Two things have rekindled my love for cooking—and more specifically, for eating—Italian food.
Firstly, passata, which I talked about in my last video.
And secondly, a bit more unexpected: spending a year at an Italian football club in Melbourne, where my daughter was playing.
After years of braving wind, rain, hail, and blazing sun on open pitches with zero shelter and even less in the way of facilities, I suddenly found myself in the midst of a proper club. One with an actual building. Decent amenities. And best of all—a well-known Italian restaurant right on site.
Naturally, I took it upon myself to feast there every Friday night. It became a ritual. A joyful indulgence. Each week I’d look forward to one of their fantastically authentic pasta dishes.
The Pasta Dishes That Stole My Heart
There were the staples: the seafood marinara cooked in a bag (yes, the Italian version), the incredible meatballs layered with mozzarella, pasta, and meat ragù, and the Italian sausage served with orecchiette—those little ear-shaped pastas that cradle the sauce so perfectly.
But what really got me was the specials. Duck Bolognese. Beef cheek and pea ragù with bucatini. Every Friday felt like opening a present.
My Recent Trip to Italy: Rome, Florence, and Umbria
And just to top things off, I recently visited Italy itself—Rome, Florence, and the glorious hills of Umbria. Even in winter, the sun was out beating its drum, and the food was just… different. Rustic. Honest. Rooted in the land.
In Umbria, I fell for the wild boar. I wandered into a small grocer and saw the kind of tomatoes that made you want to write poetry. Shelves of herbs and cured meats—nothing extravagant, just deeply satisfying ingredients.
In Florence, I tackled the legendary Florentine steak. And I ate one of the most beautiful pasta dishes I’ve ever had: Tortelli di pasta fresca ripieni di burrata—fresh pasta stuffed with creamy burrata.
And in Rome, I fulfilled a long-time culinary ambition: to eat Cacio e Pepe in its birthplace. And let me tell you—I was not disappointed. Simple, but absolutely untouchable. Flavour, texture, aroma—it made this grown fella weep. I know it’s a little exaggerated, but if you’ve ever eaten something that fills you with emotion, then you’ll get what I mean.
Abruzzo: The Heart of Today’s Recipe
Now, Abruzzo—where today’s dish comes from—sits just south-east of Umbria. It shares a lot of the same earthy, produce-rich traditions. It’ has an inland region with fertile land and gutsy, characterful wines. Especially one I came to love: Montepulciano—deep, earthy, and full of soul. The one I discovered was like eating jam—sensational.
Which brings me nicely on to today’s recipe:
Pork Sausage and Pork Rib Stew from Abruzzo with Soft Polenta—Polenta all’Abruzzese.
This is what many Italians would consider peasant food. But to be honest—elsewhere in the world, this would be considered borderline gourmet. And I guess that’s one thing I saw in Italy: simple food done really, really well is king.
Ingredients to Make This Traditional Italian Stew
For this stew, we are going to be using proper ingredients:
A good-quality Italian pork sausage—ideally with fennel seed.
Pork ribs—also known as the American cut—and preferably from the sow, because female pork has a more tender and flavoursome character.
And a generous splash of Montepulciano to bring it all together.
Now, I would normally use my homemade passata for tomato-based sauces, but this stew requires a little more texture—so I use these pulled tomatoes direct from Italy. The brand is Mutti; I tell you this only because these are my favourite and go-to tinned tomatoes.
Polenta: Peasant Food That’s Now Gourmet
And then there’s polenta. Another example of peasant food that’s now hit the level of gourmet.
Polenta was originally made from legumes and grains, but modern-day polenta is corn-based. And when I say “modern,” I mean it’s been around since the 16th century.
Polenta shows up across Italy in different forms, but I’m making the soft, wet kind today—smooth, creamy, pourable. It acts as a perfect foil for the stew.
The one thing you need when you’re making polenta is patience—because it takes about 30 to 40 minutes to cook properly, with regular stirring. But if you stick with it, you’re rewarded with something truly unctuous and silky.
Let’s Get Cooking
So, let’s get into it. This dish takes about four hours, start to finish. But hey—aren’t the best things in life worth waiting for?
And when you make this—when you taste it—you’ll know exactly what I mean.
