Paolo & Maria Elena's Italian Adventures: January 2021

The Bread of Toni In Three Acts

Of course, I realize others can make them. There are many bakers about. But recently, while I was examining a product package, the first thing I noticed beneath the list of ingredients was that it contained genetically bioengineered ingredients. How could that be? While the use of preservatives is shunned, a true Italian bakery would never use genetically altered ingredients, let alone contemplate their use. No, not a chance. Just the opposite, a push for organic everything is the norm. The tradition of la ricetta della nonna (grandmother’s recipe), like religious dogma, or might it be ritualistic taboo, stands opposed to it. Ingredients are sacrosanct, from the lievito madre (mother yeast) that’s continually refreshed right down to the flour used. Although I wish it were the case, I wasn’t in an Italian pastry shop. Not even close. That would have necessitated a trip to Italy, or far short of that, into a larger city like New York City’s ‘Little Italy’ or even the ‘North End’ of Boston. That being too much to hope

So Easy to Miss, So Non-Italian

for, a local supermarket had to do.

My curiosity had been aroused. Was this another fake Italian product like the blue mozzarella scandal that caused Italian farmers to become irate in 2010? It caused me to look more closely at what I was about to purchase. That’s when I spotted “Made in Brazil,” San Paulo to be precise, well before I noticed labels that were not exactly Italian. Don’t know about you but at least the imitation hadn’t read “Made in China.” That would have really put me off. Historically at least, many Italians have emigrated to South America, so della nonna recipes likely traveled with them. In Lima, Peru for example, thousands of immigrants from Piedmont and

A Foreign Import of a Foreign Import

Lombardy have arrived there since the mid-1800s. ¹

This sort of snafu was proof, albeit anecdotal, that you can never rely on the appearance of the packaging alone to tell you its origin, that what you had was authentic, vero Italian food. After all, the distinctive shape of its container was what had caught my eye to begin with. In Trojan horse deceptive style, its thin cardboard box had all the classic features. Somewhat like a hatbox, its sides in typical fashion were gabled, somewhat pyramidal in shape. At first glance, all appeared normal although it was missing that familiar soft colorful loop of velvety ribbon on top, so handy for toting. The brand name brandished across the front in large print certainly sounded Italian too, along with the colorful red and yellow labeling proclaiming its excellence and quality features. Any small print was reserved for another side, in this case the bottom of the box, where on close inspection, details like the exorbitant number of calories per slice could be found, no deception there.

I have by now, in a manner of speaking, disrobed my topic enough that it may be obvious that I’ve been writing about Panetonne (pa-neh-toe-knee). This sublime sweet bread is symbolic of the Italian

Christmas season. For many, this season only begins when this icon of Italian pasticceria (pastry) hits the shelves. It is much more than a chewy fruitcake for this cake is surprisingly soft, delightfully sweet, and emits an awesome aroma especially when warm, right out of a toaster. It is a combination of a bread and a cake especially apparent when the Italian word for bread, pane, leads off its name. I learned that the actual translation is ‘large loaf,’ from “panetto” meaning “small loaf cake” and the suffix “one” (in Italian “oh-knee”) which like magic transforms its meaning to "large cake." Gift someone a Panettone and the reaction is nothing approaching their polite disappointment on receipt of a dry fruitcake that might double as a doorstop. As was the case in the “spaghetti western” I recently wrote about, where characters range as its title implies, from “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” so there are good, bad, and outright ugly Panettone. I noted earlier that all manner of quality depends on traditional methods and ingredients, like those grandma used, but here I’d like to add integrity and creativity. In Milan for instance,

reputations stand and fall on the quality of a shop’s Panettone. With supply so abundant in a city rift with many Panettone outlets like famous Pasticceria Cucchi, a landmark since 1936 or Pasticceria Marchesi where it is served by the slice, less then quality, processed products, or a fast buck motive can be killers. A pastry chef’s creative hand must go beyond attempts to introduce some new chocolate or exotic fruit. Yes, the prize is the Panettone, but creativity extends to elaborately decorated cartons, alive with ribbons, as well. Demand being what it is, they are not on the shelf for long which may account for why it is the most counterfeited Italian dessert in the world. Such widespread demand allows for inferior knock-off counterfeits, on average cheaper than the original brands by 30 percent, to hide among the genuine items. In Italy, there are strict rules for making this delicacy. In order to be authentic, a native Panettone must be composed of no less than 20 percent candied fruit, 16 percent butter (no margarine please), include eggs that are at least four percent yolk (no powdered eggs), and be made with natural yeast. Details, like making the dough rise three times over almost 20 hours to give it its light texture, are finer points easy to forego.1 Among the brands certified as officially meeting the Association of Italian Confectionary Industries requirements are Alemagna, Bauli, Flamingi, Maina, Motta, Perugina, Le Tre Marie, and Valentino.2 Efforts are underway to obtain World Trade Organization protection for this product with Denominazione di Origine Controllata (DOC) status assigned on officially made Italian Panettone which faces growing competition from South America. My discovery of this made in Brazil import of an import was confirmation.

