Fresco Painting in San Cresci

http://www.wantedinrome.com/articles/complete_articles.php?id_art=971

Our Daily Bread

http://www.wantedinrome.com/articles/complete_articles.php?id_art=943

To Market: South Bend Farmer’s Market Article and photos by Brette A. Jackson

www.southbendfarmersmarket.net

Having been reared in urban Philadelphia, and later moving to New York where I attended culinary school, and subsequently “cut my teeth” as a professional cook, recipe tester and food-stylist assistant in Manhattan, life in Italy provided me with my first, true agricultural experiences. I worked at a friend's estate outside of Siena, where along with his family and numerous cronies, we bottled the wine produced from grapes that grow on a property that's belonged to his family for centuries. I worked in a small restaurant in Modena for a bit, and met a man who makes some of the area’s best balsamic vinegar. I visited the vineyard where he grows the trebbiano grapes used to make his magical elixir, and tasted my first grape fresh off the vine. I’ve picked tiny, wild strawberries, plucked caper buds from ancient walls, encountered a wild boar and walked among olive groves. I lived in Florence for three years, and discovered the beauty of the Sant’ Ambrogio farmer’s market; frequent excursions there helped me understand the interconnection between “town and country.” Seeing fruits, vegetables and meats in their raw, unadulterated state gave me a new respect for food and the people who produce it. The market also allowed me to participate in the bounty that each season provides. To anticipate the arrival of porcini mushrooms in the fall, savory fava beans in the spring, bitter greens in the winter, and luscious figs in the summer heightened my newfound connection with nature. Now wherever I go, a trip to the farmer’s market is high on my list of priorities.

I live in South Bend, IN part of the year, as my husband teaches in the School of Architecture at the University of Notre Dame (he’s currently teaching with their program in Rome, which we essentially call home). When I’m here, particularly during the summer, I make a beeline to the bustling, community farmer’s market, where I always find some of the best local, seasonal (and often organic) meats, fresh fish (not local, but of excellent quality), cheeses, etc., in the state.

The South Bend Farmer’s Market was established in 1911 as an outdoor venue where local farmers, gardeners, home cooks and businessmen could sell their products to the public. This was the same year that the Studebaker company was incorporated, and their successful car and wagon manufacturing business turned the town into a vital metropolis that attracted hundreds of laborers (mostly Irish, German and Polish immigrants) looking for solid employment opportunities. As the town grew exponentially the market continued to thrive, so much so that it was moved to larger locations to accommodate the throngs of shoppers and vendors that made this one of the largest and active markets in the county. In 1972 the market was relocated to its current cavernous, barn-like space that houses over 100 vendors, and a cafe was added that transforms some of the market’s products into hearty fare such as biscuits and gravy (a mid-west delicacy!), meat-loaf, fried chicken, potpies and burgers (and for those who view “meat as murder” there’s vegetarian chow as well), various cakes and seasonal pies. If you prefer to eat while you shop, you can nosh on a warm pretzel from the Amish bakery, grab a fresh tamale from the Mexican food stand, a spring roll from the Thai food stand or a panino from the Italian deli. In a sense, a local Farmer's market is a self-sufficient town that reflects both the traditional and the diverse nature of its community. And more, it gives us the opportunity to nourish our bodies with wholesome, delicious foods that are the results of nature and human hands.
















































Bicolor Cherry Tomato Bruschetta
Serves 4

Everybody loves bruschetta. In Italy this humble dish is the hallmark of cucina povera (peasant food). The origin of this tasty snack hails from Tuscany. During la raccolta (the olive harvest that takes place throughout October), olive farmers prepare grilled bread that they use to sample the flavor of their oil. Bruschetta is derived from the verb bruciare, to burn, which refers to the method of toasting the bread over a hot charcoal grill. Once you toast your bread, any number of toppings can be added such as white beans, sautéed greens, prosciutto and the classic tomato and fresh basil. Since it’s August, and the market was literally bursting with a kaleidoscopic color of cherry tomatoes, I decided to make a mix consisting of orange and red varieties and lots of garlic.

