Cara Italia - A love letter in pictures

In March, which I can barely believe was two months ago already, I was quite the lucky so-and-so and was whisked to Italy for a week to take part in an international improvisation competition.  That's a fairly nuts sentence to be able to write.  Although I was unfeasibly nervous about the whole thing, improvising in Italian and all that, there was one thing that I was looking forward to without any reservations - the food, natch.  Pizza.  Ice cream.  Coffee.  These were the three comestibles that I was determined to have, the three that I could still remember the taste of from when I lived in Padua for a few months back in 2004.  I'm not going to burble very much here, but let the glorious, glorious food speak for itself.

Let's begin.

Getting up at 2.30 am to go the airport, I didn't really fancy brekkie first thing, so a stop for a surprisingly nice veggie fry-up at Frankie & Benny's was first on the agenda:

(Weren't expecting that in a blog about Italy, were you?)

The day got a bit weirder when, upon arriving in Bergamo, we had to wait for another improviser to arrive and so killed some time with our hosts by going round the local shopping mall.  

Ace looking food hall.

I liked the sheer imagined volume of Kinder chocolate in this 'display'.

First Italian coffee - a cappuccino for elevenses.  In the food court. Starting to feel a bit surreal now.

For non-coffee drinkers, Prince of Wales tea - where am I?

First bite of Italian food - good ol' tomato bruschetta for elevenses.  Puts British food courts to shame.

On the three-hour trip to Florence, we stopped off at a service station.  THIS was just part of the service station.  A SERVICE STATION.  

Oops, nearly forgot to photograph the first Italian dinner - pasta al pomodoro (pasta in tomato sauce) at a little deli near our hotel in Florence.  I bought some great coffee from there too.

First actual Italian breakfast - basically cake.  I chickened out of the chocolate spread, I couldn't face it first thing.

Lunch at a trattoria - the only place in the piazza that didn't try to hassle us in by waving English menus in our faces.  AND it was one of the cheapest.

I know, I know, it's just a glass of orange juice - but look!  A spoon!  Sugar!  What for?!

Ah, pizza.  Shouldn't be doing this when I haven't had lunch yet.

When I was last in Italy, in Rome in 2007, the gelaterie (ice-cream shops) arranged their wares in pillowy mounds.  Now it's all about the towers.  Fashion, eh, can't keep track of it.

Coffee, tick.  Pizza, tick.  Ice cream, tick.  Pistachio and nocciola (hazelnut) gelato, my favourite combination, and eaten with one of those lovely little plastic shovels.

On our wanderings, we found this little deli near the Ponte Vecchio.  I don't know if you can tell, but I'm quite happy in this picture.  I've just bought some saba, which is cooked grape must, a bit like balsamic vinegar but sweeter.  I'm crouching so that you can see more of the shop.

Excellent espresso: €1.  Good way to use up your coins.

Dinner in Florence - this was our centrepiece.  Are we supposed to eat it?  In front are some delicious crispbread, very salty and flavoured with rosemary.  Very more-ish.

Starter - meat in various forms.  There's a slice of pink grapefruit as a garnish.  Are we supposed to eat it?

Main course - meat.  Beef that has said hello to a grill, then been sliced, dressed in balsamic and piled on rocket.  Delicious.  There's another slice of pink grapefruit.  Are we supposed to eat it?

Look, grapefruit everywhere!

Lunch the next day - we picked up some stuff from a market, wanted to go in some public gardens, entry cost as much as our lunch had, ate it on some steps instead.  More meat, buffalo mozzarella, bread, tomatoes, strawberries.  Poifect.

After the semi-final, we celebrated a bit.

It's not all incredible.

Katy and I had a date night, deciding to have a sit-down and a bit of a chill.  We ate in our hotel in Brescia, and after ordering, were discussing just how much ham we had eaten on the trip, how maybe it was good that we were having a break from ham.  Then this starter arrived.  I'd accidentally ordered two of them as well.

Pasta course - I genuinely can't remember what's inside, but look at those lovely crispy lardons, sage butter and parmesan.  Yeah, I really need some lunch now.

Yep, can't remember what this is either.  Although I do know that I ordered it for the polenta, a regional speciality - and it was pretty special, definitely the nicest I've had.

One morning at our hotel, there was an organic food market.  How ace is that?  I bought a kilo of honey.  Yep.  A kilo.

Last dinner in Italy, and of course there could be no other choice.  Absolutely huge and absolutely delicious.

Until next time, arriverderci la mia cara Italia...

Is it me, or is it hot in here?

To answer my own question, yes, it is a trifle warm.  Not summer though, is it?  Not time for wearing shorts yet, is it, young man in the street?  Not really ideal temperature for flip flops, is it, silly girl on the tube?  Come on now, everyone, stop getting ahead of yourselves and accept it - it's still a bit nippy.  Yes, spring is on its way, yes, birds are tweeting, yes, I'm just happy as you are that the sun is shining a bit more and that the evenings are getting lighter, but really now.  No thank you, I don't want an ice cream.

