Saute

Veal piccata is a familiar dish in most Italian American restaurants across America: thin slices of veal briefly sautéed in butter with some lemon juice added to it. In this recipe, however, I added some capers, green olives, and thin slices of lemon. It brings much more body, flavor, and complexity to the dish. Chicken and turkey scaloppine are also delicious prepared this way.

This is the quintessential Italian pasta dish, especially in Naples and Rome. The ingredients are three; the clams are the smaller ones—vongole veraci—and they are always cooked in their shells. Once they open, the sauce is done. Here in the States, linguine with clam sauce is made with chopped clams, and I guess this adjustment makes sense, especially since the clams here can be quite large, from littlenecks (small to medium) to topnecks (large) to quahogs or chowder clams (very large). Today, though, one is ever more likely to find smaller cockles on the market; if you find them, by all means use them.

This is the quintessential Italian American dish: from the 1950s through the 1980s, every Italian restaurant had it on the menu. It is still one of America’s favorite dishes and is easy to make. The important part of the recipe is to begin cooking the meat and mushrooms separately, then combine them at the end so the flavors blend. Marsala is the special ingredient in this dish. Around the city of Marsala, Malvasia, a varietal of a very aromatic grape, grew in abundance. Wine has been made from this varietal for centuries, and the English took note of it and began importing it. The history of England and the New World needs no retelling, and this is most likely how Marsala made it across the pond. When the Sicilian immigrants settled in America, and rediscovered it, it was a natural reunion.

Veal saltimbocca, which literally translates as “jumps in the mouth,” hails from Rome. It is rather simple, but simplicity is hard to achieve. In the late 1960s, when I worked in Italian restaurants to help pay for my college tuition, veal saltimbocca was always on the menu but never tasted like it did in Rome. The important flavor ingredients here are the prosciutto and the fresh sage. The early immigrants were curing hams into prosciutto at home, which eventually developed into formal businesses, such as the Volpi & Co. in St. Louis, now known as Volpi Foods. In those days, fresh herbs were hard to find—unless you were Italian and grew them at home. By the time I opened Felidia in the 1980s, fresh herbs were coming to the supermarkets, and by the 1990s, Prosciutto di Parma began crossing the ocean, so now the saltimbocca has regained its true flavors. So, unless you use fresh sage, skip it.

Broccoli rabe, the leafy bitter almond-flavored vegetable consumed by the Italians for centuries, has found its way into American hearts. It is great just braised with olive oil and garlic; it makes an excellent soup; it is also delicious stuffed and as a flavoring in some crunchy Italian bread. But I love it with pasta, and not with just any pasta—I love it with orecchiette (little earlobes). Rapini, as it is called in Italy, is a plant in the mustard family that grew wild, especially in southern Italy. In America, the largest producer is Andy Boy, a company founded by Stephen and Andrew D’Arrigo, emigrants from Sicily, who officially named the rapini “broccoli rabe.” They knew that the vegetable that was part of their family table in Italy would make it to the American table.

Pasta with spring vegetables—or, for that matter, any vegetables—has always been a staple of Italian cuisine. But Sirio Maccioni, the renowned Italian restaurateur who has owned Le Cirque for decades, claims to be the one to baptize it primavera in 1974. Along with Romeo Salta, and the Giambelli brothers, Sirio was at the lead in bringing the fine Italian dining experience to New York. Sirio runs a restaurant that is French by name but serves pasta primavera.

If there is one dish that I can affirm is Italian American, this is it. It has all the pedigree of being Italian, though it was definitely born in America. This is one of those few recipes that crossed the Atlantic in the other direction, and the Italians in Italy have been enjoying it as well. The first references we find to vodka sauce are from the early 1980s.

What is important to remember about this dish is that the steak and the sauce never cook together. That way, all the meat juices remain in the steak; if you were to cook them together, the juices would seep out. Meanwhile, the pepper-and-mushroom sauce remains bright and fresh with the flavor of the tomatoes and vegetables.

Spaghetti carbonara has humble roots in the Apennine hills of central Italy, not far from Rome, and was the shepherds’ favorite as they roamed the hilly pastures following the movement of flocks, a practice known as the transumanza. They carried with them some bacon, and made the cheese as they went along. Eggs were used only if available; of course they render the dish richer and creamier, but it is delicious with or without them. Of all of the pasta recipes that I have served in my restaurants throughout the years (starting with Buonavia in 1971, to today’s Felidia, Becco, Lidia’s KC, and Lidia’s Pittsburgh), spaghetti carbonara is definitely the crowd pleaser. It has some of the flavors loved most by Americans: bacon, eggs, cheese, and of course pasta. I’ve added some chopped scallions for freshness; I hope you like it.

