The Most Colorful Island in Italy

Also: a hidden Italian restaurant. Great summer pasta. And covetable kitchen tools with a lifetime guarantee.

A friend who’s in Italy just sent me a note. “It’s mostly been really great but the place is so overrun with tourists. I really want to be a traveler in the 1950s.”

This piece isn’t from the fifties - I wrote it in the early eighties - but that note made me think about one of the most relaxed, colorful and peaceful places I’ve ever been lucky enough to find.

A few of my closest friends are Venetian, and for years I visited them every year. Which means that my Venice is probably not your Venice. The city I know is a tiny place of 50,000 or so inhabitants, a place so small that when Elena started living with her boyfriend every shopkeeper in town felt the need to chastise her. “You’re killing your mother!” they’d cry as she purchased her pasta. My Venice is a place where we almost never go out to eat, but if we do venture into a restaurant one of the locals always pays the bill because they get an automatic discount.

When I told Elena I had an assignment to write about a Venice venue that few Americans knew about she instantly replied, “We’ll go to Burano!”

Times change. I have a feeling that this small, colorful island is better known now.

Pity.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Burano, but I feel I should be offering you a small peaceful place to visit when you’re in Italy. Here’s one of my favorites.

Just outside Bologna, in the tiny town of Savigno, is a terrific little restaurant called Amerigo dal 1934.  The town itself is quaint and serene; wandering the streets, peering into bakeries and butcher shops you instantly suspect that people here eat very well.

They certainly do. Amerigo has been serving locals since 1934, and the trattoria proudly lists the date that each item went onto the menu. It turns out I’m a traditionalist; just about every dish I usually order has been on the menu since the very start. This was my most recent meal.

We began our meal with a plate of traditional cured meats….

and proceeded to pickled vegetables. (There's a little shop attached to the restaurant where they sell their own products; don’t miss it.)

Then this fantastic tongue salad, the meat soft, the herbs fragrant.

This might have been my favorite dish of the evening, tortelli with prosciutto di Mora and parmesan cream.

And even on a scalding hot night, these tiny tortellini in brodo were superb.

This was our dessert - although it's actually intended as an antipasto - an Italian ice cream sandwich. Parmesan gelato is splashed with balsamic and served on the local tigelle bread.

Last month, when I was on book tour, a kind and generous reader handed me this set of Earlywood flat saute spatulas. Now I wonder how I ever lived without them.

They’re sturdy, beautiful, easy on cast iron and non-stick pans - and feel wonderful in your hands. They come in a variety of different woods. They’re handmade in Montana. They come with a lifetime guarantee.

And as I can personally attest, these utensils make great gifts.

In honor of Burano…

Although vongole veraci are traditional, you can use any clams you happen to have. Even quahogs, although you want to be careful cooking those monsters.

Pasta alle Vongole
2 pounds littleneck clams (or as many as you can afford. More is better.)
1 pound Manila clams or cockles
¾ cup dry white wine.
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small onion, fairly finely chopped
1 clove garlic, sliced or minced
Dried chili pepper flakes
Minced parsley
More butter
Grated rind of one lemon
Juice of one lemon
8 ounces spaghetti
Parmesan cheese, grated (a few tablespoons)

Scrub the littlenecks well.  Put them, in a single layer, in a pot, add wine, cover and cook over high heat until they open. It should take about 5 minutes. Do not overcook. Snatch the clams out of the pot as soon as they open (there are always one or two recalcitrant clams that open very slowly).

Strain the liquid through cheesecloth to remove sand. Grit will ruin this dish. Let it cool, then remove the clams from their shells and plunk the naked mollusks into the juice so they don’t dry out. If they are large, cut them into smaller pieces.

Bring a large pot of water to boil. (Clams are salty; you probably don’t need more salt.)

Melt butter and olive oil in the same pan in which you cooked the clams. Add onion and saute until it is translucent.  Add minced garlic and chili peppers.

When water is boiling add pasta and cook until it is about 2 minutes from al dente.

Meanwhile add wine/clam juice to the onions in the pan and cook the smaller clams.  When they are open, add the cooked clams to the mixture and turn up the heat. Add lemon zest, a few tablespoons of lemon juice and the almost-cooked pasta and allow the pasta to absorb the liquid. Add more butter, cheese and minced parsley, stir furiously. Taste to see if you want more lemon juice.

Yes, yes, I know Italians frown on mixing cheese with fish. Personally, I think that’s crazy; these clams are much happier beneath a modest shower of grated Parmigiano. I sometimes add a handful of crisp breadcrumbs for texture as well, toss again and serve.

This will serve 3 people…

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