Starter

Acquacotta literally means “cooked water,” a traditional term for a soup of just a few ingredients cooked in boiling water. But the pale name in no way reflects the savor and satisfaction of this vegetable soup. It has great depth of flavor, and when served Alma’s way, with a poached egg and country bread in the bowl, it is a complete meal. In country fashion, Alma cracks a raw egg right into each portion of hot soup and inverts another bowl on top, as a cover. You have to wait (mouth watering) for a minute or two before removing the top bowl, to find a beautifully cooked egg. Here I transfer the soup to a skillet and poach the eggs over low heat, to be sure they have cooked thoroughly. Since this soup is so quick, inexpensive, and nourishing, local women would make it often, especially when extra farmhands came to help to harvest the grapes and olives and to work the land.

When you have a white truffle, enjoy it just as they do in Alba, with golden tajarin. If fresh truffle is unavailable, packaged truffle butter makes a nice dressing for the pasta too (see Sources, page 340). Should you have no truffle at all, tajarin with only butter and Grana Padano or Parmigiano-Reggiano will be simply luxurious, if not quite ethereal.

Bagna cauda is one of Piemonte’s best-known dishes. The name means “warm bath,” and that’s what it is: a sauce of garlic, butter, oil, and anchovy heated in a deep earthenware container set on the table over a little flame, like a fondue pot. Also on the table are arrayed a great variety of cut vegetables, raw and cooked, to be dipped in the piping-hot sauce, eaten, and savored. In Piemonte, bagna cauda will always include some of the fabulous vegetables for which the region is renowned, such as cardi gobbi from Nizza Monferrato, and the gorgeous long peppers of Carmagnola. At home I serve an assortment of seasonal vegetables: You’ll find some suggestions on the next page. This is a great starter on the table or for a buffet. To make more sauce for a crowd, simply multiply the ingredient amounts given in the recipe.

Antipasti are, for me, the best part of a Piedmontese meal. At any family gathering (and in restaurants as well), the platters of different antipasti just never stop coming. And at some point in the procession, roasted peppers stuffed with tuna will arrive at the table. The combination of sweet, meaty peppers and well-seasoned oil-cured tuna is always delightful. In Piemonte, cooks are discriminating about the peppers they roast, and most sought are those from Carmagnola, a town in the countryside south of Torino. Carmagnola peppers are justly famous, for wonderful flavor as well as their vivid colors and distinctive shapes, like the corno di bue (ox horn) and trottola (spinning top). Carmagnola also is well known for il coniglio grigio di Carmagnola—the gray rabbit from Carmagnola—considered to be one of the best in Italy. Here in the States, any fresh, meaty sweet bell-type peppers are suitable—different colors make a nice presentation. And peppers are always best roasted and peeled at home, though a jar of roasted red peppers can be substituted if you are short on time. (If you have no peppers at all, this tuna filling is delicious on crostini or crackers—it makes a world-class tuna-fish sandwich too.)

Everyone makes this classic soup a little differently, according to preference. I like my risi e bisi rather brothy, but others make theirs quite dense. This is controlled by the intensity of the boil, whether the pot is kept open or covered, and cooking time, all of which determine the rate of evaporation. (I cook my soup covered, at a slow boil.) Either long-or short-grain rice can be used here. Traditionally, the soup was made with short-grain Carnaroli or Arborio rice, and I still think this gives the most authentic flavor and texture. It cooks faster too, but if you need to cook the soup longer or reheat it, the rice tends to dissolve. Long-grain rice, on the other hand, stays more intact in a long-cooking or reheated soup. But as it does not release starch like short-grain rices, the soup will be thinner.

Here is another delicious example of the enduring influence in Friuli of the spice trade that flourished during the Serenissima, the centuries-long epoch of the Venetian Republic. As you will find in this chapter, cinnamon dresses potato gnocchi, page 80, and lends depth to roasted lamb shoulder and its sauce, page 87. And in this recipe, ground cloves and cinnamon are the crowning seasonings for thin cutlets of beef, rolled and sautéed, so the spicy fragrance perfumes your whole kitchen. As a spring or summer dinner, I love these quick and delightful braciole with a tossed cotta e cruda salad, page 297. And they are good anytime with the Crispy Swiss Chard Cakes, page 78. On a cold day, though, serve them with a warming bowl of polenta for a delicious and typically Friulian meal.

These cheese-encrusted rounds of cooked chard, similar to frico, are from Carnia, a district of quaint cities and towns scattered along the Carnic Alps. The milk from the cows grazing on its high-altitude pastures makes some of the best Montasio in all of Friuli. I like to serve these unusual and irresistible cakes as a highlight of lunch or brunch, topped with a poached egg, or in between slices of country bread, as a delectable vegetarian “cheeseburger.” They’re a marvelous accompaniment to grilled meats, or, cut into small wedges, a great party nibble.

This is a poor man’s simple recipe, a warm filler for cold winter days in Friuli. I use spinach, but any available green vegetable would have been used, and would be good. Cornmeal lovers will appreciate this; it has all the comforts of porridge, filled with the flavors of Friuli.

