Italian

This is a great sauce for poached or grilled fish or poultry. It is customary in Italy to serve a poached or boiled meat with two or more sauces. Salsa Verde (page 362) and this sauce make a delightful pair. And it’s a snap to make right out of the pantry. It’s got a brilliant color and surprisingly complex flavor for such a simple preparation: sweet, mildly acidic, and piquant—or as hot as you want, if you add more peperoncino or Tabasco. Fresh eggplant, poached with the onions, gives the sauce even more depth (see box that follows).

This is a classic cold sauce for boiled meats, poultry, and fish, but I find wonderful new uses for it all the time.

Poached veal tongue is one of the ingredients in the classical Italian dish bollito misto, boiled mixed meats. It is one of my favorite dishes, but even without the other four or five meats I enjoy the poached tongue. The brining somewhat cures the meat and makes it retain the lively pinkish color throughout.

This recipe will seem long to you, but read it through once or twice and it will become very clear that all we are doing is stuffing a piece of meat, roasting it, and making gravy to serve it with. That’s something I’m sure you have done any number of times—only in this case it is a breast of veal, which will yield delicious results. Breast of veal—bone-in breast specifically—is another wonderful meat cut that I hope you come to love as much as I do. Like the preceding shoulder cuts, it has a good deal of connective tissue, bones, and cartilage, which contribute to the flavor and texture of the meat, especially during long cooking. Because it comes from young animals, the ribs in the breast are just developing: there’s lots of soft cartilage, and you can just pull out the ribs after cooking, so serving and slicing are convenient. Stuffing the breast is the fun part. The muscle layers easily separate and hold a generous amount of savory filling; then, when it’s cooked and sliced, the cross sections of meat and stuffing make a beautiful presentation. It looks like an eye, with the meat as the lids. If you’ve tried any of the other roasts in this chapter, the procedure here will be familiar: covered roasting for tenderness and flavor, dry roasting for deep color and crisp textures—and developing a great sauce at the same time. The only difficulty you may find with this recipe is getting a nice big piece of veal breast, preferably the tip cut. It’s not always easy for me either, as you’ll understand when you read the box and study the technique photos here and on page 357. But if we all keep asking our butchers for veal-breast tip cuts, they’ll get the message—we want those excellent, traditional cuts of meat, and we want to stuff them ourselves!

Beef shoulder, usually called the chuck, is the source of many flavorful cuts of meat. One of my favorites for braising is the compact boneless chuck roast, taken from underneath the shoulder blade. There’s so much connective tissue and fat in the meat that long, moist cooking will produce soft, delicious meat, whatever you put in the pot. This braise, however, is a special one, inspired by my connection to and love for Venice and its special place in culinary history—La Serenissima, as the state of Venice was called, was a center for the spice trade and the silk route through the Middle East to the Orient for over 600 years. The use of exotic, imported spices in cooking signaled a well-to-do household with a rich kitchen. I get excited just assembling the spices and flavorings (including coffee and cocoa) for this. And when the exotic perfume arises from the bubbling wine that fills the pot, I hate to leave the kitchen, even though there’s almost no work to do once the beef begins its 3 hours of braising.

Pork shoulder is delicious braised as well as roasted. Salsa Genovese provides a wonderful sauce as well as a large amount of meat—indeed, this traditional Neapolitan Sunday dish gives you two options, for two different meals. In the custom of “Sunday sauces,” the freshly cooked pork and its braising sauce are served separately the first time: the sauce with the meat extracted is tossed with pasta for a first course, and the meat is sliced and served as a main course. (In Italian and Italian-American homes, these might be different courses or on the table at the same time.) Whatever sauce and meat are left from the first feast are then combined into a meaty sauce to dress pasta another day. A 5-pound pork shoulder cooked, in my recipe, with 5 pounds of chopped onions will give you plenty of meat and sauce to enjoy all these ways. Braise a bigger shoulder butt for even more leftovers—just be sure to buy plenty of onions: a 7-pound pork roast gets 7 pounds of onions!

