Black Bean Soup

It was a midsummer evening, last summer, the postcard from a trip to Costa Rica half an exile and half a vacation.
I remember that green like a proud hug in the midst of impossible roads, among a tangle of rocks and puddles, a bright and shiny emerald, nourished by a beneficial rain, on time every day at six o'clock.
I remember the guys on their bicycle and the couples holding into each other's arms, tight on the seat of damaged scooters; their lean bodies, tanned, dusted with love and smiling.
There was the chaos of the streets in downtown, and then the suburbs, violated by the arrogance of fast food chains, seduced by the illusion of a wealth coming from the north. Scattered everywhere biting your liver, there were Coke vending machines, and innocent-looking signs, mean and intrusive, almost an insult to the poverty of people.
I remember the villages, slow, quiet and sunny, those pueblos made only of temporary churches, outdoor schools and improbable soccer fields: a narrow and wet meadow and two poles as the goal.
There was Costa Rica going to the World Cup, the TVs turned on in the bars, two cold Imperial and happiness.
I remember the ripe fruit, sweet and seductive, bought on the corners of the streets along with the pure water of a young coconut that had fallen down.
The darkest nights began early in the jungle, on the highest hill lying on a bed of leaves.
I remember men and women who were different, who had escaped from our dizziness to chase a dream with no comfort.
I met a taxi driver and mechanic who had no shoes, an instant friend who they called El Che. He told me where are you going, why, where are you running, you people of the north? You're fool, deluded to believe you can buy our reality.
We split one jugo helado, and this spicy soup during an afternoon of solidarity.
Pura vida.




Black Bean Soup
for 4 people

dried black beans 250 gr
white onion, large 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrot 1
red bell pepper 1
tomatoes 3
lime 1
vegetable bouillon cube 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, cayenne pepper, cumin seeds, coriander seeds and allspice as needed
fresh cilantro, tomatoes and cucumber to serve as needed

Soak beans overnight for at least 8 hours.
Chop the onion and the garlic cloves, sauté them for a few minutes in a little olive oil, then add diced carrot and bell pepper. Stir and cook for a few minutes, add the beans, drained and rinsed, spices (if using seeds, grind them fine), vegetable bouillon, salt and pepper. Cover with water, bring to boil and cook over medium heat for about two hours.
Half an hour before beans are ready, add the juice and zest of lime, and the tomatoes, peeled (dip them in boiling water for 30 seconds, then peel) and cut into pieces. Season with salt and pepper.
Puree the soup with a blender only for a few seconds, so that it gets creamy but visible pieces still remain.
To serve, garnish with fresh diced tomato and cucumber, and chopped cilantro to taste.
w.v.<3

Vegan Jam Tart with Spelt Flour

Living here day by day, you think it's the center of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave: a year, two years. When you come back, everything's changed. The thread's broken. What you came to find isn't there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time... many years... before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no. It's not possible. Right now you're blinder than I am.
~ Philippe Noiret, Cinema Paradiso

Always yours is that friendship, the new one and the eternal one of the past; yours is the taste of bread and the red color of autumn. Yours are the people who get older, the solitude of the forest, the gloom and silence of the night; still yours are the stones, the trails and the comfort of the moon; yours is the soft kindness of the meadows, the sunset and the darkness of those days.
And the words, withered between the cracks of indifferent walls, the frozen phrases, tired by now, the angry and unexploded thoughts, more and more faded with time.
Coming back makes everything a bit nicer; you blow the dust away and discover how much tenderness there was in the innocent dreams of distant dawns. Mornings are still cold, but beautiful in October; things, slow and always the same, speak a familiar language yet a different one.
Coming back you wonder how long it took you to figure it out, or if it's true that we've all changed a little.




