European

Veal chops are always something of an extravagance, though worth it when well prepared. In this exciting recipe from Valle d’Aosta, thick rib chops are stuffed with the region’s prized fontina, browned, and braised on the stovetop, then baked. The result is quite grand, because the succulent meat and pan sauce are enriched with driblets and hidden pockets of sweet melted fontina. And if you want to go superluxe for a special occasion, shave fresh truffle on top of each chop just before serving. To return to earth, however, let me point out that you can make costolette alla fontina in more modest versions that are absolutely delicious and much easier on the pocketbook. For instance, you can form veal scallopine into envelopes to enclose the fontina, or stuff a veal loin chop, a thick pork chop, or a plump chicken breast in place of the veal rib chop. You may have to adjust the amount of cheese you put inside, and adjust the cooking time at each step to avoid overcooking. But if your meat, wine, olive oil, tomato paste, and broth are of fine quality, and—most important—if you use real fontina (and Grana Padano or Parmigiano-Reggiano), you will produce a splendid dish.

In many mountain regions of Italy, chestnuts have been cultivated and gathered as staple foods for generations. In Valle d’Aosta (with thousands of cows), it is customary to cook chestnuts and rice together in milk, a simple, nourishing dish that lends itself to many variations. Traditionally, riso e castagne was made as a light supper in the evening, especially for children before bedtime. The dish has a natural sweetness that kids love, and if you emphasize that quality with sugar, honey, or a swirl of jam, you have a lovely dessert or sweet brunch dish. It is just as easy, though, to take riso e castagne in a savory direction, as I do in this recipe. With a finish of fontina and grana, it becomes a rich-tasting chestnut-flavored riso or risotto, wonderful as a primo or as a main course. And if the same dish is cooked with more milk—or less rice—it becomes a comforting, creamy, and warming zuppa, which I am sure is much appreciated in the Alpine winter.

This might seem like an unusual dish, a pasticciata (a layered casserole) of bread and cheese that’s baked, cut into portions, and served in a bowl of hot broth. Yet the tastes and eating pleasure of seuppa ou piat will be completely familiar and welcome to anyone who loves the gratinéed crouton of French onion soup or enjoys a crispy grilled-cheese sandwich with a bowl of rich chicken broth alongside. This is a good dish for company, because you can have both the broth and the pasticciata hot and ready to be put together when your guests come. (Chicken stock is my preference, but a savory vegetable stock or a meaty beef broth is just as good.)

If you liked the fondues so popular in the 1960s—those pots or chafing dishes of melted cheese in which everyone dunked crudités, crackers, and bread—you will be thrilled to taste an authentic fonduta as it is prepared in Valle d’Aosta. Though the technique of melting cheese over a low flame is much the same, the main ingredient makes all the difference: nothing compares to a fondue of authentic fontina, the sweet, nutty, semi-soft cheese made only in the Aosta Valley—and only from the milk of those gentle dappled red, brown, and black Valdostana cows. Customarily served as a dip for chunks of toasted bread, fonduta is a great sauce for all kinds of foods. I like it on poultry and meats, such as poached chicken or turkey breast, or lightly seared veal medallions; or on vegetables—steamed asparagus, broccoli, cardoons, celery, and many more. And it’s delicious spooned over a bowl of hot polenta or boiled gnocchi. There’s one more thing I must tell you. La sua morte, as it is said in Italian, the ultimate pleasurable enjoyment of fonduta alla Valdostana, is to top it with shavings of fresh white Alba truffle from neighboring Piemonte. Two Italian treasures in one dish.

What I love about this recipe is its simplicity. With a chunk of fontina or other fine cheese and some tasty vegetables—here I use slices of roasted peppers and green olives—you have the basis for a zesty Alpine salad any time of the year. Freshly roasted peppers are best, but you can use jarred peppers if you like. The creamy mustard dressing can be whipped up in seconds, but leave some time for the dressed salad to sit and the flavors to blend. (The cream gives the dressing a velvety texture, but you can replace it with a tablespoon of olive oil and a tablespoon or two of skimmed milk.)

