Un cappuccino perfetto

I have crazy-high expectations for cappuccino. The coffee has to be sweet, not bitter. The serving size should be modest, not sloshed into a cauldron the size of a 19th century dyers' kettle. There should not be a burnt aftertaste. I want to drink it from a porcelain or glass, not from stryofoam, cardboard, or plastic. Another marquee characteristic of a perfect cappuccino is the quality, consistency, and presentation of the frothed milk.

Needless to say, Starbucks doesn't get it right.

So unless you are fortunate enough to have access to a small, independent, purist-owned Italian cafe like Pittsburgh's La Prima, the only hope for a good quality cappuccino rests in the home kitchen... or a vacation in the Mediterranean.

Fortunately, my very good friend is something of an espresso connoisseur. He has great hardware, including a sweet-looking La Pavoni with built in burr grinder. Grinding the beans right before brewing, by the way, is one of the keys to a good espresso. His most recent addition is a 100 dollar Nespresso milk frother. Simply add milk, turn it on, and in three minutes you have a perfect froth. No need to fiddle with the frothing attachment on the espresso machine itself... no matter what the brand, that thing is hard to master.

For now, I'll continue to use my stovetop Bialetti with pre-ground Kimbo coffee for my morning espresso. A hand held milk frother from Ikea, which costs about a buck, does a surprisingly good job frothing up both soy and whole milk and suits my purposes well enough.

Until I finally decide to upgrade my equipment, my friend will be seeing more of me than he might like.

Panzanella (Tomato Bread Salad)

A former student of mine - now friend - has the same last name as a salad. Trying to escape that odd association, I guess, could be the reason that he goes by the nickname "Z." Probably not. Having the nickname "Z" is just cool. Maybe I should go by "C."

Back when Z was a student in my University of Pittsburgh course on Italian American Studies, he appeared on the local PBS affiliate's cooking program and skillfully prepared the quintessential Italian salad with which he shares a name - panzanella. He did a great job. Now, ten years later, one can turn on WQED on a late Saturday evening and STILL find young Z excitedly chopping up an array of garden fresh vegetables, herbs, and stale bread and tossing them together with olive oil and balsamic vinegar to create a sublime summer dish.

I told him that he should have negotiated braodcast royalties.

Panzanella (Tomato Bread Salad)

• 4-5 heirloom tomatoes, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
• 1/2 cucumber, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch pieces
• 1/2 large red onion, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
• 10 basil leaves, torn
• 1 cup day-old bread
• 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
• Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients and let rest for at least one half hour before serving so the flavors meld and the bread soaks up the juices from the tomatoes. I've seen this prepared with very small sized vegetables but prefer with larger-sized pieces. Good quality heirloom tomatoes make all the difference in this salad. I always keep an eye out for Striped Zebras and Cherokee Purples. If you do not have access to heirloom varieties, try an ugly ripe instead of plum tomatoes or run of the mill slicing tomatoes.

Anchovy-Stuffed Fried Leaves of Sage

The two raised garden beds behind the Worth are far from fecund. Three towering trees - perfect for screening views of the neighbors sorely neglected back yards - are probably the culprit. There's just not enough sunlight for a bountiful harvest of sun-loving vegetables. The appetites of urban critters may also be to blame. This year's hot pepper plants mysteriously disappeared, without a trace, one hot summer night.

That said, the little urban garden does provide a modicum of sustenance. Kale and collards grow extremely well, as do green beans and lettuces. Thankfully, most herbs - with the notably exception of cilantro - appear to absolutely love the little corner of the space that thankfully gets a few hours of sun. I use Italian parsley, basil, rosemary, mint, and thyme with utter abandon. The lone sage plant, however, has received limited attention. It's as if those neglected, now-oversized leaves are just crying for consumption.

As it turns out, sage leaves are perfect for an inventive Italian spuntino that features the freshness of the herb and the umami savoriness of a good-quality anchovy. The dish, according to the Italian gastronomic tome La Cucina: The Regional Cooking of Italy (recently published in English for the first time), was once popular in the southern Tuscan town of Piombino.

I've never traveled to Piombino, and from a quick glance at its location I don't think I ever will. It's situated on a little cape jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea and with a connecting ferry to the Island of Elba.

Picturesque? I imagine so.

Too many tourists to tolerate? Most definitely.

Anchovy-Stuffed Fried Leaves of Sage

• 24 large sage leaves
• 1 and 1/2 cups all purpose flour; extra for dredging
• 6 good quality anchovies; preferably salt cured; rinsed
• 1/2 cup white wine - my standard is an inexpensive pinot grigio
• 1 large egg white; beaten until foamy
• Olive oil

Dredge sage leaves in flour; cut anchovies in half lengthwise and sandwich each half between two sage leaves; squeeze them so they stick together; meanwhile, whisk flour, wine, egg white, and a few drops of oil to form a batter; dredge sage leaf sandwiches in batter and fry until golden brown in hot olive oil - about three inches deep in a large saucepan; serve with lemon wedges and a basil or sage leaf to garnish.

Since this tasty little dish hails from Tuscany, I figured it would be a good excuse to open up a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino.

But, then again, there's always a good reason to open a Brunello.