Rome: Cacio e Pepe

My #1 favorite, can't-resist-ordering-it, when-it's-done-well-it's-the-best-thing-ever pasta dish that I've fallen for since moving to Napoli is cacio e pepe. I know damn well that this dish is "simple" and that it hardly costs anything to prepare, as the list of ingredients looks a little something like this: pasta, peppercorns, salt, olive oil, pecorino romano cheese. Cheap, cheap, cheap. Good, good, good.

My favorite restaurant in Rome adds truffles to their version. Mother of God.

I must learn to make cacio e pepe, or else I'll be plunged into a tastebud depression when I move back stateside. It was a no-brainer that I would test out the recipe in Rome (pg 109).

Rome's version taught me that a simple list of ingredients does not mean that it's a simple recipe to get right. My cacio e pepe was a mess.

First, toast the peppercorns, then bash them with a rolling pin until they're coarsely ground. Straightforward enough.

Boil pasta until nearly done. Easy.

Add a ladle of the pasta's cooking water and some olive oil to a pan, add a handful of cheese, and mix vigorously. Add the pasta, then add the rest of the cheese, the crushed pepper, and as much water as is necessary to make a sauce.

Sounds simple, right? Wrong.

Mix as I might, the cheese refused to combine with the water and oil. It clung to the pan, and the oil kept separating from the water. Adding the pasta did not spread things out. I added the remaining cheese, which also, once mixed, stuck to the pan, the spoon--everything but the pasta. Adding water did not help.

Disgracing the name Cacio e Pepe.

Ever eat pasta with globs of intensely peppered, re-solidified cheese scraped on top? Unpleasant. Very unpleasant. 

I refuse to believe that cacio e pepe must be prepared by professionals. I will figure this out. (Amy, back me up if I ask Vera to teach us!)

Conclusion: Hated it. Disaster.

Oy

My in-laws have come to visit, and are staying for a month, so I doubt I'll be updating the blog much while they're here. They're off on a tour of the National Archaeological Museum here in Naples right now, so I'm stealing five minutes to knock out a quick post.

I made (Bowties) al Ragu (pg 113 of Rome), because Charlie's revived his food-related stubbornness, and I thought surely he'd eat it, as he asks for "red spaghetti" all the time. I was wrong. Wouldn't taste it. This sauce took two hours to cook, and came out tasting exactly like my Grandma's. That's not a good thing. Grandma is German. Her red sauce comes out of a can. It's fine, but hers takes a whopping three minutes to make/heat up.

Conclusion: Just okay. Absolutely not worth the time, effort, or 1/4 cup of wine that could be put to better use in my glass.

The following night, I made Spaghetti alla Carbonara (pg 98), because it's one of Charlie's go-to restaurant orders, and I wanted to try it at home before my in-laws arrived. They both have assorted fat and carb-related dietary restrictions, so I didn't want to serve it to them. Not the greatest carbonara I've ever eaten, but very good, and Charlie INHALED it, exclaiming all the while, "This spaghetti is AMAZING." This has never happened before, for anything I've cooked. I wish more food made him happy. Despite the caloric consequences, carbonara may need to show up at my table a little more often.

Conclusion: Liked it, calories be damned.

My mother in law is a fan of biscotti, so I made Tozzetti (pg 173). I'm rarely totally happy with how my biscotti turns out. Either it's the wrong texture, falls apart when I'm slicing it, the chocolate melts all over the place, etc etc. This hazelnut biscotti recipe was a pain in the ass in dough form. It was super sticky and wet, and the directions ("using a spatula, transfer the rectangles to the prepared baking sheet") indicate that it was not supposed to be. There was no transference via spatula. I basically had to glop it over with my hands and form it into a mostly-oblong shape. However, once baked the first time, they sliced perfectly, and turned out exactly the way I expect a store-bought biscotti to be.

Conclusion: Loved them.

A few from Feast: 

Know how I'm always disappointed by "fast" Indian recipes by non-Indian people? Nigella's Keema (pg 234) is a wonderful, quick version of the minced meat and peas that I like to make when I have two hours. It's not as flavorful as Jaffrey's version, but it's got lots of spice and lots of flavor, and takes a third of the time. I can now eat Indian on a weeknight. Thank you, Nigella.

