The Grapes of Wrath

Correction Appended

It was mid-July, 10 days into a heat wave so unrelenting that it had penetrated the thick stone walls of my parents’ Umbrian farmhouse, and there was no relief to be found, indoors or out. There was also a big fresh Mediterranean fish waiting in the fridge — its name, in Italian, is ombrina. But not one of us felt like eating, let alone going anywhere near a stove. By the time the sun finally set that night, it was nearly 9:30; we jumped into the pool, cooled off and suddenly realized we were famished. Improvising with what was at hand, my mother, a superb cook, braised the ombrina in a quick sauce of tomatoes, garlic and saffron, and then, reaching for the nearest bottle, splashed some grappa into the pan — and so a favorite family recipe was born.
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Tony Cenicola/The New York Times. Food stylist: Jill Santopietro.

It was the grappa that transformed that rather simple sauce into a potent remedy for the day’s heat-induced stupor. Grappa is a fiery drink, not for the mild of heart or palate. Or as the Italian writer Italo Calvino memorably described it: “suitable only for defrocked priests, unemployed bookkeepers and husbands who have been cuckolded.” A cheap grappa, often at upward of 80 proof, is little more than a burning liquid flame that sears your throat and wakens your spirit before knocking you flat. A great grappa, on the other hand, is smooth and complex and leaves a long, blossoming finish.

As temperatures started to drop this winter, I couldn’t help remembering our improvised summer meal. So I decided to call my favorite chefs and ask what cold-weather dishes I might make with grappa. To my surprise, the ideas poured in. While tasting one of the better grappas — like Nonino’s Picolit or Jacopo Poli’s Vespaiolo — is certainly a revelation, cooking with it reveals its character without the hangover. It is a surprisingly versatile ingredient, equally effective in savory and sweet dishes. For Andrew Carmellini, the chef of A Voce, grappa gives that important note of acidity that rounds out the flavors in his roast pork with plums. The grappa cuts the richness of the meat and counters the sweetness of the plums, turning what might otherwise be too sweet a sauce into a sophisticated dialogue of flavors. I tried substituting prunes for the plums and found the resulting dish even silkier and more nuanced. Carmellini’s Italian grandmother lived 35 miles from Nonino, so grappa flows in his blood. And polished though his cooking at A Voce is, he confessed to me that at home he likes to splash his favorite all-American butter pecan ice cream with grappa for a quick lift.

The beauty of cooking with grappa, I discovered, is to be found in its split personality. Straight from the bottle, it adds vibrancy, but cooked down, the alcohol evaporates, leaving an elegant, lingering complexity. Fabio Trabocchi, the chef of Fiamma in SoHo, took his first job in the Veneto region of Italy, where at around 10 every morning, the men in his village would gather for a caffè corretto — coffee spiked with grappa. Perhaps it’s the memory (or trauma) of this head-banging custom that persuaded Trabocchi to cook his brandy down until not a trace of alcohol remains. His delicate pear risotto glows with merely a subtle hint of grappa — like the trailing vapor of vermouth in a fine martini.

But grappa needn’t be limited to Italian cooking. Chef Saul Bolton of Saul in Brooklyn uses Clear Creek’s muscat grappa — an American grappa from Oregon — to add a floral note to his perfect cured salmon, giving it a faintly sweet undertone, a welcome change from the usual gin- or vodka-cured gravlax. Perhaps the best American grappa producer, Clear Creek, has grown so popular of late that Stephen McCarthy, the owner, doubled the size of his distillery 18 months ago yet says he still can’t keep up with demand.

I have nothing against Clear Creek, but when I think of grappa, I never think of Oregon. I think of Umbria. I think of the sun. I think of my mother’s delicious ombrina. I think of our plates practically licked clean, and the bottle of grappa sitting half empty on the table. And I remember the storm that blew in that night, lifting the heat and leaving a cool dew on the grass by morning. If there is one drink certain to start a storm, it’s grappa. A talisman of sorts that I won’t forget next summer when the sun begins to bake us dry.

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Pork Arrosto With Prunes and Grappa

1 center-cut pork loin roast, 4 to 5 bones (between 3 and 5 pounds)

For the brine (optional):

1 1/2 cups kosher salt

1 1/3 cups sugar

For the spice rub:

2 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced

1 1/2 teaspoons fennel seeds

1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves

1 tablespoon fresh rosemary

10 sage leaves

2 tablespoons kosher salt

1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

For the prunes:

1 3/4 cups prunes

1/2 cup sugar

Juice of 2 lemons

2 bay leaves

Pinch of crushed

black pepper

1/4 cup grappa

Salt.

1. If you choose, brine the meat. In a large pot, bring the salt, sugar and 2 quarts of water to a boil and stir until the solids dissolve. Transfer to a heatproof container and cool completely. Cover pork with the brine and refrigerate for 45 minutes. (The brine will make the pork very tender, so it’s worth doing, but if you don’t have time, you can skip this step.) Pat pork dry with paper towels.

Source:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/06/magazine/06Food-t.html?_r=1&ref=dining&oref=slogin