Weekend Food: Literary Pasta Recipe – Dickens’ Miserly Pasta with Tomato and Butter (by Susan Cook-Abdallah)

Weekend Recipe – Dickens’ Miserly Pasta with Tomato and Butter (by Susan Cook-Abdallah)

“Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and prism, are all very good words for the lips…” Little Dorrit



Ingredients:
1 kitchen wench*
1 bastard boy you took in when he showed up on your doorstep*
1 buggy whip*
8 tomatoes, peeled and seeded
Basil
5 Tablespoons of unsalted butter
Parmesan cheese
Salt
400 grams of spaghetti
*optional

Serves 4.

Give a few shillings to the bastard boy and have him run to the market to buy pasta, tomato, basil and butter. Have him get vegetable oil instead of olive oil, as it is cheaper. Compensate by getting good brown bread.
Beat the boy with the buggy whip when he returns with less change than expected, shoving your kitchen wench aside if she tries to intervene. After studying the receipts and realizing that the little bastard didn’t cheat you – this time — offer to let him use the tomato skins, stems and the water used to boil pasta for his evening gruel.

Open a decent claret to accompany the pasta at table, in honor of your long lost uncle coming to dinner. It’s good to be friendly and cultured but there’s no need to be extravagant, as you’ve been administering the family fortune in his absence.  Have the kitchen wench serve pasta and try to hide your own shock and fear when your uncle inquires about the child – his son – he sent years ago for you to raise when his wife died and he had been away at war. Calmly make an excuse to go to kitchen to head the little bastard-turned-cousin-and-heir-to-the-family-fortune off before he can make an entrance. Try not to gasp when he arrives to serve brown bread when you’re only half way to the door.

Beat a slow retreat as uncle cries joyously when he recognizes his son, running over to hug him. Start running yourself when the boy screams in agony as his father hugs him, pressing against the wilts inflicted by the whipping you gave him that morning. Vow never to make pasta again as you streak through the door, desperately trying to come up with an explanation to save your rotten arse.
(by susan c-a)

The real recipe: Peel, seed and chop the tomatoes. Place in a pan with one spoon of butter and let them begin to cook. Salt, then once they’re tender crush them into an uneven sauce. When the pasta is near done add the rest of the butter – the best quality you can find – into the sauce and turn off the heat, then shred in the basil. Once the pasta has been drained and placed in a large bowl, pour over the sauce. Sprinkle liberally with freshly grated Parmesan cheese, or flakes, to taste. Serve with a simple Italian red.

link – Dickens and holiday tables: http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-42322936

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Weekend Literary Recipe (pasta noir): Gabriele D’Annunzio’s Oily Pasta with Lamb (156 this month)

Gabriele D’Annunzio’s Oily Pasta with Lamb
“Pleasure is the most certain way to knowledge that nature offers us.” The Fire, 1.

Ingredients:
One famous woman from the upper classes
6-8 tomatoes
Sake or white wine
2 garlic cloves
Lots of olive oil
My irresistible masculine charm
200 grams of cubed lamb meat
160 grams of pasta
Salt and pepper
Serves 2

Fondle the tomatoes, noting how the soft yielding quality of a ripe tomato bears a striking resemblance to a woman’s breast. When you are done, skin them, lovingly remove the seeds and delicately but firmly slice the remaining trembling, supple red flesh.
Slice and then sauté the garlic in olive oil then add the lamb meat. Once browned, add the tomatoes and simmer the pulp to a sauce. Use lots of olive oil when combining the sauce and cooked noodles, for lubrication, as after pouring in the pasta it and the sauce merge into one. Salt and pepper to taste.

Dismiss Albina for the night then serve the pasta with irresistible charm to one notable woman, the more famous the better, preferably in a garden terrace with air perfumed by orange blossoms and lily flowers under a glorious full moon. Use the distant silhouette of the of the Apennine mountains as a metaphor of a melancholic existential anguish you keep hidden within. Use the hushed, steady rhythm of the waves coming to shore somewhere beyond, from out of sight, as a metaphor for the ebbing and flowing of your uncontainable desire.

Add some freshly grated pecorino cheese and crushed hot pepper from Abruzzo after plating. Drink lots of red wine, never letting her glass empty as you compare the fading blue evening to the unfaded beauty of her face. As your irresistible charm and the wine begin to take effect, wonder aloud if her lips taste as succulent as the pasta, then deflower her in the garden.

