That’s my status on facebook right now, and it’s true.

If you drop the word “zeppole” into Google Translate, it comes up with “doughnut,” which is more or less what a zeppole is, but- like everything- it’s so much more.The word, by the way, predates the term “zeppelin” by several hundred years.

There are many occasions in the life of a yeast baker to have leftover dough: an extra pizza crust; or a too-full oven or baking stone; or maybe even an extra bit of dough saved for this purpose. I’ve never seen someone make dough specifically for zeppoli, though I am sure it has happened. Zeppoli are a happy accident of yeast baking. So what, exactly, are they?

A zeppole is a bit of yeast dough, anywhere from 1-3″ in diameter, fried and usually rolled in sugar. Sometimes a rolled up anchovy filet goes inside, or a dried fig, but usually they are plain. In sicily, the sugar coating is often cinnamon sugar, but vanilla sugar and jasmine sugar are certainly options (as is plain sugar). Vanilla sugar, I’m sure all you foodies know, is made by stuffing a whole vanilla bean inside a few cups of sugar, a great way to store your vanilla beans and get a freebie in the process. Jasmine sugar is made the same way, only with jasmine flowers, easy enough to get if you live in California. If you live in the east, I bet honeysuckle sugar would be awesome, too, though I can’t say from experience.

Pieces of dough are fried in moderately hot oil (325 neighborhood) until they puff and turn as golden as you like them: I keep mine a shade darker than beach sand. The darker they are the crustier the outside, which, if you ask me, becomes a diminishing return after about 2 minutes or so in the oil. After a quick rest on some paper towels, roll them in your sugar of choice. The sooner they’re eaten, the better.

As you might imagine these are an incidental goody more than anything else, so I hope some serendipitously find their way into your merenda, or afternoon snack. By the way, the memory of the fig tree is that of the one growing out of a crack in the pavement, that I’ve mentioned before.

Listening: Laurie Lewis, “Stealing Chickens” from the album Restless Ramblinbg Heart

You know what’s really hard to learn? Something you already know how to do.

What can you do? I’m very romantic- some would say quixotic- and I like the idea of an independent Sicilian culture, including its language. But the fact of the matter is that nearly everyone alive in Sicily speaks Italian, and if I want to travel there and see the shops and cook with people, I know more than enough Sicilian to figure out the local color- IF I speak really excellent Italian. So here I go.

My feet, my hands, my back; I’m tired.

I’m tired like restaurant business tired, but we got so much good stuff, and we got so much done.We went to Santa Monica Farmers’ Market at the crack of ass this morning and came back with sprouting broccoli, spanish onions, shallots, torpedo onions, green garlic, fennel bulbs, artichokes, fava beans, sage, savory, parsley, oregano, cilantro, celery, carrots (4 or 5 colors), beets, chard, potatoes, zucchini and god knows what else.

I have a few phots, but they will have to wait for tomorrow, as will the menu… too tired now.

Goodnight, moon.

It’s time, bitches.

The battaria di cucina is unloaded, and tomorrow we shop (at Santa Monica Farmer’s Market). Here’s the tentative menu, subject to change tomorrow, of course:

Pani Pasquali
Torta di Riso Liguriana
Pizza Chena Cilentana
Mafalda al Serpente
Panini di Pepe

Ravioli di Fave
Fava Ravioli with Sheep’s Milk Ricotta

Capretto Stufato
Kid braised with potatoes
Contorni

Pastiera Napoletana
Neapolitan Easter Grain Pie

Granita di Limone
Eureka Lemon Granita

The goat is butchered, and it’s in the fridge. BOO YA.

People are always asking me for recipes. They ask me for recipes, very often, that I don’t have, because I made something up at my house, or because I made some ancient dish that was passed on to me by my family or friends. This is what I mean when I say that cooking is more than a recipe. Cooking is a body of techniques, and one cuisine is distinguished from another not by recipes and often not even by ingredients: they are distinguished by their methods.

A few days ago, I posted a bit about the way many Italians make soup, that is to say, the technique involved in making such a soup. Tonight, I found myself alone for dinner, with a few potatoes growing eyes on them, and a head of curly escarole, or batavia, about to lose its luster in the fridge. Enter the joy of having stock in the freezer.

