At the Table: Food and Family around the World - Ken Albala (2016)

Italy

Judith Klinger

When Judith and her husband first moved to a small hilltop village in Italy and started learning to speak Italian, it seemed as if everyone spoke about food all the time. The couple thought that this was because their vocabulary was mostly food related, but then over time they realized that it was because Italians really do talk about food all the time. You can start a conversation with anyone in Italy by talking about food or the weather. And if you are talking about the weather, the conversation naturally leads to how it affects food.

In the area of rural Umbria, mealtimes give the day its rhythm. Breakfast is usually quick, often a coffee and a small pastry or sandwich at the bar, where greeting your neighbors is as important as the coffee. Around noontime, if you pass someone on the street you wish him or her a buon pranzo (good lunch). Kids straggle home from school, shops close down, and many spouses live close to work, so they also come home. Although this is changing, lunch at home is still the norm. The village goes from being a buzzing beehive of activity to pin-drop quiet. The smell of frying sweet peppers wafts down the street, mingling with the sounds of cutlery and dishes in use.

Albala

Dinner with friends in Italy. (Courtesy of Judith Klinger)

Migrant Cooking

Migrant communities have a fascinating relationship to their traditional foods. On the one hand, they are a marker of identity and a reminder of homeland. On the other hand, they can be a stigma of otherness, preventing immigrants from feeling at home among unusual food customs. Special foods for holidays also tend to remain unchanged even when families have become otherwise assimilated. This means that archaic recipes and practices often survive among migrants abroad long after these practices have disappeared in the homeland. One example would be the combination of spaghetti with meatballs, which one never sees in Italy and is considered a purely Italian American phenomenon but actually harks back to much older practices in southern Italy.

The evening kitchen music changes according to the season. In cool weather the smell of wood smoke permeates the town, and the sounds are muted. In the summer, dinners are later and more casual, with an evening trip to the piazza and the bar as part of the ritual.

On Sunday, the tempo changes. The breakfast visit to the café stretches on for an hour or so, as everyone visits and catches up on local news. Card games that involve shouting and slapping cards on the table go on until lunchtime. Going to church is optional, but gathering for a Sunday meal is mandatory. There is an air of anticipation as cooking smells waft through the streets. The family around the table could mean friends who are as close as family, or maybe it means that the grown children drive up from Rome with their children to gather around Nona’s table. What is critical is that the matriarch has made a home-cooked meal, that everyone is looking forward to eating together, and that for a precious few hours life is as it should be, lived around the dinner table.

Judith and her husband found themselves very much looking forward to a Sunday dinner at Renata and Alvaro’s house. Usually it is Sunday lunch that is the centerpiece of the day, but things are changing, and some of the guests had to work, so the group gathered for a Sunday dinner. The dinner guests were people who had known each other for many years, some who are as close as family and some who, like Judith and her husband, were honored to be included. It was a formal invitation to an informal dinner, and thus everyone knew that Renata would have been working a long time in the kitchen to serve this “casual” feast. The guests also knew that they would eat very well, as Renata has a reputation for being an excellent cook.

The day before the meal Renata made cappelletti, a small stuffed, folded pasta that, when made properly, resembles the round, pillowy belly button of Venus herself. The cappelletti would be served in a brodo (broth) made from the bones of the various meats that are used in the filling of the pasta.

While there certainly are convenience foods available in Italy, and there seem to be more and more every year, an invitation to dinner usually means that everything will be homemade. It’s a point of honor.

Where you source your ingredients is important. Many people have vegetable gardens, and they are a source of great pride and bragging rights. Gardening methods are hotly debated: should you plant your tomatoes on a mound or in a trough? Over the years, Judith and her husband have learned to simply nod and agree with whatever method is being proclaimed as “the only way” to plant something. They have learned the art of respectful resistance.

The dinner was in the late fall, so most of the vegetables came from the weekly town market. The market is one of the few places where husbands and wives are seen together in public. Selecting the produce, carrying the load, discussing recipes with the vendors, and, of course, chatting with friends are all a part of the market experience.

The meats for the dinner came from a farmer Alvaro knows. The man sells his homegrown and butchered meats to select local people. It’s not exactly black market or under the table, but it’s not completely legal either. Alvaro has promised he’ll take Judith up there in the spring so she can meet the farmer and hopefully become one of the lucky ones who can buy his meat.

While a husband helps procure the ingredients, it’s usually the wife who is in the kitchen doing the cooking and the cleaning up. The general exception to this rule is grilling over a fire, which tends to be the man’s job (but, of course, all the prep and cleanup chores belong to the woman).

