Lemony sardine pâté

 

 

 Sardines are an extremely underrated fish. Unless you are Portuguese of course. Or Mediterranean.

 

The truth however, is that sardines are cheap, tasty, healthy, nutritious and a perfect pantry item.

 

I will not lecture you about the importance of eating certain kinds of fish for nutritional and environmental reasons. Suffice it to say write that this recipe is a new winner in my book.  

 

 

 

 

Before you get down to making this, a few fun sardine facts from the web.

The word “sardines” is actually a common name used to describe the immature fish of a variety of species all around the world. So when you are eating a sardine you are actually eating one of many kinds of fish, such as herring, smelts, brislings and pilchards, that get caught in nets during fishing.

 

Sardines are named after the Italian island of Sardinia, where they were seemingly abundant in past times.

 

Omega 3 fatty acids, highly present in sardines, reduce the likelihood of Alzheimer's disease, dementia and heart disease and lower blood sugar levels.

 

 

 

Canned sardines are however high in cholesterol, also because of the oil they are preserved in.

If you eat the whole sardine, including the tiny bones, the canned variety also ensures a good calcium intake.

Napoleon greatly helped in spreading the popularity of sardines: tinning the fish was an idea of two Frenchmen, Appert and Colin, but he started the canning industry at the beginning of the 19th century to feed the growing population and military. Sardines perished easily, so canning them was a way to ensure that the inhabitants of the farthest reaches of his Empire had a cheap and plentiful protein source.

Canned sardines have been known to hold up to 30 years.

  

 

 

 

Have you ever heard of the South African sardine run? Between May and July billions of sardines spawn and then move along the eastern coast of South Africa in shoals, which are often more than 7lms long, 1.5km wide and 30 meters deep and are clearly visible from the surface.

 

In the early 1900s Maine counted large numbers of canneries, producing up to more than 4 cans per American at that time, but now there is only one sardine plant left.

 

During the Cold War, sardines were extremely popular in the US. The US government apparently bought great quantities in the bomb-scare years and they became the number one convenience food for Americans. Now the average American does not taste a sardine before the age of 40.

 

Many expressions have arisen from the sardine canning industry: “packed in like sardines” originated in the 1800s from the practice of close packing this fish, describing any situation where people/things are crowded together. Then there is Alan Benett's "...Life, you know, is rather like opening a tin of sardines. We are all of us looking for the key..."

 

 

 

 

This is one of those examples of Pinterest actually being useful and not just a huge waste of my free - and not so free - time. I saw this idea ages ago on Food52 and loved it, pinned it and forgot about it. Until now that is.

  

It is so fast it won't take more than five minutes to make (and for half of that time, it is actually your food processor that is doing all the work). It is quite delicious and much cheaper than pate.

 

It is creamy yet tangy, and not very fishy at all (if that worries you) and the contrast of this cool, buttery spread on a slice of warm toasted bread will make you swoon. Guaranteed.

 

Adapted from HalfPint

My husband's homemade mayonnaise

You know how you fall into a routine at home, in which each person is in charge of certain chores? The good old adage of the trash being the man's job and the laundry being a woman's job?

At our house we are pretty interchangeable. We both work and have busy schedules so we take turns cleaning up the dinner dishes, preparing the children for bed and doing laundry. We even take turns with the trash. I consider myself very lucky as Italian men go, my husband is very helpful and an extremely hands on father. Also, we are thankful for every cent we spend on outside help for cleaning and ironing because the memory of past arguments about floor washing and ironing still lingers.

There are however a few things that definitely fall into the "his" and "her" category.

F does all those things involving the car and technology, from computers to TV. He has basement and insect duty. I on the other hand, like most women out there, am the mastermind of the household, ensuring that the wheels keep turning and that its components survive. I also take care of minutiae involving closets, linens, the kids' clothes, nail cutting. And I cook. You may have noticed that.

I love cooking and all the planning and organizing it involves does not bother me in the least. Also, F is the kind of guy who likes pretty much everything I make and has never complained about any of the meals I have prepared, even the ones that went terribly wrong. Believe me, he has had his share. He never points out he was in the mood for one thing rather than the other, something I am sure I would do contantly if I didn't have control over the menu.

