COVER STORY : The Myth of the Mediterranean Diet

The media have proclaimed far and wide . . . the advantages of a simple, tasty and at the same time healthy diet which has been the norm all along Mediterranean shores since ancient times.

--Maria-Jose Sevilla, Spain, Gourmetour, January-April, 1995

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According to modern-day culinary mythology, there is a nutritional system known as the Mediterranean Diet, and it goes something like this: whole gardens full of vegetables, glorious fruit straight from the tree, copious quantities of grains and legumes, very little meat or animal fat, an abundance of just-caught seafood (simply grilled or roasted, then dressed in delicate olive oil and scattered with fresh herbs), a bit of crusty homemade bread, a bit of wine--everything fresh and bright and perfect, and in admirable moderation.

That’s a very attractive idea, of course. But in truth, it sounds more the way people eat at Chez Panisse or Spago than the way they eat, and have traditionally eaten, in the Mediterranean, or at least in the part of the Mediterranean I’ve been studying in recent years--the so-called “Riviera” that extends from Nice across the border into Italy and along the coast of Liguria, past Genoa, all the way to the Gulf of La Spezia and the Tuscan border.

This region has traditionally been a poor one. The single most important source of nourishment in the mountains for those who worked the land was probably the chestnut tree. Chestnuts were dried, then reconstituted in broth or milk as a kind of soup, or were ground into a flour that could be used to extend white flour (which was imported and expensive) in breads and pasta doughs.

The favored seafood, for those who could afford it, was not fresh tuna but stockfish, the long-lasting air-dried cod (a little of which went a long way) imported from Norway. In fact, much of the food consumed, even by the wealthy, was preserved: dried fish, dried fruit and vegetables, dried pasta, olives and vegetables pickled or marinated in oil, cured ham and sausages.

Moderation was imposed by insufficiency and by the dietary laws of the Catholic Church (mandating periods of fasting and of abstinence from meat and other animal products), not elected as a secular moral--or nutritional--choice. Pork products, organ meats, cheese and eggs were all used enthusiastically when they could be obtained (and were permitted). Those who could afford it were gourmands; the ideal in 19th-Century Nice, for instance, was to be able to eat a crepa pansa --until you had to unbutton your waistcoat.

Fried foods (vegetables, small fish, even just scraps of dough) were common in the region, and still are. Both the Nicoises and the Ligurians, particularly on the Riviera di Levante, are masters at making what they call, respectively, beignets and frittelle (or, in dialect, bigneta and friscieu ), which are basically fried anything.

Historically, fresh seafood was rare in Liguria and Nice, and much more expensive than meat, which means that it was eaten less often. Why so little fresh seafood? Partly because the Ligurian Sea is difficult to sail because of its notorious winds and eddies, but more because, as Fernand Braudel points out, the Mediterranean is comparatively poor in fish.

The problem is that the Mediterranean is a deep sea. Its floor drops off suddenly from the shoreline, leaving few warm, shallow areas for fish to congregate and feed in. In addition, its ancient waters have long been biologically fatigued--and they grew even more feeble with the opening of the Aswan Dam in Egypt in 1960, which stemmed a major flow of nutrients into the Mediterranean.

The Riviera is also, in general, poor farming country. Because of its geographical configuration--mountains rising abruptly behind the shore, steep river valleys--it offers little arable soil. The most fertile land, on the floor of those valleys, was often flooded. In the higher elevations, agriculture was marginal.

Relatively minor changes in temperature or rainfall could destroy whole crops, which meant starvation for those who raised them. Perhaps this is why, today, only about 7% of the work force in Liguria is involved in agriculture--the lowest proportion in Italy--with more than half that number working in the floriculture industry.

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Even olive oil, the very fuel of Mediterranean life, has been used only sparingly in the region. It was a precious resource, often raised strictly for sale, rather than local use. This is suggested by a proverb from Oneglia, center of the Ligurian olive trade, which warns, E pane i nu son uive, e uive i nu son oiu, e l’oiu i nu l’e sodi --”The first blossom isn’t yet an olive, the olive isn’t yet oil, and the oil isn’t yet money.”

