Saved by sausage and chicory (Dandelion Greens)
It was a dire situation (we’re talking in culinary terms, or course): a nearly empty refrigerator with only some leftover sautéed chicory from the day before and some sausage. Though the sausage was fresh and from my favorite butcher, the chances of making any kind of memorable dinner were not looking good. I knew I couldn’t get myself to go out shopping that evening (I was just feeling too lazy), and I knew my wife, Amy, wouldn’t be joining me for dinner that night—I was on my own. I opened and closed the refrigerator door a couple of times—that futile gesture that defies reason but seems almost a reflex when the fridge is bare—and suddenly a distant memory of my days in New York City came to me: those unforgettable Italian delis, with their amazing fresh mozzarella, the tubs of gorgeous olives, the great homemade sausages made with broccoli rabe … and I’m pretty sure somewhere I also saw chicory in it. In Italy, at least in the central northern region where I’m from, I’d never seen such sausages—and here in Bologna, sausage (salsiccia, in Italian) is made with pork meat, period—but the sight of that fresh sausage in my fridge and the leftover chicory triggered the memory of those sausage-and-greens mixtures I’d tasted in NYC and gave me a great idea for dinner: pasta with chicory and sausages. The type of pasta wouldn’t matter that much, and since I always have different types of pasta on hand, I thought I’d just go along with the evening’s improvisational mood: I used up the ends of three different packets of pasta—tortiglioni, mezze maniche (sort of big rigatoni split in halves) and penne—it was jazz night in the pasta pot tonight—things were definitely looking up!
In fact, this impromptu recipe turned out to be a great surprise: the healthy, faintly bitter taste of the chicory (cicoria in Italian) is deliciously counter-balanced by the succulent, slightly sweet sausage.
In this instance, the cicoria had been done the night before. Cicoria is a much appreciated vegetable here in Italy; the best tasting ones are the very earliest, young ones—which first appear in late winter, early spring—bearing lots of dark green leaves compared to the stem (for how to prepare chicory, see the Pasta casareccia con cicoria e salsiccia recipe). Since I was lucky enough to have leftover greens all ready, all I had to do was brown the skinned, roughly chopped sausage with a bit of onion and some olive oil, before adding the chicory.
I cooked that odd assortment of pasta al dente—being careful to put the ones that needed to be cooked longer in first—and then drained it and sautéed everything together. (By the way, up until the early 60s, pasta used to be sold loose, by weight, in brown paper bags here in Italy. The broken pieces at the bottom of the huge wooden boxes were then mixed and sold at a much discounted price, mainly for use in soups.) Before digging in, I topped the whole thing off with a drizzle of olive oil and chili pepper—but, no cheese. Improvisation really is half the fun of cooking.
