Introduction

If you lean in and really listen to the Baron, you’d swear he was getting drunk. I’ve seen the transformation before, when textbook Italian starts to ebb into marble-mouthed dialect, the linguistic synapse of a storyteller traveling back in time. First it was only a word of dialect here and there as we discussed the dishes of his childhood, but the last hour has had me squinting and hanging onto his every word, the way you might really grip the steering wheel while driving through a really thick fog.

‘Before there was so little, so very, very little’, he says, he eyes beginning to tear. ‘We always had just enough but those in the community struggled in ways that I think would be difficult to really imagine today. Unless you know real hunger, I mean real, real hunger- and for years at time- I don’t think the food down here is readily obvious. At least not from outside looking in anyway.’

I pour myself some more wine and disagree with him, at least in theory. I run a cooking school here in the Salento and those that come love the food of the region, for its pure flavours, never needing any of the back story to access the dishes on their own merit. The Baron falls silent for a moment and cocks his head to the side and eats a forkful of his Cecamariti, the way you might half-heartedly attempt to study a picture of your own mother, trying to forget who she is.

‘It’s good’, he says. ‘But I don’t think I can really taste it without also tasting the doorway back.’ He smacks his lips and takes another bite, holding his head low, as if he were in church.

I’ve decided to start my blog about the food of the Salento with the Baron because I believe that you, the reader, believe that the traditional food of the South of Italy is still being made by the poor, the uneducated, the rural and those that many of us would be tempted to call ‘peasants’. ‘Every morning in Italy, all the little old ladies wake up and begin to make everything fresh from scratch’. 

The opposite is more often the truth.

Traditional food in Italy is the process of flip-flopping, where the real luxury today is finding the time to make things from scratch for those you love. Traditional food is being kept alive by those that know enough to love it, that understand that there is always something more to any dish, beyond a list of its ingredients.  And that was what was really happening inside the Baron's mouth as he chewed. 

lunedì 28 aprile 2008

Brodetto (Fish Soup) Master recipe



Brodetto di Pesce (Fish Soup).
For some reason fish soup gets European folks afightin’ more than most dishes. It exists in some form in every Mediterranean city I’ve ever visited, and it’s always more alike than different, so what’s all the fuss? Like most of my recipes, this is a strategy versus a real recipe, so open a bottle of dry pink, pull down the big pot and leave the fighting to the others.

Non-oily fish.
Shell-fish
Tomatoes
White or pink wine
Onions
Garlic
Local variants. Fennel heads. Orange peels. Cinnamon sticks. Potatoes.
Good bread
Fresh herbs

You’re really building two soups here, a flavour-base (1), and then the final soup (2), which is another way of saying the best bits cooked in the flavour-base. The flavour base (1), is where you want to cook all the things you don’t intend to eat but still want to taste. If you have shrimp, peel them, and use the shells for (1) and then entire bodies, head on, for (2). Fresh herbs? Stems in (1), leaves in (2). Fennel? Diced bulb into (1), fronds with the other herbs into (2) And on.

Take your biggest, meanest and heaviest Dutch oven and get it smoking hot over your biggest hob or burner. Cut up a few onions a head, peel and crush the garlic (as always with the garlic, the smaller you cut it, the more you taste it in the end), the herbs, a little chilli peppers, the shrimp shells, all the spines and heads from the fish, etc, and glug in some oil and toss it all in. Cook it dark. It should be intoxicating right away. Keep it moving. When a good fond forms (those brown and black bits on the bottom of the pan, after about ten minutes), add some wine both to the pan, say a few cups, and to your glass, you’re going to need to stay hydrated for this one. Add a little water, until it looks like you have, say, a modest bowl of soup for everyone. This entire process should take about 15 minutes. Keep the fire high, you’re trying to get the olive oil and water to amalgamate. Stir hard and often. Carefully drain or filter out everything but the liquid. You don’t need cheese cloth or panty hose. Use your pasta strained and keep that glass full.

Bring back to a boil. Make sure your fish is all cut into bite-size pieces. But really look at your fish and shell-fish. Think about them, consider each. Clams take a long time to cook. Say 6 minutes. Mussels, say 2 or 3. Your flaky fish, maybe one. Shrimp? A minute as well. Set the table with big bowls for the dead soldiers and call everyone to the table. It won’t be long now. Eyeball which pieces will take the longest to cook, and then start tossing in the slowest ones. Build your soup conceptually in cooking times, so that each ingredient will be at its peak when you place the pot on the table. Lastly, add the mussels, and as they open, starting tasting for salt (mussels’ salinity mirror that of their sea or ocean, and can vary widely. They will provide a lot of the broth, and if it needs salt, or more chilli, add it now. Mediterranean mussels are often too salty as it is). When your mussels have opened and your shrimp has turned opaque, or even a few seconds before, toss in the herbs, add another good glug of raw oil, stir and place on the table. Instruct guests that they can lay toast slices on the bottom of the bowl as well, then ladle the rich stew over the top. Sip some wine and wonder why in hell you always thought fish stew took longer than 20 minutes?

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