15 ESSENTIAL FOODS TO BRING HOME FROM ITALY

 I just came back from a very fulfilling vacation in Venice where I was surrounded by family, friends, and amazing food around the clock. It was also Carnival, my favorite time of year to be home, and I'm happy to report that I consumed as many traditional treats as humanely animally possible (check out this post on traditional Carnival fare). As I stuffed my luggage with delicious foods to bring home to the States, I thought it would be great to share with you some of my go-to culinary imports so you're prepared for your next trip to Italy. My list is definitely not exhaustive, but it still is a useful starter that can be customized regionally anywhere you go along the sunny Boot. All of the items are approved by U.S. Customs (no meat, no fish) and presented here in random order.

Let's start.

1. SAFFRON

I know you can buy saffron in the United States, but in Italy saffron is sold in these adorably colorful and font-gorgeous packets that are cheap and super easy to stash in your luggage. One sachet will suffice for a risotto alla Milanese or a 6-portion batch of saffron gnocchi.

2. CONDIMENT JARS

Dried tomatoes, porcini mushrooms, eggplants, olives, artichokes... You can find these items in the United States, but often in name only. Italian condiment jars can be so delicious and packed with so much fresh flavor to shock you into shame for whatever you had been eating before. What you see in the picture is a jar or Sicilian semi-dried cherry tomatoes in extra-virgin olive oil. Yep.

3. REGIONAL COOKIES

Every single region in Italy, and possibly every single town, has its own traditional cookie. My region is Veneto, and our cookies are crumbly and often made with corn flour like these Zaeti I wrote about some time ago. And if you travel around the rest of Italy, you'll find cookies made with almonds, walnuts, figs, pine nuts, marzipan, honey, wine, lemon, and whatever else, coming in a heart-stopping variety of sizes, shapes, and textures. A final note: Italian cookies are called biscotti, all of them, and as far as I know, they're never chewy. Give that up.

4. EGG PASTA

I'll always slip a couple of boxes of tagliatelle paglia e fieno ("straw and hay") in my bag because it's MiniBee's favorite pasta and one that makes him literally squeal with joy when I make it. Egg pasta is heartier and more flavorful than regular pasta and comes in many different shapes. Serve it topped with butter, sage and loads of Parmigiano or with a bolognese sauce, and be happy. The pasta in the picture is very delicious but not particularly high-quality, but you can find fresh pasta in many alimentari (small grocery stores selling fresh cheese, cured meats, etc.) if you need to add some wows into your life.

5. REGIONAL PASTA

Every region has its biscotti, but also its pasta. What can I say? I'm trying to promote #glutenwild on Instagram, just so you know where I stand on carbs. Pasta is a great import because it's beautiful and universally beloved, and because there's almost an infinite variety of shapes to choose from. Bassano, a beautiful town north of Venice, makes some superb pasta that tastes amazing and has a great bite. Plus, the pasta boxes look great, which makes it a great gift, too. This one I'm keeping, though.

6. DRIED PORCINI MUSHROOMS

You can definitely find dried porcini mushrooms in many U.S. stores, but let me tell you once again, IT'S NOT THE SAME. High-quality, authentic Italian porcini mushrooms smell like heaven and come in big, beautiful, leathery slices to be softened in warm water to enrich anything from your bolognese sauce (that'd be a Tuscan ragout) to a mushroom lasagna. Dried porcini mushrooms are not cheap, but they are a cooking game-changer and another amazing gift to bring home to a dear friend.

7. DESSERT MIXES

So sue me. Not everything on this list is regional and fresh and approved by Slow Food. I don't care if you make all of your panna cotta and crème caramel yourself—sometimes it's nice to just heat some milk, dump in a concoction of flour, sugar, and powdered gelatin, and enjoy. Dessert boxes are fun all over the world, and I have a total soft spot for the ones that try to be fancy. They're dirt cheap at 2 euros each, and since they are foreign, nobody has to know you didn't make your dessert from scratch.

8. CHEESE! 

Can you believe I put cheese in the eighth position? Neither can I, but really my photo is not that great. That said, the United States might reject all foreign cured meats (WHY, OH WHY?), but they do accept cheese, and I can live with that for the moment. Italian cheeses come in an almost absurd variety and they are so much cheaper than in the U.S. that it almost hurts. And with a little research, you can easily find a grocery store willing to seal-package your cheese for maximum shelf life and casein enjoyment. Cheese, of course, makes the greatest gift ever, but it's so hard to part with it, I won't condemn you if you keep it all for yourself.

9. CANDY ET AL.

I've learned there's a $1000 fine on Kinder Eggs, so I don't recommend you buy those, but next time you're in line at an Italian grocery store or buying bus tickets at a tobacconist's, get something from the candy display. Pocket Coffee (in the picture) are chocolates filled with actual espresso. You need to be a little careful when you bite into them not to spill their content, but the effect is so gratifying you'll be glad you tried. These are also dirt-cheap and make for some great stocking-stuffers for the espresso-lovers in your life.

10. RAVIOLI & TORTELLINI

It's not a secret that I could eat ravioli and tortellini every day. And for a time I did, to the dismay of my sister who was living and dining with me then and who still maintains I caused her an aversion that lasted well over a decade (boo-hoo). Ravioli and tortellini for me are the perfect meal: A thin layer of pasta cradling a soft heart of perfectly-paired ingredients, to be topped with the simplest of sauces: butter and sage, olive oil and Parmesan, cream, tomato sauce, etc. You can definitely find both ravioli and tortellini in the United States, but the good ones are often absurdly expensive, and the bad ones do not really deserve the name. I'm talking about gummy and thick pasta and mysterious "three cheeses" filling where no good cheese can be identified and accepted as such. When you're in Italy, get your hands on some local-brand ravioli with a fancy filling, and eat them in the couple of weeks after you get home to make your return less traumatic.

11. GREAT CHOCOLATE

When the UE was formed, one of the first points of contention that Italy had was that the Italian market was suddenly flooded with crap chocolate made with cheap vegetable oils. It was a bitter war that gained prominent real estate on all Italian newspapers and that I believe fueled the rise of the Slow Food movement in my country. The chocolate in the photo is from the Sicilian town of Modica, and it's famous for its deliciously crunchy texture due its "cold" preparation inspired by an alleged pre-Colombian recipe. But really, there are so many amazing chocolate varieties in Italy (gianduiotti, anyone?). Just get some.