In general, only the aristocracy and the well-to-do merchant class consumed olive oil in any quantity. Others may sometimes have used walnut or hazelnut oil for cooking, but for centuries the favored cooking fat on the Riviera was lard or fatback--yes, pork fat. There was even a variety of pistou made in the Nicoise back-country by crushing little pieces of soft salt pork with basil and garlic.

Is this what the media mean by the Mediterranean Diet? Probably not.

It is possible to imagine a modern-day Genoese man whose grandparents ate little more than gruel, wild greens and stockfish in the mountains; whose parents, mildly prosperous in the city, fed themselves on things like fried dough, tripe stew, ravioli (stuffed with sweetbreads, brains, calf’s udder and ground veal) in a sauce of meat juices and Parmigiano, plus a variety of sausages and more stockfish; who himself, pressed for time and watching his weight, eats frozen low-cal dinners from the supermarket; and whose teen-aged son prefers burgers and fries at McDonald’s. Which of these undeniably Mediterranean diets (in the sense that the people of the Mediterranean consume them) is all the fuss about?

None of them, of course. It seems to me that the varied, low-fat, robustly healthful way of eating described in the first paragraph above is more a Platonic ideal than a functioning nutritional system. Its existence in the real world may be something scientists can verify with tables of production and consumption, at least for some corners of the Mediterranean (I believe the phrase “Mediterranean Diet” was first applied to the diet of an island group in Greece), but it sure isn’t justified by anecdotal evidence.

That doesn’t mean that we can’t try to eat that way if we want--it sounds quite wonderful; it is quite wonderful--but I think it does mean that we probably shouldn’t try to lend this way of eating a cultural, historical, or geographical validity it may not have.

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That said, it must be stressed that there are a wealth of light, healthful, delicious dishes native to the Riviera. Legumes and grains indeed are common, and fresh fruit and vegetables are appreciated--perhaps all the more because of their comparative rarity in the past. Good fish is available along the Riviera today, at acceptable (if not exactly bargain) prices, and it is usually cooked with admirable simplicity. Meat dishes certainly exist, and have become more popular in recent years, but they still don’t figure prominently in the local cuisine. Desserts are pretty minimal--at least partially because, once you taste a perfect Carli apple from Fianle or a fistful of pigeon-heart cherries from Nice, a sugary cake or rum-drenched pudding tastes sort of vulgar.

There is plenty of “Mediterranean Diet” far to be had in the region, in other words. It’s just not all there is.

MINESTRONE GENOVESE

Forget that coffee-shop bowl of canned beans and carrots and soggy noodles. Real minestrone is a wonderful soup full of the mingled flavors of fresh--but long-cooked--vegetables. It might include green beans, peas, favas, escarole, Swiss chard, turnips, leeks, carrots, cauliflower, pumpkin or zucchini blossoms, and many kinds of both summer and winter squash. Some cooks add pine nuts; some also add tomatoes, though this is frowned upon by traditionalists. In Genoa, where the soup was quite possibly born, a particularly well-made one, with an abundance of ingredients--the kind one might make to honor a guest, for instance--is sometimes called Signore Minestrone.

2 quarts Water

Salt

1 bunch spinach, rinsed and coarsely chopped

1 bunch kale, rinsed and coarsely chopped

2 small zucchini, cut in 1/4-inch slices

2 medium boiling potatoes, peeled, quartered lengthwise and cut in 1/2-inch slices

2 small Japanese eggplants, cut in 1-inch slices

1 ounce dried porcini mushrooms, soaked 20 minutes in warm water, then drained

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1/2 pound tubetti or fideos pasta

2 cups cooked white beans

2 generous tablespoons pesto

Lightly salt water and bring to boil in large pot. Add spinach, kale, zucchini, potatoes, eggplants, mushrooms and oil. Reduce heat to simmer. Cook, uncovered, 1 hour.

