Vegetable

This is a simple, straightforward secondo whose flavor is 100 percent dependent on the quality of the pork you use. We use pork from heritage pigs, such as Berkshire and Red Wattle, which are the most moist and more flavorful than the pork you find at a conventional grocery store. Berkshire, also known as Kurobuta pork, is the variety most available to the consumer. You can get such pork at some butchers, at high-end grocery stores, and also by mail order from online sources. I guarantee you will find the difference in flavor worth the effort it takes to get it.

We use this seasoning mix for the Pan-roasted Pork Chops with Olives and Sambuca-braised Fennel (page 241) and the Pork Ribs with Fennel and Apple Cider Vinegar (facing page). It will keep for months, so if you like pork with fennel, make double (or more) of this recipe.

Whoever named sweetbreads had an ingenious idea—to give such a nice-sounding name to a part of the animal, the thymus gland, that doesn’t sound all that appetizing. I’ve found that despite the clever name, otherwise open-minded eaters are often squeamish when it comes to eating sweetbreads—a shame, since they can be out of this world. These are seared so they have a crisp exterior and creamy interior. Sweetbreads and artichokes are a pretty typical Italian pairing, and one that I love. While this isn’t a difficult dish to make, it does require several steps, so plan ahead.

When you’ve worked with food as long as I have, and have come up with as many desserts as I have, you get to a certain point where many of the dishes you construct are compilations of things you’ve done previously. When we opened Mozza, I had done a cream-filled date tart that I really loved, so I urged Dahlia to rearrange some of its components, and to her credit she came up with this sophisticated rendition of pumpkin pie. We serve it with walnut cookies that are a twist on a Greek walnut cookie that I included in a previous book. Pumpkin purée is one of the few canned items that I endorse, the reason being that it is totally pure—there are no weird ingredients in it, just pumpkin. Also, from my experience, roasting a pumpkin and puréeing it myself doesn’t yield more delicious results than canned. You will need an 11-inch flan ring (a straight-sided bottomless tart ring) to make this.

I was introduced to the concept of a chopped salad in the 1970s at La Scala Boutique, a casual offshoot, now closed, of the Beverly Hills institution La Scala. The salad, which they call the Jean Leon Chopped Salad (it’s now available at the original La Scala restaurant), is made of iceberg lettuce, salami, and mozzarella, all so finely chopped that you almost don’t have to chew it, then topped with ceci, or chickpeas, and a tangy red wine vinaigrette. I was totally addicted to that salad. I’ve been making chopped salads ever since, always with La Scala’s version in mind, but the one we serve at the Pizzeria with aged provolone and Sweet 100 tomatoes is my best yet.

I put this on the Mozzarella Bar menu following a visit to Chez Panisse Café, after which I became obsessed with ricotta toast. At the café, they served a garlic crostini with mounds of fresh, fluffy ricotta piled on top, and I just loved it at first sight. I was so excited about that toast that I had to find a way to work it into my repertoire at the Mozzarella Bar. I had been wanting to find a way to work peperonata—stewed peppers—onto the menu, since mozzarella and roasted peppers are a classic combination, but I just hadn’t known how I wanted to serve it. The ricotta toast, or crostoni, offered the perfect solution. While I drifted a bit from tradition, I feel I did that pairing justice. We serve the crostoni with the peperonata on the side, so guests can assemble the combination one bite at a time, with the toast in one hand and a forkful of peperonata in the other. I like being a two-fisted eater, and I just assume other people do too. Because the peperonata makes such a large amount, this is a great antipasto for a crowd. We gave you directions for serving this dish family style, but you could also spoon the peperonata onto individual serving dishes and give one to each guest.

One of my favorite daytrips from my house in Italy is to the town of Panzano in Chianti, to visit the world-famous butcher Dario Cecchini. Dario has been covered by every food publication imaginable, and since Bill Buford wrote about him in his memoir, Heat, Dario’s shop has become a mecca for foodies traveling in Italy. To meet the demand of his fans, Dario now has three restaurants that people can visit while they’re there: a steakhouse serving prime cuts, such as bistecca fiorentina, a classic preparation of a T-bone or porterhouse grilled over a wood fire; a hamburger restaurant, Dario Plus; and my favorite of the three, Solo Ciccia. This restaurant, whose name means “only meat,” offers lesser cuts of meats prepared in a variety of ways, many of them cooked long and slow, or stracotto, like this dish. Veal breast isn’t something you’ll find at your average grocery store, so you’ll have to get it from a butcher, and you will probably have to special-order it. Ask the butcher to save the bones he carved the breast from, as you’ll use those to make the stock in which the meat is braised. While you’re at it, have him roll and tie the breast for you, too. Even though this might be out of your ordinary shopping routine, the good news is that you’ll end up with a rich, luxurious veal dish for not a lot of money.

