Main

Like Antico Peposo, page 195, this is a rugged, spicy, Maremma-style meat stew—chunks of pork marinated in wine, then browned and braised with ground fennel, peperoncino, and black olives. Traditionally, secondary cuts of pork were used for this dish, but if you prefer, pork chops can be substituted for the pork shoulder. Just keep in mind not to overcook them—use less stock, and cook for a shorter time. Serve with Braised Swiss Chard and Cannellini Beans, page 175, or polenta.

Pollo alla cacciatora is served in many regions of Italy, but when you see lots of fresh rosemary and tomatoes it is a dead giveaway—you know it is from Tuscany. And in this case the dish is typical of Maremma, straightforward and elementary, with nothing more than good chicken, good tomatoes, and fresh rosemary to make it delicious. This dish ought to be done in advance, as it gets better as it sits. Though it is delicious served as is with just some crusty bread, I especially love it with polenta. And when it is too hot to cook polenta, some tubular pasta, like rigatoni, will do just fine. If you have some left over, just pluck the meat off the bones and save it for another meal, to dress pasta or make a risotto with it.

As with the preceding duck recipe, either a whole rabbit or rabbit pieces can be used for this sauce. If you’re getting a whole rabbit, ask the butcher to cut it into eight or ten pieces, or do it yourself, just cutting between the joints. (If you have my book Lidia’s Family Table, look at the photos on page 321 to see how to cut up a rabbit.) If you can find rabbit legs, hind and/or front, they would be even better for this recipe. As with the duck, the legs have more meat, are easier to handle, and cost less. Serve this sauce with pappardelle, following the procedures in the duck recipe, or with gnocchi, polenta, or dry pasta.

When duck is braised for sauce in Maremma, pappardelle is the pasta of choice. Therefore, I encourage you to make your own fresh pappardelle, following my recipe here. (Of course, the sauce will be delicious on other fresh pastas, gnocchi, or polenta; and pappardelle is great with other dressings too!) I also recommend using duck legs for this dish rather than a whole duck, as I think they’re tastier and make a better sauce. If you don’t see packaged duck legs, ask your butcher to special-order them for you.

Tortelli are ravioli by another name—a square, filled pasta. And though they vary greatly, like all pastas, tortelli often are filled with fresh ricotta and spinach or other greens, herbs, or vegetables. In Maremma, where carnivorous appetites rule, such a meatless approach is not typical. As you’ll find in this set of recipes, tortelli maremmani have meat inside and outside—and lots of it. Fried chopped chicken livers plump up the tortelli, in addition to ricotta and spinach. Once cooked, the tortelli are dressed with a typical ragù maremmano, made with three chopped meats slowly cooked in tomatoes. My friend Alma likes best boar, chicken, and pork, but here I call for veal, pork, and sausage, because I find that combination comes close to the complexity of the boar. Of course, if you can get boar, by all means use it. This is a great pasta, and worth all the stirring and stuffing. However, it is not necessary to make everything here and put the ingredients together in just one way. The components of tortelli maremmani give many options for delicious meals (and convenient advance preparation). For instance, it’s fine to make the filling and the pasta for the tortelli and leave the ragù for another day. You can sauce your tortelli simply with sage butter, pages 49–50, or just shower them with Tuscan olive oil and Pecorino Toscano. On the other hand, go right to the ragù recipe—skip the tortelli—and make this marvelous sauce to dress any pasta, fresh or dry, or polenta or gnocchi. Indeed, the ragù recipe makes enough for two or more meals. Toss a couple of cups of ragù with spaghetti for a fabulous (and fast) supper one night, and freeze the rest. It will still be perfect whenever you do get a chance to roll and fill those plump tortelli maremmani.

This skillet pasta is the epitome of good everyday Italian cooking. It is fast—everything, including the dried gramigna pasta, cooks in less than 10 minutes. The ingredients are right out of the pantry and fridge. And when you put them all together—the textures and tastes are in perfect balance. When dishes are so simple, every ingredient is very important. Here the feel and texture of curly gramigna pasta plays an important role, so do try to find it (see Sources, page 340). Other pastas, such as elbows, shells, or small pennette, will be delicious, but gramigna is used in Maremma, and I love it.

Crespelle (Italian for “crêpes”) are easy, delicious, and versatile. You can fill and bake them with almost any stuffing. Here’s a favorite of mine, crespelle filled with a creamy mushroom ragù, as they do it in Maremma. Many wonderful dishes can be made using crespelle in place of pasta. If you have all the ingredients for a filling for lasagna, for example, but do not want to make pasta, crêpes are ideal.

Acquacotta literally means “cooked water,” a traditional term for a soup of just a few ingredients cooked in boiling water. But the pale name in no way reflects the savor and satisfaction of this vegetable soup. It has great depth of flavor, and when served Alma’s way, with a poached egg and country bread in the bowl, it is a complete meal. In country fashion, Alma cracks a raw egg right into each portion of hot soup and inverts another bowl on top, as a cover. You have to wait (mouth watering) for a minute or two before removing the top bowl, to find a beautifully cooked egg. Here I transfer the soup to a skillet and poach the eggs over low heat, to be sure they have cooked thoroughly. Since this soup is so quick, inexpensive, and nourishing, local women would make it often, especially when extra farmhands came to help to harvest the grapes and olives and to work the land.

