European

A well-made risotto is a culinary feat: Small, firm grains of rice float, suspended, in a rich, creamy sauce. When scooped onto a shallow plate or bowl, a good risotto should have a loose consistency, rippling into a tight pool on the plate (it should not be soupy, though). As the Italians say, it should be all’onda, or “with waves.” Unfortunately, many cooks (home and professional) make risottos that are too thick and dense, more like a porridge. But preparing a successful risotto is actually easier to accomplish than you may imagine. It involves no special tricks, just careful observation (and a lot of stirring). Allow your senses—taste, sight, and smell—to tell you when it’s done. The type of rice is critical to the dish. Italian rices, such as Arborio, Carnaroli, or Vialone Nano, are the best choices for the particular composition of starches risotto requires. During cooking, the soft starch on the outside of the grains readily dissolves to form the intrinsic creaminess, while the inside remains al dente (firm “to the tooth”), giving risotto its characteristic bite. Because its flavor will permeate the dish, the liquid used is equally important, and what you use should depend on what else is being added to the dish. Many recipes call for chicken or vegetable stock, but these can prove too overpowering, especially when the dish will be simply seasoned with a handful each of cheese and herbs, as in the recipe below. So instead, the recipe calls for a simple broth that incorporates some of the ingredients used to flavor the dish, here celery, carrot, onion, garlic, and parsley. Likewise, for a shrimp risotto, you could make a broth by combining the shells with lemons and herbs; or you could sauté or roast the bones from meat, fish, or chicken and then simmer them with water. If you prefer deeper flavor, follow this same principle to enrich existing chicken or vegetable stocks for using in risotto. Making a risotto is a lot like making a stew: First, you begin by sautéing an aromatic ingredient. Then the rice is stirred in and toasted to give it a nutty flavor (similar to pilafs) and to loosen some of its starch. After a few minutes, as you stir, the grains eventually become slightly more translucent and they begin making a clicking noise, which tells you it’s time to add the wine. When the wine is stirred in, the rice releases a bit more starch, turning the liquid slightly milky, a sign of the creaminess to come. Once the wine is absorbed, the stock is added, ladleful by ladleful. Near-constant stirring will ensure that the rice cooks evenly and helps release the soft starch on the outside of the grains. The final step of any great risotto is to “mount” it with butter, which gives the risotto richness, and to add in any final seasonings (in this case, grated cheese, freshly ground pepper, and parsley), just before serving. In certain regions of northern Italy, the risotto method is used to cook other grains, such as farro, an ancient grain with a nutty taste. It will produce a dish with a slightly chewier and less creamy texture (see the farro variation with wild mushroom see below).

A specialty of the southwest of France, cassoulet—named for cassole, the oval earthenware dish in which it was made—is a rich, slow-cooked bean stew made with white beans, meats (most often pork and sausages), and duck or goose confit. The dish is time consuming—it can take an entire day from start to finish—but is manageable when you break it into three tasks, which can be spaced out over a few days. The first step is to prepare Duck Confit (see page 232). Next the beans (which have to be soaked overnight) are cooked on the stove. Then the confit and beans are layered in a pot, along with pork and sausage, and baked for about three hours.

Vegetable stock is an essential ingredient in many vegetarian soups, but it also provides incomparable flavor to many well-loved vegetable (but not necessarily meat-free) soups such as this one. Minestrone has become so familiar in the American kitchen that it might be easy to forget its Italian origins. But the name—minestre is the word for soup, while the suffix (-one) indicates bigness—hints at its universal appeal as a simple pantry-based soup that is also hearty and substantial. The foundation of flavor, called a soffritto, is a common element in soup-making: a trio of celery, carrots, and onion is sautéed first, then stock and more vegetables are added and slowly simmered to coax out their flavors. Beans are what distinguish minestrone from other vegetable soups; the type varies by region, as does the addition (if any) of pasta or rice (this version has neither). The beans are also what give the soup such heft, making it a good option for a meatless one-pot dish (if you leave out the prosciutto) that can stand as the centerpiece of any casual dinner. The beans need to soak overnight in the refrigerator, so plan accordingly. Then they need to boil for at least a half hour, so use that time to prepare the rest of the ingredients for the soffritto and soup.

