1,000 Foods To Eat Before You Die: A Food Lover's Life List (45 page)

Also known as
mammola
or
cimarolo
, Roman artichokes are exceptionally tender.

There are artichokes and there are artichokes. None can match the dark green
carciofi Romaneschi
, the delectable thistle whose meaty leaves and tender heart are celebrated in Roman markets like the Campo dei Fiori from late February through March. The artichoke-loving Romans certainly do embrace other varieties in other seasons, but this flat-topped globe specimen is best suited to that city’s most famous preparations for the vegetable. There’s
carciofi alla Romano
, in which the chokes are gently simmered in olive oil with parsley, mint, and lemon. And
carciofi alla Giudea
, a gift to the local cuisine from the Jewish ghetto, where the raw chokes are flattened and then deep-fried, to emerge looking like dried sunflowers. (Crisp, chiplike outer petals hint at the velvety, slightly bittersweet flavor of the tender heart that is the final reward.)

Highly prized since ancient Roman times, the artichoke even inspired a legend. It seems there was a beautiful nymph, Cynara, who, after displeasing an irascible god, was metamorphosed into an artichoke. Thus,
Cynara scolymus
is the botanical name for the globe artichoke that contains the compound cynarin, said to ignite the taste buds. And thus, Italians may toast that nymph with the artichoke-based liqueur Cynar, a bitter, medicinal brew. Better to eat the artichoke, leaf by delectable leaf.

Where:
In Rome
, Campo dei Fiori market, Piazza Campo dei Fiori, tel 39/06-0606; Ristorante Matricianella, tel 39/06-683-2100,
matricianella.it
; Ristorante Piperno, tel 39/06-6880-6629,
ristorantepiperno.com
;
in New York
, Da Silvano, tel 212-982-2343,
dasilvano.com
.
Further information and recipes:
Italian Food
by Elizabeth David (2001);
Marcella’s Italian Kitchen
by Marcella Hazan (1986);
saveur.com
(search roman-style artichokes hazan).

Where artichoke, celery, and fennel meet, the alluring flavor of the cardoon begins. And with giant, prickly, silver-green stalks that can grow to three feet, the look of the cardoon says nothing so much as celery with an overactive pituitary gland.

This Mediterranean favorite, a particular specialty in Italy that is best enjoyed in season, between November and January, takes its name from
charduus
, Latin for thistle—and thereby hangs a clue as to its challenging nature. “Our countrymen are fools to serve vegetables which asses and other beasts refuse for fear of pricking their lips,” Pliny the Elder declared of the cardoon in the first century. But cardoons aren’t just prickly. Like artichokes, which belong to the same thistle family, the vegetables blacken quickly when cut or peeled, tainting the hands that prepare them; an immediate soaking in water acidulated with lemon juice solves the first problem, and, if you can stand working with them, latex gloves negate the second.

Despite drawbacks that include high prices, cardoons have remained popular with the cognoscenti. To anyone who has sampled them, the reason for this popularity is obvious. Beneath each stalk’s thorny, suedelike coating, the cardoon flesh is tender yet crisp, with a bittersweet flavor.

The finicky thistle grows well in the temperate climate that has benefited the plant since its first cultivation, in the fifteenth century. Known there as
cardone
, the vegetable is served raw in an old-fashioned Piedmontese preparation, cut up into pieces and submerged in a
bagna cauda
—a “warm bath” of olive oil, anchovies, and garlic. Alternatively, the cardoon pieces may be dipped in egg and flour and fried in olive oil, or blanched and baked under a mantle of butter and grated Parmesan. All are delectable options that reward the patient cook.

Where:
In New York and Chicago
, Eataly,
eataly.com
;
in Berkeley, CA
, Chez Panisse, tel 510-548-5525,
chezpanisse.com
.
Further information and recipes:
Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini
by Elizabeth Schneider (2001);
Chez Panisse Café Cookbook
by Alice Waters (1999);
Chez Panisse Vegetables
by Alice Waters (1996); Ocean Mist Farms,
oceanmist.com
(click Products, then Cardone);
cookstr.com
(search cardoons a la greque);
epicurious.com
(search fried cardoons).

Delicately silky, thinly sliced raw beef is the base of carpaccio, a dish invented in 1950 at Harry’s Bar in Venice by Giuseppe Cipriani, who opened that famed restaurant in 1931. His creation stemmed from a desire to accommodate Contessa Amalia Nani Mocenigo, whose doctor had advised her to eat only raw meat.

The resourceful Cipriani sliced some garnet-red sirloin shell steak and drizzled it with a piquant ivory sauce based on mayonnaise, sunny-yellow dry mustard powder, an amber dash of Worcestershire sauce, lemon juice, olive oil, and the merest dribble of milk. He named the dish for the fifteenth-century Venetian painter Vittore Carpaccio, who favored the same deep-red and ivory-white hues, and whose work was on exhibition in Rome that year. Nowadays, we might name it after Jackson Pollack, as the sauce is artfully streamed in ribbons over the vibrant meat.

