A LOMBARD CHRISTMAS DINNER

Milan 31 December, 2024

It is a sad fact of life that most of the time we fail to follow through on our New Year’s resolutions. I am no different. In fact, I have such a dismal track record on this topic that I stopped many years ago making these resolutions – I did not want to add so many paving stones to my private road to Hell.

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But there is one end-of-year resolution on which my wife and I seem to be holding the course, one I explained in my first post of this year. Summarizing quickly, the two of us decided that we – and any children or grandchildren who may be visiting – would, for a period of eight years, use the traditional Christmas lunch or dinner to honour our mixed genetic pool: Puglia and Lombardy: the heritage of my wife; Burgundy, England, Scotland and Norway: my heritage; – and, if we are still around, Ireland and the old Pale of Settlement: the heritage of our son-in-law. Specifically, for each of those eight years, we would cook a typical Christmas lunch or dinner from each of these regions.  I decided to start at the southern end of the genetic pool and move north, so last year we cooked ourselves a Christmas lunch from Puglia, which we shared with our son.

Contrary to previous attempts, we did not forget this resolution, and so this year now found us cooking a typical Christmas dinner from Lombardy, which we shared again with our son as well as with his girlfriend. I’m so proud that we managed – at least this year – to keep to the resolution, that I’ve decided to share this year’s menu with my readers.

We started with ravioli in brodo. As far as I can make out, each province in Lombardy has its special type of raviolo, but we didn’t get that subtle. We just took a packet of ravioli stuffed with braised meat which was being sold in our local supermarket, and we cooked them in a chicken broth made with cubes. Since we are most definitely not part of the Instagram generation, we have never got into the habit of taking photos of the food we eat. We just wolf it down and then say “damn, we should have taken a photo”. So I throw in a photo I found on the internet to give readers an idea of what we were eating.

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Next, as the main dish we had cotechino with lentils and mashed potatoes. I throw in another photo of this dish from the internet.

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I refer any of my readers who wish to know more about this typical Lombard dish to a post I wrote several years ago, where I go into probably too much detail about it; I have no desire to repeat myself here.

For dessert, we had that great, that splendid, Lombard delicacy, the panettone. I’ve also covered this miracle of Lombard cuisine in an earlier post, so I won’t go into further details here. I just refer my readers to that post and throw in a photo of a slice of panettone. I deliberately chose a photo which shows a large dollop of mascarpone, because for the first time ever, we had our panettone with mascarpone.

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We decided to add mascarpone because we read that the Lombards are known to slather this extra bit of yumminess onto their panettone during the Christmas season.

Since I’ve never mentioned mascarpone in any of my previous posts – for the simple reason that we hardly ever eat it – let me use this occasion to say a few words about it. It’s a Lombard cheese, originally from the area around Lodi to the south of Milan. Like cotechino, it used to be made with the left-overs from the production of more remunerative dairy foodstuffs, in this case cheeses. It is a smooth, spreadable cheese, with a an ever so slight sweet taste to it and a hint of the aroma of cream.

Mascarpone is now well-known worldwide because it is one of the main ingredients in the famous tiramisù – which, I was surprised to learn, is a very recent creation, from the 1960s, with its place of birth being somewhere in the Veneto or Friuli-Venezia-Giulia regions of Italy.

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Mascarpone is actually used in tiramisù in the form of crema al mascarpone, which is a mix of a syrup of sugar, egg yolk, and mascarpone. This is but one variant of sweetened mascarpone which Italians have been eating since at least the 1400s and possibly earlier.

If I am dwelling a little on crema al mascarpone it’s because I have a horrible doubt: should we have eaten our panettone with crema al mascarpone rather than just with mascarpone? Both ways are promoted by different sites on the internet. I have to say, my wife and I found that mascarpone alone combined well with panettone. But might crema al mascarpone have combined better? There’s only really one way to find out – make (or buy) crema al mascarpone and slather it on a couple of slices of panettone. Something to work on next year.

Of course, there wasn’t just food. There were wines, too! Staying in theme, we chose two Lombard wines, a red and a white. The red was a Bonarda, one of the sparkling red wines that are common in the north and centre of Italy. This is a topic I’ve covered in an earlier post, so any readers interested to find out more about this intriguing family of sparkling reds can go there. Here, I’ll just insert a photo of some of the vineyards where Bonarda’s grapes are grown.

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As for the white wine, we chose a Lugana, whose grapes are grown on the far eastern edges of Lombardy, looking over the southern shores of Lake Garda.