One of the best reasons to make your own basic brown stock is that it means French onion soup from scratch is within easy reach. (You can also make the soup with white beef stock, page 42.) Like many other bistro classics, French onion soup has humble origins as a staple of thrifty households, where a pot of stock—itself born of frugality—was the foundation for many family meals. Even those with limited resources could make soupe a l’oignon since it calls for little else: pounds of inexpensive and readily available onions, a crusty baguette (providing a way to use up day-old bread), and a chunk of sharp Gruyère cheese, grated to turn a little into a lot. Because there are so few components, each one is enhanced in some way to contribute to the final dish. The homemade stock provides both color and robust taste, as well as ensuring a silky consistency. Caramelizing the onions gives them a wonderful sweetness (and more dark brown color). Toasted bread adds a textural note, while gratinéed cheese introduces another pleasing component. Similar to the burnt-sugar shell atop crème brûlée, the molten, golden crown invites tucking into with a spoon. This recipe can be halved, but since the soup freezes well, it is worth making the full amount.

This dark, thick, flavorful reduction adds an inimitable richness to meat stews and braises (one or two cubes is sufficient for boosting the flavor). In classic French cooking, demi glace is made by combining brown veal stock with sauce es pagnol (a veal stock thickened with roux), which is then reduced by half. Because demi glace is rather laborious to make (and a bit heavy for modern palates), so many chefs use this straight reduction of stock (without the espagnol) instead. (Julia Child called it a “semi-demi glace.”) This simplified method results in a lighter-bodied sauce, or glaze. To make glace de poulet, substitute veal stock with brown chicken stock.

Everything I know about pasta I learned from working with Mario and his team of chefs at Del Posto, Babbo, and Lupa. Through them, my eyes were opened to the beauty and complexity of pasta. At the Pizzeria, Nancy had already elevated pizza to exactly where she wanted it to be, and after my Del Posto experience, I knew I wanted to do the same thing at the Osteria with pasta. I can only hope that I have done “the family” justice, both in our pasta program at Mozza and with my attempts to pass that along to you.

This is a wonderful example of a vegetarian dish that isn’t at all compromised by its lack of meat. We scatter artichoke leaves over the surface of the pizza so you get the flavor of artichoke in every bite. The mild flavor of the stracchino contrasts nicely with the bitterness of the artichokes.

The richness of peperonata contrasted with the mild flavor of ricotta is so perfect we found a way to offer it in both the Pizzeria and the Osteria (see Peperonata with Ricotta Crostini, page 87). We use buricotta, which looks pretty because the cheese holds its shape when it’s baked, but if you can’t get buricotta, the pizza will be equally good made with quality fresh ricotta. In a perfect world your ricotta will get blackened in places like a perfectly roasted marshmallow.

We use this dough to make all of our filled pasta shapes such as Fresh Ricotta and Egg Ravioli with Brown Butter (page 175) and Francobolli di Brasato al Pomodoro with Basil and Ricotta Salata al Forno (page 177).

This is a basic three-cheese pizza, the only surprise being the truffle-infused sottocenere cheese. Friend-of-Mozza Michael Krikorian orders this pizza with Fennel Sausage (page 137) on top. His version has become so popular that regular customers now know they can order the same thing if they ask for the “Michael.”

Years ago I discovered a little place in San Francisco that made the most delicious green onion focaccia that I loved and never forgot. When the Pizzeria was conceived, I knew I wanted to offer one with green onions in memory of that one. In trying to invent my green onion pizza, I remembered my days at Spago, where they made a goat cheese and red pepper pizza that was really popular. Goat cheese and bacon is a great combination, as is goat cheese and browned garlic. And then there were those green onions . . . That mishmash of inspirations is how this pizza came to be. The garlic is the same that we use in the Olives al Forno (page 37). While you’re at it, you might want to make enough for both, since the olives would be a great accompaniment to a pizza party.

