Sbriciolosa alla pera picciola

I've put on weight, about four kilos since I came to Italy, something I swore wouldn't happen as the wise old owls, smirking, told me it would. The possibility that they might be right mortifies me and so I've drawn up a plan of sensible eating and exercise to get me back into the shape of an athlete,  with a picture of the 800m Olympic semi-finalist Lynsey Sharp stuck to my dressing table as a reminder. I've also baked a cake.

However, full denial in swing, this is not a cake made purely for the purpose of eating for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've fooled myself that the process of baking it is a test of my language skills, as the recipe comes from a beautiful Italian book called 'Pera picciola Grande in cucina', a collection of recipes all using this rare variety of pear. Thus, I feel worthy rather than gluttonous, having had to translate it; if only translation was a serious calorie burning activity.

The name Sbriciolosa stems from the verb 'sbriciolare' meaning 'to crumble' so perhaps this is the Italian version of our much loved English crumble.  It has a simple dry cake mixture base, followed by a layer of sliced pears coated in cinnamon, and is then topped with the same doughy mixture but with chopped almonds added to it. 

To my pleasure, after a tense fifty minutes in the oven, it looks fairly similar to the picture shown in the book, and tastes good too. As the author suggests, it would be best served with cream, as it is a little dry alone, but perhaps it is for the best that I don't happen to have any. Having sampled a slice, I am now going to attempt to leave the rest for my housemates. May luck and strength of will rain down upon me as I'm going to need it.

#Recipe by Sandra Ballerini in Aurelio Visconti's 'Pera Picciola grande in cucina'

Branzino with Roman Artichokes

Having tasted the real deal in Rome with my mother in January, I decided to have a go at recreating  the delicacy that is Roman Artichokes myself. With a full explanation of how to clean the item in question from Katie Caldesi's cookbook and a fairly simple looking recipe, I was feeling fairly confident and as you can see, nothing went pear-shaped and all in all it looks like a nice supper for one:

However, I still came away feeling a little underwhelmed about the whole experience. Firstly, the misleadingly named 'fluff'  found at the centre of these glorified thistles got under my fingernails making minuscule pinpricks as I tried to remove it, making space for the parsley and mint stuffing. This then stung when I coated the artichokes in lemon juice to stop them going brown. Secondly,  having stripped them of all of the tough outer leaves, it is rather unrewarding to have so little to eat for the amount of effort and time cooking required and to add insult to injury, the end result served only as reminder of the fine line between subtlety and blandness. I don't know what I had found so delicious about them in Rome, perhaps it was the martini beforehand that did it, but tonight my artichokes were decidedly dull in comparison.  This was highlighted further when put in contrast to the  mouthwateringly succulent European  bass (Branzino) I had cooked to accompany it, which wasn't  exactly an overpowering competitor.  It was cooked  in a pan with onions, lemon and orange segments and white wine, all things I had left over anyway. Perfectly simple and perfectly satisfying.

Verdict: perhaps this is my laziness rearing its ugly head, but I've decided that artichokes are best left in restaurants where some poor slave does all the prep for you and somehow manages to render the stalk as tender as the baby leaves themselves.


#'The Italian Cookery Course' by Katie Caldesi
#Ristorante La Taverna dei Monti, Via del Boschetto, 41 (Via Nazionale), 00184 Roma

Risotto

Recently I have been acquainting myself with risotto. I've long eaten it at my Grandmother's house where she wastes nothing, using the remainder of Sunday's roast chicken for her risotto. I've also been treated to the most luxurious of seafood risottos by my boyfriend but shamefully, never have I made it myself. This had to be rectified, particularly as I'm now living in Italy, albeit a long way from Milan. My first attempt was creamy concoction using the basic ingredients of the recipe below but substituting the broccoli for cubed pan fried pork and flavouring the rice with gorgeous lemon-infused ricotta. The result was pleasing but almost overwhelmingly rich. 

This time, having no meat or vegetables in the house other than a bit of old broccoli in the fridge, I was veritably forced to make risotto of broccoli for lunch. This I've long had my doubts about as I had rarely seen broccoli used in any other way except for being a steamed accompaniment for meat in England. However on arriving in Italy I noted with some suspicion that the Italians seem to use it in pasta and rice dishes all the time. So, semi-invented risotto of broccoli it was and delicious  it also was.

