Here is a great little recipe video from our friends at Cucina Fanpage... Standing Rigatoni in a Mug. This version backs the mug in the oven, like an individual casserole. There is another version done in a microwave, but I prefer this baking method.
Click on the photo above to see the video. If you want to see how to make a larger version for a large gathering, try our recipe, Torta Rigatoni Piede Bolognese al Forno (baked Standing Rigatoni with Bolognese). When I was a boy, my father would often cook when my Mom was out with her "lady friends" to take in a Broadway show or an evening in a Manhattan night club. His style of cooking was something very different from my mother's... He would look into our old Philco refrigerator, see what was leftover or what vegetables we had, and somehow--without a recipe--whip something up to satisfy us for dinner. When I'd ask what we were going to have for dinner, he just say a dialect word which to my ears sounded like "ba-BOOK-ya", with the "ya" part trailing off becoming nearly imperceptible. I knew the adventure was about to begin... Recently, I was determined to research this word, even though I was unsuccessful in finding out its meaning in past attempts. But this time, I asked the friendly people in the I Love Molfetta Facebook page... and hit pay dirt! As it turns out, the word is papocchio... (or papocchia), pronounced "pah-POH-kee-yo". Now that I see it spelled out, I can picture my father pronouncing the "P"s almost like "B"s, with his soft-mouthed, mumbling Molfettese manner of speaking. Words are blended in his dialect. The end of words sort of trail off. So, "ba-BOOK-ya" fits perfectly with my memory! Papocchio can have multiple meanings: Intrigue, cheating, trickery, a mess. Shockingly, I have even discovered that the word was used by northern Italians to refer to someone messing up a situation, in the "typical Southern Italian style", or "papocchio". Wow! Northern Italians had many such words and idioms that denigrated the Southern Italian. So, in this context, a "papocchio" is described as a screw-up not worthy of being considered a Northern Italian. The sarcastic use of the word was used as the title of the 1980 comedy film Il Pap'occhio--the Pope's Eye. They took the meaning of the word "papocchio" and added the ' between the "pap" and "occhio" forming the compound word for Pope's Eye. It was such an irreverent look at the corruption of the Pope and the church that the film was shut down with two weeks of its release. What does all this have to do with Dad's "ba-BOOK-ya" recipe? Not much, but it does give a lot of historical perspective to the word papocchio. When I asked my Dad for its meaning, he motioned with his hands with his fingers stretched out with a twisting movement, "When I was a kid we'd put everything in one bowl or pot... (hands twisting) all mixed up". He told how his poor immigrant family would gather around the table for the family meal, each having their own fork but only one big bowl in the middle of the table. He said that they would use whatever they had that day to make the meal... a tomato or two (if in season, grown in their tiny Hoboken backyard), some ramps (wild onions picked near the railroad tracks), broken up pieces of stale bread, potatoes, smelt or eel or crab (if he or his brothers caught any that day on the river), a bit of cheese, some salt and olive oil. Sometimes he would fry the leftover ingredients to heat everything together in a large pan. Other times he would make a sort of cold rice or pasta salad. He also liked to make a frittata using eggs as the base for all the found leftover ingredients. Mom had her mainstay recipes, but with Dad, it was as if he was a stand-up comic doing an improvisational skit--being able to handle whatever the audience threw at him. Ecco... Ba-BOOK-ya... Papocchio! Recipe? Not really... Here is the simple method of how my father, Sal might have thrown a papocchio together for a weekday meal.
If you have small bowls, portion out the dish. Otherwise, everyone grab a fork and dig in, but no fighting! Serve with crusty bread and a glass of red wine on ice mixed with 7-Up. That's the way Dad would have done it... --Jerry Finzi In the province of Teramo, in Abruzzo there is a recipe that rivals the Sugo of the Neapolitan tradition: Chitarra con Pallottini. If there is any ancestor of Italian-American style "spaghetti & meatballs" (a dish that doesn't exist in Italy), then this is it... Let me explain the name first. Chitarra means guitar in Italian, but in this case it refers to the pasta making tool called a chitarra because it's wire strings resemble a guitar (OK, perhaps it looks more like a zither or auto-harp, but let's not quibble.) The chitarra is used to make a type of spaghetti with a square edged profile, called Pasta alla Chitarra. A thin sheet of fresh pasta is laid on top of the chitarra and a small matterello pin is rolled over the pasta to squeeze it down and through the wires, creating the square sides. The pasta falls below, picked up and dried or cooked fresh. Kids would love to help make this pasta. The name of this type of pasta has taken on the name chitarra.
