Pici

Every region of Italy seems to have its own Pasta they call their own. Here in central Tuscany its “Pici”; a thicker than Spaghetti…(er) Spaghetti.

As much as I would like to think Italians spend their days making pasta with there hands, the fact is it rarely practical for large quantity usage. Consider pasta making like inviting the girls around for a knitting session, or a blunted Saturday mixtape. It’s not for everyday. Daintier pastas call for the artisanal approach as there are generally fewer on a plate (think Ravioli) and yes, Lasagna just tastes better with the rolled out thin approach, but fresh is still fresh, feel me?

Here at “Locanda Pane e Vino” we use this gadget to make large amounts of Pici. It’s a task I have been given and I take strange pride in each strand. The bustle of the Restaurant is shut out and it’s just me carefully “combing” what will soon become food fodder.

We boil the full amount. Douse it in Olive Oil and then let it rest (cool) on the counter for 20 minutes or so. When an order comes in, we boil it for less than five minutes to bring all its goodensss back to the fore. Stored in the refigrator the pre-made Pici is good for 3-5 days, longer than if kept stored fresh.

Two examples from our menu…

Cacio e Peppe. A Roman specialty and likely the easiest pasta I have ever experienced.

How bout a recipe folks…

Put a good amount of Olive Oil in a pan, throw in more black Pepper than you would traditionally deem necessary, a large handful of Pecorino Romano (the “caccio”) and then one (depending on the quantity) ladleful of pasta water (best case scenario it is already gluttonized by past pasta boilage and also salted). Simply add the boiled Pici (or pasta of choice) to the pan. No heat is needed assuming the Pasta is squelching hot. Add more pepper and more cheese. Stir and bring it all together. When serving garnish with even more cheese. Ha!

& Pici with Coniglio (Rabbit) Ragu

Yes, the Rabbit you met the other week. Apologies Verro!

Guess it’s the little things

As many of you are getting fitted for a weekends worth of CMJ events or otherwise living fabulous lives ;)…I am honing in on the little things here in Farm Country Tuscany. Yes, this may be a bit boring of me or perhaps an obvious observation, but remember this is the type of minor deed that can impress someone’s parents and will certainly save us all just a little bit of needed time.


Soak your garlic in Cold Water (20 or so minutes) for an easy peel. There you have it.

Not only does it peel easily, but the paper-like shell has a tendency to transform into beautiful coils. Even the best chefs tend to struggle with the simple obstacle of peeling garlic. You are not alone. Once peeled, reserve for use. Good for at least 3 days.

Yup, I’m in Wine Country

Directly next door to my house is the Cantina of the Pinti family. Their eldest, Vittorio early one morning invited me to take a tour and taste his pride. However, at 8AM I mistook his words for an invite to the moon (by foot of course), which in my walking sleep declined (ie. I didn’t understand a word his shaky northern dialect uttered). On my mile walk to work, it slowly dawned on me that indeed it was an invite to get drunk in between shifts on the vines which define my current existence. Um, certo! I’d love to.

We tasted his Brunello consecutively from 2002-2005 silently swirling and smiling. He asked that I import directly from him when my Restaurant opens and hinted that I might be his ticket to unheard of fame in NY (€!)…

He gave me a bottle from 2002; a rich, Winy, dense, earthy, caramelized berry deep Pruple bundle of liquid love. When I offered him money, he gave me a big drunken kiss on the cheek and asked that I return before I leave to say goodbye.

Molto gentile*

Sex sells

Every morning while I am alone in the kitchen the bread man arrives. It is generally an uneventful experience, although he does try to mix things up by throwing in a single word in English, a “hello”, “Good Day” or “How are you”. Like most delivery men, he would prefer to flirt with girls. Although the Restaurant I work at is called “Pane e Vino”, our specialty is not our bread (although it is great by comparative standards). Regardless it is hard to resist the bag it arrives in.

A naked woman carrying a basket of grains is as sexy as any disposable bread bag I could conjure up.

A happy lil subculture contd.

My roman creatures have a new friend in Montalcino. Meet my conjoined Potato friend; a creature of the Tuscan hills.

My neighbors

There are pigs in my backyard, chicken and ducks on my stoop and sheep have a tendency to stop by for coffee and read the paper. It’s real folks.

Niente per me fare ma...

Drink the Wine of the land and makes fires.

To my Salad Queen

I am working with some good greens.

Life is not without color

Where I am really at

Now negate the world travelers, designer knit sweaters, endless wine metaphors and 5 star bed & breakfasts and imagine real life in any working class farm country. You have arrived at where I am really at. Pane & Vino, the Restaurant and Azienda I call home for the month of October deep in the hills of central Tuscany. Below is a snapshot of the chaos that is the kitchen. To my Vegetarians, this one isn’t for you. The food has radically altered from the veggie friendliness of the South. I am officially in the food capitol of Italia where Rabbit, Wild Boar, Leper, Chicken liver, Veal and Duck are the meats of choice. Stewed, braised, grilled, cured, raw, diced, ground and whole, it feels like a never ending lesson in meats diversity. The ripe colors of endless Zucchini, Peppers and Eggplant that prompted my journey have been replaced by the earthiness of Truffles, Porcini, Spinach and Fagioli beans. Let's skip any fancy plating and get into it...

The kitchen, bustling for a Sunday lunch

Cognilio / Rabbit

Chicken stewed with Truffles and White Wine

Veal Sausage and Fagioli beans stewed in a Napolitano Tomato Sauce

Veal Stew

Veal Scaloppine in Lemon Sauce

Much more to come...

Where I’m at

Imagine the perfect full bodied grandiose ($) glass of Red Wine, then trace the thought back to its origin, you have arrived at where I’m at. Montalcino, Toscana the home of the infamous Brunello wine and the nucleus of well dressed Wine snobs from Chicago to Berlin.

Reject Shun

Oblige only with respect, reject never with regret.
Always two-sided, one never has the strength of the singular perspective.
Who appears the culprit, has been victim themselves.
The pain is never the sole weight of the moment.
The approach is always the product of rearing, never nature.
Life is not a velvet rope; the stage is never the whole show.
A façade is for impressions; inside, your strength will always deepen.
The drugs don’t work, so don’t clutch them.
Forgiveness is not the answer. It’s a verb of personal intent.
Every monument has a committee for restoration.
What’s real is too sturdy for rejections’ blow.
There are Six million ways to die. Rejection is not one.