LIVER AND BACON
In this "post Bush" era when Campbell soups and Spam are reported as the best selling items on the grocery shelf, I too have been looking back. I recall here some of my mother's "hard times"recipes. She was a wonderful and creative cook who, adapted traditional recipes she learned at her mother's home for her own family and new times. She was concerned mostly about nutrition, cost, flavor and taste. But cost was the controlling factor. The times I'm thinking of were the early 1950s when the nation was still crawling out of the last great war, housing was tight, jobs were scarce, and they paid little while people had to make do with a tight budget.
My Dad was paid by the week in cash--I can still see the little brown envelope with his name scrawled on the top. From that amount, what came in that little packet, Mom and Dad had to make do--to set aside the money for their mortgage, pay the electricity bill, buy coal for the furnace, and put food on the table. What ever exigencies that they didn't plan on--a doctor bill, replacement clothes, something broke, or needed medicines--had to come out of that food budget. So on many days Mom had to be very creative about how she used that food money.
I don't know what Mom got as her weekly food allowance, but it couldn't have been much. Since Dad was paid on Friday, it was on that evening that he would stop at Benkert's Bakery on 15th Avenue on his way home, for his one excess--he would purchase a coffee ring and a crumb cake. Those were the only "sweets" in the house and had to last for the whole week. I never liked either of his choices and when I had a chance would beg for Boston cream pie or even apple pie, but to no avail. But Dad's very last stop before coming home on Friday (to a supper of fish--which he hated--) was made at Julgie's corner grocery store where we had a weekly bill. He paid that bill then came home to supper. It was by then quite late...closer to seven PM.
From Friday to Sunday--the week-end the menu would tend to be more expansive....some type of roast on Sunday. But on Monday we would see leftovers (of Sunday's meal). Then the week would slowly close down gustatorially. Tuesday might be better than the rest, perhaps it a meat loaf and potatoes or even a rear creamed chicken and rice, but then Wednesday we would have to expect chicken croquettes and vegetables. Thursday things started really thinning out, and Mom would get me to go up to "Julie's" (the grocery store on our corner) to get what the few necessaries she needed to put together a meager supper, since her pantry was now empty. Usually, by the end of the week our normal "American" meals began to take on a more Mediterranean flavor. Like some pasta dish. I guess it was good for us. Certainly I later loved to eat these foods....but as a child I was all "meat and potatoes."
For some reason I remember ochi di lupo as one of the macaroni types I was requested to buy on these trips to the corner grocery. Well, I actually didn't "buy" anything-- there was no money passed between Julie and me. I was chosen to go because, by this time of the week Mom's food budget had vaporized (I think back now and realze that perhaps, it was my Uncle (no name here) who might have visited during the week to "borrow" a few bucks for his family since he was out of work with a bad back.)
So about this time of the week Mom would present me with a little lined-white paper list and orders to "put it on the cuff", or as Julie would say: " I put thees in a blacka boook, eh? Robbie?" and I would nod my head, with my empty hands in my pockets. Then she looked up at me. She had large, dark kind eyes, an alabaster complexion and dark brown hair with little streaks of gray around the temples. She was simple and shy and very soft looking like the "molito" the inside of a loaf of Italian bread.
Once I had given her the list Julie and her elderly mother who every one in the neighborhood called the "old lady" collected the items on the list. When they were done, Julie would take her book out from under the counter. It was a black and white "marble" soft-cover notebook with the stub of a pencil tied on a string to the spine of the book. Julie's father, a well tanned, very short and thin man saw what was happening and came up to the counter. He looked at the pencil. "I sharpa' Julie," he said, in a thick Italian accent.
I knew well enough he wasn't going to do anything to Julie. as he pulled a large, dark-stained carving knife from behind the counter, and with a few strokes of the giant blade carved the pencil into a sharp point. Then he carefully scraped up the wood curls and dark pencil-lead from the white marble counter with his sun-browned, rough hands. Julie looked closely at the tip and nodded her head so her bun bobbed a little.
