Spicy Tuna Salad

photo for Boston Globe by Debra Samuels

Think spicy tuna and a sushi bar comes to mind. But there are other ways to meld rich fish and hot condiments. One is this composed canned tuna salad, made with the same spicy sauce used in those popular sushi rolls. You can make the same dish with shrimp, grilled salmon, smoked salmon, or leftover roast striped bass. The sauce begins with ordinary mayo, to which sesame oil and a few squirts of the Thai hot sauce sriracha are mixed in - enough to make a lip-tingling, faintly pink-colored sauce. Flake white tuna onto peppery arugula, garnish the plates with radishes for even more bite, and toss on a few cucumbers to cool the presentation. Then drizzle with spicy sauce. Not your mother’s tuna salad.

1/4 cup mayonnaise
2 teaspoons dark sesame oil
1 teaspoon sriracha sauce, or more to taste
1 bunch arugula, stems removed
2 cans (6 1/2 ounces each) solid white albacore tuna in water
1 bunch radishes, soaked to remove sand, trimmed, and quartered
2 Armenian or pickling cukes, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 scallions, chopped
4 small whole-wheat pita, halved and toasted

1. In a small mixing bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, sesame oil, and sriracha. Taste for seasoning and add more sriracha, if you like.
2. On each of 4 plates, arrange some of the arugula. Divide the tuna among the plates, setting it in a mound on each one. Add radishes and cucumbers.
3. Spoon the sauce over the tuna and sprinkle with scallions. Serve with toasted pita.

The flavors of Sicily, topped with tradition

Concetta checks the pizza sponge as Angela makes the sauce.

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.

By Debra Samuels

Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009

DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.

It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.

Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).

The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.

Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma,
she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.

An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.

Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings.

One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.

Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.

Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.

Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

The Flavors of Sicily, Topped with Tradition

Concetta checks the pizza dough sponge while Angela makes sauce

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.

By Debra Samuels
Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009

DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.
It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.
Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).
The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.
Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma, she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.
An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.
Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings. One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.
Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.
Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.
Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

The Flavors of Sicily Topped with Tradition

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.
(Photos By Erik Jacobs for The Boston Globe)
By Debra Samuels
Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009
DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.
It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.
Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).
The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.
Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma, she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.
An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.
Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings. One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.
Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.
Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.
Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.
© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

The word on rotisserie bird

The aromas from five rotisserie chickens, purchased just before the tasters arrived, were so enticing that the group of six sat at the table, forks at the ready, and let out a collective "Mmm." All of the birds had come out of their ovens between 4 and 5 p.m., timed perfectly for shoppers on their way home from work.

Debra Samuels

March 25, 2009
By Debra Samuels

Globe Correspondent / March 25, 2009

The aromas from five rotisserie chickens, purchased just before the tasters arrived, were so enticing that the group of six sat at the table, forks at the ready, and let out a collective "Mmm." All of the birds had come out of their ovens between 4 and 5 p.m., timed perfectly for shoppers on their way home from work.

Many markets have the birds on view doing their slow pirouettes on spits behind glass-door ovens. When done, the chickens are packed and placed under warming lights. We chose the plain flavor each store had to offer but only one bird was truly plain. Others were roasted with spices. Shaw's supermarket, Market Basket, and Roche Bros. list ingredients that include a solution of water, salt, sodium phosphates, and sundry other items (some up to 20 percent).

The winner was Shaw's Sea Salt and Pepper chicken, chosen by four tasters, labeled Culinary Circle. A friendly staff person at Shaw's told me they cook chickens every three hours (all the stores are on similar schedules) and if you're willing to take home a cold bird, it's $2 less. "It's not old, its just cold," she said. Boston Market did not list ingredients on its package; if it did, salt would be at the top. It garnered one best vote but was deemed way too salty for the others. The only bird without spices was Whole Foods Market's, which got four least favorite votes; most found it dry and tasteless.

Prices range from $4 to $10 for a whole chicken regardless of weight. Not bad for feeding a family, considering there will probably be leftovers for a sandwich or at the very least bones for a tasty chicken soup.

