Meet my latest food crush. Crunchy and juicy, with a challenging but yielding texture interesting enough to make you want for more, but not actually get tired of it. A subtle whiff of smoke, the smell of a thousand and one nights, and its bronzed hue betray its Middle East origin, while a tiny hint of grass makes you dream of the wild outdoors. Like all love relationships, it wouldn’t work long-term, if it were not good for you.

Meet Freekeh, Green wheat. Think unripe grain, smoked to dryness. Better than it sounds. Easier than it sounds, too. I have never much liked simple whole wheat, but this is another story. This is up there with farro. This is marriage material.

I cooked it first using a recipe from Plenty. I was so unsure about it. A whole grain, and it required five minutes of soaking and 15 minutes of cooking? I get the unripe part, but I wouldn’t think it would be that quick. Of course it wasn’t: freekeh comes in two varieties (at least), one whole and one broken, a bit like wheat grains and bulgur. Well, if the recipe says ‘substitute with bulgur’, I should have had doubts before… Anyway, I just kept adding stock to my whole grains and I simmered until I liked the consistency. For a failed recipe, it was incredibly good, it did not taste like a failed recipe at all. The time after that I improvised, adding some lentils to make it a complete meal, and these oven dried tomatoes, that see me through more than a winter night.

I also used my new wealth. Didn’t I tell you I just found a treasure? A pack from Calabria. 5 liters of the best extra virgin, cold pressed, organically grown, tree harvested olive oil, with zero acidity and the flavour of pressed olives, nothing else, made by my partner’s father in the Garden of Eden. Some torroncini from Bagnara, like there is no equal anywhere else (we Italians all have our ideal torrone, and we never agree on which one is best. My friend’s torrone is never better than mine). And a kilo of sun-dried tomatoes. Red gold. The torroncini did not find place in the pilaf, but the oil and the tomatoes did. It did not need anything else.

The tomato picture above goes to Susan‘s Black and White Wednesdays. The recipe goes to another event of Susan’s, My Legume Love Affair n. 43, hosted this month by Claire at Chez Cayenne.

Freekeh, brown lentils and tomatoes

Ingredients (makes about 4 portions as a side – it keeps very well, actually it is better the day after)

For the tomatoes:

300 gr cherry tomatoes, halved

1 tablespoon maple syrup

2 teaspoon olive oil

2 garlic cloves, sliced

pinch of chilli flakes

pinch of oregano or thyme

For the pilaf:

170 gr whole grain freekeh

300 ml water or vegetable stock (I used my home-made bouillon)

3-4 sun-dried tomatoes

150 gr small brown lentils that keep well their shapes, such as beluga or puy

olive oil

Method:

Up to two days before, make the tomatoes. Halve them and toss them on a wide baking tray with all the other ingredients, making sure they are in a single layer. The theory is you should dry them for a long time in a low oven, but I’ve found this process is quite forgiving in terms of oven temperatures with what I’m cooking at the moment, so long as it is not blistering hot (no more than 200 Celsius): take the tomatoes off when they look a bit dried and slightly caramelized, but not burned. You don’t want them too dry for this recipe. Keep them and all of their juices aside.

Soak the freekeh for a couple of hours in cold water. When you are ready to cook it, heat a bit of olive oil in a pot, add the chopped sun-dried tomatoes to it, then the drained grains. Toss until all translucent, then add water or stock: the grains should be barely covered. Simmer for about 30-40 minutes, covered, then taste. If needed top up with water. The grain is ready when it is bouncy and chewy, but not hard. The liquid should be almost completely absorbed: if there is more than a slight moistness around the grains, turn up the heat and make it evaporate.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to the boil. Add a bay leaf to it, then when it is boiling add the lentils. Cook until al dente, about 20 minutes, then drain.

Mix grain, lentils and dried tomatoes directly in the roasting tin of the tomatoes to pick up all the juices, if possible. Add a swirl of olive oil and let cool. Eat at room temperature. It keeps for a couple of days in the fridge, and it keeps getting better.

An alternative and popular technique for cooking pasta is to cook it as if it were a risotto, adding water a little at a time. It  does require slightly more attention than the normal method, and certainly cannot be applied to all sauces, but it is more convenient for an easy weekday dinner, since it really is a one pot meal. It is all the more surprising that I never used it while I was living at home with my parents, and only started when my partner told me of his favourite way of making pasta with chickpeas.

The technique works particularly well for two categories of sauces: seafood sauces, where the starch in pasta actually binds an otherwise too thin sauce, and legume-based pasta, and I make all of them like this now . It is a bit like making a pasta e fagioli, but with less water so you can eat the end result with a fork. It is  particularly forgiving, since you don’t have to stir that much, provided the food does not stick to the bottom of the pan and burn.

All sorts of flavourings and herbs work as tasty additions. I make this pasta for dinner every time I cook some legumes. I always use my pressure cooker – I don’t actually plan ahead, I simply cook two portions of legumes twice a week, since they keep a few days in the fridge and more in the freezer. So one night I soak them, the day after I cook them, then I store them. I may use some for some recipe I have in mind or for a quick salad or hummus. Then when I don’t know what to make for dinner or lunch, or I don’t have time, I make pasta with what is left. I usually break a bit of the legumes, using an immersion blender or a fork, keeping them in their cooking liquid; I add a bit of garlic or onion, some chopped herbs (very good use for parsley stalks), and possibly some chopped vegetables if I want  to make it go further (broccoli is a great candidate). I let it cook for a bit, until I have an aromatic soup, not very thin; then I add the pasta, making sure I top it up with hot water when I need, and I mix it now and again. A swirl of olive oil, and I tuck in.

This recipe is my favourite variation. The beans and mussels pairing is quite popular throughout Southern Italy, and once tried it is unforgettable. It is one of those pairings that just work. My partner swears the original version is from Calabria, of course, but I’ve seen variations of it in Naples and Puglia, and I’m sure there are dozens I’ve missed. All of them are different, by the amount of liquid, from a pasta asciutta to a soup, by the type of beans, from the widespread borlotti to cannellini to black eye beans, by the amount of tomato sauce and the type of pasta used. They all work, needless to say. The version I prefer tastes incredibly elegant for such a ‘peasant’ dish.  As I already told you, I find great mussels here (these actually came from the market and were even better). I used some pasta from Giuseppe Cocco, very pricey and very good. Cannellini are maybe the only pulse that I don’t cook with a pressure cooker normally. They don’t take longer than an hour once they are soaked, they produce a lot of foam (the biggest pressure cooker enemy), and they overcook easily.

Needless to say, this pasta would be perfect for some home-made short pasta shape like orecchiette. But this version is ready in twenty minutes (actually a bit more if you are using a posh pasta like Cocco – it takes ages to cook, and it is so totally worth the wait). This recipe goes to Presto Pasta Night #248, the weekly event created by Ruth of Once Upon a Feast and hosted this week by Emma at Souperior (isn’t it a brilliant name?!).

