I had a lovely pork loin that was crying out for some fun way to prepare it. Of course I turned to Artusi!
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| ISBN 0-679-43056-3 |
The book is The Art of Eating Well by Pellegrino Artusi, who lived from 1820 to 1911, translated by Kyle M. Phillips, III. It is considered "Italy's Most Treasured Cookbook" and here is why:
Before Marcella Hazan, Guiliano Bugialli, or Ada Boni, there was Pellegrino Artusi. A prosperous Florentine silk merchant, Artusi was also a passionate gastronome, and over his long life collected a large number of recipes for the foods he loved to eat and serve to his many guests. In 1891, he collected them into a cookbook, La Scienza in Cucina e l'Arte di Mangiar Bene ("The Science of Cookery and the Art of Eating Well"), for which he could not find a publisher. So he published the book himself.
Over a hundred years later, Artusi's book is still selling in every bookstore in Italy. It has gone through 111 printings, and a copy can be found in almost every Italian home. ...
But The Art of Eating Well is not just a cookbook. Artusi was also a bon vivant, a noted raconteur, and a celebrated host, who knew many of the leading figures of his day and read widely in the arts and sciences. His book is an extensive compendium of recipes, but also provided Artusi with ample opportunity to share his knowledge of the natural world, snippets of philosophy, dietary advice, and the occasional earthy anecdote. Artusi is also loved by Italians for his wit and his way with words; his book is one to read as well as cook from.
(Quoted from book cover flaps.)
But the enthusiasm for his work doesn't stop there. Here is a passage from the Introduction, by the translator:
In 1982 I bought a copy ... from a used-book seller who also carried a few new books on the side. My copy was new. I didn't want a new copy, but when I asked him if he had any used ones, he shook his head and replied that mothers passed their copies on to their daughters. He'd sold only three used copies of Artusi, as the book is called, in thirty years. I thought about that on the way home, and when I opened the book, began to see why.
... Pellegrino Artusi read widely, corresponded with the intellectuals of his day, and had something to say about just about everything. ... While today his comments are merely interesting, at the turn of the century they undoubtedly provided the first glimpses of the outside world to many of his readers who lived in small towns and had neither the means nor the opportunity to travel.
Over the years, Artusi's influence on Italian cuisine, and, for that matter, on the Italian language, has been profound. When he published the book in 1891, only a small fraction of the Italian population even spoke Italian, and almost all lived in abject poverty, a poverty known simply as miseria. If the average Italian even managed to stay his hunger, much less eat meat once a week, he considered himself lucky.
There was, however, a new star emerging: the middle class. These were households prosperous enough to eat meat regularly, if not daily, and to enjoy a varied diet, but not wealthy enough to afford the armies of servants employed by the aristocracy. ... They greeted Pellegrino Artusi's book with joy for two reasons: The recipes are tasty but not extravagant, and the book is written in clear, straightforward Italian. ... France was the cultural and culinary hub of Europe, and the Italian aristocracy ate French cuisine. ...
Consequently, in Artusi's day, most Italian chefs were French trained, and the cookbooks they wrote were so heavily laden with French culinary terminology that they were difficult to follow.
I could keep going with the list of contributions attributed to Artusi's book, but I suggest you get a copy and read the entire introduction yourself. You will learn about his early life, the challenges his family faced, and of his success as "a shrewd and gifted investor."
Here is the last paragraph in the Introduction:
Pellegrino Artusi set out to write a cookbook and instead helped to establish a national cuisine and unify an incredibly diverse country. At the end of his recipe for gnocchi alla Romana he says, "I hope you will like these as much as my guests have. If you do, toast me if I'm alive, or say a Rest in Peace if I've gone to push up cabbages." He deserves many of both.
So let's give one of his recipes a try! I chose
Maiale Arrostito Nel Latte -- Pork Roasted in Milk (page 318)
Take a piece of pork loin that weighs about 1 1/4 pounds, salt it, and set it in a pot with 1 1/8 cups of milk. Cover it and simmer it until the milk has almost completely evaporated, about 45 minutes. Increase the fire to brown it, stirring constantly, lest the curds stick and burn. Once it is browned, remove the meat, drain away the excess fat, and add a few more drops of milk to the curds in the pot. Bring the mixture to a boil, and use it brush slices of toasted bread, which you will serve with the meat.
In all, 1 1/2 cups of milk will suffice. Pork cooked this way is delicate and is not filling.
Special Note:
After Artusi's recipe, the translator has included a variation. Since my pork loin weighed over 3 pounds, I cut it in two and tried both recipes. The variation will be posted tomorrow as part 2.
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| Pork, milk, and salt. That's all, folks! |
My Notes
The piece of loin I used for this version weighed about 1 3/4 pounds, so I adjusted the milk amount to almost 1 3/4 cups. I used whole milk.
I used about 1/2 teaspoon of salt. I think it would be acceptable to use more.
The pork (fat side down) and milk went into a large kettle so it would fit and I could cover it. Notice that the milk does not cover the meat at all.
After it was all in the kettle, I brought the milk to a boil. Then I reduced the heat to a simmer and covered the kettle. The timer was set to 45 minutes but at about 22 minutes I peeked in and decided to turn the meat.
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| The meat is turned. Notice the initial curd formation on the sides of the pot. |
At the end of the 45 minutes, this is what it looked like.
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| More curds! |
The milk still had some evaporating to do so I left the lid off and raised the heat a little. I stirred it almost constantly, working around the meat, until most of the moisture was gone and the curds were numerous.
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| This looks right! |
Then I removed the meat and added about 1/2 cup of milk to the curds. I brought it to a boil. It did thicken just a little bit. I did not pour off any excess fat because it didn't look like any was there.
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| Notice the curds and liquid are a light brown in color. |
I sliced the pork as thinly as I could. The curd mixture was spread on dark rye toast, as instructed.
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| As served, with a little parsley garnish. |
The Verdict
I ate the meat and the toast separately, which was acceptable. The pork itself was a little dry but had a nice, delicate pork flavor. Not salty at all. I blame the dryness on me; I think it was the extra cooking with the lid off. If I did this again, I would remove the meat before reducing the liquid.
The toast with the curds was excellent. I worried that the curds wouldn't have much flavor but they did! I didn't get any milk or dairy sensation from them but they had absorbed the salt and nice, meaty pork flavors. The curds were on the surface of the toast and the liquid had soaked into it. I would have been happy just eating that.
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| Artusi's version is the pork slice next to the bread. I served it with a fruit salad. |
So this gave me an idea. I put the slice of pork on the bread and spooned a little of the extra curd sauce on top. This was even better! No more dry meat and the flavors all combined to a lovely main course. My guest tasters agreed this was the better way to serve it.
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| Success! |
I suspect that if the meat hadn't been dry, just serving the meat on top of the toast would have been fine. Perhaps that is what Mr. Artusi had intended.
We all agreed it was a success!
Rest in Peace, Pellegrino Artusi!