12. PARMIGIANO REGGIANO

I already talked about cheese in #8, but I do need to give a special mention to Parmigiano Reggiano, the king of cheeses. Not only Italian Parmigiano is about half the price compared to what you buy in the United States, but it's usually a nicer cut. The very common and very dry "double-crusted" Parmigiano you find here is rather depressing to me, so I'm always happy to bring home either a more central cut or a more aged piece (it goes up to 30+ month). Grate it on your best pasta or risotto, or see it disappear in a millisecond when you cut in chunks and serve it to guests. Also great to turn your kids into cheese-snobs.

13. FANCY PESTO

You might need to do some research here because the best pesto is usually fresh, but there are specialty pestos in jars that are totally worth purchasing. The one in the picture is made with pistachios, which makes it decadent and lavish enough to be placed in a proper altar in your pantry. Attention, though: This is the kind of treat that runs the risk of never being tasted because you always wait for the right occasion. Don't fall into this trap. Find those pistachios a home on your plate.

14. MORE PASTA

Am I repeating myself? Check #5 again and tell me you don't want to bring home more regional pasta. These bigoli are almost like thick spaghetti (but not as thick as bucatini) and might be my favorite pasta on the planet. So forgive me for posting them, but I could stare dreamily at this box for hours.

15. MORE COOKIES

If you still have room, then you have to try more Italian cookies. In many supermarkets, you'll find a huge variety of cookies that Italians usually consume for breakfast. There are not as sweet as American cookies, and they are small enough to be eaten in clusters of threes. Kids will love them, and you will, too. These ones are made with chocolate and orange. Yum.

A TALE OF TWO TUSCAN RICE CAKES

My mom is visiting from Italy. Her presence has of course been a great help with my two children, but has also turned into an opportunity for me to rediscover old recipes–both from my childhood and from the land of my grandparents. My maternal grandfather was from a tiny town in the north of Tuscany called Montignoso, an adorable little place that I remember fondly for the cute-as-a-button farm behind my grandparents' house (bunnies everywhere) and the amazing food we got to eat everyday. My favorite memories concern a fantastically oily and delicious farinata (a simple triumph of chickpea flour and olive oil), the soft and sweet donuts filled with pastry cream called bomboloni, and the torta di riso alla Carrarina, a custardy rice cake infused with rum that I would savor in slow, meditative bites in a state of generalized gratefulness. 

It is this rice cake that my mother and I decided to prepare a few weeks ago. We used the recipe from our relatives in Tuscany and we set to work right away, following the original recipe to the letter in excited and deferential expectation. Two hours later we were both kneeling in complete awe before the most beautiful and perfumed cake we had ever baked in our lives. The top of the cake was perfectly caramelized, almost brûlée, and smelled of rum and lemon and vanilla like a mythical Arcadian paradise. We then tentatively tasted it, and there it was, the wonderful physical manifestation of my childhood's torta di riso in all of its starchy, custardy, and boozy glory. The rice worked as a soft crust, and above it was the perfectly firm custard that gently yielded to the pressure of our spoons. It was a complete success, with a touch of divine apparition.

But as much as this success made me proud, there is the dark side of this story. A week later, I decided to make the rice cake again for friends, and I had the gumption to add my "personal touch" by cutting the original amount of sugar and substituting rum with bourbon. I mixed the ingredients quickly, distractedly, arrogantly–leaving some unbroken lumps of egg white in the custard ("It'll work fine"), and threw the cake into the oven. When it finally came out, an unsettling feeling grabbed the pit of my stomach, telling me that the gods of Italian food had decided to punish my insolence. The surface was not as caramelized as the first time, and the lumps of egg white had solidified independently into an unappealing reminder of scrambled eggs. When I finally tasted the cake (in the company of my guests, no less), I had to admit to myself with great shame that the bourbon was almost undetectable, and that the lack of sugar had allowed the eggs to dominate in flavor. It was a half sweet, eggy frittata with a base of lumpy rice, a grotesque imitation that filled me with shame and my guests with useless cholesterol.

I apologized to my friends and family for the botched rice cake, and then closed myself into my confessional pantry—my altar to Italian food—and promised to never again take lazy initiatives with perfect Italian classics. No rash substitutions, no presumptuous subtractions, no distractions. Just humble, grateful respect. And you, reader, should do the same.

Read about another of my baking fails in Happy Easter, Bitter Memories.

A slice of the good torta di riso.

TORTA DI RISO ALLA CARRARINA

1/2 C short-grain white rice (Arborio or Carnaroli, but I used sushi rice and it worked fine)
5 eggs
1 1/4 C sugar + a tbsp for dusting the pan
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 lemon (zest and juice)
2 C whole milk
1/3 C rum
a pinch of salt

• Cook the rice in 2 cups of lightly-salted water for no more than 10 minutes. Rice should be al dente. 
• Drain the rice and let cool.
• Preheat the oven to 350 F.
• Butter a 10'' cake mold and dust it with sugar.
• In a large bowl, mix together the eggs, sugar, lemon zest and juice, milk, and rum. Use a spoon for this, and make sure all of the egg white is broken to avoid a scrambled-egg top (no big lumps, just very small patches).
• Add the rice to the mix. It will be very liquid.
• Pour the mixture into the cake mold.
• Carefully transfer the cake into the oven, and bake for one hour, or until custard has set and looks brûlée like in the picture above (do not skip the browning!). If you're using a glass mold, it will take you up to 90 minutes.

Serve cake lukewarm or at room temperature, or the next day (it really shines after resting for a bit).

HAPPY PASTA (PUT AN EGG ON IT)

In the past years, there have been few things that made me happier than the rehabilitation of the egg as a health food. It is really up there with the comeback of leggings and the birth of my children. Really, I love eggs. I love them in all their gastronomic incarnations and for their simple beauty (please check my humble Pinterest homage, "The Egg Came First"). In fact, I'm pretty sure my elder days will see me as an Italian-American version of Edith Massey's Egg Lady, juggling hard-boiled eggs in the air and dishing out frittatas left and right. You've been warned.

