Dolce Italiano
November 9th, 2007
All things that are worthwhile take time. I am so convinced of this, that I, tattooless, would consider having these words etched on my fanny (or not).
One cannot paint a fabulous abstract painting without having mastered, or at least having grappled with the technical aspects of the craft, no matter what anyone tells you. The same is true for throwing pots, planting a flower garden, running a bed and breakfast, cooking a meal. All things, done well, require experience, patience, and a learning curve.
Some learning curves are small. Some are bigger than the Arch in Saint Louis.
Take a young girl, born into an Italian American family, whose roots are still very much found in the Italian part of the equation. Throw in the observations of that young girl as her grandmother and mother cook — how ingredients are used, how things are cleaned beforehand, how food is respected. Up until this point, I could be talking about myself here. But I am actually talking about my friend, Gina DePalma, author and pastry chef at Mario Batali’s Babbo Restaurant in New York. This part, the childhood steeped in the Italian cuisine, is something we share in common. But it is here that our paths diverge, mine going to business school and hers to culinary school, where she parlays the fundamental knowledge given to her by her family into becoming one of the most renowned pastry chefs in America. The education in her mother’s kitchen, combined with her education, combined with years of chefing at some of New York’s most renowned addresses, have conspired to create a depth of knowledge in the field of Italian sweets which I believe is second to none.
Gina’s new book, Dolce Italiano, is not just a cookbook of desserts which follows an array of others on the market. Gina deconstructs the baking and sweets- creating process and makes it accessible for everyone. She provides the fundamentals of understanding what “sweet” means in Italy, an how the sweets course compliments the other stages of an Italian meal. She goes to great pains to make the reader aware of the significance of dessert wines and their incorporation in the cheese or dessert course. She provides the reader with the framework of what is needed to set up a baker’s kitchen, without at any time talking down to her audience. Her realness, her authenticity comes through in every chapter, as does her dedication to her craft.
Many, many, many people are in culinary schools today. Many people are there because food has become something we all want access to. It has become a world of its own, food. A thing. Another commodity, like a Porsche. Most come out of these “food mills” believing that they are the next Anthony Bourdain.
If they only knew (well, they could really, if they would read the books and believe them) what Bourdain and Julia Child and James Beard went through to get to where they got to. The fact is that great chefs know one thing very well.
They know it is not about them, it is about the food.
And that is what I perhaps respect the most about my friend Gina. She knows this, too. She has gone through the learning curve.
And so I come back to where I started. Anything worthwhile takes time. Maybe I won’t tattoo it on my fanny. Maybe I will simply spell it out with the glaze when I bake my next citrus glazed polenta cake, page 86 .