Gorgonzola and Taleggio are my favorites of Lombardy’s many fine cheeses. Both are made from rich cow’s milk, exclusively from animals that have grazed in the pastures of particular locales. The finest Taleggio, in my opinion, comes from small producers in the highlands north of Bergamo, where the cheese originated centuries ago. Creamy and soft when ripe, Taleggio is a superb table cheese, all by itself or with a piece of good bread or fruit (and at room temperature, of course). On my recent trips to Lombardy, though, I’ve appreciated it as a component of cooked dishes. As I’ve suggested in the recipes, fold it into any of the riso dishes in this chapter—after the heat is off—and you will love how it melts and lends its luxurious texture and complex flavors to the rice. Because it browns beautifully in a hot oven, Taleggio is a great cheese for a gratinato, as you will find when you try this very special recipe. Thick veal chops are browned, then braised in a sageinfused tomato sauce and finished in the oven under thin slivers of Taleggio and a sprinkle of grana. The golden crown of cheese over the tender meat is a perfect final touch. To be sure, this is an extravagant dish and demands the best ingredients. Meaty veal chops are always expensive, and these should be cut extra thick (either rib or, my preference, loin chops are suitable). And your Taleggio must come from a reliable cheesemonger who has allowed the cheese to ripen properly before it’s cut and sold—too young and you won’t get the full flavor. The cheese should be soft under the rind but not runny all the way through. In fact, you’ll need to chill ripe Taleggio in order to slice it thinly for the recipe. But the effort and expense are well worth it, as you’ll find when you taste your costolette al formaggio.

This traditional almond cake is named for the historic city of Mantova (perhaps better known to most English speakers as Mantua, the city to which Romeo is exiled in Romeo and Juliet). The torta is equally delightful for dessert and for breakfast. In the evening, I like to serve it with poached fruit—prunes poached in rum are perfect—and a dollop of whipped cream. Of course, I make sure there’s some left over, so I can enjoy it again in the morning, with my caffè. And since it’s quite moist and keeps well, it will be good the following morning, too (excellent incentive to cut small slices and make it last!). On a more serious culinary note, I want to emphasize the importance of using a fine almond extract in this cake. Indeed, all desserts and dishes that call for fruit, nut, or spice extracts are immeasurably better when you use a top-quality extract rather than a supermarket brand (and never use an imitation flavor). The slightly greater expense of a premium extract is always worthwhile and will pay you back in the flavor of your creations.

This terrific dish brings into one bowl three essential Italian foods: polenta, cannellini, and the unique variety of kale called cavolo nero—one of my favorite vegetables. The customary green in Tuscan ribollita, cavolo nero has an earthy mouth-filling flavor, as if cabbage, broccoli, chickory, and spinach were all packed into one leaf. Fortunately, this delicious and healthful vegetable is now being grown and sold in this country under a variety of names, including lacinata, or dinosaur kale (for the texture of the leaves), and black kale (for their dark hue). In this recipe, cavolo nero is braised with bacon and cannellini and served atop hot polenta. But you can just braise it with bacon, following the same basic procedure, and serve it as a delicious side dish, or enjoy it in crusty bread as a great sandwich filling.

I can understand why my chefs were focused on ossobuco alla Milanese when we visited Milano in 2008, and why so many readers, viewers, and customers at my restaurants tell me it is one of their favorite dishes—in any cuisine. It is, to me, a perfect symphony of flavors and textures and colors: the luscious veal shank meat falling off the marrow bones, the marrow seeping into saffron-infused risotto, the dense sauce moistening meat and grain. And all the richness is enhanced by the counterpoint of a vibrant gremolata topping of fresh garlic, lemon, and parsley. Fortunately, a trip to Milan is not necessary to enjoy this grand meal. With this recipe (and the one for the risotto, page 48), the multitude of pleasures in preparing, serving, and eating an authentic ossobuco alla Milanese will be yours at home. The most work may be finding a butcher who can supply the “tall” ossobuco I recommend: ask to have the shanks cut so each ossobuco is nearly 3 inches high (when standing on end). If necessary, you can use the flatter-and-wider-cut ossobuco you usually see in the market. Be aware, though, that the meat will cook more quickly and you will need to reduce the sauce ingredients so the ossobuco does not drown in the braising liquid.

