Gratin di sardine con pomodori e capperi (or sardine gratin with tomatoes and capers)

 

The other night  our youngest had a meltdown little moment right before dinner, the kind only a four year old can regale you with. The kind that makes you wonder if you are plain dumb or if you missed something crucial because it takes you totally by surprise and you have no idea why it is happening.

The scene: the children's room. Toys strewn all over the floor. Dinner is about to be served.

The rule: whoever makes a mess, cleans up. When the job is too daunting for a four year old and a little overwhelming for him to tackle on his own for organizational reasons, we help and also give him some general guidelines (put all the animals into the green box, all the lego pieces go into the blue box).

Action: my husband gives him a hand; they seemingly work together in harmony and the job is soon done. Dinner is on the table.

Next thing we know, our son turns into a raving, screaming, three-headed monster. He starts throwing all his neatly stowed away boxes and toys all over the floor again, putting them the way they were before the clean-up.

Aha, you are thinking, he wanted to do it himself, he wants to assess his independence, Daddy shouldn't have rushed him.

 

Light summer eggplant burgers

I can't believe I have been M.I.A. for almost two weeks. I think this is probably a first for me.

The three words that sum up my lack of cooking and posting these days are: work, diet and work.

I won't get into the whole description but I promise every child-free minute I had these days (and some none free-child hours) I spent working.

Oh, and of course my son got the dreaded stomach flu just as I was nearing my deadline... but I will not go into that either, because I really think that would be too much information.

Last but not least, when you are desperately trying to drop a few pounds, having a cooking blog is not ideal. So the only logical thing for me to do (yes, I know it is not an original solution, but hey, I missed you guys) is to share some of my ideas. I know some of you out there are in the same situation and even if you don't need to get rid of some winter blubber, who doesn't want to eat healthy, right?

Because the word diet makes me run (excuse the pun), I need to convince my brain I am eating normal food, real food. So I try to use the best quality ingredients, I make my dishes colorful, I try to come up with original ideas and to keep things as tasty as possible. Which, by the way, helps convince my family to eat what I am having without too much of a problem.

And so I present you the eggplant burger... yes, a vegetarian burger made with eggplant, but an inverted one, and lighter than the one I made here.

Enjoy!

Tuna and swordfish ceviche

The other day I finally made it to the hairdressers. I was greatly in need, my hair was extremely grateful.

Saying I dislike going to the hairdresser is an understatement. What seems to be a national passtime here in Italy, especially among the older gals, is something I dread. I mean, when you have a job and kids, the last thing you want to do is waste away your precious Saturday sitting at the hairdressers fighting throngs of other women. I can think of so many other things to do in those hours. Like stuffing some of the clothes overflowing from my laundry basket into the washing machine. Or running an errand. Or making a meal in daylight that I can actually post about. Or, so much better, spending the afternoon at the park with my family and maybe eating some sushi for lunch. Even pulling the fuzz balls off of my wool sweater has more appeal to be honest.

Besides hating to wait around for hours even if I have an appointment, I feel like a Christian in the Colosseum fighting off lions the girls insistently offering manicures, pedicures, special treatments, hair masks or their $50,00 bottles of shampoo and conditioner.

Not to mention going to a decent hairdresser is an expensive affair and you usually purposely mess up what you just paid for with your own hands the minute you turn the corner. And that on your walk home you realize every other woman has your hue of golden blond with warm highlights. I mean, is it just here that every woman over sixty seems to have the same puffed up bad hair color with blonde highlights that look like they were painted on by a road line marking machine?

Unfortunately the older you get the harder it is to walk around in your bed hair and to be taken seriously in life. Another unfortunate thing is that when you turn *beep* you have  a new problem to deal with, or rather a new color. White.

Why do men "grey"? Why do they get to call their white hair appealing things like pepper and salt or speckled? Why do George Clooney and Richard Gere just get sexier?

When a woman gets white hair, it is the beginning of the end. It is all downhill from there. They even dedicated a whole episode of Sex and the City to Samantha's discovery down south.

