Some words from Puglia

mussels and bitter greens and pasta, oh my

Hello from Italy! For this dispatch, instead of a recipe, I thought I’d give you all a little peek into what I’ve been up to and what I’ve been eating, in case you’re into that kind of thing.

For those who don’t know, my partner Ale is from the bottom of the heel of the boot, from a stunning little city called Lecce that’s filled with baroque architecture crafted from soft limestone. Lecce is situated in a sub-region of Puglia called Salento, a flat, rugged terrain of dry fields studded with little villages and groves of olive trees. It’s surrounded by crystal clear turquoise waters, with a mix of sweeping sandy beaches and rocky swimming coves and ports. Its people are warm and gruff and charming, and its food is simple and delicious. Salento is perfectly imperfect and it has my heart.

Every summer, we come to visit Ale’s parents for a few weeks at their home in Lecce. Our first week here was pretty hectic, because we had some friends come to visit and were busy playing tour guide. We swam in caves, we jumped off rocks, we cruised on boats, we ate pizzas seaside, we drank much wine, a good time was had. Last week, we attended not one but two Italian weddings and caught up with family and friends. And in the time since, we’ve settled into a slower pace. Ale’s been working New York hours, and I’ve mostly been focused on spending time with his parents and relaxing into the Italian rhythm. Morning trips to the grocery store for daily provisions, making pasta for lunch, luxurious afternoon naps, reading, long walks, hosting family and friends for dinners on the terrace, eating abundant watermelon or peaches after every meal. 

There’s a laid back ease to Italian home cooking that brings me so much joy. The day we arrived, Ale’s mom set out a dreamy dinner: a heaping bowl of broccoli rabe (one of my very favorite vegetables, and also an important element of Puglia’s cuisine)—and not just any broccoli rabe, but one of many batches that she cooked down and froze for us in January, when it was at its peak—along with a giant ball of absurdly fresh and milky mozzarella, a pile of prosciutto crudo, and some bread. After a long day of travel, this was an ideal grazing situation. It’s also a meal that exemplifies Ale’s mom’s warm, casual hospitality. She wasn’t fussing over the stove all day, but she served us delicious food. And if bulk-cooking the best broccoli rabe of the season and saving it for us to enjoy in summertime isn’t love, I don’t know what is. 

Since then, we’ve cooked pasta with burst cherry tomatoes (here they call this scattarisciati, but more on that another time), whole sea bream filled with sliced lemon and garlic and roasted to succulent perfection, spaghetti with so many mussels, swordfish steaks with cherry tomatoes and black olives, eggplant parmigiana packed with meaty ragù, and pounds of chicories boiled until super tender and dressed with abundant olive oil and a little vinegar. Plus, it wouldn’t be a trip to Salento without eating pasticciotto—an oval-shaped short crust pastry filled with vanilla pastry cream—or without drinking way too much espresso on ice, or sipping spritzes while snacking on tarallini and tiny black olives, or eating at least a few bites of delicately fried seafood, among many many other tasty things.

One of my favorite things about spending time in Italy is that little culinary discoveries pop up around every corner. Start asking questions about food and you will get people talking. A friend’s father heard that I was a cook and sat me down at the beach to tell me about his recipe for broccoli rabe (which, for the record, varies considerably from how Ale’s family makes it, thanks to the addition of lots of thinly sliced sautéed onion—I will have to give it a try.) I got to watch a friend of the family make another local dish that I cannot wait to try to replicate at home. At least in Lecce’s dialect, it’s called tajeddhra, and it’s a baked dish of mussels, rice, potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and zucchini topped with breadcrumbs and grated cheese. The rice steams in the shells with reserved liquid from the mussels, the veggies get so perfumed and tender, the top gets all crunchy—it’s rustic and comforting and total heaven.

Even attending a wedding introduced me to a regional dish I’d never heard of before. The wedding brought us on a lengthy road trip up the Adriatic coast into another region of Italy, Le Marche, to a Medieval village set on an incredibly (inconveniently) steep hill. At the reception, as part of a massive aperitivo spread of little fried treats and all sorts of fish and meats and vegetables, I was introduced to frascarelli, a creamy, slightly clumpy porridge, kind of like polenta but made from flour. We ate it topped with a deliciously punchy ragù of baccalà with tomatoes and capers. Then I remembered that we were at an Italian wedding and would still have to sit down to a four-course dinner, and I became overwhelmed. But don’t worry, we made it through all the courses and another seven hours of revelry. And the next day, slightly hungover at an Italian rest stop, a warm arancino nearly saved my life. 

Next, I’m heading to Tuscany to meet up with my family, where I know even more culinary inspo awaits. I’m feeling lucky to be here and so grateful to you for reading. I’m looking forward to returning to a busy fall in New York and I can’t wait to keep building this little newsletter. I’ll start sharing regular recipes with you all again soon. If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see from me, please feel free to reach out!

Arrivederci, more soon,

Megan