Italian

Everybody loves meatballs. I think meatballs are an example of Americana and they belong on the American table. This is a great and simple recipe. It calls for three types of meat, but a combination of any two—or even a single meat—will work as well. The recipe makes four dozen meatballs, but you can cut it in half and it will work just as well. The sauce and meatballs freeze well, but are best frozen in smaller quantities (1/2 pint, or six to eight meatballs and sauce) so that they reconstitute quickly.

I had this dish at Roberto’s on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. The smokiness of the provola is the defining element that graces the dish.

This chicken dish is a signature Italian dish from Chicago. Just about every Italian restaurant in Chicago has some rendition of it. Traditionally made on Sundays, it is a whole chicken cut up in pieces with potatoes, peppers, peas, and lots of garlic and oregano. We have a similar chicken dish in our family, Grandma’s “chicken and potatoes.” At our house, it is everybody’s favorite, and we do make it on most Sundays.

There was a time when calamari was not much consumed in America and it was considered a cheap fish. But Italians love calamari, and it became the fish of choice of the Italian immigrants. You can find calamari today as a delicacy in contemporary restaurants of every ethnicity. Spicy calamari with linguine is a trademark of Italian American restaurants all over America.

Broccoli rabe grew wild in Italy, especially in southern Italy; in places like Puglia, Calabria, Basilicata, and Sicily it was abundant and free for the picking, and thus used especially to dress pasta dishes. Orecchiette, a pasta that has an indentation from being dragged with the finger on a board, was the pasta of choice. All of these regions are on the sea, and mussels were cheap and abundant as well. So it would seem natural that the three ingredients come together to make this wonderful dish. Now broccoli rabe is abundant in the United States, thanks to Andy Boy vegetable growers in California. This recipe is a delightful combination.

Ralph’s claims to be the oldest Italian restaurant in Philadelphia, and it is still run by the original family. It was opened in 1900 by Francesco and Catherine Dispigno, emigrants from Naples, who named the restaurant after their son Ralph. A host of celebrities have eaten at Ralph’s, and while we were eating there, a nearby couple told us they travel an hour each way once a month to come and eat there. The original mosaic-tile floor is beautiful, and eating in the upstairs room transports you back to the 1920s. Now Jimmy and Eddie Rubino, still part of the family, run the restaurant, and this chicken dish has been on the menu as long as they can remember.

I first encountered this dish in Chicago. While the sauce for the pasta has all the makings of a primavera, the fried shrimp on top is very much Sicilian.

This was one of the recipes that I took away from my great lunch with Mario Carbone and Rich Torrisi of Torrisi Italian Specialties in New York’s Little Italy. Turkey is, of course, an all-American product that was brought back to Europe after the discovery of the New World, and it is still not big on tables in Italy. But in this recipe, traditional technique and New World bird combine to make a delicious hybrid. “Sous-vide,” French for “without air,” is a technique of cooking food sealed in a plastic bag. Such foods usually cook for a long time at a low temperature, about 140 degrees F. The integrity of the product is preserved, and, when vacuum-sealed, the food will last longer. To perform this technique properly, one needs a lot of expensive and cumbersome equipment. Some contemporary restaurant chefs use it, and with good results, but I certainly do not recommend it for home use.

This dish is especially good when made with live blue-claw crabs, but sometimes they are difficult to find. The snow crab—or its more expensive cousin, the Alaskan king crab—will yield a most delicious sauce as well. In immigrant Italian American fishing communities, such as those in Delaware and Rhode Island, this dish was made by the fishermen’s wives from the unsellable catch.

Veal piccata is a familiar dish in most Italian American restaurants across America: thin slices of veal briefly sautéed in butter with some lemon juice added to it. In this recipe, however, I added some capers, green olives, and thin slices of lemon. It brings much more body, flavor, and complexity to the dish. Chicken and turkey scaloppine are also delicious prepared this way.

This is the quintessential Italian pasta dish, especially in Naples and Rome. The ingredients are three; the clams are the smaller ones—vongole veraci—and they are always cooked in their shells. Once they open, the sauce is done. Here in the States, linguine with clam sauce is made with chopped clams, and I guess this adjustment makes sense, especially since the clams here can be quite large, from littlenecks (small to medium) to topnecks (large) to quahogs or chowder clams (very large). Today, though, one is ever more likely to find smaller cockles on the market; if you find them, by all means use them.