Agnolotti del plin, or agnolotti with a pinch, is the quintessential Piedmontese stuffed pasta, served in starred restaurants and the simplest of trattorias throughout the year. But if you happen to be in the Alba area in the late autumn, don’t fail to order the agnolotti, because every eating establishment will be shaving white truffle over them. And when blanketed with white Alba truffles, this always delicious dish is raised to an even greater height of flavor. In Piedmontese homes, agnolotti del plin is often made with small amounts of any roast-meat leftovers, whether beef or pork, poultry or game, chopped and seasoned to serve as an impromptu filling for golden tajarin dough. For big occasions (and in restaurants, of course), meat is roasted specifically for the filling, as in the recipe here. But if you happen to have one or more kinds of tasty leftover roast, by all means use it (you’ll need a couple of cups of shredded meat, trimmed of gristle, to make a full batch). And even if you don’t have a white truffle, a simple dressing of sage-infused butter is a lovely complement to the flavors of the meat filling and the rich egg pasta.

This is one of the simplest recipes in this book, and it is one of the most sublime. Yes, truffles add a mystique—but even without them this is my favorite way to cook eggs. Essential to this procedure is never to allow the olive oil to reach temperatures at which heat alters and degrades the flavors. Hence, you will ultimately have the full presence of fresh olive oil in a natural state intermingled with the egg and truffle flavors. Thus, the quality of the olive oil is paramount here, more than in most cooked dishes. I like using lighter and more vegetal olive oils from the Lago di Garda district, Friuli-Venezia Giulia, or Istria. Another important point is to keep the curd of the egg large and soft. The steady but gentle dragging of the curds—strapazzati means “dragged”—and controlled heat prevents any part from cooking solid, and in this moist state all the natural flavor of the egg comes through. As with olive oil, the best quality eggs are essential—as fresh as can be, and organic if possible. There is a basic lesson to be learned in this recipe that applies to Italian cooking—for that matter, to all cooking—get the best ingredients, do not overcrowd the flavors, and work the food as little as possible. Along with this lesson, I am sure, you’ll get some of the best scrambled eggs you’ve ever tasted—even without truffles.

I love dishes made from preserved codfish, and in the Veneto they make marvelous use of cod preserved by different methods. Baccalà is codfish that has been salted, and this is made into baccalà alla trevigiana, which I share with you here. Then there is stoccafisso, codfish that has been air-dried and that is used for baccalà manteccato, whipped with olive oil and garlic. Today salted cod—baccalà—is available in many supermarkets, and your fishmonger should carry it. It comes in boneless sides, and it is best to get center cuts, which are meatier and less salty. In any case, thorough soaking, as detailed in the recipe, is vital to the success of the dish. In Treviso, baccalà alla trevigiana is always served with Baked Polenta (page 111), and the combination of flavors and textures is so delicious I never break tradition. Do the preliminary cooking of the polenta the day before you cook the baccalà, and you can finish both in the oven at the same time.

Radicchio trevisano will yield the best risotto with the most authentic Italian flavor, but this recipe will be very good with radicchio grown in the United States, either the small round heads, or heads with long wide leaves. Endive, a distant cousin of the radicchio, will also make a good risotto.

This soup is common in all of the regions hugging the Adriatic, where fish trimmings of one sort or another are always available to cook into a light, flavorful broth. We had it often when we lived in Istria, whenever someone in the family was not feeling well, for its supposed restorative powers. And although children sometimes disdain “fishy”-tasting food, I recall vividly savoring this broth, which had the taste of the sea but was sweet and elegant too. In those days, we would take the fish heads and tails out of the soup pot and pluck the hidden morsels of whitefish meat off the bones. In the version that follows, you’ll strain the bones out of the broth and briefly cook some meaty (but boneless) trimmings just before serving the soup.

Everyone makes this classic soup a little differently, according to preference. I like my risi e bisi rather brothy, but others make theirs quite dense. This is controlled by the intensity of the boil, whether the pot is kept open or covered, and cooking time, all of which determine the rate of evaporation. (I cook my soup covered, at a slow boil.) Either long-or short-grain rice can be used here. Traditionally, the soup was made with short-grain Carnaroli or Arborio rice, and I still think this gives the most authentic flavor and texture. It cooks faster too, but if you need to cook the soup longer or reheat it, the rice tends to dissolve. Long-grain rice, on the other hand, stays more intact in a long-cooking or reheated soup. But as it does not release starch like short-grain rices, the soup will be thinner.

Everybody is familiar with lamb chops and leg of lamb—but how about the shoulder? When is that used? Well, here I give you the recipe for a roasted lamb shoulder—and you will see why it is my favorite cut for roasting. The meat is sweeter on the blade bone, and, with lots of cartilage to melt during roasting, the meat is finger-sticking good. You might not get a clean, precise cut of meat from the shoulder, but it will be delicious.