THE WALL STREET JOURNAL. **** Saturday/Sunday, September 7 - 8, 2019 |D11
acknowledging the art and culinary
connotations, Roberta wrote, “I
think of the metaphorical uses: ‘un
discorso sfumato’ (allusive), or
‘una occasione sfumata’ (a chance
that disappeared, was lost).”
By now, I was becoming weepy.
The poetry of “sfumato” was over-
whelming and full of possibilities.
Or had I taken too many sips of
Sfumato during the course of my
research? Both were true.
Yet with the writing day half
over, I’d not found the intersection
of sfumato and rabarbaro.
“I know all about rhubarb,” I
had boasted to my husband as we
opened the Sfumato. “Laura Ingalls
Wilder wrote about it in ‘The First
Four Years.’ ” Our kitchen dis-
solved in a sfumato (!) of nostalgia
as I recalled when and where rhu-
barb had first entered my con-
sciousness. Wilder called it “pie
plant,” as miraculous to the 9-year-
old me as a “candy mountain” or
“gingerbread house.”
Sfumato is made from “il Rabar-
baro cinese” or “Chinese rhubarb,”
I learned from its maker’s dual-lan-
guage website. Then, consulting
what my Vietnamese American
mother and aunt call “Ông GiàGoogle”—Old Man Google, because
he knows all—I learned how little I
knew about rhubarb.
All rhubarbs belong to the fam-
ily Rheum, but in the U.S. “Chinese
rhubarb” refers to the genus
Rheum Palmatum, which differs
greatly from Wilder’s pie plant, the
culinary rhubarb grown for its sfu-
mato (!!) of red-to-pink stalks.
Chinese rhubarb is coveted for
its root, used first in China for me-
dicinal purposes and then along
the Silk Road, where it was traded
westward to Europe. The Venetian
Marco Polo tracked it to Northwest
China, where it was cultivated and
harvested, then stole this valuable
agricultural commodity in order to
grow it closer to his own home.
I emailed Eric Seed, owner of
Haus Alpenz, the U.S. importer of
Sfumato, for confirmation that this
was the rabarbaro cinese found in
the Trentino-Alto Adige region.
“We’ve always referred to the
Rheum Palmatum, but it’s not im-
possible that others get plucked as
well,” he replied. “The rhubarb
grows wild in the mountains.”
Mr. Seed explained that the
late-19th- and early-20th-century
emphasis on Chinese roots—ofEATING & DRINKING
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE / AMARO SFUMATO RABARBARO
How to Decode
A Drink
Author Monique Truong reads into an Italian
liqueur with a smoky flavor and an evocative name
I
WAS SENT AN AMARO!” I
announced, smiling broadly
like I had just won the
lotto. My husband finished
pushing his bicycle through
the doorway of our Brooklyn
apartment and eyed the tall obsid-
ian bottle on the kitchen table, its
name, Sfumato, spelled out in bur-
nished gold lettering. I swear
we both heard the soft murmur-
ings of angels.
“And it’s a rabarbaro,” I added,
emphasizing the second syllable in
this Italian word that I knew meant
rhubarb and, in this context, a li-
queur infused with rhubarb. Far
from fluent, I have what I would
call “Food Italian.” I also have Food
French and Food Vietnamese. I’ve
diligently worked on Food Japa-
nese for the past decade.
Since I was a child of seven,
when English displaced Vietnam-
ese, my first language, in the after-
math of war and refugee resettle-
ment, I’ve equated the acquisition
of new flavors and foods with new
words and languages, and vice
versa. English first came to me
foil-wrapped and
warm: “hamburger”;
paper-sheathed and
greasy: “fries”; bot-
tled and bubbly-
sweet: “Dr. Pepper.” I
find comfort and, as I
grow older, great
pleasure when my
belly and mind are
learning in tandem.
“Oh, like Zucca,”
my husband noted, as
we took turns hold-
ing the bottle of Am-
aro Sfumato Rabar-
baro with both hands.
