I follow Jane Grigson’s advice when I buy a cauliflower: “If the cauliflower looks back at you with a vigorous air, buy it; if it looks in need a good night’s sleep, leave it where it is.” I left quite a few caulifowers exactly where they were this morning at Testaccio market, weary and a bit blotchy I thought – which was rich coming from me today. Then I did find a vigorous one, with unblemished, creamy white whorls, cupped in a fringe of leaves, and brought it home.
Rather confusingly, Romans sometimes call winter cauliflower broccolo. Not my fruttivendolo Gianluca, though – he calls it cavolo, which usually means cabbage, but is also an abbreviation of cavolfiore, which literally means “cabbage flower”. I was faced with another level of misunderstanding in my partner’s hometown of Gela in south-east Sicily, an area in which cauliflowers – introduced by the Arabs after the fall of the Roman empire – flourish magnificently. They vary in size from a handful to a great armful, with colours from creamy white to blushing pink, to bishop purple to lime green, and are called vrouccoli, broccolo bianco, broccolo-cavolo, and cavolfiore. From October to March cauliflowers and other brassicas quite literally cover Gela, as the once-central market is now dispersed somewhat lawlessly all over the city, playing out on corners, doorways, from the basem*nts of people’s homes, the backs of trucks, cars, three-wheeled ape vans ...
Faced with such cauliflower abundance it is unsurprising that the Sicilians have found such good ways to cook them. I particularly like a recipe in which cauliflower is boiled and then recooked with onions, anchovies, pine nuts, raisins, possibly saffron, and enough pasta cooking water to create a distinct delicious sauce to be mixed with pasta, which is then topped with a great shower of toasted breadcrumbs. My Sicilian family almost always has a bowl of toasted breadcrumbs on the table to sprinkle on whatever. Obviously I like cauliflower battered or breadcrumbed then fried until golden; pickled until lip-puckeringly sharp and crisp; and also drowned and braised in red wine with cheese (which might sound curious – which it is – but it’s also delicious – although you might need a rest after eating a large portion of it. Another favourite is cauliflower simmered in tomato sauce with whatever happens to be around.
Which brings us today’s recipe. It is inspired by dishes I have eaten in Sicily, but is my invention. That said, I’m sure it is not original. Cauliflower boiled in salted water (it should taste like the Mediterranean), then tossed in the sauce for a pasta known as alla puttanesca. There are several stories to why this happy combination of ingredients is called puttanesca, or “whor*’s style”. One story is that the owner of a brothel in the Spanish quarter of Naples would make this simple and delicious sauce with spaghetti for his girls and clients between appointments. A nice flourish to the story is that the colours of the sauce (the red of the tomatoes, the violet of the olive, the green of the capers, the burgundy of the peperoncino) mirrored the eye-catching colours of the clothes and undergarments the girls wore. I also like the story about a restaurant owner on the island of Ischia called Sandro Petti. The story goes that, faced with a group of hungry friends as he was closing one night, he shrugged and said he had nothing, and they raised their hands and said “mamma mia!” (obviously); “Abbiamo fame – facci una puttanata qualsiasi!” (“We are hungry – make us any type of garbage!”). Used like this, puttanata is a noun meaning something that’s “rubbish”, or worthless. Petti only had tomatoes, capers, olives and anchovies to hand, so he used them to make this sauce for spaghetti, which clearly went down well, as it was soon on his menu as spaghetti alla puttanesca.
You can of course nod to tradition and use the sauce below with spaghetti. I am suggesting you use it with cauliflower, and that you leave the florets sitting in the sauce for a few hours so they have time to do what they do so well – absorb flavours. After a few hours the florets will have had a complete personality change; a small rebellion in fact: from timid and sweet, to loud, salty and rather punchy. Of course with such opinionated ingredients, exact amounts are going to be personal. Use this recipe as loose guidelines, not a set of rules; you can experiment. If you find capers overwhelming, add less or leave them out. How salty are your olives? How hot is your chilli? You know better than me. Knowing how well lamb, anchovies and capers get on, we had this last night with little chops cooked alla scottaditto, which means “burn your fingers” – a clue as to how and when you should eat them. Soft-boiled eggs are also nice with cauliflower cooked this way, as is poached white fish. I bet a handful of toasted breadcrumbs would be good on top of this, too.
Cauliflower with tomatoes, anchovies, olives and capers
Serves 4
1 medium-size cauliflower
1 garlic clove
1 small dried chilli
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
6 anchovy fillets packed in oil, drained
1 heaped tbsp salt-packed capers
100g pitted black olives (ideally taggiasca or gaeta)
6 ripe tomatoes, peeled and roughly chopped, or 400g tinned tomatoes in juice
A small handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 Pull away the tough outer leaves of the cauliflower, saving any pale tender ones. Cut the stalk from the cauliflower and divide the head into small florets. Cook the florets in well-salted, fast boiling water until tender, adding the leaves in the last few minutes of cooking, then drain.
2 Peel and finely chop the garlic along with the chilli. Warm the olive oil in a deep frying pan over a low heat and then add the garlic, chilli and anchovies, and while they sizzle gently, press the anchovies with the back of a wooden spoon so they disintegrate into the oil.
3 Rinse the capers and chop them, then add them to the pan along with the olives and tomatoes. Stir and cook over a medium-low heat for 15 minutes, breaking up the tomatoes with the back of the wooden spoon. Taste and add salt if necessary, also a little sugar if you think the sauce is too acidic.
4 Add the cauliflower and stir so each floret is well-coated with sauce. If you can, leave the dish to sit for at least an hour, and up to a day. When ready to eat, reheat gently, turning the florets in the sauce. Just before serving, finish with a handful of chopped parsley.
