Dairy

I love the way the funky flavor of artichokes complements the mild flavor of buricotta cheese in these crostini. The currant and pine nut relish on top of the buricotta adds a touch of sweetness and acidity, and a little mint pesto livens up the whole story. The result: one of the most popular offerings at the Mozzarella Bar, and one I always recommend to vegetarians.

For me, a “tell” for a restaurant I probably don’t want to eat in is seeing a Caprese salad on the menu when tomatoes are out of season. I knew I wanted to serve a Caprese at the Pizzeria, both because everyone loves it and because it is an icon of a casual, inexpensive Italian restaurant. Since we opened in November, when tomatoes were no longer in season, I took it as a challenge to figure out how to present these flavors in a way that was every bit as good as a Caprese made with sweet, vine-ripened summer tomatoes, even when such tomatoes were nowhere to be found. This adaptation, which I first named Winter Caprese, consists of fresh burrata cheese, basil pesto, and cherry tomatoes on the vine that have been slow-roasted to concentrate their sweetness and flavor. I changed its name to Mozza Caprese when winter ended, tomatoes came into season, and it had become so popular that I could not take it off the menu. I suggest you serve it with Fett’Unta (page 65) to sop up the wonderful, juicy flavors left on your plate. The recipe for slow-roasted tomatoes makes enough for six or more of these salads, and the pesto recipe will give you more than enough pesto for that many. So, to expand the number of servings you make, just increase the amount of burrata you buy.

It’s impossible to walk into any bakery in Italy without seeing a lattice-covered jam-filled tart called a crostata, so when I penciled out a short list of the desserts I would want to make at Mozza, it was only natural that crostata was on that list. For the longest time, I just couldn’t decide how I wanted to serve it. An unadorned crostata seemed fine for a bakery, but it looked too naked on the plate to serve alone at the Pizzeria. At the same time, I was struggling with how to incorporate another Italian favorite, panna cotta, into our repertoire. Somehow, in the course of all of my experimenting, I got the idea to substitute the creaminess of gelato, the most obvious accompaniment to a fruit tart, with the creaminess of panna cotta, and I put the crostata and panna cotta together. It worked, solving both problems at the same time. We drizzle the panna cotta with saba, Sardinian grape must. What we created was a dessert built of all Italian elements that, though you would never see them together in Italy, somehow work. I’m proud of that. The recipe makes twelve crostate, four more than you will serve with the panna cotta. I based the yield on the number of crostate the dough would make—and I figured you could find someone to eat the extras. You will need twelve 1/2-cup miniature brioche molds to make the panna cotta, though you could use 2-ounce ramekins—your panna cotta will taste just as good, it just won’t look as pretty. The crostata dough is the same as the Pasta Frolla (page 276) with toasted sesame seeds added. Dahlia and I got the idea when she was working on a sesame-seed biscotti. We didn’t like the biscotti enough to include them in our repertoire, but we really liked the subtle flavor and crunch that the seeds added to the dough.

When we started working on this book, I had a battle with Matt and Carolynn about whether to ask for the various pestos that we use to be made using a mortar and pestle or in a food processor. I always make pesto using a mortar and pestle, and I feel strongly that pesto tastes better this way. That said, as Matt was so kind to remind me, when I make pesto, it’s usually because I’m in Italy in the summer, where it gets light at five, dark at ten, and I have all the time in the world. At the restaurant we make pesto in such volume that we have to do it by machine; it would not be practical for us to make it by hand. “This is a restaurant cookbook,” Matt said, “and how we do it at the restaurant is in a food processor.” I’m sorry to say that Carolynn took Matt’s side. “Save that for the Lazy Days in Panicale cookbook,” she said. Although here they gave you instructions for how to make it in a blender, I’m hoping you’ll prove me right by taking the extra time and using elbow grease to make yours with a mortar and pestle from time to time.

