I received a stack of food-centric fiction from the library recently and since this title was such an obvious fit for this space, I read Anthony Capella’s work first.  The story is set in Italy which also checks off another box for me.  The premise is a Cyrano de Bergerac tale and I adore stories of unrequited love: “to love pure and chaste from afar….”  The sexual recounting was a wee bit too explicit for my liking, but keep in mind that I grew up on Harlequin romances, where somehow the single kiss and embrace at the stories’ end was the hottest thing that I could imagine.  What kept me reading through the uncomfortable pages was the author’s ease with the character’s culinary adventures.  Here is an excerpt from Chapter 9, pages 111-112 (photos are mine).

He had placed a large wooden bowl on top of his work surface.  Handmade pasta is never prepared on marble; its coldness stiffens the dough and prevents the breakdown of glutens.  A pile of Tipo 00, the finest grade of flour, stood to one side, light as ash, its top gently flattened to make a small crater.

Into this he poured some beaten eggs.  Drawing the flour over the egg mixture with the tines of a fork, he worked the two together a little at a time.

Then he put the fork aside and started to use his fingers.

Gradually the sliminess of the eggs and the dryness of the flour became one smooth, muscular mass, worked and reworked until there was no trace of stickiness.

After he washed and dried his hands, he was able to press his thumb into the mixture and pull it out again without the dough clinging to his skin at all.

Using the heel of his palm, he pushed the dough away from him, then folded it over.  A quick half turn, and then he did the same again, slowly breaking down its inner resistance.  Push, fold, turn.  Push, fold, turn.  Pasta making is a ritual, both in the kneading and in the stretching, the same hand motions performed over and over again, as automatic and precise as the movements of a master plasterer or a pianist.  Bruno kept up his kneading for exactly eight minutes.  It was hard, physical work, and he was soon perspiring freely, but slowly the dough became elastic, its surface as smooth as Laura’s skin.

…

After about fifteen minutes, he returned to his dough, squashed it down a little, and picked up his pasta rolling pin.  It was as long as a sword-thirty-two inches, to be precise-and thinner than a conventional rolling pin, so that it would spin more quickly between his hands as he pushed it over the pasta.  The trick was not to use force.  You were not so much squeezing the pasta flat as pushing it gently outward, like spreading icing across the surface of a cake.

When the rolled dough was the size of a pizza base, he changed the movements of his hands, letting them slide sideways along the pin as he worked, distributing pressure evenly along its length.  This was the hardest part.  Bruno knew he was not as good at this as a housewife somewhere in Emilia-Romagna, who did it every day of her life, but there was no time to be cautious.  If he went too slowly, the pasta would lose its moisture and crack before he was done.  He felt his way into the dough, stretching it little by little off the table each time he rolled it.  It was time to stop and cut the pasta into tortellini.

Kath’s quote: I remember the meals that were meant to dazzle you, to excite you, to comfort you, even to seduce you.  But there was never a single dish or recipe that was designed to tell you the simple truth….I’ve always loved you.” Anthony Capella

Love-that is all.  Photo taken at the Valentine’s day dinner that D prepared for me…

D and I have a mutual bucket list of places in the world that we dream to visit. We are slowly checking off the most amazing places on earth: Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Amman, Rome, Paris, Nice, Monaco, Athens, London, New York, Chicago, New Orleans, Seattle and Washington, DC along with so many wonderful Canadian cities. Although we imagined that Portugal or Czech Republic would be next on our list, the history, art, beauty, romance and FOOD of Italy is calling us to return.

On my first sojourn to Italy, I threw my coins in the Fountain of Trevi with the hope that some way, somehow, I would return. In celebration of our 25th wedding anniversary, D and I stayed with good friends in Sicily and then took the train up the west coast of Italy hugging the Mediterranean, the entire length of the boot. We had an absolutely perfect trip (except for losing a bag at a train station) and never dreamed that we would have the opportunity to return.

D longs to visit Rome again and see the many sights that he missed during his whirlwind first visit. And although we have seen Viareggio and the other coastal towns of Tuscany, from a moving train, we have never set foot in Tuscany. Now an opportunity has presented itself that seems at first glance almost too good to be true. With perseverance and hard work, we will be able to make it happen. So this fall, we will be off to Montalcino, Tuscany as our base and then tour Pienza, Castellina in Chianti, Seggiano and Siena.

We’ll take photography and writing lessons, and be tutored by a private chef (who also owns the estate where we will stay). There are even plans to go truffle hunting. I only learned what a truffle was five years ago and now I get to forage in the woods of Tuscany for them! My life is rich. We are truly blessed and good things just keep happening to us.

