You’ve probably all heard about agriturismo, but do you know what pescaturismo is? The photo above might give you some clue, but if you’re still unsure, another hint comes from the word “pescare” which means “to fish” in Italian.
On our recent trip to Sardinia, we spent a day at sea aboard the Pescaturismo Sampey fishing boat with owners Gemi and Ignazina, (and their nephew Davide) as they hauled in their fishing nets and cooked the day’s catch for us and five other people.
You never know what’s going to appear as the nets get yanked from the sea. On this day it was lots of cuttlefish (similar to squid).
But there were also plenty of finned fish, such as red mullet and sea bass.
I was hoping for some octopus, which is what happened when I took this trip with Ignazina and Gemi 12 years ago, but the sole octopus that got snared in the net managed to escape while being hauled aboard.
There were still plenty of other fish for us to eat, and for Ignazina to remove from the net!
Gemi, Igna and Davide worked on extracting the fish from the net, cleaning and cooking them, as we were moored off the coast of a small island. Note the flag on the boat, which is the traditional flag of the island, featuring the four moors.
While they did all the work, we were free to jump off the boat, swim and snorkel in the beautiful clear, turquoise waters.
We were summoned back on board for lunch, starting with tomato bruschetta.
Several fish courses followed, cooked in Ignazina’s tiny galley kitchen, including braised cuttlefish.
She also made a seafood risotto, sprinkled with bottarga (fish roe) on top.
Ignazina used some of the whole fish for a seafood stew.
Gemi cooked the rest of the whole fish on a portable grill. We couldn’t have had seafood any fresher unless we had eaten them raw while we were in the water. All this accompanied by limitless wine, homemade limoncello and mirto (blueberry liqueur), and fruit for dessert.
If you’re ever in Southern Sardinia with a day to spare and are looking for something unusual to do, try a day out at sea with Gemi and Ignazina. Their friendliness and hospitality are a great calling card for this beautiful island.
Trying to keep the Sardinia glow alive back at home in New Jersey, I found this two pound sea bass at the local fish store, caught that morning off the coast of our summer home. I smeared the aluminum pan with olive oil, added some herbs inside the fish cavity, scattered some lemon slices and onions around the fish, then my husband cooked it on the outdoor grill.
Filleting a whole fish can be intimidating to some, but once you’ve done it, (directions here), it’s not so difficult.
Besides, when you buy the whole fish, you get the advantage of scooping out the fish cheeks (the small piece on the fork, below) – the most tender and succulent part of all.
I may be far from the crystal clear waters surrounding Sardinia, but I can conjure up those memories at home eating grilled fish, while I remember diving off the side of the Sampey boat.
This platter of cookies was the perfect ending to a fabulous meal at Agriturismo Sa Marighedda on our recent trip to Sardinia (recipe at the end of the post). If you don’t know what an agriturismo is, let me explain. It’s sometimes a place to stay where the owners live, often on a working farm. It’s sometimes a place where the owners invite the public in for a meal using products grown or raised on site.
In this case, it was a restaurant next door to the owner’s home, and everything was homemade, from the cured meats, to the wine and liqueurs and everything in between. They offer a multi-course meal for a grand total of about 30 euros, or about $40.00 U.S. per person – a real bargain, especially considering the quality of the food and they even offer seconds of all the courses — if you have room in your stomach.
The owners, Mara and Roberto, work hard to deliver an authentic Sardinian meal and make you feel like you’re sitting down to Sunday pranzo at their home. That is, if you’re in the habit of eating what seemed like non-stop courses – all of which were delicious. Families are most welcome here, and there’s even a playground for children who might feel a lightly antsy sitting at a table for two or three hours.
We were seated and immediately served a platter of homemade affettati (cured meats), olives and wine – all made in house and all wonderful.
Next came a frittata-like course, with zucchini dotting the egg and cheese mixture.
Then came savory pockets filled with seasoned raw tomatoes. Think of tomato bruschetta, but with a flaky pastry dough instead of toasted bread.
We moved on to primo piatto, or in this case, primi piatti, since there were two first courses — one of malloreddus with sausage (see my last blog post here for the recipe),
And another of culurgiones, a typical Sardinian pasta similar to a fat ravioli, but filled with potatoes, pecorino cheese and mint.
We could easily have eaten seconds on any of these foods, but we knew there was still plenty to come, including the main event — roast suckling pig — cooked on an open spit.
