Pranzo: Sicilian(ish) Recipes & Stories

by Guy Mirabella

Guy Mirabella is not a chef, which he is quick to point out in the introductory passage of his new cookbook, Pranzo: Sicilian(ish) Recipes & Stories. He has worked, rather, as a book designer and teacher of design for most of his life—which at least partly explains why this book is such a uniquely lovely object. Rather than the insipidly minimalist, stark-white-background look that still seems the default in cookbook design, Mirabella draws his inspiration from the colors of big-top circus tents, the backs of old Italian playing cards, kitschy travel postcards from bygone eras, and the overgrown gardens of his youth. Even a glance at the cover—its whimsically tall-and-skinny format, the kaleidoscope-patterned page edges—reveals that Pranzo is dripping with style.

It was aesthetics that led Mirabella to the making of this cookbook in the first place, in fact. During the pandemic years, when he was at home and not working at the café that marked his pivot from a career in design, he began making some of the Sicilian dishes of his childhood and posting photos of them on Instagram, accompanied with sweet anecdotes from his upbringing as the child of Italian immigrants in Australia. These stunning images—many of which are reprinted in the book—feature dishes with lush still-life staging, perfectly placed coffee stains and spilled honey, locating some of them (like the pear pudding) squarely in the “too pretty to eat” category. The photos glow with saturation and at times nearly chiaroscuro levels of contrast. It wasn’t long before his followers started chanting Cookbook! in the comments, and Mirabella began assembling his notes.

I admit that I am largely unfamiliar with Sicilian cooking, but I have learned from this book some of the flavors and ingredients that are common in the region: Beyond the fresh tomatoes and basil called for in many recipes, there’re also frequent appearances by hazelnuts, fava beans, plums, chicory (such as radicchio), and Swiss chard (called silverbeet in Australia). “Sicily has been conquered by nearly everyone,” Mirabella writes in the note to one recipe, and “of all the island’s invaders, it’s Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco that have had the most influence on the cuisine,” adding citrus, rice, almonds, pistachios, and plenty of spices into the mix. Thus, a recipe for linguine with roast chicken involves currants and fresh chiles, and a simple tea cake is elevated with slivered almonds and fresh figs.

The recipes reflect the craftsmanlike approach that Mirabella seems to bring to all his work: Pasta is always made from scratch (sometimes quite laboriously so), and large quantities of fresh ingredients are often called for—some of them not the easiest to procure unless they happen to be in your garden, such as fig leaves or fresh fava beans. This is not the most accessible of cookbooks—and, honestly, I might classify it more as a “memoir in food,” complete with nostalgic scenes of past meals shared with long-dead relatives and charming notes addressed to the author’s always-hungry grandchildren—but if you are already fairly deft at from-scratch Italian cooking and are looking for your next project, then Pranzo will happily assist you in making hazelnut-and-orange biscotti, or pork belly with quince, or a mushroom ragu casarecce. Whether your dishes look quite as good as the ones he makes, well, that part comes with practice, angeli miei.

Who’s Your Source?

There are some specialty products called for in Pranzo, yes—the most out-of-the-American-grocery ordinary being vincotto, a thick syrup made from cooked-down grape must (a by-product of winemaking). You can make an ad hoc version of vincotto by simmering down a fruity red wine with some added sugar and mulling spices, but I am sure that a Sicilian nonna would tsk-tsk me for even saying so. Still, I wasn’t able to find any for sale in Albuquerque, so your options might be that or ordering it online.

Double zero flour is used in some of Mirabella’s pasta recipes and can be bought at many mainstream grocery stores these days—I’ve gotten it at Sprouts, but would highly recommend you go pick some up from Tully’s Italian Deli & Meats, if for no other reason than to peruse their homemade biscotti while you’re there. (See Sophie Putka’s recent report from her visit there in “Old World Delis in New Mexico.”)

As for the fresh fava beans that are so frequently called for in this cookbook—well, occasionally somebody at the farmers market might have them in the spring, but they are not a commonly cultivated crop here in the high desert. You can cook them from dried in most instances, of course, and both Tully’s and La Montañita Food Co-op will provide you with those. Lima beans are a good substitute for fava and somewhat more available—including in frozen form.