As for the Pallottini... palla means ball, the "-ini" ending means they are small. Small isn't the word. These Abruzzo meatballs are absolutely tiny. When I made this recipe, it took me well over an hour to make 268 tiny pallottine from about 3 pounds of minced, lean chuck. (Yes, I counted them). I should have waited until my son, Lucas came home from school to help me! While making them, I discovered that it was difficult to make the pallotine as small as the ones I found in authentic Abruzzese recipes. Mine came out around 3/4 inch in diameter... instead of the 1/2" or smaller seen in Abruzzo. The problem was trying to pinch a small enough bit of meat in between the tips of my fingers. Perhaps using a 1/4 teaspoon measure would have worked better. Tiny fingers and hands of young children would be perfect for the task, but knowing how tedious this task is, more than likely it would be considered as child labor. On Sundays, when Neapolitan nonnas and mamas are making their Sugo, the kitchens in Abruzzo are filled with similar scents of Nonnas making their Sugo, pasta alla chitarra and pallottine. Traditionally, the dish is accompanied by a rich meat and tomato based Sugo rather than a simple marinara sauce. The sugo is slow-cooked all day with lamb, beef, and pork added to a large pot of crushed tomatoes. The sauce isn't finished until the meat easily falls or shreds apart and can be mixed into the sugo. In my recipe, I slow cooked the pallottine with crushed tomatoes and spices, leaving out the other meats. My thinking was that 3 pounds of tiny meatballs will still add loads of meaty flavor to the resulting sugo. Some claim that Chitarra con Pallottini is a dish from the Piedmont region in the north from the early 20th century. In Abruzzo people have been making and eating pallottini since the early 1800s, a full 100 years earlier. To add to the confusion, a recent report by an Italian expert in archeological gastronomy discovered a Piedmont recipe in a monk's cookbook dated 1344 that described tiny meatballs used in a rice and pork blood dish. Wherever it stemmed from, this dish is unique and well worth making... Since I didn't have a Chitarra when I made this recipe, I used some 3/4 inch wide tagliatelle for my dish. I also changed up the recipe a bit from the originals I found. They tend to use nothing but ground beef, one egg and a sprinkle of nutmeg to make the pallottini. I wanted to add a bit more flavor, so I added a very small minced of garlic (in a jar, imported from Italy) and since these meatballs were SO tiny, I couldn't use fresh diced onions as I do in normal sized polpette. Instead, I used dried onion flakes, knowing they would re-hydrate when added to the meat mixture. I won't get into the recipe for the traditional Sugo here, but if you like, you can make my recipe HERE. Otherwise, for a fresher sauce, make a quick marinara with crushed tomatoes, a bit of sugar, and a decent amount of dried basil. Ingredients (pallottini) 3 pounds of lean, chopped (minced) chuck/beef 2 tablespoons dried onion flakes 2 teaspoon minced garlic (in jar) 2 tablespoons fine sea salt 40 cracks fresh black pepper 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes 1 beaten egg Directions In a large mixing bowl, mix the minced chuck with the beaten egg, the minced garlic and all the other dry spices. Get in there with your hands and mix really well, until you are certain that each and every tiny meatball will get an assortment of garlic, onion flakes and other spices. Lay out several sheets of wax paper on your work counter and start making the pallotine. If using your bare hands, barely pinch a little bit of meat mixture in between the tips of your thumb and two forefingers. Roll the meat into a ball shape between your palms. As I mentioned, the pallottine should be less than 3/4 inch around. If you want to try a 1/4 teaspoon measure, this might help to measure out a smaller amount. Once you finished making all of the pallottine, heat a large saute pan with light olive oil filled to a depth of 3/4 inch deep. If you would like to brown the pallottine a bit more, you can use half the amount of oil, but you will have to pay much more attention to turning them as they brown. These tiny balls cook quickly! Cook them in batches and remove with a slotted spoon, then place on a large baking tray covered with several layers of paper towels to drain. When completed, you can place them in your marinara or Sugo and slowly simmer for about 1-1/2 hours or longer if you are adding them to a Sugo with several other meats. So, the next time someone claims there is no such thing as Spaghetti and Meatballs in Italy, try winning a bar bet with your knowledge of Pallottine!
