Instructions
I come from immigrant stock. Hungarian to be specific.
My grandparents and father came out to Australia in 1958, having spent two years in Wales adjusting to capitalist life. By a remarkable chance of fate, they landed at the old Finger Wharf at Woolloomooloo where, some forty-five years later, I would find myself working at an Italian restaurant. There was an extraordinary feeling each day to stand behind the stoves just metres from the spot where my father had first set foot on Australian soil.
As newcomers of limited means, my grandparents wasted nothing. This was an experience shared by hundreds of thousands of immigrants. In part they brought with them the skills and sensibilities of the old country, then combined these with the pragmatic necessities of trying to get ahead in a new land.
In particular, my late grandmother was a mistress of austerity. She could make a single meal last an entire week, or just about. She shook the last of the flour from each packet, rinsed and dried plastic bags for re-use, and cashed in on every supermarket coupon she could get her hands on. Alice was an educated woman (a doctor no less), and she was equally wise in the ways of saving.
This approach is not new, of course. As a consequence of the 1930’s depression, Australians became very good at making the most of small benefits. Through the 1990’s recession home-gardening boomed once more as we found vegetable growing could save us money. And in the Global Financial Crisis of the new millennium we scrimped by embracing public transport and haggling for better deals from our service providers. We are the modern Wombles.
Sometimes, the thing that saves you money can also be the best of its kind. Excellence can co-exist with economy. Anyone who has eaten a home-grown tomato will attest to that.
You can do this in your own kitchen, just about every day. It’s called pangrattato. Translated loosely as toasted bread, it’s a spectacular way to finish a meal, and to use up every last flavour out of a frying pan.
Finely dice old bread and sprinkle with spices of your choice. Once you have finished frying your steak or fish, add the bread to the pan and cook gently until golden. The little cubes with absorb all the pan flavours, caramelised to perfection. Add some nuts for extra crunch and a little butter and onion for richness, and you have created a work of culinary art – all out of old bread and pan scrapings.
Consider it a tribute to our immigrant ancestors. Alice would have loved this one.
Spiced snapper with pistachio pangrattato