You can only imagine how I felt when I found the recipe for "pasta with a fried egg" in a tome of ancient traditional Italian recipes that a friend gave me when I moved to the United States. The dish is from Calabria, the region of bold and spicy flavors, and is so simple and genius I could not believe I had spent thirty years of my life without it.

So, what's pasta with a fried egg about? Well, it is simply good-quality spaghetti tossed with extra-virgin olive oil, red pepper flakes, and pecorino, and then topped with a fried egg. Once the dish is presented to you in all its sunny cheerfulness, you just break the egg with a fork and release the runny yolk for your personal, instant mini-carbonara.

The first time I made it for myself and Mr Bee, we became almost giddy with joy. This spicy, hearty pasta was flavorful and creamy, and probably one the best examples of old-Italy comfort food. Also, for someone as lazy and perennially late as I am, I could not get over about how easy it was to make.

Now to the important stuff. For a dish this simple, the pasta needs to be good quality, which means it needs to have flavor on its own and be able to keep "al dente" (many low-quality pasta turn to glue a minute after you take them out of the pot). For the past few years, I've been using Trader Joe's organic spaghetti, but they've recently changed brand, and I still need to test it. I think De Cecco pasta should work, and you definitely can use hardier long pasta like Venetian bigoli or bucatini. In a pinch, and for a healthy accent, I like to use Trader Joe's whole-wheat pasta, which has surprising great bite and taste. I know that's not traditional, but we're not purists here: We just have standards, right? One last piece of advice: I would not use egg pasta; as much as I love eggs, that would be redundant.

So let's celebrate the good weather we're having and the decreasing pollen count with a simple, quick, cheap, and happy pasta that is as fun to serve as it is to eat. And for the hearts of stone out there, how can you resist that yolk's adorable stare? DIG IN.

PASTA WITH A FRIED EGG

Makes 4 portions

10 oz spaghetti (good quality)
1/2 C grated Pecorino
1 whole dried red pepper, crushed, or 3/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (or whatever you feel comfortable with)
3 tbsp EVOO + more of drizzle on pasta
4 eggs (preferably pasteurized)

• Cook the spaghetti al dente in a large pot of salted water.
• While the spaghetti cook, fry the eggs in the EVOO until the whites are firm, and the yolks are still runny.
• Drain or scoop the pasta out of the water (you want it to retain some of the water to better bind with the other ingredient) and place in a bowl. Stir in the Pecorino, the red pepper, and some more EVOO to taste.
• Divide the pasta on the plates, and top each with a fried egg.
• Sit down to eat, chop the egg coarsely with your fork so that the yolk runs all over your pasta, and enjoy.

And since we're making pasta, let's refresh our basic pasta skills:

American Pasta: 11 Ways You're Doing It Wrong

Perfect Pasta: Dead Chef's Technique

NOT TOO LATE: MALLOREDDUS WITH LAMB RAGÙ

One of the main differences between Dead Chef and a serious food blog is that the serious food blogs publishe holiday recipes on time, so that readers have all the time to make up their minds on their menu, buy the necessary supplies, and even attempt a recipe once before the big day. So it is with a little shame that I present you with my Easter recipe a full two weeks after Easter. The recipe is Malloreddus with Lamb Ragù, which should lessen the shame quite a bit since it's a pretty damn delicious.

So, Easter. I love lamb: so soft, so flavorful, so fat. It was one of the main reasons that Mr Bee and I spent our honeymoon in Sardinia, the beautiful Italian island that is heaven on earth and that perfected the use of lamb in cooking to an art. Among the million amazing dishes we tried on our 6-day trip (we ate in our sleep, too), there was a simple pasta with a lamb ragù that captured our hearts and possibly initiated their clogging. The pasta was malloreddus, a traditional small "dumpling" you can find in specialty stores or at conventional grocery stores under the name of "gnocchetti".

The main focus of the recipe, however, is the lamb ragù. I based my recipe on the Florentine ragù preached by Giuliano Bugialli in his precious tome The Fine Art of Italian Cooking (incidentally, a great culinary history book, too). I made Bugialli's ragù many times with beef, veal and pork, and even turkey (surprisingly flavorful), and it always comes out extremely well: rich, earthy, velvety, and abundant. I believe the secret lies in the use of dried porcini mushrooms to impart a robust, earthy vigor to any sauce. You might want to find some good-quality dried porcini for this; I get mine straight from Italy.

Once you have your lamb ragù, you just mix it with the cooked pasta and serve the dish drizzled in good extra-virgin olive oil and topped with grated Pecorino. It's a super-flavorful pasta with the pomp of a winter recipe and the simplicity of a last-minute spring lunch. Perfect for Easter, then, or right afterwards.

MALLOREDDUS WITH LAMB RAGÙ

FOR THE RAGÙ

4–5 large pieces of dried porcini mushrooms 
3 tbsp EVOO + more to top off pasta in the end
1 onion, minced
1 carrot, minced
1 celery rib, minced
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 tbs tomato paste
1 lb ground lamb
1/2 C red wine
salt and pepper to taste
1 lb canned tomatoes (preferably San Marzano)
1 1/2 C vegetable stock

1 lb malloreddus (or Barilla "gnocchetti")
3–4 tbsp grated Pecorino, preferably Sardinian

• Soak the mushrooms in a cup filled with warm water for at least 20 minutes.
• Make the soffritto: Heat the EVOO in a large pot (I use a Dutch oven), and then add the garlic, onion, carrot, and celery and let cook at a low heat until soft and a little caramelized. You might want to splash some water here and there if the soffritto ever gets dry.
• Add the tomato paste and cook for 2 minutes.
• Turn the heat to medium, and mix in the ground lamb. Sauté for 15 minutes, then spoon off most of the fat. Unless you want to keep it, of course. I'm not judging. *tips hat*
• Add the red wine and cook until evaporated, for another 10–15 minutes.
• While the wine cooks down, pureé the tomatoes with an electric blender.
• Once the wine is cooked down, add salt and pepper to taste and mix in the tomatoes.
• Lower the heat and cook for 25 minutes.
• Remove the porcini mushrooms from the water, give them a good squeeze, chop them, and add them to the sauce.
• Strain the water from the dried mushroom through paper towels or a fine sieve to remove any grit.
• Add the mushroom water and vegetable stock to the ragù and cook for another 1 1/2 hours.
• Cook the pasta in abundant, salted water, then strain and mix with the ragù in a large bowl.
• Drizzle the pasta with EVOO and top with grated Pecorino.

