This story is about the comforting smell of cinnamon and the nostalgia that comes with apples baked in pastry. This collection of ingredients is symbolic in more than one part of the world for pure happiness. Just like the warmth of a burning hearth and the simple joys of a steaming mug of tea, the apple tart is an emotional aphrodisiac.
As a regular traveler between Europe and North America, I have studied the similarities and differences between the American apple pie and the Dutch “appeltaart” for some time. Just how food traditions weave themselves into cultural rituals fascinates me. This fact will hopefully both explain and excuse the length of the following narrative that eventually does lead to one of my favorite (and most tested) recipes described in detail at the bottom of the page!
So without further ado, this is what I have to say about the Dutch appeltaart and the goodness of home baking. Continue reading
I know that pickled beans might sound a bit strange and most probably not as addictively appetizing as they are in real life. I am convinced that this is the fault of some minor misconceptions. First of all, the process of marinating in vinegar is called “pickling” in English. This word naturally evokes sour thoughts of all sorts, without doing justice to the wonderful flavor transformation that takes place when vegetables (and beans of course) are bathed in something refreshingly tart like vinegar. Secondly, beans have a bad reputation mostly because when prepared without passion they can be decidedly uninteresting. Combine both of these words in the English language, and one runs the risk of promoting an unappealing pair on the plate.
There’s something about spaghetti for breakfast – or eating the crusts of homemade pizza in the morning for that matter – that remind me of countless carefree summer days living along the coast of Naples. When I was younger, my mother’s best friend and everyday espresso partner taught her how to make use of leftover spaghetti by baking a simple frittata. The following recipe is the perfect example of how southern Italians make something delicious out of a handful of seemingly unimportant surplus ingredients.
I look forward to Sunday morning all week-long. Practically speaking it is the only day of the week I start with absolute and glorious silence. After drinking a caffé-latte in a big white bowl I go about my entire day walking barefoot through the house. Wearing no shoes symbolizes the simple satisfaction that goes with having no obligations on a day with no definitions.
I have no explanation for how the weeks and months have flown by so quickly that the last time I wrote in my collection of recipes was more than a season ago. In the meanwhile I have been caught up in the pragmatic whirlwind that goes with cooking for a living. A professional kitchen is not unlike an average household; it just has a tighter and more demanding time schedule with less opportunity for flexibility.
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