Broccoli Risotto

Splash of olive oil

1 garlic clove

1 onion

Some broccoli (stalk an' all)

Salt and pepper

Bit of veg/chicken stock

White wine

Rice

Butter

Grana Padano

In one pan, sautée your garlic and broccoli together in some oil (put the chopped stems in first and later the individual florets as they take less time). Then add a couple of cups of stock, season with salt and pepper and leave to simmer.

In another pan add a chopped onion to the oil and once it has started to become translucent, add the rice and toast it for a bit. Then gradually incorporate however much  wine you deem necessary ( mine was a Sicilian 'rapitala alcamo' which worked well but any will probably do), continuously stirring the rice for about 25 minutes until it reaches your preferred consistency.  I also used the broth from the broccoli pan for this part to add flavour. Then all you have to is add a knob of butter to the rice, a few tablespoons of grated Grana Padano and combine the ingredients of the two pans.  Serve with more grated Padano on top if you're mad for Italian cheese like me.

Yesterday's lunch recipe

Pork and Apple Cous Cous

Half a cup of cous cous

1 thick pork steak

I apple

One slop of extra virgin olive oil

3 plum tomatoes

Liberal amount of dried basil leaves

Salt and pepper as little or much as you like

While your cous cous is expanding in its hot water, pan fry the cubed pork steak in extra virgin olive oil. After is has browned a little, add the diced apple (I leave the skins on, they're nutritious and flavoursome) and continue until the meat is almost cooked through and the apples are softening but not dissolving. At the last minute add the finely chopped tomatoes so that they are not a nasty cold contrast with the rest of your dish but also hold their form and don't disappear into a sauce. Once this is done, take off the heat and mix in with your cous cous seasoning it as to wish with the basil, salt and pepper. If I had had any fresh parsley or perhaps even coriander I would have added a generous bunch of chopped leaves instead of my dried condiments  for an even better quick lunch but it is still good without these. 

Carnevale

I was hungry on arrival in Venezia and as one of my uglier characteristics, my friends were quick to take note of this and guide me through the masked throngs and straight to a bar. Piping hot prosciutto, courgette and spinach panino in hand, we headed for the banks of the Grand Canal. There we feasted on our various sandwiches, with briny wash threatening to smatter our shoes and a curious gull for entertainment.

Onwards for a while, stopping at stalls to compare the plumage of glittering masks and marvel at glass balloons, but the sweet scent of Venetian patisserie pervaded the streets and the lavishly-filled pastel windows continuously drew sighs of temptation. There were pyramids of cream-filled meringues in plain, pistachio and rose hues, gargantuan cocoa-coated truffles and lumpy torrone studded with glazed nuts or candied fruits. We decided to sample the more particular seasonal specialities of the city, such as the crumbly lemon and vanilla biscotti ‘del Doge’ and ‘Torta Veneziana’, an intense mixture of pistachio, sultanas and almonds.

After wandering further astray into the rabbit-warren of Venetian streets, we drifted towards Piazza San Marco which was bustling with costumed foreigners and locals alike, parading as if they were courting ostriches outside Florians. After having gawped enough, we left in pursuit of hot drinks and settled down in a cafe ordering various infusions, few of which were in stock. Having changed our orders, we were then presented with a selection of things that we hadn't ordered which (losing patience a little) we preceded to drink anyway (once we had reminded the waitress that usually one has water to go with ones teabag).

Not wanting to fall prey to any more mishaps, we moved on to a different place for dinner. This was an entirely different kettle of fish, and wanting to make the most of Venice’s lagoons, I naturally opted for seafood. Beautifully presented and with delicately balanced flavours and textures, my choice of 'gnochettini' with scallops and courgettes did not disappoint. We were also pleased to find our waiter there charmingly attentive to the extent that we were politely forbade the use of parmesan on our seafood (a crime I hadn't considered committing anyway, but obviously some people must!). Being in a gluttonous mood as I was, I plumped (literally) for a chocolate soufflé too which was deliciously unguent; otherworldly when compared to the muffin I was served in Piazza del Campo once, which was served complete with a strand of hair.

Inelegant, shop bought, microwaved, unhygienic muffin

Even more inelegant and deviously smothered replacement muffin 

A Perfect Souffle

Although the late night concerts in Piazza San Marco fell afoul of sleet and I was regretting not having been impulsive enough to buy the indigo and gold mask of pressed passion-flowers I had seen earlier, we continued to enjoy ourselves. I eventually bought another, not quite so unique but still gorgeous mask of silver and gold and slept clutching it all the way home to Siena where I fell into bed still wearing my dress at five in the morning.

