Photograph of Elena Kostioukovitch by Massimo Pasquale

Elena Kostioukovitch is not Italian. She was born in Kiev, Ukraine. But Kostioukovitch is deeply in touch with her Inner Italian. How do I know? I’ve been reading Why Italians Love to Talk About Food, the Farrar, Straus and Giroux publication of her book.

Kostioukovitch’s day job is to translate the literary works of Umberto Eco and other authors into the Russian language. Also an essayist and literary agent, she has lived in Milan for more than two decades. She explains in the preface to her 400-plus page tome, “This book was born specifically to assemble in a single volume stories about the symbolic foods of each Italian region and their ‘ideological’ meanings.”

She creates an intellectual journey from the north of the peninsula to the south, exploring culinary history, characteristic dishes, and cultural eccentricities of each region. Her research is rigorous — footnotes and bibliography cover more than 30 pages.

We learn, for instance, that the aperitivo Campari was created by Gaspare Campari at the Caffè Zucca in Milan in 1867.

We practically taste the brine on our lips as we discover that the remaining wilderness of Puglia fosters in the locals a preference for unadulterated foods. “The tendency to eat unprocessed food is especially evident in the consumption of raw fish. In fish markets, for example, it is customary to set out plates of raw shrimp, cuttlefish, and mussels for customers who are waiting, to be eaten on the spot with a squirt of lemon.”

And who knew that Nutella, the jarred gianduia paste created by the Ferrero brothers in Piedmont, makes a political statement? Kostioukovitch explains, “Nutella, loved by children (naturally) and adults, was also prized by nonconformists and leftists. As Italy’s answer to [American peanut butter], it is winning, uplifting, and youthful, a sign of democracy and leftist ideals.”

Essays interspersed between the regional food chapters are quirky and informative, covering topics as diverse as the “Jews,” “Early Gifts from the Americas,” “Totalitarianism,” and “Joy.” I particularly appreciated “Preparation Methods,” a roster of dozens of cooking techniques written in sort of a shorthand code. Not much is spelled out for the Italian home cook in printed recipes—presumably the cook learned these methods at an older cook’s elbow.

“Soak prickly pears.”

“Extract the ink from cuttlefish.”

“Shape polenta in a cloth.”

“Crogiolare (bask or laze comfortably): cook a food over a slow fire, with a little liquid, for a long time.”

One word of warning: Perusing this volume can be hazardous on an empty stomach. Hunger ensues. References to Roman coda all vaccinara (oxtail stew), Neopolitan sartù, (a rice mold with giblets, mushrooms, peas and mozzarella), Ferrara’s pumpkin filled tortelli, Calabrian jujume (sea anemone fritters), Sicilian granita with brioche, and more dishes too numerous to recount will surely make you long to be dining at an Italian table.

Kostioukovitch bottom line is this: “Examining the culture of food, we also come to understand its unique ability to inspire joy and create harmony. Whether at table with family, in a restaurant with friends, or at a scientific conference—food is talked about in a language that is accessible to all, exciting to everyone, democratic and positive.”

What conversations have you enjoyed around an Italian table?

Comment below.

In northern Italy’s sub-Alpine areas, particularly Piedmont and Lombardy, Bollito Misto (mixed boil) is the culinary cure for chilly damp winters. Not so much an exact recipe as it is a ritual, the dish can include beef, veal, cotechino sausage, chicken or capon and aromatic vegetables. Tougher cuts of meat are simmered slowly in water—not actually boiled at all—for hours until they are fork tender and the resulting broth is liquid heaven. I actually crave hot broth in the cold months. I believe my body is saying, “I need to be hydrated. I need some savory steam to open my dry air passages.”

In Italy, bollito misto is typically prepared for a crowd because it takes so many different ingredients to achieve the desired flavor complexity. The broth is often ladled into bowls as a first course, sometimes embellished with tortellini and Parmesan cheese. The meats are then served separately as a secondo, or second plate, garnished with mostarda di frutta, salsa rosa, or salsa verde.

In my kitchen, I opt for a simpler version made with beef and chicken. I also cook carrots, onion, celery, and potatoes in the broth to serve with the meats. This makes a wonderful one-dish meal with plenty of leftovers for lunches.

The salsa verde may be prepared several days in advance and refrigerated in a tightly closed container. Thanks to Michele Scicolone in her cookbook 1,000 Italian Recipes for the tip on adding fresh bread crumbs to bind the salsa verde.

Bollito Misto Semplice

Makes about 8 servings

10 cups filtered water

6 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth

1 cup drained canned plum tomatoes

4 bay leaves

2 cloves garlic, peeled

1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

2 1/2 to 3 pounds beef top round or chuck

1 broiler-fryer chicken (3 1/2 to 4 pounds), quartered

4 carrots, cut into 3-inch lengths

4 ribs celery, cut into 3-inch lengths

1 1/2 pound red potatoes, quartered if large

1 large onion, cut into wedges

Salt and pepper

Minced parsley (optional)

Salsa verde (recipe follows)

Mostarda di frutta

In a 10 to 12-quart pot, bring the water, broth, tomatoes, bay leaves, thyme and garlic to a boil. Add the beef. Reduce the heat so the mixture simmers. Cover partially and simmer for 2 hours.

Add the carrots, celery, and onion to the pot. Cover partially and simmer for 1 hour. Add the chicken and press to submerge until the broth. Simmer, partially covered, for about 1 1/2 hours or until the chicken is very tender. Season to taste with salt and pepper. If desired, serve a bowl of the broth for a first course. Remove and discard the bay leaves.

