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Luglio
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What we love this summer
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by Gustav Ericson, for MDL
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The wrens returned later
than usual this year, mysteriously, but they apparently have made up
for lost time. They resumed residence in their now ancestral home under
the west eave of the porch. Their abode, which I scrutinize only
after they have departed for the year in late August, is a tangle of
seemingly uncomfortable twigs and branches, but their focus in
refurbishing it each spring is remarkably focused, with the attention
of an interior designer without budget restraints. Their
madrigals fill the backyard all morning, and if I am to be home, I
don’t put on music for an hour, so I can listen to their song. I have
given up on finding a theme in their remarkably complex, convoluted
arias as they refurnish their home, have their romantic interludes, and
then tend to their Lilliputian, voracious brood. I stay in that part of
the house if I am home, cooking for one reason or another, watching the
wrens’ idiosyncrasies- the flight to the abandoned bird feeder, to the
roses, to the birch, to the birdbath, and to the herb garden. Their
vocals sometimes indicate a pleased response with their discoveries,
but then again, they are often impassioned for no discernible reason.
Like those heart-wrenching Spanish boleros that I will put on later,
the lyrics are beyond my comprehension, but the delight is no less
acute.
Like summer itself, fleeting and joyous. I wonder if my wrens
hear the last peony drop its petals onto the damp lawn. The
little herb garden is bursting now, all jade, sage, celadon, mauve and
lavender. All spicy, aromatic, oniony. A family of toads comes back
every year and inhabits the mossy, crumbling bricks near the sage. The
sage is meaty and has hints of putrescence, and I know I should replace
it every three years, but I have grown to love its gnarled, stalwart
branches and that heady aroma. The wrens like it too, perching there
and delivering their arias. I wonder what to do with all the chives-
make chive oil, snip them over fromage blanc? This year there are some
new and ancient herbs to play with, lovage, marjoram, rue, summer
savory, and borage. We know that the Roman armies used borage for
courage and it’s heartening to have it growing here millenia later. I
hope that the wrens might pick at it and derive some strength,
sustaining them in their labors. I know I like its immature, fuzzy
leaves in a salad, and later, its exquisite sapphire and black
star-shaped flowers floating in an iced tea or on the potatoes in a salade niçoise, all Matisse.
At a recent demonstration at Provisions International, Gianluiggi
Peduzzi, owner of Rustichella d’Abruzzo, softly but passionately
intoned that those Roman legions also ate farro for strength and conditioned
that farro in vinegar to
stay alert. Signor was as quietly deferential and generous as other
Abbruzesse we know, and his lecture and subsequent lunch were a
delight. His line of pasta has long been our favorite, inarguably one
of the three best artisinal pastas available. We use it
exclusively, spoiled as we are in this our specialty food world. Its
startling array of shapes, substantive texture, consistency and its
ability to satisfy even when sauced minimally make it worth the extra
expense, we think. And S. Peduzzi made clear that because his pasta is
considerably lower in water content, it therefore absorbs more water as
it boils, and more sauce on your platter, so that it gives greater
yield per kilo than other pasta. Rustichella has recently introduced
lines of pasta made with whole wheat, spelt, and farro, to the delight
of most our foodie pals and patrons. During asparagus season, we made a
grand concoction of his Fregola Sardo,
that pearl-shaped, toasted first cousin of Israeli couscous, cooking it
in the risotto manner with shallots and vegetable stock, slender
asparagus cut on the bias, and served it with roasted ricotta salata
crumbled on top. This is the only instance in which one should seek out
skinny asparagus, but it is rather crucial in that dish. I will give
you the recipe if you ask.
What we loved most at the luncheon following S. Peduzzi’s talk on a
peaceful Vermont spring morning was not pasta but a cold farro salad, and I include the
recipe here, with annotations of course, and variations, but of course.
