GRAZIE, MARCELLA

I suppose it must have been about a quarter a century ago that I acquired the British habit of reading cookery books in bed as if they were novels and now, among my many cookery books from many nations, there are what I call the "one-offs" - good for a recipe or two but not otherwise reliable - and there are the stalwarts, the books written by cooks who never let you down.  

From my own country there is the "sainted Delia", often my starting point for a basic recipe or technique and a goddess, long before Nigella, for converting measurements.  Delia is good to watch, too, if you can stand her constant mispronunciation of foreign terms but she went down in my estimation when she started cooking in a conservatory three times the size of most people's homes and up again the day she appeared, apparently drunk, on a football pitch. Well, wouldn't you want to let go after all those years of precision?

Then there are the entertaining cooks, like "cheeky chappie" Jamie Oliver, the "Two Fat Ladies", the late, flamboyant Keith Floyd, and the glamorous, exuberant Nigella. The prose of all these writers is a delight to read and their recipes invariably work, too. There are, though, cookery writers who manage to weave among their recipes  not only their own stories but those of an entire culture and among these I would count Elizabeth David,  Claudia Roden and Marcella Hazan, who died, at the age of 89, yesterday.  

If I learnt French cooking from Elizabeth David and my beloved Larousse Gastronomique, it was from Marcella that I learned the basic techniques of Italian cooking and I will always be grateful to her for "writing me through" [because it felt as if she was talking me through] the way to cook a veal escalope as the Italians do [not as easy as you may think ] and for teaching me not to be afraid of artichokes.  

Marcella Hazan

Marcella Polini was born in Cesenatico [Forlì-Cesena, Emilia-Romagna] in 1924. She gained a Ph.D in Natural Sciences and Biology from the University of Ferrara and was teaching Maths and Science when she met Victor Hazan,  an Italian-born New Yorker and later a wine writer, whom she married in 1955.  

A few months after their wedding the couple moved to New York and Marcella always said that, before this time, she had no idea how to cook. Perceiving that her husband missed Italian food, Marcella set about turning herself into a serious Italian cook but it wasn't until she was in her forties that she began giving cookery lessons in her apartment. She published her first cookery book, The Classic Italian Cook Book, when she was nearly 50. Victor translated this, and all her books, into English.

Marcella Hazan is credited with introducing "real" Italian cooking into the American kitchen, in much the same way as Julia Child taught Americans to cook French food. 

In 2005 Marcella Hazan became a Cavaliere della Stella della Solidarietà Italiana.

My favourite book by Marcella Hazan is Marcella Cucina and my favourite recipe from it is this one, which I have cooked time and time again here, to much acclaim, for friends.

Grazie, Marcella.

FLOYDIE

Keith Floyd, author, flamboyant TV chef and bon viveur par excellence, died of a heart attack last night. I loved his style; the man even managed to die stylishly, having enjoyed a last meal of oysters and partridge with champagne. I had a Bristolian's affection for this honorary West Country man who opened his first restaurant in that town of my childhood. And what a "cook's cook" he was, rarely giving precise quantities, instructing you to "whack this in there" or "throw some of that in the pot", encouraging you to have the confidence to make your own judgements, as often as not with a full glass in his free hand as he did so.

A fitting tribute to Floydie on this blog, I feel, would be to write about some of my favourite Floyd recipes and so I shall do just that:

I think the first Floyd TV series I followed was Floyd on France and from the 1987 book of the series I was inspired to cook, for the first time, a chicken roasted with masses of garlic. I have tried many recipes for such a dish since, and many of them - their authors losing their nerve, it seemed to me - told you to count your garlic cloves and use 12, or at the most 20. Any experienced cook will realise that this is ridiculous, as the authors cannot possibly know how pungent the garlic is in your part of the world, or how big the cloves are. There's no such wimping out in Floyd's book, however, and you are instructed to use a kilo of the stuff. And it is to Floyd's recipe that I return again and again.

From Floyd on Italy [1994] I learnt to make tomato sauce and it is this recipe that forms the basis of my own to this day. In the introduction to this volume, Floyd writes:

"What is Italian food? Spaghetti bolognese, lasagne with coleslaw and deep-pan pizzas filled with culinary garbage? No. A thousand times no...... Whereas thinly rolled dough spread with chopped tomato and topped with anchovies and cheese and zapped into a wood-fired oven is heaven - you just don't need prawns and artichoke hearts, mushroom and chicken tikka pieces in a pastry shell and even if you do you can't call it a pizza. "

He goes on to describe what Italian food really is and I have yet to read a better description.

