Monthly Archives: March 2012

Salsa verde

Parsley practically grows wild in the Veneto region of Italy. That is probably why my mother always has a glass jar of it already washed and chopped in the fridge, waiting to be used. She includes some of the finer parts of the stalks too. The parsley we use is flat leaf (or Italian) parsley (rather than curly leaf), which is a native of the mediterranean lands and grows easily in a pot on your terrace (making it perfect for inner city dwellers).

Parsley goes with most italian dishes. I even make Basil pesto with some parsley. I scatter it on risotto, on pasta, on some soups and put it in omelettes. It is great when chopped finely and mixed with finely chopped garlic and lemon zest to make gremolata (which is gorgeous scattered on osso buco or lamb). A few weeks ago I picked armfuls of it and decided to make salsa verde with it. Salsa verde sounds quite romantic in Italian but it translates to ….. green sauce (which does not sound nearly as appealing). However this delightful bright green sauce is very simple to make and is fresh and tasty on so many types of food, particularly roasted meats or deep sea fish like tuna – it almost tastes green to me. It is a great sauce to have up your sleeve when you have guests coming over. It keeps for a week in the fridge if you cover it with a layer of olive oil so you can keep it for use at a later date. My husband likes it on a bit of fresh bread while he is waiting for dinner to be ready. I have even heard of some people freezing it for a few months (though I have not tried it myself).

It is a bit like pesto but there are some major differences. The addition of a bit of vinegar and capers means that it is fresh tasting (rather than the richness of pesto).

Making salsa verde in the food processor


Salsa Verde
A bunch of parsley, washed and leaves picked
5 anchovies
25g capers, washed and dried
35g pine nuts
75 ml extra virgin olive oil
20 ml white wine vinegar
Put all the ingredients in a small food processor and pulse until it is the desired consistency. I like mine a bit chunky so I don’t pulse it much. Taste to see if you think it needs more salt. I found that the anchovies and capers were sufficiently salty.

My recipe is adapted from Lucio Galletto’s recipe, though I changed the quantities to suit my taste.

A big bunch of parsley, just picked

My beautiful black terrine

I fell in love with it: beautiful, heavy, black, timeless. I had to buy my terrine mould as soon as I set eyes on it. Even the huge price tag did not deter me. I know it is French. Terrine is French. There is no way around it. But France is right next to Italy and in fact, part of what is now France was once Italy. The French Riviera town of Nice was once called Nizza and Giuseppe Garibaldi was born there. Garibaldi is partly responsible for the unification of Italy (though his home town became French as a result). So I did have Italy on my mind when I bought this mould. Wrapping a terrine in prosciutto even makes it a bit Italian! The word terrine is used to mean both the mould and the actual food. It is a rustic dish that was around in Roman times (maybe Julius Caesar tasted it when he spent all those years in Gaul – conquering, plundering, looting, enslaving…and eating terrine) and it is traditionally made mainly of pork. It may also be made with chicken, seafood or vegetables. It is a pretty clever way of assembling and compacting ingredients that may then be eaten cold or at room temperature. It lasts for days and looks beautiful when it is sliced. It is one of those dishes that looks terribly difficult but it isn’t. My favourite terrine is made with chicken and pork. Although it takes a bit of time to assemble, the result is well worth it. It contains pistachios, asparagus, spinach and is wrapped in prosciutto. The first time I made it I put in garlic that I had grown on my terrace, which made it pretty special. The colours and textures in it make it a feast for the eyes as well as the palate. It you don’t have a terrine mould, you can always use a cake loaf pan of similar dimensions to mine (30 x 10 x 7cm). You will need to make this a day before you need it. You can serve it with a mustard or relish – I made a red capsicum relish to go with it, which complements the flavour of the terrine as well as the colour.