Conclusion: Loved it.

The Quadruple Chocolate Loaf Cake (pg 272) is moist and rich and delicious. This is one of my favorite things I've baked in a long time. My one complaint is that the recipe says to line the loaf pan with plastic wrap. Nigella puts your worries to rest, saying, "Don't panic, it won't melt." Lies, I tell you! Lies! It DID melt. It disappeared into my cake, so I cut thickly around the sides and bottom of the cake. According to the FAQ on her website, she has changed this instruction to line with buttered foil. Didn't help me last time, but it will help me next time.

I had to serve this to company. Good thing it tasted good.

Conclusion: Loved it.

Slime Soup (pg 350) is a nice, easy, more-filling (it's blitzed with mozzarella) pea soup made from frozen peas. It's from the Halloween section, thus the title. I served this to my in-laws, without sharing the name with them, and they liked it.

Conclusion: liked it.

Submission

On Monday, I went to Ipercoop, which is one of the larger Italian supermarkets around here, armed with my list of ingredients that I needed for this week's dinners. This was the first time since I've lived here that I was able to walk into an Italian supermarket and leave with everything on my list. Smoked scamorza? Got it. Fresh cakes of yeast? Right there, next to the butter. Veal cutlets? How thick do you want them? Prosciutto? Come on, challenge me. Gaeta olives? Don't need 'em. They're already in my fridge.

It was so refreshing. Maybe I need to cook all Italian food for the rest of my time here. It's a hell of a lot less stressful than trying to conjure pot roasts and duck breasts and exotic spices. It's tricky, though, because a) No diversity gets old fast and b) Italians cook better Italian food than I do. If I want good Italian, it's more satisfying to go out to eat. Well, first to hire a babysitter, then to go out and eat, because meals don't start until 8, and last for several hours here. I see myself getting much more invested in my Italian cookbooks once I'm stateside, as I try to reclaim the glorious food I ate here. And then I won't be able to find smoked scamorza or fresh yeast. Oy.

Last night I made La Tiella di Gaeta Con Le Cipolle (pg 86 of Rome). Technically, this beast is supposed to be an appetizer, but since I don't have a bar-full of people to feed, we had it for dinner. It's a mixture of ricotta and scamorza cheese, eggs, and herbs, wrapped up in a yeast dough.

This took a while to make, but really wasn't very difficult. The dough was easy to work with. The recipe is for a 12 inch cake pan. I don't own one that big, so I had lots of extra dough.
I made the top crust too thick, and it threw off the crust-to-filling ratio.

Matt kept asking why I baked him a cake for dinner. My glares did not dissuade him from calling it "Dinner Cake." Then he decided it tasted like bacon (from the smoked cheese) and eggs, and he started calling it "Breakfast Cake." I'm pretty sure what he meant was, "Wow, honey, this is beautiful. Thanks so much." Grumble, grumble.

Perhaps I shouldn't take issue with the fact that this book of Roman recipes keeps having recipes from other parts of Italy. Gaeta is closer to Naples than it is to Rome. Guess I shouldn't complain - wherever it's from, it tastes good. 

Conclusion: Liked it. It was nice to be able to cook the whole thing, start to finish, while Charlie was at school, and not have to worry about getting dinner ready later, since it's meant to be served cold or room temp. This thing is waaay too big for just two people to eat, though. This would be good for a brunch or a buffet table, to feed a horde of people. I dropped a big wedge off at a friend's house this morning. Waste not!

Earlier in the week, I made Saltimbocca alla Romana (pg 127). I'm a huge saltimbocca fan. If you don't know, it's veal (or I've also made it with chicken) wrapped in prosciutto and sage, then pan-fried. Toss some white wine into the drippings, cook it down, and enjoy.

Matt thought that this version was too salty, and said he preferred Virginia Willis' chicken recipe from Bon Appetit, Y'all. There isn't any salt added to this, so I'm curious to try Virginia's recipe with the ingredients available here, and see if he still thinks its too salty. Maybe it's the prosciutto. Matt claimed that veal is inherently saltier than chicken, but that sounds silly to me. Maybe I'm wrong.