F comes from a family who loves food and he grew up eating exceptionally well. When we first started dating he used always talk about a Dijon chicken recipe he made. One night he invited me over to his place and made it and it was delicious. He was also the one in charge of Spaghetti alla Carbonara and all'Amatriciana (guy dishes, the Italian equivalent of a BBQ and burgers, because they involve ingredients like bacon, eggs and onions) in the old days and did a very good job at that too. Then, somewhere along the line, he stopped and never started again.

Oh wait, I forgot about the rabbit interlude about ten years ago. I had started a yoga course that I went to directly from my office on Thursday evenings. I used to get home after 9pm so F was officially in charge of dinner. The first time I walked into the door (with parts of my body hurting that I didn't even know existed), I was pleasantly surprised by the lovely aroma of roasted meat. I took my seat at the table and out came F with an amazing platter of Coniglio alla Toscana, roast rabbit with olives and herbs and baby potatoes. It was delicious and I complimented him all the way through dinner. He proudly told me he had called his mother and asked for directions. I went to bed feeling fuzzy and warm, spoiled and lucky. When he served the same meal the following Thursday I still thought it was excellent but by the fourth Thursday in a row I realized this would no longer be remembered as Yoga Night but as Rabbit Night.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago. We were having lunch at friends' and as always in Italy, the conversation revolved around food. They were telling us that they had given up trying to make homemade mayonnaise because it always turned on them. Enter F, instructing them on how to make the perfect mayonnaise.

"Wait, what?"  I thought to myself. "Since when do you make mayonnaise?? Sure, I have heard about your famous mayonnaise numerous times, but in the 17 years we have been together I have never, ever seen you make it. Not once." Which I of course told our friends immediately. A whole wine-fuelled conversation started, filled with lots of laughter, about mayonnaise. It ended with me recording F on my iphone in front of witnesses promising he would make mayonnaise.

Yesteday was the day. The planets were perfectly aligned: my daughter was watching a movie, my son was unbelievably playing alone in his room and I had decided to make a recipe I will be posting about next time. I realized I had no mayonnaise in the house. I looked at Franco questioningly and he knew his time had come. So my man sat down at the kitchen table and whipped up the best darn mayo I have had in a long time. With cold eggs (every recipe insists they must be room temperature) and a wooden spoon (despite my insistence that he use a whisk or an electric beater to make it easier). In. Five. Minutes. There are pictures to prove it.  I always knew I married the right guy. I also know that he will be getting cooking duty more often now.

Ingredients

3 egg yolks

about 1 cup oil

half a lemon

salt to taste

The risk of making mayonnaise is that it can turn on you, meaning the emulsion can separate back into the individual ingredients. The idea is to use all ingredients at room temperature and to pour the oil in a few drops at a time, especially at the beginning. If you want a ligher tasting mayonnaise use a lighter oil. We used extra virgin Tuscan olive oil from our olives and it turned out delicious but strong and with a very yellow hue. Second, make sure you only use the freshest eggs (because they will be consumend raw) and that you keep the mayonnaise refrigerated.

To make the mayonnaise, F briefly mixed the egg yolks and then started pouring in the oil with a very weak but steady flow whilst constantly turning. When the emulsion was ready he added in a good squeeze of lemon and salt to taste.

Lemon & anchovy pork (or veal) meatballs

What a perfect Sunday.

We got up after a good night's sleep, had a nice breakfast and went to visit the new Museo del Novecento, which was inaugurated a few months ago right in the central Piazza Duomo of Milan. Since Milan was appointed to host the Expo 2015, there has been a feeling of change, renovation and excitement in the air. The city, whose skyline is currently crane-infested like a miniature Berlin, is undergoing a long-needed makeover.

In this mindframe, the museum offered free entrance to its collections of Twentieth Century Italian art for two months, but we of course waited until the second-to-last day (and last Sunday and right in the midst of Fashion week may I add) to try to go. This is the first real attempt we have made to go to an art museum since our second child was born.