2 pints of clean cherry tomatoes of diverse colors (or go nuts and use three or more)
1 round loaf of crusty Italian bread
3/4 cup of extra-virgin olive oil
3 cloves of garlic
coarse sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Cut tomatoes in half and add to a mixing bowl. Using a knife, or a garlic press, mash garlic into a semi-smooth paste (it’s OK to have a bit of texture). Add to tomatoes and pour on the oil. Add salt and pepper to taste, and mix thoroughly. Let the tomato, garlic mixture rest so that the flavors marry. Heat an outdoor grill, or indoor cast iron grill pan, until searing hot. Slice the bread in half, and then make thin slices out of each half (not too thin; about less than an inch). Place the slices on the grill and cook until they are nicely toasted on each side. When all the slices are ready, arrange them on a platter and top with the tomato, garlic and olive oil mixture.

Note: I like to sprinkle on an additional amount of coarse sea salt—I like that crunchy burst of salt you get with each bite! I typically forgo the use of basil, or other herbs such as parsley, since I think they overpower the sweet, pure flavor of the tomato, but feel free to use either if you'd like. Buon appetito!

“The Bicycle Chief”

Collalti Bici: When in Rome bike as the Romans do.
Article by Brette A. Jackson
Photo by David T. Mayernik

I recently watched Vittorio De Sica’s masterpiece, Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thieves), and for those of you who’ve never seen it, it’s the tragic tale of a working-class man in financially depressed, post-World War II Rome who, along with his young son, spends most of the film combing the streets in search of his stolen bicycle, which he needs for his job. Without completely ruining the plot, the protagonist and his wife and children live in abject poverty, and the loss of the bicycle has placed the family on the brink of total destitution. I’ve seen this film several times, but now that I live in Rome it struck a new cord; it’s difficult to imagine a period in the city’s modern history when the automobile, moped or scooter were not the primary forms of transportation, and how something so simple and low-tech as a bicycle could make or break the lives of an average, urban family.

During the 1950’s Italy rebounded economically, which opened a space for a burgeoning middle-class who welcomed the comfort and prestige that came with owning a car, while the now healthier “proletariat” sector whole-heartily adopted the affordable moped and scooter. Over the years both forms of transportation grew exponentially, and by the millennium the bicycle was all but extinct. But progress is often accompanied with sacrifice, and Rome (like other European cities) was forced to acknowledge that there was nothing “dolce” about a life plagued with gridlock traffic and elevated levels of air pollution that threatened the health of its citizenry, and had the potential to cause irreparable damage to many of the city’s soot encrusted monuments.

In 2005, Rome’s then Mayor Walter Veltroni set into action a dramatic plan to reduce traffic and pollution. For instance, each month driving was prohibited in the historical center on three different Sundays, car and motorini use were limited one day weekly, and each Thursday automobiles with odd and even numbered license plates alternated the use of major thoroughfares. Some deemed the course of action punitive. However, many agreed that things had gone too far, and learned to live with the restrictions by utilizing a simple and environmentally friendly means of transport: the bicycle. In June of 2008, local government collaborated with the Spanish company Cemusa in a program designed to allow residents to use bicycles (set up in major piazzas), as an alternative means of getting around Rome’s center. Cemusa and the city are currently working out the logistics for long-term service of the program, and advertising. Still, in spite of the tension that has ensued (Cemusa has twice threatened to pull the plug), the program has been hailed a huge success—and has been the catalyst for privately owned bicycle rental shops that have mushroomed across the city and spurred some tourist agencies to offer “See Rome by bicycle” tour packages.

Having recently returned to Rome, I was astounded by the number of bicyclist negotiating a path through crowded piazzas, and taking on cars and motorists in zones where there is still relatively high traffic—riding a bicycle in Rome is definitely not for the faint of heart! I was also struck by the elegance of many of these bicycles, particularly those with the trade name Collalti that seemed to be everywhere. I spied several with mod brushed aluminum, pastel colored or sleek black frames; some were fitted with leather seats, handle bar grips and saddlebags—leave it to the Italians to make something as perfunctory as a bicycle chic! Out of curiosity, I visited this little shop located in the heart of the city, and learned that the Collalti family have been making bicycles since 1899. Depending on how much you want to spend the current capo Danilo Collalti will set you up with a “bespoke” bicycle that could grace a catwalk in Milan; but there are many affordable, and more austere, models from which to choose—prices range from as little as 200 to 1,500 euros for a touring, city, mountain or hybrid bicycle.

