Polenta

One of my favorite dinners growing up was my mother’s veal piccata. Her recipe came from an old cookbook called The Pleasures of Italian Cooking, by Romeo Salta, a gift to her from my father. My father had been a devoted fan of Romeo Salta when he was the chef at Chianti in Los Angeles in the fifties. Back then, it was a swinging Italian joint with red-checkered tablecloths, opera 78s blasting, and red wine flowing into the late hours. My mother’s (and Romeo’s) veal was pounded thin, sautéed, and drenched in a lemony caper-butter sauce. There’s nothing wrong with that classic rendition, but, to add another layer of flavor, I brown the butter and finish it with salsa verde, a pungent purée of capers, anchovies, garlic, oregano, and tons of parsley. To get the finest, crispy crust on the veal, I dredge it in Wondra, a finely milled flour sold at most supermarkets. This dish is home-style Italian comfort food at its best.

This dish is almost embarrassingly easy, but such a crowd-pleaser that I just had to share it. Use a flavorful prepared marinara—smoked tomato, mushroom, or chunky vegetable.

Prepared polenta provides an easy way to add variety to the dinner repertoire. I often use it sliced and sautéed as a side dish, but occasionally, it will become an intrinsic part of a recipe, as it is here.

Caravan of Dreams is one of the restaurants where my family likes to eat when we’re in New York City. It’s a funky, comfortable place in the East Village, with food that’s hearty and innovative (and all vegan). Once, my younger son ordered the Green Garden Platter, described as “seasonal mixed greens sautéed with grilled marinated seitan, garlic, and olive oil, topped with grilled carrot polenta in mushroom gravy.” I was intrigued by the combination of seitan and polenta, so when I got home, I made my own version, which bears little resemblance to the restaurant’s. There’s something enticing about the seitan/polenta synergy, and with the addition of greens, the result is a great-looking, hearty dish.

Polenta, which is made from cornmeal, is a staple in northern Italy. To achieve an authentic texture, use imported polenta; look for it in Italian markets and specialty foods stores.

SECRET INGREDIENT Each of these little pies has a “crust” made from polenta, a whole-grain, low-fat alternative to buttery doughs. This recipe calls for prepared polenta in a vacuum-wrapped tube, sold at most supermarkets; if you can’t find it, follow the recipe on page 134 to make your own, and cut into small rounds (instead of wedges) with a cookie cutter the same size as the baking dishes.

WHY IT’S LIGHT Wedges of polenta are lightly brushed with olive oil and broiled instead of fried. The asparagus spears are broiled alongside the polenta, and a small amount of cream is all it takes to make the mushrooms taste luxurious.

Polenta is ground corn cooked in water to make a thick and creamy porridge. Coarse, stone-ground dried corn makes delicious polenta and long, slow cooking allows its full flavor to develop. When hot and just cooked, it is soft; as it cools, it becomes firm and can then be cut into shapes and fried, grilled, or baked. Polenta is versatile; serve it with all kinds of roasted or braised meats and poultry, vegetable stews, tomato sauces and ragus, beans, mushrooms, and greens. This recipe adds the sweet taste and crunchy texture of fresh corn.

The enormous residual heat of polenta is sufficient, as the saying goes, “to cook an egg.” Do just that to make this treat for breakfast or brunch.

This appetizer torta is made with chilled polenta, not soft polenta like a pasticciata. It’s as rich as any dessert cake but much simpler and faster. Make it in any size you want, but even this small cake will be enough to serve six uninhibited eaters.

Polenta pasticciata is a layered baked dish, just like lasagna, but made with warm, fresh polenta instead of pasta. And, like lasagna, it is marvelously versatile: you can put all manner of good things in between the layers of polenta—cheeses, vegetables, meats, or sauces, or a combination. I’ve narrowed down the possibilities for this pasticciata, which is filled with one of the savory long-cooked sauces on pages 134 to 155. Most of them make great fillings, with intense flavor and chunky texture that complement the mild sweetness and softness of the polenta. So I am leaving the final choice of sauce to you: whether you decide to use one of the guazzetti or meat Bolognese or the mushroom ragù or Savoy-cabbage-and-bacon sauce, the procedure is exactly the same. Perhaps you have one of these in your freezer right now! If you’ve got 4 cups, that’s enough to fill a pasticciata that will serve eight as a main course, or even more as a side dish, perfect for a buffet or large dinner party. But don’t give up if you only have 3 cups of mushroom ragù or guazzetto. If you also have Simple Tomato Sauce (page 132) on hand, blend in a couple of cups to extend your base sauce; or simmer up a quick marinara to use as an extender. You have lots of flexibility with polenta pasticciata: use the cheeses you like in amounts you are comfortable with. To make a deep pasticciata with thick layers, which makes a great presentation unmolded, assemble it in a 3-quart baking dish or a 12-inch cast-iron skillet, filled to the brim. For a crispier texture and for more golden gratinato on top, spread the layers thin in a wide shallow casserole. Use besciamella to add moistness and richness, or do without it. With good basic polenta and a deeply flavored long-cooked sauce, your pasticciata will be delicious however you make it.

For this pasta use instant polenta flour. The cornmeal gives the pasta great texture, flavor, and color.

