Eating Italy: A Chef's Culinary Adventure (38 page)

That’s what happens when you can’t wait to spend your last weekend together in one of the world’s most romantic cities. Plus, after months of tasting incredible Tuscan food at La Brughiera in Bergamo, we couldn’t wait to taste the cuisine in Tuscany itself. We checked into the B&B and hit the streets of Santa Maria Novella, the most happening quarter in Florence. Near the Florence cathedral, we stumbled across a little wine bar called Fiaschetteria Nuvoli just in time for lunch. The greeter walked us down the stone steps into what seemed like a cave filled with long wooden tables. Wine bottles lined every wall. Service was family style as in most Tuscan trattorias. We sat next to strangers and started passing plates of artisan salumi, grilled crostini, and chicken liver pâté, chatting and nibbling. Then came the ribollita and hand-rolled pici with wild boar Bolognese. The pasta, chewy and delicate, blew away every other pici I’d ever had. And the boar ragù tasted completely different than what I was used to in the north. The meat was ground with pork fat and simmered with Chianti into a chunky Bolognese rather than being braised in beer and shredded. Uncomplicated and absolutely delicious. We didn’t order wine. It just showed up at the table in old-school bottles with wicker baskets, all of it made from Sangiovese grapes grown a few kilometers south of the city. I especially love the family-style dining in Tuscany. For Florentines, it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet new people over a casual meal at one big table.

After lunch, we dipped cantucci cookies in tiny glasses of vin santo—the classic meal closer in the region. That taste of sweetness set us up for an afternoon of wandering through Florence, “the cradle of the Italian Renaissance.” Claudia loves sculpture, so we headed to Galleria dell’Accademia to see the marble statue of
David
by Michelangelo. How he managed to make that Carrara marble come alive is beyond me. But it reminded me that chefs do the same thing when they cook. You can always tell when a dish is dead on the plate. It just sits there. No charm, no aroma, no life! It’s usually because the chef failed to put life into the food. This element of cooking is impossible to quantify, but it’s the most important one, if you ask me.

From the Galleria, we walked to Ponte Vecchio, the old bridge first built over the Arno River in the year 996. They built shops right into the side of the bridge over the arches. Jewelers occupy most of the shops now, but as we walked the bridge I imagined myself as one of the original butchers housed there hundreds of years ago, tossing meat scraps into the Arno.

That night we lined up for dinner at Il Latini on Via dei Palchetti. The restaurant doesn’t let anyone in until seven-thirty or eight and the line stretches around the block. It looks like something out of a movie. Just before opening, the owners hand out glasses of prosecco to everyone outside. They start slicing prosciutto and mortadella and giving you little slivers to whet your appetite. Then they call out names. If you don’t have a reservation, you don’t get in. Luckily, Claudia’ mom’s boyfriend got us two seats. Alluring aromas of wood smoke and salted meat greet you as you walk in. Whole legs of Tuscan prosciutto hang from the arched white ceilings. We sat down, and they handed us menus, saying, “We have this tonight; you should try that; you definitely need to order this. . .” By the time you order, they’ve done the ordering for you. I love that. The steak here comes by the kilo—a generous two pounds of porterhouse grilled over oak with just a sprinkle of rock salt. It was my first true taste of
bistecca alla Fiorentina.
The meat is cut from Chianina, a giant white cattle breed indigenous to the valley near Arezzo. They cook it rare and the beef is super-tender, the fat content perfect. It needs no adornment, but you can order sides of potatoes or beans stewed in tomatoes. As with other Tuscan food, the magic of bistecca alla Fiorentina lies in the high-quality ingredients and focused, unhurried techniques used to prepare them. There’s no special sauce or spicing. No showy garnishes. Tuscans don’t even put salt in their bread. Instead, they grill slices of bruschetta over wood and only then sprinkle on some salt, maybe some olive oil. Seasoning at the end gives Tuscan food a huge flavor impact. That simplicity and boldness is something I’ve tried to capture in my cooking ever since.

The next day was pure relaxation. Claudia and I spent hours mesmerized by the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Michelangelo, and Raphael at the Uffizi Gallery. On the street, we traded bites of
lampredotto
(tripe panini), licked cones of licorice gelato, watched street performers, and stared over the shoulders of aspiring portraitists. As the sun began to sink on the horizon, we made our way back to B&B Novecento and the domed Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral. Built in the 1400s by one of Italy’s most famous architects, Filippo Brunelleschi, the Duomo is probably the best-known spot in Florence. Dozens of stained glass windows glow within its 75-foot (23-m)-tall arches, shining sunlight on sculptures, paintings, and even the tomb of Brunelleschi himself. You have to walk four hundred and sixty-three steps to the top of the dome. There is no elevator. Claudia said she’d meet me outside.

When I got to the top, the view of the city and the late-day sun over the rolling Tuscan hills was utterly breathtaking. I looked down and saw Claudia sitting in the Piazza del Duomo. Her face was turned so I could see the profile of her confident nose and forehead. I grabbed my camera, zoomed in, and snapped a picture. When I checked the image on the screen, my thoughts slowed and my stomach tightened. What if this was it? My last image of Claudia: what I would stare at when I returned to the States next week, alone.

DUCK LIVER ALLA FIORENTINA
with
EGG YOLK
and
BRUSCHETTA

Almost all of the Tuscan trattorias and
fiaschetterie
(wine bars) start you off with
crostini Toscani
, warm chicken liver pâté on toast. I can house about a half-dozen in 3 minutes. It’s just chicken livers sautéed with onions and pureed with some chicken stock, but it’s so good. I love the creaminess of it. Sometimes they add a little pancetta for richness. The pate reminds me of warm tartare served with egg yolk, so I decided to put a raw yolk on my duck liver version.

