The origins of Sugo alla puttanesca?

puttanesca9bAbove: spaghetti alla puttanesca. There’s one thing we can all agree on: “sugo alla puttanesca” (literally “whoreish sauce”) is made with tomatoes, olives, capers, salt-cured anchovies, garlic, and chili flakes (give or take an ingredient or two). There’s no questioning that it tastes good.

In the wake of my post-new-year’s eve post “Taittinger alla puttanesca”, fellow bloger Marco wrote me, collegially questioning my belief that “sugo alla puttanesca” should not be attributed to prostitutes or their culinary preferences. I promised Marco that I would do some more research and another post. Here’s what I found:

1) the earliest text to reference pasta “alla puttanesca” cited by the Grande dizionario della lingua italiana (edited by Salvatore Battaglia) is Raffaele La Capria’s 1961 novel Ferito a morte (translated as The Mortal Wound, 1962).

2) according to a study commissioned by the Unione Industriali Pastai Italiani (Italian Pasta-Makers Union), pasta “alla puttanesca” first became popular in Italy during the 1960s.

3) a search in The New York Times electronic archive revealed that the first mention of “puttanesca” sauce in the paper was made on January 28, 1972 by restaurant reviewer Jean Hewitt in her review of Trattoria da Alfredo (then located at 90 Bank street): “spaghetti Puttanesca [sic], which has a tantalizing tomato, garlic, anchovy and black olive sauce.”

4) in her landmark tome on Neapoitan cuisine, La cucina napoletana (1977), Jeanne Carola Francesconi attributes the creation of sugo alla puttanesca to Ischian painter Eduardo Maria Colucci (1900-1975) who — according to Francesconi — concocted “vermicelli alla puttanesca” as an adaptation of alla marinara or “seaside-style” sauce.

But the definitive albeit anecdotal answer to this conundrum may lie in an article published by Annarita Cuomo in the Ischia daily, Il golfo, in February, 2005: “Il sugo ‘alla puttanesca’ nacque per caso ad Ischia, dall’estro culinario di Sandro Petti,” “Puttanesca sauce was born by accident in Ischia, the child of Sandro Petti’s culinary flair.”

According to Cuomo, sugo alla puttanesca was invented in the 1950s by Ischian jet-setter Sandro Petti, co-owner of Ischia’s famed restaurant and nightspot, the “Rancio Fellone.”* When asked by his friends to cook for them one evening, Petti found his pantry bare. When he told his friends that he had nothing to cook for them, they responded by saying “just make us a ‘puttanata qualsiasi,'” in other words, “just make us whatever crap” you have (see my original post for a definition of the Italian puttanata).

“All I had was four tomatoes, a couple of capers, and some olives,” Petti told Cuomo. “So I used them to make the sauce for the spaghetti.” Petti then decided to include the dish on the menu at the Rancio Fellone but “spaghetti alla puttanata didn’t sound right. So I called it [spaghetti] alla puttanesca.”**

Petti’s anecdote is probably tenable but is by no means exhaustive (from a philological point of view). To make matters worse, Colucci was Petti’s uncle and it’s unclear why Francesconi attributes the dish to the painter. But philology is an inexact science: the origin of sugo alla puttanesca probably lies some where between the isle of Ischia and the Amalfitan coast, where tomatoes, capers, olives, anchovies, and garlic are ingredients of choice. It’s clear that the dish emerged sometime after World War II when tomato-based sauces grew in popularity among the Italian middle class. My philological sensibility leads me to favor the “puttanata/puttanesca” theory over any other and there is no evidence — at least that I can find — that points to prostitution as the origin of the dish.***

There’s one thing we can all agree on: sugo alla puttanesca tastes good.

* A rancio fellone is a sea spider or spiny crab, a common ingredient in Mediterranean cuisine.

** Like the French à la, the Italian expression “alla” (the preposition a + the definite article la) denotes “in the style of” or “after the fashion of” and is always followed by an adjective (not a noun); alla puttanesca sounded better to Petti because puttanesca is an adjective (while puttanata is a noun).

