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December, dolceby Gustav
When December settles in and the skies sit like lead above we
tend to advise a bite of something Italian. Somehow this time of
year brings back the best culinary memories of the simple
refinements of Northern Italy. In this cold season that cuisine is
at its best, I think, with its abundant use of chestnuts and honey
and butter and cornmeal and figs. Any Milanese can take a handful of
the most humble ingredients and give them an elegant, simple twist,
seemingly effortless, and come up with the ethereal… The cheeses of
Lombardy are, we think, peerless. Those infinitely more informed
agree. This region, whose northern border is the Alps, grants the
world Taleggio, Grana Padano, Mascarpone, Provolone, Stracchino, the
best Ricotta, and of course, Gorgonzola. The lakes in the north as
well as the rivers on the Plain of Lombardy in the south provide
some of the richest milk in the world, and for centuries Italian
know-how has transformed the milk and cream into superb cheeses and
butter. Gorgonzola has an interesting history that parallels its relative
Stracchino, both of whose milk comes from the weary or
"stracca" cows as they made their exodus up and down from the
Alps to the lake region pastures of Lombardia. Their herdsman came
to rest in the towns of Bergamo and Gorgonzola, amongst others, with
an abundance of prodigious cows: there are charming stories of them
trading cheese for a night at the inn, and the innkeeper storing the
cheese in his damp basement, and the cellar being conveniently rife
with penicillin spores. It is interesting to note that those tired
cows give the richest milk. Also that the mold growth that inundated
the cheese (in whatever bucolic cellar) was termed eborinato,
which means parsley in Milanese dialect. (See the term
"persille" as regards French blue cheeses.) With time the
cheese was aged in environments encouraging to this moldy growth,
‘cause everybody liked it. Later, as with Roquefort, the
mold-producing bacteria were added to the milk so the cheese
wouldn’t have to wait so long, and the cheese was pierced with
copper needles so oxygen could feed the mold. Today Gorgonzola is
Lombardy’s most famous cheese, respected world over. Gorgonzola comes in two forms, or, really, ages, and we will be
offering both from now on. G. dolce is soft and mild and aged
only three months. G. naturale, or piccante, or di
monte, or stagionata is aged for at least five months and
is firmer, sharper, more piquant and more crumbly. We have always
carried a beautiful version of the latter, which never ceases to
inspire us as we open the wheel and check out its spectacular indigo
marbling against the sharp white paste. The younger version has more
blue- green striations of mold against an ivory background. Both are
D.O.C. cheese, meaning that the have been granted a Denominazione
di Origine Controllata, similar to the A.O.C. we discussed
regarding the Bleu d’Auvergne of central France. In Italy, where
food rules, the special controls and attributes of such exceptional
cheeses are established by no less than a presidential decree. Both
Gorgonzoli are interior-mold, washed rind cheese, as well, meaning
that they are washed periodically with brine during the aging
process, giving them a distinct cheesy aroma and a complex taste.
Both versions are multi purpose, though we are pretty fond, anew,
of the dolce. Blue cheese in general has four major
applications: to enhance even the most bitter salad greens; to munch
on with fruit and crusty bread; to melt on grilled meats or poultry;
and to dress pasta. Gorg is the only one we know that does it all
well. It’s great alongside the mesclun or blended into the
vinaigrette. Those erudite ladies at the old Silver Palate make a
creamy vinaigrette with gorg and serve it over grilled radicchio.
Nice color scheme, and molto Italiano. Pino Luongo, in his
La Mia Cuccina Toscana, pairs it with dates and figs
and toasted walnuts, and he is not at all misguided. Gorg has a
particular affinity for walnuts, toasted…. another example of the
pervasive concept of Terroir, or ingredients getting along
with others of the same vicinity: northern Italy, particularly the
Aosta valley, produces the best walnuts in the world. (We used to
make a buttery, rustic walnut and honey pastry called Torta
Valdaostana and put a sprig of holly on it this time of year…)
The elegant and indulgent Milanese sometimes layer Gorg with another
Lombardian delight, Mascarpone, heavy cream that has been drained of
its whey, creating an over- the- top torta. Hard to cut, we
know too well, but worth the effort. Some people fold some Gorg into
their risotto for a creamier twist on the Parmagian route. Others
add some of the dolce to coarsely mashed red- skinned
potatoes with some chopped scallions and black pepper. At New York’s
Union Square Café, the very talented kitchen simmers their polenta
in enriched milk, then sprinkles it with gorgonzola and runs it
under the broiler until it sizzles seductively, and serves it with a
further sprinkling of lightly toasted walnuts. Gorg is integral to
pasta al quattro formaggi, and the dolce creates an
instant sauce as you toss it with your tagliatelle, a knob of butter
and some black pepper. Walnuts, perchance. Spinach fettuccini is
nice. Mister Luongo makes a simple sauce of light cream and gorg and
lavishes it on his spelt and semolina gnocchi at his celebrated
restaurants Coco Pazzo and Le Madre. All blue cheeses go well with
sweet, nutty dessert bread and gorg is no exception. Fresh or dried
figs are a lovely, complex foil for it. If there are no fresh figs,
go for the dried calmyrnas - you’ll be almost as happy. Robust red
wines like Barolo and Brunelo are made for gorgonzola, again there’s
that terroir coming into play. And for a purist, a perfect sweet
pear and either gorg is hard to beat. If you have a red Bartlett
pear and an ounce or two of blue cheese, and can sit in the window,
and eat slowly, and look for the cardinals, you know you’ll get
through another December in
style. |
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