While I may be tentatively edging towards lunchtime salads of roasted veg and pulses, or am starting to feel that my soup would be nicer made with greens rather than roots, dinner definitely still needs to be hot and bolstering.  It's February, it's still winter and quite frankly, I mainly want melted cheese.

Not in the morning though.  No no, morning is porridge time.  Inspired by the tweetings of so many foodies, I produced this little number to persuade my flatmate that getting up at 9am is not really one of life's hardships:

Raisin and cinnamon porridge, topped with demerara sugar and toasted flaked almonds

Yes, I was rather surprised that I thought of all this that early too.

Harking back to my previous post about wanting colour at this time of year, this old recipe popped into my head one evening: tomatoes simmered with garlic and chorizo, then stirred through penne pasta, along with mozzarella, parmesan and rocket:

And so the melted cheese begins...

Once a year, there comes that day when the stars have aligned so that you have sausages in the fridge, enough milk to make a batter and an after-dinner tea, and a lonely splosh of leftover red wine, only fit for onion gravy.  Then, and only then, is when you make toad in the hole in your lovely enamel Christmas present:

Sans gravy, which was basically a plate of brown stuff

All these delicious things aside though, there is one ultimate, one king of cosy cuisine.  The Baked Potato.  With Baked Beans AND Cheese AND Worcestershire Sauce.

Kneel down before your sovereign, wot is on your lap anyway, for all four of them art great

I ate it all.

Hey, Mr Hockney, try this on your palette

Ah, I do love a good pun.  Especially a really specific pun.  I read a review recently of David Hockney's current exhibition of landscape paintings at the Royal Academy, where the reviewer was desperately trying to find something wrong with an exhibition that she had clearly enjoyed - my favourite attempt at a damning comment was "it looks like what it is".  Oh no!  How awful!  A painting of something that represents the something!

Truth be told, I'm not a massive fan of modern art as I find that a lot of it is rather self-conscious and earnest.  You have to rummage around to find some joy in both the process of making art and in the end result.  However, two artists that seem to have this joy are Anish Kapoor and David Hockney.  Kapoor seems to be fascinated by the different ways you can make art and so many of his pieces seem to be an expression of this fascination - how big can I make it, how precise can I make it, how simple can I make it, how pure can I make it - and a whole room of his most recent exhibition at the RA was dedicated to little piles and shapes of colour pigment.  Hockney is famous for his use of colour, in wide, exuberant swathes of the stuff, lavishing it over massive areas of canvas.  So it is total genius on the part of the RA to stage his current exhibition over the months of January, February and March, precisely when we are all seeking colour, warmth and joy.

Hence my pun.  Hockney likes colour, he's an artist so he probably uses a palette, but hey, that sounds like palate, and a man's gotta eat, so he'd probably like this food because it's colourful.  Boom!  Clear as mud.

I was making a vegetable curry recently (from a Cinnamon Club recipe in an Observer Food Monthly magazine) and I was struck by just how much the vivid colours of the ingredients were cheering me up.  It wasn't just the smell of the spices, the promise of a warming, healthy dish and the satisfaction of making a curry from scratch that lifted my wintry spirits, but also the intense freshness of the colours:

Green globes from the Green Giant

Almost festive chillis and tomatoes, and earthy spices and ginger

Lush coriander and a lemon so juicy it reflects the light

The resulting bowl of zingy freshness

A few weeks later, and I was craving more clean flavours, but this time a little less curry-ish and a little more stir-fry-ish.  In actual fact, what I really wanted was just a plate of pak choi, but I thought that I should probably have something to go with it.  Apologies for the bad lighting, which has somewhat dimmed the perky pink prawns and sunny yellow baby sweetcorn that accompanied the green pak choi and mange tout:

However, not all joyful colour comes from healthy veg.  I still harbour fond memories of my yearly Christmas treat, although it already seems like so long ago that I was lured in by these shiny beauties...

Let us revel in our winter of dark nights and cold winds, for the colours of art and food shine all the more brightly against them. 

Thanksgiving/New Year - delete as appropriate

It is customary that when embarking upon a new year, one should look back on the outgoing year to reflect and muse on the events and happenings contained within it.  Suffice to say, 2011 was a humdinger.  Every year, I look forward to the coming twelvemonth, wondering just how much stuff will happen in what is really quite a short space of time.  2011 was stuffed to the gills with experiences that left me either rapturous or distraught - will 2012 bring the same vagaries of emotion?

My life has been irreparably changed by 2011 - leaving my permanent job and going freelance in June was one of the calmer incidents.  However, one thing remained constant, and I hope that will continue in 2012 and every year after that: the love and support of family and friends.

Cheesy, innit?  Prosaic?  Sickly sweet and sentimental?  Or taken for granted?