Buon appetito! P.S. When I get my Chitarra tool, I'll update this article with photos of the Pallottine on top of fresh made Pasta alla Chitarra. --Jerry Finzi Boy oh Boy! Our Boy Lucas Can Really Cook: His Amalfi Lemon and Turkey Pasta with Prosecco4/11/2017 Once in a while I just don't feel like cooking, and my wife Lisa has been working a bit late, so we opt for a simple salad for dinner or call for take-out pizza or Chinese food. But last night was different. Our boy Lucas said he wanted to make dinner! Now he's helped us both before on our recipes, he is great at making fresh pasta, and his knife skills are getting better and better all the time. And since he was little (he's almost 14 now), he's had an amazing affinity for spices, often making his own spice mixes for pasta, popcorn, corn on the cob and the like. Well, this time, he set out to make a proper meal for us... Before I knew it he was printing out my recipe for Amalfi Lemon and Chicken Pasta. When I heard what he wanted to make, I warned him that we didn't have any fresh chicken out--only frozen (and it was 1/2 before our normal dinner time). Instantly, he improvised and pulled out the small Boars Head Oven Gold Turkey loaf that I had recently bought. When we looked for white wine, we had none... so after advising him on the things we had that might make a similar base for a sauce, he substituted 1 cup of Prosecco. In place of the red pepper flakes he did a very fine dice of some flame colored bell pepper... and I might add that his knife skills were superb! His dice was even and very small... perhaps 1/8"! Bravo, Lucas! I played the role of his Sous Chef only--putting on the large pot of water for pasta, helping him mise en place his ingredients, measuring out the sherry, etc. I did take over doing the lemon zest when he nicked his knuckle a bit when using the micro-plane, but after all, it was his first time using that tool. He did all the rest of the prep and cooking himself. He started by browning pieces of turkey in a saute pan, then added the peppers, lemon zest, sherry, spices and then the Half & Half and turned the flame to high to reduce the sauce. Toward the end of cooking, I coached him about reducing the sauce and how to tell if the sauce was thick enough by dragging his wooden spoon along the bottom of the pan until it left a clear wake in its path. I drained his pasta for him (he chose a mix of two types of tricolor farfalle) and poured it into a large pasta bowl. Then he put the completed sauce on top, added a couple of handfuls of Parmigiano Reggiano and mixed. The final dish was incredibly good! The sherry worked great in the sauce, the turkey was flavorful from the browning, and the lemon juice and zest brought us right back to the Amalfi Coast. It was one of the best meals we had in a while! When Lisa asked if it was as good as the Chicken Lasagna she made for us on the weekend, I had to confess--it was. When I think back at myself at the same age, I was heating up cans of Chef Boyardee, cooking packets of Lipton Noodle Soup, throwing some frozen fish sticks or fish cakes into a fry pan or making grilled cheese... wow! Some difference. This boy can really cook! --Jerry Finzi <--- the Proud Babbo
--Jerry Finzi 4/7/2015 Nearly every Sunday of my early childhood my Mom made something most Italian-Americans (especially those from Naples) called Sunday Gravy. Simply put, Sunday Gravy is essentially a large batch of tomato sauce with various types of meat slow cooked into it. In Italian, the word salsa means sauce... a sauce is made from something other than meat. Like putting a fruit or cheese sauce over meat, chicken or fish. The Italian word sugo means gravy. A gravy is made from the liquids and fat that are rendered from various meats--like using turkey drippings to make a gravy. The all-day cooking of meat in tomato sauce gives off a heady scent, that would fill our apartment, and waft out into the hallway for the entire building to smell--"Ahh... the Finzis are making Gravy today!" The secret of Sugo is in its slow cooking, or pippiare (literally, to bubble) technique. Sunday Gravy has it's origins from a beef stew popular in medieval XII-XIV century, way before tomatoes were introduced from the New World--a clay cooker slow cooked the stew of beef and vegetables for hours and hours. This beef stew turned into a ragù, at first created in northern Italy, with the southern Neapolitans evolving the dish further by the eighteenth century. It began as a a dish for nobility, using more expensive cuts of meat, such as beef and veal, but no tomato. (Tomatoes