Cook Here and Now

Cross-pollinate your pantry.

I've always resented the annoying cable TV chefs that introduce an elaborate
dish or a 3-page recipe by saying: "I just go to the market and let the
ingredients speak to me." Yeah, I've tried that. I listened, but usually
what I hear is the sound of garbage trucks whizzing past on the freeway and
children clamoring for Kettle corn. Not quite the perfect ingredients for
the dinner party I had in mind.

When I'm really lucky at the farmers market, the ingredients speak to me in
a language I don't even understand yet. You know how it is: The fog of sleep
has barely lifted when you're greeted by the sight of some vegetable that
seems newly arrived from Mars. The lumpy item is a weirdly luminous shade of
green, smells vaguely of ginger, and hey, is that fur?

No, it's not an alien: it's a local crop of some vegetable that may already
be wildly popular in some other part of the world, and we're only just now
catching on. Cleaned and prepared a certain way, this vegetable may be a
staple of some diet half a world away, just as rice, potatoes or wheat are
in California. It could be the magic secret ingredient for an entire
cuisine, like tomatoes brought from the New World are for us Italians. But
how do we learn to speak its language?

At first I decided total immersion was the way to go. I boned up on cuisines
as far flung as Ethiopian, Cantonese and, obviously, Italian -- and soon
learned that I had to keep an incredibly expensive stocked pantry of elusive
ingredients to make many recipes work. I would use a teaspoon of tamarind
from a jar the size of a Slurpie and let the rest sit for a while. Then
awhile would turn into a year, and my industrial quantity of tamarind would
go into the trash. That was terribly wasteful and unsatisfying. It was like
learning Esperanto: I expended a lot of effort covering the basics of many
cuisines without ever really becoming fluent in any one.

Then I tried learning cuisines the way I learned English: by repeated trial
and (ahem) occasional error. As long as I was constantly changing recipes in
the search of a better one from a worldwide repertoire, I wasn't really
taking the proper time to work up a recipe I could make my own. But before I
could present it to the oohs and aahs of my dining companions, I needed to
give myself time to experiment and make mistakes.

The good news is that it doesn't take as long as you'd think to get your
basics down. All you need to have guests over are three solid dishes. A
great place to start is from what you like, be it sushi, Thai noodles or
French soups. Buy a book, ask kitchen-savvy friends, and go from there.

To build culinary fluency even faster, build from what you already know.
Even in my immigrant eagerness to embrace my newfound home country, I hadn't
completely forgotten the simple guiding principle of my native Italian
cuisine: In the right proportions, a few basic ingredients can transform
into truly complex flavors. So I started mastering some traditional Roman
recipes -- bucatini all'amatriciana, rustic pagnotta, risotto, pizza
margherita -- and noticed how the flavors worked together in different
combinations. Soon I started having many recipes to offer to my guests I
could feel proud of, because I knew they were far more personal and
distinctive than you'd find in restaurants churning out meals to please the
masses.

Like knowing the Latin roots of English words, those basic flavor
combinations gave me a basis to learn from. Once I felt comfortable with the
Roman basics, I started adding ingredients that were completely new to me. I
hit the books to learn about Asian and Latin American ingredients, and
started buying and incorporating them one at a time in the dishes. One of my
recent favorites is a Pacific Rim dish: bok choy and champagne risotto with
lime-poached scallops. Last week I made calzones with sauteed organic mizuna
(Japanese mustard greens) and California-made mozzarella cheese. Not a
common dish in Trastevere, but let me tell you: They're missing out.

So these days when I encounter some utterly unknown ingredient at the
farmer's market, I instinctively begin to salivate -- my tastebuds know
they're in for a journey. Mind you, there will still be some missed
connections and lost luggage along the way, but there's no better way to
initiate a meaningful appreciation of our human differences than through
something as primal as food. The letter of cuisine no longer interests me:
it's the spirit that matters.

Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Let's get it right, already: Focaccia with rosemary

Buonasera.
One of my contributions to our December group cooking event was a Ligurian Focaccia col rosmarino (Liguria is the Italian region where focaccia originated). The response was truly enthusiastic -- we're talking crumbs within minutes. Nothing could've made me happier than seeing people appreciate the real thing, and see that the difference between store-bought and home-baked is always evident.

I'm often surprised at the focaccia's popularity, given how doughy, limp, stale or tough the average one is. It's really not too hard to make compared to other Italian or French breads, and when you get it just out of the oven, with the slightly crackling crust, glistening with translucent golden olive oil and coarse salt crystals reflecting the light, well... it's outstanding. The aroma of rosemary permeates the room.