When I make stock, I try to make a lot of it. If I have chicken parts or bones left in a smaller quantity, I freeze them so when there’s 4 or 5 pounds of chicken bones (which is quite a bit), I make a lot of stock. Then I freeze it in deli containers, being sure to use a container that tapers towards the bottom. Why? So when there’s frozen stock in it, I can slip it out.

Back to the technique: I put the stock in a pan with some water to begin melting. Once it’s melted, taste it. If the stock is really strong, thin it with water. I tend to make my stock strong and freeze it in pint containers. I washed out the container with water and added it to the pot for a scant quart of liquid.

I cut up some lesser potatoes into chunks and once the stock was simmering, I added them. I cooked these for about 15 minutes or so, then I started the pestata (see link above).

After looking through the fridge, I had found some scallions, some celery, parsley and cilantro (no carrots, sadly). Two smaller ribs of celery, three scallions, a tuft of each herb and two cloves of garlic found themselves in the food processor. After a quick chop, I left the motor running and drizzled in a tablespoon or two of extra virgin olive oil- the only olive oil you should be cooking with, btw- until I had a paste, but not too liquid of one.

That paste then got fried in some more olive oil until it began to color.

I had some crushed up tomatoes in the fridge, so those were added to the pestata to cook a bit before the whole thing was mixed into the simmering soup.

After the pestata, went the escarole, cleaned (in several changes of cold water) and sliced somewhat thinly. This simmers together until the potatoes and greens are quite tender.

If I were serving this soup as an appetizer, I would use rice as a panade, good, short-grain rice like carnaroli. Tonight, I used a piece of bread, mainly because I added a poached egg to my soup, and egg and bread in soup is a winning combination. I toasted a day-old slice of bread and put it in the bottom of my bowl. I cracked an egg into the simmering soup for five minutes, then ladled the soup (egg first) on top of the bread, and sprinkled with some grated parmiggiano cheese, but you could certainly use pecorino romano or sardo or even ricotta salata. Sadly, I was so hungry I ate the egg immediately, but here’s a shot of my second helping, note the bread crust sticking out on the right.

Buon apetito.

Listening: A very powerful interview with Tony Judt on Fresh Air.

I’m making soup. I’m making Minestra di Pasta e Fagioli. This is a soup often known in the US as “Pasta Fazool,” because of the Neapolitan word for bean: fasulo. Whatever you call it, soup, pasta and beans are cooked together and separately throughout Italy in many preparations. There are many renditions of this soup in American restaurants and they largely suck, frankly, because they take a french or franco-american approach to an intrinsically Italian soup. They take beans and boil them with chicken stock, add a can of tomatoes and a bag of frozen vegetables. It’s a simmer-and-stir. Many delicate french soups are made this way (minus the frozen vegetables) and it’s a perfectly fine technique- but not for Italian soups.

Italian soups have 2 components  that will set them apart: pestata and pandade. Like everything in Italian, there are many different words that mean the same thing, but here’s what they mean: Pestata (or trito or mirpazza) is a paste of aromatic vegetables and fat- usually pork fat like back fat or salt pork, but could also be lard or olive oil. Garlic, onions, carrots, celery, parsely, rosemary- whatever is appropriate to the recipe (or your mood) are chopped together until very fine, and then the fat is added and chopped in as well (or you can do what I do- use a food processor). This is one of the traditional uses of the mezzaluna you got for christmas five years ago and lost in the back of the pantry. The paste is then fried separately and added to the soup once it’s lightly toasted.

Then there is the panade (or rinforzo) or thickener. In many recipes with beans, which have a natural affinity for them, potatoes are cooked along with the legumes until they’re cooked enough to be mashed, either in the soup pot, or taken out and mashed to a finer consistency and added back in. Bread can act in this role as well, and grains like semolina. Rice is generally not used in this way, since its consistency, like pasta’s, is considered sacred and is added only at the last moment to cook to its optimum point. The point is, unlike a roux or cornstarch, these add body and flavor, not merely viscosity.

