Il sapore della mia gioventù: 'A carne 'e puorco cu 'e patane e papaccelle / The taste of my youth: pork, potatoes & vinegar peppers

Il gusto della mia gioventù: maiale, patate e peperoni all’aceto caserecci! Uno dei classici piatti irpini si tratta di quel fantastico trio: maiale, patate e peperoni sott’aceto casarecci. Per essere chiari fin dall’inizio: ci sono MOLTE varianti di questo piatto, in tutta l’Irpinia e infatti in tutta la Campania. (Ci sono varianti sannite, ecc. ecc.) Anche all’interno dell’Avellino ci sono varianti: c’è una famosa versione che aggiunge la pummarola e il vino rosso. (Tuttavia, questa non è la versione che ricordo con più affetto.) Ogni famiglia ha la sua variante, però questa è la versione che ho fatto stasera e che mi ha riempito di molta nostalgia! * In una larga padella di ghisa irrorate con olio extravergine di oliva (anticamente, con lo strutto) * È primavera, quindi ho usato patate novelle, ma ovviamente potete usare le più grandi patate, a fette. * maiale (costolette, salsicce o una combinazione di carni. Io le salsicce.) * Ho usato 800 g di patate e 450 g di salsicce. Molte ricette prevedono una proporzione maggiore di carne, ma ovviamente i nostri poveri antenati non mangiavano molta carne. * peperoni sott’aceto casarecci, affettati * cipolle tritate, oppure degli spicchi d’aglio. Userei l’uno o l’altro, ma non entrambi. (E alcune ricette non usano nessuno dei due.) Io ho usato 4 spicchi d’aglio, interi non tritati. * qualche foglia di alloro (facoltativo) * condite con pepe macinato fresco e sale marino macinato fresco * di sopra, un filo di evo (o, anticamente, qualche noce di strutto). * fate cuocere in forno a 175 gradi per 45 minuti – o di più, o di meno. Fate cuocere fino a quando non riuscirete a bucare facilmente le patate con un coltello. Ed ecco il punto. Ecco il punto di tutto questo. L’olio (o lo strutto) che sarà al fondo della padella di ghisa... pulito con un pezzo di pane italiano... Anche una persona che ha vissuto a Parigi, Vienna, Berlino e Londra ma non ha mai assaggiato questo pane unto non ha vissuto pienamente. Il che non fa che rafforzare ciò che dico da molti anni: “Prego per il privilegio di essere abbastanza ricco da mangiare ciò che mangiavano i miei antenati analfabeti e poveri che non avevano nulla.” Eppure avevano tutto.  Per una ricetta delle peperoni sott’aceto, cliccate qua.

The taste of my youth: pork, potatoes, and homemade vinegar peppers! One of the classic dishes of Avellino consists of that fantastic trio: pork, potatoes, and homemade vinegar peppers. To be clear from the get-go: there are MANY variants to this dish, throughout Avellino and in fact throughout Campania. (There are variants in Benevento, etc. etc.) Even within Avellino there are variants: there is a famous version that adds tomato sauce and red wine. (However, that is not the version that I remember most fondly.) Every family has its own variant, however this is the version which I made this evening, and which filled me with much nostalgia! * In a large cast-iron skillet, drizzle with extra-virgin olive oil (in the olden days, lard) * It is springtime, so I used baby potatoes, but of course you can use larger potatoes, sliced. * pork (either spare ribs, sausages, or a combination of meats. I used sausages.) * I used 1.75 lb of potatoes and 1 lb of sausages. Many recipes call for a higher proportion of meat, but of course our poor ancestors didn’t eat a lot of meat. * homemade vinegar peppers, sliced * either chopped onions or garlic cloves. I would use one or the other, but not both. (And some recipes use neither one.) I used 4 garlic cloves, whole not chopped. * a few bay leaves (optional) * top with fresh ground pepper and fresh ground sea salt * on top, add a drizzle of EVOO (or, in the olden days, some pats of lard). * bake in a 350-degree oven for 45 minutes – or more, or less.  Cook until you can easily pierce the potatoes with a knife. And here is the point. Here is the point to all of it. The oil (or lard) that will be at the bottom of the cast-iron pan ... cleaned with a piece of Italian bread ... Even a person who has lived in Paris, Vienna, Berlin, and London but has never tasted this anointed bread has not fully lived. Which only reinforces what I have been saying for many years: “I pray for the privilege of being rich enough to eat that which was eaten by my impoverished illiterate ancestors who had nothing.” And yet, they had everything. For a recipe for homemade vinegar peppers, click here.

