Italian

In Padova, Treviso, and Venice (and elsewhere in Italy), sugar-dusted mounds of these fried cookies are served at weddings and holiday celebrations. They’re essential at pre-Lenten festivities. In the Veneto, it just wouldn’t be Carnevale without lots of crostoli! At our house, these are a favorite treat all year around. The dough is easy to mix in the food processor, and it’s fun for the whole family to make little ribbons and tie them in a knot. Make the cookies a few days in advance if you prefer, and powder with sugar just before serving.

Sabbiosa means “sandy,” and that’s a good description of this delightful cake. At first bite it seems dry, but then it melts in your mouth, and you will love its golden hue as well. The cake can be enjoyed plain, simply dusted with confectioners’ sugar, or doused with amaretto or limoncello and a topping of cream and/or fruit and berries. Serve it warm right from the oven; freeze it to pull out when unexpected guests drop in—or (as I do) have a piece for breakfast with cappuccino. All in all, this is a recipe you need to try.

Fregola means “crumb,” and fregolotta means “one big crumb:” for this delightful treat, you make and bake lots of little crumbs into two round cookie crumbles. This is an ideal cake/cookie: it keeps for days in a tin, and is delightful after dinner with some ice cream or whipped cream. It is the quintessential cookie to have with your espresso to finish a true Italian meal.

Decades after the fateful bite that I took of the peach when I was in Padova at the age of twelve, I still think there is nothing more sensuous than biting into a perfectly ripe peach. When the same peach is baked, though, it takes on an additional element of complexity in flavor. Bake the peaches on an amaretto crust, with a hint of chocolate, and you have a delectable Italian flavor harmony.

I love dishes made from preserved codfish, and in the Veneto they make marvelous use of cod preserved by different methods. Baccalà is codfish that has been salted, and this is made into baccalà alla trevigiana, which I share with you here. Then there is stoccafisso, codfish that has been air-dried and that is used for baccalà manteccato, whipped with olive oil and garlic. Today salted cod—baccalà—is available in many supermarkets, and your fishmonger should carry it. It comes in boneless sides, and it is best to get center cuts, which are meatier and less salty. In any case, thorough soaking, as detailed in the recipe, is vital to the success of the dish. In Treviso, baccalà alla trevigiana is always served with Baked Polenta (page 111), and the combination of flavors and textures is so delicious I never break tradition. Do the preliminary cooking of the polenta the day before you cook the baccalà, and you can finish both in the oven at the same time.

Radicchio trevisano will yield the best risotto with the most authentic Italian flavor, but this recipe will be very good with radicchio grown in the United States, either the small round heads, or heads with long wide leaves. Endive, a distant cousin of the radicchio, will also make a good risotto.

Although it is great in a salad—sweet and bitter at the same time—in the cold winter months radicchio trevisano is better cooked, and has a more resilient texture. Traditionally paired with speck—boneless, smoked prosciutto—radicchio makes a great risotto (see page 115) and a great sauce for pasta. In those dishes, the radicchio serves a secondary role as a distinctive flavoring, but when baked this way, it is the main protagonist. I enjoy baked radicchio by the mouthful, savoring its taste and texture, sweet, bitter, and crunchy. The best variety for baking is the long thin radicchio trevisano or spadone (as shown in the photos), but the small round heads most often found in the supermarket or the kind with long but wide leaves (resembling purple romaine lettuce) are also delicious baked this way. Serve as an antipasto or a vegetable course, over soft or baked polenta.

Thick and chewy, with the nuttiness of whole wheat, bigoli is the signature pasta of the Veneto. At Ristorante Celeste in Venegazzu, outside of Treviso, Giuliano Tonon taught me how to extrude fresh dough into strands with a torchio, the traditional hand press. But bigoli is not only a restaurant treat—most home cooks in the region have a torchio in the kitchen and make bigoli every week! Happily, this pleasure is now available to Americans since I have found a genuine torchio for sale on the Internet (see Sources, page 340). Bigoli can also be made with an electric pasta-extruder or a meat grinder. The two traditional sauces on the following pages are packed with flavor. With homemade bigoli, they each make a big, gutsy pasta, very worth the effort and very Venetian. (And if you can’t make your own bigoli, whole wheat spaghetti will be delicious with either sauce.)

This soup is common in all of the regions hugging the Adriatic, where fish trimmings of one sort or another are always available to cook into a light, flavorful broth. We had it often when we lived in Istria, whenever someone in the family was not feeling well, for its supposed restorative powers. And although children sometimes disdain “fishy”-tasting food, I recall vividly savoring this broth, which had the taste of the sea but was sweet and elegant too. In those days, we would take the fish heads and tails out of the soup pot and pluck the hidden morsels of whitefish meat off the bones. In the version that follows, you’ll strain the bones out of the broth and briefly cook some meaty (but boneless) trimmings just before serving the soup.