Peperonata is a classic Italian contorno, or side dish, of stewed sweet peppers. This version, which we serve with ricotta-topped crostini at the Osteria and to dress the Buricotta with Peperonata and Oregano (page 152) in the Pizzeria, is unusual and especially delicious because after the peppers are stewed, they are baked—an idea I got from Gino Angelini, a wonderful Italian chef in Los Angeles. Baking the peppers further caramelizes them, making them even richer and sweeter than you ever imagined a vegetable could be.

When I opened the Osteria, Joe Bastianich told me that one of his favorite combinations was fried mozzarella stuffed with anchovies—while I certainly trusted the guy and know he has great taste—let’s just say that the combination sounded less than delicious to me. But since Joe said so, I tried it—and I loved it. What I didn’t know is that bufala and anchovies are actually a classic pairing. Here, the anchovies are in the bagna cauda, a delicious sauce from the Piedmont region and whose name translates “warm bath.” In addition to anchovies, garlic, and olive oil, my version contains lemon and butter. Bottarga, a delicacy of Sicily and Sardinia, is cured pressed fish roe (usually from mullet or tuna) that has a pungent, fishy taste and is used sparingly, finely grated or very thinly sliced over dishes. You can purchase bottarga from specialty food stores and online food sources. This recipe for bagna cauda makes 1 cup—more than you will need. Spoon the leftovers over grilled fish or vegetables.

Pan con tomate is a Catalan creation of grilled bread rubbed with garlic and raw tomato pulp, doused with olive oil, and sprinkled with coarse salt—and one of my favorite things to order at a tapas bar. So how do you serve your favorite Spanish snack at an Italian mozzarella bar? Add mozzarella, of course, or in this case, burrata, and give it an Italian name. We offer this dish only during tomato season. If the tomatoes have no flavor, the tomato bread will also have no flavor. And despite all the other delicious components, which include speck, pickled shallots, and tomato vinaigrette, the bread is, without question, the star. The recipe for the shallots makes more than you will need for this recipe, but they will keep for several weeks. Use the leftovers to make this recipe another time, or on sandwiches or grilled meat.

This is an Italian interpretation of a grilled lamb entrée you might see at a Lebanese restaurant. Scottadito means “burnt fingers” in Italian, and it refers to the fact that the lamb bones are meant to be picked up with your fingers while they’re searingly hot. We serve the lamb with a tabbouleh-like salad made of fregola sarda, a bread crumb–size pasta shape from Sardinia so small it acts like a grain in the kitchen, and Greek yogurt.

We are not a steakhouse, so I’m always pleasantly surprised when our customers tell us that our rib-eye is their favorite steak in Los Angeles. We start with quality, conventionally raised meat, just like what you will be able to get at a good butcher. The reason our steak is so good is the rub we coat the meat with before grilling it. The rub contains dried porcini, which have a delicious, earthy flavor, and a tiny bit of sugar, which caramelizes on the grill and gives the steak a beautiful crust. More often than not our customers share it among two or three people along with two or three contorni, such as Smashed Potatoes with Rosemary (page 255), Cipolline with Thyme and Sherry Vinegar (page 254), and Sautéed Broccolini with Chiles and Vinegar (page 262) to eat along with it. We order our rib-eyes “frenched,” which means that the meat is cut off the bone so the bone looks almost like a handle, which makes for a more unusual, elegant presentation. If you have a butcher who will do that for you, great. If not, it won’t make a bit of difference in the flavor. Unlike a French preparation, served with a heavy Béarnaise sauce, ours is served with Italy’s two best condiments: quality extra-virgin olive oil and aged balsamico condimento.

Peas, Parmigiano, and prosciutto are a combination that you see often in Italy, and one that, to me, says spring. The way we plate this dish it looks like a bird’s nest, with half of a ball of burrata nestled into folds of speck, topped with a pile of peas, and then covered with a light dusting of Parmigiano that looks like fresh fallen snow. Although I prefer the smoky flavor of the speck, prosciutto is a fine substitute.

