of charcoal burns and judo holds, and presents the next plate. Tender chunks of veal lung wrapped in sinister layers of pork fat form a glistening pyramid on the table. “Pugliese chewing gum,” he says with a grin, before retreat- ing back to his grill, a central fixture of his shop, called Mang e Citt, or “Sit Down and Eat” in Pugliese slang. Most of the macellerias—butchers that double as informal restaurants—have, out of convenience, moved to standard-issue flat-top grills in recent years. Ponte’s setup, however, is somewhere between a pizza oven and a hearth, a kind of infernal cubby hole carved directly into the wall of his small fluorescent-lit shop. Stacks of meat balance precariously on skewers; coals, dispersed in various piles, create heat zones measured purely by feel. Ponte insists that this technique, established centuries ago by the butchers of Martina Franca, makes all the difference: “You can taste the process,” he says. 

I had come to Puglia—the gleaming, postcard-ready wedge of Southern Italy that sticks into the Ionian Sea like a boot heel—to eat. This, I recognize, is not a very original quest: Elizabeth Gilbert has been there, Stanley Tucci has done that. Spend enough time digging through guide books and suggested itineraries, and you’d be excused for thinking the only thing in Italy to do is eat.

When we travel to eat, though, we’re often looking for a story—a tale to bring back home, or a clear, easy-to-digest version of a place that fits squarely in our own mental atlases: The ruby red aperitivo glistening in the Tuscan sun, the trapizzino held aloft on the Spanish Steps, the pale green scoop of pistachio gelato, doled out in a Sicilian alleyway. Or, in Ponte’s case, the small-town, larger-than-life chef, seemingly grief-stricken by your physical inability to accept “just one more” piece of grilled meat.

It’s easy to arrive in a place like Puglia with pre-conceptions about Southern Italy: a hot, quiet place, where things move slowly and naps are plentiful. But I quickly learned that for every person doing something one way, there is someone else doing the very same thing—for the very same reasons—a completely different way. As one meal bled into the next, I found that every time I built a story out of the meals I ate and the people I met, every time I thought I had found some definitive sense of what Puglia actually tastes like, it quickly fell away.

While I wish I could take credit for stumbling upon Ponte’s establishment, I was part of a tour group traveling through the region. Roads and Kingdoms, an online travel magazine, has, in recent years, pivoted toward offering small-group, food-centric trips around the world. Trips like the one I took to Puglia are focused not on big-name restaurants, but on offering a backstage pass to show travelers how the actual sausage gets made, drawing on what co-founder Nathan Thornburgh describes as “an archipelago of interesting people.” 

If it all sounds vaguely Bourdainian, that’s not a coincidence. Founded in 2012 by Thornburgh and food writer Matt Goulding, the company and its journalism was for many years supported and funded by Anthony Bourdain. Today, Roads and Kingdoms’ trips actively try to avoid what Thornburgh refers to as “following the umbrella across the piazza.” Potential guests must undergo an interview process to make sure they’re a good fit for the group: Fighting couples and Michelin star-hunters have been turned away in the past. 

Roads and Kingdoms’ shift toward this kind of “don’t-call-it-a-group-trip group trip” is indicative of a wider trend in travel, one in which access is everything. Whether helmed by chefs, academics, or journalists, experiences are being gently curated in a way that feels uniquely yours as they lodge themselves into your memory. Serendipity, by definition, can’t be manufactured. Oftentimes, the best partner to the unexpected is time—slow down and stretch out a trip and you’re bound to meet the characters and have the conversations that end up solidifying the travel experience in your mind. That’s harder on an organized tour, but, as these experiences seem to posit, not impossible.

The interesting person leading us on this particular trip was Eugenio Signoroni, one of Italy’s most celebrated food writers, as well as the editor of the hotly contested “Osterie d’Italia” guidebooks from Slow Food International’s publishing house, which list and review the best traditional restaurants across Italy. On day one, as golden hour sets in at the masseria, or farmhouse, that would serve as our base, Signoroni explains that this is a trip to shatter preconceptions, not confirm them. “You know the stories of the nonna, the Italian grandma and her amazing cooking?” he asks. “I want you to know it’s a total myth: My daughter’s grandmother doesn’t know how to cook a damn thing.” It was a good line for a tour built on this kind of punk-rock premise, but in talking to him afterwards, it became clear that the sentiment behind it is true.

“We like to build up this romantic idea of tradition,” Signoroni says when I ask what he notices when talking to first-time visitors to Italy. “It makes us feel safer and more comfortable.” Four years prior, when I visited Puglia for the first time, I had felt a kind of self-satisfied contentment: Sipping wine and watching a blacksmith working on new horseshoes for the stallions he kept behind his shop, the memory fits squarely into the romantic. “If we want to really understand a place,” Signoroni says, “we have to see it as it is, not as we think it should be.” 

That doesn’t mean you won’t find intergenerational recipes and deep-seated heritage in Puglia. This is a place fiercely proud of its traditions, themselves a mishmash of the steady wave of conquerors who came to this land over millennia. It’s a pride that has been reinforced by recent history too, borne from decades of being looked down upon by the rest of the country. Long one of the poorest regions in Italy, Puglia was left behind by the industrialization that took hold in the north. As a result of a largely subsistence economy, cucina povera—literally “poor kitchen”—is the backbone of Pugliese cuisine. It’s only in recent years, as Puglia has marketed itself as a global destination, that the culinary label has been wielded not with shame, but with a kind of reclaimed dignity. 

At Cibus, a family-run restaurant tucked away in a labyrinth of climbing alleyways in the town of Ceglie Messapica, every dish reveals new layers of com- plexity that belies the kind of catch-all utilitarian implication of cucina povera. The Silibello family offers a crash course in the ingredients of the Salento region: Lampascioni, often translated as “bitter onion” but actually the bulb of a type of hyacinth, takes on the consistency of burnt newsprint when fried, yielding a bitterness that prepares the palate for what comes next. Stringy stracciatella cheese is teleported out of the heart of the burrata balls where it’s most often found, and spread out onto overflowing plates, to be eaten by the dripping forkful. Slices of capocollo and other cuts from the Apulo-Calabrese black pig are arranged into a gradient of richness with clear instructions on how to avoid blowing out your taste buds with hits of lard too early. To bring us back to earth, a Pugliese classic that emerged from tough times: fave e cicoria, a bed of mashed fava beans, topped with chicory leaves and lashed with olive oil. A ragù follows, made with tender horse meat and ricotta forte (an aged, barnyard-forward cheese with a long shelf life ideal for peasant pantries), and juicy, butter-soft slices of beef from the region’s Podolica cow, equally prized for its meat as for its milk.

With its familial ambience, its focus on hearty, of-the-soil ingredients, and its secret, in-house cheese cave, Cibus is the kind of place most travelers dream about when they dream about Italy. And it is exactly as satisfying as you might imagine. Here, all of Signoroni’s “romantic ideas of tradition,” are confirmed to carry at least a foundation of reality. But just 30 miles away, in the town of Putignano, those vague notions of some idealized past are being intentionally—and ruthlessly—torn apart.

At Osteria Botteghe Antiche, chef Stefano D’Onghia takes many of the same ingredients—the same dishes, even—and brings them into a kind of parallel universe where what is known and established gives way to what there is left to learn. There is lampascioni here too, but it is accompanied by a kind of capocollo pocket, filled with chickpea purée. Fave e cicoria becomes a vague signpost rather than a cornerstone of tradition: The fava purée is stuffed into a single grilled green pepper and served alongside a spoonful of caramelized red onions. Ricotta makes an appearance, too, but it is imbued with mint and hidden within the delicate folds of a zucchini flower. Orecchiette, the ear-shaped pasta often served in Puglia with broccoli rabe, is made—intentionally, cheekily—with grano arso, burnt grain that for centuries was the only stuff available to the poorest of the poor. It shares the plate with indulgent chunks of grilled octopus, as if to say look how far we’ve come.

