As the Olympic torch glows in Turin, I am transported back in memory to the twisting trails of the Italian hill country when I took a quick trip, more than memorable, that cemented forever my deep affection for the people of Italy.
It started when a friend arrived for a weeklong adventure with luggage for a year. As our wizened porter carried bag after bag up five flights in the Renaissance palazzo, it became impossible to venture across the room without stepping on a bag or piece of furniture.
The Roman summer was sultry and after a day of hard shopping on the Via Condotti even the indefatigable spirits of my best buddy sagged from the heat outside and the over-powering aromas indoors. “Let’s do a day in Tuscany -just like that book,” she said with gusto.
“It was a year,” I reminded her, but a few days in the country sounded good to me too. And with that, it was off to Hertz’s tiny Roman offices.
We tried. No amount of shoving could cram two humans and Patty’s pile of bags into a full-sized Fiat. “We cannot accommodate you, signorina,” the manager whimpered, wilting under her glare.
Patty stood her ground, “Surely you have something more commodious. A Mercedes, perhaps. Or, a small limo?”
I groaned. As designated driver, I was condemned to maneuvering whatever vehicle he dredged up. A few hours and a bottle of chilled Prosecco later, we were wheeling the Roman roundabouts in a German land yacht en route to whatever Tuscan town we could reach by nightfall.
It was Orvieto, a classical city of medieval grandeur with its striking black-and-white cathedral and a cobbled square flanked by trattorias and tiny boutiques selling hand-painted ceramics and hand-knotted lace. I squeezed the car around the last tight turn and drove into the piazza wondering why we were surrounded by a growing crowd of young men flinging their hands in the air and shouting. Aha, no cars in the piazza.
“What then?” I shrugged, and the crowd parted to make a path. Twenty smiling strangers began walking beside me as I steered away from the cathedral and into a narrow side street. The stone walls of houses flanking the street, worn smooth by centuries of rain, were so close I touched them. Inching along, I watched as our audience pressed themselves flat against the walls to let us pass. But, what was that up ahead?
A huge stone portal arched over the street at the far end, its base thick and protruding. If the walls were close now, how would we ever get through that narrow gate? I stopped. Our laughing supporters squeezed out in front of the car. “Come on,” they gestured, backing up. I shook my head. No way.
“I can do this,” Patty exclaimed, crawling over me into the driver’s seat. “Pull in your mirror-and don’t breathe,” she said.
I peeked through fingers covering my eyes as the car crept forward. When we reached the arch, students draped their jackets over the fenders so they wouldn’t scrape. There was a subtle swoosh as the back bumper cleared the last stone and cheers erupted from on-lookers we had never noticed standing on balconies above the street, shouting, “Bravissima!”
With great relief, we had turned right into a broad expanse. It was a flight of shallow stairs. By now, half the town surrounded the car. They patted it gently as we bounced from step to step. Finally, a real road crossed and we were able to turn off and park. As we stumbled out, dozens of strangers embraced us and, when everyone was smiling and relaxed, they feted us like celebrities. The nearest restaurant overflowed with well-wishers, none of whom would let us pay for drinks or a meal. Viva Italia!
Osso Buco
Adapted from “Lidia’s Italian Table,” by Lidia Matticchio Bastianich
Serves 6
People sometimes tell me they don’t try my recipes because the list of ingredients is long. Fear not, most of the ingredients will be in your pantry, your fruit bowl or your Southern California garden. As for the level of culinary difficulty, let’s adopt an Olympic standard and say it’s a 3. Nothing but chopping, browning and braising. Buon appetito!
1 sprig rosemary
1 sprig thyme
2 – 3 bay leaves
6 cloves
1 lemon
1 orange
1/4 cup olive oil
1 cup onions, chopped
1 cup celery, chopped
1 cup carrots, chopped
3 whole veal shanks (3 – 4 pounds each), cut into thirds
Flour
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 Tbs. tomato paste
1 cup dry white wine
1 cup carrot juice
2 cups canned tomatoes
4 cups chicken stock
1. Peel the zest from the citrus and squeeze the orange for juice. Set aside. Tie the herbs and spice into cheesecloth.
2. In a heavy casserole, make a mire-poix: Cook onions in olive oil until translucent; add celery and carrots to brown: 5 minutes. Toss in the cheesecloth bag, season with salt and cook on low 10 minutes.
3. Dry the meat and season with salt and pepper. Dredge lightly in flour. Heat vegetable oil to glistening in a large skillet. Brown meat in batches. Add to the casserole. Stir in tomato paste and cook a few minutes before adding wine.
4. Bring to a boil and add the zest and juice. Cook 10-15 minutes. Add tomatoes, reduce heat to low and simmer covered 30 minutes. Stir in stock, 1 cup at a time, to keep the shanks covered, about 1-1/2 hours.
Serve with risotto and garnish with lemon zest, minced garlic and chopped Italian parsley.