This post is dedicated to those with whom I have shared meals and who have cooked for me - a lesson in how food may be excellent on its own, but how it is infinitely improved by the conversation that accompanies it.

A curry in Whitechapel.  I had just returned from a hideous work trip - a post-rehearsal lunch with friends was a reassuring antidote:

Wine and a pint of sausage rolls for two at the BFI.  Alcohol and pastry soothes all heart pains.

A trio of 'things on top of dough', made by someone who doesn't let anyone in the kitchen when she's cooking.  However, her concentration results in:

Pizza and garlic bread

Asparagus tart

Mushroom tart/pizza/galette

Imagine my delight, then, when she invited me to her flat to cook TOGETHER in her kitchen.  It seems that I have passed the test - it's only taken me ten years.  But look at what a decade can produce:

Beetroot and garlic tart

Salad - with edible flowers

And the end to virtually every meal we have shared...

Crumble.  Doesn't matter what's underneath, as long as there's crumble on top.

So as the New Year settles in, taking us all with it, I also want to celebrate Thanksgiving.  It may be cheesy etc., but it is also necessary to do every once in a while.  Maybe I should do it in person as well as in a blog post.  Still, then you wouldn't have been able to see the pictures, would you?

Thank you everybody.

Frozen Planet

That's it.  The party's over.  After three years in my first ever flat in London, I have left Bermondsey for Balham.  Farewell to the rooftop garden, venue for last year's New Year's Eve party, complete with Chinese lanterns that threatened to land in the street; farewell to an ensuite bathroom, decorated with Fifties ladies for inspiration; farewell to the farmers' market down the road, home of Ted the Veg; farewell to the kitchen, witness to so many rushed and so many lazy breakfasts, the new-discovered joy of freelance lunches, solo, romantic and weekend guest dinners.

But hello to a garden with a veg patch, with the promise of summer parties and barbecues; hello to an attic room, destined for writing in fingerless gloves whilst eating apples; hello to a new farmers' market, waiting to be explored; hello to a kitchen with marble surfaces, ideal for pastry, a whole cupboard to myself and a conservatory for nurturing seedlings and tender herbs...

The move was blissfully simple, thanks to a strong new housemate to lift boxes and drive a car.  Indeed, the only challenge was to eat up all the bags of miscellaneous items in the freezer beforehand - chicken stock, lamb stock, half a wild boar belly, lamb mince, one egg white, breadcrumbs and some sweetcorn (yep, more sweetcorn).

Chicken stock was the base of a thank-heavens-it's-finally-cold-enough-for-soup soup, flavoured with butternut squash for a velvety bowl of winter:

Lamb stock and lamb mince joined together in an intensely lamby shepherd's pie - the photos looked a bit dull, so I'll show you a cottage pie in my next post.  I couldn't possibly put it in this one, no no, wrong theme innit?  However, I can definitely say that it is worth making your own lamb stock.  It's just as easy as making chicken stock, just save up and freeze any bones from lamb chops or cutlets until you have a decent amount to flavour a broth.  It made the mince taste even lambier, and I imagine that it would make a fabulous gravy too.

The wild boar demi-belly was a leftover from an attempt earlier in the year to make a 'fashion' Cornish pasty, i.e. any pasty that isn't properly Cornish and that faffs about with fancy ingredients.  The pasty turned out ok, but chopping up the belly was a fairly rank experience.  Raw wild boar absolutely reeks, and sawing through the fat was not a pleasant job.  The memory of this caused me to put off cooking the rest of the belly for six months - how could I get rid of that smell still lingering in my mind's nostrils?  But needs must, so I prepared it as quickly as possible, just seasoning it and whacking it in the oven:

Served with roast new potatoes, mashed carrot and a dollop of wholegrain mustard, it was a delicious mini-roast for one.  And the smell totally disappeared after cooking, much to my relief, leaving just a rather gamey pork flavour.

Inexplicably, I STILL had yet more flamin' sweetcorn to deal with, albeit removed from the cob before freezing, making it marginally more useful.  Another hunt through the recipe books uncovered a little dish from Rose Prince in 'The New English Kitchen', which is a good book for lots of recipes involving leftovers and making food go further.  As it also involved breadcrumbs, two bags were dealt with at once, providing me with a simple and quick supper of sweetcorn fritters:

Slightly 'caramelised', but still perfectly acceptable when wolfed down with some ketchup.

However, I was most pleased by what came out of that single, lone egg white.  Stirred, not whisked, with ground almonds, almond extract, a smidge of flour and some sugar (from Nigella's How to Eat) produced these beauties in less than twenty minutes:

Macaroons.  A comforting taste of childhood and just the thing to nibble on as a reward after packing yet another box.

So, that's one freezer and another year dealt with.  I look forward to seeing what another of each may hold over the coming months.

Merry Christmas dear reader, and a very Happy New Year.  May your fridge, and indeed your freezer, overflow with good things!