Sardinia is surrounded by water and we ate fish nearly every night, but the interior of the island especially, is known for its delicious roast pig, and we were not disappointed in this juicy and flavorful rendition.
Before the main dessert arrived, we were presented with these small and juicy plums. They were just the right palate cleanser before moving to sweeter offerings.
I also wanted to show you these breads that are also traditional Sardinian shapes, using scissors and other implements to cut the dough.
Here are some of the implements Mara uses to make the breads and the cookies:
Aren’t they lovely with those scalloped, fringed edges? After they’re shaped, they get deep-fried and sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar.
But we still weren’t finished after the cookie assortment. There was mirto (homemade blueberry liqueur) and grappa to taste. Fortunately, we didn’t have far to drive to get back to our hotel, after this abundant feast.
Thank you Mara and Roberto for your hospitality and the authentic flavor of Sardinian cuisine.
Mara was kind enough to give me her recipe for the ricotta ravioli (called culurgioneddus de arrescottu in Sardinian dialect) and you’ll find it below:
If there’s one dish that’s synonymous with Sardinia, it’s the pasta called “malloreddus.” They’re similar in shape to cavatelli or gnocchi, and in fact you can find them in Italian specialty food stores labeled “gnocchetti Sardi.” But unlike gnocchi, no potatoes are used — just flour and water. And unlike cavatelli, they’re made with semolina flour, not regular flour, giving them a more “toothy” feel.
Depending on whom you ask, the word malloreddus is a diminutive of a Southern Sardinian word “malloru,” which translates to “chubby baby calves.” Another explanation (that makes more sense to me) is that it comes from the Latin word “mallolus” meaning “morsel.” Either way, they are delicious.
You can make the pasta at home using flour, water (and sometimes strands of saffron), but if you’re not up to the challenge, you can buy them in stores or online too.
I ate malloreddus several times during our recent trip to Sardinia, including at an agriturismo, where they were one of two pasta dishes served as primi piatti. The malloreddus are on the right, and a specialty pasta stuffed with potato called “culurgiones” is on the left. More on the agriturismo and the wonderful meal we ate there in another post.
A classic Sardinian recipe, served at all special occasions or for family dinners, is malloreddus alla Campidanese, using saffron in the sauce, rather than in the dough itself, and sausage. In Sardinia, the dish is as ubiquitous as pecorino cheese, another essential ingredient when serving this pasta.
If you use store purchased malloreddus, the dish comes together quickly, and is a real crowd pleaser, even if the crowd is just you and your husband!
Before leaving Sardinian, I want to introduce you to another symbol of this beautiful island in the Mediterranean Sea. It’s the structure called “nuraghe.” Nuraghi (plural of nuraghe) were built between 1900 and 730 BCE (way back in the Bronze Age) by peoples of the Nuragic civilization, of which little is known. There’s no consensus on what these stone structures were used for, but many believe they were used for either military purposes, as homes for rulers or ordinary people, for religious rites or a combination of the above.
It is thought that there were once 10,000 Nuraghi scattered across Sardinia, and the remains of about 7,000 nuraghi can still be found. However, it’s dangerous to visit many on your own because of hazardous conditions. (You wouldn’t want to have huge boulders fall on you!) The one pictured below, Su Nuraxi at Barumini, in the south-central part of the island, is well maintained, however, and a guide takes you through the various levels describing the structure.
You’ll need little guidance however, to dig into this dish of malloreddus all campidanese, so I hope you give it a try:
For those of you receiving these posts by email, I’m sorry about the funky formatting of the last entry. Due to computer problems, I had to create the post on my iPad, and obviously, I found out there are limitations to that platform. Hopefully this post, written on my new computer (yea!) has come through without any problems in viewing. To read my last post about pecorino di Pienza cheese, go to the actual site, http://ciaochowlinda.com.
Continuing on the pecorino theme, if you’re looking for heaven on a plate, have I got a recipe for you. These light as a cloud potato dumplings, served with guanciale and arugula in a creamy pecorino cheese sauce, were so divine, I was wishing I ordered a full portion for myself, instead of splitting it with my husband.
