la cucina di terrESa

an Umbrian vegan cooking class :: San Francisco, March 24, 2017

2017-03-06T19:15:00.002+01:00

I'll be in the Bay Area the end of March and am holding a vegan cooking class

with wonderful organic artisan products from my very recent trip to Umbria

We'll be stirring up into a scrumptious dinner from traditional Umbrian recipes

at the home of dear friends of mine in San Francisco

on Friday, March 24, 2017, 5:30 - 11:30 pm

The price is $145 per person

Our meal will be accompanied by a selection of "naked" natural wines from France

If you or a friend or friends are interested in joining the class

and/or for more information please contact me at :

lacucinaditerresa [at] gmail [dot] com

I'd love to have you join us!

There's still room for 5 participants...

To note :

- The meal we are cooking will be vegan but not gluten-free

- My friends do have a dog who resides gently in their home

- I do ask you bring your own apron, and if you like to "swill" while you're cooking

please bring along an extra bottle of vino ,.))

umBria 2016 — daY oNe

2016-08-30T20:29:00.001+02:00

siamo arrivati! the Umbrian hills. Paris far behind; kilometers of tires whistling 'n me heeding the signs. Cicerone and Missy just hunkering down for the long haul. appena arrivati, not a minute do they waste, taking up their old habits in much haste

"cicerone abandoned to his bliss"

"missy up along her watchtower"

as do I, gleaning near and far!

"as the gleaning went"

in need of something easy 'n tasty 'n nourishing, what better than some farinata? with the portulaca—purslane I glean straight out of the pumpkin patch out back. the stuff grows like a weed; here and there seems sadly to be considered a weed; thus, if in one's garden, is yanked and tossed as if a weed... when in fact, as far as things go around the stove, nothing could be further from the truth! let's just say portulaca's chocked full of goodness and ready to offer it to all 'n sundry, specially through the summer months : soup, salad, sautéed, wilted, puréed... you name it. and flowers 'n stems are most allowed

"portulaca—purslane"

"lying low 'n crawling"

"farinata con portulaca e pomodoro"

so I head into the kitchen to make my farinata. I toss a few big handfuls of chick pea flour into a bowl. slowly slowly I add cold water, smack dab in the center, swirling the whisk, constant as it goes... all about keeping it smooth. then a final ecstatic whir to bring it all together. nice and liquid. I contemplate my batter for just a few minutes then skim off the dross that always rises to the top. now it's ready to take a nap for a good 5 hours. I cover it with a kitchen towel and set it somewhere quiet for its snooze. this gives me time to do some unpacking

I head back to the kitchen and wash my portulaca. leaf it, cut up the finer stems and drop it all into the chick pea batter. lots lots of good sea salt and a couple generous drizzles of good olive oil. stir stir stir. all the time letting the oven heat up to the max: 300 ˚C | 575 ˚F, if it'll go that high. I set my baking dish inside; was looking for one with a nice glass, ceramic or cast-iron bottom, but had to settle for a thinner coated one. oh well... can't always be choosy

I slice some cherry tomatoes in half. when my baking dish is nice and hot, I slide it out of the oven and generously coat the bottom 'n up along the sides with that same good olive oil. I give my batter a final stir then pour it right into the center of the dish—in one fell swoop—listening to it sizzle as it spreads out to the sides. I checker the top with my cherry tomatoes, give it another drizzle or two of olive oil then right back into the oven it goes to cook till getting nice 'n brown 'n crunchy all around

I pull it out pipping hot. the hard thing is letting it sit for 5 - 10 mins, 'cuz I'm kinda hungry. but I manage. then it's just to slice it up. give it many many a grind of black pepper—obligatory! maybe a sprinkle or two of good coarse sea salt and... ah!! sustenance to the belly it is ,.))

— portions in grams, approx 1 chick pea flour : 3 cold water. should just lightly coat a wooden spoon and/or remind you of very melted ice cream

— always try to keep the height of your farinata no more than a very slight 1 cm | 1/3 inch. so for example, for a 30-cm | 12-inch baking dish, a good generous 100 gr of chick pea flour

— depending on how hot you can get your oven, it will cook from 10 - 25 minutes or more

food + travel writing retreat on French Riviera w/ terrESa's vegan fare

2016-01-21T12:21:00.001+01:00

you're Invited: writing retreat on the French Riviera!
w/ vegan nourishment from lacucina di terrESa

http://www.swellmagazine.com/retreat.html

Does your food blog taste bland and need a bit of zhuzhing-up to give it flavor? Have you fantasized about launching a sexy travel-writing career, but didn't know where to start? Do you yearn to become the next Isa Chandra Moskowitz, but don't know how or where to pitch your sizzling cookbook idea?

Writing is something many of us wish we could do well, but don't yet have the confidence or technical skills to get started and ultimately reach our potential. If you've ever dreamed of learning the craft of writing from the pros--and fueling your creativity with fab vegan food + wine--this is your chance to bring your dreams to life on the magical French Riviera.

At this 5-day getaway, you'll attend daily workshops dedicated to food + travel writing, plus the art of the edit, how to pitch, developing narrative style, and so much more. Gourmet vegan meals are prepared by a talented guest chef, freeing your time to focus on learning. putting your new skills into practice, relaxing poolside, and relishing the colorful Cote d'Azur.

an Umbrian tale—chapter 2 : crostata alla marmellata

2015-12-28T20:31:00.000+01:00

chapter 2 : crostata alla marmellata

an Umbrian tale—chapter 1 : ceci e farro

2015-12-28T20:28:00.000+01:00

chapter 1 : ceci e farro

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UNDRESSING VEGETABLES : an unfolding book of recipes—summer PEPERONATA

2015-07-17T18:27:00.000+02:00

Oh those lusty peppers... the ones C. Columbus, way back when, brought back from the New World. Seems he announced their discovery to Old Europe with words along the lines of: You could call them a food if it weren't for their strange, intense taste.

They were first regarded with much distrust on this side of the pond. But being a most generous vegetable that adapts well to different climates, Indian peppers, as they were first named for their peppery hotness, rapidly invaded the gardens of even the poorest.

In Italy, while the aristocracy was indulging on fatty meat stuffed with truffles and seasoned with generous amounts of cloves, saffron and cinnamon, the simple-the rural-the peasant folk—masters at making a virtue out of necessity—went about inventing a more "democratic" gastronomia, which still today forms a heritage of flavors.

As for peppers, the evidence is large. From Piedmont to Sicily, there's a plethora of—what else to say—sensual dishes created around peppers, from sottaceto up North to skinned alive in the South. In Piedmonte peppers with anchovies; peperonata and the hot-sauce peverade in Lombardia-Veneta; further south along the Tirreno served with salt cod; pan-fried with olives, capers and pine nuts in Naples; and further down the boot in Puglia—such a refined simplicity in its culinary culture!—its famed frigitelli [in France corne de boeuf—perhaps similarly called in the States those long thin green—and red—peppers] simply fried in olive oil. Not to mention i caponati of Sicily. My, my! And well... pizza with peppers, what's there to say?

All that said... finding a pepper that "carries the Earth—that the Earth carries" ain't so easy. I walk by many a stand, many a mound of peppers at marketplace and natural food store combined, searching for the deformed, the thin-skinned -fleshed -stemmed pepper, the unweighted, the field grown, the supple, the...... Inevitable that the peppers coming from Italy—still—carry all those traits. As do the Corne de boeuf, still mainly small-producer grown inn France... till they become industry darlings—the death knell of any humble vegetable, of any true earth-filled, dirt-filled satiation.

Alright, enough of my lamenting and fulminating. Onward and forward... here's my favorite pepper dish: peperonata. Simple as can be, sumptuous as you could ever want. Enjoy!

By the way, much of the inspiration for the words above come also from a small book entitled : Si Fa Presto a Dire Cotto by Marino Niola.

UNDRESSING VEGETABLES : an unfolding book of recipes—SUMMER tomato tarte

2015-07-01T17:45:00.000+02:00

I love to make "naked" seasonal vegetable tartes, that is nothin' but the vegetable, a bit of olive oil, a pinch of sea salt, a sprinkling of fresh herbs and perhaps a few seeds. Thinly sliced and arranged slightly overlapping, the vegetables simply melt into the pastry dough. Inevitable that I'd set aside butter and make the dough with olive oil as well, adding to the naked earthiness of the dish.

Summer brings with it tomatoes, and I so celebrate their arrival—it's a long traveling of months and seasons without their plump, sweet, juicy presence. When they fill the vine they fill my kitchen. When they vanish from vine they vanish from my kitchen.

Now there are tomatoes and then there are tomatoes: this tarte being naked, it is a robust and ripely sweet red flesh that is called for. I can think of a few that fit the bill in France [Campari, Noire de Crimée] and Italy [Camone, Marinda], and most everywhere truly open-field-grown vine tomato from small producers. Unfortunately even the pettiest looking plump tomato might have zero sweetness... so know thy tomatoes and thy producers!

As for the pastry dough, I like to give it some crunch so I add a bit of cornmeal or polenta and a handful of poppy seeds. In France I have the choice of a variety of wheat flours and use one somewhere between white and whole. France has a tradition—as does Italy—of producing different "types" of flour depending on the amount of bran or mineral content therein—the more bran you take away the whiter it gets. The "types" are numbered from 45 to 150, the numbers relating to the weight in grams of ash left behind after burning the flour—ash is the mineral content. So there's T45, fine fine pastry flour—with around 0,45 gr of ash per 100 gr of flour; T55, all purpose; T65, a bit off-white and used in baguette tradition; T80, half whole wheat "semi-complet—and the flour I most often use; T110, considered as whole wheat, and T150, wholemeal flour and used to make "pain au son" bran bread.

I buy my flour from a very small producer, Rochefort. A family affair that grows their grains organically and stone grind them themselves. There's no way of getting around the fact that an artisan flour will be tastier and void of all those "improving and treatment agents"—not what 'm looking for in my flour—and thus more naked. Right up my alley!

In the States, you could play with making your own "type" blends from varying mixtures of whole wheat and unbleached white pastry flours. One thing to remember is: the more bran in the flour the more liquid it will absorb, so you'll again need to play with your recipe.

For a wheat-less pie dough, scroll down to the bottom.

TOMATO TARTE w/ OLIVE-OIL PASTRY DOUGH - serves 6

pastry dough :
200 gr T80 flour [try something akin to 75 gr whole wheat pastry + 125 gr unbleached pastry]
25 gr cornmeal or polenta [not precooked]
Handful poppy seeds
75 ml extra virgin olive oil
Couple three generous pinches unrefined sea salt

filling :
800 - 900 gr tomatoes
Generous handful sunflower seeds
2 - 3 sprigs fresh thyme, leafed
Extra-virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt
Freshly ground white pepper

||| Combine the flour, cornmeal, sea salt and poppy seeds in a large bowl. Make a well in the middle and add the olive oil. With your hands rub the flour and oil together until the mixture turns crumbly. Wet a finger, dip it in and taste for saltiness... add more if desired. Make a new well, add 60 ml of cold water and gently mix with a fork, starting from the edge of the bowl, digging down and lifting up in the center as you turn the bowl, until the flour mixture begins to hold together [add more water, up to the 80 or 90 ml, if needed and gently mix again]—the dough should be slightly clingy. Gather up into a compact ball, place in a glass container or wrap in waxed paper and set aside in a cool place for 30 minutes to 1 hour. Feel free to put it in the refrigerator, just be sure to remove it at least 30 minutes before rolling out.

||| Preheat the oven to 220 ˚C || 425 ˚ F. On a generously floured surface, lightly knead the dough with the heel of your hand for a couple three turns. Shape again into a tight ball, flatten out slightly in the form of a rectangle then roll out to a thickness of 0.3 cm || 1/8th inch. Transfer to a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Cut the edges straight with a pizza cutter then roll and pinch the edges of the dough inward slightly to form ramparts 3 mm || ¼-inch high. Crimp the edges. [For a more rustic look, just fold the extra dough over the top, leaving the edges uneven.]

||| Cut the tomatoes crosswise into ¼-inch slices [if you prefer into bite-sized dice]. Set in a colander over a bowl to drain a bit. [No need to discard the juice that remains in the bowl… drink it.] Arrange the tomato slices, generously overlapping them, on the pastry dough, or spread the dice out evenly and well into the corners. Give a generous drizzle of olive oil over the tomatoes. Toss the sunflower seeds with olive oil to lightly coat then sprinkle on top of the tomatoes. Give a very light sprinkling of sea salt then bake in the oven on the middle rack for 30 - 45 minutes, until the edges of the tarte and tomatoes are beginning to brown and the juice is happily bubbling. For a bit more browned-ness, cook on the middle-high rack for the last 10 minutes. Upon removing from the oven, immediately season generously with sea salt to taste. Let cool for 15 minutes before serving.

||| Serve with a generous twist of freshly ground white pepper. Pour a glass of natural "living" rosé wine and enjoy.

WHEAT-LESS OLIVE OIL PASTRY DOUGH

100 gr buckwheat flour
100 gr brown rice flour
25 gr cornmeal or polenta [not pre-cooked]
75 ml extra virgin olive oil
60 - 100 ml cold water
Generous pinch unrefined sea salt

||| Sift flour with salt into a large bowl. Make a well in the center and add the olive oil. With your hands rub the flour and oil together until the mixture turns crumbly. Add 60 ml of water and stir lightly with a fork, dragging in from the edges and up through the middle and turning the bowl with each stir, until the dough beings to clump together [add more water as needed, the dough should definitely be slightly wet]. Gather up into a tight ball, place in a glass container or wrap in waxed paper and and set in a cool place for 30 minutes to 1 hour. Feel free to put it in the refrigerator, just be sure to remove it at least 30 minutes before rolling out.

||| Place on top of a large sheet of parchment paper and flatten out slightly in the form of a rectangle. Cover with a second sheet of parchment paper and roll out to a thickness of 0.3 cm || 1/8th inch. Along with the bottom parchment paper, transfer to a baking sheet. then roll and pinch the edges of the dough inward slightly to form ramparts 3 mm || ¼-inch high. Nicely crimp the edges. Return to the refrigerator for 20 – 30 minutes before baking.

UNDRESSING VEGETABLES : an unfolding book of recipes—kitchen CREDOS 'n MANNERS con't

2015-06-10T17:59:00.000+02:00

Continuing this week with a few more of my kitchen "credos 'n manners." And a risotto recipe below.

THOSE STRAINED BROTH VEGETABLES :

After straining your vegetables from the broth you’ve just simmered up, those same “spent” vegetables can be transferred to a food mill and turned into a purée for a wonderful quick soup. In fact I use the food mill as my colander to strain the broth then the vegetables are already where they need to be. You just have to start turning the handle and making sure the vegetables find their way under the blade. And don’t forget to turn the food mill over once you’ve finished your cranking and scrape off any purée from the bottom of the sieve. Then simply heat up [adding a bit of broth or water to the purée if needed], pour into a bowl, top with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, a grind or two of freshly ground pepper, a pinch of sea salt, and perhaps a few shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano or Pecorino Sardo (both found in any well-furnished cheese store) et voila, lunch is served.

