Erica De Mane

Recipe: Chilled Peach Soup with Basil and Peperoncino Pesto

Once, when I was in high school, a friend’s mother invited a bunch of kids over for her son’s birthday, and instead of the usual summer barbecue/food fight/pothead afternoon, it turned out to be a formal sit-down luncheon. We were very uncomfortable. She was Austrian, and she seemed so out of place in Glen Head, Long Island, dressed in a long, gray-blue skirt that just may have been fashioned from burlap, and long, flat, brown stylishly orthopedic looking shoes . We all nervously took our seats around the table, and she brought out a first course. A first course. God, now we were really nervous. It was a cold blueberry soup, with sour cream or something white and sour on top (crème fraîche?). I had never heard of such a thing, soup made from fruit, and it wasn’t even dessert. It made a big impression on me. It was sour, dark purple, and startlingly delicious. It was glamorous. I can’t remember much else about the meal, except that it went on for hours without much let up in tension, but I do recall my friend’s father, sitting off in the corner through the entire ordeal, playing Carl Orff records on a decrepit child’s turntable, and every once in a while yelling something in his German accent, such as “Here, you see, here is where it says anus.” Carl Orff, I believe, is known for his modern though medieval-inspired sexual Nazi sound. This really seemed to appeal to my friend’s father, a former Jew turned Episcopalian turned Unitarian. At the end of the afternoon I wanted to run out of there so fast, back to the ring-a-ding Dean Martin comfort of my own home. But that soup made a lasting impression.

Since then I’ve been served and I’ve prepared myself fruit soups, and they’ve always had a fancy-dining feeling about them. They’re a wonderful thing to serve guests, because their colors can be brilliant (cobalt blue, day-glo pink, flaming orange, crimson), and their flavors—half sweet, half savory—are unexpected. For obvious reasons I always think about fruit soups in the summer, so when I recently picked up a little box of fragrant yellow peaches at the Union Square market, I knew they needed to become soup, but soup with Italian flair, more savory than sweet, and with no cream to muddy it up.

Peaches with basil has for a long time been a familiar flavor combination for me. In warm weather, my father would throw together big bowls of sliced peaches in red or white wine, and he’d often add a few basil or mint leaves from his garden. This too was glamorous. So, with these flavor memories as my guide, I went ahead chopping up my peaches, adding shallot sautéed in olive oil, and white wine. I topped this acid-sweet purée with basil pesto, replacing the cheese, which I thought would make the peach taste a little pukey, with fresh chili. The mix of fruit, herbs, and a touch of spice emerged as something really appealing. I served my peach soup and then a dish of pork chops braised with gently vinegared bell peppers (I have a recipe here), another good late summer dish, since peppers are at their best right now. If you follow up with a simple green salad, you’ve got it made, and the meal might not even scare teenagers. As long as you forgo the Carl Orff accompaniment.

Chilled Peach Soup with Basil and Peperoncino Pesto

(Serves 4 as a first course)

6 large, very ripe yellow summer peaches
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 small shallot, minced
1 tablespoon sugar
½ cup dry white wine
A pinch of salt
Freshly ground black pepper
A squeeze of lemon juice

For the pesto:

1 cup basil leaves
1 garlic clove
1 fresh green peperoncino chili (or use 1/2 a serrano or jalapeno), roughly chopped
¼ cup pine nuts, plus a handful of toasted pine nuts for garnish
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt

Blanch the peaches in boiling water for about 4 minutes. Lift them from the water with a slotted spoon, and slip off the skins. Cut the peaches in half, and remove the pits. Crush them with your fingers over a shallow bowl, catching all the juice.

In a medium soup pot, heat a tablespoon of olive oil over medium flame. Add the shallot, and sauté until softened, about 3 minutes. Add the peaches and the sugar, and cook for about a minute. Add the white wine, and let it bubble for another minute. Pour in 1½ cups of water, a generous pinch of salt, and some black pepper. Bring to a boil, and then turn off the heat and cover the pot, letting it sit for about 5 minutes so the peaches can gently soften. Purée the peach mixture in a food processor until very smooth, adding more hot water if needed to get a thick but pourable consistency (about like heavy cream). Add a squeeze of lemon juice to bring up the flavors, and chill for several hours or overnight.