The next evolution of D’Onghia’s menu will be a push toward sustainability, something he argues is at the core of Puglia’s seemingly simple, local-first cuisine. “Nowadays it’s hard to sell a meat dish for less than 18 euros, which is strange for a region like Puglia,” D’Onghia told me. “I want to think about how to make cuts of meat that are not expensive—liver, tongue, offal—just as delicious.” He points to the octopus orecchiette as a dish that is becoming just too expensive for him to sell. What would it taste like, he wonders, if instead of serving the meat, he sous-vide cooked the octopus’s liver, a piece often discarded by fishermen? Somewhere, in some- one’s imagined reality, a nonna in a sauce-streaked apron can’t believe her ears.

Other days highlight both the diversity of the gastronomic scene and the utter impossibility of fitting it into a neat package. There’s the pork cookout in the sun-slapped courtyard of a pig farm belonging to local producers Salumi Martina Franca. It lasts for hours, and transitions organically into a long walk through the land where the animals roam free. At Intini, an olive oil producer outside of Alberobello, a fourth-generation maker explains how some visitors are disappointed to see gleaming industrial equipment instead of charming wooden presses. “If I made it the traditional way, it wouldn’t be good,” Pietro Intini says. “The real revolution in olive oil production only happened 20 years ago.”

Even where traditions do remain intact, modernity creeps in. In Taranto’s Mare Piccolo, an inland sea, Luciano Carriero, a mussel farmer from a family of mussel farmers, explains how a tight-knit network of families has come together to create a cooperative, keeping the sticky fingers of organized crime away. As we float around the bay, he draws long necklaces of the bivalves out of the water and shucks them on the spot, to be eaten raw, paired with bites of provolone cheese and washed down with sparkling wine. He insists I try more than one. “It’s like a big box of chocolates,” Carriero says, one-upping Forrest Gump forever. “Each mussel tastes a little different.” That night, I follow his bounty to its final resting place at Antica Osteria la Sciabica, tucked away along a seaside promenade in the city of Brindisi. The seafood soup doubles as a taxonomy of marine life: fish, squid, shrimp, and, yes, mussels, all afloat in a rich, tomato-based broth. The restaurant buzzes with the sounds of spoons scraping the very last drops from drained bowls.

There is something about visiting the so-called “Old World” as a resident of the so-called “New” one that sets off a kind of rabid, voyeuristic urge to witness “tradition.” Some parts of Puglia, like the family-run cheese cave hidden under a bookshelf at Cibus, or the focaccerias in every village churning out flatbreads in the same oven for generations, do feel stuck in time, and I feel an almost involuntary delight whenever I encounter people doing things as they had been done since before Italy was Italy. But I soon find myself most looking forward to the moments of disruption. I had been warned, in a way, by Signoroni’s meditations on what we often expect from so-called “authentic experiences.” I had caught little rebellions in the form of culinary innovation, and in the subtle twisting of convention. But nothing, it was becoming clear, is that simple.

On the outskirts of Bari, in Altamura, I meet Vito Dicecca who, along with his siblings, has inherited the family cheesemaking tradition, which he treats with all the sacrosanct rulebook-abidance of a mad scientist. Out of a relatively small kitchen, the Dicecca family whips up around 800 pounds of lactic heresy every day. “Anyone in Puglia can make small cheese,” Dicecca says before pointing to his brother Paolo who is in the process of tying a mozzarella knot the size of a newborn. “I want to make big cheese.” He shows off a milky goat cheese concoction, best used as a dip for crispy bagel-shaped taralli crackers (“the best drunk food,” Dicecca calls it). A bright orange cousin to caciocavallo goes by the name “Life on Mars.” While conventional wisdom says mozzarella needs to be made from buffalo milk, the Dicecca family makes a goat milk version, granting the usually mild cheese a deliciously grassy funk.

To try Dicecca’s wildest creation, I have to wait until we leave the shop in Altamura and travel into the pinewoods of the Mercadante nature reserve. There, the family has opened Baby Dicecca, a cheese bar that serves as a tasting room and satellite for experimentation. After the kind of long, languorous meal I’ve grown accustomed to in Puglia, Dicecca brings out dessert. Looking more like a cake than a wheel of cheese, this has, for good reason, become the Diceccas’ most famous act of sacrilege. To create it, he drops a wheel of blue cheese into a barrel of primitivo wine, where it soaks for 100 days. Afterwards, it’s topped with candied sour cherries, adding a tartness to the indulgent sweet and salty combination. It’s cut into wedges that are inten- tionally about 12 times too big for one person to handle and served with even more primitivo wine. It’s called, Dicecca tells me with a conspiratorial grin, “Amore Primitivo.”

This, I think, seems like the kind of person who takes great pride in his inventions, who revels in the fact that he’s challenging tradition with each new wacky idea. Does he spend as much time thinking about authenticity as I do? “Are you worried some- one is going to take your idea, or try to do some other, worse version of it?” I ask. I imagine grocery stores lined with tasteless, harmless cheeses, smothered in neon jelly.

“It doesn’t matter who invents the thing or who has the original story,” Dicecca says while doling out the next in an endless series of wine refills. “It only matters who does it best.”

Recipes

Brindisi Seafood Stew

Get the recipe >

Orecchiette with Octopus Ragù and Chickpea Purée

Get the recipe >

Ricotta-Stuffed Squash Blossoms with Fried Zucchini Coins

Get the recipe >

The post The Cuisine of Puglia Defies Definition appeared first on Saveur.

These days, Italian-style cheese is part of everyday life. From gooey mozz melted atop classic pizza, to strip steaks drizzled with gorgonzola cream sauce, to the flourish of umami-rich parm crowning bowls of pasta from New York City to Tokyo, these cheesy ingredients are the culinary backbone of recipes enjoyed far beyond Europe’s boot-shaped country. And while Italy’s cheesemaking traditions have also traveled beyond its borders—inspiring farmers, makers, and affineurs around the world—there’s still nothing quite like the real thing.

Many Italian cheeses are infinitely versatile in the kitchen, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less revered than their cheese board brethren. Savory shards of Parmigiano-Reggiano (Italy’s “King of Cheeses”), for example, might be enjoyed with a glass of sparkling wine, while that same wheel’s rind, simmered in a brothy pot of white beans and escarole, is just as much a revelation. This is partly due to the fact that many well-known types of Italian-made cheeses are held to the strictest standards. The European Union has granted more than 500 Italian cheeses PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) status, a legal designation that ensures recipients are produced in their established region, using the traditional methods and specific ingredients that make each unique. Here are some considerations that come into play:

Top-Quality Milk

Nearly every Italian region produces some sort of dairy—and along with it, some sort of cheese, from piquante Gorgonzola ripened in the northern Piedmont and Lombardy regions, to mild and milky Mozzarella di Bufala hand-stretched in southern Campania. Italian cheese is always crafted from top-quality milk, whether it’s made from the milk of sheep, cows, goats, buffalo, or a mix. Animal welfare and a grass-fed diet are often built into the exacting PDO standards as well: for example, Sardinia’s Pecorino Sardo is made primarily from the milk of sheep that graze freely on that island’s lush and shrubby hillside pastures. Many PDO designations also specify that cheeses may only be made from the milk of certain breeds—such as the firm, Alpine wheels of Piave, which must be made using an 80 percent minimum of milk from the local Bruna Italiana, Valdostana Pezzata Rossa, Frisona Italiana, or Grigio Alpina cows.

Regional Diversity

Much like wine, Italian cheese is an agricultural product reflective of its origin’s soil, terrain, flora, and climate. From the vegetation consumed by the dairy herd to the conditions under which a cheese is aged, each one takes on very particular regional characteristics. For instance, Fontina Val d’Aosta is made only from the unpasteurized milk of Valdostana cows pastured in northern Italy’s Aosta Valley. The resulting Alpine cheese is creamy and firm, and its ripening process—up to three months of rest in natural stone caverns—enhances the milk’s underlying nutty, buttery, grassy notes.

Skilled Artisans

After milk has been sourced, it’s up to talented Italian artisans to craft it into a cheese that is consistent from wheel to wheel, and is a unique expression of its particular place, producer, and tradition. Cheesemaking is not an easy task, and in Italy, it’s an artform that carefully balances science, culture, and craft. Each cheesemaker and affineur relies on methods honed over generations. And in some cases, the artisans themselves are a component of the authenticity of the cheese; Gorgonzola, for example, may only be made by 40 small family dairies and commercial producers. Grana Padano, one of Italy’s most popular exports, was created by the Cistercian monks of Chiaravalle Abbey in Lombardy—though it has long outgrown the monastery and is now more widely produced.