Food Therapy

Having been thoroughly trampled upon by the Italian education system, I have naturally turned to eating and watching films to boost my morale for the past few days. My films of choice were ‘The Importance of being Earnest’ and ‘Eat Pray Love’, both of which are rather delicious. Ranging from the quintessentially English scenes in which Colin Firth and Rupert Everett argue over cucumber sandwiches and crumpets to the Italian ‘Eat’ section of Julia Robert’s journey where she is told on arrival by a wise old nonna that “all you American girls want is pasta and sausage!”, my appetite was whetted. So, to Conad I marched. I soothed my soul and bought beef steaks, pine nuts, chicken breasts, dark chocolate, amaretto, prosecco, almonds and vanilla pods.

The beef is a challenge of mine; I have yet to produce a simple but faultless steak, and despite my praise of fusion food I believe that the inability to perfect such a classic is quite a flaw in an aspiring cook. This universally loved dish is to be treated with respect yet also relied on as a failsafe option for dinner parties (unless you are entertaining vegetarians). It is the ‘little black dress’ of gastronomy. Thus my expectations are high, particularly having experienced nothing less than the tenderest of steaks from both my mother and father during my childhood and having sampled the king of all steaks here on my arrival in Italy, the Fiorentina. In search of soft ‘shouldn’t need a steak knife’ results; I employed the use of a marinade in my first attempt. The beef swam in a somewhat poorly conceived and unconventional concoction of yogurt, white wine vinegar and Vernaccia di san Gimignano all day, was stuffed with spinach and pine nuts, shown the frying pan briefly and then finished in a warm oven.  The result was satisfactory but not thrilling so no doubt there will be more entries to come on that subject.

The chicken was for a foreseen post-steak attempt -confidence-boosting dinner. And that it was for whilst the steak might be the LBD, a good chicken breast is like a well-fitting pair of jeans. I livened it up with a coating of orange zest and ginger, well salted and kept juicy in the oven with a slop of that never ending Vernaccia.  Even better however were the next few meals, made together at our house with recipes from everyone, for example, Caterina’s pineapple chicken with pilaf rice followed by a sumptuous Portuguese chocolate cake. We tend to  stay up late talking after these dinners drinking Senem’s Turkish coffee and she has since also introduced us to another wonderful Turkish hot drink, the  milky and sweet orchid root infusion called Salep.
Having then felt rather guilty about my lack of contribution to these dinners, I embarked on a baking spree which I intend to continue further. I made one batch of vanilla biscuits, one of orange. They weren’t the most successful ever as I burnt many of the first lot but they disappeared quickly enough nevertheless. This was also the first time that I had used vanilla seeds from the pod rather than essence and experienced the heightened intensity that this brings. It also gets all over your hands using this method, which I don’t mind at all. To dislike such a thing would be akin to disliking licking the leftover melted chocolate from the mixing bowl.  Such is the joy of baking.

Next I baked an Italian pudding called ‘torta dello Nonno’ which means ‘grandfather’s tart’. Now Grandfathers know quite a bit about puddings (such as just how much brandy should go into the Christmas pudding) so I trusted that this would be the right recipe to use for an erasmus farewell dinner I was going to that night.  Pastry infused with vanilla and orange zest, two hundred grams of dark chocolate for the ‘crema’ and a topping of toasted almonds dusted with icing sugar. It was easy and it was guilt-inducingly rich and therefore I can safely say that I will be making it again but perhaps not immediately. As shown in ‘Eat Pray Love’ too much of a good thing can make your jeans shrink and whilst I am with the likes of Julia Roberts’ character Liz and Nigella Lawson in thinking that enjoying good food is healthy, and enjoying making good food for myself and others makes me happy... the fact remains, new jeans are just too expensive in Italy.

*As for the amaretto and prosecco, I need not explain.


#'Eat Pray Love' by Elizabeth Gilbert, directed by Ryan Murphy, starring Julia Roberts
#'The Importance of being Earnest' by Oscar Wilde, directed by Oliver Parker, starring Colin Firth, Rupert Everett, Judi Dench and Reese Witherspoon
#'The Italian Cookery Course' by Katie Caldesi