Vegan Jam Tart
with Spelt Flour
for a round baking pan of 9" diameter

spelt flour 250 gr
type O flour 210 gr
corn starch 50 gr
baking powder 12 gr
lemon 1
cane sugar 200 gr
olive oil 60 gr
rice bran oil 60 gr
rice milk 125 gr
salt 1 pinch
jam as needed
powdered sugar to serve as needed

In a bowl mix the flours with cornstarch, baking powder, salt and lemon zest. Make a well in the center and add sugar, olive oil, rice oil and milk. Start mixing the ingredients with a fork, and then knead with your hands until you get a homogeneous ball. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand in refrigerator at least 30 minutes.
Roll out 3/4 of the dough and place it in a round baking dish, greased with oil or lined with parchment paper. Prick the surface with a fork, then spread the jam over it (for me this one here, thankyouverymuch) and bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes until the tart crust gets golden brown. Allow to cool, and if you like, dust with powdered sugar before serving.
w.v.<3

Chana Masala

They're chickpeas. Cooked.
Cooked and then sauteed in a sauce that's vaguely tomatoish and super-extra-hot.
But then let me tell you, these are the Kings of chickpeas, inimitably pleasure-giving, humble sailors on a red sea of spices, luxurious, deep, and blissfully stormy.
Embellished with a long list of spices, from here to Porbandar, these chickpeas become an alternate reality, a mysterious and welcoming world, a refuge for the heart and the palate.
My advice is this: do not be intimidated. Ok, the powders are many and perhaps hard to find, maybe they'll make you run from one side of the city to the other, you'll probably lose patience and maybe even half a day; but perhaps they'll also make you explore hidden corners, discover the magic of new colors bursting with life, or understand the beauty disguised within our conundrums.
If you're in doubt, but even not, just do it. Buy them all. Because it's worth it. Because some like it hot.
Just do it. And tell them I sent you.




Chana Masala
for 4-5 people

dried chickpeas 300 gr
onion, large 1
ginger garlic paste 3-4 tablespoons
fresh jalapeño 1
cumin seeds 1 teaspoon
coriander powder 1 tablespoon
mango powder 1 tablespoon
cayenne pepper 1 teaspoon
turmeric 1 teaspoon
paprika 2 teaspoons
cumin powder 2 teaspoons
garam masala 1 teaspoon
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
lemon 1
olive oil, salt, fresh cilantro to taste

Soak chickpeas for about 6-8 hours. Rinse, cover with water and cook over medium heat for about 1 hour and a half or 2 hours, until they are tender. Drain, keeping aside a cup of their cooking water.
In a large pot heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil, toast the cumin seeds for a few minutes, then add the ginger garlic paste (if you can't find it, you can use 2 garlic cloves and a lot of ginger, minced; however, if you're lucky enough to have an Indian store, full of spices and traditional products close to home, or even at a 45-minute ride from you, I recommend this alternative), onion and jalapeño, finely chopped, and cook for about 5 minutes. Add the rest of the spices, the reserved chickpea water and the tomato paste, and cook for a few minutes. If necessary, adjust the flavor.
Add the chickpeas and cook for 10 minutes; finally add the lemon juice and a handful of chopped fresh cilantro.
If you wish, serve with basmati rice. Or maybe not.
w.v.<3

Focaccia with Figs, Onion and Walnuts

This is my alternative to darkness, fear, nostalgia, pride, sadness with no destination, the rain, the uncertainty, unanswered questions, expired passports, grammar mistakes, Texas, the camping out for the latest iPhone, the latest iPhone, songs by Pupo, headache, heartache, knee bruises, tight shoes, high-heeled shoes, fur-lined shoes, November, answering machines, pale tomatoes, sauce stains, cold feet, watered down coffee, overcooked pasta, withered flowers, Wi-Fi with password, train strikes, pizza with pineapple, D in the report card, a sold out show, the end of the book, queues at the supermarket, rosé wine.
Two figs and a focaccia and let's not talk about it anymore.




