Crown Prince pumpkin curry

pumpkin-and-eggplant-vertical

It’s Sunday afternoon. Pale grey clouds float carelessly across an ice blue sky and evening promises to arrive long before I am ready for it. Today is laundry day and that coincides with a silent afternoon filled with writing.  I’ve had roasted Crown Prince pumpkin mingling slowly in a pot with just the right amount of ginger, garlic and onions since this morning. The curry I have made is neither traditional nor part of my family heritage — it is what I often make in anticipation of a very busy week. This is what the perfect Sunday feels like.

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Pumpkin soup with red pepper and garlic

pumpkin-still-life

Just when fresh red tomatoes are no longer available and the summer disappears into darkness, an orange alternative arrives in many shapes and sizes. Squash and pumpkin are autumn’s answer to the tomato. I use them in much the same way. The following recipe is for a soup made of pumpkin with carrots and potatoes, turned spicy with the simple addition of garlic and red pepper. This particular kind of preparation is very much Italian and is called a passato because the ingredients are pureed until smooth once cooked. I like to call it orange velvet soup.

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My favorite chermoula

chermoula-still-life-with-peppers

I have been avoiding writing the recipe for this traditionally Moroccan marinade for weeks on end, or so it seems. Publishing what should be a straightforward short story is long overdue. In fact — while I have been contemplating how to narrate the preparation of a simple mixture of fresh herbs stirred through warm spices — summer has officially slipped into autumn.  It should be simple and yet it has turned out to be complicated. It seems that the only way to resolve this impasse  is to explain my predicament.

After that,  I think I can get back to the subject of cooking.  Continue reading

A late summer caponata pasta

summer-caponata-verticalI think I could write a book about caponata. I realize that this is a rather dramatic statement to make about something as simple as onions, celery, zucchini and eggplant cooked with tomatoes. But it’s the vinegar combined with just a touch of sweetness (in my case always honey) that makes this Italian version of the French ratatouille a subject of endless possibilities.  Like each day of the week — caponata is never the same way twice — and this is exactly why I love it.

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Sage sea salt in a jar

Sage leaves four on a plate

I don’t always have the perfect plan up my sleeve. In fact, what I do in the kitchen (or in life for that matter) isn’t always flawless. Because I cook for a living most of my friends and family assume my preferred place is at a marble countertop with a chef’s knife in hand. I readily admit to feeling incredible happiness in the midst of a collection of colorful vegetables. I can also be found passing away the hours exploring flower gardens and farms in almost every country I visit. Kitchens and gardens are most definitely my happy places. Continue reading

Almond milk granita

Baked fruits in almond milk

Most of the desserts I make have fresh fruit at center stage. Sometimes fruit needs to float in something creamy. During one of my kitchen experiments I discovered the fun of making homemade almond milk. Then I turned it into granita. This recipe has since become a part of my summer collection. Although I am inclined to narrate a romantic story about lovely Italy before writing the more official bit of this post, I am keeping things as simple as can be.

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Pasta with tomato and fresh green peas

Classic tomato still life

The beautiful colors and flavors of the changing seasons never cease to amaze me. In the fall I adore the deep purple of grapes hanging on their vines In the winter every kind of pumpkin is a kitchen obsession. By the time spring arrives all things green and fresh overtake my attention. The grassy smell of celery and the heavy scent of the first leaves of fresh basil bring back memories of wandering through the vineyards behind our neighbor’s house in Caldogno. Spending the evening chasing fire flies between the neatly planted rows of the vegetable garden, I would inevitably ask if I could pick some peas only to eat them raw as dusk turned into darkness. I can still recall the earthy smells of that Italian scene every time I spot some peas in their pods.

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