Italian Recipes for the Family That Eats Together
Ziti al Forno
(Baked Ziti)
(8 to 12 servings)
Carmela's baked ziti is a hit with Father Phil, who enjoys it with Carmela and a few too many glasses of Chianti in front of the fire (though the red pepper flakes that Father Phil likes in the pasta are missing from this recipe). The recipe includes Sunday Gravy, a staple that was a part of many a Sunday meal in the Italian home. In a traumatic flashback, Tony recalls his mother, Livia, frying meat for her gravy -- "red lead" as Tony calls it.
-- From "The Sopranos Family Cookbook" by "Artie Bucco," Michele Scicolone and Allen Rucker (Warner Books, 2002).
1 pound ziti
Salt to taste
4 to 5 cups Sunday Gravy (recipe follows) With Meatballs
1 cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano or Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1 cup ricotta
8 ounces mozzarella, cut into small dice
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
In a large pot, bring at least 4 quarts of water to a boil. Add the ziti and salt to taste and cook, stirring frequently, until the ziti is al dente (tender yet firm to the bite). Drain the ziti, transfer to a large bowl and toss with about 3 cups of the Sunday Gravy and half of the Pecorino. Gently stir in the meatballs from the Sunday Gravy. Spoon half of the ziti mixture into a 31/2-quart baking dish (a 9-by-13-by-2-inch baking dish works well). Spread the ricotta, mozzarella and half of the remaining Pecorino evenly over the top. Pour 1 cup of the remaining Sunday Gravy sauce evenly over the top. Top with the remaining ziti mixture. If the mixture looks dry, pour another cup of the Sunday Gravy over the top. Sprinkle the remaining Pecorino on top. Cover the dish with foil. (The ziti can be refrigerated for up to 12 hours at this point. Remove the dish from the refrigerator about 30 minutes before baking.)
Bake the ziti for 45 minutes. Uncover and bake 15 to 30 minutes longer, until the center is hot and the sauce is bubbling around the edges. Cover loosely with foil and let rest for 15 minutes before serving.
Per serving (based on 8): 729 calories, 45 gm protein, 53 gm carbohydrates, 37 gm fat, 143 mg cholesterol, 16 gm saturated fat, 1,043 mg sodium, 3 gm dietary fiber
Sunday Gravy With Meatballs
(Makes about 8 cups)
For the sauce:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound meaty pork neck bones or spareribs
1 pound veal stew meat or 2 veal shoulder chops
1 pound Italian plain or fennel pork sausages
4 garlic cloves, peeled
1/4 cup tomato paste
Three 28- to 35-ounce cans Italian peeled tomatoes
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
6 fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces
For the meatballs:
1 pound ground beef, or a combination of beef and pork
1/2 cup plain dried bread crumbs
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon very finely minced garlic
1/2 cup (about 2 ounces) freshly grated Pecorino Romano or Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh flat-leaf (Italian) parsley
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus additional for the pan
For the sauce: In a large deep pot over medium heat, heat the oil. Pat the pork dry and add it to the pot. Cook, turning occasionally, until nicely browned on all sides, about 15 minutes. Transfer the pork to a platter.
Brown the veal in the same way and transfer it to the platter.
Place the sausages in the pot and brown on all sides. Transfer them to the platter.
Drain almost all of the fat from the pot. Reduce the heat to medium-low, add the garlic and cook until golden, about 2 minutes. Remove and discard. Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring, for 1 minute.
Add the tomatoes and their juices to the pot and season with salt and pepper to taste. (Before adding them to the pot: For a smoother sauce, use a food mill to puree the tomatoes and their juices. For a chunkier sauce, use a knife or blender to chop the tomatoes.)
Return the pork, veal and sausages to the pot. Add the basil, increase the heat to medium-high and bring the sauce to a simmer. Cover the pot partially and cook, stirring occasionally, for 2 hours. If the sauce becomes too thick, add a little water.