The real recipe: (see paragraphs 2 and 4)
Ingredients: see above
Add the lamb pieces to a hot pan after brushing with olive oil, salt and pepper, brown, deglaze with sake or white wine. Crush a couple red garlic cloves lightly leaving the skin on and add, then the peeled, seeded and crushed tomatoes. Simmer the whole into a sauce, low and slow, for about 90 minutes or so. Boil some square pasta ‘alla chitarra’ and when cooked strain the noodles and pour them into the sauce and mix. Add some freshly grate pecorino and crushed hot pepper after plating. Serve with a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo.

by Susan Cook-Abdallah

Weekend Ricette letterarie: D’Annunzio (156 anni) Pasta Oliosa con Agnello

Ricetta letteraria:  Pasta Oliosa di D’Annunzio con Agnello (da Susan Cook-Abdallah)

“Il piacere è il modo più certo alla conoscenza che la natura ci offre.” Il Fuoco, 1.

Ingredienti:
Una donna famosa dalle classi alte
6-8 pomodori
2 spicchi di aglio
Un sacco di olio d’oliva
Il mio fascino irresistibile maschile
200 grammi di carne di agnello tagliato a dadini
160 grammi di pasta
Sale e pepe
per 2 persone


Accarezzare i pomodori, notando come la qualità morbida e cedevole di un pomodoro maturo ha una somiglianza impressionante al seno di una donna. Dovrai rimuovere il tessuto che lo copre, e poi togliere i semi con cura, accarezzando delicatamente ma sempre con più fermezza finche la carne non diventa una polpa tremolante, finche non ti chiede in silenzio di infilare due dita per estrarli.

Rosola l’aglio in olio d’oliva abbondante e quindi aggiunge la carne – di agnello. Una volta rosolato, aggiunge i pomodori e far cuocere la polpa finche non diventa una salsa. Utilizzare un sacco di olio d’oliva, per lubrificare, quando si combinano il sugo e la pasta cotta, per la lubrificazione, così la pasta e il sugo si fondono in uno sola cosa. Sale e pepe a piacere.

Lascia andare la servitu per la notte, poi serva la pasta con il tuo fascino irresistibile ad una donna notevole, la più famosa possibile, preferibilmente in un giardino terrazzato con aria profumata di fiori d’ arancio e di giglio, magari sotto una luna piena e gloriosa. Utilizza la sagoma lontana delle montagne appenniniche come metafora di una tua malinconica angoscia esistenziale che tiene nascosto dentro. Utilizza il silenzioso ritmo costante delle onde che vengono a riva da qualche parte al di là, nell’oscurita’, come metafora per il vostro desiderio incontenibile e crescente.

Aggiunge un po’ di formaggio grattugiato fresco di pecorino e un pizzico di peperoncino abruzzese. Versa un bel po’ di vino rosso, non lasciando mai che il bicchiere di lei si svuota. Ad un certo punto confronta il dissolvendo blu della sera con la bellezza intramontabile del suo viso. Quando il tuo fascino irresistibile e il vino cominciano a dare frutta, domanda ad alta voce se le sue labbra sono gustose e succulente come la pasta, poi deflorarla nel giardino.  – (S. Cook)

La ricetta: (cfr. i paragrafi 2 e 4) Affetti e quindi far rosolare l’aglio in un po ‘di olio d’oliva, quindi aggiungere l’agnello. Una volta rosolato, sale e pepe, quindi aggiungere i pomodori pelati, seminati e schiacciati e fate cuocere il tutto. Lessare la pasta alla chitarra e quando e pronto versatela nella salsa e mescolare bene. Aggiungete un po pecorino e peperoncino tritato. Da servire con un Montepulciano d’Abruzzo.

link – GD e il cibo. (Le donne venivano e andavano ma il cibo…..)http://www.abruzzo24ore.tv/news/Il-Cibo-Per-Gabriele-D-Annunzio/168011.htm
per un altra ricetta letteraria: Wednesday Will: La sogliola di Amleto

Weekend Food – Literary Recipe: Ibsen’s Angel-Hair Pasta (with Wild Duck Ragu)

Ibsen’s Angel-Hair Pasta with Wild Duck Ragu

“But good God, people don’t do such things!” Hedda Gabler act 4.

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THE INGREDIENTS:
1 Wild Duck (300 grams in bite-sized cubes) 6-8 tomatoes
1 Pomegranate juiced
Thyme
Salt and pepper
All-spice
Beef extract
300 grams of angel-hair egg noodles
Olive Oil
Cognac

THE CHARACTERS:
Henrik Ibsen, a New York playwright Hedvig, his wife
Pearlman, his producer

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Serves 3
The action takes place in Henrik’s kitchen and dining room.