Pork shoulders (also called butts or Boston butts) are terrific roasts, in my opinion, more delicious than pork loin and definitely less expensive. With a nice layer of fat on top, a good proportion of fat through the muscle, and lots of connective tissue, the roasted meat has wonderful flavor and soft, moist texture. It’s easy to roast—you don’t need to erect a foil tent for it—and the shoulder-blade bone, which adds flavor and speeds roasting, is simple to remove when you’re serving the meat. (It is also easy to braise, as you will find in the following recipe for Salsa Genovese). Shoulder roasts range from 4 to 8 pounds, bone-in, or larger. This procedure will work for any-size roast, though the vegetable and seasoning amounts are for a 5-to-7-pound shoulder, the size you’ll usually find in the butcher’s case. To feed a big crowd, ask the butcher to cut a larger shoulder for you, or cook two smaller roasts in one very big roasting pan. Be sure to increase the vegetables, seasonings, and cooking liquids proportionally with your meat. Some of the other choices you have with this easy roast: should you mash all the roasting-pan vegetables into the sauce—the simplest method—or cut and caramelize them to serve as a side dish? Or a bit of each? (See page 344 for more information.) It’s up to you. Do you want to glaze the roast? I’ve got a good maple syrup glaze to share—see recipe that follows.

You’ll need lamb shoulder chops again for this great dinner dish, but, unlike the thin chops for skillet cooking, the right ones for roasting won’t be in the meat case. Don’t just pick up a package of thick-looking chops: ask the butcher to cut lamb shoulder chops expressly for you, each one 2 1/2 inches thick (or as close to that as possible). If he or she looks surprised, it’s because she’s never cut them that thick before. The chop size is unusual, but the meat is exactly the same as everyday thin chops—so make sure she gives you the same price! Thick chops are treated here like roasts, following my covered/uncovered roasting procedure. To shorten the roasting time, I divide each chop into two pieces. Still, the meat needs 90 minutes or more in the oven, typical of the long cooking all shoulder cuts need, to melt the connective tissue and fat, to extract the flavor of bones, and to soften the meat fibers. Bigger pork and beef shoulders will take twice as long as these lamb chops.

The way I roast turkey, I never stuff it. Instead, for holidays and special occasions when a turkey needs a special dressing, I make a gnoccho grande, a large loaf-shaped dumpling of bread crumbs, eggs, seasonings, and festive tidbits of dried fruits and nuts, wrapped in cheesecloth and poached in broth. Since I usually cook a big pot of turkey broth the day before I roast the turkey (to have plenty for the roasting pan), I’ll poach the gnoccho grande while it’s bubbling away. The next time you make turkey broth, try this wonderful big dumpling. It’s a great accompaniment to any poultry or meat dish, not just turkey, and a fine soup garnish, or cook it in the broth from Whole Poached Chicken (page 328).

The turkey is a North American native that was taken to Europe, food historians tell us, by the early Spanish explorers. In Italy, it became a culinary favorite of the aristocracy quite quickly: I’ve been delighted to learn that sixty-six turkeys were served at a feast for Catherine de’ Medici in 1549. In my family, however, turkey was not a big deal until we came to North America, 400 years later. Like most of our neighbors in the 1950s, we mainly cooked and ate turkey as the centerpiece of Thanksgiving and other holiday feasts. But over the years, it has become a significant part of our everyday eating. As you’ve seen, turkey wings flavor our basic broth, and turkey breast cutlets are a family favorite. A whole roast turkey is still something special on our table. And after years of Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts and birthday dinners, I have perfected the two-stage, wet-then-dry turkey-roasting procedure that I present here. It’s unusual but it works. In fact, I roast all kinds of meats and poultry this way (as I explain below) to produce marvelously moist and flavorful meat with a crispy, caramelized exterior—and a rich pan sauce at the same time. For the autumn and winter holidays, I serve the turkey with seasonal trimmings—Quince, Cranberry, and Apple Sauce (page 367), Cotognata—Quince Chutney (page 368), and Gnoccho Grande for a stuffing. And I glaze the bird with balsamic-vinegar reduction for a deep mahogany sheen. Roast turkey is so good, though, and so economical, I hope you’ll cook it often, not just for Thanksgiving. For everyday dinners, follow the basic procedure for cooking a chicken or a small turkey (see below). You don’t have to give it the holiday touches every time: the bird will be beautiful without the glaze and delicious with just its natural pan sauce.