Zucca is the brand of
the most widely
available rabarbaro, a
bottle of which he
had brought back
from Milan a couple
years ago.
The Sfumato, we
agreed, is less sweet, softer on the
palate and, apologies to Zucca, has
more elegance to it, as if it has
gone to a really good finishing
school. Herbaceous with Alpine
notes and tangled with the lush-
ness of ripe dark berries, Sfumato
also distinguishes itself with the
flavor of smoke. Not the bold
smokiness of mezcal or whisky,
this smoke suggests a smoldering
hearth, perhaps in Switzerland,
which borders Trentino-Alto Adige,
the region where Antica Erboriste-
ria Cappelletti has been making
Sfumato for nearly a century.
Now, had I studied Renaissance
paintings, acquired Advanced Food
Italian or simply read the back of
the bottle, this element of smoke
wouldn’t have surprised me. In-
stead, I would think it the fulfill-
ment of a promise, because at
the root of Sfumato is “fumo,”
or smoke.
I soon learned, via a flurry of
emails traded with Italian friends,
that “sfumato” is a word in its own
right—the past participle of “sfu-
mare,” a verb meaning to soften,
shade or taper off. “Sfumato is a
very intriguing word,” replied Clau-
dio Beorchia, a visual artist, novel-
ist and poet based in Refrontolo, in
the Prosecco Hills of the Veneto re-
gion, “and complicated to explain.”
He attempted it anyway: “Leo-
nardo’s colors are sfumati; Bas-
quiat’s colors are not sfumati.”
“But it’s funny because you can
use ‘sfumato’ also in cooking,”
Claudio continued, “usually when
you put wine, beer or broth in the
pan.” I thanked Claudio profusely,
and I was off to confirm the culi-
nary use of “sfumato”
because I’d never seen
him cook.
Sara Fruner, a liter-
ary translator and
poet, was my next port
of call. Originally from
Riva del Garda, in
Trentino-Alto Adige,
and now a New Yorker,
Sara has an impecca-
ble culinary vocabu-
lary. I’d fielded her
many precise ques-
tions when she trans-
lated my first novel,
which was larded
with food.
“It is the moment
you add wine to a ri-
sotto, that’s ‘sfumare,’ ”
Sara agreed, “which
makes so much sense,
because the moment
you pour, it starts
to smoke.”
Isn’t that the same as “to evapo-
rate?” I countered.
“The Italian language is very,
very specific when it comes to the
preparation of food,” Sara re-
minded me. “ ‘Svaporare,’ in the
Italian kitchen, is the micro-step
right after sfumare.”
The next missive to arrive in my
inbox was from Roberta Mazzanti,
a former fiction editor at the pub-
lishing house Giunti (and the edi-
tor of the above-referenced trans-
lation by Sara). AfterMs. Truong is the
author of the nov-
els “The Book of
Salt” and “Bitter in
the Mouth.” Her
latest, “The Sweet-
est Fruits” (Viking),
tells the story of
19th-century writer
and traveler Lafa-
cadio Hearn from
the points of view
of his mother and
two wives.Time: 25 minutes
Serves: 42 pounds flank steak
6 tablespoons extra-virgin
olive oil, plus more for
drizzling
Kosher salt and freshly
ground black pepper
8 small globe or Japanese
eggplants, halved
lengthwise
Juice of 2 lemons
2 cloves garlic, smashed
11 / 2 pinches red pepper
flakes
1 large handful mint
leaves, about 1 cup,
chopped1. Prepare a grill for high heat.
Pat steak dry. Use a sharp
knife to lightly score a cross-
hatch pattern on both sides
of meat to prevent curling.
Drizzle both sides with olive
oil and season with salt and
pepper. Set steak aside.
2. In a large bowl, toss halved
eggplants with a generous
pinch of salt, half the lemon
juice and 3 tablespoons olive
oil until well coated.