Note: If you really cannot find malloreddus, you can use other types of short pasta like conchiglie, orecchiette, elbows... Do not go as small as orzo, though, or it will turn into a sad slop of a dish. 

Another note: The original recipe was for a beef ragù, but I made it with veal and pork and even with turkey, and it always turned out great. And at this point, you can use it for anything you want,  from pasta to lasagne to chili to the Sloppy Joe of you life. 

And since we're making pasta, let's refresh our basic pasta skills:

American Pasta: 11 Ways You're Doing It Wrong

Perfect Pasta: Dead Chef's Technique

VENICE CARNIVAL: FRITTELLE & GALANI

Today is Mardi Gras, which is the day of the year I traditionally spend sobbing in my pajamas because of homesickness. The reason? In Venice, today is the end of Carnevale ("Carnival" in English, if you seriously need a translation), my favorite celebration of all, and the one I miss the most since I've moved to the United States. Venice Carnival has been synonymous with great fun and great food since I was born. As a little girl, the fun consisted of wearing my chosen costume on multiple occasions—Venice Carnival lasts a little over two weeks—at school, on strolls around my town or in Venice, and at children's birthday parties. During each outing, us kids were allowed to throw confetti in each other's eyes and then litter the streets with colorful serpentine throws. To make things even more interesting, the right princess or pirate costume could grant you multiple fiancés by the age of 9. As a teenager and then young adult, the fun was pretty much the same, but it happened at night and was quite a bit boozier.

Now let's talk about the food. During Carnival, bakeries and pastry shops in Venice and the rest of the Veneto region start churning out an avalanche of amazing fried sweets, namely frittelle, galani, and castagnole. Venetians of all ages stuff their faces with these beloved sweets at all hours of the day. Let's see them in detail:

• Frittelle are little sweet and soft doughnuts with raisins and pine nuts and sometimes filled with crema pasticcera (pastry cream) or zabaione, and dusted in granulated or powdered sugar. They are the Holy Grail of Venice Carnival foods.
• Galani are paper-thin rectangles of lightly sweetened dough, deep-fried and dusted with powdered sugar.
• Castagnole are small round fried cookies very similar to shortbread. For some reason, they are the least popular among Carnival sweets, even though they are completely delicious in their own right. I am afraid they are unfairly obscured by their high-performing cousins (a phenomenon I will now call "Unfair Eclipse Syndrome").

To lessen my desperate homesickness and to share a little of the joy of Venice Carnival with my insatiable children, a couple of years ago Mr Bee and I started to make all these sweets at home with acceptable results. This year, however, we knocked one out of the proverbial ballpark by finally landing two perfect recipes for frittelle and galani that I want to share with you today. Get a Carnival mask on, hang some streamers around your house, gather friends and love interests, and deep-fry these gems: This is the closest you're going to get to my beloved Venice Carnival.

You can read more information about the history of Venice Carnival in this post I wrote for Multicultural Kid Blogs. 

FRITTELLE WITH CREMA

Makes 20–25 frittelle. Just remember crema is optional: Frittelle are amazing on their own.

Ingredients for crema pasticcera (pastry cream)

1/2 quart of milk (I would not use non-fat here)
lemon rind of half a lemon, cut in one piece (use a vegetable peeler)
4 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch

Ingredients for frittelle

oil for frying
1 ¼ cups water
pinch of salt
4 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tbsp sugar (that's right)
1 ½ cups flour
6 eggs
orange rind (grated)
2 tsp vanilla extract
½ cup raisins
¼ pine nuts
oil for frying
granulated or powdered sugar for coating

Directions

Make the crema pasticcera

• Pour the milk in a saucepan, add the lemon rind, and bring to a boil. Turn the heat off and let rest for 10 minutes.
• In a bowl, whisk the egg yolk with the sugar together until pale yellow and fluffy.
• Add the cornstarch to the egg mixture and stir together.
• Remove the lemon rind from the milk, and pour the milk slowly into the egg mixture, stirring to prevent clumps.
• Pour the mixture back into the saucepan and let it thicken on low-medium heat until it reaches a creamy consistency. The crema will continue to thicken, so leave it somewhat runny.
• Let the crema cool down before using.

Make the frittelle

• Place water, butter, salt, and sugar in a small pan and bring to a boil.
• Add all the flour all at once and stir vigorously until the mixture pulls away from the sides of the pan to form a ball. This takes less than a minute.
• Let the dough cool, then add one egg at a time. Make sure each egg is incorporated into the dough before adding another one. (I’d use a electric mixer here, if possible. Unless you enjoy the arm workout, of course.)
• Mix in the the rest of the ingredients.
• Heat oil to 370F degrees and fry the dough in small balls (use two spoons) for 5–6 minutes, or until golden brown and cooked throughout. Note that frittelle will first puff a little and then puff up even more after a couple of minutes of more.
• Roll frittelle into granulated sugar or dust with powdered sugar.
• When cool, fill the frittelle with about a tablespoon of crema pasticcera each, depending on size. I used a whipped-cream syringe similar to this one but way crappier. If you don't have a syringe, I guess that you can cut the frittelle open and fill them with a tablespoon of cream.

*The usual optimal frying temperature is 375F, but that cooked our dough too quickly so it was burned on the outside and still raw on the inside. Five degrees made all the difference!

GALANI

Ingredients

oil for frying
4 eggs
4 cups flour
2 tbsp butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup sparkling water
grated lemon rind from one lemon
a pinch of salt
2 tbsp grappa (optional)
2 tsp vanilla extract

Directions

• Mix the flour, sugar, and butter together until coarsely combined. You might want to use an electric mixer for this part, otherwise use your hands and be quick.
• Add the eggs, lemon rind, and salt, Grappa and vanilla and mix.
• Add sparkling water as needed and a little at a time until the dough becomes soft and stretchy. It should resemble fresh pasta dough, if that helps.
• Cover the dough and let it rest for an hour.
• Roll out the dough with a roller (champion) or with a pasta machine, going up to the smallest setting so that galani are paper-thin. If you've never used a pasta machine before, check out these instructions.
• Cut dough into large rectangles with a pasta cutter. (Parents of young children: I couldn't find mine once so I used a Play-doh cutter.) Rectangles should be about 2x4'', but can be VERY irregular, so don't worry too much about it. 
• Place rectangles on a floured kitchen towel.
• Fry the galani in 375 degree oil for a few seconds, or until slightly colored and puffed up. 
• Let rest on paper towels and dust with powdered sugar. Galani last beautifully for 2–3 days in a dry climate.