We ate these gnocchi as our primo piatto on a recent trip to Sardinia, at the restaurant in our hotel, La Villa Del Re. After having tried a couple of other restaurants off site, we concluded that the hotel’s restaurant was unparalleled in its excellent cuisine. The chef here, Marco Granato, has a magic touch. Everything about this small hotel (adults only) along the Tyrrhenian Sea defines it as a special place, and one we can’t wait to go back to.
The food, the hospitality and the service are exceptional here and the views are stunning too. All the meals we enjoyed at this dreamy hotel along Sardinia’s Costa Del Rei were delicious and beautifully presented –
From breakfast with a view of the infinity swimming pool and the sea:
To the cakes and scones at the daily tea time:
To the toothsome homemade pastas:
To the main courses:
To the drinks and munchies by the sea.
The view from the private beach was pretty special too – with a sea that looked like it was painted by a watercolorist.
I’m still wondering if it was all just a dream. If so, don’t wake me up!
Just in case you can’t get to La Villa Del Re anytime soon, here’s that heavenly gnocchi recipe for you, courtesy of Marco Granato, La Villa Del Re’s talented chef.
More recipes and fun adventures from Sardinia to follow in future posts.
Boil the potatoes in water with the lemon peel for 20 minutes.
They should be cooked on the outside, but will finish cooking in the oven, which will also dry out some of the water.
After boiling, drain the potatoes and put them on a baking sheet and cook in the oven at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.
After cooking, pass the hot potatoes through a potato ricer or a sieve and spread them out on a cookie sheet.
Mix the riced potatoes with the flour, the fecola, the eggs and a bit of salt. Form the mixture into ropes, then cut each rope into small pieces to make the gnocchi.
To Make the Pecorino Cream Sauce:
Cut the cheese into small pieces, then put the butter and half the cheese into a pan over low heat until melted. Add the flour, making a roux, then add the milk, stirring constantly. Add the rest of the cheese and stir, letting the cheese melt, while adding salt and pepper to taste. If the sauce is too thick, add a bit more milk until reaching the desired consistency.
Cut the leek into small pieces.
Cut the guanciale into small pieces
Cook the leek in some olive oil at low heat for about 10 minutes. If it starts to turn dark, add some hot water or vegetable broth.
Add the guanciale until it's slightly crunchy, then add the thyme, salt and pepper.
Boil the gnocchi in salted water, then in a separate pan with the sauce, gently stir the gnocchi in the pecorino sauce. Add the cooked guanciale and the arugula and serve on warm plates.
When most people think of pecorino cheese, they think of pecorino romano, the sharp cheese from the region of Lazio that’s grated over pasta. But there are plenty of other places throughout Italy where pecorino cheese is made, and I visited two of them recently, one in Sicily and one in Tuscany. This post focuses on one artisanal maker of pecorino di Pienza – Giancarlo Più – in the beautiful region of Tuscany, near Mont’Amiata. (Photo below by Ben Morse)
The name pecorino derives from the word pecora in Italian, which means sheep. And Giancarlo, owner of caseificio Più, has plenty of them – 1,300 in fact, amid 300 acres of beautiful rolling pasture and farm lands.
He’s got sheepdogs too, but they’re not really there to guard the sheep, so much as to provide an early warning signal if other animals, like wild boar or foxes threaten the flock. (Photo by Ron DeCicco)
The sheep are divided into groups, and are shifted to various pastures on the property in order to graze. In the colder months, when fresh forage is not available, Giancarlo feeds them various grains such as corn and barley that were harvested earlier in the year.
The sheep are milked twice a day, using modern milking machines, and about 650 liters are collected each day.
In order to produce one kilo of cheese, it takes anywhere from 4 to 9 liters of milk, Giancarlo said. Nursing mothers and newborn babies are kept together for about a month, and their milk is not used for cheese, since it contains a high percentage of colostrum, the milk that is nutritious for newborn lambs. (Photo below by Ben Morse)
Giancarlo demonstrated how the cheese is made. First, a type of rennet is added (typically made from a young calf’s stomach), to help coagulate the milk.
The milk is heated at a temperature of about 36 degrees centigrade, and after about 20 minutes, it starts to gel. At this point, it has a mild, milky flavor, like unsweetened panna cotta. It normally gets heated longer than 20 minutes, but Giancarlo wanted to demonstrate the process for us, so he started breaking up the gelled milk into curds. To make a softer, fresh type of cheese, he makes large cuts.