To make the pesto: Bring a small pot of water to a boil, and add the basil leaves, blanching them for about 30 seconds. Drain the basil, and run it under cold water to set its color. Drain well. Place the garlic, peperoncino, and pine nuts in a food processor, and pulse until you have a rough chop. Add the blanched basil, ¼ cup of olive oil, and a little salt. Pulse until you have a fairly smooth paste. Transfer the pesto to a little bowl.

To serve: Ladle the soup into shallow bowls. Spoon a dollop of the pesto onto the middle of each, and garnish with the toasted pine nuts.

A view of the Spanish Steps in Rome from Keats’s day room.

Recipe: Spaghetti with Anchovies, Summer Tomatoes, and Walnuts

When John Keats lay fading away on his day bed in the end throes of tuberculosis, wanly staring out at the Spanish steps, his doctor decided on a diet of one anchovy a day—instead of the laudanum Keats really wanted. Hard to say why the doctor focused on the lowly anchovy (and only one), but this peculiar diet not only caused the poet to lose even more weight, but the wrenching starvation elevated his pain and soon pushed him over the edge mentally. This was a romantic decision made in the Romantic period by a desperate doctor. That’s one way to lose weight. I love anchovies, but I prefer using them as an accent point, to enhance food and enhance life, not as a sole means of sustenance (even when not at death’s door).

Lately I’ve wanted a lot of anchovies. I’ve been thinking about ways to work them into dishes I never would have thought of in the past. For instance I don’t often add them to a raw summer tomato sauce, preferring the fleeting perfection of summer tomatoes unencumbered. But recently I chopped up a few anchovies and added them to a batch of pomodoro crudo, throwing in a handful of toasted walnuts too. I really liked the result. This easy sauce is sweet, sour, salty, and surprisingly rich. It’s nice tossed with spaghetti.

I’m picky about my anchovies. I think everyone should be. (I have no idea if Keats’s doctor was. I know he wasn’t Italian, so I have my doubts.) When it comes to preserved anchovies, you can get either salt-packed or oil-packed ones. When I’m going to heat anchovies, I prefer the salt-packed kind. After soaking, they’re transformed almost back to the consistency of fresh fish, and they can take a gentle simmer. Oil-packed are sturdier and chewier and have an altered, more thoroughly preserved taste that I really like. A good oil-packed brand like Flott from Sicily has great flavor, and its rugged texture is more appealing in an uncooked sauce than the tender and quite fishy salt-packed kind. You can purchase Flott anchovies (they make both oil- and salt-packed, and both are excellent) from buonitalia.com.

So here’s another summer pasta for you. I view it as a first-course pasta, not a meal in a bowl, since it doesn’t contain much protein and its intense flavor is better enjoyed in small portions. Remember to keep the spaghetti very al dente, which improves its glycemic index. I’d serve this pasta before some type of grilled fish (sardines?) served over a green salad. And for dessert try a bowl of sliced summer peaches soaked in red wine. That will make a healthy summer dinner to help keep the doctor away.

Buddy and Fumio guard my jar of Flott oil-packed anchovies.

Spaghetti with Anchovies, Summer Tomatoes, and Walnuts

(Serves 6 as a first course)

3 large, round summer tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and cut into small dice (you’ll want at least 2 cups)
Salt
5 oil-packed anchovies, minced
1 large summer garlic clove, minced
1 cup shelled walnuts, lightly toasted and roughly chopped
A large handful of flat-leaf parsley, the leaves lightly chopped
A few thyme sprigs, the leaves chopped
Freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil
¾ cup dry breadcrumbs
½ a hot fresh chili, minced
A generous pinch of sugar
1 pound spaghetti

Place the chopped tomatoes in a colander, and sprinkle them with a little salt. Let them drain for about an hour. Pour the tomatoes into a bowl (you might mix the drained-out tomato juice with a splash of vodka and drink it down—a little gift for the cook). Add the anchovies, garlic, walnuts, parsley, thyme, black pepper, and about 1/3 cup of olive oil. Add a little extra salt. Give it all a good mix, and let it sit for about ½ hour to develop flavor.

In a small skillet, heat about a tablespoon of olive oil over medium flame. Add the breadcrumbs and the minced fresh chili, and sauté until the breadcrumbs are crisp and golden, about 2 minutes. Add the sugar and a generous pinch of salt. Transfer this to a small bowl.

Cook the spaghetti al dente, and drain well. Pour it into a large serving bowl, and pour on the tomato sauce. Add a tablespoon of the toasted breadcrumbs, and toss. Serve right away, sprinkling some of the remaining breadcrumbs over each serving.

