La Cucina dei Poveri (The Cooking of the Poor)

By Skip Lombardi

Close to a hundred delicious recipes from my Sicilian grandparents.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skip Lombardi
• Release date: May 30, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452401492

Skip Lombardi

Skip Lombardi is a life-long Italophile who grew up in an Italian-speaking household, and has travelled to Italy more times than he can remember. He holds degrees in both Music and Mathematics, and while he has been a musician, high-school math teacher, and software engineer over the course of his career, he has never allowed those endeavors to interfere with his passion for cooking and eating. He has been researching, compiling, and cooking his family’s recipes in some form or other since 1992. He shares his late mother’s philosophy that there are no ailments in society that cannot be healed by a good dish of pasta.

Book preview

La Cucina dei Poveri

(The Cooking of the Poor)

Recipes from my Sicilian Grandparents

By Skip Lombardi

Copyright © 2003, 20010 Skip Lombardi. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review for use in a magazine or newspaper—without permission in writing from the author.

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Celebrating the memory of

my grandparents,

Sebastian and Carmelina LaBella

I wonder what the poor people are eating tonight?

Thomas W. Fats Waller

Table of Contents

Introduction

Antipasti

Appetizers/Snacks

Stimparata

Olive Salad

Pepperoni Arrosto

Roasted Peppers

Sottoaceti

Pickled Vegetables

Bagna Cauda

Hot Garlic and Anchovy Dip

Insalata di Finocchio, Funghi e Parmigiano

Salad of Fennel, Mushrooms, and Parmesan

Crostini di Ricotta

Ricotta Toasts

Carciofe Ripiene

Stuffed Artichokes

Funghi al Olio e Limone

Marinated Mushrooms

Insalata di Baccalà

Salt Cod Salad

Insalata Frutti di Mare

Seafood Salad

Bruschetta

Grilled Bread

Caponata

Sicilian Eggplant and Tomato Stew

Insalata con Pomodori e Rucola

Tomato and Arugula Salad

Zuppe

Soups

Zuppa di Scarolla

Escarole Soup

Minestrone

Vegetable Soup

Zuppa di Fagioli alla Toscana

Tuscan Bean Soup

Ribollita

Reboiled Soup

Tommy Lasorda's Beans and Greens

Pepperoni and Bean Soup

Pasta e Ceci

Pasta with Chickpeas

Zuppa di Lenticchie

Lentil Soup

Zuppa di Pomodoro e Basilico

Tomato Basil Soup

Zuppa di Santa

Leek and Potato Soup

Zuppa di Pesce alla Toscana

Tuscan Fish Soup

Cacciuco alla Livornese

Livornese Fish Stew

Zuppa di Cozze

Steamed Mussels

Zuppa di Vongole

Clam Soup

Primi e Piatti di Pranzo

First Courses and Luncheon Dishes

Salsa di Pomodoro

My Grandmother's Tomato Sauce

Calamari

Squid with Tomato Sauce

Pasta alla Norma

Pasta with Eggplant and Tomato Sauce

Pasta alla Caruso

Pasta with Chicken Livers in a Red Wine Tomato Sauce

Pasta alla Putanesca

Pasta in the Style of the Er, Um...Ladies of the Evening

Pasta all' Amatriciana

Pasta in the Style of Amatrice

Pasta con Lepre

Pasta with Rabbit

Pasta ai Cuori di Carciofi

Pasta with Artichoke Hearts

Linguine alle Vongole in Bianco

Pasta with White Clam Sauce

Pasta alla Carbonara

Pasta with Pancetta and Eggs

Pasta ai Quattro Formaggi

Pasta with Four Cheeses

Pasta ai Funghi Selvatici

Pasta with Wild Mushrooms

Pasta con Broccoli

Pasta with Broccoli

Pasta con Zucchini

Pasta with Zucchini

Pasta con Olive, Pomodori e Rucola

Pasta with Olives, Tomatoes, and Arugula

Lasagne

My Grandmother's Lasagne

Lasagne alla Bolognese

My Northern Italian Lasagne

Ragù alla Bolognese

Traditional Italian Meat Sauce

Besciamella

White Cream Sauce for Lasagne

Timballo di Maccheroni

Pasta Baked in Pastry Crust

Ragù alla Napoletana

Neopolitan Meat Sauce

Savory Pastry Crust

Polpette di Manzo

My Grandmother's Meatballs

Fegatini di Pollo

Sautéed Chicken Livers

Petti di Pollo

Sautéed Chicken Breasts

Melanzane alla Parmigiana

Eggplant Parmesan

Fazzola 'co Risu

Beans with Rice

'Sparagi

Scrambled Eggs with Asparagus

Risi e Bisi

Rice, Peas, and Pancetta

Secondi

Main Courses

Bistecca alla Pizzaiola

Steak with Tomato Sauce

Bistecca alla Fiorentina

Florentine Grilled Steak

Manzo Brasato al Vino Rosso