Pasta with cannellini and mussels

Ingredients (serves 2)

100 gr dried cannellini beans, soaked and cooked until tender but not mushy – keep cooking water (or just use 1 can cannellini)

180 gr short pasta – I used penne from Giuseppe Cocco

1 small bunch of parsley

4-5 dried basil leaves, or use fresh

2 garlic cloves

2-3 tomatoes, optional

pinch of chilli flakes

500 gr mussels

best quality olive oil

Method:

Chop the parsley stalks and some of the leaves, dice the tomato and crush one of the garlic cloves. Add parsley, garlic, tomatoes and basil leaves (if using dried) to the cannellini in their cooking broth, topping up with water if needed (there should be about 1 cm liquid above the level of the cannellini). Bring to the boil and let cook for about five minutes. Meanwhile clean the mussels, making sure all the hard bits are removed from the shells. Add the pasta to the boiling cannellini broth.

In a wide pan heat a splash of olive oil, add the other clove of garlic and chilli flakes to taste. Add the mussels, cover  and let cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the mussels are open. Turn off the heat, discard any unopened mussel and set aside. Stir the pasta and check if it needs more liquid. When it does, add in all the juice from the mussels. Keep mixing occasionally and topping up if needed until the pasta is ready, but still al dente. Add the mussels, give everything a final stir, and serve with a sprinkle of chopped parsely, fresh basil if using, and a drizzle of olive oil.

I always feel a bit disappointed when January comes and spring is not already here. The days are still grey, the nights are still deep and long, vegetables are still cabbage and roots, and I’ve already had my fair share, thank you: I’m ready for spring. Not that it is cold, not here, and not that I expect spring or summer to be any less rainy – if anything, I know from experience they will be more.

Christmas day this year was just like that. A grey, overcast day, warm, short. We woke up suitably late, opened our presents, had pancakes for breakfast, and then we got to work. Our family was in Italy, we were here all by ourselves. It felt unusually quiet and intimate. We spent the morning making roasted squash tortelli. We ate them for lunch, and they were like little pockets of sunshine.

It reminded me of more than a winter night when we drove from Milan to the border with Emilia, often trespassing, with my parents or friends. We always seemed to do that in winter, maybe because summer is unbearably hot in the plain, maybe because if it is nice and sunny we usually headed for the mountains. Winter was always humid, way colder than here, and there was always some fog – although not too thick, you don’t want to be driving in that. While waiting for dinner time, there was always some aperitivo of wine or gingerino (a non alcoholic version of campari) in some beautiful square piazza under the portici of some paese lost in the flat landscape (why don’t they do portici in the rest of the world? They are brilliant for cold and rainy days).

And then there was dinner, in some countryside trattoria or slightly more upscale restaurant. Filled pasta was invariably the highlight of the dinner, no matter how good the rest of it was. You’d always get a chat with the chef, more often than not a woman, and they’d always had wholehearted recommendations on how to cook and eat the pasta. I remember the outraged horror of a lady chef when one of our friends asked for some pepper to put on her delicate, thin tortellini in brodo. Never! I ate there the best tortelli di zucca of my life (on several occasions). The filling is so dense, sweet and savoury. We asked once what the secret ingredient was for that thick punch of flavour. The answer was, zucca mantovana: a dense, floury and sweet variety, not unlike a very good kabotcha in flavour, but with a green and thick skin. The secret was to cook it whole in their huge, hot  wood oven. They added nothing else to it apart from a bit of parmesan, which is unusual. There is no hope to try that at home. With ordinary pumpkins this would just be bland. Usually tortelli di zucca contain some ingredients reminiscent of medieval fests, a time when the border between sweet and savoury was more elastic.  These include amaretti, a natural pairing for zucca, and sometimes mostarda, a fruit compote with added mustard extract, sweet, punchy  (good mostarda is supposed to make you cry, and not because it is good) and addictive.

My home recipe usually contains both, if I have them, but deciding the right amount for amaretti is tricky. The balance is subtle and you need a very flavourful pumpkin to stand it. Also, the flavour tends to come out more in the cooked pasta than in the cold filling, making it really tricky to decide when to stop. Some recipes add just one amaretto to one kilo of pumpkin, and I tend to say this is correct. I also like to dress them like they did once at the Ochina bianca in Mantova, one of the epic places where the slow food movement started: melted butter, parmesan, a tiny bit of tomato sauce for acidity, and toasted almonds for crunch and nuttiness. This is in no way traditional, but it works.

To adapt the recipe for here, I already knew that roasted butternut squash would be an acceptable substitute for zucca. They are consistently better than most pumpkins I can get in Italy. The problem was the amaretti. They are never very good, and you need the best you can buy for it. Also, I think mostarda is important to balance it out, and there is no way I can get it here: mustard is just completely different, the acidic note would ruin everything. I decided to go for a creative variation which worked quite well, if I may say so. A friend once gave me one of my most treasured kitchen possessions: a little pack of bitter almonds*. I used one of them together with other almonds, milled, to flavour the pumpkin: it was really tasty and very rich. I dressed the tortelli the traditional way, with parmesan, brown butter and a lot of sage.

* The question is controversial, but apparently bitter almonds are poisonous: they contain hydrogen cyanide, which is poisonous and which is resposible of their characteristic smell and bitter flavour (like every reader of Agatha Christie knows) .  On the other hand, they are used, as well as apricots kernes (which have a similar taste and are similarly dangerous)  to make amaretti and other sweets in Italy. I also ate prune kernels – again, similar taste, similar chemistry – relatively often as a child and survived to tell the tale. If you want to be safe, especially if you plan to feed this to children, use an amaretto for the recipe below – since they sell them, I assume they are safe for human consumption. Apparently cooking destroys the dangerous chemicals.

Tortelli di zucca (serves 4 as a small starter, two as a main)

Ingredients:

For the pasta:

200 gr ’00′ flour (or buy some Italian or some pasta flour)

2 eggs

pinch of salt

For the filling:

1 medium butternut squash

1 bitter almond(substitute apricot almond, or prune almond, or see below)

20 gr normal almonds, the best you can find, possibly unskinned (substitute 1 dry amaretto for these and the above bitter almond)

50 gr parmesan, or more

salt

pepper

olive oil

1-2 tablespoons fine breadcrumbs

pinch of nutmeg

To serve:

a small bunch of sage leaves

parmesan, to taste

about 50 gr butter

Make the pasta:

Arrange the flour in a cone shape on your working surface. Make a hole in the middle, break in the eggs, add a pinch of salt. Start mixing the eggs with a fork until they are uniform, then start mixing in some flour. When this is too hard to make with the fork start using your hands until all the flour has been added in and you have  a uniform dough. It should feel hard and elastic, not sticky, and quite smooth. Let it rest wrapped in cling film.

