Text and photos by Lia Huber
An American Thanksgiving melds with an ancient Italian custom to create a new way of giving thanks for a successful harvest.
 got a clandestine call from my hunter at dawn," said Marlena's email. I could practically see her glancing over her shoulder, speaking in whispered tones. "We have the Thanksgiving duck."
This was just one of many such emails as we planned our Thanksgiving at Marlena and Fernando de Blasi's home in Italy's Umbria region--she from the medieval city of Orvieto and I from the California wine country. During the months of anticipation, we spoke at length about how we wanted to shape this gathering. Seeing the opportunity to blend a time-honored American holiday with the ancient Italian custom of giving thanks for a successful harvest (celebrations called sagres) to create new traditions all our own, we weeded out the childhood customs trundled along for too many years while pondering what was truly essential to each of us.
 |  Marlena and Fernando de Blasi head the bicultural thanksgiving table.
My husband, Christopher, and I arrived eager and famished two days before Thanksgiving with much still to accomplish. Marlena and Fernando ushered us directly into the kitchen of their renovated fifteenth-century palazzo for an early dinner and final touches on our Thanksgiving menu. As we tore off chunks of Marlena's rustic homemade bread and smeared them in the juices of roast pork and baked apples on our plate, we planned our route for the next day's chores of gathering goods.
First on the agenda the following morning was a staple, olive oil. Since our visit coincided with the height of the olive harvest, we set out to fetch what was, in Marlena's estimation, the best olive oil in Umbria. Thankfully, we didn't have far to go. Christopher and I pushed open the door of Dai Fratelli, across the street from the de Blasis' home, and gaped at the array of cured meats and local condiments. When I moved to grab a gallon tin of olive oil from the shelf I heard a gentle Italian voice behind me, "No, no. I'll get for you the freshest, wait here." Marlena donned a knowing grin, and Emilio Batalocco returned with an unlabeled tin, saying, "This was just pressed yesterday. I haven't had time to put the labels on yet." While he readied our treasures, we gathered a salami platter of mica-thin slices of boar's loin, garnet-colored prosciutto di cinghiale, Tuscan finnochiona (fennel salami), silky sheets of mortadella, and morsels of an herb-roasted pork.
At the market, we couldn't pass up the spiky romanesco broccoli and celery with leaves as large as ostrich feathers for a fritto, to fortify us for our afternoon trip to Pienza in southern Tuscany. Marlena toted the vegetables back to the house and fried them in a batter leavened by beer, laying them out on a paper bag and dusting them with a spray of fine sea salt. A crisp Orvieto Classico and crystalline Hanna Sauvignon Blanc that we had brought from California washed over our tongues, a refreshing counterpoint to the fritto's crunch.
By early afternoon we were playing tag with rays of sunshine in the folds of Tuscany's Val d'Orcia. Brilliant swathes of sunlight burst through clouds the color of midnight, igniting into a rainbow.
As far as Christopher and I were concerned, the cheese we found in Pienza was as good as gold. Crowned with crenellated walls on a hilltop facing Monte Amiata, Pienza was redesigned by Pope Pius II in the mid-1400s as a model Renaissance city. We had come, however, for the spectacular pecorino cheeses crafted by farmers from the surrounding countryside. In Zazzeri, a tiny shop tucked away in an alley, we groaned over the truffled pecorino, marveling at the specks of ethereal tuber permeating its curds. Another violet-colored round was matured in grape lees, adding a fruity tanginess that balanced the earthiness of the cheese itself.
The morning of the Thanksgiving feast we set the duck to braise in the oven along with the first loaf of schiaciatta con l'uve, bursting with grapes. Christopher and Fernando scooped out the pulp of three pumpkins bought for the occasion by the de Blasis and our Thanksgiving guests, Marcello and Vicki, on an earlier trip to Mantova--a town in northern Italy known for its pumpkins. After Marlena plumped them with cheese and cream, we realized that we had run out of oven space. So we descended, aprons swirling around our feet like evening gowns, to beseech the chefs in the trattoria below. With many smiles and welcoming gestures they tucked the pumpkins into their oven.
