This is a very simple salad that incorporates some of the flavors of an Italian summer. My great grandmother, Lucia, would put together this salad with fruits and vegetables picked fresh that morning. Some cured meats, a wedge of cheese and some fresh baked bread would accompany the salad and for a lighter meal during those hot days in the Italian summer. My grandmother a sable to serve the same meal with everything chilled, something my great grandmother could not do until coming to the United States.
The dressing for this salad calls for an apple cider or red wine vinegar. Apple cider and red wine vinegars are light and fresh tasting. They blend well with the fruits and vegetables in a salad without overpowering them. For the same reason, a lighter tasting oil than an extra virgin should be used. This can be light to or pure olive oil or even a vegetable or canola oil.
The idea of this salad is to use the garden fresh flavors, mixing sweet, savory and a bit of tang.
Ingredients:
1 bunch of romaine lettuce
1 bunch of radicchio
2-3 fresh ripe tomatoes
1 large cucumber
2 ripe peaches
4 fresh figs quartered
1/2 cup oil
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar or red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
Wash the romaine and radicchio well and let dry.
Cut tomatoes, figs and peaches into quarters. The peaches should be ripe but not too soft.
Tear the romaine and radicchio into a large salad bowl.
Add the quartered figs, peaches tomatoes and sliced cucumber.
Mix together the vinegar, oil and lemon juice, pour onto salad and gently toss.
Other fruits that go well in this salad and hold up with their own flavors are pears (either the Bosch or Bartlett variety) apples (Cortland, Empire or Granny Smith) and green or red grapes.
If you have never picked out fresh figs before, here are a few tips. Italian black figs or Mission Figs can be used. Mission Figs are often easier to find in most stores.
Choose fruit that has a mostly dark purple skin that is free of blemishes and has some firmness to it. After being washed, the entire fig, including the outer skin, is edible. If you find the outer skin to have a little bitterness, you can peel away the first layer.
The inside of a fig should be a rich purple or magenta color and should look succulent and juicy, not dried out.
Italian home cooking and comfort food. The recipes brought from Abruzzi, Italy to Boston's North End by my grandmother and great grandmother.
Introduction
In the 1960’s, my grandmother, Vincenza, had returned to Boston’s North End, the neighborhood where she had first arrived in America. She had come full circle, having arrived in the North End in 1914 to find a filthy, overcrowded slum, to achieving the American Dream and owning a home in the suburbs to finally coming back to the place that felt comfortable and safe and reminded her of Italy as much as any American neighborhood could.
By this time, the North End had progressed from the run down slum it once had been to a tourist attraction for visitors to Boston. People came in droves to visit the small specialty shops along Salem Street, eat in the many restaurants that served regional dishes from all over Italy and to experience the sense of community that had grown and developed over the decades since Vincenza first arrived in Boston.
Walking up the four flights of old wooden stairs to my grandmother’s apartment, I could smell the food cooking from the apartments that lined both sides of the long hallways. The air would be filled with the mouth watering aromas of garlic frying in olive oil, peppers roasting and fresh bread being baked. My grandmother’s kitchen was always rich with the aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove, anise cookies baking in the oven and the light, sweet scent of ricotta mixed with eggs and parsley.
I spent hours in my grandmother’s kitchen watching her prepare meals; recipes and techniques passed down from her mother, Lucia; meals that she learned to prepare in an old stone kitchen over an open fire back in “the old Country”, Abruzzi. It seems that there was a story or some type of folk lore to go with every meal she prepared. I loved listening to the stories as much as I loved helping to prepare and eat the food.
The recipes I learned from my grandmother are the recipes of the peasant farmers, sheep herders and laborers of Abbruzzi. They are recipes developed out of necessity; the need to use every bit of food available and waste nothing; the need to find a way to fill your family and keep them nourished even when food and money were scarce. These are not gourmet recipes that use expensive, trendy ingredients. I am not a professional chef. Hopefully, you will enjoy the idea of making comfort food, plain family friendly meals, some of which go back centuries and have their roots in ancient Roman times. I learned that food was something to be fully experienced with all the senses. A meal was meant to be made from scratch, using the freshest ingredients possible. It was meant to be made with love and it was to be shared with family and friends, relished and savored. A full day could go into the preparation of a meal that would be served with pride and love to the family and friends gathered at the table. A meal was a social event; a time to sit around the table, talk, laugh and unwind.
The preparation of food was an art in itself. Food incorporated all the senses. One not only paid attention to taste, but also to the aromas, textures, appearance and sometimes even the sound of food. My grandmother never wrote down or read a recipe. All the knowledge of cooking was stored in her head. She learned to cook from instinct, using all her sense to determine what flavors would work together. I learned to cook the same way my grandmother and great grandmother did. Measurements consisted of a pinch, a bit and a handful.