Make the filling: preheat the oven to 200 Celsius. Cut the squash into large chunks without peeling, put it in a oven try with some salt, pepper and olive oil. Roast until soft, but not too brown. Let cool, then take the pulp off the skin (don’t skip on this recipe). Put all pulp in a bowl. Bring a small pan of water to the boil, put in the sweet and bitter almonds and let them there five minutes. Lift them a few at a time and squeeze them out of their skin. Toast them in a warm oven for five minutes, but you don’t want them to brown. Mince finely using a food processor. If using amaretti, crush one to the finest dust in a food processor. Add to the squash together with the parmesan, salt, pepper, and a grate of nutmeg. Using a fork or a potato masher mash until smooth. Don’t use a blender or a processor. Taste and adjust everything – nutmeg if you want more spice, but it should almost be non noticeable, salt and pepper a little bit more than what you think you need, parmesan if it is too sweet. You are unlikely to want to add more amaretti or almonds: if you can taste it vaguely, it’s ok. If the filling is very wet add breadcrumbs until quite dry, otherwise the pasta will break.

Make the tortelli: Roll the pasta really thinly, using a machine or by hand with a rolling pin. Don’t roll too much at a time if you are inexperienced, or it may dry out. Cut into squares about 10X10 cm. Using a brush wet slightly two borders of the square, then put a teaspoon (scant) of filling at the centre, and close to a triangle. Make sure you press well and sear all the border. Put your index finger on the long side in the middle, using the other hand close the two extremities over it pressing slightly, bend the triangle tip up and you have your tortello. Proceed with the rest; you will probably have leftover filling, but I always err on the side of making too much.

When all the tortelli are made, bring a big pot of salted water to the boil. Cook them until the pasta is soft but still al dente – it will take about 5 minutes to cook, because of all the bendings: taste one to make sure. Meanwhile melt butter in a pan and let in brown slightly, then fry the sage leaves in it until crispy (don’t let them burn). Serve the tortelli with butter, sage and parmesan (no pepper, please )

.. It’s been quite quiet around here lately, hasn’t it? I have barely opened my computer – any computer – in the last two weeks. I needed time, I’ve been needing it for quite a long time: time off, simple as that.

It’s been two long weeks of taking time. I stayed here in my new home or quite close by, alone or with my partner, or with some friends. I’ve been missing my family, an inevitable feeling at Christmas. But all in all, it was a great time. I had time to talk it over and to think about what I want to do: although I have not taken any decision yet, I feel more confident and in control. I had time to explore the surroundings with the leisurely lazy pace of the local, not the frantic-holidaymaker-who-ticks-all-the-boxes pace I usually have. I had time to sleep, to start taking care of my garden, to read books.

And of course I had time to cook. I always cook, even if I don’t feel like writing about it or taking pictures of it, which is always harder in winter. I always think about food. I picked up from the library some big solid basic cookbooks and spent some time leafing through them. A great read was ‘How to eat’ by Nigella Lawson. I can’t say I’m eager to try her recipes: her aim is to give you a feeling of how it works to cook if you’ve never really done it before, so I’m probably not the right target. But she surely knows how to write, and she is genuinely obsessed about food, which I always appreciate.

mount Edgcumbe from Plymouth

I made a lot of whole wheat chocolate cookies, some lovely jasmine tea cantuccini, and some fantastic Champagne truffles from Ottolenghi (the boy never stops to impress. The truffles were a lot of work, but they were I-could-kill-for-another-one good). I made a beautiful potato tart from Plenty. I made Italian classics like gatto’ di patate and lasagne, with creative substitutions driven by lack of the right ingredients – some of them successful , others less so. The best one was tortelli di zucca, roasted squash filled pasta, one of my favourite dishes ever, which I’m going to post soon. I made some more recipes from Good to the Grain and one of them actually failed – a bread that just tasted like molasses (it is difficult to convert ingredients from the US). I also had a major achievement. I finally won over my life long fear of meringues.

I always messed up with meringue, whether dry crunchy ones to use for a fool, or a soft one for topping a cake. I never seemed to have the right type of sugar, or working whisks in time of need. I never seriously tried, to be honest: all my experiments were a bit of afterthoughts when I did not know what to make with remaining egg whites (next try, these walnut cookies from Simona’s aunt). Quite funny considering I never had a problem making soft poached meringues like floating islands and egg white based cakes and cookies like pan di spagna and amaretti.

Then, once, I decided to give it a serious try to top some lime and mango curd tartlets. Just to be on the safe side, I used Ottolenghi’s recipe from his first cookbook: heat castor sugar in a tray in the oven until hot but not melted, and add it to barely whisked egg whites, then whisk until stiff and shiny. I failed big time. First, it is not easy to judge hot before melting from a little bit hot without touching the sugar, and you don’t want to do that. Second, pouring hot  sugar from a tray into the egg whites is not that easy as well. The egg whites did not stiff up at all. I keep telling myself that this is because my whisk broke, but let us be honest, it broke because I’d been whipping non stop for half an hour in vain hope to deny an obvious defeat. Depressed but not defeated, I made some research and decided to go for a completely different technique: Italian meringue. While I worry about whipping egg whites, I have no fear of melting sugar. I have a candy thermometer, and it was all so easy I wondered why I had not tried it before. The meringue turned spectacular, showing me that my next challenge is to improve my piping technique. I even dried some in the oven and obtained crisp little meringues – a dream come true (I do like them very much, and I miss them: every panettiere in Italy sells them).

This semifreddo was a result of me wanting to play around with the technique. Semifreddo is like ice cream for people who don’t have an ice cream machine or like something a bit softer. A mixture of whipped cream and whipped  egg white – or egg yolks, depending on the recipe – create a lovely soft consistency even when the dessert is frozen. The basis should contain egg whites for a lighter consistency and egg yolks for a creamier finish; I decided to do both. It is a light dessert all in all because it contains a lot of air, but it always looks stunning. I find it the perfect way to end up a heavy meal. I scattered mine with almond praline (had I had good torrone at hand, I would have chopped some of it), and decided to wet the sponge with a honey, orange and spices syrup: I’d normally go for something a bit boozy, but I had to cater for children. I did not resent it in the least: it was really tasty. I added in a spiced chocolate sauce that played a nice contrast with the soft cake. Anyway, this is more of a template than a recipe. You could add chocolate chips, or swirl the cream with a raspberry sauce, or wet the cake with espresso: the possibilities are endless.