didn't gain popularity right away in Europe... they were thought to be poisonous). This dish was mainly prepared on Sundays, the sauce placed on top of the pasta, with larger cuts of meat served as a second course. One historian described a Sugo using tomatoes in 1857 that was being served in taverns in Naples. You can think of Sunday Gravy is a hybrid of sorts... it starts out as a tomato sauce and becomes a gravy after meats have been added and have rendered their flavors during a long cooking period--the Sunday Gravy of my childhood. But Sunday Gravy wasn't just about a making a single meal in la nostra casa. It was an event--a gathering. Making Sunday Gravy is reminiscent of an entire village doing their weekly communal cooking... coming together to make pasta, make bread, make the olive oil, tend the olive trees, fix a roof, gossip, laugh and be together. In Italian communities, ovens were often communal, but ingredients were also communal in many respects--Giuseppe just slaughtered a large pig and barters off some of the meat with Mario, the baker for bread, or perhaps his cousin Maria still has some tomatoes hanging that she would swap, and Marcello's owes him some olive oil to offset the wine that was traded last spring for some pasta. Food was communal. Food was family. And good food takes time and preparation and lasts for more than a single meal... My Mom started making Sunday Gravy sometimes on Saturday... or even in the middle of the week before. Being a working Mom and was frugal with her time. She would make a meat dish one night--maybe the meatballs. Then she'd give us a simple dinner with some of them, but hold most of them for adding to the Sunday Gravy pot. Maybe on Saturday after shopping, she'd make the brasciole and brown the pork ribs under the broiler. These would also go into the fridge, ready for the Sunday Gravy pot. Sunday morning would arrive and I'd go to Mass with one of my sisters and then stop at a bakery to pick up "buns" for our whole family--even my Aunt Rose's family who lived upstairs. In our family's jargon, "Buns" were anything sweet from the bakery... cream donuts dusted with cinnamon, raisin "buns" (my favorite), a crumb cake with crumbs as big as my 5 year old fist, a cheese danish that would fill a plate, and maybe a dozen "mixed buns"... assorted goodies that the person behind the counter would surprise us with
Sunday Gravy wasn't just about the one meal. It was also about what we'd be eating in the coming week--there would be lots of leftovers in that big pot. The gravy might even allow us to cheat a little on "meatless Friday" by using just the tomato sauce without any meat on pasta, ravioli or with fish. And everyone knows that Gravy tastes even better over the next few days. The flavors of all those meats meld into the sauce turning it magically into a true gravy--rendered from meat. It's a carnivore's manna--nectar straight from our Roman and Greek bloodlines. My Dad's very large family ate from a single pot.... and a single bowl in the middle of the table. You can imagine the Sunday Gravy there with brothers and sisters taking a meatball here, a rib there... a couple of these meats, a piece of bread or pasta and some of this gravy and you had an incredible meal. Filling, nutritious and delicious. A necessary thing when our Nonna's had so many mouths to feed with so little. In our famiglia, there were lots of mouths to feed--seven of us in our family, and the dog. My cousins and Aunt would stop by, too. Then there were my sisters' girl friends and my brother's crew. There were always extra plates for whoever stopped by. It was about the famiglia... the heritage... the food... the tastes that even our memories had forgotten and unknowingly were our a link to our past.... Naples, Molfetta... and my maternal Grandmother, Mariantonia Delulia. (Once I learned her real name I was compelled to say her full name over and over... like poetry off an Italian tongue... "Maree - ahn-TONE-eaa-ahh Day-LULE-eeah". ) This wonderful lady towered over me (as a small child) at 4' 10", with her greyed hair tucked into a bun in the daytime, but releasing nearly three feet of it down her back at night before bed. Grandma made her own version of Gravy... everyone does it slightly differently. She'd add large strips of peppers and larger chunks of onions, and put pignoli in her meatballs. A cut up pork shoulder (the affordable cut for poor immigrants, when they could afford it) was key to her recipe, along with hot sausage (way too spicy for my young tongue back then). Before we would get through the comics, our