Farro (Triticum
turgidum dicoccum), a.k.a. Emmer wheat,
is as yet undersung on these shores, contrary to its nutritional
benefits and versatility. It is not mentioned in either of our two
favorite resources, The Food
Lover’s Companion, by Sharon Tyler Herbst, and How to Cook Everything by
the erudite Mark Bittman. The Italians, however, and in particular the
Tuscans, have been using it since classical times, and there is
evidence that the Etruscans cultivated and relied heavily on it as
their carbohydrate of choice. It dates back much further, to the Near
East and Egypt, where it was preferred during the time of the Pharaohs
to its softer triticum cousins. It is therefore one of the oldest
wheat varieties to be cultivated, second only to the obscure southern
Alpine variety Einkorn. The
“Grain of the Legions”, farro has
a 17% protein content, making it the highest of all wheat
species. It is a hulled wheat variety, its glumes, or husks,
enclosing the strong kernels. It is often confused with its German
cousin spelt, but we find the substantive texture of farro intero infinitely more
pleasant. Even after a long bath in a scalding minestrone, it keeps its
pleasant chewiness. Those Roman armies knew, perhaps, of the
strengthening properties of high-protein carbohydrates. We know, after
our recent research (e.g. six farro recipes
and variations), that emmer wheat is never gummy if cooked properly. It
requires an hour of soaking and a half-hour of simmering in unsalted
water. (Never salt your soaking or cooking water, as it will toughen
the grain).
We also include herewith simple recipes for other summery concoctions
that we would no longer do without: Cold-
Brewed Iced Coffee, thanks to Cindy Price in the “NY Times” last
summer; and the newly-necessary Arugula
Walnut Pesto, thanks to our ardent and esteemed foodie pal
Patricia N. An old mason jar of the coffee is always fermenting
on my counter top, yielding a coffee concentrate that is so unsullied
by heat that you can taste new nuances every time, with every variety
of bean you opt to grind. It is as refreshing and welcome as the cool
breeze that blows through the house after a heat wave. I bet you will
find any number of uses for the pesto, too: on a pound of Signor
Peduzzi’s orechiette, as I
do, or daubed luxuriantly on sliced tomatoes or a smoked turkey
sandwich, and I cannot imagine a panino
that it wouldn’t enhance.
Getting up before dawn and listening to the birds awaken is yet another
joy of high summer. Only then is there the dew-drenched lawn, a
miraculous collection of gorgeous moths hanging around the porch light
that wasn’t turned off, the first chirps from under the eaves, a
solitary firefly. One brilliant chartreuse and jet black moth, as
stylish as an Hermès cufflink, revisits each year and regally
holds court near the clematis. Sometimes I will stay in the
kitchen all morning, cooking things to give away: hazelnut cookies;
that Macedonian semolina cake; cold pasta Puttanesca; caramelized
fennel. Doing so, I watch the wrens in their similar, though eminently
more crucial, need to nurture their brood. I recently walked into
Lanci’s, a favorite and lamentably soon to be shuttered tratorria, and
was wordlessly greeted with a plate of warm fava and sage salad and a
grissini swathed in prosciutto. Words so often fall short: good,
well-thought-out, unrequested food never seems to.
Later this summer, when the borage blooms, I will make a farro salad, dress it with
vinegar, and strew a few borage leaves and flowers on top, a peaceful
homage to the Romans, and perhaps a sustaining gift for whoever might
be ailing at the time. The wrens will depart for easier climes, and I
will plant more herbs for them to play in upon their return next
summer. We wish you a luscious and peaceful summer.
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| Farro
Salad and Some Variations |
Cover
a pound of farro with cold water and let it soak for about an
hour. Drain in a colander, rinse, and place in a heavy pot. Cover
with
stock or cold water, bring to a boil, and then reduce the heat and let
it simmer, uncovered, for about a half hour, or until tender, like
barley. Do not salt the water.