Focaccia with Figs, Onion and Walnuts
for two baking dishes of 8x12 inches

For the dough
type O flour 500 gr
lukewarm water approx. 275 gr
fresh brewer's yeast 10 gr
salt 10 gr
olive oil 1 tablespoon

For the toping
red onion 1
sugar 1 tablespoon
walnuts 1 handful
fresh figs 10-12
salt, pepper, olive oil as needed

The dough is the same that I used here, the recipe comes from the Simili sisters, do I need to add anything else?
In a bowl, dissolve the yeast with some of the water, add a little bit of flour, 1 tablespoon of olive oil, salt, and then the remaining flour and the rest of the water in two batches, alternating them and always beating the dough. Place it on the work surface and knead for 7-8 minutes, put it back in the bowl greased with oil, and let it double in size (it'll take about two hours).
Place it back on the work surface, divide the dough in half, form two loaves and place them on the baking dishes lined with parchment paper. Let them rest for another 15 minutes, then flatten them with a short rolling pin and the palm of your hand until they cover the bottom of the pan almost completely. Let rise for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, peel the onions, slice them thin, season with a tablespoon of olive oil and a tablespoon of sugar, salt and pepper, and roast them for a few minutes under the grill. Cut figs in half and coarsely chop the walnuts.
Spread the figs and the onion on the surface of the focaccias. Push the tip of your fingers into the dough, forming deep imprints until you touch the pan, drizzle with 3 tablespoons of olive oil beaten with 3 tablespoons of water, and plenty of salt. Let them double again (this will require about an hour and a half). Bake at 390 for 25-30 minutes. Ten minutes before they're ready, sprinkle with the walnuts kept aside.
w.v.<3

Focaccia with Grapes and Rosemary

A wise man once to the question "Who or what are we?", answered: we are the sum of everything that has happened before us, everything that has happened before our eyes, everything that has been done to us; we are every person, every little thing whose existence has influenced us or which we have influenced with our lives; we are everything that happens after we no longer exist, and what would not have happened if we had never existed.
~ From the movie Almanya - My family goes to Germany
Yasemin Şamdereli, Germany 2011


When was the last time I saw you passing by, tanned and seductive, wearing those freckles and the wonder for life? I still remember your black hair, tied together against the wind, your colorful floral dress, fresh of summer and ingenuity, and your sandals already tight and from other times.
I was leaving towards the North, to chase a wealth that we had never had: a job that would last tomorrow, the security of a future, warm hands, two pennies and fatigue. I was looking for you in my mind, so beautiful in your twenties, while I slowly savored the sadness, so heavy and shiny, that September day that I left.
Two generations consumed among people who didn't really belong to us, who were looking at us awry and indifferent, between cold and foreign colors and horizons, strong perfumes yet devoid of memories. My father, locked up in his pride, never talked about it; the past was almost a shame that he seemed to have left behind, and yet it was all still there, asleep in the silence of his dark and sad eyes: the carts pushed by hand during harvest, the rise with the baskets on the shoulders, the grape must, the barrels, the bare feet and the cheer.
To me, sunsets and long summer days were enough: I'd close my eyes and I'd find the faces, I'd listen to those voices already distant and I'd feel alive again within the memory of their warm smiles. But tell me now, girl of that time, tell me now how your life went. I came back today among my poor people, hunting for what I can't find anymore. Roads, trees, houses and streams, everything always the same, and then, why so different? The stones, the streets, the names and the squares, I've cradled them inside, I've polished, protected and loved them in the sweet shell of my fantasies; I pretended they were my happiness, yet now that I'm so close, I don't recognize them anymore.
I brought you this flower as a gift, the red rose that I'd never given you. Only you, girl of that time, now that you're gone forever, only you are here for me to stay, that laugh with the eyes open and that life that was not.




