I once read an internet meme that went something like this: “What’s the big deal about Italian food? It’s basically just the same four ingredients in different combinations.” An Italian contributor had commented: “And you still can’t get it right.” My guess for the four ingredients would be: tomato, cheese, garlic and wheat flour.
“What, for you, is a quintessentially Italian menu?” In a quick survey of acquaintances here in Australia, several mention that a “Marinara” pasta evokes the ‘Euro summer’ vibe – by which they mean spaghetti tossed with assorted seafood such as mussels and white fish (i.e. Scoglio or Frutti di mare in Italian), not a Pizza alla Marinara topped with tomato sauce, garlic, olive oil and oregano.
Perhaps more accurately, Italian cuisine typically consists of seasonal ingredients prepared minimally, with regional twists. Due to the simplicity of its recipes, freshness, craftsmanship, and details (such as dry pasta cooked al dente or a properly emulsified sauce) make all the more difference. When flying, for instance, I will always choose dishes that are stewed and spiced, as opposed to any pasta options, which don’t keep as well.
What if I said, though, that Nonna Maria, my Italian husband’s grandmother, doesn't use any of the following in her cooking: olive oil, tomato, garlic, basil, oregano, chilli, fresh seafood, or dry pasta? What on earth does she eat, then, and is she truly Italian?
The nation of Italy, after all, was unified only in 1861. Centuries of history and its unique geography have left their mark all over, from corn grown in the north to lamb found more in the central and southern lands. Previously, the 20th century migration patterns from the southern regions to the north and overseas, as well as the prism of Italo-American culture, had influenced the perception of Italian cuisine abroad. Today, the Italian food scene worldwide has become more representative of its true diversity. Here in Melbourne, for example, there are restaurants focusing on the traditions of Emilia-Romagna, Puglia, Sicily, Sardegna and so on, just as the vastly different culinary styles of the Chinese regions, or the Indian subcontinent, with dairy heavy northern dishes versus the use of coconut milk in the south.
What if I said, though, that Nonna Maria, my Italian husband’s grandmother, doesn't use any of the following in her cooking: olive oil, tomato, garlic, basil, oregano, chilli, fresh cheese and fresh seafood, or dry pasta?
Nonna Maria has spent her entire life in the Valtellina region of Lombardy– crab-shaped on the map, and reached by heading north from Milan, then turning east at Lake Como. This picturesque valley nestled into the foothills of the Alps, which backs into Switzerland, is dairy country. When Maria talks, it almost sounds as though she is speaking in French, and her food culture is more ‘continental’ than ‘Mediterranean’. Maria primarily uses Alpine Lombard, the local 'dialect' (more precisely a sister language, rather than a regional variety, of Italian), which her children have a command of, but not so much the younger generations.
Nonna Maria has three children. Her middle daughter, Carola, met her former husband Giovanni in Milan. Giovanni was born in Melbourne in 1960, where his Sicilian parents had recently emigrated from the Catania area and ran a fruit and vegetable store in Fitzroy. Giovanni’s mother, who did not speak English, felt isolated and unhappy in the “White Australia” era’s social climate. The family returned to Italy when Giovanni was five, but his son Alberto eventually moved to Melbourne, where he met me, also a recent immigrant to Australia.
Our exploration of Valtellina’s cuisine (in 12 parts) starts with Antipasti, served with Pan di Segale (hard rye bread), and Nebbiolo, a dry red wine. Along with the local cheese eaten simply on its own, the most emblematic of the delicacies is Sciatt, which is a piece of cheese deep-fried in buckwheat batter and served with wild chicory. The name means ‘toad’ in the native tongue, as a reference to its grey-brown, bumpy look. In upper Valtellina, around the town of Tirano, there is Chisciöi, which takes more of a pancake shape than a fritter.