little railroad apartment would start to smell differently.... sweet, pungent... Italian. Mom would start by taking a huge onion and cutting it up into small pieces... and sautéing them in the bottom of her huge stock pot on the kitchen stove until they were soft and glistening and letting off their pungent scent. Then she would add the diced carrots, celery and garlic. After that, my Dad would get the wine from the cellar (he'd sometimes have jugs of some home made wine he got from my Uncle down there) and pour some into the pot. Not sure how much.... maybe a couple of cups. Next, Mom would let one of us open the cans--big cans of imported tomato puree. It was fun opening cans using the wall-hung can opener over by the dumb waiter door (nailed shut by Dad so us kids wouldn't try to go for a ride.) About four or five cans would go into the pot. Next came the spices. A handful of sugar to cut the acidity, half-handful each of dried basil, oregano, thyme, garlic powder (or a 5-6 cloves of fresh when Mom had it), a good sprinkle of red pepper flakes, a tablespoon each of salt and pepper, then a quarter cup of olive oil. If Mom had any leftover rinds of cheese from a grating wedge, they'd go in too. Then she'd take out the meat... lots of it. A rack of ribs cut up would be layered in like logs at the bottom of a red lake. Then would come the sausage browned and cut up into 2 inch pieces, then add the brasciole--all tied up like meaty little packages, and then the meatballs. Then the Sunday Gravy pot is put on the back burner--the smallest one--and starts to simmer and simmer, bubbling like a crater of lava from the old world. The aromas get more and more intense as the day goes on--you can taste the flavors turning the tomato sauce into something... luscious. My siblings' friends come and go with an open door policy, my mother always inviting them to have a "bun" or sit down for a meatball sandwich. There was more than enough... a few would never be missed. As for us, we would taste the Gravy all day long by getting a piece of bread and spooning some on top. What a treat. I still do this when I make gravy--or sauce. Taste it on top of a piece of bread... fine tune the spices, then simmer some more. Lucas is growing to love this little snack way before dinnertime. In the Fifties we would sometimes eat Sunday "dinner" at 2 in the afternoon if my Mom was lucky enough to get the Sunday Gravy in the pot early enough. Otherwise, we'd eat by 5 or so. There was no set dinner time on Sundays in our house. Besides, we had "buns" in our bellies--the starch, fat and sugars keeping our fluttering young hearts going. No one went hungry on Sundays. The New Famiglia Finzi "Gravy" This past Easter I made Sunday Gravy, as I described above. I didn't follow a recipe... I followed my memories. Perhaps this is why I didn't write this article as I would a normal recipe. I don't want people to simple follow the recipe in any strict way. This a recipe that needs to be felt. Vary it with love--the things you love, and share it with people you love. Make meals out of its components both before, during--and after--making it. We've already had two meals from it. It all came together for Easter Sunday's late afternoon meal, as my family had done time and time again so many years ago. We'll probably freeze half of it for future meals. We made home made tagliatelle to have with it the first night and a risotto for another meal on another day. But we also had each other. We shared garlic bread and wine with it--Lucas had a little glass too. I'm teaching Lucas how to drink with a meal rather than drink to get drunk. He places a small forkful of meat in his mouth, chews a bit, sips some wine and discovers the flavors as they mingle and merge into something Godlike. Making Sunday Gravy was like having a family Mass with a prayer beforehand, and more afterwards. It's a joy to watch my boy Lucas' eyes light up as he discovers great flavors. Lisa helped me with some parts of the meat preparations as early as Thursday. Lucas helped make the meatballs and the pasta. Lucas is also a spice expert (great palette on that kid), so I told him to, "Make an Italian tasting spice rub for the ribs". He nailed it. Mom made the risotto we had for our second meal (her first time making risotto... usually I do all the stirring). The Gravy mixing with the rice turning it into something dreamy. Traditions--or perhaps I should say rituals-- are important in our family, and in our food. After all, the food holds ties to our heritage and the food eventually becomes us. Literally and spiritually.