Culinary Circle, a Shaw's brand ($6.99)
Packaged in a domed plastic container.
This chicken with sea salt and black pepper received consistently high scores across the categories. On appearance: "Looks appetizing, color is good." "Browned just right." "Best color - evenly roasted." Taste: "Breast is moist and delicious. Thigh is moist and tasty." "Juicy thigh; juicy breast." " Skin looks appetizing and is tasty too." "Not overcooked." Aroma: "Smells delicious." Only one didn't join the love fest: "Why no flavor? High marks for being moist, low marks for flavor."

Boston Market ($8.29)
Packaged on an aluminum tray in a lined hot bag.
The overwhelming consensus: way too salty. "More salt than could possibly be healthy. The chef must have stock in Morton's," said one. Chosen best by our resident salt lover and worst by another who found the "legs salty, and the back not done." Someone else found "thigh somewhat moist and very salty." The appearance received low marks from two for uneven coloration. "Bird doesn't look appetizing, burned markings are uneven." "Color is not attractive - too pale." As to size, "Puny," sniffed one as she examined this bird. Some found the meat and texture good. "Moist white meat, moist dark meat." "White meat is very tasty, but the skin is soft." And finally the only comment about the aroma: "There is none."

Whole Foods Market
Plain Rotisserie Chicken ($9.99)
Packaged in a domed plastic container.
Apparently chicken being the only ingredient isn't enough. And the skin wasn't appealing either. "Doesn't look done enough." "Not browned enough. Pale and on the small side." "Looks like cardboard, tastes like chalk." The texture was indeed dismissed by all with one word: "Dry." If other birds were too salty, this one lacked it entirely. "Thigh: no salt! Breast: no salt!" "It's flavorless," announced one. But another said, "Dark meat is tastier" if she had to choose between white and dark. Then this: "Tiny wings and tiny legs." As the Borscht Belt line goes: "It tasted terrible - and there wasn't enough."

Roche Bros.
The Kitchen's Rotisserie Chicken ($6.99)
Packaged in a domed plastic container.
One person was very enthusiastic and picked it as a favorite. "Most inviting, visually dark. The taste is very moist and balanced." Another echoed that. "Looked good and the breast is plump." "Dark and white meat tasty and moist." "Not too salty - good!" One liked the way it looked. "Color is good, looks appetizing." But two others thought it looked burnt. One person thought the bird "isn't easy to cut." And in spite of the chicken being carried home in the domed container, with moisture collecting inside, two tasters commented that "the skin is crispy" and "somewhat crispy."

Market Basket
Perdue Rotisserie Chicken ($3.99)
Packaged on a foam black tray wrapped with plastic wrap.
This bird received relatively good marks for appearance. "Very even color; darkest of the five." "Color is OK but looks dry." On looks and texture: "Dry, crisp outside. Moist inside." One found it to have "a mushy texture overall." But many found the "white meat dry and the dark moist." "It seems overcooked but whatever is on the coating makes it feel moist," said another. Taste drew these remarks: "It tastes good, enough salt." "The flavor is OK not spicy." "Missing a spice or two or three."