And in the spirit of soup’s economy, after dinner which included a potato and radicchio salad, there was a little left, and into the soup that went as well.

I could hear my grandmother calling me a greaseball.

Having its roots in a pagan festival, Easter brings to mind the cycle of life for me. There’s still a nip in the air, but here we are, eating peas. There are some dead leaves still visible in the mulch, but there’s enough sun to get artichokes. It’s a time of transition and renewal, much more than New Year’s, which- especially in the Northeast- is a time where gray and cold transitions into grayer and colder. Some lentils and pork don’t quite signify the revolution that a change in weather and new life do.

It’s easy to be philosophical when you spend a lot of time in the garden. To take dirt and some alien seeds and eggshells and mere effort, then to yield- with the forbearance of time- something alive that will perfume the sights and smells and energy of your home, and eventually nourish your body; this is a miracle. It’s especially dramatic, of course to live in California, which is rife with biology in a way that I can’t imagine any other state being. The shifts in temperature, not only from time of year, but from elevation, landform and ocean, along with an abundance of conserved areas not far from- and often within- populated areas make for a surrounding of life unlike any I’ve seen in this country.

artichoke in flower

So, all that said, I still have a mountain of peas to deal with, and- out of nowhere- the strangest craving for meatballs. I haven’t historically loved meatballs, but I figure there has to be a way for me to like something that is made of ingredients that I like. My mother’s recipe reads not unlike a meatloaf recipe, with beef, breadcrumbs, eggs, parsley (always dried, which smells of grass clippings to me and may well be), romano cheese… and that’s about all I can think of. So I said to myself, what could be different?

This brings me to one of the cookbooks in the Reference Section. These are seminal volumes that we go back to for answers, not necessarily for new inspiration (unless we’re feeling retro/classical). Among these are, of course, The Iliad and The Odyssey, that is to say *Mastering the Art of French Cooking*, volumes 1 and 2; [*Larousse Gastronomique*]( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larousse_Gastronomique); its Italian sister [*Il Cucchiaio d’Argento*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Il_cucchiaio_d%27argento); *The Joy of Cooking*; and baking treatises, like *The Cake Bible* and *The King Arthur Flour Baker’s Companion*. These are all stately final-authority type tomes, but there are some more modest books in the category, too. One of them is Marcella Hazan’s *Classic Italian Cooking*, a book truly ahead of its time, and while it makes no claim to be an exhaustive study of the cuisine, it is a collection of historically sound, well-tested recipes designed to capture the interest of an American audience. *The Lutece Cookbook* is a similar study of the evolution of haute cuisine in America’s restaurants. These books have something over the encyclopedias that precede them: they give us a solid answer without exhausting us with information. Case in point, Marcella’s *Classic Italian Cooking* > index > meatballs > answer. The answer? Milk soaked in bread in place of the breadcrumbs. I should have known this, having made many forcemeats exactly the same way, but hey.

So, peas and meatballs. But not together- not for me, anyway, although my old buddy Marianna puts peas in damn near everything. I used to think this was *a palermitana* (Palermo-style) but I later learned this was *a Marianna*, in an effort to get her kids to eat something green. I know I talk about Sicilian food a lot, and I love food from all over the country, but I have a special fondness for Northeastern Italy. Friuli, Alto Adige and Veneto- not to mention Istria and the Slovenian provinces that are no longer part of Italy politically- are regions that straddle cultures, truly. Sicily’s food culture is a fascinating sum of its parts, but the Germanic and Italianate influences in the Northeast- although coherent- are distinct.

And the Venetians love their rice. They love rice so much that it would be impossible to say that any way of cooking rice is the “Venetian style” since there are about 30 ways they cook rice that are all more or less “standard.” They even have different styles of *risotto*. In springtime, when the peas first arrive, people go nuts with the classic *risi e bisi*, rice and peas. Not exactly a minestra, but decidedly not a risotto, it’s a thick soup of rice, peas, onions, stock and just a taste of pancetta (the salt of cured pork always makes peas taste sweeter). How thick? I describe it like this: you want it to be like a cooking risotto that you’ve just added liquid to, but it has yet to be absorbed.

