Testaccio is home to an ancient mound of broken terracotta pots, a former slaughterhouse, a modernist post office and a hardworking street market. Also, five burgundy Fiat Pandas, four of which were apparently bought in the late 1990s from the same Fiat dealership (now no more) – including ours. Twenty years old, and with 230,000 kilometres on the meter, our Panda looks like a dusty tin can that has fallen off a shelf one too many times. It’s a warrior that has battled the corners and cobbles of Rome, made annual trips to the south of Sicily and that smells of war, rubber and oregano.
The smell of oregano will fade, of course, but for another week or so, the aroma of the three bunches that were buffered by cases on the longest journey from Sicily to Rome will hang around the Panda like a souvenir.
The word “oregano” is thought to come from two Greek words, òros, which means mountains, and ganos, which means brightness, or joy. This is exactly what oregano, with its warm, aromatic fragrance, can do. But it has a melancholic side; its slightly sharp taste matched by a note of camphor, which is exacerbated if you leave it in the drawer for five years, as I once did. Buy small amounts of oregano if you can, or buy a bunch once a year (but don’t leave it to get dusty at the top of the cupboard). Rub the leaves into newspaper and tip them into a jar, with a sticker and date, and keep it to hand.
Like the Greeks, Sicilians love oregano and know its flavour. The joy and the melancholy is brought out best by braising or baking, which is why it is used on pizza and in slow-cooked sauces, baked into layers of vegetables, and often topped with their other great love, breadcrumbs, for gratins.
“The deliciousness of any gratin lies in the contrast between the soft, well-flavoured vegetables and the crusty brown surface,” notes Jane Grigson in her Vegetable Book, and she is right. The key to this deliciousness is proportion: enough depth to contain the moisture and softness, but also enough surface area to provide everyone with a decent, amount of crisp crust. I find my faithful rectangular Pyrex dish to be an ideal vessel for this four-to-six person gratin: it has the right depth and surface area, its clear sides allowing me to see as the liquid bubbles away.
By the end of cooking, the surface should be golden, some of the potato slices curling up at the edges like dried leaves, and there should be just a little bubbling liquid, which will be absorbed as the dish sits.
Just before serving, I toss a handful of rough breadcrumbs in a bowl with olive oil, salt and oregano, then scatter them on top and bung the dish back under the grill for a few minutes, making for an even crisper top and a renewed scent of oregano – the joy and melancholy of the kitchen, and the car.
Potato, onion and tomato gratin
The beauty of dishes like this is that they will happily sit around for hours, the flavoursome juices being absorbed into the slices.
Prep 5 min
Cook 1 hr 15 min
Serves 4-6
Butter
Olive oil
2 large onions, peeled and sliced into half moons
Salt and pepper
1.5 kg potatoes
2 medium tomatoes or 15 cherry tomatoes
Dried oregano
350ml water/light vegetable stock
A handful of breadcrumbs (optional)
In a frying pan on a medium low heat, melt a knob of butter and two tablespoons of olive oil, and saute the onions with a pinch of salt until soft and translucent.
Peel and slice the potatoes thinly, either on a mandoline or the cucumber cutter of a box grater. Slice the tomatoes.
Butter or oil an ovenproof dish. Use a third of the potatoes to make a base layer, spread over half the onion and half the tomatoes, then season with salt, pepper and oregano. Repeat, finishing with a layer of potatoes. Dot with butter and pour over the liquid.
Bake at 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4 for an hour, or until the potatoes are soft and the liquid absorbed.
Mix a handful of breadcrumbs with a pinch each of oregano and salt, and a tablespoon of olive oil. Sprinkle over the bake and put under the grill for a few minutes to crisp up.