*** In his Naples at Table (1998), the otherwise venerable but hardly philologically minded Arthur Schwartz reports a number of apocryphal etymologies whereby Neapolitan prostitutes are indicated — in one way or another — as the originators of this dish. He even goes as far as to write that a seemingly celebrated nineteenth-century courtesan, Yvette “La Francese” (Yvette the French [prostitute]), a native of Provence, may have created the dish to assuage her homesickness. The fact that the dish emerged during the 1950s would seem to dispel any romantic notions of pasta alla puttanesca in nineteenth-century Neapolitan bordellos. Brothels were outlawed in Italy in 1958.

Puro and Unfiltered at Jean-Georges

Jean-Georges, the best deal in town? You betcha… $28 lunch menu includes appetizer, entrée, chocolates, nougat, and petits fours. And get this: no jacket required, although I was wearing one, of course (the day I was there, a large group of tourists was seated wearing a mishmash of windbreakers, sweaters, and sweatshirts).

Above: river trout sashimi with sea trout roe, and dill and lemon purée, paired with Movia’s Puro Rosato 1999, at Jean-Georges, NYC.

A business lunch meeting took me the other day to one of New York City’s top dining destinations, Jean-Georges, the Michelin-starred and storied restaurant in the Trump Tower on Central Park West.

Above: bay scallops with roast cauliflower and caper-raisin emulsion.

I must confess I was surprised: who knew that lunch at Jean-Georges cost only $28? A great deal. But an even better surprise was a bottle of Movia’s Puro Rosato 1999 at a reasonable price.

Radically natural in style and in conception, his wines are not for everyone and his Puro is no exception (it’s a classic-method Pinot Noir vinified as a white and rosé, as in this case). Movia doesn’t disgorge the wine before release because he believes — rightly — that leaving the sediment (the yeast left over after the second fermentation) enhances its flavor. When a bottle is opened, it has be disgorged on the spot (see video below) and thus retains a lot of the flavor that would otherwise be lost if the bottle were disgorged at the winery.

Above: the sommelier didn’t know how to disgorge the wine and so I asked her to decant it. I love the color of this wine and it was great with the sediment at the bottom of the decanter.

I’ve tasted the white Puro and liked it as well, but the rosé is simply fantastic. When you taste a natural wine like that and experience its natural fruit flavors (in this case, a beautiful note of grapefruit), you just can’t put it down. Frankly, I liked the mouthfeel that the sediment gave the wine and its acidity was a perfect match for the tartness of the lemon and dill purées accompanying the sea trout and the intense flavors of the caper-raisin emulsion drizzled over the scallops. I could drink this wine every day.

Above: the sweat breads were skewered with licorice sticks and served with grilled pear (I paired with a glass of 2001 Vosne-Romanée by Mommessin).

Too bad that all of life’s surprises can’t be as good as $28 for a three-Michelin-star lunch.

Do try this at home… I found the video below demonstrating how to open and disgorge a bottle of Movia’s Puro. Keep in mind that you have to store the bottle upside-down so that the sediment settles into the neck of the bottle.

One more from the road: posoles…

I promise this is the last installment of my Mexican culinary adventures.

Above: a bowl of posoles, a traditional Mexican soup, made with pork and hominy, topped with shredded lettuce, sliced radish, and a small dollop of homemade salsa, and garnished with a crispy tortilla.

Monday evening was family dinner at Micah and Marguerite’s (my brother and sister-in-law’s place) where we enjoyed a piping-hot bowl of posoles prepared by their friend Lucia. I was stuffed after the first serving but couldn’t resist a second helping. From the Nahuatl pozolli meaning “stew” or maize-based drink, the term posole dates back to eighteenth-century Mexico.

In other news…

I’ve been following this interesting thread at Vinography.com on vigilantism in the e-commerce world of retail wine sales in the U.S. It seems that a certain online retailer has been reporting other smaller retailers for shipping wine over state lines. The minutiae might bore you but the original post provides background on the anachronistic legislation governing interstate wine commerce in the U.S.

I don’t know how long this link will be available (before you have to pay for it) but someone just forwarded me this article on interstate wine sales in The Los Angeles Times. I guess it had to come to a head sooner or later… The sad part is the consumer is the loser here…

In other other news…

I was pleased to find this reference to my blog on Veronelli.com (in Italian). Here’s the original post.

