Above: Tracie P’s Carbonara last night. To borrow an expression from Charles Scicolone, “I am blessed.”

“One of the things that is endlessly appealing about New York, for anyone with more than a passive interest in food,” wrote Craig Claiborne in the New York Times in 1965, “is a continual sense of discovery either in products or the environment in which they are sold. It may be a spice or a bread or a cheese in Brooklyn, Greenwich Village, the Lower East Side, but there is always the prospect of the unexpected.”

His words ring as true as if they were written yesterday, don’t they?

In this instance, he was writing about the pancetta at the “Salumeria Italiana, known in the neighborhood as Frank’s Pork Store, at 26 Carmine Street (near Bleecker Street and the Avenue of the Americas).”

Pancetta “is designed to be sliced paper thin and eaten as part of an antipasto or scrambled with eggs. The closest thing it may be said to resemble is prosciutto, and like prosciutto, it is delicious when draped over melon or figs and served as a first course. Mrs. Bocassi, the owner’s wife, commented recently that many Italians used pancetta to make spaghetti carbonara.”

Above: We paired with this Cesanese del Piglio by Cantina Macciocca, sent to us as a sample by importer Katell Pleven of the Vine Collective. In my experience, the Cesanese grape has the right spice to stand up to the intense flavors of Carbonara. I loved this wine by organic farmer and native yeaster Macciocca. Although a little hot with alcohol, it was fresh and meaty and its peppery notes sang with the Carbonara.

Carbonara has been on my mind after reading Brooklyn Guy’s recent and superb post and reflections on wine pairings and recipes.

(Here’s a link to my last post on Carbonara and its origins.)

The Claiborne passage above is significant not only because “Mrs. Bocassi, the owner’s wife, commented recently [in 1965] that many Italians used pancetta to make spaghetti carbonara,” but also for his observation that pancetta “is designed to be sliced paper thin and eaten as part of an antipasto or scrambled with eggs” (italics mine).

By the time he wrote this piece, Carbonara was already an immensely popular dish in the U.S., in part thanks to opera singers who mentioned it as their one of their favorite Italian dishes.

In an article published in 1962 entitled, “A Diva’s Proper Interest in Pleasures of the Table,” Claiborne wrote of soprano Eileen Farrell that “Miss Farrell speaks with warmth, however, of spaghetti carbonara.” It’s one of the earliest mentions of Carbonara, the dish, that I can find in the Times.

I’ve also found an instance where soprano Birgit Nilsson mentions it as a favorite Italian dish.

Above: Most Passerina comes from Abruzzo but this one, a 2011 by Macciocca, is raised in Latium (Lazio) in the township of Frosinone (Frusinate in dialect). It’s an example of the viticultural connection between Abruzzo and Latium, a relationship that’s even more evident in the regions’ gastronomic ties. This wine took a moment to open up and show its true colors but we both thought it was delicious once it did. Great acidity, balanced fruit, and a nice minerality that you don’t expect in Passerina.

I’ve never met an Italian who scrambles eggs with pancetta. And I was surprised by Claiborne’s observation.

Is it possible that Carbonara could be the child of American influence not via American soldiers (as some have speculated) but via opera singers who wanted eggs and bacon when they traveled to Rome to perform?

(Pancetta is Italian for cured pork belly, the equivalent of bacon.)

Browsing the Times archive for the word carbonara, I also came across a number of obituaries for persons named Carbonara.

It occurred to me that Carbonara, while not among the most common, is a relatively common surname, probably originating in Apulia (Puglia).

Then I started thinking about the wave of Apulian immigrants who came to New York in the 1950s and 60s (hence the prevalence of the surname in New York during those decades).

Could this be one of the elements that will help us to unfold the mystery of the origins of Carbonara?

One thing is for certain, the dish Spaghetti [alla] Carbonara appears for the first time in the post-war era (see my research here), when dried pasta became a popular dish in Rome and later throughout Italy (yes, it’s that recent).

Could the dish be the result of migratory influence and contamination coupled with the influx of American celebrities in the years after the second world war?

Either way, I’m glad that Brooklyn Guy got us thinking about it because Tracie P’s Carbonara is always delicious.

This is what we do at our house after Georgia P goes to bed: we make food, we open wine, and then we spend the better part of the evening talking about it. I am truly blessed.

Dulcis in fundo: yesterday, Italian wine maven Charles Scicolone posted about his recent trip to Italy, calling the Carbonara at Roscioli “the best in Rome.” His post includes a photo.

Above: Georgia P was the star of the dining room last night at the Osteria al Cacciatore.

The Italian expression alla cacciatora is actually a relatively ancient one.

Many would have you believe that it denotes as per the hunter’s custom.

Above: 1/4 liter of gently sparkling white, most likely Verdiso; 1/4 liter of red, mostly likely Raboso, traditional table wines in the province of Treviso.

In fact, it means roughly or coarsely [dressed] (it begins to appear in Italian as an adverbial phrase by the mid-eighteenth century).

There’s no doubt that it comes from the word caccia meaning hunt (from the Latin capere, to seize), akin to the English chase.

Above: Housemade salumi, so rich in flavor (and fat) but not overbearing on the palate.

But when Artusi canonized the recipe pollo alla cacciatora (chicken stewed with red wine and tomatoes) toward the end of the nineteenth century, he surely perceived the meaning of its designation as roughly dressed (and not in the style of the hunter; like a hunter is a more apt translation).

Above: The pasticcio (layered pasta and ragù pie) was one of the dishes I most looked forward to. It didn’t disappoint.

When you make your way to the Osteria al Cacciatore in the village of Zuel di Qua (literally, the hill over here, as opposed to the Zuel di Là, the hill over there, in the township of Cison di Valmarino in the heart of Proseccoland), there’s just a small sign to alert you the presence of a restaurant in the house on the side of the wine country road. You’d think it were just a private home if not for the cars parked outside.

Above: Tracie P craved steak last night. Beef in the Veneto is excellent and the meat had a wonderful sweetness that balanced its savory char.

There’s no menu. And there’s no wine list.

Owner Maria Gusatto’s daughter simply comes over to the table and asks what would you like tonight?

Above: Spit-roasted rabbit and chicken. This was my splurge meal of the trip. The sage leaves were seared into the skin of the rabbit and the bones were so juicy you could crunch them between your teeth.

Georgia P put on quite a floor show: she’s just begun walking and insisted on marching around the restaurant like a drunken sailor.

When I apologized to one lovely older couple for the nuisance, the lady said, non sono i piccoli che danno fastidio… sono i grandi (it’s not the little ones that are bothersome… it’s the big ones).

Above: The white polenta was so tender and light but firm to the bite.

The chef added: when they’re little you wish you could eat them up… when they grow up, you regret not having eaten them.

Osteria al Cacciatore is the type of place where people speak in proverbs.

Above: The beans are cooked gently with white onions. We had to take them away from Georgia P… she couldn’t stop eating them and neither could we.

Our bill? €51.

I handed Mrs. Gusatto a 50-Euro bill and a 1-Euro coin. She said, “50 Euros are plenty. May I offer you a coffee or a digestif?”

Thanks, again, to Riccardo Zanotto, who first brought us here. I can’t recommend it highly enough…