I prefer Virginia's recipe, because she layers it as chicken, sage, then wraps prosciutto around it. It magically adheres after dredged in flour. I worried the first time I made it that it would all fall apart, but it didn't. This recipe has the sage on the outside, and everything needs to be sewn together with a toothpick. It also says to trim the prosciutto to the size of the veal. Yeah, right. Much fussier.

Conclusion: Liked it, but I'll stick with my normal recipe, because it's more straightforward.

Lastly, Insalata Di Finocchio (pg 78). Shaved fennel, topped with orange slices, olives, and olive oil doesn't sound like that intriguing of a mixture, but it was quite refreshing. Not something I'd crave, but if I had all these ingredients laying around, I'd make this again.

Conclusion: Just okay. Better than I expected. It doesn't have enough salty or enough sweet to provide that delicious sweet/salty contrast. It could use some oomph, but I'm not sure how to provide it.

Clearing the Slate

I've accrued a backlog of recipes from Rome that I've cooked, but haven't posted about. None were exceptional, so I'm just going to blast 'em out.

Conchiglie alla Caprese (pg 105) takes all the delicious elements of a caprese salad, adds capers, olives, and anchovies, then dilutes the whole thing with pasta. The best part of a caprese salad is the flavor union of mozzarella, basil, and tomato. It may not be impossible to get all three of those things in one forkful once pasta is thrown into the mix, but it doesn't happen organically.

Conclusion: Just okay. Bland. I bought the cute little trulli house-shaped pasta during my Columbus Day trip to Alberobello, which you can read about here.

Insalata Rossa (pg 151): snoozefest. Tomatoes, carrots, green onions, basil, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil do not come together as more than its individual pieces.

Conclusion: Just okay.

Pollo alla Romana con i Peperoni (pg 144), or Chicken with Tomatoes and Sweet Peppers, is the standout. The drumsticks didn't take on much flavor, so they were just normal drumsticks, but the sauce and the peppers were out of this world. I could have eaten a giant bowl of rice drowned in sauce (crisped prosciutto, a glug of white wine, tomatoes, oregano, with the soft peppers added in at the end), and been perfectly happy. No chicken necessary

Conclusion: Really liked the sauce and peppers.

I saw some parsnips (a rarity) at the Commissary last week, so I snagged them, without a plan. Feast has a recipe for Maple-Roast Parsnips (pg 25). Holy mother of God. These things are candy. Nigella says in her intro that she used to use honey and has changed it to maple syrup because it's "sweetness (is) less cloying." I can't even imagine how sweet the honey ones must have been, because I could barely make myself eat these. I am sure Charlie would have liked them, but he refused to put one in his mouth. I gave up after an hour and a half. He informed me he wanted to go to bed hungry, and so that is what he did. Grrrr.

Conclusion: Disliked. If Charlie had eaten them, I'd make them again in the future, but since he didn't, I won't. Too sweet.

Chicken and Zukes

Everything sounds so much more exciting in Italian. Last night, I made Zucchine a Scapece (pg 74 of Rome). Fry thin rounds of zucchini in olive oil until they're golden and soft. Mix them with raw garlic, salt, red wine vinegar, and mint leaves (though i used basil, because I didn't have mint), then let them sit in the fridge to cool for half an hour.

These missed the mark for me. Italians are very good at frying vegetables (I'm thinking of  you, eggplant) so that they're creamy and perfect, and you don't feel like you're eating three cups of olive oil, even if you are. As I ate these zucchini, I felt like I was eating three cups of olive oil. It lubed up the whole inside of my mouth and throat. Ew.

Conclusion: Just okay. I wouldn't make this again.

That chicken tastes better than it looks.

However, Petti di Pollo in Padella was both excellent and easy. Score! There are some overly fussy instructions that I ignored. "Remove the small fillet (tender) from the chicken breast and save it for another use." For real? I don't think so. I left my breasts intact (that sounds wrong). I also used a box of chicken broth, rather than making it from scratch.