The real focaccia has a couple necessary steps that make a significant difference in flavor and texture, and are usually overlooked in mass-produced versions.

First, part of the dough has to be made of boiled potatoes, not flour. This will contribute a different shade of flavor and tenderness to the dough (unlike wheat flour, potatoes have starch but no gluten).
To take your focaccia to next level, you brush it with oil before it's headed for the oven, and also as soon as it comes out. This adds another layer of flavor, wets the rosemary again to release more herbal aromas, and most importantly makes it look amazing.

This goes really well served with a Shitake or Portobello pate with white truffle oil  -- that's the recipe I gave you last week. Do try them together.

A few months back, I gave you quite a different recipe for a focaccia filled and topped with roasted grapes -- it's back in season, as grapes are all over the farmers' markets. Go check it out!

So get to that kitchen, crank up the oven and share this treat. There's plenty for everyone, even for a holiday party crowd.
Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Focaccia with rosemary (Focaccia ligure col rosmarino)

This will make approximately a 11'x17' focaccia. I bake it in a cookie sheet with small rims.
It takes about 4 hours to make.

Ingredients

Dough
1 medium baking potato or 1 cup of organic potato flakes and 1 cup of hot water
1 and 1/2 tsp of instant yeast or 2 tsp dry yeast
3 and 1/2 cups of organic all-purpose flour (don't use bread flour)
1 cup water (warm to the touch, but not boiling)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus a little more to oil the bowl it'll rise in
1 and 1/4 teaspoons salt

To top it
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh rosemary
1 or 2 teaspoon sea salt, coarse if you can get it

How do I do it?
Boil a quart of water and cook the peeled potato until tender. Mash it finely and reserve 1 and 1/3 cup (tightly packed ) for the recipe.
If using potato flakes, add a cup of boiling water, and mix thoroughly. Set aside to cool slightly.

In a mixer, combine the yeast, 1/2 cup of the flour and 1/2 cup of water and mix well, then let sit for 25 minutes. This will activate the yeast and give it a good start, without the salt slowing it down, so the rise will be slower in the second stage. Cover the mixture tightly and let the yeast go to work in private -- it'll get bubbly in there.

Add the remaining ingredients, and mix them initially with the paddle. After a couple of minutes replace them with the dough hook and work about 5 minutes at medium speed, until the dough is tight and clears the edges. It will stick to the bottom of the mixer, as it will be a little wet. That's OK. If the area sticking to the bottom is very large, like a circle of 5" across, add some flour a tablespoon at a time until it's a little tighter.

Get out your dough, place it in a oiled bowl, and let rise until doubled. This takes about an hour at 75 degrees. Colder rooms will take longer. Don't let it over-rise; it's a slightly delicate dough.

Pull it out of the bowl, and spread it about 1/4 of an inch thick onto an 11'x17" cookie sheet. Push with your fingertips and spread it around to the four corners. It's OK if it's dimpled -- you'll need those, and you'll add more later. Do it slowly, and make sure it's spread out. The gluten structure may make it contract a little. Don't worry: It'll grow and fill the space again.

Spread a thin layer of olive oil on it with your fingers (so it won't stick to the towel covering it).
Cover with a kitchen towel and let it puff up to about double in volume.
It'll take 45 minutes to an hour. After 20 minutes, turn on the oven and pre-heat it to 425.

When it's doubled, wet your fingers with cold water (so the dough won't stick to your hands), and dimple the surface, about 2" apart. Pour the olive oil topping, the rosemary and pepper with the coarse salt. Some of the topping will pool in the dimples; that's what you want.

Put it in the oven. It'll take 20-25 minutes to cook. Keep an eye on it, as it's thin and will brown and dry up fast if you overcook it.When it's a couple of shades darker than cream, with a little lighter browning, take it out and put it on a cooling rack (or leave it in the pan if you don't have one).

Brush it well with extra-virgin olive oil. If you have a really flavorful oil, now's the time to use it. Like all breads, let it cool off slightly, at least 30 minutes for the dough to set. Otherwise it may be too chewy (not in the good way).

This reheats very well, and gets a little crisp. If you're taking it to a party or potluck, you should under-bake it a few minutes. Cook it for 20 minutes in this case, then about 5 minutes at 350 when you're ready to eat.

Enjoy!