For an aged cheese, the cuts are much smaller, almost the size of grains of rice. The larger cuts retain more of the liquid (or whey) which is good for soft cheeses. But an aged cheese needs to release a lot of water so it doesn’t spoil before it’s ready to be eaten.
The curdled milk is poured into plastic forms (reed baskets were traditionally used), and the liquid that remains behind – the whey – is used to make ricotta cheese.The first cheese that is formed is simply called the “cagliata semplice” and is without salt. It tastes very mild and can be eaten out of hand or used in recipes, including the one at the end of this blog post.The cheeses are then salted, and left to age, some for only a week, and others for as long as a year. The cheese tastes different each time he makes it because of all the variables, whether it’s the type of grass the sheep eat, or how soon the ewes have given birth. A ewe’s milk becomes richer and more filled with fat, the farther away from giving birth she is, leading to a more flavorful cheese.
“That’s the beauty of a small cheese producer,” said Giancarlo, in rapid-fire Italian. “You should have a surprise in your mouth every time you bite into a piece of cheese.”And what surprises were in store for us, as Giancarlo and his wife Sabrina provided us with an unforgettable afternoon of cheese tasting, accompanied by homemade salumi and pane carasau, or carta di musica (the flatbread of Sardinia), along with Sardinian wines and beer. Giancarlo instructed us to start with the youngest cheese, to take it in our hands, and sniff it, then to break it in half and smell it again.
It should give you an emotion every time you eat a piece of cheese, he said. “È una materiale viva. Ti può anche disturbare!” He said, explaining that it’s a living material that can even give you a “disturbing” sensation.Almost all the cheesemakers in this part of Tuscany are originally from Sardinia, he said, an island which also has a rich history of cheesemaking. Many Sardinians arrived in Tuscany during the 1950s and 1960s. “Sardinians found exceptional pasture lands and knew how to make the most of them,” he said. His parents emigrated from Sardinia about 20 years ago, he said.
Giancarlo was clearly smitten with farming in general, and showed us around the rest of the property, where he kept lots of other animals, including these cinta senese, the special breed of black pig with a stripe, used for making top quality prosciutto and other kinds of salumi, including those we sampled with Giancarlo.Just a few days earlier, a litter of baby pigs had been born, and Giancarlo let us hold the little sweeties, much to the delight of my daughter-in-law, Beth.
My niece’s daughter Emilia, in the arms of my son Michael, was a little skeptical of the baby goats at first, but quickly warmed to their presence.
Two of the animals with less than friendly appeal were these wild boar, although their appearance on Tuscan menus sure kept our interest.
We had such a fun-filled day and learned so much about not only cheese-making, but cheese tasting. The memories of this unforgettable experience will stay with us forever. Grazie mille, Giancarlo e Sabrina.And now for a recipe using some of that cheese. This recipe is made with the unsalted frsh sheep’s milk cheese, or cagliata semplice – not easy to find where I live, and maybe not where you live either. It is similar in taste and texture to Greek halloumi cheese, which you should have no trouble finding. The recipe is from my week long stay at the Anna Tasca Lanza cooking school in Sicily earlier this year, where chef Michael Sampson prepared these for us with the cheese from a local caseificio. Don’t dismiss this idea if you don’t think you like anchovies. It will convert you, I promise. They’re easy to make and will disappear in a flash. Just take some good bread and slice it, then place a slice of cheese (halloumi works fine if you don’t have fresh sheep’s milk cheese). Add a sliver of anchovy, a sprinkle of oregano and a drizzle of olive oil. Bake in a very hot oven (425 degrees) for a few minutes until cheese is melted and edges of bread are toasted.
A trip to Sicily is eye-opening in so many senses, including its scenic seaside, mountainous interior, and numerous archeological sites. But Sicilian food is also sensational, including the plethora of street foods that you find in Palermo.
Arancine – stuffed and fried rice balls – are among my favorites . They’re so named because the round shape is reminiscent of an small orange, or an arancina (the singular). However, in some parts of Sicily, particularly the eastern part of the island, they’re called by the masculine noun – arancini. That could be because in the Sicilian dialect, the word for orange is aràncìu, which is masculine, like arancino (singular of arancini). You’re also more likely to find them in a conical, not spherical shape, in the eastern part of the island.
However you call them, these delicious delicacies date back to the 10th century, when Sicily was under Arab dominion, and saffron was introduced to the island. Saffron is used to flavor the rice in this recipe.
