Here is the last little excerpt from The Hills of Tuscany by Ferenc Mate. If you have traveled to Italy or dream of doing so, you will love this read.  I was so sad when the adventure was over but then just last night, I picked up the sequel entitled A Vineyard in Tuscany.

Connie in her Sicilian Kitchen

This highlight is from his first Tuscan Easter dinner.  We have our own version of an Italian Easter Feast with dear friends who live half of the year in Sicily.  They are in Canada right now and will join us for dinner tomorrow evening.  Of course there will be photos and details of our menu to follow but for now, imagine the following:

Connie and I share he same birthdate

 We ate.

We started with two big trays of crostini, small cut toast from a baguette-type loaf, with four different spread they had made: one of porcini, one of chicken livers, one of tomato and basil, and the last one of tuna and capers.  That was enough to fill us.  Then came the pastas. One at a time. Forever.

And Franco kept pouring wine for us and all,  Carla, the eldest daughter, who had turned twenty-five that year, kept snapping orders at him and he seemed to have had almost enough, until Carla, being the perfect hostess, went to pour mineral water for everyone, a nice gesture, except that she forgot that she had set the table with the water glasses upside down, and now, while she was feverishly directing her dad, she was pouring water with great precision all over the table.  And we all broke up and laughed and laughed, and her little sister Elenora laughed until she cried.

Then we dug into the first pasta.  It was home made-what a stupid thing to say, of course it was homemade!  Everything was homemade!  Even the damned chickens!  They were delicate little crepes made by Carla, stuffed with ricotta and spinach and then baked in the oven like lasagna, and they tasted like heaven.  Even Giovanna, who, justifiably, fancies herself a great cook, rolled her eyes.  And we drank.  And we talked and talked-us mostly with our hands.  Then came another pasta.  Tagliatelle with rabbit ragu.  Spicy with tomatoes.  I think I swooned.  The came another pasta,  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It was handmade pici, smothered in bread crumbs that had been stir-fried in olive oil.  When I was a kid in Budapest, it had been one of my favourite dishes.  After the third pasta, Candace said she was so full, she was about to lose consciousness.  Giovanna and I thought we were about to die.  So we drank some more wine.

The wine and a bit of rest must have dissolved all the pasta, because when the three trays of meats arrived we didn’t even gasp.

…

There was roast pigeon cut into small pieces, baked in the wood oven for two hours so there was just a parchment-thin crisp skin over the gamy meat.  Then there was wild boar stew, and of course the finale: roast lamb.  And roast potatoes that Candace somehow ate by the pound, and shredded salad well salted, Tuscan style.  And wine.  The Paolucci women drank very little, meaning that the four of us had sipped away about a litter each.  Over two hours.  And two pounds each of food.  Then came il dolce.

We had brought a great fruit tarte that Candace and Giovanna made.  It was coals to Newcastle.  Rosanna brought out her own tiramisu, a creamy thing full of coffee, which is why it’s called “pull me up”, and Carla had baked a crostada di albicocca, a crumbly apple tart, and of course there was the inevitable colomba, the traditional Easter cake, an uniced thing shaped like a dove.  Then came  resurrecting espresso, then of course brandies and grappa.  The Paoluccis kept insisting we drink the grappa because it is a digestivo; it helps with the digestion.  It also puts you in a profound state of merriment and lets you forget that you’re about to explode.”

Me on the rooftop of their home

So until I can sojourn to Italy again, I can anticipate new adventures and savour the memories of previous ones….

Kath’s quote: “Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.”-William Shakespeare

Love-that is all.

I have two last excerpts from Ferenc Mate’s accounting of the planting of their roots in rural Tuscany.  I have to be careful not to read this when I am hungry or I will start salivating and building fires to grill my mushrooms over.  Even though I am a happy forager-loving the wild flowers and blueberries around our summer home, I have bever pursued the study of safe mushroom harvesting.  Belair Forest which surrounds our property, is regionally famous for their wild mushrooms and as a result of reading this, I intend to become an expert this coming fall.

 The first funghi-feast at their house I will never forget.  Piccardi casually invited us to taste the year’s first finds.  It was a Saturday night and we went through the graying light, up the hill to their house and looked down on our valley, taking some Vino Nobile and some PinotGrigio from Orvieto.  We had no idea what we would be eating.

