Saltimbocca

Perhaps the last of the leftovers meals, though Holt is still munching the empanaditas for lunch.

We had some prosciutto and provolone that didn't get used for cute tea sandwiches. So we defrosted two thick pork tenderloin slices (no veal available for prices less than gold, unfortunately, and anyways it's Porkopolis), and while they were still half-frozen, Holt delicately cut sidewise into each, resulting in four thin slices. When those were defrosted, he pounded them flat. (Motto I actually saw on a paper bag from a butcher shop in Corona, Queens: YOU CAN'T BEAT OUR MEAT.)

Put a layer of prosciutto and a layer of cheese on top of each slice, sprinkle with chopped fresh sage, fold each slice in half, dust them with seasoned flour, and fry them in oil, only a couple of minutes on each side. Deglaze the pan with white wine, of course, and "monty" (monter au beurre - throw a slab of butter in there) for a sauce. We served them on a bed of rainbow chard from the garden, sautéed until tender and tossed with a little balsamic vinegar.

We've had saltimbocca at various places, both in the US and in Italy. It is often just bare scaloppine with a slice of prosciutto on top, which means that both meats go their own way (i.e., the prosciutto just twists up) and the flavors don't meld. Or it's rolled up like involtini, which means you have to add liquid to poach it so that the middle isn't left raw, and you lose the quick-fried goodness of the thin scaloppine. The technique above solves all those problems. Result: little savory packets of tender meat stuffed with cheese and ham.