Everyone makes this classic soup a little differently, according to preference. I like my risi e bisi rather brothy, but others make theirs quite dense. This is controlled by the intensity of the boil, whether the pot is kept open or covered, and cooking time, all of which determine the rate of evaporation. (I cook my soup covered, at a slow boil.) Either long-or short-grain rice can be used here. Traditionally, the soup was made with short-grain Carnaroli or Arborio rice, and I still think this gives the most authentic flavor and texture. It cooks faster too, but if you need to cook the soup longer or reheat it, the rice tends to dissolve. Long-grain rice, on the other hand, stays more intact in a long-cooking or reheated soup. But as it does not release starch like short-grain rices, the soup will be thinner.

Apples grow well in the Carnic mountains, in the northern part of Friuli, and are used in many desserts. This delicious double-crusted tart reflects the deep-rooted frugality of cooks in this tough mountainous terrain. The crust is made with bread crumbs taken from stale bread, probably because of the scarcity of white flour and the time it takes to make a refined pastry dough. But the results, in the Carnic spirit, are delicious.

Turnips play an important role in Friulian cuisine, especially in the form called brovada—turnips that have fermented for several months, as a way to preserve them and to develop a pronounced and appetizing acidity. Brovada is incorporated in many dishes, grated and braised with sausages and other meats, in soups, or just as a tangy and healthful vegetable. This recipe, using fresh turnips, produces a side dish in the same vein as brovada, with distinctive acidity, well suited to accompany all sorts of cured and fresh meats. It is full of typical Friulian flavors, but you do not have to wait months for the turnip to ferment!

Here is another delicious example of the enduring influence in Friuli of the spice trade that flourished during the Serenissima, the centuries-long epoch of the Venetian Republic. As you will find in this chapter, cinnamon dresses potato gnocchi, page 80, and lends depth to roasted lamb shoulder and its sauce, page 87. And in this recipe, ground cloves and cinnamon are the crowning seasonings for thin cutlets of beef, rolled and sautéed, so the spicy fragrance perfumes your whole kitchen. As a spring or summer dinner, I love these quick and delightful braciole with a tossed cotta e cruda salad, page 297. And they are good anytime with the Crispy Swiss Chard Cakes, page 78. On a cold day, though, serve them with a warming bowl of polenta for a delicious and typically Friulian meal.

In Friuli and neighboring regions, cooking pork and cabbage together in the same pot has been the habit for centuries. Sometimes the cabbage is in the form of sauerkraut (for example, Istrian cappucci guarniti, page 27), and sometimes it is fresh Savoy cabbage. This recipe is a quick and delicious rendition of this one-pot tradition in which the meat and its juices are used to flavor and cook the cabbage. Here the chops are browned in the skillet, leaving caramelization and pan juices that permeate the cabbage as it cooks alone, until the ingredients are united for a few minutes at the end. Together, they make a harmonious and satisfying meal—but if you have a hungry bunch, serve some grilled polenta alongside.

Risotto with spinach is delightful, but it is only one of the many risottos made in springtime in Friuli. At the end of winter, the cuisine in Friuli is driven by the wild herbs that people pick or buy from the foragers who come to the markets. These flavorful, healthful greens are cooked in risottos, soups, pasta fillings, and frittatas. This recipe shows the basic technique that is used in Friuli to make risotto with common, delicious plants such as nettles (ortiche), wild asparagus (asparagina), and the popular herb sclopit (Silene vulgaris—maiden’s tears). So, if you happen to come by some of these greens, cook them in place of spinach.

Gnocchi in Friuli are made with the same potato-and-flour dough as the round, ridged gnocchi made elsewhere in Italy, the kind we are most familiar with. But Friuli-style gnocchi have a couple of tempting distinctions. First, you’ll find that their shape is different—they are smooth, slender cylinders that are actually faster and easier to form than round gnocchi. This shape gives you an option in finishing the gnocchi: you can boil, drain, and dress them just as they come out of the cooking pot, or, after they’re boiled and drained, you can gently fry them in butter until golden and crisp on the outside—and then dress them—having gained another layer of flavor and texture. Second—and unique to gnocchi and other pastas in Friuli—is the dressing of melted butter, sugar, cinnamon, and smoked dried ricotta. This melding of sweet, salty, spicy, and smoky may seem exotic at first but will quickly captivate you. Milk products like ricotta are frequently preserved by smoking in Friuli, and smoked ricotta (drier than fresh) is a common household product. It is available here now, but if you can’t find it, use ricotta salata as a good alternative (see Sources, page 340). And if you have a smoker, you can coldsmoke the ricotta salata, for a flavor closer to what is enjoyed in Friuli. You can dress gnocchi friulani with other sauces—basil pesto, tomato—or serve with another regional dish like Beef Goulash, page 58.

These cheese-encrusted rounds of cooked chard, similar to frico, are from Carnia, a district of quaint cities and towns scattered along the Carnic Alps. The milk from the cows grazing on its high-altitude pastures makes some of the best Montasio in all of Friuli. I like to serve these unusual and irresistible cakes as a highlight of lunch or brunch, topped with a poached egg, or in between slices of country bread, as a delectable vegetarian “cheeseburger.” They’re a marvelous accompaniment to grilled meats, or, cut into small wedges, a great party nibble.