The story behind our “nonna’s bread”

Nonna = Grandma in Italian

Growing Up in SW Portland

I was born and raised in Southwest Portland, between Hillsdale and Multnomah Village in the house my Grandfather & Grandmother (or) Nonno & Nonna; built with some help from his friends. At the time of building, this was rural Portland; surrounded by dairy farms and large swaths of land. He chose a piece of land large enough to accommodate a house to hold their large family and his love of gardening. I never had the opportunity to meet my grandparents, but I have connected with them through food and culture that was passed to my father, aunts, and uncles; 5 children in all. My grandfather also built his house next to his brothers, so even more cousins. They had large gardens that they loved to compete over: who had the best tomatoes, basil, zucchini, lettuce, ect... They would often look at each other’s gardens and compare notes on seeds and plants that thrived and ones that did not. So, you can only imagine this same love and competitiveness was passed to my father and uncles; from who I learned from.

The big green mixer

After my grandparents passed, my father bought the family home from my aunts and uncles and eventually raised my sisters and I there. There is a canning room in the basement that always kept our Costco bounty, the large freezer and other random items. I have been in this room thousands of times, and for as long as I can remember there was this pale green 15 quart mixer that had this weird motor on the top. Once in a while we would flick the switch to see if it still worked; but that was pretty much it. Beyond that, it sat on the counter taking up space, never used. I was into cooking at a young age, but never really took to baking then, so by the time I went to college; it never really crossed my mind to try to use it; also what in the world would I bake that much of? I had a kitchen aid counter top mixer that did the trick.

After 20 years of pursuing my culinary aspirations, and opening a few restaurants; I started to lean back into my Italian heritage. I started a pop up with my good friend Jeff Vejr, who loves Italian wine and food. We called it “I Banditi”. I was down in this canning room and noticed or re acknowledged a recipe hanging on the wall behind the giant pale green paper weight. It was a bread recipe, and I needed bread for one of the courses of the pop up. So I gave it a whirl.

My Father’s story of the mixer

My father happened to be attending I Banditi, and I told him I made the bread recipe from the canning room. “That was what your grandmother used to make us“. I learned, she would bake three or four loaves at a time, multiple times a week. It is nothing glorious with crazy fermentation techniques or special flours; but it is deeply personal and satisfying. The look on my dad’s face when he ate the bread for the first time in 38+ years, was one I will never forget. Luckily I was watching, it was only for split second, but you could tell he was transported to some memory I will probably never get to know. It’s for him and the bread to know. What it did tell me, is that this was something I needed to continue and pursue. He then told me the story of the mixer. Not only was my grandfather a Master Gardener, he was also a brilliant machinist. He would visit the scrap yards, and found this mixer on a decommissioned navy ship in the 50’s. He took the direct current Hobart, and added the electric motor to the top and converted it to alternating current; so that they could plug it in at the house. He fashioned a new cord, and rewired it so that it was suitable for domestic use.

A few month later, I decided to switch my flagship restaurant Mama Bird into Bistecca Woodfire Steak House. I wanted to further dive into my past and experiences. I knew Nonna’s bread would be at the heart of it. After burning out a Kitchen Aid or two, I asked my pops if I could have grandma’s mixer at Bistecca to make her bread, “sure, I don’t use it”. Now it lives in our prep kitchen and mixes all of our doughs, it is literally the beating heart of our kitchen.