Add pasta and cook about 10 minutes longer, or until pasta is almost done. Add cooked beans and cook about 5 minutes more.

Remove pot from heat. Adjust seasonings to taste. Let cool about 10 minutes, then stir in pesto and serve.

Makes 4 servings.

Each serving contains about:

539 calories; 228 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 14 grams fat; 87 grams carbohydrates; 21 grams protein; 4.96 gram fiber.

DAUBE DE CUISSE DE CANARD

Daubes, or long-cooked stews, are popular throughout Provence and the region of Nice. Beef and lamb are commonly used, but so are game and domestic fowl. This recipe comes from Franck Cerutti, owner-chef of Don Camillo in Nice, where authentic local cooking is presented in a refined but not sissified form. To accompany it, serve polenta or gnocchi tossed with butter and Parmigiano-Reggiano.

10 duck legs

Extra-virgin olive oil

Butter

2 carrots, diced

2 onions, chopped

4 shallots, chopped

2 stalks celery, diced

1 tablespoon flour

1 (750-milliliter) bottle dry red wine

2 to 3 sprigs fresh thyme

2 to 3 sprigs fresh rosemary

2 bay leaves

2 sprigs fresh thyme

6 juniper berries

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

1 tablespoon glace de viande, optional

Cut duck legs in half lengthwise. Put plenty of oil and butter in large heavy-bottomed pot and cook slowly in batches, turning frequently until lightly browned on all sides.

Return all cooked duck pieces to pot. Add carrots, onions, shallots and celery. Increase heat and cook 5 minutes, stirring frequently.

Turn all ingredients out of pan into colander. Let drain 5 to 10 minutes. Place ingredients in large terracotta or glass baking dish that can be covered. Sprinkle flour over ingredients and stir until it disappears. Add wine, thyme, rosemary, bay leaves and juniper berries. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cover tightly and bake at 325 degrees, without lifting lid, 2 hours.

When daube is done, stir in glace de viande. Serve 3 pieces per person. There will be 2 pieces left over for those who want seconds.

Makes 6 servings.

Each serving contains about:

658 calories; 206 mg sodium; 93 mg cholesterol; 52 grams fat; 13 grams carbohydrates; 13 grams protein; 0.82 gram fiber.

PASTA DE PATATE

In the Ligurian entroterra or back-country above Sanremo and Ventimiglia, savory tortas (tortes) used to be eaten more often than pasta. This particular one even borrows the word pasta--though in this case it doesn’t mean noodles at all, but a pastry. This recipe was given to me by Sandro Oddo, director of the tiny folklore museum in Triora, and a student of local customs and gastronomy.

6 medium-sized baking potatoes

1 1/2 cups flour

Extra-virgin olive oil

1 egg

1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, freshly grated

2 tablespoons ricotta

3/4 cup milk

1/2 cup butter

Freshly ground pepper

3 full sheets filo, cut in half

Bring large pot of lightly salted water to boil. Add potatoes, unpeeled, and cook until done, 10 to 30 minutes, depending on size.

When potatoes are cooked, remove from water, cool slightly, peel and put through ricer or crush potatoes with masher or fork.

Add egg, 1/2 cup Parmigiano, ricotta, milk, 2 tablespoons butter and salt and pepper to taste. Mix until blended.

Melt remaining 2 tablespoons butter. Lightly grease 11x17-inch baking dish. Lay 1 filo sheet half in bottom and lightly brush with melted butter. repeat with 2 more sheet halves. Add potato mixture and smooth surface. Top with 1 filo sheet half and brush with melted butter. repeat with remaining 2 sheet halves. Tuck in edges. Score top with knife in diagonal pattern. Sprinkle with remaining 1 tablespoon Parmesan. Bake at 450 degrees until browned, about 30 minutes.

Makes 16 appetizer or 12 side dish servings.

Each serving contains about:

116 calories; 48 mg sodium; 34 mg cholesterol; 6 grams fat; 11 grams carbohydrates; 5 grams protein; 0.16 gram fiber.