My pomodoro crudo, with Pantelleria capers and rosemary.

Recipe: Crisp Catfish and Pomodoro Crudo with Sicilian Capers and Rosemary

Capers have an astonishing affinity for tomatoes. But not any tomatoes, and not any old capers. I’ve got to have warm, juicy, New York–vicinity tomatoes right now, and for my capers my mind travels far, to the Sicilian island of Pantelleria. Truman Capote, who spent some time on Pantelleria in the l950s, described the island as “a freezing beauty, or an ice queen” (”una bellezza congeladora, una bellezza agghiaccianta”). Why, I’m not sure, since Pantelleria is basically off the coast of Tunisia, but it is white, austere, and harsh, with white-hot, rocky ground, perfect for caper bushes.

From the air the island would look different now from when Capote was there. It has big white compounds erected by Giorgio Armani and Isabella Rosellini. But its ruggedness still prevails for the leather-faced locals who spend long hours hunched over low, bristly bushes picking caper buds, catching them young and tight, before they blossom into lovely white and violet tipped flowers. I’ve never picked capers, even though I’ve probably got the genes for it. It does sound like back-breaking work, but lucky for me, my family escaped from Southern Italy a couple of generations ago, and I can now purchase little bags of salt-packed Pantelleria capers not far from my funky little apartment in New York City. These capers are packed in Sicilian sea salt, not drowned in vinegar, which makes a big difference for their deliciousness. Vinegar or even a harsh brine can make capers acrid, even the naturally sweet, superior Sicilian ones. Sea salt brings out their floral essence.

So here’s a quick raw sauce, blending New York tomatoes, Sicilian capers. olive oil, rosemary, garlic, and a hit of spiciness. The result is good. The sauce is versatile. My recipe here pairs it with catfish, but the sky’s the limit, I think.

Pantelleria capers are available online from Gustiamo.

Crisp Catfish and Pomodoro Crudo with Sicilian Capers and Rosemary

(Serves 4)

For the salsa:

2 round summer tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and cut into small dice
Salt
¼ cup salt packed capers, preferably Sicilian, soaked for 20 minutes in several changes of cool water and then rinsed
4 sprigs rosemary, the leaves well chopped
1 large summer garlic clove, minced
½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
½ a fresh red peperoncino, minced
A squeeze of lemon juice
½ teaspoon sugar
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil, preferably a Sicilian oil such as Ravidà

For the catfish:

4 catfish fillets
1 tablespoon crème fraîche
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
Extra-virgin olive oil
A branch of fresh thyme, the leaves chopped
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup fine corn meal
¼ cup all-purpose white flour

Place the tomatoes in a strainer, and sprinkle with a little salt. Set the strainer over a bowl, and let the tomatoes drain for about an hour (summer tomatoes are very juicy, and unless you drain them they’ll water down your sauce).

In a bowl, add the tomatoes and all the other ingredients for the salsa. Give it a stir, and let it sit for about half an hour to develop flavor. Taste for salt after it sits, since some residual salt from the capers will be released. You may or may not need to add more.

While the salsa is sitting, lay out the catfish fillets in a ceramic or glass dish. In a small bowl, mix together the crème fraîche, mustard, a tablespoon of olive oil, and the thyme, seasoning it all with salt and black pepper. Smear this all over the catfish fillets, and refrigerate for about half an hour.

In a heavy-bottomed skillet, heat about ½ inch of olive oil over medium-high heat.

Mix the corn meal and flour together on a plate, and season it well with salt and black pepper. Dredge the catfish fillets in the flour mixture on both sides.

When the oil is hot but not smoking, add the catfish, and sauté until nicely browned on one side, about 4 minutes. Give the fillets a flip, and brown the other side, about another 3 minutes. Lift from the skillet with a slotted spatula, and drain briefly on paper towels. Plate the catfish, and spoon a generous amount of the salsa over or next to it. Serve hot.

Recipe: Plum Salad with Almonds, Fennel, and Arugula

I’ve found that an excellent way to work more fresh fruit into my diet is by including it in a green salad, better even than churning up a batch of glorious cholesterol-elevating peach ice cream and shoving it all down. A salad is never going to be ice cream, but it can be a beautiful eating experience, if you crack open your best olive oil, gather good greens and dripping summer fruit, and go about it with a freewheeling but informed culinary spirit. As long as I stay away from dried hippie chunks like desiccated pineapples or cranberries, or birdseed, I can usually turn out something elegant.

