Pecorino

Variations of this exist around the world, but I like the Spanish version for its paprika and because I like Spanish cheese. A fresh cheese made of sheep’s milk is ideal here, but you can use any soft cheese you like, even mozzarella. This is best when it’s really hot, when the cheese is soft and the outside crisp; serve immediately after making it.

The artichoke is in the thistle family. One medium to large artichoke will yield approximately 2 ounces of delicious edible flesh. An artichoke is fresh when it squeaks as you squeeze it, and feels heavy in your hand for its size. Look for a deep olive green on the outside, and pale tender green on the inside of the petals. Artichokes will last fresh about a week. To store them, sprinkle them with cold water, and refrigerate in an airtight bag. Wash only before using. Italians have endless ways to enjoy artichokes, but I love them in this pasta dish with a little bacon added, a perfect harmony.

Cauliflower, a good vegetable especially in the winter, can be prepared in many ways. I sometimes like just to boil it and while the cauliflower is boiling, add an egg or two to boil as well. When the cauliflower and the eggs cool, I peel the eggs, then toss the cauliflower and eggs into a great salad, dressed just with olive oil and vinegar. But the following is a recipe I got from Torrisi in New York, a deli-looking place set up with sixteen seats for dining. The cauliflower I had was delicious, and the bread crumbs used were made by Progresso, which was started by Italian immigrants in New Orleans in 1905.

Broccoli rabe grew wild in Italy, especially in southern Italy; in places like Puglia, Calabria, Basilicata, and Sicily it was abundant and free for the picking, and thus used especially to dress pasta dishes. Orecchiette, a pasta that has an indentation from being dragged with the finger on a board, was the pasta of choice. All of these regions are on the sea, and mussels were cheap and abundant as well. So it would seem natural that the three ingredients come together to make this wonderful dish. Now broccoli rabe is abundant in the United States, thanks to Andy Boy vegetable growers in California. This recipe is a delightful combination.

Broccoli rabe, the leafy bitter almond-flavored vegetable consumed by the Italians for centuries, has found its way into American hearts. It is great just braised with olive oil and garlic; it makes an excellent soup; it is also delicious stuffed and as a flavoring in some crunchy Italian bread. But I love it with pasta, and not with just any pasta—I love it with orecchiette (little earlobes). Rapini, as it is called in Italy, is a plant in the mustard family that grew wild, especially in southern Italy. In America, the largest producer is Andy Boy, a company founded by Stephen and Andrew D’Arrigo, emigrants from Sicily, who officially named the rapini “broccoli rabe.” They knew that the vegetable that was part of their family table in Italy would make it to the American table.

This delicate and quite simple ravioli is a lovely way to enjoy the affinity of pear and cheese. The filling is a lively blend of shredded ripe pear, shredded 3- to-6-months-aged Pecorino Romano (it should be semisoft), and mascarpone—just stirred together at the last moment.

Here the meaty skillet sauce and the ziti cook at a leisurely pace compared to the rapidity of the preceding capellini with caper sauce. But the cooking principles are the same. In the first few minutes you want to caramelize each ingredient as it is introduced to the pan—this is especially important with the tomato paste, to give it a good toasting before it is liquefied in the pasta water. The sauce needs 6 minutes or more at a good bubbling simmer after adding the water in order to draw out and meld the flavors of the meat and vegetables as well as to soften the pieces of fresh fennel. At that time the ziti will be ready to finish cooking in the sauce.

Escarole is a great vegetable that is used much in Neapolitan cuisine, in soups and salads or just braised with garlic and oil. In this recipe, blanched escarole leaves are wrapped around a savory stuffing (as cabbage often is) and baked. Serve these rolls as an elegant antipasto, or as a vegetarian main course.

Here is a classic pasta, as delicious as it is simple and fast. But because it is such a minimalist creation, every ingredient is of utmost importance. Use a very good authentic pecorino, one produced in Lazio (the Italian region where Rome is located), Tuscany, or Sardinia. The cheese is at its best when aged only 8 to 10 months. And grind the black peppercorns just before making the dish—I like to crush the black pepper by hand in a mortar, into coarse bits that explode with flavor as I enjoy the pasta.