And speaking of vegetable broths, all those outer leaves of cabbage, fennel, lettuce, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, all those red onion peels, garlic peels, those deep dark leek tops, all those more fibrous kale and collard ribs, arugula, cilantro and parsley stems, asparagus peelings, outer artichoke leaves that get rejected ‘cuz their texture won’t make the grade in your dish can all go into a pot with water to generously cover and simmered gently till soft, 30 to 40 minutes. The resulting “medley” broth can be used to wet other vegetables you’re about to cook or added to the water you’re going to be cooking your pasta, beans, grains, pulses in, or added to your smoothie liquid. You can also simply put it in a jar in the refrigerator and next time your thirsty for some water, drink a glass of it—there are surely nutrients that your body will smile at. The strained vegetables can again be passed through a food mill, added to the broth for a more ”textured” drink, It might not be total nirvana to your mouth, but it just might be to your belly—although you’d be surprised how good the taste can be.

If not in the mood for making the broth right then and there, plop them all into a bag and freeze 'em until you need some flavored water.

SWEET PEA PODS :

It was Toni Vianello, great Venetian chef of l’Osteria—his hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the Marais, unfortunately sold some time ago—who taught me the rich purée that can be coaxed out of sweet pea pods. The dear chef was/is known for his risotto wizardry and it was watching him make a Risi e Bisi [recipe down below] that I learned this lovely bit of kitchen kraft. You shuck the peas then wash and drain the pods. Transfer to a pan or pot ample enough to comfortably hold them and add cold water to just just cover—I always throw in a fresh bay leaf or two. Cover with a lid and bring to a boil. Remove the lid and cook at a very slight simmer for 20 - 25 minutes. Transfer to a food mill placed over a pot or bowl to catch the cooking water, which you can set aside to use elsewhere as you see fit. Place the food mill over the pan you cooked them in and purée the pods. You end up with something akin to pea caviar. Don’t forget to turn the food mill over and scrape the bottom of the sieve—that's where all the beauty is.

FAVA PODS :

No need to throw away the pods of fava beans. They can be sautéed—though they must be very fresh [recipe to come]. You simply cut off the tips of both ends then the seam running the length of one side. Cut in two lengthwise then into 2 - 3 pieces crosswise. Here you can blanch them in boiling water, enough just to cover, for 2 – 3 minutes and drain—I'm not much for blanching myself so I skip this step. Heat a generous drizzle of olive oil in a large skillet. Add a garlic clove or two, coarsely chopped, and sautée for 1 minute. Add the fava pods—I add a smidgen of water to the bottom of the pan, as well, since I don't blanche them—and sautée for 7 to 10 minutes. Sprinkle a bit of flour on top, sifting it through a sieve. Cook for another few minutes. Season with sea salt to taste.

ROASTED PEPPERS, BLANCHED 'n SEEDED TOMATOES :

When I roast peppers in the oven under the broiler, charring their skin so as to easily remove it, I always throw the skins and seeds and juices that remain, once I’ve undressed the peppers, into a food mill and turn them into a concentrated purée, or jus, that can top many a summer vegetable dish.

The same goes for tomatoes when I blanch them in order to remove the skins. [You can also loosen the skins by holding the tomatoes over a gas flame.] Those skins and all the seeds and any white core also get dropped into the food mill, using the finer sieve, and again turned into a bit of extra concentrated purée-jus. Actually quite great when mixed with the pepper jus; makes for a flavorful garnish [coming soon, my summer quinoa cake recipe].

WILTING GREENS :

The bit of water that clings to greens just washed is normally all the water that’s needed to wilt them. Once again, this way you end up with very little if any water left in the skillet and thus all the goodness has remained in the leaves. And if your recipe calls for your greens to then be vigorously squeezed to extract any excess water, the green water that often comes flowing out during the process also ends up as a thirst-quenching shot of a drink. If there's a large quantity such as spinach always surrenders, I add it to a broth for my spinach risotto—recipe coming soon—to pasta water or, if all other ideas fail, I water the plants on my windowsill with it, diluting it greatly with water.

I don’t cook a lot of vegetables in water or by steaming. I truly prefer to roast the majority of them; some I will sautée. But when I do cook vegetables in water [for example, potatoes, green beans] rather than having them bob up and down in a lot of H2O, I just cover the bottom of the pan with a slight ½-inch or so then keep an eye and add a bit more water as needed until cooked. I do this because I can’t bear having all that goodness end up in large amounts of cooking water poured down the drain; it’s full of nutrients and flavor that have been drawn from the vegetable. When using small amounts of water to do the cooking there’s just a bit remaining in the bottom of the pan—most of the flavor, vitamins, minerals and such have remained in the vegetable. And water as is left over I pour into a little glass and drink down, a bit like a shot of earthy jus.

And here again I'll say that I very rarely blanche vegetables and even more so never ever ever shock them with cold water, supposedly to keep them "neon green"—there goes all the more flavor and goodness down the drain. I simply cook them for a lesser time [more al dente] then spread them out to cool. Salting them immediately out of the cooking pan.

NUT 'n SEED MEAL—after milking :

What to do with all that meal when the nut or seed milk is made and the milk bag is full of les restes. It seemed such a shame, the first time I made almond milk, to toss all of that leftover meal, so I emptied it into a bowl, added a bit of this, a bit of that and ended up with these quite rustic and very tasty tea biscuits [recipe coming soon].

Since then I've also dried the meal and whirred it up into a fine flour that can be used as a portion of the regular flour in your pastry dough, cookie dough, cake batter, crêpe batter, sundry bread doughs, and the like—a fifth, a sixth of the flour in weight.

The flour is easy enough to make and should be done forthwith—the meal quickly goes rancid. Just spread it thinly out on a cookie sheet or jelly-roll pan and either set it out in the sun on a hot summer day or in an oven preheated to 100 °C | 225 °F, the oven door slightly ajar. Stir it up from time to time until completely dry, 3 - 4 hours. When cool, grind into a fine flour in a chopper or wide-based blender. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for a couple three weeks. One further thing I do with my nut or seed meal flour, is turn it into a sort of faux Parmesan [recipe soon coming]. When I give a vegan cooking class and pasta, ravioli, gnocchi has been requested for the menu, this is a delightful, homemade substitute for grated Parmesan or Pecorino. Of course it's not quite one or the other, but does add a bit of earthy joy to those Italian dishes.

And now for my variation of Risi e Bisi :: serves 4 - 6

= best in late spring, early summer

Risi e bisi is a celebrated dish from the Republic of Venice [la Serenissima—back centuries ago] traditionally served to the Doge on April 25, the fête of St Marc, protector of Venice [also the day Venice was founded]. Its texture should be somewhere between a “wavy” risotto and a soup, perhaps more like a minestrone.

for the broth :
150 gr carrot
150 gr leeks
w/ fine inner green tops
75 gr celery, w/ any young green tops
75 gr [smallish red onion], peeled 'n cut in half
1 FRESH bay leaf
1 - 2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 - 3 sprigs flat parsley
Unrefined coarse sea salt f

or the risotto:
300 gr Vialone Nano riso [if not available use a Carnaroli riso]
300 gr shelled fresh peas
1 on-the-small-side red onion, finely chopped
1 good handful flat parsley, coarsely chopped
1 FRESH bay leaf
60 gr Parmigiano-Reggiano, freshly grated
50 gr unsalted butter, room temperature 'n cut into small pieces [you can substitue a good olive oil—use 35 - 40 ml]
Zest of 1 lemon for garnish
20 fresh mint leaves for mint oil
Extra-virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

||| To make the mint oil : best to have a mortar and pestle in which to crush the mint leaves along with a slight pinch of salt. Then add a few good drizzles of olive oil and stir with the pestle. Transfer to a small bowl and add a bit more salt if needed. Set aside. {if you have no mortar and pestle, gently but quite finely chop the mint leaves and add cover with olive oil and add a bit of salt].

||| Zest the lemon over a plate. Spread it out evenly and place in a warm spot for a good hour or so to dry.

||| Prepare a light vegetable broth : put the carrots, leeks, celery—whole or cut in half crosswise—red onion, and herbs in a large saucepan. Cover with water by an inch or two and bring to a boil covered. Remove the lid, add a tiny handful of salt and cook uncovered at a slight simmer for 30 - 40 minutes, until the carrots are easily pierced with a knife. Strain over a bowl. Strain again through a fine-sieve strainer, if desired, to remove any floating particles. Rinse out the pot and return the broth to it. Please don not throw away the cooked vegetables, pass them through a food mill. Later in the day or the next turn it into a quick soup. Add a bit of water and warm up in a saucepan. Garnish with a pinch of unrefined sea salt, a couple grinds of the black pepper mill, a drizzle or two of extra-virgin olive oil, and if in your refrigerator, a bit of Parmigiano-Reggiano or Pecorino Sardo rendered into shavings and showered over the top.

||| For the risotto : shuck the peas and wash the pods. Put the shucked peas and 1 bay leaf in a small pan—if the peas aren't super fresh and super sweet,—(( add a couple sprinkles of sugar. Add enough water to barely cover the peas. Set aside. Place the pods in a good-sized pan. Cover just just with cold water. Place the lid, bring to a boil. Remove the lid and cook at a very mild simmer for 20 - 25 minutes. Drain through a food mill placed over the pan with the broth. Over another bowl crank the food mill full of the cooked pods and turn them into a sumptuous purée. Set aside in a small saucepan.

||| Heat the broth and keep at a very light simmer while making the risotto.

||| Heat a couple generous drizzles of olive oil in a wide pan over medium heat. Add the red onion and cook until soft and translucent, approx 3 minutes, stirring occasionally and paying attention to not let it burn. Add the rice and stir to coat. Cook for a couple minutes, stirring occasionally and gathering the kernels in from the sides and edges of the pan each time, until the kernels turn bright white inside and transparent around the edges. Add 1 large ladle of simmering broth and cook until almost absorbed, stirring occasionally. Add more broth one ladle at a time, stirring with each addition and allowing it to be mostly absorbed before adding the next ladle. In all the cooking time for the rice will be approx. 18 minutes. The rice should remain well al dente and not dry.

||| 7 - 8 minutes before the rice is cooked, bring the peas, covered, to a boil then lower the heat and cook for 3 - 4 minutes–they should still have a good crunch to them. Pour the peas and cooking water into the risotto. Cook for another minute. While the peas are cooking, gently heat the pea purée [half or more of it depending on how green you want your risotto to be]. Add it to the risotto along with the peas and the chopped parsley.

||| At this point the rice should still be al dente and the risotto quite soupy – if not add a bit more broth. Turn off the heat. Add the Parmigiano-Reggiano and butter—don't stir yet. Cover the pan and let stand for 2 minutes. Remove the lid and rapidly stir, or “mantecare,” with a risotto [that crazy looking wooden spoon with a hole in the middle] to create a creamy consistency. Season with unrefined sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Serve immediately in wide soup bowls. Garnish with a generous teaspoon of mint oil, a sprinkling of lemon zest, and a couple three turns of the pepper grinder.

As for wine : In Italy you might look for a Oltrepò Pavese Cortese from Pavia or a Soave from Veneto. In France, I'd look for a Jurançon Sec from Jurançon. A lovely Pinot gris or Reisling from Alsace. A incisive Sauvignon from la Touraine. All natural, living and wildly naked...of course ,—))

A la prossima settimana!

UNDRESSING VEGETABLES : an unfolding book of recipes—kitchen CREDOS 'n MANNERS

2015-06-03T16:38:00.000+02:00

A BIT ABOUT MY KITCHEN “CREDOS 'n MANNERS”

There are a few things I’d like to share with you about my way of cooking that I hope will help you use this unfolding book efficiently and enjoyably.

— The recipes herein are meant as guides and not as absolute authority. The sense I mean to convey with these words is that of garnering a sensual knowledge, intuition and personal touch in the kitchen, nourishing curiosity so as to careen a bit off the path [and celebrating what might seem like a failure for the enriching experience it is]. I would also encourage you, when deciding to make any of the recipes in this book, to prepare it once to “get a feel for it,” tweak it to your tastes and expectations a second time, then invite your friends over for an evening around the table.

— Weighing dried goods with your hands or measuring oil in seconds of drizzle is a lovely way to commune with ingredients. I have a friend who lives in Italy’s Piedmont region—famous for its Carnaroli superfino rice, the number one ingredient in the risotto of the region—who showed me how the Torinaise weigh rice for risotto: 2 generous handfuls per person—give or take a little. Taking mental notes of how many grams a handful of walnuts or pumpkin seeds weigh and measuring oil in length of drizzle—give or take a little—is, well, thrilling. Because “give or take a little” really is for me where the love affair with cooking begins! You'll see a lot of pinches and handfuls with adjectives like good, generous, tiny alongside. For you to determine—by sticking your finger in and tasting—the “exact” amount. Yes! Fingers are allowed in my kitchen.

— Obviously where such phenomenon as gelling, thickening, and rising are concerned, more exact measurements are certainly called for. Yet so many factors can impact on the outcome of even a pie dough: what type of flour, how fresh the flour is and thus the amount of moisture in it, whether the day is humid or dry. In which event you’ll need more or less water to bind it. And what about citrus fruits… depending on the time of year, they will be more or less acidic. The flowers the bees feasted on will define the sweetness and taste of your honey. And ovens… they definitely each have their own “hot” personality!

— All specific measurements in this book are in milliliters and grams. The reason being simply that most measuring cups now show multiple measuring units for liquids, and measuring dry ingredients in grams, with a scale [and being able to zero out in order to weigh a new ingredient in the same bowl] is just so much more accurate, intuitive, easy… enjoyable. [A quite interesting article on why America is one of only three countries, along with Burma and Liberia, still to have not switched to the metric system.] I’m all for everyone having a kitchen scale! Bet you’ll never go back to using cups again.
Here are three scale brands I recommend: Tefal, Salter, Oxo. Make sure the scale takes rechargeable batteries and measures in grams—most will also measure in ounces. They can easily be ordered from your favorite online kitchen store.

— May I ask that you please use only seasonal produce as local, organic and polyculture as possible. Flours as freshly milled as can be found and minus as many "agents" as possible. Dried beans no older than last year’s harvest—check the packaging date, if there is one. Eggs from truly clucking, pecking, scratching hens. Honey from bees that aren’t so tampered with, so sequestered, so robbed of their winter supply. Milk and cream from cows that are at least pastured at length. Try using blond cane sugar, if available. I know it's not as white in color or flavor, but that subtleness of "cane" I find quite pleasant. If it must be refined look for beet sugar or a refined cane sugar that doesn't use bone char as a whitening agent—go figure! In other words, take the time, the energy, and spend the money to place within your body foods that honor the Earth, the creatures with whom we cohabit on it, and thus ourselves.

— You’ll see these abbreviations in my recipes : kg for kilogram [approx 2 lbs] | gr : for grams | ml : for milliliters | tBsp : for tablespoon | tsp : for teaspoon. As well as a lot of pinches and handfuls and drizzles and sprinkles and...

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT

One of the joys of cooking is the challenge I give myself of finding ways to creatively use every—or almost every—part of a vegetable or fruit—citrus—in my cuisine. It’s wonderful to see this same awareness cropping up in more and more kitchens, be they home or professional!

I have to wonder where and when the habit of tossing out so much of a plant’s offerings began then became a habit that for so long was unquestioned… at least in much Western “urban” cuisine. I remember the time a French friend stood aghast as I threw out my cooked broth vegetables [that was some years ago and the beginning of my awakening] and taught me how to turn them into a soup.

