Hello friends,
A postcard from Tuscany, where we braved the heat last weekend for the beautiful wedding of some dear friends. We were staying in the hills a little outside of Florence, so hired the Vespa to gallivant around. It was the perfect solution, allowing us to discover lots of tiny little restaurants dotted through the countryside, while enjoying the breeze on the bike. It also allowed us to dip in and out of Florence as we wished, providing a very different experience than slumming it with the crowds in the heat.
Being in Tuscany was a great reminder about how good simple food can be. We ate pasta every day, sometimes twice a day. One morning we were on the bike early to try and beat the heat. We wandered around a monastery on a hilltop that has been there continually since the 12th century. There was no-one there except us and a man watering the roses before the heat of the day, a green lawn terrace overlooking the world below, the peace and stillness of early morning.
Around lunchtime, we stopped at a terrace with a few plastic tables spread out, a restaurant-cum-pharmacy-cum-cornerstore-cum-deli. No menu. Pasta with pomodoro or ragu. A giant plate of spaghetti with a fresh tomato sauce. Tomatoes that had been roasted and skinned and then pureed, somehow infused with olive oil, a plate that packed so much flavour, although it was just tomatoes and pasta. It cost four euro fifty. The waitress with her pierced lip and spiky hair, speaking in Italian, while we tried to mime our way through sprinkling in a few words of Italian. It was so cheap that we thought there must be a mistake with the bill but she assured us that it really was that cheap. And that good. Incredible.
Another day, a day when we began to melt in the heat, I ate my most memorable dish of the trip, so good that, again, I took no photos of the moment. Giant, cheese-stuffed ravioli topped with fresh black truffle in a tiny Medici-era town still with its fortress and ancient walls. Again, the simplicity, the few ingredients. It was divine. Not the heavy creamy sauce that usually accompanies truffle pasta, but something light and airy, the cheese oozing out as I cut into the ravioli, a few chunks of truffle mixed through, lots of slices on top. The starter was a plate piled with grilled vegetables, aubergine, capsicum (or bell peppers), courgette. Then to the gelato store. Lemon gelato so white and refreshing, a cone of snow.
Then the final night. A long winding road up and up and up until we find a terrace strung with lights and full of people, ours the last table, the tables around us all speaking Italian. Another ravioli, this time stuffed with eggplant and topped with collapsing, sweet cherry tomatoes from the garden over the road from the restaurant, fried basil leaves. This time, it comes with photographic proof. On the top left, a raw white cabbage salad cut so finely I first thought it was grated cheese, topped with toasted hazelnuts, mustard, olive oil, that was also excellent.
On returning home, incredibly, I still wanted pasta, but I wanted a change from tomato. So we ate penne with blended cauliflower and (veggie) parmesan. I bought a giant jar of Turkish peppers for a few euros and we ate with a few cherry tomatoes, slow-cooked onions, sage leaves, tossed through fried gnocchi (pictured below).
At this time of year there is a glut of peppers. I decide to try and bottle them, to bottle summer, to see me through the cold, dark months. Following the ingredients on my Turkish jar: water, vinegar, salt, sugar. I place the peppers under the grill in the oven for 30 minutes, turning half-way. Then remove them. Allow them to cool in a covered bowl, slip off the skins, cut them in half, and then into a saucepan with hot vinegar, water, a little sugar and salt for another 5 minutes, add whole peppercorns, sprigs of thyme, a bay leaf, a few coriander seeds, dried chillies if you feel like heat. Most of the capsicums get poured into a waiting sterilized jar, and the remainder are chopped up and thrown through spaghetti with fried sage leaves, olive oil, black pepper. That is all and it is divine.
Being in Tuscany was a reminder that sometimes simple food is best. I’m not giving a recipe, or quantities. These are just ideas to inspire. But do think of chargrilled capsicum over pasta. Buy jarred peppers or make your own. Chop them, toss them either hot or cold, scatter over a few herbs. Keep it simple.
Incidentally, if you’re on the hunt for summer (or the depths of winter for my NZ readers) reading, here are a few great things I’ve read recently, most of them not food-related, and almost all of them non-fiction because that is what is jibing with me right now.
Priestdaddy by Patricia Lockwood. Honestly, this must be one of the funniest things I’ve read in such a long time. I didn’t get into Lockwood’s fiction, but a friend thankfully referred me to her memoir. The daughter of a Catholic priest, Lockwood writes about her mad childhood and madcap family with such grace and love and humour.
I adore Ann Patchett, mostly for her essays, with their non-judgement and uplifting belief that everything is going to work out just fine. This is The Story of A Happy Marriage is wonderful and so is her new collection These Precious Days. You can read the title essay in Harper’s, where she talks about the experience of opening her home to Sooki Raphael, the long-time PA of Tom Hanks, as she confronts cancer. It is moving and beautiful.
This profile of MBS in the Atlantic was fantastic, with photographs of Saudi Arabia by the incredible Lindsey Addario. Although written a couple of months ago, it is particularly poignant right now, in light of Biden’s recent visit to Saudi and MBS’ current tour of a Europe desperate for more energy.
Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts, wonderful writing on motherhood, pregnancy and sexuality in ways that felt original and real.
As for newsletters, I’m really enjoying Dinner: A Love Story, and Rachel Phipp’s Ingredient. The NYT’s The Veggie is also great.
Finally, one fiction book to take on holiday (in Italy?): Still Life by Sarah Winman. I enjoyed the story of non-conventional families and characters, and the contrast between the light and joy of Italy and rainy London, with lots of art history folded in besides. Who knew there was a word for the smell of rain when it hits dry earth? There is. Petrichor.
Thanks for reading this week.
Amelia
PS this is my jar of peppers, with an attempt to recreate the 4 euro 50 pasta sauce in the background. I haven’t nailed it yet…