Italian

We exclusively use Umbrian lentils in our restaurants, which are smaller than common brown lentils and are various shades of brown to green. Castelluccio, the town where the lentils come from, is a two-and-a-half-hour, winding, hilly drive over the Apennine Mountains from my house. Once you get there, you don’t feel like you’re in Umbria—or Italy—at all. There are no sunflowers. No rolling green hills. The landscape is crater-like, with fields and fields of flowering lentils. It feels more like you’re on the moon, or in Oz. When I visited with a group of friends, we ate lunch at the one trattoria in town. Of course they offered lentils, and I was surprised to find them cooked in a much heartier way than I had ever seen lentils prepared before, almost like a stew or a ragù, with pork sausage, another delicacy of that region. This is Matt’s rendition of the lentils we had that day.

I order octopus every time I go to Babbo and have done so since long before I partnered with Mario and Joe, so when Mozza came about I knew I wanted to include an octopus dish on the Osteria menu. Most people’s experience of octopus is eating it raw at sushi bars, and we all know how chewy it can be, but, like Mario’s version at Babbo that I love so much, ours is tender and not at all rubbery. That tenderness doesn’t come without considerable effort, but as much effort as it is, the finished dish is certainly worth it. It’s our most popular non-mozzarella antipasto. In Italy people do all kinds of things to tenderize fresh octopus. They pound it with a meat pounder, they hit it with hammers, they throw it against rocks. Matt’s solution is to start with frozen octopus; freezing helps break down the octopus’s flesh the same way that pounding it does. He then sears the octopus, poaches it in olive oil, marinates it, and, lastly, chars it in a wood-fired grill. The wine cork in the recipe is something we do on Mario’s orders. He claims that in Italy they say the wine cork tenderizes the octopus. I think it must be an old wives’ tale, but it doesn’t hurt to throw it in there, so we do. Note: This recipe requires a huge sacrifice of oil. You can keep the oil and reuse it once to make the octopus again within a week.

The summer before we opened Mozza, Matt came to stay with me at my house in Italy. We went to a luncheon at the Tuscan winery Arnaldo Caprai, where we were served rosemary-scented potatoes that inspired these. Smashing the potatoes gives them more surface area, which means more crispy bits—my favorite part.

The perfect example of how good a few simple ingredients, combined and prepared correctly, can be. When we can get it, our preferred variety for this is radicchio di Treviso, which has an oblong head. The roasted heads look so pretty lined up on a platter that they make the perfect addition to an outdoor meal served family or buffet style. As always, the quality of the balsamico you use is essential to the quality of the finished dish.

After we signed our lease, Mario took a critical look at the Pizzeria, and the first thing he said was “There’s no kitchen!” For a second I panicked, until he added, “It’s perfect! Everything you make in the Pizzeria should come out of the pizza oven.” With few exceptions, we have stayed true to that rule. We are always looking for creative, unexpected ways to use the oven, and these mussels, served with Salsa Calabrese, a red pepper–spiked mayonnaise, is a perfect example. The salsa recipe makes more than you will need for the mussels. Serve the rest on the side, and use what you have left on a sandwich or as a condiment for grilled fish, chicken, or meat.

Cipolline are small, flat, sweet Italian onions. This agrodolce preparation of cipolline is one of the staples of my Umbrian tavola, and the most popular contorno at the Osteria, I think in part because onions go with so many main dishes, and they are also easy to share. My dad orders them every time he comes to the restaurant. I think he could make a meal of nothing but these onions followed by a perfectly pulled espresso. In the summer when I can find them, I use long, red torpedo onions in place of cipolline.

When I was building the Pizzeria menu, I wanted it to be a true Italian pizzeria experience with a nod to the Italian-American pizzerias that I grew up eating in. With those American pizzerias in mind, I felt that we had to offer meatballs. What I really wanted to serve was a meatball sandwich, but as strongly as I argued for it, Matt argued against it. He softened over time and finally, two years after the Pizzeria opened, I got my meatballs—not as a sandwich, but as an antipasto: a bowl of meatballs served with buttered semolina toast on the side. Today they are the most popular antipasto in the restaurant.

Before we opened either restaurant, Dahlia and I scoured our favorite Italian cookbooks to get ideas for desserts we might want to offer. The one that seemed to be in every book was budino, or pudding. We decided to serve butterscotch pudding because we both love American butterscotch pudding. It immediately became our signature dessert in the Pizzeria. And it still is the most talked about, written about, dreamed about, and ordered dessert we offer—at either restaurant. Two things to keep in mind for the success of the pudding are, first, that you heat the sugar in a heavy-bottomed saucepan so you can cook it sufficiently without it burning. But the real “secret,” which our intrepid recipe tester Lyn Root taught us, is that if the smoke alarm in your house doesn’t go off while you’re cooking the sugar, chances are you haven’t cooked the caramel long enough. We serve these in glasses, such as highball glasses, which look really pretty because you can see the different layers of ingredients. It’s also convenient in that you probably have plenty of such glasses at home. You will need twelve heat-resistant 8-ounce glasses or 7-ounce ramekins to make this.

Italians famously eat a lot of beans, so including shell beans on our menu was an obvious choice. Shell beans are so delicious and can be prepared in such a variety of ways, and yet you don’t normally see them at conventional grocery stores. Looking for shell beans is a good excuse to visit your local farmers’ market, which is where we find them in Los Angeles in the late summer and early fall. We use a mix of four types of shell beans—borlotti beans, cannellini beans, lima beans, and flageolet—because we like the range of sizes, colors, and flavors of the various beans. Properly cooking beans is about 90 percent of the battle, which is why we cook each type of bean separately; to spare yourself the effort, use fewer varieties of beans. If you don’t have access to shell beans, or when shell beans are not in season, you could make this using dried beans. Refer to Ceci (page 96) for instructions. The recipe for the bouquet is for each pot of beans. You will need to make the same number as types of beans you are making.