Citrus peels—organic ones—rarely find their way into my trash. They’re precious to me: they add brightness, bits of zingy texture, cherished layering and depth, generous color to any vegetable dish, any dessert—enhancing the story our taste buds are given to read. They also make sweet chunks of candied essence for all those delectable Italian sweets. Whether lemon, lime, orange, tangerine, clementine, mandarin, grapefruit… I always reserve the peel before eating or juicing the fruit. Below are the various ways I save and put to use those precious citrus peels and put them to good culinary use.

And greens: beet and turnip greens; cauliflower, broccoli and leaves, carrot, fennel, radish, celery tops, and just about every other supple, leafy, curly, flat, toothed, feathery green top—so often discarded—offer such flavorful, nourishing goodness that can be creatively used to succulent, nutritional ends! The greens I’ve mentioned above are by no means a complete inventory; the list goes on, all the more so if you have a patch of earth to grow some of your own vegetables and fruits in, or a planter box or three or four at your window for all your favorite fresh herbs.

Below is a list of ways I get the most out of the citrus and vegetables I bring home. Obviously, organic is of the essence here.

THOSE PRECIOUS CITRUS PEELS

SIMPLY ZESTING THE PEEL :

Wash and dry the citrus fruit! Snuggle it in the cup of your hand, facing you, as though you were inspecting it—if you turn it “upside down” you won’t be able to see where you’ve already zested and will end up with lots of bitter pith. Place the zester on top of the fruit and begin zesting, drawing the zester toward you (or away from you depending on the direction of the teeth) in long sweeps, once—never twice—over each portion of peel, leaving the pith behind. And you should avoid zesting any blemishes there may be. Run your finger down the gathered zest over a bowl or plate. Feel free to intermittently stop and scrape off the zest, if you’re more comfortable with that.

If you're not planning on directly adding the zest to a batter, filling, dough or other, spread it out on a plate and set it aside to dry; within a couple of hours you’ll have a lovely fluffy powder I like to call citrus salt. Sprinkled as garnish on top of any dish, sweet or savory, is simply a pleasure. If you want it dry right away, place the plate in a spent oven, the door ajar, for a few minutes or in the hot sun. You can keep the dried zest in a glass jar in the fridge for a couple three days.

note : As for my zester of predilection, it would be the 40001 Microplane classic zester—the barebones option with no handle. It almost floats across the citrus peel, gathering up but the essence of the zest, which is precisely what I want. The edges of the zester also conveniently act as a container, keeping the pith from falling off. Now I imagine you might already have your own favorite citrus zester, all the better… and do forgive me my “preaching.” Regardless of which zester you use, what’s most important is to remove only the very essence of the peel and leave behind all that bitter white pith. Of course, when using citrus peels, the fruit should always be organic!

CITRUS CURLICUES :

Wash and dry the citrus fruit. Using a vegetable peeler, remove the zest lengthwise, from top to bottom, in long strips. With a sharp paring knife, cut off any pith from the underbelly of the zest: starting in the center of each strip, place your knife at a slight angle and “catch” the pith then flatten the blade, pressing firmly on it, and zigzag back and forth toward the end of the strip. Turn and repeat in the other direction. If any pith remains, go over the strip again. Now cut your “pithless” peels lengthwise into extremely thin strips. [You can also simply use a citrus peeler, which will give you a thinner, finer curlicue—but with a bit less crunch.] You can take a look at my video on lemon zest.

It’s best to prepare your curlicues the night before, or the morning of. In which event simply spread them out on a plate and set them aside to curl up; 8 hours should be sufficient. Store in a glass jar until ready to use later in the day. Can be kept in a glass jar in the fridge for up to 3 days, but best used the day of.

If you need them in a hurry, spread the thin strips out on a plate and dry them in an oven preheated to 100 ˚C | 200 ˚F, the door slightly ajar, until the strips begin to curl, approx. 10 minutes. Shake them from time to time and keep a close eye: they should just begin to curl while remaining supple and not taking on any color. Cascade them over salads, gnocchi, pasta… and desserts.

PEEL BEFORE JUICING OR EATING :

If you have no particular need of citrus zest at the time, but are about to squeeze that lemon or peel that orange to eat, don’t throw the peel away! Take a minute to score the fruit from top to bottom with the tip of a sharp paring knife, cutting just through the peel, 4 to 8 cuts around depending on the fruit. Try to avoid cutting into the flesh. Peel each section downward, carefully, to make sure the strip comes off whole. A spoon can help achieve this: just carefully press it downward between the peel and the fruit, following the curve of the fruit from top to bottom. Rolling the fruit a bit beforehand will loosen the peel from the fruit. Place in a glass jar in the refrigerator. They will keep for 3 to 4 days. Then when you need some zest, take a strip or two out of the refrigerator and zest away. Or gather up the peels from 3 or 4 days and give them the candied treatment [instructions down below].

Alternatively you can cut the peel off à vif: cut off the top and bottom of the fruit then with a sharp paring knife trim off the peel and pith, cutting down slightly into the actual fruit from top to bottom [this is the same method used to segment your fruit—particularly grapefruit]. Rather than throwing away the peel, set it aside to dry spread out on a plate, pith side up, in a warm place, best where the sun can stretch its rays across. This will take a few days in the open air—you want to make sure the bit of fruit on the pith side is completely dry. You can also dry them in the oven preheated to 100 ˚C | 200 ˚F, the door slightly ajar, for a few hours. Or try a dehydrator if you have one. Can be kept in an airtight glass container, away from the sun, for up to 3 months.

Added to boiling water for a couple of minutes then strained these dried peels make for a wonderfully refreshing tea. Try adding a few cardamom seeds, fresh rosemary, mint, thyme, a cinnamon stick…

CANDIED CITRUS PEEL :

Now there are surely as many recipes and hints, shoulds and shouldn’ts to candying citrus peel as there are grandmothers and home cooks. Well, you can now add my version to your list.

— Unblemished organic orange, lemon, lime, grapefruit, tangerine scrubbed and patted dry
— Sugar for simple syrup [I use blond cane sugar, a bit less refined than white sugar]
— Sugar for coating : granulated [sometimes powdered, which I grind myself]

1.   Cut off the top and bottom of the fruit. Score the rinds, by gently cutting from top to bottom through the peel with the tip of a sharp paring knife, 4 to 8 cuts around depending on the fruit. Try to avoid cutting into the flesh. Peel each section downward, carefully, to make sure the strip comes off whole. A spoon works wonderfully for this. Just carefully press it downward between the peel and the fruit, following the curve of the fruit from top to bottom. Rolling the fruit a bit beforehand will loosen the peel from the fruit.

2.   Put the peels into a large stainless steel pan. Add cold water to generously cover. Put the lid, ring to a boil then drain. Repeat this twice more. Transfer to a large bowl and rinse the peels with cold water to bring them back to room temperature. Cover again with an ample amount of cold water then cover the bowl with a plate and set aside in a cool place or put in the refrigerator if you prefer. Change the water twice a day for 5 days. On the 5th day, give the peels a final rinse then transfer them to a stainless steel pan. Cover with a generous amount of water, place the lid, bring to a bowl then drain and rinse with cold water.

3. Spread out on a kitchen towel and gently pat dry. When cool enough scrape or cut off any excess pith—it isn’t necessary to remove all the pith, just that which has become soft and spongy. Cut into ¼- to ½-inch lengthwise strips or bite-sized lozenge-shaped pieces.

4. Weigh the fruit—in grams—then set aside. Weigh out the same amount in grams of sugar and 1 1/2 times the amount in cold water (water measures the same in grams and milliliters (15 gr = 15 ml of water). Combine the sugar and water in a heavy stainless steel saucepan, ample enough to hold the peels and simple sugar, but not too large. Bring to a boil over medium heat and cook until the sugar is dissolved. Add the zests, lower the heat a bit and cook at a generous gentle simmer until they are tender and turning translucent, anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes... give or take. Stirring is to be avoided, as it can cause the sugar to crystallize.

5. Place a sheet or two of parchment paper somewhere out of the way. Remove the zests with a slotted spoon, letting the spoon drain before spreading them out on the parchment paper. Separate the peels to give them breathing room, none should be overlapping as they'll stick amorously together. Let them dry for 1 day. Sprinkle generously with granulated sugar. Turn the peels over and sprinkle again with granulated sugar. Let dry for another day then transfer to a glass jar. Sprinkle in a bit more sugar and give the jar a shake to make sure all the peels are well coated. The peels can be stored in an airtight jar, out of the sunlight, for up to 6 months.

notes : If you don’t have the time or patience, once you’ve initially boiled the peels 3 times you can proceed with step 3 of the recipe. It is true that the result will be zests that are both less chewy and slightly more bitter. |||  I do use powdered sugar to coat when making very thin candied lemon rinds, in which event I've cut off all the pith after blanching and soaking, leaving nothing really but the zest of the peel. ||| If you’re making candied tangerine, clementine, mandarin peels, proceed directly to step 3. Being a thinner peel, they cook up better without the 5 days of soaking. ||| I collect my peels as I go, over a period of a few days. When I’m going to eat an orange I score and peel it then put it in a glass jar in the refrigerator until I’ve collected enough [4, 5 or 6 oranges] to make the task worth while. I’ve even collected different peels from citrus I’ve used during that time and candied them together. Giving you a jar of candied peels that offer a bit of a “surprise.”

EAT YOUR VEGETABLE — ALL OF IT

— Beet, turnip, kohlrabi, radish greens among others can all be wilted, sautéed, roasted in and of themselves, added to other leafy greens in any number of recipes: frittata, erbazonne, fogliata, any number of pasta and risotto dishes. The very tender inner “baby” beet and turnip leaves, very fresh and tender radish leaves, carrot tops, inner celery greens, fennel fronds can all be ground into a very fine paste with a mortar and pestle, pressed through a small tight sieve or strainer and mixed with some good extra virgin olive oil for a colorful “sauce” or garnish, or less finely ground up and turned into a pesto generously spread on bruschetta. Recipes to follow over the months.

Come mid-spring, when baby turnips start showing up at my favorite producer stands at the marketplace, I begin my gleaning. Actually the vendors see me coming and dig into their boxes of discarded goods. I greedily hand them my empty bag and they stuff it full. Then come beet greens—oh!!! my favorite—and then and then and then...

A RIB IS A RIB IS A RIB … TO BE EATEN

The variety of Swiss chard, or simply chard, commonly found in Western Europe [in France called blette, bette, côtes de bette or blette depending on the vendor) is always of green leaf with a much more generous rib that is quite prized, and a slightly less “steely” flavor. Very large leafed blette has ribs that can be a good 3-inches wide! Thinly sliced or chopped then sautéed before the leaves are added. The tarte aux blettes is a French favorite, but the recipe that really jazzes me is Venetian and nothing but the ribs—as a way of not wasting those left over from a recipe calling only for the greens. A couple photos and the recipe.

Chard Ribs alla Veneziana

— a good pile of Swiss chard ribs
— 1 garlic clove, cut in half, sprout removed, coarsely chopped or finely sliced
— 1 – 2 sprigs flat parsley, coarsely chopped
— 1 peperoncino [dried hot red pepper]—optional
— handful of walnuts, freshly cracked—not pre-shelled—lightly roasted, very coarsely chopped
— pinch dried lemon zest
— good white wine vinegar
— extra virgin olive oil
— unrefined sea salt and freshly ground pepper

||| Toast the walnuts in an oven preheated to 160 ˚C | 325 ˚F for 10 or so minutes, until they start releasing that beautiful scent. They do burn easily, so keep an eye.

||| Thoroughly wash and dry the Swiss chard ribs. Cut into large bite-sized pieces of any form you wish. Place in a large skillet with just a bit of water, enough to slightly cover the bottom. Place the lid and cook for 5 – 7 minutes—they should remain slightly al dente. Drain off some of the cooking water—no need to discard that tablespoon or two of jus, pour into a glass and sip away. Lovely!

||| Add a couple drizzles of olive oil, the garlic, peperoncino if using, and cook for another minute or two, until all the water is evaporated. Remove the peperoncino. Add enough vinegar to “wet” the ribs then let evaporate over medium-high heat. Add a handful or two of chopped parsley and give a good stir.

||| Transfer to a plate. Season with sea salt to taste and garnish with a a sprinkling of walnuts, a pinch of dried lemon zest and freshly ground lack pepper.

note : If you wish to make a lunch out of your vinegar-sautéed ribs, cook up an egg sunny side over and dry out some black olives in the oven : cut the pitted olives into pieces and set them in an oven preheated to 160 ˚C | 325 ˚F for up to 30 minutes or more, stirring from time to time. When they nicely crisped up, they're done. Sprinkle them over the egg and ribs.

As for beet green stems or ribs, cut quite small and sautéed a bit with some thinly sliced garlic—sprout removed—and a teeny pinch of peperoncino [red pepper flakes] before adding the greens, brings texture to your dish. Once out of the skillet, a drop or two of lemon juice, a sprinkling of dried lemon zest and a good drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and, well, life is beautiful.

See you next week with more on “waste not want not.”

UNDRESSING VEGETABLES : an unfolding book of recipes—INTRODUCTION

2015-05-27T16:52:00.001+02:00

Over the years I have started and stopped, picked up and put down working on a book about my relationship to food, trying to gather and put order to my thoughts and recipes so many times as to be farcical. I have played endlessly with layout software, exploring various page designs, only to find myself disenchanted by the process—probably a ploy on my part to really not get down to business. But I truly have wanted to get down to business compiling thought and recipe and error and discovery in the simple, solitary way I have gone about deepening my relationship to vegetables and the instinctive process involved in cooking them into dishes that tell my palate and taste buds stories.

Perhaps what has been a cog in the wheel has been my "adamant" ways : no glossy pictures, no cups and ounces as measurements, no one looking over my shoulder editing my words… Guess I need my relationship to writing a book of recipes to be as intimate and homespun as the way I teach those same recipes in my cooking classes.

In truth, I mostly shirk at, shrink from the fancy, the sculpted, the trendy, the let-me-entertain-you, the blow-your-mind aspects of what is or has become—to a great extent, it feels to me—the world of food-ing. The swirling onslaught of it all so clouds my thoughts and hampers me—I know, I should just not let in all the clamor. But it seems hard to keep it out; it has so exploded—with such spirit—everywhere. And yes, there is a multitude of wonderful enthusiasm therein.

So what to do? Retreat and quietly write, posting the pages of my book weekly on my blog. I'll follow the seasons in the kitchen and with my pen, and figure it’ll take at least a full season cycle to complete my work. Then I'll finally give it book form.

So here goes! Do hope you'll follow along through the weeks and seasons.

UNDRESSING VEGETABLES : an unfolding book of recipes

INTRODUCTION : a bit about my journey

It all started back one day in 1962 when my mother came home toting a Challenger juicer. Before I knew it I had a glass of fresh carrot juice, almost neon orange, in my hand. Do I remember the initial sensation as I took the first sip? Suffice it to say my mouth was aflame with a tale of tastes and sensations theretofore unknown, and I rapidly became a fan.