Corn, polenta, came to Italy from the New World, and yet, along with pasta and rice, it is one of the beloved starch dishes of Italy. Polenta was for the northeastern regions of Italy what potatoes were for Ireland. Corn grew in abundance there and fed many people and still does, so much so that the people of the Friuli-Venezia Giulia region are known as polentoni, polenta eaters. I come from the region, and I grew up eating polenta and still do eat it often. As a child I had just cooked or leftover polenta for breakfast with milk and sugar or with caffe latte, or pan-fried with some sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top, as well as in endless ways accompanying vegetables, meats, fish, and cheeses. It is rather simple to cook—all you need is cornmeal, water, salt, olive oil, and a few bay leaves. When done, you can enjoy the polenta piping hot or let it cool and take shape, then cut and fry it, or grill and bake it, topped with anything you choose. In this chapter you’ll find it with leeks, with bacon lardoons, with Montasio cheese, or with just an egg yolk nestled in a piping-hot mound of polenta. Beyond the flavor of polenta, I look for the mouth feel, and that depends on the grind. Instant polenta will give you a smooth puddinglike texture, the medium grind a bit more texture, and the coarse will have almost a raspy feel in your mouth. There is also white polenta, milled from white corn, which is used much in the Veneto. And the polenta taragna, which has buckwheat milled along with the yellow corn, has much texture and flavor. The one important caution in cooking polenta is to get it smooth. Start it in cold water and whisk well while it cooks; it may take a bit longer but ensures lump-free polenta. Even though polenta might look done, make sure you cook it the recommended time; its digestibility and flavor increase with longer cooking time.

Polenta, after it has set, is baked and served as an accompaniment to many dishes in the Veneto and other northern regions of Italy. Here’s a basic procedure to follow, starting with freshly cooked soft polenta in any amount—as prepared in the recipe on page 109.

The next time you feel like throwing a raging party for all your tripe-loving friends, this is the dish for you! If you’re making a face while reading this allow me to offer a cliché: don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Yes, even the best honeycomb tripe could be described as mild with an edge of musk. But all that means is that it needs a good, savory vehicle to deliver that fabulous texture straight to your mouth. Here, tomato sauce enhances the flavor, while beans provide a creamy textural counterpoint. I add mint, too, to give it some zing. This is a truly comforting dish that would be especially welcome on a cold fall or winter evening.

Hedgehog mushrooms are close relatives to chanterelles, with a similar flavor profile but a little bigger. They are abundant beginning in mid-winter; if you can find them in the market, grab them up. Their richness makes them a fantastic match for aged provolone and crispy polenta. This dish makes a great side, but it is also substantial enough to make vegetarian guests very, very happy. If you like, you can grill the polenta instead of sautéing it.

Seattle summers are our best-kept secret—with long, lovely days just hot enough to make you want to stay out of the kitchen and linger outside. The perfect appetizer for a patio barbecue, grilled polenta is easy, crisp, and luscious, and is played to its best advantage when topped with juicy heirloom tomatoes brightened with garlic and anchovy. If you like, substitute basil or another favorite tender herb for the mint. This would also be nice served with a handful of baby greens on the plate.

This is my kind of comfort food—an accessible entrée to that old standby of liver and onions, yet fancy enough to be a company dish. Chicken livers have a deep, minerally flavor that I love, and they’re economical to boot. Wild mushrooms accent the rich flavor with their own woodsy quality, while a silken puddle of polenta forms a savory pillow for the dish. Doesn’t that sound better than meatloaf? This is a job for the biggest frying pan you have—the whole dish cooks in one pan.

When you pour out the polenta to chill, don’t worry about making it pretty. Do what we do at the restaurants and use a cookie or biscuit cutter to create even shapes, or cut out wedges or squares—use your imagination. Grilled or sautéed polenta makes an excellent accompaniment to meat, game, or poultry. Try a couple of disks nestled next to a pork chop, roasted chicken, or guinea hen. Firm polenta should be crispy outside, soft and creamy inside, like a good French fry. In short, everything you could want.

Adding the cornmeal to the water, and avoiding lumps, is the only challenging part of making good polenta. In the restaurants, we make it to order, and I vacillate between using fine and medium grinds, depending on the finished consistency I am looking for. The coarser polenta has more presence on the plate and such a deep corn flavor that I think it’s a good place to start. Of course, fine or “instant” polenta has the advantage of being quicker to make. Traditionally, polenta is made using a wooden spoon, though I use a whisk. If you don’t need or want this much polenta, you can halve the recipe with good results.

This is what I call a “close your eyes and sigh” dish—one of those fragrant and comforting meals that remind us what makes eating such a soul-satisfying experience. It can be served as a vegetarian entrée or as a side dish with chicken, veal, or lamb. Polenta provides the creamy base that melds alternating layers of cheese and vegetables. During baking, the flavors intermingle, and the fontina and roasted garlic provide a pleasing gooey texture. A simple tomato basil sauce brightens up the mellow flavor of the polenta. The result: a perfect confluence of luscious Italian flavors. If you have never had real Val d’Aosta fontina cheese, this is an excellent time to try it. The difference is noticeable: Val d’Aosta is firm and has a savory, slightly grassy flavor. If you are short on time, forgo the sauce; this polenta is delicious without it.