3. Grill steak over high heat
until browned on both sides
and medium-rare within,
about 3 minutes per side. Let
meat rest at least 10 minutes
before slicing.
4. Meanwhile, grill eggplants,
cut-side down. Once flesh is
browned and releases easily
from grill, after 3-5 minutes,
flip and grill reverse side until
flesh is completely soft and
skin is charred in spots, about
3 minutes more.
5. Return hot eggplants to
large bowl and toss with gar-
lic, red pepper flakes, mint, re-
maining olive oil and lemon
juice to taste until well
coated. Season with salt.
6. Slice steak thinly against
the grain. Serve eggplant
alongside meat and drizzle
everything with more olive oil
just before serving.
both plants and words—coincided
with an orientalist celebration of
the exotic. “As rabarbaro became a
cornerstone item for many north-
ern Italian producers, it took on a
native identity and found a home
in the provocative drinks of the
pre-war Futurismo movement.”
There was something undeniably
apropos in my learning about Sfu-
mato’s Chinese roots from an
American named Seed.
Rabarbaro cinese went native in
Trentino-Alto Adige? It escaped
into the mountains and grew wild?
I was getting weepy all over again,
raising my glass to this hardy plant
for becoming a part of this region
but on its own terms.
This unexpected cascade and
convergence of themes in my glass
of Sfumato continued into the
night, when I read this stunning
line from “Beirut Hellfire Society,”
the latest novel by the Lebanon-
born Canadian Rawi Hage: “Earth
and the ground are overrated. It is
smoke that matters, that fleeing
gesture of escape that reaches be-
yond lands and borders and
claimed territories.”
This time, I was certain that the
angels murmured their approval.CLASSIC CHAR On the grill, the eggplant develops a smoky flavor
as its flesh becomes lush and creamy.SLOW FOOD FAST / SATISFYING AND SEASONAL FOOD IN ABOUT 30 MINUTES
Their first Slow Food Fast contribution
combines two recipes from their new book,
as beautiful as they are simple: grilled
flank steak and charred eggplant tossed in
olive oil, lemon juice and fistfuls of mint.
“It’s a wonderful rich-on-rich flavor,” Ms.
Hirsheimer said. “The meat is chewy and
the eggplant is luscious, so it works as a
kind of sauce.”
The recipe involves little more than
lighting a grill and letting the fire do its
work. “For such a short ingredient list, you
get incredibly complex flavors,” Ms. Hamil-
ton said. “And don’t be afraid to char the
eggplant. It will only taste better.”
—Kitty GreenwaldIT TAKES EXPERIENCE to know when to
leave a dish alone. The food writer-pho-
tographer team Melissa Hamilton and
Christopher Hirsheimer have cultivated
their signature style of gorgeous artless-
ness over years of working in tandem.
This summer they moved their studio, Ca-
nal House, to a larger space in Milford,
N.J., and opened a restaurant on the
ground floor. Their latest cookbook, “Ca-
nal House: Cook Something” (Sept. 10, Vo-
racious), distills their approach down to
300 essential recipes. “We follow a really
beautiful Quaker quote,” Ms. Hirsheimer
said. “ ‘Proceed as the way opens.’ And
that’s what we do.”The Chefs
Melissa Hamilton
and Christopher
Hirsheimer
Their Restaurant
Canal House Station
in Milford, N.J.
What They’re
Known For
Home cooking that
looks as delicious as
it tastes. Feasts
built for gathering.
A long-lasting part-
nership that contin-
ues to evolve.
Grilled Flank Steak With Charred Eggplant and Mint
KATE SEARS FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL, FOOD STYLING BY NORA SINGLEY, PROP STYLING BY VANESSA VAZQUEZ; ILLUSTRATION BY MICHAEL HOEWELERBRYAN GARDNER FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL, STYLING BY ANNE CARDENAS; LETTERING BY ANGELA SOUTHERN