Adagio, i Tipido

By Gustav Ericson

For C.J.; H.S.; M.L. 

The air in the ochre room has thickened with puffs of wood smoke, the waxy fumes from one of the sputtering yellow candles, and the pervasive redolence of leeks and garlic from my quietly bubbling soup- I have made a large batch of my version of pappa al pomodoro. The electricity had resolutely sighed off around four o’clock this Monday afternoon, mid-January. This first ice storm of the winter is apparently a serious one. Coming home, on an almost deserted highway, I had noticed that even the omnipresent hawks had repaired to the comfort of denser woods. The trees in the back yard are cracked and bent, the birches doubled over under the weight of the ice on their every limb. From the back porch I hear a frequent snapping and falling of limbs from up in the woods. I have found a battery-powered radio and listen to Vermont public radio-so accommodating, the gentleman at VPR, playing, it seems, only the slow movements. You only hear what you want to hear…. The second movement of the “Emperor” concerto summons, anew, its particular raptures and longings. My fire has warmed the house quickly, as it may have a century and a half ago, and the soup simmers as languorously as it should. Ice pelts the windows on the north, and there is no street traffic at all. Without, all is steel gray and dark silver as the shadows lengthen in the peaceful room. A surfeit of candles, why not make the most of it? Magic abounds in the Beethoven, in the creaking of untrodden floorboards above, in the auras around the candles, the crackling of the fire, leeks simmered in good olive oil. I have retrieved a down comforter from upstairs, as yet unnecessary this warmish winter, and sleep a while in its peaceful cocoon. The delicious and rare inertia of a night iced in…fully savored as I awaken to a glowing, fragrant little room and a Mahler slow movement…what angels are lurking on the roof of my house?

A leaner, post-Yuletide larder has been more than adequate to make my soup, which is simplicity in itself: Sauté leeks and garlic for a long time ‘til soft but not brown, add a couple of large cans of quality tomatoes, the stock you have on hand (vegetable, chicken, beef.. I happen to have porcini broth and chicken stock, from past risotti, in the freezer), and an herb…I like thyme in winter, rosemary or even basil in the fall. Bring to a boil, and then slowly simmer for at least a half-hour. Stir occasionally, breaking up the tomatoes with the back of your spoon. Then add several slices of good crusty bread, pushing them deep into the soup. If you like, let the bread soak in, off the heat, allowing it to soften and thicken the soup. Take a nap if you like. Then you can whisk the whole affair ‘til you achieve a porridge-like consistency and serve drizzled with olive oil. I am often iconoclastic and merely immerse the bread in the soup and gobble it up, watching movies on the couch, enjoying the contrast of the still-crusty bread, the vibrancy of the tomatoes, and the certainly optional luxury of the cheese. (A deconstructed Grilled-Cheese-And-Tomato-Soup Thang, I realize now). At my crib there are always good Muir Glen tomatoes, fruity virgin olive oil, plenty of garlic, and a few tired leeks that need to be used up. You could use San Marzano tomatoes and go all carpe diem if you like- I certainly do. The intense dried German thyme I use is from an indulgent gardener pal in our produce department. I had the remnants of yet another loaf of the “No-Knead Bread” that has the foodie world agog lately: a crusty boule I make all the time since an altruistic Jim Lahey (of Sullivan Street Bakery) and a knowing Mark Bittman (of The New York “Times”) shared it with that world. The bread thickens the soup, a cold-weather cousin to gazpacho, and I tuck a couple of slices of Fontina d’Aosta in the bottom of the big bowl before ladling in the simmering, crimson potage. Why not make the most of it? I usually have some garlic-infused oil around, too. (Remember to infuse your (extra virgin) oil by immersing several whole, but peeled, garlic cloves, and perhaps a branch of rosemary, in cold oil, and to warm it very slowly on a back burner. You never want the garlic to brown nor the oil to simmer you just want the occasional frisson on the surface. Let it cool slowly, too, and decant into a clean, widemouthed jar. You will find myriad uses for it all year long). I float a little puddle of the verdant oil on the soup, and twist on some coarse black pepper. It is the best meal in recent memory. You had to work for it. The soup, the Mahler, the candlelight on the heavy gold frame of an old painting, a late afternoon nap at dusk…sweet are the uses of these little adversities. 

The Fontina d’Aosta that melts so luxuriantly in my rustic soup is one of our ten favorite cheeses. In the world. Other people feel that way as well, even going to the effort of making ersatz versions of it (Fontal, Fontinella, etalia) but none come close to the profound flavor and sensuous melting qualities of the real thing. True Fontina comes only from the Valle d’Aosta, tucked up under the Alps, and is perhaps named after the lofty alpine peak Mont Fortin. Up that way, people enjoy some of our planet’s best truffles, walnuts, honey, rice and dairy products. Cows there have some very toothsome pasturage to munch on during their summer sojourns high in the mountains. Those grassy, fruity flavors are always apparent to us, as we taste cheeses like Fontina, L’Étivaz, Taleggio and the Robioli we purvey. Fontina val d’Aosta is made only from full fat, raw cow’s milk. Its production is first documented early in the seventeenth century, but all turophiles know that is might well date back to the eighth. It is aged for at least three months, during which time the rind is frequently brushed and oiled. The dull amber rind encloses a lovely pale cream interior that’s riddled with tiny holes. Its flavors reflect that quality of terroir that we are always going on about- complex nuances of grass and fruit and mountain pastures. There should also be the slight tartness of fermentation underscoring the fruit- the summer Alps enrobing your tongue. When heated, Fontina deliquesces like a dream, and the mushroom flavor deepens. We have used it for years in a roasted or, admittedly, fried red pepper omelette. Or an artichoke omelette with a smattering of fresh thyme. An esteemed chefly colleague will use Fontina, and Fontina alone, on his braised fennel gratin, with good reason. A focaccia or pizza made with that subtle, elegant vegetable and Fontina is heaven on a winter Sunday with a bowl of robust marinated olives.

