Nothing says summer like bright green pesto with a salty hint of parmigiano-reggiano, the buttery texture of pine nuts, grassy extra virgin olive oil and a bite of fresh garlic. Over the years, I’ve spent a few summers in Aulla, a town in Northern Tuscany, where the sea meets the mountains. Continue reading “Pesto with Gnocchi”→
You know what’s really good, like really, really good? Fried eggplant wrapped around salty ham and ooey gooey mozzarella! Do I have your attention? …Because one taste of these eggplant rolls and it’s love at first bite! Keep Reading!
There is something intriguing about black-colored foods, perhaps, it’s because they are not something we get our mouth’s around everyday. Most commonly, there is chocolate, espresso, black beans and Beluga lentils, but even less common is squid ink pasta, charcoal bread, black garlic and black quinoa. Rarer yet are black chickpeas or ceci neri. Keep Reading!
Beautiful pages brimming with life and history that weave around traditional recipes filled with the aromas of Florence. A true cover to cover read, exactly the kind of cookbook that I eat up! Keep Reading!
A staple on Pugliese tables Fave e Chicoria, a puree of fava beans topped with wilted chicory is a fundamental farm style meal that’s cooked in country kitchens from the hill towns scattered throughout Italy. Keep Reading!
Sometimes a slip of the hand creates a culinary perfection, just like, chocolate chip cookies, the upside-down French dessert, tarte tatin or Worcestershire Sauce. As history tells it we can add farinata to this great list of culinary accidents: Keep Reading!
Romanticalism at it’s finest.
Yes, I say romanticalism—not really a word you say?
Well, it’s describing romanticism in a heightened sense—a strengthening of language.
Where one can simply stand, enamored in it all.
The Medici’s, Leonardo, Botticelli, Giotto, Raphael.
Approaching Brunelleschi’s Duomo, an unfathomable sight, causing one to feel insignificant in size.
Sauntering across the Ponte Vecchio, pausing in view, the River Arno, outstretched.
Lunching in a quaint, corner shop, crumbs dusting the floor.
Cobbled streets, marble statues and colored facades.
Strolling hand in hand—step by step—breath by breath.
That utter sense of satisfaction.
Not wanting, not needing, simply being.
Traversing by foot, crossing the River Arno,
flanked by brightly, painted buildings.
Sunshine warming one’s cheeks.
Gelato in hand,
the memory of Pisa, leaning.
A rocky beach and salty sea, lulling ashore.
Constellations alight the night sky.
A shooting star—pause—in reverence of.
Frizzante, shared between two glasses,
and a friend whose greatness is immeasurable.
A talk of life.