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I suppose we could have finished with some digestivi or some grappa made in Lombardy, but we left it at that. Sometimes, especially at our age, one can have too much of a good thing and spend the night regretting it.

So that’s Lombard Christmas dinner done! Next year, we venture into a Burgundian Christmas lunch – or maybe a Beaujolais Christmas lunch, if there is a difference; my mother was specifically from Beaujolais. We shall see, a happy year of research awaits me.

Happy New Year to all my readers! May 2025 bring you and your families peace and happiness.

 

LENTILS FOR MY FERRITIN LEVELS

Milan, 4 November 2024

It is a sad fact of life that as one gets older, the machine that is our body begins to falter. Machine parts begin to show signs of wear and tear, leading to unfavourable results in blood, urine or other samples of our vital fluids. One such unfavourable result which has been dogging me for a number of years is the levels of ferritin in my blood. My old doctor had been monitoring it, and shortly before he retired he decided that the time had probably come for me to do some regular blood-letting to bring the ferritin levels down. Luckily, the liver specialist which he sent me to – high ferritin levels being normally due to some malfunction in the liver – didn’t agree, recommending continuing monitoring. At which point, I decided to see what I could do to bring down my ferritin levels naturally, through my diet. I had already pretty much completely eliminated red meat, which is high in heme iron. That was pretty sad, but I comforted myself with the thought that it was good for the planet. My daughter found a scientific article online, which recommended a diet high on berries, especially blueberries, and the liberal use of cocoa powder – it seems that the polyphenols which these contain can help bring ferritin levels down. I did that for several months and then did the blood tests again. There was a modest decrease in my ferritin levels. I asked my new doctor what else I could do. She suggested imbibing lots of tea and eating lots of pulses – they, too, contain high levels of polyphenols. Well, my wife and I are already regular tea-drinkers, carrying on a fine British tradition.

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So I didn’t see much scope for improvement there. Pulses were a different story. Quite frankly, we don’t eat many of those; we’re not terribly, terribly fond of them. We’ll eat pasta e fagioli once or twice a year, normally when winter sets in; this particular version has used penne rigate and cannellini beans.

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And come Christmas time, we’ll often have ourselves a popular Christmas dish in northern Italy, cotechino e lenticchie, a type of sausage with lentils. I’ve already covered this dish exhaustively in a previous post, so I won’t say any more here. I just invite readers to drool over this photo.

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That is pretty much the sum total of our annual pulse intake. After some discussion, my wife and I agreed that I could go with lentils. I quite like lentils in salad, so I’ve been regularly eating a lentil salad for lunch and dinner. But I fear I’ll get rather bored with having this all the time, and might need to branch out. What other lentil dishes could I try?

Well, for starters, I could eat nice mixed salads like this one, of fennels and lentils.

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But that is really just a modest change to the original dish. What else?

Well, given that the original wild lentil plant comes from the Middle East and was domesticated there (like so many of our foodstuffs), I’m thinking I should start by looking there for a lentil dish I could try. And in fact, it so happens that there is a very popular lentil dish in the Middle East which goes by the name of mujaddara. It’s a very simple dish: it’s a mix of lentils and rice, with a topping of caramelised onions. You can season it with cumin, mint, or coriander (although I would skip the coriander, which I don’t like).

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It’s considered a poor person’s dish, but if you’ve got money to burn you can add meat to the mix. The dish is generally served with a side of yoghurt or a salad.

Going off on a tangent, I’m blown away by the etymology of the dish’s name. Mujaddara means “pockmarked”, a reference to the look of the dish, brown lentils pockmarking the white rice. It would be nice to think that whoever came up with this name was thinking of a face pockmarked by bad acne, but I rather fear that they were referring instead to pockmarks caused by the dreaded smallpox, like in this recreation from earlier centuries.

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But back to mujaddara. I have to say, I’m intrigued by the Egyptian variant, koshari. To the rice, lentils and caramelised onions, the Egyptians add pasta (macaroni or vermicelli), and tomato sauce. You can make it even more complicated, by adding other odds and ends as this photo shows.

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In all of this, it’s the tomato sauce that attracts me, I’m a great fan of the tomato in all its forms. But this is not the type of tomato sauce I’m used to. To the basic sauce base is added garlic vinegar or even a lemon sauce. Garlic vinegar I will forget, but the addition of a lemon sauce … that’s worth considering.

Hang on, though. I think I’m getting rather far away from the lentils, which is the whole point here but which seems to be getting drowned out by all the other stuff that’s being added in. In Obelix’s day, it did indeed seem much simpler in Egypt; it was just lentils – although Obelix is finding that a tough diet to keep to.