And why is the only white hair I have located exactly on the top of my head, where my hair parts, sticking up obnoxiously for the whole world to see, just in case people hadn't already noticed its annoying, wiry, thick texture. Couldn't I have more, but strategically hidden on the sides, under layers of youthful  hair? Not me, nuh-uh. My scalp seems to be saying: we ain't got much, so we might as well boast it.

So this is the story of when I went to the hairdressers to hide those little suckers and for the first time (because it wasn't a Saturday and I wasn't in a rush and because I had said no enough times) decided to go with the flow and have the half hour treatment to pamper my hair with nutrients and such.

And lo and behold I discovered a new world. The lady I was assigned to put on Barbra Streisand from an IPad lying next her station, she pulled out a foot rest from the chair I was sitting in and pushed a button that got the rollers going in what I discovered was a massage chair (I instantly felt like Sally hanging out with Harry in The Sharper Image). She then proceeded to massage a personalized concoction into my hair and I decided to enjoy it for the few mintues it lasted.

Little did I know the massage would last the whole half hour of hair mask. The woman massaged my head, my neck, my shoulders, my face. She even massaged my ear lobes! Who even knew ear lobes liked massages? Well, let me tell you, they do. 

When it was over, not only did the camouflaged white hair make me look 5 years younger, I also felt a decade younger. Lady, why didn't you just tell me I would get a free massage with my hair treatment???

Because I am still feeling good, and because I am trying to improve my eating habits and lose a few pounds these days, my recipe today is a healthy and tasty dish that is good for the body and soul.

Ceviche, as I am sure most of you know, is a Central-South American seafood dish prepared cooking the fish in citrus juice, usually lime, instead of heat. It is often accompanied by fresh cilantro (coriander), chili peppers and raw vegetables like onions, avocado etc. I left out the heat factor for my kids and used tomatoes, small green peppers, cucumbers and chives to make it as refreshing and light as possible. I also added a tablespoon of dried unsweetened coconut and a pinch of banana chipotle salt from  Farm Candy to give it a tropical hint and a teeny touch of heat. You can really play around with ingredients and quantities, so I am only giving you guidelines. Use any vegetable that appeals to you, or none for that matter, choose your favorite citrus (I am partial to lime), pick any fish you like but make sure it is very fresh.

This will make a great appetizer served with some toasted bread or tortilla chips or a healthy salad for lunch.

Fattoush with za'atar croutons

We are counting the days until we leave for vacation and I am simultaneously counting the calories in my food and the kilos on my scale. I am not too happy with the result, I'm telling you. Also, after that cheese and meat fest last weekend, my body is begging me to detox a little and eat healthier. If I happen to shed a couple of pounds whilst pampering my insides, no one is complaining right?

I went over to My New Roots (because let's face it, Sarah radiates such healthy beauty you cannot not follow her advice) to read up on detoxing, fasting (just daydreaming) and came across quite a few recipes I could not resist. Because, although many are a little too healthy for my palate, others are lovely and mouthwatering even if you are not on a health kick. So now I am drinking a glass of warm water with lemon juice every morning on an empty stomach and I am trying to eat as healthy as possible, cutting out any excess and getting ideas from her.

Out goes cheese with natural molds perfect for polenta, enter fattoush.

Fattoush, as most of you probably already know, is a Levantine salad typically made with parsley, mint, tomatoes and cucumbers (or other seasonal vegetables). Stale, preferably fried pita bread and sumac are key ingredients and the vegetables and herbs are more coarsely chopped than for tabbouleh. Fatt in Arabic means crushed. It is a refreshing salad with a pungent, sour flavour imparted by the sumac (a powder whose name is the same as the dried berries it is made with, that grow in Mediterranean countries) and lemon juice. It is salad with pizaaz, a must for the hot months. I, being me, of course made some small variations that should however not bother fattoush integralists too much. I am sure they will forgive me for using up some stale bread we brought back from the mountains instead of pita. Nobody likes waste, right? And they may even feel flattered that I dressed these croutons up with sumac's more glamorous cousin, Ms. Za'atar.

