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So Tuscan: Pappa al Pomodoro

I recently returned from Tuscany. My heart is still there and my appetite for the food has not left me. I wonder how I will ever enjoy a tomato in Canada again, after having plucked the first one of the season from its vine and letting the sweet, sun-warmed juice cover my tongue. I lived and worked in an agrituismo for three months. In that time, I watched swiss chard and asparagus come and go, followed by radishes and beets and finally, tomatoes. Every day the ripe tomatoes would fall into my cupped hands, perfectly ripe and every following day there would be more tomatoes, ripe and waiting. Soon, every surface inside was covered with tomatoes and very pot was on the burner simmering and spattering tomato juice. Passata is a sieved tomato puree and the Italians’ answer to the abundance of tomatoes. Once jarred, this puree can last throughout the winter, giving a bit of summer to each dish.

When you live by the harvest on a small farm, you must also learn to appreciate the (often monotonous) abundance that changes week by week. I must be honest and admit I enjoyed our two-week tomato season far more than the two-week season of swiss chard. Tomatoes can be dried, purred and jarred or frozen and pickled or made into chutney. You don’t need to be a chef to create something different every day from the same ingredients, but you do need a bit of inspiration. What I learned in Italy was: What grows together, goes together. This saying can be expanded to include the region’s specialties, such as cheeses and breads. Papa al Pomodoro is a thick tomato and bread soup that is especially popular in the Chianti region of Tuscany. It is as Tuscan as a dish can get: Basil and tomatoes from the garden, olive oil produced just over on the next hill, and thickened with Tuscany’s saltless bread.

I spoke to an old nonna (grandma) in the town where I was staying and she asked me skeptically what I had been doing with all my tomatoes. I mentioned that earlier that day I had made Pappa al Pomodoro for lunch, thinking she would accept my attempt to be true to Tuscany. The nonna promptly told me that I had done it all wrong. I smiled. This was my third month in Tuscany and I had learned very quickly that every family has their own way of preparing even the most traditional dishes so that it is their own special touch, which makes their dish, ‘the best’. I had also learned by this point that most people were more than willing to share their secrets and even more willing to argue that their way is the only way. By the time I had finished the most intense conversation about soup, in the best Italian I could muster, there were three more old nonnas sitting around us, speaking simultaneously, and some old men close by, smoking and shouting over their opinion. Eavesdropping is ok when it is about food.

Tuscany truly is a food lover’s dream. The culture is so rich with food from farm to table to the espresso to the vin santo and cantucci afterwards. I don’t know the old nonna’s name, but I know her recipe, and she would be joyous to know that now you do too.

Nonna’s Pappa al Pomodoro
“ First in the pan: olive oil, basil, bread. Then tomatoes and stop”

The above recipe has no measurements because cooking should be free. If you have some special olive oil, add more. Use a hearty, stale loaf of bread so that the crumbs dissolve easily into the tomato juice. If you want a thinner soup, add less bread. Make adjustments to your taste and enjoy with friends.

Libretto

Sitting facing the kitchen (as I always do) I took it all in. Prying my eyes away from the six chefs working in a small open kitchen at the back of the long and narrow restaurant, I looked around the rest of the restaurant. It was a Wednesday evening, only about 6:30pm and already there was a line forming out the door. To my left was a 25ish couple sharing a hot pizza and to my right there was a group of middle-aged, thick-frame wearing artsy-type Ossingtoners chatting in front of a bright green wall. There were also quite a few children running around wide-eyed and ignored while their parents chatted and enjoyed the relaxing atmosphere and good food. The restaurant was loud- not one soft surface (unless you count the beautiful wood tables)- but I was still able to carry on a conversation and once I got used to the volume the noise just became a background hum, a part of the atmosphere. A waiter approached: black jeans, a white t-shirt and long greasy (yet somehow chic) hair. He began by offering water. When it arrived in a frosty large bottle and he saw me wondering whether this water was going to cost me (hey! I am a student after all!), he noted that all water is distilled and bottled in house. It was delicious- clean and almost sweet tasting- I was already smiling. If the water was this good- how could the food not be? I decided to begin with Bresaola for an appetizer. Now let me interject- I recently returned from Italy. I have since been in a bit of a food slump- unable to find anything as fresh and tasteful as what I ate there. Bresaola was one of my favourites in Tuscany and I had to try Libretto’s version. Sliced to an exactly perfect thickness- so that I could enjoy the smoky-sweet soft and slightly chewy beef (not aged as long as in Tuscany, but definitely delicious)- I enjoyed my bresaola while trying not to stare at the cook facing me who was making my salad. He was moving slowly and it drove me crazy (only because I was once told by a chef that he would throw any salad I made in less than 15 seconds on the floor). When my Grilled Peach and Asiago salad with champagne vinaigrette arrived I was not surprised I didn’t like it. The flavours worked together beautifully, but I couldn’t get over the cold peaches. Expecting to pop a warm, freshly grilled peach with a bit of melted cheese into my mouth I was unpleasantly surprised. The dressing was good, but it didn’t taste like champagne in the slightest. But that’s ok. I got over the salad the second my perfectly crusty and chewy pizza arrived. Cooked for a mere 90 seconds in a piping hot fire oven, my Neopolitin pizza arrived topped with in-house made fennel seed pork sausage, caramelized onions and more asiago. The crust was chewy but not too thin or thick and drizzled with olive oil. When there were only crumbs left I took a look at the dessert menu. Completely satisfied and pleasantly full, I decided to skip dessert. On my way out I walked by the long line of eager customers patiently waiting to be seated, knowing that the wait would be well worth it.

Located on Ossington just south of Dundas this new pizzeria is open (and packed the entire time) from Tuesdays-Sun 5 p.m. - 12 p.m.