Focaccia with Grapes and Rosemary
for 8 people

flour 400 gr
fresh brewer's yeaast 20 gr
water approx. 225 gr
salt 1 pinch
Concord grapes 1 kg
sugar, extra virgin olive oil, rosemary as needed

Dissolve yeast in lukewarm water and knead with flour, salt, 3 tablespoons of sugar and 3 tablespoons of olive oil until you get an elastic ball, smooth and homogeneous. Place in a bowl, cover with a cloth and let rise for about 1 hour and a half.
In the meantime, arm yourself with holy, holy patience, rinse the grapes and remove the seeds. (Yes, sorry).
Spread 2/3 of the dough on a greased pan lined with parchment paper, spread 2/3 of the grapes on top, sprinkle with sugar and finely chopped rosemary, and then drizzle with a little oil. Cover with the rest of the dough, fold and seal the edges, and then spread the rest of the grapes on the surface, dress with 2 tablespoons of sugar and a little oil. Bake at 360 for about 45 minutes.
If you wish, sprinkle with powdered sugar.
w.v.<3

California Quinoa Salad

The paradox.
America.
So beloved, idolized, so desired, idealized, yet so vilified.
The imperialist America, the lonely, arrogant, bigot, militaristic. So contradictory, intrusive, nosy, a policeman, interventionist.
America so rude, liberistic, oppressive, insensitive and racist.
Stubborn, arrogant, capitalist; warmongering, too armed and a little fascist.
Say what you want.
But there is New York.
And there is San Francisco.
And if you put your foot in there, like a traitor lover you can forgive her everything, and love her nonetheless.





California Quinoa Salad*
for 4-5 people

quinoa 220 gr
water or vegetable stock 400 gr
red bell pepper, small 1
red onion, small 1/2
mango 1
edamame, net approx. 1 glass
sliced almonds 1 handful
cranberries 1 handful
lime 2
balsamic vinegar 4 tablespoons
cilantro, dried coconut flakes, salt, pepper to taste

Put water (or stock) and quinoa in a pot, bring to boil and cook over medium-low heat for about 15 to 20 minutes, until all the liquid has been absorbed.
Cook edamame in boiling water for 4 minutes, drain, shell and set aside. Meanwhile, finely chop the onion and cut bell pepper and mango into small cubes. Mix everything with the quinoa, adding the juice and zest of limes, almonds, cranberries (you can substitute them with raisins or dried cherries), balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, minced fresh cilantro and a generous sprinkling of coconut flakes. Serve the salad cold or at room temperature.

*I put together this recipe inspired by a similar thing that I spotted at Whole Foods. I looked at the color, peeked at the ingredient list, and voila, my serenade to California.
.
w.v.<3

Tomato Peach Bruschetta

summer's here to stay
and those sweet summer girls
will dance forever...
~ DMB, Dive In

What could be better than bread and tomato under the sunlight?
Bread, peaches and tomatoes.
Trust me, I take full responsibility.




Tomato Peach Bruschetta
for 4

yellow peaches 2
cherry tomatoes 10-15
balsamic vinegar 3 tablespoons
extra virgin olive oil 3 tablespoons
garlic 3-4 cloves
salt, pepper, fresh basil to taste
country bread slices

Peel the peaches and cut them in small cubes. Mix them with the cherry tomatoes, rinsed and cut into quarters, season with salt, pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and chopped fresh basil. Cover and let rest for at least an hour.
Toast the bread in the oven for a few minutes, and then brush it still warm with the peeled garlic cloves. Spread bruschetta over the bread slices, sprinkle again with some basil and serve immediately.