While the sauce is cooking, make the meatballs.
For the meatballs: In a large bowl combine the ground beef, bread crumbs, eggs, garlic, cheese, parsley and salt and pepper to taste and, using your hands, mix together thoroughly. Rinse your hands with cold water and lightly shape the mixture into tiny balls the size of small grapes. You should have about 12 dozen mini-meatballs. (If you wish to make meatballs to serve over pasta rather than include in Baked Ziti, shape the mixture into 2-inch balls.)
In a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat, heat the oil. Add the meatballs and cook, turning as necessary, until browned on all sides but not cooked through. (Do not crowd the skillet; may have to cook in batches.) It may be necessary to add additional oil to keep the meatballs from sticking. Transfer the meatballs to a plate; they will finish cooking later.
After the sauce has simmered for 2 hours, add the meatballs to the sauce and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens, the meatballs are cooked through and the larger meats are tender, about 30 minutes.
To use in Baked Ziti, use a slotted spoon to remove the meats from the sauce. Use the meatballs for the Baked Ziti. Reserve the pork, veal and sausage for a second course or for another meal or dice and add to the Sunday Gravy that remains and reserve both for another meal.
Per serving (based on 8): 673 calories, 44 gm protein, 18 gm carbohydrates, 47 gm fat, 205 mg cholesterol, 16 gm saturated fat, 1,231 mg sodium, 3 gm dietary fiber
Saffron Risotto Cakes
(Makes about 18 cakes)
The Italian family weeknight meal often makes the most of what is at hand, and cakes or fritters are a delicious way to deal with leftover risotto. In this recipe, the Scotto family starts from scratch, to make them a worthy accompaniment to baked chicken or a roast.
-- From "Italian Comfort Food" by Marion, Rosanna, Anthony Jr. and Elaina Scotto (Regan Books, 2002).
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus additional for frying
1 shallot, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
2 cups uncooked Arborio rice
2 cups white wine
4 cups chicken stock
1/2 cup sweet peas
3/4 cup (about 3 ounces) mozzarella cheese
1 cup (about 4 ounces) grated Parmesan cheese
4 tablespoons butter
2 pinches saffron threads
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
About 1/4 cup flour
In a heavy stockpot over medium heat, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil. Add the shallot and garlic and cook until softened and golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes.
Add the rice and wine, increase the heat to medium-high and cook, stirring constantly, until the wine has reduced by half, about 10 minutes. Slowly add the stock and cook, stirring constantly to make sure rice does not stick to the pan, until the rice has absorbed most of the liquid, about 15 minutes.
When the rice is almost but not quite cooked through, add the peas, mozzarella and Parmesan cheeses, butter, saffron and salt and pepper to taste. Cook, stirring, until the rice becomes creamy, about 5 minutes.
Transfer the rice to a nonstick baking sheet and, using the bottom of a flat spatula, spread the rice out to a depth of about 1/2 inch. Set aside to cool for 1 hour.
Using a 3-inch cookie cutter lightly dusted with flour, cut out round risotto shapes. The risotto that's left on the sheet when you're done cutting out the rounds can be gathered together to make additional risotto cakes.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
In a saute pan (preferably nonstick) over medium heat, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons oil. Add some of the risotto cakes, being careful not to crowd the pan, and cook, adding more oil if necessary, until they are golden brown, about 4 minutes per side. (You will need to cook the cakes in batches.) Repeat with the remaining cakes. Return the cakes to the baking sheet and bake until warmed through, about 5 minutes. Serve immediately.
Per serving (based on 2 cakes): 924 calories, 30 gm protein, 105 gm carbohydrates, 32 gm fat, 70 mg cholesterol, 16 gm saturated fat, 966 mg sodium, 3 gm dietary fiber
Ricotta Pie
(8 servings)
Beware of Carmela bearing her ricotta pie. She approaches her neighbor, Jean Cusamano, with the hope that Jean's twin sister, Joan, will write a letter of recommendation to Georgetown University for Meadow Soprano. When Joan balks, Carmela shows up at her office with the pie and a look that means business. The letter is written.