Southwestern Mexican Culinary Adventures

Indulge me with my indulgences: a photo reportage of my trip out west and what I ate…

Grilled yellow peppers at Mexicali Taco in El Centro, California (no link, sorry; see location info below).

Tacos al carbon are wrapped in butcher paper at Mexicali. The slow-roasted pork was tangy and delicate. So good…

The fresh salsa bar at Mexicali. When I stopped there at lunch, they were replenishing the condiments and the grilled peppers were still warm.

Mexicali Taco catapulted itself to the top of my “best Mexican restaurants ever” list. Definitely worth a trip to El Centro. Mexicali Tacos, 2003 S 4th St, El Centro, CA 92243, (760) 353-4505.

A hot dog “estilo sonoro” (Sonoran style) at El Güero Canelo, Tucson, AZ (“The Blond Redhead,” not to be confused with one of my favorite bands, Blonde Redhead). The Sonoran-style hot dog (perrito caliente) is wrapped in bacon, cooked on a griddle, and then topped with pinto beans, finely diced tomatoes, yellow mustard, relish, and mayonnaise.

The griddle for El Güero Canelo’s awesome Sonoran dogs.

The garnish at El Güero Canelo includes grilled spring onions, sliced cucumber, sliced radish, pickled onions, and roast peppers.

El Güero Canelo now has a second location in North Tucson but I went to the original in South Tucson, near the airport, where his old taco stand is still used to make the Sonoran dogs (above).

A visit to a bar — somewhere in the Sonoran desert — was rewarded with a “Michelada,” made with Clamato, Corona, Worchestershire Sauce, and lime juice. I am not a fan of Corona, which tastes more like water than beer to me, but it was great in the Michelada. Tasty and refreshing…

Saguaro cactus (Carnegiea gigantea) in the Ironwood Forest National Monument.

I had a late-night snack of homemade menudo (tripe and hominy soup, topped with freshly dished onion and chopped cilantro, not to be confused with my not-so-favorite band). It was leftover from a New Year’s day celebration (Mexican families traditionally eat menudo for breakfast on New Year’s day).

A bowl of homemade posoles, a traditional Mexican soup, made with pork and hominy, topped with shredded lettuce, sliced radish, and a small dollop of homemade salsa, and garnished with a crispy tortilla.

Traditional pan dulce (literally “sweet bread”) which I didn’t get to taste but I photographed nonetheless (it’s usually served for breakfast with coffee).

Back in La Jolla, I had a classic “wet” carne asada burrito at Alfonso’s, one of the old-school Mexican restaurants (probably inspired by El Cholo in Los Angeles, founded 1923) where the comfort food will cure even the most dogged hangover and the margaritas are always great. Alfonso’s, 1251, Prospect St, La Jolla, CA 92037, (858) 454-2232.

They don’t kid around at La Valencia where the huevos rancheros truly “drown” in ranchero sauce. La Valencia is a 1920s, silent-movie era luxury hotel. I wouldn’t exactly call the cuisine “cutting-edge” but it’s always dependable and the views and décor are fantastic. When in town, I can often be found at the hotel’s Whaling Bar at the end of the night.

Sunset in La Jolla. Thanks for indulging me by reading this post (if you’ve made it this far!).

A New and Important Wine Blogger

One of voices I respect most in oenocyberspace, Eric Lecours, weighed in over the weekend with this comment and clarification on my recent post about La Chablisienne:

“Great choice…La Chablisienne produces excellent wines at great prices. The producer is actually a cooperative, considered by many to be the best in France. Despite escalating prices, I find Chablis itself is an excellent value in general. I recently ran across a Domaine (not négociant) Fevre ‘04 Grand Cru Preuses @ 35 euros in Beaune. That level of quality requires 2x+ the price in the Côte de Beaune.

(The best cooperative in the world however…Produttori del Barbaresco, of course).”

I couldn’t agree more with Eric that Produttori del Barbaresco is the “best cooperative in the world” (those of you who read my blog regularly know that it’s one of my all-time favorite producers).

It’s great to know that there are still some good values in Burgundy (especially in the light of the Euro’s rising value).