'O pagnottiello! (Panini napoletani)

Una delle mie foodblogger preferite è Antonietta Polcaro. Be’, ne sono un po’ di parte, perché Antonietta ha vissuto gran parte della sua vita a Montefalcione, paese dei miei antenati. Ogni tanto fa la sua comparsa in cucina il cognato Angelo (che vive ancora a Montefalcione). Spesso propongono ricette che erano molto conosciute ai miei nonni, bisnonni, trisnonni ... La ricetta che oggi ha attirato la mia attenzione non è irpina ma napoletana. (Napoli è solo un’ora a ovest di Avellino.) Il panino napoletano – altrimenti noto come ’o pagnottiello – è una delle glorie della cucina napoletana: cibo inventato dalla gente comune che non poteva permettersi di buttare nulla via. Non è forse vero che i piatti più grandi e “di alta classe” di oggi sono quelli inventati dai nostri poveri antenati analfabeti?

One of my favorite foodbloggers is Antonietta Polcaro. Of course, I am a little biased, because Antonietta has lived most of her life in Montefalcione, the town of my ancestors. Every so often, her brother-in-law Angelo (who still lives in Montefalcione) makes an appearance in the kitchen. Often they offer recipes that were well-known to my grandparents, great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents ... The recipe that grabbed my attention today was not Avellinese but Neapolitan. (Naples is only an hour west of Avellino.) The panino napoletano – otherwise known as ’o pagnottiello – is one of the glories of Neapolitan cuisine: food invented by the common folk who could not afford to throw anything away. Is it not true that the greatest and most “high-class” dishes of today are the ones invented by our impoverished, illiterate ancestors?

’O Pagnottiello (Panini Napoletani)

Neapolitan sandwiches

Ricetta dal blog Il mondo di Antonietta Polcaro, tradotta in inglese da Leonardo Ciampa.

Recipe from the blog Il mondo di Antonietta Polcaro, translated into English by Leonardo Ciampa.

Per l’originale in italiano, cliccate qua.

This recipe is very similar to the casatiello: a dough, similar to pizza dough, stuffed with all the good things. The Neapolitan sandwich, in large or small format, can be served for various different types of occasions.

The recipe is not mine. The story of how I came into possession of it I tell in the video.

It is an excellent dough: double rising, very little yeast, spread without a rolling pin, baked at a very high temperature.

Pasquale, my virtual friend, makes pizzas and more. He knows what he’s doing! He sent me several photos of his recipes.

In the dough of the sandwiches he advised me not to replace the oil with lard. I agreed: in this way the recipe is even more “summery” [i.e. “lighter”].

In this regard, I did some research and read that lard can be used in the dough, as well as in the casatiello dough. However, the amount of yeast must be increased significantly.

Ingredients for approx. 20-24 sandwiches:
For the dough:
1 kg flour*
500-520 ml of water [i.e., half a litre, or somewhat more]
5 g fresh yeast**
25 g salt
50 g extra-virgin olive oil

For the filling:
400 g cold cuts
(e.g., prosciutto, salame napoletano, pancetta)
500 g mixed cheeses
(e.g., regular or smoked scamorza, mild provolone)
100 g pecorino and grated parmigiano
pepper
hard boiled eggs, cut into small pieces

* You can use stronger 00 flour, 0 flour, or if you want, also type 1 or 2 flour (but you’d have to increase the ratio of water a little).

** Instead of fresh yeast, you can use 2 g of dry yeast. Or you can use 200 g of sourdough starter [a.k.a. “mother”].

The coldcuts for the filling are just a suggestion. You can use whatever charcuterie you like best.

Preparation:
Work the dough until it becomes smooth and homogeneous.

In a planetary mixer, put all the flour in the bowl and add more than half of the water in which you have already have dissolved the yeast. Knead a little with the hook. Then add the rest of the water in which you have already dissolved the salt. Knead until the gluten network is firm, then add the oil gradually.