The most common type of arancina is stuffed with a meat ragù and peas, but variations abound, including my favorite, with cheese and ham as the center. The addition of béchamel, added after the béchamel has been chilled overnight and you’re able to spoon it, makes the filling even more gooey and melted after it comes out of the fryer.
We set to work making them under the guidance of Chef Michael Sampson, at the Anna Tasca Lanza cooking school, and started by wetting our hands in water to make shaping a little easier. Like the béchamel, the rice had been cooked and cooled ahead of time too.
After you’ve spread and flattened some rice on your hands, place some béchamel, a bit of cheese and bits of ham in the center, then use your fingers and hands to shape the rice into a sphere. Keep working it, and adding a bit more rice, if necessary, to close any gaps.
Then roll it gently into a combination of bread crumbs and flour.
Fry in hot oil until browned.
Wait a few minutes to bite into it so you don’t burn your mouth.
Bet you can’t eat just one!
Michael Sampson from Anna Tasca Lanza Cooking School
cold, cooked arborio rice to which you have added some saffron, a little parmesan cheese and butter and salt to taste.
For the Béchamel Sauce:
2½ tablespoons of butter (40 grams)
⅓ cup flour (40 grams)
1 cup milk (1/2 liter)
salt, pepper to taste
½ cup parmesan cheese (50 grams)
To stuff the center of the arancine:
provola or mozzarella cheese, cut into small cubes
small bits of ham (prosciutto cotto or cooked ham)
hot oil to fry the arancine
00 flour (or regular flour)
Prepare the cooked rice ahead of time and leave it to cool.
To make the béchamel:
Melt the butter and add the flour. Cook the two together a couple of minutes until sizzly, then add the milk until you get the consistency you want. Then add salt, pepper and parmesan cheese. It should be on the thick side, and it's best if you let it rest in the refrigerator overnight.
Spread a large spoonful of the cooked rice in the palm of your hand. It helps if you wet your hands first.
Take a spoonful of the béchamel and some of the diced ham and provoke or mozzarella cheese and place in the center of the rice that you have spread out in your other hand.
Using your fingers and palm, shape the rice around the filling, into a sphere, covering all the filling.
Roll the shaped arancina in a mixture of half breadcrumbs and half semolina flour.
Fry in oil about 190 degrees until browned on the outside.
Among other things, Sicily is famous for cannoli, those crunchy, ricotta filled delicacies that are ubiquitous in Palermo and throughout the island. So it was only natural that we would be making them in one of our classes at the Anna Tasca Lanza cooking school.
I have a real weakness for cannoli and there are plenty of good ones to be had near where I live in the Northeast U.S., but I never buy a cannolo (singular of cannoli) that’s already filled, unless it’s done right in front of me. There’s nothing worse than a soggy cannolo shell. (Well, actually there are plenty of worse things, but you get the point.) Eating a soggy cannolo is just not worth the calories.
But eating them in Sicily with sweet, creamy fresh sheep’s milk ricotta that was just made, and shells that were crunchy yet tender, well, that’s a whole different ball game.
Don’t be afraid to make them at home. I made them for the first time decades ago, when I was a neophyte in the kitchen, and they’re not hard at all. If you can make pasta, you can make cannoli. It’s a similar procedure. You do need metal tubes to shape them, however, or if you’re handy with a saw, you can make your own forms from wooden dowels.
By the way, for the word nerds out there, the word cannolo is a diminutive of the Italian word “canna,” which means “reed” or “tube.” There’s a famous Italian book called “Canne Al Vento,” (“Reeds in the Wind”) written by the only Italian woman to win a Nobel prize in literature — Grazia Deledda.
But back to the cannoli directions. The first thing to do is mix the dough, then knead it, and run it through a pasta machine at increasingly thin settings. If you’re a real purist and you’ve got strong arms, you can roll it by hand with a rolling pin.
Then cut it into circle shapes, using either a large circle cutter, or use a small plate as a template and cut around the perimeter with a knife. Then roll around the metal or wooden form, sealing with some water, overlapping slightly.
Fry them in hot oil until golden brown, using an oil with little flavor, like peanut or canola oil.
Drain and cool them, then fill with the ricotta and chocolate chip mixture. You can use a small spoon to do this, but if you have a large quantity, a pastry bag speeds things along.
