An easy way to take wonderful advantage of the season’s tomatoes
In 1903, the year after Rocco and Katherine Disideride built what is now the Deli’s building here in Ann Arbor, the Russian anarchist journal “Kbheb y Volya” was first published in London. The title, translated into English, is “Bread and Freedom.” All these years later, I smile realizing that I live my life immersed in the study and appreciation of each of those two topics of anarchist focus.
Thirteen hundred miles to the southeast of London, there’s a small Italian town whose history is a homage to both bread and freedom. For historians of Italy and democracy, Altamura is known for the short-lived but inspiring push for freedom that, in the spirit of the American and French Revolutions, its citizens engaged in at the end of the 18th century. From February to May of 1799, the city of Altamura was the focal point of the fight for freedom on the Italian peninsula. The Rivoluzione di Altamura didn’t last long, but it was an early bastion of freedom, equality, and liberty.
Located a bit inland from what would look to be the “arch” of the Italian boot, Altamura’s love affair with great bread has lasted far longer than its short immersion in local democracy. The tradition of baking bread in the Altamura style, now well-known to bread lovers all over Italy, goes back at least to Roman times. It’s pretty certain that many of those who engaged in the Revolution back in 1799 would have been eating it regularly. The average Italian back in that era ate about a kilo of bread (2.2 pounds) per day! Much of that bread would have been eaten as is, straight from the loaf, but a good bit would also have been incorporated into other dishes, like this Pane Pomodoro.
The Altamura bread is made, as it has been for centuries, with semolina and wheat flour—the closest thing we bake here is the Bakehouse’s super tasty Sicilian Sesame Semolina bread. To make the Altamura-Style Pane Pomodoro, cut a thick slice of the Sesame Semolina. You can leave the bread fresh as is, or try it toasted, too. Personally, I prefer it toasted, but either way will be excellent. Pour on a reasonably generous amount of good olive oil. Sprinkle it with some sea salt. Cut heirloom tomatoes in half and press the cut side into the bread. Push gently so the bread absorbs all the juices but doesn’t tear. Place the tomato pieces (after squeezing) on the bread slice. Add a sprinkle of high-quality dried oregano—we have some great oregano at the Deli right now, hand-gathered from the hillsides of Mount Taygetus in Greece, on the other side of the Ionian Sea from Altamura.
For the olive oil, I love the Petraia oil from the Pellegrino family, who are located about an hour north of Altamura and just inland from the Adriatic Sea. Elia Pellegrino is the 4th generation to manage the estate since the family first took over in 1890. In 1990, the family began selling its olive oil straight to the market with its own label, which I now realize means we were one of their earliest customers. They work with Coratina olives, the local specialty, known for their big flavor and the peppery finish of its oil. The Petraia is only a small part of the Pellegrino’s production—the olives for it are grown organically on about 30 acres of the estate’s best land. The oil brings a lovely, big, green, flavor, aromatically enticing, with a bit of black pepper in the finish. Particularly terrific on this simple midsummer dish!
In a way, I aspire to make Ann Arbor a bit more like Altamura. A society where meaningful freedom, dignity, diversity, community, generosity, and free sharing of resources are the norm. And where great bread is at the center of both good conversation, a rich culinary culture and a lot of very good cooking.