You might not think of stone fruit—plums, peaches, or apricots—as making a good partner for lettuce, but actually those sweet, tart flavors go exceptionally well with bitter greens such as chicory, frisée, dandelion, or arugula. I bought small round red-pink sugar plums at the Greenmarket. Their color is stunning, a Matisse red (a flattering lipstick shade for Southern Italian girls like me, by the way), and they have the gentle sourness that I was looking for. I also like dusky, purple-black, pointy Italian plums, although they’re lower in acid than the ones I used. Depending on your plums, you may need to adjust the dressing, possibly leaving out the sugar or upping the vinegar. You don’t want it too sweet. What you do want is a tongue-tingling sweet, sour, bitter, salty, savory flavor experience. And the great thing about adding fruit to a salad is that it curbs your desire for desert. I swear it really does. When I was thinking up this salad, I immediately thought of pork for the first course, so I marinated a few thick pork chops in some spicy stuff and grilled them up. Nice summer meal, don’t you think?

Plum Salad with Almonds, Fennel, and Arugula

(Serves 2)

5 small summer plums
Salt
A generous pinch of sugar
1 large bunch arugula, well stemmed
1 small fennel bulb, thinly sliced
A handful of whole, blanched almonds, lightly toasted
2 scallions, thinly sliced, using the tender green part
A handful of basil leaves, left whole
1 teaspoon Spanish sherry vinegar
½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
A few scrapings of nutmeg
Freshly ground black pepper
1½ tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Halve and pit the plums, placing them in a small bowl, and add a tiny pinch of salt and a bigger pinch of sugar. Let them sit for a few minutes, so any juices can run out.

In a salad bowl, combine the arugula, fennel, almonds, scallions, and basil. Add the plums, leaving the juice in the bowl.

Add the vinegar and mustard to the plum juice. Add the nutmeg, salt, and a generous amount of black pepper. Add the olive oil, and give it all a quick whisk. Pour the dressing over the salad, and toss it gently. Serve right away.

Sophia with a nice catch.

Recipe: Sarde in Saor Venetian Style

I love fresh sardines. I know many people in this country don’t, but I can’t imagine why. Too strong? Too bony? Too puny? So silly. I think everyone needs to get over this. Possibly you’ve had them none too fresh. Freshness is key with high-oil fish. And it’s the wonderful oils, the essential fatty acids, so good for us, that give off their enticing aroma when you grill sardines on an open fire, for instance. That creates one of the most comforting but also riveting sea smells, riveting in its pure, glorious intensity. And when you take a bite, the flesh under the crisp skin is all sweetness.

I can buy local, Long Island sardines—Atlantic herring, actually—from my Greenmarket fish man, but only at the coldest times of the year. In the summer I rely on wild-caught Portuguese sardines, true Western European sardines, which I find at the fancier grocery stores in Manhattan. I ask when they’ll arrive, and I pick them up that day, so they’re rigidly fresh. And since sardines are at the bottom of the food chain, they’re better for the seas and for you than big over-fished creatures like tuna and swordfish, which are full of mercury and toxins, things I used to try to avoid thinking about but now I just try to avoid.

Sarde in Saor is a classic Venetian dish offered at many of Venice’s wine bars. Served at room temperature, It’s richly flavored, gently marinated, sweet and sour, with abundant sweet sautéed onions for much of its depth of flavor. It gets a bath in wine, vinegar, and a little sugar and is accented with the classic Moorish pine nut and raisin combination that I can never resist.  Think you don’t like fresh sardines? Try this.

My sardine dish.

Sarde in Saor Venetian Style

(Serves 4 as a first course)

½ cup golden raisins
½ cup dry white wine
Extra-virgin olive oil
A dozen sardines, gutted and scaled
½ cup all-purpose flour
Salt
A generous pinch of Aleppo pepper (or another spicy paprika)
2 large Vidalia onions, thinly sliced
Freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon sugar
4 large thyme sprigs, the leaves lightly chopped
3 tablespoons white wine vinegar
½ cup pine nuts, lightly toasted

In a small bowl, soak the raisins in the white wine.

In a high-sided skillet, heat about 2 inches of olive oil over medium heat.

