Dairy Free

At every major holiday or event in Istria—no matter what else—there must be a pot of sauerkraut with big cuts of cured and fresh pork buried inside. This dish belongs in the category of treasured one-pot meals, filled with flavor, that can feed a crowd yet require little attention from the cook. It is enjoyed for days—even better reheated—and if there are any leftovers, they are turned into jota, page 42. It is essential that cured meats be of the best quality, so visit a real Eastern European–style butcher if you can. Good sauerkraut is also essential. If you can’t find genuine fresh sauerkraut, sold in bulk, I recommend buying bagged sauerkraut, in the refrigerator cases of most supermarkets, rather than canned.

Brodetto means cooked in a soupy medium, and so it is in this recipe: different fish cooked together with aromatics to form a unified, delicious dish. The more varieties of fish in the brodetto, the more complex the flavor will be. Traditionally in Istria, brodetto was made with the pick of the catch. But in many a fisherman’s household, such fish was sold, and his family ate what he didn’t sell, a mix of the smaller fish, which were all harmonized by the brodetto cooking method. I remember many brodetti of my childhood in which there were only small fish. I wasn’t even ten years old, but already my mouth was well attuned, and I would screen with efficiency all the small fish bones—a skill that is still with me. This dish can be made several hours in advance and reheated, very gently. Set the meaty fish on a platter and keep warm, and use the sauce and remaining bits of fish to dress the pasta (or polenta). I like to let everyone help themselves to fish from the platter. And since the crab should be eaten with the hands, provide an empty bowl for the shells and bones—and plenty of towels!

Shrimp alla buzara is common all around the northern Adriatic coast. When I make this quick and delicious dish at our house, I give everyone an empty bowl for the shells. I bring the pan to the table; we roll up our sleeves and dig in, savoring the sweet meat, then sucking and licking every drop of sauce from the shells. All that’s needed is some grilled bread. If you wish, use smaller, inexpensive shrimp (shelled and cleaned) in the recipe to make a terrific dressing for spaghetti or linguine. And leftovers make a great risotto.

Make a whole batch of this pasta dough for Fresh Pasta Quills with Chicken Sauce, page 16; Roast Goose with Mlinzi, page 28; or Pasutice with Seafood Sauce, page 18. Roll, cut, and shape the pasta as detailed below, and use in whichever dish you are preparing.

This is typical of Istrian preparations for the abundance of fresh seafood that blesses the region—fast, simple, and full of flavor. The longest step is cutting the pasta dough into diamond-shaped pasutice, which can be done hours ahead or frozen way in advance. (And though pasutice is the optimal and traditional pasta, linguine would be a fine substitute.) For the sauce itself, the cooking takes just minutes. Use your widest skillet, so the shellfish sauté and caramelize quickly in the dry pan, then cook them only briefly in the liquid, or they will become rubbery.

This is a thoroughly traditional Istria-style pasta, the very best of its kind. The sauce, or sugo, is the kind of long-cooking sauce my grandmother made, patiently, from a tough courtyard hen, rooster, or rabbit. It would perk on the stove forever, or so it seemed: whenever I thought it was done, she would pour in a little more broth and let it cook longer. Finally, though, the sugo would be finished—velvety in texture, dense with meat, and rich with flavor. Then Nonna Rosa would use it to dress her handmade fuzi—little quill-like cylinders of fresh pasta. Though the sugo and fuzi would be delicious in other pairings, to me they are meant to go together, and that’s how I give them to you here. Today’s sugo will not take forever. With a smallish hen—organically raised and free-ranging, for the best flavor and nutrition—it takes only a couple of hours to make a thick, brothy sauce with concentrated flavor. For taste, texture, and convenience too, I recommend that you make the sugo the day before serving, so the flavor permeates the meat. The fuzi can be made a few hours ahead and kept at room temperature (or frozen long in advance, as detailed on page 20). If you want to make and serve everything in one day, mix the dough, start the sugo, then form the fuzi while the sauce is cooking.

With hens, ducks, and geese in the courtyard, my grandmother never worried about making a particular kind of broth. When she needed broth for a soup or a sauce, she might dispatch a skinny old rooster or an old fowl whose useful days were done. If she had a pile of bones and trimmings saved from a big meal with several roasts—chicken, ducks, or a goose—she’d make broth. If the bones were from different kinds of birds, it made no difference: they would go into the pot together. That’s the way I encourage you to think about making broth with this recipe (or even without a recipe). You may not have a skinny old rooster running around, but you can certainly search the supermarket meat case for packages of bony poultry parts, such as drumsticks, wings, and backs, or ask the butcher for backs and ribs. Gizzards are good, too. And you should save and freeze the neck and gizzards that you’ll usually find in a package tucked into a roasting chicken (they’ll all be good in your broth except for the liver). Also, use trimmings and the remnants of your holiday roast. If there’s not enough of one kind of poultry, buy two kinds and cook them together. If you should come across a nice beef or veal bone that you’ve frozen and forgotten, could you use it? Though my recipe does not call for it, here’s what my grandmother would tell you: “So the broth has stronger flavor? That’s good. Throw it in.”

