Simple Italy

Celebrating Your Inner Italian

Pranzo di Ferragosto

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This is one lunch you won't want to miss.

August 15, the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven, is a national holiday in Italy. Like many other Christian celebrations, it is built upon the crumbled foundation of ancient traditions.

In modern times, Ferragosto is the jumping off day for Italians to escape stifling apartments and head for holiday al mare or in montagna—the sea or the mountains.

August is the worst time for foreigners to explore Italian cities because mostly they’ll encounter overheated, testy tourists like themselves. The living spirit of the cities has been drained out like the color from a faded photograph. [Read more…]

Bellezza Gelato Caffe

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News of great gelato spreads faster than a melting cone.

I heeded the journalistic “rule of three.” My instincts said, “If you’ve heard about Chicago’s Bellezza Gelato Caffe from three sources, you should check it out.”

• As I devoured a recent Wall Street Journal article on the finest gelati in Sicily, I noticed a “Local Scoops” sidebar that cited Bellezza Gelato Caffe  as one of the four best in the U.S.

• A few days later, on my Facebook news feed, my Chi-town buddy Bill “fun is my middle name” Linden announced he was taking his nieces and nephews to Bellezza.

• My husband’s baby brother Michael, no slouch on the insider foodie circuit, mentioned that Bellezza was the real deal.

Fate played a winning hand in my research because a visit to Windy City relatives was already on the calendar.

Walter, Tess, and I snuck out on a searing Friday afternoon to Harlem Avenue on the city’s far west side. Bellezza, tucked into a tiny shopping strip, looked modest as we pulled into the parking lot.

Once inside,  the voices of Italian crooners filled the air as we were drawn like magnets to the sleek display cases.

Italian-style case--sleek as a Ferrari.

One silken spoonful is all it takes to feel as if you're in Florence, Rome, or Palermo.

We were greeted by Maria Di Nunzio and Tim Ashorian, corporate dropouts turned gelateria proprietors. They glow with the joy of sharing one of life’s simple pleasures.

They explained that their gelato is prepared from all natural ingredients with no artificial colors, emulsifiers, or additives. The pistachio, for instance is pale compared to the typical dyed neon green version, but the flavor is pistachioissimo.

Gelato tastes so vibrant for several reasons. The fat content is lower than ice cream. Because fat coats the palate and dulls the perception of flavor, gelato tastes more intense. It also has less air whipped into it (the technical term is “over run”) and is stored and eaten at a slightly warmer temperature which also lets the flavors pop.

“Would you like to sample any flavors?” Maria asked. Si, si, si. Lemon sorbetto, classic cannoli, Capri coconut . . . all delightful.

The adorable Tess ordered a combo shake of flavors Dutch Chocolate Delight and Strawberry. Walter asked for a bowl with half vanilla and half coffee. As a coffee fiend, I had no choice but to select the Affogato, touted on a countertop chalkboard.

Tim and Maria, aka l'angeli del gelato!

Affogato means “drowned” in Italian and in this specialty, a scoop of gelato (I chose vanilla) sits on a squirt of syrup (I chose caramel) and then gets “drowned” with a shot of freshly-brewed espresso followed by whipped cream and some chocolate shavings.

Maria told us that she and Tim researched specialty gelato dishes and Affogato appealed to them. Their clients have agreed. She believes it’s from Tuscany. I couldn’t find any background information on gelato l’affogato al caffè in any of my Italian culinary reference books, yet a search on Google.it produced 110,000 hits. I’m thinking the Affogato may be a recent–and brilliant–invention.

This recipe on the illy site is classic and would be easy to do at home (although I cannot guarantee it will be as divine as Bellezza’s). It calls for 2 small scoops of vanilla gelato (chocolate or fiordilatte are mentioned as acceptable alternates) drowned with an espresso lungo (brewed with slightly more water than a regular espresso) topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

If you should find yourself in Chicago, or more likely stuck at O’Hare Airport which is a mere 8-mile taxi ride from Bellezza Gelato Café, please have an Affogato for me.