Then followed cashew butter and whole wheat bread—out with the Wonder loaf. Butter took the place of Margarine, Crisco disappeared from our chocolate chip cookie dough. As for our breakfast cereal, Swiss muesli—the raw stuff—became a staple. Although I do remember the first time I put a milky spoonful of it in my mouth. I was home sick and, playing up my woeful state, pleaded my mom to bring me a late morning snack of sugary cereal, you know Frosted Flakes, Sugar Pops and the like. She obliged, arrived at my bedside and handed me a bowl, which I greedily took. Looking down I saw something quite unfamiliar and gave her a querying glance. "Muesli,” she said, assuring me it was quite delicious. I almost spit the first spoonful across the room: a sensation of straw or wood chips suddenly filled my mouth and, mind you, it was completely void of that usual “onslaught” of sweetness. I did grow to love that totally raw cereal, still quite artisan at that time: its texture, the subtle yet lingering flavors.

There were also the huge raw salads my mother started preparing: fresh broccoli, carrots, green beans, green onions, cauliflower, apple, surely sunflower oil—not yet extra-virgin—and lemon juice. We’d all pitch in cutting and tossing and before long there’d be a mountain of earthy goodness to dig into.

Why this sudden change in our diet? My mother had been diagnosed with cancer. Now being a born-again Christian who took the words of the Bible at face value—“by my stripes you are healed”—she had elected to let Jesus heal her, and never returned to her gynecologist, who had wanted to schedule an operation. She saw "no reason to cut out those good organs that have served me so well," as she later told me. She had given birth to 6 rambunctious kids.

Through a dear German friend and fellow Christian she was introduced to a physician, Dr. Pfleuger, who had immigrated to the States from Germany and was treating cancer patients in his Los Angeles home with “diet,” convinced, as we're other doctors and medical researchers from across the seas, such as Catherine Kousmine, of the connection between a healthy diet and the remission of cancer.

Whether it was her faith, her will, the carrot juice and raw salads, a slight misdiagnosis, a spontaneous regression, or a mixture of them all, she is alive today and as feisty as ever, not having stepped foot into a doctor’s office again until well into her eighties.

The upshot of this bit of familial history is that my siblings and I, from an early age, became converts of healthy eating. Indelible the impressions of all those brilliant, complex flavors and the stories they tell that impregnated our taste buds and memory.

Plucking another memory from those sifting, shifting sands of childhood, churning with its endless discoveries. Up until the age of 7, I was simply ignorant of where the vegetables served to me at mealtime came from, city kid that I was. Or I had just never thought about it. Well one day the question bounced into my mind and came straight out of my mouth. My mother's reply came as quite a shock, leaving me teetering as I tried to grasp the fact that all those carrots, onions, potatoes, broccoli, green beans, sweet peas that I ate were grown in dirt, harvested from it. Wasn't dirt dirty? The idea of fertile soil burgeoning with microscopic bacterial life was nowhere in my mental landscape. I remember wandering out to the lawn and positing myself in front of the large landscaped planter gorging with succulents, cactus and the like that lined the facade of our house. And there I had a talk with the dirt. Perhaps our chat reassured me that all was in order, the natural order of things, or it just suddenly didn't seem like such a radical—even disgusting—bit of reality, as I do recall making piece with the concept. I think I even brought a pinch of dirt up to my mouth and tasted it—the beginning of my understanding of "terroir."

Stride forward a few years to when I was 18 and had just moved into my first apartment, a little studio with windows round like those of a ship's, beautiful wooden paneling from floor to ceiling, like a captain's quarters, an open kitchen and the waves of the Pacific just across the lane and a slight strand of ocean sand called Sunset Beach that snuggled up to Santa Monica.

After moving in I dutifully went to the supermarket for a big shopping then got to stirring up my very first dinner on my own. I remember frying up a choice cut of meat I had chosen to inaugurate this propitious moment. Sitting down to dig in I put the first bite into my mouth. Ohhh, the sudden swell of blood!

Now I don't recall my mind—or palate—having ever questioned the practice of eating meat at home around the table with my 5 siblings and mother. In fact I was most often the one doing the cooking. Was it family ritual, the scents and flavors of food underpinning it; the already braying commotion of life together and not wanting to rock the boat; the being one of a unit and wanting to do my part to hold it together that had never brought to my senses the slightest questioning of eating meat? I imagine so.

But that night on my own something seemed suddenly awry. I put my fork down and that was for the most part the end of my life as a carnivore. It was also the end of supermarkets on the whole—I thank my mother's influence for that! I began shopping at the small "hippie" health food stores scattered here and there around the beachfront—when organic was still a “suspicious” word—and eating organically and I've never stopped.

Now all this healthy eating was wonderful, but it was also that summer that I decided to "go on a diet” though there was absolutely no need for any such regime. I was one skinny lady, having been blessed with quite a fiery metabolism, and I could—and did—eat large amounts of food without gaining an ounce. My "diet" was actually something more psychological: anorexia would be the term. It consisted of a couple three peaches a day, a program I faithfully followed for a couple weeks, quite proud of my willpower and accomplishment. Preening in front of the mirror, I was more than pleased at what I saw—or imagined I saw.

It was then I went off on a weekend to the Russian River with friends. There was an 8-mm camera among the bunch of us and a short film was shot of our frolicking, which was screened the following week in my apartment. Gathered around the portable screen (or was it a hung white sheet) the lights went out and the film filled our vision. I was having a great laugh with the others at our cavorting until suddenly there I appeared, center screen. I was so taken by aback, stunned, completely aghast at the image of myself: emaciated, almost skeletal. I hadn’t prepared for such a viewing in my mind’s eye and it was a stark wake up call. So stark that any further intent at anorexic behavior was expelled from my being.

Not that I was over the hump regarding my sense of self—or lack thereof—which surely was at the bottom of my behavior, and thus the relationship to my body and self image, and likewise to food. Emotional wounds run deep. I simply shifted from one eating disorder to another: bulimia. And I found myself increasingly caught up in an impelling cycle of binging and purging that lasted into my early thirties.

I’ll never forget the day I finally triumphed over it. That morning I woke up deeply frustrated, utterly distressed at my inability to control the impulse to stuff my belly, my body, my “self.” It was shopping day, time to stock the fridge for the week. Well this time I was determined not to fall prey to binging, as was the case after each big excursion to the market; once I’d put everything away, I’d start right in gorging.

As I crawled out of bed I made a pact with myself: I resolved this time to control myself, to overcome the intensity of the urge to eat. I got dressed for the day and off I went to Mrs. Gooch’s, my natural food store of predilection, joyously filling my cart with fresh produce, my favorite dairy items, honey, nut butter and the like.

Back home, I attentively emptied my shopping bags, consciously placing each item in its place. But no sooner had I finished than I crumbled, overpowered, as by a powerful tide, by the “need” to gorge. Before I knew it I was licking almond butter from a knife, ripping open a package of crackers, lifting the lid off of the cottage cheese. Then a spring broke: boing! A fury flooded me. My voice flew from my chest in hurling, blood-curdling screams. I began to dance a bestial dance of trance, flinging cottage cheese on wall and carpet, frenetically smearing it on my my body, lathering my hair with it, honey, almond butter, any food substance at hand. Crushed crackers flew through the air, falling like pattering rain to the ground. And I stomped and I howled and I “burned the house down.” I have no idea how long this went on, thirty seconds, a minute, two at most, though it seemed like an eternity. Time had disappeared; I had entered a vortex.

When I came back to my senses, I was purged—yes—and haggard, dizzy, trembling, sobbing. The house looked as though it had been through a cataclysm, as did I dressed in a lather of sticky, oily, greasy foods. It's a wonder no one called the police; it must have sounded like someone was being murdered. Perhaps in a sense that is what went on. But what was murdered—or exorcised—was a force that had held me prisoner for so long.

It took time to weave together a healthy relationship with food, with eating, with nourishing myself. That's where France comes in the picture. In 1980 I took off for the City of Lights, my guitar in stow. Over the months I lived there I “discovered” a culture of food and table that would bit by bit become a precious aid in my learning how to eat, how to savor what was on my plate—not difficult given the amazing fresh produce and artisan products of French cuisine back then—how to sensibly nourish my body and spirit, and take away from the table a sensation of healing satiety. What a blessing!

Finally came a trip to Italy a year or so later. Genoa to be exact. I don't know what it was in the air, in the landscape, in the Genoese attitude and manners, but I couldn't get away from this image of dirt under each person's fingernails, embedded in the lines of their hands. Something so earthy, so robust, so simple inhabited their culture. Perhaps because Italian culture is so connected to its regional and rustic cuisines and thus to the humble earth and its greens and roots, bulbs and fruits...

Invited for dinner to the home of my Italian friend one evening, I stood in the kitchen talking with his mother and watching her make a salad. Mounds of succulent lettuce leaves she dressed by simply drizzling them with olive oil—that excellent Ligurian stuff—gently tossing to coat them before adding a splash of good wine vinegar and a sprinkle of salt. It was simply exquisite! Simply humble. Simply dressed—or was it simply undressed.

Which brings me to the present and my simply wanting to undress vegetables, to give them their noble, humble nakedness. Let them tell their story unadorned. What better way to nourish the body, to nourish a connectedness with the earth, to nourish the spirit.

See you next week!

bay area cooking class, berkeley, march 8 — plus "zuppa di ceci e farro" recipe

2015-01-27T11:47:00.000+01:00

Interested in stirring up some scrumptious seasonal vegetable dishes? In Berkeley, CA? On March 8? Would love to have you join in! Flyer below...

Now at my Berkeley class we won't be stirring up this lovely and rustic and simple zuppa di ceci e farro [chickpea 'n farro soup], whose recipe and "stunning" photo you'll find down below. But no reason you can't scramble out into your kitchen and stir it up on your own one of these yet dusky evenings still harboring winter's breath.

And leave it to those clever and resourceful Italian contadine to have thought to marry the humble likes of pulses and grains, beans and pasta—for the sake of necessity—tuning their union into wonderfully nourishing, satiating-to-your-belly, and "story-telling"-on-your-palate dishes.

Of course it all starts with il soffritto [if you prefer, mirepoix in French]: a mixture of finely diced carrots, onion and celery, in its simplest form, gently sautéed for a spat of time. Gentle being the secret here so as to coax from the vegetables their innermost fragrance, all the while persuading them to surrender to translucence and tenderness. Therein lies the fragrant foundation to many an Italian dish. The big no no in Italian kitchens is to let your soffritto start browning... that brings pouts and the end of any sweet fragrance.

zuppa di ceci e farro

ZUPPA di CECI e FARRO :: serves 4 - 6
variation on una ricetta shared by Maurizio Tuliani [specialist of medieval history]

200 gr | 7 oz dried chickpeas [garbanzo beans]
150 gr | 5.25 oz farro [einkorn—triticum monococcum, if possible, otherwise emmer—triticum dicoccum]
8 - 10 gr | 0.3 oz kombu [edible kelp]
60 gr | 2 oz red onion, finely diced
60 gr | 2 oz carrot, finely diced
60 gr | 2 oz celery with a few tender leaves, finely diced
2 - 3 garlic cloves, cut in half, sprout removed, very coarsely chopped
300 gr sweet green cabbage [pointed cabbage, Loirent cabbage—exquisite, savory cabbage, chou de Pointoise], the ribs removed, the leaves thinly sliced lengthwise
7 tasty black pepper corns, very coarsely ground [best done with a mortar 'n pestle]
1 fresh bay leaf
1 sprig fresh rosemary
1 sprig fresh sage
Extra virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt
Ground cinnamon

||| Soak the chickpeas over night. Rinse, generously cover with fresh water in a large pan, cover and bring to a boil. Lower the heat, add the bay leaf and cook covered anywhere from 40 - 90 minutes or more, depending on your chickpeas. Add the kombu approx 20 minutes before the end of the cooking time and, with the lid a bit ajar, continue to cook at a very slight simmer, until the chickpeas are quite soft. Add more water if needed, you'll be in need of that cooking water. Remove the kombu and set aside. Add a few generous pinches of sea salt to the chickpeas and set aside in their cooking water.

||| Soak the farro, if not pearled, for 8 hours. Rinse, bring to a boil in water to slightly cover and cook for approx 30 minutes—the grains should be al dente. Season with sea salt to taste and set aside in the cooking water. [If your farro is pearled, follow the directions on the package.]

||| Pat the kombu dry and cut into bite-sized pieces.

||| Sauté the onion, carrot and celery [il soffritto], along with the sprigs of rosemary and sage in a generous couple drizzles of olive oil over medium-low heat for 10 - 15 minutes, until the onion is translucent, stirring frequently—so as not to let the onions burn. Add half of the chopped garlic for the last couple of minutes. Discard the rosemary and sage sprigs and transfer to a plate.

||| Drain the chickpeas, returning the cooking water to the pan. Set one third of the chickpeas aside whole. Pass the other two thirds through a food mill and return to the cooking water [or use an immersion blender directly in the cooking water]. Add il soffritto, the whole chick peas, farro, ground pepper and cook at a low simmer for 10 - 15 minutes. Add a ladle or two or three of water or vegetable broth if the mixture seems dry—you're looking for a creamy consistency here. Add a pinch or two more of salt if needed.

||| While the soup is simmering, heat a drizzle of olive oil—in a cast iron skillet if possible. Add the kombu and cook over medium heat until turning crisp, 10 or so minutes. Add the other half of the chopped garlic a couple minutes before the end; it should also crisp up. Season with a pinch of sea salt. At the same time, sauté the cabbage leaves in a generous drizzle or two of olive oil and a couple splashes of cold water over medium-high heat until lightly browning, 7 or so minutes. Immediately season with sea salt.

||| Place a couple ladles of soup in each bowl. Give a very light sprinkle of ground cinnamon. Garnish with the cabbage then the kombu-garlic mixture. Give a generous drizzle or two of olive oil to each bowl of soup and serve.

note : no need to discard the cabbage-leaf ribs, cook 'em up nice and soft in water to cover, pass 'em through a food mill and return to the cooking water. Season with a slight pinch of sea salt and a drop or two of olive oil, and sip it on down—just to keep your motor nicely running.

soffritto

zaleti—or gialletti—according to Artusi

2014-09-17T15:43:00.003+02:00

Now here's a favorite sweet little recipe of mine: zaleti or zalleti or zaletti or zaèti... even gialletti, as named by Pellegrino Artusi's in his "manual" La Scienza in Cucina e l'Arte di Mangiar Bene: a joyous compilation of recipes from the many regions of Italy published by Artusi himself in 1891, having found no takers in the publishing world. Of course today it can be found in just about every Italian kitchen.

Zaleti is one of those innumerable simple, scrumptious Italian dolcetti. Chocked full of cornmeal, this quite antique recipe hails from the Veneto region (they love their polenta up there) and is traditionally served during Carnavale, a glass of Prosecco della Valdobbiadene quite often within reach. Not for the light hearted: they are rich, intense and quite yellow (giallo).

Speaking of cornmeal—or polenta or farina di mais or farina di grano turco—there are Italian artisan offerings that are beautifully whole grain and stone milled, made from Marano, a cultivar of corn with reddish-orange cobs—known for its distinctive "polenta" flavor, aroma and texture: hearty, deep and creamy—that hails from the same Veneto region, selectively breed back in the early 1900s. I've grown quite partial to cooking with these whole-grain Italian farina di mais, bringing them back from Italy on my not-often-enough trips there or stocking up on them here in Paris at my favorite Italian épicérie.

There's whole-grain farina di mais "bramata"—a fine cornmeal—full of lovely reddish-brown speckles. I bought a bunch of it from Azienda Agricola Lorentoni in Spoleto on my last visit. Then there's whole-grain farina di mais "rustica"—a much coarser cornmeal—also full of lovely reddish-brown speckles, from Tenuta Castello in the provence of Vercelli, Piedmonte, which Alessandra stocks on the shelves of her wonderful—and my favorite—Italian épicérie RAP in Paris' 9th arrondissement though you'd think you'd just stumbled into it off a winding narrow cobblestone street in some remote Italian village.

