how to eat a proper italian meal... or die trying

back in the village, about an hour out of Napoli, my grandmother's table was always full. apparently she never cooked just for her family, she cooked for twice as many, and all sorts of regulars and randoms would come to the table unannounced to share the meal. I'm not sure if they came for economic reasons or because she was a brilliant cook and they couldn't stay away. my grandfather migrated to Australia first and established a job and built a home. the rest of the family arrived a few years later, and when my grandmother began to cook in her new kitchen in the weatherboard house in Williamstown, the communal meals recommenced. my father and his sister can remember their neighbours and my grandfather's work mates coming to the table for my grandmother's pasta, roast meats, stuffed vegetables, parmigiana, breads, cakes and sweets. I like to imagine that some of them tasted for the first time amazing things unlike anything they'd known before.

when JG and I went to my aunty Lena's for dinner the other night, ostensibly for salami making advice, we were treated to a sample of those meals. I warned JG that there'd probably be a pasta dish first, and then meat and salad. "OK so don't eat loads of pasta" he noted. It was useless advice, she intended to stuff us and roll us out of there anyway.

first, salami and bread. aunty Lena made two types of salami, one with less fat, clean tasting and barely spiced. they were thin and needed to cure for only 4 weeks. for curing she uses the billiard room upstairs. it's cold. she hangs them just near the balcony door, which is open a fraction so the outside air circulates around the sausages.

next, a plate of pasta marinara. with typical care she doesn't use mussels or clams in her marinara. she makes it with white fish in pieces, shrimp and baby octopus which is meltingly tender from long, slow cooking with tomatoes, olive oil and a hint of garlic.

and then the main onslaught arrived. pork loin, stuffed with a mixture of egg, parmigiano, herbs and bread crumbs, then rolled and baked with carrots and herbs. green beans sautéed in tomato and oil. potatoes, sliced and panfried in olive oil then finished in the oven, served with fresh oregano and salt, exactly as my grandmother used to make. eggplant parmigiana, soft and light, baked with tomato and layers of bread and cheese stuffing in between the vegetable slices.

"oh dio, dimenticato" Lena said. "I forgot the cabbage". she looked around at our burgeoning plates and noted the panic in our faces. "Should I leave it?". JG, who has a genuine appreciation of green vegetables, encouraged her to bring it out, so we added green cabbage sautéed with tomato to our plates.

some small black olives, home cured, delicious with a hint of remaining bitterness.

when it was evident that I was performing calathenics with my duodenum in order to accommodate so much food, my father was protesting "non desidero mangiare troppo" (I don't want to eat too much) and JG was not going to succumb to the customary taunts reserved for in-laws ("mangi, mangi, what's wrong with you, you're weak"), the main event was over.

which brings us to something sweet. chocolate isn't a feature of Napolitana cooking, and nuts aren't used extensively, despite the proximity to Sicily where almonds are revered and used to create amazing pastries and torte e biscotti. occasionally something chocolatey will appear amongst the multitude of sweet offerings at our family gatherings but traditionally the sweet finish to a meal is something small to accompany coffee (it's very Napoli to have espresso after a meal, even late at night. they take it very sweet- the coffee should be pulled directly over the sugar into the cup so the sugar slightly caramelises).

Italian cake is rarely like the English style of dense, moist cake derived from pudding. they're soft and light and dry so they compliment coffee. aunty Lena made an apple cake fragrant with essence of Strega and vanilla, with thin apple slices on top.

and then they appeared, alongside the cake when the coffee was ready. "Look what I made," she said, "do you remember them?"... the zeppole, all glistening golden and crunchy with sugar. abbiamo mangiato troppo. how could we not?

aunty Lena's zeppole

there are seemingly infinite ways of making zeppole (zeppoli is the singular form), some start with a raw batter, as in this version, and some start with a boiled batter similar to choux pastry, but all are essentially fried dumplings which carry whatever flavours you like - honey, cinnamon, jam or custard, or simply sugar. the apple in this recipe is quite an unusual variation and very subtle and delicious.

1 egg
1 large or 2 small apples, finely grated
2 cups of self raising flour
2 tablespoons of caster sugar
milk to make a thick batter
oil for deep frying
sugar for coating

mix all the batter ingredients together and slowly add the milk until you have a batter thicker than cake mixture but not so stiff as a dough. allow the batter to sit for 15 minutes and check the consistency.

heat the oil to very hot, then let it cool off a bit- the zeppole should be cooked in a medium heat so they don't burn on the outside while staying raw in the middle.

drop spoonfuls of the mixture into the oil and cook until done (cut one open to check as the size of your spoonfuls will determine the cooking time). the outside should be golden. drain on absorbent paper.

when cool, roll in sugar (rolling in sugar when they're hot can lead to the sugar melting on the surface, which is also nice).

to make custard filled zeppole, make them large enough to split open. do this with a sharp knife when they're cool then fill with thick custard (crema pasticceria or creme patisserie).