The Body in the Piazza (27 page)

Author's Note

Traveling is the ruin of all happiness! There's no looking at a building here after seeing Italy.

—Fanny Burney,
Cecilia
(1782)

I
have been a traveler all my life, both metaphorically and physically. The first journey of magnitude that I remember is driving in our station wagon from West Orange, New Jersey, to Readfield, Maine, just outside of Augusta the summer I turned four. We had rented Alberta Jackson's house, found for us by family friends, for a week. It was near a pond encircled by birch groves. Mrs. Jackson had white hair and said, “Ayuh.” My younger sister was just learning to walk; my older brother learning to canoe with my father. My mother cooked on a woodstove and I saw my first movie, Disney's
Alice in Wonderland
. Travel had opened up all sorts of vistas, and I was hooked.

Three years later we went to Norway to visit my mother's family, crossing the ocean on the Norwegian American Line's
Oslofjord
in the early fall (always one to march to a different drummer, not unlike the women I have celebrated in all my books, Mom thought we'd learn more on the trip than in school, so we started late that year). It was hurricane season, and although in third class, my brother, sister, and I had the run of the ship from first class on down. All the adults were seasick. We, of course, were just fine—swam in the saltwater pool, had what still seem like Lucullan feasts at the smörgåsbords, and made friends with the crew. The trip took ten days. At the end of this kind of voyage you knew you had truly traveled somewhere.

In 1967 my sister and I worked outside London as au pairs for several months. Sergeant Pepper Summer we call it still. This time we crossed the ocean in a propjet, a charter. It was the first of a number of cheap flights I took in the days when air travel was a novelty, and no one would have dreamed of wearing jeans on a flight. For this one, I wore my little navy blue Jackie Kennedy suit with the Mandarin collar, but left my pillbox hat at home. I seem to recall that the flight took twelve hours. Could that be? It was a college charter, and besides Wellesley, the rest of the passengers were all guys from Cornell, so we didn't mind.

And then there was my honeymoon, or as my friend Julie called it, the “Moonyhon,” since it was in July and we had been married in December. Oh that Moonyhon flight! Heaven! Air France, not a no-name charter—and we were going to the country itself! The dinner served tasted exquisite, as did the complimentary champagne.

I did not grow up in a gourmet environment. My mother was an artist, and feeding a family of five was somewhat of a chore, especially as she herself had grown up on a diet mostly of fish and boiled veggies, especially potatoes. She stuck to the tried and true with an occasional mad fling at a recipe from the book
Casserole Cookery,
a source of that northern New Jersey classic dinner-party staple—Green Bean and Mushroom Soup Casserole with Durkee fried onions sprinkled on top. One day someone told her about adding La Choy water chestnuts, and that was about as far as she ventured. When my parents went out, we thought the Swanson TV dinners Mom left for us were an exotic treat. Those and Mrs. Paul's fish sticks. But I stray.

I came to my love of cooking because of my husband, who still teases me about the first time he opened the fridge in my apartment and found only a container of OJ and a jar of herring (we got a full lunch at the place where I was then teaching, and you could tell all the single faculty, since we were the ones chowing down, making it the main meal of the day). Anyway, changing to the train for Lyon in Paris on our honeymoon that July we stopped to eat and I had my Julia Child moment, only it was an even simpler dish—
omelette aux fines herbes
with
pommes frites
and a
salade verte
. I had never tasted anything so perfect—the omelette with herbs, those crispy
frites,
so very unhealthy twice-fried in beef tallow, and the vinaigrette on that fresh frisée. There was much, much more to come. After several weeks with our friends in Lyon and then on to Provence, I realized if you wanted to eat that way you had to cook. I've never looked back. Living in France in the 1980s only made things worse—or rather much, much better.

Now back to this book.
The Body in the Vestibule
was a love letter to France,
The Body in the Fjord
to Norway,
The Body in the Big Apple
and
The Body in the Boudoir
to Manhattan, all the Sanpere books to Penobscot Bay in Maine, the Aleford books to the place where I've spent my life as a wife and mother in New England. Now
The Body in the Piazza
is a
lettera d'amore
to Italy and specifically the trip I took with my friend and fellow writer Valerie Wolzien. We left husbands and hearths, heading first to Rome, where neither of us, despite many travels, had ever been. We felt much like Faith—deliriously besotted. And then it was on to Tuscany. We had both spent time there, but not with the kind of freedom having no schedule provides. As E. M. Forster—and Freddy Ives—advised, “The point of travel is to get lost,” so we wandered. Especially in markets. Before we left the United States, we were extremely fortunate to happen upon and book “The Food Lovers Walking Tour” in Florence with Claire Hennessy, assistant extraordinaire to the food writer and chef Faith Willinger. It was a day, and food, to remember always. Claire introduced us to the Baronis among other people and places, many appearing in these pages. I cannot recommend this tour, and this young woman, highly enough—http://www.faithwillinger.com. Claire also serves as a travel consultant (http://www.boutiqueflorence.com).