Centuries of Tradition

The history of cheese in Italy dates back thousands of years and is an important part of Europe’s food culture. Pecorino Romano was used to feed legions of Roman soldiers; the salty, low-moisture cheese was deemed a vital source of fat, salt, and protein, and is still prized for its long shelf life today. Production of Parmigiano-Reggiano has barely changed since the 12th century; it’s still made from a mixture of whole and skimmed milk in large copper cauldrons, and only in the regions of Emilia-Romagna and Lombardy. Lombardy’s soft, washed-rind Taleggio has been made much the same way since the Middle Ages, too, drawing its distinct pungency from ripening in the naturally cool caves of Val Taleggio.

Italy’s rich and storied history—along with its diverse climate, geography, and regional traditions—make it particularly fertile ground for cheese production. Ancient recipes and techniques have persisted for millenia, occasionally adapting and evolving with technology, but always with the utmost care and oversight. When no substitute will do, ask your local cheesemonger for Italian-made cheese, or look for “made in Italy,” on the label at the supermarket.

The post If the Cheese Is From Here, You Know It’s Going to Be Good appeared first on Saveur.

People have been writing about Rome for more than two millennia, which means visitors have wanted to know what to eat there for at least as long. I’ve only been at it for 20 years, but in that time I’ve devoted my life to Roman food through writing cookbooks, hosting and participating in TV shows, and leading small-group food tours. 

Things have come a long way from the ostrich stew and flamingo tongues that graced ancient noble tables—indeed, many of the dishes we eat in Rome today developed during the 20th century as a reflection of local agriculture, migration, and national unification. Even so, many quintessential cucina romana ingredients—like sheep’s milk cheese, guanciale, offal, and mint—were beloved by the ancients, even if they’re used in different ways today. Staples such as tomatoes, black pepper (then a fabulously expensive spice), and dried pasta, on the other hand, are completely modern.

What follows is by no means an exhaustive list of Roman specialties. That would fill an entire volume. (Take it from me—I’m currently writing a cookbook on the subject.) To eat like a Roman, you’ll want to hit up street food spots for supplì, bakeries for pizza rossa, and trattorias for dishes like rigatoni con la pajata and trippa alla romana. Whether you’ve been to Rome a dozen times or are brand new to the city, these are the essential spots to keep on your radar. 

Supplì Classici at Supplizio

Via dei Banchi Vecchi 143
+39 06 8987 1920

Supplì are fried rice croquettes shaped like goose eggs. Call them arancine at your own risk—those are the spherical or pyramidal rice balls popular in Italy’s south. Classic supplì start with a beefy risotto, sometimes enriched with bits of sausage or chicken innards. The cooked rice is formed around a piece of mozzarella, then breaded and fried. When made properly, you’ll get a satisfying cheese pull upon digging in. That’s how the dish earned the nickname supplì al telefono, a throwback to when phones had cords. Chef Arcangelo Dandini has mastered every aspect of classic supplì–the rice is perfectly al dente and appropriately seasoned, the breaded exterior is crisp and golden, and the cheese pull is a guarantee.

Pizza Rossa at Panificio Bonci

Via Trionfale 36
+39 06 3973 4457

“Red pizza” is sold by weight at bakeries and slice joints across the city. The cheeseless classic, which can be breakfast or a snack, consists of lightly seasoned raw tomato sauce brushed over shaped dough. Next, it’s baked until the crust is crispy and chewy and the tomato has concentrated slightly without losing its acidic edge. At Panificio Bonci, famed baker and Chef’s Table protagonist Gabriele Bonci demonstrates his pizza rossa prowess in an ethereal version that adds a hint of whole-wheat flour for nuttiness and complexity. Each slice is finished with a glug of floral extra-virgin olive oil that pools in the crannies of the dimpled dough.

Minestra di Broccoli e Arzilla at Cesare al Pellegrino

Via del Pellegrino 117
+39 06 6880 1978

Roman fish mongers are known for their elaborate displays, but perhaps no specimen is as eye-catching as the bony, cartilaginous, and downright prehistoric-looking skate. In spite of its waning popularity, the ray subspecies remains a fixture on traditional tables, a reminder of the Catholic custom of abstaining from eating meat on Fridays and preparing fish dishes instead. Romans aren’t as devout as they used to be but still adhere to this tradition. During the cool months, when romanesco is in season, Leonardo Vignoli of Cesare al Pellegrino makes minestra di broccoli e arzilla on Fridays. The brothy soup is made with deboned skate, the knobby cauliflower-like romanesco, and a hint of tomato. It’s one of the few dishes anywhere in Italy that calls for broken spaghetti, added to the broth for texture and heft.

Tonnarelli Cacio e Pepe at Baccano

Via delle Muratte 23
+39 06 6994 1166

Cacio e pepe, literally cheese and pepper, has become a ubiquitous flavor combination in Rome, appearing as a pizza topping, supplì filling, and potato croquette flavoring. The trend has hit American shores, too, where chefs are cacio e pepe-ing everything these days. The dish’s origins, however, are as a Roman pasta sauce featuring Pecorino Romano and black pepper combined with a little water and tossed with long strands of pasta, typically tonnarelli (fresh, squared-off spaghetti). Many ristoranti have taken to combining Pecorino Romano with cow’s milk Parmigiano-Reggiano to temper the intense saltiness of the former, but at Baccano, chef Nabil Hadj Hassen keeps things old-school with just Pecorino. His other secret: freshly ground Sarawak black pepper from Malaysia, which offers piquant fruitiness and woodsy complexity, instead of the usual one-note pepper of unknown provenance.

Rigatoni alla Gricia, Spaghettoni alla Carbonara, and Bombolotti all’Amatriciana at Salumeria Roscioli

Via dei Giubbonari 34 
+39 06 687 5287

Rome’s famous pasta dishes—gricia, carbonara, and amatriciana—have two key ingredients in common: savory, fatty guanciale (cured pork jowl) and punchy Pecorino Romano. (Just don’t call them the “three pastas of Rome”—that would be selling us short!) Happily, at gourmet deli-cum-wine bar Salumeria Roscioli, which just opened a New York City offshoot, you can try exceptional versions of all three. Their secret is artisanal cured pork jowl from Le Marche, which they cube and confit into crunchy yet tender morsels. Both the rigatoni alla gricia and spaghettoni alla carbonara share a trinity of freshly milled southeast Asian black pepper varieties, but only the latter is extra creamy with eggs. Not just any uova, mind you: We’re talking yolks from heritage-breed hens fed on goat’s milk that fetch $20 a dozen at the counter. Don’t sleep on the amatriciana, though; its tomato sauce is made with gorgeous, ultra-ripe fruit picked in Campania.

Bombolotti al Sugo di Coda at Cesare al Casaletto

Via del Casaletto 45
+39 06 536015

Coda alla vaccinara is a dish of braised oxtails simmered in a celery-rich tomato sauce for hours until falling off the bone. On their own, the oxtails are soulful and satisfying, but for me, it’s all about the leftover sauce infused with marrow and studded with rogue bits of melty meat. At Cesare al Casaletto, that deeply rich, brick-hued sauce is tossed with bombolotti—“half” rigatoni, also called mezze maniche—and topped with thick shavings of Pecorino Romano. The bits of meat settle pleasingly in the tubular architecture of the pasta, and the sheep’s milk cheese brings a piquant and savory note that ties it all together.

Fettuccine con Rigaglie di Pollo and Rigatoni con la Pajata at Armando al Pantheon

Salita de’ Crescenzi 31

It’s hard to imagine chicken innards being a seasonal ingredient, but Romans traditionally celebrated festivals with poultry and all of its associated parts in the summer, especially around the mid-August Assumption holiday. For decades, local cooks have been simmering livers, gizzards, and hearts with tomato sauce and aromatics and tossing them with thick fettuccine for a celebratory, hearty meal. Nowadays the dish is served year round, and my favorite version comes from Armando al Pantheon. There, in the brown leather banquette-trimmed dining room, the Gargioli family takes pride in cooking each organ in stages to ensure they remain sweet and tender—and never funky. Staying with the offal theme, Armando also serves rigatoni con la pajata, pasta tossed with the intestines of milk-fed veal cooked in tomato sauce, albeit only in the spring and late summer when veal are suckling. If you’re still with me, you probably want to know that the mother’s milk cooks inside the intestine, becoming a sweetly lactic foil to the tangy tomato sauce.

