Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

Casseroles make some of the most practical and delicious all-in-one meals. When you have a dish like lasagna, you really don't need sides, the lasagna takes all the attention. The thing that makes lasagna so popular is its ability to bring joy to everyone who eats it. I've never met a person who didn't like lasagna. It has to be all that cheese and sauce melted together between layers and layers of pasta. Most people would agree that lasagna is Italy's answer to comfort food. Not to mention it's practically a sanctified Italian-American specialty.

Tuscans have a very simple and rustic cuisine, characterized by hearty stews, soups, baked goods, and beans. Tuscan bread is the one that's famous for being made without salt. Outside of Tuscany, many people are unfamiliar with the traditional foods, namely sweets. But there's one dessert that's particularly popular around this time of year in Tuscany.

Castagnaccio is traditionally made in the fall and winter months, and is often served during the holidays. It's like a cake but it doesn't rise. It's made from chestnut flour since chestnuts (castagna) are abundant in Tuscany. The cake is not so much sweet as it is earthy. The only ingredients it needs are water and oil. The toppings are what make it special—wine-soaked raisins, pine nuts, orange zest, and rosemary. It's really a cake that's meant to be paired with a glass of Vin Santo and slowly savored at the end of an evening.

The texture of the cake is unique, maybe a little thick and even fudge like, but only in appearance. You'll need a large shallow pan, like a paella, to make it. The chestnut flour can easily be sourced in Italian markets. If you prefer, you could substitute the pine nuts with chopped walnuts and the raisins with other chopped dried fruit. The rosemary adds a nice aromatic touch, but if you don't like herbs on your dessert, you can omit it. You'll really like castagnaccio this Christmas!

As I was making my Shepherd's pie for our book club supper last night, I started to nibble thoughtfully on a celery stick and realized with quite an epiphany what a maligned and ignored vegetable the poor celery is. All due credit to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall who said, famously, "Celery is a bit like a gym membership." The crunch is the thing, isn't it? It's the minxy little crunch that gets you every time.

Which led (as it does, stay with me here) to my driving home this morning down the CA 170 (my very favorite freeway) absolutely ravenous after schooling three horses and wondering what could prevent me from stopping at a fast food drive-thru. Cut to twenty minutes later and a plate adorned with a skinny version of a Waldorf salad sits in front of me, proud as can be. Easy and inadvertently calorie-conscious (as I couldn't find any mayo in the bloody fridge). Here's how you make this excruciatingly simple, scrumptious, crunchy lunch:

“…definitely the tuna tartare, and the hazelnut crusted chicken, and… then a nice, big crudite platter…”

My client was reviewing my menu suggestions for her 150-guest cocktail party, adding the last one on her own.

“NO”, I said, a little more aggressively than I had intended. “No”, softer now, but with the same sentiment. “I just can’t do crudite anymore.”

My client paused. The phone was silent. “Ok”, I caved, “we’ll figure something out. Maybe a small crudite is alright.”

Years ago, I worked as a free-lance chef for a big-time catering company in Los Angeles. We would cater colossal parties for the astronomically rich, where every display was over the top. There were epic platters of food – with sausages and cheese flown in from other countries and cupcake towers the size of New York brownstones.

We would cut vegetables for days, whittling jicama and carrot wedges into little pointy daggers, nipping the tops off radishes, and blanching broccoli and sugar snap peas into the brightest green they could be. It was a thing of beauty for sure, but we had to buy and cut three times more veggies than anyone could ever eat.

Catering is all about making platters look full at all times – which means there has to be tons of coverage. We have to make sure that if someone suddenly goes on a Persian cucumber binge, the display still looks abundant. Hey, nothing says success like excess, right? Well, 75% of the cascading peppers, baby tomatoes, and asparagus would wind up in the garbage. It was heartbreaking.