LOS ANGELES - Dario Cecchini is in the beef aging room at Harvey Gussman's butcher shop. With a connoisseur's eye, he inspects short loins suspended from the ceiling, examining color, stroking surfaces, sniffing.
Cecchini grabs a loin and cradles it like a baby. Then he plants a big kiss on it. If one can be said to ham it up with a piece of beef, Cecchini is doing it. You don't become the most famous butcher in the world by being shy.
Cecchini's butcher shop in Panzano, outside Florence, Italy, is a culinary shrine, drawing gastronomic travelers from all over the world. So popular is it that Cecchini has opened two meat-centric restaurants nearby.
Right now, Cecchini is at Guss Meat Co. on the hunt for the perfect piece of meat for “bistecca fiorentina” - the classic grilled steak of Tuscany. Bistecca fiorentina is essentially a thick porterhouse steak cut from the small end of the loin.
With a dish this simple, the meat is everything. And Cecchini is definitely liking what he sees. The shop is one of the finest meat suppliers in Southern California since Gussman's father, Abe, founded it in the 1940s. Guss sells meat to some of the pickiest chefs in Los Angeles.
“Bella, bella,” Cecchini mutters as he inspects the meat.
The loins range from 14 to 28 days old. American steak lovers would automatically go for meat with the most age, but Cecchini decides on a younger cut.
“Fifteen to 20 days is the best to the Italian taste,” he says. “As meat ages, it becomes more tender. But the tenderest meat isn't necessarily the best. It has to have consistency. There has to be some chewiness to get the flavor out of it. If it's too tender, there's no need to chew. You want to find the perfect point where the tenderness and the flavor are at their peaks.”
He cuts a small piece from the outside of the loin and tastes it.
“The fat has a good quality,” he says. “When I chew it, the fat is light and it doesn't stick to my mouth. This is very nice meat.”
But good meat is about more than mechanics.
“The most important thing is what the animal eats and that it has a good life ... just like us,” Cecchini says. “My philosophy is that the cow has to have had a really good life with the least suffering possible ... And every cut has to be cooked using the best cooking method. It's a matter of respect. If I come back as a cow, I want to have the best butcher.
“I grew up in a family of butchers and what we ate growing up was what we couldn't sell in the store. But my mother was a wonderful cook, and my grandmother was a wonderful cook, and we always ate well.”
To honor all of those cuts , Cecchini opened a restaurant in Panzano called SoloCiccio (“Only Meat”), where he serves a five-course fixed menu using lesser-known cuts.
“We use everything but the moo - and the steak,” he says.
In fact, Cecchini is dismissive of familiar, expensive cuts.
“When people learn all the different ways to cook the different cuts,” he says, “the fillet is the last thing they want. It's beef for beginners.”
But for a butcher in Chianti, there is no getting away from bistecca. So his other restaurant, Officina della Bistecca, is set up to teach customers how to cook and appreciate steaks.
Every great steak starts out with a great cut of meat. At Gussman's, Cecchini chooses a loin and takes it to the work table. He steels his knife a dozen times to hone the edge and cuts two mammoth steaks, each about three fingers thick.
“My philosophy is that you have to have the meat the right thickness so the heat will have time to get to the center of the meat and melt the fat.”
Cecchini is cooking this afternoon at the home of Bruce Marder, a partner with Cecchini's friends, Marvin and Judy Zeidler, in several restaurants.
The first dish he prepares is “tartara” - a Tuscan twist on steak tartare. Cecchini prefers to use a tough, lean cut of beef for this, but Gussman has given him a hunk of fillet. He trims the meat of visible fat and cuts it into 1-inch slices. He cuts the slices into cubes and he begins chopping by hand, reducing the meat to a crumbly mixture without turning it into a paste.
He puts the meat in a bowl and adds minced parsley and garlic, pinches of paprika and ground chile and a lot of olive oil. He seasons it with salt and black pepper and a squirt of lemon juice, then tastes and seasons a little more.
He spoons a dollop of tartara onto warm crostini. The flavor is subtle, even bland at first; then you realize that instead of seasoning, you are tasting aspects of the meat you might never have noticed.
Cecchini's fiancee and translator, Kim Wicks, moans and says, “This tastes like home.”
Indeed, Cecchini makes a huge batch of tartara every morning and sells it throughout the day at his butcher shop. It's not classically Tuscan, he says, but it could be.
“This is modo mio (my way),” he says. “What I am trying to do is exalt the flavor of the meat without covering it up. The ingredients are Tuscan, but the way I combine them is mine.”
Next, Cecchini makes “spalla di maiale” - pork steaks cut from the butt, seasoned with fennel pollen, sauteed in olive oil and served on a bed of Tuscan kale cooked in the same oil. It is simple and elegant - perfect home cooking.
With the meat trimmings from both dishes, he makes an impromptu dish he calls “borbotino” - a hash of scraps and bits. Chopped pieces of beef and pork trim are cooked together; shallots are sauteed and the two are combined with beaten eggs.