Divide the dough into two loaves of equal weight (so it will be easier to roll out without a rolling pin). Let rise in lightly greased bowls until doubled in volume (about 3 hours).

Roll out each piece into a rectangle, possibly without using a rolling pin. Top with the filling, roll up loosely. Cut sandwiches of approx. 7 cm in width. Lay them on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Cover with plastic wrap and let it rise for an hour.

Preheat a very hot oven (250° C [480° F]), preferably ventilated. Brush the top of the sandwiches with egg yolk. Bake for about 20 minutes.

Foto: www.antoniettapolcaro.it

La Bellissima Nonna XIV

Che epoca meravigliosa in cui vivere! Nei tempi antichi, se aveste voluto una vecchia ricetta tradizionale, o avreste consultato un libro di cucina, ove la ricetta era complicata da essere irriconoscibile, oppure avreste cercato un italiano che magari ricordava o magari non ricordava gli ingredienti della nonna. (Sicuramente aveva scordato che Nonna usava lo strutto al posto dell’olio d’oliva ...) Ma oggi! Possiamo andare su YouTube! Dobbiamo guadare attraverso molti Tizi e Cai e Semproni e Pinchi Pallino. Ma poi! Troviamo Nonna! Bellissima Nonna! Non solo una nonna qualsiasi – la nonna che fa ancora le cose alla vecchia maniera. Mi sono portato avanti e vi ho risparmiato la fatica: ho fatto io il guado per voi. Vi presento una serie di video della nonna, mostrandoci le ricette non di oggi ma di ieri.

What an amazing era to live in! In the olden days, if you wanted an old traditional recipe, either you consulted a cookbook, where the recipe was complicated beyond recognition, or you searched for an Italian who maybe did or maybe didn’t remember Grandma’s ingredients. (Undoubtedly he forgot that Grandma used lard instead of olive oil...) But today! We can go to YouTube! We have to wade through many Toms and Dicks and Harrys and Joe Schmoes. But then! We find Nonna! Bellissima Nonna! Not just any grandma – the grandma that still does things the old way. I went ahead and saved you the trouble: I have done the wading for you. I present to you a series of videos of Grandma, showing us the recipes not of today but of yesterday.

LA BELLISSIMA NONNA XIV

Migliazza (ricetta tipica irpina)

Migliazza (traditional recipe from Avellino)

“Giovanni Di Santo”

La migliazza è un tipo di “pizza jonna” (polenta arrostita al forno). È una ricetta tipica dell’Irpinia, specialmente del comune di Guardia Lombardi.

Migliazza is a type of “pizza jonna” (“blonde pizza”) It is basically oven-roasted polenta. It is a recipe typical to Avellino, in particular to the town of Guardia Lombardi.

Cinghiale irpino in umido / Avellinese wild boar stew

Foto di Leonardo Ciampa (25 luglio 2015)
Photo by Leonardo Ciampa (July 25, 2015)

La carne di cinghiale è simile a quella di maiale, ma con alcune differenze degne di nota. Come altre carni di selvaggina, quella di cinghiale è più magra e tende ad essere di colore rosso più scuro rispetto al normale maiale. La carne di cinghiale ha un sapore intenso e dolce che ricorda di noci. È più delizioso del maiale, ma questo non è sorprendente. Dopotutto, un animale a cui è permesso vagare libero e mangiare erbe, noci e foraggio avrà un sapore migliore di un animale recintato. Non saprei dirvi la differenza di gusto tra i cinghiali irpini e i cinghiali da altre parti d’Italia. Ma vorrei scoprirlo! Ingredienti 1 kg carne di cinghiale irpino 800 gr pomodori pelati 3 spicchi d’aglio ½ dl di olio di oliva prezzemolo tritato sale necessario Preparazione Tagliate la carne di cinghiale a grossi pezzi e fatela rosolare nell’olio. Quando la carne sarà dorata, toglietela dal tegame. Con il fondo di cottura preparate la salsa, soffriggendovi prima l’aglio schiacciato e aggiungendovi poi i pomodori schiacciati, il prezzemolo tritato e il sale. Appena cotta la salsa, unitevi i pezzi di cinghiale. Completate la cottura, a fuoco lento, fino a quando la carne sarà ben cotta. Questa ricetta si tratta dal libro Pipille Patane Salisicchi e Ove. Odori Sapori & Vini Dall’Irpinia di Pietro Montone (1993).

