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A three-minute escape to Italy.

Tuscany, travel, medieval village, Italy, festivals, celebrations, customs, cooking, recipes, living in Italy, moving to Italy, visiting, visit, restaurants, language

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November 15, 2018 In Chow, Live By Nancy

Bringoli: in praise of fat spaghetti

In Italy, it seems as if nearly anything is a possible subject for a celebration—I think it’s part of what makes the culture so joyful. One of the key celebrations around these parts is to honor a really fat spaghetti, called bringoli. And because I am dedicated to deepening your knowledge of pasta, you get to celebrate bringoli too.

I wouldn’t have guessed that fat spaghetti would be highly seasonal, but apparently it is, and late autumn is its moment. November 11, specifically, La Festa di San Martino. Apparently Martin, a Roman soldier, was standing guard one bitterly-cold night in 335 CE, and gave half his cloak to a very underdressed merchant. He spent the rest of the night freezing and hallucinating. In the morning, he promptly converted to Christianity.

I think he’s one of the better saints because there are great feasts in his honor all over Italy, celebrating the new wine, various local cookies, meatballs, and even one for radicchio, up near Venice. But here in the Valtiberina (Valley of the Little Tiber—the headwaters of the famous river), La Festa di San Martino means it’s the time for bringoli.

It’s an unassuming little festival, with several volunteers in one tent cooking bringoli with either a meat or a mushroom sauce, served up in a little plastic bowl. The actual cooking happens behind a kind of screen, which is mysterious. Perhaps it is to protect proprietary village secrets. The volunteers served our two portions with ragu, and were running behind on making the mushroom sauce for our third serving. By the time the mushroom bringoli was ready they decided to replace our original two with hot ones, as pasta is not something you eat cold.

This being Tuscany, there are plenty of open fires—when they grill something, the Tuscans do it over a fire that they’ve burnt down to embers, rather than using charcoal briquettes, and there are elaborate grilling carts to make it possible to keep a fire producing usable coals all evening. Over the flames volunteers roast sausages and toast bread that is rubbed in garlic and drenched in olive oil. (If you take hard, white Tuscan bread and toast it until it gets a little charred over coals, the bread not only gets slightly infused with smoke, but gets a texture not unlike sandpaper, which lets you grate down a half a clove of raw garlic when you rub it into the bread.) Other fire tenders roast chestnuts.

As you sit outside in the cold, huddled over your fat noodles and drinking Vino Novello (Italy’s answer to Beaujolais Nouveau) in an arcade under glowing, buzzing fluorescent lights, Italian village magic happens. Everybody is out and socializing, from a couple of four-year old girls twirling in the middle of the street, who clearly believe they are in charge of the whole event, to the packs of teens aware of every micro-movement of their peers, through to the old men and women, laughing with people they’ve known since childhood.

It’s my daughter’s favorite festival of the year, topping even the polenta and fried bread ones. Her friend, who is now studying in Venice (a good four-hour train ride away), came down for the weekend just for it. “He gets it,” she said. It is a unique time when everyone who appreciates anything good in life gathers together to enjoy local food at its simplest and best. It is also a celebration of community and the heart of our town. It’s rare to see anyone from outside town, but you’re almost guaranteed to see everyone from within.

To make your own, feel free to substitute pici, although they are in no way similar, the locals tell me. Top with a lovely ragu or a porcini mushroom sauce.

October 13, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

Caramelized red onion jam

I find it really hard to find a restaurant I like in Florence. Most are completely geared towards tourists who will only come once, with food, prices, and service to ensure that the one visit expectation will be fulfilled. I’ve found a couple of places that are exceptions: Il Santo Bevitore restaurant, and its two spin-offs, the little wine bar next door, Il Santino, and a bread shop, S.forno. They are across the river from the Duomo in my favorite neighborhood which is filled with actual Florentines, and small shops and restaurants.

The restaurant is lovely, but the wine bar, Il Santino, has stolen my heart. It’s tiny, a gorgeous mix of ancient walls, an antique bar, and more modern design elements. It has an atmosphere that’s both warm and hip. The staff has been a delight every time I’ve been there, and even sold me bulk cheeses when I’ve been stuck before a party.

I recently went with friends for a glass of wine and some snacks and alongside the great selection of cheeses was a little jar of nearly-black goop. We started eating it with everything, kept asking for more, and then asked for the recipe. It’s a great mix of savory and sweet, with a little extra kick from cinnamon. My friend made it the next day and it turned out wonderfully. It’s super easy too.