Grilled Peach Panzanella

... tanto doveva prima o poi finire lì
ridevi e forse avevi un fiore
ti ho capita, non mi hai capito mai

... sooner or later it had to end there
you were laughing and maybe you had a flower
I understood you, you've never understood me
~ Roberto Vecchioni, Lights at San Siro

Do you remember? Remember when we were twenty? I know what you'll say, with that slow, misty stroke of sadness that has been hitting us for hours: you'll say that now you're feeling it as well, all that nostalgia that you didn't understand back then and yet easily blamed me for. Do you realize instead, today, the way it makes your voice shiver and your gaze drop? And the way it makes you smile a little, because this whole encounter looks like a tedious cliché, an honest déjà vu, a movie that is narrated by others, that's already been lived, suffered and sung.
And you knew, I'm sure, that our talking now would go into reverse gear. Because what you're doing now, what you did yesterday or how was your life ten months ago, that doesn't matter to me, and I already know it. I imagined it all well back then, in our time together: to you everything seemed already written, in your words, in your studies and in the clippings you were accumulating from newspapers; you, so determined to stalk reality, while, with my uncertain future, I'd waste days interrogating mirrors, looking in vain for a response at the intersections and inside the pockets of randomness.
But remember? Remember when we walked together that night at the end of summer, drunk just right? From the boredom of a party we found ourselves in a dream, holding hands, walking around those reflections amidst the scent of an unexplored lake, forever ours. And then, all those times when you kept laughing at me when I said I'd rather die like Francesca, sinful and in love, rather than find myself one day trapped in the spectrum of everyday life.
Remember? Remember when you said that's enough, and the illusion of eight years crumbling between our hands, one love slipping away and a mystery still open. We've often asked ourselves what's left of what we had, and perhaps we can grasp the answer only tonight, in a slow and silent hug, hidden in the fog of a new, far-off city.
I was walking by; I know, it's been so long, how are you? I, yes, sorry, I thought that maybe we could... dinner, a walk, only a coffee; just like that, to talk a little.
It's eight o'clock, it's still light outside of this bistro. I'll make the order, trust me for once. You go ahead, I'll listen.



Grilled Peach Panzanella
for 4 people

yellow peaches 2
rustic bread 2 thick slices
cherry tomatoes 600 gr
arugula as needed
shallot 1
lemon 1
honey 3 tablespoons
olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, basil as needed

Brush bread slices with olive oil and grill them on both sides. Mix honey with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, drizzle over sliced peaches and cook them on the grill about a minute each side. Cut bread in pieces, mix them with cherry tomatoes, cut in half, and thinly sliced shallots. Drizzle with olive oil, vinegar, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and chopped basil, and let stand at least one hour. Before serving, add arugula and grilled peach slices.

Watermelon Gazpacho

Why doesn't everything work like in the movies?
Why strangers on the subway, instead of just looking at you, don't start talking telling you you have a beautiful smile? Why after thirty years, in a downtown café, you'll never find the person you fought for? And why mothers are struggling to understand their children, and fathers are struggling to accept them? Why is the right phrase always coming up at the wrong time? Why don't you ever find yourself running in the rain, arriving at someone's front door, getting them out, apologizing and starting talking nonsense, to find yourselves lips to lips and hear you say, 'It doesn't matter, the important thing is that you're here'? Why don't you ever get woken up at night by a voice on the phone saying, 'I've never forgotten you'?
If we were braver, more irrational, more combative, more whimsical, more secure, and if we were less proud, less shameful, less fragile, I'm sure we shouldn't have to pay any movie ticket to watch people doing and saying what we don't have the courage to express; to watch people loving as we fail to do; to watch people who represent us; to watch people who, pretending, are able to be more honest than us.
~ David Grossman, Someone to run with

The summer I'd like. It's all enclosed in his own words here.
I just have to give you a little bit of this sweet, pink freshness.



Watermelon Gazpacho*
for 5-6 people

fresh basil 1 big bunch
cloves 4
star anise 2
bay leaf 1
sugar 40 gr
water 350 ml
watermelon, cleaned and seeded 1 kg
cucumber, peeled 200 gr
ripe vine tomatoes 2
lime 2
fresh chili pepper 1 small
salt, pepper, olive oil to taste

*I adapted the recipe from Bon Appétit, and from all the imaginary summers, past, present and future.

