Cudduruni
February 12th, 2009Our friends assume that we just like to eat and blog about food. True enough, but that’s not the whole picture: we indulge our passion for food on many levels, both sensory and intellectual.
That two food writers will pay attention to the aroma, taste, texture, and appearance of food is only to be expected. But—particularly on this blog—there is also the broad realm of nostalgia: our recollections of what Italians in America grew, baked, sold…what they called certain dishes…how they made them… what happened in my grandparents’ kitchen—or downtown at the Garibaldi Society…
Copyright © 2009, Skip Lombardi
And then there is the tickle that makes us ask questions and search for clues to a name or a technique so as to better understand how a dish evolved and became part of Italian food culture here in America. To put it another way, we like the back-story.
Sometimes, though, a dish like cudduruni (coo-doo-ROO-nee) is so simple that it’s just accepted as part of the repertoire. We’d assumed that sheet-pans of bread dough baked with a topping of crushed tomatoes, olive oil, and perhaps a dusting of grated cheese had to be mama’s home version of pizza—no more, no less. That is until we tried to spell the word I remembered from my childhood; I had never seen the written name. All I could recall was how it had sounded in the Sicilian dialect of Middletown, Connecticut, as spoken by immigrants from Melilli (near Catania).
Cookbooks were no help… and even Google yielded little until we played around with the sounds… Gu—daruni, ghuddar—uni, cu—dar—oni….. closer now…Cudduruni. But what did it mean? Was this another Arabic word, like giugiulena, a snack left over from the Middle Ages?
We followed the word’s etymology from ancient Greek. (Greeks had colonized Sicily over 2,500 years ago, and their language permeated the tongues spoken around the Mediterranean.) Still, all we had to go on was the hint that the Greek kollyra, a small roll of dough, had morphed into cudduruni. But how?
Fasten your seat belts:
The Greek ‘K’ became the Latin (and modern Italian) ‘C.’ A hard ‘C’ in Sicilian is frequently pronounced as a ‘G,’ so that’s why we had had no idea how to spell it in the first place!
Meanwhile, the Italian ending—one, meaning “a large version of…,” gave us the Sicilian uni. (Think, “minestrone.”)
So you could say, cudduruni is super-sized cuddura. And a cuddura (also written as coddura or cuddhura) is any one of a wide variey of Sicilian breads baked to celebrate the end of Lent.
And when we found a recipe and series of bizarre Italian instructions for a coiled calzone titled Cudduruni Miliddisa (coupled with photos of the festival of San Sebastiano—Sebastian being the patron saint of both Mellili and Middletown), we knew that we had it:
We remembered a quirk of Sicilian dialect—the substitution of double ‘D’ for the common Italian, Latin, and Greek double ‘L.’ So, kollyra to cuddura to cudduruni!
Still with us? Read on, for here is a dish whose whole vastly exceeds the sum of its parts. Unassuming in its simplicity, cudduruni appeases the appetite until the serving of a more substantial meal. It’s a favorite at Christmas and Easter. But in our opinion, it’s too good and too easy to save for holidays.
Cudduruni, sharing some of the characteristics of deep-dish pizza and focaccia, is unlike anything else in Sicilian-American cooking.
Copyright © 2009, Skip Lombardi
Among the qualities that distinguish it are:
- • Cudduruni is always baked in a pan, even if it goes into a wood-fired oven.
- • The cheese topping is Parmigiano or Romano rather than mozzarella. (If cheese were ever incorporated in the original Sicilian version, it would have been the sheep’s milk pecorino of the Italian South.)
- • The sauce is no more than canned, crushed tomatoes in a heavy purée. (Some families used strattu, the sun-dried tomato conserve many Sicilians and southern Italian-Americans made at home.)
Nearly every Little Italy bakery in New England used to make some version of cudduruni. Traditionally available only on Saturday morning, the treat was typically just a slab of dough spread with the requisite olive oil, tomato purée, and Parmigiano. (The Palmieri Bakery in Providence, Rhode Island, still offers their cheeseless version.) A few establishments added sliced garlic or dried oregano to the topping, while a handful went all out in their expression of abbondanza by tossing on ground beef, sausage, or anchovies before the pan went into the oven.
When I lived in the North End of Boston, I particularly enjoyed the version on offer at Mozzicato’s on upper Salem Street, although Bova’s on the corner of Salem and Prince produced a consistently fine product, too. Even Mike’s and Modern Pastry—bakeries best-known for their dolci—made cudduruni on Saturdays. My weekend typically began with the ritual purchase of a half-dozen slices, and I never arrived home with more than three.
Growing up in Middletown, Connecticut, during the 1960′s, I was fortunate enough to have several cudduruni suppliers. Marino’s on Ferry Street and Lastrina’s on Union Street were veritable temples of pizza, but it was nice to have a slice or two of cudduruni while waiting for a pie. And Public Market on Main Street was always a reliable source on a Saturday morning.
My grandmother made cudduruni—among a host of other snacks—for our family’s open house each Christmas Eve. Beginning in late afternoon, various aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends would stop by for some holiday cheer; cudduruni was always part of the spread.