I know that “boiled” anything is not a popular concept these days (one reason I call this “poached”), but don’t disdain or neglect this elemental dish. It is still one of the easiest and most satisfying one-pot meals we can give our families. It’s also faster to make than ever: the big birds I buy—plump, meaty, and best when organically raised—are thoroughly cooked, tender, and moist after barely 45 minutes in the broth. When you really want to make it festive, substitute a capon for the chicken. And with markets that offer an unprecedented array of produce and herbs in all seasons, we can surround the chicken with a greater variety of vegetables than our great-great-grandmothers ever had at one time. In this recipe, I’ve loaded the pot with seven hearty and aromatic vegetables (almost 5 pounds’ worth), but you can certainly choose others or vary the amounts. Just cut enough vegetables overall to give everyone a bountiful serving, drizzling the meat and vegetables with some extra-virgin olive oil and a few grains of sea salt to make it complete. But I also hope you’ll top each portion, as I do, with a dollop of salsa verde, a traditional condiment for boiled foods. The bright, acidic flavor and fresh, uncooked texture of the finely chopped salsa are a perfect counterpoint to the poached meat and vegetables—it makes a meal of boiled chicken exciting as well as comforting.

Duck has in most cases been something you eat in a restaurant. I love duck, and I love serving it at home to family and guests. I hope that this two-step method of cooking cut-up duck pieces in a big skillet or casserole will make you comfortable with cooking duck at home. First you fry the duck by itself for about an hour, slowly; the skillet takes all the fat out of the bird and melts it into a frying medium which leaves the skin golden and crispy and the meat moist, flavorful, and, amazingly, not at all greasy. In the second stage, you build a small sauce and infuse the duck with its savor. I prefer cooking just the duck legs here, as I do for the guazzetto on page 154, as they require minimal trimming and the meat stays moist through the long cooking. If your supermarket doesn’t have duck legs, ask if they can order them; call a few specialty butchers or even a local restaurant provisioner if necessary. Duck legs are worth looking for, because they’re not only convenient and delicious but often less expensive than whole duck. If a whole duck is all you can get, though, it will work fine in this recipe. See below for a simple cutting-up procedure.

Please try this recipe. Nothing would make me happier than to see more dedicated home cooks in this country cooking rabbit. And for those of you just starting to cook, you really should make use of this delicious and healthful meat. It’s always been an important food on our family table. When I was a child, in our town of Busoler, every family had a pen of rabbits—including my namesake Aunt Lidia, my mother’s sister—and even as I gathered grass to feed them and played with them, I understood how important it was to nourish them, so they would nourish us. Today, though, while rabbit dishes are popular in my restaurants, especially as a pasta condiment, I notice that customers still regard rabbit as a fancy and different food, especially the saddle (the loin section) of rabbit. The truth is, rabbit is easy to cook and is as versatile and tasty as chicken. Here, then, is a typical rabbit dish from my kitchen, which I still prepare often for family dinners. I always buy whole rabbits and cut them up myself, as I demonstrate in the photos alongside. Like poultry, rabbit is easy to divide. Let the joints show you where to cut off the meaty leg pieces. The back pieces are easy to chop with a sturdy chef’s knife or a small cleaver. If you prefer, though, ask your butcher to cut up the rabbit into eight or ten pieces for you. I am sure you’ll love this cacciatore (hunter’s-style) rabbit. During the first 40 minutes, the cooking is purposely slow and relaxed, as the meat gradually caramelizes with herbs, fresh peppers, and other vegetables and seasonings. Add these as you prepare them—you don’t need to rush. Once you’ve developed many layers of flavor, you pour in some broth, cover the pan, and let the rabbit braise for another 20 minutes.

In my family, favorite dishes are always being altered according to what is available and what is best—especially when I’m cooking. Here’s a perfect example: chicken and potatoes, fried together in a big skillet so they’re crisp and moist at the same time, is my mother’s specialty. Growing up, my brother and I demanded it every week; our kids, Tanya and Joe and Eric, Paul and Estelle, clamored for it too. And now the next generation of little ones are asking their great-grandmother to make chicken and potatoes for them. When I am at the stove—and though I follow my mother’s basic procedures—I can’t resist playing around. Some days I add sausage to Grandma’s recipe, or capers or olives; I might douse the chicken with a splash of vinegar; sometimes I cut up a whole chicken, other times I’ll split little poussins or Cornish hens. If I’m in a hurry, I quickly cook small pieces of chicken breast with the potatoes. (You can see what experiments have worked well if you look through my previous books.) This recipe gives you Erminia’s classic formula—chicken, small potatoes, a bit of onion, and fresh rosemary—with two of my latest twists: pickled cherry peppers and bacon strips, in bite-sized rolls. Cherry peppers are plump golf-ball–sized antipasto peppers in vinegar that you’ll find in jars on the pickle shelves of the supermarket. They come in sweet and hot varieties—and the latter are explosive, if you take just a bite. But when they’re seeded, sliced, and added sparingly to the chicken, they imbue the dish with a mellow heat that I love. If you and your family are hot heads, cut up two or more peppers; otherwise slice only one, or use the sweet cherry peppers and see how you like that. My latest spin on our chicken-and-potato tradition is one everybody loves, especially the kids: we roll bacon slices into little bundles, pin each one closed with a toothpick, and caramelize them along with the chicken. The bacon fat slowly renders and lends the meat a layer of flavor that’s picked up by the potatoes and onions too. By the end of cooking, the rolls have turned into crisp morsels that are a treat to eat with the juicy chicken and tender potatoes. (But be sure to remove all the toothpicks!)

