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Cipolle di Tropea in agrodolce

The red onions grown in the sandy fields along the coast near Tropea are so sweet that Calabrians eat them raw like fruit, and cooked slowly in agrodolce they become soft, jammy and glossy, sharp from the vinegar and mellow from the sugar. They sit on every Calabrian antipasto table, beside cheese and bread, and they are a fine side for grilled vegetables or a frittata. There is no wine in it, only wine vinegar. A jar keeps all week in the fridge. Chef's tip: cut the onions into thick wedges through the root so they hold together while they soften.

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Pasticciotto

In Lecce the day starts at the bar with a pasticciotto still warm from the oven: a little oval of crumbly, golden shortcrust split open to reveal thick lemon-scented custard. It is said to come from a pastry shop in nearby Galatina in the 1700s, and the whole Salento eats it at breakfast, after Sunday Mass and with a caffè in ghiaccio in summer. The traditional pastry is made with lard; this version uses butter, which keeps it short and crisp. Chef's tip: make the custard first and chill it well; cold, thick custard stays put inside the pastry while it bakes.

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Ciaudedda

When the first artichokes and broad beans arrive in April and May, Lucanian kitchens make ciaudedda: a gentle one-pot stew of artichoke wedges, sweet young beans, potatoes and spring onions, cooked slowly in olive oil and a little water until everything is soft and glossy. Around Potenza and in the Vulture hills it is served as a main course with bread, or as a side at Easter lunch. Many cooks start it with diced pancetta; this version leaves it out and lets the vegetables do the work. Chef's tip: let it rest for 10 minutes off the heat before serving, as the flavours deepen once it stops bubbling.

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Pitta 'mpigliata

High in the Sila mountains, the town of San Giovanni in Fiore bakes pitta 'mpigliata for Christmas and for weddings: ribbons of thin pastry rolled up with walnuts, raisins, cinnamon and cloves into little rosettes, packed side by side in a round tin and soaked in warm honey once baked. The name means something like 'wrapped-up cake', and it looks like a dish of flowers. It keeps for days, growing stickier and more fragrant. The dough is traditionally made with white wine and a splash of anise liqueur; this version uses orange juice and ground anise, with no alcohol. Chef's tip: roll the pastry as thin as you can; thick ribbons bake doughy in the middle.

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Panzerotti

Walk through old Bari in the early evening and you will smell panzerotti before you see them: palm-sized half-moons of soft yeast dough, sealed around tomato and mozzarella and fried until blistered and golden. They are smaller and plumper than a Neapolitan pizza fritta and nothing like a baked calzone; you eat them standing up, straight from a paper bag, blowing on the first bite because the filling is molten. Puglian families make a big batch for Saturday nights and children's parties. Chef's tip: dice and drain the mozzarella for an hour beforehand, because a wet filling is what makes them burst in the oil.

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Spaghetti all'assassina

Spaghetti all'assassina was born in a Bari restaurant in the late 1960s and has become the city's cult late-night pasta. The raw spaghetti go straight into a hot iron pan with garlic, chilli and tomato, and are cooked like a risotto, a ladle of tomato broth at a time, until some strands blacken and turn crunchy while others stay chewy. It is smoky, sweet and properly hot, and Baresi argue about how burnt it should be. Chef's tip: use a wide iron or steel frying pan, never non-stick; you want the pasta to stick a little and scorch.

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Pane carasau

Shepherds in Barbagia, the mountainous heart of Sardinia, took stacks of pane carasau with them for weeks on the high pastures, because this dry, glass-thin flatbread never goes stale. Each disc is baked until it balloons, split in two while hot, then baked again until crisp and golden; Italians call it carta da musica, music paper, for how thin and crackly it is. Sardinians eat it with olive oil and salt as a snack, break it into soups and layer it into pane frattau. Making it at home takes patience and a very hot oven. Chef's tip: split each puffed disc the moment it comes out of the oven; once it cools, the two layers fuse together.

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Strascinati con mollica e peperoni cruschi

Strascinati get their name from the way they are made: a piece of semolina dough is dragged (strascinato) across a wooden board under two or three fingers, so it curls into a wide, ridged shell. In the hill towns of Basilicata they are rolled on Sunday mornings and tossed with the simplest dressing of the poor kitchen, olive oil, garlic, breadcrumbs fried until crunchy and crushed peperoni cruschi, the sweet dried peppers of Senise. The crumbs stand in for cheese, which once was a luxury. Chef's tip: fry the breadcrumbs separately and add them at the table, so they are still crackling when you eat.

