Paola's Paiolo
Topsham,
Devon 9 May 1998
Our friend Paola has a paiolo, an odd-shaped copper cooking pot
with a wide, flared mouth and a hooped handle which you hang from a
hook over an open fire. It is not overly large, perhaps some 20 cm in
diameter at the mouth, less at the base, sufficient to hold about 5
litres. It is old and heavy and clearly well-used and much-loved. "My
father gave it to me," she explained when she first brought it
over to our house last year, "when I came from Italy to live in
England so that I could make polenta in the real way." That
is to say, in the classic manner, utilising the finest stoneground
polenta cornmeal (which she brings back from her hometown of Varese)
and cooked in the paiolo together with only water and a pinch
of salt. To stir the polenta, something of an arm-aching -- and
sometimes dangerous -- ritual in itself (polenta has the propensity
to spit), Paola uses a bastoncino, a wooden stirring stick handcarved
by her father himself. Paola's polenta is probably the best we've
ever eaten.
Paola
cycled over to visit us this weekend, and she brought her paiolo
with her in a knapsack, together with some almonds, sugar and a few
lemons. "We'll make torrone croccante," she told Guy
and Bella, "You can help me." Thus after dinner, enjoyed for
the first time this year outside in the garden, watching the Mirror
sailing dinghies returning upriver from the Exe Challenge series of
races as the sun went down over the Exminster marshes, Paola set them
to work: Bella grating the lemon rind, Guy measuring the almonds and
sugar, and then the two of them taking turns helping Paola to stir the
mixture. The recipe is exceedingly simple: no more than coarsely chopped
almonds, an equal quantity of white sugar (we used 400 g. of each),
the rind of two lemons plus a pinch of cinammon. The method: add the
chopped almonds and the sugar to a paiolo di rame (copper pot)
or other heavy-based saucepan, and place over a medium-low flame, stirring
all the while. The mixture appears very dry, and you need to be patient
and keep stirring to ensure that it does not burn on the bottom of the
pan. After 20-25 minutes, a magical transformation suddenly occurs:
the sugar, ever so slowly at first, then all of a sudden, melts to liquid,
there is a glorious aroma of toasted almonds and burnt sugar, and the
caramel syrup transforms to a deep chestnut brown colour. "Ahh,"
said Paola, "the smell of Christmas!", the traditional time
of the year to make this favourite Italian candy.
Once
the mixture has become a homogeneous, dark brown mix, it is simply turned
out onto a well-oiled board or, better still, a cool marble slab. Using
an oiled or wet rolling pan, the mixture is flattened, and it quickly
begins to set as hard as glass. The temptation is overwhelming to pop
a bit of the crunchy, fragrant candy in your mouth, but it is still
deceptively hot, as little Bella found out to her cost. Before the croccantegoes
completely hard, it is cut into strips, then into little squares. Once
cool, we enjoyed it immediately. (It will apparently keep well for some
time, but unfortunately, we cannot confirm this as we scoffed the lot
with embarrassing rapidity).
As
Paola left that evening, copper pot in her zaino strapped to
her back, she patted the knapsack with quiet satisfaction and said,
"It's good to get the paiolo out and use it from time to
time."
