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The pignata, seemingly straight out of Geppetto’s workshop in Pinocchio, is a ceramic pot that comes in various sizes. It has an adorable tubby body with two stout handles attached lopsidedly to the jug. Facing away from the fire, they never get hot even after hours in the red-hot embers… very clever. Many people have fireplaces around here and the pignata continues to be used in the Sannio to this day.

While bread-making with friends who live on an isolated farm, I chanced upon a pignata in action. So what bread and pizza have to do with the pignata?

Everything, in a way. Making and baking bread in a wood-burning oven takes half the night and half a day and the concerted effort of the whole household, leaving no time for cooking.

After preparing the mother of yeast the night before, early the next morning the women mix and knead the dough. (oh, and by the way; they make enough so that parents, grandparents and in-laws will have bread for the entire week. And while they’re at it, they’ll make pizza, pizza-pane and a few crostate too… a mountain of dough to be kneaded!) This is heavy-duty work that takes almost two hours and strains nearly every muscle in the back, neck and arms.

After pummeling the daylights out of the dough, it is put to rest, covered in clean sheets and old blankets and left to rise (is this an oxymoron?). Now the men can start the fire in the oven, a procedure that verges on the realm of alchemy… but that is another story.

Then comes the spezzatura, or division of the dough; then a second rising, calibration of the furnace temperature, elimination of the embers and finally, the frenzied ritual of filling the oven. By the time everyone catches their breath it’s way past lunchtime.

Herein lies the beauty of the pignata. Throughout the whole morning, with little more than a stirring and a topping up of liquid, the little pot has sat staunchly in the fire all on its own, bubbling quietly, delicately cooking its contents of beans, celery, garlic and guanciale (pork jowl… like bacon, only better) with absolutely no fuss.

Ladled onto hot bruschetta, with a drizzle of olio piccante, this is a meal fit for food afficionados!

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If there is one thing that gets my knickers in a twist, it’s those things that still have me stymied after 50 years in Italy.  So let’s like to try to solve the broccoli/broccoletti dilemma once and for all, shall we?

First up are broccoletti aka cime di rapa, rapini and broccoli di rape (broccoli raab or rabe in english).  This vegetable is actually the top tender leaves and buds of a wild yellow flower that is picked before it blossoms.  I am told they are a member of the Chicory Family.  In Naples they are called friarielli - not to be confused with friggiarelli, which are those scrumptious little green peppers that are stir-fried in garlic and oil.

Then an American couple told me that broccoletti in America (aka broccolini) are a different plant altogether; a cross between broccoli and Gai Lan or Asian Broccoli.  Oh Lord!

Chaos sets in when it comes to the broccoli enigma because as a little girl in America, I remember broccoli as a vegetable that looked like a tiny green tree.

But when I came to Rome and was sent to the market to buy some, the vendor handed me a fascinating, alien-green cauliflower (cavolfiore) with fractal spires that looked like something that had been revisited by Max Escher.  He called it broccolo.

Now broccolo, or cavolo, is actually a cabbage, which is part of the Brassicaceae Family.  Other members include: cavolo cappuccio (used to make sauerkraut), cavolo nero, cavolo cinese, broccolo cinese, cavolo portoghese, cavolo rosso, cavoletti di Bruxelles (Bruxelles sprouts) and even CAVOLO BROCCOLO!

MA CHE CAVOLO! (in english, what the…!) or as the Romans say, “SONO CAVOLI VOSTRI” or ‘it’s your problem’.

And so be it!

Welcome to a delicious culinary and cultural event hosted by Marilì Mustilli.  Together with her husband Leonardo and their two daughters, Anna Chiara and Paola, her family runs the prestigious Mustilli Winery, set in the medieval town of S. Agata dei Goti and perched on a spectacular tufa outcrop. Under Marilì’s expert supervision you will learn traditional dishes of Campania, including hand-made pasta and vegetable pasta sauce, a meat or cheese dish and a dessert. All the ingredients and herbs used are seasonal and are grown locally.

Program
10:30am - Arrival at S. Agata dei Goti
Cooking Menu:
Home-made pasta (cavatielli) and a pasta sauce using seasonal and locally-grown vegetables.
Involtino (stuffed escalope) or Cotoletta di Provola (Provola Cheese Cutlet if you prefer vegetarian)
Torta di Nocciola (Hazelnut Cake)

Lunch will include all the food you have cooked in addition to the renowned Falanghina and Aglianico wines produced by the Mustilli family.

After lunch you will visit the ancient underground wine cellars that were hewn into tufa rock in the 16th century and your guide will take you on a walking tour of the ancient town.

