Kitchen of the poor

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Strap: As the food of peasants becomes the hallmark of mindful consumption, it finds a steadfast place on fine-dine menus too

Punnetinder Sidhu column logo

Once upon a time, cucina povera, literally kitchen of the poor, also known as peasant cooking, was a desperate measure born of a necessity to feed families during an age of abject poverty in yesteryear Italy. It depended wholly and solely on the produce the land sprouted and creatures the ocean spouted. Nothing was ever thrown away, nor left to waste. Leftovers were, in fact, cleverly disguised as several subsequent meals. Over time, the food of peasants, with no choice but to depend on seasonal and locally grown ingredients, became synonymous with fuss-free nutritious food. And today, in this health-aware age, cucina povera—versions of which abound in cuisines worldwide—has become the hallmark of mindful consumption. It has, as a result, also made a gradual and steadfast place for itself on fine-dine menus.

It was no surprise, therefore, that I found myself tucking into a delicious bowl of ribollita toscana at Oregano, the recently re-launched Italian restaurant at JW Marriot. Its origins firmly rooted in peasant cooking, the way much of Tuscan cuisine is, this thick and infinitely filling soup is a regional favourite. Usually prepared with kale, white beans, seasonal vegetables, olive oil and stale bread, the ‘reboiled’ repast, a complete meal in itself, comes in as many appetising avatars as there are kitchens in Italy. Chef Jacopo Avigo’s version included local cabbage, and that most evocative of Tuscan cheeses, pecorino. The best kind of which is widely acknowledged to be from the town of Pienza because its sheep grazing pastures, carpeted with aromatic herbs, accord the ewes’ milk a distinct taste and fragrance.

Cucina povera, characterised by a combination of frugality and ingenuity, even today, employs an easy-to-make technique using a handful of quality ingredients. Take the panzanella salad, for instance. Good old stale bread—water-soaked, softened and squeezed moist—shows up yet again tossed in olive oil and seasoning, with diced tomato and cucumber. A basic bruschetta, toasted slices of bread rubbed with garlic, drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with salt and pepper, gets its oomph from a topping of fresh tomatoes and basil leaves.

You will agree the quickest fix to assuage Italian cravings, for many of us, has long been pasta aglio e olio. Linguine or spaghetti smeared in olive oil-sautéed garlic, chopped parsley, and red chili flakes, with generous amounts of grated parmigiano. This tasty toss-up originated in southern Italy, a region that bore the maximum brunt of successive invasions and post-war deprivations.

As a result of having to grow or forage the countryside for food, peasant cooking was remarkably vegetarian friendly. Coupled with culinary creativity and resourcefulness, it also became incredibly flavourful. Not saying, however, that cucina povera is animal protein shy. On the contrary, bread-thickened fish stews were as important a part of the diet as dry-cured meats. It is to this waste-not want-not tradition that Italy owes un grande grazie for its globally feted prosciutto. It was first seasoned and cured to ensure the ham lasted through long, cold winters. The paper thin translucent lengths now show up in antipasti, folded into pasta dishes, paired with mozzarella or between warmed bread. Biscotti are another example of canny peasant kitchens. Notice how dry and crunchy the almond-studded biscuits usually are? That’s because they were baked twice over to increase shelf-life and were meant to be softened, in true Tuscan tradition, by dunking in a glass of sweet Vin Santo. Beats me, really, how a cuisine this rich continues to be called cucina povera!