Carmela also uses the pie to comfort. She brings some to Livia at the retirement home. "I can't eat that, it's got cholesterol," snarls Livia. "I made it with low-fat cheese," says Carmela, patiently.
-- From "The Sopranos Family Cookbook" by "Artie Bucco," Michele Scicolone and Allen Rucker (Warner Books, 2002).
For the pie:
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup fine graham cracker crumbs (about 3 crackers)
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
15-ounce container ricotta cheese (preferably whole milk)
2 large eggs
1/2 cup heavy (whipping) cream
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
For the topping:
20-ounce can crushed pineapple in syrup
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
For the pie: Spread the butter over the bottom and sides of a 9-inch springform pan or pie pan. Add the crumbs, turning the pan to coat the bottom and sides. Set aside.
In a large bowl, stir together the sugar and cornstarch. Add the ricotta, eggs, cream, lemon zest and vanilla and beat until smooth. Scrape the mixture into the prepared pan. Bake for 50 minutes, or until the pie is set around the edges but still slightly soft in the center. Transfer to a wire rack to cool to room temperature.
For the topping, drain the pineapple well, reserving 1/2 cup of the syrup. Set aside.
In a medium saucepan, stir together the sugar and cornstarch. Stir in the reserved 1/2 cup pineapple syrup and the lemon juice. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, just until thickened, about 1 minute. Add the reserved drained pineapple and stir to combine. Remove from the heat; set aside to cool slightly.
To serve, spread the pineapple mixture over the pie. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving.
Per serving: 310 calories, 8 gm protein, 35 gm carbohydrates, 16 gm fat, 105 mg cholesterol, 9 gm saturated fat, 93 mg sodium, 1 gm dietary fiber
© 2002 The Washington Post Company
This Is Family Style?
Memo to The Sopranos: Pass the Pasta And Mind Your Manners
By Jeanne McManus
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, September 4, 2002; Page F01
WHEN NEW JERSEY MOB BOSS Tony Soprano pulls up his chair to the head of the table, hunches over his plate and spears and pokes his pasta unremittingly with a fork, he sets in motion the crazy dynamic of that dysfunctional dinner table. In the charged atmosphere of the Soprano dining room, a new and frenzied spin is added to the phrase "family style."
Though most cultures embrace the ritual of a family dinner (whether or not they actually practice it), the Italians have made it an art form. "Family style" at its most basic dining-table definition means that the food is put on platters and brought to the table, not portioned onto plates by the cook in the kitchen. But equally important as the substance -- pasta, meatballs, chicken, all lifted easily from the platter -- is the style, which emphasizes sharing, nurturing and communication.
"Family food in Italy -- or anywhere -- is not about sustenance, but about nourishment, comfort and togetherness, that you were taken care of at the end of the long day," says Micol Negrin, author of "Rustico: Regional Italian Country Cooking" to be published in October by Clarkson Potter.
But why should there be peace, solace, comfort, sharing or nurturing at the Soprano table? After all, this is a family where food triggers panic attacks (Tony and meat), where food is used to extort (Carmela brings a ricotta pie and extracts a letter of recommendation for her daughter to Georgetown University), to seduce (Father Phil likes his ziti) or as a weapon (Junior smashes Roberta with a pie, Gloria throws a steak at Tony's head). And, above all, hogs and humans are slaughtered in the same butcher shop. (It pays to know your purveyors.)
The show returns to HBO for its fourth season on Sept. 15 with every promise that the feuding will continue if not escalate.
Have Italians been curing prosciutto for 2,000 years only to watch their way of life portrayed as some 21st century indigestion-inducing dinner-table knockdown on cable TV?
"What disturbs me about the Sopranos is the lack of decorum," says John Mariani, whose newest book with Galina Mariani is "The Italian-American Cookbook" (Harvard Common Press). "I never heard language like that at the table, especially from children. I don't care where these people come from, Italians don't talk that way."