But the best news is that Eric has published a new blog called The Burgundy Journal. Eric is currently working with Étienne Grivot (of Jean Grivot) in Vosne-Romanée and his insights into the current state of Burgundian winemaking are riveting. His blog will quickly become required reading for a wide swath of Burgundy lovers and wine writers. Check it out…

Chablis by the Sea

Above: a classic Southern California Caesar salad, tossed tableside on a guéridon by Meliton Lescana at The Marine Room in La Jolla, CA – a relic of Cold-War-era “continental” dining (click image for animation).

A trip home for New Year’s conjured up nostalgia of growing up in a sleepy seaside community where the waves are big and the beach is your backyard. Besides an excellent dinner at my mom’s (braised brisket, roast potatoes, and wilted spinach with a López de Heredia Viña Tondoñia 1999 that I found on sale at the local BevMo), great sushi (So. Cal. has some of the best in my book), and a bevy of burritos, tacos, tostadas, and flautas (look for a post next week on Mexican culinary adventures), we made a trip down to The Marine Room in the La Jolla Shores, a blue-blazer, khaki-pants-and-docksiders restaurant that sits right on the beach with floor-to-ceiling waterfront windows.

Above: 2002 Montmain (Premier Cru) by La Chablisienne. Sommelier Jeff Hoover surprised and impressed me with a list that offered some options to those of us who cannot drink barriqued Chardonnay. The shrimp cocktail is no longer on the menu but they made it for me anyway.

The once strictly “continental” menu has undergone some changes since I was a kid and although the surf and turf still makes an appearance (at $70+), most of the classics have been replaced by things like the “Mulberry Kalbi Glazed Organic Pompano,” which I ordered.

The pleasant surprise was the wine list. I wasn’t expecting to find a lot of things that I could drink and indeed the list was comprised mostly of heavily oaked Chardonnay, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon (for the most part, Marine Room diners get what they deserve: at the table behind ours, I heard a gentlewoman pontificate about wine, extolling the virtues of Merlot, which, she informed her companions, “is a blend”). But after leafing through the heavy-handed California chapters of the list, I was relieved to find one of my all-time favorite Chablis producers, La Chablisienne.

Chablisienne makes traditional-style wines that show the characteristic minerality of distinctive Chablis. The wines are very reasonably priced: the premier crus generally retail for less than $30 and the Petit Chablis and Chablis AOCs can come in under $16. I had never tried the Montmain Premier Cru and it went great with a jumbo shrimp cocktail (the latter doesn’t appear on the menu anymore but can still be ordered). I just love these wines…

We also drank a 375 ml of Guigal’s 2003 Condrieu, a 100% Viognier that definitely sees some time in barrique (about a third of the wine was vinified and aged in new wood according his website). It was unctuous and rich, perfect for the Pompano and the fruity flavors of its sauce.

The Marine Room isn’t cheap, the food is somewhat affected and slightly tired, but the views and the Cold-War-era feel are worth every penny (that you don’t put in your loafers).

Above: an image of the Marine Room, battered by the surf in 1949. The Marine Room sits right on the beach and has been closed numerous times over the years because of weather damage. It’s not cheap but the views are worth it. The night I was there, sandpipers scurried and danced across La Jolla Shores beach like ballerinas.

New Year’s Eve: Taittinger alla puttanesca

Above: brother Tad poses with a magnum of Taittinger La Française and his puttanesca sauce.

The Parzen family brought in the New Year at Tad and Diane’s (my brother and sister-in-law’s) house, where we opened a magnum of Taittinger N[on V[intage] La Française.

Many people drink and think of Champagne solely as a stand-alone, special-occasion wine but it’s one of my favorite “food” wines: when it’s well made, it has good acidity, fruit, and body, and it’s arguably the most versatile wine in terms of its pairing possibilities. We drank the wine throughout our meal and it went great with Tad’s pear wedges (topped with “Maytag” blue and wrapped in prosciutto and arugula), an artichoke and cheese dip (brought by one of the guests), and even Tad’s spicy puttanesca sauce.*

Wine in large format (in this case a magnum or 1.5-liter bottle) is always fun to pour at parties and Champagne in particular shows better when aged in large format (experts haven’t really been able to pinpoint the reason for this but it likely has something to do with the fact that wine generally ages better in large quantities, probably because the oxygen-to-liquid ratio is reduced). The wine was drinking beautifully and paired wonderfully with everything — from the antipasti to ice cream cake and cookies.