Chicken and pork terrine*
Preheat oven to 180 degrees
3 golden shallots, peeled and finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
100g chicken livers, washed and chopped
1 tablespoon brandy
25g butter
400g chicken thighs, skin off and roughly chopped
400g chicken breast, skin off and cut into 1cm dice
175g pork, minced
1 cup pistachio nuts, peeled and unsalted
1 cup fresh small leaf spinach, roughly chopped
1 cup white bread crumbs (made from day old bread), soaked in 2 tablespoons of milk
1 table spoon of green peppercorns
zest of 2 medium to large lemons
4 sage leaves, finely chopped salt and pepper to taste (I used one teaspoon)
1 egg, beaten
7 asparagus spears, washed and woody ends removed
12 thin slices of prosciutto (try to buy prosciutto towards the centre of the leg so that you get nice long strips with which to wrap the terrine) – leave the fat around the edges

Lining the terrine mould with prosciutto

Melt the butter in a frypan and add the garlic and shallots. Cook until starting to soften then add the chicken livers and the brandy. Cook for a few minutes until the liquid evaporates a bit and place in a large bowl. Add the chicken, pork, nuts, spinach, bread crumbs, lemon zest, peppercorns, sage, egg, salt and pepper to the bowl. I like to soak the bread in a bit of milk to make the terrine really moist. Stir well with a large wooden spoon or with your hands.

Asparagus spears in the terrine

Line the terrine mould with baking paper so that enough hangs over the edges to wrap the terrine (an excess is good), then line with the slices of prosciutto. They should be overlapping slightly and hanging over the edge of the mould. Place half the mixture in the terrine mould and pat down with the back of a spoon to flatten. Arrange the asparagus spears so that they are side by side. Place the rest of the mixture on top and smooth with the back of a spoon.

Wrapping up the terrine before cooking

Wrap the overhanging prosciutto slices over the terrine filling so that it is encased by prosciutto. Wrap the overhanging baking paper around the prosciutto. You will need to cook this in the oven and in a bain marie (bagno maria in Italian or in a water bath in English). This means that the terrine mould sits in a tray that has water in it. You should put the tray half filled with water in the oven before you turn it on, so that the water is hot by the time you put the terrine in to cook. Make sure you don’t put too much water in so that it overflows when you put the terrine mould in it! The water should come half way up the sides of the terrine mould. It takes an hour to cook. You will know it is ready when it feels firm when you press in the centre with your finger. Allow the terrine to cool in the mould. Without removing the baking paper, place a weight along the length the terrine to compress it evenly (I used the heavy lid of my terrine mould but anything heavy like a few tins of tomatoes will do as long as the pressure is even along the length of the terrine). Place in the refrigerator overnight. To unmould, lift the terrine by the baking paper which you will have unwrapped from the top – you might need someone to help you – and slice with a sharp knife. Slices should be 1 – 2 cm thick, depending on how you like them. The capsicum relish has 2 large red capsicum sliced very thinly, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar (I used one that has raspberry through it), 2 tablespoons of caster sugar, a pinch of dried chilli flakes and 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon. This is cooked altogether for at least 20 minutes in a small frypan. It is sweet and slightly sour and is perfect for the terrine (this easy relish is also nice with grilled or roast chicken). The beautiful photo of the terrine sliced ready to serve on a platter was taken by my niece who has a fabulous blog called Melbourne Gastronome.

*recipe adapted from Anna Gare

Livia’s crostoli

Mamma’s crostoli are quite unlike those made by anyone else. They are lighter and crispier than others I have eaten and retain that freshness for weeks. I made crostoli for the first time last week for the celebration of the life of my father, who passed away on 4 March.

Crostoli are known by many other names (galani, sfrappole, bugie) in Italy, depending on what region of Italy you are in. They are also called angel’s wings and a version is cooked in other countries such as Hungary, Poland and the Ukraine. In Italy, they are a speciality of Veneto and Friuli-Venezia Guilia, which is where my family is from. They are essentially sweet fried pastries twisted into ribbons or bows, hence they look like the wings of angels. Mamma remembers making them with her aunt during the the 1940s and she has perfected her recipe over the years. The major difference between my mother’s recipe and other recipes is that she adds no butter or lard to the dough. Every other recipe I have seen has one or the other or both. They also have a good slosh of grappa added and citrus zest. This results in a pastry that is light, crispy and not as rich as others (often resulting in greater quantities being eaten in one sitting!). My father used to say “uno tira l’altro” in Istrian dialect (meaning…one pulls another one in).