Drain, rinse in hot water, and let cool briefly in the colander. (I
advise rinsing to get rid of some of the excess starch that will have
arisen in the simmering). Make a simple vinaigrette, using the old two
to one ratio of two parts extra virgin olive oil to one part red wine
vinegar or lemon juice, and toss the farro in it, seasoning to taste
with sea salt (Maldon is excellent here) and freshly ground Telicherry
pepper. Then add whatever you would use in a cold pasta salad: lots of
chopped herbs, certainly parsley; slivers of red onion (have you tried
the old-fashioned way of soaking raw onion slices in ice water to
remove its heat? Do give it a shot- I often soak highly sulfurous
onions in a little bowl of water with a few ice cubes tossed in, and
then blot them with paper towels. This is particularly beneficial if
you will be eating the onions late in the day); pitted and sliced
olives; rinsed capers, or those fired capers that I am always touting;
chopped arugula; chopped shallots, fresh, blanched peas; seeded
cucumbers. Christopher Coutant of Provisions International likes
her
farro salad dressed with lemon juice and scattered shaved fennel, to
which I would add a few lovage leaves; Wendy Hallgren, also of
Provisions, augments her salad with a “condiment” of deeply caramelized
shiitakes and shallots, all crusty and crumbly. How can you go wrong? I
make a dinner out of this salad with just a can of Italian tuna, or a
couple of hard-boiled eggs, or a few sardines. |
| Arugula
Walnut Pesto |
4
ounces arugula, washed in a bowl of cold water and spun very dry
1/2 cup grated Parmagian or Pecorino Romano,
but I like Moliterno best
1/2 cup walnuts, toasted for eight minutes in
a 350 degree oven
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice.
The grated rind of that lemon, if you are of a
mind to. Keep in mind that lemon peel gets quite pervasive as the pesto
ages
1 or two cloves garlic, peeled
Sea Salt to taste
1/2-cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/4-cup good walnut oil. Someday I might try
this with pignoli and pignoli oil if I am feeling flush.
Put all ingredients except the oils in a food
processor and
pulsate, but don’t overdo it. We like some texture in our pesto, and
maybe someday will make it in a mortar and pestle like we should.
Combine the oils in a measuring cup with a lip, and, with the motor
running, gradually add to the arugula mixture. Process till of the
desired consistency, but again don’t overdo it. Taste for seasoning.
This will keep well, refrigerated, for a week, with the garlic and
lemon peel intensifying every day. Use it anywhere you would pesto. A
simple and very satisfying crostino is merely some good bread grilled
(or toasted), spread with this pesto, then put back under the broiler
till it sizzles. Serve that with some heirloom tomatoes and some
marinated Gaeta olives. Sip whatever you like, and listen to the
bees
whirring in the lavender.
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| Cold
Brewed Iced Coffee |
2/3
cup freshly ground coffee. Medium-coarse is good. (I use Liquid
Asset’s Indo Noir, cause I like the deep caramel flavor and the syrupy
mouthfeel of coffees from Indonesia and particularly Sumatra.
Experiment with the beans and roasts of your choice. If you like
iced
coffee, you will love this).
3 cups cold water, non-chlorinated if possible
In a jar with a cover, place the ground coffee and slowly pour in the
water. Put on the cover and shake. Go to bed. (I make this coffee
concentrate perpetually this time of year, but have only recently
started playing with it. A bit of vanilla bean or a shard of cinnamon
stick macerating along with the gritty amalgam in your mason jar, or
ground up with the coffee beans, provide some interesting notes, and
cardamom imbues its camphoric sophistication. Tweak as you will,
remembering that a well-roasted coffee bean unshocked by boiling water
has some remarkable depth on its own).
Next day, strain the elixir twice through a fine mesh sieve or a
sieve lined with cheesecloth. (Get a fine meshed sieve). Pour over a
glass of ice, dilute with up to an equal amount of cold water, and
adulterate, as you deem necessary, with milk, cream, soymilk, raw
sugar, etal. I don’t dilute, because I am a hardcore coffee addict and
love the subtle notes of chocolate or caramel that I detect in coffee
“brewed” this way. Indeed, this is the only coffee I have ever enjoyed
black. You might go Vietnamese and dribble a thick layer of sweetened
condensed milk into the bottom of your glass before adding the ice and
the cold coffee. Ardent colleague and coffee savant Christine
Kleinegger uses any left over to make coffee ice cubes, which will not
dilute your quaff as they melt. We applaud her in this. |
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