Cooking is done primitively still, especially in the Italian
countryside, over charcoal braziers, on spits and in clay-covered
bee-hive ovens, but it is all the more perfect for that. A country
kitchen, or even a city one, is not as clean as a German cook's,
but that is because it usually serves as pantry and dining room
too. This room where the cooking is done is the true heart of
the home, one wall ablaze with a battery of tin-lined pots to
prove the family's generosity of appetite; pots, pans and gravy-
catchers, all hanging copper side out to reflect the fire and sun
in golden glints. These utensils are dangerous as soon as they
wear through to the copper and must then be sent to be retinned.
Bunches of herbs are thrust handy in smoke blackened rafters,
there are dangling braids of garlic and onions, strings of pepper
and dried mushrooms, with winking demijohns of wine both
red and white brightening dark corners. A grayish block of
expensive vintage Parmesan cheese stands beside its grater, be-
neath which is the wooden bowl that is filled with fresh, savory
powdered Parmesan before each repast. The bowl has a wooden
spoon to match.
Breakfast is scarcely considered a meal, since it follows the
slim fashion known everywhere as Continental — although really
it is Latin, for neighboring continentals, the Dutch, for example,
eat enormous meat breakfasts. Throughout Italy the fast is
broken on rising with blackish coffee mixed with hot milk, often
rich, creamy goats' milk, and a slice of bread, although butter
and a small saucer of celestial honey are added if the breakfaster
isn't too spartan or too poor. In some hardy peasant sections
even coffee is too great a luxury, so the farmer roasts several
whole heads of garlic and eats it with his bread. But be it noted
that the roasting of garlic takes the sting out of it, makes it taste
syrupy sweet, a miracle with which we are familiar in roast
onions.
Luncheon starts with antipasto (appetizers) including salami
ITALIAN 9
and a curl of well-aged ham, anchovies always, sometimes
wrapped around capers; tuna, pickled mushrooms, artichoke
hearts, olives both black and green, cold veal, fish mayonnaise,
radishes, fennel, peppers green and red; and whatever this hors
d'oeuvre consists of, each tidbit is served in a small separate dish
and drenched v with the delicate emerald green olive oil of Lucca.
Even raw vegetables, such as celery and fennel, are dipped in
oil, salt and pepper, to greatly improve their relish. Dry white
wine is drunk with the antipasto, the favorite types being Cortese
and Capri. Antipasto opens the appetite for the paste which
often is filled with meat, as ravioli and timbales, and is quite
certain to be seasoned with garlic and flavored with tomato. The
Italian tomato, pomodoro, is the size of a pigeon egg, meatier
than our love apple, stronger and sharper in essence. It is
pounded to a pulp and sold in immense cans, always shiny
and red.
Page 3
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
Cooking is done primitively still, especially in the Italian countryside, over charcoal braziers, on spits and in clay-covered bee-hive ovens, but it is all the more perfect for that. A country kitchen, or even a city one, is not as clean as a German cook's, but that is because it usually serves as pantry and dining room too. This room where the cooking is done is the true heart of the home, one wall ablaze with a battery of tin-lined pots to prove the family's generosity of appetite; pots, pans and gravycatchers, all hanging copper side out to reflect the fire and sun in golden glints. These utensils are dangerous as soon as they wear through to the copper and must then be sent to be retinned. Bunches of herbs are thrust handy in smoke blackened rafters, there are dangling braids of garlic and onions, strings of pepper and dried mushrooms, with winking demijohns of wine both red and white brightening dark corners. A grayish block of expensive vintage Parmesan cheese stands beside its grater, beneath which is the wooden bowl that is filled with fresh, savory powdered Parmesan before each repast. The bowl has a wooden spoon to match.
Breakfast is scarcely considered a meal, since it follows the slim fashion known everywhere as Continental — although really it is Latin, for neighboring continentals, the Dutch, for example, eat enormous meat breakfasts. Throughout Italy the fast is broken on rising with blackish coffee mixed with hot milk, often rich, creamy goats' milk, and a slice of bread, although butter and a small saucer of celestial honey are added if the breakfaster isn't too spartan or too poor. In some hardy peasant sections even coffee is too great a luxury, so the farmer roasts several whole heads of garlic and eats it with his bread. But be it noted that the roasting of garlic takes the sting out of it, makes it taste syrupy sweet, a miracle with which we are familiar in roast onions.
Luncheon starts with antipasto (appetizers) including salami
and a curl of well-aged ham, anchovies always, sometimes wrapped around capers; tuna, pickled mushrooms, artichoke hearts, olives both black and green, cold veal, fish mayonnaise, radishes, fennel, peppers green and red; and whatever this hors d'oeuvre consists of, each tidbit is served in a small separate dish and drenched with the delicate emerald green olive oil of Lucca. Even raw vegetables, such as celery and fennel, are dipped in oil, salt and pepper, to greatly improve their relish. Dry white wine is drunk with the antipasto, the favorite types being Cortese and Capri. Antipasto opens the appetite for the paste which often is filled with meat, as ravioli and timbales, and is quite certain to be seasoned with garlic and flavored with tomato. The Italian tomato, pomodoro, is the size of a pigeon egg, meatier than our love apple, stronger and sharper in essence. It is pounded to a pulp and sold in immense cans, always shiny and red.