In the States, Bob's Red Mill carries a whole-grain cornmeal, though probably not ground from Marano corn. And here's a list from Gourmet of Italian markets in NY that might carry something akin. Perhaps also Eataly, though on their website I found only a polenta with mushrooms and truffles in the mix.Tenuta Castello seems to have a shop on line option. Tibiona is another site in Italy that sells lovely farina di mais. Perhaps Rainbow Grocery in San Francisco.... and I'm sure with a bit of sleuthing, there are many more possibilities.

A little side here... for anyone of French persuasion, here's a petition that truly deserves to be signed: pour un nouveau statut juridique de l'animal.

And now without further ado...la ricetta.


— zaleti made with fine whole-grain stone milled corn flour — zaleti made with coarse whole-grain stone milled corn flour — farina di mais rustica from Tenuta Castello

ZALETI alla “Artusi” - makes 15 - 20
adapted from on a recipe in: la Scienza in cucina e l’Arte di mangiar bene by Pellegrino Artusi (one of many variations on the subject)

300 gr || 10.5 oz fine, medium or coarse ground corn meal (depending on the crunch you want)
150 gr || 5.3 oz unbleached white flour (in France, I use T65 or T80—see below || or substitute brown rice flour for a gluten-free version)
150 gr || 5.3 oz blond cane sugar (if you wish it a bit less sweet, try 125 gr)
200 gr || 7 oz unsalted butter, just out of the refrigerator (or 100 gr butter + 75 ml extra-virgin olive oil, or 165 ml olive oil)
100 gr || 3.5 oz Sultana raisins
Grappa (or white rum)
2 eggs
50 gr || 1.75 oz almonds, blanched and slivered lengthwise
Zest of 1 lemon
Pinch of salt

||| Soften the raisins in a bit of Grappa for 30 minutes. Strain and squeeze the raisins dry.
||| Preheat the oven to 180 ˚C (375 ˚F)
||| Mix together the two flours along with a pinch of salt. Cut the butter into small pieces and incorporate completely into the flour with your hands, rubbing the mixture between them until "sandy". If using olive oil, start by stirring it in then let your hands take over, always striving for that sandy texture, not clumped together.
||| Whisk together the egg and sugar until turning pale yellow and fluffing a bit. Stir into the flour mixture. Add the raisins, lemon zest and almond slivers.
||| Form into small balls (the size of a golf ball or smaller if you wish) and flatten out slightly on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, giving a bit of breathing room between each ball—they don't spread much.
||| Bake in the oven approx 15 minutes, until turning golden. Gently transfer to a rack to cool. Can be kept in a glass jar for a week... maybe a bit more.

notes:
— If substituting brown rice flour and using butter add an extra 20 gr || 0,7 oz. If using olive oil add an extra 10 ml.
— If substituting olive oil, let the final mixture sit for 15 minutes so the cornmeal can soak it up, which it will, making a firmer "ball-rolling" dough.
— I never buy blanched almonds; it's really quite easy to blanch them yourself. inevitably they'll be fresher and tastier. Here's how to proceed: Drop into a pan of boiling water for 1 minute seconds. Drain and let cool just long enough to be able to handle. Squeeze the fat end of each almond between your fingers, holding the palm of your other hand out in front to catch it.
flour:
— In France there are many flour "types," each determined by the ash or mineral content (or amount of bran) in the flour. T45 is white-white pastry flour—found in all your favorite croissants; T55 is all purpose flour—in all those "airy" white French baguettes; T65 is just slightly dark (or "grey") and is used in the baguette tradition; T80 is a bit darker and could be called "half-wheat" flour; T110 is darker yet, and finally T150 is wholemeal or whole wheat flour. The higher numbered flour types are traditionally used for specialty breads.

upcoming "come get some dirt under your nails" workshops

2014-06-30T14:51:00.001+02:00

On the heels of our April 2014, first edition "Come Get Some Dirt Under Your Nails" cooking workshop in Provence, Giuseppina of Venice in Provence Cooking School in Goult and myself of la Cucina di TerrESa in Paris are putting together a new series of culinary workshops at Giuseppina's cooking school in Goult, in Provence over the coming seasons.

We'll be wandering again in nature, learning more about wildcrafting, forever admiring the flowers and wild herbs. Foraging for ever more wild edibles and turning all their earthy goodness into yet more amazing meals. And we'd love for you to join us and "come get some dirt under your nails" during one of our workshops!

— Saturday, October 11 - Friday, October 17, 2014
Baskets of wild mushrooms, autumn squash, roots and chicories

— Saturday, 29 November - Friday, December 5, 2014
Nosing for truffles

— Tuesday, January 20 - Saturday, January 24, 2015
Olive harvest, "new" olive oil

— Saturday, March 21 - Friday, March 27, 2015
Gathering wild spring edibles: leaf and flower and stem

Our cooking classes are centered around wildcrafting and local seasonal produce, featuring seasonal dishes that "celebrate the vegetable kingdom”—though classes are not strictly vegetarian: upon request a simple meat or fish dish can be included in mealtime menus, but will not be part of the recipes taught. All dishes taught are inspired by Provençal and regional Italian cuisine, as well as our own creative seasonal additions.

Please scroll down for information on the school, teachers, what's included, prices and payment, etc.

For more information on specific workshops, as well as for bookings, please contact Giuseppina or Terresa.

The Venice in Provence cooking school is located in the village of Goult. Perched on the top of the hill, it offers a magnificent view of the surrounding mountains and villages. It comes complete with an authentic Provençal garden and meandering olive grove. Goult is a charming village situated between Gordes, Menerbes and Bonnieux, in the centre of what is known as the “Golden Triangle.”

A bit off the beaten path, it has managed to preserve its authentic village life. The Café de la Poste, just off the town square, is where locals and visitors alike meet. English newsprint is on sale inside. The main street, rue de la Republique, is lined with small boutiques: a brocante, wine shop, corner food store, butcher, baker…

I'll be teaching these workshops with Giuseppina Mabilia, at her cooking school in Goult. Here's a bit about her, in her own words :

"I was born near Venice: my roots, my culture, everything I am comes from there. I stumbled on Provence some years ago, fell in love with the land and I decided to stay. That brought on a real change to my life.
My greatest passion has always been cooking. One day someone asked if I could cook for them during their holidays. That’s how my story began. Today I'm a well-known personal chef in the Luberon and I’d love to share with you everything I’ve learned and experimented through these years: cooking delicious, elegant and tasteful recipes that highlight the gorgeous ingredients of the region with a touch of Italian lifestyle. I’m also very engaged in using local ingredients. My primary sources for food are local farmers, les marchés paysans, and what I call “my supernatural market:” wildcrafting in nature.

As for me, Terresa, I'm always on a mission to undress vegetables, which I've been doing since 2008 during my vegetable cooking classes in my cozy kitchen in Paris, where wanderlust brought me many a year ago.
If you've been following my blog, you know that for me it's all about coaxing the sublime flavors from the local produce I procure from marketplaces across the city and mingling them with other artisan ingredients—as close to their pristine selves as possible—to create delightful dishes of layered textures, savors and colors that will sing on the plate and palate. Nothing too fancy, as “down-to-earth” is my touchstone, reflected in the inspiration I draw from the inventive flare of Italy's rustic regional cuisine and its many medieval recipes that I've gleaned over the years.

Prices and payment :
— Tuition is 1850 euros per person. A 40% non-refundable deposit is required at the time of reservation. Classes are limited to 8 students. If we must cancel the program for any reason, we will refund all fees and deposits in full. Related travel costs will not be reimbursed.

— Paypal is our preferred method of payment, as it is both safe, easy to use, and allows for payment in your local currency. A request for payment will be sent to you through Paypal at the time of your registration.

What's included :
— 1 to 2 cooking classes each day.
— Outings each day (wildcrafting, farmers’ markets, artisan cheese producers, natural wine vineyards). We will have a mini-bus at our disposal for these excursions so that we can all travel together.
— All lunches and dinners except for one evening, which will be a free night for participants to do as they wish.
— Café-croissant breakfasts in the local bistrot
— Beverages (mineral water, coffee, tea, herbal tea) during the classes. Natural wine from the Luberon and Ardéche regions with all meals, specifically chosen for each menu.
— Recipes from the classes in PDF form, list of the wines and related links, as well as any information gleaned throughout the week to be sent in a follow-up email to the class.

— Pick up and drop off at the Avignon TGV train station if coming by train from Paris. There will be one pick up and drop off scheduled for each workshop (train information sent upon reservation).
— For those arriving on earlier or later trains, there is bus service from the TGV station to Goult. Tickets are 2 euros (bus information and schedule sent upon request), with pick up at the bus stop in Goult.
— For those preferring to rent a car, there are rental agencies at the TGV train station, as well (driving directions to the cooking school sent upon request).

What’s not included :

— Train tickets to the Avignon TGV train station.
— Lodging for the week. Upon reservation, a list of accommodations in the village (B&Bs, hotels, small apartments) will be sent to you, as well as any further information needed to help make booking as simple as possible.

Legal liability :

— Students must sign a legal waiver (standard to the industry) upon arrival freeing Giuseppina, Terresa and their staff from any legal liability. We assume no liability for injury, delay, inconvenience, irregularity, loss or damage to person or property or additional cost resulting directly or indirectly from the following causes: fire, acts of government, thefts, delays, cancellations or for any other events over which we have no control.
— No refunds will be given for any excursions or meals a participant misses or decides not to take.

Travel Insurance :

— We recommend that you purchase separate travel insurance in the event you must cancel your trip, as well as accident and health insurance, baggage and personal effects loss or damage.

wedding fare en Haute Provence

2014-06-19T11:45:00.002+02:00

Just back from a wedding en Haute Provence. Weather like you might dream of. Landscape like you might dream of. Love like you might dream of. Old friends, new friends like you might dream of. Bref... a precious celebration of the union of two dear souls.

I arrived, of course, with bags full of kitchen goods and ingredients that were met by crates of freshly picked vegetables from a neighboring farm, and spent a delightful day cooking up many a savory nibble for the reception feast. And this with the indispensable help of a wonderful group of jolly women, hands eager to the tasks I administered—hopefully with gentle sway.

There were mounds of almonds to be blanched, mounds of beet greens to be wilted, mounds of cherry tomatoes to be cut in half, mounds of carrots and zucchini to be diced, mounds of walnuts to be cracked, mounds of garlic to be chopped, mounds of Borlotto beans from Basilicata to be soaked and slowly cooked, mounds of fresh herbs to be leafed, mounds of flour to be rubbed with olive oil, kneaded into a fine dough and rolled out into even finer sheets. Polenta to be stirred and stirred and stirred, Parmigiano-Reggiano to be grated, and so on...

Last to be called to life was focaccia, which had to be cooked in an oven a few paces up the road just as the guests were arriving from the wedding ceremony. By the time I returned with the first pipping-hot batch, most everything else had literally been inhaled. I'd planned on photographing for posterity the many dishes... In the end I managed snapping a few shots of les restes (the leftovers). Actually I found quite titillating to the eye the concluding haphazard arrangement of the plates and bowls of much devoured nibbles.

I promised to send the gals who rolled up their sleeves with me in the kitchen the various recipes we spun into existence. Thought I'd share them here with you, as well.

recipes in previous posts :

roasted almond-green olive medley :: smoky carrot soup w/ goat cheese toasts :: focaccia :: rocciata con l'erbe

recipes down below :

fresh shell bean salad :: polenta squares w/ zucchini-lemon chutney

A word about the Borlotti (also known as cranberry) beans I cooked up. Alessandra, a dear woman with a heart of gold and as generous as is her passion for all things truly earthen, owns and runs a tiny Italian boutique—the type you'd stumble into in an off-the-beaten-path village anywhere in Italy—RAP Paris, stocked from floor to ceiling with the most delectable artisan fare from every region, nook and cranny in that gastronomic country (read David Lebovitz's post on her store.... I took him there one day to indulge in her vision and offerings).

L'épicerie RAP is just down the hill from Montmartre in the 9th arrondissement, and as I was in search of fresh shell beans for my spring/summer wedding salad, I paid her a visit thinking she might have a tip or two as to where I could find a few kilos—it not yet quite being shell-bean season. Alas, she could point me nowhere, but, it so happens, she did have a producer from Basilicata who had recently contacted her and was sending her off a few kilos of lovingly dried fagiolo borlotto from last year's harvest, still plump with moisture, and in tow a small bag of fagiolo tondino nero, a compact black heirloom bean bursting with flavor. If they arrived in time, she wanted me to take them down south the following week and test them for her. Well they did arrive on time, and I did take them down south, and I did test them for her, and they were absolutely marvelous. So fresh in their dried form that not one bean fell apart during cooking—which I did at a "heat-diffused" simmer and yet which took no time at all: the fresher the dried bean, the more moisture it contains, and the quicker it cooks—tout simplement.

The salad was of course a great success, each bean giving a burst of crunchy texture and creamy depth. I thank Alessandra from the bottom of my heart for her lovely gift!

FRESH SHELL-BEAN SALAD — serves 6 to 8

700 | 25 oz fresh shell beans, in shell : Borlotti, Michelet, Paimpol, or other… (or 400 gr | 14 oz dried beans)
1 FRESH bay leaf
1 garlic clove, slightly crushed
1 lemon
4 – 5 sprigs flat parsley
20 cherry tomatoes
1 celery heart, with light green leaves
1 small red onion
1 - 2 large handfuls fresh basil leaves
Unrefined coarse and fine sea salt and freshly ground pepper
Parmigiano-Reggiano shavings for garnish

||| Shuck the beans (best to soak in cold water for 4 – 6 hours). Drain and place in a large pan with water to cover by 3 cm | 1 inch. Add the garlic clove and bay leaf. Cover and bring to a boil then cook covered over low heat, at a light simmer, until nicely al dente, 15 – 25 minutes depending on the bean. Test at 15 minutes—they should have a “crunch” to them. Remove from the heat and add a couple pinches of coarse sea salt. Let sit for a minute, test for seasoning, add a bit more salt if necessary and let sit for another minute. Drain, remove the bay leaf and garlic then transfer to a large bowl. Add a couple generous drizzles of olive oil and gently stir. Add a couple squeezes of lemon juice and gently stir again. Let cool to room temperature. (If using dried beans, soak over night. Drain, rinse and transfer to the pan with water to cover by 6 cm | 2 inches. Add the garlic clove and bay leaf, cover and bring to a boil. Cook over very low heat (even using a heat diffuser), with the lid ajar, until al dente—check the directions on the package for an idea of the cooking time, though cooking with a heat diffuser will increase the time. Let stand in their cooking water for a good 10 minutes before draining.)

||| While the beans are cooking, zest the lemon. Chop the celery heart crosswise into thin slices, and the leaves into bite-sized pieces. Very thinly slice the red onion lengthwise. Cut the cherry tomatoes in half lengthwise. Coarsely chop the parsley. Add the vegetables, lemon zest and basil leaves to the beans when cool, and gently stir. Taste for seasoning, adding a bit more salt and/or lemon juice and/or olive oil if desired. Let sit for 30 minutes for the flavors to infuse.

||| Garnish with Parmigiano shavings, if desired. Give a few generous twists of the black pepper grinder and serve.

