Mediterranean

Many dense cakes such as pound cake can be grilled with great success. The grilling lightly toasts the cake and adds depth to the flavor. Here, Joanne Weir shares her favorite Mediterranean version, grilled polenta cake topped with seasonal berries tossed in a fruit sauce. Note: Make the cake a day in advance, and the berry compote several hours in advance so the flavors have time to blend.

Many Mediterranean cuisines wrap fish in leaves for grilling or roasting. This version uses Swiss chard. You can use either the white-stemmed variety or one of the colorful rainbow chards. Use fresh grape or fig leaves for an even more flavorful result.

Salt-roasting is a traditional Mediterranean technique for cooking fish. The salt crust creates an almost impenetrable barrier that traps the moisture and allows the natural juices of the fish to remain—the salt never penetrates into the food itself. Salt-roasting is a great hybrid of steaming and roasting, and can be used to cook meat, poultry, and vegetables.

Lamb, pomegranate, and apricots is a classic Mediterranean combination. Pomegranate molasses, which is sometimes called pomegranate concentrate, is a pantry staple in parts of the Mediterranean. It serves as a meat tenderizer as well as a flavor enhancer. Look for it in specialty foods stores, or online (see Resources). Serve this dish with a rice pilaf or couscous. Note: You will need 16 wooden skewers for this recipe.

If you love ribs, it’s hard to break the habit of the classic barbecue profile of brown sugar, vinegar, and ketchup. Since we can’t easily find lamb ribs in Nashville, we cheat by dressing up pork ribs with Mediterranean herbs, garlic, and mustard. Serve the pork in lamb’s clothing with couscous, rice, garlicky white beans, tomatoes and fresh basil, Greek feta salad, pita bread, or anything inspired by any country that touches the Mediterranean—and anything other than sweet barbecue beans and traditional slaw.

A rather sad and barren bit of sand in a Mediterranean archipelago 17 kilometers off the coast of Trapani and 120 kilometers from the brow of North Africa, the island of Favignana is the last of the tonnare—tuna fishing ports—in Sicilia. And it is Gioachino Cataldo who is il rais—“the king,” in Arab dialect—of the rite of la mattanza— the ritual slaughtering of migrating tuna practiced first by the Phoenicians and later by the Saracens. La mattanza remains the most powerful spiritual ceremony in the life of the islanders, as it has for a thousand years. And from then until now, its writs are these. Fifteen huge wooden, black-varnished, motorless, sail-less boats are tugged out into the formation of a great quadrangle around the muciara—the boat of il rais that sits at the square’s center. Ten kilometers of net are laid in the form of a pouch into which the tuna swim. The great fish migrate from the Atlantic through the Straits of Gibralter to spawn, the Mediterranean being warmer and saltier and, hence, a kinder ambience for reproduction. As the pouch—called the camera della morte, the death chamber—becomes full, il rais gives the command to his fifty-seven soldiers to lift the net. The men bear up the nets by hand, hoisting them and the tuna up to a height at which the fish can be speared and hauled up into the bellies of the boats. The rite remains Arab to its core. Arab are the songs that the tonnaroti—those fishermen who hunt only tuna—sing as they wait for the nets to fill, as are the incantations they chant as they are heaving up the fish and, finally, Arab are the screams the tonnaroti scream as they kill them. We saw them take two hundred tuna in two hours—the fish averaging about seventy kilograms. Those the tonnaroti did not keep for themselves were ferried to Marsala for processing. A black-bearded colossus is Gioachino, his face crinkled by the Mediterranean sun, his enormous hands scraggy as an unsharp blade, of a family who, for twelve generations, has birthed men chosen by the Favignanesi to be il rais. The islanders bequeath the post on merit. The credentials, said Favignana’s mayor, are: courage, skill, strength, dignity, and honor. And it is the king himself who determines the duration of his reign. Gioachino told us he would remain il rais “finchè le mie forze mi sosterranno”—“while my forces remain uninjured.” In these last ninety-eight years, Gioachino is only the eighth rais of Favignana. This is the simple way he cooked tuna for us, the way he thinks it best. He always uses flesh from the female fish—hence, tunnina—for its more delicate savor, he told us. Il rais harvested the capers for the fish in his garden while we sipped at cold moscato.