I cannot begin to explain how difficult it is for me to write the recipes for this blog and for the upcoming cookbook. I learned to measure with a pinch, a handful, a little of this and a generous amount of that. Taste, sight and common sense told me whether or not the amount was right. In writing a cookbook, I had to prepare my grandmother’s and great grandmother’s dishes, trying to measure ingredients to make it easy for others to follow. I learned that this is easier said than done. Half way through the preparation, I realized that I was reverting to instinct and forgetting to measure. That’s what Italian cooking is. You learn to use all your senses to create a meal and you eventually know what flavors will complement one another.
Therefore, in reading these recipes and trying them out, you cannot take the measurements as absolute, but rather as guidelines for amounts. In some cases I have state that you should use a pinch or a bit of an ingredient. This will no doubt cause panic for some people who tend to worry too much about whether or not they are doing it right. These people are missing out on the joy of cooking and the opportunity to develop an intimate relationship to the food. I hope that anyone reading this will eventually try to let loose and have some fun cooking. Learn to trust your instincts, learn to uses all your senses in cooking, and learn to cook like an Italian.
By this time, the North End had progressed from the run down slum it once had been to a tourist attraction for visitors to Boston. People came in droves to visit the small specialty shops along Salem Street, eat in the many restaurants that served regional dishes from all over Italy and to experience the sense of community that had grown and developed over the decades since Vincenza first arrived in Boston.
Walking up the four flights of old wooden stairs to my grandmother’s apartment, I could smell the food cooking from the apartments that lined both sides of the long hallways. The air would be filled with the mouth watering aromas of garlic frying in olive oil, peppers roasting and fresh bread being baked. My grandmother’s kitchen was always rich with the aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove, anise cookies baking in the oven and the light, sweet scent of ricotta mixed with eggs and parsley.
I spent hours in my grandmother’s kitchen watching her prepare meals; recipes and techniques passed down from her mother, Lucia; meals that she learned to prepare in an old stone kitchen over an open fire back in “the old Country”, Abruzzi. It seems that there was a story or some type of folk lore to go with every meal she prepared. I loved listening to the stories as much as I loved helping to prepare and eat the food.
The recipes I learned from my grandmother are the recipes of the peasant farmers, sheep herders and laborers of Abbruzzi. They are recipes developed out of necessity; the need to use every bit of food available and waste nothing; the need to find a way to fill your family and keep them nourished even when food and money were scarce. These are not gourmet recipes that use expensive, trendy ingredients. I am not a professional chef. Hopefully, you will enjoy the idea of making comfort food, plain family friendly meals, some of which go back centuries and have their roots in ancient Roman times. I learned that food was something to be fully experienced with all the senses. A meal was meant to be made from scratch, using the freshest ingredients possible. It was meant to be made with love and it was to be shared with family and friends, relished and savored. A full day could go into the preparation of a meal that would be served with pride and love to the family and friends gathered at the table. A meal was a social event; a time to sit around the table, talk, laugh and unwind.
The preparation of food was an art in itself. Food incorporated all the senses. One not only paid attention to taste, but also to the aromas, textures, appearance and sometimes even the sound of food. My grandmother never wrote down or read a recipe. All the knowledge of cooking was stored in her head. She learned to cook from instinct, using all her sense to determine what flavors would work together. I learned to cook the same way my grandmother and great grandmother did. Measurements consisted of a pinch, a bit and a handful.
I cannot begin to explain how difficult it is for me to write the recipes for this blog and for the upcoming cookbook. I learned to measure with a pinch, a handful, a little of this and a generous amount of that. Taste, sight and common sense told me whether or not the amount was right. In writing a cookbook, I had to prepare my grandmother’s and great grandmother’s dishes, trying to measure ingredients to make it easy for others to follow. I learned that this is easier said than done. Half way through the preparation, I realized that I was reverting to instinct and forgetting to measure. That’s what Italian cooking is. You learn to use all your senses to create a meal and you eventually know what flavors will complement one another.
Therefore, in reading these recipes and trying them out, you cannot take the measurements as absolute, but rather as guidelines for amounts. In some cases I have state that you should use a pinch or a bit of an ingredient. This will no doubt cause panic for some people who tend to worry too much about whether or not they are doing it right. These people are missing out on the joy of cooking and the opportunity to develop an intimate relationship to the food. I hope that anyone reading this will eventually try to let loose and have some fun cooking. Learn to trust your instincts, learn to uses all your senses in cooking, and learn to cook like an Italian.
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