Month: February 2016

UTICA TOMATO PIE: IT’S NOT JUST FOR UTICANS ANY MORE.

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The city of Utica may be the Rodney Dangerfield of New York State, but make no mistake…its regional, Italian-American cuisine gets *plenty* of respect.

Think Fucazzo. Mushroom Stew. Chicken Riggies. Utica Greens. Half-Moons. And those ridiculously awesome Pusties.

But amongst all of Utica’s culinary jewels, my favorite—by far—is Tomato Pie.

What’s Utica Tomato Pie? Well, it’s not a pie—at least, not in the “post-Thanksgiving dinner” sense. It’s not a quiche. And, as any Utican will insist, it’s not a freakin’ pizza!!!

Arguably, it’s “pizza-like”—in the same way that, arguably, a chimpanzee is “human-like.” But Tomato Pie, like humans, is definitely the superior species.

The base of Utica Tomato Pie is a thick, soft, savory-cakey crust. Some compare it to focaccia. Others, to Sicilian pizza. But it bears no resemblance to the chewy, bread-like crust of a Neopolitan pizza, or the crispy cracker of a US thin-crust pizza.

Tomato Pie is topped with a thick, sweet, slightly chunky, slightly acidic tomato sauce. The sauce is dusted with grated Pecorino Romano cheese and a light sprinkling of dried oregano. It’s then baked in a shallow rectangular pan, cut into squares, and served at room temperature—preferably, with a pint of Saranac on the side.

That’s it! No mozzarella. No pepperoni. And, definitely…no triangles!

If you live in (or visit) Utica, make a bee-line to Roma Sausage & Deli, Holland Farms, O’Scugnizzo’s, or Daniele’s for a box of the real thing. But if you’re not in Utica, then life gets complicated.

Why? Because Tomato Pie is difficult to find outside of Utica. It’s even more difficult to find outside of upstate New York. And many a home cook has cried a river trying to replicate the beast at home.

But alas, Gentle Eater, your long, nasty nightmare of frustration and deprivation is over—because I have perfected the recipe for making a spot-on Utica Tomato Pie at home.

The recipe is listed below. I hope youse freakin’ like it.

 

THE DOUGH
2.25 cups all-purpose flour (I use King Arthur unbleached)
2 cups semolina flour (I use Bob’s Red Mill)
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon yeast (I use Fleischmann’s ActiveDry Original)
1.50 – 1.75 cups ice water
3 tablespoons EVOO
2.25 teaspoons salt

STEP 1: Using Kitchen-Aid mixer fitted with dough hook, mix all-purpose flour, semolina flour, sugar, and yeast on low speed until combined.

STEP 2: With machine running on low speed, slowly add oil and enough ice water until dough forms and no dry flour remains, approximately 1 to 2 minutes.

STEP 3: Cover mixer bowl with plastic wrap and let dough stand for 10 minutes.

STEP 4: Add salt to dough and mix on medium speed until dough forms satiny, sticky ball that clears sides of bowl, approximately 6 to 8 minutes.

STEP 5: Remove dough from bowl and knead briefly on lightly floured counter until smooth, about 1 minute.

STEP 6: Shape dough into tight ball and place in large, lightly oiled bowl. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 48 hours.

 

THE SAUCE
6 fresh Roma or Plum tomatoes
28 oz can of Crushed Tomato
6 oz can of Tomato Paste
3 garlic cloves (put through a garlic press)
0.25 teaspoon oregano
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
3.5 tablespoons sugar
Salt to taste

STEP 1: Pre-heat oven to 425F.

STEP 2: Place fresh tomatoes on baking pan. Drizzle with EVOO, salt and pepper. Roast for 30 minutes.

STEP 3: While tomatoes are roasting, combine other ingredients in a sauce pan and let simmer on stove top until thickened.

STEP 4: Coarsely chop the roasted tomatoes (so that no large pieces remain) and add to sauce pan.