I know that simplicity is central to Tuscan cuisine. Legumes, bread, cheese, vegetables, mushrooms, fresh fruit, olive oil and white truffles are key elements and the focus is on the high quality of the ingredients more than the complexity of the preparations. And then of course there is the Chianti! As soon as we knew that we were both going to be able to take on this adventure, D started researching Tuscan wines and discovered Brunello di Montalcino and Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, so samplings of these will commence immediately in our home.

Readers of this space know that I love the anticipation of a trip almost as much as the time itself.  I am going to get out my history of art books and dive into the Renaissance. I will practice hiking up hills (a tough feat on the prairies). I am going to reread my favourite stories of Tuscany Under the Tuscan Sun, Too Much Tuscan Sun, A Thousand Days in Tuscany: A Bittersweet Adventure and The Hills of Tuscany.  I will finally rent A Room with a View. Tuscany, here we come.

Kath’s quote: “Life is good-life is fine. Life is tremendous, all the time“. Source Unknown

Love-that is all.
 

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When our kids were little, we used to read them a story called “A Difficult Day” by Eugenie Fernandes about a little girl who endures a bad day at school, has a little temper tantrum and hides from her Mom.  The Mom makes a batch of Melinda’s favourite cookies, finds her daughter and they eat them together under Melinda’s bed.  Daughter #2 recently had a frustrating day at university and plunked herself in a wicker chair in the kitchen to tell me her woes.  I happened to be making a batch of Peanut Butter Crunchies (that she had just mentioned missing the taste of).  We both remembered the story book and she exclaimed how some things had never really changed.  Except that I try very hard not to have sugary treats in the house like Peanut Butter Crunchies.

This is how I tried to adjust the recipe:

• where it calls for peanut butter-I used a 100% natural crunchy variety where the ingredients are just peanuts and salt with no sugar or fat.
• I cut back the brown sugar by 25% but there is both sugar and corn syrup.
• I did not add any additional salt as the original recipes calls for.
• I used bran flakes instead of corn flakes.
• I used a brown rice variety of Kellogg’s rice crispies instead of the regular ones.
• I sprayed the pan with a bit of canola oil.

Daughter #2 declared that they tasted EXACTLY as she remembered them and they contributed to the turning around of her day.  Are they healthy?  Well, all I know is that I feel better about serving them to my little girl (even if she is almost 22 years old).

Kath’s quote: “I’ll love you forever.  I’ll like for always.  As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be”.  –Robert Munsch

Love-that is all.

As I have explained in this space before, I love both fiction and non-fiction with food themes and I especially enjoy when the book is placed in a setting that I am familiar with, in most cases a place that I have visited (because very few books are set in Winnipeg or Manitoba).  Having said this though, if you have not read The Republic of Love by Carol Shields you must as it is not only set in Winnipeg, it writes about many familiar Winnipeg landmarks.  In addition, it is just a fabulous read.  But I digress.  When reading food-themed books, I particularly appreciate when a special meal is being prepared perhaps to mark an occasion or a to celebrate with a certain group of friends.  I often ear-mark these locations while I am digesting a book, in order to go back and savour them later.  Sometimes, recipes are even included-my favourite reads.

Naples

Well I hit the jackpot with Mediterranean Summer, not only is almost the entire book written about the preparation of meals on a private yacht by a chef but many of their ports of call, are places in the world that I have visited and quite literally fallen in love with: Naples, Monaco, Cinque Terre, Positano and the Amalfi Coast.  I really enjoyed the writer’s transparency about his cooking career, especially his frankness about places that he was dismissed from and his insecurity in pleasing the owners of the private yacht, la Signora in particular.  One of the reasons that he is so tentative around the matron of the ship is that he instinctively understands that she knows her way away a menu and a kitchen.  In this excerpt, she is in the galley.

Monaco

La Signora started to cook., placing a little of each oil in the pan while contemplating if she should add more of either.  The onions and the garlic went into the pan to heat with the oil, then simmered slowly to soften and release their aromatics.  She slowly tossed them with a wooden spoon, giving this initial step a lot of concentration to seemingly find the place where a cook becomes focused on the pace of cookery.  She added some of the drained tomato water to the oil to braise and soften the onions.  After tossing them around for a couple of minutes, she scraped out the pulp of each piece of onion and remained the remaining outer layers from the pan, voicing her theory that onions should not be visible in a dish since the solids are hard to digest.  I had never seen anybody do this before.  No wonder she cooked with low heat and asked me to cut them into large pieces.

Riomagiore, Cinque Terre

Then she added the tomatoes and chilies to the pan.  As the tomatoes heated up, the liquid around them came back to a simmer, she carefully crushed them to release more juice.  At the same time, the tomato pulp began to blend with the oil in the pan.  Then she added the lobster-claws, knuckles, and bodies first with any of the water that had fallen to the bottom of the bowl.  After four or five minutes, while she tossed the pieces in the oil, she added the tails, all the time keeping the heat at an even simmer.