 

Shitake, Portobello or Porcini mushrooms pate with white truffle oil

Buongiorno.
After our December group dinner, many of you asked me for the recipe of my mushroom pate. It's a tasty seasonal treat to bring to a holiday potluck and truly versatile, because you can adapt the recipe to make the most of whatever mushroom is in season. In December I used meaty Portobello, and at the November dinner I made it with Shitakes (which I sometimes grow myself, but it's really not necessary). The base recipe comes from back home in Italy, where we use Porcini. A little goes a long way as an appetizer with a nice crusty bread, and really satisfies that winter craving for savory umami flavors. You can omit the truffle oil, but it gives the pate greater depth of flavor: All you need is a teaspoon or two.
Enjoy and let me know how you liked it,
Marco Flavio

Shitake, Portobello or Porcini mushroom pate with white truffle oil
(Pate' di funghi porcini)

Takes about 50 minutes to make and at least 2 hours in the refrigerator to come together (or overnight). It will keep well for a few days refrigerated. Don't whine about the fat: It's a pate.

Ingredients
1 lb. Shitake mushrooms
1/2 an ounce of dried porcini mushrooms (optional)
1 stick of butter, unsalted
1/2 cup of extra-virgin olive oil
2 Bay leaves
3 cloves of garlic
1 cup of dry white white (Sauvignon Blanc works very well)
Salt to taste (start with 1 and a quarter teaspoons; I like almost two)
Freshly-ground pepper to taste (I like to put in quite a bit)

How do I do it?
If you are using the porcini as well, boil exactly 1 cup of water, and soak the dried porcinis in it for at least 20 minutes.
Brush the Shitake mushrooms (do not rinse them in water). Remove the stems, cut of the end where they're attached to the ground and chop them in small pieces with the caps (about the size of a small corn kernels). You can use a food processor if you want, but make sure the pieces don't get too small.

Cook them covered in a skillet with the bay leaves, the drained porcini (keep the water they soaked in) and the chopped garlic for 30 minutes on a low flame. Every now and them lift the cover and add some of the wine and some of the porcini water. The liquids should be all used up before the 30 minutes are up.
After 30 minutes of simmering, remove the lid. If still too wet, let the moisture evaporate: It should look like a thick sauce, not watery at the bottom. Don't burn it.
Turn the burner off and remove the bay leaves.
If you like a finer consistency, chop it finer with an immersion blender or in the food processor before adding the butter.

Melt the stick of butter in the microwave. The butter should not cook, just melt.
Add it to the pate and stir it in vigorously. At this point add a teaspoon of white (or black) truffle oil if you want repeat invitations to the dinner you're taking it to.
Truffle flavor does not like high-temperatures, so add it always at the end for maximum flavor.

Place the pate in a bowl and refrigerate it before serving at least 2 hours, the flavors will meld and concentrate.

Buon appetito!
Marco Flavio

I am the walnut.

Coo coo ca-choo -- a fresh crop of walnuts is in!
They're firm-textured and impressively leaf-and-weather stained -- they have to hang in there through wind and rain to grow ripe for the table. When they're ready, they have a complex, aromatic, savory flavor: the ideal complement to a gorgonzola and roasted beet salad, a rich whole-wheat bread, or pancakes with a drizzle of amber-colored maple syrup.

In Italy, we've always had a profound attachment to this delightful nut. Since the ancient Romans lugged it all the way across the empire from Persia, where it was a food reserved for royalty, it's been part of our cuisine. The Persian walnut is now known as the English walnut, because the British spread it through their colonies, including the United States. Officially Romans called it the "royal acorn of Jupiter" -- but because of its suggestive shape when cut in half, it was popularly associated with Juno, the goddess of fertility. Women trying to get pregnant would carry walnuts.

But when you're popular, there's always someone who doesn't like you. As the 1700s story goes in Benevento, near Naples, there was a large walnut tree that the locals believed to be the site of Satanic rites and witches' gatherings. The local bishop tried to have it removed, roots and all, but the tree sprung up again -- tenacious as a true southerner.

December is when walnuts are harvested at their most flavorful. The ones you find in the market year-round come from storage, and their flavor is often weaker and less nuanced. Since walnuts are  oil-rich, they may even turn slightly rancid -- so make the most of what's available now.