NOVEMBER 11: DOLCE DI SAN MARTINO

As you can see, pastry lettering is not my forte. 

One of the greatest challenges and joys of being an expat parent is keeping up with traditions from home. The challenge comes especially when my Venetian calendar demands a specific sweet to be consumed on a specific date, and I realize I have to f*cking make it myself since there are no Venetian bakeries from where I could just purchase said traditional sweet (remember Easter?). Well, today is San Martino (Saint Martin), a strictly Venetian holiday that is celebrated with the Dolce di San Martino, a gigantic cookie covered in candy and shaped like a knight riding a horse. The cookie shape is inspired by the legend of San Martino. Children, gather round and listen.

It was a horribly cold and windy November 11 many centuries ago, and Martin was riding on his horse, shrouded in a warm cloak lined in sheep wool. Along the muddy way, he encountered a poor old beggar covered in rags. So Martin got off his horse, cut his cloak in half with his sword, and shared it with the old beggar. As Martin rode on, the cold wind subsided, the clouds dissipated, and the day became warm and sunny. And that was the beginning of the so-called "Summer of San Martino", or the handful of warm and sunny days that often grace our early Novembers.

It is not clear how San Martino's act of charity became linked with the traditional decadent mega-cookie, but as a child I didn't question (and, truth be told, I don't really care even today). I loved unwrapping my Dolce di San Martino and breaking off a limb from the Saint or his horse to eat in perfect merriment. That was the extent of my celebration, but you have to know that traditionally children also walk around Venice banging on pots and pans demanding money or candy while singing an adorable song that ends with the curse THAT YOUR PIG MAY DIE if you don't give them anything—I guess it's still cute as long as they haven't joined a gang yet.

Today, I want my children to experience the same joy, so I made my own Dolce di San Martino. I traced down the outline from the web (straight from the monitor, because drawing is another of my non-skills), applied it on a sheet of 1/4''-thick shortbread dough, cut along the outlines, and then baked knight and horse for 20 minutes. Then, under the enchanted gaze of my oldest child, I decorated with cheap colored icing and chocolate chips. And for today, my job as a Northern Italian mother is done.

Check out a fancy Dolce di San Martino here.

DOLCE DI SAN MARTINO

2 C all-purpose flour
1/3 C sugar
3/4 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
zest from one lemon
1 stick of COLD unsalted butter (in chunks)
2 large eggs

BEST IF MADE THE NIGHT BEFORE!

• Draw and cut out the outline of the San Martino on a piece of cardboard or construction paper. I used this one. 
• Heat oven to 350F.
• With an electric mixer, mix together the dry ingredients.
• Add the lemon zest, the butter, and the two eggs and mix together until they come together in a ball.
• Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
• Roll out the dough on parchment paper to a 1/4'' thickness, and cut out the San Martino using your cardboard outline.
• Transfer the San Martino with the parchment paper on a cookie sheet and bake for 20 minutes, or until it just starts to brown around the edges and the center is just firm.
• Let the cookie cool down, then decorate with icing and candy. You should definitely use icing to glue chocolates still in their wrapping (see here). I didn't have any and I regret not buying them.

PIZZE FRITTE (DEEP-FRIED PIZZAS)

Last week I had my birthday. If you're dying to know, I turned 38, which apparently is considered the best age, at least according to this article I found by googling "38 is the best age". To celebrate, my dear husband fulfilled my dreams (and his) by getting me a deep-fryer. Of course, we had to put it to work right away, and the first dish that sprang to mind was deep-fried pizzas.

That's right: These are mini-calzones minimally filled and deep-fried. Please note this recipe is not a culinary junk dare like these deep-fried donut bacon cheeseburgers that I don't even want to comment on. It's actually inspired by a traditional Neapolitan recipe: the pizza fritta.

The original pizza fritta was born in the poor neighborhoods of Naples after the devastation of WWII. People could not afford pizza cooked in a wood-fire oven, so they started frying it in the streets instead. The pizzas were filled with ricotta and chitterlings, or left empty. In one my favorite movies, Vittorio De Sica's "L'Oro di Napoli" (The Gold of Naples) from 1954, you can see a young and impossibly beautiful Sophia Loren as a pizza fritta vendor. The pizza fritta is not as common today in its original form, but you can still find the calzone fritto: a whole calzone filled with ricotta, mozzarella, salami, and ham and deep-fried to perfection.

But back to my birthday. I have no illusion our deep-fried pizzas would compete with their Neapolitan inspiration, but they were super delicious: soft, chewy, salty, and not at all greasy. We filled them with mozzarella, a little bit of San Marzano tomato sauce, and fried eggplants. We didn't make the dough ourselves because, living in D.C., we are blessed with great ready dough from two delicatessens, Vace and The Italian Store. We used Vace this time, and were thrilled to try their own mozzarella, prepared in-store every day.

These pizzas are fairly easy to make, and definitely very fun for a Sunday with friends. Of course, this is if your guests don't mind the smell of fryer oil on their hair and clothes for a week. Present it as a party favor: You might get away with it.

D.C. people: Start frying.

PIZZE FRITTE

Makes 16 little fried pizzas.

