Veal

Wiener schnitzel (German for “Viennese cutlet”) is a time-honored Austrian dish believed to be inspired by the Italian methods of cooking cutlets known as Milanese or scaloppine. All of these are variations of the same technique: a cutlet (either veal, chicken, or pork) is coated with flour, then beaten egg, then bread crumbs before being pan-fried to a golden crisp. What distinguishes Wiener schnitzel from other sautéed meats is that the pan-fried cutlets pay a second visit to the pan for a last-minute dip into sizzling butter. Because the cutlets are breaded in a three-step method, they have a wonderfully crisp crust. The method is ideal when pan-frying cutlets and other smaller pieces since they will be able to cook through in the same time the crust turns crisp and brown. The process is simple but each step has a purpose: The flour creates a dry surface for the egg to cling to, while the egg serves as the “glue” for the breading, and the crumb coating (such as bread crumbs, panko, or ground nuts) adds unbeatable texture and flavor. Pat or press the crumbs firmly onto the meat and gently shake off any excess.

Brown stock gets its color—and its flavor—from the initial step of roasting bones and vegetables, often with a bit of tomato paste added to promote browning and impart a caramelized flavor, as well as a touch of acidity. After the contents of the pan are transferred to a stockpot, the pan is deglazed (either with water or red wine) to incorporate all the flavorful browned bits, which then, too, get added to the pot. In classical French cooking, brown stock is made with veal bones to produce a delicate-bodied soup. In the recipe that follows, beef is added for deeper flavor, but you can replace the beef with more veal bones (or veal stew meat) for the traditional version. Brown stock can also be made with chicken (see variation); this would be ideal for using in more robust dishes, such as braised meats. Heed the general rules for making all stocks, including simmering very gently, skimming frequently, and keeping enough liquid in the pot so that everything is submerged at all times. Brown stock is also the basis for other classic preparations, including demi glace and glace de viande (see page 52).

When I was building the Pizzeria menu, I wanted it to be a true Italian pizzeria experience with a nod to the Italian-American pizzerias that I grew up eating in. With those American pizzerias in mind, I felt that we had to offer meatballs. What I really wanted to serve was a meatball sandwich, but as strongly as I argued for it, Matt argued against it. He softened over time and finally, two years after the Pizzeria opened, I got my meatballs—not as a sandwich, but as an antipasto: a bowl of meatballs served with buttered semolina toast on the side. Today they are the most popular antipasto in the restaurant.

Whoever named sweetbreads had an ingenious idea—to give such a nice-sounding name to a part of the animal, the thymus gland, that doesn’t sound all that appetizing. I’ve found that despite the clever name, otherwise open-minded eaters are often squeamish when it comes to eating sweetbreads—a shame, since they can be out of this world. These are seared so they have a crisp exterior and creamy interior. Sweetbreads and artichokes are a pretty typical Italian pairing, and one that I love. While this isn’t a difficult dish to make, it does require several steps, so plan ahead.

One of my favorite daytrips from my house in Italy is to the town of Panzano in Chianti, to visit the world-famous butcher Dario Cecchini. Dario has been covered by every food publication imaginable, and since Bill Buford wrote about him in his memoir, Heat, Dario’s shop has become a mecca for foodies traveling in Italy. To meet the demand of his fans, Dario now has three restaurants that people can visit while they’re there: a steakhouse serving prime cuts, such as bistecca fiorentina, a classic preparation of a T-bone or porterhouse grilled over a wood fire; a hamburger restaurant, Dario Plus; and my favorite of the three, Solo Ciccia. This restaurant, whose name means “only meat,” offers lesser cuts of meats prepared in a variety of ways, many of them cooked long and slow, or stracotto, like this dish. Veal breast isn’t something you’ll find at your average grocery store, so you’ll have to get it from a butcher, and you will probably have to special-order it. Ask the butcher to save the bones he carved the breast from, as you’ll use those to make the stock in which the meat is braised. While you’re at it, have him roll and tie the breast for you, too. Even though this might be out of your ordinary shopping routine, the good news is that you’ll end up with a rich, luxurious veal dish for not a lot of money.