Finally, the big moment arrives. Those monumental steaks, which have been sitting on the counter for five hours, have warmed nearly to room temperature.
“You have to get the cold out of the meat for the fibers to relax,” Cecchini says.
Ideally, he'd have given them 12 hours.
Without seasoning or oiling the steaks, Cecchini lays them on the grill, and they sizzle. Five minutes on one side, then five minutes on the other. The fire is hot enough to sear a nice crust on the outside but moderate enough to allow the thick steaks to cook through without burning.
Then the master stroke: Cecchini sets the steaks vertically on the grill, resting them on the flat part of the T-bone. Cecchini explains that the bone will conduct the heat deep into the meat.
When the steaks are done, he transfers them to a platter, dashes them with coarse salt and drizzles them with very good olive oil.
After the steak is carved, revealing a perfect medium-rare center, it is served with caramelized beets and carrots, braised leeks, smashed potatoes and an eggplant and tomato stew.
In Tuscany, the accompaniments would almost certainly be simpler: braised white beans, roasted potatoes and whole onions roasted in aluminum foil.
But Cecchini, laughing loudly, drinking wine and chewing beef while he tells stories, doesn't seem to mind. Butchers and philosophers alike take their feasts as they find them.
Bistecca Fiorentina
Makes 3 to 4 servings
Allow the steak to sit out in a cool place, loosely covered, for 5 to 6 hours to come to room temperature. You can order this especially thick cut of steak in advance from any fine meat counter or butcher.
1 (2-inch-thick) porterhouse steak (about 2 1/2 pounds), cut from the small end of the loin, at room temperature
1 teaspoon best-quality olive oil, plus additional for oiling the rack
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Heat a grill over medium-high heat. (It will be hot enough when you can hold your hand an inch over the grill for only 5 to 6 seconds.) Lightly oil the grill, and place the steak on the grill. Grill the steak for 5 minutes, then flip and grill the other side 5 more minutes.
Carefully place the steak vertically on the grill, so it is resting on the flat part of the T-bone.
Continue to cook, allowing the heat to transmit through the bone to the meat. Cook an additional 15 to 25 minutes (this will depend on the heat of your grill) until a thermometer inserted reads 125 degrees for medium-rare.
Remove the steak from the grill to a plate and allow it to rest for 2 to 3 minutes.
Lightly season the steak with the salt and a couple grinds of
pepper, then drizzle the olive oil over it. Slice the steak away from the bone, and then crosswise into strips. Serve immediately.
Total time: 35 minutes, plus 5 to 6 hours for the steak to reach room temperature.
Each of 4 servings: 321 calories; 38 grams protein; 0 carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 18 grams fat; 6 grams saturated fat; 91 milligrams cholesterol; 246 milligrams sodium.
Cecchini's butcher shop in Panzano, outside Florence, Italy, is a culinary shrine, drawing gastronomic travelers from all over the world. So popular is it that Cecchini has opened two meat-centric restaurants nearby.
Right now, Cecchini is at Guss Meat Co. on the hunt for the perfect piece of meat for “bistecca fiorentina” - the classic grilled steak of Tuscany. Bistecca fiorentina is essentially a thick porterhouse steak cut from the small end of the loin.
With a dish this simple, the meat is everything. And Cecchini is definitely liking what he sees. The shop is one of the finest meat suppliers in Southern California since Gussman's father, Abe, founded it in the 1940s. Guss sells meat to some of the pickiest chefs in Los Angeles.
“Bella, bella,” Cecchini mutters as he inspects the meat.
The loins range from 14 to 28 days old. American steak lovers would automatically go for meat with the most age, but Cecchini decides on a younger cut.
“Fifteen to 20 days is the best to the Italian taste,” he says. “As meat ages, it becomes more tender. But the tenderest meat isn't necessarily the best. It has to have consistency. There has to be some chewiness to get the flavor out of it. If it's too tender, there's no need to chew. You want to find the perfect point where the tenderness and the flavor are at their peaks.”
He cuts a small piece from the outside of the loin and tastes it.
“The fat has a good quality,” he says. “When I chew it, the fat is light and it doesn't stick to my mouth. This is very nice meat.”
But good meat is about more than mechanics.
“The most important thing is what the animal eats and that it has a good life ... just like us,” Cecchini says. “My philosophy is that the cow has to have had a really good life with the least suffering possible ... And every cut has to be cooked using the best cooking method. It's a matter of respect. If I come back as a cow, I want to have the best butcher.
“I grew up in a family of butchers and what we ate growing up was what we couldn't sell in the store. But my mother was a wonderful cook, and my grandmother was a wonderful cook, and we always ate well.”
To honor all of those cuts , Cecchini opened a restaurant in Panzano called SoloCiccio (“Only Meat”), where he serves a five-course fixed menu using lesser-known cuts.
“We use everything but the moo - and the steak,” he says.
In fact, Cecchini is dismissive of familiar, expensive cuts.
“When people learn all the different ways to cook the different cuts,” he says, “the fillet is the last thing they want. It's beef for beginners.”
