Eating Italy: A Chef's Culinary Adventure (34 page)

For the frangipane:
Combine the ground almonds, flour, and ¼ cup (30 g) of the confectioners’ sugar in a food processor and process to a very fine meal. In a stand mixer, cream the butter and remaining 1½ cups (180 g) confectioners’ sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, and then the yolk, beating until each is incorporated before adding the next. Add the almond mixture on low speed just until blended. The frangipane can be refrigerated for up to 1 day before using. Let stand until spreadable before using.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).

Transfer the pie dough to a large sheet of lightly floured parchment paper. Top with overlapping sheets of plastic and roll the dough from the center outward to a 14-inch (35.5-cm) circle. Remove the plastic from the dough, then spread the frangipane over the pie dough, leaving a 2-inch (5-cm) border of dough around the perimeter. Use the parchment to slide the dough and frangipane to a large baking sheet (you can use the back of a rimmed baking sheet, if necessary).

Fan the sliced peaches over the frangipane, sprinkling them with sugar as you go and leaving a 2-inch (5-cm) border of dough at the edges. Lift the border of dough over the edge of the fruit, making a few small folds of dough as you go around the circle. Whisk the egg with 1 teaspoon (5 ml) of water and brush all over the exposed dough. Sprinkle generously with turbinado sugar.

Bake until the crust is browned and the fruit is tender, 40 to 50 minutes. Let cool slightly, then cut into wedges. Serve each wedge with a large scoop of gelato.

“HOW DID YOU GET TO ITALY?” A SHORT, TWITCHY OLD MAN NEAR THE COUNTER ASKED ME IN ITALIAN. I GUESS HE COULD TELL I WAS AMERICAN WHEN I ORDERED MY CAPPUCCINO AND CROISSANT. “I’M A CHEF IN BERGAMO,” I SAID. “MY GIRLFRIEND IS FROM THERE, TOO.” IT WAS ONLY TEN IN THE MORNING, BUT THE GUY ALREADY LOOKED AND SMELLED HALF IN THE BAG. “DOES SHE HAVE A BIG LAWN?” HE ASKED. “EXCUSE ME?” I REPLIED. “THEY HAVE BIG LAWNS IN BERGAMO,” HE WENT ON, “WITH LOTS OF ROOM FOR SEX!” THEN HE SMILED, LAUGHING.

Turning away, I figured this dirty old man must work in one of the local textile factories, weaving fancy napkins, tablecloths, and drapes for famous companies, such as Frette. As I drove out of downtown Leffe, up Via Monte Beio, the scene changed completely. Beautiful red, blue, and yellow homes poked through trees on the hillsides above Val Seriana (Seriana Valley). Near the top of the area called San Rocco, I pulled into Locanda del Biancospino and took in the incredible views from the inn’s covered dining terrace. You could see all of “
le cinque terre della valgandino
,” the five lands of the Gandino valley, and, in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Italian Alps. This would be my first executive chef position in Italy. It was an utterly stunning location, but, so far out of town and up the hills, would the restaurant be successful? One glance at the gleaming new kitchen equipment and induction burners replaced all doubt with excitement. The Servalli family who hired me spent more than 100,000 euros ($135,000) on the kitchen alone. I salivated at the opportunity to show off my cooking chops and honor the cuisine that had given me so much.

That winter, I developed the menu, opened the restaurant, and ran the kitchen. Through the spring, I cooked for dozens of big parties and banquets and hundreds of guests. Locanda del Biancospino celebrated the mountain cuisine of the alpine foothills, and my go-to ingredients were wild game, such as pheasant and guinea hen, and forest vegetables and herbs, such as porcini mushrooms and spring onions. The seasons dictated every dish. I bought my vegetables at the local farmers’ market in Cene, shopped for meats at the Camotti butcher shop in Nembro, and purchased fish from Pescheria Orobica, one of the best fishmongers in northern Italy. Every ingredient was pristine; each piece of fruit, cradled in its own nest; each slice of prosciutto, neatly layered between sheets of butcher paper. Even the quality of the cured sausage I bought showed that in food, as in fashion, Italians excel at craftsmanship.