It’s very traditional to use ortiche, or “nettles,” to make green pasta such as this one. Despite the fact that they are often called “stinging nettles,” they don’t really sting, but they do have a bristly texture that can irritate your skin. If you wash them first, they won’t bother you as you pick the leaves off the stems. Another solution is to wear thin rubber gloves. If you can’t find nettles, spinach is an acceptable substitute. In either case, the greens have so much water in them (no matter how much you try to squeeze it all out) that we use very few eggs in this dough.

This is the Basic Pasta Dough with the addition of squid ink. The ink makes the pasta black and also infuses it with a subtle seafood flavor. You may want to wear plastic gloves while making this pasta; otherwise, the black ink will stain your hands for days. You can buy squid ink or cuttlefish ink at Italian and specialty food stores; if you can’t find it, you can’t make this dough. Use a quality store-bought squid ink pasta, preferably fresh, instead.

If we were one of those pizzerias that give wacky names to each pie, this mixed mushroom pizza would be called “The Vegas Guys,” or “Peter’s Pizza.” Our editor, Peter Gethers, has a group of guys he goes to Las Vegas with every year for some sort of guy reunion weekend. They meet in Los Angeles and the tradition is that they choose a different restaurant to eat dinner in the night before they leave for Vegas. I’m flattered that for the last few years, they’ve quit chowing around and held their dinner consistently in the private dining room in the Pizzeria, called the Jack Warner Room. They were particularly excited about this pizza. It’s a pretty straightforward mushroom pie, but the fact that we roast the mushrooms before adding them to the pizza, and the combination of taleggio and fontina cheeses that top it, make it especially flavorful.

Orecchiette, meaning “little ears,” are small dome- shaped disks. They are the most common shape in Puglia. They’re used in many regional dishes there, including the one that inspired our Orecchiette with Fennel Sausage and Swiss Chard (page 180). Although this shape doesn’t look as intricate as some of the others, it is one of the most difficult to shape, which is probably why so few restaurants make their own. Following our instructions, you can’t fail. To get the desired texture on the surface of the pasta, we suggest you use a plastic cutting board. At the Osteria, we use a wooden cutting board that has been deliberately scored with a knife, which gives the orecchiette the texture we want.

This is my number-one favorite Pizzeria Mozza pizza, and it’s a direct rip-off of the Norcia pizza they serve at Pellicano. Sausage and panna, or cream, is a classic combination in Umbria. The summer I discovered this pizza I ordered it every time I went to Pellicano, in an effort to figure out what was in the white sauce that was smeared on the crust. When I asked, they told me “panna.” I knew panna was cream, but I couldn’t understand how they could put cream on pizza. Finally, I went back to the kitchen to see for myself, and what I saw was that the cream had been whipped, making it spreadable. Whipping cream for a pizza was such a foreign idea to me that when I started playing with pizzas for the restaurant, I tried to avoid it. I made this pizza with crème fraîche and later with mascarpone—anything not to put whipped cream on a pizza—but the whipped cream was definitely the best.

Clam pizza, a Connecticut tradition, is one of the specialties at Lombardi’s in New York City, and having my first clam pie there is one of my most memorable pizza-eating experiences. We use a combination of Parmigiano and pecorino to finish this pizza, but if you want to use only one, pick your favorite.

Garganelli, which comes from the word gargala, meaning “trachea,” are hollow ridged tubes, similar to penne. We prefer garganelli for our ragù bolognese (see page 189) over the more traditional tagliatelle because we like the way the small bits of sauce stick to the ridges on the outside and get tucked inside the tubes. Since garganelli are also a specialty of Bologna, we think that we haven’t done too much injustice to tradition. To make this shape you’ll want to have a thin plastic pen on hand. We remove the ink cartridge just to be safe, and you might want to do the same.

This was one of the original ten pizzas we served at the Pizzeria. I knew I wanted to offer a potato pizza, and I love the combination of potatoes and Gorgonzola.

Corzetti stampati, or “stamped coins,” are a traditional pasta shape of Genoa, made using a wooden stamp to imprint a design onto the “coins.” Corzetti are usually served with the most famous Genoese pasta dish: basil pesto with green beans and potatoes. Matt and I shirked that tradition and serve ours with a Sicilian dish, pasta with eggplant and tomato sauce, instead. If you can’t find a stamp, you could get away with making unstamped coins using a 2-to 2 1/2-inch cookie cutter.