Beef Braised in Red Wine

Braccioletone di Manzo

Rolled, Stuffed Flank Steak

Braccioletine di Manzo

Rolled, Stuffed Beef Cutlets

Spuntature di Manzo ai Pomodoro e Pepperoni

Beef Short Ribs with Tomatoes and Peppers

Fettine di Manzo

Breaded Beef Cutlets

Scaloppini di Vitello alla Marsala

Veal Scaloppini with Marsala Wine Sauce

Spezzatino di Vitello

Veal Stew

Arista di Maiale

Roast Loin of Pork

Porchetta alla Perugina

Stuffed Loin of Pork

Spuntature e Fagioli

Spare Ribs and Beans

Stinco d'Agnello con Lenticchie

Lamb Shanks with Lentils

Abbachio alla Cacciatora

Hunter's Style Lamb

Spiedini d'Agnello

Lamb Skewers

Salsiccie, Patate, e Pepperoni

Sausage, Potatoes, and Peppers

Pollo al Forno

Roast Chicken

Petti di Pollo al Limone

Chicken Breasts with Lemon

Pollo alla Griglia

Grilled Chicken

Tuscan Chicken Wings

Grilled, Marinated Chicken Wings

Baccalà alla Romana

Salt Cod with Tomato Sauce

Contorni

Vegetables

Torte di Riso

Rice cakes

Insalata di Fagioli alla Toscana

Tuscan Bean Salad

Asparagi al Forno

Baked Asparagus

Broccoli all' Agro

Sautéed Broccoli

Spinaci Saltati

Sautéed Spinach

Fagiolini Verde al Aceto

Green Beans with Vinegar

Patate Arrosto alla Toscana

Tuscan Roasted Potatoes

Panzarotti

Potato Cakes

Insalata di Patate

Potato Salad

Patate e Pepperoni

Potatoes and Peppers

Melanzane Marinate

Marinated Eggplant

Funghi Trifolati

Mushrooms, Truffle Style

Panzanella

Bread Salad

Condiglione

Ligurian Mixed Salad

Dolci

Sweets

Cannoli alla Siciliana

Sicilian Filled Pastries

Tiramisù

Pick Me Up

Aranci alla Siciliana

Orange Salad

About the Author

Introduction

My grandparents were often out of step with the rest of the crowd: Protestant in an otherwise Catholic Italian immigrant community, and later, Italian in a neighborhood full of White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. In each case, it must have been a tough row to hoe.

My mother, aunts, and uncles got into scuffles on Sunday mornings as they walked to church, because they were going to the Methodist church while the rest of their friends were going to St. Sebastian's. And when my grandparents found the house in the WASP neighborhood, one of their prospective neighbors offered them $1,000 to continue looking elsewhere.

But as nearly as I could tell, they took it all with grace and equanimity. I don't mean to suggest that my grandfather was above calling someone a baccalà from time to time. (And here, I don't mean a dried cod fish, I mean a foolish person.) Or that my grandmother didn't refer to someone as a cucumber every once in a while either—although it sounded more colorful in her Sicilian dialect. I mean simply that they lived their lives with dignity and humor, ever mindful of where they were, never forgetting where they had come from—particularly when it came to Sicilian culinary tradition.

That's what this book is about.

Where they had come from was a little town near the east coast of Sicily called Melilli; population, fewer than 2,000. Where they settled, was Middletown, Connecticut. My grandmother, along with her two brothers and two sisters arrived in 1897. My grandfather, his two brothers, and sister, in 1904.

The newspaper clipping in one of our family albums says that Sebastian Salvatore LaBella and Carmelina Maria Amenta were married at my grandmother's home on Ferry St. in Middletown, on November 4, 1916. Pastor Ortolani, an itinerant minister of the Italian Methodist Episcopal Church, conducted the service. Over time, they had six children, three girls, and three boys.

When I was born, they became grandparents. I'm told that it was a role that they took to with relish. One of the stories that went around the family was that I was late in learning how to walk. The reason given was that it took me so long because my grandmother or grandfather were forever carrying me around in their arms. When I began to talk, they encouraged me to call them Nonna and Papà—Italian for grandmother and grandfather. As I was still developing my language skills though, I called them Noonie and Pop. The nicknames stuck for the rest of the time we were together.