“Terrine” is the name given to a specific mold commonly used in French cuisine, but its definition has changed over time. I like to play around and use different molds shaped like triangles, ovals, and rectangles. I love the vibrant color of the hibiscus flower and I think its tart flavor complements many other fruits. I chose these particular flavors because they go quite nicely together and because I’ve always thought different shades of one color suggest a subtle elegance.

I absolutely love passion fruit, and the trees in southeastern Mexico, particularly one in my childhood friend Fernando’s backyard in Bacalar Quintana Roo, inspired this creation. Think of this dessert like a tropical layered cake filled with the exquisite tartness of passion fruit and topped with a silky, sugary meringue. Avoid using mezcal with a worm in the bottle because they are, for the most part, not the best quality. You will need a blowtorch to caramelize the meringue topping, or you can use a broiler or simply sprinkle with some crunchy meringue instead (page 160).

Raspados are sold by street hawkers, particularly in warm climates, where they are especially refreshing. The vendors pour colorful sweet syrups over shaved ice, and the flavors vary depending on which fruits grow locally (although some vendors use artificial flavors). This tangerine ice has a naturally refreshing fruitiness. You can substitute any other citrus, or combination of citrus, and can add up to 1 cup of sugar if the fruit is tart.

Who doesn’t love a margarita? Well, this is one way to get the flavor in a very refreshing ice that you can keep on hand in your freezer. You’ll be tempted to add more tequila, but try to refrain, because it won’t freeze.

The bright burgundy color of the hibiscus is only half the beauty of this delicious flower. It is one of the most common flavors for aguas frescas, and its acidity is fantastic in this yummy frozen treat.

My brother Pedro loves anything with mango and chile, and he’s not alone. It has become one of the most common combinations in sweets in Mexico; in fact, when you eat fresh mango, powdered chile of some kind is always on the table. I wanted to do something in this book just for him, but I am sure he won’t mind sharing (that’s the kind of guy he is). The chile powder you use is a matter of taste. It isn’t just about the heat; it’s also about the flavor. I particularly like the piquín chile from Oaxa ca, but feel free to substitute it for ground guajillo, chipotle, or your personal favorite.

Whenever I crave a cold sweet treat, I always go for the nieves. Ice cream is great, of course, but I am all about the fruit. Anyone who knows me knows that I can eat a quarter of a watermelon in half an hour, that I eat six to ten pieces of fruit per day during the summer, and that I have a particular weakness for stone fruit. The fruit is always the main focus in sorbet, with no distractions. Although the variety of stone fruit is not as diverse in Mexico as it is in other parts of the world, we have some tart and sweet apricots that make an extremely refreshing and silky nieve. Feel free to substitute any other stone fruit that is ripe and in season.

Sliced cucumbers mixed with salt, lime, and chile are often eaten in Mexico as a snack and are even sold at movie theaters. I was about thirteen when I first tried this combination as a sorbet on a warm day in Cuernavaca. Well, this time the flavor of the cucumber was heightened with a little sugar, and the sorbet was topped with a mixture of chile and lime. I’ve included the chiles in the sorbet itself, by infusing them in the syrup; however, you can always sprinkle some powdered chile on top after it has set.

Whenever I visit Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, I always look forward to the ice creams in the main square. During my last visit, as I waited for the crowds to diminish at noontime so that I could interview Amparo Contreras de Galván with my childhood friend Martha Silva, I had a couple of scoops of sorbet. I tend to order the same ones wherever I go, but the membrillo one at La Pancada caught my eye. As I took a bite, without even swallowing it, I knew it had to be in the book. Although the famous ice creams in the town are called pastes, I have to say, this was the one for me. Whenever something so special comes my way, I remember it vividly, taking mental notes of each layer of flavor and texture that at times allows me to re-create things I love so much. I must say, this quince sorbet is pretty close to the one I had. I suggest you make a batch of the Requesón Cheese Ice Cream (page 185) to go with it, in the classic pairing of cheese and quince but in a whole new way.

Although pumpkin is not technically a fruit, it is eaten in this sweet preparation, as many fruits are. There are many foods specially made for Día de los Muertos celebrations throughout Mexico, and this is one of the most representative. It is traditionally cooked in clay casseroles, with the seeds and strands attached, but you can also clean and dry the seeds and snack on them later.

The coast of Colima, a small state in southwest Mexico, is renowned for many candies, particularly coconut ones. The vibrant candied limes retain a slight bitterness that contrasts nicely with the sweet coconut filling. Eating them will make you feel like you are walking along the beach.

Tejocotes are small fruits similar to crab apples but are quite sour and have inedible seeds. The name derives from the word texocotl, meaning “sour, wild, or hard fruit,” and they are abundant at the end of the year. My maternal grandmother, Juanita, used to make this delicious treat and always reserved a huge jar just for me.

These sweet peaches are used often in Mexican cooking primarily to decorate cakes and to eat with ice cream or pancakes. I thought it might be nice to have this recipe so you can make some at the height of peach season and use them in the colder months when fresh local ones are out of the question.