Wild boar is similar to pork, but with a few noteworthy differences.  Like other game meats, wild boar is leaner and tends to be a darker red than pork. Wild boar has an intense, sweet, and nutty flavor. It is more delicious than pork, but that is not surprising. After all, an animal that is allowed to roam free and eat grasses, nuts, and forage is going to taste better than an animal that is fenced-in. I couldn't tell you the difference in taste between boars from Avellino and boars from elsewhere in Italy. But I would like to find out! Ingredients 1 kg (2.2 lb) wild boar from Avellino 800 gr peeled tomatoes 3 cloves garlic 50 ml (c. 3-4 TB) olive oil chopped parsley salt to taste Preparation Cut the meat in big pieces and brown them in olive oil.  When it is golden brown, take it out of the pan. In the cooking juices, prepare the sauce, first frying the crushed garlic, then adding the crushed tomatoes, chopped parsley, and salt.  Once the sauce is cooked, put  the pieces of boar back into the pan. Finish cooking on low heat, until the meat is cooked well. This recipe was taken from the book Pipille Patane Salisicchi e Ove. Odori Sapori & Vini Dall’Irpinia by Pietro Montone (1993).

Fusilli avellinesi

È domenica. Il giorno nostalgico in cui ricordiamo gli avi e lo spirito dei loro tempi, e delle loro ricette. La pasta che evoca l'Irpinia, più di tutte le altre, è il fusillo avellinese. Questi non sono i rotini pedestri che si trovano in ogni supermercato. Gli avi irpini tagliavano l'impasto in strisce, e arrotolavano ogni striscia su uno stecco da spiedino oppure un ferro da maglia (anticamente di legno). Le lasciavano asciugare per qualche ora – abbastanza tempo che i fusilli manterranno la forma riccia quando sfilati dagli spiedini. Nonostante la grande popolazione irpino-americana qua nel Massachusetts, i fusilli avellinesi non si vendono. (Almeno, non li ho mai visti.)

It is Sunday.  The nostalgic day in which we remember our ancestors and the spirit of their times, and of their recipes. The pasta that evokes Avellino, more than all the others, is fusilli avellinesi. These are not the pedestrian rotini found in every supermarket. The Avellinese ancestors cut the dough in strips, rolled each strip on a skewer or a knitting needle (made of wood in the olden days). They let them dry for a few hours – long enough that the fusilli will maintain their curly shape when pulled off the skewers. Despite the large Avellinese-American population here in Massachusetts, fusilli avellinesi are not sold. (At least, I've never seen them.)

lacucinaitaliana.it

La più valida alternativa che ho potuto trovare stamattina è stata i fusilli paesani, dall'azienda foggiana Cara Nonna – certamente una delle migliori paste pugliesi che si vendono in America.

The closest substitute that I was able to find this morning was fusilli paesani, from a company out of Foggia named Cara Nonna – certainly one of the best Apulian pastas that is sold in America.

Avendo nostalgia per l'Irpinia, ho creato questa ricetta oggi. Mentre la ricetta stessa non è specificamente irpina, l'ho creata per esaltare i profumi "della terra" che specificamente mi ricordo da quella provincia apennina. Notate, per esempio, che la noce moscata aggiungo direttamente alla carne saltante nella padella, non alla fine con la panna. È importante usare le salsicce piccanti, non dolci. Quei piccanti infondono la panna con un bellissimo sapore e anche colore! Ingredienti 500 gr fusilli avellinesi evo 1/2 cipolla media, tritata 80-120 gr portabellini (cremini), tagliati grossolanamente 2 spicchi d'aglio, tritati 250 gr (c. 2) salsicce piccanti, l'invulcro rimosso qualche ramoscello di prezzemolo fresco qualche ramoscello di maggiorana fresca noce moscata, frescamente macinata s & p frescamente macinati 280 gr piselli surgelati 250-350 ml panna grassa pecorino, frescamente grattugiato Preparazione In una pentola di ghisa smaltata (tipo Le Creuset), fate scaldare dell'evo, fate saltare la cipolla, i fughi, e l'aglio (in quest'ordine) finché tutti i tre cominceranno di cambiare colore un po'. Aggiungete la carne delle salsicce, prezzemolo, maggiorana, sale, pepe, e noce moscata. Fate saltare su una fiamma media-bassa. Con un cucchiaio di legno, mescolate sempre per i primi 5 minuti. Poi, fate cuocere per 10 minuti in più (15 minuti complessivi). Aggiungete i piselli alla pentola e fateli scongelare. (NON fateli "cuocere"!) Appena scongelati, spegnete la fiamma, aggiungete la panna, coprite, e fate amalgamare per 5 minuti (non troppi, sennò rovinerete i piselli). Nel frattempo, fate bollire la pasta in abbondante acqua salata. Alla tavola grattugiate il pecorino fresco.