NOTE: I typically make the sauce in advance, and let it sit covered in the fridge for a day or two.  I don’t know if this improves the sauce, but why tamper with greatness?

 

THE ASSEMBLY
17 x 11 inch rectangular baking sheet
Baking stone
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Pecorino Romano Cheese
Dried Oregano

STEP 1: Spray baking sheet (including rim) with vegetable oil spray, then coat bottom of baking sheet with EVOO.

STEP 2: Remove dough from fridge and transfer to lightly floured counter. Lightly flour top of dough and gently press into rectangle.

STEP 3: Using rolling pin, gently roll dough into 17 x 11 inch rectangle. Transfer dough to baking sheet, gently stretching dough into corners as needed.

STEP 4: Rub top of dough with EVOO and cover with sheet of plastic wrap. Let stand in a warm place for 90 minutes. I typically place the pan on the stovetop while the oven is heating (see Step 5 below).

STEP 5: One hour before baking, place baking stone on middle rack and heat oven to 500F.

STEP 6: Remove plastic wrap. Ladle sauce onto the Pie, then use the back of the ladle to spread it evenly.

STEP 7: Grate Pecorino Romano evenly over the sauce.

STEP 8: Using fingers, lightly sprinkle oregano over the sauce. Don’t go crazy with the oregano, or you’ll taste it until Tuesday.

STEP 9: Reduce oven temperature to 450F. Place baking sheet onto the stone. Bake 10 minutes, rotate baking sheet 180 degrees, then bake another 10 minutes (until bottom crust is evenly browned).

STEP 10: Remove baking sheet from oven. Transfer Tomato Pie to wire cooling rack.

STEP 11: When cooled, cut Tomato Pie into squares.

STEP 12: Post on Facebook, and place bets on which relative arrives at your doorstep first. Pity the fools that arrive too late.

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UPDATE:  Step 4 of “The Sauce” originally read as follows:  “Cut the roasted tomatoes in half, add to sauce pan, and mash tomatoes with wooden spoon until no large pieces remain.”  The revision above works just as well, with less effort.

EULOGY FOR NONNIE (AS DELIVERED BY MY MOTHER AT THE FUNERAL).

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Hello, friends, family, and Uticans past and present. We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of my mother—Master Chef Frances Cecere Oliva. Hers was a long, giggly, gourmet life.

Frances was born in Utica in 1919. For those of you who might be math-challenged, that was almost 100 years ago.

Her parents, Angelo Cecere and Anna Agrusti, were born in the city of Alberbello in the Italy’s Puglia region—also known as “the heel.” Alberobello is an architecturally unique, UNESCO World Heritage site. It is famous for its white-washed buildings with cone-shaped “trulli” roofs, its orrechiette pasta, and its vegetable-heavy regional cuisine. Alberobello is a popular tourist destination for Europeans with good taste—and a popular destination for our family.

Angelo and Anna immigrated to the US. We’re not exactly sure when, but it predated the iPhone.

Fran was the third of four sisters—Mae, Molly, and Jo. We often refer to them as the “Giggle Sisters.” Giggling is what they did when they were together. They giggled at parties. They giggled on the phone. They even giggled during the final scene of Old Yeller.

She had a younger brother, Joe, who was also giggly—although, unlike the sisters, Uncle Joe’s giggles usually came on the heels of a dirty joke.

Rounding out the Ceceres was Uncle Frank. Not so giggly, but a handsome, quietly cheerful guy that was an artist of some renown in Upstate NY.

Fran married my father, Cataldo (aka, “Sam”…aka, “Gates”) Oliva in 1942. Dad was decidedly NOT giggly. His schtick was more of a razor-sharp, bone-dry, biting sarcasm—a trait that, for better or worse, has been inherited by some.

Fran was Yin to Sam’s Yang, but they made it work. They were married for 65 years, had three children, 8 grandchildren, too many great grandchildren to count on a normal person’s fingers and toes, and 2 great-great grandchildren.

When people reflect on my mother, she evokes many different memories. But the only memories that matter are those of my son…because I strong-armed him into writing this eulogy.