Marinate the chicken in a mixture of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, rosemary, bay leaf, salt, and pepper, for two hours. In my case, they marinated for two days, with no detrimental effects. The instructions say to use a bit of the marinade to oil the pan you'll cook the chicken in, but mine turned to blood clot consistency as soon as it hit the hotness. Ew. I wiped it off, used a swirl of olive oil, and carried on. After five minutes per side and a few minutes of sitting, I had perfectly salted, juicy, rosemary-flavored chicken breasts. Add chicken broth to the pan, scrape up the browned bits, then pour over the sliced chicken breasts.

Conclusion: Loved it. Perfetto! Matt rarely comments on dinner, but he went out of his way to compliment this.

The Who and the Whatsit?

We've been home from France for a week and a half now, and I've been sick the whole time. Charlie caught it (not as bad as me), and it was only yesterday that we both felt well enough to get dressed and leave the house--him to school, and me to the supermarket. Prior to that, we (and by "we," I mostly mean Matt) have been throwing meals together with what's available in the house. It's been a vegetable-free existence.

Anyway, on Sunday, I told Matt that we had all the ingredients for Rigatoni con Guanciale e Cipolla (pg 101 of Rome). He'd cooked the recipe earlier in September, the night we got home from Tropea. I'd mentally flagged it prior to our trip, because it specifically calls for Tropean red onions. Let me tell you, Tropeans are very proud of their onions. They even use them to flavor ice cream.

If a torrential thunderstorm didn't chase us back to our car after lunch, I definitely would have tried some.

Anyway, we stopped at a roadside stand to buy a bag of onions on our way back to Naples. Know what Tropean red onions taste like? Red onions. Somewhat milder, but it's really not that big of a difference. (Sorry, Tropeans. No offense.) Matt says he thinks it's like a mix between a red onion and a shallot. I don't really know what that means. Point is, you could totally make this with normal red onions, and it would be just fine.

I accidentally deleted my pic of the food, so here's one of Tropea instead.

I haven't personally made this, but Matt has now made it twice. He does it fairly quickly (within a half hour), so it must not be too complicated.

The onions are wilted with a good amount of white wine vinegar, olive oil, sugar, and salt, then set aside. Crisp pancetta, then add the onion glop, and set aside. Add cooked pasta, then a pile of pecorino romano, and what you've got is a delicious salty, sour, sweet bowl of carbohydrate goodness. It's addictive.

Why is a recipe that calls for Tropean onions present in a book of Roman recipes? I have no idea. Tropea is a solid seven hours south of Rome, and I've never seen their onions in Naples. Maybe Rome has a Tropean onion pipeline.

Conclusion: Love it. I've eaten more than my fair share each time Matt's made this, and both times, I wanted more.

Wrapping Up and Up Next

My favorite recipe that I cooked from Meatless is the first recipe that I cooked from Meatless: Maltagliatti with Marinated Heirloom Tomatoes. Looking back, most of the recipes that I liked best were Italian-inspired--either pasta, or simple preparations of standard Italian vegetables (primarily zucchini and tomatoes). Recipes that wandered into any other ethnic realm fell flat from lack of spice. Call me crazy, but if I'm eating Indian food, I want it to taste like Indian food, not like dirt.

I don't feel a ton of excitement when thinking back upon the food I cooked from this book. Stats are only slightly in favor of the Liked it/Loved it camp (8/2) over the Hated It/Disliked/Just Okay camp (3/1/4). A nearly 50% disappointment rate is substantial, however, I'm going to consider Meatless to be a keeper, because I'm always on the prowl for different ways to prepare vegetables. It's definitely not a must-buy, though.

It's occurred to me that I haven't actually gotten rid of a book in quite a while (though I'm tempted to ditch Rachael Ray's Big Orange Book without actually testing it. That seems wrong, though, and so it sits on my shelf, because I can't bear the thought of devoting to it.) It's high time that I cover a book that may well suck, so I've chosen a book that I bought over a decade ago, and have never cooked from: Rome, by Williams Sonoma.

Another reason I want to cook from Rome is because I have more Italian cookbooks than any other ethnicity, and I wouldn't mind thinning them out to make room for other stuff. The problem is, Italian food is just so damn good, unless the recipes veer wildly off course, I can't imagine I won't like them.

A large chunk of Rome is text and photos talking about the city and the food/style of eating, so it's a pretty small, manageable set of recipes to cook from. Let's see how they hold up...