Pat the sardines dry. Pour the flour out onto a plate, and season it well with salt and Aleppo pepper. Dredge the sardines in the flour.

When the olive oil is hot but not smoking, add the sardines (you’ll probably want to do them in two batches). Fry until crisp and browned on one side, about 2 minutes, and then give them a flip, and brown the other side, about 2 minutes longer. Drain the sardines on paper towels, and lay them out, slightly overlapping, in a rectangular serving dish (one with low sides).

In a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions, seasoning them with salt and black pepper. Sauté until the onions are soft and lightly golden, about 10 minutes. Add the sugar and the thyme, and sauté a minute longer. Add the raisins in their soaking wine, and let the wine boil until almost evaporated (you want a little liquid in the pan, though, so don’t boil it dry). Add the white wine vinegar, and let it bubble for about a minute. Add the pine nuts.

Pour the onion mixture over the sardines, making sure they’re well covered. Give it a little drizzle of fresh olive oil, cover tightly, and refrigerate for a day, so the flavor can develop. Bring back to room temperature before serving. It will last about four days refrigerated.

Almonds, mint, basil, garlic, and tomatoes—beautiful Sicilian flavors all in one healthful dish.

Recipe: Bulgur with Trapanese Pesto

In my continuing effort to educate myself on the evils of refined carbohydrates, I have been heartbroken to learn that potatoes rank very high on the glycemic index. They’re right up there with refined white flour. I never thought of potatoes as particularly refined. Summer potato salad is bad? What am I supposed to eat with my grilled lemon chicken? What about potato salad made with wonderful olive oil and fresh herbs? It’s better for your health than with bottled mayonnaise, but still not great. On the glycemic index—a number that indicates how quickly a food makes our blood sugar spike—a baked potato weighs in at about 80 out of a possible 100. That’s high. How depressing.

Maybe not so depressing when I think it through, though. Lately I’ve been trying to come up with delicious substitutes for my beloved summer potato salads. Whole grain is ideally what we should be aiming for, but I want my food to be pretty, not looking like a lump of brown mushy garbage, which is what whole grain dishes often resemble. I picked up a bag of bulgur at the musty health food store on my block. Bulgur is the cracked wheat used in many Middle Eastern dishes like tabbouleh. I like tabbouleh, but how could I make the stuff look appealing and, more important, taste Italian?

Whole wheat needs strong flavors. I immediately thought about Sicilian-style pesto, something I really love for both its forte and its freshness. Sicilian pestos are very different from the better-known Genoese type. This one, generally considered Trapanese in origin, contains almonds, mint, basil, garlic, and tomatoes but no cheese. I haven’t puréed it to a paste; rather I’ve left it rough, since that way the chunks look brighter after being mixed with the cracked grains. You can play around with the proportions. I like it light on the tomatoes, heavier on the mint and basil, which all blends effortlessly with the bulgur. And try it as a bed for grilled sardines or lamb chops. I served it with whole porgies that I picked up at the Union Square Greenmarket and pan-fried. It tasted lively, healthy. and very Sicilian—just what I wanted in the hot weather.

Bulgur with Trapanese Pesto

(Serves 4 as a side dish)

1 large summer garlic clove
1 fresh red peperoncino, roughly chopped
½ cup whole, skinned almonds, lightly toasted
½ cup mint leaves, plus a few whole sprigs for garnish
1 cup basil leaves
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil (preferably a Sicilian estate oil such as Ravida)
Salt
1½ cups medium or coarse bulgur
1 3/4 cups chicken broth or water

Place the garlic, peperoncino, almonds, mint, and basil leaves in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse about 3 or 4 times, or until you have a large, uniform looking chop. Transfer to a small bowl, and add the tomatoes, olive oil, and some salt, stirring everything well.

Place the bulgur in a serving bowl, and sprinkle it with a little salt. Bring the chicken broth or water to a hard boil, and pour it over the bulgur, giving it a quick stir. Cover the bowl with aluminum foil, and let it sit for about 30 minutes, or until the bulgur is tender and all the liquid is absorbed. Add the pesto, and toss gently. Garnish with mint sprigs.

Serve warm or at room temperature.

Fireworks at an Italian festival in New Orleans last year.

Have a great holiday weekend. And do yourself a favor: Forget the diet for a few days. Have a blast. Eat what you love. Drink to your heart’s content. Celebrate in true American style. I plan on stuffing myself with Taleggio, grilled steaks, and Chianti.