Get that nutcracker we hear so much about about this time of year, and put it to use. Enjoy the primal pleasure of hearing the shell crack, followed by the initial whiff of the flavor to come. Extract the pieces, one chunk at a time. If you're lucky, the whole half of that butterfly-shaped kernel will come out in one piece. Chew it slowly: Let the aroma linger in your mouth. There's an initial astringency, followed by that distinctive rich flavor in the back of your palate. There it is -- subtle at first, like fog lifting. Exhale though your nose: That's when most of the complexity unfolds.

Nutritional Information
By now you've been bombarded with nutritionists' findings that Omega-3 oils are good for you, and told by vitamin salespeople that fish and flaxseed are the only worthwhile sources to fulfill our daily nutritional requirements. (Did they convince you to have a tablespoon of raw flaxseed oil every morning? I'm sorry...I did it once, but never again.)

Here's the good news: Walnuts are extremely rich in the Omega-3 department. A quarter cup of them delivers 90% of your daily requirement, plus a healthy dose of manganese and copper and several phytochemical nutrients, including the elusive antioxidant ellagic acid.

Selection and Storage
In storage mold may grow on walnuts, so check to be sure the stains are from weather exposure.  Smell them before you buy to make sure they haven't gone rancid from improper storage. Once shelled, you should store walnuts in the fridge. They'll be fine for about 6 months. If you need them to keep for the whole year, divide them in single-usage packets and freeze them.

Preparation
As with most nuts, walnut flavor is amplified by roasting. But because Omega-3 oils are very delicate and heat-sensitive (remember the flaxseed oil you were told to consume raw?) they should be roasted  at just 160-170°F (about 75°C) for about 15-20 minutes.

Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Thanksgiving turkey: Local, organic and delicious.

Buongiorno.
As the Thanksgiving holiday is rapidly approaching, I thought I'd share with you where to get fantastic Diestel turkeys. If the big bird is your meat of choice, I'd recommend these to serve friends and family the best turkey they've ever had. They're free-range, raised at the bottom of the Sierra Nevada foothills, and amazingly flavorful. Diestel also offer an organically certified veriety. Take my word for it, and after the holidays post back here and tell me how it went.
Ciao,
Marco Flavio

Here's where you can get them in San Francisco.
Here's where youcan get them in the East Bay.
Here's where you can get them in the North Bay.
Here's where to get them in the South Bay.

Enjoy!

Great meals from a crappy oven

Buongiorno,
I'm back from Italy, and I've been thinking about cooking with great ingredients using less-than-stellar equipment. When I was back in Rome, I had several meals at friends' houses where  the kitchens are small, the countertops are not granite, and the pots are not all All-Clad.  The equipment they used was nothing fancy, and standard in the majority of the world. Yet they managed to come up with  fragrant sauces, succulent slow-cooked roasts, and lightly sauteed vegetables bursting with flavor with that subpar equipment. Oh, and did I mention the pasta?

Like many of you, I'm a fan of the scientific methods of the Equipment Corner at America's Test Kitchen. Thanks to them, I now know that of the 28 garlic presses available for purchase, only two or three will actually do the job consistently, self-clean, and have a hinge that won't break in three months — wish I'd read that before I bought the first six. But in the US, have we taken reliance on the latest, greatest equipment too far?

Consider our oven at home in San Francisco: 12 years old, brand-less, seals poorly, and cooks unevenly. I put a pizza stone in  it to stabilize the heat, but still I have to rotate baked goods for  even cooking. I also invested in a good oven thermometer to monitor the  temperature (this is a must, even for really good ranges — don't rely  on what the handle says). In this dented white pile o' tin, I've managed over the years to cook  endless amounts of muffins, breads, focaccias, cookies, pizzas,  braised meats, roasts, and most other items that require diffused heat. I'm sure that with a better oven, things would be easier, but it still gets the job done. And let me tell you: The flavor has not been  wanting. (Many of you who've tried my foccacia at Cook Here and Now dinners can vouch for that.)  I count on the love I have for food and sharing it, experience with local ingredients, and knowledge of where and when to find the best produce to make up for our rickety old equipment.

Too much technical information and emphasis on really high-end tools can be paralyzing. Same with all these cooking shows where elaborate meals requiring 4 skilled Santoku-wielding prep cooks are presented to a chops-licking hungry audience that applauds on cue. Then when you make the dish at home you think: how come I can't julienne like that? And where is my applause?! We can't always take our cue from professional chefs. Most of us have somewhat limited time and budgets, and limited space in our apartment kitchens for the latest appliances — let alone room for a studio audience.