POLENTA SQUARES w/ ZUCCHINI-LEMON CHUTNEY — makes approx. 50 squares

note : This recipe uses traditional, not instant, polenta. I find the texture of the cooked traditional polenta to be far superior. If using the instant stuff, follow the cooking instructions on the package.

for the polenta :
200 gr | 7 oz traditional polenta (not instant)
800 ml cold water
Generous handful Parmigiano-Reggiano, freshly grated (optional)
Extra virgin olive oil
2.5 gr | 1/3 tsp unrefined sea salt
Zest of 1/2 lemon
1 sprig fresh thyme, leafed (flowering, if in spring or early summer)

for the "chutney" :
175 gr | 6 oz Gorgonzola
1 smallish zucchini (approx 175 gr | 6 oz) cut into small dice
50 gr | 1.75 oz walnuts o|oz (best if freshly cracked), coarsely chopped
1 lemon for curlicues
1 sprig fresh thyme, leafed (flowering, if in spring or early summer)
Extra virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

||| Scrub and dry the lemon. Using a vegetable peeler, remove the zest lengthwise in long strips. With a sharp paring knife, cut off any pith from the zest then slice lengthwise into very thin strips. (Feel free to use a citrus peeler.) Spread out in/on a thick- bottomed baking recipient and bake in the oven preheated to 100 ˚C (200 ˚ F), the door ajar, until the lemon strips begin to curl, 10 - 15 minutes. Shake the pan from time to time and keep a close eye… you don’t want them to begin to brown or dry out, they should remain soft. Cut each curlicue in half or thirds. (You can also cut the lemon strips the night before and just leave them spread out on a plate until morning. They will curl beautifully. Cover until ready to use later in the day. Can be kept in an airtight glass jar for 3 - 4 days.) Watch my youtube video...

||| Bring the 800 ml of cold water to a boil in a covered pan. Add the coarse sea salt and a slight drizzle of olive oil. Add the polenta in a slow, continuous stream, stirring constantly with a whisk to prevent lumps from forming. When the polenta returns to a boil, turn the heat to VERY low (best to use a heat diffuser over a small flame) and cook uncovered for 40 minutes, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon to keep a crust from forming on top, but avoid scraping up the bottom of the pan. If the polenta becomes too dry, add a small glass of hot water. At the end, add a drizzle of olive oil, the lemon zest, thyme leaves, and a generous handful of grated Parmigiano, if using. Stir well.

||| Line the large jelly roll pans (two should be enough) you'll be using for the polenta with parchment paper, brushing a smidge of olive oil underneath the paper to hold it in place. Pour in enough hot polenta to attain a heighth of 1 cm / 1/4 inch when spread out evenly—best done by brushing the top with olive oil. Set aside to cool for a good couple of hours, even over night in the refrigerator, just take out 2 hours before continuing the recipe.

||| Turn on the oven broiler.
||| Cut into 3,5-cm | 1.5-inch squares (a pizza cutter makes this step easy). Place a knob of Gorgonzola in the center of each square. Top with a four-finger pinch of the zucchini “chutney.” Broil on an oven rack placed 7 cm | 6 – 8 inches from the broiler, until the Gorgonzola is melting and the chutney golden-tipped, 5 – 7 minutes. Remove from the oven and season immediately with sea salt to taste. Let cool slightly then garnish with freshly ground black pepper, and perhaps a tiny pinch of sea salt, before serving.

time for tops : spring green tops

2014-05-19T18:19:00.003+02:00

If there's a time for tops—green tops : beet, turnip, radish, carrot and the like tops—it is spring ! The producers I frequent at my favorite marketplaces always see me coming and fill my bag with top from the fresh bunches of turnips, beets, etc. that most of their clients ask then to chop off. Into the trash they normally go—such a shame—when I am dearly fond of them ! So out of the trash they come and home with me to become erbazzone, soup, pesto... The very baby ones might get tossed into a salad.

Most recently I've been making something called rocciata, which I discovered while visiting a friend in Umbria. This traditional rustic recipe comes in two flavors: sweet and savory (both easily vegan). I'm sharing the savory one with you today; next week the sweet one. All rolled up inside a tender pastry dough, your spring green tops are right at home.

I find the concentrated taste of all those chlorophyll filled greens are wonderfully accompanied by a nice natural rosé wine, such as Jean-François Chéné's (la Coulée d'Ambrosia) Panier de fruits or Jean-Luc and Isabelle's (Domaine Jolly-Ferriol) Joly Rosé.

I recently read this article by Dan Barber, co-owner of Blue Hill, in the opinion pages of the NYTimes about "engaging in the nuts and bolts of true agricultural sustainability." Quite generous, eye-opening, humbling and inspiring...

ROCIATTA con l'ERBE – 4 to 8 persons
an adaptation...

dough :
200 gr unbleached pastry flour (or a mixture or unbleached and wholewheat)
45 ml extra virgin olive oil
100 ml warm water
10 gr Parmigiano, freshly grated (optional)

filling :
500 gr greens (any and all tops, Swiss chard, spinach, tender kale, dandelion, mustard... make up a seasonal mixture if you like)
1 lemon for zest
3 - 4 sprigs flat parsley, coarsely chopped
2 sprigs fresh mint, coarsely chopped (or wild fennel, cilantro, or whatever else might be in season and inspires you)
20 gr Parmigiano, freshly grated (optional)
1 small garlic clove (optional), cut in half, the sprout removed and coarsely chopped
Tiny pinch crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
Extra virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt

||| Sift the flour and a pinch of salt into a bowl. Add the Parmigiano, if using. Work the olive oil into the flour mixture. Add the warm water and stir to combine. (if not using Parmigiano, start with a bit less water, say 90 ml). The dough should be just shy of sticky. Pour out onto a floured surface and knead for a couple three minutes, until the dough is pliable and bounces back when you press your finger into it. Cover with a glass bowl and set aside for 30 minutes.

||| Wash your greens and shake them off a bit. Transfer to a large skillet, add a splash of water if needed—just enough to wet the bottom of the skillet. Cover and cook over medium-high heat until just wilted, 2 - 4 minutes, depending on the green, and turning the whole bunch once. (You'll probably need to do this in two batches.) Transfer to a calendar to drain then spread out to cool. When cool enough squeeze out any excess water and chop finely. (I never throw the drained or squeezed cooking water out... make for a great glass of "water" if you're thirsty, or as part of a broth.)

||| Preheat the oven to 180 ˚C (375 ˚F).
Heat a generous drizzle of olive oil in the skillet used for wilting the greens, rinsed out and dried. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes if using. Add the greens and cook over medium heat for a minute. Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the Parmigiano, if using, parsley, herbs, and a generous pinch of lemon zest. (If not using Parmigiano, add a good drizzle of olive oil to the mixture.)
Season with sea salt to taste. Stir to combine. Set aside.

||| Give the dough a couple kneads on a floured surface then roll out into a rectangle quite thin. (You can also cut the dough in half and make two rolls.) Spread the filling evenly over the surface, keeping it a bit in from the side edges and from one end. Gently roll up (not too tightly) keeping the overlapping end underneath. Pinch the side edges together and place the roll on a baking sheet (lined with a piece of parchment paper if you wish). Bake in the oven for approx 25 minutes, until turning lightly golden.

||| Let cool before slicing up. Garnish with freshly ground pepper. Pour a glass of natural rosé wine and enjoy !

spring harvest à Paris : strawberries—the littler gals

2014-05-19T10:43:00.000+02:00

The prized GARIGUETTE is a treat to behold in your mouth. An early French variety of strawberry, it starts showing up at marketplaces in Paris toward the end of April...mid-May, its presence exhaling spring in all her glory. The MARA des BOIS, a close "sister," follows on her heels and is available all summer. Both are sweet as can be, and petite... just a nibble the size of a caramel. A real delight in the world of "expanding" fruit: oranges will soon achieve the size of grapefruit, apples already have...presque. Apricots are on the way to taking over the dimensions of peaches which are themselves gaining on the territory of apples and so on. Seems they've even come up with a new hybrid of the Mara des Bois, half then again as large—Miss Charlotte—supposedly to replace the littler gal for its profitability. So much for sweetness being "in the little things of life." So get out there while you can and plop a few Gariguettes or Mara des Bois into your mouth !

cooking gnocchi of a spring day

2014-05-12T16:22:00.000+02:00

I made this festive dish of gnocchi with garden peas for a recent cooking class...to the delight of all. And in keeping with my tradition of trying to "waste nothing," I taught them how to cook the pods and turn them into a simple delicious purée, which I learned years ago from Toni Vianello, of l'Osteria fame (that great "hole-in-the-wall" Italian restaurant in the Marais, which he unfortunately sold).

We drank a lovely bottle of Epidote (100% Sauvignon blanc) from one of my favorite winemakers in the Loire Valley, Joel Courtault, full of sparkly mineral tones and soft fruit. It was a great accompaniment.

POTATO GNOCCHI with GARDEN PEAS - serves 8

1 kg potatoes (Charlotte, Russet, Bintje, Ditta—floury with minimum water content—not newly harvested as the sugars won't have had time to turn into starch with the result that your gnocchi will be gummy and even fall apart)

1 egg, lightly beaten

200 gr || 7 oz unbleached flour flour (T65 in France)

800 gr || 28 oz fresh peas in their pods

6 – 8 cloves fresh spring garlic

4 -5 spring red onions

10 – 12 fresh mint leaves

Zest of 1 lemon

1 FRESH bay leaf

Unrefined sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Extra-virgin olive oil

Parmigiano-Reggiano, freshly grated (optional)

||| Wash and zest the lemon. Spread the zest out on a plate to dry for 1 – 2 hours.

||| Shuck the peas and wash the pods. Set the peas aside. Place the pods in a pan. Add cold water to almost cover, place the lid and bring to a boil then cook uncovered at a gentle simmer for 20 minutes. Strain and set the cooking water aside. Pass the pods through a food mill and reserve the purée that collects under the sieve and in the bowl. Set aside—you'll be using a bit in the sauce, the rest can be seasoned with a pinch of salt, some good olive oil then warm spread on pieces of toast.

||| Preheat the oven to 200 ˚C (400 ˚F) and bake the potatoes in their skin until easily pierced with a knife (depending on size 0 – 60 minutes). Peel while hot and pass through a ricer into a large bowl.

||| Make a well in the center of the riced potatoes and add the beaten egg. Begin to gently mix, cutting with a wooden spatula from the edges inward, lifting as you go. The idea is not to “work” the dough, which turns it tough. Add small amounts of flour at a time, sifting it through a sieve and gently cutting it into the potatoes. The flour doesn’t need to be completely incorporated. Begin to test the dough for stickiness after having added 100 - 125 gr flour. The dough should be just shy of sticky—you don’t want it too dry. And not to worry if the first time you don't succeed...it does take a bit of getting acquainted with

||| Pour the dough out onto a floured surface and gently gather together into a seamless ball. Cut off a small portion of the dough (a good handful), form into a seamless baby ball then gently roll into a log (2.5-cm or 1-inch diameter) on a floured surface. Cut into 1-inch long pieces. Place each gnocchi on the backside of fork tings, press your index finger slightly into the center to create a little well and either rapidly roll it toward you down the tings or pick it up along the cut edges and press it slightly to curve it. The well helps the gnocchi cook more evenly and hold the sauce. Transfer to a piece of cardboard, small cutting board or flimsy baking sheet whose surface has been generously floured. Continue with the rest of the dough. Set aside to dry for 30 – 40 minutes. At this point you can either cook them immediately or place them in the refrigerator, covered with a kitchen towel, until ready to use. They will keep for 24 hours, but best cooked up the same day.

||| Put a large deep pan of water on to boil. When the water comes to a boil, generously salt (6 - 8 gr per liter or 1 heaping teaspoon per liter of water). When the water returns to a boil, add up to 20 – 30 gnocchi at a time (depending on the size of the pot). Gently stir the bottom so the gnocchi don’t stick to it or to each other. They are cooked when they float to the top, normally a couple minutes at most. Gently scoop them out with a slotted spoon or spider and place them on heated plates.

||| While the water is heating, thinly slice the onions crosswise—you can add a bit of the green tops, if you wish. Just before the water comes to a boil place the peas, onions and bay leaf in a skillet. Add the pea-pod cooking water. Cook over medium heat for 3 minutes. Drizzle in 60 ml || 4 tBsp olive oil and a couple spoonfuls of the pea purée. Cook for another minute. Add the mint leaves and give a stir then place the peas, along with a generous couple of tablespoons of the sauce around and on top the gnocchi. Garnish with a bit of grated or shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano and dried lemon zest. Give a couple three generous twists of the pepper grinder

VEGAN OPTION :

Leave out the egg, which will require adding a bit more flour, and sprinkle your gnocchi with this almond meal garnish :

||| Spread your leftover almond meal (from making almond milk) out on a large baking sheet. On a sunny day simply set out the sun, stirring from time to time to make sure the hot air reaches all the nooks and crannies. Count 3 – 4 hours for the meal to be completely dry. If there is no sun, place the baking sheet in the oven, preheated to 120 ˚C (250 ˚F), leaving the oven door ajar. Stir from time to time until completely dry, 3 to 4 hours. Place in a chopper or wide-bottom blender and grind into finer flour.

||| Heat a drizzle of olive oil in a skillet. Add the almond meal and cook until just beginning to take on a golden hue, stirring constantly. Transfer to a bowl and season with a bit of nutritional yeast and sea salt to taste. Let cool. Will keep in a glass jar in the refrigerator for 1 week, 2 at most.

spring seasonal harvest—may—garden peas in the pod

2014-05-12T14:59:00.000+02:00

The arrival of sweet GARDEN PEAS at marketplaces in Paris from May through July is always festive. As for me, I shuck them with delight over and over in my kitchen for weeks on end and eat them in raw in salads and soups, in buckwheat crepes, the traditional and srumptious Risi e Bisi rice dish that dates back to the Republic of Venice, with potato gnocchi even in a savory blancmange, to name just a few possible dishes.

There's something so delicate about their form, color, and the little jewels nested inside their pods yet they're fiercely nutritious, carrying all the abundant seasonal nutrients that call us back to life after winter's retreat. Best not to let them linger in your refrigerator; they much prefer us crunching on their savory goodness freshly harvested, as they rapidly begin to lose their nutritious sweetness.

spring seasonal harvest—may—tomatoes from Sicily

2014-05-06T12:24:00.002+02:00

i primi pomodori della stagione dalla Sicilia — a Parigi :: the first tomatoes of the season, up from Sicily...à Paris.
all that ripening plush red flesh ... yumm !! many will be the recipes to come, simple and succulent !

lemon curdin' in the mornin'

2014-05-05T16:54:00.002+02:00

Since I always have lemons (as well as oranges, limes, grapefruit, clementines and other : organic, mind you) naked, void of their skins, rolling around in the refrigerator or on the counter top in my kitchen—I'm crazy about citrus zest—I often turn their juice into a clear curd that I can spread on my morning toast… With a bit of nut butter (sesame, almond, hazelnut, sunflower, etc) thinly spread beneath, in the place of cow's milk butter—a good olive oil works lovely, as well—c’est tout simplement excellent.

