I remember as a kid gleefully fishing out sizable chunks of braciole from bowls of meatballs my late grandmother would set on the kitchen table for Sunday dinners. Cloaked in tomato sauce, I always wondered as my fork glided through the layers of rolled round steak how the hell she entombed hard-boiled eggs inside those swirls.
I had little knowledge of anything related to cooking at the time, let alone much capacity to break down an engineering feat such as this. All I knew is that I needed to eat fast and save my pondering for later if I were to score a second piece.
The first thing I learned about braciole was that these beefy pinwheels were about as alien to my friends and their families as some national dish of Iceland—like fermented shark let’s say. Some of those friends were even of Italian descent. Of course I would later discover that the world opens its mouth much faster to braciole than to razor-toothed sea predators. Braciole is a hit with all meat eaters.
My grandmother filled her braciole with bacon, pepperoni, grated Parmesan, fresh parsley and butter. (Statins went missing.) Bound in butcher string, she then dropped the rolls into a pot of tomato sauce for a long, gentle braising, per her recipe below.
Yet as Florida-based chef and travel blogger Dennis Littley points out: “There are as many grandmothers out there as there are conversions for braciole.”
Littley’s recipe for braciole is moderately different from how my grandmother made it. His way originates from an Italian-French mentor named Mama Jeanette, who ran a restaurant in Louisiana.
“She made braciole in a northern-Italian style using ricotta and sometimes spinach and prosciutto in the filling,” he said.
Though when Littley later worked for Cousins Restaurant in Ocean City, N.J., he began breading the steak rolls—and still does. The breaded rolls are sauteed in olive oil to develop a golden crust. He then bakes them for 20 minutes in a 350-degree oven.
“The breading holds the braciole together and keeps the meat from drying out. I also pound out the meat to break up the muscle so that it doesn’t really need the extended braising in tomato sauce,” he noted.
A Family Affair
Most culinary historians agree that braciole originated in southern Italy, in regions starting around Naples and extending all the way down to Sicily.
My grandmother was of Neapolitan descent, which would explain the fresh parsley and pepperoni she used in her recipe, not to mention the reliance of tomato sauce to tenderize the meat as it simmers lovingly in the sauce pot. What she left out, however, were the traditional additions of pine nuts and raisins common to braciole served in Naples. I’m personally glad she did.
“Braciole is the piéce de résistance on my holiday buffet,” noted travel and food writer Ann Blask, who happens to be my aunt. Taught at a young age by my grandmother how to make braciole, she acknowledges that wild variations of the dish exist, just as one of her interview subjects adroitly pointed out some years ago.
She had asked acclaimed Italian cookbook author Giuliano Bugialli why none of the great Italian restaurants in New York City offered braciole on their menus. His response: “That is because braciole is like meatloaf. You only like it the way your mother made it.”
The statement rings true for Kevin T. Russell, a cousin from another aunt in my family who also grew up with my grandmother’s passed-down recipe.
He recently tried his hands at making it for the first time—and with much success as proven in the lead photo he offered for this article. Indeed, the jellyroll-form is intact, the sliced eggs peek out with intrigue, and the succulent texture of the round steak screams “grab me.”
His wife and young sons all loved it, he said.
For home cook Elizabeth Marino, a prolific restaurant goer from San Francisco, her mother and grandmother are sticklers for braciole filled with an admixture of breadcrumbs, crumbled Italian sausage, fresh basil and generous measures of Pecorino-Romano cheese. They too braise the beef rolls in tomato sauce—for sometimes up to four hours.
“I never deviate from that recipe because I love it so much. So does my boyfriend and all of my friends whenever I make it for dinner parties,” she said.
Steeped in Obscurity
Good luck finding braciole in commercial kitchens. Or even in many Italian cookbooks.
Marino once came upon it as a special in San Francisco’s Firenze by Night restaurant. She ordered it but didn’t care for the texture or filling, which she recalls was tough on the outside and “mushy” on the inside.
“Two friends of mine at the table also ordered it because they had never heard of braciole. They totally enjoyed it. But to me it tasted like it was just a basic blend of unseasoned breadcrumbs and Parmesan inside. It lacked that wow factor,” she said.
I found only a smattering of restaurants throughout the country that offer braciole on their regular menus. They include Saloon Restaurant in Philadelphia, which fills the rolls with spinach, pancetta and Parmesan cheese. Topped with tomato sauce, it’s served alongside gnocci. An employee noted, “It’s a top seller.”
At Tavola in the Hell’s Kitchen section of Manhattan, the braciole is made with pounded-out pork cutlets rather than beef. They’re filled with garlic, herbs and sharp Provolone.
Most surprising is that I found only one recipe for braciole in the prestigious cookbook, “The Silver Spoon” (Phaidon Publishing), which a friend gifted to me years ago. The tome is considered the bible of authentic Italian cooking and features more than 2,000 recipes from all regions of Italy—and yet the lone recipe for braciole (listed as “beef and bresaola roulades”) receives weak billing. There is no photograph to accompany it, nor are there any suggestions for alternative fillings—only cured, air-dried slices of bresaola.
So until the rest of the world discovers the joys of braciole—and more chefs invest in what it takes to crank it out for the masses, it remains up to us to swoon friends and family with wonderful homemade versions.
Grandma Sabatini’s Braciole (photographed by Kevin T. Russell at the top of this article)
Note: As most recipes from Italian matriarchs go, certain details and measurements can be vague, and alterations are permissible.
1 thin-sliced round steak
2 hard boiled eggs, sliced
2 slices bacon
10-12 slices of pepperoni
1 head of fresh parsley
¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 Tbsp butter
Salt
Pepper
Butchers twine for tying
Instructions:
Season round steak with salt and pepper. Spread egg slices over entire surface, and top with a scattering of small bacon pieces. Add a sprinkling of chopped pepperoni slices, and a thick layer of finely chopped parsley. Top with a light dusting of Parmesan cheese and pea-size bits of butter.
Roll into jelly-roll style, beginning from the long end. Tie with butcher’s twine and drop into spaghetti sauce. Simmer for at least 1½ hours. Untie and slice into inch-thick slices. Note: It’s easier to slice when cool. Arrange the slices on a plate and drizzle with tomato sauce.
Delightful to read! A celebration of a special dish. I’m surprised Grandma Sabatini’s recipe has been let out of the bag! But as you note, the transmission may not be fully detailed and one is left to make one’s own interpretations!
Delightful! Now I might have to make it again. One thing, though…In the instructions it should be stressed that the direction you roll it matters. You must roll it so that when you slice it, you are slicing against the meat grain. OItherwise, disaster.
My all-time favorite dish.
If I still ate meat I’d love having it again. My memories of eating it at grandmas house are vague as I was more concerned about what was in the goodie drawer!!!