Some people come back to their homes equipped with the latest and  greatest, yet buy their ingredients from the local chain store, even  when farmers' markets or a CSA are an option. They store their groceries for a week  in those marvelous Sub-Zero fridges, and most of their recipes come  out... well...

I'm no technophobe (hello, I'm a blogger) but like many home chefs I swear by my most tried-and-true equipment. Teflon pans come and go in our house, but nothing makes cornbread like a cast-iron skillet. Let me tell you, Kitchen Aid mixers are built like tanks: mine has walked right off our too-narrow counter many times and has the scrapes to prove it, but it hasn't let me down yet. Knives that need constant sharpening,  pots that burn anything unless you constantly stir, ranges without  convection, plastic wrap that does not seal perfectly can still deliver what we so fondly desire. Again and again.

So be fearless: Pick a handful of recipes and master them with what ever tools you have handy. An upgrade here and there can be necessary,  but don't let product-peer-pressure stop you. Practice the recipe, using the freshest ingredients you can find, and make it yours.

A presto,
Marco Flavio

Eggplants: What you need to know.

Buongiorno.
Already we’ve talked about one fruit that staked its place among the vegetables in the kitchen: the tomato. Now let’s talk about its cousin, the eggplant.

The two fruits arrived in Europe about the same time, in the 1500s, although the eggplant came from East Asia instead of the New World. But both belong to the Solanaceae family, which makes them relatives of Deadly Nightshade. With such a nefarious family and natural bitter flavor, the eggplant was not initially welcomed in Europe, and even believed capable of infecting its eaters with insanity and leprosy.

The eggplant soon became such an important part of Mediterranean cuisine that its name, color and luster immediately bring to mind the complex, aromatic dishes characteristic of early fall. Growing up I was never particularly fond of its flavor or texture, but that has changed dramatically now that I’ve witnessed its starring roles in many outstanding Chinese, Japanese and North African dishes. The weird name eggplant belongs to the variety that was first imported in the English-speaking world, due to its egg shape (see photo).

So now the question is: which ones to buy?
Buy shiny, firm, unbruised ones. No dark spots or wrinkling should be present on the skin (that means it's already decaying). The stem should be bright green (purple in the Japanese variety): The more wilted and brown or discolored it looks, the longer it's been since it was picked. Press on the fleshy part: if it bounces back, it’s ripe. If not, try another one. If you have the option, select small to medium eggplants rather than large ones, especially for the European variety. They usually contain fewer seeds and have a sweeter, less bitter, flavor.

The eggplant growing seasons lasts from July through October, so buy them only then. They love the sun, and if you indulge their tanning cravings, you’ll taste the difference. Eggplant is a truly nutritious vegetable, laden with antioxidants in its flesh and in its skin, so don’t peel it unless it’s very large and has tough skin. It's also very good source of dietary fiber, potassium, manganese, copper and thiamin (vitamin B1), vitamin B6, folate, magnesium and niacin.

You can keep them in the refrigerator inside a plastic bag for up to 5 days, but they are most flavorful and least bitter when fresh. Don't say I didn't warn you.

How do I prepare it?
European variety eggplants must be salted before use, as this will remove their bitter juices (the sweeter Japanese and Thai ones don't need it). Cut them in 1/2 inch round slices, place a layer of them in a colander, sprinkle a nice layer of salt on top of them, then lay down a paper towel and another layer of eggplant slices, salt and so on until you’re done. Then put a small weight on top of them for about 30 minutes to purge them of those evil-inducing juices… or at least that bitter flavor. Once the 30 minutes have elapsed, remove them, rinse them slightly, and leave them in the colander to dry a bit until needed.

The salting process will also make them absorb less oil during cooking, giving you a lighter morsel. If you’re going to fry them, you should dip the slices in a coating of flour, egg and bread crumbs before frying to lessen oil absorption. Remember that brick-heavy fried eggplant dish? The one that seemed tasty at the time, but afterwards you couldn't sleep a wink? That’s the fault of the spongy texture, meant to absorb whatever they are mixed with. It’s also the reason they are so versatile and go with so many other flavors.

If you’re using the eggplant diced in a recipe, cut right before adding, as the flesh discolors quickly once exposed to air.

Eggplant can be baked, roasted in the oven, or steamed. If baking it whole, pierce the eggplant several times with a fork to make small holes for the steam to escape. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 25 to 45 minutes, depending upon size. That will give you a most versatile and savory pulp that can be transformed into many dishes, including the delicious eggplant caviar … stay tuned for the recipe next week.