REAL SALADE NICOISE

Authorities on the cuisine of Nice (including recently incarcerated former mayor Jacques Medecin, author of the definitive book on the subject) express outrage at the sins committed in the name of this famous, gloriously simple salad. Perhaps no dish of the region is more frequently or profoundly misinterpreted--and the silliest misinterpretation of all, to the Nicoise, is the use of fresh tuna in a salad that has depended, since its creation generations ago, on preserved fish (either tuna or anchovies--never both). The real thing, say the experts, has no lettuce and no cooked vegetables (potatoes, green beans, or otherwise). The particulars vary according to availability of ingredients, but this is a standard version. 6 tomatoes, ripe but still firm, quartered

Salt

2 green peppers, ribbed, seeded and cut into rings

1 cucumber, sliced

6 small fresh artichoke hearts, sliced thin

3 to 4 ounces Nicoise olives

3 green onions, chopped

12 anchovy fillets, or 7 to 8 ounces top-quality oil-packed white tuna

3 hard-boiled eggs, halved, optional

Extra-virgin olive oil

Season tomatoes to taste with salt on all cut surfaces. Set aside.

Arrange green peppers, cucumber slices and artichoke hearts on 6 plates, dividing evenly. Scatter olives and chopped green onions on top of vegetables, dividing evenly. Arrange salted tomatoes, anchovies or tuna (crumble tuna by hand into large chunks) and hard-boiled eggs on plates.

Drizzle salads with olive oil to taste. Season to taste with salt. Do not toss.

Makes 6 servings.

Each serving contains about:

211 calories; 206 mg sodium; 93 mg cholesterol; 52 grams fat; 13 grams carbohydrates; 13 grams protein; 0.82 gram fiber.

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Re: Lent

In 1880, a Genoese priest named Gaspare Dellepiane published a curious cookbook entitled “La Cucina di Strettissimo Magro: Senza Carne, Uova e Latticini,” which might be translated as something like “cooking for the most rigorous Lenten diet, without meat, eggs or dairy products.”

Now, this was the Mediterranean Diet taken all the way. With one exception, no animal products of any kind are used in the volume’s 476 recipes. Unless you count fish as animals, that is--there’s plenty of fish.

And the implications of Dellepiane’s formulae could be extrapolated into the kind of advice you might hear from your cardiologist today. Eat a varied, balanced diet; don’t eat too much at any one sitting, especially at night; eat fresh, whole foods; cut down on sugar and salt; stop drinking (though wine and spirits may be used in cooking).

Yet even Dellepiane offers plenty of recipes for fried foods (fried snails, fried turtle eggs, countless varieties of fried vegetables and fish), gives instructions for making “salami” out of eel or other fish (cooked with spices, then stuffed into sausage casings--which would have been of animal origin in 1880) and includes a number of surprising recipes using caviar or oysters, among them caviar fritters (the caviar is crushed with a mortar and pestle along with pine nuts and bread crumbs, then mixed with shredded escarole, formed into rounds and fried in oil) and oyster-filled ravioli. Again, hardly the Mediterranean Diet of dreams.

* A new, partially annotated paperback edition of Dellepiane’s book, with calorie counts added to the recipes, was published in 1990 by Alce Nero/Jaca Book in Milan. It is still available in bookstores in Italy at about $20 a copy.

Kitchen Tip

In place of glace de viande , Franck Cerutti, owner-chef of Don Camillo in Nice, uses jus de veau , or veal juice. To make veal juice, cook 3 pounds of veal breast, salted and cut into pieces 2-inch square in about 1/4 cup olive oil and 1/4 cup butter. Cook over low heat until ve ry brown, about 1 1/2 hours. Then pour off about three-quarters of fat and juices. Add 2 quarts of water to veal breast and cook at slow boil uncovered, until liquid is reduced by about half, about 2 hours. Push meat hard through fine sieve. Refrigerate juice until fat solidifies on top. After scraping off and discarding fat, this jus de veau can be used in many dishes.