Allesso di Bollito at Mordi e Vai

Mercato di Testaccio, Stall 15
Via Beniamino Franklin

Allesso di bollito is another stewed beef stunner, but this Roman classic is made with brisket and flavored with celery and carrots. It was traditionally made by butchers, as brisket was once an off-cut that butchers took home at the end of the day. Alesso di bollito is the starting point for other Roman classics like bollito alla picchiapò (leftover bollito reheated in a mildly spicy tomato sauce) and polpette di bollito (leftover bollito shredded with breadcrumbs and aromatics, then breaded and fried). At Mordi e Vai, they make them all, calling their preparation allesso di scottona, signifying the meat is from a young, calfless cow. Each is used as a sandwich filling at their stall in Testaccio Market, not far from where the late founder Sergio Esposito worked at the city’s slaughterhouse from the age of 16.

Trippa alla Romana at Santo Palato

Piazza Tarquinia, 4 a/b

To make trippa alla romana, honeycomb tripe—one of several cow stomachs—is fastidiously cleaned, boiled until tender, cut into strips, then stewed in a mint-spiked tomato sauce before receiving a final dusting of grated Pecorino Romano. The dish is so integral to Roman cuisine that it has Roma in its name. Though typically prepared with a deep, concentrated sauce, chef Sarah Cicolini’s version at Santo Palato is pleasingly lighter, as the tomatoes are barely cooked,  leaving the final product light and bright—not unlike the decor of the trattoria itself.

Coda alla Vaccinara at Tavernaccia Da Bruno

Via Giovanni da Castel Bolognese 63
+39 06 581 2792

There are two schools when it comes to coda alla vaccinara, or Roman braised oxtails. One is more flamboyant, its tomato sauce fragrant with cocoa powder, pine nuts, and raisins. The other is humbler and relies mainly on celery and tomatoes for flavor. Chef Giuseppe Ruzzettu of Tavernaccia Da Bruno favors the latter, and so do I. It comes as a secondo—just the meat, no garnish. The only addition it really requires is a napkin to tuck into your shirt as you excavate the bone’s crevices in hands-on enjoyment. Silverware, of course, is optional.

Misticanza at Piatto Romano

Via Giovanni Battista Bodoni 62
+39 06 6401 4447

Stroll through any Roman market and you’re bound to find bins piled with misticanza, mixed wild greens. In Roman trattorie, more often than not, misticanza is prepared “ripassata in padella”: blanched, drained, then cooked in oil and garlic. At Piatto Romano, misticanza is served in all its raw glory as a salad, and a rather substantial one at that for a city unfamiliar with the salad-as-meal concept. Several varieties of chicory, poppy greens, and wild herbs are dressed with anchovy sauce and sumac (a bit of creative license), their herbal and bitter flavors standing out and standing up to the potent dressing. The greens are served as a starter or as a contorno (a vegetable side dish accompanying a main course) with a steak knife to cut all the hearty stems and leaves into bite-size pieces.

Torta Ricotta e Visciole at Boccione

Via del Portico d’Ottavia 1
+39 06 687 8637

The glass display case at Boccione Forno del Ghetto, an unmarked yet world-renowned bakery on the main street in Rome’s Jewish Ghetto, is filled with round cakes with slightly charred tops and edges. The shortbread crust obscures the fillings: old-school ricotta e visciole (sour cherry) and new-school ricotta e cioccolato (chocolate). The combination of sweet ricotta and tart sour cherry jam, a ubiquitous combination at local bakeries, has Roman Jewish origins and reaches its fullest expression at this multi-generation kosher establishment. Buy the whole cake, or spring for a single slice, which you can savor gloriously yet un-glamorously sitting on the curb outside.

The post 12 Dishes Everyone Should Eat in Rome appeared first on Saveur.

Welcome to Parla’s Pastas, a column by the Rome-based, New York Times best-selling cookbook author Katie Parla, whose latest title is Food of the Italian Islands. Get ready for a carb-driven journey through the trattorias of Rome, the rural reaches of Campania, the kitchens of Sicily (her ancestral homeland), and beyond. Fire up a pot of water, and andiamo!

As a 20-year Rome transplant with six Italian cookbooks under my belt, I’d love to say I first encountered focaccia at a traditional Genovese bakery, but my initiation actually happened at a (now-closed) Macaroni Grill, the Italian-themed chain restaurant, off Route 1 in New Jersey. 

The year was 1993, and in spite of growing up in an Italian American family, I’d never been exposed to Italy’s flatbreads. My Southern Italian ancestors no doubt baked their own version of focaccia, but the tradition didn’t make it to my generation. Sometimes I daydream about those lost recipes—about a mythical focaccia some distant nonna made using (geographically appropriate) durum wheat. It would’ve been drenched in extra-virgin olive oil, almost certainly, and topped with tomatoes with twisty, caramelized edges like the focaccias in bakery windows of Bari today. 

And then my thoughts wander back to that Macaroni Grill, where a 13-year-old me was staring down at a tender and spongy focaccia made with soft wheat flour. It came unadorned, simply seasoned with salt and herbs. The crumb was so compact, it practically repelled the olive oil I dragged it through before taking a bite. Based on several Italy-wide trips researching regional doughs, I have an inkling the recipe was inspired by the springy focaccias of Northeastern Italy, specifically Genova and its environs. Frankly, I loved it. And I bet I’d even love it now.

Like pizza, focaccia arrived in the U.S. via Italian immigrants in the late 19th and early 20th centuries and has an unclear origin story. In Italy, the incarnations are many and change from region to region—even village to village. What we do know is that flatbreads have been baked in hearths for several thousand years on the Apennine Peninsula—even if the olive oil-enriched slab we know as focaccia today is far more recent.  

Italy’s most famous focaccia hails from Genoa and emerged around the late Middle Ages as a Catholic wedding dish symbolizing blessings and prosperity. It has since lost its religious affiliation, as anyone who’s had a layover in an Italian airport can attest. Sold at bakeries, supermarkets, and even bars, the bread is enjoyed on its own, dipped into cappuccino, or draped with cured meats. 

As focaccia evolved in Italy, across the Atlantic, American bakers were making their own versions, riffing on the recipes from the Mother Country with toppings like lemon slices that would’ve been novel in the bread’s homeland. The tinkering continues both Stateside and abroad, as demonstrated by the massively popular recipe featured in Samin Nosrat’s Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, which draws on Liguria’s famously spongy, springy, oil-rich focacce for inspo, and the Insta-famous focaccia from Bari that appears on the cover of my own cookbook Food of the Italian South. 

The 1990s, as many of you will recall, were a simpler time for focaccia. Most of it was spongy and rosemary-perfumed à la Macaroni Grill. The bread was a gateway to a world of Italian flatbreads Americans are still discovering. There’s no end in sight! So, embark on your own focaccia journey—this version, a happy middle ground between Italy and America, tops a Ligurian-style dough with nontraditional lemon slices.

Recipe

Crackly Lemon-Rosemary Focaccia

Get the recipe >

The post How ‘Italian’ Is Rosemary Focaccia, Anyway? appeared first on Saveur.

Early mornings are Mauro Nesi’s best time. As he walks down the gentle hill to his workplace—an ancient oak forest—his tawny Lagotto Romagnolo dogs, Spritz and Brisa, scamper ahead of him. In the quiet, Nesi’s senses are alive, attuned to the sounds of the birds and the leaves underfoot. He scans the trees and keeps his eyes trained to the ground, looking at the way the earth rises here and dips there. If it swells just a little he pauses. When Brisa darts towards a tree, tail wagging and nose to the ground, Mauro follows. He has to catch her quickly, before her claws can damage the truffle she’s after. He speaks to the dog and gently nudges her out of the way so he can dig.

Mauro, who learned from his uncle to look for the clues of the forest, is now an experienced guide at Castello di Casole, a luxurious hotel in Siena, Tuscany. Guests can spend a morning hunting for truffles with him, and while the yield isn’t guaranteed, there is almost always something to be found in these woods. Truffles—the aromatic, subterranean tubers—are the prize. 