3 quarts of frying oil (or 3 inches if you are doing it in a dutch oven over stove heat)
2 pizza dough disks

2 whole mozzarellas, cubed and drained for 10 min in a colander

1 1/2 C of tomato sauce (make your own with San Marzano tomatoes)
1 large eggplant, cubed and deep-fried
fresh basil leaves
EVOO
Salt
Pepper

• Heat the oil in your deep-fryer or dutch oven to 375 degrees.
• Cut each dough in 8 parts on a well floured surface (flour is your friend, it helps soften the dough and make it more elastic) and then flatten each mini-dough, starting from the center (about 4'' diameter). Be careful the dough doesn't tear. Use your hands here; using a rolling pin is not advised for pizza. (It will cause it to tear more easily.)
• On each pizza disc, place a small handful of mozzarella cubes, 1 tablespoon of tomato sauce, 1 tablespoon of fried eggplants, and a basil leaf.
• Sprinkle with salt and pepper and a little EVOO.
• Fold the dough over and press firmly to seal the pizzas into tiny calzones. It is important to create a good seal so the moisture from the cheese and sauce does not mix with the hot oil and splatter. 
• Deep-fry until the pizzas are puffed-up and golden, turning once, just under 2 minutes. 
• Serve immediately.

Note: These pizzas can be easily made vegan. Fill with tomato sauce, eggplant, olives, and everything you would like to see on pizzas with the exception of pineapples. 

Another note: Pizza fritta can also be made like this. My friend Checco makes this kind every year in Italy, and it's a celebration to remember. Just fry the open pizza dough and then spoon over tomato sauce and grated cheese.

PASTA WITH FRIED ZUCCHINI (AND THE GARLIC RULE)

I woke up this morning and was shocked to see it's October and not August. Where did late summer go? Halloween decor has been gracing the shelves of my CVS since July 5th, so perhaps I've trained my brain to screen out all references to Fall. But I know whom to blame for my confusion: My CSA is still offering zucchini and squash, so I'm still in summer mode. You'll have to scalpel away the Haflinger cork sandals from my dead, tan feet. (Sorry, this is a horrible image.)

Today I present you with a classic Sicilian recipe that my grandmother and mother prepared many times for my sister and I when we were little girls. The main ingredient is zucchini, thinly sliced and fried until golden brown and then spooned over spaghetti and topped with grated cheese. The sweet juices from the zucchini are going to give your spaghetti a nice brown color once you mix all the ingredients, which is something I remember perfectly from my childhood.

Standing in front of a frying pan for 20 minutes, carefully turning over zucchini slices is not my ideal approach to summer heat, so maybe it's really better if we make this pasta in October, when the air is nice and cool and our sunny past is just behind us.

Fried zucchini at rest.

THE GARLIC RULE

And here's the Garlic Rule you've been waiting for since reading this post's title. As you will see in the recipe below, the garlic is just crushed, added to the hot oil until golden, AND THEN DISCARDED. This is key concept in Italian cooking that people used to Italian-American cooking might not realize. Italians love garlic and use it often, but they like it mostly in moderation, as a small pungent accent. Heaps of minced garlic are NOT a thing in Italian cuisine. By frying the garlic for a minute, you basically infuse the oil with garlic flavor and perfume and you don't turn it into a branding tool to stamp the word "garlic" on your entire meal.

Eat me.

SPAGHETTI WITH FRIED ZUCCHINI

4 medium zucchini

2 garlic cloves, crushed 

1/4 C EVOO (or enough to fry the zucchini)
1 lb spaghetti
1/4 C grated pecorino or Parmigiano Reggiano
Salt
Pepper

• Cut the zucchini in 1/4'' disks and set up a large pot with water for the spaghetti.
• Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan.
• Cook the garlic cloves in the hot oil for one minute, or until golden. Then discard.
• Place the zucchini disks in one layer in the pan and fry on both sides, a few minutes per side, until golden brown. You might need to fry the zucchini in batches.
• Remove the zucchini and place them on a plate covered with paper towels to drain the excess oil.
• Cook the spaghetti al dente. You might want to use the technique for pasta with uncooked sauce outlined here.
• Mix the spaghetti in a large bowl with the zucchini, the cheese, and some freshly-ground black pepper.
• Serve immediately.

And since we're making spaghetti, let's refresh our basic pasta skills:

American Pasta: 11 Ways You're Doing It Wrong

Perfect Pasta: Dead Chef's Technique

1/2 CUP SUGAR: CORNMEAL COOKIES OR ZAETI

You might remember that my family is now basically sugar-free thanks to Dr. Lustig and his anti-sugar campaign (YEAH, THANKS). I say "basically", because we still want to make room for the occasional treat, such as an unmissable dessert at a good restaurant, a cup of fresh gelato, or a homemade sweet that is as fun to make as it is to eat. We try to break The Rule a couple of times a month, and then we make sure to flog ourselves with a cat o' nine licorice ribbons.




In this regard, Italian sweets have become a perfect solution, since many of them tend to rely on less sugar than the American ones. In fact, I found that many recipes rely on 1/2 cup sugar, and that includes cakes. Mind you, these do not originate as healthy sweets: They are genuine recipes with no claim other than deliciousness. So here starts my 1/2 CUP of SUGAR series, for sweets that still need to be consumed in moderation, but should not hurl you and your family into leptin annihilation. (For this last comment, refer to Dr. Lustig's Youtube lecture linked above.)

The first recipe is for Zaeti (or Zaleti), the traditional Venetian cornmeal cookie. They are rustic and crumbly, like a hearty shortbread. They contain raisins, but sometimes also pine-nuts. I know them mostly shaped like diamonds—or to be more precise, like rhomboids—but they can be flat and round, or plump and oval. I made them both with coarsely-ground cornmeal and with finer one. I must say I prefer them on the coarser side, but medium-coarseness will leave some hard corn bits. Readers with dental crowns and fillings: Watch out.

Venetians usually have Zaeti in the afternoon, accompanied by a sip of white wine, but I'm not one to put limitations on their consumption. So if you prefer to stuff some in a paper cup and eat them in the car on your way to work, you have my blessing.

The powdered sugar is not really supposed to be there. Oh well.

