Fruit is the national dessert from Northern Merano where
folks go to take the grape cure and linger to drink the new Fall
wine, with accompanying chestnuts and dancing in the streets,
all the way down to southernmost Sicily where the adage about
fruit is changed to "fruit is silver in the morning, golden at noon
and platinum at night." Some Italians will not go all the way
with this slogan, however, for though they all gorge on fruit at
noon it is commonly served as a compote at night. Elaborate
sweets are not sought in countries flowing with wine and honey,
so cakes, ices and zabaglione (wine-flavored) are the standard
desserts.
North, Central and South, down the long peninsula, regional
menus vary considerably, of course, yet the daily diet of a
Piedmontese is substantially the same as that of a Sicilian.
Spaghetti, macaroni, vermicelli, ribboned fettuccini (noodlelike),
or some other of the score of succulent pastes, spiced with garlic
and with Parmesan strewed over it, is almost sure to appear at
the noon meal, in spite of Mussolini's dictate that too much starch
must not be consumed, for fear of ruining the race through
indigestion. The rule is spaghetti at noon, soup at night, and
since spaghetti is considered the equivalent of soup, both paste
and potage are never partaken of at the same meal.
ITALIAN 7
Whatever the meat course, there is almost sure to be a touch
of giblets with it, or in the sauce. There will be crusty bread
in great variety, hearty red wine and a fine chunk of cheese
wherever you lunch; and these three alone, with fruit of course,
and more than a suspicion of garlic rubbed on the wholesome
bread or slivered into the salad, make a meal fit for modern
centurions.
Plenty of vitamins in this menu, provided by raw vegetables
and fruits. Sliced tomatoes and peppers take the place of our
cooked potatoes and corn. Salad is served as a matter of course,
dressed with red wine vinegar, juice of ripe lemons and the
tastiest of pale green olive oil — that from Lucca being the world's
finest. The salad is snappy, sharper than the French, and so are
all Italian condiments, excepting only the exciting French vinegar
flavored with tarragon. Italian mustard is spicier and hotter
than any other and also darker in color. Even the Parmesan
cheese that is sprinkled over everything is highly pungent, livelier
in taste than any other powdered cheese. Mushrooms, too, (both
funghi and cepes) have a stronger tang than the standard French
champignon. Pickled cepes, though they belong to the mush-
room family, are as popular as the giblets of all animals and
provide a similar exotic touch to many dishes — they might indeed
be called vegetable chicken livers, being as fat and meaty. They
are golden yellow burnished with red, but often too rich, a bit
too coarse and slippery for our palate.
Besides liking his food au naturel the Italian eats out-of-
doors when the weather permits. This gusto for dining al
fresco is carried even into the heart of cities where robust, deep-
breathing people sit at table in sidewalk restaurants and glass-
covered galleries bustling with shoppers. Or in city gardens —
we remember one in Rome, with tables all around a gold
fish pond, adorned with a marble bust of that great feaster
Aesophagus.
8 THE EUROPEAN COOKBOOK
Page 2
Presented as published in 1936. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
Fruit is the national dessert from Northern Merano where folks go to take the grape cure and linger to drink the new Fall wine, with accompanying chestnuts and dancing in the streets, all the way down to southernmost Sicily where the adage about fruit is changed to "fruit is silver in the morning, golden at noon and platinum at night." Some Italians will not go all the way with this slogan, however, for though they all gorge on fruit at noon it is commonly served as a compote at night. Elaborate sweets are not sought in countries flowing with wine and honey, so cakes, ices and zabaglione (wine-flavored) are the standard desserts.
North, Central and South, down the long peninsula, regional menus vary considerably, of course, yet the daily diet of a Piedmontese is substantially the same as that of a Sicilian. Spaghetti, macaroni, vermicelli, ribboned fettuccini (noodlelike), or some other of the score of succulent pastes, spiced with garlic and with Parmesan strewed over it, is almost sure to appear at the noon meal, in spite of Mussolini's dictate that too much starch must not be consumed, for fear of ruining the race through indigestion. The rule is spaghetti at noon, soup at night, and since spaghetti is considered the equivalent of soup, both paste and potage are never partaken of at the same meal.
Whatever the meat course, there is almost sure to be a touch of giblets with it, or in the sauce. There will be crusty bread in great variety, hearty red wine and a fine chunk of cheese wherever you lunch; and these three alone, with fruit of course, and more than a suspicion of garlic rubbed on the wholesome bread or slivered into the salad, make a meal fit for modern centurions.
Plenty of vitamins in this menu, provided by raw vegetables and fruits. Sliced tomatoes and peppers take the place of our cooked potatoes and corn. Salad is served as a matter of course, dressed with red wine vinegar, juice of ripe lemons and the tastiest of pale green olive oil — that from Lucca being the world's finest. The salad is snappy, sharper than the French, and so are all Italian condiments, excepting only the exciting French vinegar flavored with tarragon. Italian mustard is spicier and hotter than any other and also darker in color. Even the Parmesan cheese that is sprinkled over everything is highly pungent, livelier in taste than any other powdered cheese. Mushrooms, too, (both funghi and cepes) have a stronger tang than the standard French champignon. Pickled cepes, though they belong to the mushroom family, are as popular as the giblets of all animals and provide a similar exotic touch to many dishes — they might indeed be called vegetable chicken livers, being as fat and meaty. They are golden yellow burnished with red, but often too rich, a bit too coarse and slippery for our palate.
Besides liking his food au naturel the Italian eats out-ofdoors when the weather permits. This gusto for dining al fresco is carried even into the heart of cities where robust, deepbreathing people sit at table in sidewalk restaurants and glasscovered galleries bustling with shoppers. Or in city gardens — we remember one in Rome, with tables all around a gold fish pond, adorned with a marble bust of that great feaster Aesophagus.