The restaurant was part of a long, yellow terrace with a wooden sign indicating which door, of many, was the right one. Small signs make me feel pleased with myself; I haven’t simply found the right door, I have discovered it, which, on this occasion, was not just self-important, but nonsense, because I was with a friend, Irene, who goes there all the time.
We were in San Martino Alfieri, a small town near Asti in Piedmont, and the words on the wood read “Ristorante Concordia”. Its front opens into a narrow hall and three options: a steep staircase up and doorways to the left and right. We were directed left into a room with grey-and-white speckled tiles, wood panels, lace-trimmed curtains over the windows, a wood dresser with condiments, and 12 tables, each with a white cloth, napkins, cutlery, heavy tumblers and short-stemmed, standard wine glasses, which don’t seem so standard any more.
The waitress brought a metal basket with bread and a paper packet of grissini, which are so much part of eating in Piedmont, then talked us through the menu. Although I had already made up my mind – on the way there, we had met Irene’s boss, who, on hearing where we were going, mentioned she had eaten the sformato the day before and how good it was. So that’s what I ordered.
I have mentioned sformati before. It’s a blanket name for an infinite number of baked or steamed dishes made from combinations of the following: vegetables, eggs, bechamel, breadcrumbs, cream, milk, seasonings. There is action in the name, too; removing the bake from whatever form or mould it was cooked in renders it “unmoulded”. In The Oxford Companion to Italian Food, Gillian Riley describes sformato as Italy’s pragmatic, stress-free answer to the souffle.
Anyway, back in the ideal room with the flecked terrazzo tiles. The origins of terrazzo can be traced back to ancient Egyptian mosaics, but its more recent predecessors come from Venice and a 15th-century craft for which bits of stone, glass and tile were set in a mortar base, then buffed and polished. “Everyman mosaics” are how they are sometimes described, which sums up their functional beauty. It also happens that the tiles in Concordia matched my sformato, which had its own functional beauty and turned out to be made of artichokes (braised, I imagine) mixed with eggs and bechamel, then baked, cooled and served in slices. This week’s recipe is inspired by that lunch, as well as the orange-and-green terrazzo tiles in my dentist’s waiting room.
Another of Riley’s observations is that, while the eggs puff up gently and satisfyingly as the sformato cooks, that is not the mark of success – or indeed the aim – because it is expected that they sink back down as it cools. So leave to cool and sink slightly before serving on tiles with beans or picked vegetables, breadsticks and a standard glass of wine.
Sformato, or vegetable bake
Serves 4
1kg mix of carrots, potatoes, onion, broccoli, cauliflower, peas, swede, spinach, chard
30g butter, plus extra for greasing
30g flour, plus extra for the tin
150ml whole milk
Salt and grated nutmeg
4 large eggs, beaten
50g grated parmesan
Peel and/or trim the vegetables, cut them into large, even chunks, then boil in salted water or steam until tender (if you are including spinach and/or chard, wilt them in a hot pan). Be careful not to overcook them, because they will be cooked again in the oven.
Make a bechamel by melting the butter in a small pan, adding the flour and stirring until it forms a thick paste. Whisk in the milk and cook, stirring, until the consistency is smooth and dense, then season with salt and nutmeg.
Mash, or roughly break up the vegetables with a small knife, then stir in the bechamel, eggs and cheese, and mix well.
Butter and either flour or breadcrumb a standard 23cm x 33cm rectangular pan, then tip in the mixture. Bake in a 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4 oven for 25 minutes, until set firm and just starting to get some colour on top. Leave to cool slightly before cutting into squares and serving.