Happy Easter. And thanks, Mom for all those tasteful Sundays. --Jerry Finzi In the past, I've made fried spaghetti, pasta fritatti, timbali and other such pasta-centrist dishes, where the pasta is bound together by eggs, cheese and other fillings. But, I've never made this dish: Torta Rigatoni Piede Bolognese al Forno. (A literal translation: Baked Standing Rigatoni Pie with Bolognese Sauce.) I figured I'd give it a try for a post-holiday dinner for some friends that were coming for a visit. I was a bit intimidated about the techniques used in this dish. Would the rigatoni stand up? Would enough of the Bolognese get inside the rigatoni? Would it fall apart as I popped it out of the spring-form pan? I set out to research this recipe in Italian. I often do this when I want to find authentic recipes... I use Google Translate to help translate the recipe name I am looking for, and then use the Italian name with the word "ricetta" (recipe) after it. In this way, I often find a myriad of authentic, traditional recipes and methods--often from home cooks or Nonnas. I did find many variations of this dish, and different methods of preparation. For instance, some put the ricotta cheese mixture on top of the rigatoni and press it into the holes. I didn't want an overly cheesy version, but instead opted to press the bolognese into the holes. The funny thing is, I actually came across one particularly fussy recipe where the cook actually used a pastry bag to pipe the cheese mixture into each and every piece of rigatoni! If I want that much cheese, I'll make manicotti anyway. I'm not going to get into my recipe for Bolognese Sauce here, but I'll write a separate post with that recipe since it can be used in other dishes. I'll concentrate more on the techniques to put this whole thing together. I will say that you should use the largest diameter rigatoni that you can find. I actually tested a few pieces each of two brands of rigatoni by cooking them beforehand to be sure I had the correct cook on them and to see if the holes were large enough. I wanted to be sure they would maintain their round shape and be able to stand up. I also didn't want them too long (tall in the pan) or there wouldn't be enough room for the Bolognese and cheese toppings. In the end, Colavita had a rigatoni that worked well. I discovered that you have to boil the rigatoni about a minute or two less than you would for a well cooked al dente pasta. This is very important! If the pasta is overcooked, each rigatoni will collapse with flattened holes that won't be able to accept any filling. You will need a spring form pan with to make this recipe. Ingredients 1 pound large rigatoni pasta Bolognese sauce (allow extra for serving on the side) 8 ounces Italian style Fontina cheese, shredded 1 cup of grated Parmigiano Reggiano light olive oil (for coating the inside of the spring for pan) For the filling: 16 ounces ricotta cheese 1/4 cup (a handful) of grated Parmigiano Reggiano 1 whole egg 1/2 teaspoon salt 20 cracks of fresh black pepper (from a pepper mill - alt., 1/4 tsp ground pepper) dash of nutmeg Preparation
13. Next, spoon a layer of Bolognese sauce on top of the rigatoni, trying to press the meat down into the pasta holes (see the series of photos above). 14. Then spoon a layer of the ricotta mixture over the top of the sauce. 15. Top off the ricotta with half the Fontina cheese. (You will add the rest at the end). 16. Place the pan it into the oven on the middle rack (in between the two baking pans, as described above), and bake for 40 minutes on a center rack. 17. When done, remove the pan and spread the rest of the Fontina on top. Set the oven to broil, place the pan back into the oven, and cook for 1-2 minutes, or until the cheese is a bit browned and bubbling. 18. When done, remove from oven and let cool for 30 minutes before serving! 19. When cooled, you can take a knife or thin spatula and slide it around the edges to release the pasta from the sides of the pan. Release the lock and gently lift the sides of the pan away. After removing the pan sides, rest for another 5 minutes. You should now be able to slice and serve. Use a pie server to plate each slice. Cooling down at the end for 30 minutes is very important. When I made this, I let it cool only for 10 minutes or so (we had 3 hungry kids waiting for dinner, so I was a bit rushed). While most held together just fine, when I pulled the first slice out, a bit of the pie started to collapse. This dish doesn't have to be piping hot, so don't rush it. Serve with a dollop or two of more Bolognese on the sides of each wedge slice. We had it with a nice Prosecco... the kids had some non-alcoholic cider in wine glasses. One slice of "pie" and a salad was enough for each of us, and we still had several portions left over for another meal for "we three".
One more note: If you'd like, you can place the ricotta cheese mixture onto the rigatoni first, forcing it down into the holes, and then the Bolognese followed by the ricotta mixture on top. Personally, I liked getting bits of meat down into the pasta. If you're more of a cheese person, they by all means, prepare it the other way around. For a variation, try making one with an Alfredo sauce rather than the Bolognese. Trust me, this meal is well worth the effort, especially when trying to impress some friends. Buon appetito! Leave a comment if you make this recipe. I'd love to hear how it came out! --Jerry Finzi We've made spaghetti pie several times and really love it on a cold winter's day for a hearty, warming lunch. This recipe is a fairly good one from Food Network. To cut down the fat and cholesterol a bit, I'd swap the pancetta for a leaner ham, like Boar's Head Piccolo Prosciutto, and I'd use 1 real egg and 3/4 cup of Egg Beaters. Click the photo or HERE to see the recipe.
--Jerry Finzi |
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