Zaeti

3/4 cup of raisins
3 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/4 cup cornmeal
a pinch of salt
a pinch of baking powder
a pinch of grated lemon zest
1 tsp vanilla extract
10 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
powdered sugar (optional)

• Heat the oven to 350F.
• Soak the raisins in a little warm water for 10 to 15 minutes. Drain them and squeeze out the excess water.
• In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks with the sugar until mixture has thickened and is a very pale yellow.
• In another bowl, mix flour, cornmeal, salt, baking powder, and lemon zest. Add the melted butter and the vanilla extract to the flour mixture and stir well.
• Pour the eggs and sugar into the flour mixture, together with the raisins. The final dough with be very coarse and wet. 
• Roll the dough carefully on a floured surface, adding more flour if necessary, to a 1/4'' thickness. If the dough seems too crumbly, you can add a little bit of yogurt to make it more manageable. Let the dough rest in the fridge for 30 minutes.
• Cut the dough into long 2'' stips, then cut the strips diagonally every 2 1/2 inch or so to make little diamonds.
• Transfer them to a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper and then into the oven for 12–13 minutes, or until they start to color and they are not soft in the center. Let the Zaeti cool down for 15 minutes before serving them. Sprinkle them with powdered sugar if you prefer or if they don't look as you expected.

SPAGHETTI SQUASH WITH RICOTTA SALATA AND BLACK OLIVES

It's recipe time! Today I have an Italian-American combination that is not actually "Italian-American." If you're confused, I mean I have prepared a regional Italian recipe with an American ingredient, downgrading another couple of ingredients in the process. I hesitate to call it "fusion" because I'm not that desperate. But it's good enough, I believe, to avoid being labeled "a shortcut".

The original recipe is zucca with ricotta forte, which translates to "pumpkin with strong ricotta". The ricotta forte is a specialty of Bari, in the region of Puglia (Italy's high heel), and it's a pungent, spreadable cheese that is basically ricotta left to go bad for months. You can read its fascinating story in this post from Serious Eats. In the original recipe, pumpkin cubes are cooked with onions, celery, capers, anchovies, and black olives, and then mixed with a couple tablespoons of ricotta forte.

I replaced the ricotta forte with ricotta salata, which nowadays is a delicious and inexpensive staple in my pantry. Then, I replaced the pumpkin with spaghetti squash because I think it works great both for flavor and texture. Plus, I love spaghetti squash because I think it's Mother Nature giving a winking nod to Italian cuisine. *winks back*

This resulting dish is absolutely delicious and packs a lot of flavor. You can serve it as an appetizer or side, maybe spooned on toasted country bread. It also tastes great the day after, but I can't say about the day after that, because then it's usually gone. One admission: In my version you won't find the anchovies. As much as I worship my little oily friends of the sea, I've found that the squash-anchovy combination is not something my body reacts well to. If you want to try it, add two anchovies to the hot oil at the beginning of the recipe. And if you like it, you're allowed to call me a coward.

Spaghetti Squash with Ricotta Salata and Black Olives

1 small or medium spaghetti squash, roasted
2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced 
1 tbsp capers (or more!)
1 small onion, thinly sliced
1 celery stalk, thinly sliced
2/3 cups pitted black cured olives, halved
1 cup cubed ricotta salata
dried oregano
black pepper

• Heat the olive oil in a large pan. Add the garlic and capers. Let the capers "bloom".
• Add the onion and celery to the pan and stir fry until the onion is golden and soft but the celery is still somewhat crispy, for 5 to 8 minutes.
• Stir in the spaghetti squash and cook until it colors a bit, about 10 minutes. 
• Add the black olives and cook for another 10 minutes or so, adding a few tablespoons of water if the squash mixture gets too dry.
• Transfer the cooked mixture in a bowl and stir in the ricotta salata. Top with a drizzle of olive oil, a hefty pinch of dry oregano, and freshly ground black pepper.

MY ITALIAN PANTRY: KIRKLAND PESTO

Pesto is one of those godsend products that can solve any meal with minimal effort. Just slap it on pasta or other grain/starch products (farro and quinoa especially), add it to a bland soup, serve it on potatoes, or mix it in a frittata, and you'll have a perfectly delicious dish that tastes fresh, luscious, and complex.

Of course, it all depends on the quality on the pesto. If you are a proud inhabitant of Liguria, where pesto is from, you can just make it fresh whenever you want, and it will taste better than any other pesto forever and ever. If you are not from Liguria but are still a better person than most, you can pound together basil, Parmigiano, pecorino, pine nuts, extra-virgin olive oil and garlic with a pestle and mortar right in time for lunch and still have time to look down your nose on the rest of the world. However, if you are anything like me, you're more than happy to buy some ready-made pesto to keep in the fridge to use when you feel lazy, but not lazy enough to eat cold leftovers from last month's brunch with friends.

"100% Imported Italian Basil D.O.P." and other ingredients. Wait...

So let me make my first product recommendation in this blog, starting with a pesto that is not painfully expensive and that tastes pretty damn Italian. I'm talking about Kirkland Basil Pesto sold at Costco in 22-oz jars for $9.40. The ingredient list is pretty good for commercial pesto, with Genovese basil, extra-virgin olive oil, Parmigiano, and pine nuts in the mix. Yes, there is sunflower oil and other strange stuff, but I have to confess that most commercial pesto in Italy uses plenty of shortcuts, replacing extra-virgin olive oil with safflower oil, pine nuts with walnuts or cashews, and adding extra weirdness such as powdered milk, margarine, palm oil, and dehydrated potatoes.

I've had a few guests from Italy in recent months, and they all loved the pesto and its price. One guest went back home with a jar, and another, daughter of a true Genovese, asked me to buy it again for the next time she'll come visit. The jar is pretty huge, so you might want to try to freeze it in cubes so you can make sure you use it all. As for my family, we go through 22 oz. quickly and without any problems. It's the overwhelmed-work-at-home mother's best friend.

PALERMO: HANDS UP! YOU'RE SURROUNDED (BY STREET FOOD)!

You have to be a pretty terrible food tourist to come back from Palermo, Sicily, bored and with an empty camera. In this city, street food is fantastic and available EVERYWHERE. Whereas Venice requires thorough investigative work to dig out the really authentic spots, in Palermo you only need to stumble outside to find incredible local foods served pretty much everywhere. Outdoor markets, carts, delis, gelaterie e friggitorie (delis specialized in fried food), restaurants and trattorie, street festivals, and bars are open pretty much around the clock to make your taste buds as happy as can be. In a matter of a few hours, you'll realize you need to make room for another mealtime in your day. Just thinking about it makes my stomach growl. But it's almost brinner here after all!