When my son thinks of his Nonnie, he thinks of her cooking. I suspect that many of you think the same.

The smells and flavors that came from her kitchen defined our family. Truly, the flavor, essence, and identity of the Oliva, DeTraglia, Gianfrancesco, Lowell, Sizemore, Occhipinti, and Weigand families can be reduced to—and is epitomized by—a spoonful of my mother’s tomatoey, meat-heavy Macaroni Sauce.

When my son was 20, he had a revelation: “Someday, Nonnie will die.” Ok…so his estimate was off by almost 30 years, but let’s not split hairs.

Since Nonnie would someday die, he saw a need to document the recipes for her best dishes. Her Macaroni Sauce. Her Fucazzo. Her Italian Sausage. Her Mushroom Stew. And most importantly, her Pusties.

So he sat down with her and said, “Explain to me how you make all this stuff.”

She immediately began rattling off a list of ingredients. “You add a little parsley. Then toss in some cheese. A smidge of this…a handful of that.”

Now, this sort of abstract explanation does not sit well with a 20 year old’s less-than-fully-formed brain.

“Wait, wait!” he said. “When you say ‘Add a little parsley’… how much parsley should I add?”

She looked at him as if he had just asked Abraham Lincoln, “So…what do you do for a living?”

Then she did what all truly great cooks do. She said, “How much parsley? I don’t know…just taste it.”

After a few more minutes of debating the merits of Art vs. Science, my mother said, “Let me play around in the kitchen and I’ll get back to you.”

A few weeks later, my son received a package containing a small stack of hand-written index cards. They were her recipes, written in the language of “teaspoons and tablespoons.”

Each person was put on earth for a purpose. My son’s purpose was to preserve my mother’s best recipes for posterity. Which he did…with 30 years to spare.

Her recipes have been posted to a website. They’ve been accessed, shared, and used by people around the world. They’ve been published in the “Taste of Utica Cookbook,” by Joe Mezzanini and Jeanann Murphy (available on Lulu.com).

And…believe it or not…if you Google the words “pusty recipe,” the first or second link listed is my mother’s pusty recipe.

The death of a loved one is never a happy occasion, except to the extent that it brings reunion, reconciliation, and remembrance. On behalf of myself and my family, we thank you for coming and celebrating my mother’s long, giggly, gourmet life.

We no longer can see or hear her, but we—and many others throughout the world—will continue to taste her for years to come.

EXIT THE NONNIE.

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After a giggly, gourmet, ninety-six-ish year journey, my grandmother (“Nonnie”) has taken a seat at that great macaroni house in the sky.

When a family member dies, I’m usually asked to write a eulogy.  It’s a task that, quite frankly, I’d be happy to do without.

But in Nonnie’s case, the eulogy was easy. I’ve been writing it for the past decade.

You’ll find it HERE.

Buon appetito, and save room for the pusties.

THE PASSION OF THE ALDI.

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There are two kinds of people in this world: (a) Those that know and understand Aldi, and (b) Those that don’t, but make assumptions about it.

Aldi, of course, is the German-based, low-cost, low-frills supermarket chain that has been expanding like a late July brush fire around the world and across the US. It stokes passionate feelings on both sides of the spectrum.

People that have never set foot inside an Aldi tend to make bold assumptions—the most prevalent of which is that each Aldi resembles the East Berlin supermarket that I visited in 1988.

That pre-unification, East Berlin supermarket epitomized the term “Fifty Shades of Gray”—but with none of its sexiness. The supermarket had gray walls. Gray floors. A gray ceiling. On its gray shelves were gray cans sporting gray labels. Those labels said things like “Meat,” “Gruel,” or “Arguably, a Vegetable.” The store had no natural light. No color. No joy. The only fresh products I recall seeing were the ones scurrying underfoot across the floor.