Sometimes it's the simple four-member unit: paterfamilias Tony, materfamilias Carmela, daughter Meadow and son AJ. Sometimes it's the extended family. In any configuration, when they gather together to eat, they draw battle lines, fight across generations, fuel rivalries and shout obscenities. Someone runs from the table in a rage.
And Now, a Cookbook
To accompany the return of the show, Warner Books has created "The Sopranos Family Cookbook," a fictional compilation of memorabilia, inside jokes and photographs of that loveable family that lives in the nouveau mansion on top of the hill in North Caldwell, N.J.
The cookbook includes recipes for Carmela's famous ziti and ricotta pie and an "interview" of the fictional character Carmela by another of the series characters, Artie Bucco (owner of the torched Vesuvio Ristorante and then, inevitably, the Nuovo Vesuvio Ristorante). In their conversation, Carmela emphasizes the importance of her role in the family meal.
"ARTIE: Carmela, you are a woman who is monetarily comfortable, why don't you have someone come in and help with the meals?
"CARMELA: You know, that never crossed my mind. First of all, I don't like strangers in the house, nor does Tony . . . I love to cook. Call me old-fashioned, but I think cooking is one way -- maybe the best way -- of communicating to my family that I love them."
But let's go to the videotape:
• Season 1, Episode 7 ("Down Neck"): In the first view of the family in the dining room, Tony, Carmela, Meadow and AJ are joined by Livia, Tony's mother, and Uncle Junior, Tony's uncle. AJ has been suspended from school for stealing sacramental wine and showing up drunk for gym class.
To Tony's horror, Livia rats on her own son, telling AJ about Tony's childhood misdemeanors (stealing a car); Tony and Uncle Junior squabble. AJ mutters something. Carmela, provoked, metes out AJ's punishment along with the family meal: no TV, no Nintendo and he has to visit Livia at the retirement home. AJ runs from the table.
• Season 1, Episode 9 ("Boca"): With Livia and Uncle Junior again at the table, there's a testy conversation about Meadow's soccer team. Meadow runs from the table.
• Season 1, Episode 12 ("Isabella"): Livia does her guilt trip, accusing Tony of selling her house only to send her to a "glue factory" (the retirement home). Tony runs from the table.
Granted, this is a dysfunctional family in extremis. But for healthy or even less than perfect families, are the noblest of intentions -- to share, to eat together, to communicate -- likely to fall apart at the emotional breeding ground that is the dinner table? Is it worth the effort to gather together or do little rifts widen? Or can a group meal help to patch things up, to make the family stronger?
"For the Sopranos, the big meal of the day is a mirror," says Harvey Ruben, clinical professor and director of continuing education of the Department of Psychiatry at the Yale School of Medicine. The family dinner "reflects the pathology of the family. Food may be there in bounteous portions, but there's skewed communication, not a sharing of thought and feelings, but fighting and arguing."
There are other major-league mistakes that grind away at the Soprano family core. According to Norman B. Epstein, a family therapist, psychologist and professor in the department of family studies at the University of Maryland, College Park, "It's probably best to avoid conflictual topics. Call a family meeting for those, but don't do it at the dinner table."
But in the Soprano home, "no boundaries are honored by anyone," says Epstein, "so that plays out at the meal. Someone leaves the table, and no one goes to bring that person back into the fold."
Whose Family Style?
Michele Scicolone, a respected Italian cookbook author, sat down and watched all three seasons of the show before she began to create the recipes for "The Soprano Family Cookbook." The experience made her think not just about the ingredients, but about the essence of family style.
"Family-style food is not the food you see in Italian restaurants," says Scicolone, the author most recently of "Italian Holiday Cooking" (William Morrow, 2001). "Not to say it's necessarily humble, or easy to prepare, but family-style food has a simplicity about it. And I wondered why I hadn't used these kinds of recipes in some of my other books. Maybe because family style comes to people naturally. It was nice to look at the recipes I had taken for granted."
