The cultivation of the Radicchio began in the 1500’s in a small town outside Venice in the Veneto region of Italy. Production of this vegetable steadily grew and in the 1900’s it was the principal product of local markets. Rich in fiber, mineral salts and vitamins, this red vegetable is considered an optimum digestive that aids in the proper function of the liver, kidneys and intestines.
Radicchio Trevigiano has a rather curious production process. Initially, the chicory is planted at the end of June. Towards the middle of November, the small plants are gathered, complete with roots, tied together in massive bunches of 15-20 plants, covered with black plastic and are placed in a deep cement tubs. Within these tubs, warm water flows at a temperature of 12 degrees Celsius. After approximately two weeks of forcing the plant, a sprout has formed. The bunches of chicory are then transferred to a warm, humid location to complete their maturation. In the past, farmers used the stables for this phase of production. The conditions were perfect.
There are two types of Radicchio Trevigiano, the precoce (early) available as early as October or the tardivo (late) available from the end of November to February. The later is considered much more of a delicacy. Related varieties that lack the flavor and texture of the Radicchio Trevigiano are the Radicchio di Castelfranco, di Chioggia and di Verona.
In Italy, one of the greatest aspirations a to which a daughter-in-law can ever look forward, is to become, in the eyes of her Husband, equally brava (skilled) as her mother-in-law in the cooking department. It doesn’t matter whether she has been professionally trained in the culinary arts or not, whether the love of cooking ran in her family or not, or if she has cooked for some of the most important people in the world. Mamma always knows how to cook everything better than her daughter-in-law. What is so unique about what Mamma does that none of the rest of us can do? That is a question, I am afraid, that can never be answered. It just is and always will be in the Italian home.
I came into this marriage considering myself an excellent cook and one who had a wonderful knowledge of international cuisine. My years as a Pan Am stewardess working the first class galley while traveling all over the world, had exposed me to just about every type of cuisine possible. I loved cooking, everyone knew it, and that is why most every time I arrived at the Pan Am hanger for briefing, I was the one who got assigned to the First Class galley. I never complained. I loved it! It was simply glorious cooking gourmet meals from scratch for some of world’s most important people!
My background and preparation in Italian cuisine was especially exceptional. All my friends would rave over my meals in "the States". My interest in cooking began early. I remember hanging over my Nana’s stove for years, watching, smelling and tasting. Everything I learned from her I knew wasn’t just home cooking. It had come from a pro, from Nonno (my great grandfather), who was a chef in Italy before coming to the United States. He taught her just about everything that she knew, and I guarantee that she was an excellent student. Ironically enough, back here in Italy, that still was not enough to bring me up amongst the ranks of culinary achievers.
With a genuine desire to please and make my husband happy, (my grandmother always told me that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach), I mistakenly tried and tried to replicate the dishes my husband grew up with and those that he particularly loved. In spite of his usual tenderness and affection, when it came to meals, the comments were always, “E’ buono, ma Mamma lo fa cosi” (It is good, but Mamma makes it this way). If that had not done enough damage, he would go on to analyze each dish and point out every aspect that would make it different from Mamma’s version. It could be as big a thing as too much garlic, which he claimed he has trouble digesting, or as small a thing as too little salt. (Let me interject that Italians are nuts about salting their dishes and I personally find it at times somewhat excessive). That statement would usually be followed by “Chiedi alla Mamma come si fa” (Ask my mother how to make it), which would infuriate me even more.
I was married, lovingly preparing a meal for my husband (something in which I took great pride), and it seemed that no matter what happened, I would always wind up being frustrated. I had never had any intention of competing with my mother-in-law over anything, certainly not her cooking. Didn’t my husband understand this? He was usually so sensitive, but why was he so stubborn when it came to this? The answer is culture. For Italian wives, it has been like this for generations. It is a given, and my husband was no exception. I had to find another way to approach the problem.
One day a thought came to my mind. Even though I did not want to admit it, I subconsciously was indeed trying to compete with my mother-in-law for my husband’s approval. The fact was that I was bucking centuries of culture that went along with it. I asked myself why I had even tried to make the exact same dishes as my mother-in-law. There were certainly enough variations of those same dishes that I could come up myself and be successful at them. Besides which, I needed my own culinary identity here in Italy, my own truth. So, I made a decision. From now on, I would joyfully and lovingly serve my husband and his family my own recipes.