A presto,
Marco Flavio

Thin pizza crust: The Roman way.

Buongiorno.
Of all the pizzas in the world, this one catapults my memories to bustling pizzerias back home in Trastevere, Rome. Loudly shouted demands for brick-oven-birthed pizza, shiny paper tablecloths, gutsy deep-red house wine and the warmth and din of other revelers all around you … people you never met, but recognize as that chaotic, energetic, sassy crowd that makes Romans feel so at home, so alive. The crowd is the secret ingredient that transforms a good dinner into a memory. And that’s not unique to Romans, right?

When I was growing up, there was no Cantonese, sushi, burritos or even deep-dish pizza to be had. There was only our pizza: Roman, thin-crust, cooked in a wood-fired brick oven and lightly topped with your choice of savory tomatoes and fresh buffalo mozzarella, same-day-picked zucchini blossoms and lightly salted anchovies, or porcini mushrooms and dry-cured prosciutto. (Mmmm…thank you, Mr. Pig.) And no, I never felt deprived. I loved it. Flavors so overwhelming to the senses, they possessed the capacity to embed themselves in your memory and leave you lusting for them for decades to come. I looked forward to it every single time. At age 8, I recall asking my mother for a whole month, "When are we going out for pizza?" until finally she replied in exasperation: "Tonight." (It's still one of my fondest childhood memories.)

In Italy, Rome and Naples compete for bragging rights to the best pizza. As a Roman, I must admit Neapolitan pizza is not bad... edible at the very least. Knock yourself out. Woo-hoo. (Perdonami, Ilaria.) It's a different style, with a larger cornicione (the edge of the pizza, rather thick in a Neapolitan pizza) and a softer, more bread-like consistency. Either has its advocates. There'll never be a consensus who makes the best kind, like crowning the best burrito place in San Francisco. I have to give Neapolitans credit for bringing pizza to the States, and for having the good manners to return to the New World the favor of gifting Europe the tomato.
Roman pizza crust is thin and crunchy but never, ever hard to chew or like a cracker. When you bite into it it will have a little of the softness of bread, counterbalanced by a crisp bottom, and the whole thing should almost melt in your mouth.  Cooking it in a pan will not allow the dough to release moisture, leaving it thin and soggy. Cook yours in the now ubiquitous and inexpensive pizza stones, which absorb moisture throughout the cooking process and guarantee crispness.

Roman thin-crust pizza dough recipe

Ingredients:

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups pastry flour (very important for its final consistency)

1/4 cup semolina flour (this helps with making it crisp)

1 teaspoon instant yeast (or 1 and 1/4 teaspoon dry-yeast)

1 3/4 teaspoons sea salt

1 3/4 cups plus a couple of tablespoons of water (do not use distilled, purified water, since you’ll need some of the mineral salts present in water to add to the flavor; Roman water is extremely mineral-rich)

Directions:

If using dry yeast, dissolve it in a large mixing bowl with the warm water and wait five minutes. Mix in the rest of the ingredients.

If you’re using an electric mixer, mix with the dough hook for about 4-5 minutes, until the flour gathers into a coarse ball. Let the dough rest for 5 minutes, then mix again for 2 to 3 minutes. It should clear the sides of the bowl and be just a tad sticky, like used tape. If it’s too sticky, add a little bit of flour, a tablespoon at a time and mix a bit more; if too stiff, add a tablespoon of water and mix it in. Do not knead the dough too much, as this might overdevelop the gluten network, making the dough too chewy for Roman pizza. This is very important and something to watch out for, especially with an electric mixer.

If mixing by hand, knead for about 4-5 minutes until the dough stiffens, and add a bit of flour or water, depending on need. Don't add too much flour; the dough needs to stay a little wet and supple.

Once the dough becomes a little stiff and comes together, let it sit covered with a damp cloth for 5 minutes, then knead again for 2-3 minutes. Again, very important: Do not overknead.

Once the dough feels ready, soft, slightly wet and supple, shape it into a ball. Grease a bowl with a couple of teaspoons of olive oil, place the dough in it, roll it so it gets coated with the olive oil, then cover with plastic wrap. Let it sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes, then place it in the refrigerator overnight, so that the yeast can do its magic and extract all the flavor from the flour. If you need to use it the same day, let it sit out for a couple of hours, then refrigerate it for a couple of hours, and take it out and shape it 2 hours before you will need to cook it. Make it in the morning for use at dinner.