Serve with a sprinkle of powdered sugar, and bits of candied orange peel and/or chopped pistachios, and watch them disappear.
candied orange peel, chopped pistachios, to garnish
Make the cannoli shells:
Combine the flour, lard, sugar, sauce and slat in a bowl and mix together with your hands.
Add the vinegar, bit by bit, and knead until the dough comes together. The dough should be quite stiff.
Set a pasta machine to the widest setting.
Take a piece of dough and run it through the machine 7 to 10 times at that setting, folding the dough in half each time before rolling it again.
When the dough is very even, continue to roll it through the machine, once at each setting without folding, until you reach the next to last setting. (The dough should be very even and silky).
Lay the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and with a lightly floured 4 inch cookie cutter, cut out rounds (use a small plate as a template if you don't have a cookie cutter)
Wrap the dough rounds around metal or wooden cannoli molds, dab the edge with egg, and press to seal.
Repeat with the remaining dough, retooling the scraps.
Heat 2 inches of oil in a wide, heavy pot over medium high heat.
Add the cannoli shells in batches and fry until the shells have become bubbly, crisp, and browned, 4 to 5 minutes.
With tongs, transfer to paper towels to drain.
Cool and remove the molds carefully.
To Make the ricotta cream:
Beat together the ricotta and sugar until smooth and creamy. Add the chocolate chips, if desired. With a small spoon, fill the cannoli shells, then decorate with the candied orange peel and pistachios, and dust with powdered sugar.
I’ve got plenty more recipes and posts coming to you from my time in Sicily at the Anna Tasca Lanza Cooking School, but since rhubarb season here in the Northeast U.S. is so brief, I’m posting another rhubarb recipe first.
Besides, it was my husband’s birthday recently and one of his favorite desserts is a ricotta cheesecake. Pairing the cheesecake with a rhubarb raspberry topping seemed a natural.
In order to minimize our indulgence, I made it in a small pan – a 6″ cake pan with a removable bottom. This will easily serve four people, but if you want to make it in a larger, springform pan that’s traditionally used for cheesecakes, just double the recipe below.
I made an almond flavored crust, and followed through with the almond flavoring in the cheesecake too.
Having recently returned from Sicily, where we cooked with sheep’s milk ricotta still warm from our visit to a cheesemaker in Vallelunga, I went on the hunt to find some here.
I did track some down at Valley Shepherd Farms Creamery in Long Valley, New Jersey, more than an hour’s distance from where I live. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make the drive, since they come to the farmer’s market in my town, as well as many other places in New Jersey and New York. It is a bit pricey, another reason to make a small cheesecake. But you could also use cow’s milk ricotta, as long as you drain it thoroughly to eliminate a lot of the moisture.
I first pressed it through a sieve to eliminate any clumps.
After baking the crust, and mixing the cheesecake, I wrapped the pan in aluminum foil and baked it in a bain marie (water bath). I find that baking a cheesecake with a bain marie makes for a more even bake and eliminates the hard, brown edges that sometimes rise higher than the center of the cheesecake.
However, whether due to the water bath or something else, you need to bake the crust until it’s really well cooked, or you could end up with a softer crust than you might like.
After baking let it cool completely before adding the topping. In fact, wait to add the topping until just before serving. I used a combination of rhubarb and raspberries cooked in orange juice and sugar, but you could add strawberries instead of the raspberries, or use only rhubarb. The sauce is also delicious mixed in with yogurt for breakfast (or over ice cream).
Slice and spoon more of the sauce on top if you like. (And of course, I like. Wouldn’t you?)
Eggplant wrapped around mozzarella or ricotta cheese is what I used to think of whenever I made eggplant involtini. But after my week of cooking at the Anna Tasca Lanza cooking school in Sicily, where I learned to make this unusual and delicious dish of pasta snuggled inside eggplant slices, you can bet that this version will be in regular rotation in our house.
It’s one of those dishes that wows with its unusual looks, tastes fabulous and can be made in advance. Who could ask for more?
Start by frying some sliced eggplant in oil, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.
Cook some angel hair pasta and toss with tomato sauce and grated parmesan cheese. Make sure it’s very al dente, since it will cook further in the oven.
Now place some of that pasta on top of an eggplant slice.
Then roll the slice of eggplant around the pasta. Don’t worry if the pasta peeks through holes in the eggplant. It’s all going to get covered in sauce.
