Get Cooking: Italians take the cake when talking about cooking and eating - The Denver Post

I’m forever fascinated how different people talk about the way they cook and eat. To express satiety, for instance, an American will push away from the table and say, “I’m stuffed.” The pleasure of eating is somatic, belly-bursting. It’s about corporeal real estate.

The French, on the other hand, consider such body talk rude. A French person invariably will cut off further servings of food with a comment on quality, not quantity, and say something such as, “That was very good, thank you.”

Surprisingly, the French at table do not discuss food the way we might assume. (It is we who go on about French food more than they do.) For the French, meal-speak is about wit, turns of phrase on subjects that Americans consider table taboos: sex, politics, religion.

Yet, for some funny reason, the French use food talk to refer to most everything off the table. A loved one is a “petit chou” (a little cabbage). A heavy hitter is “un grand fromage” (a big cheese). When all hope is lost, “Les carottes sont cuites.” (“The carrots are cooked.”) Those who have the shakes “sucrer les fraises” (sugar the strawberries). There are many more French sayings that use food and eating to talk about much else beyond food and eating.

Like French, Spanish eat-speaks when it doesn’t. The main way to express liking most anything — sunsets, a sweater, a sweetheart — is the verb “gustar,” via the Latin, the base of our English “gustatory.”

Spaniards have at their disposal all sorts of proverbs about daily life that relate to food: for example, “Al pan pan y al vino vino” (Bread is bread and wine is wine) or “Call a spade a spade.”

However, in the years that I’ve been paying attention to people speak about food and cooking, it is the Italians who, um, take the cake.

I have listened to a group of six Italians — all men — converse with each other for more than an hour about whether polenta is best as a freestanding meal or prepared as a leftover for the next day’s meals; about whether the great cheese Parmigiano-Reggiano is more properly eaten grated on other foods or eaten whole, after a meal chunked into small bites; and about which type of rice to use for which sort of rice preparation (i.e., risotto, cool rice salad, soup).

It’s said that Italians (especially Italian men) talk about three things only: what they ate at their last meal, what they are eating now, and what they will eat next.

So many Italian proverbs pass down wisdom in the form of food-talk. “A tavola no si invecchia.” (“You don’t get old at the table,” meaning that eating and drinking at the table is life at its finest, so slow down and enjoy it, everything you need in life is right there.) “La cucina piccola fa la casa grande.” (“The small kitchen makes the house big,” meaning that the kitchen and what comes from it is the true center and foundation of the home and family.)

Italian food sayings are legion and use everything in the pantry to talk about everything in life. A good example is “Tutto fa brodo.” (“Everything makes soup,” or the little things are important, too.)

Because the Italian culture is so centered on foodways of all forms — growing and shopping for only the best, preparing food carefully and lovingly, dining at the table with gusto and much conviviality — it’s no surprise that eat-speak even describes Italian history or politics.

One of my favorite Italian food proverbs illustrates the pain of a centuries-old system of agriculture that did not die out until well after World War II. It was called the “mezzadria” and refers to the feudal-like manner by which many farmers and peasants, especially those in central and southern Italy, rendered half of that which they raised or produced back to the landowner, as a form of rent.

Peasant farmers were poor and decisions about what to eat scraped the bottoms of many a figurative barrel, because eating something often deducted from what could go toward payment of rent.

This saying tells that story: “Quando il contadino mangia un pollo o il contadino è malado o il pollo.” (“Whenever a peasant eats a chicken, either the peasant is sick or the chicken is.”)

Risotto with Asparagus

Serves 6 as a starter course.

Ingredients

1 pound risotto rice (arborio, carnaroli or vialone nano), about 1 1/2 cups
4 cups chicken (or turkey) stock
2 small or medium shallots, peeled and minced
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, of which 1 tablespoon set aside
1 cup dry white wine or “light” apple juice
1 pound fresh asparagus stalks, well-cleaned and cut into 1-inch pieces on the bias, the tips kept separate
3/4 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (a 2-3 ounce chunk to begin)
Chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Directions

In a large bowl or pot, rinse the rice for 5 minutes in the stock, swirling it around well with your fingers. Scoop it from the liquid (or strain it, keeping in mind not to lose or discard the stock) and set aside.

Over medium-high heat, in a large, heavy, low pan or skillet (not a tall saucepot), melt the 3 tablespoons butter, add the strained rice and sauté for 4-5 minutes, stirring, until the rice is well coated with the butter and beginning to sizzle and smell nutty. Add the shallots and cook the mix for another minute. Add the wine or juice and all but 1/2 cup of the reserved stock (keep aside the 1/2 cup for finishing the risotto), stir the pot well, cover, and lower the heat as far as possible.

Cook for 10 minutes, then add the asparagus pieces except for the tips, stir in well, scraping the bottom and sides of the pan, and put back the pan’s cover. Cook for another 10 minutes, until the rice is cooked nearly through but still resistant to the bite.

Remove the cover and stir in the asparagus tips. The risotto should now be just underdone. Raise the heat substantially and stir in the reserved 1/2 cup of stock, incorporating it and getting the risotto to bubble vigorously and become thick and creamy.

Remove the pan from the heat and add the grated cheese and reserved 1 tablespoon butter. Season with salt and pepper. Serve on warmed flat plates, garnished with the chopped parsley.

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