Fried fish steeped in saor, a tangy marinade of onions and vinegar, is enjoyed in all the regions around the northern Adriatic, in the Veneto, Friuli, and Istria. Many fish are suitable for this preparation, including mackerel, monkfish, young trout, even fillet of sole, but I especially love fresh sardines. When I was young and we had fried sardines for dinner, the leftover fried fish went into a crock of saor. It would keep for days and become even more delicious. With this recipe, you can assemble the dish and serve the sardines a few hours later. But if you let them marinate (in the refrigerator) for 1, 2, or even 3 days, the results will be worth the wait.

This is one of those recipes that I am sure you will cook again and again. It takes just minutes, and when you set the mussels on the table, steaming and aromatic, they beckon the whole brood. Give everyone a warm soup bowl, put a ladle in the pan to scoop out the shellfish and luscious sauce, and set a basket of grilled country bread in the middle. Nothing could be better.

Shrimp alla buzara is common all around the northern Adriatic coast. When I make this quick and delicious dish at our house, I give everyone an empty bowl for the shells. I bring the pan to the table; we roll up our sleeves and dig in, savoring the sweet meat, then sucking and licking every drop of sauce from the shells. All that’s needed is some grilled bread. If you wish, use smaller, inexpensive shrimp (shelled and cleaned) in the recipe to make a terrific dressing for spaghetti or linguine. And leftovers make a great risotto.

Makaruni are traditional in Istria, a kind of pasta made when there was no time to roll, cut, and shape it. Rolling little pieces of dough between the palms of one’s hands was quick and effective. My grandmother and other women of her generation were expert makaruni-makers. In no time, they would take a big batch of pasta dough and turn it into slim little noodles. Instead of rolling the bits of dough back and forth for a second or two, my grandmother could compress and stretch a piece of dough into a perfect makaruni with one swipe of her hands—and flick it right onto her floured tray in the same movement. Forming makaruni is truly simple, and once you start rolling, you’ll quickly become proficient. Today, as when I was a child, the whole process is fun, so get the family to help and the makaruni will be done fast. And in a few minutes you’ll enjoy the great taste and texture of your handiwork. This delicious sauce is traditionally made with gallinacci, or chanterelles, though other mushrooms can be used. Makaruni are also wonderful with the amatriciana sauce of tomato and bacon on page 228.

This simple soup can be made anytime, but it is best with locally grown asparagus (if you can possibly get it) with the sweetness of springtime. It’s also important to cook this soup sufficiently to develop the full flavor and silkiness from the base of leek and potatoes.

This is a hearty soup that my grandmother made—though never the same way twice. Sometimes she would add some pasta near the end of cooking, in the style of pasta e fagioli, or add another kind of bean, since legumes were so important. In season she would toss in a cup or two of fresh corn kernels. This is really a one-pot meal, in two courses. First you have the velvety, rich soup, then sliced sausage and ribs as a second course. With a piece of country bread and a small salad, who could ask for more?

When I visited the city of Monterrey, a family friend, Amado, lovingly and kindly drove me around, showing me the wonderful delicacies of the surrounding towns. He took me to the small town of Marin where Martha Chapa has a small shop famous for her cookies, where I tried an amazing tomato empanada that I couldn’t stop thinking about. She told me how to make the jam, and, when she saw how excited I was, she gave me a large container filled with it. I kept eating spoonfuls of it on my way home and adapted the recipe once I was back in my kitchen. You can keep the jam chunky, or, if you like a smoother consistency, you can pulse it in a food processor after it’s cooked. The jam can be made well in advance and will keep for months if properly stored. It is very tasty on its own and I recommend that you make a big batch.

Requesón is a slightly grainy, lightly salted cheese somewhere between ricotta and pot cheese. Lime zest complements the cheese filling hidden inside the golden, flaky crust. These are a really nice option for a brunch menu, and if you make the dough ahead of time, you can make these in a jiffy!

These meatballs always inspire a lot of “ooh, yuuumm”s and funny comments from friends and family alike: “Something is different about these meatballs!” They love them, but they’ve never had anything quite like them, either—unless they’re familiar with this old Southern recipe. (We’ve kept ours a secret till now, but we’ll share it with you here.)

GINA Set out a unique dip to get this cheer rolling in! No one ever really expects you to go to the trouble of making something as special as a warm crab dip—but they sure are happy if you do. It adds a festive, caring quality to the party in the same way a great piece of jewelry can make a whole outfit special.

SHELBI One of my fondest memories is of Mom cooking collard greens on Saturday afternoon in preparation for dinner after church on Sunday. It was like a mini–Thanksgiving feast! GINA It’s true, Shelbi grew up on collards, and she got that love from me. Nana’s garden had rows and rows of those big leafy plants. Sautéing these Southern favorites in a buttery onion-and-garlic sauce is the best, and putting them on toast is just another twist to stay creative with collards.