Place the rolls seamside down into an ovenproof pan.
Cover with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese.
Bake in the oven and top with more parmesan cheese (or ricotta salata) before serving.
Serve one involtino as a first course, or two as a main course.
The eggplant involtini were just one of four courses we ate each night, after prepping and cooking everything under chef Michael’s guidance. Some things were already prepared, like the cured olives and artichokes sott’olio we enjoyed with some bubbly from the nearby winery one night.
The ingredients for nearly everything we consumed were grown on the property, or nearby, including the olives, artichokes, lemons, bergamot, almonds and pistachios.
lettuces and fennel
artichokes in the garden.
Wild fennel was in season, so it was abundant at this time of year and we ate it raw in salads and cooked in frittatas.
Bergamot was sliced thinly into salad and tasted nothing like a lemon, which it resembles, but was much sweeter, even the fleshy white part.
Pamela (a charming young woman from England, and the only other participant the week I was there) and I sat down to dinner each night at the large kitchen table to share the fruits of our labors with owner Fabrizia, her husband, chef Michael, gardener Hans, office manager Henna and others who were passing through.
Together with the delicious food, conversation flowed along with the perfectly paired wines from Tenuta Regaliali, the winery on the property. Stay tuned for more about that in further posts.
We interrupt our Sicily posting for a detour to “rhubarbia.” Since rhubarb is at its peak right now in the Northeast U.S. and disappears for the rest of the year, you’ve got to take advantage of this short season.
This tart is made with a shortbread crust and a frangipane filling (almond flour, eggs, etc.) from a recipe I found here. But what sets it apart is the lattice top. Caveat – it’s a bit tricky to get the strips right. I tried making this last year but made the mistake of buying rhubarb that wasn’t wide enough and the strips were just too flimsy and hard to handle after poaching. Numerous strips also meant more weaving, and each time you move the strips, you run the risk of ripping them, so the fewer strips you have, the easier this is to make.
You can also make this in a round tart pan, but I recommend this long, thin one that measures about 13″ x 4.” You only need three strips lengthwise, if they’re hefty strips. The short ones aren’t a problem, it’s the long ones that will need to be raised over and over again to make the lattice, risking a tear each time you lift one.
You also risk cutting yourself if you use a mandolin and you’re not careful (guilty as charged). The strips were sliced to about 1/16 of an inch, which is thick enough to hold together while it softens in the poaching liquid, but not so thick that it’s hard to bite through a piece.
Measure your strips against your tart pan to be sure you have the right length and enough strips for the width too. My long pieces were just a little too short, but that gap can be covered up with a short strip at each end.
You’ll poach the strips in a sugar/water liquid for about five minutes or until soft enough to poke a fork through. If you let it poach too long, the strips will disintegrate.
Carefully remove them with a long spatula (I used a fish spatula that has slots to let the water drain). Don’t throw away the water. You’re going to reduce it to form a glaze. Lay the strips on paper towels to drain.
This is the tart pastry (that was “blind-baked” using beans on aluminum foil to weigh down the shell) and the frangipane filling after it’s baked.
Now comes the fun part (also the part where you can easily break a strip – remember, I did warn you it was tricky). The recipe tells you to weave it on parchment paper and transfer to the tart, but with only three long strips, I decided to do it right on the frangipane filling. Lay the lengthwise pieces in first.
Then lift each lengthwise strip and weave the short pieces over and under the long strips.
After you’ve reduced the liquid to form a glaze, spread it over the top with a spoon or a pastry brush.
This photo was taken the morning after we had already eaten the rest of the tart, so the glaze has sunk in and it doesn’t appear as glossy. But it didn’t affect the taste one bit.
There was enough pastry left to make a mini tart, but not enough frangipane. So I took the odd bits of rhubarb and boiled it with some sugar and water until it became mushy, then added a bit of bergamot juice (I know you won’t have this so just use lemon juice. I wanted to make use of the one bergamot I brought back from Sicily) First though, I set aside some nice pieces for the top that I poached gently in a separate sugar-water solution. After the mushy part cooled, I filled the pastry shell with it, then decorated with the smaller poached pieces, finishing it with a glaze from the reduced sugar-water solution.
If you don’t want to make a smaller tart, the leftover cooked rhubarb is absolutely delicious over ice cream or yogurt.