Soggy Noodles?

My daughter likes her breakfast cereal soggy. I think that's gross and hope her tastes will change as she grows up; thankfully she already is food-curious for an eleven year old.
Breakfast cereals are slowly becoming popular here after years of marketing by multinationals, which can even be a good thing - corn flakes are not evil.
Breakfast cereals are part of our half-american household but we still usually go for dipping Italian breakfast cookies in warm milk, colored with chocolate or espresso shots according to the age of who’s dunking.
But most of us would rather our cornflakes are still crunchy when we eat it.
It's the same with pasta. Think about it. It's just more pleasurable to have something to bite into than something squishy that falls apart under your tongue. It's called "al dente" - literally "to the tooth” because your teeth still have to deal with eating it - but Ricciolidoro (Goldilocks) would have called it "just right".
How do you tell when Ricciolidoro will finish her whole plate?
Folk legend has it that you throw a strand of spaghetti on a vertical wooden cupboard and when it starts to stick it's ready.
I have tried this so you don't have to at home.
First, it has to be a simple wood surface, or it will just slide off anyway. Second, it's really quite disgusting. When was the cupboard last cleaned? How much pasta material will stay up there and for how long? And trust the insights of the rocket scientist who tested the theory (me) that the taste of wood finish and traces of cleaning liquids and wax were not enjoyable when I was 19, and there’s no way I’m going to verify if they have gotten any better today.
I mean, who dreamt that up?
Gross.
Basically the pasta is al dente the minute the center is cooked, and the exterior is just becoming soft enough to make the sauce stick but not so soft that it absorbs the sauce.
You can actually see this moment happen. As your spaghetti boils try taking a piece out and biting into it a few minutes before the cooking time indicated on the package and look at the subtle color difference like you would count the rings of a wooden stump to identify the age of a tree. When the inside yellow disappears, it should be ready. I prefer it a bit rawer, when there’s still a pinprick sized darker core.
If you’ve been eating soggy spaghetti for most of you life, try eating it the hard way.

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Cinnamon summer

Cinnamon is one of those spices that bring back memories. Especially, freshly ground cinnamon. This evening I made a quick stop at the Caffè Polar, the tiny bookshop café, with a free hotspot (still not very common in provincial Italy) here in L’Aquila, the city in the Apennine mountains where I live. My goal was a short cappuccino and a newspaper break, but that change, as I stepped up to the bar to order and caught a whiff of that, oh so familiar spice. The young woman behind the bar was busy grating cinnamon over a small glass cup of espresso.  As she tops it up with panna (dense cream), I ask how she would do espresso and cinnamon cold. It is a warm day, after all. “I would make a

Caffè Shakerato,” is her response. 

Caffè shakerato is the hedonistic Italian version of iced espresso. It consists of two shots of espresso straight from the machine, ice and sugar.  The ingredients are mixed in a cocktail shaker then poured into a flute or cocktail glass. In Milan, and a few other parts of northern Italy, Rebarbaro, (a semisweet bitter), or Biancosarti, (a vanilla-based liquor) are added before shaking.   It is great with a touch of freshly ground cinnamon. 

What I like about the  best spices is how they can turn on your memories that play on all of your senses.   I’ll tell you how cinnamon transformed evening strolls on the Sicilian island of Panarea last summer, in the next installment 

Il Cappero - the Caper

Why Il Cappero?

I was a picky eater as a child. I hated things I called "wet meat", "yucky mushrooms" or - the horrors - "quiche" or anything distant from steak or hamburgers. Fortunately some of us do grow up.
But for some reason, I loved capers. I still do.

That's right. "Il Cappero" means "The Caper". And did I say I love capers?

Capers, just to make sure we are talking the same language, are those little round green things that you usually find pickled in little jars. But in Europe they are often sold under salt (layers and layers of salt) as are anchovies (although the fish are often in huge tins). The best ones I've had so far are from Panarea. I picked up two bags (500 grams each, about a pound and a quarter) of local capers under salt.

The good part of the prehistoric tradition of preserving food under salt is not only that they last longer, but they also keep more of their original flavor than pickling. The drawback is that you have to rinse them almost obsessively.

Tonight's baked potatoes are a bit boring? Rinse a handful under running water and toss them on. Add freshly ground pepper (but no salt, of course).

Looking for a hint of Mediterranean character at a moment's notice? Throw a handful on your salad, or n your potato salad, drop a few in with the oil and vinegar with your freshly-cut summer tomatoes.

"Il Cappero" is where I hope to share some of the discoveries I've made about food, wine, and just plain eating, with a particular, but lovingly critical, emphasis on the magic of Italian food. This will take as through neighborhood markets, local foods and traditions, street food (a better word than fast food" kitchens (not just mine), wine bars and restaurants (but for those I'll also be writing on DeliciousCityIt) .

Oh, just in case you're asking, why should you look to me as your expert on food and wine, especially Italian food and wine?

Because I eat quite a lot of it. And I'm good at it too.

Did I say I like capers?

Just checking

Joshua Lawrence - L'Aquila, Italy