Instead of using sumac in the dressing I liberally brushed the bread with olive oil and za'atar and toasted it in the oven. And I sprinkled some more of it over the fattoush itself. Za'atar being a mix of sesame seeds (I toasted mine), sumac, salt, thyme and oregano (but there are as many variations as there are families making it I believe. Please correct me if I am wrong). To top it all off, I made a dressing with garlic-infused olive oil, lemon juice, lemon zest, salt and a tablespoon of maple syrup (remember, no sugar these days). I would have used honey if it had been in a more liquid form.

Roasted eggplant salad with tzatziki herb dressing

My daughter will be back tomorrow and I can't wait to see her. This week, however, has given me time to spend with my youngest.

He never had the fortune of being the first, that little creature who totally capsizes your world in wonderful (and not always so wonderful) ways. The baby you spend hours staring at, playing with, nurturing. Your first baby is the one you take endless pictures of, you make scrapbooks for, recording every detail of her growth. You scrutinize the content of each and every diaper, you count the strands of hair and sprouting teeth over and over. The first is the baby you play classical music for when she is in your tummy, you do not allow near sugar and salt or anything with a bit of flavor for the first two years of her life. Your first child starts watching TV (10 minutes and no more) when she is a toddler and is only allowed to watch educational programs. You buy her specific toys and/or books for every stage of her devolopment and spend time playing/reading with her. You take her to baby massage groups and English playgroups (if you live abroad) and hum lullabies to her in a semi-dark room at naptime.

By the time your second comes along it is a whole different world. Whilst in your tummy he is already a comfy perch for the older child, forget Mozart's sweet notes. As soon as he is out, his world is a place of noise and light. No lullabies in cool, dark rooms. If he survives his older sibling he will be picking up the crumbs from her cookies and initiating his sugar intake long before he is two. Every time he starts playing with a toy, his older sister will grab it from him (well, to be fair, he will do the same). He will constantly be sucking on that made-in-China barbie or car made out of toxic materials and with a million detachable pieces that his sibling got as a present from their great aunt's cousin twice removed last month.

When I had my second child, my sister warned me I would not take as many picture of him. I promised myself I would, that he would get his personal storyboard, just like my first. I have stuck to that. But that is pretty much it.

He had his first taste of ice cream before he turned two and when he watches TV it is usually Barbie and the 200 Dancing Princesses in the friggin' Diamond Castle. Or Shrek when he gets lucky. His bedtime books are usually more intricate than the Dr. Seuss and Baby Einstein we read to him every once in a while. He has never known the delight of playing with the floating letters and Sesame Street characters all on his own.

All in all, he does have the constant entertainment and company of another child, unlike his sister did. He has a very active social life, I'll give you that, but it is really his sisters'. No fancy English playgroups and massages for that guy. He hangs out with snotty-nosed babies and cool three-year olds because they are his sister's friends'younger siblings. All in all he has it pretty good, he is stimulated (albeit in a different way than my first), he is 2 going on to 6 and has a sugar and salt-coated life.

But I for once I wanted him to feel like my first. The last and only time his sister went away he was too distraught to enjoy it. This week he did a lot better and I pampered him and cuddled him and kissed his little cheeks sore. We read the Foot Book and Good Night Gorilla over and over, we played with non-toxic games that are age appropriate and I sat with him and taught him all the tricks. He splashed in the bathtub to his delight and we watched The Bear in the Big Blue House and Thomas the Train. We both miss his sister a lot, and every time he asks where she is I am wondering the same thing, but I am grateful for every extra cuddle I can give him this week.

Since he loved the yogurt sauce (and posing with it) I made recently so much and because I am always thinking up new ways to get him to eat vegetables, I decided to make this to spoil him a little. He did not mind in the least.

Loosely inspired by Ottolenghi's recipe taught in person to the Heavenly Housewife.

Gazpacho - a soup or a drink?

The other day I mentioned a questionnaire I was answering to subscribe to a food community. One of the questions was a pet peeve of mine in the kitchen. I had a hard time coming up with one at that moment, but since then they have just been popping up in my mind. Turns out I am quite the kitchen nazi.