While I’m not a fusion person, I do often find myself melding different cultures into a single dish. This chicken dish is a great example, drawing paprika and sherry from Spain, and dates, saffron, and couscous from Morocco. In place of Morrocan couscous in this dish I use fregola sarda, Sardinia’s answer to traditional couscous. Fregola sarda is made from hand-rolled balls of coarsely ground semolina. Although often called “Italian couscous,” its larger size and slightly toasted flavor distinguish it from its North African counterpart. It lends the dish a nutty flavor and chewy texture, and is the perfect accompaniment to soak up all the spiced broth and fragrant saffron onions. The final addition of sliced dates and fresh herbs gives this Mediterranean tagine a sweet finish.

This dish takes me back to Pantelleria, a tiny volcanic island in the Mediterranean, situated between North Africa and Sicily. Undeveloped and relatively untouched by the modern world, the island is famous for two things: the caper bushes that dominate the dry, brush-covered hillsides of the rocky coast, and resident Giorgio Armani. My husband and I spent a magical week in that salt-drenched haven, eating grilled, freshly caught tuna; bowls of couscous; and salads of tomatoes, potatoes, and capers. The grilled tuna and the combination of tomatoes and potatoes in this dish are a tribute to those leisurely days on Pantelleria. And though rouille isn’t part of their Moorish-meets-Italian culinary lexicon, I’m sure the Pantellerians would love this saffron-tinted, spicy pepper mayonnaise.

My very first chef position was at a twenty-eight-seat restaurant called Alloro, located in Boston’s very Italian North End. At that point in my career, my cooking experience was rooted mostly in French cuisine, but the owner didn’t seem to mind. When I asked him if I had to cook strictly Italian food, his answer was, “No, no, no! Cook whatever you want. We’ll just give it an Italian name.” The French bistro classic salmon with beluga lentils and red wine butter was abbreviated to “Salmone” on the menu, and other quasi-French dishes were likewise masked under short Italian names. The pasta dishes I made at Alloro also strayed from Italian tradition. For my version of the classic spaghetti alle vongole, I added generous amounts of onion, fennel, and olive oil, and sprinkled breadcrumbs toasted with thyme on top. I also finished the sauce with a spot of butter (the French influence again), which thickened and enriched it. In theory, I’m sure my version of spaghetti with clams would outrage purists in both the Italian and the French camps, but one bite ought to be enough to convince them they have lots to learn from each other. Though you might not think of it as such, the water in which you cook pasta is a valuable ingredient, in virtually any pasta recipe. Do your noodles seem a little dry once you’ve tossed them in the sauce? Rather than correcting the problem with stock (which can alter the flavor balance) or oil (which can add greasiness), add a little pasta water instead. Not only will it moisten the dish, but the starch in it (left from the cooking of the pasta) will also help bind the sauce to the noodles. Try it out; it works.

This classic recipe is a good way to highlight this nourishing green vegetable. The rich flavor of pine nuts and sweetness of raisins are surprising yet compatible in tandem with the spinach.

This flavorful warm salad can be made any time of year, its seasonal personality lent by either rosemary (for cooler months) or basil (for warmer weather). It’s a fairly substantial salad, so it’s good served with a straightforward protein dish like Tempeh Fries (page 78), Cornmeal-Crusted Seitan (page 63), or BBQ-Flavored Skillet Tofu (page 62).

A hot day, a big bunch of basil, and some great local tomatoes—all these came together a few summers ago to inspire a Mediterranean-flavored twist for tofu. This is a splendid main dish for warm summer evenings.

Pies and tarts filled with Swiss chard, pine nuts, and raisins are common in southern France and Italy, where they may be served for dessert, sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar or toasted almonds. Goat cheese and anchovies make this galette decidedly savory, while the crust departs from the standard with wholesome oats and whole-wheat flour.

This is a refreshing salad that gets a kick from garlic croutons and a creamy tang from the yogurt vinaigrette. It’s a simple Mediterranean classic that you will find served all along the coast from North Africa to Spain in the summer months, and is a great companion to The Greek balls (page 10).

When we opened the Shop, these Mediterranean balls were our first daily special. We were so busy that we didn’t get a chance to change it for three weeks, but nobody really complained because they were so delicious. People still get excited when we bring them back for a day or two. The raisins and walnuts give this ball a subtly sweet and earthy quality that complements the lamb. Make these into mini balls and pass them around at your next party. Just add toothpicks and Spinach-Basil Pesto (page 58) for dip. No sauce required. Or serve them over a bed of Braised Kale with Anchovies and Garlic (page 93) or Creamed Spinach (page 100).