Most of the time when you buy a whole chicken, the packet of neck, gizzards, and chicken liver tucked in the cavity will leave you wondering what to do with them. Well, these are some of the best-tasting parts. So, packet by packet, collect and freeze the necks and gizzards for a good chicken soup, and the livers for this quick and delicious dish. Quickly sautéed chicken livers and slowly caramelized onions are such natural complements in taste and texture that they’re always a welcome supper dish in our house. The kids are a bit finicky about this dish, but I prepare it when Grandma, Giovanni, and I are at home. There’s nothing fancy about my version—though I do embellish the onions with a sweet-and-sour finish of vinegar and golden raisins. Chicken livers need a bit of attention—thorough trimming and rinsing, and fast cooking in a small amount of oil—and they’ll be crispy on the outside and tender on the inside.

Starting with a base of garlic and olive oil, similar to many of my pasta sauces, you build layers of flavor, toasting the garlic, peperoncino, and capers on the pan bottom, then draw the components together with broth and reduce the liquid to perfect saucing consistency. It’s all done in less than 15 minutes. The added challenge here is that you must cook six plump chicken breasts to perfection, in the same pan, in the same short time. The chicken takes up most of the room, so the hot spots will be harder to find. More important, you need to control the heat and timing with care: the chicken has to caramelize lightly at first, then, as the sauce comes up around it, cook to doneness in a couple of minutes of high-heat braising. You’ll be thickening the sauce with bread crumbs in the exciting finale too—so it’s good to have all the ingredients ready to go. Quick, tasty, requiring little effort, this is the kind of cooking I love to do for my family. I guarantee that after you’ve served this amazingly moist chicken and superb sauce to your family they’ll be requesting it often.

I make a platter of these crumb-coated baked morsels for the kids when they come over because I know they will enjoy them and be nourished. But I notice most of the adults take a piece too. The cutlets have the crunchy appeal of fast-food-style fried “nuggets” and “fingers,” but they are better in every way. (You may notice that the coating is the same blend of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and bread crumbs that is so good on broccoli-and-cauliflower and string-bean gratinati, in chapter 4, pages 243 and 245.) Turkey has great flavor and texture, but chicken-breast pieces are also good prepared this way. I usually buy turkey-breast cutlets (organic or naturally raised) and slice them up; packaged turkey tenders (the meaty flap inside the breast) are even more convenient— cut them in half, or pound them flat and use the whole tender. The crispy tenders are great served with a green salad. Instead of the usual ketchup condiment, try some Summer Tomato Sauce (page 256), or the Quince, Cranberry, and Apple Sauce on page 367. They are wonderful served as a main course with Skillet Brussels Sprouts (page 271) or Skillet String Beans with Gorgonzola (page 247).

When traveling through Sicily, you will often encounter tuna or swordfish rollatini—or involtini, as the Sicilians call them. It is a traditional dish. What makes the dish particularly delicious and interesting is that they roll the rollatini in seasoned bread crumbs before grilling. The way I prepare the rollatini, they get a marvelous range of flavors by marinating before grilling in garlic, olive oil, and fresh thyme; then I smother them with a fresh tomato-and-lemon salsa after they’ve cooked (and try not to eat them for a couple of hours). The longer they sit—before and after grilling—the more flavorful they become. This is also a versatile preparation. Make as many rollatini as you want from a big piece of tuna, as I explain in the box, and schedule their marinating periods and quick grilling to your convenience. Serve them hot off the grill or later, at room temperature, when they taste even better. One rollatino makes a beautiful first course; two make a satisfying main course; a few rollatini slices make a terrific tuna sandwich for a picnic. And if you want to enjoy these any time of year—or if you don’t have a grill—just pop them in your oven (see below).