Italian

This is a poor man’s simple recipe, a warm filler for cold winter days in Friuli. I use spinach, but any available green vegetable would have been used, and would be good. Cornmeal lovers will appreciate this; it has all the comforts of porridge, filled with the flavors of Friuli.

Strudel seems like a complex dessert, but once you have a feeling for the dough and its elasticity, all else is elementary. I recall my grandma saying that for the strudel to be good you need to be able to read the newspaper through the stretched dough, so rolling and stretching it as thin as you can is the key to a special strudel. Keep one idea in mind: do not be afraid to handle the dough, lift it up on the back of your hands, curl your fingers into a fist, and stretch the dough with your knuckles. It will yield and stretch without tearing. Or grasp one edge and lift the sheet above the work surface and let it hang free—just the force of gravity will make it stretch. Or, if you have someone to help you, pull the dough from opposite sides—it will stretch that way too. Don’t worry if the edges remain a bit thicker: you can cut those off with a pizza cutter before filling the strudel. This is a large strudel; it can be served for a couple of days. Baked strudel freezes well, so leftover pieces can be wrapped securely and frozen for a couple of months. Defrost when needed, and reheat before serving.

Sacher torte is known around the world as a specialty of Vienna (at the Hotel Sacher) but is commonly found in pastry shops and in home kitchens of Trieste. It is sure to delight the chocolate lovers in your household. It will keep well for a few days in a cookie tin without refrigeration, but for longer storing time do refrigerate. You can also bake and freeze the cake layers in advance. Defrost and assemble and glaze the torte before serving.

This quick rendition of breaded cutlets with a lively relish will be a favorite at your house, I am sure. For a special brunch, top a cutlet with a fried or poached egg.

Paprika is found nowhere in Italian cuisine except in the cooking of Trieste and its surroundings. Though the years of domination by the Austro-Hungarian monarchs were resented by the Italian-speaking Triestines, their descendants have not given up the city’s traditional adaptations of Hungarian dishes like this goulash. Serve Middle European style with potatoes (boiled or mashed); Italian style with polenta or fettuccine; or with steamed rice.

Crusty fried potatoes are as popular in northeastern Italy as they are in the United States. This Trieste version is as delicious as any I have ever tasted. You will get best results using a nonstick or cast-iron pan, browning and turning the potatoes over and over, so the caramelization is dispersed throughout. Use the timing here as a guideline, but follow your own tastes to create just the degree of crustiness you love.

Gnocchi made with gries (farina) were a favorite of mine as a child—perhaps because they were often cooked for holiday dinners. And I have especially fond memories of the gnocchi di gries made by my great-aunt Nina while we lived with her in Trieste, before we left for the United States. And though Zia Nina is gone, here is the way my mother, Erminia Matticchio, prepares them for our family today. The little gnocchetti are delicious and simple to make. Because they cook in broth, and take on the flavor, homemade broth is always best, and together they make a festive and satisfying soup course. The gnocchi are a favorite soup garnish for children, and a good dish for infants starting to eat solid food. To make a larger amount of gnocchetti, simply multiply the recipe. They keep well, so you can make a big batch, drain them after cooking, and pack in ziplock freezer bags; refrigerate or freeze. Reheat in boiling broth (if frozen, defrost them first).

Sweet gnocchi are among my favorite childhood food memories. These were never dessert but a main course for the children: if the adults were to have gnocchi with venison guazzetto or other game sauce, some of the dough would be specially prepared just for us kids, stuffed with prunes or marmalade (or both) in winter, or with fresh ripe plums in late summer. I loved them all and remember that if we had three or four we were full until the next meal. I make these prune and plum-jam gnocchi for my grandchildren today, but now the adults want them too. And though I still consider them a main dish, on occasion I do serve them for dessert. They also make a wonderful accompaniment to roast duck or goose—and a lovely breakfast! To make sure these have a sweet, crunchy crumb coating, drop the cooked gnocchi into the bread-crumb mixture while they are still wet from the cooking pot. If you let them dry, the crumb topping will have difficulty adhering.

Offelle are just like ravioli, but what encloses the filling is potato dough rather than pasta dough, which lends a special soft texture. Here’s how I coordinate the elements of this recipe so everything comes together perfectly. First I cook and rice the potatoes for the dough (as in the preceding recipe). While they’re cooling, I make the sausage-spinach filling and let it cool. Then I mix the dough, roll it out, and stuff it to form plump offelle.

Use this versatile dough to make small gnocchi with the familiar ridged shape, or in the following recipes for stuffed offelle and prune gnocchi. This same dough can also be formed into long gnocchi, page 80, cooked and dressed Friuli style with brown butter, smoked ricotta, cinnamon, and sugar. With all dishes using potato dough, keep several time factors in mind to get the best results. First, allow the cooked potatoes to air-dry thoroughly before you mix the dough—2 hours or even longer if possible. The drier the potatoes, the lighter the dough will be when cooked. Second, because potato dough is best when freshly mixed and cannot sit around, plan to shape the dough into gnocchi and cook them right away (or freeze them). If you are making stuffed gnocchi or offelle, have your filling ingredients ready when you mix the dough.