They make Panettone for all palates. My choice for this awe-inspiring pane features candied fruits and raisins, somewhat traditional I know but that’s what I was raised on. They are, however, also available with, you name it: walnuts, dates, pineapple, candied chestnuts, pears, pistachios, almonds, and let me not forget, the darkest of chocolate. We’re somewhat restricted here in the States on their contents when they are available, but in a place like Milan, where all agree they originated, they’re on hand all year long. That’s the place to get them and I’d love to try their offerings. Much like arancini, those deep fried Sicilian rice balls with a surprise of warm ragù or mozzarella cheese inside, in Milan you find Panettone featuring cubes of apricot marmalade inside in place of candied fruit and raisins,

... But Yummies Come at a Cost

calories be damned. That, along with a huge cup of hot chocolate from Bruges, Belgium, where they take chocolate seriously and you sort of make it yourself by melting rich chocolate in hot milk, are on my bucket list. Panettones are also available in a variety of sizes. These range from the mini-loaf, sized for one, to others intended for groups, some quite large. Believe it or not, the next time the entire family, in reunion mode, decides to visit or possibly for a wedding gathering (if and when these events ever happen again), there are 80kg (176 lb.) Panettones available, meant to provide 400 slices. Their shape, however, is standardized. The traditional Panettone loaf is cylindrical with a cupola (dome) top achieved by hanging the just baked loaf upside down, though I’m not sure how. It should also always be taller than it is wide, with a soft and airy interior beneath a crispy darker exterior.

If we’re smart, as with all pastries, it should be eaten in moderation, however you enjoy it. What the heck, it’s Christmas, to be eaten along with other seasonal treats like eggnog and gingerbread with New Year resolutions to lose weight just ahead. Some claim this just might possibly be the only Italian food you should avoid at all costs. Just one slice contains 270-330 calories, around 11 grams of fat and 13% of your daily carbs. Cautions noted, we especially enjoy it toasted, cut thick enough for its delicate form to stay together when held. We sometimes go totally eastern Med with the addition of handmade, Greek fig spread, instead of butter, smeared across its crispy crevasses. After all, there’s enough butter in the Panettone already.

Out of the box, it presents a distinct regal look. For freshness, it is draped in a clear, airtight, cellophane bag which when removed reveals the majestically tall Panettone. Then there is its cylindrical shape topped with a domed crown after being

The Regal Panettone

baked in a giant size cup liner in which it sits. Its diadem is completed not with precious stones but with protruding hints of raisins and candied fruit, the essence of Italian Panettone bona fides, erupting here and there from within. It’s worth noting that Italians consider it bad luck to remove the domed top and consume it on your own. Sliced vertically into wedges, like cutting a cake, everyone shares the crown. Its rich pastry flavor is nothing like dense New England brown-bread with its molasses flavor fresh from a can, low in everything from calories to enjoyment. While we’ve yet to be at our home in Italy for the Christmas holiday, I can just imagine the currents of aroma wafting up from the downstairs bakery in Idee Golose Pasticceria situated on what I call Main Street, Calitri. That would be where our friend, graduate pastry chef Francesco, his wife Julia, teamed with Davide and Rosa, turn out their distinctive fluffy version of this buttery pane, that I understand are a little sweeter than those made in far off northern Italy.

What started off as a luxury cake, because of its costly and hard to come by ingredients, eaten only on the occasion of religious celebrations, quietly and steadily spread around the world as Italians migrated and brought their tasty Christmas treat along with them. Like the Big Bang phenomenon, it expanded and continues to grow in popularity to this day. Much like the ubiquitous French fry and the present day universe of pasta, no document fixes the date of birth of this incredible Milanese tradition. How the Panettone came about and who its creator had been remain mysteries, fertile soil for tall tales. Evidence appears to point to an etymology that has passed through a variety of sieves. From the contour of a clerical hat, the “Pane Tone” that was later adopted as its shape, on to its derivation from Milanese dialect "pan del ton", meaning "cake of luxury,” pinning down its roots is a task on par with finding Atlantis.³

In The Legend of Panettone, Italy’s Mythical Christmas Cake, ⁴ Erica Firpo reported that the possible origin of this treat is ancient, well before any debut in Milan. Ancient Romans feasted on something called panem triticum. The first word means bread for us non-Latin student types, followed by triticum, a type of wheat. It was used to create a loaf of leavened bread with eggs sweetened with honey. Could Panem triticum, with some possible losses due to translation, have theoretically somehow arrived at “Panettone?” Farther along the line of evolution, in “Many Legends, One Artisan Panettone”⁶we find the pastry mentioned in a 1470 manuscript written by George Valagussa, one of the Milanese Sforza family tutors, that documents how, during Christmas, people would replace their daily bread with a much richer recipe:

