Pistachio

Torrone is the Italian version of nougat. The origin of torrone is uncertain, but legend has it that it was served in Cremona, Italy, during the reign of Francesco Sforza, in the fifteenth century. Torrone is full of almonds, hazelnuts, pistachio nuts, and honey.

For this confection you can use practically any combination of nuts or dried fruits and any type of chocolate. Making bark is a good way to use up valuable leftover chocolate.

Purchase high-quality pistachios, and pick through the nuts for the greenest ones. After roasting, rub the nuts between your palms to eliminate as much of the brown skin as possible.

Large cuts of meat are often stuffed after being boned. Here, fresh mint, pistachios, and lemon juice bring Middle Eastern flavors to lamb.

You can make the goat cheese filling one day ahead and refrigerate it. These hors d’oeuvres can be assembled several hours before serving. Loosely cover them with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for up to 3 hours. Bring to room temperature before serving.

Homemade brownies are a good reminder that easy baking doesn’t always involve a packaged mix or an electric mixer. These brownies require only a saucepan for melting the butter and chocolate. Once that’s taken care of, stir in the rest of the ingredients and the batter is ready. That’s it. The texture of these falls in the middle between the dense fudgy style and taller, cakier brownies. Min always takes her mother’s advice and sprinkles the nuts on top so they’ll toast in the oven. A big pan of brownies can do anything. Pass a platter after a casual barbecue blow-out or dress them up with any or all three of the cheater smoked dessert sauces (pages 197 to 199) and ice cream.

Riso nero—black rice—is the dramatic name for a nursery dish offered to children as a light supper or as a sweet after a bit of broth or soup. It is most often just made with rice poached in milk that has been scented with cinnamon and mixed with a few shards of chocolate, the latter giving the dish its name as it melts and turns the rice a deep, dark color. Surely there are lovely similarities between it and pasta in nero della consolazione (page 118). Here I offer its comfort in a more adult version. The same prescriptions apply, though, as this is best presented after a light, reviving soup or, better, after no soup at all, so one can justify slipping one’s fork into the spiced, chocolate depths of a second or third piece of the sweet little pie.

Shanks slowly braised like these composed a winter Sunday lunch served to us in a linoleum-tiled card room snugged behind a bar on the edges of Potenza. The players were sent off precisely at one so that the cook might lay the oil-clothed tables with yellow linens and set them with blue and white china. The eight or ten tables were all reserved, as they were each Sunday, the only day when the improvised dining room was open. We had heard about the wonderful food and asked the signora if we might wait until the table of one of her fixed clients might become available. “Impossibile.” She laughed. “Questi tavoli non saranno liberi prima di mezzanotte.” “These tables will not be free before midnight.” She explained that after lunch, the pretty linens and china would be washed and tucked away to await next Sunday, leaving the gaming tables free for cardplaying throughout the afternoon and evening. When one booked a table, one booked it for lunch and endless rounds of briscola, the high-stakes action to which even the women were invited on Sundays. A lovely and entrepreneurial program, we thought, but what about our lunch? The sympathetic signora made room for us, tightening up the seating around a table for four, adding two more place settings and chairs. And so we dined with the priest and his mother and a retired fruitseller and his wife, all of whom spoke only in dialect while we bumped along in Italian. The encumbrance of language soon dissolved in the mists of the signora’s beautiful food. Plates of local, dried sausages and farmhouse cheeses, baskets of just-fried, bay-perfumed breads, a soup of bitter greens, great bowls of rough, handmade pasta sauced only with the rich liquors from braised lamb and dusted with pecorino and, finally, the whole, braised shanks of lamb themselves, sending up sublime perfumes of garlic and rosemary. And as sustaining as is the memory of the company and the food on that Sunday in Potenza, it is another scene that plays more sweetly in my mind. A sort of coming-of-age for me—it was there that I learned, fast and well, the secrets of briscola.

A gastronomic heirloom of the coast, this is a humble recipe made from the bits and pieces of what was at hand, sometimes eaten as a principal dish or a contorno, a side dish, other times as a sweet. It is still presented— though in dramatically different versions—in cherished places such as Da Gemma in Amalfi. This take, however, is lighter, less vegetal than most of those with which we’ve been presented, the trick being the absolute thinness of the eggplant slices. This enables them to blend better with the other components, all of them then settling down together into a nicely married sort of flavor and texture. More eccentric than it is bizarre, this version of the ancestral dish turns out to be quite luscious.

When basil grows in my garden, I want to make the most of it. To enhance its aroma, I pair it with pistachios and add a hit of chile and lemon zest to brighten it. Be sure to start with roasted pistachios in their shells and to keep the pesto coarse to highlight the crunch of the nuts.

This pasta dish pairs creamy with crunchy, tart with sweet. Summer string beans also offer a little crunch to balance the juiciness of the tomatoes. I especially like using orange Sunbursts from my garden.

You can also make this recipe in a fourteen-by-four-inch rectangular tart pan with a removable bottom. Roll out the dough to a sixteen-by-six-inch rectangle before fitting it into the pan; bake with parchment and weights for fifteen minutes, then remove parchment and weights and bake for eight to nine minutes more.

These red-and-green-flecked cookies are particularly festive at Christmas; Martha likes to bake several batches to give away as gifts.

These cupcakes are made with a triple dose of pistachio: Some nuts are ground to a paste and mixed into the batter; others are chopped and folded in at the end for added texture. Even more nuts are sprinkled on top as a colorful garnish. Slivered pistachios are available at specialty markets and baking-supply stores; if you can’t find them, use chopped pistachios instead.