This is less a recipe than an idea, but I assure you that it’s an idea that will continue to inspire you. It began with a jar of marinated Sardinian pecorino that I bought and kept at one of the restaurants. Although the price of the cheese made it as precious as gold, I soon found that it enhanced nearly everything it touched, from pastas to carpaccios. (I admit it’s also terrific snitched directly out of the jar.) If kept covered in olive oil, the cheese will keep nearly indefinitely, though it’s so irrisistable that it won’t last that long. Make sure it is allowed to come to room temperature before using. As you use up the cheese, add the olive oil to vinaigrettes, pasta, and more.

This may be one of the simplest recipes in this entire book, but it’s absolutely addictive, with the marinated pecorino offering a tangy creaminess that coats the silky noodles just so. Don’t be tempted to jazz this up with anything extra—it’s the comforting straightforwardness of the dish that makes it so good. Trying to make it fancy will ruin the magic.

Two things you should know about me and carpaccio: First, I don’t like carpaccio you can see through; I cut mine a little thicker, which gives it better texture and body. Second, I like my carpaccio loaded, the way some people think of nachos or pizza. Here I use some bococcini de pecorino that we keep in the restaurants and some tender baby arugula, but you could use shaved porcini mushrooms, shaved raw artichokes, or sautéed chanterelles—whatever you like. Just load it up.

I came up with this pizza idea when sampling the beautifully made charcuterie of Nathan Anda, who sells at farmers’ markets in the Washington, D.C., area. When he pulled out a package of fatty German-style speck and suggested that it would melt on top of pizza, I had to try it with a bagful of mushrooms I bought from a nearby vendor. He was right: The fat from the speck basted the mushrooms in richness. If you can’t find German-style speck, substitute Italian lardo raw, thinly sliced bacon.

Parmesan and beans sounds an unlikely coupling but I recommend it. Pecorino, a young one, is a possibility here too, or one of the hard sheep’s cheeses British cheese makers are getting so good at.

Among the charcoal and garlic of midsummer’s more robust cooking, a quiet salad of palest green can come as a breath of calm. Last June, as thousands joined hands around Stonehenge in celebration of the summer solstice, I put together a salad of cool notes: mint, fava beans, and young peas—a bowl of appropriate gentility and quiet harmony.

Cheese is the savior of chard, as a crisp crust, a seasoning for soup, a luscious sauce, bringing out its qualities while introducing a note of luxury. Often, the bolder the cheese the more interesting the result, so a well-matured British cheese is a wise choice for something like a shallow chard tart. As a sort of double whammy, I add cheese to the pastry as well as the filling.

When friends found out I was writing a book on ice cream, many felt compelled to “help out” by passing along really odd flavor combinations they’d either seen or heard of. But somehow, I just couldn’t seem to get enthusiastic about combinations like Clam-Raisin or Duck Fat Swirl. However, when Judy Witts raved about this combination, which she’d enjoyed at her local gelateria in Florence, it piqued my interest. After a bit of trial and error, I discovered that the key to preserving the character of pecorino is to very finely dice the cheese rather than grating it. The little bites of salty cheese are the perfect counterpoint to the fruity, pear-flavored custard.

Tofu is like a sponge and will absorb whatever flavors you give it if you squeeze it dry first. I often sandwich the block of tofu between several layers of paper towels and then set the Dutch oven on top to press out as much liquid as possible. If you’re not into tofu, substitute eight ounces of ricotta cheese. Using freshly grated nutmeg is always a treat. I keep a few whole nutmegs in a jar and simply run one across a Microplane grater. Save the rest of the nut in a jar so it will be fresh and aromatic the next time you want it. A whole nutmeg can last a year or longer. Try to break a block of frozen spinach into pieces before adding it to the pot, and realize that it will add some liquid as it melts. Let the pot sit for a few minutes with the lid off before serving to allow the polenta to absorb any extra liquid.

I LOOOOOVE nuts. And this super-classic preparation, which is hugely flavorful and really easy to make, is all about them. I start by toasting and puréeing walnuts—both of which help bring out their flavor and natural fattiness. Combine them with some sharp cheese and spicy arugula, and you end up with a dish that’s luscious and palate cleansing at the same time.