The classic pairing is with affettati (cured meat) such as bresaola (dry-cured beef or horse fillet), and salami made from wild boar, venison, goat or donkey, often hand-crafted by smallgoods stores in the cool mountain air and natural caves. Bresaola is gaining popularity abroad, and lately I see variations including wagyu bresaola, which is a bit of an oxymoron considering that bresaola ought to be lean. Aside from the fact that horse bresaola is not available outside Valtellina, it is difficult to find bresaola overseas that is sufficiently aged. As the paths of Carola, Giovanni, Alberto and I crossed in Milan and Melbourne, it is interesting to note that northern Italy, eastern Sicily and the south-west of Japan are some of the few places in the word where horse meat is consumed, even raw (it is said that their high body temperature makes horses less susceptible to parasites).
Whilst recreating these dishes can instantly transport you to an alpine cabin in your mind, the point is not so much in achieving an exact replica by flying the ingredients over– it is more about honouring the underlying spirit. These food practices are rooted in centuries of necessity, after all.
In this case, the cuisine is all about sustainable, nose to tail consumption from a transparent supply chain. Game meat is stewed, nettle is foraged, and mushrooms are gathered to dry. In the eras before refrigeration, salt and sugar were used to preserve food to last through the snowy months, seen in the cured meat and fruitcake.
When cooking a local menu in Valtellina, we often purchase from grocers and butchers who know the producers, or we source ingredients directly from the farmers and hunters themselves. Even the store-bought Pizzoccheri noodles (to be explained in my next post) are freshly prepared at the deli.
I kept this lesson in mind upon our return to Australia. For the venison stew, for instance, I found free-roaming deer from the Flinders Ranges, South Australia. The harvesting practices in this particular area are recognised as a high standard for the management of deer in Australia. Kangaroo meat, similarly lean and gamey, could be another option.
This is the first time Nonna Maria's recipes have been noted down, as they come from practical experience and no one has been taking measurements over the hundreds and thousands of times these dishes have been devoured. It is the antithesis of nonsense AI-generated cookbooks, which become bestsellers only because the customer reviews are also written by ChatGPT.
When making Maria’s meatballs, polenta, cotolette and Vitello Tonnato, we use leftovers to create multiple dishes. The gnocchi, too, is an inexpensive way to elevate stale bread and sad, wilted greens from the fridge. Whilst trying new food has become a thing of bucket lists, trends (burrata and ‘nduja, anyone?) and cultural appropriation of late, respectfully learning from traditions can be a way to gain novel perspectives and cultivate ethical, mindful habits.
Sciatt Recipe
Serves 4
150 g coarse buckwheat flour
100 g plain flour
Fine sea salt
1/4 tsp baking powder
50 ml chilled beer
200 g lard, ghee (clarified butter) or your choice of frying oil, enough to maintain a depth of at least 5 cm in your pot
250 g Casera cheese, cut into 2 cm cubes and refrigerated
In a bowl, mix together the two types of flour and salt to taste.
Gradually whisk in enough beer to form a smooth, thick batter.
Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
Heat oil for deep-frying to 175 degrees celsius.
Use a spoon to dip each cube of cheese into the batter and gently slide it into the oil. Work in batches to avoid overcrowding the pot. The aim is to maintain a stable temperature.
Deep-fry for 1-2 minutes or until dark and crisp.
Drain, sprinkle with salt and serve immediately.
The buckwheat flour central to this series ideally include the dark husks (which we stuff pillows with in Japan). Buckwheat groats or flour sold here in Australia are commonly hulled, which takes away the nuttiness and rustic texture. For Sciatt, at least, this is not too much of an issue, as we are simply preparing frying batter. Wholemeal flour or rye are also easy substitutes.
For a taste of Valtellina, serve Sciatt with Nebbiolo or other dry tannic red wine, hard rye bread, slices of bresaola, and semi-hard cheese (if Casera or Bitto are not available, some alternatives include Fontina of Valle d’Aosta, or the French Comté).
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