Being an avid bicyclist myself, I decided to join the ranks of the intrepid urban “biker,” and with Danilo’s assistance I settled on a shiny, black cruiser that sold for 200 euros. We decided to increase the number of gears, and he agreed to attach a basket and a bell (and buying a good lock in critical!); the total package came to 280 euros—less than I spent, without the accoutrements, for a similar style, off-the-line bicycle that I own in the States. The bicycle was ready in less than a week, and once I saw my shiny new bike, my uncontrollable excitement had Danilo—who on first impression appeared stern and businesslike—smiling from ear to ear, and I caught a twinkle in his eye that you only find in people who truly love and take pride in what they do. Some Romans have commented that the recent popularity of the bicycle is merely a trend. When I mentioned this to Danilo he disagreed, and expressed that Romans are fascinated by novelty and quick to try new things. “But the bicycle isn’t really ‘new’ and in essence it allows people to better appreciate the city.” On Sundays, for instance, you can find families biking in parks, and in areas once dominated by motorized traffic; it’s a new way to enjoy la Passeggiata.

Even as the country seems to be teetering on the edge of economic crisis, his bicycle sales have remained steady. 2008 was a record year when he sold over 800 bicycles; that may seem like a small figure, but remember this is Italy, where family owned businesses are only opened five days a week, are closed for most major holidays and shutdown for up to two weeks in the summer. The reality is, automotive transportation isn’t going away. But as in De Sica’s era the bicycle has proven to be a necessary, and even vital means of transit.

Collalti Bici
Via del Pellegrino, 82
06 68801084
They also sell bicycle paraphernalia, and offer bicycle repairs and rentals.

Danilo Collalti and my bicycle.

Da Michele Pizza Alla Pala – Kosher
Pizza even Moses would love
Article by Brette A. Jackson
http://www.michelepizza.it

Recently two friends and I met up for lunch, and decided on a slice of pizza. One of them is a diocesan priest, and fellow ex-pat, who's studying to be a papal nuncio; the other was visiting from Texas. As we positioned ourselves in line and discussed our selections enthusiastically, we were interrupted by a wide-eyed, American tourist standing behind us who chuckled, “Now I’ve seen everything: A Roman Catholic priest, an African American woman and a blond hanging out in a kosher pizzeria, in Rome!” I must admit that my two companions and I are not the trio you’d expect to encounter in a kosher establishment (more likely at the opening of a not-so-PC joke!). However, the pizza at Da Michele (formerly Zi Fenizia, named after the owner's grandmother) is so delicious, it transcends both religious and ethnic lines.

Cinzia and Michele Sonnino, Sephardic Jews born and raised in Rome, opened their strictly kosher pizzeria in the heart of the old Jewish ghetto, but moved to the busy area near the Fontana di Trevi in 2006. They still serve some of the city’s best pizza al taglio, rectangular shaped pizza (or more traditionally elliptical-shaped, which you’ll find here), served in portable slices and topped with a dizzying selection of seasonal toppings. Over thirty varieties are offered daily such as: sweet and sour eggplant, broccoli and beef sausage, candy-sweet cherry tomatoes, fresh anchovies and arugula, zucchini blossoms and mushrooms, fresh baby artichokes and tuna, or my favorite, insalata puntarelle (a bitter type of endive dressed with a vinaigrette of anchovies, garlic, vinegar and olive oil) all served on a fantastic, chewy crust. For me eating pizza that’s been made in adherence to millennia old customs—Moses, commanded by God, instructed the Jews as to what, how and when to eat—makes this pizza not only delicious, but intriguing and reminds me just how multicultural this humble fare really is.