Feeling nostalgic for Avellino, I created this recipe today. While the recipe itself isn't specifically Avellinese, I created it to bring out the earthy flavors that I specifically remember from that Apennine province. Note, for instance, that I add the nutmeg directly to the meat sauteeing in the pan, not at the end with the cream. It is important to use hot Italian sausages, not sweet.  The hot ones infuse the cream with a beautiful flavor and also color! Ingredients 1 lb fusilli avellinesi (or other artisanal fusilli) EVOO 1/2 medium onion, chopped 3-4 oz baby bella mushrooms, chopped coarsely 2 cloves garlic, chopped 1/2 lb (about 2) hot Italian sausages, the casing removed a few springs of fresh parsley a few springs of fresh marjoram nutmeg, freshly ground freshly ground s & p 10 oz frozen peas 8-12 oz heavy cream pecorino, freshly grated Preparation In an enameled cast-iron pan (e.g. Le Creuset), heat the EVOO, sauté the onion, mushrooms, and garlic (in that order) until all three begin to change color a little. Add the sausage meat, parsley, marjoram, sale, pepper, and nutmeg. Sauté on medium-low. With a wooden spoon, stir constantly for the first 5 minutes. Then cook 10 minutes longer (15 minutes all together). Add the peas to the pan until they thaw. (Do NOT "cook" them!) As soon as they are thawed, shut the heat, add the cream, cover, and let sit for 5 minutes (not too long, or else you'll ruin the peas). In the meantime, boil the pasta in abundant salted water. At the table grate the pecorino fresh.

Married Soup with Blonde Pizza

(Cliccate qua per la versione italiana di questo post.)

Greetings from Massachusetts, where I write to you from under two feet of snow!

Don't worry: they gave us lots of advance warning.  That's why on Wednesday I was already dreaming about which dish I would choose to make during the storm.

The most popular dish in Avellino is minestra maritata con la pizza bionda (in dialect, 'a menesta maretata co' 'a pizza jonna) — literally, "married soup with blonde pizza." Every cook in Avellino makes it, although they make it only in wintertime.

I had never made menesta.  I was dreaming about it for two reasons: (1) We are, without doubt, in wintertime! (2) A week ago, Frank Fariello, author of “Memorie di Angelina” (memoriediangelina.com), the best Italian-American foodblog on the Web, posted an excellent recipe for minestra.  (Angelina was from Apice, a town in the province of Benevento on the Avellinese border.)  

’A menesta maretata was the precursor to the delicious but stupidly named, "Italian Wedding Soup," served at almost every Italian-American wedding feast.  But the word maretata ("married") refers to the marriage between the greens and the meats.

Step I: The meat stock

It's preferable to make the stock the day before, so that the lard will rise to the top and harden.  In my case, being in the clutches of the snowstorm, I didn't waste space in the fridge; I put the pan out on the porch! 

To a certain extent, you use the meats that you have.  A cousin of mine from Avellino, Raffaele S. Ciampa, uses sausages and pancetta.  "Then if you really want to be traditional," Raffaele continues, "a pig's foot, a pig's tail, a pig's ear, cotechino, hot sausages.  You can use any of these that you like.  You can also use smoked meats." (Certain cooks, like Frank Fariello, prefer not to put smoked meats in this dish.)