Fried fish steeped in saor, a tangy marinade of onions and vinegar, is enjoyed in all the regions around the northern Adriatic, in the Veneto, Friuli, and Istria. Many fish are suitable for this preparation, including mackerel, monkfish, young trout, even fillet of sole, but I especially love fresh sardines. When I was young and we had fried sardines for dinner, the leftover fried fish went into a crock of saor. It would keep for days and become even more delicious. With this recipe, you can assemble the dish and serve the sardines a few hours later. But if you let them marinate (in the refrigerator) for 1, 2, or even 3 days, the results will be worth the wait.

This is one of those recipes that I am sure you will cook again and again. It takes just minutes, and when you set the mussels on the table, steaming and aromatic, they beckon the whole brood. Give everyone a warm soup bowl, put a ladle in the pan to scoop out the shellfish and luscious sauce, and set a basket of grilled country bread in the middle. Nothing could be better.

In Trieste, every home and every trattoria has a pot of this hearty soup perking on the stove, especially during the winter months, when the bora, a cold north-easterly wind, blows down from the Carso mountains above the city. Bean soups with pasta (pasta e fagioli) or rice are popular here too, as in other parts of Italy, but the combination of beans and sauerkraut is the favorite by far—a perfect example of the Slavic influence on the culinary culture of Trieste.

A cold-weather tradition I remember fondly took place around the fogoler, or open hearth, of my maternal grandparents’ home. When neighbors would stop by to visit, everybody would gather around the crackling fire and talk. My grandparents would serve zuppa istriana, hearty spiced wine, to satisfy and warm their guests. My grandmother would roast some quince in the hearth, and have a pan of wine nestled in the coals, perking away. Then she would combine the two and pour the soup into a boccaletta, a ceramic pitcher. The pitcher was then passed around the hearth, and everybody would fish out a piece of quince with a fork (or sometimes with a thin sharp twig), take a good sip from the pitcher, and pass it on. The ceramic boccaletta was always considered a hospitable vessel, since no one could see how much one drank from it. Today I prepare zuppa istriana when the snow begins to pile up outside and I want to have something warm and comforting to welcome my friends and family in from the cold.

Every culture has its pancakes, and Istria has palacinke. Though they are no different from crespelle or crêpes, palacinke is the name I first learned for the delicious thin pancakes my mother would whip up for us for dinner. As a child, I loved them any way she served them, often with only a sprinkle of sugar or a bit of home-preserved fruits, like rose-hip jam, apricot marmalade, or prune butter. Sometimes palacinke were more elaborate: filled with ricotta and baked or layered like a cake with different fillings in between. But the most luxurious—and always our favorite—were palacinke spread with melted chocolate. That’s the version I share with you here, but I also encourage you to enjoy these homey treats any way you like. Today my mother still makes palacinke, but now it is her great-grandchildren who wait in line for the next one to come out of the pan so they can spread jam on top, roll them up, and devour them, still warm.

Roast goose is a festive dish throughout all of northern Italy, but the Istrian tradition of serving goose with mlinzi reflects the culinary customs of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. And though roast goose by itself is utterly delicious, to have a forkful of mlinzi at the same time, drenched with sauce, is absolute bliss. Mlinzi are a simple form of homemade pasta, with an unusual distinction. After the fresh dough is rolled into thin sheets, it is baked in a low oven until crisp and toasted gold. The stiff sheets are later cracked into jagged shards and cooked like ordinary pasta. As a result, mlinzi are more porous and seem to drink up their dressing—in this dish, the richly flavored sauce made from the goose’s roasting juices. The baking also imparts a lovely nutty flavor to the pasta, which complements the dark meat deliciously. That’s why roast goose and mlinzi are a match made in heaven. This is a large, festive meal and does require considerable time and attention. It is best done in stages, the mlinzi prepared and baked a couple of days in advance (see page 20) so you can focus on roasting the goose and making the sauce.

At every major holiday or event in Istria—no matter what else—there must be a pot of sauerkraut with big cuts of cured and fresh pork buried inside. This dish belongs in the category of treasured one-pot meals, filled with flavor, that can feed a crowd yet require little attention from the cook. It is enjoyed for days—even better reheated—and if there are any leftovers, they are turned into jota, page 42. It is essential that cured meats be of the best quality, so visit a real Eastern European–style butcher if you can. Good sauerkraut is also essential. If you can’t find genuine fresh sauerkraut, sold in bulk, I recommend buying bagged sauerkraut, in the refrigerator cases of most supermarkets, rather than canned.

Brodetto means cooked in a soupy medium, and so it is in this recipe: different fish cooked together with aromatics to form a unified, delicious dish. The more varieties of fish in the brodetto, the more complex the flavor will be. Traditionally in Istria, brodetto was made with the pick of the catch. But in many a fisherman’s household, such fish was sold, and his family ate what he didn’t sell, a mix of the smaller fish, which were all harmonized by the brodetto cooking method. I remember many brodetti of my childhood in which there were only small fish. I wasn’t even ten years old, but already my mouth was well attuned, and I would screen with efficiency all the small fish bones—a skill that is still with me. This dish can be made several hours in advance and reheated, very gently. Set the meaty fish on a platter and keep warm, and use the sauce and remaining bits of fish to dress the pasta (or polenta). I like to let everyone help themselves to fish from the platter. And since the crab should be eaten with the hands, provide an empty bowl for the shells and bones—and plenty of towels!