Judith and her husband were the first to arrive for dinner, so they stood around the kitchen table examining and exclaiming over the beautiful platter of cappelletti that was waiting for them. The fireplace was lit and warmed up the cozy kitchen. More guests arrived, and soon there wasn’t enough room in the kitchen, so they moved into the living room to wait for the last guests. While they waited they nibbled on a few nuts (no one dared to ruin their appetite!) and sipped glasses of sparkling Prosecco wine. Alvaro travels up to the Veneto region, specifically to the Valdobbiadene area to buy his sfuso Prosecco; sfuso means “loose” or “in bulk.” Most people go directly to the vineyard to buy their wine in bulk and then take it home to bottle it. While buying a sparkling wine is a bit unusual, Alvaro has obviously mastered the bottling technique as well as finding a very delicious wine.

If all this seems like a lot of work—going to the market, the farmer, and the vineyard to gather groceries—it’s so woven into the fabric of life that it isn’t work at all. Besides, at each stop you talk to people, and you are convinced that everything tastes better because you are connected to the source of the food.

Once all the guests have arrived, they head into the dining room. There are eight this evening, so they can’t all fit at the kitchen table. Tonight they will dine in the room that serves as Alvaro’s office, where the computer is in the corner, one wall houses the well-filled bookcase, and there are pictures of family and friends on the wall. It is a warm and comfortable room, filled with a beautifully set table. The place settings include water and wineglasses and cloth napkins on a lovely blue tablecloth. The dishes are from Renata’s grandmother, fine china with a delicate pattern.

It’s obvious the guests are in for an evening of fine dining, and everyone is happy and appreciative to be in each other’s company. These are professional people: an architect, a writer, and a few who regularly perform in local theatrical productions. Renata is a talented seamstress, but it is the theatrical productions that bind this particular group of diners.

Everyone in the group is knowledgeable about the history of the area, and the discussions are lively and unpredictable. Over the course of the evening, the computer is fired up a few times to settle an argument or to illustrate a point. No one uses his or her cell phones to fact-check or text, mostly because cell phone service in Umbria is very unreliable. It’s also considered rude to text or make phone calls during dinner.

Most Italian meals are served in courses. There is a pattern or ritual that is generally followed no matter what part of Italy or how upscale or lowly the restaurant. Small tasty bites of various foods will be served as the antipasto, or first, course. Then the pasta (primi course) is followed by the meat (secondi course). Vegetables arrive with the secondi course. This dinner was no exception. The meal begins with affettati (sliced cured meats). In Umbria, this is a very typical way to open a meal and appetite. The Umbrian region is renown for its cured meats, and this evening’s selection is excellent. Platters of the sliced meats are passed around, and everyone takes a few pieces—and then a few more pieces. The meats are eaten with the fingers or with a fork and knife, as you please. Tonight there is a special, golden yellow bread made with cheese. Always praise the cheese bread, but be careful, as huge discussions can ensue over the best cheese bread recipe. You don’t want to get caught on the wrong side of this argument!

There is wine on the table, and everyone partakes. When a glass is empty someone is always ready to refill it, but no one will drink too much. One of the guests adds some water to her wine, which is not uncommon, particularly with the strong local wine. Tonight’s wines are of excellent quality, and there is a lot of knowledgeable discussion about a particular 100 percent Sangiovese wine that was brought by the architect, who has an extensive wine collection.

Everyone is also drinking a glass of water. Italians are the world’s largest consumers of bottled water, and it would be unusual to not have a bottle of still water and a bottle of sparkling water available. The water is usually served at room temperature, or ambiente, as cold water is believed to be not good for the health (and ice water on a hot day is considered downright foolish and dangerous).

The affettati plates are cleared by two of the women guests, and when Renata appears with the steaming hot pot of cappelletti in brodo, the dining room erupts in happy applause. Renata fills everyone’s bowl with the fragrant soup, and the group immediately begins discussing the various reasons why Renata’s cappelletti is particularly delicious. The small size and thinness of the pasta is highly praised because it is difficult and time-consuming. None of the cappelletti has opened in the broth, which means that each one was perfectly sealed. The filling has just the right amount of nutmeg and the perfect amount of filling, and all of this denotes the work of a true pasta master.

All of this praise wasn’t said just to congratulate Renata; it was actually a very thoughtful and occasionally debated discussion on the many merits and details of a finely made cappelletti. This is the rarest of gifts: honest appraisal and praise. While the conversation is flowing, people are seasoning their soup according to their particular tastes. Most like a bit of grated parmigiana added to the soup, although Renata disapproves because she claims that it alters the flavor of the brodo too much. The architect stuns everyone by adding a soupspoon of red wine to his brodo. He is nonplussed by the general dissent and thoroughly enjoys his soup. Everyone is encouraged to help themselves to seconds (and thirds), and they happily do so until the pot is empty.

Now it is time to move on to the secondi course. The meats that flavored the broth are now brought to the table as a bollito misto (boiled mixed meats). In this case there are zampetti (whole pig feet), muscolo (beef), gallina (a thin, bony chicken that is used primarily for brodo), and another cut of beef. Bollito misto is a classic dish of the northern part of Italy, and tonight two different sauces accompany it: parsley/caper/anchovy and a tuna sauce. The salty umami-saturated parsley sauce is a fresh, lively counterpoint to the rich meats. The creamy mayonnaise-laden tuna purée is rich and unctuous.