Price: 100,00 euro per person (4 people or more)
150,00 euro per person (2-3 people)

includes: cooking course, wine tasting, visit to the wine cellars, tour of the town and your own personal guide and interpreter.

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Without a doubt, grain is the characteristic ingredient of this recipe.  If you have the time and feel up to the challenge, here’s how you cook the grain from scratch: soak 250 gr of dried grain in cold water for three days, changing it regularly.  Rinse it well and fill a pot with enough water to cover the grain by about four inches.  Bring the water to a boil and add the grain, cover and cook for one hour.  Add enough water to cover the grain the again and cook on a low flame for another 3 to 4 hours.  During this time check to make sure that the grain is covered and if necessary add boiling water to cover. When tender, drain the grain and then reweigh the correct amount for the recipe.
If you’re like 95% of the pastiera-makers on the planet, buy the pre-cooked grain in jars.
Note that Stella does not use the “Secret Agent of Spring”, but prefers fresh orange and lemon zest. Cinnamon is optional. She also avoids using candied fruits, but incorporates the local tradition of the Sannio,  using Strega and Rum.

(recipe for 2 pies)

Short pastry or pasta frolla used to line the pie pan (to be made the evening before)
On a pastry board or in a mixer blend:
500 gr low-gluten flour
250 gr sugar
250 gr cold butter
3 eggs
one packet of vanilla powder

Lightly knead ingredients together into an elastic dough and wrap in plastic and place in refrigerator overnight.

Pastiera pie filling:
500 gr fresh ricotta (preferably mixture of cow and sheep)
275 gr cooked grain
200 gr milk
1/2 tablespoon butter
5  eggs
250 gr sugar
½ tablespoon lemon zest
½ tablespoon orange zest
25 gr Strega
25 gr. Rum
2    9” x 1 1/2 “ or  23 x 4 cm round baking tins

Pour the cooked grain into a pot, add the butter and lemon zest and cover with milk.  Bring to a slow boil over a low flame, stirring until the mixture becomes a dense cream. Cool.

Beat together the ricotta, sugar, eggs, orange zest, rum and Strega and add to the cooled cream mixture.

Roll the short pastry into a fine crust and line the pie tins.  Make sure you have enough extra dough to make the strips that will criss-cross on top.

Add the pastiera mixture to about 1 cm below the edge of the pie crust

Cut 6 strips of dough approximately 1.5 wide and 23cm long. Starting from the middle of the pie, place the first strip across the center and the other two equidistantly between it and the rim of the baking tin.  Then turn the pan and place the other three strips at a diagonal to form a diamond pattern in diamond.

Bake at 200° C for one hour.

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The other day I was walking by the pharmacy in my little town of S. Agata dè Goti. It is run by the Viola family and I was surprised to see a long line of women waiting to enter the door.  What was going on?  Had there been a sudden epidemic or an accident of some sort?

As I neared the door, I was relieved to see that the women didn’t seem at all upset, but were animatedly discussing a momentous topic: the dish that would be gracing every table on Easter Sunday, the symbol of Neapolitan pastry: la pastiera.

Pastiera is a delicious and nutritious pie make of ricotta, boiled grain, eggs, lard, milk, sugar, spices and candied fruits cooked in a pastry shell in an appropriate pan called ‘il ruoto’.  It is baked on Holy Thursday and Good Friday and is served on Easter Sunday, which allows enough time for the fragrances to mix, giving it its unique flavor.

It has, however, a secret ingredient: aqua di fiori d’arancio or aroma of orange blossoms.

The origins of this recipe goes back to the cult of Ceres, Roman goddess of agriculture, fertility and motherly love, whose worshipers brought grain, eggs, milk and honey in procession to celebrate the rebirth of life in Spring.

But pastiera as it is known today was developed in the peace and quiet of the ancient convent of San Gregorio Armeno in Naples, rather appropriately built on the ruins of the temple dedicated to Ceres.  The story goes that the nuns decided to develop a recipe that would signify the Resurrection: eggs symbolizing Life and orange blossoms denoting innocence, chastity, eternal love, marriage and fruitfulness.  They made hundreds of these pies and distributed them at Easter to the wealthy patrons of Naples.

But where does one find aroma of orange blossoms? That was what I was about to find out at Mrs. Viola’s pharmacy. There on the counter, next to the chapstick, was a basket full of little bottles with yellow labels stating: “ Farmacia Viola,  S. Agata dei Goti (BN), Essenza per Colombe”.  There was no list of ingredients on the bottle, but my curiosity was so tickled that I had to buy a bottle.

When I returned home, I unscrewed the top and sure enough, a heady perfume of orange and cinnamon filled my nostrils with the aroma of pastiera.

Ahhhh! Spring is here at last!