ACT ONE

A comfortable kitchen, tastefully furnished with Ikea-type furniture: a table in the center with 6 chairs; along the left side the sink and main cooking area; to the right a door that leads to the dining room. The ingredients are all on the table or main cooking area. A shotgun is leaning on the table underneath, and the two front burners on the stove are already on high when the curtain opens. Henrik, dressed in Dockers, comfortable shoes and a plaid shirt, enters stage right holding and fiddling with what looks like a broken pressure cooker.

Henrik. Damn that Nils! That’s the last time I lend him anything. Ok, let’s see, this thing goes here, and then if I push in here. Good as new. Now, where did Helvig put that recipe book…

Helvig. (dressed in a casual Prada dress, enters hurriedly from the dining room.) My God the traffic! Madison Avenue was a nightmare! (looks at Henrik and stops dead in her tracks) Heini, dear, you’re not seriously thinking about wearing that are you?

Henrik. My gray Armani is at the cleaners and I don’t feel like putting on that old Boss. It looks so 90’s.

Helvig. But you look sexy in the Boss!

Henrik. I look like a pretentious rich snob in the Boss. In case you don’t remember, my last play closed after two weeks.

Helvig. Oh, Heini, everyone has a dry spell. And I’m sure this next one will be a big hit!

Henrik. Yeah, well, if this one doesn’t run we’ll be moving back to Oslo. Just be glad Larry Pearlman is a producer dedicated to real theatre, despite what the public wants now a day. And stop calling me Heini!

Helvig. Ok, Heini dear. (kisses him on the cheek.) I know how you hate to be disturbed when you make your ‘Ibsen’s Famous Pasta.’ I’m going upstairs and changing. (exits stage right.)

Henrik. (looking at the audience.) Never marry a woman named Helvig if you don’t want to end up in the poorhouse. (goes to the cooking area) Ok, the tomatoes, the cognac, the olive oil … All set. Lets get to work. It’s really pretty simple. (demonstrating as he explains) Since most of the fat has already been taken out of the duck breast, you simply take a pan and put them in, like that, along with the thyme and all-spice, only a little now – you want to be able to sense them with your taste buds without actually tasting them, then after the duck pieces have been well seared, first add a little cognac, then add the tomatoes, pepper, pomegranate juice and just the slightest hint of beef extract. Salt, mix them well and then once it’s at the right consistency, pour it all into the pressure cooker and let it rip for, oh, about 8 minutes or so. (As he leans across to grab the cooker he singes his forearm on the open flame) Ouch! Damn, I knew I should have turned that down.

ACT TWO

Henrik’s dining room, more elegantly furnished than the kitchen, a Sarinen table and chairs, a portrait of Strindberg hangs on the back wall. To the left a door which leads into the kitchen. The table is set for 3. Henrik is already sitting down. Helvig and Pearlman enter from the right, casually smiling and chatting, she now dressed in an elegant cream-colored Chanel outfit, he a formal blue suit and tie.

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Pearlman. Hey, Henry, how are you?
Henrik. Fine, Larry. Good to see you.
Pearlman. (Notices the three place settings, looks at Henrik and Hedvig and frowns) Nils didn’t tell you, did he?
Henrik. Tell us what?
Pearlman. Henry, you better sit down. (sits.) I’ll just tell you straight. Our co-producer balked after reading the script. He thinks that there just isn’t a big enough market for that kind of thing. The production is, well, indefinitely postponed until I can find someone else. Nils was supposed to tell you this morning before he left for the Poconos. I just wanted to stop buy and check up on you.

Hedvig. (evidently shocked) But Larry, what about all the actors and pre-production we’ve done…

Henrik. Hedvig. (Motions for her to leave. She nods her head and exits.) So, Larry. Am I through?

Pearlman. No, Henrik. It’s just… times are tight. You’re going to have to write something that appeals to a wider audience.

Henrik. And if I don’t?
Pearlman. Henry, don’t get sensitive on me. (glances at his watch) Look, I’ve gotta run…
Henrik. What about dinner?
Pearlman. Ah, Nils was supposed to tell you that, to…Henry, I really didn’t think you’d be feeling like my company tonight, so I made other plans. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. I’ll call you tomorrow morning, OK?