Beginning in June, Nesi and his guests might find scorzone (Tuber aestivum); known as summer truffles, these are the least fragrant—and least expensive—of the species. Around September though, the scorzone begin to mature and become more intensely flavored. At this point, they become known as Tuber uncinatum, or Burgundy truffles (a bit of a marketing misnomer, as both grow widely throughout Europe). There is some debate about whether these two truffles are entirely different species or morphotypes of the same, says David Yourd, a partner in Regalis Foods, an importer and purveyor based in New York City. “However, in the business, we distinguish between summer truffles and Burgundy truffles once the truffle hits a very mature state,” he explains. “The interior becomes more marbled, and changes from cream or light beige in color to a darker tan, with increased nutty and earthy aromas.” In Italy, Burgundy truffles can typically be found from mid-September through December or January. From mid-January to the end of April, mild white truffles known as marzuolo or bianchetto (Tuber albidum or Tuber borchii) begin to appear, as does the Tuber melanosporum, another prized black variety.

Back at the hotel’s Ristorante Tosca, chef Daniele Sera works these local truffles into many elaborate dishes, performing a kind of wizardry to achieve layers of texture and flavor. This luxe experience is a world apart from the traditional truffled egg and pasta dishes served on trattoria tables throughout Tuscany, but for the guests who’ve traveled from far and wide to stay in the hotel’s elegant rooms, Sera does riff on traditional regional preparations. A sous vide egg is crowned with an ethereal cloud of Parmigiano-Reggiano spuma (foam). A stack of julienned black truffles, like a pile of straw, rests on top. The chef’s risotto, on the other hand, is more classic, and made from just five ingredients: the only distraction from the truffle is the wide, golden rim of the bowl.

Two hours away, in neighboring Umbria, truffles are celebrated in much the same way they are in Tuscany, sprinkled over softly cooked eggs or hand-rolled pasta. At a small trattoria called Semiramide in the picturesque stone village of Melezzole, run by brother and sister Pierluigi and Chiara Pantaleoni, you’ll find these familiar dishes cooked with great care. It’s food for the locals—and any lucky travelers who happen to find their way. The restaurant is tucked amongst trees and hung with potted plants. In the dining room, a central fireplace glows. Pierluigi makes fresh pasta daily; for fine ribbons of tagliolini, he warms truffle slices in olive oil to release the tuber’s flavor before tossing the pasta in the pan. The creamy tangle is then finished with more freshly shaved truffle. The dish is a loving homage to the seasonal ingredient. Simpler yet, the chef spoons a heap of softly scrambled eggs onto a plate before showering it with finely grated truffle. Priced at seven to 12 euros, these are a luxury most in the area can afford. 

Beloved for its heady aroma, the truffle inspires equal passion in the field, where competition among the hunters who dedicate their lives in pursuit is fierce. For those in tune with the ways of the woods it’s a beautiful calling, as depicted in the 2020 documentary, The Truffle Hunters. For the dealers who trade in this particular treasure and handle exorbitant amounts of money, the business can also be cutthroat, as dramatized in the moody 2021 Nicholas Cage thriller Pig, and exposed in Ryan Jacobs’ true crime book The Truffle Underground. 

Adding to the high stakes of the truffle business is the unpredictability of Mother Nature, and (perhaps more predictable) human nature.”Ecological factors affect the truffle seasons tremendously,” Yourd explains. “Truffle harvests have been very small and prices very high this year. This is due to climate change and loss of wild forest habitat to vineyards and construction in truffle growing regions of Italy.”

It can take years to develop a keen hunter’s eye, so for those who want to try their own luck, it’s best to seek out an expert guide like Nesi. A tartufaio, like any other professional wildcrafter (the title preferred by many mushroom hunters and foragers), can show beginners what to look for. Just know that few will be willing to share their secret spots—those, of course, are closely guarded. 

If you’re lucky enough to get there, you could also walk into a hilltop Umbrian trattoria just as darkness descends, and let the local chefs do what they do best. Or, if instead you prefer to leave the foraging to the professionals and roll up your sleeves in your own kitchen, there are plenty of good retail and mail-order sources for fresh truffles. No passport or great culinary skill is required to enjoy the season’s subterranean treasures. 

Sourcing: Where to Buy Fresh Truffles

Always purchase truffles from a reputable source. Look for them in specialty stores or online and expect to pay for overnight shipping. Regalis Foods, a highly regarded supplier of wild edibles like truffles and other “exceptional, elusive food products,” was founded in 2012 and has rapidly become an essential fixture of New York City’s culinary landscape. The company’s website features collaborations with many of America’s most exciting chefs. Regalis’ truffles are directly imported, and handled expertly.

Urbani, originally founded in Italy in the 1850s by Constantine Urbani, has grown from a small husband-and-wife business into one of the most prominent truffle purveyors in the world. Look for Urbani products at Eataly’s markets, or order directly online.

How To Store Fresh Truffles

The key to storing truffles is moisture control. After being removed from the ground, a truffle loses three to five percent of its moisture each day. By contrast, there is also a risk of mold whenever excess moisture is involved. So unless you’re using your haul immediately, you’ll want to moderate hydration without trapping too much liquid. To do this, wrap the truffle in something absorbent, then place it in an airtight container—Nesi opts for a cloth handkerchief and a glass jar, but a couple of layers of paper towel inside a zip-topped freezer bag gets the job done too. (We recommend changing the paper every 12 to 24 hours.) Each truffle has a slightly different moisture content, but if stored properly, most black truffles will keep for up to 14 days; the more delicate white truffle will keep for less than a week. Ideally, all truffles should be enjoyed as quickly as possible.

How To Serve Truffles

Burgundy truffles are one of the most versatile truffle varieties, as they are comparatively moderate in price and well suited for both cooked and raw preparations (unlike the more umami-packed and volatile white truffles, which should never be heated). Burgundy truffles have deep, earthy notes, with a hint of roasted garlic and caramel. When warmed in hot butter or oil, the tubers’ aroma diffuses beautifully. 

Truffles’ flavors shine when incorporated into simple dishes, such as eggs, risotto, fresh pasta, and creamy root vegetable soups. A classic French preparation calls for placing thinly sliced truffles under the skin of poultry before roasting.

Truffles are usually sold clean, but if handling freshly dug specimens, Nesi suggests brushing away any dirt with a small, dry brush (a clean toothbrush works well). When ready to serve, shave them using a special truffle slicer or a vegetable peeler, or finely grate them directly over your dish using a sharp rasp.

How To Preserve Truffles

If you should have any extra truffle shaving or scraps leftover, there are a few things you can do to preserve them for future use in your own cooking, or for gifts:

• Truffle Butter: Bring a stick of unsalted butter to room temperature. In a medium bowl, beat the butter with grated or very finely chopped truffle pieces, then season to taste with salt. Spread the mixture onto a piece of parchment paper, then roll tightly into a log, twisting the ends to seal. Alternatively, spoon the compound butter into ice cube trays or another small container and refrigerate or freeze until ready to use.
• Truffle Oil: For short-term preservation, grate a piece of truffle into a small jar of olive oil, cover the jar, and refrigerate. This simple infusion can be drizzled over pasta or spooned over roasted meat, as you like. This oil must be kept refrigerated, to avoid the risk of botulism. 
• Truffle Salt: Grind truffle scraps with coarse sea salt in a small food processor or spice grinder. The salt dehydrates and preserves the truffle, creating a fragrant and shelf-stable seasoning that will keep its potency for up to 2 months. Store in an airtight container away from direct heat and sunlight.

Recipes

Soft-Scrambled Eggs With Black Truffle

Get the recipe >

Tagliolini with Shaved Black Truffle

Get the recipe>

Black Truffle Risotto

Get the recipe >

The post Searching High and Low for Truffles in Tuscany and Umbria appeared first on Saveur.

On the largest island in the Mediterranean fringed with pretty beaches, Sicily’s capital Palermo serves up history like its irresistible desserts, each decadent slice revealing another fascinating layer. In the heart of the city, the monastery’s in-house bakery, aptly named I Segreti del Chiostro, or “The Secrets of the Cloister,” also makes cassata, another well-guarded Sicilian specialty. This festive torte, mingling sponge cake, ricotta, marzipan, and candied fruit, was often made by nuns for Easter and Sicilian Jews for Purim — another hint to Palermo’s rich past.