The meats that I had in the house:

pepperoni
pancetta
salt pork

To flavor the stock, you can see from the photo that I used:

onion
celery
carrot
a few tomatoes (because I had them in the fridge)
potatoes
1 or 2 bay leaves
orange rind
1 small cinnamon stick
the hard rind of the parmigiano
black pepper (salt isn't needed)
other odds-and-ends from the freezer (I happened to have broccoli rabe stalks)
enough water to cover everything

Usually I make stock in a crockpot.  A crockpot is an appliance that every professional person must have.  Let me digress a little about the crockpot, to explain how useful it is in your kitchen.  (The following is a sample recipe.) You wake up in the morning.  You go in the freezer and you take out a big 3-lb. frozen pot roast — I mean frozen, like a boulder, like the Rock of Gibraltar.  You put it in the crockpot.  You add vegetables.  You add a bottle of red wine (or 750 mL water).  You put on the cover.  You hit the button.  You go to work.  You're not worrying about the crockpot, because it's simmering very slowly, and when the predetermined cooking time elapses, the crockpot automatically shuts off and goes to "warm."  You come home from work in the evening, and now the Rock of Gibraltar is so soft that you don't even need a knife.  Do you understand what I'm saying to you?  Plus, the flavors of the broth are perfectly amalgamated; the taste of the wine does not stand out.   And how much time did it take to prepare this majestic meal?  Five or ten minutes! (The above is a sample crockpot recipe that has nothing to do with menesta. We return now to our recipe!)

The meat stock is ready.  Into four receptacles, separate: the lard which has risen to the top; the meats; the potatoes; and the stock.

(A brief digression: I mentioned earlier that I used broccoli rabe stalks — usually hard and very bitter, now tender and very tasty!  I saved them; today or tomorrow I will chop them in small pieces and add them to pasta.  Yum!)

Step II: The Polenta

To make polenta, I always use the recipe by Lidia Bastianich (even though she is from Northern Italy).

4 cups water, or use half milk for a richer taste
1 tablespoon unsalted butter (Cousin Raffaele uses instead 3 tablespoons lard)
1 bay leaf (which I omitted this particular time; I'd already put a couple in the stock)
1 tablespoon coarse salt
1½ cups coarse yellow cornmeal

In a medium cast-iron saucepan or other heavy pot, bring all ingredients except cornmeal to simmer over medium heat. Very slowly, begin to sift corn meal into the pan through the fingers of one hand, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or whisk. (This operation will be greatly facilitated if the meal is scooped by the handful from a wide bowl.) Gradually sift remaining meal into the pan, continue to stir, and reduce heat to medium low. Continue to stir until the polenta is smooth and thick and pulls away from the sides of the pan as it is stirred, about 30 minutes. Discard bay leaf.

At this point, you have two choices: (1) Pour the polenta onto a large, wooden cutting board and let it rest at room temperature; (2) Pour the polenta in one or two pans (I like Pyrex) and put them in the fridge. (Read Step IV to decide which type of "pizza" you will make.  Then you will know which of the two choices you want to make.)

Step III: The greens

I repeat what I said earlier: to a certain extent, you use what you have in the fridge.


Traditionally, what were the greens used in minestra maritata?

In Torre le Nocelle, a small Avellinese town near Montefalcione (my great-grandmother was from Torre), they use a mixture of greens called asciatizza: chicory, dandelion greens, wild fennel leaves, borage leaves, and cardilli (puntarelle).

Cousin Raffaele suggests the following: cabbage, savoy cabbage, escarole, chicory, broccoli rabe, cardilli.  Frank Fariello mentions also broccolo di foglia (a type of leafy broccoli), torzella (a curly-leaved cabbage that looks like kale), and scarolella (a type of wild escarole in Campania).

The three greens that I had in the fridge made a wonderful trio:

collard greens
chicory
dandelion greens

With the collards, take off the stems, which are hard like Swiss chard stems.

With the chicory, cut off only the bottom.  But wash the stems very well.

With the dandelion greens, the leaves are delicate and interesting.  The stems, however, are very hard and bitter.  Take them off.

Have the separated stock on the stove, simmering slowly.  (It's already cooked; you're only keeping it hot, not making it evaporate.)

My method for cooking green, leafy vegetables never changes; only the cooking time changes.  Collard greens take c. 15 minutes, chicory c. 10, dandelions c. 5. 