But for a butcher in Chianti, there is no getting away from bistecca. So his other restaurant, Officina della Bistecca, is set up to teach customers how to cook and appreciate steaks.
Every great steak starts out with a great cut of meat. At Gussman's, Cecchini chooses a loin and takes it to the work table. He steels his knife a dozen times to hone the edge and cuts two mammoth steaks, each about three fingers thick.
“My philosophy is that you have to have the meat the right thickness so the heat will have time to get to the center of the meat and melt the fat.”
Cecchini is cooking this afternoon at the home of Bruce Marder, a partner with Cecchini's friends, Marvin and Judy Zeidler, in several restaurants.
The first dish he prepares is “tartara” - a Tuscan twist on steak tartare. Cecchini prefers to use a tough, lean cut of beef for this, but Gussman has given him a hunk of fillet. He trims the meat of visible fat and cuts it into 1-inch slices. He cuts the slices into cubes and he begins chopping by hand, reducing the meat to a crumbly mixture without turning it into a paste.
He puts the meat in a bowl and adds minced parsley and garlic, pinches of paprika and ground chile and a lot of olive oil. He seasons it with salt and black pepper and a squirt of lemon juice, then tastes and seasons a little more.
He spoons a dollop of tartara onto warm crostini. The flavor is subtle, even bland at first; then you realize that instead of seasoning, you are tasting aspects of the meat you might never have noticed.
Cecchini's fiancee and translator, Kim Wicks, moans and says, “This tastes like home.”
Indeed, Cecchini makes a huge batch of tartara every morning and sells it throughout the day at his butcher shop. It's not classically Tuscan, he says, but it could be.
“This is modo mio (my way),” he says. “What I am trying to do is exalt the flavor of the meat without covering it up. The ingredients are Tuscan, but the way I combine them is mine.”
Next, Cecchini makes “spalla di maiale” - pork steaks cut from the butt, seasoned with fennel pollen, sauteed in olive oil and served on a bed of Tuscan kale cooked in the same oil. It is simple and elegant - perfect home cooking.
With the meat trimmings from both dishes, he makes an impromptu dish he calls “borbotino” - a hash of scraps and bits. Chopped pieces of beef and pork trim are cooked together; shallots are sauteed and the two are combined with beaten eggs.
Finally, the big moment arrives. Those monumental steaks, which have been sitting on the counter for five hours, have warmed nearly to room temperature.
“You have to get the cold out of the meat for the fibers to relax,” Cecchini says.
Ideally, he'd have given them 12 hours.
Without seasoning or oiling the steaks, Cecchini lays them on the grill, and they sizzle. Five minutes on one side, then five minutes on the other. The fire is hot enough to sear a nice crust on the outside but moderate enough to allow the thick steaks to cook through without burning.
Then the master stroke: Cecchini sets the steaks vertically on the grill, resting them on the flat part of the T-bone. Cecchini explains that the bone will conduct the heat deep into the meat.
When the steaks are done, he transfers them to a platter, dashes them with coarse salt and drizzles them with very good olive oil.
After the steak is carved, revealing a perfect medium-rare center, it is served with caramelized beets and carrots, braised leeks, smashed potatoes and an eggplant and tomato stew.
In Tuscany, the accompaniments would almost certainly be simpler: braised white beans, roasted potatoes and whole onions roasted in aluminum foil.
But Cecchini, laughing loudly, drinking wine and chewing beef while he tells stories, doesn't seem to mind. Butchers and philosophers alike take their feasts as they find them.
Bistecca Fiorentina
Makes 3 to 4 servings
Allow the steak to sit out in a cool place, loosely covered, for 5 to 6 hours to come to room temperature. You can order this especially thick cut of steak in advance from any fine meat counter or butcher.
1 (2-inch-thick) porterhouse steak (about 2 1/2 pounds), cut from the small end of the loin, at room temperature
1 teaspoon best-quality olive oil, plus additional for oiling the rack
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Heat a grill over medium-high heat. (It will be hot enough when you can hold your hand an inch over the grill for only 5 to 6 seconds.) Lightly oil the grill, and place the steak on the grill. Grill the steak for 5 minutes, then flip and grill the other side 5 more minutes.
Carefully place the steak vertically on the grill, so it is resting on the flat part of the T-bone.
Continue to cook, allowing the heat to transmit through the bone to the meat. Cook an additional 15 to 25 minutes (this will depend on the heat of your grill) until a thermometer inserted reads 125 degrees for medium-rare.
Remove the steak from the grill to a plate and allow it to rest for 2 to 3 minutes.
Lightly season the steak with the salt and a couple grinds of
pepper, then drizzle the olive oil over it. Slice the steak away from the bone, and then crosswise into strips. Serve immediately.
Total time: 35 minutes, plus 5 to 6 hours for the steak to reach room temperature.
Each of 4 servings: 321 calories; 38 grams protein; 0 carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 18 grams fat; 6 grams saturated fat; 91 milligrams cholesterol; 246 milligrams sodium.
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