Put the water in a saucepan along with basil leaves, spices, sugar and a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil; turn off, cover and let steep at least 20 minutes. Strain the liquid and allow to cool completely.
Peel the tomatoes by dipping them for a minute in boiling water, cut into pieces removing the seeds, and let cool.
In a blender place chopped watermelon, cucumber, peeled tomatoes, lime juice, seeded chili pepper, basil syrup, salt and pepper and process until the gazpacho is smooth. Season with salt and pepper, and add more lime juice, if needed.
Serve cold, in a glass if you'd like, and garnish each one with a drizzle of olive oil and a few basil leaves.
w.v.<3

Pistachio Pesto with Roasted Garlic

Give me songs
to sing
and emerald dreams
to dream
and I'll give you love
unfolding.
~ Jim Morrison

Sure thing after an introduction like that, a la Jim Morrison, I have very little to say.
I could probably tell you about the scent of basil, a universal sign of summer; I could unroll the thread of my thoughts and explain how it is that it's tied to pistachios; I could go on about roasted garlic' newfound kindness, an irrefutable proof of the innate goodness of the universe; or else I could write half a treaty on the color green and the vegan pesto.
Or maybe I could accept Jim's invitation and leave to wander around, speaking of emerald dreams, the meaning of life before and after pesto, of black and white movies, the surprise endings or the songs at the end of spring.
Instead, don't panic, there will be none of that. Today I (almost) prefer to be silent and instead entrust my post to Jim's words, my pictures and the green color of this pesto, wishing you a weekend a little rock and a little roll.
I, for my part, will go out for a walk down to Costa Rica, to regain my green and the energy I've lost along the way.
May pesto be with you until I get back. If I come back.
Besos.




Pistachio Pesto
with Roasted Garlic
for 2 jars

pistachios 75 gr
cashews 25 gr
garlic 6 cloves
lemon 1/2
basil 1 big bunch
extra virgin olive oil 70 gr
salt, pepper to taste

First roast the garlic cloves: put them in a pan, unpeeled, toss with a tablespoon of olive oil, salt and pepper and bake at 360 for about 40 minutes, until they are softened. (Now, I admit that the above process seems too much for six miserable cloves of garlic, so I suggest two alternatives: either you double, what am I saying?, triple the amount of pesto, or, as in my case, you roast a huge amount of garlic cloves, because I swear they're delicious, spread on bread they're a real pleasure, and if you don't make them in abundance you'll regret it, be warned...).
Put in a blender (or in a mortar, for traditionalists) pistachios, cashews and garlic cloves, roasted and peeled. Blend until you get a rather fine grain. Add abundant basil leaves, lemon juice, salt and pepper and blend again. At the end add the oil a little at a time until you get a creamy pesto and fairly fluid. Place in the jars, cover with more oil and store in the fridge.
To those who ask me what about Parmesan cheese?, I'd say that Parmesan in pesto is just a modern fantasy; you can do very well without it, and in any case, to avoid any doubt, I added if you notice a handful of cashews, which will give your pesto just the right touch of parmesanosity creaminess.
Yes you can do it, too.
w.v.<3

No-Knead Pizza with Eggplant, Ginger and Basil

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

~ Emma Lazzarus, The New Colossus, sonnet written at the base of the Statue of Liberty