It may sound a bit weird to be sharing a cake right after all the partying. I’ve already been eating lightly for a while, I don’t crave sugars or rich food at all, but today it is a special day for children raised in a Catholic country like Italy: it is la befana, Epiphany day. My mother used to receive her presents today when she was a child. We received our presents at Christmas, but we did receive a sock full of sweet treats today, every year. We ate on them for a month or so afterwards, and my mother always made sure to fill it with our favourite sweets: dark chocolate, marzipan, torroncini, marron glacé. It was the one time of the year where I felt, actually I was, really spoiled.

Semifreddo di Natale

Ingredients:

pan di spagna (sponge):

3 eggs

3 tablespoons cake flour

3 tablespoons sugar

pinch of salt

zest of half lemon, grated

Praline:

100 g almonds

100 g caster sugar

Semifreddo:

3 eggs, separated

120 g sugar

40 ml water

grated zest of half lemon or orange

200 ml whipping cream

Syrup:

2 oranges

2 tablespoons honey

2 tablespoons water

3 cardamom pods

1 cinnamon stick

1 clove

Sauce:

100 gr chocolate (I used a dark chocolate with spices and orange from Green&Blacks)

50 ml of the leftover syrup, or to taste

100 ml whipping cream

Method:

The first, and most difficult, step, is making sure you have enough room in your freezer for the cake you want to make.

Start with the sponge at least a few hours before, better the day before you will make the rest. Line with parchment paper a 24 cm round spring form. Heat the oven to 170 celsius. Whisk egg yolks with sugar and lemon zest  until they ‘write’ – a ribbon of dough will leave a clear trace on the eggs below. Whisk egg whites to stiff peaks, then add a little at a time to the egg yolks, making sure you lose as little air as possible. Sift flour into the egg mixture a tablespoon at a time, and mix very gently until the flour is incorporated. Pour in the pan and cook for about 40 minutes. Insert a skewer in the center of the cake to check it is completely dry. Make sure the top does not colour too much: if it does, cover with an aluminium foil.

For the praline: melt sugar to a dark blond caramel, then stir in the almonds. Put on a sheet of baking paper to cool. See here for more detailed instructions.

For the syrup: mix honey, water, spices and juice of one orange  together over low heat until it starts to bubble and thickens slightly. Add the remaining orange juice and leave aside to cool, with the spices in.

For the semifreddo: divide egg whites from egg yolks. Using a hand held blender start whisking the egg yolks and the zest until they are a bit foamy. Use another pair of whisks (or wash them if you only have one) and whisk the whites until they are foamy but not stiff as well. Put sugar and water in a pan and cook until it reaches 120 Celsius. The sugar is well melted and boiling with big bubbles, but not starting to colour: unfortunately the temperature range where it behaves like this is quite big. I don’t think I could tell the exact point by look only, but there are methods apparently if you don’t have a thermometer (although I have to warn you, I was never successful when relying on them, before I had a thermometer).  When the sugar has reached the temperature, start whisking the whites again and slowly pour in half of the syrup while whisking. Be careful not to hit the moving whisks with the melted sugar, or you could end up burning yourself with it. Whisk until stiff and gloss, and almost cold.

If the syrup has turned too thick put it back on the fire with a bit of extra water until it reaches the right temperature again – mine was fine. Whisk the egg yolks and add the hot syrup to them. Again whisk until cold. They will get a lot of volume, though not as much as the whites. Finally, whisk the whipping cream, while it is well cold. Mix everything together trying to lose as little air as possible. Chop the almonds – save a few for garnish – and mix them into the cream.

Assemble the cake: you can choose pretty much any shape you like for it, even individual cakes. I chose to make one big central piece using a cake ring (about 15 cm diameter, 15 cm height) on a flat serving dish so I did not have to worry about unmolding. Whatever container you choose, line it with cling film to be on the safe side, although it will mean the cake is not perfectly smooth (see mine). Arrange layers of thinly sliced sponge, quickly soaked in the cold syrup, with praline semifreddo. If you want you can cut any leftover sponge into squares and mix it with the cream. Finish off with the cream, make sure it is perfectly level, and decorate with a few caramel almonds.

To make the sauce: melt chopped chocolate with cream and syrup over a double boiler. Adjust the consistency with a bit more syrup or cream to your liking. Mine was liquid when hot and spoonable at room temperature, meaning that it thickened up on the cold semifreddo.

Put in the freezer for at least four hours. It will keep for few days but it tastes better if eaten fresh. Keep out of the fridge for ten minutes before serving, for a nicer consistency.

Do you ever get periods when you are obsessed with some ingredient or flavour? Whenever I imagine to cook something right now, I think it would taste better if it contained some buckwheat. I am not sure what triggered it. It is a grain I’ve always found rich and complex and I’ve always been fond of.  In the mountains around Milan, where I grew up, it is a common fare. It is a hardy, resistant crop able to grow in poor soils, and it actually likes the cool and rainy summers in the mountains. It does not need as much sun as ordinary wheat, a grain with which buckwheat bears no connection whatsoever, other than  the name.

The grain probably reached Italy from Germany and France, where it arrived from Russia. Its origin lies somewhere in central Asia. Its Italian name –  grano saraceno  - is maybe a connection to the fact that it was new and exotic when compared to ordinary wheat, which has been grown in Italy for a very long time. Or possibly, it arrived in Italy brought by the Turks, courtesy of Venice, who called them Saraceni. We have no way of knowing. It did arrive in the mountain places earlier that the other exotic  future staple, maize. Its nutritional value is actually better than maize, since it contains all essential amminoacids.

I find it deeply fascinating that this crop I’ve grown up with  is actually used in quite a similar form in Japan, as soba noodles. Needless to say, I could eat soba every day. The Italian take on grano saraceno  is way more challenging in terms of digestion, but it is equally tasty and quite in tune with the current festive climate. In the mountains of Valtellina, buckwheat is eaten as a rustic polenta, called taragna. Another speciality, called sciatt, are fried beignet with cheese cubes and grappa: I think I’m still ending digestion of the last ones I had, about ten years ago. The best known dish, pizzoccheri, are buckwheat tagliatelle. They are a perfect beginner’s pasta because they are easy to roll and they need to be cut irregularly. The dough  is quite easy to stretch and it does not require kneading since there is barely any gluten. The only bit of attention needed is,  because of the lack of elastic structure, they get very brittle when they dry, so be careful if you don’t cook them immediately. This is true also for store-bought pizzoccheri – they tend to crumble a lot.