My earliest memories of Noonie and Pop have a lot to do with food. For example, Noonie taking me down to the Mohegan Market on Main Street in Middletown. Of course, her motive was to show off her grandson and to take as much credit for my good health and disposition as she could get away with among her peers. I became a willing accomplice, because there was always a cream puff in my immediate future.

Back at home, whenever Noonie made bread, I would regularly get the first slice, warm from the oven, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper. When we had leftover bread that was going stale, Pop would prepare a little treat he called 'a Zuppa. He would break up what was left of the loaf, soak it with equal parts coffee and milk, then serve it in a soup dish, topped with a little cinnamon and sugar.

And it seemed to me that Noonie had an endless supply of chicken broth on hand, because she never had a problem producing a bowl of Pasta 'ca Brodu, pasta in broth. It simply came down to cooking some kind of small pasta like Acini di Pepe, or Orzo in the broth, and serving it with a slice of bread. La cucina dei poveri: the cooking of the poor. The whole point was that it never seemed to take much. A couple of ingredients, a slice of bread, a few olives perhaps. And that was a meal.

These days, chefs on Food TV and at tony restaurants alike have been going around acting as though they've been responsible for the discovery of ingredients considered to be undesirable only a couple of decades ago. Lamb shanks, and short ribs of beef have taken their places on menus cheek by jowl with New York Sirloin—and with commensurate prices. Pasta, aglio, olio, e pepperoncino, pasta with garlic, olive oil, and red pepper flakes, became a high ticket menu item when the menu included the name of the vineyard that produced the extra virgin olive oil.

But these are the sorts of things we grew up eating long before they became fashionable. Italian cuisine—and perhaps the cuisine of most of Western Europe—was born in poverty. It made no sense to discard the forelegs of a lamb when the shanks yielded so much meat. Likewise, it made no sense to discard beef ribs after the prime rib roast had been butchered. And when the larder contained no more than a couple of cloves of garlic and a jug of olive oil, aglio-olio was as good as any New York sirloin. Even today, Italians are fond of telling people that they use every part of the pig except the squeal. Although that too, sounds more colorful in the Sicilian dialect.

While I believe that any biography of the LaBella family would include the phrase, middle class, or perhaps even, solidly middle class, when it came to cooking and eating, Noonie and Pop never forgot their Sicilian heritage. Grandpa LaBella was a cobbler in Melilli, and Grandpa Amenta was a cabinet maker, but Melilli's economy was based on agriculture and even that couldn't be considered big business. So the folks often had to make do with what was available at the time. Even when times were good, Sicilians were, at a minimum, frugal.

It became predictable that when my grandfather and my great uncles got together later in life, their conversation would turn to their childhoods in Melilli and their fond recollections of walking in the hills on the outskirts of town foraging for wild asparagus, and gathering almonds on the ground. At the time, that sort of conversation engendered polite rolling of eyes, and the exchange of knowing looks that suggested three relatively prosperous retired fellows had become senile simultaneously. Nowadays, I think there are upscale specialty travel agencies that can book you on an all-inclusive one week asparagus-foraging vacation for about the price of a semester at Yale.

But even well past childhood, Pop continued to be a forager. When dandelions cropped up on every lawn, seemingly overnight, Pop, and often, my uncle Louie would walk over to Foss Hill on the campus of Wesleyan University nearby, to pick dandelion greens. If I happened to be around, I was pressed into service as their bearer; that is, I walked along behind them, carrying the bushel basket and the trowels.

When we had filled the basket with the greens, we'd head back home where, ostensibly, Pop and uncle Louie would clean them. But somehow, when we had no sooner gotten back, uncle Louie would get a call from the hospital telling him he had an emergency. Uncle Louie was a surgeon, but there was always some question in my grandfather's mind about whether he might have told an ER nurse to call him at 10:30 a.m. at his brother's house before going off to pick dandelions. And somehow, Uncle Louie would always manage to finish his day's office hours just in time to stop by at Pop's house to pick up his share of the dandelion greens as my grandmother was putting dinner on the table. It goes without saying that dinner included dandelion greens, sautéed in olive oil and garlic, and sprinkled liberally with red pepper flakes.

During the summer, Pop did another kind of foraging that showed up on the LaBella table in several different ways: mussels. In the late nineteen-fifties and early sixties, we had a summer cottage at Great Hammock Beach in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. The beach included a small jetty, which provided a comfortable home to the local mussel population.

At the time, most people around Great Hammock considered mussels to be a nuisance and were bewildered when they saw Pop, pant legs rolled up to his knees, clambering along the jetty picking them and putting them into a small basket he carried hooked in one arm and looking every bit like my vision of J. Alfred Prufrock.

Oblivious to anything but the task at hand, though, Pop would steam the cleaned and debearded mussels in olive