The contorni (vegetables) are also plentiful, and while simple in preparation, they are scrumptious. Tourists in Italy often complain that there aren’t enough vegetables, but at home they are always plentiful and varied. Tonight there are whole sweet red onions that were roasted in foil in the wood fireplace in the kitchen. Broccoli with some garlic was roasted until it was falling apart. Thinly sliced eggplant was oven roasted and then simply dressed in good local olive oil.

While the guests are eating, as if the smell of his mother’s cooking had wafted to Bologna, their son Andrea calls on Skype. It’s very congenial, as if he had just sat down at the table with us. Andrea knows everyone in the room, and it is a pleasant 10-minute conversation with a son who is missing his mother’s cooking and the companionship of the table.

By now, everyone has eaten until they can eat no more, so of course it’s time to move on to the dolce (sweet) course. On a daily basis, Umbrians may eat some fruit for dessert or a simple cake, but tonight the guests are in for a treat: a tiramisu-style cake and a strudel.

Everyone at the table is quite full and unsure if they are ready for more food. But there is always a remedy for that overstuffed feeling, and that’s when Alvaro brings out the homemade vintage Vin Santo. It is obviously a cherished bottle, and everyone partakes of this sweet wine that smells of dried fruits and walnuts.

Albala

Capelleti in brodo. (Courtesy of Judith Klinger)

Renata brings a steaming pot of espresso to the table, and the guests contentedly pass around the cups and sugar. Finally, regretfully, the dinner has ended, and it’s time for everyone to head home and get ready for the workweek ahead. It’s okay, though, because for the three or four hours that they were together, all was right with the world, and the memory of the meal will keep each guest happy—at least until next Sunday, when everyone will be hungry again.

Cappelletti in Brodo (Meat-Filled Pasta in Broth)

10 eggs for the pasta + 2 eggs for the filling

Pork, beef, chicken breast (combined, about 2 pounds of meat)

Reserve the bones and additional meat for the broth

1 medium carrot

1 medium hard onion

1-2 stalks of celery

Butter

Lemon peel

Grated nutmeg

Flour, Tipo 00 (a finely ground, soft wheat flour)

For the filling:

1.Finely chop the carrot, onion, and celery (this mixture is called the soffrito) and sauté in olive oil over medium heat until the vegetables are soft.

2.Chop the meat into small pieces and cook until done.

3.In a large bowl, combine the meat, 2 eggs, a good-sized knob of butter, freshly grated lemon peel, and abundant nutmeg.

4.Mix well, then feed the mixture through a meat grinder, creating a soft, very finely textured meat paste.

For the pasta:

When you want to determine how much fresh pasta to make, the critical factor is the number of eggs, not the weight of the flour. For example, to make about 370 cappelletti, you will need to make a 10-egg batch of pasta. The rule of thumb is two to one: two parts flour to one part egg. You can easily adjust the amount of flour, but it’s much trickier to adjust the volume of egg.

To determine the volume of raw eggs, use a scale. Tare the scale to remove the weight of the bowl, and add the eggs.

1.Weigh out twice that amount in flour, and pour it onto a flat surface. Make a well in the flour and add the eggs.

2.Gently scramble the eggs, incorporating the flour into the eggs. Eventually it will become too stiff to blend with a fork, and you’ll knead the pasta by hand until it becomes a coherent ball of dough. Let the dough (and yourself) rest for at least 20 minutes.

3.Using a rolling pin, extend the pasta into a thin, flat sheet. Cut the pasta into 3-inch squares. Cover the pasta with a damp towel as you work so the pasta won’t dry out.

Filling the pasta:

1.Place a small amount of the meat filling into the center of the square, fold the filled square into a triangle, and gently seal the edges with a moistened finger.

2.Lift the cappelletti and seal together the two outside corners of the pasta to create a ring.

3.Fold down the top crown of the triangle to form a little cap, or cappelletti.

It takes Renata about 3 hours or a full morning’s work to make about 370 cappelletti. Novices should plan on it taking much longer, or they should make smaller batches.

Cappelletti should be either refrigerated (up to one day) or frozen for later use.

The broth:

Using the bones of the meat, make a broth. The broth should be clear, degreased, and very flavorful.

For the broth:

1.Roughly chop 1-2 peeled carrots, an onion, and a few stalks of celery.

2.Sauté gently for a few minutes. Add salt to taste.

3.Add the meat bones and cook for about 2-3 hours over low heat. Bones are for flavor, and Renata likes to use a zampetto (pig’s foot) to add extra flavor to her broth.

4.When it is time to serve the soup, cook the cappelletti for a few minutes in the boiling broth (when you see them begin to float, they are done) and serve immediately.