Bacon-wrapped dates—a more elegant version of rumaki, the 1950s appetizer of chicken liver wrapped in bacon with a water chestnut in the middle—have taken Los Angeles by storm ever since Suzanne Goin started serving them at her restaurant, AOC. I didn’t want to copy hers, but I like them so much that I wanted to make a version for Mozza using figs, which are so abundant in my town in Italy that you almost forget they are a delicacy. Although I’ve never been served anything like these in Italy, I certainly didn’t invent the idea of contrasting the sweetness of figs with something piggy and salty: figs and prosciutto is a classic. At the Osteria, we serve these as an antipasto on a tangle of wilted dandelion greens, but they also make a great bite-size snack for cocktail hour, which is how we have presented them here.

This is a very simple Roman pasta dish made with nothing but black pepper and pecorino romano cheese. We believe in leaving traditional dishes alone, but we did make a couple of changes to this dish. We use bavette, in place of spaghetti, which is the shape traditionally used. And we cut the pecorino with Parmigiano because pecorino is so pungent that it can be overwhelming on its own. The pepper for this dish must be coarsely ground. I recommend you use Tellicherry peppercorns, a fragrant, flavorful variety from India. Coarsely grinding or cracking the pepper for this dish is the perfect excuse for breaking out the mortar and pestle.

The difference between thick, creamy Greek yogurt and the yogurt you see most often in this country is that Greek yogurt has been strained, separating the yogurt from the whey, the liquid that often sits on top of conventional yogurt. It makes all the difference in the richness and flavor of this gelato. Fortunately you can find Greek yogurt today in most grocery stores. Unlike the commercial frozen yogurts that contain a long list of ingredients whose names you can’t pronounce (none of which is yogurt), our frozen yogurt consists of nothing but yogurt and sweeteners (sugar and corn syrup) and a pinch of salt. Yogurt isn’t a traditional Italian ingredient, but in the years that I’ve been going to Italy, yogurt gelato has begun appearing in gelato cases and is now almost as likely to be seen as pistachio or stracciatella.

Up until we opened Mozza I had eaten only meatless versions of arancine. Those I’d had were mostly in cichetti, the shoebox-size stand-up wine and stuzzichini bars in Venice, where cone-shaped versions are a staple, and in Sicily, where they’re much larger and round, like a tangerine. Both were made of plain risotto with cheese in the middle. In Rome, arancine are often called “suppli al telefono,” meaning telephone cords, because the ideal is that the cheese inside melts and stretches like an old-fashioned telephone cord. Matt and I worked hard to achieve that ideal and I think we did. I suggest you make these when you have leftover bolognese because, as good as they are, it would be a herculean effort to make bolognese for just the 1/2 cup you need to make these. Besides, that is what an Italian grandmother would do.

I have never met anyone who doesn’t like these squash blossoms. It would seem like it would be hard to go wrong, considering the combination of deep-fried batter and ricotta cheese, but I find that rarely do restaurants get the filling right. It took us a lot of tries to come up with ours, but luckily Matt and I both knew what we wanted and we both wanted the same thing, which was a light fluffy filling that also had a melting component, which is why we added mozzarella. We dip the blossoms in tempura batter because we like how light and crunchy tempura is. I try not to be brand-specific in my recipes, but in this case we recommend you use Mochiko rice flour, which you can find at conventional grocery stores, and which we think makes for the crispest finished product.

Gnudi are little dumplings, like gnocchi, but made with ricotta instead of potatoes. Most places don’t do gnudi justice. They are often mushy and heavy, instead of light and fluffy, like these. This recipe makes 36 to 40 gnudi, or enough for 6 to 8 people as a first course. The dough does not keep well, so you need to plan on serving a crowd, or serve hearty, main-dish-size portions.

We serve this rich, meaty ragù alternately with gnocchi (page 172) and pici (page 168). When the ragù is tossed with gnocchi, the flavor becomes like a rich and delicious meat-and-potatoes dish. It manages to be exotic and familiar at the same time. We use only duck legs and not the whole duck because the meat from the legs is more moist and lends itself better to long cooking. You will probably have to special-order the legs from your poultry purveyor, so when you do, make sure to ask for the livers, too. Alternatively, you can make this ragù with one whole duck, cut into pieces. Not only will this be easier to find but also you’re guaranteed to get the liver with it.

Try this dip with sliced green apple, toasted rustic bread, or crackers.