“The tradition of consuming a special bread on the occasion of Christmas, was supported by a decision of the Milan Corporations [in the Middle Ages], which, starting in 1395, imposed on all Milan’s bakeries, …… to prepare white wheat bread loaves available to all on Christmas. [This was] a way to lessen, at least at Christmas, the differences between the classes of the population. This special bread began to be called “Pan de Sciori” or, also, “Pan de Ton” in Milanese dialect, and was enriched with butter, sugar and raisins.”

It goes on to say that “traces of this tradition can also be found in some of Italian dictionaries. Already in the first publication of this type, dating back to 1606, the term “Panaton” is mentioned accompanied by the definition of a large bread prepared for Christmas. More than two centuries later, in Francesco

Brueghel's "The Peasant Wedding

Cherubini’s dictionary, published between 1839 and 1856, he quoted the word Panaton or Panatton to indicate ‘a kind of wheat bread adorned with butter, eggs, sugar and raisins or sultanas.’ ” It can also be found making cameo appearances in works of art, as for instance its depiction in a sixteenth-century painting by Pieter Brueghel the Elder.5

Sober historical tracks like these clearly exist and I’m sure there are others, but references to consortium dictates, dictionary entries, and “Where’s Waldo” style paintings are all after the fact. What’s needed is a much “sweeter” tale of how this confection came to be, not dull passé reports of its existence. On the other hand, legends abound on the primal origin of this famous treat. These much richer accounts, bordering on if not outright fiction then on little more than myth mixed with a modicum of unauthenticated truth, offer some filament of a story at least, of how the Panettone first emerged from the oven. Recall, what was it, the introduction of DVDs? Then again, maybe it was a little later with the advent of Blu Ray technology. Remember how we were told we’d soon be able to choose alternate endings to movies? If I have it right, there were even buttons on remotes ready to do it with a click. Don’t like the ending

Duke Lodovico Sforza

the director chose then, click, choose another. Well, the legend behind the origin of the Panettone fulfills that promise because if one legend doesn’t work for you, go with another. An Internet search for these legends kept me occupied. With roots in the Middle Ages, this first account may have transformed itself into history from an incident dating back to Christmas Eve 1495. The scene, Act I in this three act trilogy, is the court of Ludovico il Moro, more familiarly known as Ludovico Maria Sforza, mentioned earlier, an Italian Renaissance prince who ruled as Duke of Milan. Ludovico, it happens, was the same fellow who commissioned Leonardo da Vinci to paint The Last Supper and brought architect Donato Bramante to Milan.

Planning for the Christmas banquet was underway as the curtain rises on this particular account. Preparations included readying many dishes. A twelve-year-old scullery boy named Toni, is assigned to help with the dessert. Fatigued from relentless chopping, cooking, and baking over those frenzied days of preparation, led young Toni to fall asleep for a few moments. These few moments were just enough doziness to burn the duke’s Christmas Eve dessert and ignite the rage of the head chef. Frightened of the consequences, Toni, in faithful reenactment of character Alfredo Linguini who throws together a replacement soup in the Disney animated movie Ratatouille (the grandkids and I loved it, still do), decides to sacrifice the only piece of butter his mother has for the Christmas holidays. Along with leftover items he finds in the kitchen, he massages the butter into a tasty mélange that he bakes into a voluminous loaf. The first to be ecstatic is surprisingly the head chef, who decides to serve it to the guests, also delighting the palate of Duke Ludovico himself. The chef, however, doesn’t reveal that the concoction was the work of young Toni. The truth, however, spreads in the city and in short time, the dessert that had so delighted the noble palates of the court became “Pan del Toni,” the Panettone we know and love today.

This next treasured legend,7 call it Act II, places the Panettone at the center of an epic Romeo and Juliet style love story, this one featuring a far more pleasing ending. This liaison is between Ughetto (Ugo for short), son of Giacometto Degli Atellani, a wealthy aristocrat and good friend of Ludovico il Moro, the Duke of Milan, crazed and love-sick with Adalgisa, daughter of Toni, a simple Milan baker [a further adaptation has Ugo not as a nobleman but so poor that his social standing wasn’t enough to secure her hand in marriage]. The upright Atellani family, given the less than glowing reputation of the bakery, seeing it had fallen on hard times, is opposed to the union and forbids him to marry such a lowly girl. On the news, Ughetto is unobliging, unwilling, and undeterred. As for the business, it was at the point that Toni contemplated selling it, leaving Milan altogether, thus threatening to abruptly end the young lovers’ romance. Ugo, who worked primarily as a falconer for the Duke, distraught over his now shattered dream of marrying Adalgisa, reflects on how he might help raise the fortunes of the