Here are a few:

1. When someone grabs food from a platter or picks/eats the garnish before I serve it.

2. When someone hovers while I cook and constantly sticks a spoon or even worse a finger into something I have on the stove top.

3. When someone sticks their fork into my plate while I am eating. (I see a trend emerging here. A touch territorial?)

4. When someone eats pasta and leaves all the sauce in the plate.

5. When someone eats roast chicken and discards the crunchy, salty skin.

6. When someone says they don't like something without ever having tasted it (excluding religious/moral reasons)

7. When someone only takes the runny part of an aged cheese

8. When someone cuts the crust off of cheeses like camembert and brie

9. People (er...Italians) who say English food is terrible. Hello? Gordon? Nigella? Jamie? Heston? (Also, I believe there is no country that does not have a local cuisine, some just have more variety than others)

10. People who think Italy is just pizza, pasta, cappucino and mafia.

11. When people make ..... (brownies, cookies, etc. You choose) and halve the butter, sugar, egg ratio. Don't be surprised if it ain't a ..... or if it isn't as good as the bakery's.

12. Language distorsions.

This opens up a whole new subcategory (and the truth is I probably do the same in languages I don't know so I probably shouldn't cast the first stone). But bear with me and let me rant just this once:

a) biscotti is plural. The singular is biscotto, so you are eating a biscotto, not a biscotti

b) the same goes for panino and panini

c) by the way, biscotti are all kinds of cookies in Italian - even an Oreo, and panini are all kinds of sandwiches, even a club sandwich

d) the same goes for Italians. 'Cookies' are all cookies, not just chocolate chip cookies

e) the right word/spelling is BRUSCHETTA (pronounced broosketta, not brooshetta)

f) why does the package of a regional, traditional Italian cookie (biscotto) have to have 'cookie' written in English under the brand to make it cooler? (And why don't you get a native speaker to correct your English before you print that sentence on 100,000 t-shirts? But I digress...)

g) gelato is all ice cream in Italy, even the Haagen Dazs you buy at the supermarket

h) Fettucine Alfredo are NOT Italian

Since we are discussing all those infuriating/endearing mistakes we make with foreign foods, here is the recipe for gazpacho. I am sure that in Spain every family has a recipe for gazpacho that is the best and only true version. In the recipe I used, which may or may not be authentic, the procedure is a little more complex than my usual throw-together-and-blend-the-vegetables approach. The result is delicious, it really does seem to give the gazpacho an extra kick.

Now to the big dilemma is: is it a soup or is it a drink? 

After doing a little research and because I have close family living in Spain, I feel I can pretty confidently answer it is a soup you can drink. So whether you use a bowl and spoon or a glass is up to you. But because I do not want to become a Spaniard's pet peeve please let us know, if you are out there, if this is true and also what you consider to be the original, one-and-only recipe.

I followed the recipe to  a "t" and made half a batch and then omitted the last step with the other half. You decide which you like best. I drank the first and ate the second with a spoon. What matters is that it bring you pure joy on a hot, hot day like today.

What are your pet peeves in the kitchen?

Adapted from Just Eat it.

Octopus panzanella

The month of June was a pretty rainy, cool month here in Milan. It got a little frustrating after the tenth storm in a row at exactly 5.30pm, which is when I pick up the kids up from daycare and kindergarden. But hey, I'm not complaining because it was not hot and humid.

Until a couple of days ago that is.

You know the summer heat has hit in Milan when:

- you can park exactly where you want to on week ends

- the sidewalks are full of little holes left by the fashionable Milanese wearing their multicolored Tod's and Car Shoes

- you can find a table outdoors under the pergola at your favorite brunch place with only a few day's notice

- you have visions of biking home in the winter with gloves and a hat on while waiting for a light to turn green

- you start looking forward to going to work every morning because of the AC

- you look and smell like a mosquito repellent sales rep

- you dream of eating ice cold, soggy toast

Yes, I just wrote that.

No, it is not as bad as it sounds. Not if the toast has a mild garlic taste and the crunchiness is softened by the juices of ripe red tomatoes and the best quality olive oil.

In comes panzanella, the famous bread salad.