Biancospino was relatively small and we changed the menu often, so I could flex my muscles as a chef there. I created elaborate, composed dishes. The local guinea hens were huge, about four pounds (1.75 kg) each, so I made guinea hen four ways with multiple components, marinating and poaching the breast, searing off the livers like foie gras, and making rillettes with the legs. I crisped up the skin and served the cracklings over guinea hen salad made from the rest of the bird.

It was 2005 and molecular gastronomy was exploding in
Italy. I experimented with alginates, sous vide, and xanthan gum. I deconstructed familiar dishes and presented them in new ways. I pureed fruits and vegetables and foamed them up with nitrous oxide. I plated everything to be as spectacular as the alpine view from the inn’s terrace, arranging a few slices of hen here, a julienne of fennel there, some decorative drops of sauce and a well-placed herb near the edge. I served such dishes as baby horse rib eye with squash gratin, rabbit roasted in black olives with apple and celery root
involtini
, pork ribs with Brussels sprout and walnut fricassee, licorice savarin with coffee sorbetto, and warm bitter chocolate mousse with peperoncino. For a spring party, I made rabbit
casoncelli
with crushed amaretti cookies and chopped raisins in the pasta filling. The locals were used to traditional casoncelli filled with beef and pork, and they loved the subtle twist using rabbit, stunned that an American could put this kind of spin on their local pasta. And do it well.

After a few months, I learned to create successful menus and to manage food costs. First thing in the morning, I would check the walk-in, take ingredient inventory, read the guest list, and put together my food order. I learned how to control everything from my kitchen staff and inventory to my purchasing and budget.

But now that I was executive chef, my most important lessons came from within. Months of flaunting my talents and pushing culinary limits taught me that you can’t just cook from your head. You have to cook from your heart. I started seeing parallels between Pina’s and Claudia’s home cooking and the Michelin-star cooking done at such restaurants as Frosio, La Brughiera, and Loro. They all had heart and soul. I found that even something as simple as an unadorned, spit-roasted goat could be incredibly satisfying when cooked with care. If tended and nurtured, a dead-easy pot of Bolognese sauce can be the most delicious thing you have ever eaten.

Toward the end of that spring, instead of preparing guinea hen four ways, I just stuffed it and roasted it with spring onions. Instead of pureeing and foaming zucchini, I simply grilled it and served it with lemon dressing and local herbs. I still cooked with skill but also with passion—minus the bells and whistles on which I had been relying. I discovered that, as a chef, I wanted to cook less precious food. More rustic. Bold. And beautiful. It was a huge lesson. I’d lost my appetite for such ingredients as methycellulose and tapioca maltodextrin. I wanted to cook with truffles, Taleggio, porcini, and pork. I wanted pheasant and duck hunted from the woods, snails and wild berries harvested from the hills, and local cheeses aged in caves for months until they were perfectly ripe. I wanted to cook with the amazing food that was growing around me.

Locanda del Biancospino was like a petri dish for my professional development. But by the end of that spring, I had to leave. The restaurant was doing well, except that Anna Servalli had hired me on the condition that I get a work visa. My uncle was helping me secure one. But work visas are almost impossible for Americans to get in Italy. It was taking forever, and by the late spring, I still didn’t have it. Anna said she would have to pay me less. I was already deep in debt and couldn’t afford a pay cut. My only option was to leave. But where to go? Without a work visa, I couldn’t make much money in Italy. Yet, moving back to the States meant leaving Claudia here.

SWEET ONION FLAN
with
MORELS

The forests behind Locanda del Biancospino are full of amazing spring ingredients, such as morel mushrooms, wild herbs, and young green onions. I tried to capture the forager’s spirit in this dish by pureeing green onion tops to make an emerald-colored flan as an appetizer. The morels are simply sautéed with garlic and served on the side. I like to leave morels whole, but if they’re big, you can cut them in half or quarters lengthwise. Whatever you do, make sure you dunk them in water several times to get the dirt out of the crevices. I spin the mushrooms in a salad spinner to dry them.

MAKES 6 TO 8 SERVINGS

Spring Onion Flan:

1½ pounds (680 g) spring onions or scallions

2 tablespoons (30 ml) olive oil

4 tablespoons (57 g) unsalted butter