With one it worked fabulously: it was cute, people smiled and nudged each other, admiring the oh-so-perfect parents teaching their daughter to appreciate the arts and different cultures at a very young age. With two, not so much. There is a lot of crying, whining and snotty noses. The older child wants to sit in the stroller, the younger one wants out. Both want to be carried, jealousy ensues. Four hands touching and grabbing suddenly seem five times as many as two hands to control. And siblings have the tendency to egg each other on when bored or tired (remember sis?). Suddenly you are the pariah, the family that should keep those noisy, spoiled kids at home. Crowded museums and restaurants, the magic combination of many a relaxed week end as a couple, are now a recipe for disaster. Especially in a city where even being intellectual is a fashion, where your average museum dwellers are uber trendy couples, the we-do-not-want-children-especially-after-seeing-you-today kind.

Anyway, back to my story. We thought we would take advantage of our early mornings to get to the museum before the crowds. Who stands in piazza Duomo on a cold, grey Sunday morning before 10:00am? Everybody, apparently. When we got there, the line was so long it went all the way around the building and through the piazza, at least a 2 to 3 hour wait. Thank goodness a friend had told me strollers had precedence because it was one of the few times (including boarding planes) that I was happy to have a stroller to lug around. Surely enough, in a country where very little is tailored towards families and children, in we zipped under the astonished looks of the throngs of people standing behind the ropes.

The doorman warned us it would be crowded upstairs and it was, but it worked out well anyway. We spent a little over an hour walking through the building, just enough time to check out the architecture and some of the paintings. To discuss colours, materials and subjects with our daughter. To have her loudly point out every intimate detail of each and every painting or sculpture. As the tour continued, the childrens' interest and attention ebbed so we were glad to reach the large area on top where they could run around a little amidst the Fontana sculptures and the large windows overlooking the piazza. After this I started handing out hidden breadsticks and announced to my husband we had just enough time to escape, give or take five minutes if we let the kids push the buttons in the elevator. We succeeded and went for a nice lunch at the Panino Giusto right next door and then home just before the rain hit.

In the afternoon, as my little boy slept and dreamt of Boccioni and Pelizza da Volpedo and my daughter and husband drew at the kitchen table, I made these meatballs (or rather patties since I made them a little larger than usual). They are adapted from a Nigel Slater recipe I found on the blog 'Too Many Chefs' years ago. Every bite just melts in your mouth, with a nice citrusy punch and savory touch from the anchovies. They have become a favorite at our house. Why not make them a favorite at yours?

Lemon curd tart & Livestrong Day 2010

This is not the post I was going to write today.

I wanted to post about a tasty vegetable side dish I concocted a while back, something light and healthy that matched my mood of Sunday. But more about that in a later post.

Then I started my daily blog crawl and realized it was LiveSTRONG Day a couple of days ago. The LiveSTRONG foundation was founded by Lance Armstrong and supports patients and their families through their cancer experiences. Barbara, from Winosandfoodies, created one of the many events foodbloggers host to raise awareness and money. It is called A Taste of Yellow (yellow being the color of LiveSTRONG): the idea is to cook or bake something that is yellow with a heart theme and to photograph it.

I was very touched when I read about this and angry at myself for not knowing that LiveSTRONG Day was on October 2nd. I am such a new blogger I usually do not feel entitled yet to participate in all those big blogging community events out there. But this is different, if I had known I would have gladly participated. I lost a beloved family member to cancer many years ago. Two people I care about very much, a close family member and a very dear friend, have been diagnosed with cancer in the past 10 months. Cancer has become a recurrent thought in my life. These people and those close to them have been fighting with courage, strength and determination.

Then I read Barbara is postponing the deadline to submit recipes. And I realized that actually, without knowing, on the week end I had baked the first yellow thing I believe I have ever made in my life! This, surely, could not be a coincidence?

So forgive me if the recipe did not turn out as picture pretty as it should have. Forgive me if the photos are not great. Forgive me for adding a heart-themed picture when the cake was almost gone (thank goodness for leftovers). Because this is my way to send my support and thoughts to those I love and all the people out there fighting this battle.