                          

This is a panzanella made my way. I am aware that panzanella is traditionally made without seafood, with the addition of raw onions and vinegar, and last but definitely not least, with stale bread, preferably the Tuscan variety without salt. But hey, I didn't have any stale bread so I used delicious whole grain bread with sunflower seeds instead. Do you blame me? And since it was a week night (i.e. I would be mingling with colleagues in the office at 7am the next morning) and the kids were eating with us, I decided to leave out the red onion and rubbed the abovementioned bread with garlic bruschetta-style. It was oh so good... And to give it the missing crunch I threw in some celery. No vinegar, which I normally use, because I wanted the delicate flavor of the octopus to really shine through. If I had had some black olives in the house (or preferably the small Taggiasca variety) I would have added those too.

Here is another panzanella recipe you might like.

Ingredients

whole grain bread

octopus

tomatoes

celery

mint

extra virgin olive oil

garlic

salt

pepper

Prepare the octopus this way. Slice the bread and toast it. Rub it with garlic and cut into approx. 1 inch squares. Cut the octopus, tomatoes and celery into bite size pieces. Chop up some fresh mint. Mix all the ingredients together, dress with plenty of extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper. Serve cold. 

Nigella's moonblush tomatoes - the stuff of fairies

My daughter loves prancing around the house with wings on her back and a magic wand in hand, turning every corner of our appartment into a magic, enchanted world. She has made me endless potions to drink and my son has been turned into any mythical creature imaginable.

Perhaps those potions finally started wearing off on me, because I have a secret to tell. Did I ever mention I have magic powers? And because I am not a selfish fairy, I decided to share my magic with you, like Nigella did before me. Today I am giving you a secret ingredient that is so enchanted, it makes itself. With this ingredient you will be able to make endless quick, easy and magically tasty dishes.

How is that for a little magic?

Grab a wand (we have a lots of pink and sparkly ones if you need one), follow these steps and you will be able to cast the same spell. Do this at dusk, using nothing more than tomatoes and moonlight, the essential, magical touch.

In the morning you will find the sweetest, tastiest little red gems you have ever had. If you make these on the week end, you will be able to use them for lovely, super quick recipes all week. I made a farro salad with mint and moonblush tomatoes on Sunday and yesterday I baked some salmon filets smothered in these. I have used them in salad with feta or any other goat cheese or mozzarella. They make a wicked bruschetta and they work wonders on pasta with a drizzle of oil, some Parmesan cheese and a little pepper.

The possibilities are endless, why don't you suggest some?

Ingredients
500gr vine tomatoes or other smaller varieties (but you can cut up larger tomatoes too)
1tsp salt
1/4tsp sugar
1tsp dried thyme/oregano or other herb
olive oil

Preheat your oven to 220°C/425° F. Cut the tomatoes into half, sprinkle with the ingredients, gently toss to cover and place on a lined baking tray cut side up. Put the tray in the oven and switch off immediately. Leave in the oven all night, without ever opening.

Pasta alla Norma

I became an honorary Sicilian the other day.

How, you ask me?

I married a man who was born in Sicily.

No.

I carried two half-Sicilian children in my womb for eighteen months (that is 9 x 2, I am not an elephant. Yet.).

No.

I made something that is so second nature to a Sicilian that they wouldn't think twice about it, like when you lock your front door and don't remember doing it.

I deep-fried eggplant.

So what is the big deal? 

Well, first of all, deep frying has always scared the bejesus out of me. I do not deep fry anything. Ever. But I decided that now that I have a food blog I have to face up to my fears and tread into the unknown. Secondly, I have been eating my mother in law's fried eggplant for the last 16 years and it somehow never occured to me I could make it myself.

I had one, lonely eggplant in my fridge. I couldn't come up with any ideas and I wanted to make something quick on a week night. What else is new? I decided to make pasta alla Norma. Pasta with a simple, garlic-based tomato sauce, fried eggplant and ricotta salata (see below) sprinkled over it. The dish, which seems to have originated in Catania, was dedicated to the composer Vincenzo Bellini (from this city) and his best-known opera La Norma.