The table was set for seven, for their children too were there: feisty Francesca, gentle Angela, and the resolute Allessandro.  We chatted about their schooling, about the coming fall, the nearing vendemmia, because the grapes might be ready early this year with all the heat.  Then the season’s first funghi appeared, chopped fine, cooked down to a sauce and spread on round crostini.  It was heaven.  The pungent, fragrant porcini flavors exploded in our mouths-bittersweet, moody-and the flavors came even more alive with the Vino Nobile from the Avignonesi vineyards.

Having finished the appetizer, I asked if we should open the Pinot Grigio for the next course, but Anna Maria said coyly, “No, there’s a bit more funghi.”  That night at the Piccardis‘ funghi rained like manna from heaven.  After the crostini came tagliatelle con funghi, not with one but two kinds, the first made from tomatoes, the second with porcini only, cooked with sliced garlic, parsley and salt in oil about twenty minutes, then at the end splashed with wine and simmered for a while.  Then came a zuppa di funghi, a think soup of sliced mushrooms, deep, peppery, calling for more wine.  After that we were convinced that we had reached the end, leaned back to relax, thanked Anna Maria for a stupendous dinner, when we noticed that Piccardi had been absent for a while.  We asked if all was well, and just as Francesca was about to reply, in burst her dad, aproned, grinning, carrying in his arms an enormous plate of grilled porcini.  Their fragrance wafted across the room and eddied all around us, and their taste made for the world’s best grilled steak taste dull.  We ate.  Savoring each bite as if it were our last.  The room fell silent as a tomb.

That was, thank God, the end.  Except for some whipped chocolate cake with a thick sauce of berries, and a bit of vinsanto and coffee, and just a tiny bit of grappa.

I can just feel the heaviness of the rich food in their tummies, can’t you?  Next installment  from The Hills of Tuscany is of their Easter Feast.

Kath’s quote: “Nature alone is antique and the oldest art a mushroom.”-Thomas Carlyle

Love-that is all.

I’ll admit it: I don’t particularly enjoy New Year’s Eve.  This is not because I don’t like the moments of hugging and kissing at the appointed hour, because if you know me, you understand that I love any and every excuse to embrace and smooch.  I am an optimist and I live my life looking forward, so it is not that either.  I suppose it has to do with the regret that we don’t live every night of our life with a “new year’s eve” attitude-of forgiveness and reconciliation and the determination to do better.  The evening seems kind of artificial and contrived to me.  Do any of my readers feel this way too?

We often attend the bash at the Winnipeg Convention Centre where the multi-course meal is divine but the jazz stylings of Ron Paley and his big band even better.  Last year and another before that, we were on Isla Mujeres where the entire island (or so it seems) crowds into the square at midnight to kick off the year with a tremendous show of fire works and then they dance all night long.  And I mean this literally, because the next morning when we tried to hunt up some breakfast, most places were shuttered up because they had just arrived home to get some sleep.

Well this year, we were invited by new friends to join them at Bailey’s Restaurant and Lounge.  The evening had a lovely pace and lots of opportunity to get to know them better.  When we left to go elsewhere for midnight, there were only family and staff members left who were assembling to celebrate midnight together.  We had the pleasure of meeting Leo the owner and other members of his family. Typically Leo is very hands on helping with table service and the like, but on this evening he was simply making the rounds to warmly embrace his many patrons.

The first course was a cold platter of appetizers for the table with a nibble each of spanakopeta, spring roll, beef satay skewer, smoked salmon and garlic shrimp.  This proved to be a lovely way to forecast the culinary treats ahead.

Our attentive waiter came over to sadly tell us that the red pepper soup had been substituted with an asparagus one.  No disappointment to us- it was pungent with asparagus and buttery at the same time.

A warm from the oven, crusty roll occupied us until the salad course of mandarins, strawberries and candied blueberries topping mixed greens and a sweet poppy seed dressing arrived.

The guys both chose a platter including a beef tenderloin medallion, a lamb chop, shrimp and scallops. 

My new friend loved the veal chop with a tarragon port wine reduction.