Scicolone's grandparents were from Naples; growing up in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, she recalls that the table was the place for lively discussion. "There was no other place where you could discuss everything, and be free and open."
"Family style? We didn't think about it or call it that, it had no special name," says local chef Roberto Donna. "For us, it was instinct," says Donna. He is sitting with his visiting relatives -- his mother, Anna, sister Loredano Porasso and her husband, Silvano -- in the Laboratorio at Galileo, his downtown Washington restaurant, a few hours before the dinner crush arrives. It's not the family table in Donna's home town of San Raffaele Cimena, outside Torino in the Piedmont region of Italy, but you get the picture.
In Italian, the four interrupt, gesture, tell stories about each other, briefly defer to Anna who is folding napkins for the dinner service, then interrupt their interruptions.
Were there arguments at their table? "Arguments? Oh, yes," assures Donna. "We argue about anything. It's normal for Italians: Everyone has his own opinions."
Born in Milan, author Negrin learned early that the family meal was the big thing of the day. Her mother would say "Butto la pasta!" -- "I'm throwing the pasta in the water" -- and that, says Negrin, "was the signal that everyone should wash their hands and go sit down and wait for dinner. The focus was on food and then, as a result, conversation. There was never a TV playing in background. The meal was a time to talk, catch up, share."
In the just published "Italian Comfort Food" (Regan Books), the Scotto family chronicles the cooking of five generations of family. "We never got to the table to argue," says Marion Scotto, matriarch of the family that runs the Fresco by Scotto restaurant in New York City. "There was laughter, good wine and music." And the key to this harmony? "Politics and money were never discussed."
The model of the family meal at its best, perfected by the Italians, among other cultures, may not be practical in America today. Overworked parents, overscheduled kids, carpools, traffic and the ease of ordering takeout all conspire against a nightly or even a weekly assembling.
Real Italian Style
Lynne Rossetto Kasper is the author of "The Splendid Table: Recipes from Emilia-Romagna, the Heartland of Northern Italian Food (William Morrow, 1992) and "The Italian Country Table: Home Cooking From Italy's Farmhouse Kitchens" (Scribner, 1999). In the course of researching her two books, she spent months in the Italian countryside, sitting at family farm tables, sharing meals.
"I saw in people's lives a system in place. Four generations of family lived in proximity to each other."
Food was passed, there was generosity, even if it was only polenta and greens. (And she adds with a tone that means business: "Heaven help you if you don't show up.")
The land that they farmed together and the work that they shared fused them. "Even in the 'Godfather' movies," says Kasper, "family style meant trust. Who else can you trust? Part of that came from the idea that you all work together. Who has more of a vested interest in the business than your own family?"
In "The Italian Country Table" Kasper observed that at the center of every Italian village was the bell tower of the church, the campanile. "Within the sound of those bells is the land, home, family and the only people to truly be trusted."
For families scattered far and wide today, family style can be jarringly translated, as it is in the stereotypical and falsely convivial Italians in the Olive Garden restaurants' TV commercials. The chain's ads show Italian Americans entertaining their Old World relatives in settings that America knows dot shopping centers, eating meals that have been compared to fast food. "We celebrate family in a place that wants to run up the bill," bemoans Kasper, who admits she wants to "heave something" at the television when the commercials appear.
What hope is there of keeping alive the tradition of the family meal? "We've left the place where the bell tower rang," says Kasper. "So friends become family. They're like cards that we shuffle. We lose some, we leave some behind, but they are still there. I can't imagine getting together that isn't at the table. We've created family style, but in our own way."
Most of us will never know firsthand how a real-life mobster and his family eat, nor will we likely buy sausage at Satriales. But the extremes laid out by the Soprano family table make one thing clear to any viewer, of any ancestry, from any family: There's more to a good meal than food.
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