Caramelized Red Onion jam:

6 red onions

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

dash of olive oil to coat the pan

Slice the red onions, then saute with a little oil, over medium-low heat for about 30 minutes or longer—until completely they are soft and caramelized. Add sugar and cinnamon, then put into a food mill and process until it reaches a smooth consistency. Taste and add more sugar and/or cinnamon as desired.

Great served at room temperature with cheese and bread. Also fantastic with cheese and bread are the preserved figs.

September 29, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

I love the Castle of Love

I avoided going to Castello di Ama for years. Friends would say “It’s the most amazing winery with this incredible contemporary art collection.” Instantly all the warning bells in my head would go off. This particular collection of words was a microcosm of why I left California. The last thing I wanted to find in my beloved, genuine, unpredictable, slightly-disheveled Italy was a pretentious, wrapped-with-bow-for-the-tourists, cold, and anonymous winery/contemporary art extravaganza.

But eventually, we took the plunge and went for lunch. And I was shocked out of all my preconceptions. It felt like coming to someone’s home.

Beautiful views, gorgeous old buildings, and damn good food and wine are all a given in Italy, but this experience had something more—a true warmth and grace—largely due to the staff who all seem passionately attached to this place. Our waiter, Federico, whom I’ve gotten to know over about the dozen times I’ve now visited, has that magical balance of heart, knowledge, and self-respect that is the hallmark of staff in a three-star restaurant in Paris. But here, everything happens in Italian, which is even more delightful. The food is inspired Tuscan classics, and the wine pairings spot on.

I am working on the recipe for their carrot-zucchini souffle and will post when I manage to make it as well at home as I’ve had at Ama. (I got the recipe from them, but it’s for 40 so takes a little adaptation.)

Ama is not really a castle, but rather a small hamlet which dates to the 1100s. The cluster of buildings was divided between two wealthy families, which resulted in two manor houses and two churches. In the 1970s, four Roman families decided to buy the hamlet and restore the vineyards. The current owner, Lorenza Sebasti (daughter of one of the Roman families), and her winemaker husband, Marco Pallanti, have had Ama since 1982, and oversaw one of the greatest upsets in wine history.

According to Decanter Magazine “Ama had a ‘Judgement of Paris’ moment on 8 February 1992 when the L’Apparita 1987 vintage beat Pétrus 1988, Le Pin and 16 other world-class Merlot wines at a tasting hosted by the Académie du Vin in Switzerland, with a jury comprised of renowned winemaking consultant Michel Rolland.” (And sometimes bottles of L’Apparita are open and available for tasting.)

The contemporary art is equally inspired. Ama has had an artist-in-residence program with artists such as Louise Bourgeois, Anish Kapoor, Hiroshi Sugimoto, and Daniel Buren creating site-specific works. I love how Nedko Solakov’s doodles play with everything from power outlets to small cracks in the wall in one large room. Jenny Holzer was having lunch when we were there —she’s the next artist to add to the collection.

There are also villas for overnight stays on the property. I’ve had a chance to peek into some of the suites. Sigh. Hopefully at some point.

If you visit, Siena is only 25 kilometers away, and also nearby is the wonderful Terme San Giovanni.

September 22, 2018 In Chow, Live, Recipes By Nancy

Making gnocchi, and a film, in Italy

John and I have this idea to start filming local grandmothers cooking. A possible way to enter more deeply into Italian life, capture some of the spirit of Tuscan woman, and learn more about food.

We gather some savvy, younger locals and start brainstorming about people we can shoot. The grandmother who hunts? Possible. The grandmother who makes feather whips for the lingerie store? Very possible. For our first shoot we settle on two of our collaborators’ grandmother in a house in the countryside outside of town, complete with a huge watermelon patch.

The morning of the shoot comes. We are prepared to act with military precision, which is the norm for any shoot. The “call time” comes to meet our collaborators and head to the country. The meeting location changes. The start is delayed because breakfast isn’t finished. Their grandmother actually lives in the ancient center of town, not near the watermelon patch at all. We start to get nervous.

We arrive at their house on a tiny street from the 1100s and the grandfather, Franco, jumps into cooking action. Maybe the premise of the video, cooking grandmothers, needs to be reassessed?

Then it all starts to unfold. The constant lesson of Italy. You can predict nothing, control nothing, but just step back and enjoy the gifts of grace, ease, and warmth that the Italians offer. Which more often than not is so much more than you could have possibly imagined or engineered.

