Italian

When I roast a lamb shoulder, I like to set a big hunk of meat in the middle of the table, letting everyone tear off a chunk of it and eat it like a group of happy Neanderthals. Crespelle are basically Italian crepes, and here they are used like tortillas, providing a delicious wrapper for hunks of lamb and creating what is basically an Italian taco. You need to use a 10-inch skillet to make the right size crespelle, and if you have a nonstick one this recipe will be foolproof. If you don’t, brush or wipe the pan between crespelle with olive oil and you shouldn’t have any problems. It’s okay to make the crespelle ahead of time and leave them stacked and wrapped in a cloth.

A 3-pound T-bone makes a pretty fantastic, nearly Flintstonian presentation when you bring it to the table, marked from the grill. If you can, use your charcoal grill for this one—you’ve just spent a tidy sum on this gorgeous hunk of meat, why not give it the best flavor? Think of this as slow roasting—you’re not cooking a hamburger here. A 3-pound steak gives you about 2 pounds of meat, 1/2 pound per person if you’re feeding four. That’s a good bit of steak, but somehow I don’t think you’ll have leftovers. The creamy Controne bean is known as the “no-soak” bean because it lacks a hard skin. You could also use marrow or cannellini, both of which will require soaking, but try seeking out Controne beans in Italian markets.

In this pure celebration of spring, Middle Eastern spices add warmth and depth to tender goat, while the season’s first tender offerings—fresh chickpeas, slender spring onions, tart sorrel—make a fabulous accompaniment. Letting the sautéed vegetables cool before adding the sorrel allows it to keep its vibrant color, and it also makes this relaxed, do-ahead party food. Prepare the side while the goat rests and be prepared to covet the leftovers. Fresh chickpeas look like abbreviated little fava beans in the pod, and, like favas, they require a two-step shelling process to get to the little green gems inside. If you can find them, it’s worth every minute of preparation. Fresh chickpeas are sweet and tender, with only a hint of the nuttiness that marks their flavor when dried. The spices can be found in Middle Eastern markets or online.

The next time you feel like throwing a raging party for all your tripe-loving friends, this is the dish for you! If you’re making a face while reading this allow me to offer a cliché: don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Yes, even the best honeycomb tripe could be described as mild with an edge of musk. But all that means is that it needs a good, savory vehicle to deliver that fabulous texture straight to your mouth. Here, tomato sauce enhances the flavor, while beans provide a creamy textural counterpoint. I add mint, too, to give it some zing. This is a truly comforting dish that would be especially welcome on a cold fall or winter evening.

This riff on veal piccata is not a complicated dish, but it does have a few steps to it and requires some planning to allow the sweetbreads time to soak overnight. Poaching the sweetbreads in milk and aromatics before sautéing them ensures they’ll turn out sweet and meltingly tender. I prefer veal sweetbreads, though you can use lamb. Either one is usually sold in one-pound packs, with two large lobes per pack. If you don’t see them out on display—they’re usually not—ask the butcher if there are any in back, and make sure they are impeccably fresh. The delicate richness of the dish means that nothing more than boiled potatoes are needed as an accompaniment.

After a rugged weekend of deer hunting, this is the dish I celebrate with . . . okay, not really. I buy farmed venison, just as you will. The nice thing, other than not having to don your camo and risk getting ticks, is that farmed venison is less intense than wild deer meat, with a rich, sophisticated flavor that is perfectly accented with a simple agrodolce. Forget about beef tenderloin and serve this instead—I promise the luscious texture and wild essence will win you over. As with tenderloin, though, make sure you serve the venison rare.

Swiss chard, with fleshy stems that offer nice texture, has a milder flavor than other greens such as rapini or mustard. I highlight its sweetness with golden raisins and white wine, then add pine nuts for richness and some crunch. Be sure to dry the chard carefully before sautéing, because it gives off a lot of liquid.

I’m an ear man—if we’re talking pig. Crispy pig’s ears are gelatinous, cartilaginous, rich, chewy goodness that make an awfully lovely garnish for a fresh panzanella bursting with summer vegetables. You’ll want to allow about half an ear per person, which should amount to about a pound, depending on the pigs, of course. As with many of the best cuts of the pig, it takes a while to get ears into a perfect state for eating. You can boil them, but to get them perfectly tender and ready for frying, I like to poach them in oil first. You need to plan ahead—they take about six hours in a slow oven—but you could do that the day before, or even in the evening when it’s cooler out, then finish them off the day you’re going to serve them.