This bold assumption, Comrades, is wrong.  Aldi provides a bright, attractive, exceedingly pleasant, uber-efficient supermarket experience. I know this, because I’ve been shopping there for years. So let me provide some “Aldi Truths” to bring the naysayers out of the Cold War.

  • GIVE THEM NO QUARTER! No, wait! Actually, you’ll need a quarter. Aldi shopping carts are chained together in a corral. To take a cart, you must first insert a quarter in order to unlock it. But don’t worry, because you’ll get your damn quarter back when you return the cart. And you WILL return the cart. Why? Because—odd as it may seem—the prospect of forfeiting 25 cents provides enough motivation to dissuade even the most lazy Aldi shopper from abandoning his cart in the parking lot…within striking distance of my new Volvo. And in the unlikely event that a cart is abandoned, another Aldi shopper will pounce immediately and pocket a two-bits windfall. No abandoned carts means there’s no need for Aldi to hire extra staff to retrieve them. This keeps Aldi’s staffing needs lean and its overhead costs low.

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  • YOU’LL SAVE A BUNDLE. According to a 2011 New York Times article, analysts estimate that Aldi prices are 20 percent lower than those of competitors like Wal-Mart. Aldi officials claim that the savings are closer to 45 percent. I don’t know which figure is correct, but I do know this. Before becoming an Aldi convert, I did my grocery shopping at Sam’s Club—where I would typically spend $240 per week to feed my family of six. My grocery bills at Aldi now range from $100 to $140 per week. You do the math.  You just might save enough money to buy a new Volvo.
  • THE SELECTION IS SMALL, BUT IT’S BIG ENOUGH. A typical Aldi carries approximately 1,500 popular, high-turnover items. Competing large supermarkets may carry 25,000 items. A superstore, 100,000! So…you won’t find 16 different brands of peanut butter at Aldi, or 46 colors and textures of toilet paper. But who needs a smorgasbord of toilet paper?! You may think that you do, but you don’t. You really don’t. I distinctly remember the first time I entered an Aldi. I looked around and thought, “Jesus! This joint will barely make a dent in my shopping list.” But by the time I rolled into the check-out register, I had knocked-off 90% of my list. Aldi also carries a nice selection of organic products, gluten-free items, and fresh meats and produce. You’ll often find a smattering of interesting German imports, like krauts, marzipan cakes, and funky sausages. And as if that weren’t enough, Aldi frequently surprises (and delights!) by offering limited term specialty items. Last week, two lobster tails (for $12!) appeared in the freezer aisle. The week before, I noticed the debut of vegetarian samosas. So, fear not, Gentle Eater…for shopping at Aldi will not result in death from either malnutrition or boredom.

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  • THE PRODUCTS TRULY ARE GOOD QUALITY. 95% of the products that Aldi offers are private labelled. This, admittedly, takes some getting used to. But the quality of those products is top-notch. I’ve eaten my way across the store and back, and (quite honestly) have found only one product that I didn’t like—the organic peanut butter…it needs more salt! And, again, private-labelling means that low-to-no marketing costs are passed-on to the consumer. Aldi is a super-secretive organization, but I suspect that many of their products are contract manufactured by the same companies that make the major, highly-marketed brands that we know and love. Why do I think this? Because my kids never complain that they are eating private labelled Aldi products. To be honest, I don’t think they even notice.

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  • WHAT’S WITH ALL THE BAR CODES? Aldi’s product packaging is peppered with multiple, long bar codes. I’m talking obnoxiously long bar codes on all (or nearly all) sides. This is to increase check-out speed. These bar codes on growth hormones allow Aldi cashiers to whiz product off the belt, past the scanner, and into the cart at Mach 3 without ever missing a beat. Which leads us to…