Anna, the grandmother, is everywhere in the kitchen at once. This gnocchi pas de deux has clearly happened hundreds of times in their kitchen. Both of them are cooking with a rare ease, barely even looking at the food as they cook.

While Franco forms the dough for the gnocchi, and then shapes and cuts it, he tells us stories about what is was like for families growing up as tenant-farmers in the years before the “economic miracle” of the 1960s (thanks Marshall Plan), with 30 people in a house, hunger, limited mobility, and the Padrone with total power.

The conversation ranges across centuries and topics, and the enormous mound of gnocchi dough melts away. Anna is taking away the cut gnocchi, boiling it, and then rolling it in oil to separate and cool, directly on the marble table.

Soon after we sit down with the extended family to eat. As it has been said before, “And it was good.”

This is, in some ways, one of the most unfiltered films we’ve ever done. It’s as close as we can get you to sitting down in a Tuscan kitchen for a visit. Please let us know what you think of this rawer kind of glimpse. And we hope you learn a lot about gnocchi along the way.

September 14, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Easy figs to last through winter

Even on a tree, individual figs are only at their peak for a few days before going bad. Enter Franco. He’s the grandfather who you will meet in next week’s video who made gnocchi for us, along with his witty wife Anna. At the lunch that followed filming they served some preserved figs, along with pecorino cheese. The figs were sweet, but also complex, with just the right amount of a tart undertone. These weren’t like jam, but like the essence of fresh figs, preserved. Very simple, like the best of Tuscan food.

Franco offered to come over some morning when he wasn’t hunting to teach us how to make them.

I accepted the offer—Franco is the kind of cook I aspire to be. He never measures and hardly even looks at what he is doing because it is all so natural and familiar. And while he is cooking he is discussing everything from the power of the monasteries in the 13th-century to growing up as a tenant-farmer or the importance of constantly being exposed to new ideas.

Back to making the figs— get ones that taste great and are soft, but not overly ripe. Green or black figs work equally well. You will also need sugar, white wine vinegar, and small mason jars with lids. This recipe works well for small batches.

Cut the fig tops off and arrange in a heavy-bottomed pan so that they are in one layer. We used about 40 figs, which was 1.5 kilos (3.3 pounds) of figs. For this amount you pour over 400 grams (14 oz.) sugar and 60 ml (1/4 cup) of white wine vinegar.

Put over low heat. And wait. Franco occasionally pries the figs apart (either by slightly shaking the pan or gently using a blunt knife) so that the liquid that collects can coat all sides of them, but mainly leaves them undisturbed—no need to stir or flip them. After about 20-30 minutes, there will be a lot of liquid in the pan, and he spoons off the excess so that the bottom of the pan is well-covered but the figs aren’t drowning. And at this point, turn the figs so that all sides are well-coated. It amazed us that something as seemingly delicate as figs can withstand boiling like this, but they are a lot tougher than they look.

We normally boil mason jars, lids, and all implements, to sterilize but Franco’s technique is to run them through a hot dishwasher, fill the clean jars with the boiling contents, and then seal and flip them over to cool, thus ensuring that the boiling liquid reaches all parts of the inside of the jar. (For everything you need to know about recommended ways to sanitize and can, here’s a wonderful resource.)

Pack the figs in tightly, but don’t squish them, and add enough liquid to fill about a quarter of the jar.

These are delicious with cheese, and are also wonderful for breakfast with yogurt, or by themselves for dessert.

John experimented by adding one and a half inches of peeled and chopped fresh ginger to the cooking figs, which was a fantastic variation. The syrup takes on the ginger flavor, and the pieces become a soft ginger candy.

Next on the list to try before fig season is over is a modern take on a traditional Calabrian recipe—fig, vanilla, and orange blossom jam.

Another thing to serve alongside the figs is this fantastic caramelized red onion jam.

September 7, 2018 In Best Of, Chow, Recipes By Nancy

The pasta we can’t quit (and recipe)

When I want a mini-vacation—and lunch—I head to the sleepy Tuscan hilltop village of Monterchi. In the piazza at the top is one of my favorite family restaurants, Ristorante Al Travato.

It’s only open from-kinda-around-Easter to kinda-around-the-end of October, depending on the weather and the back health of Laura. The family first opens the restaurant on weekends only, then slowly builds, with the heat, to being open most days in summer, and then winds it all back down in the fall. What they do all winter I am not sure, although they’ve hinted it involves skiing.