This is one of those dishes that every *Mamma* in Veneto will tell you *definitively* that *this* is how much pancetta is right and *this* amount of liquid. However you make it, you can hardly go wrong. It’s a light but flavorful *primo* that follows the grows-together-goes-together truism: try serving it with grated piave and a young Soave (not Rico).

And really, why not follow this with a rich meatball in a slightly acid tomato sauce? With a little frisee salad, it’s dinner.

Listening: “The Preacher” Jimmy Smith

Well, here’s the menu, if you can’t wait to find out. It’s a mixture of Neapolitan, Sicilian and Southern Californian influences, with nods to tradition, availability and pragmatism. And no, unfortunately, I did not find a goat.

*Pizza Chena* Easter “Stuffed” Pie in the style of Acqua Bella, Campania: A rich yeast dough with butter and eggs, filled with basket cheese, ham, pecorino romano and herbs.

*Torta di Zucchini* Another Easter Pie, this time Filo filled with a custard holding together Salame Napoletano, zucchini and spring onions.

*Pane Pasquali* A festive yellow bread dough braided with whole eggs, covered with poppy seeds and baked.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ravioli of Fava Beans with tuma cheese, sauced with butter, olive oil and marjoram, with caciocavallo cheese

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Lamb Leg *Cacio e Uova*: Braised Lamb with onions and white wine with an enriched sauce of eggs, lemon and cheese

Braised artichokes
Roasted potatoes with rosemary

Arugula Salad with Lemon

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

*Pastiera Napoletana* Easter grain pie

*Risu Niuro* Sicilian Black Easter Risotto (with cocoa, not squid ink, you knucklehead)

So, as you can see, I have to get back to work. I hope you all have a *great* holiday.

Listening: NPR, [Fresh Air](http://www.npr.org/templates/rundowns/rundown.php?prgId=13)

I’m only partly Sicilian by extraction, although most of my cultural exposure was with Sicilians, but a lot of my family traditions are *cilentano*, that is to say from Campania, which is to say Naples, the capital of Campania. That means *pastiera*, or grain pie, a sweet pie made of hulled wheat berries. It also means *pizza chena*, or *pizza piena*, which means stuffed pie (the former the Neapolitan word, the latter Italian), a yeast-raisd dough stuffed with any combination of salumi, cheeses, herbs and boiled eggs. The “ham pie” of my childhod is a simple animal made of ham, hardboiled eggs, fresh ricotta (basket cheese) and parsley.

Strangely, we never had lamb on Easter, but then again we never had lamb ever because my mother doesn’t like it. In fact, the first time I had it, it was in a restaurant when I was 12 or 13, and I ordered it mainly because I knew my mother didn’t like it. And even though it wasn’t phenomenal and it came with irridescent green mint jelly, I knew that there was something to this whole lamb thing.

What we did have was ravioli. In fact, I made my first-ever ravioli for easter, when I was 9 or 10. My mom thought I was nuts (she still does).

So I’m working on the menu, but I’m trying to hit all the traditional bases: favas, cheese, eggs, peas and artichokes. We’ll see how the markets treat me.

I’ll tell you, it’s not easy to find a lot of specialty Italian products in Southern California. In New York- or even Philadelphia- imported and artisanally made products are everywhere, **especially** around Easter. But here, not so much. I did find tuma, a somewhat obscure sicilian cheese, in this little deli near my house. If you’re in long beach, I recommend [Angelo's](http://www.yelp.com/biz/angelos-italian-deli-long-beach) highly. But it seems like I have to go back to mail order, well, internet order, which I haven’t really done since the Food Network Revolution. That and, of course, I need to start adapting recipes to available products, just like the immigrants did. But for this year, I’m sticking to the originals as much as I can.

Listening: “I Palindrome I” Apollo 18 They Might Be Giants

You’d be amazed at what Italian people don’t put on pasta.