My first attempt at this new way of thinking was on my mother-in-law’s birthday. I invited the whole family for dinner. One of my husband’s favorite dishes is pasticcio and I must admit that my mother-in-law really does make an exceptional version that is rich with cheese, mushrooms, ragu (northern Italian style tomato sauce) and béchamel sauce made with fresh milk from the farm. I decided to make my own a version of pasticcio. Everyone loved radicchio, a vegetable that marries extremely well with sausage due to it bitterness and it was in season, why not? A radicchio and sausage pasticcio seemed like a great idea.
Everyone was seated at the table, peacefully sipping wine, when I exited from the kitchen with the sizzling pasticcio and set it down on the table. The moment of truth had come. I just wanted to cringe thinking about how my new recipe would be received. “Cos’e?” (What is this?) were the first words out of my husband’s mouth. “E’ una ricetta mia” (It’s my recipe), I responded, “Vedrai” (You’ll see). I could see the anticipation in my husband’s face as I scooped up each serving, careful not to waste even a drop of the luscious cheesy béchamel sauce that enveloped each piece and placed them on each plate. “Buon appetito” (good appetite), I said gleefully, as we all dug into our plates for the first forkful. I was hoping for the best. The instantaneous look of approval on my husband’s face said it all, but more importantly, I can still remember his words, “Mia mamma fa un pasticcio eccezionale, ma Tosa, sei brava anche tu” (My mother makes an exceptional pasticcio, but my little girl, you are equally talented). For me, that moment was everything. I had succeeded, I had broken the barrier. Everyone seconded his sentiments including my mother-in-law who said she never would have thought of combing those particular ingredients to make pasticcio.
From that day on, things have changed a lot. The analyzing has stopped and there is a new level of appreciation for everything I prepare. Only once in a while, there is a slight slip, and someone asks for the salt shaker. We all look at each other and laugh, knowing all well, that what makes all our meals so special, is the love that is put into each of them. In the end, this experience helped me not only to create my own culinary identity but also my own truth. Now, each time I eat pasticcio, I recall that Delicious Moment of triumph and recall how each of us grew from it. .
Note: "Tosa" is used by a husband to his wife as a sign of affection. It means “little girl” in Venetian dialect.
IN REFLECTION:
Probably all of us are guilty of trying to compete for someone’s attention or approval at some point in our lives, and during that process, became entangled with sentiments of anger and frustration. We see this most often in children who constantly fight and compete with their siblings for the attention of their parents. I can honestly say that there are probably no parents in the world, who have not become overwhelmed at some point with the constant and unending quibbling that goes on between their children. What is so strange is that essentially, siblings absolutely adore each other. Have you ever noticed that heaven forbid one of them should get hurt, they are all around crying. You can count on there almost always beings deep remiss especially when a competitive punch for attention winds up causing pain. Yet the competition continues and the remiss is always short lived. I see this constantly with my nephews who swear they won’t fight again, lecture after lecture, but the next thing, you turn around, and they are at it again. Isn’t it amazing, that as adults, we still have not figured it all out? We fall into the same trap, competing and setting ourselves up for the same anger and frustration we had when we were children.
In my case, what triggered the sense of competition was the fact that something near and dear to me, my cooking, a skill I knew I excelled at, was being challenged. It was being challenged not by my mother-in-law, but by someone I love and adore, which made it worse. I was hurt not only because I was being criticized, but also because I felt a sense of failure, a lack of appreciation for my efforts. So, without thinking, I set myself right up for frustration and anger not only towards my mother-in-law, but also my husband. Criticizing him for his insensitive approach would have worsened the situation and created needless tension between us. I knew his insensitivity was not intentional, but more a cultural issue. Luckily I was able to catch myself from falling deeper and deeper into this trap and was able to find a solution. With it, the unofficial culinary competition ended and once again, in the ambiance of my small kitchen and through another Delicious Moment, I was able to reflect on my own truth and the self-realization it took to keep me on my path.
A NEW APPROACH:
Catch yourself when you begin to take on too much of that competitive spirit. It’s great if you’re playing soccer, or tennis, or any other competitive sport. Leave it all on the playing field, for that is where it belongs, and only there. And in the workplace, some may ask? Think about it, the answer is quite obvious. I am sure each of you can come up with at least one incidence where too much competition in the workplace created anger, backstabbing, cheating, and an abundance of other negative elements. Really, why should you need to compete with anyone over anything? You are your own truth, your own soul and your reality belongs to you and no other. Your merits are not measured against others, but against your own potential in reaching light and peace.