Still served throughout what has become a Cipriani empire, carpaccio has also traveled the world, turning up in all manner of guises as a seductive appetizer or light main course, sometimes enhanced with shavings of Parmesan cheese and a few leaves of arugula, and often sauced with only a drizzle of olive oil and some lemon juice. But its success has fostered copycat confusion, so that now almost anything served cold and thinly sliced is dubbed carpaccio. Restaurateurs, take heed: While the name might be acceptable when applied to raw tuna or lamb (but never, of course, to raw pork or chicken), it becomes absurd when used to describe sliced zucchini, beets, or cucumber.

To prepare it for its thinnest possible slicing, the beef used for carpaccio should be half-frozen —firm enough for a very sharp, thin-bladed but rigid knife to cut through evenly. After slicing, a very light pounding relaxes the texture. The slices are arranged on individual plates so the artistry of the streamed sauce remains intact when the dish is served, preferably with freshly made melba toast and a glass of light red wine.

Where:
Harry’s Bars and Cipriani restaurants around the globe,
cipriani.com
.
Further information and recipes:
Harry’s Bar: The Life and Times of the Legendary Venice Landmark
by Arrigo Cipriani (1996);
saveur.com
(search carpaccio harry).

Theoretically, the stew called
cassoeula
could be enjoyed wherever one finds the right cuts of cured and fresh pork and sausages, the properly rippled savoy cabbage, and the carrots, celery, and onions. So much for the easy part. What is
actually required for maximum appreciation—to truly grasp the beauty of this steaming dish—is the gray, businesslike city of Milan in late fall and winter, when its many-spired fifteenth-century Gothic cathedral is wrapped in the penetrating damp fog called the
nebbia.
It is this bone-chilling setting that gives this Lombardian specialty true meaning.

The rich casserole is filled with a scalding, slightly viscous broth verdant with wisps of the crinkly savoy cabbage the Italians call
verza
, plus root vegetables that impart an earthy sweetness. Broth and vegetables provide the base for a butcher’s array of pork cuts both fresh and cured: Two pigs’ feet and one ear lend a sensuously gelatinous body to the broth, and the firm and aromatic pork sausage
luganega da Monzo
is joined by fresh cuts of pork rump, smoked rib chops, and a chunk or two of bacon for diversity and heartiness.

This simmering-hot main course, so welcome in the foggy Milanese winter chill, is served in and eaten from individual earthenware casseroles, with broth typically spooned up before the meats and vegetables are tackled. The meats are often dabbed with hot mustard or horseradish as they are eaten.

Just like so many other robust culinary extravaganzas, cassoeula is traditionally a weekend lunchtime dish, often accompanied by soft, golden cornmeal polenta that provides soothing contrast and added assurance that no one leaves the table hungry. A light red wine or a frothy beer further ensures that the only dessert following this opulent and hearty main course will be a long afternoon nap.

Now most often served in homes, cassoeula remains one of the favorite winter specialties at the more than one-hundred-year-old Antica Trattoria della Pesa, a former weigh station with the telltale scales still outside the door. Its wood paneling, comfortable booths, pretty flowers, and impressive displays of antipasti and desserts (save room for the wine-baked pears) lie about twenty minutes outside Milan’s center, close to the Cimiterio Monumentale, where many celebrity graves are marked with important sculptures. Visit the Cimiterio and its sculptures before the cassoeula; it is doubtful anyone will be up to the walk afterward.

Where:
In Milan
, Antica Trattoria della Pesa, tel 39/02-655-5741,
anticatrattoriadellapesa.com
.
Further information and recipes:
Italian Regional Cooking
by Ada Boni (1994);
food52.com
(search cassoeula).

This smooth cake features raisins, pine nuts, and rosemary.

About as subtle as a dessert can be, the
castagnaccio
is a cake so spare and simple it used to be served as a first solid food to the lucky babies of Liguria, where it remains a beloved tradition on both All Souls’ Day and Easter.

Much appreciated in fall and winter, though it’s available year-round, the thin, single-layer cake is based on a fine tawny flour milled of chestnuts, or
castagne.
A tweedy, grainy, plain-looking round that’s more savory than sweet, it is gently accented with olive oil, rosemary, toasted pignoli nuts, and currants or white sultana raisins.

At first taste, the castagnaccio might prove a disappointment to those used to really sweet sweets. But after several tries, its understated aromas and flavors begin to emerge and
beguile, most especially if downed with a good red Tuscan wine or a heady grappa. For a frivolous touch, a slice can be topped with cinnamon-or rum-flavored ice cream—but best to keep such transgressions out of sight of any Tuscans, although none seem too upset by the cloudlet of ricotta added at Cantinetta Antinori in Florence.

In Liguria, a similar version includes fragrant, lightly crushed fennel seeds that add an aniselike aroma. A cool, light white wine that is slightly sparkling, or
frizzante
, is the favored accompaniment.

Where:
In Florence
, Cantinetta Antinori, tel 39/55-292-234,
cantinetta-antinori.com
;
in New York
, Il Ristorante Rosi, tel 212-517-7700,
salumeriarosi.com
.
Further information and recipe:
food52.com
(search castagnaccio).

Ever since the mad cow scare of the early 2000s, it has been difficult to find brains on restaurant menus. And in this age of nose-to-tail eating, that’s a pity. Properly prepared brains have a luxuriously creamy texture and a subtly seductive flavor akin to but more delicate than that of sweetbreads. In addition, brains (like sweetbreads) are good for you, as they are extremely high in the B vitamins and rich in protein if also, alas, in cholesterol.