Henrik. Yeah, sure.

Pearlman. Hey, common’, chin up Henry. Things’ll turn around soon. (an uncomfortable silence.) I’ll show myself out. (exits. Hedvig enters immediately after.)

Hedvig. Oh, Heini, what does this mean?!

Henrik. Nothing, dear. It just means we’ll be eating alone tonight. In fact, I better go check on the pasta. (gets up and goes offstage to the kitchen. We hear his voice.) Ah, shit!

Hedvig. What is it dear?!

Henrik. The pressure cooker is broken! The sauce isn’t anywhere near cooked! And I forgot to salt the pasta! Dammit! Dammit! (We hear a gunshot off-stage.)

Hedvig. Henrik!
Pearlman. (rushing in from stage right.) What happened!?
Hedvig. I don’t know!

(Pearlman exits into the kitchen.)

Pearlman. (Offstage) Oh my God!

Hedvig. What is it, what has happened!?
Pearlman. (coming back onstage, an astonished look on his face.) It’s Ibsen. He’s shot the Pasta!

Hedvig. Ahhh! We’ll have to call and order Papa John’s! (Hedvig faints. The curtain falls.)

The real recipe: (see Henrik, end of Act I)

Ingredients:

300 grams of duck in bite-sized cubes)

6-8 tomatoes
1 Pomegranate juiced
Thyme
Salt and pepper
All-spice
Beef extract
300 grams of angel-hair egg noodles
Olive Oil
Cognac

serves 4

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Heat and lightly oil a pan, add the cubes of duck meat and sear well. Season, then add the cognac and evaporate. Add a little thyme and a pinch of allspice. After a few minutes, add the peeled, seeded and diced tomatoes, season, and finally add a little pomegranate juice and a bit of beef extract. Reduce heat and cook until the duck is tender. Meanwhile boil the angel-hair egg noodles in salted water, drain well and add to the sauce. Toss once and serve.

for another theatrical recipe: Wedesday Will: The Baked Turbot of King Lear

Wednesday Will – The Ides of March….Brutus’ Skewered Parmesan and Bologna with Aged Balsamic Vinegar

Wednesday Will – The Ides of March….Brutus’ Skewered Parmesan and Bologna with Aged Balsamic Vinegar