Here is a compilation of street foods I ate in 2010 during a 5-day trip to Palermo, including two brief visits to the towns of Erice and Marsala. My travel companions and I fell in love with the delicious treats of Palermo and with its regal, multiethnic, and mysterious charm. (One of the great mysteries of our stay, for example, was the disappearance of my room's toilet seat two days into my hotel stay.)

FOODS TO TRY IN PALERMO

#1 FRIED CALAMARI

Here's a great afternoon snack I had near the Vucciria (the most famous outdoor market in Palermo). The fish was fresh, sweet, and crispy. No heavy and herb-rich breading like you would find at an Italian-American restaurant. I believe these calamari were only dusted with flour, but I'm not sure.

#2 HYGIENE FIRST

Again in Vucciria market, where a fishmonger is cleaning bottarga (tuna roe) on a fountain ledge, while some plump stray dogs (not pictured) gather around. We all know you would NEVER, EVER witness anything like this in a U.S. farmers' market, but on this issue I have to side with Palermo.

#3 GRILLED FISH

Grilled fish is omnipresent on restaurant menus in Palermo, and rightfully so. The fish is wonderful and cooked to perfection. Swordfish steaks are lightly breaded and oiled, just as described in Genesis before the original sin, I believe.

#4 SFINCIONE

The sfincione is a cross between a pizza and a focaccia and is available from carts pretty much everywhere in Palermo. It is served warm, topped with a little bit of tomato sauce, garlic, onions, and a mix of grated Pecorino and mollica (breadcrumbs made from the soft inside of the bread—no crust). So soft and flavorful, the sfincione is one my dearest memories of Palermo.

#5 PANI CA' MEUSA

And here is Palermo's gold, in my opinion: the Spleen Sandwich, or, to use the name coined by my brother-in-law, the Spleenburger. The shop where I bought the sandwich in the photo had a huge menu on the wall listing the prices for up to 50 spleenburgers. You need 34 sandwiches? No need to ask the cashier: The price is on the wall. This was my first time eating spleen, and I will tell you it is not as intense as you might imagine. The juicy meat is slapped on a roll, dredged with spleen gravy, and then sprinkled with grated Pecorino. Verdict? I could pretty much eat this forever around the clock.

#6 BABBALUCI

Babbaluci is the Sicilian name for little snails. In this picture, you can see 2 lbs. of babbaluci we ordered as an afternoon snack. As much as I loved the idea of this snack when I pressed my travel mates to order some, I have to admit that seeing the snails' little eyes and mouths up close annihilated my appetite. Babbaluci, adieu!

#7 ARANCINA BOMBA

You might know arancini as small, breadcrumbs-coated rice balls that look like little oranges (hence the name). The Palermo version is called bomba because it's massive, and can better be described as about one and a half portions of risotto rolled up, deep-fried, and served as a snack. Kissing an arancina bomba before eating is not customary, but it's hard not to do.

#8 SPITINI

If you're anything like me, you had already taken notice of this brick of beauty in the preceding image, and you are there wondering, "Hey, what about that doll?" Well, the brick is called spitino, and it's a breaded and deep-fried masterpiece of architectural design made of slices of white bread alternated with meat ragù. Some recipes have the sandwiches dipped in béchamel sauce before the breading. Mr Bee was mesmerized by the spitino, which he referred to as deep fried lasagne. Whatever you choose to call it, this alone is worth a trip to Italy.

#9 PANELLE AND CROCCHÈ

I know you see the fries, but it's the rest that is worth noting. The round potato croquettes are, as you can infer, the crocchè in the title. The small fried triangular snack on the back are panelle, which are chickpea fritters (mind you, they are made with chickpea flour, not whole chickpeas). The small cups are filled with salsa rosa, which is basically Russian dressing. Not the sauce you would expect in Sicily, I know. But Italians love salsa rosa, and you need to accept it.

#10 RICOTTA

Fresh ricotta has been my favorite food since I started eating solids. I hope you'll then understand my horror when I moved to the United States and realized that ricotta here is available everywhere, but in a version so corrupted and distorted to make it completely unrecognizable from the original. I don't want to start a debate on this right now, but please know that ricotta is NOT made with lemon juice and vinegar. Sicilian ricotta is made from sheep's milk and is used in a myriad of knockout recipes. In this open market, we found baked ricottas covered with olives, caramelized onions, and herbs. We were lucky enough to taste them right there at the stand, while sipping some cold beer served to us by the stand's owner. My version of happiness.

#11 ERICE'S GENOVESI

A few hours from Palermo, on the left corner of Sicily, you will find beautiful Erice, an ancient Greek town on top of Mount Erice. In this picture, you can see (from left to right), small cassate, cannoli, and finally the genovesi, Erice's specialty. Genovesi are shortcrust pastry filled with cream and served strictly warm right out of the oven. You'll find them at Maria Grammatico pastry shop. 

#12 CANNOLI SICILIANI

This is me, in a pastry shop in the town in Marsala, holding my soul mate, the Sicilian cannolo (I specify "Sicilian" because where I come from a cannolo looks like this). Our friend and guide from Marsala took us to this shop because the ricotta filling is made last minute, and not simply every morning like in most other pastry shops. I didn't dare confess that even the last Sicilian cannolo abandoned in a sewer for a month and covered in dog hair is a trillion times better than those you find anywhere else, but the thought of another level of deliciousness for the cannoli I had tried in Palermo shut me up.

#13 THE MEAT WASTEBASKET

Mr Bee and I had heard tails of terrifying and delicious mystery meats offered in veiled secrecy from beneath large baskets by gentlemen at the far edges of Palermo's markets. We looked for the telltale baskets at each market we visited, but saw no signs of these mythical vendors. However, on our last day in the city while revisiting one of our favorite markets I encountered this gentleman sitting, as described, at the edge of the market behind a huge covered basket. I approached him timidly and asked for a sandwich, and I stood there watching him rummaging in the basket with his bare hands and fishing out strips of warm meat that he then slapped on bread. The specialty here is frittola, which consists of waste bits of veal left after butchering (fat, cartilage, tendons). This type of frittola was served on a roll, but I hear you can also eat the meat bits on their own. It was an exciting, scary, delicious mid-morning snack that tickled and awoke my Sicilian blood.