My nephew Cole and I had spent the afternoon writing and recording a song using GarageBand. He was impressed by the size of the bottle and so I gave him some pointers on opening Champagne (his father noted it’s a skill that proves useful later in lafe):

– always have a serviette or clean dish towel handy (to wipe down the bottle and in case of spills)
– after you’ve removed the capsule by pulling the ribbon counter-clockwise, always keep your thumb over the cork as you twist the wire (in case it pops; the wire twists away from you and it always takes six turns to remove it)
– make sure the bottle isn’t pointing at anyone (in case it pops)
– tilt the bottle at a 45° angle, hold the cork firmly, place your thumb over the cork, and then slowly twist the bottle from the bottom as you gently apply pressure to pull out the cork

Above: December’s Children at Beaumont’s in Bird Rock (La Jolla) — Justin Richert, Danny Baker (left), John Yelenosky (center), Andrew Harvey, and Irwin (right).

The strike of midnight found me at a local bar, Beaumont’s, where I sat in with December’s Children.

I’ve known and played music with these dudes since I was a teenager. Each of them is a excellent musician in his own right. Danny Baker has got a great voice and his Les Paul Gold Top sounds great (I believe it’s a 57 reissue). My doppelganger Jeremy Farson, an accomplished painter, also sat in (if you click the link, scroll down the page to read about Jeremy).

I rocked out on Voodoo Child and Come On (Let the Good Times Roll) — a great way to ring in 2008 (which has got to be better than 2007!).

* Contrary to popular belief, pasta alla puttanesca is not so-named because it was or is the preferred victual of prostitutes (a common but erroneous folkloric etymology, owed to the fact that puttana means “prostitute” in contemporary Italian). The noun puttana and the adjective puttanesco are derived from the Italian putto (Latin, putus), “boy.” By the sixteenth-century (long before tomatoes and dried pasta were popular in Italian cuisine), the term puttanesco was already used in Italian to denote something belonging to a “lesser station in life,” so to speak, “boyish” or “girlish” or even “whoreish,” if you like. Pasta alla puttanesca is a pasta tossed in a tomato-sauce that has been flavored typically with cured anchovies, olives, capers, and chili flakes: the qualifier alla puttanesca refers to the fact that it is not a rich dish. In other words, it’s not a meat sauce or a sauce flavored with stock. It’s a dressing for pasta made savory by combining “humble” ingredients (another related word, puttanata means “rubbish” or “crap” in Italian, as in the expression, non dire puttanate, “don’t talk crap,” and has nothing to do with prostitutes). A meretrix may enjoy eating pasta alla puttanesca, but the dish wasn’t named after her.

Check out the follow-up post I did on Sugo alla puttanesca.

Although she makes a brief reference to it in her entry “Pasta Sauces,” Gillian Riley, author of the recently published Oxford Companion to Italian Food (October, 2007), does not offer an entry for pasta alla puttanesca. I’ve been leafing through the book during my trip out west…

What They Drank for Christmas

Above: Dan Crane (aka Jean-Luc Retard) found this 1976 Heitz Cellars at his mom and step-dad’s place in Napa. The label reads “Alcohol 13% by Volume.” Today, most Napa Cabernets weigh in at a minimum 14.5% (current vintages of Heitz report 14.4% and 14.5% — I checked around at a few grocery stores and pharmacies).

I know I said I’d be taking a break from the blog and I promise that I will. But I couldn’t resist posting today: so many of friends wrote me to tell me the wines they drank for Christmas eve.

Top entry had to be Uli Wiesendanger (Verena aka Céline Dijon’s father) who opened a 1970 and 1979 Château La Lagune (3rd growth) at their home in the 6th.

“The cork of the 1970 Château de la Lagune broke,” writes Uli this morning, “and I had to decant the bottle. The 1979 came out beautifully. Both wines had a certain sharpness (slight acidity?) and were very light (elegant?). Not tired at all.”



Above: Trader Joe’s 2006 “Reserva” Cabernet Sauvignon from Chile in Winnetka, CA.

