Prosciutto, melone e fichi

Prosciutto, melon, and figs

For years it was a choice between figs or melon. I’d flip the two back and forth in my mind, weighing fragrant over sweet and vinous, moons over torn flesh. Then, in a domestic eureka moment at my market stall, I realized I can have both: I can have my melon and eat my figs with prosciutto too.

serves 4

1 ripe melon, ideally cantaloupe or honeydew

8 ripe figs

8 slices of prosciutto, ideally San Daniele

Cut the melon in half, scoop out the seeds, slice it into 1-inch-thick wedges, and pare away the rind. Cut the figs in half. Arrange the melon, figs, and prosciutto on a large platter and serve.

White pizza

When I first arrived in Rome, I walked and walked. In retrospect, this was the best thing to do. In order to understand Rome you must be physical, pound hard, touch, inhale, and taste, and allow the city with its stone and dust to work itself into you. The senses are much more honest than studious intelligence. In truth, though, it wasn’t a conscious decision. I didn’t know what else to do, so I walked as a way of continuing to flee, to keep running, counting steps, counting churches, counting coffees.

Caffè was of paramount importance and fueled my walking. The Roman habit of paying up front at the cashier, then drinking your short, dark espresso standing up against the bar suited me as I shifted from foot to foot, never really stopping, exchanged two words, and then moved on. For sustenance there was pizza bianca, Rome’s adored street food, which is bought by the slice and eaten while you rove or dawdle around the city.

My local baker, Passi, makes a good everyday pizza bianca, but for some of the best you need to walk up the river to Il Forno di Campo dè Fiori or Roscioli. Better still, you can cross Rome to Pizzarium, a small but almost perfectly formed pizza al taglio (pizza by the slice) just up from Cipro metro station. It’s a Tardis-like place, where Gabriele Bonci and his crew of broad-handed, flour-dusted pizzaioli make some of the best pizza bianca you could hope to taste: firm-bottomed and crisp at first, then giving way to a proper, mouth-arresting chew, with oil and salt clinging to your lips.

It never crossed my mind to make pizza bianca at home until I started working on this book. I felt it was one of those things that’s better left to the experts, most of whom spend their days in tiny Roman forni, paddling hot pizza daily from the gaping mouths of ovens, brushing them with olive oil, strewing them with salt, and slicing them just for me. Then I kept finding myself writing “good with pizza bianca,” “serve with pizza bianca.” Figs and prosciutto, mozzarella and tomatoes all cried out for pizza bianca. I realized I would have to learn.

Pizza bianca

Pizza with olive oil and salt

This is the recipe from the man who knows: Gabriele Bonci. It’s an intimidating one at first glance, or it was for me at least. You need to seek out the right flour, deal with a particularly sticky, putty-like dough, have patience for the long, slow, 24-hour rise, then handle it with a puttering touch. But when you try it you realize that it’s actually not that much bother at all. Yes, there are the three rounds of folding, but it’s actually pretty straightforward. It requires that you wait, but don’t all good things? The puttering touch is easily mastered and the final pizza is worth every moment, especially if you are someone who has been dreaming of pizza bianca ever since you left Rome (it is, among my friends at least, one of the things people miss most).

The key to this recipe, I’ve learned, is the piegature di rinforzo, or “folding to reinforce.” By stretching and folding the dough gently, developing the gluten and incorporating air into it, you render it altogether more manageable. Important, too, is the long, slow rise in the fridge, where the cool inhibits a fast inflate and forces the dough to work, stretch, and develop. It is this slow rise that produces an extremely digestible pizza. As for the baking, there are no two ways about it: domestic ovens are not going to come close to the temperatures or conditions of a professional oven. However, don’t let this stop you from giving it a try at home—just turn your oven up as high as it will go. There’s a reason why Romans hang around in bakeries and pizza al taglio places waiting for the pizza to come out of the oven. Eat it as soon as you can.

makes 5 pizzas (can be halved)

2¼ pounds Italian farina 0 or bread flour

3½ teaspoons fast-action dried yeast, or 2 tablespoons plus ½ teaspoon fresh yeast

2½ teaspoons salt

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

You’ll need a standard square or rectangular, thin-based, rimmed baking sheet or pizza stone. I use a run-of-the-mill 12 x 12-inch rimmed baking sheet.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour and yeast with a wooden spoon. Then add a scant 3 cups water gradually, and once it is incorporated, add the salt and the oil. Mix until you have a pale, sticky, putty-like mixture. Cover with a clean tea towel or plastic wrap and leave to rest for 1 hour at room temperature in a draft-free part of the kitchen.

Scrape the mixture onto a lightly floured board; it will still be sticky. Now for the piegature di rinforzo. With lightly floured hands, gently stretch and pull the edges of the dough and fold them back over themselves. Try as best as you can to turn the dough 90 degrees (it will stick) by using a dough scraper or spatula and repeat the pull-and-fold motion. With this repeated pulling and folding, the incorporation of air and a little flour from your hands means the dough will get more soft and manageable. Bonci suggests you repeat this pulling-and-folding motion 3 times, wait for 20 minutes, repeat, wait for 20 minutes, then repeat.

Put the soft dough in an oiled bowl, cover it with a tea towel or plastic wrap, and leave it for 18–24 hours in the bottom half of the fridge.

Remove the bowl from the fridge and leave it for 10 minutes. Carefully lift the dough out of the bowl and cut it into 5 pieces of more or less 12 ounces each—you can use a scale to check. Working piece by piece, shape the dough into a ball, fold it over once as you did for the piegature di rinforzo, and leave it to sit for another 30 minutes at room temperature, away from any drafts. Preheat the oven to 500°F and oil your baking sheet or pizza stone.

The final stage needs to be done with a delicate touch; you don’t want to squash out the air you have so patiently incorporated. On a lightly floured board, use your fingertips to push and massage the dough into a square or rectangle the same size as your baking sheet, starting from the borders and working into the center. Once it is more or less the right size, drape it over your arm and lift it onto your prepared baking sheet. Zig-zag the dough with a thin stream of olive oil.

Bake it directly on the floor of the oven for 15 minutes, then check the pizza by lifting up the corner and looking underneath—it should be firm and golden. If it seems nearly done, move it to the middle rack for 10 more minutes. Take it out, brush it with more olive oil if you think it needs it, and sprinkle with salt. Slice and eat.