As the impoverished residents of Amatrice moved to Rome in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, this recipe came along with them; today it is as Roman as the Colosseum, but you would never know it. Throughout America, 99 percent of Italian restaurants have this tubular-spaghetti dish on their menus, so it might as well be American now. You can use garlic here instead of onions, as the original recipe calls for. But unless your amatriciana contains guanciale (cured pig jowl), you are not even close to the original. Since pig jowl is not found in every corner store, making the dish with bacon or pancetta will yield delicious results as well. In this recipe I used onions, as in most of the American amatriciana recipes, but the bay leaves are my addition. The precursor to amatriciana sauce is sugo alla gricia, which does not contain tomatoes. The dish seems to have roots before the discovery of the New World; tomatoes came back from there to Italy. The gricia sauce contains guanciale, coarsely ground black pepper, and grated pecorino cheese to dress the pasta. This dish is still made today and is very popular in and around Rome, where it is called pasta alla gricia.

I am sure all of you have had some version of sausage and peppers, but this one is easy to make, and the sausages remain juicy. The idea is to cook the sausages and vegetables separately, and then combine them at the end. Even though sausage and peppers seem to be quintessentially Italian, peppers are a New World food and were introduced to Italy only after the discovery of the Americas. Italians quickly made them their own and incorporated them on their table. So, when they came to America as immigrants, peppers were abundant and used with excess in many of the Italian American dishes. They are now ubiquitous at every Italian street fair.

The important thing is that pesto is a raw sauce and should not be cooked when dressing the pasta. Just toss the hot pasta with a little of its cooking water and the pesto. Stir well, add some cheese, and dinner is ready.

Puttanesca sauce originated in Naples and derives its name from “ladies of the evening.” The story goes that, between clients, the women of the evening in Naples would make this quick and delicious pasta dish. The easy procedure and simple ingredients—found in the cupboard, most likely—created a quick dish they could make without any major interruption of business. This dish was big on the Italian American restaurant scene in the seventies, I guess because it called for authentic Italian ingredients that were newly available then. Cured olives and cured capers are used a lot in southern Italy, to deliver a wallop of flavor with a small investment, and so this traditional dish continues today in Italian homes and restaurants across America.

This is one of those “I have nothing in the refrigerator” dishes. Well, look in the cupboard. Capers, the small unopened buds of the caper bush, have been used for thousands of years. They are mentioned as an ingredient in Gilgamesh, possibly the oldest written story known, which describes events dating back to about 2000 B.C., found on ancient Sumerian clay tablets.

Spaghetti aglio e olio is one of those basic recipes that just about every household in Italy, and every Italian American household, has made at one time or another. Searching for flavors of home, Italian immigrants could create a tasty dish with just pasta, olive oil, and flavorful garlic. The simplicity of these three ingredients and the technique used here is what makes it so good. Do not burn the garlic, and add pasta water to make it into a sauce—the secret is as simple as that. In my recipe, I have added some shredded basil, since I’ve found in my travels that the addition of basil to a garlic-and-oil sauce is quite common. I often add basil to recipes: when in season, it brings freshness and that pleasant garden bouquet to many dishes.

In America, commonplace coleslaw is made from green cabbage, but I do see shreds of red cabbage tossed into a mixed salad every now and then. When I was a child in northern Italy, we ate a lot of the cabbage family, from regular cabbage to Savoy cabbage to black kale. We ate red cabbage braised next to a roast, but we also made a lot of differently dressed salads with it. The secret—and the work—was in slicing the cabbage thin. But given today’s food processors and all their different attachments, and the reasonable prices of mandoline slicers, this salad is a cinch to make. You can even slice the cabbage a few hours in advance; just remember to toss it with some vinegar as soon as you slice it to keep its color bright.

The harmony of this salad is that both the radicchio and the endive are from the chicory family, sweet and slightly bitter at the same time.

This sandwich was my grandfather’s favorite sandwich for merenda, the midmorning snack. My grandmother would use the prosciutto scraps with bits and pieces of fat, and when there was no prosciutto, she would use pancetta.

This great and easy sandwich could serve you well for breakfast, lunch, or a picnic. Basically, it is scrambled eggs with onions and asparagus. I prefer thin asparagus for this dish, since I recall making it with wild asparagus that I would go and forage every spring with my grandmother. Here in the States, asparagus is farmed abundantly. Wild asparagus is more bitter than the farmed variety, but I love any fresh asparagus. I sometimes use scallions instead of onions, including two-thirds of the green part of the scallion stalks as well.