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

Feast day calls for a special sweet

photo by: Debra Samuels Zeppole with vanilla cream and amarena cherries

By Debra Samuels
Globe Correspondent / March 18, 2009
In Italy tomorrow, men named Joseph and women named Josephine will hand out zeppole, a Neopolitan pastry of fried dough filled with cream, to family and friends to mark the feast of San Giuseppe. Closer to home, this patron saint of families is given his due at Italian bakeries in the area.
At Modern Pastry in the North End, baker Dago Ortez has been making zeppole for 19 years. Ortez uses an old-fashioned scale with free weights to measure his ingredients; the dough is fried twice and fillings are made from scratch. "I make these with my heart," says Ortez. Originally from El Salvador, Ortez was taught the art of making zeppole by Giovanni Picariello, whose son John, a sixth-generation baker, now owns the bakery with his sister Rosaria and mother Josephine.
Like many labor-intensive pastries, zeppole are no longer made by the women in the household. "My mother-in-law is from Sicily and she used to make them, but she doesn't do it anymore," says Paul Ursino, owner of Salem Foods, an Italian deli in Waltham. So Italian bakeries have become the surrogate nonne (grandmothers), and their pastry chefs work feverishly during the weeks leading up to the feast, known here as Saint Joseph's Day. Ortez says he can make, and sell out of, 400 zeppole a day; as Saint Joseph's approaches, he sometimes makes up to 1,000 daily.
Zeppole vary from region to region but are basically made of a choux paste (cream puff) dough. At Modern Pastry, Ortez's movements are like a choreographed dance sequence. He brings a huge pot of water and fat to a boil, then pours it into a commercial-size mixer. Then he adds the measured flour in one movement and sets a large paddle to work combining this into a paste. Ortez has ready a 2-quart metal pitcher filled with 160 eggs that he rhythmically cracks - klink, crack, klink, crack, klink, crack - adding three at a time to the paste. Using only his eyes and experience, he knows when to add the next three, and the next three, until the paste is a perfect consistency. There is no rushing this process.
Next he scoops the paste with a rubber spatula into long pastry bags fitted with a star tip and pipes large rings onto a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Two cauldrons of hot oil are ready. Ortez slips the rings from one sheet into one of the pots. Picariello explains: "We fry the rings in two different vats of oil. One at a low temperature - it helps the zeppole rise. The other, very hot, where they cook, expand in size, and fill the entire surface of the cauldron."
In constant motion, Ortez sways back and forth between the two vats swirling the zeppole until they are perfect. With a wire basket he scoops these amber jewels from the bubbling oil and sets them on a baking sheet. Piled high atop a glass case, they wait to be plucked and filled to order with a vanilla custard made from whole milk on the premises and studded with sweet and sour ruby red amarena cherries, also freshly made, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Other fillings available are ricotta cream or chocolate custard; the zeppole sell for $3 apiece.
Teresa Scialoia is on her way back to Florida and is stocking up on some favorites at the bakery before heading to the airport. "I used to work here so whenever I come back I stop by. Too bad I can't take the zeppole on the plane."
She is joined by her sister-in-law Carolina from Medford and a friend from Saugus named Fran Contino. Both have family members with the name Joseph. "This is the only place I come" for zeppole, says Contino, eyeing the pastries. Carolina will return with her 21-year-old son, Joseph, who will buy a dozen. "It is our tradition," she says.
"People want me to have the zeppole all year round," says Picariello, "but then it wouldn't be special."
Modern Pastry, 257 Hanover St., Boston, 617-523-3783 and 20 Salem St., Medford, 781-396-3618; http://www.modernpastry.com/
© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

Maharashtra fish curry

In this fish curry from the Maharashtra region in western India, you get both delicate and piquant in one dish. Coconut milk makes the sauce creamy but you get plenty of heat and flavor with a balanced blend of spices. Most Indian cooks toast and grind whole spices - some do this daily - but Renu Dvivedi, an Indian cooking teacher in Greenwich, Conn., and Dubai, says dried spices will work; buy them in small quantities and use them within 6 months. The spices are sauteed initially with onion and green chili pepper. Then stir in the coconut milk, and add thick white fish fillets such as haddock, cod, pollock, or sole, along with zucchini. Tuck the thinner sections of the fish under the thicker parts to create a uniform size for cooking. The fish and vegetable are bathed in a golden, aromatic sauce. Rice rounds out this exotic meal.

1 1/2 pounds white flesh fillets (haddock, cod, pollock, sole)

2 tablespoons oil 1 large onion, finely chopped

1 small green chili, seeded and finely chopped

2 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin 2 teaspoons ground coriander

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper 1/4 teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

2 cloves garlic, finely chopped

2 tablespoons unsweetened coconut flakes

2 tablespoons water

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon turmeric

1 cup unsweetened coconut milk

1 large zucchini, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds

1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

1 lemon, cut into slices

1. Tuck the thinner pieces of the fish under the thicker ones to make uniform pieces.

2. In a large skillet over medium heat, heat the oil. Add the onion and chili. Cook, stirring often, for 5 minutes or until the onion is golden.

3. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, combine the cumin, coriander, and cayenne and black peppers. Stir the spices into the skillet with the garlic and coconut flakes. Cook for 2 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in the water to form a paste; cook 1 minute more.

4. Add the salt, turmeric, and coconut milk. Bring to a boil. Lower the heat; simmer for 5 minutes.

5. Place the fish in the sauce. Set the zucchini at the edges. Cover and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove the cover and cook 3 minutes more or until the fish is done. Sprinkle with cilantro and garnish with lemons.

Adapted from Renu Dvivedi