Instead of letting the sense of competition overwhelm you, the next time, stop, think, and find another road to a accomplish that same goal. You’ll find that the new road will take you there a lot faster.
Radicchio Trevigiano has a rather curious production process. Initially, the chicory is planted at the end of June. Towards the middle of November, the small plants are gathered, complete with roots, tied together in massive bunches of 15-20 plants, covered with black plastic and are placed in a deep cement tubs. Within these tubs, warm water flows at a temperature of 12 degrees Celsius. After approximately two weeks of forcing the plant, a sprout has formed. The bunches of chicory are then transferred to a warm, humid location to complete their maturation. In the past, farmers used the stables for this phase of production. The conditions were perfect.
There are two types of Radicchio Trevigiano, the precoce (early) available as early as October or the tardivo (late) available from the end of November to February. The later is considered much more of a delicacy. Related varieties that lack the flavor and texture of the Radicchio Trevigiano are the Radicchio di Castelfranco, di Chioggia and di Verona.
In Italy, one of the greatest aspirations a to which a daughter-in-law can ever look forward, is to become, in the eyes of her Husband, equally brava (skilled) as her mother-in-law in the cooking department. It doesn’t matter whether she has been professionally trained in the culinary arts or not, whether the love of cooking ran in her family or not, or if she has cooked for some of the most important people in the world. Mamma always knows how to cook everything better than her daughter-in-law. What is so unique about what Mamma does that none of the rest of us can do? That is a question, I am afraid, that can never be answered. It just is and always will be in the Italian home.
I came into this marriage considering myself an excellent cook and one who had a wonderful knowledge of international cuisine. My years as a Pan Am stewardess working the first class galley while traveling all over the world, had exposed me to just about every type of cuisine possible. I loved cooking, everyone knew it, and that is why most every time I arrived at the Pan Am hanger for briefing, I was the one who got assigned to the First Class galley. I never complained. I loved it! It was simply glorious cooking gourmet meals from scratch for some of world’s most important people!
My background and preparation in Italian cuisine was especially exceptional. All my friends would rave over my meals in "the States". My interest in cooking began early. I remember hanging over my Nana’s stove for years, watching, smelling and tasting. Everything I learned from her I knew wasn’t just home cooking. It had come from a pro, from Nonno (my great grandfather), who was a chef in Italy before coming to the United States. He taught her just about everything that she knew, and I guarantee that she was an excellent student. Ironically enough, back here in Italy, that still was not enough to bring me up amongst the ranks of culinary achievers.
With a genuine desire to please and make my husband happy, (my grandmother always told me that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach), I mistakenly tried and tried to replicate the dishes my husband grew up with and those that he particularly loved. In spite of his usual tenderness and affection, when it came to meals, the comments were always, “E’ buono, ma Mamma lo fa cosi” (It is good, but Mamma makes it this way). If that had not done enough damage, he would go on to analyze each dish and point out every aspect that would make it different from Mamma’s version. It could be as big a thing as too much garlic, which he claimed he has trouble digesting, or as small a thing as too little salt. (Let me interject that Italians are nuts about salting their dishes and I personally find it at times somewhat excessive). That statement would usually be followed by “Chiedi alla Mamma come si fa” (Ask my mother how to make it), which would infuriate me even more.
I was married, lovingly preparing a meal for my husband (something in which I took great pride), and it seemed that no matter what happened, I would always wind up being frustrated. I had never had any intention of competing with my mother-in-law over anything, certainly not her cooking. Didn’t my husband understand this? He was usually so sensitive, but why was he so stubborn when it came to this? The answer is culture. For Italian wives, it has been like this for generations. It is a given, and my husband was no exception. I had to find another way to approach the problem.
One day a thought came to my mind. Even though I did not want to admit it, I subconsciously was indeed trying to compete with my mother-in-law for my husband’s approval. The fact was that I was bucking centuries of culture that went along with it. I asked myself why I had even tried to make the exact same dishes as my mother-in-law. There were certainly enough variations of those same dishes that I could come up myself and be successful at them. Besides which, I needed my own culinary identity here in Italy, my own truth. So, I made a decision. From now on, I would joyfully and lovingly serve my husband and his family my own recipes.
My first attempt at this new way of thinking was on my mother-in-law’s birthday. I invited the whole family for dinner. One of my husband’s favorite dishes is pasticcio and I must admit that my mother-in-law really does make an exceptional version that is rich with cheese, mushrooms, ragu (northern Italian style tomato sauce) and béchamel sauce made with fresh milk from the farm. I decided to make my own a version of pasticcio. Everyone loved radicchio, a vegetable that marries extremely well with sausage due to it bitterness and it was in season, why not? A radicchio and sausage pasticcio seemed like a great idea.
