Local Flavor - Coda alla vaccinara

The first time I ate oxtail stew, I was 7 months pregnant and it was July in Rome, meaning it was an uncomfortable, sticky 100 degrees farenheit (40 c). I was squished on a bench in a small, no-frills enoteca, where I feasted on slow cooked oxtail with my hands, trying hard not to drip any on my large watermelon of a belly. It was so good I forgot fleetingly about how hot I was, and ignored momentarily the fact that there was not enough room in my stomach to finish this delicious dish. I persevered.

Some months ago, I changed butchers. I loved my old butcher Sergio, but I found another establishment much closer to home. These guys won my heart with their story of three generations of butchers, and they seemed eager to answer all my questions about cooking their traditional dishes. When I asked for help, they jumped at the chance and started writing down recipes. I tell them how sad I'll be to leave, how I'll never be able to replace them in America. I know my native country is known for customer service, but these guys dish it out with such heart, such authenticity. Meet the Loiodice men, Mario, Aldo and Daniele.

Of all the Loiodice family recipes, I began with the oxtail stew. They told me to roll up my sleeves because it must be eaten without fork or knife, just a piece of bread to mop up the sauce. The sauce itself is abundant, so they suggested I serve it, for a different meal, over ridged rigatoni- which was an excellent suggestion. Because the sauce simmers slowly for three hours, it's chock full of the meaty flavor, although the meat stays attached to the bone, so essentially you've got a rich tomato sauce that stands on its own. There are many different versions of this dish, and Aldo tells me this one is an authentic Roman version- you really get all of the flavor of the meat without a lot of interference. I am intrigued by some other versions I've read about, and I will be trying another version soon with chocolate and cinnamon, and I promise to let you know how that one goes.

Coda alla Vaccinara

For four people

The secret to this dish is to simmer it on very low heat for three hours and periodically check it and turn the pieces of meat over in the sauce. It's hardly any work for huge pay off, that is if you don't mind eating "tail." This dish is generally prepared in advance and reheated. Convenient, yes, but also richer in flavor the next day. If you're like me and love to eat with your hands, you'll enjoy this. Would I be crazy if I likened oxtail to candy?

One oxtail, around 4 lbs, cut into pieces

olive oil

2 carrots

1 celery stalk

1 onion

1 1/4 cups white wine

1 lb tomato puree

salt

pepper

Rinse the pieces of oxtail, then pat dry with a clean dish towel and salt and pepper them. Throw the carrots, celery and onion into a food processor and process until you have tiny pieces. In a large, heavy bottomed pan, heat the olive oil and brown each piece of ox tail over medium to high heat. Do this in batches until each is nicely browned. Remove them to a plate and heat a bit more oil in the pan. Add the vegetables and cook over medium heat for about 5 minutes. Put the meat back into the pan and turn the heat up slighlty. Add the white wine and cook on hight heat for 3 minutes. Add the tomato puree, lower heat and cover. Simmer over low heat for about 3 hours, stirring occasionally.

Local Flavor

We all know Italy is famous for food, but today on the street, I found flavor of a different kind. This is just a sampling of the little morsels of local flavor, sometimes spicy, sometimes sweet, that I encounter on a daily basis. Enjoy.

Stop one: While waiting at the butcher shop today, the old woman in front of me asked for "macinato," ground beef. "Fresh," she said to the butcher, "like you." "I was born nice," he retorted, "but as I grew I got fresh, it happens..."

Stop two: As I approached my salumeria where I buy my cheeses, salami, fresh pasta, odds and ends, I could see Danilo the owner leaning over his counter, his face pursed into a serious scowl, his arms gesticulating madly, screaming at a small old lady who barely moved. I stopped the stroller outside of the store, hesitated before going in. He saw me, stopped for a moment and then continued his tirade. I waited patiently outside the door until he got it all out (he ended it with "Okaaayyy? Ciao") at which point I thought the little lady would be leaving, but she stayed put. I entered, pushing Roman and timidly asked for porcini mushrooms for a soup and cantucci to serve with my vin santo. He turns to speak to the woman, "Mamma," he says, "this lady is American but she speaks French to her son." Internal voice: "Oh my gosh, that's his mother he was screaming at! And she just stood there and took it??" Later he tells me they stole his motorcycle outside his house, and you know, "the motorcycle is more important than a wife," he tells me trying to justify his behavior and rage.

Stop three: Fruit stand. "Do you know where I can find fresh bay leaf?" "Bay leaf? Do you know what it is? It's growing everywhere. Just go and pick it behind the church."

Stop four: Caffè and cornetto (like a croissant) at our usual stop. This time Roman wants half my cornetto, and I oblige. In walks a grandma pushing her 11 month old grandson in a stroller. "How old?" she asks me, "14 months," I say. She proceeds to sit and spoon feed him a jar of bland, tasteless vegetables. "I don't let him have cornetto and bread, all these schifezze" (nasty things) she says. Internal voice: "You should see Roman eating his broccoli stalks and thai chicken curry cooked in coconut milk with sweet potato. Schifezze, my son?! Never. Just real food."