Ever since I started writing Pane al Vino almost two years ago, itseems like I've continually had a few column ideas bouncing around inmy head. Some lost their appeal over time, and some of them developedinto full-fledged columns that readers have over the months seen inprint on these pages.
And then there are some that did neither -- remaining nascent seeds ofideas that would neither shrivel away nor bloom into something worthdiscussing for a full 750 or so words.
For reasons I'll come back to momentarily, this month's column is agreat opportunity to briefly visit some of these ideas, in what amountsto a series of one-paragraph mini-columns.
So here's to cleaning out the cupboard of the column ideas and randomthoughts I've been cultivating lately.
Balsamic vinegar
If you've ever had real balsamic vinegar, the watery liquid in bottleson most supermarket shelves just won't do. The real stuff -- usuallyaged for at least a dozen years and sometimes as for long as a hundred-- is syrupy in texture, very dark in color, and it can cost a smallfortune. But what a taste! Layers of flavor that are somehow sweet andsour at the same time: the taste from a single drop will linger in themouth for minutes. Balsamic vinegar differs from other vinegars in partbecause it starts out as unfermented grape must rather than wine orfruit juice, but the real magic happens in the barrel as the juice agesand each year seems to add another layer of complexity.
Look for thewords "Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena" or "Aceto BalsamicoTradizionale di Reggio Emilia" -- Modena and Reggio Emilia are twovillages northwest of Bologna -- to make sure you are getting the goodstuff. If one of these pricey but worthwhile bottles is out of yourprice range, here's a trick I learned from a chef friend that manyrestaurants use to improve less expensive vinegar: melt 1 teaspoon ofdark brown sugar into a cup of cheap Balsamic. If it's used forcooking, the result -- while not the same as a 40-year-old bottle ofreal Balsamic -- is much better than the 5-euro bottle you innocentlybrought home from the store. Twist top caps
There's an image problem with twist-off tops -- no poem ever waxedlyrical about the romantic nature of screwing the top off a bottlewhile sitting in front of the fireplace. But at the Vinitaly wine fairI found a small handful of Italian producers are trying out the metalclosures and I hope more will try it over the coming years. Atradition-bound wine producing country like Italy will always be slowto adopt new things, but a trip I took to New Zealand last year (wherethese modern enclosures are embraced) convinced me of the delights of awine that was fruity and fresh and clean every time (I'm not talkingabout cheap jug wines that use metal tops but rather serious winemakers who have chosen to abandon corks). Though I think only 1 bottlein 50 is truly ruined by cork seals, probably a dozen more are subtlyaffected by a musty taste or other contamination coming from theorganic cork material. Add to the fact that metal tops are cheaper,they never deteriorate, and can be opened without special tools, and itseems a matter of time until they become wide spread, even here in theBel Paese.
Carbonara sauce
The origins of this delicious Roman pasta sauce are a delightfulmystery. There are several variations of the recipe, but they allinclude eggs, black pepper, pig's jowl, and pecorino cheese -- lesscertain is when and where it was invented. The name comes from the word"carbone" (Italian for "coal"), which leads many people to speculate that it was popular among charcoal makers or coal miners or that the correct variation features pancetta or guanciale -- the jowl -- that'sbeen cooked to a charcoal-like crisp over an open fire. Others say itwas originally a dish enjoyed by the Carabinieri, Italy's famousparamilitary police force. But the most likely story is that it wasinvented to satisfy U.S. troops stationed in Italy after World War II,combining the bacon and eggs of the traditional American breakfast withItaly's own spaghetti -- an argument backed up by the fact that therecipe doesn't appear in any pre-war cook books. Whatever the origin,it's now a simple classic of Italian cuisine, perfect for the firstcool days of September as summer sputters to an end.
Moscato d'Alba or d'Asti
I've always considered fizzy Moscato one of the under appreciatedjewels of the Italian wine pantheon. I've never served it to anyone whodidn't appreciate its cool and delicate sweetness, refreshing taste,and palate-cleansing bubbles. With low alcohol, it's a greatstand-alone drink for those who don't want to get tipsy, but it is bestas after dinner fare, either alone or with light or creamy deserts orfresh fruit. Best of all, it's inexpensive: I've found decent bottlesfor under 4 euro, and even the best bottles can cost less than 15 fromthe wine shop (a bit more on restaurant wine lists). If thisdescription sounds off, you've probably tasted the cloying and syrupygold-colored Moscatos from southern Italy that bare little resemblanceto their straw-colored northern cousins.
Pane al Vino
And so the cupboard is bare, which is appropriate as this is the lastedition of Pane al Vino in The American. Although the last couple ofyears have been fun and challenging, circumstances and priorities forboth writers and publications change over time. My sincerest of thanksto everyone who has written in with a question, comment, or a note ofsupport, as well as to those who have simply enjoyed these monthlymissives of mine. I hope it's been as fun reading Pane al Vino as ithas been writing it.
— Eric J. Lyman's email address is ejlyman@theamericanmag.com. Write to him with comments, suggestions, and column recommendations.
