
Chef Graziella
Abbacchio a Scottadito
Roman lamb chops grilled over scorching heat, seasoned with nothing but salt, rosemary, and fire. You eat them with your hands, straight from the grill, burning your fingers because you cannot wait.
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Verona's ancient braise, older than Italy itself, where beef surrenders to Amarone over hours of patient simmering until wine and meat become inseparable. Served always with soft polenta, as the Veronese have done for generations beyond counting.
Every dish has a home. This one belongs to Verona, and to Verona alone. The rest of Italy has its brasati and stracotti, but pastissada is something different, something older. The wine does not merely flavor the meat. It transforms it over hours of slow heat until you cannot taste where one ends and the other begins.
The traditional version uses horse meat. I know this troubles some American sensibilities, so I give you the beef preparation, which the Veronese also make and which achieves nearly the same depth. Nearly. If you find yourself in Verona and see pastissada de caval on the menu, have the courage to order it. You will understand.
What you keep out matters here as much as anywhere. There is no tomato. There is no garlic. The spices are whole and restrained: bay, clove, cinnamon, peppercorn. They perfume the braise without announcing themselves. The wine is Amarone, the great dried-grape red of Valpolicella, and it must be a wine you would drink. Never cook with wine you would not put in a glass.
This dish cannot be rushed. If you do not have four hours for cooking and a day for marinating, make something else. Come back to this when you have time to give it what it demands.
Legend traces pastissada to 489 AD, when the Ostrogoth king Theodoric defeated Odoacer at the Battle of Verona. So many horses fell that the citizens preserved the meat by marinating it in wine. Whether the story is true matters less than what it reveals: this is a dish born from necessity and elevated through centuries of refinement. It predates the tomato's arrival in Italy by a thousand years, which explains why authentic pastissada contains none.
Quantity
3 pounds
cut into 2-inch pieces
Quantity
1 bottle (750ml)
Quantity
1 large
diced
Quantity
2 medium
peeled and diced
Quantity
2
diced
Quantity
4 tablespoons
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
2
Quantity
4
Quantity
1
Quantity
6
Quantity
1 sprig
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| beef chuck roastcut into 2-inch pieces | 3 pounds |
| Amarone della Valpolicella | 1 bottle (750ml) |
| yellow oniondiced | 1 large |
| carrotspeeled and diced | 2 medium |
| celery stalksdiced | 2 |
| unsalted butter | 4 tablespoons |
| extra virgin olive oil | 2 tablespoons |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| whole cloves | 4 |
| cinnamon stick | 1 |
| black peppercorns | 6 |
| fresh rosemary | 1 sprig |
| kosher salt | to taste |
| soft polenta | for serving |
Place the beef pieces in a deep ceramic or glass bowl. Pour the entire bottle of Amarone over the meat. The wine should nearly cover it. Add the bay leaves, cloves, cinnamon stick, and peppercorns to the marinade. Cover tightly and refrigerate for at least 12 hours, preferably 24. Turn the meat once or twice during this time. The wine begins its work of tenderizing and flavoring long before heat is applied.
Remove the beef from the marinade and pat each piece thoroughly dry with paper towels. Wet meat will not brown properly. Strain the marinade through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl, reserving both the liquid and the whole spices. Let the meat come to room temperature for 30 minutes before cooking.
In a heavy Dutch oven, heat two tablespoons of butter with the olive oil over medium-high heat until the butter foam subsides. Working in batches to avoid crowding, brown the beef pieces on all sides. This takes 3 to 4 minutes per batch. The crust should be deep mahogany, not pale. Transfer browned meat to a plate. Do not rush this step. Do not crowd the pan.
Reduce heat to medium. Add the remaining two tablespoons of butter to the pot. When melted, add the onion, carrots, and celery. Cook slowly, stirring occasionally, scraping up the browned bits from the bottom of the pot. These fond are concentrated flavor. Continue until the vegetables are soft and golden, about 15 minutes. The soffritto is the foundation. Build it properly.
Return the beef and any accumulated juices to the pot. Nestle the meat among the vegetables. Pour the reserved marinade over everything. Add the reserved whole spices and the rosemary sprig. The liquid should come about two-thirds up the sides of the meat. If needed, add a splash of water. Bring to a gentle simmer, then cover tightly and reduce heat to the lowest setting. The surface should show only the occasional lazy bubble.
Braise in the covered pot for 3 to 4 hours, checking occasionally to ensure the liquid barely simmers. Turn the meat once halfway through. The pastissada is ready when the beef yields completely to a fork, nearly falling apart at the touch. The sauce will have reduced and darkened to a deep wine-brown. If it reduces too much before the meat is tender, add water, not more wine.
Transfer the beef to a warm platter. Fish out and discard the bay leaves, cinnamon stick, rosemary sprig, and any cloves or peppercorns you can find. If the sauce seems thin, simmer it uncovered for several minutes until it coats a spoon. Taste and adjust salt. The sauce should be rich, concentrated, and deeply savory with the haunting sweetness of reduced Amarone.
Pastissada must be served with soft polenta. This is not a suggestion. Spoon the polenta onto warm plates, making a well in the center. Place the beef in the well and spoon the sauce generously over both meat and polenta. The polenta absorbs the sauce, the meat falls apart at the fork, and you understand why Verona has made this dish for fifteen centuries.
1 serving (about 300g)
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