For centuries, Palermo sat at an international crossroads. At turns, it was a vibrant hub of Greek, Arab, Norman, Jewish, and Spanish influences. Still filled with cultural gems, it’s home to the largest opera house in Italy, and one of the most impressive in Europe, the Teatro Massimo, first opened in 1897. With this longstanding flair for the dramatic, Palermo’s desserts provide a delightful taste of local ingredients and captivating history for visitors.

During the 18th century, Palermo’s noble families were great benefactors of monasteries. They also often sent their widowed, unmarried, or reckless female members to become nuns. Within convents, an enterprising sisterhood took to baking and selling lavish sweets since they had access to fine ingredients, which only the very rich could afford. To revive this tradition of convent desserts at the Santa Caterina monastery, a cooperative of local women researched these cherished, secret recipes.

In the historic novel, The Leopard, about Sicilian gentry, writer Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa describes an aristocratic table set with “those cakes called ‘triumphs of gluttony’ filled with green pistachio paste, and shameless ‘virgin’s cakes,’ shaped like breasts.” A far cry from austerity, these are not exactly the chaste names one might expect of an abbey bake sale, however, they’re incredibly authentic and still made today. Fedde del cancelliere, or chancellor’s buttocks, are another rediscovered delicacy, which have been updated with a shell shape instead of a derriere.

Some of the most common ingredients in these secret convent desserts are almond and pistachio pastes, ricotta cheese, candied fruit, and citrus, as well as bianco mangiare or blancmange, a creamy filling often made with milk and cornstarch. Outside of Palermo, the Conca d’Oro, or Golden Shell, is lined with Sicily’s famous citrus groves growing fragrant lemons, tangerines, and other lovely fruits. About three hours east of the capital, Mount Etna is the heartland of the island’s prized Bronte pistachios, or Sicily’s green gold, which were introduced to the island by ancient Arabs.

At the Santa Caterina monastery, perfectly fried, crispy cannoli shells are filled on the spot and sprinkled with toppings. It might not be a sugar-coated version of history, but it’s delicious all the same.

Discover Italy and its many destinations at italia.it.

The post Finding the Real Dolce Vita: A Delicious Adventure Into Palermo’s Secret Dessert Scene appeared first on Saveur.

In ancient times, poet Tibullus first hailed Rome as the Eternal City for its seemingly unstoppable growth, cultural influence, and splendor. With some three millennia of history, Rome still impresses, from the ancient structures of the Colosseum and Pantheon to the modern marvels of the MAXXI museum of contemporary art and architecture opened in 2012 and the “Fuksas Cloud” convention center unveiled in 2016.

Overlooking this beautiful city embracing old-world and new-world aesthetics, La Pergola at Rome Cavalieri, A Waldorf Astoria Hotel captures this fresh energy with chef Heinz Beck’s modern menu inspired by traditional Mediterranean cooking. Fittingly, it’s the first and only one to have captured three Michelin stars in Rome.

Throughout Italy, it’s common to ease into dinner with an aperitivo. One might describe an aperitivo as an opening act to a fantastic meal at a highly awarded restaurant like La Pergola or a simple homemade pasta. While Rome offers an endless array of upscale bars for drinking in the gorgeous views, northern Italy has its own legacy of Italian cocktail culture.

Connected by a quick and efficient train system, one can travel between Rome and Milan in around three hours with somewhere between 67 and 90 departures per day. Alternatively, a scenic road trip takes around six hours. In the Michelin Guide Italia 2020, Milan also earned a three-star nod for Enrico Bartolini al Mudec, a restaurant spearheading contemporary classic cuisine, along with 16 one-star and 3 two-star entries.

Rome boasts another 18 one-star winners and 1 two-star winner providing ample culinary ground to cover. Then again, most meals in Italy are worthy of a toast, or at least a pre-dinner cocktail.

Some of Italy’s most iconic aperitifs originate in northern Italy, along with signature mixed drinks, such as Negroni Sbagliato, Zucca Lavorato Secco, and Gin Rosa. Among these classic concoctions, the Mi-To (or Milano-Torino) was dreamed up around 1870, pairing Campari bitter made in Milan with Cinzano vermouth made in Turin. Today, it’s still a classy pick at the four-story, 19th-century Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II mall in Milan.

During the 1930s, Italian Futurism, an art movement celebrating technology and manmade machines, presented its own spin on mixed drinks called polibibite. These innovative cocktails experimented with new ways to use Italian spirits, such as amaro, grappa, and limoncello, among others. Over time though, they faded from pop culture.

Nearly a century later in modern-day Milan, futuristic mixology appears to be shaking up the cocktail scene once again. With a view of the expansive Duomo, a massive cathedral built from 1386 to 1965, a pair of automated robotic arms are manning the bar, taking orders, serving, and mixing drinks from more than 150 bottles.

It’s only more proof that Italians are still getting it right—relaxing and letting a robot do some of the work, while they enjoy a cocktail before dinner.

The post Raising the Bar: What the World Can Learn From Italy About Enjoying Food and Drinks appeared first on Saveur.

Like painters carefully mixing colors for subtle nuances, the perfect pesto is a true art. Traditionally, made by hand with a marble mortar and pestle, pesto originated in the northern Italian city of Genoa located about two hours south of Milan. For locals, it is an ode to the salty Mediterranean Sea, the aromatic basil plants which grow on their terraces, and rich pine nuts harvested on beautiful sea cliffs, combined with garlic, parmesan and pecorino cheeses, and Ligurian extra virgin olive oil.

Those who make it best take great pride in retaining the bright green color of fresh basil—and avoiding even the slightest hint of bitterness.

Nestled between sea and mountains, Liguria is a tiny, crescent-shaped region known for its charming fishing villages like Cinque Terre and tony resort towns like Portofino. Among art and architecture lovers, the region’s elegant capital, Genoa, is one of the most impressive destinations in Italy. Marking its cultural significance, it was a European Capital of Culture in 2004 and its Strade Nuove and unique system of Palazzi dei Rolli were recognized as UNESCO World Heritage Sites in 2006.

During the Renaissance and Baroque periods, wealthy Genoese families built stunning palaces along the area now centering around modern-day Via Giuseppe Garibaldi. A millionaire row like no other, the Strada Nuova dei Palazzi, or New Street of the Palaces, was zoned for upper-class homes. When seen through the eyes of a visiting painter in the 1600s, Flemish master Peter Paul Rubens declared Genoa “a residence model for the perfect gentleman” and published a book dedicated to its palaces. His depictions became benchmarks for other European cities.

Among the city’s grand structures, some palaces were placed on an official list, or rolli, of abodes worthy of hosting visiting dignitaries and other luminaries. To experience this opulence in person, the Palazzo Gio Vincenzo Imperiale has opened its doors. Within this extravagant setting boasting a sculpted façade, incredible frescoes, and magnificent staircase lined with busts of Roman emperors, you can learn the fine art of pesto-making firsthand. It’s essentially a cooking class in a palace.

Derived from the local word meaning “to crush,” pesto involves making a savory, garlicky paste from fresh basil leaves. A daily ritual among residents, pesto is usually prepared with pastas, such as trenette, a regional, flat pasta similar to linguine; trofie, a short, twisted pasta also typically made in Liguria; or gnocchi, a doughy dumpling-like pasta. But, for pesto purists, it’s never served with spaghetti. While you can find high-quality, pre-made pesto in shops, it’s even better to prepare your own.

During the class, you’ll also sample local wine and canestrelli cookies, a favorite treat among Ligurian bakers. These powder sugar-dusted shortbread biscuits are cut into the shape of daisies and have a buttery, lemony flavor perfect for a stylish dessert table.

Strolling through the streets of Genoa, your sense of smell is often greeted with pesto, as well as warm, freshly baked focaccia and other handcrafted specialties. Scent is known for triggering memories and emotions. Long after your visit, the aroma of pesto will transport you back to the unforgettable sights and meals of this amazing city.

Discover Italy and its many destinations at italia.it.

The post A Passion for Pesto: Visiting the Art City of Genoa appeared first on Saveur.