And so it goes. My husband and I are marking a milestone traveling to Ireland this year, and I'll be returning with Valerie to Italy. We need to sit on more rooftop terraces drinking Prosecco and I'm down to the last drop of the amazing balsamic vinegar I bought at the Mercato Centrale.

The Elizabeth Hardwick quote from
Sleepless Nights
at the opening of this book is one I think about a great deal. For me, even going on a trip to New York City, especially alone, for a day or two grants a kind of liberating anonymity. I don't exist. And then there is its corollary—I could be anyone. Oddly enough it is at times like this when we let go that we are most ourselves.

Finally, besides being a love letter to Italy and the Italians, this is an epistle addressed to two groups of people. The first is my characters, led by Faith Fairchild, who while not Katherine Hall Page, is very close to her, and I'm glad Faith's anniversary trip ended so happily. Jewelry is important. The wonderful mystery writer William Tapply, sadly gone from us, once wrote the following moving words about his character, lawyer Brady Coyne:

He has neither the cynical world view of some private eyes nor the excessive honor of others. He is, in other words, like you, gentle reader, and he's very much like me. I'd rather have you identify with him than admire him. He's not bigger than life. He's just about life-sized.

I hope the same is true for Faith Sibley Fairchild.

The other group that has become similarly dear over these twenty-five years are you, my readers, many of whom have become friends outright and all of whom have become friends in my heart. I cannot thank you enough.

EXCERPTS FROM

Have Faith

in Your Kitchen

By Faith Sibley Fairchild

with Katherine Hall Page

Spaghetti alla Foriana

1/2 cup toasted pignoli (pine nuts)

1 pound spaghetti

2/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

4 large cloves of garlic, minced

4 anchovy fillets, rinsed and patted dry

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

1/2 cup golden raisins

Pinch of red pepper flakes

Pinch of freshly ground black pepper

2–3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh parsley

To toast pignoli, place them in a frying pan without oil or butter and sauté over low heat, watching very carefully, as they burn easily. As soon as they begin to take on color, remove them from the heat and set aside.

Start the water for the spaghetti and when it boils, add the spaghetti so it will be al dente by the time you have made the sauce. Most brands (Faith likes Barilla and DeCecco) take roughly 8 minutes.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over low heat. Add the garlic and the anchovies. Stir to prevent the garlic from burning and to dissolve the anchovies. As soon as the anchovies have dissolved, add the nuts, raisins, pepper flakes, and ground pepper.

Simmer the sauce for 4 to 5 minutes.

Drain the pasta and add to the sauce along with 1 tablespoon of parsley. Mix well to coat the pasta and serve. Alternatively, you may place a portion of pasta on each heated plate and spoon the sauce on top.

Sprinkle the remaining parsley on each serving.

As always, add more garlic and/or anchovies to taste. The interesting thing about this dish is that the anchovy taste is very subtle and most people will not even identify it until you tell them! It's wonderfully fast—something to serve unexpected guests with a salad of fresh sliced tomatoes or just mixed greens.

Serves four generously.

This is the first dish Katherine's husband, Alan, cooked for her when they were courting!

Pici with Tuscan Ragu

For the pasta:

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups semolina flour

1–1 1/4 cups tepid water

Combine the flours in a large mixing bowl. Pour the mixture out onto a clean flat surface. Using your hands, mound the flour and make a well in the center. It will look like a somewhat flat volcano. Add the water in the center of the well, a little at a time, incorporating the flour into it until you have a soft, smooth dough. You are bringing the flour from the perimeter into the center, and using your hands works best, although some cooks prefer to use a fork. You may need more or less water, depending on the humidity in your kitchen. Knead the dough for about 8 minutes until it is elastic and even smoother. Cover and let it rest for 30 minutes.

When the dough has rested, break off a piece about the size of a walnut and think back to when you were a kid in art class and made “snakes” by rolling clay on a desktop. Pici are very long strands. Try to make them as thin and uniform as possible. Place each finished strand on a sheet tray that has been dusted with semolina flour. Each strand should be roughly as long as the tray. Cover the pasta with a clean dish towel until you are ready to cook, after making the sauce.

Making pici is a fun group activity.

 

For the sauce:

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, diced

1 carrot, diced

1 celery stalk, diced

2 cups fresh tomatoes, diced, or canned chopped plum tomatoes

1/2 cup dry red wine

Pinch of salt

For the combination of onion, carrot, and celery or
soffritto
—mirepoix in French—sautéed in oil, the proportion is twice as much diced onion as celery and carrot. Sauté the vegetables in the olive oil until they are softened and the onion has taken on a bit of color. Add the tomatoes, wine, and pinch of salt. Stir, cover, and simmer for 45 to 60 minutes.

For a meat ragu, add approximately 6 ounces of one of the following: ground pork, beef, veal, chopped Italian sausage, or diced
pancetta
before
adding the tomatoes, wine, and salt, but
after
sautéing the vegetables. When the meat has browned, add the rest of the ingredients.

You may also add chopped parsley, basil, or oregano to the sauce with the salt. Katherine's sister Anne, who lived in Italy, always adds a teaspoon of sugar to her ragus, or
sughi
—sauces—as they are known in Florence, where she stayed.

