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.
 

Scotia Momentum^® VISA Infinite* card

Get up to 4% cash back on everyday purchases.

Apply Now

This post was brought to you by Scotia Momentum^® VISA Infinite* card via Glam Media Canada.  The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are not indicative of the opinions or positions of Scotiabank.

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.

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.