Puntarelle is also called Catalonian chicory, though I think of it as a truly Italian vegetable. It is in the chicory family, with thicker stalks tapering to serrated leaves that look a bit like those of a dandelion. The leaves have a little bite to them, with more of a fennel-endive thing going on in the stalks. It might take some searching to find it in the market—you could always try asking your market if they would order it—but it’s worth seeking out. In Rome, puntarelle is traditionally paired with strong flavors such as anchovy and garlic that can match the strong flavor of the vegetable, as I do here, along with an ice-water soak that takes off some of the edge. If you can’t find puntarelle, I suppose you could substitute frisée, but then you’re kind of missing the magic.

Cauliflower is another one of those vegetables that gets a bad rap. Yes, it’s in the cabbage family, and when the cauliflower is raw, the connection is easy to identify. Take a page from the Italians, then, who aren’t afraid of oil and know that giving some vegetables a dip in the fryer brings out their best characteristics. In this case, the cauliflower turns sweet and silken; add in some smoky shreds of ham hock and, well, you’ll be begging to eat cauliflower more often. Ask your butcher to split the ham hock for you; they have big saws for that very purpose. And don’t you dare throw away the liquid left over from boiling the ham hock. One bonus of this recipe is a soup waiting to happen.

This is a very grown-up salad and my idea of a fantastic lunch. It also happens to be a great way to use loins left over when you’ve braised or stewed the richer, darker pieces of your rabbit. Like pork tenderloin or filet mignon, rabbit loin can’t take that sort of cooking. Give it a quick sear instead, and toss it with crisp pancetta and frisée in a Chianti vinaigrette. You’ll find yourself making rabbit more often just to end up with spare loins.

Cannelloni, you say? Isn’t that the type of old-school Italian food you order at places with red-and-white checked tablecloths and candles stuck into Chianti bottles? Well, yes, and no. For this dish, you first braise some succulent pork cheeks until they shred when you look at them. Then you create a rich, savory broth that you use to moisten the pork, and accent it with sweet cicely, an herb with an aniselike flavor. Roll it in silken squares of pasta and coat with Parmigiano-Reggiano and cream. Sometimes old school is worth resurrecting.

I wouldn’t hazard a guess as to the romantic preferences of clams. What I do know is that this dish works equally well served as a substantial soup or as a brothy pasta, depending on your own desires. I use jumbo clams in this dish because they have a more pronounced flavor. They are a bit chewier, but I think the improved flavor is worth a small sacrifice in terms of texture. For the pasta, this is where you get to have some fun. Use a ridged pastry wheel if you want your squares to be extra elegant, or haul out a sharp knife if you want basic squares. Either way, they’ll taste delicious.

You know that friend who calls himself a “foodie,” who isn’t impressed with anything you make, because, yawn, he’s made it before and then took it molecular? Make him eat his words with ravioli stuffed with tender chard, rich ricotta, and—this is the magic part—a duck egg that stays intact until the ravioli is cut, releasing a luscious river of yolk. These are big and rich; two per person is plenty.

If you were Venetian, and therefore Catholic, and were forbidden to eat meat on Fridays, you might choose instead a delicious whole wheat pasta tossed with rich sardines and fennel for your supper. Aren’t you lucky, then, that even if you are a Swedish Lutheran, you can happily take part in this lovely ritual? Bigoli is yummy fresh, but it can also be found dried in Italian markets. Although you could substitute other types of pasta, the depth of flavor of the whole wheat really holds up to the intensity of the fish.

This may be one of the simplest recipes in this entire book, but it’s absolutely addictive, with the marinated pecorino offering a tangy creaminess that coats the silky noodles just so. Don’t be tempted to jazz this up with anything extra—it’s the comforting straightforwardness of the dish that makes it so good. Trying to make it fancy will ruin the magic.

Trofie, also called trofiette, is a Ligurian pasta made with just flour and water—no eggs. The squiggly little twists make a particularly good vehicle for pesto because it nestles into all those little crevices. The Nettle Pesto is lighter and less herbaceous than traditional basil pesto, making this an easy first course.

Creamy, rich sea urchin roe—better known by sushi lovers as “uni”—makes one of the most extraordinary sauces for pasta that I know, exotic Italian comfort food. We serve different versions in the restaurants, but this is my favorite because it keeps the roe intact. The heat of the pasta “cooks” the roe and each sac is broken only by your fork, allowing you to control the richness of each bite. If you do not have access to live sea urchin, make sure the roe you buy is brightly colored and smells like the sea. For the very best flavor and texture, seek out small-production, artisanal pasta, available in Italian import shops and food stores.