I was over the moon with my selection of scampi.  There were so many upon the plate, that my vegetables and roasted potatoes had to arrive on a second plate, alongside.  I wondered how I was going to eat them all and then proceeded to do so without any trouble.  Each Icelandic baby lobster was still completely encased in its shell which meant that I had to roll up my sleeves and crack my way through to the sweet meat.  I mopped each one of them around in Bailey’s own butter sauce (which I have to get the recipe of) and when they were gone and there were still dobs of sauce on my plate, I swirled slivers of the potato and then cauliflower to ensure that I soaked up every salty drop.

I could have easily bundled up for our walk to the Forks to see the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra and the fireworks by this time, but we were not quite done.  Everyone needed a chocolate fix which was satisfied by the Black Out Torte and I opted for fresh fruit swimming in cointreau.  Coffee and Biley’s (of course) came after that.

By this time, we got moving to mark the strike of twelve.  I loved the intimate evening with our new friends which seemed so perfect at a time which sings about auld acquaintances not being forgotten.

Kath’s quote: “An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.”-Bill Vaughn

Love-that is all.

On Sundays at Mandatory Dinner for our family, we often go around the table and share three things: 1) the best thing that happened that week 2) the big disappointment of the week and 3) the thing that you are most looking forward to in the week to come.  Last evening over an early New Year’s fondue we changed the framework to be the year.  The reflections were varied from landing a job, seeing Ireland, spending time in Montreal to starting a Fantasy football league, going to a Bruce Springsteen concert and starting new studies and businesses.  The anticipations are equally thrilling like an upcoming family wedding, a baby’s birth, starting grad school and possible travel.  We decided not to share disappointments.

It occured to me that the same could be true as far as food and dining is concerned, so here are my highlights:

• Our year started on Isla Mujeres where the food literally sparkles in your mouth and is expertly prepared (and so affordable) such as pork chops and beans at Fredy’s, breakfast at Rooster’s, fruita de mare pizza and pasta at Angelo’s & Brisas Caribe, chiles relleno at La Lomita, Tino’s weekend ribs, and literally everything at Basto’s Grill.
• Teaching in Thompson Manitoba.  I shared my knowledge of food and beverage service with them and learned a couple of things of my own like the beauty of the north and that good food is not only found in major cities, discovering Nanny’s Diner and Santa Maria Pizza.
• Travelling to Ireland, noshing on mussels and pork belly at an ancient pub in Galway, walking to a five star restaurant in a thatched cottage in Adare, lunching at The Falls Hotel in Ennistymon (near the cliffs of Moher),  trying bangers & mash and shredded duck salad in Limerick and purchasing cider, scones and black and white pudding to eat at our gorgeous villa.
• Writing for the community newspapers and my first time visits to Sonya’s, Luda’s and Magic Sushi 2. The food was amazing but the people who run these little places even better.
• Winning the opportunity to attend a Foodie Conference in Washington, DC.  I met fascinating people that helped me improve my blog, toured a gorgeous city and got to eat at The Old Ebbitt Grill and my first time at a “raw” restaurant..
• Spending the summer at the lake and loving the crepes, poutine and burgers at Le Gouter in Albert Beach in addition to our own family brunches and barbeques.
• Loving our garden share and roasting beets and carrots and Jerusalem artichokes into the fall.
• Travelling to western Manitoba with the Canola ladies to meet farmers and producers and feasting on the amazing local specialties at our field lunches and dinners.
• Heading to another food bloggers conference in Toronto and walking the board walk at the beach with delicious wraps in hand, even though it was late October.
• Loving the incredible restaurants within walking distance of our house: Inferno’s and Pizzeria Gusto on Academy and Bonfire Bistro on Corydon.
• Celebrating birthdays and holidays at Deseo’s, Rudy’s and Hermanoes.
• Trying other places for my first time like the Modern Taco Company, Saigon Jon’s Kitchen, Corrientes Argentian Pizza and the new fish house at Terrace in the Park.
• Food-styling for a number of top Canadian chefs and especially working alongside Chef Michael Allemeier.
• Cheering on the Manitoba Culinary Team that won silver in Germany this fall and celebrating Chef Osten Rice’s win at the gold plates.  Osten is the son of a good friend and I have watched his culinary rise to success over the years. 