Nota bene that Fontina pairs well with you more serious vegetables, like artichokes, fennel, leeks, cardoons (if you can find ‘em), potatoes. When people say, “Hey Goos, waddya put on your pizza?” I most always say “Spinach or escarole, or maybe arugula, wilted in olive oil with garlic; shredded Fontina; grated Grana Padano…Make your own crust and put a couple of tablespoons of good olive oil in the dough…

Absolutely use your pizza stone…Drizzle with white truffle oil (for the terroir!) and sprinkle with black pepper in winter and red in summer…” The folks at ‘ino in the West Village, my favorite sandwich joint, make “Truffled Egg Toast”, an Italianate version of “Toad in the Hole”, with a good egg cooked perfectly in crusty bread upon which Fontina has been melted. Those guys are indulgent with the truffle oil, but not too indulgent, and they then surround the affair with lightly blanched asparagus. There is always a waiting line of the chic and/or savvy, anticipating this celebrated little repast, which is now served all day, not just at breakfast. You can easily make your own Truffled Egg Toast, as we happily carry all the ingredients here at the Co-op. And I will give you some hints on the “No-knead bread” recipe, widely available now, if you like. It is excellent grilled or toasted or plummeted into your tomato soup.

Fontina d’Aosta is the primary ingredient in Fonduta, the Piemontese version of Swiss fondue. Typical of the indulgent food of the Piedmont, it is much richer than its Swiss counterpart, being lavish with eggs, butter, milk and, who knew? – paper- thin slices of white truffle. The Italians don’t dip little chunks of bread into their Fonduta, preferring to serve it over potatoes, rice or polenta. I lighten up a tad and make an easy Broiled Fontina that would be pretty apropos for a sexy Valentine’s day supper. Ascertain, firstly, that you both like garlic and truffles. Cut up about a pound of Fontina, put it in a smallish, perhaps 8-inch iron or enameled-iron sauté pan, drizzle with a little olive oil, and scatter with sliced-thinly-as-possible garlic, maybe three cloves (use your sharpest knife to get wafer- thin slices). Scatter with some sprigs of fresh thyme, strew with coarse black pepper, and then broil ‘til it’s all crusty brown and gooey. Apply a goodly amount of white truffle oil, and serve provocatively with your crusty bread and perhaps a bowl of artichokes. I haven’t tried it with asparagus spears, cause I just thought of that, but that sounds pretty sexy too. Keep warm, or eat it ravenously, as it sets up pretty quickly. The nice thing here is the proportion of crust and chew…unlike fondue, where you have to fight over the crusty remnants at the bottom of the pot (la réligieuse). Those infinitely clever Piemontese! This is headspinningly flavorful and pretty compelling stuff. You are forewarned.

Something else that warms my heart, at least, is to observe our patrons cheese shopping for a gathering and settling on totally northern Italian assortment. Without our imput. Fontina d’Aosta certainly should be included, as should Taleggio, Pecorino Toscano (we now carry three or four varieties), Montasio (or Piave), Grana Padano (or Reggiano) and Gorgonzola (either dolce or piccante, but do go for the g. piccante for a cheese platter- it will give you that robust, memorable flavor that you need in the “twelve o’clock” position on your platter. Save the g. dolce for your sauces or for your fresh figs when they come back). Since so many folks these days are embracing the foods of Tuscany, it is heartening to offer a selection of cheeses that rival any French cheese plate. (I know I’m gonna get some flack for that…)

Late afternoon, the day after the storm, and I am cleaning up the fallen limbs in the icy back yard. The power has been restored, which I view with slightly mixed feelings. Slightly. The trees up in the woods crackle and sigh under their icy coats. There is none of the anticipated twittering of small birds, but I do notice a patrician, well-nourished hawk archly surveying my foolish cleaning of her icy domain. The sun makes an appearance late in the afternoon, and then the trees sparkle… somehow refracting only the highest vibrations of the light….all scintillations of blue and indigo and purple.

Back in the house, I’ve built a now unnecessary fire, and will slowly warm up the soup. A new batch of bread dough will rise well in the deeper warmth of the wood fire. I’ll light a couple of candles at dusk, and get out some long-ignored Mahler…

There is such magic, all the time, and we hope you savor it this and every season. We will happily give you our advice on tomato/bread soup, infusing oil and making great bread if you so desire. We have stocked up on Fontina val d’Aosta, and offer it at a ten- percent reduction during February.