Month: December 2025

There are those unenlightened folk who view Panettone as the Italian equivalent of fruitcake. Meaning, it’s a culinary curiosity that nobody really likes. You know, sorta like IPAs.

I am not one of them. I’ve always liked Panettone. Even the cheap, $7 ones that are found at Aldi and are objectively not-so-great. I mean, there are few things that can’t be made to taste good when lightly toasted, schmeared with butter, and accompanied by a decent cuppa Joe.

So it shouldn’t surprise anyone that Olivieri 1882‘s Panettone has been on my radar for more than a year. Olivieri 1882’s Panettone has been trumpeted as the best Panettone on the planet by sources no less than the New York Times and Food & Wine Magazine.

Olivieri 1882’s Panettone is also damn pricey. And for good reason. To quote their website:

“Our panettone is made only with natural sourdough and the dough passes a 4 days double fermentation. We fill it with raisins and candied oranges. You can find little black dots of Bourbon vanilla inside. Panettone is a rich but highly digestible cake, thanks to the usage both of first quality raw materials and of long fermentation techniques. It’s completely free from preservatives, semi-finished products, flavorings and vegetable fats. 100% prepared by hand with passion since 1882, in keeping with tradition.”

What they don’t mention is the most interesting part. The Panettone, once baked, must be hung upside-down while cooling so that it doesn’t collapse into itself. Much like most of my college roommates.

The Olivieri 1882 buzz eventually caught up with my wife, who last month stood before me and said, “Hey…I was just reading about this Italian Panettone that sells for $100.”

“You mean Olivieri 1882’s?”

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“How did you not?”

Now, there are two things to know about my wife. One is that she is game for pretty much any food adventure. The other is that, unlike her husband, she is not a world-class cheapskate.

So she ordered one. The Panettone Classico, to be exact. And we waited, more than a bit impatiently, a good three weeks for it to arrive.

And when it arrived, we (i.e., she, I, and our boy) tore into it like we had an imminent date with the electric chair.

Our unanimous verdict? Yeah…totally worth $100!*

[*Assuming you didn’t need that $100 for life-saving medication or to pay your already past-due mortgage.]

I could spill 1,000 words explaining what’s so special about this glorious hunk of dough that costs an inglorious hunk of dough, but the NY Times said it best (and saved me another 20 minutes of typing):

“If you think you’ve never had a good version of panettone, you’ll likely change your mind after tasting Olivieri 1882’s Classic Panettone. The bread’s impressively tall domed top towers beautifully over its paper collar, and when we cut into it, we were immediately struck by its bright saffron-colored crumb and pleasant orange aroma. Egg yolks are listed as the third ingredient, which likely explains the vibrant yellow color and rich custardy flavor. The bread hails from Arzignano, Italy, but tastes as fresh and moist as if it had been crafted by a local bakery.

The Olivieri 1882 panettone is tender, buttery, and fluffy with a pronounced citrus flavor that’s punchy yet not overpowering. The raisins are juicy, and the candied orange is plump and tender, not dry as in some versions we tasted, so each piece melts in your mouth. We also like that the candied citrus is evenly and generously distributed throughout the bread.

The Olivieri 1882 panettone is quite expensive, but as chef Jürgen David, director of pastry research and development at the Institute of Culinary Education told us, “If it’s good quality, just spend the money. It’s always worth it.””

It is.

We did.

It was.

And no toasting or schmearing were required.

Buon Natale, MoFos!

In my previous post, I described our recent trip to Uruguay and indoctrination into parrilla culture.

Parrilla (pronounced, pah-REE-juh) refers to meats, sausages, and veggies grilled over a hardwood fire. Indeed, parrilla in Uruguay is not just yummy AF. It’s also (often) an hours-long social event.

Upon our return to the US, I vowed to bring that same joyful Uruguayan parrilla magic into our Texas backyard. The question was, “How?”

I started by looking into pre-fabricated stone parrilla grills, much like the ones I saw in Montevideo. Very expensive. Like, thousands of dollars expensive.

Then I looked into having a stone mason fabricate one for me. Same issue, but worse. I’d not only need to shell out a couple grand, but I’d also have to micromanage a tradesperson. I’m too old for that shit.

