Salami

No matter how creative we like to be with our pizzas, we also have a big place in our hearts for the classics such as this—essentially a pepperoni pizza with roasted chiles added for extra kick.

Pellicano offers a meat lover’s pizza, so I felt I had to offer one, too. Our version should be called a “pork lover’s pizza” because all four of the meats we put on it—fennel sausage, salami, guanciale, and bacon—are pork.

I was introduced to the concept of a chopped salad in the 1970s at La Scala Boutique, a casual offshoot, now closed, of the Beverly Hills institution La Scala. The salad, which they call the Jean Leon Chopped Salad (it’s now available at the original La Scala restaurant), is made of iceberg lettuce, salami, and mozzarella, all so finely chopped that you almost don’t have to chew it, then topped with ceci, or chickpeas, and a tangy red wine vinaigrette. I was totally addicted to that salad. I’ve been making chopped salads ever since, always with La Scala’s version in mind, but the one we serve at the Pizzeria with aged provolone and Sweet 100 tomatoes is my best yet.

This is a rich, dreamy Italian elaboration of brioche, loaded with flavor bursts in the form of cheese and bits of meat, preferably salami. Since first reading about it in Carol Field’s wonderful The Italian Baker, I’ve also made it with bacon bits, different types of fresh or cured sausage, and even with nonmeat substitutes. The bread is traditionally baked in paper bags or panettone molds, but it can also be baked in loaf pans. Perhaps the best way to think of it is as a savory version of panettone, with cheese and meat replacing the candied fruit and nuts. Serve it warm and the cheese will still be soft; serve it cool and each slice will taste like a sandwich unto itself.

This is not your basic antipasti. Serving a beautiful platter of wood-roasted seasonal vegetables, cured meats, hand-crafted cheeses, home-cured olives, and smoke-kissed crusty bread to family and friends as a prelude to dinner is an artful way to honor guests. This is just what chef Chris Bianco does at his restaurant, Pizzeria Bianco, in Phoenix, Arizona. Chris’s wood-fired pizzas are now legendary, but his wood-roasted antipasti platter sings. I hope you will enjoy my version, and create many versions of your own.

It seems unclear why a dish characteristic of Napoli should be called after a Ligurian port. Some say it’s because a Genovese sailor cooked it for some locals and the goodness of it was hailed throughout the hungry city. Others will tell you that Genovese is nothing more than a torturing of Ginevrina—of Geneva—hence giving a Swiss chef, one from the tribe of the Bourbons’ monzù, no doubt, credit for the sauce (page 84). The truth of its origins, adrift forever, holds less fascination, I think, than the patently simple recipe and the lovely, lush sort of texture the meat takes on from its long, slow dance in the pot.

This sandwich shows how just one special addition—here, a delicious spread—can make a big difference. The spread could also be served with crackers or crostini (page 365) or as a dip for crudités (page 52).

I’ve given an American Southern staple an Italian spin with the addition of Parmesan. The cornmeal makes these biscuits sturdy enough to pack on a picnic, and you can stuff them with smoked salmon (my fave), sliced turkey or ham, or even grilled veggies. Hot out of the oven, they are pretty terrific with just a bit of lemon butter.

There are many versions of the muffuletta sandwich around New Orleans, but it seems that Central Grocery in the French Quarter is the place to go. The store is charming enough, but at the back counter, seated on a stool with a muffuletta sandwich in front of you, is where you want to be. We sat down across from a man who told us he’d had his first muffuletta sandwich here fifty years ago and came back regularly for more. Next to him were a couple who have been coming to Central Grocery to enjoy the muffuletta sandwich for more than forty years. We ordered one without any hesitation. The large hamburger bun–like bread was soaked significantly with the olive-oil dressing of the olive salad; then layers and layers of the salad and the cold cuts were added. The sandwich was cut in four and wrapped in parchment paper. It was ten in the morning, one would say time for breakfast, but the two of us savored the muffuletta sandwich as did all the other customers.

Young potatoes of any sort roast sweetly, especially if scrubbed hard so their skin almost disappears and they are allowed to develop a sticky, golden coating in the oven. They need a few minutes in boiling water before they hit the oven if they are not to toughen as they roast. I match them with robust ingredients—slices of fat-flecked salami or perhaps a spoonful of softly fibrous pork rillettes—as a Saturday lunch.

I often serve this as a main course, but it is in its element as a side dish. Its bright green and smoky-bacon notes would be interesting with grilled mackerel, or perhaps with thinly sliced cold meat such as roast pork or beef. This is essentially a cheap dish, robust and earthy, to which you could add caraway seeds if juniper isn’t your thing, or shreds of fat-speckled salami in place of the bacon, or a few croutons to make it more substantial.

I used to eat these all the time as an after-school snack. Who knew I was actually paying homage to another generation? Make them with or without the pickles; it doesn’t matter.

While this sandwich is not one of our top sellers, it has its fervent followers, like those of the anchovy sandwich (see page 68). Taking our inspiration from the traditional New Orleans muffaletta—the sandwich of salty meats and tangy olive salad on a thick round roll—we often pair a fresh smoked salami similar to a sopressata with a drier saucisson sec. But you can customize your sandwich for your palate with your own favorites: prosciutto, mortadella, pancetta—any salumi will stand up nicely to the myriad flavors that burst from the marinated cauliflower salad. Don’t let the name cauliflower dissuade you—this is not the boiled bane of your childhood. Rather, it’s a textured mix of tastes in a bold marinade, with raisins and caraway seeds.

A hearty yet sophisticated sandwich with enough meat in it to satisfy big appetites. Don’t use your stale, leftover croissants for this; you want the butter to melt and crisp up the dough, making it even flakier and completely delicious.

New Orleans is one of our favorite “kick back” vacation destinations. We go there for the people, the food, the music, and the overall vibe. New Orleans is second only to Memphis in vibeness. We also go there for the sandwiches, and always make a point of digging into one of their most famous, the muffuletta, every time we visit. It’s a killer sandwich, made with spicy Italian meats, cheeses, and a knockout marinated olive salad, the aroma of which is so powerful that when you’re waiting in line it’ll cause you to salivate! Our Memphis Muffuletta has bayou roots for sure. We start with a large round Italian loaf with a sturdy texture, so it can hold up to the delicious mix of ingredients. The meats and cheeses vary, but our favorite is a muffuletta with salami, hot soppressata, mortadella, smoked turkey, Swiss, and aged provolone. Our Memphis kicker is the addition of smoky piquillo peppers from Spain. They infuse the piquant olive salad with an incredible flavor. When it comes to cheese, we go for two flavorful varieties—an imported Swiss and an aged provolone. We call this our backyard sandwich, because it’s actually best if you assemble it in advance and allow it to marinate for about 30 minutes on the cutting board. Then you can cut the big loaf into eight wedges and have dinner on the patio. In New Orleans tradition, serve this sandwich with a cold Abita beer and some spicy Zapp’s potato chips.