We who are about to podcast salute you! Titus comes back for one more round as he unveils his father's masterpiece: the Flavian Amphitheater, a.k.a. the Colosseum. The stadium on which all future stadia have been based is a magnificent creation, site of gladiatorial combat, public executions, and emperors giving thumbs up and thumbs down.
Dr Peta Greenfield of the Partial Historians podcast drops by to talk about Vespasian, Titus, and the gladiators themselves. We discuss visiting Rome, gorging on gelato, and the joys of exploring the living city.
The recipe is bruschetta, the perfect appetizer of which you've probably only had disappointing versions. Not this time, my friends. Not this time. Salvete!
Can you make this classic Neapolitan pie at home? No. No you cannot. You don’t have Neapolitan flour, Vesuvian tomatoes, Campanian water, fresh mozzarella from Italian buffaloes… or a dome-shaped wood-fired brick oven.
So whatcha gonna do?
Well… You can improvise.
I like to grill my pizza in the summer - which gives a nice char and crisp but still provides a good chew. But it’s not Neapolitan.
To replicate the Neapolitan experience, you’ll need your oven. It won’t BE Neapolitan. Your oven can’t get up to a Vesuvius-like 700 degrees, so it will never be the same. But it can be delicious. So step one is getting a pizza stone. Now, I hate the concept of buying a giant piece of rock that you’ll rarely use and will take up space in your house. But you can actually use a pizza stone for all sorts of other thing that you’d like to bake or roast. A pizza stone is just a slab of rock or ceramic that absorbs heat from the oven and provides that heat to whatever you’re roasting in a nice even, consistent way. Better than an aluminum baking sheet, anyway. So get one, but remember, have it in the oven as your preheat. If you put it in after you’ve preheated, it will crack, as both pizza stones I have ever owned have done because I’m an idiot.
OK. So dough. Flour, salt, yeast, and water. But not just any flour. It has to be type 0 or type 00 Italian flour, which are very finely milled flours, so they are super powdery, almost like baby powder. You can find this at specialty groceries, or you can substitute all-purpose flour, if needs be.
Mix up the flour with salt, water and yeast. Knead it up, divide into a couple of balls, cover and let them rest overnight in the fridge. So no, this isn’t a spur-o-the-moment thing.
Put the stone in the oven and preheat it to full hot for an hour. Flour a surface and stretch out the dough with your hands. Don’t twirl it over your head unless you’re an expert or comfortable with having floor dirt in your pizza. Get nice and thin so you can almost see through it.
Sauce is next. You can get canned San Marzano tomatoes at many stores, although note that a lot of canned tomatoes claim to be San Marzano without actually being San Marzano, so double-check. Just puree the tomatoes to make the sauce, with a smidge of olive oil and a pinch of salt. That’s it. And DON’T USE MUCH.
Next: fresh mozzarella. Again, quality matters. If you can’t get the buffalo mozz, cow’s milk will do, but it has to be good. Get it in the fancy cheese section, not in the dairy case in the back. And make sure you drain it, if it’s packed in water. You do NOT want that extra moisture, unless you like soggy pizza. Slice some thin slices and plop them on the sauce. Again, NOT TOO MUCH.
And then scatter a few pieces of torn basil leaves on top. Some people leave their leaves whole, other like a fine chiffonade. Whatever. I like torn pieces, but the key is 4 to 5 leaves per pie. That’s it.
Use a pizza peel, which is a pizza-size super-thin spatula, to move the pie onto the stone. Cook for 6 to 8 minutes and buon appetito!
Wait. Drizzle some good olive oil on top at the end. Then buon appetito.
Recipe adapted from https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1016231-pizza-margherita
The volcano Vesuvius still looms of the ruined Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, along the coast of Southern Italy. Dr. Fiona Radford from the Partial Historians stops by to discuss these accidental wonders: towns whose destruction have preserved a remarkable view of Roman daily life. We follow Pliny the Elder as he ventures to his death, pillow strapped to his head. There's chaos, destruction, drama, and weird fish sauce!
Plus I cannot be so close to Naples without talking about pizza, that most glorious gift to the world.
Traditional Hanukkah foods are fried in oil, and among Israeli Jews, that means sufganiyot: jelly doughnuts.
The word sufganiyot comes from the sword sfog, meaning sponge, and North African Jews brought a long tradition of frying doughnuts with them to Israel. There, they mixed with Eastern European jews who brought their own doughnuts, with jelly. These ponchkes in Yiddish are the Jewish version of the Polish pączki (pronounced "paunch-key". Pączki are Mardi Gras treats, best known in America as the reason there’s a line out of every Polish bakery in Chicago in February.
So, to make sufganiyot, you need to be able to manage yeast and dough. I can’t. I’ve tried several times. Once the water was too cold, and the yeast didn’t bloom. Another time, the water was too hot, and the yeast died a tragic scalding death. A third time, the yeast seemed OK, but I kneaded the dough too much.
But if you have skill with baking, try this recipe, and let me know how light and fluffy they are. This recipe has an orange zest, which adds some zing to the dough, and raspberry or strawberry filling. That’s great, but if you’d rather lemon zest and blueberry, I won’t be mad at you.
Serves 4 at least
Recipe adapted from https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1016210-orange-scented-jelly-doughnuts-sufganiyot