Fagottini di pollo means “little chicken bundles”—and that’s what these are. Boneless chicken thighs are slightly flattened, wrapped around a savory vegetable pestata, and kept in shape with a strip of bacon and a toothpick. They’re braised in a big skillet, and finally topped with cheese and baked briefly, to get a crisp gratinato topping. You will love fagottini di pollo, I am sure! You will also see why these make a great party dish, since they’re convenient for a buffet. You can braise them largely in advance—in fact, the flavor improves with resting. Then set them on baking pans, sauced and topped with grated cheese; refrigerate if necessary. When you are ready to serve, simply put the pan in the hot oven to heat them and create the crunchy gratinato effect. Be flexible forming your bundles, since chickens vary in size greatly. If the thighs are small, make more bundles per serving and adjust the stuffing amount and the cooking time accordingly. What to serve with fagottini di pollo? Since they have such a nice sauce, I recommend polenta, Riso alla Lombarda (page 43), Riso e Salvia (page 42), or just plain mashed potatoes.

This crispy-skinned duck is delicious but definitely not fancy. Povera means “poor,” and this is a rustic family-style dish, with relatively few ingredients and simple preparation. The duck is roasted whole and basted with a whisked-together dressing of lemon juice, wine, and olive oil. It crisps up beautifully, and the pan juices make a great sauce. You don’t have to fuss much with the serving, either. For a family meal, I chop the bird into small pieces, pile them up on a platter—neck and giblets, too—and let people pick the pieces they like. (Fingers are fine for this, so plenty of moist towels on the table are handy.) For a more orderly dinner, the duck can be quartered to serve four nicely. Riso e Lenticchie—Rice and Lentils (page 40), braised greens, or just a tossed salad would be good with it.

This traditional risotto is a showcase for two of the great foods of Lombardy: the rice itself and Gorgonzola, the region’s superb blue cheese. Here the cheese is more than a garnish (which I recommend in other riso recipes); it is the very essence of the dish. You blend in a generous half-pound of Gorgonzola just before serving, when the al dente risotto comes off the heat, to bring out the full flavor of the cheese, unaltered by cooking. This deserves a top-quality, genuine imported Gorgonzola, preferably not too piquant. I like sweet and creamy Gorgonzola Dolce, aged no more than 3 months. In Lombardy, chunks of fresh ripe pear are sometimes incorporated into risotto alla Gorgonzola. When pears are in season, it is easy to give the basic risotto this wonderful embellishment. Peel and cut ripe pears into about 2 cups of small cubes. When the rice is almost done, gently stir in the pears, and cook for just a minute. Turn off the heat, and finish the risotto with Gorgonzola and grana, as detailed below.

In Lombardy, where it’s often cold and foggy, cabbage grows well in the fertile soil and is used in many dishes. The common type here, as all across northern Italy, is the Savoy cabbage—the name suggests its probable origins in neighboring Piemonte, which was once ruled by the Casa Savoia (“House of Savoy”). The loose, wrinkled leaves of the Savoy are great for stuffing, because they’re easy to separate and roll. And they’re delicious in this wonderful dish, mellow and tender but still sturdy enough to hold the sausage-and-vegetable filling. Cabbage rolls are very much part of my culinary heritage. My family grew Savoy cabbage, and I grew up on sarme, the Istrian interpretation of stuffed cabbage. Sarme are a more sour preparation, since the cooking on the eastern edge of Italy had many Slavic and Eastern European influences. The polpette di verza of Lombardy are sweeter (though the wine in this recipe provides a nice balance). Whatever the differences, I love all kinds of stuffed cabbage, and love to serve them at special family occasions. These polpette make a fine appetizer as well as a main course. I serve the rolls in a warm bowl, so the sauce can be scooped up with each bite. For a main dish, accompany them with Riso alla Lombarda (page 43), polenta, or mashed potatoes.