The first place I was served fava bean pods, as opposed to shelled beans, was at Zuni Café in San Francisco. When they came to the table, I thought it was such an interesting idea, and when I tasted them I found them delicious. When you serve them this way, you want to use only tender, young, small pods, as larger pods will be tough and fibrous. If you can’t get young fave, use jumbo asparagus instead. In either case, this is a spring dish.

Caponata, a traditional Sicilian eggplant preparation, is the perfect example of agrodolce, the Italian word for combining sweet and sour flavors in savory dishes. When people order this antipasto at the Pizzeria, we suggest they also get an order of Fett’Unta (page 65) to absorb the delicious flavors of the caponata. Caponata is an ideal dish to serve at a party, because you can prepare it in advance and serve it at room temperature.

In Italy you see “coniglio,” or rabbit, offered in even the humblest trattoria or osteria, and I can almost never resist ordering it. The flavor of rabbit meat is so subtle that my favorite preparations are those that really coax the flavor out, such as this one. We braise the legs in white wine and serve them with a rabbit and pancetta sausage. When you buy rabbit, ask your butcher to separate the legs from the body of the animal, to fillet the saddles, and to reserve the carcass. And if you don’t have a meat grinder, ask your butcher to grind the loin and belly meat for the sausage as well. We got the method for curing the rabbits from the Zuni Café Cookbook, a constant, inspiring resource for us. While nothing in this recipe is difficult, I won’t lie to you: it is time consuming. But when it’s all done and you serve and bite into the finished dish, I think you’ll find it was worth it. If you want to spare yourself a little effort, skip the step of making the rabbit stock and use chicken stock in its place.

This mountain of arugula is layered with thinly sliced mushrooms and long thin shards of Piave, a hard cheese similar to but sweeter than Parmigiano—and much less expensive. It’s important to use fresh, firm mushrooms; look for those with closed caps and no blemishes. If you can’t find Piave, Parmigiano is a fine substitute.

Torta della Nonna, or “grandmother’s tart,” is traditionally a two-crusted tart filled with pastry cream that is seen in almost every trattoria in Italy. Dahlia and I knew we wanted to include a version, but luckily, the name gave us a lot of room to be creative. As long as it was reminiscent of something a grandmother would make—meaning homey, simple, and comforting, like this cheesecake version that Dahlia created—I felt we could call it Torta della Nonna. Honey is an obvious pairing with cheese in Italy, so we serve this dessert with three different types of honey on the side: a sweet, delicate, floral honey, such as wildflower honey; a bitter honey (also referred to as savory honey), such as buckwheat or chestnut honey; and honey in the comb. The crust that we use for this torta, Pasta Frolla, is a typical Italian pastry dough used in many classic Italian desserts. In keeping with the Italian spirit, I make it with Italian leavening. You will need an 11-inch flan ring (a straight-sided, bottomless tart ring) for the tart and one that is slightly smaller (we use an 8-inch ring) to cut a circle for the top crust.

The red, green, and white tricolore salad, traditionally composed of radicchio, frisée, and endive, is just one of the many ways that Italians celebrate their flag. I like tricolore salads, but this version, which is tossed in an anchovy-enhanced dressing with lots of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, was my way of sneaking the flavors of a Caesar salad onto the Pizzeria menu without calling it a Caesar. In the rare instance that a Caesar salad is done well, it is one of my favorite salads, but Caesar salad is such a cliché on Italian-American menus—and it’s not even Italian; it was invented in Tijuana—I could never have put it on my menu as such.

These days it’s almost old-fashioned to cook your own beans, even for restaurants. While canned are surprisingly good (I included many canned beans in recipes in my last book, A Twist of the Wrist), homemade beans are so much better. The key to good dried beans is to cook them long enough so that they become creamy. Many restaurants undercook their beans, and frankly I would rather have canned beans than beans that are dry and chalky.

This is a simple, straightforward secondo whose flavor is 100 percent dependent on the quality of the pork you use. We use pork from heritage pigs, such as Berkshire and Red Wattle, which are the most moist and more flavorful than the pork you find at a conventional grocery store. Berkshire, also known as Kurobuta pork, is the variety most available to the consumer. You can get such pork at some butchers, at high-end grocery stores, and also by mail order from online sources. I guarantee you will find the difference in flavor worth the effort it takes to get it.

We use this seasoning mix for the Pan-roasted Pork Chops with Olives and Sambuca-braised Fennel (page 241) and the Pork Ribs with Fennel and Apple Cider Vinegar (facing page). It will keep for months, so if you like pork with fennel, make double (or more) of this recipe.

We put so much dried oregano in this vinaigrette that you might think it’s a typo. It’s not. Because the oregano is so prominent, look for sources such as Penzeys that specialize in dried herbs.

Whoever named sweetbreads had an ingenious idea—to give such a nice-sounding name to a part of the animal, the thymus gland, that doesn’t sound all that appetizing. I’ve found that despite the clever name, otherwise open-minded eaters are often squeamish when it comes to eating sweetbreads—a shame, since they can be out of this world. These are seared so they have a crisp exterior and creamy interior. Sweetbreads and artichokes are a pretty typical Italian pairing, and one that I love. While this isn’t a difficult dish to make, it does require several steps, so plan ahead.