Back in the de Blasis' kitchen, we nibbled at the schiaciatta hot from the oven as our dessert, a fig crostata, went in. Mouths watering from the aromas of the duck resting in its juices, we dodged downstairs to check the bubbling pumpkins before I began my usual task--rolling pasta. This time, I was making a tagliatelle that would be bathed in a heady sauce of pancetta and wild mushrooms.
At the table, appropriately staged as if for a Renaissance feast, we swooned at the aromas and devoured the pasta. When at last it was time for the main course, Marlena ladled creamy scoops of pumpkin alongside the duck, its succulent, silken meat buoyed by the zing of Moscato. After the rich dishes we all agreed an intermezzo was in order before reconvening for dessert. So we donned our coats and capes and joined the other revelers for the evening passagiatta, a nightly ritual in which locals mingle and stroll among the cobblestone streets of their enchanting city.
Although for those around us it was the end of an ordinary day, there nonetheless seemed a celebratory air. At that moment I realized that recognizing the gift of gathering with those you love and sharing a feast gathered from the land around us are what constitute a true gathering of thanksgiving.
Schiacciata con l'uve
This traditional Tuscan harvest bread dates back to the Etruscans, as evidenced by its appearance in frescoes on the walls of several tombs. The name comes from the Italian verb schiacciare, which means "to crush," which is exactly what one does to the grapes trapped within the dough. Serves six for an hors d'oeuvre (with leftovers).
2 tsp. sugar
1 (Tbsp.) package active dry yeast
1 ¼ cups warm water
4 cups all-purpose unbleached flour
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 ½ cups seedless, red grapes
6 oz. Gorgonzola cheese
½ cup coarsely toasted, chopped walnuts
Dissolve the sugar and yeast in ½ cup water and let sit in a warm place until bubbly, about 15 minutes. Stir in the flour, salt, remaining ¾ cup water, and olive oil and mix together into a ball, adding additional water as necessary to create a moist dough.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover, and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 2 hours.
Punch down the dough and roll out into a 20 x 10-inch oval. Press half of the grapes into one half of the dough. Fold the other half over and press the two halves together firmly, crushing the grapes within. Shape and flatten into a 10-inch circle. Poke the remaining grapes into the dough and set aside to let rise while the oven preheats.
Preheat oven to 450°F, preferably with a baking stone. Brush the schiacciata with olive oil and bake for 15 minutes. Then reduce the heat to 375°F, scatter the Gorgonzola and walnuts on top, and continue baking for another 15 minutes, or until golden brown. Slice into wedges and serve.
Tagliatelle with pancetta and wild mushrooms
The pancetta we used in Orvieto was a local one, carved from the side of a wild boar and cured with spices. For an even richer flavor, chop a handful of hydrated dried porcini and add to the mushroom mixture. Serves six as a first course.Tagliatelle:
½ cup all-purpose flour
1 ½ cups pastry flour
4--5 eggs
1 Tbsp. olive oil
Sauce:
2 Tbsp. olive oil
¼ lb. thickly sliced pancetta, cut into matchsticks
3 cloves garlic, smashed and minced
1 Tbsp. fresh sage, minced
1 Tbsp. fresh thyme, minced
1 tsp. red chili flakes
2 cups sliced wild mushrooms
1 cup heavy cream
½ cup grated pecorino (or Parmigiano Reggiano) cheese
Blend all of the pasta ingredients together in a food processor until dough comes together into a ball. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead for 8--10 minutes until smooth and elastic. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and let rest for 20 minutes.
Cut dough into 6 pieces. Flatten one piece (keeping the others covered) and run through a pasta machine at the widest setting. Fold it over, turn it 90 degrees, and run it through again. Continue to run the dough through the machine without turning it, at thinner and thinner settings, until the last setting. Drape the sheet over the back of a chair to dry. Repeat with other sheets.
When the sheets feel like moist leather, feed them one at a time through the pasta machine cutter set at a width of ½ inch. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil.
Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add pancetta, garlic, herbs, chili flakes, and mushrooms and saut‚ until mushrooms and pancetta are golden brown and the liquid has evaporated, 10--15 minutes. Remove from heat and swirl in the cream. Return to a low heat and keep warm while the pasta cooks. Toss the pasta in the boiling water and cook for 2--4 minutes, until al dente. Drain and toss together the pasta and sauce with ¼ cup of the pasta water and pecorino.