MAKES 4 TO 6 SERVINGS

1¼ pounds (570 g) duck livers

1 tablespoon (14 g) unsalted butter

1 tablespoon (15 ml) olive oil, plus some for the bruschetta

1 small yellow onion, chopped (⅔ cup/107 g)

2 ounces (57 g) pancetta, chopped

3 sage leaves

Leaves from 1 sprig rosemary

2 tablespoons (30 ml) brandy

About ½ cup (120 ml) Chicken Stock (
page 279
), as needed

1½ teaspoons (7 ml) sherry vinegar

3 tablespoons (12 g) chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, divided

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

8 ounces (227 g) ciabatta, sliced ¼ inch (6 mm) thick

4 to 6 large egg yolks

Rinse, clean, and pat dry the livers. Heat the butter and 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large, deep sauté pan over medium heat. Add the onion and pancetta, and cook until lightly browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the liver, sage, and rosemary, and cook until the liver is lightly browned all over, 6 to 8 minutes. Pour in the brandy, and cook until most of the liquid evaporates and the livers are cooked through, 4 to 5 minutes. Transfer the mixture to a food processor and pulse to a coarse but not completely smooth puree. Transfer to a saucepan and add just enough stock to make a spreadable pâté. Stir in the vinegar and 2 tablespoons (7 g) of the parsley. Taste and season with salt, pepper, and vinegar, as needed. Heat gently just until warmed through, 1 to 2 minutes.

Light a grill or broiler to medium heat. Brush the ciabatta slices with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill or broil until nicely browned on both sides, 1 to 2 minutes per side, taking care not to burn the bread. Cut each slice in half on the diagonal and sprinkle with the remaining parsley.

Spoon the warm liver pâté into small bowls. Place an egg yolk on each portion of pâté. Serve with the bruschetta. (You can refrigerate the leftover whites for 3 to 4 days and use them to make meringue.)

WARM BEEF CARPACCIO
with
ROASTED MUSHROOMS

Eating in and around Florence, you notice food is often served raw, at room temperature, or just barely warm. I tried warming up some raw beef carpaccio one day and it came out awesome. The fat softens, barely starting to melt, and the meat gets just a little warmer than body temperature. With dry-aged beef it tastes better than plain old carpaccio. I usually use 100 percent Black Angus rib-eye steaks aged for seven weeks. The Angus are grass-fed in Arkansas at Creekstone Farms, one of the best producers of natural beef in the United States. It’s the closest I’ve found to Chianina beef from Tuscany. Sliced paper-thin, warmed in a wood oven, and topped with roasted mushrooms and red wine vinaigrette, it’s the perfect appetizer for a fall meal.

MAKES 4 SERVINGS

8 ounces (227 g) maitake mushrooms, left in whole clusters

16 garlic cloves, crushed

8 sprigs rosemary, divided

6 tablespoons (90 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, divided

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

½ cup (120 ml) Chianti Vinaigrette (
page 277
)

8 ounces (227 g) very thinly sliced aged beef rib eye, preferably from Creekstone Farms

Maldon sea salt

Parmesan cheese, for shaving

Preheat a wood oven, charcoal grill, or conventional oven to 300°F (150°C). If using a charcoal grill, pile all the coals to one side.

Toss the mushrooms, garlic, four of the rosemary sprigs, and 4 tablespoons (60 ml) of the oil in a bowl. Season with salt and pepper, then spread on a baking sheet. Roast in the oven or on the unheated side of the charcoal grill until tender but not crisped, 6 to 8 minutes. Tear the mushrooms into small pieces and toss in a bowl with the vinaigrette.

Meanwhile, arrange the sliced beef in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet, then season with salt and pepper and drizzle with the remaining 2 tablespoons (30 ml) of oil. Roast in the oven or on the unheated side of the grill until just warm but not cooked through, about 2 minutes. Transfer to warmed plates and season conservatively with Maldon sea salt. Arrange the mushrooms over the beef and scatter on the rosemary leaves picked from the remaining sprigs. Shave Parmesan over the top. Drizzle the remaining vinaigrette from the bowl over the mushrooms and beef. Serve warm.

Note

If you can’t find aged beef in your market, age it yourself. You’ll need an extra refrigerator or empty wine refrigerator. Put a thermometer and hygrometer in the fridge to monitor the temperature and humidity. These are the most important factors to regulate. Set the fridge temperature to between 34° and 38°F (1° and 3°C). Put a small cool-mist humidifier inside the fridge (Crane makes a compact 1-gallon/4-L model) and adjust the humidifier for 65 to 75 percent humidity. Buy the highest-quality whole rib-eye roast that you can. You want a thick cap of fat to protect the meat and you’ll need about 20 percent extra because the meat will lose 20 percent of its weight during the aging process. Rinse and pat the rib-eye roast dry, then wrap it loosely in a triple layer of cheesecloth. Put it on a wire rack set in a rimmed baking sheet, then put it in the fridge uncovered for three to seven weeks. The longer it ages, the more flavor it will develop. Enzymes will work their magic and create deep, beefy flavors in the meat. Moisture will also evaporate, concentrating the flavors, and mold will grow on the surface. Change the cheesecloth every day or so and replenish the water in the humidifier as necessary. But avoid opening the fridge any more than that, because you want a constant temperature and humidity. After three to seven weeks, cut off the mold and the beef is ready to cook. Thinly slice it for this recipe, cut it into steaks, or roast the rib eye whole.