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  • THE CHECK-OUT PROTOCOL. There is a check-out protocol at Aldi. And while it’s not as intimidating as ordering a bowl of Mulligatawny from the Soup Nazi, it is taken seriously by employees and customers alike. First, you don’t dally while placing the contents of your cart onto the check-out conveyer belt. Why? Because once the Aldi cashier grabs the first of your items from the belt, you will enter a time warp. An Aldi cashier will grab, swipe, and dump $100 worth of groceries into your cart faster than it takes you to pull the debit card (Note: Aldi doesn’t take credit cards) from your wallet. Notice that I said he will dump the groceries into *your* cart. This, also, is part of the check-out protocol. Once you’ve unloaded your items onto the belt, you’ll push your empty cart to the end of the counter—where the cashier will either maneuver it around to abut the end of the counter, or he will move it aside because he has already grabbed and positioned the last customer’s cart. He does this because…
  • THERE IS NO BAGGING AT THE REGISTER! No, no, no! The cashier won’t bag your groceries at the register. A pimply-faced, 17 year old clerk won’t bag your groceries at the register. And you won’t bag your groceries at the register. What you *will* do, however, is take your receipt and proceed to “The Shelf!”
  • ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY SHELF! As you leave the check-out lane, you will encounter a deep, waist-high shelf running the length of the wall leading to the exit door. This is where you will bag your cart full of disheveled, freshly paid-for groceries. Again, this is done for purposes of efficiency. Bagging groceries at the register is a common (and annoying!) bottleneck in the typical supermarket machine. Aldi doesn’t do bottlenecks. Plus, you probably needed the exercise. There’s one more thing that you need to know about bagging groceries at Aldi…

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  • BRING YOUR OWN BAGS! That’s right. Aldi doesn’t give out bags. You’re free to grab an empty box or carton if you find one lying around, but most Aldi shoppers come armed with a stack of eco-friendly, re-usable nylon bags for this purpose. Those bags often sport a Trader Joe’s logo, which is a bit ironic—since Trader Joe’s was founded by the brother of Aldi’s founder.

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[Authors Note:  Despite my clear passion for Aldi (and the fact that I live in the town where it is headquartered), please be advised that I don’t work for Aldi.  Although…that’s certainly not for lack of trying.  😉 ]

DeTRAGLIA, ON WRITING GOOD…I MEAN, WELL.

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I suspect that more people have mastered advanced calculus than good writing skills.

I’m not talking about writing novels or epic poems. I’m talking about every day, real world writing.

I’m talking about business letters. Personal emails. Explanatory memos. And don’t even get me started on Facebook posts and Yelp reviews!

The ability to write well will improve all aspects of a person’s life—whether professional, social, or romantic. It’s a skill that may seem hard at first, but it’s really not so hard. Writing well is like swimming well. It just takes mindfulness and practice. And once good writing skills become ingrained as “muscle memory,” they (like swimming) will feel effortless for the rest of your life.

I’ve been in a writing-intensive profession for twenty years, and have amassed a toolbox full of tips, tricks, and go-to techniques that have served me well. I share them with you, Gentle Writer, in the bullet points below.