In the last few years, it seems like there have been two requirements to opening a successful restaurant in Los Angeles. You have to offer a selection of decent wines by the glass, and you have to offer braised short ribs. You see short ribs served on the bone and off the bone; cooked with Indian spices, Asian spices, and Latin American spices; and served over mashed potatoes, polenta, and who knows what else. I don’t roll my eyes when I see them on a menu because I know how good they can be. Once they’re cooked, they’re good for a few days, so they’re convenient for the home cook. Braise them today; reheat them tomorrow. In the Italian spirit of not wasting any bit of food, shred the leftover meat to make Francobolli di Brasato al Pomodoro (page 177).

When the media review the Mozzarella Bar, they almost always mention having eaten this dish. It is composed of two special ingredients—large hazelnuts that we get from Trufflebert Farms in Eugene, Oregon, and sheep’s milk ricotta imported from Italy—paired in an unusual way. Aillade is a French condiment of garlic pounded with some type of nuts, usually served as a condiment for duck or other meats. We make ours with hazelnuts; it’s one of the few condiments that we make at the restaurant using a mortar and pestle because otherwise it comes out too smooth, like peanut butter.

Tagliata, which means “cut” and refers to a dish of sliced meat, is probably the most popular secondo at the Osteria. The tagliata I’ve been served in Italy has been dressed in different ways, ranging from chopped arugula to sautéed fresh porcini, to black pepper and Parmigiano, or just a drizzle of aged balsamico condimento. I am a salad nut, so the version we serve at the Osteria consists of thinly sliced steak and a pile of dressed arugula layered with thin slices of Parmigiano. When I make it for a crowd at home, I serve the meat on the cutting board and offer the arugula and Parmigiano in a big, wide salad bowl. This recipe calls for two types of balsamic vinegar: an inexpensive cooking-quality balsamic to marinate the steaks, and an aged condimento-grade balsamico, to drizzle on the steak. If you don’t have an aged balsamico the other is no substitute

If subtlety is your thing, this Mozzarella Bar creation is not for you. Each crostino is composed of a really strong vinegar presence from the escarole, which is marinated before being grilled and again after; a strong flavor of smoke from the bacon; and sweetness from caramelized shallots. The role that the cheese plays is to tame those aggressive flavors but the result is by no means bland. The recipe for the shallots makes more than you will need for this recipe, but they are essentially pickled, so they will keep for several weeks in the refrigerator. You can use the leftovers on sandwiches or spooned over grilled beef, chicken, or pork.

We serve this as a daily piatto special in the Pizzeria with Lentils Castellucciano and fried sage sprinkled all around. We included it as a variation to the Duck al Mattone because the preparations of the duck, with the exception of cooking times, are identical.

From my vantage point behind the Mozzarella Bar I can see people’s faces when they’re eating, and their expressions when they bite into this dish are that they’re wowed. I like brown butter with asparagus, and I like asparagus with almonds, but putting brown butter with burrata—that was a really indulgent decision and a combination I’m not even sure how I had the courage to put together. We use Sicilian almonds, which have a strong almond flavor and also a slight bitterness. If you can find them, use them. When making brown butter, the trick is to brown it enough to get the delicious, nutty flavor that you want without letting it burn. It’s best to do this in a stainless steel pan as opposed to a black-bottomed pan, so you can see the butter browning as it cooks.

One of the unique and really great things about duck is that if you do everything right, you are able to get the skin deliciously crisp, as it is here. We borrowed the idea for cooking the duck from a similar dish that is served at Mario and Joe’s Lupa Osteria Romana, in New York. We call it “al mattone,” a term that refers to something (generally chicken) cooked under a brick, because it has the same crisp skin as if you had put pressure on the bird when you cooked it. We serve the duck with either a side of sautéed corn or Brussels sprout leaves. Even though we gave you recipes for both, the idea is that you make only the one that is in season. The duck also comes with a ramekin of pear mostarda, a spicy Italian condiment whose sharp spiciness cuts through the richness of the duck and really makes the dish. To confit the ducks, buy rendered duck fat from the same source as you buy your ducks. We serve half a duck to each guest, but it’s a dish that people often order, along with two or three contorni, to share. Served family style with the corn or Brussels sprouts, and two or three additional contorni, four duck halves could feed six or eight people. After cooking the ducks we like to rest them in the fat they were cooked in for at least 24 hours. Plan accordingly.