Long before the Neapolitans gave the world pizza Margherita, other Mediterranean civilizations created flattened, baked breads (both with or with out leavening) topped with meat, fish, vegetables, etc. While discussing the evolution of Pizza Napoletana in Treasures of the Italian Table, Burton Anderson sites examples of flat breads made in ancient Greece called plakous, and the late author Alan Davidson in his tome The Oxford Companion to Food, discusses pizza’s Middle Eastern history, stating its connection with pitta (the Israeli name for this flat bread of Arab origin) and lahma bi ajeen (flatbread topped with meat, onions and spices). Nice’s famed pissaladière is another example of a pizza-like dish, and if you’ve ever been fortunate enough to sample the genuine article, fresh baked and served in boulangeries across the city, you’ll know how something so seemingly simple, like most Mediterranean foods, can be so wonderfully memorable and satisfying.

My sacerdotal buddy has departed to work in Ethiopia, while my blond chum is back at home in Houston. I, however, still live here, so if you're savvy enough to wander into this little jewel and you see a tall, African-American woman devouring pizza, come in, order a slice and don’t ask!

Da Michele Pizza Alla Pala - Kosher
Via dell'Umiltà, 31
00187 Rome
39 3492525347

Moules Provençale: My Sunny Valentine

Recipe by Brette A. Jackson
Photograph by David T. Mayernik

I developed this Provençal inspired recipe as an antidote to the winter blues. Its cheerful colors and bright, aromatic flavors are evocative of both summer and the sea. Shellfish are considered to be an aphrodisiac, so this dish would make a lovely and romantic Valentine’s Day dinner. Serve with a simple green salad, warm crusty French bread and a fruity rosé.

Serves 2
2 to 2 1/2 lbs of mussels cleaned and de-bearded
1 medium fennel bulb sliced paper-thin
2 medium leeks (white parts only) cut into thin half-moon slices
2 garlic cloves cut into paper-thin slices
1 cup of fruity white wine (such as sauvignon blanc)
2 tablespoons of Pernod (or 1 teaspoon of fennel seeds)
3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil (plus 2 tablespoons for mounting into the sauce at the end)
3 whole canned San Marzano tomatoes chopped
1 large pinch of saffron threads (about a half teaspoon)
1 bay leaf
Chopped Italian parsley and fennel fronds for garnish
Sea salt & fresh black pepper to taste

Place a large Dutch-oven over a low flame and add the two tablespoons of extra-virgin oil. Add the fennel, leeks and garlic slices; cover and sweat until translucent. Add the bay leaf and saffron and cook until fragrant (about 2 minutes or so). Increase the heat and add the Pernod (or fennel seeds) and the wine and boil until reduced by half. Reduce the heat and add the tomatoes; cover and cook for about ten minutes. Increase the heat again and add the cleaned, de-bearded mussels and cover. When most of the mussels have opened, add freshly ground pepper and stir gently; lower the flame to medium and cook, covered, for about three minutes (never overcook mussels or they become tough and rubbery). Turn off the heat and with a slotted spoon scoop out the mussels and add them to a warm, deep bowl (see note). Taste the sauce and add salt, if needed, and fresh pepper; stir the remaining extra-virgin olive oil into sauce and pour over the mussels. Garnish with the chopped parsley and fennel fronds. Bon appetit!

Note: If the mussels have given off a lot of liquid and the sauce appears to be too thin, cover the mussels loosely with aluminum foil to keep them warm. Return the sauce to a high flame and reduce to desired thickness. Turn off the flame and add salt, if needed, and fresh pepper to taste; stir in the extra-virgin olive oil and pour over the mussels. Garnish with the chopped parsley and fennel fronds.

Caffè Sant’ Eustachio: Saints and Secrets
http://www.santeustachioilcaffe.it/

Article by Brette A. Jackson
Information on the History of Sant' Eustachio:
Georgina Masson, "The Companion Guide to Rome"

Romans are as fussy about their coffee as they are about their pasta. A debate about where one finds the best coffee in the Eternal City could go on for, well, an eternity. However, many discerning Romani would agree that excellent coffee can be found at Caffè Sant’ Eustachio, a small coffee bar tucked in the eponymous piazza that houses the church of Sant’Eustachio—recognizable by a large sculpture of a stag’s head that crowns the roof of the church, commemorating the 2nd century martyr who converted to Christianity when he saw a vision of Christ between the antlers of a deer he was hunting near Tivoli. The constant crowds of Romans spilling into the street, sipping caffè from tiny porcelain cups, lets you know that this piazza houses more than one great monument. Sant’ Eustachio is no secret; it’s a Roman institution, and that’s part of its appeal. Unlike other such establishments that rest on antiquated laurels, here you'll find one of the most consistently delicious and unusual espressos in Rome.