Nowadays, dolmas are standard fare throughout the eastern Mediterranean and Caucasus. But it is interesting to ponder how they became so in ancient lands that never had New World ingredients until seafarers carried them to the Old World on their return journeys. To complicate the story, they put ashore in Atlantic ports, so it was still a long trek to get to the eastern Mediterranean. Nonetheless, they did, once again demonstrating the scope and power of food as a pathway of global interconnections. Adding a bed of potatoes as infrastructure in this dolma is a particularly Greek touch, and a good one. The potatoes soak up the juices rendered as the vegetables cook and collapse into them, making a crude sauce on the bottom of the dish. I prefer green bell peppers, but it seems these days red bells are equally, if not more, favored, so I make a mix of them, including some yellow and orange ones that add sunny color to the array.

Without doubt, stuffed grape leaves are one of my favorite foods. I even planted two Thompson seedless grapevines, the preferred variety for Armenian stuffed grape leaves, in my small urban garden, primarily to harvest their leaves rather than their fruit. Fortunately, you don’t have to be a weekend backyard gardener to have the grape leaves. Due to the influence of Greek, Turkish, Syrian, Lebanese, Georgian, and Armenian cuisines and their growing numbers in America, jarred grape leaves have become available in markets around the nation, even supermarkets. Because they are large and sturdy enough not to tear as you roll them, yet still supple, I prefer jarred leaves from California’s Central Valley, home to a large population of Armenian farmers who grow tomatoes for canning, fruit for drying, and grape leaves for brining. Some cooks recommend rinsing jarred leaves, but I don’t. I like the briny taste they impart.

Season: November to March. Preserved lemons have a strong association with Middle Eastern and North African cuisines, and their unique zesty, salty yet mellow flavor permeates many of the traditional meat and couscous dishes of those regions. Strips of preserved lemon can also be added to salads, soups, and dressings, or mixed with olives and other appetizers. They are exceptionally easy to prepare, and I like to make them around the turn of the year when the new season’s lemons from Spain and Italy are in the shops.

Orzo is the Italian word for barley, and the slender, grain-shape of orzo pasta makes for a no-fuss, neatly consumed salad, particularly if you are balancing a plate while perched on the edge of a sofa or standing around the TV watching the Super Bowl. Although the salad makes for a great accompaniment to the Stuffed Sliders Your Way, your vegetarian friends will thank you for providing them with an option they will really enjoy as their main dish.

This salad is a traditional way to use up day-old bread; the dressing softens the bread and makes it a little more palatable. You can use fresh bread, but stale bread will hold up better under the dressing (super-fresh bread has a tendency to fall apart).

This hearty salad is a near-constant in our deli case and a favorite among guests and staff . Although the beets are the star of the show, the pickled onions play an important supporting role, adding textural interest and a vinegary punch. At the store, we cook the beets by baking them whole, in a deep roasting pan with 1 inch of water. For a small, at-home quantity I suggest steaming. It’s faster because steam gets hotter than boiling water (which maxes out at 212°F) and uses less energy than turning on the oven. However, if you prefer to roast or boil your beets, feel free—the results will be just as tasty.

This salad is a delightful interplay of sweet, creamy, tangy, and peppery flavors. If you prefer, you can swap in ricotta salata or a mild feta for the ricotta; both are saltier than fresh ricotta, so skip the seasoning with zest, salt, and pepper. Apricots have but a brief appearance even at the peak of their season. If you miss them, you can substitute with any other stone fruit. White nectarines, peaches, pluots, or plums would be particularly nice. In the fall, sliced fuyu persimmons are perfect. Whatever fruit you use, just make sure it’s ripe and flavorful.

This salad is a wonderful way to venture into the world of raw squash. Using the truffle version of pecorino isn’t absolutely critical, but its earthiness is a fantastic counterpoint to the brighter flavors of squash and lemon juice. For best results, use the smallest, firmest, freshest squash you can find— they’re easier to grate and taste better than the more mature ones. And because this salad is so simple (almost minimalist), the quality of your olive oil really counts.

This entrée can easily be turned into a one-dish meal by serving it atop a bed of young escarole, sliced carrots, and shaved fennel—or any other hearty salad veggies—dressed with a little lemon juice and extra-virgin olive oil. This recipe will work well with other firm fish like swordfish.