L'Italo-Americano

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2020 www.italoamericano.org 26 L'Italo-Americano I t a l i a n s l o v e c o o k i n g a n d eating: this is a truth as scientific as water boiling at 100C and gravity keeping us anchored to the earth. Each one of us has a favorite dish and a favorite recipe, and I am sure we all attempted to cook a meal for family and friends at least once in our lifetime. Some may have used family recipes scribbled in an old n o t e b o o k , t h e s a m e t h e i r mother had when they were small, its pages bearing wit- ness to the many times those recipes were made — a spla- sh of egg here, some flour there, pages crinkling when t u r n e d . M y o w n g r a n d - m o t h e r u s e d t o w r i t e h e r recipes on paper squares she would then keep in a box on a shelf in the kitchen: when she passed away, my older brother took it and brought it to his place and I am still pretty angry at him for that, twenty years on, to be honest w i t h y o u . I a m t h e o n e cooking in the family! O n e t h i n g t h a t a l w a y s , always strikes when you read Italian-written recipes, espe- cially those jotted down by expert family cooks, is their lingo, and the at-times unset- tling and panic-inducing lack of accurate doses and direc- t i o n s . F a r f r o m b e i n g a n "Italian-only" characteristic — I had to master the arts of persuasion and diplomacy to g e t a d e t a i l e d , c o m p l e t e - w i t h - d o s e s v e r s i o n o f a n American friend's recipe for s l o p p y J o e s a c o u p l e o f C h r i s t m a s e s a g o , a n d i t wasn't easy — it seems that the more one can cook, the least prone they are to divul- ge their recipes clearly. I s i t j u s t m e , o r i s i t a common feeling? But it's not only the myste- rious lack of accurate direc- tions that strikes in Italian h a n d w r i t t e n r e c i p e s : t h e expressions populating them can be baffling, too. Let's start with one of the most common and, quite frankly, infuriating: quanto basta (or q.b. in short). Literally, it means "as much as needed," but … how much is that? The English translation "to taste" makes more sense to me: you add, you taste, it's good. No? Let's add some more. "To taste" gives you freedom, it means it depends on you, but quanto basta is a different story: it implies there is, in fact, a right amount, one that is "sufficient" (basta) to make t h e r e c i p e r i g h t , a n d y o u have to know it. Enough to give you a panic attack there a n d t h e n , w h i l e y o u ' r e mixing your ingredients. U n p i z z i c o i s j u s t a s v a g u e a n e x p r e s s i o n , b u t much more benevolent: it means a pinch and it's much e a s i e r t o q u a n t i f y : w e a l l pretty much know how much a pinch is and you can't really stray from there. It's as much a s y o u c a n k e e p b e t w e e n your fingertips, it's a small quantity. Even the words piz- z i c o a n d p i n c h r e f e r t o something quick, fleeting, and small in size. Poetic, but not that diffi- cult to quantify is our un v e l o : o n y o u r m o r n i n g toast, you add un velo ("a veil") of jam and butter, and un velo of jam may also be enough on your crostata, if you add also custard or fruit to it. A n o t h e r i n t e r e s t i n g expression popular in some parts of Italy, especially in the North I believe, is un' i d e a ( " a n i d e a " ) : i n Piedmont we use it a lot and it is common in our dialect, too: in fact, I suspect it is this popular because it has dia- lectal origins. Just like un pizzico and un velo, un'idea e q u a l s a s m a l l q u a n t i t y , perhaps even less that un pizzico. Proof of it is the fact we use it for spices and any o t h e r i n g r e d i e n t w i t h a strong, distinctive flavor: un'idea of it means adding j u s t e n o u g h t o g i v e t h e i m p r e s s i o n t h e f l a v o r i s there, but not quite enough f o r i t t o b e d i s t i n c t i v e o r overpowering. By the way, isn't that one of the most m a g i c a l t h i n g s a b o u t cooking? The way the tiniest amount of an ingredient can make such a big difference in a recipe, even when you don't actually taste that ingredient at all? But I digress. Another cool one — that I find really fancy, in a "add it in a poem" kind of way — is a pioggia. Literally, it means like rain, but can be rende- red in English with dusting, a dust and even sprinkling, depending on the context: we use it especially when adding p o w d e r y d r y i n g r e d i e n t s (flour and icing sugar, for instance) to wet ones, with the aim of avoiding clumps: when we add flour to eggs to make batter, we do it a piog- gia (even if setacciare, to sieve, is also incredibly popu- lar), and if we are making polenta, recipes usually advi- se to add the corn flour to the water a pioggia, too. These are just a handful of e x p r e s s i o n s , b u t e v e r y region, village, family has its own, a sign not only of the wealth of our language but also of how poetic and arti- stic cooking in an Italian kit- chen can be. GIULIA FRANCESCHINI Cooking is sharing … and a great way to learn new expressions! (Photo: Maryna Andriichenko/Dreamstime) HERITAGE HISTORY IDENTITY TRADITIONS The secret language of an Italian kitchen

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