 “Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods…” Julius Cesar 2, 1
Shakespeare had a thing for Italian regional cuisine, with many of his most popular dishes having a distinctly Italic flavor. Brutus’ “Skewered Parmesan and Bologna” is one of those, a re-working of the noted international food writer Plutarch’s “Parallel Recipes”. This version, however, adds many anachronistic elements from Anglo-Saxon pop culture. The lovely Top Chef host Padma along with noted British chef Jamie Oliver appear as judges in the 2nd scene; Carlo Petrini, founder of the Slow Food movement, appears as a freaked-out weirdo near the end of the 1st scene; and Shakespeare himself makes a cameo appearance as, well, himself.
   The recipe depicts a conspiracy by Oscar Mayer, a large food multinational represented by Tony Baloney, against traditional, smaller central Italian lunchmeat makers. Its somewhat pessimistic tonality in the first act probably reflects the general global anguish over the uncontrollable distribution of counterfeit Chinese food products present at the time of its writing. The basic recipe itself – cubes of freshly cut Parmigiano Reggiano and high-quality Mortadella topped with a few drops of aged Balsamic vinegar – is instead a classic appetizer not from Rome but the region of Emilia-Romagna.
The Ingredients of the Dish:
Mortadella and other Italian cold cuts*
The Ides of March
An Oscar Mayer sampler basket
Lots of Toothpicks
 *try Cesar and Sons: Best Italian Cold cuts brand
The Chefs of the Recipe:
Brutus – a small, quality lunchmeat maker
Lucius – his helper
Cassius – a broke-back Italian Senator
Tony Baloney– ex-lunchmeat maker, now a spokesperson for Oscar Mayer.
Octavius – his helper. Or vice-versa
Carlo Petrini – a soothsayer
Chefs Shakespeare, Padma, Jamie Oliver – judges
Diners – rich, middle class, plebian, whatever.
Serves all Roman citizens
Act 1, sc.14
Rome. Enter Cassius, reading a magazine, a toothpick in his mouth, and Brutus and Lucius. Some diners are sitting at tables over the stage
Cassius: Good Bru’, did you see this? Oscar Mayer won the people’s choice ‘best baloney’ award. Again.
Brutus: Third time in row. Oscar doth bestride the baloney world like a Colossus.
Cassius: Noble Brutus, not if thundering Jove had spoken from highest, tall Olympus could such a bad concept find better words.
Brutus: Good words are better than bad salami, dear Cassius.
Cassius: Man, this pisses me off. Have people gotten that lazy?
Too much time watching CSI, or chatting in a 2nd life?
Said company would have men in this world’s
First life that are fat, sleek-headed, and high-
Cholesteroled, with unnatural
Flavor in unnaturally stuffed guts.
What is the world coming to? Anyway.
What time is the award ceremony tomorrow?
Brutus: You mean the Slow Food annual March cold cut expo? 12:30. And get this: Tony will be representing Oscar Mayer this year.
Cassius: No way!
Brutus: Way. He sold his operation to them a few months ago.
Cassius: Really? I didn’t know. But my sweet Bru’,
Your long and flavored salami is sure
To again retrieve their bluest, dearest
Ribbon. Yours is the best-aged meat in Rome.
Lucius: Yeah, well, my broken back master, hold ye’ horses. There’s a rumor that Tony’s been bribing the judges. Something to do with Mayer and that WTO international copy write treaty changed. You know, so they can use names like Tuscan Felino Salami and Parma Prosciutto on their own contra-felino and contra-parma-ed stuff. They figure they’ll get less resistance if they can show they make a quality product.
Cassius: Well we’ll just see about that.
Tony’s a Villain.
Lucious:             You are a senator.
Cassius:                                              Touché.
Enter Petrini, the soothsayer, a salami in his hand
Petrini: A good cold cut eases into your stomach but once; a bad one burps up on ya’ a thousand times. Beware the Mayers of March!
Thunder. The sky darkens. Exit Petrini
Brutus: Who was that?
Lucius: Some weirdo. I see him hanging out around here all the time. Always munching on something. But, like, real slow.
Again thunder. All three nod. Exit all
Act 1, sc.15
Enter (at one door) chef Shakespeare, Padma and Jamie Oliver taking their seats behind a table at center stage. Toothpicks in the middle. Flourish. Enter (at another door) Cassius, Brutus, Tony Baloney and then Lucius and Octavius carrying trays of cold cuts, followed by several diners who seat themselves at smaller tables on either side where samples already sit in small mounds. Another flourish
Padma: Welcome salumi makers.
Chef Shakespeare: Welcome all to this blessed gathering,
This hall, this buffet, this well processed pork,
This Italy, this teeming womb of cold cuts.
Jamie: Tha’s wha’ it’s all abou’. Sharin’ the best Italian cold cuts wi’ good peeople who care ‘bout goo’ food. An’ together tryin’ to decide who’s the best ‘o the lot.
Padma: Brutus, Tony, after careful deliberations we have judged your salumi to be the best in the competition. Before we make our final decision we would like each of you to make his case as to why we should choose their lunchmeat.
Lucius and Octavius set their trays on the center table
Diner one: Dear, would you pass the ketchu…
Diner two: Sh-h-h! Good’ol Bru’s giving his speech. I wanna’ hear this.
Brutus: Ladies, gents, gourmets… I’m no Obama when it comes to public speaking. Hell even my dog falls asleep when I talk to him, so I’ll make this short and flavorful. Now don’t get me wrong; I respect Oscar Mayer. I think it’s a fine company. I admire their success. They gainfully employ thousands of people and I’m grateful to them for that. But their cold cuts, let’s face it, taste like something between a dried pickle and wet Kleenex – with a slight bend toward the pickle. You need about a gallon of mustard just to knock’em down your throat. But if they win here, well, could be that a lot of us little guys who really do care about quality get bought out or go out of business. So let’s not say that I don’t appreciate Oscar Mayer, but that I appreciate tasty salami more. Anyway, thank you all and, down the hatch.
Diner three: Man, that Brutus is a real hoot.
Diner six: And he makes the most kick-butt lunch meats.
Padma: Good Brutus, well spoken. Judges, your toothpicks.
Everyone takes a toothpick and skewers a cube of lunchmeat. Silence, then lots of mmms and ahhs and head nodding. Applause
Diner twelve: Fan-freaking-tastic!
Diner sixteen: Blue ribbon, definitely!
Padma: Brutus, well done. Now, representing Oscar Mayer, Tony, make your case.
Tony: Ladies, gentlemen, Romans, (coughs) if you’ll please
Lend me your ears a minute; I come not
To bury noble Brutus’ lunch meat but
To praise it. The plastic-flavored cold cuts
That multinationals with speed create,
Occupy eye-level shelves long after
The due-date of higher moraled produce,
I know, and oft that better is interred
Unsold into supermarket trash bins.
The noble Brutus hath told you Oscar
Is that problem’s part, that they have deep greed,
That Mayer meat’s are flavored without art,
Artificially. And Brutus makes a
Great cold cut. Yet do you all not recall
Those loving Wonder sandwiches we ate,
That dear mom used to make us long ago?
Diner ninety-three: Yeah, I remember when we used to trade sandwiches in elementary school.
Diner one hundred and five: I hated my mom’s baloney sandwiches.
Diner twelve: But there was always an Italian kid that got to eat good stuff?
Diner seven: Vinnie Russo. Vinnie always had the best lunches.
Tony: Did not our boloney have a first name?
Was it not spelled O-S-C-A-R?
Diner two: I remember that tune.
Tony: And does it still not have a second name?
Is it not spelled M-A-Y-E-R?
I still love to eat it, everyday. Why?
Because they do not buy to undue but
With their salami-maker takeovers
Well pay and the better learn to better
Please all of Rome’s citizens’ hungry mouths.
Oscar Mayer, I say, does have a way
With their sweet B-O-L-O-G-N-A.
They are not part of any problem, but
It’s tastiest end, the solution’s hap-
Piest slice. What suspended reason holds
You all then from enjoying this great meat?

