Winter is by definition a time for reflection. The misty fog that floats faintly across the flat river waters of Haarlem seem to cover my thoughts like a blanket lately. Not only that — I find every possible reason I can imagine to stay inside. With cooking as my chosen form of meditation, I have been passing this quiet time indoors studying many a traditional Dutch culinary habit — spiced red pears being one of them. There is something about the perfume of simmering red wine drifting through the house that makes enduring the short days and dark-dark nights of December so much more than simply acceptable.
I won’t fill the page today with stories of things past, nor will I write about the interesting relationships between cultural traditions of northern Europe and those of America or even Italy. Perhaps I will undertake more writing of that kind in the new year. . . . only time will tell.
I 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.
I am in a serious rush and running behind at the same time. In the month of September, if I’m not spending my days preserving the season’s overabundance of tomatoes entire crates at a time, I get the distinct sensation that I am missing something important. Every minute counts and I cannot decide if I should be writing about how to preserve summer figs or spend my afternoons making melanzane alla parmigiana with eggplants from the garden. What on earth this has to do with my recipe for spinach polpette has a kind of logic that I can easily explain.
Beautiful Food Stories 