When Nonna made hers, she poured a slick of olive oil across the bottom of a sheet pan, placed the dough in the pan, and stretched it out to reach the sides. My recipe here is a little more conservative with the oil. By using parchment paper, I have an easier clean-up and still get that delicious, baked-with-olive-oil flavor.
Ingredients:
1 Lb. Pizza dough at room temperature
2 Tbs. Olive oil
1 1/2 Cups crushed tomatoes in heavy purée
1 tsp. Crushed red pepper flakes (Pepperoncini)
1/2 Cup freshly grated Parmigiano or Romano
Preparation:
Use a baking dish or heavy sheet pan at least 9 x 14 inches. Cut a sheet of parchment paper large enough cover the bottom and sides of the pan. (It’s okay if the paper sticks up a little above the sides.) Fit the paper into the pan and set it aside.
Preheat the oven to 375 F.
If you’re using parchment, lightly flour the dough, then strech and roll it out to approximately the size of your pan. Place the rolled-out dough into the pan and stretch it to meet the sides.
If you’re not using parchment, lightly coat the bottom of a sheet pan with olive oil. Place the dough in the center of the sheet pan, then press and stretch to flatten the dough to fill the pan.
Coat the top of the dough with olive oil. Then, using a large spoon or ladle, spread the crushed tomatoes over the oiled dough.
Sprinkle the red pepper flakes and grated cheese evenly over the tomatoes.
Bake for approximately 40 minutes in the middle of the preheated oven.
Serves 1 or more.
Copyright © 2009, Skip Lombardi
Although it may be hard to resist eating this hot out of the oven, most Sicilians serve cudduruni at room temperature.
February 15th, 2009 at 8:20 am
Many thanks. We’ll continue to try making it worth your while to come back.
Best regards,
Skip Lombardi
February 15th, 2009 at 8:34 pm
My grandmother, who came from Calabria used to make something very similar. In Philadelphia we call this Tomato Pie.
February 15th, 2009 at 9:37 pm
Very interesting. We just heard from Peter Romano, whose grandfather is commonly thought to have invented Stromboli in Essington. He talked about Tomato Pie as well.
We’d love to hear more stories like this from Philladelphians.
Best regards,
Skip Lombardi
February 19th, 2009 at 6:54 pm
I can’t wait to try this one out…looks delicious and what I remember my grandmother making as a snack on Saturdays. (Her mom was from Naples)
March 29th, 2009 at 12:16 am
A very similar version of this pizza was found in Rhode Island growing up. Not just at the Palmeiri bakery as mentioned previously, but throughout many places in the state. We simply called them “pizza strips”. No birthday party or first communion was complete without a tray of pizza strips adorning the table. Usually next to the “wandis”. (Italian-American for the Neopalitan guanti I believe)
In 2005, I visited Italy and met some distant cousins. They were generous beyond what I could have expected and they even invited me to a birthday party in Rome. In the local park, there was a tray of…pizza strips! It was a culinary connection to my roots found at a modest park in the Roman suburbs. It could have been a child’s birthday party in Rhode Island; instead it was in Rome. The cultural echoes continue through the food.
September 8th, 2009 at 8:41 am
I was born in Palermo and I grew up with Cudduruni. We actually call it sfinciuni. I have a catering business and I make it often. At first people are a bit skeptical eating it at room temperature, but once they try it, they cannot get enough.
I tried your recipe and it is wonderful.
One of the versions my mom did, as I do now, saute lots of sliced onions, and add chopped tomatoes. Pour over dough and top with chunks of locatelli, grated locatelli and drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle bread crumbs.
September 8th, 2009 at 12:11 pm
Many thanks for your note. Your mother’s version sounds delicious. As the weather cools down, I look forward to trying it.
Best regards,
Skip
September 8th, 2009 at 9:58 pm
Dear Clorinda– I’m curious about the locatelli: I would have thought that, back in Sicily, you would have been more likely to use ricotta salata. Is the use of locatelli something that developed here in the US– in your family or community?
What you describe is further proof that Italian cuisines are continuing to evolve wherever Italians themselves take root. Even as we write for this blog, we learn of delicious variations of classics. Thank you for writing to us. Our readers’ insights and comments enrich these pages just as your mother’s sauteed onions and cheese enhance her version of cudduruni.
October 27th, 2009 at 9:22 am
Dear Holly – We did not use ricotta salata for sfinciuni, we actually used chunks and grated sharp cheeses, such as locatelli. However, we used cacio cavallo more than locatelli.
It is definitely true that Italian cooking is evolving in all parts of the world. I for one, always introduce dishes of the past and people love them. Some of them are stuffed sun dried tomatoes, pumpkin in a viniagrette sauce, fried cheese, panelle, croque’ and gratto’ di patate, pasta al forno, etc., Let’s keep our culture alive with foods we grew up with.