Everyone was seated at the table, peacefully sipping wine, when I exited from the kitchen with the sizzling pasticcio and set it down on the table. The moment of truth had come. I just wanted to cringe thinking about how my new recipe would be received. “Cos’e?” (What is this?) were the first words out of my husband’s mouth. “E’ una ricetta mia” (It’s my recipe), I responded, “Vedrai” (You’ll see). I could see the anticipation in my husband’s face as I scooped up each serving, careful not to waste even a drop of the luscious cheesy béchamel sauce that enveloped each piece and placed them on each plate. “Buon appetito” (good appetite), I said gleefully, as we all dug into our plates for the first forkful. I was hoping for the best. The instantaneous look of approval on my husband’s face said it all, but more importantly, I can still remember his words, “Mia mamma fa un pasticcio eccezionale, ma Tosa, sei brava anche tu” (My mother makes an exceptional pasticcio, but my little girl, you are equally talented). For me, that moment was everything. I had succeeded, I had broken the barrier. Everyone seconded his sentiments including my mother-in-law who said she never would have thought of combing those particular ingredients to make pasticcio.
From that day on, things have changed a lot. The analyzing has stopped and there is a new level of appreciation for everything I prepare. Only once in a while, there is a slight slip, and someone asks for the salt shaker. We all look at each other and laugh, knowing all well, that what makes all our meals so special, is the love that is put into each of them. In the end, this experience helped me not only to create my own culinary identity but also my own truth. Now, each time I eat pasticcio, I recall that Delicious Moment of triumph and recall how each of us grew from it. .
Note: "Tosa" is used by a husband to his wife as a sign of affection. It means “little girl” in Venetian dialect.
IN REFLECTION:
Probably all of us are guilty of trying to compete for someone’s attention or approval at some point in our lives, and during that process, became entangled with sentiments of anger and frustration. We see this most often in children who constantly fight and compete with their siblings for the attention of their parents. I can honestly say that there are probably no parents in the world, who have not become overwhelmed at some point with the constant and unending quibbling that goes on between their children. What is so strange is that essentially, siblings absolutely adore each other. Have you ever noticed that heaven forbid one of them should get hurt, they are all around crying. You can count on there almost always beings deep remiss especially when a competitive punch for attention winds up causing pain. Yet the competition continues and the remiss is always short lived. I see this constantly with my nephews who swear they won’t fight again, lecture after lecture, but the next thing, you turn around, and they are at it again. Isn’t it amazing, that as adults, we still have not figured it all out? We fall into the same trap, competing and setting ourselves up for the same anger and frustration we had when we were children.
In my case, what triggered the sense of competition was the fact that something near and dear to me, my cooking, a skill I knew I excelled at, was being challenged. It was being challenged not by my mother-in-law, but by someone I love and adore, which made it worse. I was hurt not only because I was being criticized, but also because I felt a sense of failure, a lack of appreciation for my efforts. So, without thinking, I set myself right up for frustration and anger not only towards my mother-in-law, but also my husband. Criticizing him for his insensitive approach would have worsened the situation and created needless tension between us. I knew his insensitivity was not intentional, but more a cultural issue. Luckily I was able to catch myself from falling deeper and deeper into this trap and was able to find a solution. With it, the unofficial culinary competition ended and once again, in the ambiance of my small kitchen and through another Delicious Moment, I was able to reflect on my own truth and the self-realization it took to keep me on my path.
A NEW APPROACH:
Catch yourself when you begin to take on too much of that competitive spirit. It’s great if you’re playing soccer, or tennis, or any other competitive sport. Leave it all on the playing field, for that is where it belongs, and only there. And in the workplace, some may ask? Think about it, the answer is quite obvious. I am sure each of you can come up with at least one incidence where too much competition in the workplace created anger, backstabbing, cheating, and an abundance of other negative elements. Really, why should you need to compete with anyone over anything? You are your own truth, your own soul and your reality belongs to you and no other. Your merits are not measured against others, but against your own potential in reaching light and peace.
Instead of letting the sense of competition overwhelm you, the next time, stop, think, and find another road to a accomplish that same goal. You’ll find that the new road will take you there a lot faster.
This post first appeared on DELICIOUS MOMENTS...Recipes For Life And Love, please read the originial post: here