Is Affogato a gelato dish or a drink. . .or both?

 

Have you savored gelato l’affogato al caffè?

Do you know where it originated?

 

 

Peaches in Wine

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Pesche in vino are an essential accessory for an Italian summer.

As sweet as a child’s hug and as cool as a spray from the sea, peaches in chilled wine is the Italian cure-all for a sweltering summer.

Choose fruit–yellow or white–that’s locally grown and lusciously ripe. Peel the peaches by submerging them in boiling water for 30 seconds before soaking in ice water for one or two minutes. The skin will practically shed itself.

Slice the peaches into a bowl and pour on enough dry white wine, sparkling wine, or fruity red wine to cover. Sprinkle on a little sugar if you like. Refrigerate for several hours—long enough so you can’t tell where the peaches end and the wine begins.

If you can wait for evening dessert, spoon the pesche in vino into a frosted wine glass. On heat advisory days, you may have to spear a slice or two every time you pass the frig.

 

La Pizza Improvvisata

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An impromptu pizza--the wonderful product of foraging.

An impromptu pizza: the wonderful product of kitchen foraging.

A recipe can be a useful thing.

A recipe is useful when we just have zilch inspiration about what to serve the in-laws.

A recipe is useful when we want to explore a cuisine that’s foreign to us. You’d better believe when I cook a Thai dish, I want some guidance from someone who’s been there.

A recipe is useful to introduce us to new and creative flavor combinations.

A recipe is useful—make that nearly essential—for a home cook baking a Sicilian cassata or any other elaborate pastry.

A recipe is useful to “visit” other cooks to see how they do things.

But is a recipe really necessary to cook?

While I make part of my living by creating, writing, testing, and editing recipes, I’m going to bite the hand that feeds me by saying, “no.”

The earliest European written recipe cook book is thought to have been created in Latin in  the 1st century. De re coquinaria is credited to the Roman gourmet Marcus Gavius Apicius. Yet modern human beings had been eating for at least 50,000 years before those recipes were written.

How?

They explored their environment . . . sniffed, tasted, applied heat, threw in some flavorful plant cuttings. They experimented. They cultivated some seeds that reproduced staple grains. They shared their learnings with family and friends. They used their physical senses with an application of common sense.

That’s what I did the other night. My weekly batch of bread dough was doing its thing while I was putting in a full day on the computer. I hadn’t planned anything for dinner. So, I did what any self-respecting human would do. I foraged.

I had the makings of a crust on hand. Such a deal! I pinched off the amount that would have been one loaf of bread and patted it into a pizza pan. (A non baker could keep purchased yeast dough on hand in the freezer for such opportunities.) In the refrigerator, I found a zucchini, half a bell pepper, a few mushrooms, an opened container of Pomi tomato sauce, and a hunk of extra-sharp Provolone cheese. I always have onions in the pantry so I sliced the onion, zuke, mushrooms, and pepper, and sautéed them in extra-virgin olive oil until they were soft and golden. I painted the crust with the Pomi, scattered on the veggies, and went crazy with the Provolone. Into a 425 degree oven for about 12 minutes and I had a triumph of woman over recipe: la pizza improvvisata.

 

Full disclosure: I love cookbooks. I’m a cookbook author.  I own hundreds of cookbooks. There are so many joys to be had from beautiful food books—getting dinner on the table is only one of them. But, if you are starting out in the kitchen and have no skill set to rely upon (perhaps you were raised by wolves?), I recommend cookbooks that are more than a collection of recipes, such as How to Cook Everything (Tenth Anniversary Edition) by Mark Bittman, , The New Making of a Cook by Madeleine Kamman, Ratio: The Simple Codes Behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking by Michael Ruhlman.

