If I were to follow my personal preferences in the kitchen, I would create a different soup for every day of the week. I love the comfort of folding my hands around a meal in a bowl and adore the endless possibilities a cast iron pot stewing on the stove provides. The process of cutting, chopping, stirring and simmering wards off the winter chills. But most of all — making soup satisfies my obsession for vegetables.
The following version of ribollita is inspired by two beautiful, leafy greens: rainbow chard and cavolo nero. This recipe has its roots somewhere between Verona and Florence and is inspired not only by a Tuscan icon, but by the rustic country cooking of the regions of northern Italy. Follow it like a road map and make changes according to the ingredients in your pantry.
Just over a week ago all was quiet. Celebrations to close the book on the old and start a brand new year started with a strangely quiet morning. A peek out the kitchen window revealed empty city streets. Funny how the first of the year feels like a long winter slumber. Being one for rituals, I set out early to get rid of domestic clutter and to cooking a pot of lentils. Lentils (and the spicy sausage “cotechino”) are traditionally served throughout Italy as a symbol of good fortune on New Year’s Eve. Their earthy perfume reminds me of home and of the comfort that comes from simplicity. Here’s to January and slow beginnings.
On the eve of a new year I count my blessings. I have no extravagant plans today; just simple ones. I am up early and ready to go out for the last of this year’s ingredients. In keeping with Italian tradition, I will put a pot of rosemary lentils on the stove late this evening to celebrate the arrival of January. This morning I am on the lookout for uncomplicated ingredients like onions, carrots and flat leaf parsley. I look forward to bringing home ground cumin and mossy green sea salt in paper-wrappings from my favorite spice shop. Call me strange — but I love grocery shopping road trips. 
The Christmas rush is on. Strangely enough my response to the frenetic activity around me during this time of year is to hibernate, to open the pages of photo albums, to unpack old tree ornaments and to reflect upon the symbolism surrounding the end of one and the beginning of a new year. With four seasons of journals and kitchen notebooks opened on the table, I connect the dots between the past and the future as the dark days of December pass.
Call me a romantic, but the smooth, shiny exteriors of chestnuts remind me of a teddy bear’s nose. Just looking at them brings back a flood of memories guided by the senses. Visions of roasting chestnuts over an open fire, popping open in netted baskets only to reveal a nut filled with earthiness and faint wisps of smoke pass for my minds’ eye. Christmas market memories in Florence, Rome and the mountain town of Bassano del Grappa, come vividly to life and I have half a mind to jump on the night train to Milan.
A simple bowl of beans floating in a steaming vegetable broth, accompanied by the occasional tube-shaped pasta served in ceramic bowls meant for caffè latte in the morning. . . . . .
I feel the end of summer vacation coming on. It feels like curled toes at the edge of a cold swimming pool I am not quite ready to jump into. The month of August is the Sunday of summer and I have promised myself to prolong the sense of freedom that goes with loose-fitting timetables indefinitely. My plan is to outrun the seasons by intermingling spontaneity with life’s daily necessities.
Making homemade mascarpone has been on my “to do” kitchen list for some time. Although I must admit this has no particular relationship to bright red cherries. I was inspired to combine both after a weekend shopping trip to the farmers market. A crate of red stone fruits and a few glass jars of organic cream were the spark for a perfect pair. Just how easy making mascarpone turned out to be was quite a surprise. Like so many “old-fashioned” cooking methods, the key to success is to following a few simple steps. The results unfold after an effortless wait. Homemade mascarpone is infinitely creamier and most definitely lighter than the store-bought version. From now on, I am making my own. Just like ricotta, any kind of fresh cream will do — whether from a goat, a cow or a sheep. I poured my pale yellow homemade mascarpone over hibiscus-soaked cherries while thinking of a classic”clafoutis”. Did I already mention I hope summer is forever?
Beautiful Food Stories 