Pizzoccheri are boiled with whatever green veg is around at the time of the year: spinach, chard, savoy cabbage. They are paired with a few potato cubes to make them go further, and dressed with a generous amount of butter and cheese, traditionally a mixture of parmigiano and casera. What brings the dish to the realm of pure gluttony to me is that  handfuls of sage and garlic are fried in butter and added to the dish. This tiny details is what sells it for me. Here is the version adapted to the British climate, in which I managed to exploit the Christmas conjuncture and magically get some fresh sage. I used a gorgeous salted farm butter from Devon and some nice local medium cheddar I got from the market. Since cheddar contains way more fat than casera, I cut down the amount of butter considerably. You need a tasty cheese, with a slightly bitter note, but not overpowering. Cheddar was a bit bland, but not bad at all.

Pizzoccheri valtellinesi, British edition

(adapted from L’Accademia del Pizzocchero, discovered via Chef Blog)

Ingredients: (serves 4 as a main)

400 g buckwheat flour

100 g all-purpose flour

water, about 200 ml

1/2 teaspoon salt

To serve:

1 small savoy cabbage heart

3 medium-small potatoes

about 80 g butter (you should increase it if you dare)

100 g cheddar, grated

50 gr parmesan, grated

a handful of fresh sage leaves

3-4 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed

black pepper

Method:

For the pizzoccheri: mix flours and salt in a large bowl. Have a surface ready with plenty of flour and your rolling pin at hand, and be mentally prepared not to touch anything  for a few minutes (this is sticky stuff). Add cold water a bit at a time while mixing with a fork; after adding about 200 ml put everything on the floured surface and mix with your floured hands,  adding more water as needed. The dough is really prone to sticking to your hands, but solid – more like a soft, pliable paste than a puddle.  Bring everything together in one ball – no need to knead, so long as it’s uniform. You can either let it rest a while or spread it immediately, using a rolling pin and flour as needed. Divide the dough in three or four balls, spread them with the rolling pin until they are about 2-3 mm thick (no problem if they are not perfectly uniform). Using a knife cut it into 10cm x 2cm matchsticks. These are short tagliatelle. I find it easier to cut a few wide 10 cm strips, superpose them, cut them into 2 cm strips and then spread them on flour again.

When ready to eat, cut the cabbage heart into thin strips – about 1 cm wide – and the potatoes to 1 cm cubes. Grate the cheese. Melt butter in a pan, add sage and garlic and let fry for a minute or two – the garlic should not burn at all. Set aside. In a big pot bring plenty of salted water to the boil with cabbage and potatoes, and cook until barely tender. Add the pizzoccheri and cook for another five minutes until the pizzoccheri are cooked through – mix very delicately since they tend to break. Drain the cabbage, potatoes and pizzoccheri. Arrange about half of them in a large oven dish, cover with half sage butter (you can either keep or discard the sage and garlic, I like to keep them because I love eating sage, but it’s up to you) and half of the cheese, a bit of black pepper, then add the other half or pizzoccheri, black pepper, butter and cheese. Serve immediately.

These cookies are golden, crunchy and smooth. I was surprised how much a conversion to black and white revealed of their texture. When you see them in colour, they are a triumph of golden, rich hues and the little cracks are easily overlooked.  When you bite into them, they snap and crunch, but then they are actually easy to munch and swallow, a texture that matches their flavour perfectly. They contain buckwheat flour, intensely nutty and with a raw taste, mellowed out by the conspicuous amount of butter and sugar. They are once again a creation of Kim Boyce.

We ate almost all of them with a glass of whisky while chatting with an old time friend who is here with us now. It was a good evening. This weekend we are going back to Wales. Many of our friends are still there and I almost feel as if I did not move, as if those two years never happened. It is a good feeling. I am going to bring them big boxes of cookies if I can. They are in season right now.

The picture goes to Black and White Wednesday, hosted by Susan of the Well Seasoned Cook.

I feel much better, although I’m not sure how long it is going to last. Add to this that the season is just perfect for baking: it is not yet cold outside, not really, and I don’t keep the heating on that much, but a warm oven is definitely welcome for the little heat it produces. So here I am, in the middle of a baking frenzy.

I am becoming friends with the new oven. I still need to dig out the instructions for it, because it is of a type I never had before. It is made of two smaller ovens stacked one on top of the other, both gas fuelled. The top one seems to have a broiler and some sort of ventilation going on, but I don’t really get it. The bottom one seems more conventional. In Italy I always had gas ovens but they were larger – the monster being my mum’s 90 cm large oven, spectacular in its early days, when you could bake a roast, potatoes, bread and a cake, if you could make the temperatures somehow work together, or you could bake half a kilo of biscotti for our Christmas production in one go. This oven collapsed a few months ago, and was recently replaced with an equally sized beast, after a long agony where making it work involved a complicated process with a protective metal plate and some mountaineering ropes. I hope the new one will do as well as the old one, although I feel it is a bit oversized.

Many of the ovens I had later were quite bad, some bordering to criminally dangerous. In the UK I first came in touch with electric ventilated ovens. It was love at first sight, although the brand new one we had in our house in Wales had some assembling problems: for the first months it would produce an unbearable buzz when heated above a certain temperature. The noise eventually went away, after a few fixing attempts and a heavy usage. I could not believe how even the temperature was, how quickly tarts and vegetables were ready with the ventilation, with a handsome, golden hue. Now I’m back to gas, and with marks. I feel I need quite badly a oven thermometer.

We had our first guest over for dinner. It was a lovely evening, necessarily informal because of the boxes looming from the other room and a serious lack of chairs (we were using a garden chair and two children’s room folding ones). I baked some of these oat crackers from my guru Dan Lepard to eat with starters. They are not very rich, thus they go really well with rich spreads. They are quite crunchy, with a texture not unlike that of Pringles (!),  and you can definitely taste the oats, although they are nowhere near as rough as oatcakes are. They also keep very well in a tin box, that is, if you manage to forget about a few of them. The only recommendation to the recipe is to roll them really thin, they have a nicer texture, and not to overbake them.

I also made this raw brussel sprouts salad – if you have not tried it, please do. It may convert sprouts haters for good. I happened to have some thyme at hand this time, which I usually don’t, so I added it to the salad: I’d leave it out next time, I did not like the way the flavour mixed in. On the other hand, I really like the tweak from Sigrid of adding a few caramelized apples to it; but it is one extra pan to wash, and I did not feel inclined to do it this time.

As a main, a super simple pasta alla carbonara. A lot of non-Italians have never had the real thing, and it is always a very pleasant surprise. I used eggs and bacon from my local butcher. I’m already in love with it. They grow their own beef in a farm nearby, while they purchase everything else from other producers in the area (with names and pictures). It has no particular certification other than saying that the animals are ‘free range’, but the meat is so incredibly tasty, that I have no doubt the production method is quite different from a supermarket. I think I will eat a bit more meat in the future.