A short story. Because it's not just those others, the immigrants we're afraid of.
She had managed to sell two plates, the candlestick and an embroidered shawl, in exchange for a green suitcase and a pair of thick and comfortable shoes for me. Before embarking, my mother lit a candle to St. Joseph, and praying quietly she asked him to escort us at least until the exit from that island of tears.
That was how uncle called it; he had made ​​the journey three times already, and in town rumor had it he had made ​​a fortune: he was no longer living like a rat underground, he had his own room overlooking the street, and just enough money to buy oil and fresh bread, and on Sundays in the summer, to go to the beach in Coney Island.
When he came back last time he was different; he wore a hat and had his beard in order, but he looked tired and full of melancholy. You could see inside of him the same mix of stubbornness and pride that had led him to leave, stronger than the call of the sea and the smell of lemons among the rocks. He had come to bring along his children with the promise of a future, and he ended up dragging my mother with him, widow for years and with nothing to lose.
The crossing was long and tedious; Cece and I slept together on a dirty mattress, suffocated by the sweat of people packed all around. To survive, we recalled the afternoons spent playing soccer barefoot in the streets, wondering if we'd find enough friends in this Brooklyn to make a team of six, including the goalkeeper.
We got off in Ellis; grim-faced men in uniform ordered us to stand in line, while we, leaning against each other with our stomach swollen from hunger and fear, perceived by far the flattery of Lady Liberty. Someone, perhaps for the long beard or a flash of madness in the eyes, was pushed back and overwhelmed with shame. Uncle had warned us: Ellis does not forgive, he had said, but during the long nights of that trip he had filled our heart with hope. Still stunned by the ocean, they plagued us with mysterious questions, writing our destiny on a stamped document and searching for sins, pregnant women and monstrous diseases.
Under the striped flag I saw Cece for the last time, amidst the anxiety of the hungry and noisy crowd. A merciless doctor marked his jacket with a white letter, and two indifferent arms dragged him inside a large room that smelled of dust and threats: they'd force him to re-embark on the same ship from which he had gotten off, indicted by a malformation of the eyes that couldn't grant him the entrance.
Dragging the fatigue towards the future that was open to us, I felt a pain in my belly, quick and dry like a whip on bare skin. I looked up at my mother, frail and scared, and I thought, is this the Merica of our dreams, will it be like this our new world?





No-Knead Pizza*
with Eggplant, Ginger and Basil
for 4

For the dough
flour 500 gr
salt 16 gr
dry yeast 1 gr
sugar 1 teaspoon
water 350 gr

For the topping
crushed tomatoes 1 can
Japanese eggplants 2
fresh ground ginger 2 teaspoons
garlic 1-2 cloves
salt, pepper, chili pepper flakes, olive oil, basil to taste

*The first pizzeria in the United States was opened in New York in 1905 by Gennaro Lombardi, who emigrated from Naples at the end of the century. What follows is the no-knead pizza by Jim Lahey and his Sullivan Street Bakery; I took and adapted the recipe from here.

In a bowl mix flour, yeast, salt and sugar. Add the water and stir with a wooden spoon or with your hands, just until the dough comes together. Cover with a cloth and let rise at room temperature for about 18 hours, until it more than doubles.
Place the dough on the counter dusted with flour, divide it into four pieces and work each piece as follows: take the right side of the dough and fold it toward the center; then do the same with the left side, and with the two ends above and below (the order doesn't matter, what matters is having four folds). Then give it the shape of a ball and then flip it upside down, so that the folding is underneath. With cupped hands, shape the dough by turning and pulling it slightly downwards, so as to have a round ball with a smooth surface. Do the same with the other pieces, then lightly dust them with flour and cover with a kitchen towel. Let stand for another half hour.
After this time, take each piece, flour it and slightly push it down, pulling it out from each side to form a round disc of about 4-6" diameter. Still using your hands, or making it spin on the knuckles, stretch it until you get a thin base of about 10" diameter.
At this point, pizza is ready to be dressed to taste. It's baked on a baking stone preheated to 500 for about 20 minutes.
As usual, all this is easier done than said; but trust me, it's really very easy, and a short explanatory video can be found here.
My pizza, if you're really really curious to know, is a modern melting pot, a little heretic and a bit underground, in perfect immigrant style: tomato sauce seasoned with salt, garlic slices, grated ginger and Mexican chili, grilled Japanese eggplant slices, and to finish a few leaves of Thai basil and a drizzle of Tuscan olive oil.
w.v.<3