Every once in a while it's good to know you're a little trendy.
These
days Territory Cuisine, for example, is really trendy. The use of this term
by a restaurant signifies, more or less, that the chef keeps a kitchen
garden with an abundance of turnips (which he no doubt turns into some
unique sort of culinary delight.) So it goes, if you find yourself in
artichoke country, you'll be sure to find artichokes dominating the menus
at every inn and restaurant for miles around. When touring Comacchio,
you're morally obligated to feast on eel, like it or not, which is the
local catch.
Personally, my own territory is rather limited (60 m sq small) and not wildly
productive. In fact, the territory which most inspires my cuisine is the
fridge, which is afflicted with cyclical bouts of anorexia and bulemia in
direct relation to the arrival of my editors' checks.
There are days when my little territory seems as barren a desert as the
valley of death at high noon, yet on others it's stocked to outlast a
siege. Today is one of the former, I'm afraid...what to serve my dinner-
guests? Eggs, milk, butter,parmesan. That's about it. Coming up with a
meal out of this is like having to work out a plot from an Agatha Christie book
having only the corpse, the murderer and the butler. And I'm the unlikely
detective trying to make sense of it all!
For four people, a litre of milk should be just about enough. territorial
cooking also stands for "making do with what's on hand," with a clever hand
making the most of it. Making do in my case means slowly stirring 250
grams of semolina into boiling milk and then stirring it constantly as it
cooks slowly for 2 or 3 minutes so that I don't end up with a gloppy mess resembling one of
those entangled mysteries that seem to have no logical solution.
Why do I turn off the heat after just a few minutes? Why do I then mix in
two beaten eggs? And why add the salt and nutmeg? What on earth have I
got in mind? And how long do I intend to keep you in the dark? OK, here
goes: "Gnocchi alla romana" ... with a name like that, we've got to be
dealing with territorial cooking of the finest Italian tradition. Alas,
gnocchi alla romana is entirely unknown in Rome...
I proceed by turning the cooked semolina onto a marble work surface,
spreading it to one even thickness about an inch high, and setting the
whole works in the fridge.
In the meatime, I'll hunt for the killer. It would seem that in spite of
its name, gnocchi alla romana was invented in Piedmont of all places!
Actually, learned slueth that I am, I realize that milk and butter are
indeed used much more often in northern Italy than in the central territory
around Rome.
I cut small rounds of gnocchi, layering them gently in a buttered baking
dish, and sprinkling grated Parmisan a go-go over the top. Just like in
a mystery ... the author shouldn't give away too much regarding the killer's
identity, and my dinner-guests don't need to have a CLUE as to the famine
in my fridge!
We Italians are aesthetic souls and would do a lot for appearances' sake.
The pyramid of gnocchi is dotted with flakes of butter and dusted with
parmesan cheese, then baked at about 400 °F for 15/20 minutes. It
arrives at the table with a golden crust. My guests, all Romans, are
amazed. What is this gastronomic wonder? There comes that moment in every
Agatha Christie book where the detective clears up the mystery from start to
finish, from territorial cuisine to the territory of the refrigerator.
But then,
you know the story already and now it's your turn to pass it on to your
guests.