So chop, chop. chop and fry, fry, fry I went.

Result? It had to be good because my DH, who was presumably already drinking fried eggplant in his bottle, said it was perfect, or to be more accurate, perfetta!

The land of plenty...and Michael's puttanesca

The first thing any foreigner notices upon landing here in the USA is how big everything is, how much of everything there is. Cars are big, roads are wide, supermarkets are huge. Portions are enormous, when you order a sandwich you get a choice of five different kinds of bread and six different kinds of cheese and if you are looking for a box of cereal or a can of Coke make sure you know what you want before venturing down the endless supermarket aisle. I know this and come prepared but trust me when I say I still found the choice of hummus at our local store mindboggling, with edamame hummus the most boring choice on offer!

So when they predicted a strong snow storm last week we knew to expect a big one. Things here are however always a touch 'more' and we awoke to a city blanketed in white. The streets were empty except for very few taxis, people walking in between them to avoid the impossible sidewalks.

But now let's get serious and talk puttanesca, a dish made in the past in Southern Italy by whores (thus the name) for their clients. A very simple, poor dish full of flavor and heat to satisfy the most manly of appetites. So why, you must be wondering, am I giving you the recipe for this dish when I am so far from its country of origin, the place where I live.

Well, my father was back in good spirits last night and decided to treat us to his favorite meal. He is known to many for his spaghetti alla puttanesca and I have helped  make it more times than I can remember for small and large gatherings. People have tasted it from near and far and when he throws a dinner party they know what they will be eating (and preparing - it has become a sort of tradition to get anyone polite enough to arrive on time, unlike my dad, to help peel, chop and pit). An old friend of his, a well known home economist and businesswoman we won't name, loves it and asked to use it in one of her cookbooks many years ago, but it was inevitably changed to please more delicate palates.

My father makes pretty much the same amount for four or twenty four, but I will give you approximate amount per can of pelati and you can multiply from there.

This is a puttanesca on steroids compared to its Italian cousin, just like everything else in this country. So don't say I didn't warn you and remember, don't make this for your vampire friends. I would avoid a first date too, but I think my father wined and dined many a woman with this meal...so who am I say?

Happy New Year to all of you out there, wherever you are in the world...although come to think of it,  it is already 2011 for many of you!

Trilogy: ragù, bechamel sauce and lasagne

The week end started pretty badly.

Our little one brought home some nasty germs from day care on Wednesday and by Friday the whole family was hit by the dreaded stomach flu. I woke up early feeling pretty awful only to remember that F was leaving on a business trip and staying away a day and a night.

I had two choices: give in to my feeling of impending doom and nausea or pretend it wasn't happening and go to work. I opted for the second in a moment of relative well-being only to regret it soon after. I had to get some urgent things done at work and decided I would rush home once everyone had left the house and lie in bed feeling sorry for myself. Until the call came: our older one revisited her breakfast just as they were walking out the door. Several calls ensued to organize a baby sitter and let husband leave during the craziest part of my work day (before the stock market opens at 9:00am). This, while feeling like worshipping the Porcelain God myself and dreading the 36 hours stretching in front of me alone with the kids. All I really wanted to do was curl up in fetal position under my desk and cry.*

Spaghetti all'Amatriciana

I still had some of that lovely guanciale (pork jowl) left over from my trip to the farmers market and decided to use it in one of the most traditional and well-known Roman dishes: pasta all'Amatriciana.

Before I started writing , I did some research and found out several things I was not aware of:

1. Amatriciana is not traditionally a Roman recipe. It originates from Amatrice, a mountain town in the province of Rieti, and was brought to Rome by its shepherds who used to move their sheep, goats and cows to the pastures around Rome in the winter and sold their products in the markets of the city.

2. Originally the sauce was called Gricia, or griscia, apparently from Grisciano, the name of a village near Amatrice. It is an ancient recipe, prepared long before tomatoes were brought to the Old World from America, and it is still made today.

3. The original recipe for Amatriciana does not include onions. Who knew? I have always made it with onions. If you want to be true to its origins, however, do not use any.