So I thought about building one myself. That uber-indulgent fantasy lasted about thirty seconds (i.e., the exact amount of time it took for my wife to stop laughing).

I looked into portable pre-fab metal grills that incorporated the important functional elements of Uruguayan or Argentine parrillas. Even those elicited acute sticker shock, and some of them looked like tinny junk.

Then an idea hit me. I have a 22″ Weber kettle grill that I love and works great for charcoal grilling. With a tweak here and a tweak there, could my Weber kettle be retrofitted to become an Americanized, yet still abundantly kick ass, wood-burning Uruguayan parrilla?

Forty minutes of Internet surfing later, I stumbled upon an outfit called Ash & Ember that sells products for backyard grilling–many of which are inspired by South American parrillas. And there it was! The Holy Grail that I had been searching for.

The Ash & Ember Santa Maria Attachment for 22″ kettle grills! And it cost less than $200, FFS!!!

It all made sense, conceptually. A Weber kettle grill–despite being designed for charcoal grilling–is a perfectly functional vessel for building a hardwood fire. There is sufficient space for a pile of logs. The adjustable air vents at the bottom of the kettle allow plenty of airflow to fuel the fire. And it is very well constructed, allowing for a safe-ish and stable fire hazard. So…why don’t more people chuck aside the Kingsford briquettes in favor of a 100% hardwood fire that would give a slab of four-legged protein that irresistible South American, smoke-kissed flavor?

The answer is that it would be hard to manage a hardwood fire in a Weber grill because the cooking grate is not adjustable. And that is precisely why the Santa Maria attachment is a godsend.

The key characteristic of a Santa Maria grill is that the cooking grate is attached to a wheel and pulley system and can easily be raised or lowered as the cook requires. Drop it down close to the fire for a good, crusty, high-heat sear. Raise it up to allow thicker hunks of meat to roast more slowly and gently until the ideal internal temperature is hit. Conceptually (again), I saw no reason why a Santa Maria-outfitted Weber kettle wouldn’t/couldn’t/shouldn’t replicate the Uruguayan parrilla experience.

So I bought one. Because, of course I did.

And I am happy to report that in this case, reality met–dare I say, exceeded–the concept. It worked beautifully. Here are the details.

The Weber kettle has two grates: a lower grate for the fuel, and an upper grate for the food. Remove the upper grate and toss it into the shed. You don’t need it for this configuration.

Next step, fully open the adjustable vents at the bottom of the kettle to maximize air flow around the fuel.

Now for the fuel. I start with two starter cubes placed on the lower grate. Then I take two hardwood logs (I use oak or any fruit or nut tree) and lay them parallel to the starter cubes. Then take a long, thinner log or piece of kindling and lay it perpendicularly across the two bottom logs. This is the support beam for your teepee of kindling. Then take a bunch of kindling and build the teepee. Then lay a few more logs around the teepee, again allowing enough space for air flow. The set-up looks something like in the photo below.

Place the Santa Maria attachment onto the kettle. It will fit snugly into place.

And now…time to fire that shit up!

Light those starter cubes and let the magic begin. Assuming your wood is sufficiently dry and cured, you should have a blazing fire in no time. Now comes the hard part. Waiting.

That fire needs to be left alone for 45 minutes to an hour until the wood starts breaking down, is ashed over, and is wicked hot yet no longer spewing flames. You don’t want flames licking your meat (no pun intended…well, maybe a little intended). Flames will burn the meat and leave an acrid taste, contrary to what Burger King would have us believe. So be patient and don’t jump the gun. Scroll to the top of this post and see the first photo as an example of the state of fuel that we are shooting for.

When the time is right and the embers perfect, add the meat. Depending on your preferred technique, you can start with the grate closer to the fuel for a crusty, high-heat, direct sear and then raise the grate for slower and more controlled roasting. Or you can do a “reverse sear,” which means starting with the grate up high until the meat almost reaches the desired internal temperature–then lower the grate to finish with a good, crusty, tasty sear.

And that’s it. How well you manage the fire and grate level will determine the perfection of your finished product. That finished product will have a smokier flavor and aroma than you’d get by using charcoal or propane.

And that, mis amigos, is what makes the Uruguayan parrilla muy especial.