I never juice a lemon or lime, eat an orange, grapefruit, clementine or other without first "undressing" it—why throw any of those precious goods out! Let's see... I either zest the fruit with my favorite citrus zester and use the zest, fresh or slightly dried, to enhance and add layering to my vegetable dishes; peel it into long strips with a vegetable peeler, cut off all the pith, slice lengthwise into thin thin slivers, lay them to out to dry and turn miraculously into lovely curlicues that add not only flavor and layering but also texture to many a dish (I have a video of this); peel it à vif, spread the peels out in the open air (or in very low heated oven, the door slightly ajar) to dry, filling a jar full of their colorful "petals" so as to be able to plunge my hand inside, come the desire, drop a few into a tea cup or mug, along with a bit of cardamom, cinnamon stick, fresh bay leaf, mint, rosemary... and steep up a refreshing gentle tisane; make a few precise incisions in the skin from top to bottom and carefully peel away the skin and pith, collect the peels in a jar I keep in the refrigerator over a few days until I have enough to make up a small batch of candied peels whose uses seem endless...

You can see why I always have a troop of naked citrus accumulating in my kitchen, and why I often must "do something" with all that cherished juice.

My solution is often to make a simple CITRUS CURD :
Any number of “naked” lemons, limes, oranges, grapefruit, or a mixture thereof—organic, of course
Light honey (clover, acacia, tilleul…)
Blond cane sugar
1 or two fresh bay leaves or a few thyme flowers

||| Juice the peeled citrus fruit. Strain the juice, if you wish though I don't. I even leave a few seeds for their pectin power. Weigh the juice. Transfer to a heavy-bottomed pan. Add the same amount in weight of a mixture of honey and blond cane sugar (1/3 honey, 2/3 sugar, or just cane sugar for a vegan variation) into the pan. Add the bay leaf or thyme now, if using them.

||| Bring to a boil and stir once to blend. Cook over medium-low heat, without stirring, until very syrupy. Once the bubbles that form on top become quite condensed, I check the consistency by tipping the pan or swirling the pan vigorously… if the bubbles rise up in a myriad of teeny tiny bubbles… you’re there. Pour into a bowl and skim off any foam that forms. Let cool and store in glass jar in the refrigerator. My curd has kept nicely that way for 2 months, even longer… when I’ve forgotten it at the back of the fridge or in the corner of a shelf.

note : here in France all but Valencia oranges disappear from the marketplace end of April... but the lemons from Sicily are in full bloom as spring settles in.

Some good info here on pectin and consistency.

Next item on the shopping list is one of those heavy duty “on steroids” stick blenders (or a Jazz Max from Belgium) so I can make my own nut butters… Since I’m already making my curd and, now, sourdough bread and have even started stirring up my own grain or nut milk, I might as well complete the picture.

Happy zesting !

spring—countryside—wine = luscious escapade

2014-04-25T18:47:00.000+02:00

I was mighty pleased when a couple three weeks ago I was asked to take two lovely women—a mother and daughter— for a jaunt to la Touraine in the Loire Valley. They had contacted me about going on one of my "day with a natural winemaker in the Loire Valley" excursions. What better way to usher in spring...
And I took them to the home and vineyards of my dear friend / magical winemaker Christophe Foucher and his small-scale domain la Lunotte that sits pretty on gentle hills just above the soothing, meandering river le Cher.

I picked up the gals at the Blois train station that Sunday and we drove south toward the le Cher and the village of Couffy on its southern bank. Eight hours later I navigated them back to the train station and they jumped on the train heading back to Paris... but over those eight hours—which passed like a flash—we cooked, sipped, tasted, wandered, ate, sipped again, wandered again, laughed and shared a whole lot. Much about living, naked, natural wine—nothing added, nothing taken away. Much about food—whole food from the harvest of the season, from the hands of artisans, from the hearts of passionate folk.

Let's see the menu that day was : farinata topped with green asparagus, carrots, red onion, fresh mint—beautifully plump stuffed artichokes, recipe down below—tarte tatin.

For nibbles we had a truly artisan goat cheese from the ferme-auberge la Lionnière just down the road. François and Françoise are the last in the region—and beyond—to let their goats roam free on beautiful stretches of land. Goat cheese that's simply excellent.

And of course to go with our little feast, many a bottle of Christophe's wine : Bulottes (100 % gamay), lightly sparkling—les Rossignoux (100% sauvignon blanc)—les Petites Vignes (100% aamay)—le Haut Plessis (100% menu pineau)—les Ormeaux (100% gamay)—la Flou (100% cabernet franc)—Brin de paille (late harvest sauvignon).

We visited his two cellars: one in the village of Châteauvieux, a stone's throw away, where he keeps his older vintages, and the other—le chai—in the building adjacent to his house, where he ferments, ages, and eventually bottles his recent vintages. And of course we wandered his vineyards, the vines already sending out baby emerald-green leaves. Another cycle underway... the sent of lilacs in the air was a sure sign that spring had sprung.

The sun was tipping toward the horizon, so I headed back to the train with my two dear women... and an extra bit of baggage : an old vine stalk that had given up the ghost and been pulled out of a row of vines. It seemed to inspire. It certainly had tales to tell.

And I'll leave it to the pictures below to tell a bit more the story of our day with a natural winemaker in la Touraine... in the Loire Valley.

morning café—lilacs

se mettre à la tâche

la main à la pâte

bon travail... now time for a sip

spirits—savors—cock-a-doddle-doo

vines and sky

fields of colza—vine in hand—night falling

l'alchemiste

fumi—stuffed artichokes—le haut plessis

STUFFED ARTICHOKES - serves 4

= best in late spring, early summer then again in autumn

4 large artichokes
1 lemon for rubbing the artichokes
1 lemon for garnish, sliced or quartered

stuffing :

50 gr | 1.7 oz rice cake crumbs, broken into small pieces (or breadcrumbs)
2 generous handfuls of flat parsley, coarsely chopped
1 generous handful fresh mint leaves, coarsely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, peeled, halved, sprouts removed, and coarsely chopped
30 capers preserved in salt, rinsed well
70 gr | 2.5 oz Sultana raisins, softened in a bit of hot water and drained
40 gr | 1.4 oz walnuts, coarsely chopped
1 carrot, cut into small dice
20 – 30 green olives, cut into halves

50 gr | 1.7 oz Pecorino Sardo (or Parmigiano-Reggiano), freshly grated + some for garnish

Extra-virgin olive oil

Unrefined sea salt and freshly ground pepper

cooking liquid:

2 fresh bay leaves
Dry white wine + water, equal amounts
1 lemon cut into quarters (use the lemon preciously zested)
Pinch black peppercorns

||| Preheat the oven to 190 ˚C (375 ˚F).

||| Heat a drizzle of olive oil in a skillet. Add the rice cake crumbs, carrots, capers and olives. Stir for a few minutes over medium heat until the crumbs are lightly browned. Transfer to a bowl and mix in the rest of the stuffing ingredients, a drizzle of olive oil and a couple generous pinches of sea salt.

||| Working with one artichoke at a time, first cut off the top 2 cm | 1/2 inch of the leaves. Rub with a halved lemon. Pull off the tough outer bottom leaves. Cut the stem flat with the bottom of the artichoke and trim off any tough green. Rub with the halved lemon. Now with your hands, gently but firmly pull the top of the leaves outward from the center, opening wide the artichoke until you get to the middle cluster of thin purple leaves. Pull out what you can with your hands. Now take a sharp paring knife and cut down around the bottom edge of that cluster, trying not to cut into the heart—this should free the cluster and you should be able to easily pull it out. Then with a large sturdy spoon, scrape out the choke; making sure to get the choke from up under the ridge. Rinse with water then squeeze in a bit of lemon juice and swirl around inside. Shake out any excess.

||| Tightly stuff each artichoke with the rice cake mixture. Drizzle a generous amount of olive oil over the top of the stuffing. Place the stuffed artichokes in a baking dish—one that just holds the artichokes. Place the lemon quarters, peppercorns and bay leaves around the artichokes and fill the baking dish with equal amounts of white wine and cold water to measure a good 1-inch deep. Cover with parchment paper than tightly with aluminum foil. Bake in the oven for about 1 hour (the artichokes are done when the tip of a sharp knife easily pierces the heart). 5 minutes before they are cooked, remove the aluminum foil and parchment paper. Garnish with grated Pecorino and return to the oven for it to melt.

||| Let cool for 10 – 15 minutes before serving. Cut each in half, leaving the heart intact. Spread slightly open and shower with freshly ground black pepper. Place a slice of lemon on each plate and serve.

note : if you wish to make a VEGAN variation, you can substitute 30 gr | 1 oz of white quinoa for the Pecorino. Rinse your quinoa a few times under running water over a bowl then drain. In a small pan bring 60 ml of water to a boil. Add the quinoa and a pinch of sea salt. Cover, lower the heat and cook at a simmer for 13 - 15 minutes—all the water should be absorbed. Remove from the heat. Fold a kitchen towel in four place over the pan then cover with the lid. Set aside for 15 minutes. Transfer to a bowl, fluff up with a fork and stir in a 1 - 2 teaspoons of nutritional yeast

come get some dirt under your nails in the Luberon : April 26 - May 2, 2014

2014-02-14T15:27:00.000+01:00

Do you love Provence?
Do you love wandering in nature, admiring flowers and wild herbs?
Would you like to learn a bit of wildcrafting?
Learn to forage for wild edibles and how to turn all their earthy goodness into amazing meals?

Then "come get some dirt under your nails" in the Luberon
— from Saturday, April 26 - Friday, May 2, 2014 —

Five days of learning, cooking, eating, sipping, and much more with

Giuseppina of Venice in Provence Cooking School in Goult

and Terresa of la Cucina di TerrESa in Paris.

For more information and bookings please contact Giuseppina or Terresa.

———————————————— :: ——————————————————

What we'll be cooking :

Cooking classes will be centered around wildcrafting,

featuring dishes that "celebrate the vegetable kingdom” both wild and cultivated, but not strictly vegetarian.

Upon request a simple meat or fish dish can be included

in mealtime menus, but will not be part of the cooking classes.

All dishes taught will be inspired by Provençal and regional Italian cuisine, as well as our own creative additions.

Program : April 26 - May 2, 2014

Saturday, April 26
Arrival day. We’ll welcome you with a scrumptious dinner and an assortment natural wines from the region to compliment our meal.

Sunday, April 27
We’ll head off in the morning to the Coustellet farmer’s market, one of the best in the region, where you’ll meet local producers and learn how to choose the choicest fruits and vegetables from their seasonal offerings. We’ll return to the school and cook up a light lunch. You’ll have time for a short rest before heading out for our first wildcratfing trip.
Giuseppina will introduce you to her “secret gardens.” We’ll fill our baskets with wild vegetables and herbs. Then back for a late afternoon cooking class where you’ll learn how to transform the wild plants we’ve gleaned into a savory dinner.

Monday, April 28
The day will be dedicated to discovering and learning about natural wines. TerrESa will initiate you into the world of natural wine and share with you her knowledge of this fascinating, poetic world.
We’ll have lunch at La Tour Cassée, a typical bistro de pays, with great artisan fare. Then on to visit a couple natural winemakers to taste and procure our wines for the week. We’ll also visit an artisan cheesemaker and bring home an array of cheeses for dinner.
The evening cooking class will focus on how to improvise a savory dinner with “what’s at hand.” We’ll sip on some of the wines from our morning excursion and TerrESa will talk about paring natural wines with vegetable dishes.

Tuesday, April 29
We’ll start the day with a tour of the farmer’s market in the nearby town of Apt, visit a small farm or artisan goat’s milk cheese producer. Then a late morning cooking class and afternoon picnic (weather permitting).
The evening you’ll be free to get some rest, take a stroll around the village, and have dinner in one of the local restaurants.

Wednesday, April 30
We’ll start the day with a cooking class, preparing pasta, bread, pizza dough for Thursday’s gala dinner. After lunch we’ll spend the afternoon foraging then return to the kitchen for the 2nd portion of our cooking class and dinner.

Thursday, May 1
It’s market day in Goult! We’ll meet at 9 am at Café de la Poste, in the heart of the village, for a typical café-croissant breakfast then on to the marketplace to buy victuals for the day. We’ll take a tour of the village before heading back to the school to cook lunch.
You’ll have time for an afternoon rest before the evening cooking class where we’ll prepare an amazing “Italian Fiesta” for our last night together: antipasti of all sorts, delicious home-made pizzas, Italian sweets and more.

Friday, May 2
Five days have quickly come and gone. We’ve met people, made friends, learned many a culinary secret to add to our treasure of kitchen knowledge. It’s now time to bid each other farewell…
But beforehand we’ll have a last café-croissant at Café de la Poste then say arrivederci !

The school :

Located in the village of Goult, the school sits perched on the top of the hill, offering a magnificent view of the surrounding mountains and villages. It comes complete with an authentic Provençal garden and meandering olive grove. Goult is a charming village situated between Gordes, Menerbes and Bonnieux, in the centre of what is known as the “Golden Triangle.”

A bit off the beaten path, it has managed to preserve its authentic village life. The Café de la Poste, just off the town square, is where locals and visitors alike meet. English newsprint is on sale inside. The main street, Rue de la Republique, is lined with small boutiques: a brocante, wine shop, corner food store, butcher, baker…

The teachers :

Giuseppina Mabilia : I was born near Venice: my roots, my culture, everything I am comes from there. I stumbled on Provence some years ago, fell in love with the land and I decided to stay. That brought on a real change to my life.
My greatest passion has always been cooking. One day someone asked if I could cook for them during their holidays. That’s how my story began. Today I'm a well-known personal chef in the Luberon and I’d love to share with you everything I’ve learned and experimented through these years: cooking delicious, elegant and tasteful recipes that highlight the gorgeous ingredients of the region with a touch of Italian lifestyle. I’m also very engaged in using local ingredients. My primary sources for food are local farmers, les marchés paysans, and what I call “my supernatural market:” wildcrafting in nature.

Terresa Murphy : I'm on a mission to undress vegetables, which I've been doing since 2008 during my la cucina di terrESa cooking classes in my cozy kitchen in Paris, where wanderlust brought me many a year ago.
It's all about coaxing the sublime flavors from the local produce I procure from marketplaces across the city and mingling them with other artisan ingredients—as close to their pristine selves as possible—to create delightful dishes of layered textures, savors and colors that will sing on the plate and palate. Nothing too fancy, as “down-to-earth” is my touchstone, reflected in the inspiration I draw from the inventive flare of Italy's rustic regional cuisine and its many medieval recipes that I've gleaned over the years.

Price and payment :

— Tuition is 1850 euros per person. A 40% non-refundable deposit is required at the time of reservation. Classes are limited to 8 students.
— Paypal is our preferred method of payment, as it is both safe, easy to use, and allows for payment in your local currency. A request for payment will be sent to you through Paypal at the time of your registration.
— If we must cancel the program for any reason, we will refund all fees and deposits in full. Related travel costs will not be reimbursed.