Mantova pumpkins stuffed with four cheeses
Squat squashes work well in this recipe. Cut their pointed tips off to give them a flat base to stand on in the oven, being careful not to cut too far into the flesh and expose the center. Serves six.
2 medium (or three small), round pumpkins or squashes
1 cup grated pecorino
1 cup Parmigiano Reggiano
¾ cup crumbled Gorgonzola
1 ½ cups fresh, creamy goat cheese
1 cup heavy cream
¼ cup olive oil
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
1 Tbsp. fresh sage, minced
¼ cup sugar
Preheat the oven to 450°F. Cut a three- to four-inch circle in the top of the pumpkins and scrape out seeds and stringy flesh. Crumble a layer of cheese in each of the pumpkins and drizzle 1 cup of cream on top of the cheese.
Place them in a baking dish and cover with foil. Bake for 3 hours, or until the flesh is tender and can be scraped easily from the sides. Add more cream as necessary if the filling seems to be drying out.
While the pumpkins are cooking, heat the olive oil over medium heat in a large saut‚ pan and add the onions and sage. Cook the onions until they start to soften, about 10 minutes, then turn down the heat to medium low, stir in the sugar, and continue cooking until "melted," about another 40 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste and set aside when done.
When the pumpkins are tender, carefully scrape the flesh from inside them and stir it into the cheese filling, incorporating until a creamy consistency is achieved. Stir the onions into the pumpkins. To serve, scoop the filling onto plates beside the braised duck.
Duck braised in moscato
Kosher salt is important in this recipe, as it penetrates the flesh and partially "cures" the meat. Salted and seasoned, the duck can rest in the refrigerator for up to three days. Serves six.
1 4-lb. duck, cut into pieces with liver, neck, and kidneys reserved
3 Tbsp. kosher salt
1 Tbsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 Tbsp. minced fresh thyme
2 Tbsp. olive oil
3 onions, peeled, trimmed, and quartered
6 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed
1 liter Moscato wine (or Riesling)
2 thyme sprigs
Clean duck, dry well, and rub all over with salt, pepper, and thyme. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate until the next day.
Preheat oven to 300°F. In an enameled, cast-iron dutch oven heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions, garlic, and duck (including neck and kidneys) and brown well on all sides, about 20 minutes.
When browned, drain the excess fat and flip the duck over to skin side up. Add the wine and thyme sprigs. Mince the liver and stir into the pot. Bring the wine to a boil, cover, and place pot in the oven. Cook for 2 hours.
Remove cover from pot, increase heat to 400°F degrees and cook duck for another 30 minutes, until its meat is falling of the bone and skin is bronzed. Remove duck and vegetables to a plate and cover.
Skim fat from the wine sauce and place pot over a high burner. Reduce sauce until a light syrup consistency and serve alongside the duck.
Caramelized fig crostata
Fresh figs are abundant throughout both Umbria and Northern California in the summer, when we dry them for use in a winter tart such as this one. Serves six.
1 ½ cups all-purpose unbleached flour
¼ tsp. salt
½ cup sugar
½ tsp. vanilla extract
¾ cup unsalted butter, cut into ½ inch pieces
¼ cup ice water, as needed
Filling:
½ cup sugar
1 cup water
2 cups dried figs, trimmed and halved lengthwise
¼ cup butter
Preheat oven to 400°F. Mix together flour, salt, sugar, and vanilla in a large bowl. A handful at a time, work in the butter, trying to surround the butter pieces with flour and squeezing with your fingertips. Add water, a tablespoon at a time, until dough comes together. Shape dough into a flat disk, wrap with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 15 minutes.
Roll out dough on a floured surface and press into a greased 10-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Prick the bottom and bake for 20--25 minutes, until just turning golden. Set aside until figs are ready.
Dissolve sugar in the water in a medium saucepan and add the figs. Simmer over low heat for 30 minutes, until the figs are tender. Remove the lid, raise the heat, and cook for another 10 minutes to reduce the liquid. Swirl in the butter until melted and remove from heat.
Arrange figs on top of the dough, in concentric circles if you like. Drizzle the remaining syrup over the top and bake on a cookie sheet for 5--10 minutes, until crostata is golden brown and figs are bubbly and caramelized.
Lia Huber writes about food, wine, and travel for a variety of publications from her home among the grapevines in Healdsburg, California.
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