The Elephant and Butter

Oddly, I have never written about my unsuccessful imported tomato scheme. Nine months ago I coordinated a substantial purchase of San Marzano tomatoes from an importer in New Jersey. They only sold them by the case, and not wanting sole possession of 48 cans of tomatoes, I got about six other people involved. R.J. Apple, the venerable New York Times food writer, had this to say about San Marzanos:

The best variety [of tomatoes] originally came from a village near Pompeii named San Marzano sul Sarno. These San Marzano tomatoes, which gave birth to the Italian canning industry in the 1800's, are now grown throughout Campania, as the region surrounding Naples is known. There is a lot to like about The San Marzanos. Their skins slip off easily. Just like fresh San Marzanos, they have an ideal equilibrium between acid and sweetness. And because they have less juice than most American tomatoes they cook down more quickly, preserving more of the fresh clear summery taste.

My shipment, however, was a disappointment. Though the cans were awfully pretty (see figure 1), the tomatoes were acidic to the point of tasting metallic, and required a shit-ton of salt to calm their bilious tendencies. None of the friends who ordered them complained, but from time to time I notice the cans in their apartments serving a decorative function rather than a culinary one. Selah.

figure 1. | the can:

But as alluded to before, my overly complicated food distribution days are back: I am now embarking upon a Great Pork Face Caper. Moments ago, I placed an order for guanciale, which is at this very moment being air-mailed to me from Seattle. Seattle! Guanciale is cured pig's jowl, a central ingredient in numerous Italian dishes that's not easily found in America. It's what's used in all'amatriciana. It's inimitable. And this weekend it's going to spur some homemade pasta. The dough shall be rolled. More later.