In a new pan, put the lard from the stock (or, less authentically, extra-virgin olive oil).  Fry 4 or 5 whole garlic cloves (don't chop or press them; keep them whole) and crushed red pepper.  When the garlic is golden, add 1 or 2 cups stock.   Add the collard greens and a tiny pinch of salt.  Cook for 5 minutes.  Add the chicory, another 1-2 cups stock, and a tiny pinch of salt; cook for 5 minutes.  Add the dandelions, 1-2 cups stock, and a tiny pinch of salt; cook for 5 minutes.  Therefore the total cooking time, from the moment that you added the collards to the moment you shut the heat, is 15 minutes.  After shutting the heat, add 16 oz. precooked cannellini beans (if from a can, rinse well), the potatoes cut in large cubes, and the meats.  (With the pepperoni, cut in medallions; with the pancetta and salt pork, separate the meat by hand.)

Step IV: The "blonde pizza"

"Blonde pizza" has many names in Italian and in dialect: pizza bionda, pizza jonna, ’a pizza ’e rarigno, pizza di granone, pizza di farina gialla. Basically, it just means polenta.  In Avellino they use a special clay pot called a chinco. (It is made of terrasecca, not terracotta. The clay is sun-dried.) The ancient process is described at torrelenocelle.com:

Mettere carboni ardenti nel chinco per una decina di minuti. Togliere la brage e dopo aver foderato l’interno del chinco con foglie di castagno versare la polenta, coprirla con uno altro strato di foglie ed un coperchio di stagnola. Infine seppellire il coccio sotto la cenere bollente e cuocere finché non si sarà formata sopra la pizza una crosta dorata e croccante.

("Put coals in the chinco for about ten minutes. Remove the embers, and after lining the inside of the chinco with chestnut leaves, pour in the polenta, cover it with one more layer of leaves and tin foil. Finally, bury the pan under the hot ash and cook until a crisp, golden crust has formed over the pizza.")

If you're like me, you do not happen to own a chinco!  Not to worry: there are many methods for making polenta, all authentic to the Campania region:

1. At Step II, pour the polenta onto a large, wooden cutting board and let it solidify at room temperature.  When it is hardened enough, put the menesta on top of it, take the large cutting board to the table, and everyone takes their portion from the cutting board, family-style.

2. Take the pan of polenta from the fridge and bake it in a 350º oven for about a half-hour. . (Addendum, June 2020: I discovered only recently that my grandmother from Montefalcione cooked it in the oven in a cast-iron pan.)

3. Take the pan of polenta from the fridge.  Slice the polenta, and fry the slices in a frying pan.  Now, in the olden days, the frying pan was cast iron, seasoned not with oil but with lard!  The result was a nonstick pan, from which every food that emerged was tasty!  At this point you will not be surprised that our ancestors fried the slices of polenta in lard.

Usually, I use the 3rd method.  Nowadays, frying pans are usually stainless steel or a nonstick surface like Teflon.  I use a wonderful Scanpan, made of ceramic-titanium.  But yesterday!  Yesterday, I did something a little different!

I took the most American kitchen appliance that I have: the George Foreman! Complete name: The George Foreman Lean Mean Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine!  The concept is brilliant.  It's an electric grill that you use indoors.  The surface is nonstick.  It cooks on top and bottom simultaneously.  And the most brilliant part: the base is on an incline.  The fats flow out of the food.  Not because of a complicated scientific process, because of gravity. 

I succumbed to my conscience.  I greased the grill with olive oil.

Step V: The marriage

Place the grilled polenta on a plate.  Put the menesta on top.  Sprinkle freshly grated pecorino romano or caciocavallo.

Addendum: Wine-pairing

With menesta, I like a white wine from Campania full of character.  I am particularly fond of Falanghina, a varietal with a very long history.  Two Avellinese wineries make an exceptional Falanghina: Feudi di San Gregorio and Donnachiara.

However, many people in Avellinese prefer a red wine with menesta. When I asked Ilaria Petitto, general director of Donnachiara, which is the best wine to pair with menesta, she replied thus: I would suggest a medium-bodied red wine, such as Irpinia Aglianico DOC, i.e., an Aglianico which was in the barrel for only 6 months, so that it has a certain structure and body. It wouldn’t prevaricate [overpower], as would a much more imposing Taurasi; but it has such a good balance between softness and hardness that it can "dry" the various fats in the menesta. (To read the rest of the very interesting interview with Ms. Petitto, click here.)