Mum has a sweet tooth for whipped cream. Sweet tooth may be simplistic to describe her relationship with whipped cream and the speed with which her spoon speeds under my eyes when I make a cake, returning to her full of whipped cream.

This said, she loves simple and traditional desserts: tiramisu, mantovana, rose cake with almonds, cream puffs. Simple, caring, reliable, reassuring, good, just like she is for me.

Saturday was her birthday and as usual, in a hurry and trying to fit everything that needed to be done, we could not celebrate properly her special day, apart from a huge bowl of real homemade fries, crunchy and sprinkled with Maldon salt crystals.

Though, since I am foodblogger and a daughter, I could not play dumb longer, and yesterday I made a simple cake to celebrate her in the afternoon with the rest of my large, noisy and happy family, you know perfectly all the adjectives that usually come along with my family on a Sunday afternoon! Read the rest of this entry »

During those old times the vagabonds were still crossing the country, living by their wits to get once in a while a hot meal to give them strength during the long and frozen moonless nights. In those days a witty vagabond was wandering near to the village, spending lonely hours at the edge of the forest and in the beech clearing. In his wanderings the Vagabond met a peasant, a poor widow who lived in poverty in her old hut near the river, and asked for some benevolence and charity, a soup and a warm place for the night.

The poor woman gave reluctantly a shelter to the wanderer, immediately pointing out that there was nothing to eat, since the pantry was empty. The Vagabond said he knew the secret of a magic recipe, the stone soup, so all he needed was just some water and a stone taken from the riverbed. Put a pot of water on the fire, Grandma, I will take care of the soup.

And so the Vagabond walked up and down along the bank of the river until he chose a beautiful gray stone with red veins. He rinsed the stone and brought it to the kitchen where a pot blackened by the years was already simmering over the fire. The Vagabond threw the stone into the pot and sat down to wait, under the unbelieving gaze of the old woman, who was knitting by the fireplace with an air of indifference.

In the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire, the Vagabond said, as to himself: Certainly, if we had a pinch of salt the soup would be even better… And the old woman, crawling to the cupboard, sought out a pinch of salt at the bottom of an old jar.

The Vagabond added: Certainly, if we had a potato, even old, the soup would be even better. The old woman went to the vegetable garden behind the house with a torch and returned with an old and wrinkled potato and a cabbage leaf, burned by the winter frost.

Not satisfied, the Vagabond , stirring the stone soup, said to the old woman: and now, if only we had an old ham bone, the soup would be really good! The old woman remembered the old bone with no meat in her pantry and gave it to the tramp, who added it to the stone soup that, to be honest, was already smelling good. And now, Grandma, the soup is ready! If only we had a morsel of stale bread, the…

I see, I see… interrupted the old woman. She rose again from her straw stool, rummaged in the bottom of the cupboard and found a morsel of dry bread, from which she cut two thin slices to put at the bottom of the two bowl.

The Vagabond poured a generous portion of soup in each bowl, and sat at the table with the old woman for a tasty and warm dinner. At the end, before going to sleep in the barn, he went to pot, picked up the magic stone, washed it, wrapped it in a rag and put it in the cupboard, then said to the old woman: Grandma, whenever you feel like a good stone soup, all you have to do is to simmer a pot of water over the stove and add the magic stone! Goodnight and thank you for your gracious hospitality!

This is well-known folk tale, sometimes the Vagabond is a beggar, sometimes a wily monk, sometimes a soldier… but the long and short of the story is always the same: with just a little you can really do something good, being it considered literally or as a metaphor, perfect of those days of big dreams!

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I wish I had enough words to thank you for your comments, e-mails, laughs and moved tears on my last post. I knew I would have found support and friendship in you, but – believe me – I was not expecting such a cheerful feedback! The crisis and the redemption desire sadly are common issues in these days, but on the other hand everyone of us, even if you do not want to admit it, somehow believe that dreams come true.

Last time I mentioned the thought about the crisis of one of the greatest geniuses of the last century, Albert Einstein, but today I want to use the melodious words of a romantic heroine of my childhood, Cinderella. She sings: A dream is a wish your heart makes, When you’re fast asleep (…) Whatever you wish for, you keep Have faith in your dreams and someday Your rainbow will come smiling thru No matter how your heart is grieving If you keep on believing the dream that you wish will come true.

Since we are down-to-earth women here, we know that the situations are to be created and the fate sometimes needs a little help. My humanities studies at high school influenced me to believe that the best way is to study, so I made ​​a bibliography of books on Tuscan cuisine and gastronomic culture, which will become the basis of my days.

One of these books is Cucina Povera – Tuscan peasant cooking, by Pamela Sheldon Johns, who teaches cooking classes and workshops throughout Italy and is the author of sixteen books, many of which are dedicated to the Italian cuisine. But these few words are reductive to describe her, one of the most important connoisseurs and ambassadors of the Italian gastronomic culture abroad.

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