Founded in 1938, Caffè Sant’ Eustachio is currently owned by the Ricci family, who are intent on preserving the quality of the 4,000 cups of coffee sold there weekly. Their espresso is like no other you'll find in the city. An amber-colored froth (schiuma) cloaks a viscous dark liquid that has a scent reminiscent of caramel—with a hint of some exotic spice (perhaps cardamom?). The taste is rich, luscious and buttery. It’s served sweetened, but purist can request to have it senza zucchero—true espresso aficionados claim that sugar masks coffee’s natural, aromatic quality. You could spend hours trying to figure out what is it that makes this espresso so extraordinary. But, alas you’ll never really know, since the recipe is a closely guarded secret.

I’ve tried on many occasions to pry the formula out of the green waist-coated baristi, who with their usual severity and professionalism answer dryly “è una segreta,” and don’t bother trying to steal a peek once they’re off performing their magic, since the espresso machines are fitted with stainless-steel shields that completely conceal both the mixture and method in which your caffè is made. On one of my daily excursions there (post caffè satiation), I struck up a conversation with the cafe’s manager Raimondo Ricci, whose close cropped beard gives him a professorial air. Raimondo is often found roosted behind the register where you order your piccolo or grande caffè speciale, and cappuccino (or purchase their roasted coffee beans in bags of 1000, 500, 300, and 200 grams). It was unusually quiet, so I plucked up the courage to ask him how he managed to serve one of the best espressos in Rome? He smiled, amused by my enthusiasm, and asked if I was American. I gave an affirmative nod and he summoned another cashier, positioned her behind the register as if to watch for invading vandals at the city’s gates, and gestured for me to follow him. We walked to the back of the cafe brushing past black and white photos of Henry Kissinger, Boris Yeltsin and other great political giants (being humbled by diminutive cups of espresso) to a room perfumed with the scent of toasted wood and coffee. There a large, ominous machine stands next to piles of burlap sacks of silvery-green, raw coffee beans and a basket filled with kindling. Raimondo began to explain that this machine was used to roast their coffee beans and was modeled after the original coffee bean roasters used during the drink's widespread popularity in Italy at the turn of the century. Oak wood is used to gently roast, every three days, 300 kilos (about 661 lbs.) of 100% Arabica beans (the “champagne” of coffee beans) from Kenya, Costa Rica, Brazil and Columbia, for exactly 20 minutes. The mixture of the beans and the slow, gradual roasting produces a deep, complexly flavored coffee, and the oak adds a slightly sweet, smoky note as well. The beans are then very finely ground, so that the steaming they receive during the espresso making process produces a condensed, viscid liquid.

The espresso machines also play an important role in the flavor of the coffee. The machines remain turned on at all times during the six days of operation. Raimondo explained that allowing the machines to run constantly, maintains the exact temperature of the water used for steaming the ground beans, and makes for a consistently tempered and clean-flavored espresso. Further, as a result of their constant use, and meticulous cleaning, the machines don’t have a chance to build up residual oils and impurities that are extracted from the coffee grounds—the espresso machines at Sant’ Eustachio are subjected to such abuse that they must be replaced every two years.

Satisfied that he had given me sufficient information regarding the high quality of his coffee, I was led back to the front of the bar. A few questions had been answered: the types of beans used, the method in which they are roasted, even the manner in which the machines are maintained and how the coffee beans are steamed. Yet one question remained unanswered: out of the aggregate, how do they achieve that frothy, rich and spicy espresso? Raimondo, who must have read my mind, anticipated what was coming next and dismissively shook my hand. I took the hint, thanked him and left. Heading back to my apartment, I was amused by the fact that like his coffee Raimondo’s informative tour left me gratified, yet craving just a little more....