Paul Bertolli personalizes Italian cooking
 Paul Bertolli of Oliveto is one of the most under-publicized, and, I think, under-appreciated chefs in America. For some reason he falls under the radar of the glitzy food press -- maybe because his restaurant is in Oakland or maybe because he comes off more like an Italian professore than a flamboyant television personality like Mario Batali. But, the truth is that his cooking at Oliveto is so pure, so intense, so clear, that you cannot find anything like it outside of Italy, or actually in Italy, where the focus is usually narrower. I have never encountered menus like Bertolli's there.
When you eat at Oliveto (5655 College Ave., Oakland (510) 547-5356), you taste things that are rarely made by hand, like sausages, prosciutti, whole grain pasta, cured fish, olives; and things that are so simple and startlingly profound -- tomato juice, tripe, fire-roasted meats -- that you feel as if you haven't tasted them before. Bertolli keeps digging deeper and deeper into dishes within the Italian idiom, figuring out how to give them the ultimate and most essential preparation. Eat one meal there and you'll see what I mean.
 Now, Bertolli has written a manual to accompany his anthropological cooking, a series of essays with recipes that explain his philosophy and lay out his techniques in explicit detail. He holds no information back. No one who is not a serious professional chef would even try many of these preparations; but some of us, with access to farmers' markets, Chinatown fish markets, sources for high quality meat and poultry, grains and oils, will be able to make others. Alternatively, you can go to Oliveto to eat, as I did last night as I wrote this piece. This book inflames the appetite for Bertolli cooking. How lucky we are to be able to satisfy it at the source.
Bertolli's well-crafted prose in "Cooking by Hand" (Clarkson Potter, 2003, $40), wrestles with the dilemmas that face all cooks: the repetitive nature of cooking; the challenge of keeping traditional cooking alive, fresh and appealing; the difficulties of transposing traditional recipes from one society to another and maintaining their spirit. In search of these answers, this chef has scaled all sorts of culinary mountains -- grinding his own corn and wheat for polenta and pasta; putting up his own balsamic vinegar so his little son will reap the rewards; making his own sausages and hams. Even the most technical chapters are beautifully written. Lyricism balances clear instruction. The opening of the balsamic section will bring tears. But, I must admit that the parts I like best are the recipes I can do at home -- or I should say, the techniques that I can employ in my own reasonably well-outfitted home kitchen.
Since it is tomato season, I plumbed the "Twelve Ways of Looking at Tomatoes" chapter, material inspired by the annual tomato dinners Bertolli stages at Oliveto. I found the recipe, or rather the technique, I had been looking for to deal with the mountain of ripe tomatoes I overbought at the farmers' market. I quote roughly from a recipe called Tricolor Gazpacho about a method for juicing tomatoes:
"Core and quarter the tomatoes and place them in an electric mixer fitted with a paddle. Add a little salt and turn the mixer to moderately low speed.
Allow it to turn until the tomatoes are thoroughly broken and reduced to a pulpy slush. (Do not use a blender or food processor to puree the tomatoes. Doing so introduces air and you will end up with a foam as rigid as cotton candy.) Transfer the mixer's contents directly to a food mill fitted with a plate that is sized smaller than the tomato seeds, and set it over a bowl.
Pass the juice and pulp into the bowl."
I did this procedure with a couple of different varieties of tomatoes creating delicious, drinkable purees. (Be sure to cover the mixer with a towel so the tomatoes don't fly out.)
I cooked his pure cauliflower soup (just water and onions and olive oil), and the best crab pasta I have ever tasted. Here's his recipe for the crab pasta with my notes in parentheses. You'll have to buy this handsome book with a text discreetly laced with pictures from local fine art photographers Gail Skoff and Judy Dater to learn how to make the noodles yourself.
Tagliolini with Crab
Serves 4
1 recipe Whole-Egg Pasta (I used 1 pound of imported Italian spaghetti instead of 1/8" wide fresh tagliolini)
5 tablespoons of sea salt (I use enough kosher salt to make the water as salty as the sea)
1 live Dungeness crab approximately one-and-a-half to two pounds or two or three live blue crabs (I used two large, kicking Dungeness crabs purchased from Seafood Center, 831 Clement St. between 9th and 10th avenues, my current favorite fish store)
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 tablespoons finely chopped flat-leaf parsley (since 1 pound of dry pasta seemed like more than the recipe for whole-egg pasta, I upped the amount of the last four ingredients a bit, one more clove of garlic, an additional splash of olive oil and so forth)
In a 6-quart pot, bring 1 gallon of water to a roiling boil. Set up a large bowl filled with water and ice nearby. Add the sea salt to the water.
Cook the crab for 12 minutes, then submerge it in the ice bath for 5 minutes to cool. (I add the crabs to the boiling water, wait for the water to come back to a boil and then simmer them for 12 minutes. I remove them with tongs and run cold water over them in the sink until they get cool enough to handle.) Pull the legs from the crab, then working over a bowl, remove the carpace and allow the tomalley (internal organs and unformed shell) to drain into the bowl. Using a small spoon, scrape any tomalley remaining in the shell into the bowl and set it aside. Use a fine kitchen shears to cut through the shell of the leg pieces and pick out the meat. Pull off and discard the gills from the body, and section it by cutting vertically through the middle and then through the natural divisions where the legs formerly attached. Pick the meat from the body. Discard the shells and sort through the crabmeat to remove any remaining shell fragments.
Place the olive oil, garlic, and red pepper flakes in a 12-inch sauté pan and set it over medium heat. When you smell the garlic, and before it browns, add the reserved tomalley and cook it for 3 minutes. Reduce the heat to very low, add the crabmeat and parsley, and toss gently just to warm.
Meanwhile, cook the pasta in a generous amount of salted boiling water until al dente, drain it, and add it to the pan with the crab. Toss well over medium heat. Divide the tagliolini among 4 warm bowls and serve immediately.
|