What's included :

— 1 to 2 cooking classes each day.
— Outings each day (wildcrafting, farmers’ markets, artisan cheese producers, natural wine vineyards). We will have a mini-bus at our disposal for these excursions so that we can all travel together.
— All lunches and dinners except for Tuesday evening, which will be a free night for participants to do as they wish.
— Café-croissant breakfasts on Thursday and Friday
— Beverages (mineral water, coffee, tea, herbal tea) during the classes. Natural wine from the Luberon and Ardéche regions with all meals, specifically chosen for each menu.
— Recipes from the classes in PDF form, list of the wines and related links, as well as any information gleaned throughout the week to be sent in a follow-up email to the class.
— Pick up and drop off at the Avignon TGV train station if coming by train from Paris. There will be one pick up and drop off scheduled (train information sent upon reservation).
— For those arriving on an earlier or later train, there is bus service from the TGV station to Goult. Tickets are 2 euros (bus information and schedule sent upon request), with pick up at the bus stop in Goult.
— For those preferring to rent a car, there are rental agencies at the TGV train station, as well (driving directions to the cooking school sent upon request).

What’s not included :

— Train tickets to the Avignon TGV train station.
— Lodging for the week. Upon reservation, a list of accommodations in the village (BBs, hotels, small apartments) will be sent to you, as well as any further information needed to help make booking as simple as possible.

Legal liability :

— Students must sign a legal waiver (standard to the industry) upon arrival freeing Giuseppina, Terresa and their staff from any legal liability. We assume no liability for injury, delay, inconvenience, irregularity, loss or damage to person or property or additional cost resulting directly or indirectly from the following causes: fire, acts of government, thefts, delays, cancellations or for any other events over which we have no control.
— No refunds will be given for any excursions or meals a participant misses or decides not to take.

Travel Insurance :

We recommend that you purchase separate travel insurance in the event you must cancel your trip, as well as accident and health insurance, baggage and personal effects loss or damage.

"all things vegetable" cooking class series : Bay Area, CA—Feb 22 and 23, March 13

2014-02-07T19:54:00.001+01:00

So this is the time for my yearly "family-friend" visit to the States—Northern California, in particular—and as always, I've organized a few cooking classes in a few generously welcoming kitchens, to celebrate yet again the humble and noble earthiness of vegetables...as the seasons turn.

I'm holding a class in San Francisco, February 22, one in Berkeley, February 23, and in one in Sebastopol, March 13.
Would love to have you join us !!

Information about the classes are in the flyers down below. And to stir your taste buds, further below are photos of the dishes we'll be preparing.

Don't hesitate to write me for further information and to reserve a spot at the stove ! Hope to see you there ,—) Terresa

:: ——————————————————————————————————— ::

celery, black olive salad

spring farinata

spicy and smoky carrot soup

Swiss chard rolls

savory cabbage rolls


blancmange à la sicilienne

baci di dama

reflections on a wintery day

2013-11-25T17:01:00.001+01:00

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food information traveling across the web, so much so that it can immobilize me. The plethora of recipes, food tips, links, blog posts, tweets, pages, photos, star chefs, food trends, trendy addresses... I cannot fathom where one is to store or even make use of it all. My petite brain experiences it much as a feverish wave of commotion, spinning me round, dizzying me, submerging me—which is surely one of the reasons for the long stretches of silence on my part.

A joyous cacophony it is, to be sure. A gleeful celebration of cuisine, of sharing and community. A blessed rediscovery of the fruits of the Earth, all things artisan, local, organic, sustainable, whole. A joyful path back to our kitchens, reuniting with our stoves, bowls, spatulas, aprons, those sweet scents seeping from glowing ovens, adorned tables, not to mention the age-old rituals born of that most basic of human endeavors: nourishing and sustaining our bodies and spirits. Hopefully it is even more so an expression of the high esteem and profound respect due the Earth, the fields and hills of fertile soil, the hands that toil them and offer up to us their seasonal harvests, the sentient animals who generously give of themselves on our behalf.

Living in the micro, the small-scale—that cherished hollow in the forest—has been my inherent way. As we are pulled—not kicking and fighting, it seems... though I'm not so sure—further into a life lived on and across the Internet, of hangouts and chats, likes, groups, circles, tags, links, events, tweets, hashtags, clouds—what have I forgotten—such rivers of flowing information now spanning the world, the macro, the large-scale of it all becomes more than daunting at times and I feel the need to retreat and find my center again—in that cherished hollow.

I'll just have to trust that living, creating and working in, as well as sharing from that cherished place will continue to nourish me and those wishing to glean from my posts and cooking classes a tip or two, a recipe or three about seasonal vegetables, how to lovingly undress them and stir them up into simple scrumptious dishes. And perhaps more important... sustain in both our spirits and under our nails a bit of fertile dirt.

Reflections on a wintry afternoon in Paris... and now back to the kitchen and what blesses me : cooking the roots shoots flowers and fruits, beans grains seeds pods 'n nuts from the quatrain of seasons into delightful food for body, heart and soul.... And so here goes to adding yet another pinch of earthy info to that already copiously whirling out there.

Now it is deeply autumn in Paris... wintry days cloaked in grey. Ah, but at the marketplaces there is no lack of vivid colors shouting forth from the stands that line the aisles. I've always thought autumn and winter offered the most plentiful variety and choice of fruits and vegetables Perhaps more modest in their allure, but oh so bursting with savory shades of the earth. Take radicchio rossa di Chioggia with the deep plum red and chiseled white veins of its leaves, the outer ones often tinted with mossy green.

T'is is the season of chicories from endive to escarole, sugarloaf to sucrine et pain de sucre, cicorie selvatiche (wild chicory) to puntarella (chicory sprouts), Castelfranco to Chioggia, rossa di Treviso precoce e tardivo and onwards to dandelion... That's quite a hymn to sweet bitterness! And suffice it to say they are chocked full of the vitamins and minerals that winter might just demand of our bodies. There is a beautiful intrinsic harmony in eating seasonally, after all.

Down in Salento, at the very heel of Puglia, there's a dish so humble as to be among the most savory things I've ever eaten: fave e cicorie selvatiche. Dried fava beans are cooked into a creamy purée and served with blanched cicorie selvatiche (akin to huge dandelion-looking leaves). Hard to find elsewhere (although I did stumble upon something similar the other day at a producer's stand at the marché Bastille, just not quite as "wild" tasting). So I often substitute radicchio di Chioggia for its pungent tang, the contrast to the comfy robustness of the fava beans is much to my liking. I know, I know, this is a transgression of the ricetta tradizionale, but I'll take responsibility.

First a few links :
— Via Campesina : peasant seeds and food sovereignty
— non-GMO shopping guide
— top 10 "Union of Concerned Scientists" food facts
— healthy farmland diet
— Leonardo's Flight : a great video on sending Leonardo da Vinci's codex to Mars

fave secche e cicorie selvatiche from a marketplace in Salento (photo by FP)

my variation on FAVE con CICORIE SELVATICHE (with radicchio di Chioggia) - serves 4

for the fava bean purée :
400 gr [14 oz] dried fava beans, preferably already split
1 not-too-large potato (Charlotte, Bintje… a nice yellow fleshed one), peeled (or not) and cut into cubes
2 fresh bay leaves
4 tBsp extra virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt

for the sautéed chicory :
800 gr [28 oz] radicchio di Chioggia, the leaves separated and washed
Pinch of dried peperoncino (red pepper flakes)
2 – 3 large garlic cloves, peeled, cut in half, the sprout removed, and very thinly sliced crosswise
Extra virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea sat and freshly ground WHITE pepper

for the croutons (not pictured) : nice dense rustic bread

||| Soak the dried fava beans in cold water over night. Drain and rinse. If they are still wearing their skins patiently remove them, making a slit along one side with a sharp paring knife then peeling the skin back and off. Transfer to a large saucepan along with the potato and bay leaves. Add fresh water to cover by 3 cm (a good 1 inch). Cover and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and cook until the fava beans and potato fall apart, anywhere from 45 - 90 minutes depending on whether the beans are split or not, as well as their age—try to get the most recent year’s harvest. Skim off any foam that forms on the surface while cooking. Also check from time to time and add more water if beginning to dry out—there should be a bit of liquid left when fully cooked. Remove from the heat and let cool for 5 minutes. Discard the bay leaves then purée, along with the 4 tBsp of olive oil, with an immersion blender or in a food processor. (You can also use a food mill and add the olive oil at the end.) Season with sea salt to taste. The purée should be wonderfully creamy and have a slightly soupy consistency. Keep warm on the stove, adding a splash or two more water if needed just before serving.

||| Cut 20 1-inch cubes of dense rustic bread. (You can remove the crust or leave it be)… Drizzle lightly with olive oil and toss. Spread out on a baking sheet and place in the oven heated to 150 ˚C (300 ˚F) for 30 - 60 minutes, until veering golden, dry throughout with a nice crunch. Remove, transfer to a plate and set aside.

||| Heat a generous drizzle of olive oil in a large high-sided skillet. Add the red pepper flakes and cook for 30 seconds over medium heat. Add the radicchio and a splash of water and cook over medium-high heat, turning from time to time, until beginning to brown, 10 or so minutes. Transfer to a plate. (You might do this in two turns so the leaves don not get soggy.) Season with sea salt to taste.

||| Wipe out the skillet then heat a generous drizzle of olive oil. Add the sliced garlic and cook over medium heat until beginning to crisp and brown around the edges, 1 - 2 minutes, shaking the pan a few times. Turn off the heat and add another drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of sea salt. Transfer to a bowl.

to serve : Fill each soup plate with a generous portion of the fava bean purée. Top with a nice mound of cooked radicchio. Garnish with a generous tablespoon of garlic olive oil and a couple three twists of the WHITE pepper grinder. Plop 4 - 5 croutons down around the exterior of the dish.

wine note: serve with a lovely Occhipinti SP68 : Albanello and Moscato di Alessandria — Arianna Occhipinti, Sicilia

:: drink natural "living" wines

:: buy locally, from sustainable farmers

:: eat with friends

:: show thought and honor to ALL creatures

:: be gentle with the earth and kind to yourself

farro spezzato | cracked emmer... and San Nicola

2013-10-06T15:04:00.001+02:00

As autumn rolls in, time to start stirring up those hardier dishes...

It has been a busy last couple of seasons. Many trips to the vineyards of my dear natural winemaker friends in the Touraine in the Loire Valley to cook up a seasonal "dinêr des vignerons" (winemaker's supper) or two or three and quaff the many precious bottles of sweet, nakedly raw wine they all brought to the table. Then there was the 3-minute TV spot on the France 2 program C'est au programme of me cooking up a meal of Italy's la cucina povera (peasant food). I also created a new excursion offer : "a day with a natural winemaker in the Loire Valley" and am off on one with a couple of enthusiastic wine lovers next week. We'll be going to Christophe Foucher's—la Lunotte—just as he is launching into his grape harvest. It should be an exciting, eventful day! And finally I'll be doing a handful of cooking classes at Paris Vegan Day on October 11, right around the corner. If any of you are in Paris do stop by...

Recently I gave a friend a long list of goodies to bring me from Rome : dried fava beans, matagliati pasta, fiery olive oil, cedro candito, perperoncino, farro (emmer)... I was like a kid, pulling all these goodies out of the bag they were stuffed in. Expecting to see a bag of whole-berry farro appear out of the sack, I was intrigued when I saw the package... farro spezzato (cracked emmer)—akin to bulgar in the size of the groats.

Now the name farro can be a bit confusing, as it's often associated with three wheat species: einkorn (Triticum monococum), emmer (Triticum dicocum) and spelt (Triticum spelta)— also called farro piccolo, farro medio et farro grande respectively. But in Italy emmer—the dicocum in the bunch—seems to be considered the "true" farro and in certain mountainous regions of Tuscany, Umbria and Abruzzo Umbria (Garfagnana and Monteleone di Spoleta, Rieti) where it is grown, it is labeled PDO (protected designation of origin)—meaning that it "be the real deal" ! And it is a mighty good tasting wheat... subtle and nutty, light and yet so earth bound.

Mind you, this is a plant that seems all to happy to grow in poor soil, making high mountainous elevations the perfect fit; it is quite undemanding when it comes to water—seems to have renowned resistance to drought—so need to to irrigate; it considers itself something of a wild herb and thus has no need of pesticides or weed killers... heaven forbid! Because of its husks, it can be stored without—yet again—the use of chemicals, as long as it is kept dry. It's a wonderfully hard wheat that produces an excellent flour. Kinda have to wonder why it all but disappeared. Perhaps the fact that it is a hulled wheat... demanding a bit more effort in getting to the grain...

Turning the package over, I was delighted to find a couple of recipes and thought I'd try one out : "ricetta di San Nicola" di magro : a "lean" or meatless dish served in Monteleone on the eve of the Feast of their Patron Saint Nicholas, December 5.

I am forever amazed at the simple yet sumptuous dishes that Italians are so skilled at creating... out of, well, almost nothing. And this recipe is a perfect case in point—perhaps the only difficult part of the recipe is getting a hold of farro spezzato at your local Italian market, if it doesn't happen to be in Italy. But I did a bit of searching and found the ChefShop online store in Seattle, WA. Seems they even have a retail store, and the MarketHall (selling the whole grain) in Oakland, CA. Here are a few at Amazon (also the whole grain)—make sure it stipulates "dicocum." If all else fails, I'm sure that bulgur would come in a close second...

Before heading on to the recipe, I wanted to add a few links you might find interesting :
— International Seed Treaty on Via Campesina
— Sarah Kahn and her Tasting Cultures website
— TEDxManhatten 2013 video of Lindsey Lusher Shute of Hardy Roots Community Farm on building a future with farmers, the National Young Farmers Coalition that she founded. And the many other TEDxManhatten 2013 speakers on changing the way we eat
— and one more : Wendell Berry on the Bill Moyers Show

And now on to the recipe... Oh, I should mention that I'll be paring my recipes with a natural wine from France or sometimes Italy or even the West Coast. And will be posting a list of importers of natural wines (if not the ones in question, others that are similar), for the moment mostly in the States, but that I'll be adding to... Don't hesitate to ask my advice in the comments area.

I opened a bottle of pineau d'Aunis from Pascal Simonutti "domaine le Pré noir" in Mesland. A red varietal grown primarily in the Loire Valley (Anjou, Touraine), and a lovely grape it is. I consider him the king of pineau d'Aunis; he has such a knack for coaxing out of the grape such a vibrant juice, hearty but not too much so, bright and full of peppery zest. No additives of any kind in this juice. No S02 and no filtering. If you can get your hands on a bottle, it's well worth the effort.

CRACKED EMMER : ricetta SAN NICOLA - serves 4

250 gr | 8,75 oz cracked emmer
1.5 liters water or light vegetable broth
120 gr | 4.25 oz red onion, finely chopped
120 gr | 4.25 oz carrot, finely chopped
120 gr | 4.25 oz celery, finely chopped
250 gr potato | 8,75 oz (Yukon Gold, Bintje), cut into 1/2-inch cubes
150 gr | 5.25 oz fresh tomatoes, blanched, the seeds removed and coarsely diced (suppose you could use canned in a pinch)
1 peperoncino, crushed (or a nice pinch of red pepper flakes)
Pecorino or Parmesan, grated or shaved for garnish
Extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a large pan, sauté the onion in a bit of heated olive oil over medium heat for a couple of minutes. Add the celery, carrot, potato, tomato, and peperoncino and continue cooking for 10 minutes. Add the water, cover and bring to a boil. Add the cracked emmer and cook for 20 minutes at a simmer, stirring occasionally (for a drier dish, cover the pan). At this point, salt to taste. Serve pipping hot with a drizzle of olive oil, a garnish of Pecorino or Parmesan, and a couple twists of the pepper grinder.