bakery. In disguise, Ugo takes a job in the bakery in an attempt to help revive its fortunes and, I’m guessing, with the added benefit of allowing him to continue seeing his sweetheart. To improve the flavor of ordinary bread, he decides to add sugar. Ughetto’s sweet bread became popular and the ailing bakery soon began to see better days. As Christmas approached, Ugo improves his recipe. He adds eggs and candied citron to the sugar as well as butter, which legend says he could afford after he allegedly stole two falcons from Ludovico il Moro and sold them. Success was almost immediate. The bakery soon becomes famous throughout Milan and sees customers crowding in, waiting to take this coveted sweetbread home. In a short time, the bakery was swamped with people wanting “The Bread of Toni” - apparently Ugo’s contribution went the wayside, but he wins his prize. With the business saved, the Duke appeased about the loss of his falcons thanks to this miracle creation, and any thought of moving forgotten, the Atellani family now convinced of the genuineness of Ughetto’s love for Adalgisa along with the improvement of the bakers’ family’s finances, give their consent to their union. It gets better. The Duke himself agrees to their marriage, which was held in the presence of master Leonardo da Vinci. Financially secure, renowned, and with plenty of “Pan del Toni’’ on hand, Ughetto and Adalgisa live happily ever after. Are you sensing a pattern here as “Pan del Toni” somehow morphs to “Panettone?” With magic like that, we might all be just as enthralled and find renewed belief with a brief segue to another tale. This one is about of how a young Italian emigrant with a stamp (or it could have been his mother’s hand-written note pinned to his shirt) inscribed “To NY” was processed through Ellis Island immigration as “Tony,” as the accompanying cartoon illustrates. Why not?

This final legend,⁸ Act III, is perhaps the least known. Forget the star-crossed lovers. Some Italians believe another Milanese made the first Panettone. According to folklore, in tongue-in-cheek fact, it wasn’t Ughetto who invented this iconic holiday cake but his sister, a nun, Sister Ughetta. With the onset of Christmas, Sister Ughetta was in charge of cooking Christmas dinner. She decided to prepare a cake in hopes of lifting the spirits of her fellow nuns during this holiday period. [It is unclear why they needed comforting, but it was common for daughters of nobles to be placed in convents absent their consent. Or possibly, on that particular Christmas, she attempted to cheer up her poverty-stricken nunnery with a surprise update to their everyday peasant bread, then again, the holidays can be depressing for single people especially if cloistered or otherwise confined. Like the card game directs, we can “Go Fish.”]. She replaced their daily bread with a richer recipe. To the bread dough, she added sugar, eggs, butter, candied citron and peel. Then before baking it, she blessed the dough by inscribing the shape of a crucifix across its top. As in other legends, the leavened cake that emerges satisfies all who partake of it. Soon afterwards, the nuns’ sweetbread becomes popular throughout Milan. Other than her relationship to Ugo, how Act III arrived at “Panettone” instead of “PaneUghetta” remains a mystery. Could her brother have introduced it to Toni’s bakery? There’s a thought, just maybe there is room for an Act IV.

Like Panettone varieties, you can hold to the story you enjoy best, just as we delight in how we best enjoy today’s Panettone - with breakfast coffee or midday, like many Italians, with a glass of Marsala, and then there are those who choose to have theirs after dinner as dolce along with a draft of good sparkling Moscato or sweet Amaretto. Panettone may possess a varied, somewhat “crazy as a fruitcake” history that does little to fill its explanatory deficit, yet its elegant flavor and chiffon texture remain with us, untouched by generations across the centuries. Likewise, the mystery surrounding this treat remains part of its charm. One bite makes it easy to harken back to memories of happy Christmases past while savoring the present with friends and family. Just imagine, if only cold-hearted Ebenezer Scrooge had had a slice, it may have saved Dickens a ghost or two, Marley a link of chain, and for sure a plum pudding. Which leads me to end by saying …

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a LARGE SLICE”

From that Rogue Tourist

Paolo

1. A Culinary History of Panettone, the Italian and South American Christmas Treat, Dec 18, 2018

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/culinary-history-panettone-180971058/

2. The Legend of Panettone

Natasha Lardera, December 10, 2007

http://www.iitaly.org/magazine/focus/life-people/article/legend-panettone

3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panettone

4 The Legend of Panettone, Italy’s Mythical Christmas Cake

https://www.washingtonpost.com/travel/2020/12/22/panettone-italy-christmas-cake-legend/

5. Panettone, the Christmas Treat with a Catholic History – Aleteia, 11 Dec 2020