Greg Wawro (aka Professeur Harry Covert) writes in from Winnetka, California where he drank a Trader Joe’s 2006 Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon “Reserva.” He didn’t send any tasting notes: a picture, they say, tells a thousand words. I don’t know how you can call a wine from the 06 vintage a reserva but I’m sure he and his family had a nice holiday (I imagine Greg was pining for a 1967 Barolo that we opened recently together).

Greg adds: “Fortunately, I was able to find a 2003 Produttori del Barbaresco at the local BevMo (the last one they had!)” (click to read his subsequent comment).

Above: Me? I drank a 1997 Billecart-Salmon with friends in the Cognac Room at Astor Court (in the St. Regis Hotel). Billecart-Salmon is more famous for its rosé Champagne and it’s hard to find their blanc de blancs. It drank beautifully and even the natural-wine fanatics among us were impressed with this seemingly dosage-free Champagne (i.e., a Champagne to which no or very little sugar was added for the second fermentation). Astor Court has an amazing Champagne list, including a vertical of R[ecently] D[isgorged] Bollinger and the ultra-hard-to-find Selosse (at $500 a bottle, the latter was a little too steep for my tastes).

Above: Then came 2005 Domaine de la Pépière Granite de Clisson Muscadet in magnum with oysters at my favorite steakhouse, Keen’s.

War Is Over if You Want It

Photo credit: Heather Bowden, La Jolla Local, December 2008.

Thankfully, I’m getting out of town for a while. I can’t reveal where I’m heading but my destination may look like the holiday card I received from a high school classmate Heather Bowden, a graphic designer and photographer.

Thanks to everyone for reading and clicking the blog this year. The 2007 vintage was a tough one for me: special thanks to my family and friends who have stood by me and lent me their support and love. I couldn’t have done it without “a little help from my friends [and family].”

I’ll be taking a little break for the next week or so but check back after the New Year for tales of my travels (and a big surprise that will be announced in early ’08).

If you want it, War is over now…

*****

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
Ans so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let’s hope it’s a good one
Without any fear
And so this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
For rich and the poor ones
The world is so wrong
And so happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let’s stop all the fight
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let’s hope it’s a good one
Without any fear
And so this is Christmas
And what have we done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
Ans so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let’s hope it’s a good one
Without any fear
War is over over
If you want it
War is over
Now…

— John Lennon, Yoko Ono

Neil Young in Washington Hts. and German Beer Downtown

Wednesday night, my old friend and once partner in musical crime, Foosh, brought me along as his guest to Neil Young in concert at the ol’ United Palace Theatre in Washington Hts. in the upper extremities of Manhattan.



Above: the United Palace Theatre is an old gem and they don’t mind when patrons rock out.

Definitely one of the top-five concert experiences in my life, the show consisted of an intimate acoustic set where he played a bunch of his old guitars and a mind-blowing, rocked-out electric set including a fantastic twenty-minute guitar solo. The guitar tones were truly amazing, like the notes of an old Nebbiolo, earthy and rich but fresh and surprising — with live acidity and fruit — at the same time.

It was great to see a legendary performer like Neil Young play a small venue like that, with easy-going security, cheap beer, and a raucous crowd of got-my-drink-on fans. It reminded me of when I went to concerts as a kid in the late seventies and early eighties, when rock n’ roll shows were just that: rock n’ roll. Dancing in the aisle by stoned-out-of-their-minds people was allowed.

Above: I enjoyed a Jever at Loreley before Foosh and I headed up to Washington Hts. to see Neil Young in concert.

Some years ago now, Foosh opened the now classic Lower East Side haunt Loreley, a German beer garden and restaurant inspired by his hometown of Cologne, Germany. The all-German beer selection there is great, the bartenders really know how to draft beer properly (with a proper head, see above), and the spaetzle and schnitzel are awesome. The place is always jam-packed on Friday and Saturday nights but you can sometimes find a place to sit on weeknights — if you’re lucky. The first time my band played our now show-stopping version of “99 Luftballons,” it was for the opening of Loreley way back in 2003.

Above: a video of Nous Non Plus playing “99 Luftballons” at the great Lower East Side rock club Sin-é before it was closed to make way for gentrification (read the stockbrokerization) of lower Manhattan.