If you used the flavor-enhancing overnight method, take it out a couple of hours before kneading it to let it come back to room temperature and revive the yeast. The dough is now ready to be shaped, topped and cooked.

For Part II: Topping and Cooking go here.

Enjoy!
Marco Flavio

 

San Francisco's Farmers' Markets: Where and When

Buongiorno.
Not everyone can get their sleepy selves to Alemany at 8 am on a Saturday. Trust me: I understand that. There are less painful options — but wherever you go, try and go early. Foodies know the good stuff, and always get to it first.

Here's a list of where and when to buy local and seasonal goods from the farmers themselves in our beloved (except when house-shopping) San Francisco. Go and grace your table with Northern California's bounty. Organic produce, grass-fed meats (including the extra-lean bison), wild-caught salmon and artisanal chocolate. Yes, you are correct: We're the lucky ones, and we're a little smug about it.

So get out to your local farmer's market and meet the farmers — they're the ones who can tell you definitively what's good and what's outstanding on any given week. You'll appreciate the difference, and so will your guests. Ask to sample, figure out what you like, and snap it up. Get acquainted with your food, and look forward to its return every season, like a long-lost friend.

Now if only life was always that reliable...

A presto,
Marco Flavio

Alemany
The first (and my very favorite) San Francisco farmers' market with over 50 stands, including local cheeses, baked goods, mushrooms, honey, and locally produced extra-virgin olive oils. Look for me with friends and Cook Here and Now group members on Saturday mornings.

Location: 100 Alemany Blvd, San Francisco, CA 94110 (Mission/Bernal Heights)

Year round/Seasonal: Year round, rain or shine

Days/Times: Sat. 6am-5pm

Ferry Plaza Farmers Market
This is the well-known one, where you bring your family from out-of-town or go to see and be seen with boutique produce. It features eclectic vendors, great vegetables, and excellent meat, but you'll pay dearly for all those adjectives. You'll also find chocolate, bison steaks, delightful chantrelle mushrooms and much more than produce. I admit it: This market is a guilty but often necessary pleasure. They also offer nutrition and cooking classes. See cuesa.org for a list of informative programs and local and seasonal food resources.

Year round/Seasonal:
Tuesday and Saturday markets are open year-round, rain or shine. Saturday is the big market day, with almost 100 vendors.
Sunday and Thursday markets are open May-December, rain or shine.

Days/Times:
Tuesdays: 10:00am-2:00pm — in front of the Ferry Building. Rain or shine.
Thursdays: 4:00pm-8:00pm  — ditto.
Saturdays: 8:00am-2:00pm — in front of the Ferry Building and in the back plaza. Rain or shine.
Sundays: 10:00am-2:00pm — in front of the Ferry Building. Rain or shine.

Location
The Ferry Building, where Market Street meets the Embarcadero, San Francisco, CA 94111

Fillmore San Francisco Certified Farmers' Market
This one has a great friendly neighborhood feel to it, with live jazz and hot coffee.

Year round/Seasonal:
Seasonal: April through November 18, every Saturday from 9:00 am to 1:00 pm.

Location
O'Farrell at Fillmore, and Fillmore Center Plaza

Marina California Certified Farmers' Market
Another excellent resource, all from California Certified Producers. Also a happening scene.

Year round/Seasonal:
Seasonal: Every Saturday, May 20th through October 29th; 10am to 2pm.

Location:
Marina Middle School, on Fillmore between Chestnut and Bay Streets
Parking behind school $5.00

Civic Center
A viable alternative, but not the one to take the visiting in-laws to see — the neighborhood can get sketchy. Do stop by, especially on a Sunday morning, and afterwards head to lunch at the Asian Art Museum (restaurant open to the public, no admission required).

Year round/Seasonal:
Year round: Every Wednesday and Sunday, 7am to 4pm

Location
Market St and Hyde St.
San Francisco, CA

Crocker Galleria
A welcome addition for all of us working stiffs downtown, this market is a chance to have a picnic lunch and bring home some California-grown seasonal fruit and produce from about 20 vendors.

Year round/Seasonal:
Year round: Every Thursday, 11am to 3pm

Location
50 Post Street at Montgomery
San Francisco, CA 94104

San Francisco Kaiser Market
A nice range of vendors, and kudos to Kaiser for bringing it to us.

