This is a dish I discovered unexpectedly near Siena at the end of a long, hard business day. My husband and I had been in meetings for hours, working on a project that, as we had feared, never came to life, and we couldn’t have been more dispirited. We had accepted our host’s invitation to dine at a country restaurant he warmly recommended, although I was so tired I didn’t think I could eat. We were in Tuscany, so we declined the cook’s offer of homemade pasta, settling instead for a platter of home-cured prosciutto and salami, to be followed by a veal dish we were urged not to miss. I did not record the name of the cook, and the place I cannot remember either, but I do still remember the sparkling, immediately uplifting flavor of the veal, cut into narrow strips thin as scaloppine, sautéed and sauced with pickles, young onions, peppers, and cream. As I revived and shrugged away the frustrations of the day, I reflected on the magic power of good cooking to restore hope and on the benevolence of a Providence that has put such magic into the hands of so many plain people.
© 1986 Marcella Hazan estate. All rights reserved.