This is the quintessential Italian American dish: from the 1950s through the 1980s, every Italian restaurant had it on the menu. It is still one of America’s favorite dishes and is easy to make. The important part of the recipe is to begin cooking the meat and mushrooms separately, then combine them at the end so the flavors blend. Marsala is the special ingredient in this dish. Around the city of Marsala, Malvasia, a varietal of a very aromatic grape, grew in abundance. Wine has been made from this varietal for centuries, and the English took note of it and began importing it. The history of England and the New World needs no retelling, and this is most likely how Marsala made it across the pond. When the Sicilian immigrants settled in America, and rediscovered it, it was a natural reunion.

Veal saltimbocca, which literally translates as “jumps in the mouth,” hails from Rome. It is rather simple, but simplicity is hard to achieve. In the late 1960s, when I worked in Italian restaurants to help pay for my college tuition, veal saltimbocca was always on the menu but never tasted like it did in Rome. The important flavor ingredients here are the prosciutto and the fresh sage. The early immigrants were curing hams into prosciutto at home, which eventually developed into formal businesses, such as the Volpi & Co. in St. Louis, now known as Volpi Foods. In those days, fresh herbs were hard to find—unless you were Italian and grew them at home. By the time I opened Felidia in the 1980s, fresh herbs were coming to the supermarkets, and by the 1990s, Prosciutto di Parma began crossing the ocean, so now the saltimbocca has regained its true flavors. So, unless you use fresh sage, skip it.

In America, meat was plentiful, and combining good veal shanks with lots of vegetables and herbs and simmering it for hours results in fork-tender meat nestled in a complex and savory sauce. Osso buco, literally translated as “a bone with a hole,” is a dish that originated in Milan. A favorite then, it still outsells many other meat choices on the menu at Becco, Lidia’s KC, and Lidia’s Pittsburgh. Serve this dish with an espresso spoon—or, even better, a marrow spoon—so that your guests can scoop out the marrow as the ultimate delicacy.

Broccoli rabe, the leafy bitter almond-flavored vegetable consumed by the Italians for centuries, has found its way into American hearts. It is great just braised with olive oil and garlic; it makes an excellent soup; it is also delicious stuffed and as a flavoring in some crunchy Italian bread. But I love it with pasta, and not with just any pasta—I love it with orecchiette (little earlobes). Rapini, as it is called in Italy, is a plant in the mustard family that grew wild, especially in southern Italy. In America, the largest producer is Andy Boy, a company founded by Stephen and Andrew D’Arrigo, emigrants from Sicily, who officially named the rapini “broccoli rabe.” They knew that the vegetable that was part of their family table in Italy would make it to the American table.

Pasta with spring vegetables—or, for that matter, any vegetables—has always been a staple of Italian cuisine. But Sirio Maccioni, the renowned Italian restaurateur who has owned Le Cirque for decades, claims to be the one to baptize it primavera in 1974. Along with Romeo Salta, and the Giambelli brothers, Sirio was at the lead in bringing the fine Italian dining experience to New York. Sirio runs a restaurant that is French by name but serves pasta primavera.

This dish is traditionally made with veal, but is also delicious when made with pork or chicken. However, the best way is with tender veal chops, pounded while still on the bone, then boned, breaded, and fried. Served on the bone is a bit more expensive than the boneless-leg cut, so, if you want to splurge, by all means buy 4 or 6 chops to make this recipe. In restaurants in Milano most likely you would be served Milanese on the bone.

If there is one dish that I can affirm is Italian American, this is it. It has all the pedigree of being Italian, though it was definitely born in America. This is one of those few recipes that crossed the Atlantic in the other direction, and the Italians in Italy have been enjoying it as well. The first references we find to vodka sauce are from the early 1980s.

The braciola, stuffed beef rolled and braised, was and still is part of the Sunday pasta sauce tradition in many Italian American homes across America. If you travel through the Italian communities around America today and ask people, “What dish do you remember eating at home on Sunday?,” the answer is often pasta with braciole and meatballs. Meat was far more available in America than back home in Italy, and adding it to a tomato sauce enhanced the ritual Sunday meal, when the whole family was assembled around the table. A braciola is easy to make: once you have gathered all the ingredients and rolled them into a thin beef slice, it cooks in the tomato sauce for several hours, rendering a delicious pasta sauce to coat some rigatoni and fork-tender braciole to eat with braised escarole and olive-oil-mashed potatoes.