I am off to Isla Mujeres and Thompson again in the next couple of months.  I have already booked D’s birthday dinner at The Promenade and I was thinking that it was high time that we walked to Fusion for an upcoming dinner (perhaps Valentine’s). I will be travelling to the Hockley Valley Resort in rural Ontario (where Top Chef Canada was filmed) for another food bloggers event and then look forward to time again at our beach house.  There are no plans as of yet for the fall but we are always on the watch for deals to Europe and hope to get to Spain soon.  AND most of all continuing to cook for my family and friends to demonstrate to them how very much I love them.

Happy New Year…I wish all my readers good health, happy hearts and joy in food.

Muah-Kath.

Love-that is all.

I have a “gift” of being entirely swept away by books and movies.  This can be a difficult burden when I despair over the sad ending of a movie or the conclusion of a book, even if it had a happy ending, but simply because I will miss the characters as part of my life.  The great part though, is that when I read a story set in a foreign place, it is as if I am living there too (this really saves money in our travel account).  So too, when I read well-written descriptions about food, I can smell and savour and ridiculous as it may sound, feel “full”.

These are the hills of Sicily (not Tuscany) where we have traveled.

I have just finished this wonderful accounting of a couple’s desire to live a simpler life and their move to rural Italy to do so.  It is entitled “The Hills of Tuscany-A New Life in an Old Land”.  I have a crush on Ferenc Mate.  He is originally from Eastern Europe (like my Dad), lived for a while in Canada (the best country in the world!) and then the Caribbean, Paris and New York (all of my favourite places on earth).  He writes so beautifully about very simple pleasures which ring so true for me.  He also loves abundantly-his wife, his little piece of property and food!  Here is his description of dinner at a little Tuscan Trattoria.

 

The food was as simple as the place.  For appetizers there were assorted crostini-fire-toasted bread, some smeared with chicken livers, others with sauteed mushrooms.  Then of course came pasta.  We both had pici– a homemade, hand-rolled, unevenly thick spaghetti-Candace with a sauce of wild boar and I with a sauce of mixed wild mushrooms.  We were slow in eating, savoring every bite, and looked up as the little girl’s Mamma came and asked if the sauces were fine.  Candace complimented her on the food and apologized for eating so slowly.  A big smile broke on her face, “Piano, piano, con calma,” she said.  Slowly, slowly, with calm.  The came the meats: for Candace roasted pheasant with parchment-like brown skin, and for me wild boar stew marinated in red wine and juniper berries and tasting like heaven, and a plate of Tuscan white beans drenched in olive oil and crushed garlic, and a salad.  And we kept emptying wine glasses, toasting the little girl, her Mamma, Tuscany, the boar, the beans, the toasts.

We ate, with calma, and drank, with gusto, and the little girl and her doll had said good-night long ago, led upstairs by Nonna, Grandma, from behind the bar, and then Mamma went up, too, to say good–night, and we swooned from the heat of the fire and the wine, and thank God Nonna came back and brought us two espressos to bring us to, then she quickly thought it over and brought two glasses of grappa, to sink us once again.

As we left, they both came and said good-bye-handshakes and smiles as if we had been acquaintances for years.  Then we went out into a silver flood of moonlight.

We breathed the night air deeply, utterly content.  And it wasn’t just the food and the wine, but also the family.  There was something heartening in three generations together there-at home.  We felt as if we had dinner at someone’s house.  And the place was so honest, unpretentious, that you knew what counted was not the walls and floors, but the people they comforted.  And it felt reassuring that the vegetables came from their gardens, the wine from the small vineyard across the road, and that the boar and the pheasant were hunted by Grandpa.  We talked about this as we ambled in the moonlight.”

For a moment, didn’t you feel as if you were there with the heat from the kitchen, the smell of roasting meats and basking in the attention of this Grandma and her daughter?   Come back for a couple more installments in the days to come.

Kath’s quote: “Arm in arm in the autumn light, calmed by the warmth and the pitcher of red wine we had at lunch, we ambled in contented silence up the hill towards the piazza where the mosaic facade of the cathedral blazed like a million tiny stars.”-Ferenc Mate

Love-that is all.