What I mean by that is good pasta requires something more like decoration than a sauce in the franco-american ideology. Basically, pasta dressing falls into one of two categories: salse and condimenti. Salsa is the familiar beast: tomato sauce, alfredo sauce (a mainly American animal) or pesto. These things, although appropriate, should be used sparingly. You might be skeptical to hear that I wouldn’t put more than three or four tablespoons of tomato sauce on a serving of pasta, less of pesto. These things should meld into the pasta, co-mingle in the fabric of the noodle, and hide in the ridges, cracks and tunnels you have gone to such pains to choose. These often, but not always, fall into the alla category: alla bolognese (Bologna), alla cacciatore (hunter), alla prostituta (like it sounds, aka puttanesca).

More common, though, is the condimento. This is, usually, one or two ingredients, cut somewhat small with some seasoning, moistened with pasta cooking water and served, distinct from but harmonious with the pasta that surrounds it. The names of these dishes usually invoke con (with): pasta con patate (potatoes), con piselli (peas), con cicireddu (bait fish), con limone (lemon), yes lemon. Very often, these things have a ladleful of tomato sauce thrown in them, but that has as much to do with the ubiquity of a simmering pot of pumaruoru (tomato sauce) as anything else.

As you can see in the picture in the previous post, these condimenti are barely there, secondary to the glory of the pasta. As an added bonus, if you’re cooking store-bought dry pastasciutta, you can assemble 90% of condimenti tradizionale in the time it takes for the water to boil and the pasta to cook. I use the word “assemble” intentionally; many of these sauces don’t really cook at all: some minced anchovies and olive oil from the can stirred in the bottom of the serving bowl will warm up nicely when the hot-off-the-presses pasta and clinging pasta water are dropped on top and mixed together. Soft butter and grated parmiggiano or romano cheese will do likewise. Pasta all’estate (in the summer) is a raw tomato sauce: fresh tomatoes, basil, oregano and some chopped red onion are warmed only by the heat from the pasta.

I don’t speak Italian well enough to know the hows and whys of the use of the word con in these dishes. Indeed, pasta al burro (with butter) or alla panna (with cream) uses a, yet it’s con broccoli. Is this because broccoli is solid? If anyone knows, please comment.

Here are some traditional dishes, then I have to drive to Philly. The dishes with 2 names have the sicilian name and the italian name. I’m feeling instructional.

First the classic: Pasta all’aglio e olio. I know, that’s a lot of Is ad Ls together. A Tuscan might pronounce that “al AHL-yo eh OH-lee-o,” but I’ve never heard it pronounced anything other than “EYE yoy” or “EYE YOY-yo.” This is olive oil with very thinly sliced garlic, just barely caramel colored around the edges, NEVER brown. Herbs can be added to this (like parsley, a classic Sicilian “aô pitrusinu” (prezzemolo)), or whole small fish “con cicireddu” or anything you have lying around the fridge. In a lot of Italian-American households, this last dish is known as “alla frigidaire.” No kidding.

Pasta con patate: Potatoes, anchovies and capers

Pasta con vruccoli (broccoli): Broccoli blanched, then sauteed with oil and garlic, sometimes served as a very thick soup

Pasta con sparaceddu (cavolofiore): Cauliflower, boiled, then sauteed with onions, tomato sauce, pine nuts and currants (halfway between a salsa and a condimento)

Pasta con sfrizzoli: Pork or chicken skin, rendered and fried until crisp, then perfumed with a small amount of garlic (cracklings with garlic)

Pasta con piselli: Butter, cheese and a handful of freshly blanched or defrosted frozen peas. Before you go all apeshit, remember that when peas are picked they immediately begin to convert their sugar to starch, so unless you can get crazy-fresh peas from the market, frozen is the way to go. I have never gotten an edible fresh pea from the supermarket.

Listening: In a bizarre moment of iTunes random, 10,000 Maniacs was followed by Persian Ghazal, then the decidedly Jewish Klezmatics. World peace brought to you by Apple.

10,000 Maniacs “Hey Jack Kerouac” In My Tribe
Ghazal “Between Dawn and a New Truth” As Night Falls on the Silk Road
The Klezmatics “Russian Shers” Shvaygn Egel Toyt (Silence Equals Death)