Almost Italian

Like all the European peoples of the Mediterranean, Italians have myriad recipes for dried and salted codfish. But among Americans of Italian descent, baccalà holds a special place. Often the cornerstone of their Christmas Feast of the Seven Fishes, baccalà was a common Lenten or Friday meal when observant Catholics avoided meat.

Baccalà with Polenta
Copyright © 2009, Skip Lombardi

The very name baccalà permeates Italian-American speech: despite the mayhem with which he was associated on The Sopranos, the mere mention of Bobby Baccala guarantees a laugh. Author Jimmy Breslin chose the name Baccala for his fictional Don in The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight. A slab of dried baccalà is hard and unyielding…the epithet is used to describe a stubborn dolt, in short, “a blockhead.”

But back to gastronomy…

The irony is that a commodity that become nearly iconic in traditional Italian culture and cuisine was neither caught nor prepared in Italy—nor anywhere else in the Mediterranean. Subjects for a much longer discussion, salt-cod and stockfish (both cod, but distinguished by their salting methods) were caught in icy North Atlantic waters as distant as those of Newfoundland’s Georges Bank. Eviscerated, dried, and salted aboard fishing vessels or ashore in northern Europe, cod became vital to northern trade with the Mediterranean. In ports like Marseilles, Genoa, Livorno, and Trapani, dried fruits, wine, spices, and other Oriental luxuries, as well as SALT (essential to curing the cod back in the Nordic countries) would be loaded onto ships that had just off-loaded dried cod.

Such was the power of trade and the introduction of a product with shelf-life, that in Italy—where no part of the peninsula is more than 75 miles from the sea—people have been enjoying dried salt-cod for centuries. So, like the pomodoro and the peperoncino, here is another gift from La Terra Nuova that needed a few transatlantic passages to realize its gastronomic potential.

One of my earliest childhood memories is my walking into Public Market on Main Street in Middletown, Connecticut, and becoming immediately enveloped by the distinctive, slightly ammoniated aroma of baccalà. Slabs of the stiff, pale fillets were always displayed on a counter in a wooden packing case.

My memory was later rekindled while I studied music in Boston; I became reacquainted with baccalà in open bins in front of Joe Pace’s Grocery, then a culinary mecca on Salem Street in the North End.

Since my non-Catholic family thought of the Seven Fishes, Lent, and meatless fast-days as outside their own tradition, we had the luxury of eating baccalà—holiday or not—simply because it was delicious. Here is my grandparents’ version.

Ingredients:

1 Lb. Dried salt-cod (Look for a package labeled “BONELESS”)
4 Tbs. Olive oil
4 Cloves garlic, peeled, and sliced thinly
2 Medium onions, peeled, and thinly sliced lengthwise
1 28 oz. Can of plum tomatoes (preferably San Marzano)
1/2 Cup raisins (My grandparents preferred seedless, blond “sultanas”)
2 Tbs. Capers, rinsed and drained
4 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped

Preparation:

In a cool place 50° F. or colder, soak the baccalà for 2 – 3 days, changing the soaking water 2 or 3 times per day. When ready to cook, drain and cut the fish into 4-inch chunks.

Heat the olive oil in a large sauté pan set over medium heat, then add the sliced garlic. Sauté briefly, being careful not to let the garlic burn, then add the sliced onions. Sauté over medium heat until the onions wilt.

Remove the pan from the heat as you pour in the tomatoes, crushing them with the back of a fork so that you have large chunks. Simmer the sauce for 20 – 30 minutes, or until it has thickened.

Add the raisins and capers, then add the baccalà. Simmer, partially covered, for approximately 15 minutes, or until the baccalà flakes easily. Divide among four bowls, sprinkle with the parsley, and serve with bread or polenta.

Serves four.