On a roll by then, I cheerfully cooked my way through Floyd on Spain [1992] and I hope I did it with a little duende. The Granada-Style Chicken, with bananas, sweet potatoes and carrots, is a revelation. Next [in the order in which I bought the books] came Far Flung Floyd [1993], about the food of South-East Asia and I remember tearfully cooking recipes from this book while my mother was ill. Cooking, you see, was the only "normal" thing I did during a period that turned my life upside-down. The Tamarind Chicken became a standby and I served it with rice to which I added slices of pineapple. When we think about key points in our lives, we often remember peripheral details such as what we smelt, tasted or cooked. It is no coincidence that the most important events of life, and death itself, are marked by feasts.

I came late to Floyd on Britain and Ireland [1988] and bought it mainly to read, rather than to cook from. This book is a tribute to those of my countrymen and women who, in Floyd's words,

"would rather put an extra half-hour of love into a casserole than a stock cube."

Here we have the essence of Floyd, for however much "whacking and throwing" he did, and even when he appeared to be slapdash, he cooked with love.

The last book in my Floyd collection is Floyd Around the Med [2000]. I never mastered the Provençal Omelette Cake but still cook the Chicken with Lemons and Raisins:

"1 free-range chicken. 'How heavy?' I hear you cry. Well, I don't know. If there are 2 - 4 of you, get a small one; more of you, get a great big one or two small ones!"

Cincin, Floydie. Thank you for the recipes. And keep stirring it up, wherever you are.

Keith Floyd, 28.12.43 - 14.9.09.

TOMATO SAUCE MAKING

When James was here last summer, he would look at my lovely tomato-squashing machine, shake his head and declare that he dreaded the day when I would get it out and start sauce-making in earnest! Well, for various reasons - vergogna [shame on me] - I didn't get around to it last year so now I'm having to make up for that. This post is for Omnium, who wants the recipe, M , who wants to know what I'm making with the 3 crates of tomatoes I bought, Leslie who wanted to know about the process and, of course, all my other lovely readers.

One of my favourite cooks is Keith Floyd, because he likes a bit of "bunging" and "throwing" and does not always give precise quantities and times, knowing that much depends on your oven or hob's temperament as well as your own, the size of the ingredients you have got, your common sense and even the climate in which you are cooking. So I use his recipe as a basis and then very much do my own thing. I'm not saying that there isn't a place for the precision of the blessed Delia: in fact, thinking that a CBE [a British honour] was a bit miserly of Her Britannic Majesty, I nearly started a "Make Delia a Dame" group on facebook, only I belong to a "Procrastination" group on there as well, so I procrastinated. And now I'm digressing [maybe I should start a "Digression" group?] so let's get to work:


Rosa sorting tomatoes.

First of all, you need all saucepans on deck to bring the tomatoes to the boil:



Rosa and I processed about a third of the tomatoes in the crates on Friday, so we will need a couple more sessions. For the purpose of giving quantities here, let's assume that you have about 4 kilos of tomatoes. Throw all of these into water in the biggest pans you have got and bring to the boil. They should just soften. Rinse them in a large colander under cold water [be careful!] and then chuck them into the machine. [If you don't have one of these I suggest you process half this quantity at a time. You will have to get the peel off by hand and scoop out the seeds with a teaspoon. Some people can achieve this result using a mouli but I have not been successful.] Put the juice back into pans.


I make with the machine.


It requires mathematical precision to line everything up for minimal mess!



The sauce is back in the pans.

In a small pan, heat 2 tablesp olive oil and add a large, chopped onion and a fat, chopped clove of garlic. Fry until they are softened and transparent, then add them to the juice in the pans. [Sometimes I fry a finely chopped red chilli pepper as well to make a spicy sauce.] Into each pan of sauce chuck a few chopped basil leaves, some oregano if you like [I do] 2 teasp brown sugar, a few drops balsamic or red wine vinegar plus seasalt and freshly ground black pepper. Oh, nearly forgot: I like to add a dollop of 'strattu [tomato paste] to each pan:



Simmer for about an hour or until you have a beautifully thick tomato sauce. The Sicilian women bottle theirs and go through that sterilising process with the bottles in a pan lined with and separated by newspaper or cardboard but I freeze my sauce in varying quantities.