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In any event, I need to keep my eye fixed on the simpler mujaddara.

Talking of which, it seems that the simple, no-frills mujaddara has a long, long history. It looks like the Palestinian version of mujaddara is closer to the original version of this dish. Instead of the rice, they use bulgur, which is parboiled and cut durum wheat – rice probably wasn’t in common use in the Middle East until Roman times. It would seem, then, that mujaddara is a member of the broad family of pottages, where various grains are boiled up together to form a sort of porridge (various vegetables can be added, too). So it must be a descendant of the “mess of pottage” for which Esau gave away his birthright to his twin brother Jacob. Here is how the story is recounted in the King James version of the Old Testament (I always find the KJV text so much more satisfying to read; it’s rather like Shakespeare):

And Jacob sod [prepared] pottage. And Esau came from the field, and he was faint. And Esau said to Jacob, “Feed me, I pray thee, with that same red pottage; for I am faint” … And Jacob said, “Sell me this day thy birthright”. And Esau said, “Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit shall this birthright do to me?” And Jacob said, “Swear to me this day”; and he sware unto him. And he sold his birthright unto Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentiles; and he did eat and drink, and rose up, and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.

Just for the hell of it, I throw in a painting by the Dutch painter Jan Victors that depicts this scene; Jacob is to the right, Esau to the left.

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As much as domesticated rice travelled westward from India to the Middle East (and beyond), so the domesticated lentil travelled eastward from the Middle East to India. The peoples along the way continued mixing lentils with rice, with some changes to the basic recipe. Which means that there are possible mujaddara variants for me to try. For instance, Iranians have a dish they call adas polo, where dates, raisins, cinnamon and saffron are added to the basic lentil-rice mix.

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The sites I’ve read up on adas polo say that it has a very different flavour profile from mujaddara, which, looking at the ingredients, I can well believe. Adas polo certainly looks enticing, but I feel that, like koshari, it’s too complicated. Maybe I’ll just leave it to the next time I go to a Persian restaurant (there are some really good Persian restaurants in Vienna).

Going further east, the Indians also have their lentil-rice dish, khichdi. I mentioned khichdi in a post I wrote a number of years ago about a pale British imitation of this dish, kedgeree. Basically, you bring together rice, lentils in the form of a dal, some vegetables like cauliflower or peas or potato, and spices.

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Bringing in khichdi has allowed me to surreptitiously slip in that glory of Indian cuisine, dal. Quite honestly, there are probably as many variations of dal as there are Indian families. The base is always the same: lentils or other pulses like peas or beans which are cooked with turmeric until mushy. The endless variations come with the fried garnish which is added at the end of the cooking process. I throw in a photo of a moong dal, where the garnish has been made by frying asafoetida, cumin seeds, chopped green chilies, and chopped garlic in ghee.

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If I go for dal, I would have to find a garnish with no – and I mean no – hot spices in it; as I’ve recalled several times in this blog, I actively dislike hot spices.

Which would also create me a problem with another dish, misir wot or kik wot, which hails from Ethiopia.

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Just as domesticated lentils travelled east and west out of the Middle East, they must have travelled south, too. I suspect they got to Ethiopia via Yemen. In any event, here, too, you cook the lentils (or other pulses) with a garnish made of onions, garlic, ginger, tomatoes and berbere fried in niter kibbeh (the Ethiopian equivalent to ghee). The red flag here is berbere, which is a spice mixture liberally used throughout the Ethiopian highlands and usually containing “chili peppers, coriander, garlic, ginger, Ethiopian holy basil seeds, korarima, rue, ajwain or nadhuni, nigella and fenugreek”, according to berbere‘s Wikipedia entry. I’m not sure what some of the more local spices taste like, but chili peppers … that’s bad news for me.

Stepping back here and reviewing all the alternatives I’ve mentioned makes me realise that most if not all of them are based on making a soupy or slurry-like lentil dish. Remembering the adage “East, West, Home’s best“, maybe I should just opt for a simple lentil soup like my mother used to make (she actually didn’t, but readers get the idea). The internet is stuffed with recipes for lentil soups without horrible, nasty, hot spices in them; without onions and garlic, which don’t agree with my digestive system; without a bunch of spices which, if we buy, would mean a row of bottles that would sit on our kitchen shelves for ever more. Maybe this is the way I should go when I get bored with my lentil salads. And maybe, when the world just gets too much for me, I could retreat into my infancy and eat my lentils in milk, a comfort food which my mother actually did make for me and my siblings years and years ago.

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