Marco, Laura’s husband, finds the wines for the cellar—a cave that goes back into the medieval walls—and Laura cooks. Two of their teenage daughters serve (yep, beauties. We can even get our 14-year-old son to eat there whenever we want), while the youngest daughter rides around the square on her small, enviable pink bike.

Our family craves one dish in particular, at least once a week— Spaghetti Aglio, Olio e Pepperoncini—true Tuscan soul food. It’s spaghetti that’s properly al dente, loads of garlic, and a few really hot peppers, all swimming in olive oil.

While it’s simple in its ingredient list, differing opinions of how it should be made abound. You could say of Laura’s (off-menu version): “questo spacca di brutto” (“this chops off the ugly”—I know, the translation doesn’t help me either, but the kids say it means something is a big deal). Best of all for anyone who wants to bring a bit of Italian soul food into their kitchen, it’s easy enough to do tonight with ingredients you probably already have on hand.

Here’s a two-minute video on how Laura makes the definitive Tuscan comfort food.

A cooking note: you’re going to save some of the water from cooking the pasta when you drain off the rest. Also—do this before the pasta has reached the “al dente” (still slightly firm when bitten) state. It will finish cooking when added to the pan with the other ingredients (while the last bit of cooking water helps their flavors go inside the noodles).

August 21, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Potent plant potion: elderberry syrup

Elderflowers grow like weeds here. Weeds that have huge thorns and become 30-foot trees while your back is turned. Good thing they have gorgeous white flowers that are delicious to make into elderflower cordial. (I’ve heard they are also good to fry, like acacia flowers.)

The clusters of little white flowers turn into these tiny, so-dark-red-they-are-nearly-black berries, which I’d heard are perfect for making into elderberry syrup. This year I decided to make my own, inspired by one of my favorite food writers, French expat David Lebovitz.

The clumps of berries were easy to gather, but it took much longer than I’d planned to get the little buggers off the stems without the stem coming along for the ride. (And you do need to be very careful about the juice, as it can stain nearly anything.)

But it was worth the effort. The result is as close to a magical potion as anything I’ve ever made: thick, gorgeously colored, and characterized by a very unusual, nearly magical taste—not quite bitter, not quite floral—, totally delicious.

So far I have served it over a friend’s roasted peaches and cream, mixed into sparking water and ice, and swirled into prosecco with a little lime. I’m going to try it next over fruit and vanilla gelato.

I followed David’s recipe, and it was easy. The amount of berries in the photo was almost exactly the amount called for in the recipe.

July 7, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Deep-fried acacia blossoms

In mid-August, I start to long for winter in Tuscany. Those months can be surprisingly cold, grey, and wet—but still gorgeous—and are slower, with only the locals out and about. Despite my love of winter it’s always exciting when the acacia trees start flowering—a sign of the landscape waking up. In early summer these delicate white cascades adorn acacias big and small, from the tallest trees to unassuming roadside bushes.

Best of all, you can taste this bit of summer. I’ve never seen it served at a restaurant, but the tradition of battering and frying these acacia blossoms is alive and well, passed among kitchens and between generations. It requires some foraging, since you won’t find acacia blossoms at a supermarket, but it’s an adventure that marks the season.

This old Tuscan recipe was told to a friend of mine by a 90-year old neighbor who is an avid forager. It’s simple, yet sophisticated, and adds drama whenever it’s served. There’s a slight floral flavor that’s unexpected in something fried. When we served it recently a friend called it “adult popcorn.”

I have heard that elderflowers and spring garlic are also delicious done this way.

To make deep-fried acacia flowers:
Gather bunches of acacia flowers when they are in early to full bloom. We don’t wash them (way too fragile), but you should look closely for any bugs. For the batter take about 1 cup of 00 flour (all-purpose also works) and mix with 1.5 cups of COLD sparkling water and a little salt. Mix it all together until you have a batter that’s the consistency of pancake batter. Pour about 4 inches of sunflower (or peanut) oil in a pan and heat until around 350 F (175 C). Hold the acacia blossoms by the stem and dip them in the batter, coating each well, then drop them in the oil, a few at a time, until they are a nice golden color. (Don’t let them drip too long before putting in the oil as you want them well-coated.) Remove and drain on paper towers, then serve as soon as you can. We’ve always sprinkled sea salt on top, but I’ve heard that a little acacia honey is also magic, and is rather poetic to boot.