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Pane di Matera

Matera's bread is a big golden loaf of durum-wheat semolina and sourdough, with a thick crackling crust and a crumb the colour of straw that stays moist for a week. It is shaped into a horned cornetto or a high-backed loaf, and until the 1950s families in the Sassi took their dough to the communal oven, each loaf marked with a carved wooden stamp so it came back to the right house. It is still eaten every day in the city, sliced thickly with olive oil and tomato or soaked in soups. Plan over two days, with a cold rise overnight. Chef's tip: feed your starter with semolina the day before, so its flavour matches the dough.

1440 minItalianBakingVegan
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Mulinciani chini

Mulinciani chini, 'full aubergines' in Calabrian dialect, are what summer gardens across Calabria turn into in August: halved aubergines hollowed out, their pulp fried and mixed with soaked bread, pecorino, egg, garlic and basil, then piled back into the shells and baked in a light tomato sauce. They are made in big trays for family lunches and taken cold to the beach the next day. The filling turns soft and savoury, the shells silky. Chef's tip: they taste best after resting for an hour, so they are perfect to make ahead.

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Cassata siciliana

Cassata is the baroque centrepiece of a Palermo Easter: a dome of sponge lined with pale green marzipan, filled with sweetened sheep's ricotta and chocolate, glazed white and crowned with jewel-like candied fruit. Pastry shops around the city fill their windows with it in Holy Week, and families slice it after Easter lunch. It is rich, cool and creamy under the shell of almond paste, and nothing like the layered Indian-style cassata ice cream. The sponge is often brushed with a liqueur syrup; this version uses orange juice instead. It must chill for at least 4 hours, so make it the day before. Chef's tip: drain the ricotta overnight; that is the secret to a filling that holds its shape when cut.

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Friselle

Friselle are rings of bread split in half and baked a second time until rock hard, so they kept for months on fishing boats and in farmhouses across the Salento. To eat them you dip them briefly in cold water, then pile on crushed ripe tomatoes, oregano and plenty of olive oil; the bread softens just enough while keeping a crunch in the middle. On August evenings in Lecce and along the coast they are the easiest supper there is. Every Puglian bakery sells them and Italian delis stock them, so this recipe uses bought friselle, made from wheat or the darker, nuttier barley. Chef's tip: dip, don't soak; a few seconds is enough, and the tomato juice finishes the job.

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Busiate al pesto trapanese

Trapani, on Sicily's far western tip, makes its pesto with what grows nearby: ripe tomatoes, Sicilian almonds, garlic and basil, pounded raw with olive oil and a little pecorino. The story goes that Genoese sailors brought their basil pesto to the port and the Trapanesi made it their own. It is tossed with busiate, long corkscrews of durum-wheat pasta once twisted around a stalk of dried grass, and eaten all summer, often at room temperature. It tastes fresh, nutty and bright. Chef's tip: peel the tomatoes; the skins turn chewy in a raw sauce.

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Focaccia barese

Bari's focaccia is made with boiled potato and durum semolina in the dough, which gives it a tender, almost creamy crumb under a base that fries in olive oil until crisp. It is baked in round iron pans, studded with squashed cherry tomatoes and olives, and sold by the slice at every bakery in the city from mid-morning, warm, folded in paper. On the beach in summer it goes round in squares with a cold drink. This is the Bari version, quite different from a plain herb focaccia or the cheese-filled focaccia of Recco. Chef's tip: be generous with oil in the pan; that layer is what turns the underside golden and crunchy.

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Sfincione

Sfincione is Palermo's own pizza: a tall, airy slab baked in a tray, its soft crumb soaked with a sweet sauce of slow-cooked onions and tomato, dotted with caciocavallo and covered in oregano-scented toasted breadcrumbs. Street sellers cruise the city in three-wheeled vans calling 'sfinciuni!' through loudspeakers, and families bake it at home for Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. The traditional topping includes anchovies; this version leaves them out and keeps all the onion sweetness. Chef's tip: the dough should be wet and bubbly, about 2 cm deep in the tray; it is closer to focaccia than to a thin pizza.

150 minItalianPizza
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Culurgiones

Culurgiones come from Ogliastra, on Sardinia's rugged eastern coast, where women seal each dumpling with a row of tiny pinches that look like an ear of wheat. Inside is a soft, warm filling of potato, aged pecorino, garlic and fresh mint. In villages such as Ulassai and Lanusei they are made for the end of the harvest and for 2 November, All Souls' Day, as a token of good luck and protection. Some families work a little lard into the dough; here it is olive oil. Chef's tip: chill the filling; firm, cold filling is far easier to pleat and won't tear the thin dough.

