The Passi bakery in Rome is long and quite narrow with terrazzo tiles and an L-shaped, glass-fronted counter. Even on the coldest day, it is warm, and when it rains they strew sawdust on the floor to prevent slipping. The bread is stacked on shelves and in crate-like sections that line the walls. The counter is home to everything else pulled from the ovens in the back: a few typically Roman hot dishes, lengths of pizza and focacce, tarts, cakes, buns and biscotti. Hundreds of biscotti.
The word biscotto, like biscuit, is a generic word with a Latin root, panis biscoctus, which refers to bread (panis) cooked (coctus) twice (bis) in order to make it durable. It is a durable “rusk” that requires dipping in liquid to make it edible. Over the centuries, this rusk evolved and sweetened into hundreds of different forms, some of them twice-cooked, others not, many with new names, others simply biscotti al latte (milk biscuits), biscotti savoiardi (sponge fingers), biscotti regina (small logs covered with sesame seeds). Then there are stout, oval biscotti di Prato, from Prato in Tuscany, which are traditionally dipped in sweet wine, and are also known as cantucci, though they have travelled the world as simply biscotti.
Back at Panificio Passi, a rectangle of pizza with cheese and mushrooms is steaming the glass just in front of me. A few metres away, a little girl is breathing on her section of counter, then dragging her index finger through the condensation. The counter is long and the metal trays of biscuits are well spaced. There are ring biscuits made with wine, waffle-like pizzelle, pale and soft almond balls, wholemeal plaits, cat’s tongues, hazelnut-and-honey tozzetti, biscotti with chocolate drops, sultanas or a fingerprint of apricot jam and floury biscuits half-dipped in chocolate called fiammette (little flames).
The biggest on display are biscotti al latte, milk biscuits, which look and taste like a baby rusk crossed with plain cake and a sponge finger. In Sicily, biscotti all’uovo, or egg biscuits, are similar: Vincenzo remembers the cry of the egg man as he arrived at the end of the street, and how occasionally his grandmother would buy a bag of six biscotti all’uovo as well as eggs themselves. Their nature and Italian habits mean they are also known as biscotti da inzuppare, biscuits for dipping, or breakfast biscuits.
A few years ago, I bought a bag of tozzetti with honey; they were as hard as a mountain face and impossible to eat without dunking in milk or, better still, wine. This is rare, though. Most of the time, dipping or dunking is a choice rather than a necessity. And that is certainly the case with these milk-egg-dipping-breakfast biscuits inspired by those in the L-shaped counter at Passi. Which, of course, can be eaten anytime you want (I like mine at 11am or 4pm with a cup of tea).
Breakfast biscuits
Prep 20 min
Cook 20 min
Makes 12 large or 30 small biscuits
2 large eggs
50ml whole milk
50ml olive or vegetable oil
The zest of 1 large unwaxed orange
100g golden caster sugar, plus extra for dusting
300g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
A pinch of salt
Icing sugar
In a large bowl, lightly beat the eggs, then add the milk, oil, grated orange zest and sugar, and mix well. Add the flour, baking powder, bicarb and a pinch of salt, and mix first with a fork and then with your hands, until you have a consistent dough. (If it sticks to your hands, add a little more flour.)
Heat the oven to 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4. Line a baking tray with greaseproof paper and put some sugar on a plate.
Pull off lumps of the dough – about 70g for large biscuits, 40g for smaller ones – then roll each lump into a ball. Roll each ball into a log, then roll it in the sugar and arrange spaced well apart on the lined tray. Flatten slightly, so they look like mini surfboards, then dust with icing sugar.
Bake for 20 minutes, or until the biscuits are puffed up and light gold in colour. Lift on to a rack to cool, then serve (or store in an airtight container for later).