 

A Perfect Day

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Jessica Schlener

By Jessica Schlener

Guest Writer and Photographer

 

 

 

Last summer I decided to go on the adventure of a lifetime -– a 30-day tour of Europe with 48 people I’ve never met before. Nothing could have prepared me for the experience that was in store. We started in London and ended in Spain, but my heart will forever be in Italy.

The day began with a trip to the Leather Market in Florence. What a sensory overload. Beautiful handbags and coats were carefully hung throughout the market with that glorious fresh leather smell wafting through the air. I found myself falling in love with a caramel-colored briefcase.

My fingers blissfully explored the beautifully polished bag with its glossy finish and my heart knew this bag had to find its way back to the States. Something that fabulous just couldn’t be left on a stand. It needed to be shown off! I left the market, borderline skipping down the streets with pure joy, thrilled that this tiny piece of Italian perfection would be coming home with me.

The Arno River in Florence.

I met my friends back at our hotel for the next adventure of the day. We all hopped onto our bus and headed to the hills of Tuscany. The bus slowed as we became surrounded with rolling hills covered with luscious grapes ripening in the warm summer sun. Our group was welcomed into a family vineyard owned by an Italian count. At each table was a beautiful antipasto platter. Every few moments, the count’s mother entered holding a tray filled with a new sampling of their wine. Each sip seemed better than the last as the wine swirled through my mouth with flavors bursting on my very grateful tongue.

Handmade lasagna drizzled with white truffle oil.

Once we sipped and sampled several glasses of wine, the count’s grandmother came to say hello. With her she brought homemade lasagna drenched in white truffle oil made right there on the vineyard. With each bite this heavenly oil glided over my lips and onto my tongue. My eyes closed as I slipped into complete ecstasy. At this point, I was pretty sure I had found heaven.  Only in Italy do you bite into dinner and savor each individual flavor as it introduces itself to your taste buds. Eating is not just an activity, it is a sensory experience to be relished, enjoyed, and appreciated.

As we bid farewell to the count and his family the sun began to say goodnight. The bus set off for our final destination. I sat in my seat dreaming out the window of how life could not possibly get any more wonderful. However, God was not done impressing me with the beauty His world has to offer. We hopped off the bus excited to learn what our new location would bring. Our guide showed us to a gelateria on our way through the town of San Gimignano. Let me tell you, I could live and die sitting in this gelateria and be completely content with my life.

The sunset view from the medieval hill town of San Gimignano.

My flavor of choice was raspberry rosemary. I sat on this beautiful fortified hill, watching the sun kiss Tuscany goodnight, filling the summer sky with the beautiful colors of fire, enjoying each bit of my gelato as the fresh summer raspberries burst in my mouth. The sweet fruit coupled with the wonderful herbal rosemary was heavenly.

Again, I was convinced the day could not possibly get any sweeter. I called my parents when we arrived home to tell them about the most amazing day I had ever had in my young life. When my mom answered, her voice sounded like she had been crying. I asked her what was wrong.

You see, my 41-year-old Uncle John had been diagnosed with a brain tumor right before I left. Throughout my travels I had prayed for him at every church we visited. In Rome, I had a special rosary blessed in his honor. That evening I learned that my uncle’s tumor, diagnosed as untreatable, had significantly shrunk while I was away.

Tears of pure joy started streaming down my face. This unforgettable day ended with the news that I would be able to spend more time with one of the most beautiful, warm-hearted people who has ever graced this earth. I am convinced that my day in Tuscany will remain one of the best days I will ever experience. Each day I leave for work, I pick up my beautiful caramel-colored briefcase and think of how blessed I was to experience Italy in all of its splendor. This hills of Tuscany and the town of San Gimignano will always hold a special place in my heart. My next trip to Italy will be more of a welcoming home of a long-lost friend.

Jessica dedicates this article to her uncle, John Klucsarits, Jr. “You are the man with a loving heart who taught me to see the beauty and good in everything. I love you!”