To finish, the most important course: dessert. What triggered off the baking frenzy was Kim Boyce: I happened to dig out from a box Good to the Grain, and I felt the familiar itch in my hands. I had just bought some rye flour, so I decided to try something with rye, namely, her rough galette pastry. Barely sweet, slightly floral and roughly flaky, the dough was not the easiest one to pull off, but thanks to Kim’s detailed instructions, I succeeded. Making the dough reminded my of why I love that book so much. Every recipe is a masterclass in working with flour. It helps you understand so much better the role of  ingredients, rest times, temperatures, and I always feel I have learned something and I can master other recipes better as well because I understand them more.

But then, what filling? Apricots and boysenberries are definitely out of season (I didn’t even know what boysenberries are). The best of British fruit now lies in apples and pears. I felt inclined to go for pear, but I was not sure about the filling – something along the line of the classic French almond and pear tart? But then I was not sure how the flaky pastry would work with blind baking.

A bit of browsing led to these beauties at Zoe Bakes. I used the presentation and filling from it, but decided to poach the pears because I was not sure about baking times for the pastry and did not want to end up with a raw pear on top of a burned biscuit. I found the cutest, tiniest conference pears at my greengrocer, and poached them in sugar and vanilla. They were so tiny they fit in a 8 cm cookie cutter. I rolled the pastry quite thinly, arranged a spoonful of almond cream on top, a poached pear half, applied some egg wash on the pastry and a generous dusting of raw cane sugar (there is barely any other sugar in the recipe), and baked until nearly burned – as Michelle Gayer from the Salty Tart  says, colour is flavour. The pears did not caramelize, since they were poached, they were too wet for that. Still, the little rounds looked stunning, and tasted even better. Floral flavours, contrasting textures, and not too much guilt. With half a quantity of dough I managed to make about 12 rounds. A circle of dough, some almonds and half a vanilla flavoured pear. It tasted like much more than that.

Pear and almond galette

makes about twelve bit sized ones

Rough rye dough: (makes twice of what you need)

100 g rye flour

125 g all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt

170 g butter

1 teaspoon cider vinegar

ice cubes

Almond Cream:

56 g almonds

10 g sugar

1/2 egg yolk (keep the rest for the egg wash)

Poached pears:

10 tiny conference pears, or use any pear that will hold some cooking, possibly small

sugar for the syrup, about 50 g

half vanilla pod

To finish:

1/2 egg yolk, beaten

raw cane sugar, about 50 g

Method:

For the pastry: Sift flour, salt, sugar together. Cut the cold butter into tiny pieces and add it to the flour.  Rub it in as quickly as possible, and stop when you still have tiny lumps of butter the size of garden peas. There is no need to make it completely absorb by the flour, actually it is better not to. Mix vinegar with 8 tablespoons ice-cold water. Add to the butter-flour mixture and quickly work to make a ball. It’s ok if it is a bit rough. Add another tablespoon of very cold water if it really does not come together (I did not have any problem, actually next time I’ll probably cut down the water of a tablespoon – maybe because European butter has more fat than American one?).  Wrap the dough in plastic and let it rest in the fridge for at least one hour. After the rest period, you need to fold the dough so that it flakes. To do that, lightly flour a work surface and roll the dough out to a large rectangle, about 30 cm X 25 cm. It will seem to crumble a lot at the borders but don’t worry, it will come together later. It will also seem that the dough is not enough but it will make it with a little patience. When it is rolled, fold it in three like a book. Turn it 90 degrees so that the fold is on the top, and roll it again. Fold and turn, roll, fold again and that’s it, for a total of three times. Make sure you always close and turn the pastry with the same orientation (it helps to decide first, for instance, left at the end, fold on top). Wrap in plastic and let it rest in the fridge before using, for at least one hour. Can be frozen. You only need half of this for this recipe, but I won’t make less because otherwise it is difficult to fold.

To make the poached pears: Peel, halve and core the pears. In a high skillet, mix equal quantities of sugar and water until you have a syrup about 5 cm deep – the exact amounts will depend on your skillet of course. Add half vanilla bean, scrape out all seeds and add the pod in as well. Bring to the boil, until the sugar is melted. Add the pears.  Bring the syrup to a bare simmer,gently add the pear halves and simmer for about five minutes, giving the skillet a bit of a shake now and again to make sure all pears get immersed int he syrup in turns. The pear should still look a bit on the tough side. Let them cool completely inside the syrup. If your skillet is small you can cook the pear in two batches, reusing the same syrup.

Almond cream: just whizz almonds and sugar in a food processor. Whisk an egg in a small bowl and add about half of it to the mixture. Keep the other half for the egg wash. Mix the egg with almonds and sugar until uniform. Set aside until you need it.

To assemble the galettes: cut the prepared cold dough rectangle in half and save the other half for another use. Roll the pastry quite thinly (3 mm thick) using a bit of flour to prevent sticking. At the beginning it will look like the cold pastry does not want to be rolled at all, but it is actually quite pliable, so insist.

Cut some rounds the size of your pear halves. Arrange a heaped teaspoon of almond cream on it, then half a poached pear, cold and well drained. Refrigerate for at leat one hour (the pastry keeps the shape better if you start cooking it when it’s cold).

Right before baking, brush the visible pastry bit with egg wash. Sprinkle abundant cane sugar over everything. Bake in the oven at about 180 Celsius, gas mark 5 (as I’ve recently discovered) for about 20 minutes, until the pastry is dark gold. Good served warm, but also cold.

A while ago, Sigrid asked her readers to share a grandmother’s recipe for an apple cake or pie. Adding the link, I realized it was quite a while ago, much longer than what I intended; on the other hand, this is just the best period ever for making apple cakes. I actually have two of those recipes that are part of my tradition; they both are recipes my mother regularly made for me. One of them is a simple, moist apple cake, perfect for dunking in milk. I think the recipe comes from my grandmother, but who knows where she took it.

The other recipe is a more challenging and ‘grown up’ dessert: strudel di mele. Strudel is a thin layer of dough rolled with something in it; it can be savoury, or more often sweet. Most people are accustomed to the variety made with puff pastry, quite greasy and sugary, which I don’t particularly like. The original has a thinner, less fat dough, quite common in the (also) German-speaking part of Italy and in Austria. In the regions where Austria met the Balkans, like Slovenia, an even thinner version is wide-spread, with almost no fat in it: actually, given that Wikipedia traces the origin of strudel to Levantine pastries like baklava, this is probably the most faithful version. The recipe we use in my family definitely belongs to the latter group; it comes straight from a lady who ran from the occupied Istria to Italy at some point. She was Italian – or rather, she spoke Italian as a first language, but her hair was blonde, almost white, and her eyes were blue; I’m not sure whether she would have considered herself being Italian, since these otherwise straightforward adjectives can be quite unaccurate and very dangerous  when applied to some sensitive parts of the world.  Her granddaughter is my mom’s best friend. She too is blond, in a way very few Italians are.