You may like to look at this post, where you can see some photos of 'strattu being made.

THE WELSHCAKES LIMONCELLO TOMATO SAUCE FACTORY

This is a one-woman production line so here's how it works:

1. Marshal your troops in the form of pans. I don't have the enormous pans that most Italian women with big families do, so a little improvisation is necessary.

2. Check over the fruit.

3. Blanch the tomatoes till cracks appear in the skins. Rinse them in cold water.

4. [The fun part!] Get out new miracle machine and proceed to use. As you see, it did not render the job entirely messless, but it was a lot less messy than getting the skins off with my fingers and then using a teaspoon to get all the pips out! I did such a happy dance when I saw the skins and pips slide down that chute on the side!

5. Spend half an hour working out how to disassemble the machine to clean it [instruction booklets being for wimps].

6. Put all the lovely passata into your largest pan and follow your favourite tomato sauce recipe. I use Keith Floyd's but add oregano and a little 'strattu. Sometimes I put some of the pulp into another pan and add a little chopped red chilli pepper to it, so that I'll have some piccante sauce to hand as well but I didn't today.

7. Simmer for as long as it takes to produce a beautiful, thick, bright red, summer-scented sauce. [I find an hour and a half to 2 hours is about right.] The Sicilians bottle theirs but I freeze mine in small quantities. I processed about 6 kg of tomatoes this afternoon but a friend has turned 600 kg into sauce or 'strattu during this past week! I kid you not!

CAPONATA

A friend gave me these home-grown and salted capers, so I just had to make caponata! Besides, a commenter has asked for the recipe. And a third reason for making it is that there is something unmistakeably Mediterranean about the perfume that results from having a dish made with aubergines and peppers bubbling away on the hob.

In Sicilian Food, Mary Taylor Simeti tells us that the dish was probably seagoing food because the vinegar in it means that it keeps well. In the recipe she gives, she includes some chopped, toasted almonds and the optional addition of some cocoa powder. I add neither of these, but almonds do marry well with peppers, so you may like to try it. Some recipes say use tomato sauce [which is what I do - I make my own using Keith Floyd's recipe in Floyd on Italy] whilst others tell you to sieve a can of tomatoes. I should think you could get away with using passata, but I would then thicken it with some tomato paste and maybe use the almonds. [I add a bit of 'strattu anyway, though it's not an authentic ingredient for this dish.] I do stone the olives [and you can use green ones instead of black or a mixture if you prefer] but as the elongated peppers available here don't have much membrane, I don't bother cutting it out. Here is the recipe:,

1 aubergine

c. 5 fl. oz olive oil

1 onion, sliced

1 clove garlic, chopped

1 stick celery, sliced

2 red peppers, sliced [or 1 red and 1 orange pepper]

c. 1 pint good tomato sauce

goodly dollop of tomato paste

2 tblsp red wine vinegar

1 tblsp brown sugar

handful stoned black olives

c. 1 tblsp salted capers, rinsed and drained

Halve the aubergine, score the flesh and sprinkle with coarse seasalt. Put in a colander, jam a plate on top and leave for c. 30 mins. Rinse well and dry with kitchen paper. Cube the aubergine.

Heat the oil in a deep pan and add the onion, garlic, peppers and celery. Cook, stirring, for c. 5 minutes, then add the aubergine cubes.

Add the tomato sauce and paste, vinegar and sugar and cook for a few more minutes.

Add the capers and olives. Season.

Cover and simmer for about 25 minutes or until it is all squashy and looks and smells Mediterranean!

This dish is most often served here as an antipasto and in summer it is served chilled. You can serve it hot if you want to, but I prefer to serve it at room temperature. The dish freezes well and will serve 4 generously. In my opinion it needs no acompaniment other than some good, Sicilian pane arabo.

I had read about but never seen the rounder, paler type of aubergine in the last picture until I came to Sicily. Simeti tells us that this is the "Tunisian" variety but they are charmingly sold as violette here.

Still on a vegetable theme, today I found celeriac on sale for the first time since I've been in Sicily. I have missed céleri rémoulade and shall now be making up for it!