  • KISS (Keep It Short & Simple): Readers have short attention spans. They don’t want to blow too much time or energy reading (or understanding!) what’s in the document handed to them. Your document should coddle the reader’s inherent sloth by being as brief and idiot-proof as possible.
  • ABC, 123: I am a huge fan of bullet-pointed lists. Hell, you’re in the middle of one right now! A bullet-pointed list is an effective way of breaking a long, dense hunk of text into non-intimidating, easy-to-swallow, easy-to-follow, bite-sized pieces. Think about it. Would you rather read David Letterman’s “Top Ten List” as a three inch tall paragraph? Or as ten numbered bullet-points? I think history has answered that question for us.
  • SMALL WORDS ARE BETTER THAN LONG WORDS: This point is indubitable. It’s also true. Using small words will make any sentence more comprehensible. It will also make it more clear.  Remember…big words are for dumb people that are trying to sound smart.
  • TWO SHORT SENTENCES ARE BETTER THAN ONE LONG SENTENCE: Hey…nobody loves commas and semi-colons more than I do. But if that comma or semi-colon is in the middle of a sentence, replacing it with a period—thereby breaking it into two shorter sentences—will oftentimes make it easier to swallow. Which brings me to my next point…
  • IF YOU NEED TO READ A SENTENCE TWICE TO UNDERSTAND IT, THEN YOU NEED TO RE-WRITE IT: And oftentimes, breaking that sentence into two smaller ones is just what the doctor ordered.  Good, hard, diligent editing.  It’s what separates Hemingway from that insufferable Facebook friend that you hid last week.
  • TWO SHORT PARAGRAPHS ARE BETTER THAN ONE LONG PARAGRAPH: Go back and read the opening paragraphs of this post. See what I did there? Huh?  Huh?  See what I did?!
  • DON’T TRY TO WRITE LIKE A LAWYER: Even lawyers don’t write like lawyers anymore! At least, the good ones don’t. Good lawyers opt for plain English when writing letters, memos, or even contracts. Think about it. A crystal-clear contract is unlikely to go to court. Why? Because it’s crystal clear, dammit! There’s nothing to argue about!!! Crystal-clear is where you want to be. That said, not all lawyers are good lawyers. Strictly for infotainment purposes, I’ve reproduced below a portion of a document that I recently received from a country lawyer based in an unnamed southern state. I swear to god…this ain’t no joke.

Had you in your hands, or under your control, directly or indirectly, at the time of service of these interrogatories, or at any time since, any money, rights, credits or other property whatsoever, belonging or due the said defendant in WRIT or in which it has or had any interest for the whole or for a part; and if yea, what is the nature, description and amount thereof, and is the same sufficient to pay or satisfy the full amount of said writ or if less, to what amount? – you being asked and required to make full disclosure in relation to the same.

This, my friends, is *not* a good lawyer. This is nonsense. And while I appreciate the time and energy he took to hand me a laughable example for this blog post, he could have just asked the following question and saved his client a billable hour: “Do you have any of the Defendant’s property or valuables in your possession or control? If so, please describe what they are and the value of each.” KISS, baby…KISS!

  • A BRIEF EXAMPLE CAN CLARIFY ANYTHING: This is especially useful when the document you are writing includes a formula or the description of a calculation. For an example of an example, please see the example in Part IV of my recent cocktail blog post.
  • TELL THE READER WHAT’S COMING AT THE BEGINNING: A well-written document should not read like an M. Night Shaymalan movie script (i.e., no surprises at the end). State your point up front, then use the rest of the document to flesh-out and/or support that point. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…”
  • PASSIVE VOICE SHOULD NOT BE USED: Oh, snap! What I meant to say was, “Don’t Use the Passive Voice.” The passive voice makes you sound bloated, meandering, and pompous. Instead, use the active voice. Active voice makes your point more clear, punchy, direct, and powerful. The difference between active voice and passive is like the difference between Bernie Sanders and Rick Perry. Here’s a (usually) effective trick to help distinguish between the two? Add the words “…by zombies” to the end of your sentence. If it makes sense, then you are probably using the passive voice (e.g., “The passive voice should not be used by zombies”). If it doesn’t, then good job! You are probably using the active voice (e.g., “Don’t use the passive voice by zombies.”).
  • LEARN AND MASTER THE RULES, THEN YOU CAN BREAK THEM ALL YOU WANT: Your high school English teacher taught you never to start a sentence with a conjunction. And she was right. But I do it all the time. And it’s Ok, because I learned and mastered the rules first.
  • MIND THOSE SUBJUNCTIVES AND ADVERBS: Elvis implored the world to “Love Me Tender.” And don’t get me wrong…I love Elvis as much as the next guy. But had he paid closer attention to Schoolhouse Rock (“Lolly’s, Lolly’s, Lolly’s”), he would have asked that you love him *tenderly.* And while you may claim “I wish I was in Dixie,” I (personally) wish I *were* in Dixie. Adverbs and the subjunctive tense…not so hard. Google them, get the hang of them, and your perceived IQ will jump at least ten points.
  • AND FINALLY: Remember…Superman does good. You do well.
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