Serves four to six.

Fresh Spinach Sautéed with Garlic

2 1/2 pounds fresh young spinach leaves

2–3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

3 cloves garlic, minced

Pinch of salt

Pinch of freshly ground pepper

Lemon (optional)

Wash the spinach leaves well and cut off any stems remaining. Loosely shake them dry in a colander or use a salad spinner. Leave some water on the leaves, which acts to steam them.

Heat the oil in a large skillet or saucepan over medium heat and sauté the garlic for about a minute until golden. Be careful not to brown it. Overcooking gives garlic a bitter taste.

Add the spinach, salt, and pepper. Toss it with the garlic, turn the heat down to simmer, and cover. It will cook
very
quickly, roughly 2 minutes. Uncover, turn the heat to high, and toss once. Continue to sauté for about 1 minute. The spinach will look wilted.

Transfer to a heated bowl, or plates, and serve immediately, adding a squeeze of lemon if you wish.

Serves four to six.

This is a deceptively simple dish that showcases the freshness of the ingredient. Adjust the garlic—more or less—to your taste. On some occasions Faith adds toasted pignoli just before serving. Even spinach haters love this dish, and it is a heart-wise change from the traditional creamed spinach served with steak in the USA (tasty as that is!).

Panna Cotta

3 cups heavy cream or 1 cup whole milk plus 2 cups heavy cream, divided

1 envelope unflavored gelatin (approx. 1 tablespoon)

1/3 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon almond extract

Put 1 cup of the cream in a saucepan and sprinkle the gelatin on top. Let sit 3 minutes to soften the gelatin. Whisk and heat the mixture over low heat until the gelatin dissolves. Add the rest of the ingredients, stir, and heat over medium heat until the sugar dissolves, about 8 to 10 minutes. Do not boil.

Pour through a sieve into a pitcher (easier to fill the ramekins this way) and then fill 6 ramekins that you have placed on a tray. Cover with a sheet of plastic wrap and refrigerate for 5 hours or overnight. You can keep the panna cotta refrigerated for up to two days. To unmold, run a sharp knife around the edge of the ramekin and dip it in a flat pan of boiling water very briefly. If you overestimate and the panna cotta looks runny, just put the ramekin back in the fridge to firm up again. Invert the ramekin over a small plate and serve. You may also pour all the panna cotta into a bowl, cover, and refrigerate before scooping portions out into dessert bowls or martinilike cocktail glasses—very chic.

Serves six.

Garnish panna cotta with fruit, especially summer fruits, which can also be made into a coulis to drizzle over and around it. Fresh strawberries with a few drops of balsamic vinegar, honey, lemon zest, ground pistachios, and ginger flakes are all delicious toppings as well. Using this basic recipe, you may try coffee, hazelnut extract, chocolate, even green and other teas as flavoring. For the cardamom version mentioned in the text, use 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract and 1 teaspoon ground cardamom.

Yogurt Panna Cotta

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

1 envelope unflavored gelatin (approx. 1 tablespoon)

2 cups Greek-style yogurt such as Fage Total

1/3 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Follow the directions above. The yogurt gives the panna cotta a nice slightly sharp taste, and also a slightly less creamy consistency, which makes it quite special—lovely with fruit and/or honey.

This makes a large amount. You will need 8 ramekins.

Serves eight.

Biscotti

1/2 cup unsalted butter at room temperature

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 large eggs

1/4 cup heavy cream

1/4 teaspoon anise oil

1 teaspoon ground anise seed (use a mortar and pestle)

3 cups flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

In a standing mixer, or using a hand mixer, cream the butter and sugar together. Add the eggs one at a time and mix. Add the cream, anise oil, and anise seed, mixing again. Sift the flour and baking powder together and add to the batter. Mix until you have a firm dough.

Divide the dough in half and form two logs approximately 1 inch by 2 1/2 inches on a floured surface. You may need to add more flour if the dough seems too sticky. Place each log on an ungreased baking sheet, or use a Silpat.

Bake for approximately 40 minutes, checking after 30 minutes. The logs will puff up and should be golden brown.

Remove from the oven and while still warm, slice each log diagonally in 1/4-inch slices. Place the slices back on the sheets and bake for an additional 5 minutes on each side so they brown evenly. Since each oven bakes slightly differently, check to make sure they don't get too brown. Remove and cool on wire racks. Store in airtight containers for up to a week.

Makes three dozen.

Like the
pici,
biscotti are something people think must be very hard to make. They are not. Instead of anise, add 1/2 teaspoon vanilla and 1/2 cup ground nuts. Lemon zest and nuts are also a nice combination. And of course biscotti and chocolate are a natural pairing. Dip one end in melted white, dark, or milk chocolate and refrigerate on a baking sheet until the chocolate is set. Before that, you may also sprinkle the warm chocolate with ground pistachio nuts or colored sugars for the holidays (you can make the cookies ahead before dipping). Faith makes four logs at the holidays to cut for smaller cookies to serve as part of a holiday buffet or to give with other varieties as gifts.