Mamma said that making them the way her zia ‘Rica did takes time. She would stretch the pastry by hand next to the fogoler (stove), the heat making it easier to get the pastry to be so thin that you could almost see through it. A far simpler way is to use a pasta making machine to stretch and thin the pastry. It is a bit like making sweet fried pasta.

Here is the recipe my mamma Livia gave me. Crostoli are perfect with a glass of sweet wine such as a moscato but are also lovely with a bubbly such as prosecco, which we had on the day of the celebration of my father’s life.

Livia’s Crostoli
makes about 50 crostoli
3 cups plain flour
4 tablespoons caster sugar (add a bit more if you like them sweeter)
pinch salt
2 whole eggs and 1 egg yolk
2 tablespoons grappa (or brandy or marsala)
finely grated zest of a large lemon (or an orange if you prefer)
1 tablespoon of white vinegar
1/2 cup water (more if needed)
vegetable oil for frying
icing sugar for dusting

You can mix the dough in a food processor or else by hand. I used the food processor for the inital stage. Put all the ingredients in the food processor and process until they are incorporated and a ball of dough forms. Empty this onto a floured surface and knead for a few minutes to ensure it is homogeneous and smooth. It should be like a rather hard pasta dough. Add more flour or water if needed to get the right consistency whilst you are kneading the dough. Wrap in plastic wrap and allow to rest for at least 30 minutes.

Cut off a quarter of the pastry ball, leaving the remainder in plastic wrap. Roll it flat with a rolling pin into a rectangular shape that will pass through the widest setting of a pasta machine. Roll through the machine, making it thinner at each roll, adding a bit more flour if it is sticks to the bench. It should be rolled through to the thinnest setting of your pasta machine three times. Cut each long strip with a fluted pastry cutter so you have 3 long strips. Cut each of the long strips into 8 to 10 cm pieces. Make an incision in the centre of each piece of dough and thread one end through the incision to make a bow (you don’t have to make the bow but it looks prettier). Repeat with the remaining dough. If you have someone helping you, one person can start cooking the crostoli whilst the other continues rolling and cutting.

To cook, heat vegetable oil in a heavy bottomed saucepan. As crostoli are deep fried, you need the oil to be 5 to 7 cm high in the saucepan. Once the oil is hot, drop in 3 or 4 crostoli (or more depending on the diameter of the saucepan). They take about 30 seconds to cook on each side so you need to work quickly and turn them as soon as the edges start to colour. They should be a sandy colour when cooked. If they are brown, you have burnt them. Once cooked on both sides, remove them with tongs and drain them on absorbent paper. If they take longer than 30 seconds on each side to cook, your oil is not hot enough and they will absorb too much oil. The secret of light crostoli is in the short time they take to cook.

You can eat them warm but I like them at room temperature. Before eating, sprinkle icing sugar over them. I don’t put the icing sugar on until I am ready to serve. I find that this ensures they remain crisp and last in an airtight container for weeks (though you will eat them sooner than that!) .


This photo was taken at my wedding, just under a year ago with my papa’, then aged 89.

Crostoli for my father

Today I made crostoli for the first time and I made them for my father. Crostoli are a delightfully light and sweet pastry to have during times of celebration. Mamma says she learnt to make them from her zia ‘Rica (aunt Enrica) at Gorgo del Monticano (in the Veneto region) during the war. Once my parents had retired, papa’ used to help mamma cut the pastry into beautiful bows before frying them. I remember them in the kitchen, working away together making crostoli.

Last Christmas he said to me “ma Paoletta, dove ti ga impara’ a cusinar cosi’ ben?” (Istrian dialect meaning “where did you learn to cook so well?”), knowing full well my mother taught me to cook. I wish I could hear him say those words again. I wish he could taste the crostoli I made. He would probably tell me to take off the icing sugar, he liked them plain. He would be happy though that I added a splash of grappa to the pastry, just enough lemon zest and that they are light and crisp.

He passed away a few days ago and tomorrow family and friends will be celebrating his wonderful 90 year life. I will bring the crostoli to share and I will think how very much I miss him.

Papa' cutting his prosciutto