Prairiano, Amalfi Coast

I had no idea if I should be making conversation, and I certainly didn’t want to correct any of her cooking, so I found it easier to just sit at the edge of the mess table bench and watch.  In fact, she didn’t need any help.  She cooked with a confidence that impressed me, not only her handling of the ingredients but with her eyes and hands were telling her.  But even better than how she cooked was the way she looked-calm always in perfect posture, every movement and task methodical and precise.  It was clear she’d done this before.

Ravello, Amalfi Coast

Finally the silence got to me, and out of left field I asked her a questions: “Juts curious signora, how come there are no women in the crew?”

She chuckled and made a gesture toward the fo’c’sle,  “With these conditions, do you think a woman could stand it?  There’d be too many problems.

She checked for seasoning, added another chile, and pulled the pan from the stove when the lobster meat in the tails turned opaque.  She kept the bodies in the sauce for a short while longer, gently crushing them with a wooden spoon to get as much flavour out of them as possible before discarding them.  It was hot and humid in the galley, the air thick with the smell of cooked lobster and simmering tomato sauce.  I noticed a light mist of perspiration had formed across the back of la Signora’s neck and shoulders.

‘”Bene,” she said smiling at the results as if just completing a painting, “now I leave the rest to you.”

And so their Mediterranean Summer continues, as I yearn for another one for us.

 Our amuse bouche at Ristotante La Strada, Praiano, Amalfi Coast

Love-that is all.

I have been reading non-fiction about Italy (A Vineyard in Tuscany, Halfway to Each Other and Mediterranean Summer), for the last couple of weeks and I cannot get enough pasta. This past “Mandatory Sunday Supper”, I just could not stop myself and made a bazillion varieties.

I was originally inspired by dropping in at 21st Century Pizza to pick up a couple of pies before a Jets game on TV.  Owner Vlado also makes fresh pasta that he keeps in the fridge and freezer in the front of the shop.  In addition, whenever I am zipping through “the outer” ring of the grocery store (where all the whole foods that inspire my cooking are located), I pick up whatever fresh items are marked with a fluorescent sticker and then throw them in the freezer as soon as I get home.  This way I always have a variety of dips to serve while watching a movie or a game and lots of sauces for pizzas and flatbreads.  But sometimes my freezer needs a purging and this is a great opportunity for a Italian Feast.

I started with a spaghetti alla puttanesca which was a snap to assemble as both the fresh pasta and the authentic sauce of anchovies, capers and olives were prepared by Vlado.  I put together a Jamie Oliver recipe of Mushroom & Cream sauce  to toss with Vlado’s hand-made gnocchi.  I tried to cut the fat back a bit by using a thickened milk rather than cream and I was a bit disappointed with the results.  Next time, cream it is…..  Vlado also has a noodle made from beets which I simply tossed  with a browned butter and topped with mizithra cheese.  This proved to be Daughter #1’s favourite.

A clear box of discounted fresh spinach was sauteed with pancetta (Italian bacon), pine nuts and combined with spinach ravioli.

I tossed another of Vlado’s fresh pastas, this time beet ravioli with Alfredo sauce.  I rolled asparagus spears with a Rosemary Tuscan roasted ham (also being cleared). And just in case there were not enough carbs on the table, I toasted crostini to mop up olive oil from this fall’s harvest and pressing, from our Sicilian friends.

As  a special indulgence for three (me, myself and I) I  made a crispy, low fat eggplant parmigiana.  Before I left for church in the morning, I sliced the eggplant and placed it on a tray with course salt, adding another sprinkle of salt over top.  By the time I arrived home, the salt had pulled the excess moisture and any bitterness out of the veggie.

Before dusting the eggplant discs in flour, egg-wash and homemade breadcrumbs (which I always have on hand in the freezer), I blotted the flesh of the veggie with paper towels.  In hindsight, I should have rinsed them first as they were a tad on the salty side but oh so good.  In order to reduce the fat, instead of frying them before baking them, I prepared a heavy cookie sheet with a generous drizzle of canola oil and placed the discs over top in a single layer.  Have way through the baking time at 10 minutes or so (in a 375 degree oven), I turned them an added a bit more canola oil.

Just before serving,  I prepared a casserole dish with a layer of marinara sauce and placed the crispy eggplant on top, and then a layer of shredded mozzarella over all.  I intended to add a second layer of Parmesan when they came out of the oven but was glad that I did not, as the dish was salty enough.

So why did I spend an afternoon in the kitchen, preparing a half dozen dishes when one would certainly have sufficed?  What can I say?  I did it for love.

Kath’s quote (from Mediterranean Summer): “David, I didn’t invite you here to chop vegetables and season lamb.  Cooking, you know is not about recipes.  It comes from my heart.  You have never asked me why-why I do things, why I want it done this way and not that.  What’s in your heart David?”-David Shalleck

Love-that is all.