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Brioche col tuppo

On summer mornings in Catania, breakfast is a glass of granita, almond, coffee, lemon or black mulberry, with a warm brioscia col tuppo beside it. The brioche is a soft, sweet, orange-scented bun with a little ball of dough on top, the tuppo, named after the bun women once wore their hair in. You tear off the tuppo first, dip it in the granita, then work through the rest. Bakeries in eastern Sicily sometimes enrich the dough with lard; this version uses butter. Chef's tip: give the dough a long, slow rise; it is what makes the crumb so light and stringy. Serve it with granita al limone.

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Fave e cicorie

Few plates say Puglia as plainly as this one: a pale, velvety purée of dried broad beans beside a tangle of boiled wild chicory, the two joined by a stream of green olive oil. Families from the Murgia to the Salento cook it on winter weekdays and through Lent, and Bari trattorias still put it on the menu as the true taste of cucina povera. The beans are sweet and earthy, the greens bitter, and every forkful should carry a little of both. Chef's tip: buy dried broad beans that are already skinned and split; they cook to a cream on their own, with no sieving.

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Tiella barese

Every family in Bari has its own tiella, also called riso, patate e cozze, and it turns up at Sunday lunches and summer gatherings along the Puglian coast. Layers of thinly sliced potato, raw rice, mussels opened on the half shell, onion, tomato, parsley and pecorino are packed into a deep baking dish, then baked with water until the rice has drunk up the sea-salty juices and the top is crisp. It's served warm, as a one-dish meal, followed by a salad. Chef's tip: open the mussels raw with a knife over a bowl and keep every drop of their liquid; it seasons the rice better than any stock.

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Peperoni cruschi

In late summer the villages around Senise, in southern Basilicata, hang long garlands of thin red peppers from balconies to dry in the sun. Once dried, a few seconds in hot oil turns them into peperoni cruschi: glassy, brittle and sweet with a faint smoky note, eaten like crisps or crumbled over pasta, beans, fried eggs and mashed potatoes. Lucanians call them their red gold and keep a jar of them on the table all winter. Chef's tip: get the oil hot but not smoking and count to five; the colour should stay bright red.

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Fegato alla veneziana

Fegato alla veneziana is one of the oldest dishes in Venice and still a weekday staple in the trattorie around the Rialto market. Mountains of onions are cooked gently until soft and sweet, then thin strips of calf's liver are tossed through them for barely two minutes, so the liver stays tender against the jammy onions, with a splash of vinegar and parsley to finish. The classic partner is soft white or yellow polenta, which soaks up the buttery juices. Chef's tip: slice the liver into thin strips, no thicker than your little finger, so it cooks through in moments without going tough.

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Fileja al pomodoro piccante

Around Vibo Valentia, on Calabria's Tyrrhenian side, fileja are still rolled by hand around a thin iron rod or knitting needle, which leaves a long, hollow twist that traps sauce inside and out. Nonne make trays of them for Sunday lunch and village sagre, and the classic dressing is a slow tomato sauce sharpened with Calabrian chilli and sweet red onion from nearby Tropea. Many local cooks melt a spoonful of 'nduja into the pan; this version keeps it vegetarian and lets the chilli carry the heat. Chef's tip: dust the needle with semolina, not flour, and twirl with the flat of your palm so each piece slides off cleanly.

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Pasta con 'nduja

Spilinga, a small hill town above the Calabrian coast, celebrates 'nduja with its own summer festival. This soft, spreadable salumi of pork fat and meat with huge amounts of Calabrian chilli melts straight into a pan, turning a simple tomato sauce brick-red, rich and properly hot. It's a quick weeknight pasta in Calabria, often made with fileja or short pasta, and finished with a little pecorino or a dollop of ricotta to soften the heat. Chef's tip: add the 'nduja off the heat at first and let it melt gently, then simmer; frying it hard burns the chilli and makes it bitter.

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Pane e panelle

Pane e panelle is Palermo's breakfast on the run: wafer-thin squares of chickpea batter fried until puffed and crisp at the edges, stuffed five or six at a time into a soft sesame roll and squeezed with lemon. Friggitorie at the Vucciria and Ballarò markets sell them from early morning, often alongside potato crocchè, and the city eats them standing at the counter. The panelle are creamy inside and nutty with a little parsley. Chef's tip: whisk the chickpea flour into cold water, never hot, and you will have no lumps.

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