Prior to his working at Del Posto, Matt went to Italy with Mario for a story for Gourmet. The premise of the story was that Mario was taking his chefs and the general manager from Del Posto to Italy, specifically to the center of Emilia-Romagna, to show them what it was like to eat there. They ate sixty-two courses in five days and Matt had a lot of dishes to talk about, but the one he was most excited about was the ragù bolognese he had at Diana, a restaurant just outside the main piazza in Bologna. It was as if his eyes had just been opened. He called me right after that meal: “It was rich but delicate and with a touch of sweetness,” he told me. When they got back to New York, while Matt was relegated to the soup station of the kitchen, Mark Ladner and Mark’s team at Del Posto attempted to create a bolognese that captured the spirit of the one at Diana. When Matt tasted Mark’s version, he called me again, excited: “They did it!” he said. “They nailed it.” And that— the Del Posto version of the Diana bolognese—was what Matt was going for when we opened Mozza. Having eaten at Diana myself, I can also tell you that Matt nailed it. When making bolognese, the most important thing is to go slow. You never want the meat to cook directly against the pan, because you want to braise the meat, not brown it. The “secret” to it is the Soffritto, which takes several hours to make—so give yourself time. This is slow food!

You can ask your butcher to cut veal bones into small pieces for you.

This lasagne was designed for a deep-dish baking pan. You can use a standard 9 × 13-inch baking pan, but you will have excess sauce; the sauce can be frozen and used over pasta another time. The lasagne can be assembled up to 1 day ahead and left to cool completely. Cover, unbaked, and refrigerate up to 1 day in advance, or freeze, unbaked, up to 3 weeks in advance. Defrost overnight in the refrigerator; bake as directed below.

(Can be prepared ahead of time.)

Cutlets or chops of veal are pressed with oregano, garlic, and bread crumbs, then sautéed or grilled and proffered throughout the island as the fish-phobic’s Sicilian supper. One is likely to be presented with a fibrous little cutlet that makes one long to be supping somewhere else. This version, though, inspired by Osteria ai Cascinari in Palermo, begs the rubbing of a good, thick chop with a paste of herbs before giving it a quilt of crumbs mixed with pecorino and sesame seeds and, finally, a brief sauté and a splash of white wine. It makes for a fine dish, especially when accompanied with a bit of pesto di pistacchi e olive (page 193).

Traditionally, the gatekeep of an apartment building in Napoli is a widow or a widower of a certain age, one of whose missions, as spiritual guardian of the palazzo, is to slot the mail—after fastidious palpating of its contents, lifting it to the light of the sun, trawling it for heretical intelligence, and generally shadowing the recipient’s movements by it, to diligently rouse, invent, and unbosom internal gossip. The good gatekeep only breaks from these industries to stir at or baste some one of his legendary little potions, all of which signal to the tenants as they cross the threshold what will be the old watchdog’s supper.

It was not often,that one was plump enough in the purse to buy a kilo or so of meat from the butcher, carry it home, and cook it up into some luscious, soulful dish. When fortune placed in one’s purse a few centesimi more than were necessary for subsistence, one sought out the carnacottaro (an itinerant seller of cooked meat).

Here is a simple presentation of the components of Rome’s saltimbocca embroidered with spring peas and tomatoes.

Braised meats are ideal for any large gathering because much of the work can be done the day before. In my opinion, braises actually taste better when the flavors have had time to meld and develop. And in the braising process, not only have you cooked the meat, you’ve also created a sauce. Osso buco is a classic braised dish of northern Italy, usually garnished with gremolata, a popular condiment made of minced lemon zest, parsley, and garlic. That’s fine in the winter, but in spring, I like to add two of my favorite spring ingredients: peas and pea shoots. It’s a brighter rendition of the traditional preparation. The risotto, perfumed with saffron, is the perfect starch for spooning up with the braising juices. I’m usually pro-cheese, but in the case of this risotto I find myself torn. Though the Parmesan gives the risotto richness, without it the dish is a little lighter and “more of the season.” You decide.