Risotto alla Milanese, which my chefs and I researched (and devoured) on our culinary expedition to Milano in 2008, has apparently been a signature dish of the city for over two centuries. A recipe for it appeared in the volume Cuoco Moderno—Modern Cook—published in Milano in 1809, by a mysterious author identified as “L.O.G.” His version had almost identical elements to today’s recipes: rice cooked in butter with onions, bone marrow, cervellato (a type of salami), good beef stock, and, at the end, the addition of saffron. Almost 100 years later, the revered authority Pellegrino Artusi included in his classic collection of Italian recipes a nearly identical risotto alla Milanese, including white wine in the preparation. In twenty-first-century Milano, Artusi’s techniques and ingredients are still the standard (though usually cervellato is omitted). I encourage you to use good beef stock and excellent fresh beef marrow bones to make a truly delicious risotto alla Milanese. The stock can be homemade or store-bought—low-sodium and organic if possible; otherwise, you could substitute chicken or turkey broth. To get the best marrow, ask the butcher for marrow bones cut from the center of the leg bone above the shank. Scraping out the marrow and cooking it is easy. If you’ve never done it, you will see that, as the marrow renders its delicious fat, brown carmelized specks appear. They could be strained out, but I don’t advise it; they provide great flavor, and traditional risotto alla Milanese incorporates them.

This venerable Lombard specialty belies its literal name. Pitocchi (taken from the Greek word for “poor”) were beggars who roamed the Padana lowlands during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries seeking sustenance; presumably a plain rice dish was what they got. Though simple to prepare, today’s riso alla pitocca is far from meager. Quite the contrary, it is rich in flavor from the pestata base and loaded with succulent chicken chunks.

A warm comforting bowl of Riso alla Lombarda—rice and cheese, with egg yolks stirred in for richness—has long been a family favorite in Lombardy, nourishing children for generations. It’s a snap to make anytime and can serve as a lunch dish, a great primo, or a side for grilled chicken. For adult tastes, I suggest stirring in crumbled Gorgonzola along with the eggs and grated cheese. By the way, there’s no need for concern about adding raw egg to the rice, as long as you do it as soon as the pan comes off the stove. The residual heat of the rice is more than sufficient to cook the yolks thoroughly.

In autumn, Lombardy abounds in zucca—what we call “winter squash”—and the seasonal cuisine makes full use of the vegetable. Squashes of all sizes and shapes are in the market—favorite varieties like marina di chioggia, berettina piacentina, zucca tonda padana, zucca blu, and zucca delica—to be cooked in stuffings, soups, pasta sauces, and risotto. And, like many fruits and vegetables, zucca is pickled with mustard seed to make the delicious condiment called mostarda, for which Lombardy—especially Cremona—is famous. This riso will be delicious made with any of our squashes—try acorn, buttercup, delicata, hubbard, or kabocha as well as butternut. The fresh vegetables of other seasons can be used, too, following the basic technique of the recipe. Asparagus in springtime or broccoli in summer will be delicious cooked with rice.

When you want to enjoy a risotto-style rice but don’t have the time for lots of prep and stirring, try this simple recipe. You’ll get the creaminess and toothsome bite of the rice grains and the wonderful flavor of fresh sage, one of my favorite herbs—or use rosemary, thyme, basil, or any other fresh herb you like. This makes a great primo all by itself and can be a delicious accompaniment to grilled or braised meat or fish dishes. I finish the rice with just a bit of butter and grated cheese, but you can add complexity by stirring in cubes of Taleggio or Gorgonzola, or any of your favorite cheeses. (And though I am happy to serve the rice with the sage leaves buried inside, you may pick them out, if you prefer, when the pot comes off the heat.)

Lentils and rice are one of my favorite combinations. I fondly recall savoring a dish just like this often as a child; it was comforting and nurturing. It can be enjoyed in many ways: make it dense like risotto or add more liquid to make it soupy. Just rice and lentils are delicious and simple, but you could easily add a few sausages or pork ribs to the pot to make quite a festive main dish.

Here’s a beautiful and special dessert: ivory canederli, sitting in a crimson pool of fresh strawberry sauce. Whereas the savory Canederli al Cumino (page 9) are fried, these delicate morsels are poached and have a very light texture. They are formed from a dough of ricotta, eggs, and flour instead of reconstituted bread. These are best when cooked just before you serve them (although the sauce can be made ahead), and in the recipe I give you a sequence of steps to streamline the procedure. Cook the strawberry sauce first, if you haven’t already, then proceed to make the canederli. Follow my instructions for poaching them—it’s important to cook them all the way through—and you’ll have perfect canederli in minutes. Once your guests taste them, I know they will tell you that this dessert was worth waiting for.