Remove the beef and chicken to a cutting board that has a well to catch the broth. Break into small pieces. The meat will be very tender. Transfer to plates. Surround with vegetables. Garnish with parsley if desired. Ladle on just a bit of the broth to moisten. Serve with salsa verde or mostarda di frutta on the side.

Salsa Verde

Makes 1 cup

2 cups packed parsley leaves

1/2 cup packed soft Italian bread crumbs without crust

1/4 cup drained capers in brine or soaked and rinsed salted capers

1 salted or canned-in-olive oil anchovy, filleted (note)

2 small cloves garlic

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 teaspoon wine vinegar

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Salt

In the bowl of a food processor fitted with a metal blade, combine the parsley, bread crumbs, capers, anchovies, garlic, mustard and vinegar. Process until finely chopped. With the machine running, drizzle in the oil through the feed tube until smooth. Season with salt to taste. Refrigerate in a covered container.

Note

For salted anchovy, rinse well under cold running water. Place in a small dish and cover with milk. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour or up to 4 hours. Remove from the milk, rinse and pat dry before using.

For anchovy in oil, pat dry before using.

The wise Michael Pollan has done it again.

He’s preaching the Italian gospel of eating (although he doesn’t state it that way) — trying to save us from the foolish excess of ingesting manufactured stuff disguised as edibles.

For quick reference, he has distilled his mantra of “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants,” into a pocket book called Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual.

Read about it at the New York Time’s Well blog.

Inspired by Sicilian cucidati, fig cookies, this lemon-glazed tart is a holiday work of art.

Call me lazy — but not so lazy that I’d pass up the ideal holiday pastry.

I was crazy about cucidati, Sicilian tender-butter-crust filled fig and nut cookies, that are sweet, spicy and tart all at once. I’d gotten the recipe from Lee Davis and her son Tom Giliberto for a story I wrote in the Chicago Sun-Times. This was back when I had two young children and a full-time job so I didn’t have much spare time to roll and shape dozens of little stuffed pastry gems.

My AHA moment occurred when I realized I could adapt the recipe to make one BIG cookie (a tart baked in a removable bottom tart pan) that I could slice into wedges. For the winter holidays, I prepare this dessert up to a week before serving covered with foil and stored in a cool place. The honey, brandy, orange zest and spices actually mellow with time and enhance the flavor.

Italian-American master baker Nick Malgieri writes, “No one seems to agree about exactly what — besides figs — goes into the filling for these classic Sicilian cookies.” His version in Cookies Unlimited calls for almonds which are more typically Sicilian than walnuts. I, however, prefer walnuts but feel free to choose your own nut. Another area of confusion is the  name. I have read many variations, including cuccidati, buccellati, and cuddureddi. Undoubtedly, they are all irresistible.

Have you eaten or baked Sicilian fig cookies? What are the ingredients that make yours special? What do you call them?

Fig Tart Recipe

Nunzio Martino, holding a loaf of Matera's traditional durum wheat bread, at his family's bakery.

When I visited Martino Casa del Pane (House of Bread) in Matera shortly before their midday closing, the foot traffic was as thick as rush hour in Manhattan. Artisanal bread is a big deal in Italy and nowhere more so than Matera, the ancient Basilicata city that is built on caves. Neighboring Puglia is the biggest durum wheat producer in Italy so fine flour is close at hand.

The Casa del Pane produces a variety of loaves — olive, potato, dried tomato, Gorgonzola, corn flour — to name a few. The business is run by Papa Giovanni and sons Nunzio, Giuseppe, Minno and daughter Teresa.

After eating bread in Italy, I inevitably return home fired up to create loaves of my own. Granted, the bread does not taste exactly like the oven-baked beauties from Casa del Pane but necessity is the mother of bread making.

Lately, I’ve been changing my standard rustic bread formula to make a heartier loaf studded with chewy whole wheat berries, which are simply whole grains of wheat. I also add some whole wheat flour, semolina, and a few tablespoons of ground flaxseed for added nutrients. The resulting loaves are  filled with good grain flavor but surprising light with a crisp crust.

I start one or two days ahead by mixing a biga, (sponge) a paste made from flour, water, and  dry yeast. As it ferments, it develops flavor that will enhance the finished bread.

Mix the sponge in a 4-cup glass measuring cup or clear glass bowl and you’ll be able to see its bubbling action throughout the process. You’ll also give the mixture the room it needs to expand to three times its original volume. Cover it with plastic wrap and tuck it in a cool spot (or in the refrigerator) for 12 to 48 hours. The thick mixture will bubble up and rise, and then fall slightly. At the end, it will look like pancake batter. If some of the liquid separates from the batter part, don’t worry.

(Clockwise from top left) Whole wheat flour, ground flaxseed, semolina, and cooked wheat berries add flavor and texture to rustic Italian bread.

To prepare the dough, the sponge is mixed with more flour and water, salt, and any add-ins you like — from wheat berries to herbs to grated cheeses. Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface for 4 to 6 minutes, or until the dough is resilient. Even novice bakers will sense when the dough has been sufficiently kneaded: It feels alive.

If you’re making bread for the first time, you may want to prepare by hand rather than using a machine. The experience will be more tactile and pleasurable, not to mention educational, as you feel how soft and moist this dough should be. But the recipe will also work in a food processor or electric mixer fitted with a dough hook. A plastic dough scraper makes quick work of cleaning the mixing bowl. Bake the bread on heavy baking pans that don’t buckle with the high heat. If you have a ceramic baking stone, preheat it and bake the loaves directly on it for a crisper crust.

After the baked bread is cool, store in a brown paper bag for a day or two. Or, do as I do and slice and freeze the loaves.

Recipe for Italian Wheat-Berry Bread