Julie opened the book and carefully turned the pages until she came to the one with our family name at the top. Each week had a little list that she would cross out on Friday when Dad paid it and then start a new list for the next week.
Today she checked last week's cross-out and smoothed out the paper with her clean white hand. Following closely and mechanically on the thin blue lines, she wrote the date. "March 15, 1951.' She tapped the box of macaroni with her pencil. She wrote neatly as she slowly repeated the words outl-oud, "One... box.... Ronzoni.... 'ochi di lupo'," said Julie, pressing hard on the pencil.
Her mother, a short woman who seemed to always wear the same faded floral house-dress covered by a clean white apron, also kept her her hair in a neat gray bun. The "old lady" looked on from behind the counter, carefully checking on Julie. Though Julie was in well into her late thirties at this time, her mother seemed to treat her as if she was a child. I noticed that..and at eleven years old--I worried that this might happen to me too.
Julie looked over at my goods again and tapped the can of tomatoes with her pencil. "One... 8... ounce.... can.... Hunt's......whole...... tom ah...toes... with.... basil." She finished the line.
Her mother came closer and tapped her shoulder.
"Julia," she said slowly and kindly, giving me a little look first, "Non e neccesario per a scivai tutte".
Julia looked over her shoulder, as a little flush rose into her powder-white throat. She turned back to her book and continued. "One... loaf ...Italian... bastoni."
She went on to the next line " one..... head......broccoli."
She finished, looked up and smiled at me seming very satisfied with herself. She turned to look at her mother. The old lady's straight lips curled up ever so slightly at the ends.
Julie pulled a brown paper bag from under the white counter. She smoothed out the bag several times, and taking the pencil again she wote the list over on the rough brown paper of the bag.
She looked up at me. "This if for your momma," she said, pointing at the dark shiny pencil lead marks on the bag. She then added the figures up and made a large circle around the total. After carefully putting each item into the bag, and checking the list each time she handed the crinkly dry bag to me. She reached over the counter to hand me the bag and I noticed how white her arms were.
"You be gooda boy, today and helpa yo' momma!" she smiled, reaching back to put the pencil in her bun. I noticed that her underarms were very hairy too. Eleven year old boys notice such things.
"Thank you, Julie. See ya!" I said, and walked home with what Mom was going to use to make supper. We were having broccoli and pasta! No it was not a favorite of mine then.
But on other Thursdays we might have liver and bacon. Liver was cheap, nutritious, and it was meat, so as Mom said, it made "blood". It was very tasty the way she prepared it. She served it on those blue willow-ware plates with the raised ceramic divisions on it for three parts of the meal: a meat, "starch" and a vegetable. You couldn't go wrong with those plates. Generally she served liver with a big blob of milky white mashed potatoes and some other vegetable. A big pile of sliced bread and margarine was always on the table too. If you didn't have enough on your plate, or you didn't like the liver, the bread and margarine was there to fill any voids.
Mom's Broccoli and Pasta
One head broccoli (fresh and tender) with large thick stems removed.
One half pound pasta of your choice. The classical dish calls for Orechiette, but you can use ziti, penne, or even Ochi di Lupo. Be sure the pasta is hard durham wheat or imported from Italy.
1/4 cup good extra virgin olive oil. It has taste.
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese (or Peccorino Romano which was my Mom's real favorite.)
Red pepper flakes (e neccesario!)
Fresh ground black pepper (e anche questo!)
One tomato, chopped fine as a garnish. (Mom never did this, but I like it.)
Put a large, six quart pot with five quarts of water on to boil. To this pot add the head of trimmed broccoli. Cook the broccoli until tender. A thick stem should crush easily between your thumb and forefinger.
Using a slotted spoon remove the cooked broccoli from the pot and place in a large mixing bowl.
Keep warm.
Add your pasta to the boiling broccoli water. The nutrients from the greens will be absorbed into the pasta. It tastes good.
Cook to al dente and drain. Mom always saved a cup of this water to add to the dish if it was too dry.