Moving from the sides of our plates to center stage, salads have become exciting mains packed with tantalizing flavors and nutritional value. Going into fall, leafy green brassicas, such as kale and arugula, provide a satisfying base with a bit more bite for getting creative with toss-ins and toppings. For a filling weekday salad, elevate your lunch bowl with Prosciutto di Parma and Grana Padano cheese.

To make a balanced meal that keeps you going throughout the workday, try a kale salad with Grana Padano vinaigrette and almond crumble, offering nutty, savory notes, or an arugula prosciutto salad with grilled nectarines and fig jam dressing, spotlighting the sweet quality of Prosciutto di Parma. Either can be served with a side of crusty bread or grains, such as quinoa or farro.

In Italian cuisine, cured meats and cheeses are often paired with fruits and vegetables, from prosciutto-wrapped slices of melon to chunks of Grana Padano served with dried fruit on an antipasto platter. In many ways, this style of eating celebrates simple, natural ingredients at their best. Both Prosciutto di Parma and Grana Padano are PDO-certified products, which means they must adhere to strict EU guidelines for authenticity and quality.

For Prosciutto di Parma to receive PDO, or “Protected Designation of Origin,” status, it has to be produced in Italy, air-cured, and aged for at least 400 days. Only when Parma ham meets these strict criteria does it get stamped with the famous Parma Crown, a symbol you should look for at the deli counter or on pre-sliced packages. There’s also an art to properly slicing, high-quality prosciutto, leaving some fat for a rich, melt-in-your-mouth experience.

Similarly, Grana Padano has to be made with partially skimmed raw cow’s milk from the production area, the Po River Valley (Pianura Padana) in northern Italy and aged at least nine months, before having to pass strict quality tests to receive the traditional fire-branding. Grana Padano can also age 20 months or longer. In the kitchen, Prosciutto di Parma and Grana Padano are easy ways to add complex flavors to your favorite recipes, including pastas, soups, and salads.

Compared to lettuce leaves, arugula and kale, which are both cruciferous veggies from the mustard family, provide more robust flavors. Arugula, or rucola in Italian, is available pretty much year-round, but has peak seasons during spring and fall.

Prized for its peppery punch, arugula kicks up a weekday salad topped with Prosciutto di Parma, gorgonzola, and grilled nectarines, and dressed with a mustardy vinaigrette. You can also play around with different grilled fruit, such as plums, pears, or apples, depending on what’s in season, availability, and personal preference.

Kale paired with radicchio, or Italian chicory, makes a great base for a hearty salad. Radicchio, easily identified by its pretty red wine-and-white-streaked leaves, has a pleasantly bitter taste. When chopped and tossed with kale, the combo of these sturdy leaves complements the nutty flavors of Grana Padano highlighted in both a vinaigrette and an easy-to-make almond crumble. For another spin, you can sub in cavolo nero, or “black cabbage,” a type of Tuscan kale.

While these salads are ideal for weekday lunches, you can also incorporate them into your dinner table as a light main or a colorful side to a roast or pasta. They pair beautifully with sparkling, red, or white wines.

Arugula Prosciutto Salad with Grilled Nectarines and Fig Jam Dressing

Sweet and tangy with a touch of char, this salad balances vegetable-based eating with just the right amount of Parma ham.

Yield: makes 4 servings

Time: 15 minutes

Ingredients

• 6 cups baby arugula
• 4 slices Prosciutto di Parma, cut into strips
• 2 nectarines, pitted, cut into wedges, and grilled
• 4 oz. gorgonzola dolce
• 1 shallot, thinly sliced
• ¼ cup olive oil
• 2 Tbsp. vinegar
• 2 Tbsp. fig jam
• 1 tsp. Dijon mustard
• 1 clove garlic, minced

Instructions

1. Arrange arugula on a platter.

2. Top arugula with prosciutto, nectarines, cheese, and sliced shallot.

3. In a small bowl, whisk together olive oil, vinegar, jam, mustard, and garlic until blended and drizzle over salad. Toss to combine.

Kale Salad with Grana Padano Vinaigrette & Almond Crumble

With its modern tricolore hues, prepare a hearty salad which is photo-worthy and appetizing.

Yield: makes 4 servings

Time: 15 minutes

For the vinaigrette

Yield: ½ cup

• ¼ cup tightly packed finely grated Grana Padano cheese
• 2 Tbsp. lemon juice
• ½ Tbsp. Dijon mustard
• ¼ tsp. salt
• 1 garlic clove, grated
• ¼ cup grapeseed oil

Instructions

1. In a food processor, combine cheese, lemon juice, mustard, salt. and garlic until smooth.

2. While blending, slowly stream in oil until smooth and incorporated. Refrigerate.

For the almond crumble

Yield: ¾ cup

• 1 Tbsp. olive oil
• ¼ cup breadcrumbs
• ¼ cup roasted almonds, chopped
• ¼ cup finely grated Grana Padano cheese
• Salt, to taste

Instructions

1. In small skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Add bread crumbs; cook and stir until golden brown, 5-7 minutes. Remove from heat.

2. Add almonds and cheese; stir until cheese has melted and breadcrumbs begin to cluster. Season with salt. Set aside to cool.

For salad

• 1 bunch kale, stripped and chopped (about 4 cups)
• 2 cups chopped radicchio
• Pepper, to taste

Instructions

1. In large bowl, combine kale, radicchio, and Grana Padano vinaigrette. Massage dressing into greens until well-coated. Mix in half of almond crumble.

2. Plate greens on a platter. Garnish with remaining crumble and freshly cracked pepper. Top with chicken or your favorite protein, if desired.

The post Upgrade Your Lunchtime Salad With Finely Crafted Products From Northern Italy appeared first on Saveur.

Fall is a season when we break out our jackets and start hunkering down for busy days ahead. Whether you’re meeting deadlines, hitting career goals, or helping your kids with homework, comfort foods nourish our appetites and warm our souls. For inspiration, Italian staples, such as soup and pizza, make home-cooking easy and satisfying.

To get ready for weeknight dinners in this season of productivity, minestrone soup with Grana Padano and pesto pizzas with Prosciutto di San Daniele and burrata are great options for discovering the mealtime possibilities of high-quality Italian products.

In Europe, PDO stands for “Protected Designation of Origin” and offers a guarantee of quality and authenticity. Only products made with traditional methods within defined production areas, under strict supervision and carefully monitored ingredients qualify for PDO certification from the EU. Among these artisan products, you’ll find some of the world’s most delicious cured meats and cheeses, such as Prosciutto di San Daniele and Grana Padano.

Their flavors are complex enough to stand on their own. However, in recipes, they transform even simple dishes into mouthwatering meals. For Italians, getting back to basics is about celebrating taste and regional specialties. In the northeast, the Friuli Venezia Giuila region is known for its all-natural Prosciutto di San Daniele made with only two ingredients: Italian pork and sea salt.

Some might call the microclimate, or air, a third ingredient, which gives Prosciutto di San Daniele its distinctive profile. At your local grocery store or market, look for the branded outline of a ham with the letters SD to know you’re getting real-deal Prosciutto di San Daniele, which has been dry-cured for at least 13 months. Properly sliced pieces will also have some ribbony fat to them.

Likewise, Grana Padano originates nearby in northern Italy and is a popular hard cheese for grating or flaking. It can only be produced in this region and must be made with locally sourced, partially skimmed raw cow’s milk inspired by methods developed more than 1,000 years ago. To receive an official PDO stamp, the cheese must be aged nine to 24 months or longer.

For your comfort food cravings any time of year, Prosciutto di San Daniele and Grana Padano elevate meals without a ton of effort. On an appetizer plate, thinly sliced Prosciutto di San Daniele has a, sweet flavor and chunks of Grana Padano complement olives and nuts. Both pair beautifully with fruity red, white, or sparkling wines.

To improve everyday meals, sprinkling grated Grana Padano over risotto, pasta, or steamed veggies is a perfect shortcut for adding flavor or making a quick gratin combined with breadcrumbs and olive oil browned under the broiler. And, hold onto that Grana Padano cheese rind because you can use it to add flavor and texture to soups.