The recipe is quite  intriguing. It basically contains no fat and barely any sugar (probably the original had a bit more butter in it, but my mother always tweaks recipes in one direction, and to me, this is strudel). It is surely the most intensely apple-y of all apple pies or cakes I have ever tasted. I remember I liked it even when I was a child, but it is by no means a kid’s dessert.  And yet, my mother makes it quite often, and after I rediscovered it, I am already planning the next one (as soon as my knee allows, actually). It is beautiful in its rustic appearance, it is very light – so perfect for finishing off a challenging dinner – and if you choose the right apples it can taste stunning, especially served warm, with the slightly crunchy and thin pastry on the outside, the slightly softer wraps of dough on the inside, encasing soft, sweet apples, little raisins bursting with juice and crunchy pine nuts.

Now, the choice of the right apple: I think there is one main guide here, and it is, they need to be flavourful. The apples are left to macerate with a little sugar for quite a while, so that they lose some of their humidity and get a more intense, slightly ‘dried apple’ edge to their flavour. Both very sweet and slightly tart apples can work, but I’d avoid too tart an apple since the recipe has very little sugar in it. It is better to avoid cooking apples that fall off completely while cooking, like Bramley, because they will probably make the pastry soggy. In Italy we always used renette, a cooking apple variety of slightly tart flavour; in the UK I used russet apples initially because they look like renette, but then because I quite like their flavour, although they are sweeter than renette. Apple variety is incredible, there is so many of them – it looks like my greengrocer comes out with a new variety every time I visit it (last time it was crab apples – so cute! I hope to get to cook with them before they disappear).

The other tricky bit is the pastry. It is not very difficult to work it thinly, actually, so thinly that you can read through it as recommended, but it is quite difficult not to make it break at all once wrapped or while cooking. Even my mother has the occasional tear, after many years of experience. I think we can probably live with it, but you still want to be careful to avoid major tears, that could cause disaster. So stick to the instructions if you want to try it: once you get your hand to it, it is actually quite easy and comes toegher in a flash. The only lengthy bit is slicing all those apples.

My strudel was slightly torn, but still pretty

Apple strudel

Ingredients:

160 g plain, all-purpose flour

1/ 2 teaspoon salt

20 g butter

2 teaspoons sugar

Warm water, about 80 ml

1 egg

Filling:

5-6 medium apples (about 1.3 kilos)

2 tablespoons raisins or currant

2 tablespoons pine nuts

1 tablespoon bread crumbs

sugar, 1-2 tablespoons

For cooking:

a little extra sugar, brown is particularly nice

Optional for serving: icing sugar, whipped cream, ice cream

Method:

At least 4 hours in advance, prepare the apples; it is better if you can leave them longer, overnight or even for 24 hours, in a cold place (like a cellar). Peel, core and splice them quite thinly. Sprinkle with 1 to 2 tablespoons of sugar, depending on how sweet the apples are. Mix occasionally, taking care not to break them. After a few hours the apples will have developed quite a bit of liquid. Drain it off and soak the raisins in it.

Make the pastry: melt the butter using a little pan. Don’t wash the pan afterwards, but keep it there.  Mix flour, sugar and salt. Add egg, melted butter and some of the warm water. Mix with a fork until more or less uniform. Add a bit more water than what you think you need. The dough should be very soft and a little tacky, but definitely solid. Work it for about five minutes on  a lightly floured surface, until silk smooth.

Let it rest at least half an hour, wrapped in cling film or a wet towel. It must not dry out.

Have an oven plate ready with some non stick baking parchment on it. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees. Take the pan where you have melted the butter and add a tablespoon of breadcrumbs to it. Let them lightly toast over medium heat. Have a clean, large kitchen towel ready as well; lightly dust it with flour. Start rolling the dough in a rectangle on a lightly floured surface, making sure it never sticks to the surface. It is okay if it is slightly oval in shape. Before too thin to handle, transfer to the kitchen towel. Keep stretching the dough using your rolling pin until as thin as you can without breaking it (it will easily go down to 1-2 mm). An alternative technique is to stretch it using the back of your knuckles, but it is a bit tricky.

Once the pastry is rolled, sprinkle the breadcrumbs on it, then arrange the apples on a thin layer on it. Make sure you leave any  apple juice behind, and keep it; don’t squeeze the apple slices at all. The slices can superimpose but they should have no big lumps, that may break the dough. Drain the raisins (don’t squeeze) and scatter them on top; add also pine nuts. Start rolling the strudel on the longest side, using the kitchen towel to help. Make sure the pastry does not stick to the towel; if it does carefully remove it and try patching the hole gently (the dough is still quite elastic). Remember: better to live with a small tear than risking a huge one (as they say in Veneto: ‘peso il tacon del buso’, that is, the patch is worse than the hole). Once you have  a long roll, squeeze the ends a bit together and fold them so they are sealed, then using the towel transfer it to the baking sheet, seam side down. Bend it slightly to give it a slight crescent shape if it is too long, but you can also keep it straight.

Brush some of the apple water on top of the strudel to prevent breaking. Sprinkle with a bit of granulated, or brown, sugar. Cook in the oven at 180 for about 40-50 minutes. If it is coloring too fast lower the oven. Now and again brush the top with a little apple water to give it a nice glaze and prevent breaking.

Serve warm with a dusting of icing sugar if you like. Cream, ice cream or clotted cream on the side make for a richer dessert.

This is not exactly the post I had in mind when I decided I had to share this soup with you. While living with my parents I was not cooking much at all,  and I was not cooking the type of food I crave daily. That food, after a few days of feasting on cheese, was essentially one: soup, loaded with vegetables, legumes, fibers, spices, herbs, chillies, hot, filling, easy to digest. I am addicted to that feeling of a warm and full, but not overloaded,  belly. I then decided that to celebrate the control I was going to regain in my kitchen and my life, I’d share a lot of soup recipes, whether from blogs, books, or my own fantasy. We all need more soup in our life.

So when I made this soup whose recipe I found in Smitten Kitchen, and it exactly what I had been craving for: hot, filling, spicy, comforting, great leftovers… I thought I finally was starting to get it. I had the first soup of a long series of soups to share.

Well, you can’t always choose in life, I guess. My knee decided to fall down again. I am again on crutches. I felt pretty low at the moment: I mean, that is not fair! I’ve just put my life on hold for months because of the move, and literally a week after finishing the bulk of it, here I was, confined again. Surely a childish reaction: it is nothing major. I have a guarantee that at some point, it is going to heal. It may even not take that long this time, possibly. So well, it is just funny that this space, where I hoped I would record my best recipes and amazing food I ate, is turning more and more into a personal journal. There is always space for food in my life. At the moment, it is not as exciting as I think it should be, that’s all: it does not take center stage as it usually does when I can choose (not sure what is taking its place, though).