While the pasta is cooking: In the mixing bowl, mash the broccoli with a potato masher. Add one quarter cup of olive oil and one quarter cup Parmesan or Romano cheese. Mix well. The pasta should be done now. Drain as indicated above, and add the cooked pasta to this bowl and mix with the mashed broccoli and the cheese and serve. If you desire, you may add a little of the reserved pasta water to losen the mix.
Top with garnish of more cheese and the finely chopped tomato.
Simple as that.
Besides having this dish at home as a kid, I was served it once at a very fancy restaurant in Rome. The name of the place escapes me now, but it was an elegant place on the Via Veneto. Well it happens that we had arrived (I was traveling with my family) in the city on a somewhat late flight. So now it was early evening, and after getting into our hotel and rushing around a bit, we were quite hungry. Our bodies were still on American time and here in Rome it was only early evening, well too early for dining. We wasted as much time as we could. Out bellies cried out to us for food. But still it was only about seven PM (Rome) when hunger drove us into a nice place on the Via Veneto. "No! Siamo chiuso! Coma back later!," said the man at the door. We walked on and tried again at another place.
At this place we entered with the entire hungry-looking crowd. A well dressed Maitre d'otel came to meet us at the door and very politely looked at his watch. "We are not open now,' he said, shaking his head at the stupid Americans. But he said it with a such a polite smile.
I begged in Italian...Perhaps we could sit here and wait..."Percioi una po di vino e una pezza di pane?" I begged.
The main looked over at the chef who had just come out of the kitchen.
"Alora, I will seat you....but you see-- there is no staff available..." he pointed to the kitchen staff who were just then filing out of the kitchen and into the back of the restaurant. In their clean white outfits they took their places around a big table that had been prepared for a big family dinner. It was dinner time for the staff.
"We have no where to go right now...I said.
We were seated. The Maitred'hotel brought us drinks and a basket of breads.
The staff began to chatter animatedly and eat with a great clatter of dishes and utnsils at the far end of the restaurant. We looked over at them. The chef at the head of the table saw us. He took pity on us. He called to one of the young boys just coming out of the kitchen. The boy turned back and soon returned with a massive pot he held in two hand with a dish cloth and five big bowls stacked on top. He placed the bowls in front of each of us and as he did a wonderful fragrance of a mix of pasta and broccoli wafted our of the big pot. The young boy, still hungry himself, served us all. Brought over a big dish of grated cheeze and then went to his own dinner. It was the best pasta and broccoli we've ever had!
We did leave them a nice tip. It was the cheapest and best dinner we had in Rome.
Mom's Bacon and Liver
You will need:
Package of sliced liver. Beef liver is good, but recently I found you can purchase calves liver. You will need one large slice per person (about 1/4 pound per person)
4 slices of calves liver (about one pound)
four slices of American style bacon
one egg
Oil for frying (peanut oil or olive oil)
1/4 cup milk
bread crumbs
one large onion sliced very thinly
cup of sliced mushrooms
two small red hot peppers (pickled) sliced into thin strips (about 1/4 cup)
Two large Roma tomatoes chopped.
Mix the egg and milk in a bowl and beat. Add the liver slices.
Bread the pieces in the bread crumbs. Pat them dry and set aside.
Fry the bacon in a large pan until crisp. Remove and set aside. Remove most of bacon fat and add one full tablespoon of olive oil for frying. Add more oil if necessary.
Fry the breaded slices of liver quickly on each side done to rare or medium rare, i.e. thin, pink layer in center of slice.
Add sliced onions, .
Cook until onions are translucent then add mushrooms chopped tomato and sliced red peppers and cook until they are done. Re-pan partly cooked liver slices into onions, peppers and mushrooms, tomatoes and add bacon. Add any juices from partly cooked liver to the pan.
Cook until flavors meld and the the liver slices are fully cooked. But don't overcook a slight pink layer is desireable.
Serve with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli or your favorite vegetable. An alternate is to serve the liver and bacon with a green salad and a loaf of crusty bread.