March 2nd, 2010 at 11:04 pm
Oh my gosh, you are the first person I’ve come across that has heard of cudduruni! I thought it was just something somebody in my family made up years ago … I’d never seen a recipe for this before; it certainly hadn’t been written down by anyone in my family, and I learned the recipe orally from my mom only a few years ago. Like you, searches on the Internet turned up almost nothing, but I wrote our family recipe down a few years ago and the spelling I came up with is close to the one you found, so it’s good to know I was on the right track!
My Nanna, whose family was from Floridia, Sicily, but who grew up in Omaha, NE, used to make this for us as a way of using up leftover cooked vegetables. Our recipe is pretty different from yours, however, because our cudduruni is a filled bread, like a huge calzone, without cheese, rather than topped with vegetables. We fill ours with cooked broccoli, cooked potatoes, and sauteed onions and garlic. We serve it warm or at room temperature, and dip it in leftover tomato pasta sauce when we eat it.
March 7th, 2010 at 11:16 am
Hi Elizabeth,
Thanks for your comments. Actually, what you’ve described is a dish that my family called Schiacciatta. My grandmother would make it three or four times per year on major holidays; Christmas eve in particular, when my family held a huge open-house party. And indeed, the fillings were exactly as you’ve described with the addition of Veal, Potatoes, and Onions on very special occasions.
What I found most interesting is that Floridia is very close to Syracusa, but Schiaccatta–as nearly as I can tell–originated in Catania, about 70 Km. away. While it’s only about an hour by car today, it would have been quite a haul for anyone back in the late 1800′s. So I’m surprised–and delighted–that your grandmother would have known about it.
As for Cudduruni, please hang on to the recipe. It seems to be going the way of the dinosaurs in the mom & pop bakeries of Little Italy. We’re trying to keep the tradition alive.
Best regards,
Skip Lombardi
April 21st, 2010 at 6:48 pm
All the Hartford bakeries had this. We called it bakery pizza, never hot, always room tempature, until the “wonderful” health department decided to destroy another great tradition. (Most places just nodded yeah, yeah, and put the pies right back up after the department left)
But, the best version I ever had, was Caserta’s on Federal Hill ,in Providence, when I went there for college. This place has the best pan casalinga pizza in the entire country. The crust, brown, crisp and slightly oily from the crisco (many places use crisco for the bottom, not oil, simply becasue the dough will not spring back when you use lard, it grips and holds the dough in place, right to the edges.) The tomato topping a deep red, a bit dry in spots and heavy in others. And they finished this little slice of heavy with oil, and grated ROMANO cheese. Just wonderful. (love the fresh basil in your pic….smell it from here!)
April 22nd, 2010 at 12:22 pm
Hello, Nick,
Thanks for your comment. I never spent a lot of time on Franklin Ave. when I was growing up because we could get all of those treats either at home or at one of two or three huge pizzerias in Middletown. (Marino’s, Lastrina’s, for exampe)
I’m afraid I also missed out on Caserta’s the last time I was in Providence, but found some decent cudduruni at Palmieri’s, along with a boatload of homemade taralli.
Glad you enjoyed the recipe.
Best regards,
Skip Lombardi
February 2nd, 2011 at 10:18 am
I can’t believe I finally found this recipe. My ex-mother-in-law who was from Middletown and has since passed made this all the time and it was the best. I have tried to duplicate it and it just isn’t the same. I was born and brought up in Middletown and often went to Marino’s and Lastrina’s for pizza and pasta. Loved going into the bakery and the kitchen to watch them putting the pizza’s together. This has brought back alot of great memories. Again thank you for putting this out on the web.
September 20th, 2011 at 3:26 pm
Oh, this brings back memories of my uncle, Joe Oteri’s bread bakery on Prince Street in Boston’s North End (1940′s – 1950′s). I didn’t realize at the time that he was not making pizza, but his (Messinese) version of Cudduruni (first time I’ve heard the term).
Thanks for the memories (and the tears).
January 1st, 2012 at 6:25 pm
I am so excited to find your web-page. My father’s family (Spada) was from Middletown, on Union Street, near Lastrina’s bakery, which you mention in your article. My aunts used to make “Sicilian pizza” just as you have described, although I had not heard the term cudduruni. Since all are now deceased, I long for this comfort food. Thanks for all of the background and for the recipe. My aunts added chopped onion to the tomato sauce and did not use the red pepper flakes. But we did eat it at room temperature — that’s the only way to enjoy it. They also made sciacciatta — bread stuffed with chunks of potatoes and onions. Ohhh, my mouth is watering! Thanks again!
January 12th, 2012 at 10:20 pm
What a happy day it was in my house when I found this page. My husband’s family is from Utica, NY; tomato pie, as its called there, is a staple at every get-together and is available everywhere. My teenage boys can inhale a pie in no time. 100 miles away in Rochester, where we live, no one has ever heard of it, and an attempt to describe it in its delicious simplicity is impossible. In Utica it always served at room temperature, but I’ve never seen red pepper flakes (but I’m willing to try). Thank you so much.
January 15th, 2012 at 11:58 am
We love hearing readers like you, Kelli. Your account of tomato pie reminds us that any Italian “recipe,” whether made back in Italy and in America, enjoys scores of local variations.