Year round/Seasonal:
Year round: Every Wednesday, 10am to 2pm

Location
Kaiser Medical Center, 2425 Geary Blvd. (at Divisadero)
San Francisco, CA 94118

Noe Valley farmers' Market

Year round/Seasonal:
Year round: Open every Saturday, 8 am - 1pm
Open 8 am - 5 p.m. October 21 for the Noe Valley Harvest Festival.

Location
In the Noe Valley Ministry’s new parking lot on 24th Street between Sanchez and Vicksburg.
San Francisco, CA

Bayview Farmers' Market
The latest and most welcome addition, added in 2005.

Year round/Seasonal:
Seasonal: May through mid-December. Every Saturday, 9:30 a.m. - 1:30 p.m.

Location
Third and Galvez streets
San Francisco, CA

Tomato: The fruit of love.

Buongiorno.
Among my Italian friends, we often speak of a most wonderous creature, an elusive being that we await for all year that reminds us we are not that far from home after all.

One taste, one look, and we're right there, if only for a few precious moments. Sun in our face, loud conversation surrounding us, words ending in vowels, and heat so intense, even thinking makes us sweat: This is the role of the tomato in Italian lore.

Last year, thanks to a fortuitous series of circumstances, a few Italian friends and I discovered a particularly phenomenal one. It was an organic, dry-farmed tomato from the Bartle family farm: Two Dog Farm. We all agreed it had the perfect flavor and texture, and we started buying up the stock at the only 2 markets in San Francisco that carried it. When the season ended in September 2005, we resigned ourselves to the fact that it would be another year until such a treat would grace our plates again.

Well, it's back! I quickly emailed the interested parties: Let the eating begin. Summer fog be damned! For us the tomato defines the season, not the lousy weather.

This past weekend, I'd just bought a couple of pounds at Buffalo grocery in the Castro, when I did my regular walk through the Alemany farmers' market — and lo and behold, what do I see?
Could it be? It was! I swiftly looked up and asked: Are you the Bartle family?
That's how I met Nibby and Miles (below), two farmers whose product allows me to feel just a bit closer to home.

The Bartles are a family of four from the Santa Cruz area running a small family farm, and it was their very first day at a San Francisco farmer's market.  I told them what their tomatoes meant for me and my friends, and how we looked forward to eating those dry-farmed beauties all year.

All their effort means something very special to me, to Ilaria, and to many others — on a personal level, not in some abstract way. From their care, to the market, to my hands, to me and my dinner guests.

Now if we could all reap such rewards from our daily work...

In Italian the tomato used to be called pomo d'amore, pome of love, back in the 1800s when it was the custom for a gentleman to bring a small tomato plant when  visiting his beloved. It was only introduced to Europe from central and south American plant in the 1500s, so it was still an exotic gift, like bringing an orchid these days. It wasn't eaten; its kinship with the notorious Deadly Nightshade (in Italian, belladonna) affected its popularity as an edible vegetable. Between the lethal belladonna (literally, "beautiful woman" in Italian) and the supposedly poisonous pome of love, you can make your own deductions about the Italians' particular outlook on love and relationships.

Over time, the pomo d'amore's red, orange and sometimes bright yellow colors turned its name to pomo d'oro (pome of gold), and that's how it remains to this day: Pomodoro. The word in English and most other western languages come from the Nahuatl (the language used by the Aztecs) tomatl.

Which ones do I buy?
Taste them and buy only the fresh, ripe, spicy-scented ones — put your nose to them already! When fresh, they're a nutritional powerhouse. If they're allowed to ripen on the vine, tomatoes develop a very rich, full flavor thanks to the presence of the savory Glutamic acid (present in most meats). Glutamic acid is responsible for one of the basic five flavors: Umami. At full ripeness you'll also notice a a carmel undertone that comes from the production of the desired furaneol aroma compound (also present in strawberries and pineapples).

Don't bother buying supermarket-variety tomatoes, the poster children of flavorless produce. These tomato species are selected for their capacity to tolerate long shipping, instead of flavor. They're picked when still green, and their red color is produced with exposure to ethylene gas.
 

Now, do everyone a favor: Go to the market, sample a few Bartle tomatoes and bring some home. Slice them, dress them with a touch of extra-virgin olive oil and a few drops of balsamic vinegar, indulge their demand for a few leaves of sun-drenched basil, add some fresh, creamy mozzarella, and devour.

Let the textures and flavors overwhelm your palate. It's great to let summer in.

A presto,
Marco Flavio