I crave so much for a normal spell of time. If I did not get it, it is partly my fault – I made choices that are not the easiest options, and had to face the consequences; I was lucky because I actually had a choice at all. And then things happen that are outside our control, and we just have to accept them. I am not very wise, mind you: a part of me wants to scream and scream like a three-year old would and just cry and shout out loud: BUT I AM SO BORED!!!! But all in all, I am a lucky gal, and try never to forget it. Thank goodness my knee waited until I was home. I cannot even start thinking about the mess if it didn’t.  My family think I have bad luck: my partner’s father suggested I go and get some ritual against bad luck, il malocchio, the way they traditionally do in Calabria: get a blessing from le bagnarote, powerful women living in Bagnara Calabra, midway between healers and witches, whose rituals though are not particularly appealing (they involve wee, I won’t say anything else). I think I’d rather stick to my (relatively) good star and avoid involvement in any medieval rituals.

Anyway. If you can, while you can, make this soup. It is good. It is also dead easy. We are going to cook it again and again in the next month, together with this pumpkin soup and this lentil soup – favourites here. The active – read: standing – time is minimal, the calories are acceptable (yes, watching my weight again! What an irony for the girl who never dieted), and you can just make loads and eat over a few days. It is also a great way to use my latest love affair in the vast world of legumes: black turtle beans. They are pitch black, they keep their shape well when cooking, and they have a very intense sweet flavour.  I’m sending this recipe to My Legume Love Affair 41, the beloved event created by Susan at The Well Seasoned cook and hosted this month by my dear Simona at Briciole. The picture you see below is also going to participate to Black and White Wednesday, created and hosted again by Susan at The Well Seasoned Cook, an  event whose popularity is raising each week and which turns out more and more inspiring – I have already discovered so many blogs I love through it.

Black Bean Soup with cumin yoghurt

(adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

Ingredients:

300 g dried black turtle beans

2 medium red onions

1 red bell pepper

1 green bell pepper

1 fresh red hot chilli, or to taste

olive oil

2-3 cloves of garlic

4 teaspoons cumin seeds (it looks like a lot, but it’s not)

salt

pepper

lime, to serve

Toasted cumin seed yogurt

100 ml greek yogurt (substitute creme fraiche, sour cream, or whatever you fancy)

salt

pepper

1 /2 tablespoons  cumin seeds

For the soup: Soak the black beans overnight. Toast cumin seeds in a pan, when smelling good, and before they burn,  grind them in a mortar or spice grinder. Chop roughly onions, peppers and garlic.Heat a tablespoon oil in a pressure cooker or heavy bottom pan, add onion and peppers and cook stirring often, until they soften up a bit and begin to colour (5-6 minutes). Add ground cumin and garlic, then the soaked black beans (discard soaking water), together with enough fresh water to cover them generously. Close the pressure cooker and cook for about 40 minutes – they need time until they are very soft. Puree most of the soup using a hand blender, leaving a few black beans whole for texture. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with a generous squeeze of lime juice and a dollop of cumin yogurt.
For the yogurt: toast cumin seeds, grind them (mortar of spice grinder) and add them to the yogurt, together with some salt and pepper. Good also on other things like roasted sweet potatoes, so you may want to double quantities.

It is easy to overlook things I am  used to. I don’t think much of them, I have always done them in this way, and I take them for granted. A wrong attitude surely, and particularly undeserved when it is directed to Italian classics. I always have some ace up my sleeve, that makes it easier to  smile and invite someone over for dinner, even if it is late in the evening and I have prepared nothing, or to resist to another greasy takeaway, considering that more or less with the same time and effort I can have a plate of home cooked food ready at the table.

The secret to all of this is pasta. You probably already know that, given the popularity of events such as Presto Pasta Nights. It is all too easy to turn pasta into one ‘piatto unico’, a little feast that will leave everyone with a happy belly and a smile on their face. I have a few recipes I always resort to, and this is one of my favourites. It is easy to tweak and twist, but complication is not really required, and actually, it should probably be discouraged here.

The other day, after the most exhausting trip across Europe, I woke up in the morning and went grocery shopping for my new home. I have tons of things to organise; I was still exhausted, and already hungry. I wanted something good and comforting but I did not feel like any trash food – already had enough when travelling! The answer was a big packet of Scottish mussels, fresh and cheap, and a packet of linguine.

By the time the water boils, the mussels are cleaned, and that is all the prep done; while the pasta cooks, the sauce gets cooked as well. In less than half an hour you’ll be licking your fingers and the mussels shells. It is also a good idea to buy a bottle of white wine to cook the sauce with and to drink afterwards (it even works with beer, shhhh). What’s not to love?

And so we celebrated with pasta, our cats quite happy to find furniture they remembered from Germany, enthusiastic about the carpet (at least they are!) and all the space they now have to run around. It felt like home.

This pasta is my contribution to Presto Pasta Night #239, an event created by Ruth at Recipes from 4Every Kitchen hosted this week by Tandy at Lavender and Lime .

Linguine with mussels

Ingredients (serves 4)

1 Kg of mussels

2-3 garlic cloves

olive oil to taste

a small bunch of parsley

flakes of chilli, to taste

1/2 glass of white wine, or substitute with sherry or even a light beer

Optional:a few basil leaves

salt

500 gr durum wheat linguine, or use spaghetti

Method:

Bring a large pot of water to the boil. Meanwhile clean the mussels by removing the hard, fibrous bits from the shells. To make the sauce: choose a wide pan where the mussels can fit quite easily. Put about a tablespoon of olive oil in it, add some garlic (chopped or whole, to taste), some chilli flakes, and warm over medium-high heat: take care not to burn the garlic. When sizzling add the mussels, raise to high heat and cover. Let them take the heat for about 30 seconds, then add the chosen cooking liquid. Let cook uncovered for another 30 seconds to let the alcohol evaporate, then cover. Mix now and again to make sure all the mussels open. Meanwhile, when the water is boiling add salt and cook the pasta. If you find it difficult to taste the slippery linguine for seasoning, just taste the cooking water: it should be salty as a soup, something you’d like to eat. Adjust seasoning accordingly.While the pasta is cooking chop some parsley. Inspect the mussels to take out any closed one (the legend says these are the bad ones, but I’ve found that some extra heat usually convinces them to open, and very rarely had to discard one). Add a bit of water from the pasta, about half a cup, and drain the pasta while still very al dente. Add it to the mussels with the parsley, toss well and leave for a couple of minutes on high flame, stirring. Make sure you don’t overcook the pasta. It is ok if a little liquid is left, it will be absorbed by the pasta while you eat it. Serve immediately with extra olive oil.