One of the easiest combinations for a hearty meal filled with fall goodness is a modern spin on classic minestrone soup and pizza. To prep for the week ahead, make soup over the weekend and store it in the fridge or freezer for convenience. Serve the soup with individually portioned pizzas made using store-bought crusts, naan, or flat breads, such as pita rounds for a complete weeknight dinner. Or, for a lighter meal, pair pizza with a salad.

Minestrone Soup

Topped with grated Grana Padano, this pasta-flecked veggie soup is an autumn essential.

Yield: makes 6 servings

Time: 40 minutes

Ingredients

• 3 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 cup diced yellow onion
• ½ cup diced red onion
• 3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1 cup diced carrots
• 1 cup diced celery
• 1 cup diced fennel
• 1 cup diced red potatoes
• 1 cup diced zucchini
• 2 cups kale, stems removed
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 4 cups vegetable stock
• 1 Grana Padano cheese rind
• 1 cup small pasta, cooked and drained
• 1 cup canned cannellini beans, rinsed and drained

Instructions

1. In a large saucepan over medium-high heat, heat olive oil. Add white and red onion and cook two minutes, or until caramelized. Add garlic and cook about one minute.

2. Add carrots and celery and cook until slightly softened and translucent. Next, add fennel, potatoes, and zucchini, stirring after each addition.

3. Pour in stock and add cheese rind. Bring soup to a boil and in the meanwhile, chop the greens.

4. When soup has reached boil, add chopped kale and season with salt and pepper. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 15 minutes.

5. Add cooked pasta and cannellini beans and cook for an additional 5 minutes.

6. Remove from heat and season to taste with salt and pepper. Garnish with freshly grated Grana Padano cheese and a drizzle of olive oil.

Pesto Pizzas with Prosciutto di San Daniele & Burrata

These perfectly portioned pizzas are delicious on their own or with a bowl of soup.

Yield: makes 4 servings

Time: 20 minutes

Ingredients

• ¾ cup loosely packed basil, plus small leaves for garnish
• ¼ cup olive oil
• ¼ cup walnuts
• 2 Tbsp. grated Grana Padano cheese
• 1 small garlic clove¼ tsp. salt
• 4 flatbreads or naan
• 8 oz. burrata cheese
• 8 slices Prosciutto di San Daniele, halved
• Pepper, to taste

Instructions

1. Preheat broiler to high. In a food processor, combine basil, oil, walnuts, cheese, garlic, and salt until smooth.

2. On a sheet tray, arrange flatbreads. Place under broiler until golden and toasted, about four minutes. Turn over flatbreads and toast until golden, about four more minutes.

3. Remove from oven, spread each with two tablespoons of prepared pesto. Return to oven for one more minute or until pesto is fragrant and set. Remove from oven and transfer to a cooling rack.

4. Gently break apart burrata and divide evenly among each pizza. Drape four halves of prosciutto over cheese. Season with pepper and reserved basil leaves.

The post These Italian Comfort Foods Are Easy and Satisfying Weeknight Dinners appeared first on Saveur.

It always smells like Christmas in Pinerolo. Whatever the month, visitors to this little Piedmontese town 30 miles southwest of Turin are greeted by the season’s essential olfactory cues as soon as they arrive—baking spices, candied fruit, the slow rise of buttery dough. These seem to be in the very pores of the place, and it’s no wonder: Since 1922, Pinerolo has been home to Galup, a bakery-factory that specializes in northern Italian enriched breads, an operation that defines this small town—from its aroma to its employment options.

It is mid-November, and the area’s smaller bakeries have just begun their year’s panettone making, readying for the seasonal wave of customers. But Galup has kept a steady pace—they make panettone (and other enriched breads, like pandoro and colomba di pasqua) year-round, though as elsewhere, the fall sees their production skyrocket in anticipation of the holiday season. Head of packaging, Ombretta Sana, tells me they are now making up to 6,000 loaves each day, which is set to increase to 10,000 in December. (Galup’s workforce, usually 25, triples between September and February.) As I wander around the factory, the uniformed workers in white hair nets move hurriedly at each stage of the production line, from mixing to wrapping, giving the place a Santa’s workshop kind of mystique.

Panettone—the golden, fruit-freckled, egg-yellow bread of northern Italy—has become a winter mainstay across the entire boot. Stories abound about its roots, a favorite being that it is pane di Tonio (Tony’s bread), the result of an experiment made by a brilliant medieval court chef who had nothing to serve for Christmas dessert. In fact, says Italian food writer Stanislao Porzio, panettone is more likely related to a whole category of enriched breads popularly eaten for Italian religious feasts during the Middle Ages. Prized ingredients—good eggs, butter, and dried fruit—were added to bread dough to create something regal and festive.

Those original loaves likely resembled the style found in Milan today: unfrosted and in a tall, rounded cylinder, like a chef’s hat. (In Turin, you’ll find panettone basso, a lower, squat round, decorated with a slick of egg white, sugar crystals, and, often, hazelnuts.) Italians will slice and eat panettone for breakfast on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, or as a dessert alongside ice cream. They are largely purists with their panettone, I learned, but some deviants cover slices of it with maraschino or cognac, then top it with whipped cream, for a more cake-like presentation.

Every winter, Italy produces nearly two loaves per every resident, many for international export. The country does more than $50 million of panettone business in the U.S. alone. (Galup is available Stateside through Eataly stores.) But for a product so widely distributed, traditionally made panettoni are shockingly uncommercial, filled with expensive ingredients and time-consuming to make. In Pinerolo, little expense is spared on the quality of ingredients: candied citrus from Calabria and Sicily; fat sultanas from Turkey or Australia, soaked in marsala wine; Piedmontese hazelnuts for dusting; the best Italian milk, butter, eggs; and farina forte, a strong, specially formulated 00 flour.

The most important ingredient, however, is free: The bread must be fermented with local wild yeasts, which are responsible for the great variations in quality among brands and makers. At Galup, the pasta madre—”mother” yeast—is a descendant of the bakery’s original from 1922, and has been fed with flour and water every four hours ever since. “It’s not just a yeast,” bakery owner Giuseppe Bernocco says. “It’s our yeast.”

Panettone is widely considered to be among the most difficult products for a baker to master, an art form rather than a mere bread. Industrial and artisanal renditions alike require two levitaziones—two distinct stints of rising to get the dough to swell and the resulting bread to its trademark pillowy texture. The best ones also call for a fine balance of timings, temperatures, pHs, and techniques. Earlier in my trip, Andrea Perino, of cult artisanal bakery Perino Vesco in Turin, told me his process takes 40 hours in total; in small bakeries like this, one session will yield just 60 or so breads, at most.

As his giant electric mixer massaged a bundle of stretchy yellow dough between its long, elbowed arms, he added another tub’s worth of butter, then a container of yolks, then more butter, and then more yolks. Just when I thought no more could possibly be added to what looked like an absurdly rich, golden dough churning in the mixer, another mound of ingredients would fall in to be combined. (Almost half of the average panettone’s volume is butter.) This extensive kneading creates a network of gluten, a web through which the yeast pushes up to give the bread its bounce, which in turn deposits its crowning proliferation of fruit on top.

Mechanization is essential, given the volume that a place like Galup needs to produce. The production line is a sea of midcentury machinery supervised by a workforce that, in many cases, has been here for decades; it’s a curious mix of the mechanized and the handmade. A giant vat of dough is tipped slowly into another container before being divided into individual paper wrappers. Ida Badino is one of three people who operate the machine responsible for spezzatura, cutting out the loaves. She has worked here for 44 years and controls the size and weight of each ball of dough—reminiscent in shape and color, I can’t help but think, of a yellow Labrador puppy—and makes sure that each dollop hurtling up the spinning belt is uniform in proportion. Armies of panettoni then march through a giant oven. Each 2-pound bread needs an hour at around 350°F to reach precisely 194° in the center, the temperature that the company feels best ensures a light, golden, and pillowy dough. It is baked and then cooled upside down to prevent its crown from caving in on itself.

There’s a sense of everything rising: the dough, the fruit, the heat, the scent, and the Alps that tower above the town. On the road above Pinerolo, the light is soft and gauzy, as though diffused by a piece of tulle. The snowcapped peak of Monte Viso looms in the distance, a reminder of Christmas’ imminence. The air smells sweet up here too.

The post This Italian Town Always Smells Like Panettone appeared first on Saveur.