Thank you, and let’s eat. Bon appetite.

Padma: Tony, eloquent as always. Judges.
Everyone takes a toothpick and skewers a cube of lunchmeat from their second piles. They chew and then start spitting out. Pfewahs and ewws
Shakespeare: Yeach! It’s like swallowing an old rat.
Jamie: Whoa! Mate, tha’ is truuely, truuely gnarly.
Padma: Miserere! Porcos horribillis ad nauseum.
Tony: Pray, what mischief is this? Octavius, toss me a bite.
Octavius throws him a piece. Tony eats it, makes a strange face and then spits it out
Tony: Oh treachery! Oh foul flavoring! Someone messed with my meat, man, this isn’t fair.
Padma: Tony, you know the rules. Our judgment is final. Pack up your cold cuts and go.
Tony: Man, that just ain’t right. (Begins to leave, pausing next to Brutus) Et tu, Brutè?
Brutus: Don’t look at me. I only sliced the meat.
Exits with Octavius
Padma: Brutus, we have decided. Your lunchmeat
Is the noblest of them all. It contains
Harmonious flavor, and the spices
So well mixed within it that nature might
Stand up proudly and say to all the world:
“Now that is a salami!”
Applause. Exeunt recipe
The real recipe:
Ingredients:
Bite-sized cubes of good quality mortadella, 60 grams per person
Thinly sliced Prosciutto di Parma, 30 grams per person
Bite-sized chunks of freshly cut Parmigiano Reggiano from the center of a cheese round, 50 grams per person
Aged Balsamic vinegar
Quality extra-virgin olive oil
Freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano
Finger slices of bread and focaccia
Grissini
Olives
Toothpicks

 

Simply place the cubes of Mortadella on one serving dish and the Parmigiano on another. Dribble lightly over both with aged balsamic vinegar. Place the olives in smaller bowls around the table. Take the Prosciutto and wrap it around the grissini, one slice for each stick of dried bread. Leave the bottom half of each grissini uncovered. Finally in one small, shallow bowl place equal parts of grated Parmigiano and e.v. olive oil. In another shallow bowl place 5-6 parts of e.v. olive oil and 1 part of aged balsamic vinegar. Guests can use these last two bowls as dipping sauces for the bread and focaccia slices. Serve with an unstructured red, maybe Lambrusco, or a good Prosecco. Best served in March.

 




link for unwanted Tony’s or other dinner guests: That flesh may look bloody and full of Worms, and so be rejected – from Magia Naturalis:  http://www.godecookery.com/incrd/incrd.htm#013

 

link – a guide to Italian cold cuts: https://www.thespruce.com/italian-salami-charcuterie-and-cold-cuts-guide-2018492

 

The Complete Recipes of Shakespeare, Abridged. From physshe to meat. As contemporary food critic Harold Bloom described in his Shakespeare: The Invention of Food, ‘Shakespeare’s historic culinary importance cannot be contained. In time, he has become a spirit or ‘chef’ of light almost too vast to apprehend.’