You say Frittata, I say Farinata!

A new spin on an ancient recipe.

I’ve never liked eggs. While I’m at it, I might as well admit that I’m also not a fan of bell peppers. I would never seek either one out and yet, each one makes perfect sense to me in certain applications. Since I’ve been mostly eating plant-based over the past 2-3 years, eggs were never something that were hard to “give up”. Lately though, I’d been thinking about frittatas. I’ve always admired frittatas as one of those genius nonna recipes- so economical and filling, made simply by cooking vegetables and/or meat, adding beaten eggs, topping with cheese and finishing in the oven before serving cut in wedges. It’s a great way to showcase seasonal produce or simply a vehicle to use up leftover bits of meat, veg, herbs and/or cheese, even pasta from your fridge (undoubtedly how the nonnas did it).

While frittatas were lingering in the back of my mind, I got a text from my brother telling me he spent his weekly Italian lesson discussing Farinata di Ceci and asked if I ever heard of it. I quickly looked it up then sent back a video I took recently in Nice of Socca cooking in a wood burning oven. I had never heard of farinata before but it sure seemed similar to the chickpea flour pancakes I had in France. Indeed the two are from neighboring regions and are nearly identical in preparation: Combine chickpea flour, water, olive oil, and salt, let sit to hydrate the flour, then bake in a hot oiled pan until browned and crispy on the edges.

When I asked

Linda Pugliese

if she had ever eaten a chickpea flour flatbread in Italy, she launched into an unrequited love story starring an elusive Italian farinata in Genova. She sent me a slew of photos (all gorgeous, of course) from her travels. I’ll let her tell you the details herself (in italics below).

After a 6 week travel through Spain my partner and I made our way to the airport. He headed back to New York, while I caught a plane to Genova on a commission for Condé Nast Traveler. Spain and Italy may be in the same timezone, but they don’t have the same schedule. I was jet lagged for 3 days. 

Upon arrival, I checked into the hotel and had an hour with tech support, in this case the bellman, trying to connect to the internet, all the while clumsily mixing up Spanish and Italian. Then I was off for an early dinner at Osteria di Vico Palla, a recommendation from one of my cousins in Bologna. It was bustling, full of large families out for Sunday dinner— I was lucky to get a table. I’ve found over the years traveling alone for work in Italy that Italians, specifically Italian families, can’t stand to see you eating alone. It’s such an affront to their culture around food, they can’t help but invite you to join them. I was invited to 3 or 4 neighboring tables throughout the course of my meal, and made friends with half the waitstaff. One even asked me out on a date before I could get down my pasta! I ordered Mandilli de Saea, (silk handkerchiefs, in Genovese dialect) swimming in Pesto Genovese. Something between lasagna sheets and pappardelle, this beautifully delicate pasta was made in-house, and living up to its name, was as luscious as silk. Like a big warm hug from my very own Ligurian nonna, the sign of a good, local restaurant. After I photographed the entire place, hoping it would make it into Traveler’s story, (written by the great

Tamar Adler

) I bid farewell to my new friends and took a turn around the marina to walk off the travel and my mandilli. (In the end it did get a small mention, and a few photographs!)

The next morning, after multiple cappucini and a cornetto at a nearby coffee bar, I was on my way to Antica Sciamadda, the closest spot on my shot list in proximity to the hotel. It was only a few blocks from the marina on a small empty street— a rustic, pint-sized shop with a young woman behind the counter. As I always do when I’m photographing a location where I speak the language, I introduced myself, explained why I was in Genova, and asked if I could take her photograph. She kindly agreed and so I got to it. I took her portrait and photographed the multiple torte salate (savory tarts) and fried snacks in the display case. Nowhere did I see farinata, the item I was specifically asked to capture. I inquired to see if she had any around, in the back perhaps? She explained that since they had just returned from vacation (the first days of September after August holidays) she needed to wait for the oven to warm up before they could make farinata. Ok, I thought, I’ll come back tomorrow. I thanked her, and went on my way.

I returned to Antica Sciamadda every single day that week. The same shopkeeper was at the counter, and she told me the same story, “We need to wait for the oven to warm up.” I thanked her and continued on exploring the city. I was confused but didn’t want to annoy her too much. I started coming at different times to see if perhaps I was just coming at the wrong moment? Maybe morning and early afternoon weren’t the prime times for farinata? 

Finally, on my last day in Genova, I made my daily stop at the good ol’ Antica Sciamadda and was told the same story. This time I needed more information. Once I asked her to explain further, I finally found out that it can take up to 10 days or even 2 weeks for their ancient oven to warm up! Do it too quickly and you risk cracking it. And that, my friends, is why Italy, and all ancient cultures will never stop charming me— Good things take time. That was that and I left Genova having never tried farinata. —LP

Well, since not even Linda had tried farinata, I felt compelled to sort this out for both of us. I started cooking through some recipes and landed on a few that had more than just the traditional batter. Onions seem to be a popular add in as well as herbs like rosemary or in-season vegetables like thinly sliced fresh artichokes (yum!). Maybe it was the frittata on my brain, but I landed on my own version STUFFED with a mix of spring onions and herbs. It’s still pancake thin, perfect for serving warm with a salad (hellllloooo Mother’s Day brunch) or eaten cold straight from the fridge (guilty!) and I kept the technique of pouring it into a hot baking pan (preferably copper) to get those crispy edges. One detour I took far from the original was to add some turmeric to the batter which I think oddly makes it taste a bit like eggs. That flavor coupled with the chock-full filling, really serves up frittata vibes in a whole new (dare I say, better) way.

---

Spring Onion & Herb Farinata

Serves 6 lunch size portions, 10-12 smaller portions as an aperitivo

• 150 grams (about 1 1/2 cups) chickpea flour

• 1 1/2 cups water

• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt

• 1/2 teaspoon turmeric (leave it out if you don’t have it)

• 4 tablespoons olive oil

• 1 large (50-60 grams) shallot

• 1 leek, white and pale green parts only (250 grams)

• 1 small vidalia or other sweet or spring onion (170 grams)

• 1/3 cup chopped mixed soft herbs, such as parsley, dill, chervil, chives and/or tarragon, plus small sprigs for topping

---

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees F with a wide, shallow, 6-8 cup baking pan inside (preferably copper or other metal pan).

2. Whisk together chickpea flour, water, salt, turmeric, and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Set aside for 30 minutes. (Many old recipes suggest you can do this step as much as 24 hours in advance!)

3. Remove ends and peel the shallot and onion, then slice very thinly into rings (halve onion first if too hard to slice into rings). Remove root end from leeks, then thinly slice into rings. Place leek rings in a bowl and cover with cold water. Swish leeks around then let grit settle to the bottom of the bowl. Remove leeks to a towel and pat dry.

4. Fold onions and chopped herbs into the chickpea flour batter. Carefully remove baking pan from the oven and add remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil to the bottom of the pan. Pour onions and batter into the hot baking pan. Scatter remaining herb sprigs on top.

5. Bake until well browned on the edges, about 45 minutes. Scoop out portions or cut into slices and serve warm or at room temperature.

---

Serving suggestions:

To make the classic version, simply pour the batter into the hot, oiled pan without any add ins. Bake until set and well browned on edges (start checking after 20 minutes).

Feel free to pop in some peas or replace some of the onions with asparagus or other quick cooking veg. If you want to make it with all leeks, go for it. If you want a sprinkle of cheese on it, add it right before baking.

Serve for lunch or brunch with a bright, acidic salad, bring on a picnic and enjoy with some cheese and charcuterie and, if there are any, eat the leftovers standing up in front of the fridge as I did.